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And the most puzzling thing about the Red Sox’s bullpen is figuring out what’s wrong with Luke Danes. By far the Sox’s most reliable pitcher, he has been 2-6 with an 8.15 ERA since the team came back from its four-day break on July 15. He was behind the loss in his last three starts, with 21 runs allowed over 23 innings. It’s a performance that has insiders murmuring if his contract negotiations are playing into his shaky performance, or if he is nursing an injury that has yet to be disclosed.
It is a highly unusual stretch of errors from a normally unshakable player, who racked up his best stats during the 1993 and 1994 seasons, tumultuous years off the field for him. Whatever is going on in his head, it is to everyone's benefit that Danes works it out soon.
Sports Illustrated: July 28, 1999
—-
Two weeks after the mind-blowing kiss that had yet to fade from her memory, Lorelai sat in front of the newly purchased family iMac and snarled at the screen.
She loved the computer and had little issue with it. The line had come in an array of colors, making them look like Jolly Rancher lamps. She and Rory had debated colors until they finally had to flip a coin to choose between strawberry and grape. The strawberry iMac won the coin toss.
No, her problem was with the stubborn idiot at the other end of her email. The idiot that had fled Stars Hollow after one of the sexiest moments of her life, who had restricted his communication to the emails that he loathed. That's how much their kiss had spooked him.
She had spent the first day after the kiss being angry at Luke, for yelling at her then rabbiting. Yes, his reasons were sane and valid ones, but thwarted arousal had its way of manifesting in being outright pissed. It had taken a lot of sleep, an evening of properly wallowing, and an extended session with her handheld shower massager to start to wrap her mind around everything.
Lorelai didn't dare breathe to Rory what had happened. Her daughter was her best friend, but there was no way she was going to tell her 14-year-old kid that their baseball card guy nearly had wild, vertical sex with her on the wall next to the front door. She had always told Rory carefully edited stories about previous boyfriends before, but she couldn't. Not this time.
She also didn't confide in Sookie, who bless her, would just skip straight to the kissing part and miss the fact that there had been a yelling part. And a "we shouldn't had done this" part. By the time Sookie realized what had happened, Luke would be instantly recast in the the bad guy role and Lorelai didn't want people to see him in that light. Not in Stars Hollow. Sookie had her own odd flirtation going with Jackson, their produce guy, and anything that made its way to him would make it across Stars Hollow nearly as fast as broadcasting it to Miss Patty, Babette, or Eastside Tilly would.
So Lorelai spent way too much time in her own head, wondering why the hell Luke had suddenly freaked out. Yeah, she did work for him, but not like in the boss lusting after his secretary on a daily basis sort of way. She knew it probably had more to do with what Babette had told her about Anna Nardini claiming that her daughter was also his, but then it turned out she wasn't.
The problem now was that Luke refused to sign off on any of the applications that she had narrowed down for the hardware store. Andrew's extension for the bookstore was among the three finalists. The other two were from a sweet guy named Cesar who wanted to turn the space into a diner; and Marie, an older lady who wanted to open one of those pottery studios that allowed people to select a piece, paint it, then the studio would fire and glaze it for them. As much as Lorelai would prefer Rory didn't gut her in her sleep, she was torn between the diner and the pottery studio. Both would be far more beneficial for the town as tourist draws, and people had to travel all the way out to the interstate to get anything that was close to diner-like food. OK, it wasn't like the interstate wasn't that far, but cheeseburgers and chili fries within walking distance? Sign her up.
It couldn't be work keeping Luke away. He had sent her very short responses to all her other emails: various combinations of "yes," "no," and "OK." But they needed to have an actual conversation for this final selection, and the man just wasn't budging.
So Lorelai took to her old tactic and left lengthy conversations each night on Luke's answering machine. She now knew the precise timing of how long a message had to be and how many messages could fit on a tape. Each night, when Rory went to bed, she pulled out her calling card and spent 15 minutes chattering about how the final fixes to the hardware store were going, how many viewings his childhood home had received, and other various things that happened her day. She talked about Rory at a town meeting shyly introducing the concept of installing a small box in the town square where people could leave or take free books as needed. She chatted about the inn, her latest attempts at cooking, and how she had turned his springform pie pan into a planter. One time, she just turned on her stereo and made sure he had 15 minutes of nothing but Styx and the Bangles on his machine.
She didn't say a word about the kiss or Anna Nardini.
She also didn't talk about Luke's spate of bad luck on the field. Mainly to make sure that the man was still breathing, she tuned into every Red Sox game that was televised in Stars Hollow. She watched the shadows under his eyes grow deeper and wondered if they matched the ones beneath her own. She listened to the commentators speculate why a normally reliable, well-performing player was going through a spate of spectacularly awful games. She suspected the answer had something to do with her.
But now enough was enough. Lorelai stared at her email, at the mailbox that hadn't magically changed in the past few minutes. They were nearly halfway through the 30-day period Taylor had threatened them with. Miss Patty had told her that Taylor was already sniffing out lawyers to utilize once the month had passed. But, he was also being laughed out of every lawyer's office from Stars Hollow to Hartford. He was even talking about hiring someone from Yale's law school to take on the case.
Lorelai sat back, sighed, then clicked a button to open a web browser. It was time for her last resort. She located the schedule for the Red Sox, then consulted her calendar.
If you didn't want Lorelai Gilmore on your doorstep, do not open a joint bank account with her. Otherwise, she could get documents in the mail that included your address.
The drive from Stars Hollow to the outskirts of Boston wasn't that bad, and the suburb was pretty nice. It reminded Lorelai of upper class Hartford in a way, but not quite so stuffy. This one reeked of having enough money to put into keeping older buildings in good use, not building giant mansions to show off existing wealth.
The duplex looked like most other homes on the one-way street: twin Victorian-era buildings smashed together to create a single living unit. A teenage boy, sans shirt, was pushing a lawn mower across both halves of the yard out front. Lorelai pulled to the curb across the street from the home and stretched her legs. She reached back in the car for the grocery bag he had left behind - sans her new planter, of course - and her purse. She had switched to one of her larger totes that could handle all the paperwork she carried for the hardware store building. And the real estate agent had found a buyer for the house, so Lorelai offered to kill two birds with one stone and bring the papers he needed to sign with her.
She crossed the street and headed up the walk to the house. The dark-haired kid mowing the lawn had a familial resemblance, and she wondered if this was the nephew he had told Rory about.
"Hey!" Lorelai called to the kid.
It took him a moment to hear her over the roar of the lawn mower, and he shut it off. He eyed her suspiciously. "Yeah?"
Lorelai gestured to the half of the house with the number that matched the one on the papers she bore. "Is Luke home?"
The suspicion turned to a curious mix of teenage disdain and loathing. "Who wants to know?"
"Clearly I do, since I'm standing right in front of his door."
"There's a doorbell. You can ring it." The kid scoffed. "By the way, no solicitors."
"I'm not soliciting anything."
He ignored her. "No solicitors, no reporters, no lawyers, no people asking nosy questions. Oh, and don't even think to bribe me with money, candy, video games, or a pony."
"Asking if someone is home is nosy?" When the kid responded with a stony expression, Lorelai marched over to him. "Look, kid, I appreciate a good round of snark as much as you do. But I have a legitimate reason to be here."
"Sure. That's what they all say," the kid snorted.
The front door to the other half of the duplex opened, and a blonde-haired woman peeked out. Like the kid, her posture was rigid, eyes suspicious. "Can we help you?"
"I got this, Mom," the kid said.
Lorelai ignored him. "Sorry to bother you. I'm Lorelai Gilmore and …"
The door slammed open as the woman rushed out, her face completely transformed. "You're Lorelai? Oh my God, you're Lorelai!" She reached them, then smacked the teen in the back of the head. "What're you doing treating her like that? That's Lorelai!"
"Ow! I've got no clue what a Lorelai is!"
"The lady from Stars Hollow helping your uncle with the property there!" The woman grabbed Lorelai's arm and steered her toward her half of the duplex. "Don't mind him. He's just being Jess."
"Hey, it would help if I actually knew her name before now!" Jess called after them. He sighed, then turned the lawn mower back on.
Lorelai quickly searched her mental Rolodex as she was all but pushed inside the front door. "Liz, right?"
"Yeah! Oh, it's so good to finally meet you! Here, let me get you a drink. Coffee, right?"
"Yeah, thanks."
Liz led the way into a large living room that had several well-worn sofas with colorful throw pillows scattered on them. A dining table held bits of some sort of art project. Shoes and coats were haphazardly stacked on a coat rack near the door. It was clean, but cluttered. The living room opened into a generous-sized kitchen, separated by a bar with several stools pushed under it. Lorelai slid onto one of these as Liz moved to what looked to be an expensive coffeemaker with a grinder next to it. She pulled whole beans out of a cabinet.
"So, my idiot brother's out getting groceries and running a few errands, but he should be back within the next hour or so." Liz put a hefty amount of beans into the hopper and started it. "Did you bring your daughter?"
It pleased her that Liz knew about her daughter. It meant that Mr. Silent was apparently at least talking to his sister. "Rory? No, she's attending an all-day book club thing at the library, then she's going over to my best friend's house until I get back."
"Aw, that's a shame. I've heard a lot about both of you." Liz gave Lorelai a somewhat embarrassed smile. "I screen my brother's calls while he's gone. Don't worry, once I realize it's you, I just skip to the next message. I'm also still really good friends with Carrie Duncan."
Lorelai mentally winced. When it came to the hierarchy of Stars Hollow gossips, Carrie Duncan was pretty high on the scale. She also had made no secret since of how hot she found Luke since the town meeting he crashed. It was pretty hard to escape. "Oh, Crazy Carrie!" she said lightly.
Liz's smile indicated she had a good idea about what Lorelai thought of Carrie. She poured the ground coffee in the coffeemaker, added water, then started it. "Yeah, still the same. I also talked to Miss Patty recently. I really hope you're here to put my brother's head back on straight, 'cause nothing I'm saying is getting through that thick skull of his."
"I'm just here to get his final sign-off on one of the hardware store applicants. Easy-peasy, just need his John Hancock and away I go," Lorelai said with a quick wave of the hand, tempted to give into a sudden urge to throw the papers at Liz and run. Liz surely had opinions on her father's property, right? Maybe she could forge her brother's signature. That possibly could hold up in a court of law. Maybe.
"No! You don't get it! This is good!" Liz reached for the coffee pot, almost forgetting that it was still running. She jerked her hand back seconds before disaster happened.
"Sorry?"
Liz grabbed two large mugs from a nearby cabinet. "Ever since we were kids and our mom got sick, Luke just … folded in on himself, you know? He just kept playing baseball, and you never knew what he was thinking. I mean, he cried when Mom died, things like that, but he never actually talked to anyone. It was like that too with the whole mess with Anna Nardini." Liz hurled the name as if it was a viscous curse. "Just plays the game and cooks. He started doing that when we were teenagers. Mainly it was either that or starve, because Dad's idea of a good meal was going up to the Howard Johnson's that used to be near the interstate or a pour bowl of cold cereal. It took us a decade to figure out where Mom kept the coupons, so Dad stashed them in an old coffee can." Liz laughed and nodded toward a metal can sitting on top of the refrigerator. "I do the same thing. Anyhow, when he was 12, Luke got sick of it one day. He raided his allowance, marched down to Doose's, and bought a box of Tuna Helper and a couple cans of tuna, because that's all he could afford. That's when he started cooking. When something's bothering him, he just does it more."
Liz moved to the freezer and threw it open to reveal tray after tray of neatly stacked plastic containers. "Let's just say that Jess and I won't starve any time soon. If any of this is edible." She shook her head fondly at them. "If Luke's too upset, you couldn't feed what he makes to a feral cat. I know. I tried."
Lorelai just gawked at the freezer. The only thing in hers was a package of Toaster Strudels and a frozen pizza. "And the past couple of weeks?"
Liz beamed as if she'd won the lottery. "Worst he's ever cooked."
"And you're happy about that?"
Liz closed the freezer. "No, no, you don't understand. He's rattled. You've seen those last few games he's pitched in, right? He's actually bothered by something. I know something happened in Stars Hollow, and it's really none of my business, but you're breaking through his shell. So whatever it is you're doing, keep doing it."
They spent the next half hour talking about their kids, realizing very quickly that Rory and Jess would get along very well should they get the chance to meet. The mouthy kid really did have a love of books that rivaled Rory's and a dream of becoming an author. It was enough for Lorelai to almost invite Liz to come to Stars Hollow with Jess one day, but then she remember that she was supposed to be creating space between her and Luke, not bringing them closer.
Liz worked in an art gallery in the city and had to go into work, but she waved toward the door linking the two halves of the duplex and told Lorelai she was welcome to wait.
Luke's half of the duplex didn't exactly scream man cave to Lorelai, but it was definitely different from Liz's side. Her space exploded with color, with various craft projects in process everywhere and lots of evidence that a teenager lived in the house. It reminded her in a way of the Crap Shack. This side was fairly neat but boasted a couple deep bookcases filled with titles that would make Rory drool. The TV was large, and the VHS collection leaned heavily toward sports and action movies. She spotted a few DVDs along one shelf and felt a stab of envy. Maybe one day, she and Rory could afford a DVD player. Whenever the next new technology came out. Until then Lou, their trusty VCR, would suffice.
The L-shaped sofa looked plush and, thank goodness, wasn't leather. A knit throw was folded on the back of it, probably courtesy of Liz. Lorelai dropped her purse onto the coffee table and sat, letting the cool and quiet dark of the room sink in. The blinds were closed to keep out a good bit of the midday heat, and she heard the low whirl of central air conditioning. Something else the Crap Shack lacked. All she had were flaky window units that decided they would function on their own time schedule and not hers. More often than not, she and Rory either fled the house entirely during the day or were plastered to fans with giant bowls of ice set in front of them.
She slid her feet out of her flats and tucked her legs under her as she got comfortable on the couch. Liz said it wouldn't take long, and she could stand to close her eyes for a few minutes. It felt like those nights without sleep were hitting her all at once, and a quick nap never hurt anyone.
It took her less than 30 seconds to fall asleep.
The first thing Lorelai realized as she surfaced was that she was now laying on the sofa. The throw that had been folded on the back now covered her, and she kicked it to the ground as she shifted her legs.
The second thing was the smell. It was heavenly. Whatever it was, it had some sort of herbed breading, because the scent hung in the air nearly as seductive as expensive perfume. She blinked her eyes open and puzzled over her surroundings before it came back to her. She was on the outskirts of Boston, not at home. And if she was smelling food, that meant … she bolted upright to see Luke in the kitchen, standing over the stove. He looked over at her.
"Hey."
She just stared at him. Storming out the way he had, leaving her as turned on as he did, the weeks of silence, and all he could say was "hey?"
To his credit, he seemed nervous. His eyes dropped away from her as soon as soon as he gave the greeting, and he gave something in the skillet a ferocious shake.
"I figured you'd be hungry," Luke explained, as though finding her in his house was an everyday occurrence. Granted, Liz had probably tipped him off. But there was no anger either, nothing that indicated he had coldly informed her that a romantic attraction between would go absolutely nowhere.
Lorelai's stomach betrayed her by choosing that moment to growl audibly. It was a comedic cliche that would make Mel Brooks weep.
She got to her feet, leaving the throw behind on the floor as she tried to hoard her anger. But, damn it, Luke was barefoot, and there was something about seeing a guy barefoot. He even had nice toes. His toes were nicer than hers. His toes would look amazing in a pair of strappy sandals painted with pink polish. Not that he would do such a thing, but his toes were just that nice. She filed the cute toes away along with the cheekbones she admired during the town meeting and tried to remember that she was supposed to be mad.
She reached the bar that separated them. "Not that it isn't every woman's fantasy to be waking up to Emeril in the kitchen, but I figured you'd be mad I'm here."
"I'm not mad at you. Here." He pushed a mug of coffee in front of her and the last of her anger slipped away. Food, coffee, and barefoot. All he needed to do now was hold a puppy and she'd be at his feet.
"Well. You sure made me feel otherwise."
They fell into silence, knowing that she wasn't referring just to his brief emails and his evasive maneuvers regarding the hardware store tenant. "Look, I know I screwed up regarding the stuff that needs to be done on the store and the house. I've got tomorrow off too. I'll head into Stars Hollow, do what needs to be done."
"Or, you can sign the papers I brought with me and we can discuss the hardware store candidates over this food that you're fixing. Is it edible?"
Luke scowled at her. "Of course it's edible. Why would you think it's … Liz," he groaned. "You want a sister? I'll give her to you. Comes with a free 15-year-old nephew."
"Thanks, I'll pass. All you, pal. Besides, got a soon-to-be 15-year-old of my own."
"Where's Rory?"
Lorelai finally realized he was making some sort of pork cutlets, and that only made the hunger worse. She cast her eye around the room for something she could munch on until the food was ready. "Spending the day with Lane. You remember her, the kid that was with Rory during the interviews."
"Oh yeah, the tofu pie girl."
"The same. They're living the life going between the library and the bookstore while smuggling the music Lane's mom doesn't want her to have."
"Which is?"
Lorelai shook her head when she realized the only thing she was finding was a damn fruit bowl. Seriously, was the guy on a health food kick? "Anything that isn't a traditional Christian hymn sung in Korean."
"Oh, Mrs. Kim." Luke plated the cutlets and set them on the counter just below the bar. He dug into a grocery bag sitting on another counter and pulled out what suspiciously looked like a vegetable.
Lorelai narrowed her eyes. Yes, that was definitely asparagus he was holding. "You know the Kims?" she asked casually, reaching over the bar to see if any of the breading was loose enough on the cutlets to pick off. You know, for testing purposes.
"Yeah, they immigrated to the US when I was in high school. I remember she was pregnant, but I didn't make the connection. Is Mr. Kim still a missionary?"
It was the first true interest Luke had shown in any Stars Hollow resident other than herself, and it surprised her to the point that she stopped trying to pick the breading off a promising-looking cutlet. "Yeah, he is. I've seen him once … maybe twice. At one point, I thought Lane was the product of immaculate conception."
Luke put the asparagus in the skillet and poured a bit of water on top of them, steam billowing once it hit the pan. "Nah, I remembered when they moved in. Taylor gave them a really hard time at first. He was terrified having Koreans in town would drive down the property values."
"Of course he would," Lorelai muttered. "He doesn't seem to have an issue with her now."
"That's because she informed him that he was the one driving down property values thanks to his mouth, and if anything, she would be the one to save them. Through Jesus, of course."
Lorelai nodded solemnly at him. "Of course."
Luke shot her that half grin of his that made her toes curl. "Then she slammed a copy of the New Testament down on the counter in front of him in the market and stormed out."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"You like Mrs. Kim."
"Yeah, I actually do." Luke pulled the platter away as Lorelai reached for a cutlet again. "Stop picking at those."
Lorelai slumped against the bar. "But I'm hungry."
"I'm making lunch."
"These are ready!" She pointed at the cutlets.
"The parmesan cutlets go with the asparagus." He gestured to the skillet with the spatula he held.
"But I need sustenance right now! You heard my stomach. It's the successor to the Glenn Miller Band, and I'm in the mood."
He waved the hand holding the skillet toward the hall. "Go wash your hands, and it'll be ready."
She scowled at him. "What am I, five?"
"Go."
She stuck her tongue at his back and disappeared down the hall to find the bathroom.
Because the table was covered with papers, they carried their lunch over to the couch to eat, sitting next to each other on the long side of the L-shape. The food was every bit as good as the lemon roll and the pie Luke had made for her before. Lorelai frowned at the asparagus, picking at it before finally taking a bite. It didn't completely taste like ass, so she choked down the rest of the spear and focuses on the cutlet instead. Oh, glorious, glorious pork. Come to mama.
She closed her eyes as she took a bite, toes curling into the carpet. Man, she was blessed with having good cooks in her life. She opened them to find Luke staring at her as intensely as he had when she tried the lemon roll. And the pie. Oh god, she was turning food into an erotic experience again.
Lorelai stared at her plate, cursing her lack of a sex life and this living thing that seemed to be vibrating between them. She put it on the coffee table and reached for her purse, which she had placed on the couch beside her. "Right, so the candidates. I was thinking …"
"I'm sorry."
It took every bit of self control not to look up at Luke as she pulled out the applications. "Out of the three, I'm more leaning toward the diner applicant, but …"
"Lorelai." He rested his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. "God, I'm not doing any of this right."
"I'm not …"
He set his own plate next to hers on the coffee table before turning to face her. "It wasn't you. You've got to know that. Look, what Anna did left me all messed up in the head, and I don't wanna drag you into it. Especially because you've got Rory. So let's just look through these, pick one, and we'll keep things professional. I hate email, we both know that, but I'll be better about it. I promise."
Professional. As in emails and maybe a few phone calls. As in no lunches or surprise pizza flown in from Chicago or conversations with her kid about books. Everything in her hurt, but he was right. This was exactly what she was expecting when she'd driven here from Stars Hollow. They needed to establish boundaries and keep them. Then why did she feel like crying?
Lorelai's vision blurred, and to her horror, a single tear splashed onto the paper she held.
And Luke saw it.
"Geez," he hissed, and she sprang to her feet.
"Bad idea. Seriously bad idea." She shoved the applications at him as he got to his. "Here. Call. Email. Send a smoke signal. Just let me know at some point before Taylor manages to find a lawyer stupid enough to represent him. I need to go." She looked around in a panic for her shoes before remembering they were practically right next to her, kicked partially under the sofa.
"Lorelai."
She jammed her feet into the flats. "Look. I can't. I have a job. Two actually. I have a kid. I have enough drama in my life thanks to my parents, and the last thing I need is someone who's going to run out on me because he can't handle it."
"It isn't you!"
Because she wasn't a coward, or at least she repeatedly told herself this, Lorelai looked Luke square in the eye. "I know it isn't me. And it isn't fair that every time you look like you want to kiss me, you push me away like I do asparagus."
She wasn't sure what about that caused it. Maybe asparagus was some sort of weird turn on. But he stepped into her and kissed her, the applications fluttering to their feet as his hands dove into her hair. And, damn it, she had nothing to lose. She returned the kiss with every bit of heat she had in her, deliberating rubbing herself against him and enjoying the low growl of arousal he gave in response. Her knees wobbled, and he guided her onto the couch, pressing her into the cushions as he trailed his lips down the side her neck.
"You're the one who hid the rest of the asparagus in your napkin," he murmured into her skin, and she laughed as he pushed himself onto his elbows and stared down at her.
Lorelai could see the internal battle he was fighting, and she thought of all the advice she'd given Rory in the past about being scared. About working through your fears to get what you want. In that moment, in that very second, she knew what she wanted. Hell, somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that she wanted this all along - probably from the moment she barged into the unlocked hardware store building and confessed her worries about Chilton.
She wanted to run. She knew how to run. Rory accused her of never letting a guy get too close, of cutting things off before she let it start to get serious, but Rory didn't understand. There was so much Lorelai was giving up if she let a guy get too close.
She stared into eyes that were as terrified as her own and knew she wasn't the only one with a lot to lose.
Luke let out a long slow breath. Then he pushed himself off her, sitting on the other end of the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees. "You need to know about Anna," he said, and it sounded like he was tearing each word from his soul. "I need to tell you about her."
|
"What by the Seven is this?"
Doran sounded so disgusted that Elia instinctively glanced at the looking-glass. Perhaps her eyes were deceiving her? Perhaps the silk gown in orange and deep red did not suit her at all? But no, she still liked her reflection, and Loreza was so indignant that she forgot she was actively ignoring Doran and glared. "I think Elia looks very nice," she said bellicosely.
"She looks very beautiful, Father," Arianne piped in. She had been the one to seal the choice of attire with the stamp of final approval and she wasn't quite certain why Doran didn't like it.
"I agree."
The chamber full of women went silent, wondering what the problem was. Coral Hightide even studied the rich gown for any small defects that six women might have missed but the man had noticed immediately.
"You need to change," Doran said. "You look too good for the part I have for you. I cannot have you show up looking so lovely and recovered when I make the announcement that Rhaegar has mistreated you and been cruel to you. You must look the suffering wife, remember?"
Elia looked down, furious with him. So, it was not enough that she was going through the seven hells? She now had to look it? Prove it to the court of public opinion? Women realized that grief and worry left their mark on their looks, so they did their best to conceal it. Elia was no different.
Unfortunately, now that her brother had said it, she realized that he was right…
"Can I borrow something of yours?" she turned to Loreza. Unlike most sisters, they had always been reluctant to trade attires because the things that suited the dark-haired Elia would look terribly on the pale-skinned Loreza and vice versa.
"The ivory one," Loreza said immediately and Elia almost groaned.
"And wash your face as well," Doran ordered and Loreza glared again.
"We got it, my lord Prince, there's no need to repeat yourself."
Satisfied that he had been understood, Doran took his leave as Elia started washing away the makeup that she had put on so carefully in order to look her best. Judging by Arianne's look, she was doing a great job in turning back into what she was – a careworn woman, burdened by the traps of her own body and the shame of public rejection.
Elia was waiting for noon like prisoners waited for the hour of execution. Like Brandon Stark had waited for the hour of his death, perhaps. That would truly be the end. The end of an era. The end of her life as she had known it ever since her betrothal to Rhaegar had been announced. It was stupid of her. She was aware that the end had come much, much earlier, at King's Landing, brought over by Rhaegar's own hand at the supposed failure of her womb. She knew that, had accepted the truth of it and all the dishonour it had heaped upon her. Why, then, did she feel this way? Because it would mean exposing her failure for all the world to see? Because she, by her own hand, would deprive her son of any slim chance he had to fight for his inheritance? What if Doran's plans went awry?
Loreza's ivory silk didn't suit her at all. It only gave her skin a sickly yellow tinge and the cut revealed the gauntness of her neck and collarbone. The sleeves were no better. Without the kohl lining her eyes, the sleepless nights showed. Her cheekbones were so sharply incised that if she didn't know it was from her inability to keep down the little food she could force herself to eat, she'd think she had lost a tooth or two on both sides. At least now she probably looked pitiable enough for Doran's taste! She was careful not to even glance in the direction of the looking-glass.
Around her, the women whispered to each other. Ashara stood a little apart, white and silent, drowning in her own memories and pain. She cut a fine silhouette, with a poised stance and a slim frame. If Elia made an effort, she could almost forget that there had been a babe at all.
The sunlight deepened into the room ruthlessly and there was a knock at the door. Coral hurried to open.
A tall young man, dark of hair and violet of eye, entered and stopped at the threshold. "Princess," he said formally. "Prince Doran has sent me to collect you."
"I am coming, my lord," Elia replied and quite surprised, noticed that Coral was staring at him enraptured without even trying to hide it. The timing of this girl!
She took the arm he offered her and left the solar. Behind her, Ashara bent down to take Rhaenys' hand, although the little girl tried to wiggle out of it. Aegon's nursemaid would carry him.
As soon as Elia stepped into the corridor, her breath turned to searing smoke in her chest. Her cousin Alynna, Alynna Dayne now, was waiting for her – and she looked as terrible a sight as Elia despite the fact that she had tried to conceal it. They could be the twin images of hopeless despair. But there was no time for Elia to talk to her, ask how she was. Alynna just joined her ladies and Coral chose her, of all people, to ask, "Who is he?"
"Lord Dayne," Alynna replied.
"Ser Arthur's brother?" There was a silence and then Coral whispered, "Is it true that he's killed his wife?"
That was news for Elia herself. She had had no idea that there were such rumours. By the way Arel tensed next to her, she knew that he had heard… and so had some of the people crowding the halls and corridors they were going through.
"No," Alynna snapped without adding a scathing reply.
"Many things have changed since you were last here, Elia," Arel said.
"So I see," she agreed and wondered why there couldn't be one thing that had changed for the better. Just one.
Finally, they arrived at the Tower of the Sun and Elia blinked to keep away tears when on the dais, in the two seats she had always seen her mother and father, she now spotted Doran and Mellario. Arel's grip on her tightened, although no one could say that by looking at them.
"Come on," he murmured. "You know you can do it."
The Tower of the Sun was just as crowded with people as the halls. Elia saw familiar faces, coats of arms that she knew. All of Doran's bannermen were here. Even Yronwood had come. She looked for the cockatrice and her uncle's presence gave her some courage. She needed it… especially when she realized that her father had not come.
Concern pierced her like a spear, pushing all thoughts of her own state away. Was Alric in such a bad shape that he couldn't even summon the will to pass the three leagues from the Water Gardens to witness the event that would change Westeros? It's better this way, she told herself. For the honour of their House, for the stability of Dorne it was best that no one saw Alric's downfall. Certainly not all their bannnermen at the same time. And she felt foul for even entertaining such considerations.
When Arel led her to the dais, she glanced through the window and almost stumbled, taken aback. All of Sunspear had flooded the yards and squares as far as she could see. The people knew, they had learned somehow. "To the spears!" The cry rose again and again and them others hushed it, waiting to see what would happen now, waiting for Doran to make the announcement. Boys fought for room; men had taken small children on their shoulders to give them better view, taking away from the view of others who protested loudly. Men at-arms kept peace all around.
"Just for today, Elia," Mellario promised when Elia took her place in the chair that had been brought over for her and Elia felt relieved that someone understood. For all his intelligence, Doran was a man. He would never understand that a woman's looks was her armour and not just a weapon she could use in any way she wished.
From the crowd, Oberyn shook his head in disgust and said something to Arel as he passed by him. With immense relief, Elia noticed that the greeting Lady Delonne Alyrion, Arel's former goodmother, gave him was a very cordial one. But why am I relieved, she suddenly startled. I never believed that he truly killed her. Have I? Revulsion rose to her throat and she clenched it, clenched her lips to contain it inside.
More and more eyes fell on her and the children, Rhaenys with her dark Martell looks and Aegon who was the very embodiment of what a Targaryen should look like. Muttering rose and for a short while, Doran simply let everyone trade opinions of the insult they could now see with their own eyes. When he finally raised a hand, everyone fell silent.
"It's time," he said, his voice barely raised but everyone strained to hear him, "to reconsider our current standing with the dragon king, Rhaegar Targaryen. Because, out of all the nations that bent the knee to the dragons' might, we were the only ones who proved them wrong. "The dragon takes what he wants," they say but Dorne was never taken, it was given. And I think it's time for us to take it back. What is there for us in the Seven Kingdoms? What has the King ever done for us? He insulted us by hiding the woman he replaced your princess with here, in our very land. He let his father use his own wife and children as hostages to take our spears – for all I know, the idea was Rhaegar's own, for we know what care he showed them later."
The words fell Elia like a blow. In her heart of hearts, she had always wondered if Rhaegar had truly tried to get them out of King's Landing. He swore that he had but she was far from convinced that she could trust him. The thought that her children's father could have turned them into an arrow to release against Dorne was a bitterness that had not gone sweeter with time. She had never dared ask her brothers if they had the same suspicions.
Doran paused and the room immediately rang with shouts of resentment and indignation. His face revealed nothing but Mellario was smiling. For someone who professes to lack charm, he really knows how to hold a room in his thrall, Elia thought. A young page at the door repeated Doran's words for those who were too far to hear and she could feel that the pandemonium outside would soon reach the level of the one inside.
Again, Doran raised his hand and again, silence ensued immediately. "He used or let his father use my sister and her children against me. He took the spears wielded by Dorne's most able men. He bought his crown with your blood and the lifeblood of your fathers, your sons, your brothers. And then he repaid us by taking a stand against the very laws the Seven have given us. He set aside his wedded wife, something that he had no right to do, and took from his children their inheritance, their titles, their very name. He now says that he wants to make amends – but how is he going to do this? Can you trust a single word coming from his mouth of a liar? I know that I cannot."
He paused again and the hall and the crowd outside roared their agreement.
"He might give us privileges – and then take them back, breaking his word as he broke his word to my sister. If he was so quick to replace Elia, his princess, with Lyanna, his whore, and elevate the child of their unholy union built upon the blood of her own father and brother over the trueborn son his wife gave him, he will be just as quick to replace his favours in any aspect. He'll demand that men of Dorne die for him again – and he'll offer us an equally offending payment. What is to stop him from retracting the concessions Daeron the Good made us a hundred years ago? What is to stop him from enforcing the laws the rest of Westeros follows over our own ones, including the ones of succession? I say we've taken enough. We have our relations with the Free Cities. We don't need the Seven Kingdoms and we certainly don't need the whims of a man who would send his devoted wife, the mother of his two children who were already born and the third one in her womb, thus insulting all of Dorne after using us. I say we take the fate of Dorne back in our own hands!"
There was a roar of approval from the entire hall. Everyone was on their feet. Elia closed her eyes. "He's done it," she murmured. Suddenly, she felt so weak that she was grateful she was seated. The babe started kicking wildly and Rhaenys clung to her hand, scared by the commotion. Aegon, on the contrary, was watching with interest. "He's separated us from them."
When Doran signed the announcement with his own hand, when a huge banner with the three-headed dragon was taken out in the courtyard, thrown on the paving stones, trodden upon and burned ritually, Elia felt like it was the end of all her efforts, the admittance of her failure, the closure of a whole chapter of her life. But I'll write a new one, she vowed and looked at the left edge of the crowd, as if an unseen force had drawn her eyes there. Here, amidst the dark-haired salty Dornishmen stood Arthur. Unlike most of the others, he was staring straight at her.
|
"My mother she... she was raped, repeatedly by the same man. A man she thought she could trust" he confessed to me, when I finally had calmed down. I took a sharp breath at his horrible words "He was a warlock and the master of my mother. We animal partners chose a witch or warlock to serve to, but when we do we will have to follow their every order" even though he was speaking to me, I knew that his mind was somewhere else, maybe in his memories "When a warlock or witch and an animal partner have bonded, it can only be broken by death and even then the ramaining one will feel as if there was something missing. The relationship is not like a master/slave one, both of the parties are the same but one obeys the other one. That doesn't make any sense, does it?".
"It does" I replied, not liking his humorless chuckle. Danny shouldn't be so sad or angry, he should always be always smiling "A witch and an animal partner share a mind and soul, don't they? They are like platonic soul mates".
"Indeed" he said with pride in his eyes. As if he was proud of... knowing me? "That is a clave word Stiles: platonic. That man didn't understood that, he wanted more but my mother didn't. When she accepted being bonded to that warlock she never thought he would order her to sleep with him. A romantic relationship between a warlock or witch and their animal partner is frown upon in our society. Not that I care too much about those labels, is like being gay in the human society. As long as both parties want to... but mom didn't want to" he shook his head, a painful expression on his face.
That moment was when I decided to give him comfort and cradled his head on my chest, like my mother did all the time when I felt sad, and caressed his hair softly as I murmured sweet nonsense in his ear. When he had calmed down I spoke:
"I am a witch, aren't I? And my mom was one as well".
"Yes" he answered me "You don't have the slightest idea of how happy I was to meet you, Stiles. The linage of your mother is pretty famous among us, everyone wants to meet you but at the same time are afraid of angering you scared of the punishment that they will receive".
"Wow! Witches really must be powerful?" I commented impressed but then a dreadful thought bumped into my mind "Wait Danny, you know that I would never hurt anyone that doesn't deserve it, don't you?" I asked him concerned that he would think otherwise.
"Of course I know! Please believe me!" he exclaimed, desperate for me to know that he trusted me.
"Ok, ok relax dude" I said trying to calm him down, impressed by how much I might mean to him "I believe you".
"Good... and it is not any witch" he told me "With practice all can be strong but your bloodline is especial. There are different kinds of mages Stiles, each one of them has a gift and the powerful ones have two. However, there is a kind of them called the old ones their blood comes from the original witches, this kind has three gifts. You and your mother are from that kind".
"I have three gifts?" I repeated his words, it all sounded so weird.
Mom and I are that powerful? I would say impossible if I haven't seen stranger things. But why did she never mention it to me? What was she so afraid of that involving me was a big no no? I bombard myself with questions and totally felt pity for those that had to hear me all day long.
"Yes, you do" he replied "That is why I was so excited to meet you. An animal partner that serves such a powerful witch is envied by all of us. But that wasn't what attracted me to you" he confessed to me lowering his eyes when I gazed towards him.
"Never lower your gaze Danny" I told him strictly "I might be a witch and you an animal partner but for me you are a friend, an equal, not someone lower than me".
"That is what attracted me to you" he said with such a sweet tone of voice and a soft look that caught me by surprise "My mother raised me teaching me one lesson, the most important lesson of the house: never trust or bond with a warlock or witch. She never trusted them again and never want me to bond with one" That is why she never liked me! I exclaimed in my head, finally having closer "She told me all those kind of stories of how evil and horrible creatures you all were. So you'll know my fear when I smelled a witch my first year of starting school at Beacon Hills".
"Smell?" I questioned him confused "You have heightened scenes like werewolves?".
"The only differences between a werewolf and an animal partner is that while only a born Alpha werewolf can reach a whole wolf form, we animal partners can only transform into a whole animal" I nodded my head at his explanation "Also, we cannot heal like werewolves. Our healing period is the same of a human".
"That is why you healed slowly when the kanima attacked you and when dark druid poisoned you with mistletoe" I thought out loud "Wait a minute, mistletoe! Is it poisonous for you like it is for werewolves? Is there anything you are poisonous to?".
"No, mistletoe is as poisonous to us as it is for humans" he answered me patiently, not affected by my hyperactivity "And for what we are poisonous to, it depends by each animal partner" he must have seen my confused look cause he explained that with more detail this time "We are poisonous to what our animal is poisonous to. For example my mother animal form is a werewolf, so she is poisonous to wolf's bane. My animal form is a fox, so I am poisonous to foxgloves".
"Dolly noted" I murmured under my breath, making a mental check of Beacon Hills map to know where might we bump into foxgloves by accident.
"As I was saying" Danny started talking again, bringing me back from my thoughts "You'll know how scared I was when I found out that there was a witch at my new school, after all the stories that my mother told me. But you were anything but an evil and horrible creature. You were kind, cheerful, pretty, hyperactive, curious and intelligent, you are the most intelligent person I've met. I was enchanted by you. By how you wanted to be my friend but gave me my space when I reacted bad at your presence, but always tried again the next day" he looked at my with big shinning eyes full of adoration "I looked at you and thought: 'I want to serve this witch'. But I was so afraid, this time not for you to be a cruel mistress, but because I was afraid of rejection. So I went and asked my mom for help, I needed to know how did she managed to get a partner. I needed to know how to show you that I was good enough to serve you. You pushed me to be a better person, a better student, a better son and a better lacrosse player. You inspired me to be what I am today".
His eyes, posture and tone were like of a loyal dog that is always stays behind the door waiting excitedly for their owner to return home. It was too much, no one had ever seen me like that. As if I were their salvation, their angel. So I panicked and said the first thing that came into my head:
"Lydia is smarter than me".
Really Stiles? Really?! Couldn't you have made yourself a biggest fool in front of your only admirer? I beat myself in my head as I looked at the ground with an embarrassed flush on my cheeks.
"There are a difference between being smart and intelligent Stiles" Danny told me "Lydia might get higher marks at school, but who of the two of you knows how to put that learned into life. You Stiles are able to mix your intelligence, curiosity, instincts and big heart all in one and form a perfect strategy with it. Why else do you thing that Beacon Hills had been winning so much? Before all the supernatural additions to the team the only good players were Jackson and I. The only reason why we won was because of your strategies and we all knew it, which is why we all love you and treat you as a little sister. Also, why do you think that those fools stayed alive so long in our world? It is because of you, you kept them alive all this time".
"Thank you" I murmured under my breath "But that still doesn't answer my question" I told him confused "Everything you've told me points that you wanted to be my friend, then why didn't you?".
"Because when I went to ask my mother for an advice she went crazy, and threatened me with hurting you since you didn't know about you powers and would be defenses against a wolf" he confessed to me embarrassed, as if he was ashamed of being weak.
I couldn't let him feel like that so I told him: "Thank you Danny!" he looked at me shocked, surely not expecting that answer "You put myself first before your selfish desires, no one ever did that for me... not since my mother. So thank you for caring" I took his hand and squeeze it trying to give him comfort "But now I am aware of my powers and will be able to defend myself, so what do you think? Ready to me my animal partner?" my smile fell when I saw his guilty expression "What is wrong Danny?".
"We already are bonded" he told me fearfully, as if he was expecting to be screamed at. I really need to work on that. I thought disapprovingly. And speak with his mother to stop filling Danny's head with crap about witched being creatures of evil. I think we had enough with the witch hunts during the medieval era "After spending almost all my childhood and all my adolescence with you, and wanting you to be my mistress I unintentionally formed a half bond with you. The only thing that was left was for you to accept or reject my bold request. But you were unaware of it all, so when your powers awake I felt a pull from our half bond that drove me crazy" he shook his head recalling that feeling "I ran and ran towards it, blindly and in joy... until I found you having a panic attack. I took advantage of your weak stage and forced the bond to be complete, making your magic believe that it was the only way to save you. And it was! I was just trying to help you...".
"Calm down Danny! I believe you" I told him.
"You do?" he asked me vulnerably.
"Of course I do. You are my animal partner after all, we are one and the same" by his expression my words made his day "Now there is only a question left to ask?".
"Which one?" he inquired, eager to serve me into my search of knowledge.
"Will you follow me Danny?" I questioned him seriously "Will you follow me on my quest to know the truth of my mother's death?".
|
The camp was lost...people were dead. Good people...and Rick felt like it was his fault. It had been his plan to have Glenn drive that car, his plan to use noise to attract the walkers, and he wasn't there to protect them. Ed was killed, though that wasn't much of a loss for anyone, and so was Amy. The sweet hearted Beta who tried to see the good in everything. Rick had watched helpless as the strong and determined woman that was her sister, broke down, clutching at her sisters corpse. Jim had also been bit...they decided to go to the CDC, hoping and praying that someone was there to help them. Of course Shane argued, saying that Fort Benning, nearly 100 miles in the opposite direction was better, but Rick shot that down quickly. The group had agreed with him, the CDC was a better idea. Rick noticed that Shane kept his eyes trained on Lori and Carl and he started to wonder if maybe his old friend had changed so much that Rick was beginning to realize that they just...couldn't work together anymore. It also didn't help that the Omega in the group was still all over his mind and in his dreams. He found his eyes tracking Daryl's movements through the camp, he wondered about him when he went out of sight, he also noticed that he never strayed to far from Merle.
They had arrived at the CDC....and bodies were everywhere. Rick felt his hope dying as they side stepped corpses, everyones guns trained and even Daryl walking backwards, his back to Rick, subconsciously watching out for the Alpha. It would have warmed Rick's heart, until he saw the closed doors of the CDC. "No...no!" He yelled as he slapped his hand on the metal door.
"Walkers!" Andrea yelled, as she noticed some of the walkers getting up from the ground and more stumbling to them.
"Told you this was a waste of time!" Shane snapped at the other. "We gotta get the fuck out of here." He reached and took Lori by the arm.
Rick noticed the camera move and he stopped looking up at it. "Hey! Hey open the doors! We have children!" He begged the camera.
"Rick!" Lori said. "We need to go!"
"No someone's there! I saw the camera move." He said pointing up at it.
Shane snarled as he stormed over. "Don't be fucking stupid, it's probably automated. We have to go now!" He growled.
A few shots were fired off and Rick heard Sophia scream, he looked to see the young girl bury her face into her mother's chest and Carol looking at him with large eyes. He pushed Shane back. "there's someone here Shane!" He snarled as he slapped his hand on the door again. "Open the fucking door!" He screamed at the camera.
"Dad?" Carl looked at him, his mother's arms across his chest.
Rick felt helpless as he looked at Daryl, the Omega watched him and simply...waited. Before Rick could think of something the doors opened. "Inside!" He yelled holding his gun up as he pushed Lori and Carl inside, he watched as everyone filed in, Shane glared as he ran past, and Merle and Daryl bringing up the rear. He ran in after them, noticing the small bit of relief in the Omega's eyes. Rick doubled over as he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He bristled up as he smelled another Alpha, one he didn't know and his hands automatically shot out to bring Daryl and Carl slightly behind him. Daryl gave a huff but stayed silent and Rick looked up to see a man walking to them.
"Are any of you bit?" the man asked.
"No." Rick and Shane both said, the latter turning to glower at the former.
"Two Alphas? In a group of Betas...not something you see every day. Even in these times. Before I let you in I need a blood sample, to check for infection. you won't move from this spot and if you are infected then you will be out that door once more."
"Who are you?" Rick asked.
"I am Dr. Jenner, and I am the last of the CDC."
~~~:::::~~~:::::~~~::::~~~::::~~~:::::
Lori sat next to Carol, watching as Rick moved restlessly around the group, talking with some, but his eyes always straying to where Daryl and Merle were crouched down and talking with Carl, Daryl showing Carl something. Lori felt the small sting of jealousy as she watched Rick move to them and talk with them quietly. She had heard Rick talking in his sleep the night before, whispering and panting Daryl's name, and the way the Alpha had drawn, not her, but Daryl behind him when the unfamiliar Alpha walked up. She heard Carol next to her sigh and she looked over at the other woman who was gently stroking her daughters hair. "What?"
"You need to calm down. Remember Alpha's react to those around them and your scent is starting to give off the pheromones that would send an Alpha into a frenzy, and while Rick seems able to control himself I don't know if Shane would or if this new Alpha will." She said softly.
Lori glared at her. "I have every right to be upset with Rick-"
"He is taking care of the group, you are just jealous that there is an unmated Omega. You knew that going into a marriage to him." Carol said simply. "Alphas are always drawn to Omegas, no matter what."
"Shane isn't."
"Then maybe you should go back into his arms hm? Instead of causing pain on a bond that is slowly forming even if you don't want it to."
Lori growled at her as she got up and stalked over to a spot to think. Was she jealous? Rick was her husband...but she had already broken their bond by sleeping with Shane...she felt the guilt again. She looked over to where Rick was smiling at something that Carl was proudly showing him, Merle and Daryl rolling their eyes, the Beta brother smirking but the Omega was looking at Rick and Carl with a hint of longing in his eyes. Lori thought back to when she was getting ready for her wedding and her grandmother told her something about Alphas and Omegas.
"Alphas, my sweet Lori are that small percent of men who have a little something extra. Blessed by god they are. Your grandfather, rest his heart, was an Alpha and a great one at that. Fought in the war, served his country, but while over seas he found something." She had said.
"What was that grandma?"
"He found his Omega. Every Alpha has an Omega to compliment them. He brought the sweet boy home and our bond was broken. But I was more than happy to watch your grandfather find that other half of himself. Alphas are only half of a soul. My grandmother told me that they are soulmates. The red thread binds them together, but unfortunatly many Alphas don't find that Omega that compliments them. Remember this my sweet Lori, Rick is an Alpha and if he finds that Omega you need to step down, bow out gracefully like the woman you are and let him be happy."
"But what about my happiness?"
"Don't be selfish Lori, there are plenty of men in the world, but there aren't enough Omegas."
Those words rang in Lori's ears that day, even now they haunt her. She saw that Rick had been gravitating to Daryl and Daryl doing the same, but she couldn't let him go. He was her husband and Carl's father. She glared at Daryl, deciding that Rick was hers.
There was a sound and the man who introduced himself as Jenner walked back out. "You're all clear to come in. I have food, there's warm beds, and even hot water for showers."
"Well fuck me and call it Deliverance." Merle laughed making Daryl punch his arm. "What? Tell me it's not true! We ain't had a hot shower in weeks."
"And some of you need it more than others." Daryl smirked at his brother avoiding the punch to hide behind Rick.
Rick rolled his eyes. "alright, alright that's enough." He said shaking his head before he turned to Jenner. "Thank you."
Jenner looked around. "Once those doors close...they won't open again. I can't risk opening them again." He said softly.
Rick didn't like the idea of being cadged with an Alpha he didnt know but he looked around the rag-tag group. Everyone watched him with tired and haggered eyes, he saw the fear that haunted his son's gaze and he sighed, his eyes seeking out Daryl's who gave him the slightest nod to let Rick know he understood. Rick looked at Jenner and nodded. "Alright."
Jenner motioned them for them to follow him. Rick followed at a respectful pace and listened as Jenner explained the building to them. Rick watched as everyone went into rooms, claiming them. He saw Daryl and Merle take a room a few doors down from the one that Lori and Carl had claimed and for some reason he felt torn, wanting to go with Daryl but out of obligation needing to be with Lori. He sighed as he went into the room with his family and dropped his bag.
"Carl, why dont you go on and go find the showers with the others. I need to talk to your dad." Lori said suddenly.
Carl gave a funny look between them before nodding and walking out of the room. Rick sighed as he raked his fingers through his hair. "What Lori?"
"I want you to keep our son away from the Dixons. They aren't good people." She said folding her arms over her chest.
Rick rounded on her. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me Rick."
"I was just hoping i hadn't. What is this about?"
"Merle's a criminal first off and we know nothing of Daryl."
"That was before all of this." He said waving his hand. "Sure Merle's a racist asshole but he's good for a laugh and Daryl...Daryl's teaching him things I couldn't. You know I'm not a hunter, I have no idea how to field dress a dear or skin a rabbit. Daryl also knows his foliage and what's good to eat and what's not." He glared at her. "This has nothing to do with them does it."
She flushed angrily. "Of course it does! Like I said they're criminals!"
"No it's because Daryl is an Omega." Rick said coldly. "You are threatened by him because you know that he's the only person I'd leave you for."
The color drained out of her face. "N-no."
"that's exactly what it is Lori. You know that the only thing that can break a mating bond is finding the Omega that belongs with the Alpha. But you know what Lori? I've never been driven by my instinct. I have always tried to be a good man, fair and honest to all, trying to teach our son that being a person comes first over being an Alpha. I remember when that Omega got ran out of the department, he was a damned fine cop. A good shot with great scores and reviews, but everyone didn't give him a chance because he was just that. He was an Omega and that's all people saw. I remember what you said about him too, you told me it was for the best because an Omega didn't belong in uniform."
"He would have distracted-"
"No one. He was on his suppressants. You just think like everyone else, that an Omega should be at home and baring pups. I happen to think that Omegas can be just as strong as Alphas, and Daryl is no exception. The man is a damned fine hunter and if he can teach Carl something I can't then Im going to let him." He growled, his voice slipping into the standard Alpha voice. "And you know what Lori you have no right to tell me who I can and can't speak to. Because if I was half the Alpha my father was I would punish you for willingly jumping into an Alpha's bed while we are still bonded."
"But Shane-"
"Is an Alpha, what do you expect Lori? Alphas will always say other Alphas are weak or dead. If it means being top dog that's how it goes. I may be friends with the man and can understand the need for that nature, but what's your excuse? How long did you wait for he news of my 'death' to settle in before you jumped into his bed?"
Lori snarled as she slapped Rick across the face, her hands shaking in anger. "Don't you dare."
Rick chuckled. "You know what Lori...If you are so jealous then maybe you have the right to be. But Daryl is someone I just met, I have no idea if he's my Omega or not, if it turns out to be true and he dosent want me I will suffer through that, but if he does...well there's not a whole lot you can do, it is after all...in our biology."
Lori glared at him. "Get out. get the fuck out." She yelled at him.
Rick turned on his heel and stormed out the door, smacking right into Daryl. He yelped and jumped back. "Shit Daryl....I'm sorry."
"Ya alright? I was just headin over to grab ya, Jenner's got some food and figured ya might be hungry." He looked back at the door as it opened and Lori glared at him before storming past. "Shit...what's the queen bee's deal?" He asked. "Felt like she wanted ta slap me, and I ain't done nothin yet."
Rick sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face as he leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "It's not you...she's pissed off at me."
Daryl arched an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Whatcha do?"
"Funny thing is I didnt do anything." He said with a humorless laugh. "Shit You may as well know, she told me to keep Carl away from you and Merle."
Daryl blinked. "Tha fuck? I can understand Merle, guys a right fuckin ass, but I ain't done shit ta yer kid. Sept teach 'im tha shit ya couldn't."
Rick chuckled softly. "Yeah...I know. I tried to tell her that. The problem is your an Omega, she hates me being around Omegas."
Daryl's face flushed in anger. "Why that-"
"I told her to back off. Called her out on her sleepin with Shane and breaking the bond in the first place. Technically I'm a free Alpha now...but I have my morals. I respect people, no matter what their biology is. You may be an Omega but you're Daryl first and Daryl is a strong sombitch who is freaky accurate with a crossbow."
Daryl felt the blush creep in on his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks, I know most Alphas jus look ta us Omega's as bitches ta breed an keep, Merle's beat mo' dan his fair share o' asses ta keep me safe." He shook his head. "Hell half the time he was in jail was cuz that. Some fucker would try ta get his knot in me and Merle would come and beat his ass." He chuckled and sighed. "I hated bein an Omega growin up, my dad...he hated having an Omega son. He was a mean ass old Beta. Tried ta kill me on more than one occasion. Reason why I'm so good at trackin and campin is cuz when Merle had ta go away I'd run from home, hide out in tha woods...that is if my old man wasn't on a bender."
Rick blinked at him. "I'm sorry."
Daryl snorted. "I ain't taught me how to survive. That I didn't need nobody like everyone always said I would. I didn't need no Alpha ta take care o me."
Rick nodded. "I gave up hope finding an Omega, instead I married Lori when we were young, fresh out of high school, I thought she'd be it for life ya know? I knew every Omega in my town and never had any sort of reaction to them. Then the years kept going by and Lori finally got pregnant with Carl and I just forgot about wanting an Omega. course I wanted one, the old ladies at Church were always sayin how Omegas and Alphas were two halves of the same soul and when I was a young man I always wondered about it. I never actively sought out an Omega, or chased one. My father always said that I would know, the scent the Omega gave off would be everything that made it feel like home." he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face again.
"And now?" Daryl asked softly, scuffing his boots on the floor.
Rick opened his mouth and snapped it shut again when he saw Merle round the corner. "There ya are! Food's ready." He said, he gave an odd look between the Alpha and the Omega. "Need me ta come back?" He asked with a smirk.
"shut up Merle." Daryl growled as he stormed past Rick, silently thanking his brother for the distraction. He was half scared of Rick's answer and he wanted to get away and just get something to eat, take a shower, and go to bed.
Rick watched as Daryl walked away. The scent of the Omega lingering around him and he sighed as he followed Merle back to where everyone was waiting on them to eat.
~~:::::~~~::::::~~~::::::~~~:::::~~~::::
Dinner was fun for everyone, drinks were had, stories were swapped, and everyone laughed....except for Lori. She was glaring daggers at anyone who dared to say something to her. Rick ignored her for the most part, barely answering his son when Carl asked him what was wrong with his mother. He knew he'd have to talk to her, but he was more interested in drinking with everyone and just forgetting the world was a hellhole outside of the CDC for a little while. His eyes kept traveling to Daryl, but the man avoided his eyes and stuck close to Merle the entire night. Rick was miserable, his wife pissed off at him and the Omega that he knew his 'red string of fate' was tied to. That night, Rick couldn't sleep. He had opted to bunk with Dale, the man didn't mind only gave him a sad smile and gave him the other bed. He wondered the halls and followed the smell of unknown Alpha. He found Jenner sitting at a computer and he tapped on a table to let the other Alpha know about his presence. Jenner turned around and regarded him with tired eyes. "Ah. Rick, was wondering when you were going to show up."
"You were expecting me?"
"Not particularly. I figured that either you or that other Alpha would seek me out about answers. And with the other one...well he's not exactly the most stable Alpha I know. I think it might have something to do with that Beta...Lori right? You're wife?"
Rick sighed. "Yeah, something like that." He shook his head. "So...thank you again, for allowing us to be in here."
Jenner waved him off. "go to bed Rick, you're going to want that sleep come morning. All your questions will be answered tomorrow."
Rick nodded. "I can live with that. Good night Dr. Jenner."
"Good night Rick." He said as he watched the drunken Alpha leave.
The next morning everyone sat around the same table, only this time they were all hung over, with the exception of Merle and Daryl, who were tormenting everyone while T-Dog made eggs. Rick groaned as he dropped down into a chair and Lori slid over some aspirin to him. "From Jenner." He sighed as he took it, at least she was speaking to him. He saw Shane make a beeline for the coffee and he smirked.
"You feel as bad as I do?" He asked.
"Worse." The other Alpha said, practically dipping his nose into the coffee.
T-Dog saw the scratches on his face and let out a low whistle. "Shit, thats some scratch."
"Musta caught myself in my sleep." The Alpha growled.
Jenner chose that moment to come in and he motioned for everyone to follow him into the main room. "I promised you all answers." He said simply. Rick quickly got up and followed the man, the group close behind him. Jenner showed them logs and videos of something called 'TS-19' and Rick watched in horror as the brain died and slowly came back before a flash of light ended it all. "and that's everything. I've been in the dark for months." He admited.
Andrea looked at him. "So you're saying there's nothing left?"
Jenner stayed silent and everyone took that as confirmation. Rick caught sight of something and turned to see some kind of countdown on the wall. "What is that?"
"That is the countdown for how much fuel is left in the generators in the basement."
"When the countdown reaches zero, plant-wide detonation will occur keeping subjects within the building from getting out." the VI explained.
Rick went stiff. "Lori take the kids and the others to the rooms. We're going to go check the generators." He grabbed Shane, Glenn, T-Dog, Merle, and Daryl and went down to check the generators. While looking, the room they were in went dark. The small group ran back up to find the panicked survivors with Jenner in the control room once again. Rick felt his arms filled with young and terrified Alpha as Carl looked up at him. "Everyone gather your things, we're leaving." He pushed Carl to go get his things when the doors slammed shut. He rounded on Jenner and felt his heckles raise.
"When the doors shut, I'm not opening them again." Jenner said calmly.
"You will let us out." Rick snarled.
"I can't, even if I wanted to. Don't worry...the end will be quick." He said as he explained how the building would be destroyed. "It will be instantaneous, you will still be with your family."
"You son of a bitch!" Daryl screamed as he launched himself at Jenner.
Rick ran forward and grabbed the Omega yanking him off the Alpha. "Daryl calm down!"
Lori looked at Jenner, her arms around a sobbing Carl. "Please...we want to continue on. We want to live." She begged him.
Jenner looked at her sadly, his eyes traveling to a picture by his computer. He looked at the smiling woman and sighed. He hit a button and motioned for them to leave. "You can try...but you aren't going to get far. The upper level is still locked."
"We will find a way." Rick said as he nodded at Shane who started leading everyone out of the room. "Thank you...I'm greatful for everything youve done."
Jenner sighed. "You won't be." He leaned forward to whisper something into Rick's ear.
Rick's eyes went wide and turned to see Jacqui watching him. "Let's go."
Jacqui shook her head. "I can't fight anymore. It was nice meeting you Rick, you go and take care of your family."
Rick looked to see Andrea staying behind too. "Andrea?"
"I have nothing left-"
Dale stepped in front of her. "If you stay...so am I."
She glared at him. "You dont-no...Dale you go!"
"Amy wouldn't want this..."
"Rick come on!" Daryl yelled.
Rick turned in a daze and ran after the Omega, following on scent alone. The rest of what happened in a blur, Carol finding the grenade he had found in the scavenge in Atlanta and they blew out one of the windows. He watched as everyone piled outside, shooting Walkers as they ran for the cars. Rick was thrown into the jeep with Daryl, Merle starting up his bike with a roar, and Rick saw Dale and Andrea running to them and the building behind them exploding as the two Betas took cover. Rick watched the building go up in flames and he could feel the heat and saw as they got up and ran to the RV where Glenn slammed the door shut. Merle let out a yell and shot off, Daryl following behind him as they started back on the road, looking for a new palace to try to make their second chance at life. Rick reached over subconsciously and took Daryl's hand, he expected the Omega to pull away, but was surprised that Daryl's fingers curled around Rick's, giving the Alpha a new kind of strength.
|
Wakanda was a beautiful place. It had this ethereal beauty that made Steve feel as though he was transported into a different world each time he set foot outside. Ever since Bucky had decided to go back into the ice, Steve had taken to exploring the jungle just outside of the compound’s doors. The feel of nature – the buzzing of creatures all around him – the sounds of life helped ease his deadening heart. All the drive, all the stubbornness in him had drained away the moment the tube slid shut, encasing his friend in the ice once again. He still believed that what he did was right – the Accords were nothing but a leash – but if so, why did he feel so lost?
Wanda had gone with Clint, the two of them venturing out into the city despite T’Challa’s warnings to stay hidden. Steve could understand their feeling. Anger coursed through him at the thought of Wanda, not at her, but at Tony. He didn’t understand how the man could consent to locking her up – first in the Avengers’ facility, and later again at the Raft. When he’d gone to break them out, he nearly threw up at the sight of Wanda in a straitjacket and a shock collar. She had remained catatonic even when he gently pried the collar open, and it wasn’t until they reached Wakanda that she began to stir. The rest of the rogue team had been equally upset over their time at the Raft, Sam even more so when he realized that Bucky was missing an arm, and that Tony had been the one responsible for that.
Steve didn’t manage to get a word in edgewise before Clint was cursing up a storm, the archer condemning Tony with every sentence.
Sam stayed with him, every bit the loyal friend he was, and Scott disappeared – only resurfacing occasionally when they had meals together. Steve felt a twinge of guilt at having dragged the man down with them, but comforted himself with the thought that they weren’t in jail. He’d done his part – he’d gotten them out of jail. He could have left them there, but he went back for them.
A small part of his mind told him that he couldn’t have done so if Tony hadn’t been incapacitated.
Steve shook his head, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts. The fight had happened, he couldn’t do anything about it. He had done his part by sending Tony the means of communication – a risk on his part considering he was a fugitive – and all that was left was for Tony to contact him.
A phone goes both ways, his mind whispered traitorously.
Steve ignored it.
He trudged through the jungle, taking the time to just appreciate nature. And that was all that he was doing – appreciating nature, nothing more, nothing less. When the sky began to darken, Steve turned back, his shoulders hunching the closer he got to the facility. The state-of-the-art facility was more similar to the Avengers’ compound than Steve ever thought it would be, and it pained him whenever he put together a sandwich and turned, only to find that nobody was there.
(He missed Tony)
Despite how the building reminded him of his time at the Avengers’ compound – games, laughter, family – it was also a reminder of everything that was different now.
Where the Avengers’ compound was raucous, this facility was quiet, the only sound being the humming of electricity that ran throughout the building.
Where the Compound was filled with laughter and life, this one was silent and – maybe not quite dead – but hollow.
Steve sighed and stepped into the building, the automated doors sliding shut behind him quietly, cutting off all noises from the outside. The former leader shook his head, trying to get rid of the white noise from the sudden silence. He headed to his room – if it could even be called that, he had a living room and a bedroom – intending to wash off the sweat and grime that covered him.
The moment he stepped past his door, Steve paused. Closing the door behind him silently, he reached out and flicked the light switch, the illumination throwing a black-clad figure into view.
Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he smirked slightly, “Did you have another falling out with your wife?”
Fury leaned back in the chair, “The Avengers Initiative was created for a group of people who would fight together, not each other.”
The grin on Steve’s lips fell, his good mood vanishing entirely. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Steve sighed, “Did you come all the way to Wakanda to tell me this? How did you even find me?”
Fury raised an eyebrow, “Don’t kid me Rogers,” the man barked, “Anyone with half a brain can figure out where you are. And yes, I came here to tell you this, why, are you feeling guilty?”
Steve scowled, “Guilty? Why would I feel guilty?”
Fury cocked his head, “Tell me Rogers, was it worth it?”
Steve swallowed. The question was a loaded one, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to answer it. Licking his lips, he ran through everything that had happened, the fighting, the guilt for leaving his team behind, the guilt for leaving Tony alone in Siberia, but above all the exhilaration at getting Bucky – his best friend – back. The joy he’d felt at the realization that he'd gotten him back, had successfully saved him, never mind the fact that Bucky was back in cryo now – it drowned out any other emotions he felt.
“Yes.” He replied firmly, planting himself solidly like a tree, because Bucky would always be worth it.
“Good.” Fury said, “because if your answer was no, I'd put a bullet in your head. Not that I'm exactly opposed to doing that now.”
“What?” Steve tensed up defensively, his eyes flicking downwards to Fury’s hip involuntarily.
Fury eyed him darkly, his fingers tapping lightly on his thigh, “I didn't spend all that time and effort putting the Avengers together and pissing off the World Security Council just for you lot to break it all apart over a small little thing.”
“Shouldn't you be talking to Stark then?” Steve snapped, “Fury, I don't know if we're talking about the same thing, but the Accords aren't something small, at best, it's a leash that the government wants to put on us. At worst, it's a cage - a collar around the Avengers' necks!”
“It’s interesting Captain,” Fury drawled, “How your first sentence is to blame Stark.”
“What? I didn't – ” The hero stammered.
“Didn't you Captain?” Fury snorted, “Why should I have talked to Stark? Care to enlighten me?”
Steve reddened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, “Stark tore the Avengers apart when he signed that damned Accords –”
Fury barked out a laugh, “Hilarious, the guy who everyone demands accountability from actually agreeing to be accountable. What was Stark thinking?” The man mused.
Steve gritted his teeth, suppressing his anger, “He didn't consult any of us, he signed the damn thing knowing that we'd be like dogs on a leash. I've seen what happens when someone tries to control other people Fury, you’d do well to remember that. It's not pretty.”
“So instead, you choose not to be held accountable for your actions, break the law – several laws in fact – become a fugitive, endanger the lives of those on the team and the lives of civilians, instead of discussing this?” Fury asked.
Steve glared at him, “What's your deal Fury? You of all people should know why I did what I did! The Accords are glorified leashes for the Avengers, all it would have done was make sure that we wouldn’t be sent to where we were needed. What happens if the Avengers are needed and we're not there because some politicians decide that the people aren't worth saving? How was I supposed to discuss anything when Stark had already gone ahead to sign it?”
Fury sighed, “If you had paid attention and actually read the damn book properly, you would have realized that the document needed everybody's signatures in order for it to be amended.”
“They locked the team up in the Raft!” Steve roared, stepping forward, his hands clenching into fists.
“Because you let them!” Fury hissed back, matching his tone, “You broke the goddamn law Rogers, where did you think those on your side were going to end up? A hotel? They were put in the Raft because of your actions in Germany! It wasn’t part of the Accords, but you gave Ross all the reasons he needed to dump them in a supermax prison because you went all out to prove that you were a menace to society –”
“I didn't –” Steve protested.
“You did.” Fury growled. “What did you think would happen when you chased your buddy down a busy road? For everyone to part like the fucking Red Sea? You’re a national icon Rogers, you used your goddamn shield and caused a pile up when you crashed your car – that you stole – into other cars. Those cars had people, civilians in there - did you not think of that? Congratulations Captain, you’ve made the public afraid of you. Because of your little stunt in the tunnels the whole world is now wondering if Captain America is worthy of being a hero. Your name invokes fear because they're wondering if Captain America will beat them to death if they resist him.”
“I couldn't let them take Bucky.” He defended, his hands trembling at his side, tasting bile at the back of his throat.
“And that's what it boils down to isn't it?” Fury grinned, all teeth and no humor, “Everything you did, every action you took, only had one objective: protect Barnes. You didn’t give a damn to what happened to anyone else as long as your best man was safe.”
“No – that's not – I didn't only do it for Bucky!” Steve protested, backing up slightly.
“Didn't you?” Fury challenged, “You and Barnes put a dozen German soldiers in the hospital with critical injuries and another half dozen are in their graves. Was that for the Accords or for Barnes?”
Steve looked away, clenching his jaw, “They were going to shoot him on sight.”
“And that justifies what you did to them?”
“Bucky didn't do anything wrong, he wasn't the one who bombed the UN.” Steve growled stubbornly.
“That would be great – fantastic even – if you had gone to the right people instead of trying to handle it yourself.” The spy growled, “You could have gotten a 24-hour grace period to look for Barnes if you’d gone to the right people. 24 hours at least to prove that he didn't commit the crime. Instead, you ran off half-cocked trying to get your buddy and proved that you needed a fucking leash.”
Steve swallowed audibly but said nothing.
“Tell me Captain," Fury cocked his head, reclining in his seat, "What were you doing for the past five years?”
Steve's forehead marred with confusion at the sudden change in subject, “I – what?”
Fury continued staring at him, unimpressed. Leaning forward, the ex-director of SHIELD asked, “Who sent you on missions? Who gave you bolt holes to clear up as Avengers? Who debriefed you?”
Tensing again, Steve squared his shoulders, a stern look on his face, “That's different Fury, you know it.”
Fury raised an eyebrow, unaffected by Steve’s patented Stare of Disapproval, “Do I? From where I am, I see the same thing. You worked with SHIELD for five years, going on missions that we handed out to you, attending debriefs after every mission. You answered for your actions when casualties happened under your watch. That is accountability Rogers. You are extremely familiar with it.”
“That's different.” Steve insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, “SHIELD wasn't run by people with agendas –”
“Tell me the truth Captain,” Fury interrupted, glaring fiercely at him, showing Steve how much he had earned the title of Director, “Did you reject the Accords because you didn't agree with it, or because Stark did?”
“I –” didn't agree with it, Steve thought. That was the reason why, wasn't it? It couldn't be because Tony had agreed (blindly even) to sign the damn book. He wasn't as petty as that – right?
The hesitation was one second too long, and Fury nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer. The man stood up in a fluid motion, the action jarring Steve from his thoughts.
“I didn't sign because it was the wrong thing to do.” Steve said firmly, locking eyes with Fury, “I'm not so petty to put the team at risk just because I don't agree with Stark.”
Fury tilted his head, condescension oozing from him, “Do you know, millions of dollars of property damage was racked up at Leipzig.” He stated.
Steve closed his eyes regretfully, “I heard, but we had no choice, Tony wasn't backing down.”
“You could have talked to him, about Zemo.” Fury pointed out.
“There wasn't any time –”
“Don't give me that bullshit Rogers." The spy master growled, "You had time to pick up three extra passengers, all from different places and one from a different time zone. I don't believe that you didn't have time to talk to Stark about your little problem.”
“He wouldn't have believed it!” Steve snapped, hands clenching to fists, “Tony wouldn't have trusted us, why else would he bring us in? Besides,” Steve said bitterly, “the Accords wouldn't have allowed him to help at the time.”
“He wouldn't trust you, or you wouldn't trust him?” Fury shot back.
Steve's breath knocked out of his lungs, his eyes widening at the question.
Fury pressed on unrepentantly, “You say that he wouldn't believe you, but a single offhanded comment about Zemo had him searching for evidence. You say the Accords wouldn't allow him to help you, yet Stark still dropped everything and flew to Siberia in direct defiance of the Accords. Between the airport and the Raft I don’t think he retracted his signature on that document. So, tell me Captain,” the man loomed, his lone eye boring into Steve's sky blue ones, “is it because he didn't trust you, or because you didn't trust him?”
Fury gave the hero an impressive stink eye and swept out of the room, leaving Steve alone with thoughts and emotions that threatened to crush him.
That couldn't be right – he trusted Tony didn't he? He’d fought with the other man many times in battle, they shared several meals together, trained and played together. They were a team – Steve trusted Tony. Right? But no, that didn't seem right either. Steve trusted Iron Man on the field, he trusted Tony Stark with the gear the team used, trusting in the man's engineering capabilities. Steve trusted the man to look after their public image whenever the Avengers made an appearance.
But Steve didn’t trust Tony.
The realization pulled the rug from under his feet, and Steve collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he crumpled to a heap at its base. His face contorted in horror, oh god what had he done? How could he not have realized this? He’d forgiven Wanda for her part in Ultron’s madness, why couldn’t he forgive Tony for his creation of the murderbot? Why was he always so quick to believe the worst of Tony? Sam had said that Tony wouldn’t believe them, but the genius had proven them wrong hadn’t he? He’d heard Steve say nothing more than a truncated sentence – and despite fighting against them, Tony had still found evidence of Bucky’s innocence and came after them to help them. And Steve had repaid that by crushing his shield in Tony’s chest.
Steve pressed a fist to his mouth, his chest aching fiercely.
Tony was right, he didn’t deserve the shield.
|
Somewhere between the positive result and throwing up in the shower the next morning, Steve decided two things. First, he really should get that doctor’s appointment, as soon as possible, though for completely different reasons as to why Bucky and Nick were trying to get him to go.
And the second was, that no matter what Tony’s reaction was, or what anyone else said, he wasn’t going to terminate the pregnancy.
He’d heard the horror stories relating to male pregnancies, the complications and low rate of natural child birth. It wasn’t as common as female pregnancy, and while Steve had never known any guy, personally, who’d gotten pregnant, he’d seen them around, and they’d had to watch a documentary about it for health class in sophomore year.
There were risks, but that didn’t negate the fact that, even while he stood there in the shower for far longer than he usually let himself, there was a tiny life growing inside of him. Risks just meant it was even more important to see the doctor.
The very thought of any harm coming to his and Tony’s baby, though the logical side of his brain reminded him that it was little more than a cluster of cells, made his hands move to protectively cover his stomach, as though that in itself would shield that tiny life.
He could do it, have the baby and raise it. It was months off yet, there was time to prepare for becoming a father. He’d be eighteen and finished school before it was born, and he’d make it somehow. It’d be hard work, then, it wasn’t exactly like his life had been easy up until that point, but it’d be worth it. To hold his baby in his arms and make sure it was happy and safe. It’d be all worth it. It’d have to be.
Nick made him an appointment for two that afternoon, and he spent the morning curled up on his bed, with ginger tea and dry toast that Bucky was insisting would help with the nausea. His phone was there, on his desk, and there was the nagging thought that he could just send Tony a message, tell him via text. It was cowardly, he knew that, and he was definitely not a coward. It might have been unfair to go to the first doctor’s appointment without Tony though.
The thought weighed heavily on his mind, but two in afternoon came around sooner than he anticipated, and then he found himself in the doctor’s office. His heart felt like it was beating too fast and his chest felt too tight, but the doctor, a woman in her thirties by the name of Dianne Fielding, was one he’d seen before, and had always been kind and considerate. She talked to him about the risks, some of which he already knew, about the options, and when he made it clear that he was keeping the baby, she wrote him a list of all the prenatal vitamins he should take, and booked him in for an ultrasound Thursday after school.
He had the plan all laid out in his head, to tell Tony Monday, after school, and give him the time and date of the first ultrasound, so he could be there if he wanted to. Then, after that, some time, he’d tell Bucky, and then have to inform the group home, preferably via Nick, but that’d be once he had a definite plan all worked out.
The plan didn’t last long though.
He got back to his room, the stupidly expensive prenatal vitamins all secreted away in a paper bag, clutched tightly in one hand. Bucky was sitting on his bed, text books littered across the bed spread, pen hanging out the corner of his mouth and note book propped on one knee. He looked up, glancing at Steve’s face, then at the bag in his hand, then back at his face, frowning slightly.
“This is going to sound crazy, and I really hope that it is just that,” Bucky paused, tapping his pen against his temple. “You’ve been sick, for over a week now, and no one else has caught it, and this could all just be crazy talk, but–”
Another glance at the paper bag, and he just knew that Bucky knew, that his friend had just worked it out, and there was no way he could deny it.
“Steve? Are you pregnant?”
He couldn’t answer, his throat felt too tight, so he said nothing, instead dropping the bag onto his bed, and starting to rummage through his backpack for his Math homework. It was answer enough in itself.
“Holy shit! You are.”
At Bucky’s exclamation, Steve jerked his head around, glaring at his friend, though he was sure his panic was showing through. He closed the door quickly, hoping no one was eavesdropping. “Don’t have to shout it.”
He heard the waver in his voice; this wasn’t how he wanted to tell Bucky, hadn’t been part of the plan, but that was too late now. Bucky was giving him an odd look, almost as though he didn’t really know who Steve was anymore, but the edges were etched with concern. It mattered to him what Bucky thought, it might have been Tony’s baby, but if Bucky shunned him, he thought that’d be worse than if Tony wanted nothing to do with him.
Bucky shook his head slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Didn’t even think you’d given up your v-card yet, Stevie.”
He felt his face heating up, but he tried not to feel embarrassed. He didn’t regret losing his virginity to Tony. He didn’t regret that night at all. “Well, it wasn’t immaculate conception.”
“Who was it?” The tone was full of accusation, and when Steve didn’t reply, Bucky continued, “Please, tell me it wasn’t Stark.”
“It wasn’t Tony.” He deadpanned the outright lie, knowing that Bucky would see right through it. But if there was one thing he’d learnt from observing Tony over the years it was that a little bit of snark and sarcasm went a long way towards defending oneself.
Bucky’s gaze snapped back up, glaring. “Liar.”
He shrugged, making a point of standing there, matching Bucky’s gaze. “You didn’t want to hear it.”
The brunette looked like he was about to retaliate, but he sighed instead, shaking his head again. “What are you going to do about it? I mean, there’s a clinic down town, I could go with you if you wanted to, you know, get an abortion.”
His hands curled instinctively over his stomach, gaze flickering over to the chemist bag. The sick feeling was returning, but he was sure part of that was the direction of the discussion, and not all hormone related. “I’m not getting rid of it. I’ve got an ultrasound on Thursday.”
“Stark know? He know you’re keeping it? I mean, shit, Steve, you saw the videos we did, learnt the same stuff, this isn’t exactly going to be a walk in the park. It’s dangerous, especially for you.” Bucky got up from his bed, coming across to look inside the bag. “Not doing it by halves are you?”
Steve bristled, snatching the bag back. “Especially for me? I’m not as frail as you pretend, Bucky, you should know that I’m built of tougher stuff.” He took a deep breath, trying to squash down the anger he felt towards Bucky for doubting him, the fear that Bucky really was right, and that things would just go wrong no matter what he did. “Tony doesn’t know. I’m telling him Monday afternoon.”
Bucky looked a little like he’d just been slapped, but after a moment his smiled tentatively. “He gives you a hard time about this and I’ll kick his arse.”
He couldn’t help but smile back. That was the Bucky he knew, protective and loyal to a fault. “I can fight my own fights.”
Bucky’s smile stretched into a cheeky grin, and he reached out, shoving Steve lightly on the shoulder. “Shouldn’t be fighting in your delicate condition.”
It would have been easy to rise to the bait, to shove back and laugh along with Bucky, but he had something else to say first. “You don’t have to agree with what I’m doing, Bucky, but, you’re my best friend, and I hope that means you’ll stick by me, no matter what happens.”
The grin faded, but Bucky slung his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close and ruffling his hair with his free hand. “I’ve got your back, Steve, you know that. Always. I’ve punched enough guys to look after your scrawny arse the past couple of years. And since you’re still insisting on getting yourself into stupid situations, I’ll just have to start looking out for your pregnant arse instead. Who knows, you might finally stack on some weight now, eating for two and all that.”
“Shut up, Barnes.” He grumbled half-heartedly, letting his head fall against Bucky’s shoulder, and just taking a moment to enjoy the physical comfort that seemed too little and too far between in his life. There was so much uncertainty, about everything. The baby, how Tony would react, how he’d manage to look after his child when it was born. How he’d even afford it. But, even with all that doubt, at least he knew he’d have Bucky at his back, looking out for both him and the baby. “Thanks, you know. I really appreciate you being my friend, despite everything.”
Bucky huffed a laugh that sounded almost offended. “Of course I’m your friend, dummy. But, in all seriousness, what are you going to tell people? What about Nick and the rest. What if they kick you out?”
He hadn’t thought that far ahead, had barely even come to terms with being pregnant, the long term plans and bug hurdles seemed irrelevant, until he’d told Tony at least. That way, if Tony wanted to be a part of it, they could do all the planning together. “Don’t know yet. I’ll be eighteen before the baby’s born. Figure something out.”
///
He messaged Tony Sunday afternoon and asked if they could catch up Monday afternoon.
Classes had finished for the day, but the morning sickness had faded around lunch time, only to be replaced by the nervous churning of his stomach half way through the last class.
Bucky was there, holding his school books for him while he threw up what little lunch he’d managed to eat. He didn’t miss the concerned looks that Bucky had been giving him since Saturday, because he knew that his friend was trying his best not to mother him.
“You alright?” Bucky asked when Steve finally re-emerged from the toilet cubicle.
“Yeah, I’m...” Nervous. Scared. Terrified that Tony will freak out and I’ll be all on my own. Terrified that I won’t be able to do this on my own. ”Fine. Just afternoon sickness. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Bucky fished something out of his pocket, before handing over a packet of chewing gum. “You’re a fighter, hey? Think if I had to puke every day several times, I’d have gone mad.”
Accepting the gum, he gave Bucky a tired smile. “Thought you already were mad.”
Tony was waiting for him at his locker, leaning against it, the way he was fiddling with his phone the only indication that he wasn’t as cool and collected as he wanted to appear.
“Shove ya butt, Stark.” Was Bucky’s greeting as he shouldered Tony out of the way.
Tony staggered to the side, clutching his shoulder dramatically. “Such a bully, Barnes. I don’t know how you could ever be friends with Steve. Speaking of, hey cute stuff. You alright Stevie, look kind of pale there.”
He could sense Bucky bristling beside him, and half expected some kind of over protective outburst from him, but thankfully his friend stayed silent. Tony was looking at him a little too curiously, so he quirked his lips in a smile, before practically diving into the locker in order to pack up his school backpack. “I’m fine.”
There was a muffled snort from Bucky, who was still leaning into his own locker, which might have been a barely disguised “Bullshit.”
“Okay. Um, yeah, that’s good. Very good. So, what did you have in mind for this afternoon? There’s this pretty cool book shoppy cafe kinda thing that’s just opened, if you wanted to check that out, apparently they have a pretty good selection of sci fi novels, and I thought it’d be good to check them out.” Tony leant back against the lockers, tucked in close enough to Steve that he could feel the warmth coming off of him. It was so tempting just to shift a little to the side and press against that warmth.
Finally packing the last of his homework into his back pack, Steve stepped back, closing and locking his locker. “Sounds good.”
“Think I’ll pass.” Bucky interjected, feigning obliviousness, slamming his locker shut as well. “Catch you back at home, alright Steve?”
Steve turned, catching the look that Bucky gave him, the one that quite clearly said ‘call me if you need backup, don’t be a stubborn idiot’. “Yeah, see you back there.”
Tony was talking nonstop as they walked, but Steve was hardly paying attention. He couldn’t concentrate on the words, and the nervous churning in his stomach was threatening to make him sick again. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around his stomach and press his face against the side of Tony’s neck, feel his arms around him, and just ignore the pressing issues for as long as possible.
That would get him nowhere, and it was better to tell Tony before it became too obvious to hide anymore. Besides, he wasn’t going to run away from this issue. However Tony reacted, he could deal with it. He’d decided to keep the baby, even if it meant raising it all by himself.
They were getting closer to the shopping centre that was closest to the school, there were going to be a lot of people around once they got there. It was probably something they were better off not discussing in a crowded area. Taking a deep breath, he just went for it.
“Tony, we need to talk.”
Tony stopped dead, Steve’s momentum carried him forward another two steps before he stopped and turned to look at Tony. The other boy’s face was guarded, that blank mask that seemed to be there every time he was involved in a confrontation.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Tony’s voice wasn’t masked nearly as well as his face, the first twinges of hurt slipping around the edges of the words.
Steve blinked. “No. That’s not it. Wait. We were dating?”
Tony made a scoffing noise, mouth twisting into what looked to be a cross between a smirk and a sneer. “I don’t just kiss anyone, Steve. What did you think this was?”
His lungs felt a little too tight, mind reeling. He’d been going out with Tony that whole time, and hadn’t even known it. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone out with anyone before. I just thought you... You never asked.”
“Oh, Steve.” The defensive look slipped off of Tony’s face, replaced by a soft smile, looking slightly nervous. “I was going to, at the party, but you left. I just thought, you let me kiss you at school, and I’ve liked you for ages, you won’t believe how surprised I was when you let me, we had sex, and I never thought that’d happen because you always seemed too good for me. I mean, you’re nice to everyone, but only friends with Barnes and Carter. Didn’t think I ever had a shot at being with you, because you just seem above everyone else, but not in a pretentious way, I don’t even think you realise it. And, I’m babbling, feel free to shut me up any time.”
The words were all jumbling in his head. Tony thought he was too good for him, that was a sentiment he never thought he’d hear. But that wasn’t the most important part. Tony wanted to be his boyfriend, thought he already was, and it was unfair to not tell him what he was getting himself into.
“So, I’ll do this properly this time, so there is no mix ups, okay?” Tony stepped a little closer, bringing one hand up to brush his knuckles against Steve’s cheek. “So, what do you say, Stevie, want to be my boyfriend?”
He wanted to say yes, to just lean into Tony’s touch and enjoy the moment and not worry about the fact that he was pregnant for as long as he could put it off. But there was the ultrasound on Thursday and Tony deserved to know. He took a deep breath, trying to push as much air into his lungs as possible, feeling his chest tighten a fraction too, his pulse thundering slightly erratically in his ears. He just had to say it. Two words, and it’d be out there in the open. Distantly, he wished Bucky was there, just in case things went wrong. But Bucky wasn’t there, and he just had to be brave.
“I’m pregnant.”
|
Bagel Castiel walked into the room (well, really he more hopped into the room, because he is a bagel and therefor did not have legs or know what legs were) where Dean Bagel sat, watching Dr. Sexy Bagel. Dean bagel was entirely convinced that there had never been and never would be a sexier bagel. Until, of course, Bagel Cas walked (hopped) in front of the television screen. Okay, so maybe he was wrong. “Dean Bagel, I told you to put up the cream cheese. Why are you so untidy?” He questioned. “I'm the one who gripped you tight and saved you from the toaster oven. You can't at least do one thing I ask?” Bagstiel demanded. Dean was watching the television still through the gaping hole in Castiel's body. Suddenly, his gaze drifted to Bagstiel as his mind wandered down a path that it shouldn't have been wandering down. He was trying to watch Dr.Sexy, damnit, but his bagel dick did not want to stay in its bagel pants where it most definitely belonged. Whatever, he supposed he could catch the episode later. He clicked off the television with a smirk. His eyes scanned Castiel's perfectly rounded form, his crust glittering with a light glaze in the low light, and he felt his own mouth begin to water. “I could make it up to you.” Bagel Dean said suggestively, slipping to the floor in front of Cas. Cas reared back in surprise, but Bagel Dean reached up with his bagel sides and held Cas steady. Cas slowly relaxed, still slightly confused, but starting to become hard. Bagel Dean leaned forward and mouthed at Cas's baguette, which was quickly rising like dough put into an oven. Bagel Castiel moaned as Bagel Dean took it out of Castiel's pants and quickly licked a stripe up the breaded length, moaning at the flavour of Castiel's butter. Dean swore sometimes that when the Great Baker had made Castiel, they infused honey into him, just to make him all the more sweet. Dean would never get enough of the taste of Bagstiel. “Oh, Bagel Dean,” Bagstiel moaned, bucking his bagel hips upwards. Bagel Dean sucked harder, feeling Bagel Castiel's baguette hit the back of his throat. He let out a startled moan, reaching down quickly to free his own hardening bread wand from his pants. “This was so worth you leaving out the cream cheese.” Bagel Dean pulled away, and Bagstiel let out a growl of disapproval. “Hold on. I think we can make this better.” He promised, smirking. Bagel Castiel looked down at Bagel Dean's now free erection, a bead of butter swelling at the tip, and he nodded his head. He knew that bagel Dean was too far aroused to leave himself like that, so he would be back soon. Bagel Dean swayed his bagel hips as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing the cream cheese. When he returned, he found Bagel Castiel slowly stroking himself, using his own butter as lubricant. He almost dropped the container from just how hot the sight of it was. “Did I tell you you could touch yourself?” Bagel Dean demanded, grabbing Castiel's sides to stop him from his stroking. Bagstiel stood up tall and straight, a challenge. “Do I need your permission to touch my own body?” He challenged. Dean smirked and sauntered over, dropping to his knees. “No, but after I'm through with you, you'll never be able to touch yourself again. You'll always crave my touch. I'll get under your crust like the blueberries you were baked with, and your own touch will never quite feel the same. Then, you'll finally understand, why they name crumbs after bagels.” Dean said, stroking up and down Castiel's breadstick with the cream cheese. “I know, Dean.” Castiel panted, smiling, “And what is that? Is that the cream cheese?” “Yup, Cas, all for you.” “Wow, it's so smooth. I can't believe it's not butter.” He said. Dean then became impatient and took Castiel into his mouth, moaning deep in his throat and causing vibrations to travel up Castiel's cock. He let out a long moan and ran his fingers through Bagel Dean's Bagel equivalent of hair, losing himself in the sensation. Finally, Bagel Castiel felt like he was about to burst, and his breadstick was leaking delicious butter down Dean's throat. Dean continued to swallow down all that Castiel's bagelhood had to offer, milking him like a cow bagel. Dean Bagel loved the taste of his angel. Not even the Pilsbury Doughboy himself could make a more delicious treat. “Dean, I'm close.” Bagel Castiel said. Dean pulled out, bringing up one of his sides to run along Castiel's length. “Butter on my face.” Dean growled possesively. “I want to feel you running down my glaze.” Finally, with that, Bagel Castiel couldn't hold out any longer. He let go, his butter running in streams across Dean's face, then quickly beginning to cool into white, gooey substance. Bagel Dean licked a little off of his lips, and he had Cas immediately hardening again. “Turn around and bend over.” Bagel Dean urged. Bagel Cas did as he was told, and he felt Dean rise behind him, reaching forward to stick his bagel fingers into Cas's waiting hole. It was gaping, inviting, and just the right size for Bagel Dean's massive bread dong. Bagel Cas was fully prepared, and Dean couldn't wait any longer. He slowly slid inside the hole, moaning out at the smooth texture. “Ugh, Cas, your whole wheat hole wraps around my cock so nicely.” He groaned. He gave Castiel a moment to adjust before he slowly began to pull out, loving the crumbly texture of Castiel's insides. He gave a mighty thrust back in, hitting Cas's sesame seed and causing the other to gasp out in pleasure. “Dean, yes, pound into me! I knead you!” Castiel choked out, eyes rolling back in his bagel head in pleasure. Dean smirked before he started to thrust in and out at a merciless pace, his baguette hitting Castiel's special sesame seed over and over again, causing the other's length to rise even more, become even harder, like stale bread. “Oh, Cas, take it you whole grain slut!” Dean exclaimed, pounding into Bagstiel. Bagstiel felt his toes curl in pleasure (or at least he would have, if bagels had toes) as he took all that bagel Dean had to offer, moaning out his pleasure. “Scream for me.” Bagel Dean growled. “DEAN!” Bagel Castiel screamed as Bagel Dean hit his sesame seed prostate one last time, pushing him over the edge. His loaf exploded, curved, seductively yellow streams of butter covering his chest. Dean followed shortly after, coating Castiel's insides with the silky yellow substance. After they were done, Castiel collapsed onto the couch, and Dean quickly wormed his way behind him. Dean wrapped his bagel arms around Castiel, tired and sex-drunk. “We should get married.” Dean said tiredly, not really meaning it. Okay, so maybe he did mean it, but now was the only time he'd ever say it. “The other bagels would never approve.” Castiel said flatly, tired of bagel Dean's shit. “Maybe we could eloaf together?” Bagel Dean suggested. Bagstiel paused. Okay, so that idea seemed just a little too appealing to him, but who was judging? “Go the fuck to sleep, Dean.” He huffed out, closing his eyes. They fell asleep in each other's bagel arms.
|
Request by Mhtbleach
Just thinking… What if CBX went to Japan and Baek decides to pull a prank on Chenchen. But it turns out bad and our little kitten almost gets catnapped if it wasn’t for BTS.
Minnie gives Baek a hard time for losing their precious maknae and Chenchen is so out of it that he can’t remember where they’re staying and he can’t call because his phone got broken during the incident.
Baek could have dared Chenchen that he wouldn’t be able to pick up some food of them dressed like a girl…
Or just simple, Chenchen was supposed to meet Baek in front of a club and Baek decided to let him sweat a little bit by coming late. Once he arrives, he can’t find Chenchen and he only finds his broken phone.
Word count: 3034
He really needed to stop being so naïve.
He also needed to stop putting his faith in Baekhyun’s words. He was just so convincing it was hard not to go along with it.
So here he found himself on the sidewalk waiting for Baekhyun to arrive so they can visit this new club that was apparently the talk of the town, not like he would be able to understand that talk seeing as his Japanese skills were still more than lacking. He didn’t even know why he was doing this. He didn’t like partying.
Sure, he did enjoy a good drink from time to time and liked to dance to music but club settings weren’t really his thing. But Baekhyun had looked so dejected when he said no that he just couldn’t help but finally agree despite the look of disapproval being sent his way from Minseok.
He curses himself internally as he realises it’s thirty minutes past the time Baekhyun had said he would meet him there he still hadn’t shown up. This is the second time in two days Baekhyun had managed to make him do something he really didn’t want to. He shuddered as memories of yesterday filter back into the forefront of his mind.
He promises to burn that dress when he gets the time to. He’s just lucky he had shaved his legs the day before and that Baekhyun is surprisingly good at applying makeup or he would have received a lot of unwanted attention as he walked the streets, none the wiser that they were walking next to EXO’s Chen who just so happened to be dressed as a girl. He knows he’ll have nightmares about it later. He shudders at the thought.
Now, back to the present.
He was incredibly annoyed. It was getting late and he was starting to shiver, the cold going straight through to his bones as his clothes were definitely not built to face the colder elements. He hadn’t dressed appropriately like he normally would but he hadn’t expected to be outside for this long. He knew it never took long to warm up in clubs, the warmth of the many bodies practically acting as a heater.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets in a futile attempt to warm them up. It was dark, Japans night life in full swing. People were all over the streets, most walking in pairs or small groups dressed like they were going to hit the clubs, something which he would have already been doing if it wasn’t for the fact that Baekhyun still had yet to show with no message to indicate he was running late.
He pulled out his phone to see if he had received anything since the last time he had checked it and wasn’t surprised to find that there was still nothing. He sighed.
He was about to put his phone back into his pocket when he felt a presence behind him. Despite his annoyance he smiled.
“It’s about time you showed up!” he says as he turns around only for his smile to nearly completely vanish as it’s not Baekhyun he sees, but a slightly intimidating man standing before him. “Um… can I help you?” he stutters out in what’s probably awful Japanese pronunciation. He doesn’t even know if he says what he thinks he said.
“Korean?” the mans asks him and Jongdae become more weary due to the deep and gravely nature of the mans voice. Jongdae doesn’t know why but he nods, albeit hesitantly. “Good. Come.” The mans says in simple Korean and Jongdae just stares at the man like he’s grown a second head.
“Um, no thankyou. I’m waiting for a friend.” He takes a step back unlocking his phone to call Baekhyun but is stopped when his arms is grabbed and yanked, his phone falling out of his hand and smashing to the floor, the screen going completely black and Jongdae panics. It’s more than likely to be broken.
He looks around for help as he tries to resist as the man tries to pull his closer towards the street where a conveniently placed van is waiting, something he had only just noticed, but either no one notices what is happening right before their eyes or no one cares that someone is just about to be kidnapped.
He’s about to cry out when he’s ripped away from the man and pushed behind someone, multiple bodies surrounding him with and arm wrapped around his waist to support his body, his knees weak.
The only question he has on his mind is what on earth had just happened.
~X~
They loved Japan. It was so different yet so similar to Korea at the same time. It wasn’t often they had time to spare while they were in the country but it seemed like luck was on their side this time. They were all excited, even Yoongi who usually preferred to stay in and sleep when they had the time. Actually, he had probably been the most excited out of all of them.
Their schedules that day didn’t finish until a bit after eight pm, so by the time they had all gotten back to their temporary accommodation, had a quick bite to eat, showered and gotten changed it was close to eleven at night. They had all experienced just how cold it could get of a night time so they were sure to rug up. They couldn’t afford to get sick.
The city looked amazing of a night time. The lights shone brightly and paired up with the bustling of pedestrians and traffic only added to the atmosphere. It was a city that never slept, the streets packed with people long into the night and into the next morning.
“Hey! Can we go to that sushi place we went to last time?” Taehyung asked, puppy eyes looking straight into Namjoon’s.
“We just ate Tae.” Namjoon pointed out.
“But I’m starving! I could die.” He whined as he clutched his stomach dramatically and Namjoon rolled his eyes.
“Come on Joon. You know we could all eat more.” Seokjin said to the leader.
“You know we have three bottomless pits in this group.” Yoongi added, earning a hey from Seokjin, Taehyung and Jungkook simultaneously.
Namjoon sighed. “I guess we could.” He caved, earning yips from the members. “Come on then.” He waved them in the direction of the sushi bar. They may have only been there once but it was hard to forget the way there. He had also had plenty of experience manoeuvring the streets of Seoul so this was a piece of cake.
They passed multiple clubs on the way there. Most of them were hidden during the day, hidden so well you wouldn’t even notice them as you walked right by. They actively avoided the clubs unless they had no choice but they knew they couldn’t stay out to late and going around them would take way to long so the only option left for them was to pass right through the middle.
As they walked they talked amongst themselves. They were listening to Seokjin drone on about this new recipe he had found when their attention is drawn elsewhere.
“Hey… is that Chen from EXO?” Hoseok questioned. The members turned towards him and followed over to where he was pointing, squinted at the man in question.
“I can’t be. EXO aren’t in Japan at the moment.” Said Jimin, frowning.
“No.” Jungkook said, eying the man critically. “But CBX are.”
It’s then that he notices the man who could be Chen looks uncomfortable, another bigger and much nastier looking man standing in front of him.
“Even if it’s not I think we should do something, he doesn’t look comfortable at all.” Seokjin comments, sounding concerned by what they were witnessing. They all nod.
Just as they started moving forwards they see maybe Chen step back, only for his arm to be grabbed and his body yanked forward by the other man. They race forward, reaching them just before they make it onto the street and rip the shorter maybe Chen man away from the other man.
Namjoon pulls the maybe Chen behind him and out of the other mans reach, Jungkook and Seokjin coming to stand next to him. They may be the biggest three in the group and while the other man is bigger than them in both height and muscle mass, there’s no way he would even think to try anything against more than one individual.
“Just what do you think you were doing?” Namjoon snarls, thanking the heavens that he had studied up on enough Japanese words and phrases to string the sentence together.
The man doesn’t reply, only taking one look at them all to before walking off, knowing there was no point in fighting it. Jungkook wants to chase after him but he knows it’ll do no good. What could they really do anyway?
The three of them turn around to see the others trying to calm down the man who, now that they have a better look at him can tell that he’s definitely EXO’s Chen.
He’s shaking, obviously shocked by what had just happened but really, who wouldn’t be? It’s not every day that you’re practically nearly kidnapped right on the streets with hundreds of bystanders.
“Hey, are you alright?” Taehyung asks the older man who looks at him, eyes wide at both the situation that had just occurred and that the people who had saved him were BTS.
He opens his mouth to answer then only to close it as he tries to process what had just happened. It’s something that’s not easy for him to try to get his head around. “Um, I’m – I’m okay… I think.” He says, voice shaking. “I was almost kidnapped.” He whispers as if to himself though it’s loud enough for everyone to hear. “Thankyou.” He says, looking at them with so much sincerity they can practically feel it.
There’s no need for him to thank them but none bother to try and tell him otherwise. They all just smile at him reassuringly. Seokjin is about to speak when the older man shivers, bringing his arms up to hug himself this time because of the cold and they can all see that his clothes were not made to keep him warm.
“Here, take this.” Seokjin shrugs of his jacket and holds it out to the singer who takes it with hesitant hands.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure. You need it more than what I do anyway.” At that he puts the jacket on, zipping it up right to his neck. The jacket is too big for him, that much they could tell. It dwarfed him and they had to fight the urge not to coo at the adorable site, the elder pulling the sleeves to cover his hands certainly didn’t make it any easier for them to resist.
“Hey, Chen um… we were just about to go and get something to eat if you wanted to tag along.” Namjoon suggests knowing that the singer wouldn’t want to be alone after what had happened and neither of them really wanted to leave him alone in the first place. Who knows if that guy was still lurking around somewhere ready to strike again.
Chen looks like he’s about to decline the offer but they can all see the moment he caves in, his need for company over taking everything else. “Sure.” He says and the members lead him in the direction on the sushi place.
Jongdae walks between them, Taehyung with a hand around his waist on one side and Jimin on the other. He’s the same height as Jimin but in this instance, between the two and snuggled in Seokjin’s oversized jacket he looks so much smaller.
The one thought they all have on their minds is that they were lucky Taehyung had wanted sushi so much. God only knows what could have happened to the older singer if they hadn’t been there to stop it.
~X~
Baekhyun was late.
He was late and it wasn’t an accident.
He had just wanted to have some fun. He knew the younger wouldn’t be angry, annoyed definitely but not angry. It was just some harmless fun and Jongdae was too easy to trick. He was naïve and it was something that everyone was aware of. He always sort of felt bad for the tricks he played on the younger beagle but he would just laugh it off and that guilt would disappear.
He looked at his phone and seeing that it was an hour past their meeting time he decided he had made him wait long enough. He opening his contacts to call the other but it just kept ringing and Baekhyun frowned, letting it ring out only to call his immediately after. His frown deepened.
It wasn’t like Jongdae to not pick up the phone when someone called. Sure, he was a bit lazy when it came to messages but never to phone calls. Maybe he was ignoring him? But if he was ignoring him Baekhyun knew that he would have declined the call rather than let it ring out. He would want Baekhyun to know that he was annoyed.
He walked from the twenty four hour café he had been waiting at to the club where he had asked Jongdae to meet him, calling Jongdae on the way and still receiving no response from the younger singer. He walked faster, his walk turning into a jog as he tried to get there as soon as possible, the dial tone ringing in his ear.
When he reached the club he looked around but Jongdae was nowhere in sight. He rung it again and didn’t hear it ringing. Did he leave? Did something happen to him? He continued to look around, walking around the area quickly as he started to get worried.
Suddenly he stepped on something, the crunching sound making him stop dead in his feet. Looking down he lifts up his foot and swears he feels his heart lodge itself in his throat as he recognises the familiar phone of Jongdae, the case being a dead giveaway that it’s his.
He picks it up, taking in the cracked screen. He tries to turn it on but nothing happens. It’s completely dead, a lost cause.
Baekhyun begins to panic.
What on earth had happened for Jongdae’s phone to end up smashed on the floor with the owner being nowhere to be found?
He does the only thing he can think of.
He messages Minseok.
Hyung…I lost Jongdae
It didn’t even take a minute for Minseok to respond.
From: Minnie hyung
What do you mean you lost Jongdae?!!!
Baekhyun gulped.
Minseok was going to kill him and then he was going to get Kyungsoo to help him hide his body.
~X~
“Hey hyung. Do you want to message Baekhyun hyung and tell him you’re alright?” Taehyung asked Jongdae. The elder had given them permission to call him by his real name and Taehyung had been taken full advantage of it.
Jongdae’s face twisted into an annoyed expression at the mention of Baekhyun’s before morphing into one of mourning. “My phone. It got knocked out of my hand and broke. It’s still back at the club.” He whined. “It’s probably useless now.” He says, upset. He had only just gotten a new phone as well.
“Here.” Taehyung hands his phone over to Jongdae. “I have Baekhyun’s number if you want to call him or something… let him know where you are.”
Jongdae takes Taehyung’s phone and opens up the message app. After finding Baekhyun’s number he types out a quick message. He would call be he’s to annoyed at the elder to even think about talking to him.
This is Jongdae
Jongdae waited.
From: Baek-hyung
IS THAT REALLY YOU DAE?!
WHERE ARE YOU!
WHAT HAPPENED
WHY IS YOUR PHONE BROKEN AND SMASHED TO PIECES??
WAIT…
WHY ARE YOU TEXTING FROM TAEHYUNGS PHONE?
Jongdae clicked his tongue as Taehyung’s phone lit up with message after message, the members of BTS looking on at the screen in wonder. Usually he would be amused with Baekhyun using all caps but right now he just wants to throttle the man.
Yes it’s me
You left me in front of a club
In the cold
By myself
I was nearly kidnapped by this big Japanese guy
My phone fell
I was saved by BTS
We’re now eating sushi
That’s why I’m using Taehyung’s phone
Jongdae typed the nights events using only enough words to get the most important details to Baekhyun.
From: Baek-hyung
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE NEARLY KIDNAPPED?
HOLY SHIT ARE YOU OKAY?!
WHERE ARE YOU?
ILL COME TO YOU RIGHT NOW!
I’m fine thanks for asking
I’m not telling you
I’ve found new friends to replace you
Suddenly an idea popped into his head and he smirked as he typed out a reply. His smirks only widened as he pressed send, picturing the look of horror on the elders face.
“Um, are you okay?” Jimin asked tentatively as he watched the elders wide smile.
Jongdae hummed. “Everything’s fine. Perfectly fine.”
~X~
‘Holy shit’ Baekhyun thought as he couldn’t quite believe what had just read. He wanted to do nothing more but go to the younger and hug him tight.
From: Taehyung
I’m fine thanks for asking
I’m not telling you
I’ve found new friends to replace you
Baekhyun frowned when he received that reply. Jongdae was definitely annoyed with him and all he could feel was guilt. If he hadn’t thought it would be fun to make him wait none of this would have happened.
He was about to reply when another message popped up, one that made his blood run cold.
From: Taehyung
I’m telling Minseok
Baekhyun stared at his phone in horror, the blood literally draining from his body. His phone bussed again and he’s pretty sure his heart stopped beating when he saw who it was from. With finger that shook so badly he opened the message and whimpered.
From: Minnie hyung
You’re dead
|
“Clear these plates boy” Uncle Vernon barked.
Harry scrambled up and wedged his way around the table, uncomfortably aware of Aunt Marge’s eyes on him. The day had gone by in pretty much the same vein as all of Aunt Marge’s visits. After calling for her nephy-poo she’d bustled into the Dursley house, Ripper close at her heels, and set about making her presence known. Dudley hurried forward to receive his usual £20 note and Aunt Petunia put on her usual exclamation of delight that sounded as though she was surprised to see her.
Harry had tried to linger on the stairs as long as possible, still trying to wrap his head around the situation, but Uncle Vernon had caught him. Grabbing him by the arm he had pulled him roughly into the kitchen to say hello and suffer Aunt Marge’s opinions on how runty and mean-looking Harry was. She hadn’t really gone to town on him yet, but dinner was almost over and she was on her fourth glass of wine. It was only a matter of time now. Of all the days in the past to wake up in, why did it have to be this one?
Ripper growled at Harry as he passed with the dishes, taking great care not to tread on his paws. He had no desire to be chased up a tree again. Aunt Marge’s bulldogs were the reason Harry used to feel uncomfortable around dogs, until he met Fang. What would he give for Hagrid to barge in right now, bearing his pink umbrella like a sword, and take him away again. It would be a welcome escape from what felt like an extremely intense nightmare. Maybe it was just the horror of being returned to the past, but the colours and smells of Privet Drive felt more intrusive somehow. The floral tablecloth and salmon pink walls seemed brighter, Aunt Petunia’s spotless surfaces gleamed harsher. Her preparations for Aunt Marge’s visit had left a cloying scent of lavender and cleaning bleach that made him want to gag. Despite the smell, Harry stayed in the kitchen as long as he dared, having no desire to go in and listen to Uncle Vernon’s joke about an Englishman, a Scotsman and a Chinaman who walk into a bar…
That was the worst thing about the situation. His uncle seemed scarier to him now. At first Harry thought it was just because he was small again. Everything was bigger now. He’d sat down at the table for dinner to find that his feet no longer reached the floor. So at first he reasoned that Uncle Vernon just seemed bigger now too.
Except it was more than that. Throughout the day Harry noticed small differences in the way his uncle acted around him. When he yanked him from the stairs, sending him roughly into the banisters in the process. When he accompanied his orders to bring Aunt Marge’s bags upstairs with a swipe at Harry's head that he didn't manage to duck. When Harry had entered the dining room ahead of him and Uncle Vernon had shoved him forwards. Even the Uncle Vernon who had put bars on his windows hadn’t been so casually rough with Harry.
Harry returned to the dining room and watched his relatives from the door. Aunt Petunia was fussing over Dudley’s bow-tie while Aunt Marge guffawed at Uncle Vernon’s joke, her many chins wobbling. Uncle Vernon sat at the head of the table, reclining in his chair with his hands rested satisfactorily on his stomach. Seeing the grin on his face, Harry realised what had changed. Ever since Harry had got his letter from Hogwarts, Uncle Vernon had been afraid. And not necessarily of Harry and his magic. Of the wizards who seemed to know his every move. Of giants who break down the front door and give his son a pig’s tail. Of flying cars in the middle of the night. His Uncle had, to an extent, started to fear repercussions from wizards. He’d started to lay off Harry, so long as Harry didn’t cross the line.
Now the line had changed. Harry was crossing it by just existing.
“Are you deaf boy? Help your aunt bring in the plates for dessert”.
This Uncle was not afraid. He was content and confident as the King of his little castle in Little Whinging. And Harry was back to being his favourite fly to swat at.
As Harry carefully set the dessert plates down Aunt Marge decided she was long overdue for her favourite past-time. She set her hungry eyes on him, face flushed red with wine. “Have you considered Vernon” she began, “that the boy could be mentally retarded? Standing there gormless by the door, almost as though he couldn’t hear you”.
A part of Harry inwardly scoffed at the irony of Aunt Marge’s comment, calling him gormless while her ‘Dudders’ had spent dinner barely paying attention to his surroundings. His aunt and parents fawning over him were only distractions from the food. However, to Harry’s alarm, another part of him inwardly flinched at her words.
“If he is there’s not much to be done about it” Uncle Vernon said, eyeing Harry nastily. “Petunia tells me his teacher has declared him a lost cause”.
Harry’s teacher that year had been one of Aunt Petunia’s friends from her book club, who had been completely oblivious to the fact that Dudley was stealing Harry’s homework to pass off as his own. Harry didn’t say anything, but felt his face burning.
There was a brief respite from the conversation as Aunt Petunia proudly brought in her cake from the kitchen. It looked horribly similar to the sugared violets pudding she'd made, or rather will make, for the Masons in 3 years time. But complimenting Aunt Petunia’s frosting could only hold Aunt Marge’s attention for so long.
“I suppose it comes from the father” she drawled, spooning herself another helping of whipped cream. As ever with Aunt Marge, it all came back to breeding. “He was unemployed, didn’t you say?”
“Yes” Aunt Petunia said quickly, dismayed as always at Harry’s parents being brought up in conversation. “Yes, he was unemployed”.
“Do make sure to not blame yourselves if the boy turns out the same way” Aunt Marge continued, patting Aunt Petunia’s hand. “You can’t change things if a child is born a certain way. Educate him, civilise him all you wish, but if there’s no hope for the father then there is no hope for his spawn”.
Harry stared down at his plate, leaving the tiny slice of cake he’d been permitted untouched. It was unnerving, how deeply Aunt Marge’s words seemed to cut him. The last time he’d been forced to endure Aunt Marge, the time he’d sent her floating like a grotesque balloon up to the ceiling (oh how he yearned to do that again) he’d been furious at the lies and insults coming from her mouth. Hearing her vile words now he was still angry, but also, alarmingly, ashamed.
After years of hearing other wizards singing his parents’ praises, of feeling a warm glow of pride at being likened to them, he’d forgotten just how much he’d once absorbed the Dursley’s lies. Even once he grew old enough to know better, to no longer desire the approval of the sort of people who would place Dudley on a pedestal, he couldn’t escape the shame that twisted in his chest whenever his parents were mentioned. It hadn’t helped that everyone at school, both children and teachers, knew Harry Potter as the boy whose drunken parents had got themselves killed in a car crash. Dudley had particularly enjoyed spreading that story.
That his younger self was feeling that old shame now, despite knowing the truth, was unsettling. Harry tried instead to focus on his anger, flickering dimly in the corner of his mind. Right now that anger felt like a lifeline to his older self.
Unfortunately the angrier he got, the more Aunt Marge turned her attention to him. Harry tried to ignore her, desperately wishing for this day to be over, to get out of this house, to get back to his own bloody time-
The time came, once the cake was finished, for presents. Aunt Marge had gotten Dudley a very large Christmas present of course, but now it was time for a New Year’s Eve present. Harry knew he’d gotten a present as well. Aunt Marge would not miss the chance to humiliate him, to make him feel jealous of Dudley. He remembered this day, this present, all too well. Younger Harry had been expecting it. But he’d still shrivelled in shame at the gift.
She’s just an evil cow, he told himself. It doesn’t matter. Nothing she does matters. But then he pulled back the wrapping paper and saw the box of dog treats. And the shame, the humiliation, the jealousy, all hit him like a tonne of bricks, crushing him under their weight. Harry felt himself trembling. He looked up from the dog treats, to see the satisfied look on Aunt Marge’s face, the glare from his Uncle Vernon, daring him to complain, and he knew he was supposed to say thank you and act like he was grateful, he was supposed to say thank you, and they were so much bigger than he remembered…
Panic rose in his throat again at the idea of the future being a dream. His hands itched wildly for his wand. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t stay here. He had to get back to his own time, it had to have been real. He tightened his grip on the box of dog treats, his mind burning white hot. It had to be real. It had to be real. It had to-
The dog treats flew out of his hands with the force of a gunshot and slammed against the wall.
Silence fell on the Dursley household. Four pairs of eyes looked at him. Dudley glanced up in bewilderment from his new robot dog. Aunt Marge and Petunia looked scandalised, mouths open in shock. An eternity seemed to pass before the silence broke. Harry felt Aunt Petunia grab his arm and twist it, scolding him while Aunt Marge’s voice ranted in the distance, raging about how Harry was ungrateful and needed discipline. Harry barely registered it. He was watching his Uncle Vernon.
Uncle Vernon was gripping the back of his chair, his knuckles white and poking out of his large pink hands. He was staring at Harry in horror. Harry felt his gut plunge. His uncle had seen him use magic.
|
After a brief nap in each other's arms, Jareth and Sarah woke to their stomachs growling. "We should eat something," Sarah said as she got up and started to get dressed.
Jareth watched her put her underthings and dress back on, a smile on his face. "Have I told you today how beautiful you are?"
Sarah turned to face him and blushed slightly at the way he was staring at her. "Perhaps, but I never tire of hearing it."
Jareth stood and wrapped his arms around her. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in the Above or in the Underground." His kissed her softly before resting his head against hers. "I love you."
"Jareth..." she gazed into his eyes. She wanted to respond to him, but part of her wasn't quite ready to admit that her feelings were in fact, love. "I..."
"Shh..." he placed a finger over her lips. "There'll be plenty of time for you to sort out your feelings, my love." He paused to kiss her forehead. "You needn't feel obligated to reply just because I said it. I just look at you sometimes and feel so full of affection for you that it's almost as if I would bust if I don't express myself in some way." He ran his hands down her back. "And while I enjoy expressing these feelings physically, I do believe we both need food and time to recover. You exhaust me, Precious," he teased as he smacked her ass.
"Me? Exhaust you?" She laughed. "However do you keep up with a Kingdom of goblins if you can't keep up with one human girl?" She teased right back.
Jareth chuckled as he started to get dressed. "Well one, she's no ordinary girl, and two, I'm not doing very pleasurable and physically exhausting exercises with the goblins."
"Sounds like excuses, Goblin boy." She joked as she leaned against the wall, her eyes traveling down his lean figure as he buttoned his shirt.
His eyes met hers, and both started laughing. "You truly are my equal, Sarah. In every way." He told her as he slipped on his shoes. Holding out his arm to her, he asked, "Shall we?"
She took his arm and let him lead her out the door. "Isn't your car at the library?"
"No, I used magic to get there."
"Jareth!" She scolded.
" Yes, I know, no more magic until I'm back to full strength."
"And you better not forget it." She told him firmly.
"Yes, my Queen. Of course, my Queen. Whatever you say, my Queen." He said in a sarcastic singsong tone, which earned him a hard smack on the arm.
Back at Sarah's apartment, Dani was sitting in the living room enjoying a good book and a hot cup of tea. Tammi finally got up about an hour after Sarah left. She was nursing a hangover and dreading going to class in the morning. "Are you sure it was a good idea to let Sarah run off to see him again?"
"She'll be fine Tammi. James seems like a nice man." Dani stated.
"Yea a nice man who got her in bed after 1 date " Tammi groaned. "I just don't trust him, even if he is sex on legs."
"Well if you really want to know who he is then I guess we need to go see the German again." Dani offered.
"Are you suggesting we have a background check done on Kingsley?" Tammi's eyes were wide.
"If it puts your mind at ease, then yes."
"Let's go!" Tammi shouted as she grabbed her coat, not even caring that she was still in her pajamas.
Hours later, after a plesant dinner, Jareth sat in the car with Sarah outside her dorm. "Are you certain you don't want to stay with me tonight, Precious?"
"While the offer is very tempting, I do have class early in the morning. If I stay with you I have a feeling I'll miss all my classes." Sarah told him as she grabbed her purse.
"Would that be so bad?''
She laughed lightly. "I will see you tomorrow."
"You'll come to see me at the library?" Jareth asked.
"Of course. I do have to keep working on my thesis." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. "Goodnight, Jareth."
She started to get out of the car, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "That was hardly an appropriate goodnight kiss, Sarah." He kissed her passionately, his tongue invading her mouth as his fingers tangeled themsevles in her dark hair.
When he let her go, his eyes were dark and lust filled. After giving her another quick kiss, he whispered, "Goodnight, my Queen."
Sarah got out of the car and closed the door. Leaning in the open window, she gave him a gentle smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, my King."
Jareth sat there grinning like a fool as he watched her enter the dorm. Once she was out of sight, he put the car in gear and headed back to his apartment.
Sarah entered her dorm to find it empty. There was a note on the counter from Tammi and Dani stating they had gone out for food. After a quick shower, Sarah headed to bed, resting peacefully the entire night.
Next morning, Sarah hurried to class and tried to concentrate, but she kept watching the clock, counting the minutes until she could rush to the library. After what felt like twice the time it actually was, she was free for the day and ran straight to the library.
She immediately looked for Jareth, and was greatly disappointed to see Mrs. White at the desk. With a heavy sigh, she went to her usual table and sat down. As she pulled her books out of her bag, she felt strong hands on her shoulders. "Eveything alright, Precious?"
"Jareth." She turned to face him, a giant smile on her face.
"James, dearest," he whispered. "We are in public."
"Right, sorry, Jamie." She teased she brushed her leg agaist his intentionally as she turned in her seat.
"Vixen." He shook his head. "I shall deal with you later. Now, as I was saying, is everything alright?"
"Yea, everything's perfect now."
"Did you fear I was gone?" He asked as he sat on the edge of the desk and removed his wire rimmed glasses.
Sarah took a moment to admire the dark blue suit and white silk tie. "I was a little concerned when I didn't see you." She admitted.
"No need to fear, love. I'm yours for a week." He stood and held his hand out to her. When she looked at him with a confused expression, he explained, "I was about to take my lunch break. Would you care to join me?"
"Sure, let me pack my things up."
As Sarah gathered her things, he went to inform Mrs. White that he would be gone for an hour. She nodded and then watched him leave, his arm around Miss Williams. "He's trouble with a capital T."
As they walked outside, a delivery boy approached them and Jareth smile,"perfect timing." He paid the lad and took the bag from him.
"You had this all planned, didn't you?" She asked when he retrieved 2 large bags from his car.
"Perhaps," he smirked. "Something wrong with that?"
Sarah just shook her head and followed him to the small park near the library. Once there he pulled a large blanket from one of the bags and spread it on the ground, underneath a large oak tree. As Sarah sat on the blanket, Jareth pulled out plastic cups and a large jug of water. The bag from the delivery boy had 2 subs and 2 bags of chips.
"I know its not the fanciest meal,"
Before he could finish his sentense, Sarah learn over and kissed him. "Its perfect."
Jareth sat beside her and together they had a quiet meal. They laughed and talked and ignored the looks and comments of anyone that passed them. It was no secret to anyone one campus who Jareth was now. Those that hadn't seen him in the library had at least heard of his dramatic rescue of Sarah from the Pike house. And while rummors of Sarah and the handsome librarian had already spread like wildfire across the campus, Sarah didn't care at all. Let them talk. Jareth was hers, and even if she didn't want to admit it, she was his.
Once the food was gone, Jareth had her turn away from him and gently massaged her shoulders. "You really should practice better posture while working at your desk, Sarah. Your back is all knotted."
She moaned softly as he worked her muscles. "Will you still do this even if I don't have knots?"
He chuckled and kissed her neck. "Of course, Precious. All you have to do is ask." He whispered in her ear. He continue his massage for a few more minutes and then had her lay back, her head resting on his lap as he rubbed her temples softly.
"Keep this up and I fall asleep on you." She said softly as she closed her eyes.
"We wouldn't want that, at least not yet." He teased. "Shall I read to you a while?"
Opening her eyes, Sarah smiled up at him. "I'd love that"
Reaching for the bag by his side he asked, "Red or blue?"
"What?"
"The red book or the blue book?"
"What are they?" Sarah asked.
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise." He grinned. "Now pick a color."
Sarah tried to guess what two books they might be. Only thing that came to mind for a red book was a certain little red book thay had led to the greatest adventure of her life. It had also brought the Goblin King into her life. Smiling, Sarah simply replied, "Red."
"Excellent choice. Now close your eyes."
Sarah rolled her eyes at him, but soon closed them and watched to see what the surprise was. She heard Jareth flipping pages, obviously looking for something. "He we are. This is a good one to start with." She felt one of his hands in her hair, petting her softly.
Jareth cleared his throat and then began to read a poem to her, his voice carrying as much emotion as the words themselves did.
"Being your slave, what should I do but tendUpon the hours and times of your desire?I have no precious time at all to spend,Nor services to do, till you require.Nor dare I chide the world without end hourWhilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,Nor think the bitterness of absence sourWhen you have bid your servant once adieu.Nor dare I question with my jealous thoughtWhere you may be, or your affairs suppose,But, like a sad slave, stay and think of noughtSave, where you are, how happy you make those.So true a fool is love that in your will,Though you do anything, he thinks no ill."
Sarah recognized the poem after the first couple lines. It was Sonnet 57 by Shakespeare. Opening her eyes, she reached up and touched his face. "Jareth..."
He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Its almost as if this was written just for us."
"Perhaps it was." Sarah said as her fingers traced his jaw. "Sonnet 1 always made me think of you."
"Oh? Did it now?" He smirked. "Let's see what it says." Jareth flipped pages until he found it.
"From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease
His tender heir might bear his memory.
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee."
As he finished reading the sonnet, he looked down at Sarah. "Precious, how well do you understand what these poems are truly saying?"
"Depends on the poem. Some of them my teachers went into detail with, others we were just told to read. I know Shakespeare can be hard to unders tr and, seeing its written in Old English, but I still see meaning in some of them. Might not be what he meant when he wrote it though." She explained.
"Well remind me to explain this one in detail at a later date." He said as he leaned down and kissed her lips. "Sadly we, or I should say I have to get back."
Sarah nodded. "Yea, I have to get back to work on my thesis too."
They quickly packed everything up and walked back to the library, their hands never separating from one another. Jareth returned the bags to his car and then carried Sarah's backpack for her. He stopped outside the library and turned to her. "Before I go back to being all professional," he pulled her close and kissed her soundly. "Thank you for joining me for lunch."
"My pleasure." She smiled and followed him inside. Jareth placed her bag on her usual table and pulled the chair out for her. "Have fun with your work, Precious."
"You as well." She smiled.
"Oh, it shall be much more pleasant as I can look over and see your beautiful face now." He bowed to her. "Call if I can be of any assistance." He then returned to the check out counter and was promptly pulled into the office by Mrs. White for a lecture. Sarah could hear her yelling at him, though she couldn't make out the words she was saying.
When he exited the office and glanced in Sarah's direction, she mouthed, "Sorry." He simply shrugged and returned to work. Mrs. White glared at Sarah and shook her head. Sarah turned around and continued her work. She didn't care what Mrs. White thought. Jareth had been good and maintained a professional behavior inside the library, so she had no right to be mad at him.
Both Jareth and Sarah continued to work well into the evening. Sarah was finishing up her reference page when Jareth walked over to her. "Everything going alright, Sarah?"
Glancing up at him, she nodded. "Just finishing up for the day." She put her pencil down and stretched her arms over her head. "Having fun being bossed around?" she teased.
Jareth groaned. "Thankfully the witch left an hour ago. I swear you would think I had made love to you on the table in front of her the way she was going on."
Sarah couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't even say the idea hadn't crossed your mind."
He shrugged. "Yes, but not with her watching." She playfully smacked his arm and he leaned down to embrace her. "Shall I walk you home, dearest? Or shall I whisk you away to my place for the night?"
"Not tonight." She tried not to laugh as he pouted. "I have a big test in the morning, but I'm free after 11, so, unless you're busy..."
"I believe I'm feeling a cold coming on." He grinned.
Sarah packed up her things and after he locked the building up, Jareth walked her back to her dorm. They stood outside the building staring at each other. "Why is this always so hard?" She whispered as she wrapped her arms around him.
"Because neither of us wishes to be apart from the other." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Sweet dreams, my dear." He kissed her softly. "I'll see you tomorrow." He let her go and turned to leave.
"Hey what was that you told me about a proper goodnight kiss?" She called after him.
"Yes, well that was when you were the one that was walking away. If I give you a proper kiss, I shall be too tempted to carrying you off." He winked and blew her a kiss.
"Goodnight, Jamie!" She called after him and he laughed and waved before dashing across the street to the parking lot.
Sarah went inside and unlocked the door. She found her roommates in the living room waiting for her. "Hey girls? Is something wrong?" Sarah asked, seeing their serious expressions.
"You could say that," Tammi stated.
"You want to tell us who Kingsley really is, or do we need to take what we found to the college administration?" Dani asked as she held up a folder filled with papers.
"Or call the police?" Tammi added.
"What?!" Sarah grabbed the folder and started looking through it.
"Your boyfriend doesn't exist," Tammi said as he stood.
"There are no records of him anywhere before starting here 2 weeks ago," Dani told her.
|
It is a beautiful, bright sunny day when you decide to shop at a local flea market with your family. There are many booths out today and they offer many different products from cloths, books and crafts. You find yourself being intrigued by one particular booth that has odd and exotic jewelry. It is being manned by an old lady who looks as if she could be Native American. Many of the rings, necklaces and bracelets are so interesting looking but one piece of jewelry catches your eye.
It is a ring that has a band that doesn't look metallic at all and the center stone is very different looking, not a diamond or any sort of stone you recognize. The other thing is that the ring is sitting in a case that has a few other odd-looking objects but the majority of the other jewelry is out in the open which tells you it is more valuable.
"You have an interesting taste in rings," the old woman says. "I assume it's the ring your looking at."
"Yes, its beautiful." You say to her.
"Well don't let looks fool you," she says. "Its not your ordinary ring and not everyone should wear it."
"What do you mean?" You ask.
She explains to you that the ring is not a ring for wearing, like ordinary jewelry. It's a magical artifact with very special powers. It sounds to you like a sales pitch and you're not believing it for a second.
"Magic?" You say sarcastically. "No offense, but I don't believe in magic."
"It's true. This is a powerful artifact of my people and its very real." She tells you.
Still in disbelief you ask, "What does it do, grant you three wishes?"
She chuckles, "No, no. Much more powerful." She looks around at all the other people around in the market and leans in close to you and in a whisper says, "It will make you deepest, darkest sexual fantasy come true."
You think to yourself the old woman is just being silly and dramatic just to sell a ring that she is probably having trouble selling. "How much do you want for it?"
"$100." She tells you.
"Oh, sorry that's way too much." You say as you turn to walk away.
"Wait, wait...I like you. I think you will really enjoy this ring." She says hurriedly, not wanting you to walk away.
You are now convinced she is trying to get rid of the ring. "I like the ring but I can't afford very much." You tell her straight forward.
"Could you afford $50?"
"No, sorry." You tell her, once again turning to leave.
"Wait! Ok, I'll sell it for $40." You think about it and decide you do like the ring a lot.
"Ok, I'll buy it for $40." She smiles and takes it out of the case. You hand her the money and before she hands it to you, she tells you ominously.
"Now I know you an unbeliever, but you should know whenever you wear the ring, your deepest darkest fantasy will come true." She puts the ring in a small box and you put it in your purse.
You thank her and look around some more at some of the other vendors, eventually reuniting with your family who ask if you purchased anything. You tell them no, not wanting to let them know you spent $40 on a ring and you keep it in the box in your purse.
Its not until late that night when you think you want to see what it looks like on your finger. You've already gotten ready for bed and are in your sleeping clothes, a tee-shirt and panties. You are alone in the house with your two sons at work and with friends for the night. You take the ring box out of your purse and open it.
You think the ring is still lovely but don't believe for a second the story the old woman told you. You are standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom when you slip it on your finger, looking at your reflection and how it looks on your hand. You notice the oddest sensation; you swear the ring is getting warm while you wear it.
Suddenly you hear a loud crash in your home coming from the living room. You immediately go down the hallway and enter the living room, which is pitch dark. You reach for the lamp and turn it on. In your living room is a tall man, wearing jeans and a hoodie. You see his face and he is much younger than you, maybe in his late 20's. He is a black man, a stranger. You are frozen in fear.
He slowly walks up to you, with purpose and motivation. He stands right in front of you and slowly looks you up and down, without saying a word. You want to scream or run but you can't, you are frozen. Before you can react, he grabs you by your arms with a manly but not hurtful grip and pulls you to him. He kisses you on your lips, deeply and passionately. At first you hold back, in shock but each passing second you melt in his embrace.
His hands slide unto your shoulders and you feel him pull you down to your knees. As you sit there kneeling in front of him in your living room, you watch as he slowly undoes his belt and opens his pants. He reaches into his pants and pulls out his manhood that makes you suddenly gasp out loud. Although he appears to be only semi-erect, his cock is very large. You have never seen a black man's privates before in person. The lamp illuminates the room well enough for you to get a very good look at it.
As you look on, he is holding it. Easily longer than any penis you have even seen before, what really strikes you immediately besides its remarkable size is the darkness of his black skin. It is quite different than any other cock you have ever laid eyes on; unique and exotic looking. As he strokes it in front of your face, you can't take your eyes off of it. It is visibly growing as you look at it, reaching lengths you never imagined a cock could grow to. As he pumps it, his cock swells in thickness as well. When it reaches around 10" in length, your hand, in a nearly involuntary manner reaches up and takes a hold of it. You are shocked at your impulsive reaction.
It continues to grow and thicken but it is already at a size that you can't completely wrap your fingers around with your thumb not being able to touch a finger. He releases his own grip and lets you take over making it completely erect. Now his ebony manhood has you completely captivated. You are completely taken aback visually and the feeling of his rock hard, enormous cock in your hand is intoxicating. Your next sense is energized as well as you take it in your mouth. You open your mouth wide as you can to accept his huge head into your gaping mouth.
You take as much of his cock deep in your mouth as you can, holding it in your mouth. It has now become completely engorged with blood, easily measuring a mind-blowing 11 or 12". His cock is very thick as well, it is simply in a word...amazing. For years, you have secretly wondered what a black man's cock looks like, feels like, tastes like. Now you know. The curiosity of the myth, the stereotype of black men having tremendous endowments is proving not only to be true but in spectacular fashion.
As your mouth slides up and down his huge cock, you look up and get a better look at this man. He is quite young for your taste and comfort. Not in a true moral sense, but because you have children that is older than he is, it seems unreal. He is probably most likely in his late 20's, he is also handsome. But you can't deny it is exciting to do this to a man who is half your age, his youth is an undeniable attraction. You just can't believe that man this much younger than you is actually with you in a sexual way like this.
Suddenly, it hits you. Like a wave of intense enlightenment... the ring. The woman said your deepest darkest fantasies would come true. You know that this young, black stud is absolutely the most attractive, hottest man you have ever touched. His cock has such a command and control over you and just in these past 10 minutes you are as aroused and enraptured as you ever have been in your life. But what did the woman say..." whenever you wear the ring, your deepest darkest fantasy will come true". As much as you are enjoying having this incredible cock in your mouth, as much as you want to do more, you slip the ring off your finger.
As soon as it's off, you hear the sound of a car horn blowing right outside your house. The man suddenly, without a word, pulls his cock out of your mouth and runs out the front door, stuffing his massive erection back in his pants. Leaving you on your knees, bewildered and a bit frustrated. It takes about a minute for you to collect your thoughts and return back into your room. You collapse in your bed mixed with confusion and a growing sense of sexual frustration. You were clearly highly aroused before he took away the greatest cock you have ever seen away from you.
You lay there, thinking about how unbelievably big it was, a black cock at that. You knew you always wanted to try one, but five minutes with one wasn't enough to put out the fire of burning curiosity. You didn't even get to enjoy it the way you really want to, inside your body. Seeing if you could take a big black cock like that. Do black men fuck better than the lovers you have had in your life, do they really have the sexual stamina you heard about, could it bring you to orgasm?
The memory of it was still vivid in your mind and your arousal truly never dissipated. You slide your hand under your panties and are amazed with how wet your pussy is, it's drenched with titillation. You begin to rub your clit, giving it some much needed stimulation. You realize that the ring is still clutched in your left hand. You open your hand and look at the ring. Could it really be magic?
You slide your panties completely off, just leaving on your tee-shirt and continue to rub and stroke your pussy with your right hand as you hold the ring up to gaze at it. You also can't get the black cock of the stranger out of your mind. With your pussy getting wetter and wetter, your arousal is multiplying by the second. God, if you can only have that cock again. If only it was fucking your hungry pussy right now. A hunger that will only be satisfied by big black cock, nothing else will fulfill it. You spread your legs wide, you are really stroking your pussy now, when you have an epiphany. Why not put the ring back on?
You reach over and turn on your table lamp next to the bed, your right hand still working your pussy, you can't even take it away from rubbing your pussy, you simply lift your ring finger up in the air and slip it on. You feel the ring starting to warm like before and suddenly your bedroom door bursts open. Through the door walks in your black lover but he is not alone, he is accompanied by another black man. Your heart is beating so hard you can feel it thumping inside your chest. You feel the rush of your blood to your face and your breathing deepens and becomes faster.
You can't even stop what you are doing as you rub your pussy frantically as both young black men walk to your bed and take a side each. You look at each man, turning your head left then right, back and forth as you watch them staring you down. They watch you masturbating with a look of hunger and desire, it makes you feel sexy and attractive. Suddenly the new man speaks.
"You're right, she is hot as hell."
"I told you this white woman was," The one who you were with earlier says back to him. "She was loving my dick too, man."
"I bet she ain't never had a black cock before." The new man then says to you. "You ever had big black cock before woman?"
"N.. N.. no." You stammer is a combination of nervousness and sheer sexual excitement. You still can't stop stroking your pussy wildly, even though you are being watched.
"Did you like sucking my man's cock?" He asks.
"Yes, I did. Very much so." You moan loudly, the men making you answer their questions is making you lose amount of any inhibition you have left. As they talk to you, they begin to strip out of their clothes, which just makes you rub faster and harder.
"What did you think of my cock?" The first man asks you.
"It was very big and beautiful. It was very impressive. Oh my God, it got me very excited." You watch him as he slips out of more clothes. When he gets his pants off you again see the cock you were admiring. "Oh wow, it IS very, very lovely!"
"Ever had two cocks at the same time lady?" The other man asks as you turn your head away from the first man. The new man has already taken off his pants and exposing himself as well. He is blessed as well, with unbelievably huge black cock that is rock hard with huge veins running down its shaft. Your head just flips back and forth, you would hate to have to judge which one is bigger, thicker. Both are of magnificent size, in length and girth. Both sport huge balls tightly covered in their huge nut sacks and both are completely rigid, sticking straight out of their bodies. With cocks of this size you would expect them to hang but they look like two black metallic rods of steel, defying gravity and physics.
You take a gasp and try to answer his question without sounding too overwhelmed, "No...never. I never thought I would ever get the opportunity. I can't believe how huge you both are!"
The man you were with earlier grabs you by the leg and pulls you around to where you are now laying across your bed. He holds each side of your inner thighs, opening up your legs and begins to kneel. He is obviously getting ready to eat your pussy. For the first time you stop rubbing it, inviting him to bring his mouth on your soaking wet pussy. His full lips engulf your clit as he sucks on it with strength and suction. You moan at the touch of his mouth on your pussy and watch with eagerness.
His partner climbs up on your bed to your side and sticks his cock near your mouth. You eagerly stuff it in your mouth, excited to taste your second black cock of your life. Like his friend, he is a true mouthful and it doesn't easily fit in your mouth. but you make due the best you can. The three of you enjoying an oral first chapter of this interracial encounter between a willing white woman and two equipped black studs.
"Mmmmmm" You moan loudly with your mouth filled with black flesh. You are enjoying the young man's technique of lapping your clit and deep between your pussy lips. You bob your mouth as deep as you can on the other's cock taking the first few inches to the back of your mouth but there s still so much more left outside of it.
"Oh yeah lady, suck that black cock." He says. You reach up to cup his incredible balls that are really as impressive as his cock, so full and tight. You pull on them as you suck. At the same time, you have a spectacular view of your pussy being devoured by the other man who obviously has a taste for white pussy. He has your lips pulled wide open as he licks all around your inner lips.
"Oh yes, yes, yes." You say in encouragement as you yourself switch gears to lick the other's long black shaft, wanting to please more of his cock. You feel his robust veins running down his shaft and imagine what they will feel like rubbing the sides of your inner pussy. You continue to pull on his balls and make your way to lick them as well. "Ohhhh, you have such a nice big black cock." You tell him lovingly.
"Yeah, lady. Lick it all up and down. That is such a nice tongue you have. I never knew you white ladies could suck so good."
His admission surprises you and while you are still busy pleasing his cock orally you ask him, "Am I your first white woman?"
"Yeah." He answers, sending a shiver of excitement down your body. "His too."
Now you are really overwhelmed, you look down and ask the one munching on your pussy, "Is that true?!"
"Mmm hmm" He says while continuing to burry his mouth deep inside you. The excitement that this is the first interracial sex for all three of you just gives you even more invigorating energy. You begin sucking the monster black cock in front of you with even more passion. Your oral threesome continues for another ten minutes until the first young man says he has to enjoy your mouth some more. The one you have been sucking on says that your pussy should be nice and ready for some black cock. Your excitement just grew.
The men now turn you around and position you on your knees and elbows. Your first lover stands in front of you and you renew having his ebony manhood buried in your mouth. It has been almost an hour since you first had it in your mouth but the second time is just as exciting. You feel the hands of the other young black man positioning your ass in the air in just the right position for him. You are just counting the seconds until you will have your first black cock inside you and suddenly you feel his head being worked between your pussy lips. He is wisely feeling you out and getting you ready. His head is huge and bulbous, you sense he has found just the right angle. With a strong push his head slips between your pussy lips and a rush of tightness can be felt.
His black cock is slowly making its way deeper and deeper inside you. You squeal in anticipation of how thick he is and how amazingly full your pussy feels with it stretching your pussy. You have never had a cock overwhelm you like this, it's a pleasurable feeling but with a tad of anxiety with it being so incredibly big, but you are taking it well.
You pull the cock in your mouth out and turn your head. "Oh yes, yes. Fuck me, go for it!" Your encouragement is felt as you feel it go deeper and his cock starts to slide in and out faster. You are completely filled on both ends with your mouth and pussy being stretched to their natural limits, but the rush of pleasure mixed with a slight tinge of pain is surprisingly satisfying.
"Yeah, take that black cock woman. Did you think it would be this good?" he asks leadingly.
"I... oh my God... I never knew... I didn't know black cock was THIS good!" His cock being pushed even deeper and with more thrust. He has already surpassed the best fucking you have ever had and you know there is more to come.
"Yeah, suck that dick." The one in front of you grabs the back of your head and begins to pump your mouth, not too deeply of course but you like that your mouth is getting fucked as well. You moan with both men taking advantage of both ends of your body. Your bed is starting to make a discernable squeak as your passion and the men's fucking is being turned up.
You pull your mouth off the cock to exclaim, "I love big black cock, I can't believe how good you guys are fucking me!" The excitement of interracial sex washes over your entire body with a fever like you have never experienced. Their staggering endowment, their passion, the exotic blend of your skin colors and the taboo of having wild sex with two men so much younger than you give you a literal out of body experience. In the corner of your eye you see the reflection of you three and witness the mind-blowing eroticism of the picture you three are creating and you realize you have to cum. An astonishingly powerful and sudden orgasm that a few of seconds ago you had no ideal was coming. You simply tighten up and release it with both men plowing your mouth and pussy. Your screams and moans tell the story and many men would probably pause, giving everyone a chance to catch their breath. The men simply switch places and renew their torrid ponding.
You would protest if you didn't enjoy what they were doing. The first man slips his cock in you and picks up where his partner was with even more power and speed. The one who had been fucking you simply rubs his cock teasingly all over your face. His huge cock spreading saliva and your pussy juice all over. You encourage him by sticking your tongue out for him to rub on too. Your pussy is still throbbing from your orgasm but the sensitive nerves being pounded by the black man's cock simply makes it feel like it is continuing, the longest orgasm you have ever felt.
"Put your mouth on that cock, girl" The man commands you. You fill your mouth with his amazing cock which has not lost a bit of its hardest since this began, neither of them has. For well over an hour, they have maintained the most powerful erections you have ever seen and felt. They are in a word; unbelievable.
You feel your hips being gripped as the other fucks harder and harder. "Oh yes, yes. No mercy, show me no mercy." You plead. His hand slaps your ass cheek, not hard or violently but the sting awakens a sensation and the combination of his penetration makes you realize you like it. "Again...again. Spank me!"
He periodically gives your cheeks a smack, the sound and sensation is shocking to you, because while you feel so used and maybe slightly degraded, you also feel alive and sexy. You might be more mature than there two men but you want to be fucked like a younger woman. You want them to show you no caution because of you age or frankly because of your race.
The other man now has a handful of your hair and is bobbing your head on his cock. He is not pulling hard enough to hurt you but he has complete control of how fast you are going up and down on his cock. Again, his aggression and dominance of you is arousing. Their actions are preceded by increasingly intense talk.
"Take it white girl!"
"Suck that big black cock woman!"
Its nothing like you have ever experienced before and to your amazement, you cum again; hard and intense. What seems to last for 30 seconds, you collapse on the men. Physically spent and fighting for consciousness. Now they do give you mercy and give you a few minutes to collect yourself but even you don't want it to stop. As you lay on the bed, they stand on each side, stroking their cocks and gazing upon you.
When you announce you want more, the first man jumps on the bed and commands you to get on top of him. You get on your knees and throw your leg over him. You position your pussy right over his cock and ease down on it, still marveling on his length. Once his cock is mostly inside, you begin to ride his cock. Taking long slides up and down his ebony monster. With you easily fucking his cock, his partner gets on his knees behind you. You realize what is about to happen and you slow your thrust as he oils up your asshole and brings his cock to your other hole.
You have never had two dicks inside you at the same time and in your wildest dreams you never envisioned they would be so big, or black for that matter, but in mere seconds the other managed his cock in your asshole and you were feeling the sensation of being double penetrated. Both cock filling each hole and each cock stretching the respective office it was penetrating. It wasn't long before you are moaning like you have never done before and it was your turn to talk dirty.
"Your cocks are fucking me so good! I love your black cock, oh my God!" The thrusts from each cock build in power and speed. The men are enjoying your body as well, freely getting their feels of your breasts and ass cheeks which you enjoy them groping and fondling. They are moaning in delight as you are doing more of the talking.
"I can't believe how long you black men can fuck! Its amazing! Such power and rhythm!" Your admiration doesn't end there as you compliment their endowment and sexual technique. You worship them with your words as they continue to pound and pump your pussy and asshole. It is a relentless exhibition of lust and physicality. They never show you a bit of sympathy because of your age or the fact that you are white. Their fucking is torrid.
You show them your appreciation by kissing both, hot and heavy with tongue. Leaning down to kiss the one under you and coming up to kiss the one in your ass. "Oh my God, I love interracial sex, it's the best sex I have ever enjoyed!" When you praise them, it seems to give them more resolve to fuck you and they do whenever you praise them vocally.
Their huge cocks, like a couple of ebony pistons working your ass and pussy over is making the loudest of sounds as you are clearly soaking wet and well lubed. You feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building but you know it will probably be the last and you don't want the fucking to end. It is still too amazing that you are in bed with these two young black studs and the fucking they are giving you.
It is a powerful sensation to fight off a huge orgasm, your facial expression contorts as you are obviously struggling physically, being so well fucked and trying to stay control of your body. You reach back and grab the arm of the man fucking your ass as he is gripping your hip. Your other hand is on the chest of the man under you. It is hard and muscular. Your eyes are shut tight. You grit your teeth in a display that would make some people think you were in pain.
They both continue to penetrate your pussy and asshole, with an astounding pace and drive. Their talented black cocks are like nothing you have ever experienced before. Your entire body is being rocked and you lose control. "Oh...oh...oh my God, oh my God! I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Your beautiful big black cocks are going to make me cum again! Three times! I've never came three times like this! I'm cumming!" The release is as intense and massive as you have ever felt physically. A long powerful wave of pure adrenalin and satisfying euphoria as strong as the last two combined. You are still experiencing your extended orgasm as you tell the men to cum themselves. You feel both cocks twitching violently and throbbing heavily. Within seconds apart, both unload heavy amounts of semen inside your pussy and ass, enough to where you can feel it coming out of your holes before they pull out and when they do you can really feel their loads oozing out.
You collapse and feel yourself slipping out of consciousness, but before you do you slip off the ring from your finger and everything becomes dark. You don't know how long you are out for, but when you awaken the men are gone and the ring in laying next to you. You wonder if it was a dream, could it have all been a dream?
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**
If you are offended by race play, please do not read this story!
THE ADVENTURES OF CUCKLEBERRY FINN: Black Magic
"I don't got nothing against a man bein' a man, but he oughtn't yell at his woman that way. And I hear he beats on her. What if she were pregnant, Jim," said Jeremiah Snodgrass.
"What you goin' do 'bout it, Mister Snodgrass?" Jim asked.
"Oh, I don't know, Jim. I don't want to deal with the backlash that son-bitch would give. Hey, I know. Why don't you go talk to him? I'm sure that will go over real nice. Go on, then, see to it. Get that bastard Clayton to treat his woman like a lady."
"Oh, I-I don' know, Mister Snodgrass. I don' want to be messin' with another man's marriage."
"Just do it, Jim. Big guy like you oughtn't be worried about a little guy like Clayton Pritchett."
Jim went back home and sat down and thought about the situation. He reckoned Clayton would love the opportunity to mistreat him for interferin'. Clayton didn't like other opinions, let alone correction, and let alone by a black man. But Jim thought ain't nobody else goin' help that poor lady. The best way to deal with this was to be direct, man to man.
"How do you do, Mrs. Pritchett? So Mister Snodgrass asked me to check on you and maybe see hows I can help Mr. Pritchett so's he's not a'yellin' at you so much. Is he 'round?"
Emmaline Pritchett said, "No. He ain't here right now. Whatta you plan to say? Clayton don't like people in his business. Everybody knows that. You'd be better off to just skedaddle on back home before he knows you was here. I won't say nothing."
"Oh, alright then. Well, you have youself a nice day then, Mrs. Pritchett."
"Just call me Emmaline, Jim. Okay. Bye." She was sad and watched him leave. Clayton wanted her to stay at home. Got awful lonesome, I'm sure of it. Anyways, ain't no matter. It all works out, you'll see.
Jim went back home. He figured he would just explain to Snodgrass that Emmaline didn't want any help and everything was fine. At least that's what he wanted to be true.
"Lo and behold! If it ain't Jim the marriage counselor!" Clayton said with a wicked smile on his face.
Jim couldn't believe that Emmaline would betray him that way. "Look, I was just doin' what Mister Snodgrass said to do. I don't know nothing about marriage between white people."
"Well, hell, I know that, Jim, but you see, Jeremiah is a friend a'mine and he told me it was your idea to come interfere with my wife and I's relations. I asked Emmaline about that, too, and she tried to say you didn't come there, but I knew she was lyin'. So, guess what, Jim, stupid Jim, I taught her a lesson and I'm goin' to teach you the same lesson now. Get over here!"
"No suh, I's figured I done what I was asked to do, even though I didn't have to. Mister Snodgrass is who you ought'n be upset by. I'll be stayin' right here."
"Maybe you's deaf, as it is. I said, get over here, boy."
"No suh. I ain't goin' to."
Well, by this time, Jim had already been set free by the law, so he weren't under no obligation to obey any man. Those two men russled around for a minute or so before Clayton got pinned and once he quit squirmin' and submitted, Jim let him go. He gave up and spouted off and went home in a tizzy. Jim went home too. He worried about what was goin' happen to Emmaline at home, and rightly so. That Clayton was consummate ass who had something comin' to him.
"Misses Emmaline, you ought'nt be here like this. You's married to Clayton."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go. Everyone here seems to be on Clayton's side of things. Can't I just stay here for tonight? I'll leave first thing in the mornin' when Clayton's booze's all filtered through his body."
"You's goin' to get me killed, Emmaline. I ain't supposed to be with a white woman and you know that."
"I ain't got nowhere else to go, Jim. Please."
Jim relented to the beautiful young wife. Her white skin and greenish eyes were exotic and excitin'. He ain't never seen a white woman up that close before. So's he took her in.
The night was uneventful. Clayton passed out lookin' for his wife around the house, not knowin' she was a mile away in a cabin with a freed slave.
'Bout a week later, she came back to Jim's, then again another several days later, and then again on 'nother occasion. Before long, she had her own damn bed. He gave her the bed when she came over, and he slept all worried-like on some straw on the floor.
Along about the fifth or so time she come over, Clayton come a'knockin' on Jim's door. He had been drinkin' again and he followed Emmaline without her knowin'. Clayton made a big scene and threatened Jim mightily, but in the end it weren't no use. He couldn't whoop Jim, and his wife didn't obey him anymore from then on. She became part of Jim's household. I guess Clayton never went any further with it, out of his own shame, havin' his bride leave him and possibly for a black man, it seemed.
It was rough on the young, wayward bride. She couldn't go into town because people would be too mean to her. They would say and do some awfully reddish things to the poor woman if she were brazen enough to flaunt her betrayal and new allegiance in front of people. Weren't no wonder she just hanged out at Jim's as much as she could and stayed by him for protection.
Pretty soon things started to change for the new roommates.
"Do you think we can close the windows tonight, Jim?" Emmaline said.
"What in the world for? Jim asked. "It's awfully hot."
"I don't know. I was wonderin' if maybe we could talk tonight about things we don't want people to hear."
Jim didn't know what was goin' on, but he wanted for sure to find out. "Ooh, I think that sounds like a good idea." Jim hadn't had sex in over 15 years. Poor guy never got reunited with his wife and kids after they were taken before the time of slaves ended. Emmaline and her long, wavy reddish-brown hair had Jim thinkin' thoughts that could get him killed, but they happened anyway on this night. So he closed the windows to his cabin and sat in a chair and watched Emmaline to see what her plan was.
"Jim, do you miss your wife? I mean, she's been gone a while now. And I don't miss Clayton at all, but I do miss havin' someone to hold me."
"Uh, I sure miss her a lot, Emmaline, but it's sure nice havin' someone to talk to."
"And to hold?"
"Uh, if you think that's a good idea."
"I do. Clayton don' treat me right and a girl can't be alone all the time, especially after she's used to not bein' alone. It would be different if I ain't never had nobody holdin' me, but as it is, I'm used to it and I can't be expected to live all the time without it. You understand, right?"
"I sure do, Emmaline. What did you have in mind?"
Emmaline got up and walked over to Jim and straddled him, sittin' on his legs and facin' him. She started kissin' him real hard. Pretty soon Jim got an erection that pushed his pants up and even up into her dress. She reached down and grabbed it.
"Oh, my Sweet Jesus! What in the world?! She pushed it up toward his belly and rubbed it with one hand while rubbin' his chest and muscles with the other. "Oh, my, Jim. You are so strong and big and, um, holy Jesus! Oh, I'm sorry to take the Lord's name in vain. I just, I ain't never seen, or even imagined, anything like this."
"Black?"
"Yes! Mmm. I can't believe I'm doin' this. Can you imagine what Clayton would say if he was here?"
"I have some idea. Is this a good thing for you to do, Emmaline? He may hurt you."
"Well, he can't because I ain't goin' home, and, besides, you're goin' to protect me."
The young wife unbuttoned her new man's shirt and pulled it off of his shoulders and onto the floor. Then she stood up and took her dress off over her head. She took off her garments and stood naked before this hulkin' freed slave.
"Goodness, Emmaline. You are one spectacular young lady. Mister Pritchett is a damned fool."
She got down on her knees in front of him and untied his pants and pulled them down little by little. Jim made it easy for her. She pulled them all the way off both legs and he was naked still sittin' on the chair with his swelled penis hangin' down half way to his knees.
The young adulteress pulled on it until it stood tall and she could get both hands around it. She started puttin' the top part in her mouth and makin' sounds like she was eatin' a dessert or something. "Mmm. Mmmmmm," she said over and over. Pretty soon after about 5 minutes of her strokin' up and down and lickin' up and down and around and down on his sweaty balls, Jim couldn't help himself and he pushed her head down as far as it could go onto his cock and grunted. He shot out huge spurts of cum into her mouth and she gagged and coughed.
He let her up when he was finished dribblin' cum out of his hole. Emmaline had swallowed a good part of the cum it seems, but quite a bit went down her face and onto her chest and neck. As she pulled away, as strin' of his semen stretched from her bottom lip to his huge penis. He rested his head back like he had been drained of all his worry. But, she weren't done at all. She acted like she just tasted a bite of the devil's elixir and she needed more and someone was fixin' to take it away from her.
"Hey, don't be sleepin'. You ain't finished," the white woman said in a fit of wontonness.
"Damn, Emmaline. Your tight mouth was so warm. I couldn't last any longer."
"Well, if you thought my mouth was tight and warm, you should feel my woman parts. I'm ready. Where you want me?"
"Oh, let's see. How's 'bout we start out right here on this chair. I think it will hold."
Before he could even adjust himself, the wife was hoppin' onto his swolled up cock and tried to lowered herself onto it. It buckled a little since it weren't complete stiff anymore. You could tell she wasn't used to the size, too, 'cause it bent a little as it was stuffin' into her and she had to bounce to get it all in and stroke it with her dainty hand a little. She clung to his neck like she was bein' saved from a river and she bounced up and down over and over. Straddlin' him and facin' him, her ripe breasts were in his face. His gigantic hands held her sides and helped her bounce. They could almost reach all the way around her back and touch in the middle. She rode that horse like an Injun scout comin' back to tell what he saw.
She started thrustin' forward and back like she was scootin' across a floor, really drivin' that dark dick deeper into her white body. "Ahhh, yess. Oh, Oh, Mmm. Yes. Oh, Ah. Mmm. Mmmm."
"You like my dick, Emmaline?"
"God, yes! I've never felt so full. I love it!"
"You're the first white woman to ride it. My wife loved it, too."
"You're so damned big and thick. God, I love it. Okay...let's go to the bed!"
Jim followed her over to the bed. She was pullin' his hand in that direction. He said, "You sure do like my dick. Does Mister Pritchett not give you a good fuckin'"
"Oh, ha! Clayton? He's so, so much smaller. You're twice his size. You hit places I didn't know existed. And once he shoots, he's done. Now, let's fuck." She noticed a change in Jim and she liked it.
"Alright, you say you want it. Lay down, woman!"
Taken aback and thrilled, Emmaline smiled and obeyed. She loved bein' dominated by a strong yet benevolent man. "Yes, sir!"
He pushed her legs up to her chest and laid into her, puttin' her ankles up onto his shoulders. You could tell Miss Emmaline was uncomfortable, but her winces quickly turned to moans as Jim slid his magnanimous penis into her little hole. He started out about half way in, strokin' slowly so the wife could get used to the size as much as is possible in this position.
"You want more?"
"I don't now...Uh, huh... do. Yes, I do."
"Okay then." And he pushed about three more inches in and she winced and squealed as the giant member shoved over and over slowly. Then he pushed in the rest of the dick and she went silent with her mouth open like she was screamin' but no sound was comin' out. He didn't stop. He started goin' faster and with longer strokes. "You like that, Mrs. Emmaline?"
"God, yes. I need you."
"I like hearin' that."
"Gosh, I want your huge dick, Jim! Go faster!"
Jim slowed down. "I don't have to take orders from white women anymore. Do you want to try that again?"
"Ok, I'm sorry. May I please have your dick faster?"
She happily submitted to this alpha male. It was one of many things she would learn about herself.
Jim started pounded the cheatin' woman. She squealed and groaned and held her legs up for him. He positioned himself into a horizontal position above her, like a push up, plungin' down into her over in over in full strokes. She went silent and held her breath, then released and said "Ohhh, Ohhh, Ohhh," about ten times, then she froze again and stiffened up. Her legs went straighter and her toes pointed straight out.
"Oh, oh, oh fuck!" she said. "Shit. Oooh. Oh, God. Shit. Ah ha ha. Woah! Shiiiiiiiit! The wife released her body and Jim started poundin' down into her even harder. She started buckin' her hips and shakin' her legs. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Mmmm. Shiiiit. Mmmm. Oh. Oooooh. Yes. Fuck. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhh!" Then silence with her mouth open. Then she froze, then gasped, then froze, then gasped. "Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Ohhhhhhh! Mmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmm. Ohhhhh."
Jim slowed his pace, and when his new woman jerked and twitched and then went limp except for some slow writhin' and giggles, he pulled his long shaft out of her and stood up. She started a'twitchin' again something terrible on the bed and grabbin' at her teats and lady parts and wrigglin' and moanin'. Jim just stood over her like he had killed a deer and needed to make sure it didn't need one more shot in the head to put it out of its misery.
"Mrs. Snodgrass, can I help you? What are you doin' here?"
"Jeremiah's been drinkin' again. Mind if I stay here for a while? Emmaline said you would take me in and protect me."
"I guess so, Mrs. Snodgrass. You'll have to share that little bed with Emmaline, though. I ain't got nothing else."
"I'll do whatever I need to."
Emmaline said, "You don't need to do nothin'. He's got me now," all jealous like. "You can stay on the bed but you're against the wall. I gotta be on the outside in case Jim needs me."
Poor Jim had to build three more beds before that summer was over. By November, he had a him a proper harem of white ladies. There would have been more if others had been willin' to leave their children. These were the younger or barren wives. But they was always a'fightin' and squabblin', wantin' to be Jim's only girl, but damn if he ain't have relations with all of them.
It's hard to know why the men didn't rise up against him, like they usually woulda done when a black man got outta line. My theory is they acted like nothin' happened for a while, again, out of humiliation, hopin' that their women would come back. But one night the husbands of the town, which Snodgrass was part of, about 40 or so men, come shoutin' outside Jim's cabin sayin' he's holdin' the women captive. They had torches and was hollerin' something fierce out there. In a few minutes of this, Jim got tired of it and reckon he art'a face the music, as it were.
The women was scared, but their love for Jim compelled them to go out and stand with him. Emmaline was the first to speak up. "Ya'll go back home. We ain't been captured or not'. Jim is our man now. He treats us right and we like being with him anyway. So ya'll just pack up yer shit and get. If you don't do this right now, we're gonna tell every woman in town about Jim, and how black men know how to treat a woman.
The men grumbled and stood around for a while, but when the women just stared at them all defiant-like, they figured there weren't no use and they drifted off toward home real sad. The women went back inside and then Jim he went in too. What happened next is too much for this man to explain doin' it any justice. But I will tell you that when the men were still within earshot, they heard the sound of women a'groanin' and a'moanin' and Jim a'gruntin'.
Now, you may be wonderin' how I know all this, since I wasn't there. Well, that's where you're wrong. I was there peepin' in a window. A lot. I'll confess to y'un that I sorta liked watchin' Jim mess up these ladies. Something about a pristine, angel-like good woman bein' turned into a succubus demon is 'rousin' to say the least. There ain't no words for it. I like a big, strong man punishin' these cheatin' wives and them beggin' him and cryin' out for it. I ain't proud of it, but it is what it is. We ain't nothin' if we ain't got the truth.
So, I made a habit of goin' to Jim's cabin every night and sometimes durin' the day if I was feelin' brave. That comin' summer it was quite a sight to watch somebody's pretty wife lickin' the sweat off of Jim's unwashed balls and dick like it was a chocolate candy cane. By now there was eight women, I believe, in Jim's harem. Mrs. Emmaline was in charge. Then there was Snodgrass who was now pregnant, but also the wives of LaBille, Ramey, Paxton, Rogers, Pinkstaff, and then the best one who soon became the love of my life, Miss Emery.
My Rachel Emery was the only unmarried lady there, but that's not why I took a likin' to her. She was and still is the most wonderful, sweetest, pertiest, angel of them all. In fact, I just called her Angel and got it over with. She had olive skin, pretty bright big hazel eyes, and she was petite like a doll, 'cept ain't no doll like her. A doll ain't got now spirit, but, Boy Howdy, ain't this woman got some spunk.
One day I was out behind the outhouse lookin' through the hole I made to watch the women take off their dresses before they did their thing, when lo and behold, my Angel came in. I already knew this but I'll tell it again for y'un, that damn if she ain't had the best little body I ever saw. She was new to the cabin, runnin' from her daddy's mean ways, and I hain't seen her neked yet. For bein' skinny, she still had some birthin' hips and plump little ass.
Long about that time I shuffled my feet too much and made a sound. I was usually better than that, but on this day it musta been fate. She hopped up and came outside a'hollerin' like you'd expect and caused such commotion all the women came out of the house. Mrs. Paxton was the last to come out because she was still fixin' her dress, obviously interrupted from servicin' her benevolent master Jim.
They was all starin' at me and waitin' for me to explain myself. Findin' the right words is usually not a problem for Ol' Huck here, but damn if I didn't freeze like a 'possum that done know'd he was a losin' the fight. Then Jim, my good friend, saved me. "Ain't nothin' but Ol' Huck," he said with a smile. "He ain't mean no harm, ladies."
You could tell they weren't happy but Jim had spoken and since he had them under his spell, they broke ways and went back to their activities. Even my Angel. I didn't do that no more.
From that point on I started spendin' time there, startin' that very day. I couldn't keep my eyes off of Angel. She was like fresh snow in a cabin full of slutty, sloppy, slushy, delicious vixens. Angel was pure 'cause she was a virgin, I gathered. She hadn't been broken by Jim yet either, so she was still shy and sweet. Over the next few days I conversated as much as she'd let me and pretty soon I wore her down and she took a likin' to me. Truth is, I think she was scared of Jim's sex, and she could see the power he had over the ones that he bedded, like Black Magic. That was her words, not mine, but I wished I had thought of 'em. She was real clever like that if you got her a'talkin'.
By and by, it became clear to everyone that Angel and I were bound for matrimonial bliss. She couldn't keep her hands off of me even in front of the others and they all said it was cute and other such words women use. It was such a strange thing to see Jim's Black Magic at work that even in the view of new love, the women weren't jealous of Angel. They seemed to have all they ever wanted and hadn't known it till now. He was like opium. They would gossip on their best friends just to leverage more time with Jim. They would dress sexier with hemmed dresses and argue over who got the first go at the bath water so they could be the freshest for Jim. I was jealous of him for sure.
I was relieved that Angel seemed uninspired by Jim, and he didn't seem to notice her either. We both sat and watched night after night of Jim takin' turns on the ladies. Jim was havin' so many fucks that he usually didn't bother to wear clothes unless he went into town, which he did once a week with four or five women by his side for their protection, while men and women watched and burned with angry lust. One day, I caught three women lick their lips as Jim and his women walked by. All three caught themselves, but it was too late.
Back to that night, the sounds of pleasure filled the cabin to the point that it would have been awkward if we all weren't used to it. I think that, despite his coolish nature, Jim got to feelin' good about hisself when the ladies made their noises. Some times he got Mrs. Paxton and Pinkstaff so wound up they sounded like cats breedin' in the woods. For sure, neighbors heard it. There's no way that ain't still hearin' it to this day. Jim always liked to have Emmaline first thing in the mornin', but one day he made her so ravenous that she growled like a bear and the dog got up to check it out.
Again, back to the story. This one night Jim was really knockin' the ladies down. He never quite finished a lady, because they always bounced back for more, but he left every woman there in a heap of glowin' euphoria, one after another. Jim stood in the middle of the room with his huge dick hangin' down and swayin' when he walked. The summer heat and fuckin' made his powerful body gleam with sweat. Mrs. Paxton brought him some water and Emmaline signaled to Mrs. Pinkstaff to do the same.
As it were, my Angel was the only one left, such that it was awkward for all of us. She became the beautiful elephant in the room from then on. When I left that night for home, the ladies were talkin' to Angel about why she should try Jim out, or one of his friends. I left in confidence because I knew they wouldn't be able to convince her.
I won't bother you with all the romance and other girly stuff, but that summer was nice. My Angel and I made love daily and felt like one person with two hearts. We were friends as much as lovers and we each told the other all the secret things we ain't tell nobody. One night I confessed that I loved watchin' Jim defile these women so much that it gave me a little charge if'n I was to see her under Jim, moanin' and squeezin' and such. She didn't care much for the notion.
A short time later, Mrs. Snodgrass gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Angel had never seen a baby up close that wasn't completely white and she became quite taken with her. The baby was cute as a doll but not like one Angel had seen. She had smooth, soft skin like Jim's, but big blue eyes like Sarah Snodgrass. Angel had never seen such a beautiful baby. As it were, my fiancée started rubbin' me till I wanted sex even more often, and she also started beggin' me to cum inside her. The poor girl didn't have a family anymore to throw her a weddin' and no pastor would marry us, so we had our own ceremony and Jim was the reverend. It sounds like a joke, but he took it very seriously.
I unloaded my cum in my new bride everyday for months and she was gettin' frustrated that she weren't with child. One night she confessed to me in one of our more vulnerable times that she had started to like watchin' Jim with women. She said the power of a purely masculine man, a true alpha, was intoxicatin' and arousin'. She also confessed that it made her want a black baby. I was so confused by that. I had no idea she felt that way. You couldn't tell, but then I could see it. Every night after watchin' Jim in the cabin or on the porch, she would accost me for dick. Compared to Jim's it was a bit of a small offerin', but she moaned and stuff, so I felt okay about it. I was thankful that I seemed to have found the only women that didn't want a bigger dick if she were honest, or at least I was asummin' so.
After a few more months when we were in the sprin', and we started talkin' about what we was goin' do. We both decided that it was likely me that was sterile, or that my dick wasn't big enough, with me havin' the Irish Curse and all. So after much thinkin' and arguin' we decided that I would approach Jim about givin' us a baby. He didn't want to because it didn't seem right with me bein' his friend. But alas I told him how much Angel wanted a black baby anyway, and I couldn't give her any baby, let alone a black one.
He agreed to do it as long as I was really okay with it. I told him I was, which was partly a lie. It had been a fantasy to see them together, but now that it might actually happen I was worried. I asked myself, "What if she turns into the other women who had no interest in me?" But I trusted my Angel and surrendered her to him.
The next night was to be the big night. It was her most fertile in her woman cycle. She dressed in her best dress and the ladies were so excited that they let her take a bath first and they helped her trim her pussy, because that's how Jim liked it. She wore her hair down for a change, also for Jim. I didn't like it that she was doin' this for him but not for me.
It was obvious that Jim was treatin' this like a business deal. My bride undressed before him and even though the rest of us saw a glorious golden goddess, Jim didn't get stiff like usual. His dick was limp and smaller, about the size of mine when I actually am stiff. He reminded me of a Nubian warrior statue and she was a Greek statue. We were all lookin' at two great works of art like out of a book. They were squared up to each other, but then she broke first and walked to him, ran her fin'ers down his chest and rippled belly and grabbed his dick.
She began to do what she had seen the others do and she squatted down and held his hips while she swallowed up his soft dick with just her mouth. She was real slow-like, suckin' on it. Something changed in Jim and he moaned a little and pushed her head into his dick, and as it grew, Angel began to gag and choke. Jim let up a second so she could breathe, but pushed her head back down. The whole cabin watched this beautiful site. A powerful man invadin' the face of this sweet girl. Her pretty hair swished back and forth as he used her face for a pussy.
She gagged and he would pause but then return to the face. After a bit, he let up but she kept goin', only now more slowly. Something had changed in her. When she undressed, was doin' this for the baby, when she submitted to face fuckin' she was doin' it for Jim, but now she was slowly startin' to eat his body for herself. She slid her tongue up and down his cock in long, sensual strokes. She sucked on the head and twisted her tongue around it in a circle like she had seen. Soon she was puttin' her whole mouth around one of his huge balls, all without usin' her hands.
Angel began to moan with balls in her mouth, and she started strokin' his cock in long, slow strides with one hand while the other was on his hard belly for balance. I was burnin' with jealousy. This was not like the sex with her I was used to. Who was she? All my fears of bein' replaced were rushin' over me. I couldn't be this to her. Yet I felt my pants tighten as my dick grew and I felt betrayed by my own penis. And I was now embarrassed because the women noticed and laughed through their smiles. Angel could hear their whisperin' to each other and turned to me to see what they were talkin' about and she saw my swollen penis. She didn't smile or frown. It was like she didn't notice or care.
Feelin' forgot about was painful and I almost tried to stop this before it went further, but I couldn't. First of all, I was afraid Jim would say no, or worse, Angel would say no. And, then there was the fact that this was the sexiest, most 'rousin' spectacle man has invented. There she was worshippin' this ebony Adonis and it felt right. It seems to me like in all of nature women instinctive submit and serve the alpha of the group. I'm a big fan of lettin' nature guide the way. And then here also, they were both the top of their groups, the pinnacles of creation, so why shouldn't they be together, I thought?
This went on for about five minutes until Jim was so tense that he was goin' to burst in my wife's mouth. So in a flash he pulled her up and over to a bed and pushed her down. She landed on her belly, so he laid his crushin' body on top of hers and shoved his long, thick cock into her wet pussy all in one stroke. She yelled in pain and he paused. She said, "No. Don't stop!" muffled into the bed. Jim smashed his dick in as far as it would go, pumped a few times and then released a primal grunt we hadn't heard before. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Ahhhhh. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh, Uh, Uh." Then he burst. Once the seed was in, Jim remained all the way inside, farther than we all thought it could go. He spread her knees one at a time and pushed his dick in just a little farther till her pains were visible and he was so deep he couldn't go any deeper because his ball were in the way.
Jim grunted softly a few more times but did not move. The cabin was silent. He held his weight up for a bit, then after a few minutes of twitchin' and grindin', he got to his knees while pullin' my Angel's hips up at the same time. She was now on her knees with her face down. He was tryin' to use gravity to keep the cum inside and to run down to her womb, I suppose. She tried to get up after a minute or so but he gently pushed her head back down onto the bed again.
The cream started to come out of her pussy and Jim took his large fin'ers and stuffed the cum back inside. When more came out, he stood over her, and with his gigantic cock danglin' over her ass, he stuck it back in her pussy to keep the cum down by the important parts. He didn't move his dick, just held it in place all the way down. Angel loved it and she started to grind and convulse on it and moan. She began wigglin' her pussy around, tryin' to get more of his cock.
The other wives started to chatter now and it was over for the day we thought. He got up and Mrs. Snodgrass, with a toddler on her hip, brought him some water. Emmaline brought some for the young wife.
Emmaline said, "Honey, just stay there for a while. Jim will be ready again before long."
Angel responded with a "Uh, huh" as she was upside down. There was some concern in her voice because Jim's endurance was astoundin' and she hadn't thought about the fact that she would receive all of him that night and the foreseeable future. The women went back to bein' normal and no one seemed to be tendin' to my girl, so I went to her side and kissed her back and shoulders, then moved her hair out of her face and kissed her cheek. I held her hand and asked if she was okay. "Mmmm, Hmmm," she murmured with joy.
I was a little alarmed at that response. She didn't even get much strokin' or time with him and she was already showin' signs of bein' under his Black Magic.
Jim came back to her and slapped her on the ass and she knew that was her cue to get up. She was lightheaded and I helped to stabilize her. Jim asked, "Are you okay?" Angel and I at the same time said, "I think so." That was humiliatin', but now I know that was just the beginnin' of a year full of humiliations.
Mrs. Pinkstaff brought her a towel to clean up with and I was standin' there thinkin' it was over since my wife was obviously in a weak state. But then she and Jim, and then everyone else, looked at me and I knew I was out of place and they weren't through. Right there in front of everyone my wife started strokin' Jim back to stiff while lookin' in his eyes. He said, "Damn, I love those eyes." She smiled and kept her eye contact with him.
Jim bends down and scoops her up from under her arms like a little girl and pulls her to face level and kisses her on the forehead. She instinctively put her legs around him and clutched his neck. He adjusted his hold to her under her ass and held her up. He was only half hard so Mrs. Paxton came up and stroked him for a minute till he was standin' stiff as a board. She also guided the huge cock into the little pussy and he took it from there. He held Angel out from his body a little and slammed into her in full strokes.
She gasped and yelled but ultimately submitted to the pain and said, "Oh my! Oh my! Oh, Oh, Oh, Wow! Oooh, Oh, Oooooh." Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Over and over. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Moanin' and yellin'. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. She bucked and yelled like I had never heard her. I didn't know she was capable of those faces or sounds. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam.
She looked like she was in pain and pleasure in equal parts. He face grimaced and I again almost stopped it because she seemed unable to handle this. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Her face was one of shock and realization, wantin' and satisfaction, and I had never seen someone freeze her arms and back to hold, yet let her legs and head completely loose. Jim walked her to the wall and really smashed her there, diggin' deep into her womb, crashin' against the wall. Crash, Crash, Crash, Crash. It was dazzlin' to watch. Crash, Crash, Crash, Crash. He gruntin', "Huh...huh...huh...huh...huh...huh...huh. I again got hard in my pants, so I walked behind the row of women watchin'.
My dick was pulsin' so full of blood I had to touch it. I went outside partly to escape the horror of watchin' my wife succumb to Black Magic and also rub my dick just for a second. Like all good itches, I thought if I could scratch it once it would be satisfied, but it was not. I stroked on the porch while lookin' through the window. Within seconds Jim was yellin' as he began pumpin' his seed into my wife, "Ahhhhh, Ahhhhhh. Huh. Huh. Huh." Just then I too shot my bullet on the porch. After a minute and watchin' my wife get tossed onto the bed, I heard my name mentioned and everyone turned toward me, but I got away from the window and no one saw me. After my dick shrunk, I went inside.
My wife was lyin' on the bed holdin' her knees up by her ears and pullin' down so that her pussy was higher than her belly, so the cum would run into her. I brought her water and helped her drink it. That was the last time they fucked that night.
As soon as I could, I reclaimed my woman from the bed and we walked home. I tried to stay positive because I didn't want to reveal just how jealous I was; plus, she hadn't done anything wrong. And, the big reason was because I wanted some details and I knew she would shut down if she thought she would get in trouble for her answers. I didn't know that's what I was doin' then, but I can see that now. I remember askin'' her, "So was it as good as it seemed?" I could tell she was hesitatin', probably to save my feelin's, so I said, "I can tell it was good, sweetie. We always tell the truth, right?"
"Okay," she admitted. "It was...amazin', Hucky. I didn't want it to be, but it was. I couldn't control myself. And I lost track of everything. I forgot people were watchin'."
"Bet you forgot about me, too?"
"I did, I'm sorry, baby. My mind went blank."
"Black Magic?"
"Yes," she said, and we both laughed.
As we kept walkin', she went into more and more detail about how good if felt to get stretched, and she tried to explain what it's like to feel full and to have all these spots hit that she didn't know existed. It was arousin' to say the least. She noticed my swollen dick. "Looks like someone else likes it too," she said with a smile. "We need to take care of that." The rest of the walk was nice. We held hands and I could tell she was wantin' to stay off the topic.
When we got home, she pulled me plumb all the way to the bed. I was feelin' strange. On one hand, I was horny as a tom cat in sprin', but I also felt like there's no way I can make her that happy now. She was clearly horny, which was nice and a good sign, but I thought maybe she was fakin' it. How could she want me after havin' Jim? So we did have sex, but it wasn't good. My confidence was gone, plus her pussy was loose and still wet with Jim's cum. It was too much, so I just told my bride we would have to finish some other time.
The next mornin' I was surprised to see Angel gettin' ready to go out so soon. She had made me a small breakfast while I fed the animals, but as soon as I came in, she was ready to run out the door. All the way walkin' to Jim's cabin, she walked faster than usual and talked less. I tried to make conversation but she was too focused on the events of the day. Turns out Jim had told her to come by first thing in the mornin' because that's when the sperm is the strongest.
As you can imagine, Emmaline wasn't none too pleased to lose her spot. Now she would have to peacock for Jim's attention just like the others. I think the plan was for Angel to the take first load of the day until she became pregnant. I'm sure she felt very special.
It wasn't fair the way Jim could make women happy and the way they fawned over him. They were more than slaves, they were willin' slaves. What irony that their husbands had enslaved Jim, but Jim enslaved their wives.
Jim fucked my bride like a rooster fucks a hen, with great ferocity and dominance. He pulled her hair, slapped her ass like a horse he was racin' on, put his hand around her throat and lifted her head back to his face while he fucked her like a dog. He kissed her forehead and that seemed to comfort her in an otherwise nearly violent episode. He grunted and filled her pussy with his cum so much that he couldn't stop it from comin' out. He pushed her head down into the mattress again like the night before, but it didn't stop his huge injection of semen from bubblin' and gurglin' out.
To my surprise, Angel reached back and scooped up some cum drippin' from her pussy and put it in her mouth. That made me fightin' mad because she never wanted to use her mouth on me, because she said she didn't like the taste.
Jim left her there. She was gettin' used to the size now and I wondered if her loose pussy would be permanent. I knew they bounce back after childbirth. Maybe it would be the same there, I thought.
The second time that day, Jim had her bent over the iron stove. She was actually sort of balancin' on her belly. Jim spread her legs, which were danglin', and entered her loose pussy with ease. She didn't even yell this time. She just smiled and moaned. "Mmmmm. Oh. Mmmmm. Mmm, Hmm."
"You like my cock, Mrs. Finn?"
"You know I do. I love it!"
"Would you like some more of it?
"Yes, please."
He pulled her back toward him so that he was holdin' up her hips in the air and she was holdin' her top half up by hangin' onto the stove. Jim pounded away at Angel's used pussy and she just moaned and moaned and said thin's to him she never said to me. "Fuck me like whore. Mmm." She sounded like one of the other wives. She had been completely broken. I watched in horror as I feared I would lose my wife the way the other husbands lost theirs. But, once again, I watched with a stiff penis and everyone saw it. I refused to masturbate that time. I stood there watchin' and took it like a man.
They had sex five times before supper, and as much as we all loved watchin' a real man mess up fresh white snow, we were all ready for a break. I talked my bride into takin' a walk with me and we held hands. It was so strange to me how she could be under the control and allegiance of another man and then switch so quickly back to another. I've always believed that men can separate love from sex, but could women? I could see now that they could.
My sweetheart was every bit herself with me. She smiled -- maybe more now -- and she laughed and we shared memories and inside jokes, and all was right in the world. The only downside was I wasn't the sexual satisfaction she needed. But if she can have me for the heart and Jim for the pussy, maybe it could all work out. Well, the answer came soon enough.
"Angel, you ain't pregnant! I tried. Jim tried. You can't just keep havin' sex with him! You may not get pregnant for a six months. You think those ladies are goin' to tolerate you hoggin' Jim to yourself fo six months? Do you think I'm goin' to watch you under him six times a day for six months?"
"I don't know why not. I'm doin' it for us and the baby. I'm doin' it for our family."
"Pffff. Yeah, and I drink beer for the water. Snap out of it, Angel. The Black Magic is causin' everyone a lot of trouble. Maybe you should take a break. If you even can."
"I can. I just don't see why I need to."
I just stared at her.
"Alright, fine. We'll take a break. But you can explain to our child why he was born in 1890 instead of 1870 and why his mom is full of fire and piss all the time." She didn't laugh but that was funny as hell. I had been married just long enough to know that just because somethings funny, it doesn't mean you get to laugh.
The next month was horrible. Just like you would expect from someone who was addicted to opium, she went through fits and melancholy and became physically ill off and on. It was hard to watch. Durin' that month our sex never recovered. She was unsatisfied by me both with my smaller dick and also my body and havin' less power, stamina, and confidence.
My confidence, by and by, became dismal and spiraled downward. I didn't perform well because I didn't have confidence, but then she was unimpressed by my sex which killed my confidence, which led to even weaker performance. I would have been downright reddish if she faked it for my sake. I always want the truth. But the truth comes with consequences. That's why you have to be careful what questions you ask.
Somewhere in that week my girl and I were havin' a real time talk and I asked her if she thought she could ever be happy without Jim. She said yes, but I didn't believe her and she wouldn't look me in the eyes. I said, "C'mon. The truth."
"I don't think...I can go without sex like that. I wasn't lyin' that I can be happy without Jim, but I don't know if I can be happy without sex like that. My body needs it now. My pussy needs to be filled, I need lots of cum, I need to feel a huge dick in my hands and taste black dick in my mouth. It doesn't need to be him, but it needs to be somebody. I'm sorry!"
It just wasn't fair at all. I started to resent Jim. But then one day my thinkin' shifted when I was enjoyin' my happy wife. As I was fuckin' her sloppy pussy, I thought of several things. One, she was always just havin' sex for my benefit and not hers, so what's changed about that? Two, she's so happy, how could I keep her from that? Three, I promised to lay down my life for my queen, so isn't this the most sacrificial thing I can do for her? To sacrifice my pride for my wife to have a good life? I felt down right chivalrous. I felt like I belonged in a Shakespeare story, the happy kind.
But what if she leaves me? I thought. I can't compete with Jim sexually, not even close, and she may decide she wants that every day. But then I thought, well, why would she need to? She'll have the best of both worlds -- great sex but also a lovin' husband and stable, visible life. If'n we have a black baby that might be hard to deal with, but even then she doesn't want to do that alone, and I wouldn't dream of lettin' her do that alone. She's my girl! So, I came to believe that we were stumblin' onto what a lot of people need.
'Bout that time, Emmaline came a'hollerin' outside that Jim was ready. I guess he had had his water. My poor girl hadn't had enough, I could tell. She was exhausted and weak. I wondered if she could keep up with Jim. But to my surprise she had an explosion of energy when that big black snake crawled its way up her wet pussy. She began to bounce on him like a she was eatin' his cock and tryin' to feed her womb. Times before, she had been fucked, but now she was the one doin' the fuckin' like a greedy little sex monster.
I think everyone could tell. Some of the women had returned to their seamstress vocation there, but now Angel was on display again. She stopped bouncin' and started grindin' down and wigglin' in circles tryin' to consume the whole dick. Then she drove her pussy forward and backwards like she was rowin' a boat. Her face was so beautiful. Her mouth was open in ecstasy and surprised at how good it felt. It was like she was never not surprised by how good it felt. She did close her mouth to moan, but you knew that.
Many times the women looked over at me to see if I was alright with these happenin's. I was for the most part. I still thought she ought to save some of that energy for me, but I did understand I guess. I have more energy to fish than I have for chores, so I got it. I didn't like bein' thought of as a chore, but I would think on it, I says to myself.
A couple of times, Angel would have these moanin' and whinin' fits like she had started with Jim that I had never seen before. But Jim knew why he was there and he reached up and grabbed her by the back of the neck with his huge hands and pulled her to him and then over to the side on her back. He would now take her pussy again for himself and plant the seed real deep in the soil of my wife's womb.
He started poundin' her down real hard like he was mad at her. Pound, Pound, Pound, Pound, and she was reachin' up and holdin' onto his neck and sides like she was lookin' to him for support and protection from the punishment she was receivin'. Women are odd creatures. I will say, though, that women have the amazin' power to take a man and turn him into a beast with just her words or her eyes, then brin' him back down from a beast to a man with her pussy or mouth. It was incredible to watch someone so small in comparison control someone so powerful as Jim.
The other thing I will never understand about women is how they get joy from pain. The harder he fucked these women and their tight holes, likely tearin' them up and ruinin' them, the more they loved it. They craved their own destruction, as it were. I'll never understand. And how is it that the more Jim gave attention to other women, the more they wanted him? If a lesser man tried that, the woman would be gone in minutes. But Ol' Jim does it and they follow him like the Pied Piper.
I tell you something right now, you gotta hand it to the black women for keepin' black men a secret from white women all these centuries. I think white men knew about how addictive black men are and that's why some men hate them so much. And another thing I'll tell you people because I don't have to deal with the repercussions, you see, is that I think God gave black men better sex to make up for all the shit they would endure. And frankly they got the better deal. If my parents were to be slaves in order for me to have a dick like Jim's, I would turn them in myself. I would be the first man to receive three extra inches on my dick as a bounty for turnin' in a slave. I'd have a two foot dick by Christmas.
Anyway, that ain't a thing, so's it don't matter. But to see the pleasure of my wife durin' sex and the glow after, a man ain't able to take that away from her. To see my wife this happy and confident and free, I couldn't take it away if'n I wanted to. When people look queerly at me on a street, I'll just smile because I know what they're missin' and ain't nobody goin' tell 'em neither. As you know now, these women don't like to share their black men.
Then of course, people try to make it a biblical thing that God separated color groups for a reason and we ain't to break that rule. Well, I'll say something here I ain't said anywhere's else, but sure as shit, this husband will go straight to Hell for his bride.
The next months were tough because it was plain as day that she weren't goin' get pregnant, and now we all knew the problem with havin' children was with Angel and not me. So you would think they would stop fuckin', but no sirree. Hell no, they still fucked once a day. It was hard for Jim to dedicate one fuck a day to just her, knowin' it would make the other hens spittin' mad, but I asked him to do it and out of his great love for me, he obliged. But don't fret for him. He's a cheerful giver as the good book says. And it weren't nothin' for me to ask. Once you see the love of your life with gleams in her eyes and big smiles and easy laughs, you just know it's right. And I always do what's right...even when it's wrong.
Since those times we've branched out to other former slaves. We found them to be the most sexually superior. You have to remember that for 200 years the males were bred bigger and stronger with each generation so they could work hard. Now my wife likes for them to work her little body. I spend a lot of my spare time these days meetin' with guys and tryin' to find the right fit for my bride, my Angel, because I'm a good husband, a cuck...I'm Cuckleberry Finn.
Okay, I thought I was done tellin' yuns my story, but damn if I ain't just walk in my house and seen an alpha holdin' my wife upside down so's that she was slurpin' on his fat cock while he ate her pussy like a melon. Juices all in his beard and everything. Alrighty. I'm a'goin'. Bye.
|
Shen Qingqiu woke up alone in bed, and thought, ‘Well, that simply won’t do at all.’
What was the point of having two gorgeous men in his life if he didn’t wake up to both of them! Where were his cuddles? Hasn’t he earned them?!
At the very least, it was fairly clear where one of… his husbands, plural? Heavens… anyway, he could smell the divine scent of Binghe’s cooking, so that answered where he was. Shen Qingqiu was still upset he hadn’t gotten some morning affection before his husband had gotten up to attend to him, but he was still being spoiled by him, so that was fine.
But none of that explained where Liu Qingge was! Obviously there were many reasons he’d started spending his nights with two men instead of just the one, not the least of which being the sense of sheer warmth the War God of Bai Zhan Peak managed to pack into every small smile he offered only to him or, recently, to Binghe, but the fact that he could have one handsome man in his bed while another waited on his needs was not an insignificant factor! He was allowed to be selfish about this, wasn’t he?! He had worked through struggles uncountable to get this far, where were his cuddles!?
As he rose from his bed, thin inner robe hanging loosely around him, he let himself stretch languidly, any sense of propriety be damned. No secrets, shame, or miscommunication in this bamboo house any longer, thank you! If he wanted to be lazy and messy in the morning, who was going to care? Certainly not either of the men he wanted much closer to him than they were this second!
Thankfully, their home was fairly compact, and so Shen Qingqiu got all the information he needed the moment he turned into the kitchen to confirm his first husband’s location.
Binghe was, indeed, hard at work creating something that was sure to be fantastic.
And Liu Qingge was basically clinging to him from behind.
… Alright, maybe Shen Qingqiu could forgive the lack of cuddles.
Binghe was utterly relaxed, even as he focused on his craft, his head tipping back every so often to lightly knock against where Liu Qingge had rested his own on Binghe’s shoulder. Qingge was gently massaging Binghe’s sides as he worked, basically cuddling while standing up? How could Shen Qingqiu continue to feel angry at missing his own affection when his husbands clearly needed it, this morning?
How long had it taken for them to be able to take solace in each other the way they each took solace in him? For Liu Qingge to see the slowly-healing boy under the demon lord, and for Luo Binghe to see Liu Qingge as someone to trust, not just with Shen Qingqiu’s safety, but his own?
Shen Qingqiu’s heart swelled as he took the moment to watch without making his presence known.
Both of them likely knew he was there, of course — both of them were always alert to where he was, after all, if in different ways — but there was no need to make a show of it, or interrupt their relaxed state.
Yes, Shen Qingqiu’s heart was surely going to overflow. He found he didn’t mind.
There was only so long he could stand separate from them, though, before giving into the inevitable urge to press against their sides and nuzzle lightly at each of their shoulders.
“Mm,” Binghe sighed, head tilting towards Shen Qingqiu’s, “Good morning, Shizun.”
“Good morning,” Shen Qingqiu replied softly.
Liu Qingge made a soft sound in his throat that was really a grunt but managed to sound warm somehow regardless, and shifted his stance just enough so he could turn his head to the side where Shen Qingqiu stood and press a lazy kiss to his lips.
Upon pulling back the small bit that was necessary, Liu Qingge turned his lips up just so to form that somehow-heart-stopping soft smile of his, because Shen Qingqiu’s heart clearly needed that in addition to everything else.
The only proper response to that was to chase Liu Qingge’s beautiful smile with his own mouth, of course. Qingge clearly agreed, given the low hum he gave as he responded in turn, and he shifted slightly again so that they could press just that bit closer, both of them still pressing against Binghe’s back as much as was comfortable for everyone involved.
Binghe tilted his head back a bit, again, nudging the two out of their kissing. Shen Qingqiu must’ve made some kind of protesting noise without meaning to, because Binghe laughed lightly — did Shen Qingqiu mention that his heart was going to burst? Because it was going to burst.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, Shizun, Shishu, but breakfast is almost ready,” Binghe said, his voice somehow sounding as impossibly full and warm as Shen Qingqiu felt.
Ah, time could just stop right here, and everything would be perfect. But, then, time continuing on like this forever sounded good too, hm…
Slowly, loungingly, they all found their way to the table, and Binghe, dutifully as always, doled out the food he took so much pride in preparing. Shen Qingqiu allowed himself a long sigh of pleasure at his husband’s masterful cooking, decorum still far from his mind, and Liu Qingge echoed the sentiment with a low hum of appreciation. Shen Qingqiu could almost see his Bingpup’s tail wagging as he soaked in the praise.
The meal progressed quietly, none of them much for idle conversation in the mornings. Binghe was quick to take the used dishes and cutlery to be washed as they finished, and Shen Qingqiu contented himself with thinking over his lesson plans for the day as he sipped the last of his tea.
As Binghe walked back towards the table, dishes complete, Liu Qingge stood, and, as if commenting on the weather, said something like “I’ll be taking this, then.”
And then proceeded to sweep the ever-haloed protagonist into a princess carry.
Binghe squeaked.
A few months earlier, Shen Qingqiu might’ve spat up blood at such a clearly out of character scene, but, well… if Shen Qingqiu had ever been able to or wanted to pick Binghe up that way, that kind of reaction would be entirely expected, and surely it wasn’t unexpected that Liu Qingge could carry a man his size or a bit larger — Shen Qingqiu would never doubt his shidi in such a way.
As such, Shen Qingqiu’s only reaction was a questioning “Oh?”
“Been a while since the whelps back on my peak got a proper show,” Qingge said in reply, striding easily to the door.
“Would Shizun like to come and watch?” Binghe perked up, recovering from his shock quite quickly.
“Some of us actually have lessons to teach,” Shen Qingqiu replied, standing from the table and turning towards the bedroom so that he could get properly dressed.
He stretched, languidly, fully aware that both of his lovers were likely taking the opportunity to stare.
‘I can get a much better show whenever I’d like, anyway…’
|
Lance can vaguely hear distant voices, but he can’t quite figure out what they are saying. Everything is too fuzzy and confused, sounding like he's underwater, deep down in the ocean, every noise muffled and far, far away. He can't understand anything, but he's almost sure that he hears his name at one point.
Why would someone call him? It's all dark and quiet around him, and that means it must be night time, right?
He hears his name called again, but ignores it. Whatever it is, it can wait, he thinks. Honestly, he just wants to sleep.
Lance's eyelids are forcefully forced open by two gloved fingers, and a brightー oh too brightー light is shone into his dazed eyes.
“Hey, Lance, can you hear us?” someoneー Shiro, maybe?ー says urgently, worry evident in his tone, “He's unresponsive," he comments, swallowing, "and he’s so pale and cold. Shit, this can’t be good. Keith, was he like this before as well?”
Lance can't see it, but the Red Paladin nods, eyes open wide in shock and fear.
Only when it's removed, the Blue Paladin notices a bare hand that was previously on his forehead.
“Yeah, it’s worse than we thought... He- he lost a lot of bloodー”
Pidge? Is that you..?
"ーbut he can totally move his limbs and all, so we can exclude any spinal damage, at least" they note, and everybody sigh in relief.
Lance, however, worries more: why are his friends talking about that? Why does his head hurt so much? What's going onー?
The anxiety that is already making him feel drained only aggravates his strong headache, and in a moment of panic, bile rises up his tight throat; the Blue Paladin gags, and he’s soon turned on his side by skilled hands, thankfully.
“Shit!” a terrified voice screams- too loudly for Lance’s liking. He knows this voice, he recognizes it. Hunk.
Lance frowns- regretting the action as his head throbs once again, and he briefly wonders what's going on.
He discloses his heavy eyelids for two seconds at most, blinking and giving up after one try.
Too many colours, too bright, too many people moving.
It's just too much!
His pained wimpers are interrupts when someone turns him on his back again, and slaps him not too gently.
“Open your eyes, Lance," Keith..? "hey Lance, stay awake"
Why won’t you let me sleep?
"What?" Hunk asks, hurriedly, and Lance realises he must have said that out loud. He doesn't care, though.
Another slap prevents him from slipping away, again.
“Lance, come on!”
"Keith, stop that." Shiro instructs somewhere behind him, earning a grunt from the Red Paladin.
Lance groans quietly, and opens his clouded, deep blue eyes, gingerly, and this time he actually manages to focus on Keith whose head’s above him.
“Shit, his pupils are huge... We- we gotta do something.” the Red Paladin comments, uncharacteristically nervous.
Lance grins, unnoticed.
"Yeah, it's really bad," Pidge adds, caressing Lance's padded shoulder after fixing the make-shift bandage on his injured head, blood soaking through it already. "Crap, the bleeding won't stop. He- he'll definitely need stitches." Hunk comments, fretting.
Mh, sleep sounds good…
He receives another slap.
“Hey, you know you can’t sleep with a concussion.” Keith says, upset and worried.
“S'rry” Lance answers, speaking for the first time in an almost cognizant way, “didn’t kno' I had... I had a...”
He never finishes the sentence as he trails off, quickly unconscious.
Allura arrives an instant later, warning the others that the extraction pod is ready and that they can go back to the Castle now.
Hunk and Coran manage to haul the Blue Paladin up to his feet, causing his stomach to twist subconsciously, any balance lost.
Lance’s knees buckle under the weight and for the tiredness, not allowing him to stand in an upright position.
“Come on, buddy, you can do this.” Hunk says, trying to cheer Lance up. But he only receives a distraught grunt as answer.
The young paladin shifts uncomfortably, groaning as he tries to stand alone, and his friends don’t let go: as he’s about to protest- or try to do soー Lance’s vision starts to darken.
“Guys..? ’m not f'ling too well…” he mumbles- his voice’s barely a whisper- and proceeds to inhale sharply, as talking causes his head to spin faster than it already does.
Lance makes a muffled cryー it hurts so bad－ and lets himself sink toward the metal floor- mainly because Hunk and Coran are still holding him, and he knows that they won’t let him fall.
His head falls back and his tired eyes roll in his skull. It’s light-out.
Next thing he knows, he’s walking.
Sort of.
More like, being dragged forcefully, sending spikes of pain to his back and shoulders, and making him dizzy and nauseous.
“Ha! Guys, Lance's coming to!” Coran shouts in his ear, “My boy, Lance, can your hear me?”
Lance tries to answer that yes, he can in fact hear Coran, but his reply comes out more like an incoherent mumble.
Coran seems to understand, somehow, "Good!” he chirps out, “But you need to stay awake for a bit longer, alright? We're already in the Castle, the team managed to take you back but...”
Coran keeps talking softly, pitying the poor Cuban boy that's looking greener than ever. The rest of his speech reaches deaf ears, as Lance is out, once again.
He’s laying on something soft, and he feels warmth under his body. He feels like he's floating on a cloud, so light and carefree...
The smell of antiseptic makes Lance cringe and come back to reality once he's enough cognizant, but still he’s thankful as he feels no pain, or at least, not much pain compared to what he was feeling before. He also feels something around his head, realizing that it's probably a thick bandage.
A tiny hand shakes him, gently.
“Guys, I think Lance’s conscious again!” Pidge announces, not too loudly.
“Hey Lance? Are you with us?” Allura asks, concern evident in her accented voice as she places her hand on the boy's messy hair, caressing it.
“Wh’t ‘pp'n’d…” Lance slurs, without opening his eyes more than necessary to see the silhouettes of his friends.
“Why is his speech still so uncoordinated? Is he still as badly hurt as before?” Allura asks, clinging to the hospital bed’s sheets.
“Don't worry,” Pidge replies, chuckling, “Coran and I have him on some heavy painkillers, so that's probably it.” they say, pointing at the IV connected to the Blue Paladin’s arm; inserted in the other one, there's a thin tube, and Lance takes more to realise that it's not the IV itself to be crimson, but the blood flowing in it and into his tired body.
"Whoー?" and just that word is enough to exhaust him further.
"Keith," Hunk cuts in, smiling, "he's a universal donor, and so heー"
"Why?"
Why what, though? Why were they so concerned in helping me? Why is Keith, of all people, helping me so gladly? What will he want as a payback? I bet he'll never let me live peacefully after thisー
"Kiddo, are you listening? Lance?" Shiro says, making him snap out of it.
He blinks again, putting the pieces together.
"...No, s'rry" he finally mutters, distraught.
The man's expression softens, "Hey, it's fine. We were just saying thatー"
"What happ'ned?" Lance interrupts, looking at Keith, who is the only one sitting in a chair with a blanket draped over his shoulders, an empty juice-box in his hands, one of which is wrapped in a bandage, they probably took the blood from there, Lance decides.
“W-why are you looking at me?” the Red Paladin says, grunting and seeming slighlty annoyed. Truth is, he's just tired from the donation, sugars from the juice yet to kick in.
“You were the one who found him, so…” Coran says tentatively, gesturing for Keith to speak up.
Keith snorts and turns to Lance “Fine," he exhales, "you were busy protecting us from above that you didn’t see one of the bots sneaking behind you. I yelled at you to be careful and you noticed the bad guy," he paused, "then, you got into a hand-to-hand fight with it, got pushed over the roof you were on and hit your head after a nasty fall," he finishes, tightening his fists, "And all I could so was watch. I... I couldn't make it in time to catch you... Sorry for not helping you sooner." he mutters, almost inaudible.
His friends all look at him, distraught and sympathizing him, sharing Keith's sentiment.
"Yeah," Pidge agrees, "you always look over us but we should do the same for you, Lance. Sorry, we'll find a better strategy." they finish with a quick smile.
The rest of the team nods in agreement, seeming nervous and mortified.
But to Lance, concussed and drugged up, expressions are all the same, so blurred and indistinguishable.
He just stares at them with his wide, blue eyes, and tears well up in them.
Keith looks at Pidge, worried a bit as he tries to lean forward and out of the chair, “Is- is he okay? Lance, you okay there-?”
"Don't strain yourself, Keith." Allura instructs gently, placing a hand on his shoulder to let him stay put, and looking at Lance for a reply.
It doesn't come, and Hunk urgently snaps his fingers before Lance's dazed expression, waking him from the stupor. The Cuban boy blinks hazily, looking at his hands, folded on his lap,
“I'm- I'm fine..,” Lance whispers, still shaken, “I j'st… I’m sorry, th’s all my fault you’re so stress’d out. Y' don't hafta change the tactics and worry for me and...” he sobs, "guys, 'm so sorry..."
Everybody freezes at that statement.
“Lance.” Shiro speaks first “ We are not stressed out because of that. We’re upset with ourselves because you got hurt, and we didn't do anything to prevent it. We care and worry about you, Lance, because you are…” he smiles “You are family to us.”
Lance blames the concussion for the tears, and pretends that he doesn’t see the others sniffling too.
He’s home, and that's what counts.
|
Kent and Bitty are in Kent’s room, sitting at the table and discussing Bitty’s future training when they hear a knock on the door. Kent gets up to open it, unsurprised to find Jack on the other side. “What, couldn’t wait for us to come over?” Kent grins at him.
But Jack doesn’t grin back. That’s the first indication Kent has that something isn’t right. Instead, Jack closes the door behind him and says, “Parse, I need to talk to you. Preferably alone. Sorry.” He aims that last word at Bitty, and Bitty ducks his head.
“I can, um, go to my room,” Bitty says, rising to leave.
But Kent stops him. “Hang on.” He holds a hand out. “Did I fuck something up? ’Cuz if that’s what this is, then I don’t mind him hearing it.” He’s not going to admit that the request is fairly self-serving; he half expects that he’s about to get chewed out and he hopes that maybe Jack will go easy on him if Bitty’s watching.
“No. He should leave.” Jack shakes his head, and Kent sighs. Fuck. Except then Jack adds, “But you’re not in trouble. Neither of you are.”
Kent feels relief bubble up from his chest. “Oh, good. Then what’s going on?”
Jack glances at Bitty, and Bitty says, “I can leave. Really. If y’all have business—it’s fine,” he shrinks into himself, and Kent bites his lip because he has no idea what Bitty’s thinking right now, but it seems like Bitty’s nervous about it. Hell, Kent’s nervous about what this conversation could mean, because Jack has an indecipherable expression on his face and decoding it would take far more time than simply waiting for Jack to explain.
Jack swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and shakes his head distractedly. “You know what—never mind. Maybe it’s better that you hear this anyway,” he tells Bitty.
Bitty’s eyes widen. “All right,” he says, sitting back down. Kent offers Jack his chair, but Jack declines, so Kent sits down too while they quietly wait for Jack to speak.
Jack runs a hand through his hair, looking visibly stressed. “I have—a dilemma,” he says roughly, furrowing his brow. “I just received a mission request memo from the Heads. Trouble is, I don’t know who to send out on the team.”
And the fact that Jack is having difficulties is a little unnerving. Jack usually has an uncanny knack for strategizing proper teams, and while Lardo handles the actual mission plans for their cohort, Jack has the final say on who goes. Not to mention that Jack doesn’t usually go to Kent of all people for this particular kind of problem—it’s a question far more suited toward someone on the strategy team. “Uh, give me the stats, I guess?” Kent asks, bewildered.
Jack exhales, pacing back and forth for a moment. “We know it’s organized crime. It’s an older group, but they were lying low for a while, and it’s just recently that they’ve resurfaced.”
“All right.” Kent nods slowly. “Have you gotten an outline from Lardo yet?”
“A very basic one,” Jack says, crossing the room yet again and finally sitting down heavily on Kent’s bed. “We’ll need a small group, good chemistry, two to four preferably. Mission might take a couple of days at most. It’s gotta be fast. These guys are dangerous.”
“Hmm. Ransom and Holster?” Kent leans back on two chair legs, but Jack starts shaking his head halfway through his sentence.
“Nope, needs to be subtle infiltration.”
“Huh. Ollie and Wicks, then?”
Jack wrinkles his nose. “Remember the last time they went out on their own?”
“Oh God, that’s a no, then. Oh—” Parse turns to Bitty, who looks confused. “So they got through the mission all right, but they somehow got lost on the way home and ended up being gone for like a week with no communication—the Heads were majorly pissed, and, uh. Shit went down,” he explains, unable to keep his lips from twisting.
Bitty’s brow wrinkles. “What happened to them?”
“It’s classified,” Jack cuts in immediately, and Kent feels a little relieved. It is classified, technically, but he thinks the rumor mill had kept everyone fairly well informed on that incident. No way in hell he wants to explain it to Bitty, not when Bitty’s in so much danger himself—fuck, and now he’s worrying again. It’d been a wonder Ollie and Wicks were allowed to live, and they’d been well-established members of the team.
Bitty can’t step a toe out of line, or—no. No. Even just considering the possibility makes bile want to rise in Kent’s stomach, so he won’t think about it.
They’ll keep Bitty safe, whatever it takes.
“Shit, I know most of the others only like working in groups. Big warehouse takeovers and shit.” Kent sits up, the legs of his chair coming down with a clunk. “Maybe Tango and Whiskey?”
Snorting, Jack shakes his head again. “Tango’s not subtle. Besides, we need close range attackers,” Jack explains, the last trace of humor disappearing off of his face as quickly as it had appeared.
“Do we even have anyone like that?” Kent wrinkles his brow, drumming his fingers on the table.
Jack nods shortly, gaze flickering briefly away, as if he’s guilty about something—
The meaning behind Jack’s questioning slowly dawns on Kent. Jack hadn’t really wanted input.
He’d just wanted Kent to come to this conclusion on his own.
“Oh, fuck,” Kent breathes. “You mean—us.”
Jack’s gaze goes dull. He nods.
Across the table from Kent, Bitty stifles a gasp, but Kent can’t take his eyes away from Jack’s face. “Zimms. Wait—are you lifting my ban, or—you can’t mean that Bitty’s coming, can you?”
Jack’s lips twist. “If it were up to me, I’d have lifted the ban weeks ago. But the Heads—I think they knew that we’d have to be the ones on the job, ’cuz when I met with them today they asked if he was mission ready—and fuck. I said that he’d probably be fine.” Jack lets out a groan, looking miserable.
Kent stares at him. “What.”
Leaning forward, Jack drops his head into his hands. “They hadn’t given me the mission statement yet. I didn’t know!”
Out of the corner of Kent’s eye, Bitty’s face goes white. Fuck.
Kent’s anger flares, building rapidly in his chest and consuming everything else in its wake. “God fucking damnit!” he bursts out, banging his fist on the table and rattling the leftover silverware that’s sitting on it. Bitty flinches. Kent immediately feels a little bad, but it seems like the damage has already been done, because Bitty looks terrified. “Zimms, we can’t,” he stresses, gritting his teeth.
“Parse—it ain’t—you don’t have to get mad,” Bitty says softly. “I know I ain’t great at much, but—I can try.” His worried gaze flicks back and forth between Kent and Jack, like a wild animal caught by headlights in the middle of the road.
And God, Bitty probably thinks that Kent’s saying he’s inadequate or something. “Sorry, Bitty,” Kent says tightly. “It’s not—don’t worry. It’s not you. It’s just—it’s this whole fucked up thing.”
Bitty hugs himself dropping his eyes to the table. “Are you—mad at Zimms?”
“I—fuck. Maybe a little.” Kent sighs. “Shit, I guess I shouldn’t be, but…” He swallows, braving a glance at Jack’s face. He looks even more stressed than he had at first, which means Kent’s reaction is definitely freaking him out—fuck. Kent stands, walking over and plopping down on the bed so that his shoulder brushes against Jack’s. “Sorry,” he murmurs.
Jack nods. “It’s—fine. Honestly, I’m pissed too,” he says gruffly. “They’re trying to back us into a fucking corner.”
“What are y’all talking about?” Bitty asks timidly. Kent looks at him and he seems smaller than ever, curled into himself, shaking slightly.
Kent’s throat tightens at the sight. “Hey,” he holds his arms out, “C’mere.” Bitty looks relieved at the invitation, springing up from his chair and exhaling softly as Kent pulls him sideways into his lap. And that’s better—already Kent can feel some of the tension leaking from his body, flowing out from the points where his skin is touching Bitty, where his shoulder is touching Jack.
“Should we—tell him?” Jack asks Kent seriously, eyes trained on Bitty.
Bitty ducks his head at the scrutiny, and Kent pats his hip, thinking about it. “I feel like I’d wanna know,” Kent admits, against his better judgement. He doesn’t want to tell Bitty; they’d managed to keep it under wraps up till now, but with this much at stake—he thinks they need to come clean.
Jack nods slowly. “Understandable,” he shifts toward Kent, and now they’re supporting each other, leaving Kent feeling a little less unsteady. It’s nice. Jack clears his throat. “Bitty—it’s not that we’re cutting you off from information. I just don’t want to accidentally tell you something that’ll make you too scared to function out in the field.” Jack’s eyes slide to meet Bitty’s.
Bitty laughs dully, pulling a face. “I’m already fuckin’ terrified, honey. I dunno if it can get any worse than it already is.” Kent instinctively tightens his arms around Bitty at that, and Bitty laughs again, but there’s no happiness in it as he leans into Kent—just exhaustion, it looks like.
“Fuck,” Jack says, sighing. And then Bitty holds out his hand, and Jack only hesitates a little bit before taking it, intertwining their fingers tightly over Bitty’s lap. It seems almost tender, the way both of their eyes grow bright. “Um—I’m still technically your boss, you know,” Jack points out drily. “I shouldn’t be—doing this.” He swallows, cheeks going pink.
And huh. If Kent hadn’t known Jack as well as he does, he might’ve thought that Jack had some sort of feelings for Bitty.
Kent wouldn’t blame him at any rate. Hell, if anyone could convince Kent to change his mind about loving Jack, it’d be Bitty, and that hasn’t happened yet.
It’s probably a good thing for his conscience that Bitty hasn’t tried.
“You’re Parse’s boss too,” Bitty retorts, echoing Kent’s words from weeks ago.
“Yeah, yeah.” Jack snorts. “Just don’t expect hand holding all the time, eh?”
Bitty actually smiles. He’s not trembling quite as much either as he says, “I mean, we’ve already been—together multiple times already, so isn’t professionalism kinda out the window at this point?”
“Maybe.” Jack smirks lightly—and damn, Jack’s trying to lighten the mood for Bitty’s sake, isn’t he? Kent watches them, heart expanding in his chest until it’s almost too tight. They’re both—fuck. Jack’s his best friend in the world, has been for a long time, and Bitty—Bitty’s honestly one of his best friends too.
He wishes they didn’t have to talk about this fucking mission. He wishes they could just sit here and—well, cuddle, really, and maybe fuck later if they’re in the mood. But instead, either he or Jack has to tell Bitty that—God. Kent doesn’t even want to think the words.
Fortunately, he doesn’t end up needing to, because then Jack’s smile falls. “So—you really want to know?” he asks Bitty, and when Bitty nods solemnly, Jack sighs. “They said—the Heads, I mean,” he clarifies, licking his lips, “They said—well, they said a whole lot of stuff, but it basically amounted to—fuck. They still think you’re a liability.”
Bitty starts trembling again.
His gaze flicks to Parse, and all Parse wants to do is to hold him, but they have to follow this through. “What does that mean?” Bitty asks, voice small.
“It means they’re going to keep a very careful eye on you,” Jack tells him. “And if you—if you look like you’re going to betray us, they could decide to—Christ,” he cuts himself off. Bitty gives a choked little gasp, and Kent doesn’t think Jack has to finish his sentence for Bitty to know what he means. But Jack continues anyway, bowing his head and muttering the words that Kent’s been avoiding since Jack had first allowed Bitty to stay—“They could still decide to have you disposed of.”
Bitty’s face goes white.
“I—no. No, God.” Bitty gives a little shake of his head, staring blankly. He looks stunned, and Kent’s skin prickles with distress. “I—I thought I was—safe.”
Jack opens his mouth, but he ends up shutting it, looking defeated. So it’s up to Kent to take Bitty’s face into his palms, making sure his own gaze is soft before he speaks. “Bitty—look. You’re not going to die. I—we won’t fucking let that happen, okay? We can get through this. You’ll just have to follow our directions when we’re out there, okay? That won’t be too bad, right?”
Bitty opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a sob. “But—the targets. They could kill me too, and I—I’ve run through some of the sims, but I dunno what I’m doing—“
“Hey.” Kent slides his thumb over Bitty’s cheek. “It’ll be fine, okay? Most of the time the targets don’t put up much of a fight, especially if we take them by surprise.”
“Uh, hang on,” Jack interjects, expression pinched, and Kent furrows his brow worriedly at him. It takes Jack a good minute to be able to open his mouth and say, “That’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you.”
A foreboding tingle shoots through Kent’s fingertips. He drops his hands back to Bitty’s hip, eyeing Jack cautiously. “What?”
Jack closes his eyes. “It’s the Schooners.”
Time stops.
When it starts again, Kent’s breathing fast, clutching at Bitty because Bitty’s the only thing keeping him from getting up and punching something. Which is dumb—he’d probably only end up hurting his hand, but—fuck this whole fucking mission. Fuck.
“Ow—honey—what’s wrong? What does that—I read about them in the manuals, but it was kinda vague—Parse?” Bitty says, and it takes Kent a good second to realize Bitty’s talking to him.
He loosens his hands apologetically, mumbling, “Sorry.” Then he sighs and presses his face against Bitty’s shoulder. “Fuck.”
He feels Jack shift, feels him let go of Bitty’s hand to bring his arm up around Kent’s shoulder—and it says a lot about their relationship that Kent lets him, says even more that Jack had thought to do it in the first place. Kent sags against both of them, letting his eyes fall shut.
“They’re the gang my dad was caught up with when he—died,” Kent says, purposefully muffling his words against Bitty’s skin, because maybe if they’re unrecognizable they won’t be true.
Unfortunately, Bitty inhales sharply, meaning he must have heard him. “Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty mumbles, leaning over and wrapping his arms around Kent’s neck.
But next to Kent, Jack has gone still. “Have you not—told him all of it?” he asks slowly, words coming out stilted.
Shit.
“Uhh. Nah.” Kent tries to play it off, trying to shrug, but it’s too difficult with the weight of both of their arms around him. “I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it.”
“Parse,” Jack says, and when Kent finally looks at him, he looks distressed. “I thought—fuck. I thought he knew.”
“Why does it matter?” Kent asks petulantly.
Jack glares at him. “That’s—that’s everything between us, Parse. You don’t—fuck!” He pulls his arm away abruptly, and Kent’s skin feels icy at the loss.
“It’s not everything,” he shakes his head, starting to get frustrated. “It’s not even half of it, Zimms. Don’t even—you’re reducing our entire relationship to that?”
Jack scowls. “That’s not what I meant.”
Kent doesn’t believe him for a second, so he sneers, “Isn’t it?”
Silence sits heavily between them. Kent thinks it might sit there forever, bogging them down with its smothering presence—and it would have, if Bitty hadn’t squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Stop! Just—Jesus, y’all. Quit it, would you?”
Jack and Kent both stare at him. Bitty looks small but fierce, blinking his eyes open with an expression that’s almost stern, and Kent sighs sharply. “Bits—look. You don’t understand—“
“Uh-uh.” Bitty shakes his head, putting a finger over Kent’s lips in a way that might feel demeaning if it were anyone else. As it is, Kent keeps his mouth shut. “I don’t have to understand everything to know that you to are makin’ yourselves miserable for no reason. So what if I don’t know y’all’s entire history? It’s not more important—“
“Bitty,” Jack interjects roughly. “Listen.”
And as suddenly as a balloon that’s been untied, Bitty deflates. “What?” he asks.
Jack’s eyes are hollow as he asks, “Do you think I’m a good person?”
Bitty doesn’t look either of them in the eye. “I—I mean. Honestly? I do. Y’all are both—I mean, your job might be killin’ people, but you’re not necessarily—bad,” he murmurs quietly.
Jack takes a slow breath. “Thank you for saying that, but—I’m not. I don’t want you to have that sort of mistaken impression of me.” His expression has grown steely, hard. Fuck.
“Zimms—” Kent tries to cut in.
But Jack keeps talking, and Kent’s powerless to stop him. “Bitty,” Jack says, “Who do you think killed Kent’s father?”
Fuck, no, he’s going there. Kent wants to stop him but he feels like he’s been gagged for all he can speak.
“I—well, I dunno exactly.” Bitty blinks. “Someone on the—the Schooners, right?”
“No,” Jack says, shoulders hunching. “They didn’t have anything to do with it, in the end.” He sighs sharply, eyes flicking to Kent and back, and Kent is paralyzed as Jack opens his mouth and says, “It was my dad.”
This isn’t a surprise to Kent, of course. He’d found it out long ago during the huge fight with Jack, the one that sparked a spiral that his floormates have dubbed the incident even though it hadn’t been that mysterious, not really. The truth had come out, and Kent nearly hadn’t been able to take it.
But Bitty—Bitty is so surprised he’s trembling.
“W-what? Parse—that’s not true, is it?” Bitty’s voice comes out strangled.
Choking down the discomfort that’s trying to climb up his esophagus, Kent nods. And when Kent clears his throat, Bitty honest-to-God cringes at the sound—fuck, Bitty’s scared.
Scared of Jack, definitely. But scared of Kent too—Kent can tell by the way he’s holding himself apart from Kent’s chest. And why shouldn’t he be scared? Kent and Jack are probably monsters in his eyes.
Kent’s a monster, for looking at Jack’s betrayal and wanting to love him anyway.
So Kent pulls away from Bitty, the friction as his arms leave Bitty’s body burning like knives scraping skin. “You can leave if you want,” he says, his voice sounding dull and distant even to his own ears. “I know—we’re fucked up. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
Bitty shudders, opening his mouth. For a moment, Kent’s heart clenches because it looks like he really is going to flee—but then he shakes his head firmly, taking one of Kent’s hands. “I ain’t leavin’ y’all.”
God, Bitty.
Kent crumples. He folds himself around Bitty and breathes a sigh of relief because he hadn’t really wanted Bitty to leave—if Bitty leaves, there’s nothing left except he and Jack and their shitty history, the kind that feels so broken it’s impossible to fix.
Bitty’s still shaking like a leaf. “What happened?” he whispers.
This time, Kent has to answer. Jack won’t tell the whole truth, or at least not the right parts—he’ll skew it to make himself look bad without giving all of Kent’s secrets away, and that’s not the story Kent wants Bitty to hear. “It was mostly like I told you earlier,” Kent says resignedly, looking away from both of them. “Dad got into a lot of debt problems with the Schooners. I was with him when they captured us, but it was our fucking luck that it ended up being the night that the Aces raided their headquarters.”
He’s lying, of course. That part hadn’t been luck.
No, luck had been Kent and Jack being on the same hockey team—lucky for the Aces, that is.
Kent doesn’t blame Jack for mentioning Kent around his father, doesn’t blame Bad Bob for connecting Kent’s last name with Kent’s dad’s. Even so, this is the part that hurts worst when he thinks of it, the part that makes his head want to fucking explode.
When he and Jack had hugged goodbye at graduation, Jack had already known that the Aces were planning to use Kent’s dad for fucking bait.
Kent grits his teeth against that particular truth because Bitty doesn’t need all the sordid details. The last thing Kent wants is for Bitty to hate Jack by the end of this, so he skims over it as best as he can, picking back up near the end of the story. “The raid went mostly as planned. A few of the Schooners escaped—they’re probably the assholes that we’ll be dealing with on this mission—and my dad and I were captured. He knew too much. That was that.” Kent shuts his eyes. “I got picked up because they figured I’d be useful, what with a contact sport background. It wasn’t too hard to teach me to hold a knife—kinda like you, I guess.” He smiles blandly at Bitty, but Bitty doesn’t look like he can bring himself to smile back, so Kent looks away and continues. “Then—I told you that Zimms and I fought, a couple years after that. Well, that was me finding out about—everything.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty breathes, leaning into Kent briefly. “I bet that was hard—for both of y’all,” he adds, flicking his gaze toward Jack too.
Zimms’ jaw clenches. Kent leans forward and buries his face in Bitty’s neck. “It was hard. I almost—I—” Kent shakes his head, throat tight.
“You don’t have to tell him.” Jack nudges his elbow, a touch that’s searing hot in the wake of what Kent’s about to say.
“I want to.” Kent lets out a long sigh. “Bits—I almost gave up. It wasn’t good. I was due for a promotion and—I fucked it up. I drank a ton, and normally management doesn’t care about that, but—well. One day I drank too much.”
Bitty stiffens in his lap, forehead creasing. Kent idly rubs his back, half because the motion comforts Bitty and half because it comforts Kent himself. “Was it—okay?”
Kent swallows. “It wasn’t great—I mean, obviously it sucked, but I was fine eventually. Zimms ended up getting the promotion instead, though. And it wasn’t his fault, not really. I went around the bend for a while there, and—he had to help bring me back. Not my best time.” He bites his lip, the familiar embrace of shame settling around his neck.
Bitty shudders a breath and hugs Kent fiercely, his body small but warmer than Kent probably deserves. “Parse, I—Lord. Are y-you okay now?” he asks, and when he pulls back, Kent realizes that Bitty has tears brimming in his eyes.
He’s okay. It’d taken a lot of effort to stop reaching for the alcohol when things got hard, effort along with therapy and a lot of time spent talking things out with Jack, but he’s okay. It’s been a long time since he’d drank, even longer since he’d drank so much he’d had trouble functioning. And maybe he’s even happy, now that Jack seems to have finally started letting some of their past go—enough to sleep with Kent on the regular, at least.
Enough to smile at him when Kent walks into the room, eyes no longer shaded with guilt.
“Aww, fuck. Don’t cry.” Kent pats Bitty’s shoulder, brow furrowing. “I’m okay. I had a lot of therapy, and it was fucking rough, but I’m okay.”
“Parse,” Bitty sighs, shaking his head as if his heart is breaking. Kent hopes it isn’t. Enough hearts have been broken because of this mess, and even when they’re sewn back together, it’s never the same.
Maybe it’s Bitty’s continuing tears, or maybe it’s just something in Kent’s face, but Jack takes the silence that lingers after Bitty’s sigh and says, “I guess I’ll leave, then,” his voice like stone.
He stands up. Kent’s chest burns—no, this wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. He should do something, but—he doesn’t know if he can bring himself to stop him.
Zimms has tried to leave him more times than Kent can count—to protect Kent, probably. It’s a wonder that Kent hasn’t yet fully let him go.
And maybe Bitty senses that. Because it’s Bitty, not Kent, that flings a hand out and says, “Zimms—don’t go.”
Jack stares at Kent, at both of them, and Kent looks up at him and wonders what he’s thinking. He wonders if Jack thinks he’s happy, sitting with Bitty like this, but Kent can’t be happy, not with Jack standing there, two seconds away from walking out. “I—” Kent starts, feeling lost. Talking about this sends old, forgotten feelings flying from their shelves in Kent’s head, thoughts he’d never wanted to dissect again, things like ‘What if Jack just betrays you another time?’ and ‘Is it really okay to be in love with him if he killed your dad? It shouldn’t be. You’re a fucking traitor.’
Kent thought he’d made peace with all of his old skeletons.
And maybe he has, but that doesn’t make pulling them out again any easier.
“Why should I stay?” Jack asks, voice low. “I thought—Christ, I thought you’d understand now, Bitty. Why I shouldn’t be around you guys. I’m not—safe.”
You are, Kent thinks, his defenses finally drawing up against all the intrusive thoughts whizzing around his brain. Jack is the safest person he has. Even though some things aren’t—can’t be forgivable, they can still be forgotten, and since then Jack’s had Kent’s back through thick and thin, through the most grueling missions and even through the days when Kent had broken apart, the cruelty of life battering at his skin. Jack had held him close, had left when Kent had wanted him to leave and had come back when Kent had beckoned again—having Jack around had always been a comfort, not a liability, and somehow Jack never seems to understand that.
And then Bitty opens his mouth, and the truth of Kent’s feelings falls straight from his lips. “You just did what—what you you were instructed to, didn’t you? Protecting your dad? Doesn’t sound like that was really your fault, and anyway—” He cuts off, sighing. “You should stay because—he needs you, I think,” and God, the pointedness of it stings like a bullet through Kent’s heart.
“I—do you?” Jack looks at Kent, eyes searching as if he’s hoping to find something inside Kent, something new to grasp at, even though Kent’s fairly sure he’s already given Jack everything he has.
He can try to give more anyway. For Jack, it’s worth it. “Always,” Kent says softly, holding out his hand.
Jack hesitates, and then he walks back toward him and takes the hand, clambering straight onto the bed and wrapping his arms around both of them. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”
“S’okay,” Kent murmurs, and Bitty nods against his shoulder.
“Sometimes I forget that you’ve forgiven me.” Jack pulls back to look at Kent, eyes swimming with nervousness. “Sometimes I just can’t—believe it.”
Kent finds Jack’s hand, links their fingers together. “We can get through anything, okay?”
Jack smiles at Kent then, nodding, but Bitty shivers in Kent’s lap. “What’s wrong?” Jack asks him.
“Can we really—the mission. I just—I don’t know if I can do it.” Bitty frowns, staring at his lap.
“Bitty?” Jack murmurs, nudging him until Bitty looks up. “You’re not doing this by yourself, okay? We’re a team.”
“He’s right,” Kent nods, gazing at Bitty, trying as best as he can to imbue his tone with confidence. “We’ll be okay.” And he doesn’t know how true that is, but at least it makes Bitty look a little less terrified.
He and Jack—their history is done and over with. Even though they’re going to be targeting the Schooners, there’s no reason for the incessant pang of betrayal to be nagging at his stomach, so Kent carefully boxes the pain away and puts it in the back of his mind, hides it in the mists of his memory where it’d lain peacefully for nearly a year before tonight.
xXx
Three days. They’ve got three days to prepare Bitty, and that means pulling other people in to act as aggressors and working on sims and filling out paperwork and—fuck, Jack’s head is swimming with it all. Early in the morning on day one, he goes and makes sure they’ve got a sim room booked for all three days, and then he shifts the partitions around the knife room so that it combines with the unused room next to it. They’ll need space, he thinks, already calculating how difficult it would be to pull other people in to run a real life scenario.
They make it through day one okay; Bitty has a minor hiccup while they have him attempt to train with Holster—he flinches so hard he trips as he attempts to flee. And goddamnit, Jack should have thought about it, about how Holster was on the mission when they’d picked Bitty up in the first place—but before Jack can work himself into a panic over his mistake, Bitty picks himself up from the floor.
“Again,” Bitty says, his eyes more determined than Jack’s ever seen him. From the sidelines, Kent raises his eyebrows, and Holster looks surprised.
“Yo, dude, if you need a minute it’s no problem,” Holster says, but Bitty shakes his head.
“I’m fine,” he smiles tightly, “Let’s go again.”
Jack watches them, worrying and worrying, until he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see Kent behind him. “You’re stressing,” Kent murmurs, letting his hand linger for just a moment before pulling it away. “He’ll be fine. Come spar with me.”
Jack exhales, eyes flicking to Bitty—he’s doing a little better now, holding his ground and working on disarming the prop gun from Holster’s grasp. “Okay.” He nods at Kent. “You gonna grab a knife?”
“Just a dull one,” Kent grins, heading over to the cabinets. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
Jack snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”
Somehow things haven’t changed between he and Kent, even though Bitty now knows about the most rotten thing in their history, even though Jack had dragged the carcass out of the closet and waved it in front of Kent’s face. Kent really has forgiven him, Jack thinks, and his head wants to burst with gratitude.
He doesn’t know what he’d do if he ever lost Kent’s trust again.
When Kent’s readied his knife, he and Jack prepare their stances, counting down simultaneously—and then Jack lunges at him and Kent dodges, weaving the beginnings of their dangerous dance. Unlike with Bitty, Jack can go all out with Kent and so he does, making his best effort to get his hands around Kent’s neck. But Kent is slippery, always has been, dodging and then making jabs with his practice knife that force Jack to give up ground.
And then Kent feints, catching Jack off guard—oh, shit—but he manages to keep his balance and swing around so that Kent’s blade slices right past him, and then Jack’s at a prime angle.
With a twist of his arms, he’s got Kent in a headlock, worming his hand around so that he can squeeze at Kent’s forearm until he drops the knife.
It takes a moment to realize that there’s clapping from the other side of the room. Jack releases Kent slowly, holding his hand out for a shake, and Kent smirks as he takes it. “You’ve still got it, Zimms.” He grasps Jack’s hand for a second too long, and Jack would maybe be worried about Holster noticing except that then Bitty strides over to them, pulling Jack’s attention away.
“That was amazing!” Bitty grins. “Y’all are—wow. I couldn’t tell who was gonna win until the last second!”
“Thanks.” Jack allows him a smile. He feels just a little more relaxed now—he’d forgotten how much the rush of sparring with others helps the tension seep out of him.
Lunch is a quick blur during which they eat as fast as possible. Bitty and Kent’s floormates keep throwing them worried glances, and Jack knows it’s because of Bitty going out for his first time—Lardo, especially, looks more anxious than Jack’s ever seen her.
They’d discussed the mission specs earlier in the morning. It hadn’t been promising. But they’re getting paid a fuck-ton of money to pull off this job, and Jack is certain that the Heads wouldn’t even consider turning it down just because of its difficulty level.
Honestly, Jack might be worried about this mission even without Bitty there. He’s surprised that the Heads had approved Kent going in the first place—it’s not often they allow agents with ties to the target to go on those particular missions.
But Jack isn’t dwelling on that, because right then Bitty laughs at something Kent says from across the table, and when Jack catches Bitty’s eye, Bitty’s smile grows wider, sparkling like the sun on morning dew.
Jack hadn’t anticipated being caught in it, in the way Bitty’s eyes sparkle as he laughs, but Bitty’s sitting right there next to Kent and Jack can’t stop the thought from slipping out—ah, the two people he likes best are happy.
It’s not like he can take it back after he’s already thought it, so instead he resigns himself to watching Bitty as he rolls his eyes and leans in to whisper something to Kent. Bitty hasn’t yet lost the youthfulness in his face; he’s handsome but his jawline isn’t yet sharp, and Jack is startled to remember just how young he is.
And God—someone as kind and thoughtful as Bitty should never have gone to waste like this. Not like he and Kent, always destined for sorrow. No, they’d technically saved Bitty, but had it really been the right thing to do? Jack looks at him and sees a young man whose innocence hasn’t yet been ripped apart—and no matter how Jack shifts his point of view, he and Kent are the ones encouraging Bitty to tear his morals to shreds, to stain his hands with blood just so that they’ll never have to spill his own.
His mind is so full right now, full of worries and fears and lamentations. But for now he pushes it all away so that there’s only he and Kent and Bitty, trapped in their oblong triangle of wishful happiness.
xXx
Bitty might have complained about how damn early they have to wake up in the morning—almost as early as sparring practice with Zimms—except that he hadn’t actually been able to fall asleep in the first place. He’d tossed and turned all night, fear churning his stomach, probably disturbing Parse in the process as he’d tried to get comfortable. But—it’s not like he’d expected anything less. He’d never been able to sleep before the first day of school, and the nights before skating competitions had been even worse. This mission is sort of like those two things combined—a competition, a fight for life, a means to prove himself for the very first time. Hell, he’s surprised he even feels tired for all the jitteriness in his bones.
Halfway through the night, Bitty had rolled over to see Parse blinking at him sleepily. “I should probly—sleep in my room,” Bitty had murmured, despite not having slept there in weeks—but Parse had simply furrowed his brow and tugged him closer under the sheets.
At least there’d been cuddling. It’d been a nice solace after the hectic whirlwind of activity that had only served to make Bitty even more anxious over the past three days—mission briefings with Lardo, an all-out training session with people from other cohorts coming to spar with them, and more virtual simulations than Bitty could count. Bitty’s performance levels had been—okay, he supposes, but the physical altercations still make him flinch more than they should for someone who’s about to go out on their first mission. And now they’re out of time. He can’t train any longer—and he knows that all the last minute training and mission strategy sessions were completely necessary, but part of him wishes he could’ve simply slept through it all. Maybe he would’ve been able to calm himself down.
He hadn’t gotten to have sex last night either. He’d kind of wanted to, because he’d take anything at all that distracts him from the current situation. But Zimms had gone up to his room early, and Parse had looked flat-out exhausted by the end of the night, so Bitty hadn’t even tried to ask.
He feels jittery as his eyes flit around the room in the early hours of the morning, focusing on Parse’s alarm clock, minutes away from ringing. After some deliberation he reaches out and turns it off because he doesn’t think its jarring noise is going to help his skittishness. He’ll wake Parse up himself—in a second, he thinks.
Rolling over, he looks at Parse, chest bare and blankets slipping down his body, mouth slack in sleep. Parse twitches briefly, then settles back into the pillow, and Bitty can’t resist reaching up to touch his face, to slide his hand along the stubbly curve of his jaw.
Parse’s eyes blink open in an instant. “Wha—oh, hey,” he says sleepily, lips spreading into a smile. “What’s up?”
Bitty swallows. “Today’s the day,” he says, imbuing his voice with as much courage as he can muster, smiling dolefully.
Parse reaches over and pats him on the hip. “Sure is,” he yawns, leaning over to kiss Bitty’s cheek in a move that never fails to make his skin burn. “How you feeling, babe?”
Bitty sighs. He’s scared, of course, and so fucking nervous—he doesn’t know how anyone can do this, let alone make it into their whole career. “I’m all right,” he says instead, and Parse gives him a slow nod.
“It’ll be all right. Trust us, ‘kay? We’ve been doing this shit for a long time, ‘specially Zimms,” Parse mumbles. “We’ll get you through it.”
“Okay,” Bitty says. Then he lets himself get pulled in for a hug and listens as hard as he can to the steady beat of Parse’s heart. If worse comes to worst and Bitty gets hurt—or God forbid, killed—Parse will be able to save himself, Bitty thinks. Not that Bitty wants to die, but if he fucks this up—Parse will stay alive, and he’ll still have Zimms to comfort him when the dust settles. That has to be true, Bitty tells himself. And that’s only the absolute worst case scenario; Parse and Zimms have said multiple times now that they’ll protect him. He just has to believe in them, even if he can’t quite believe in himself.
They get up to brush their teeth and shower. It’s earlier than even waking up for sparring practice with Zimms had been, so the hallway is entirely empty as they make their way down to the bathroom. Bitty’s about to step into his preferred shower stall when Parse catches his wrist, eyes crinkling into a smile. “Wanna?” he jerks his head toward his own stall, where the water’s already running.
Bitty lets out a sharp laugh. “Ha—okay.” He bites his lip, stripping off his clothing and joining Parse in the shower. “Like old times, I guess,” he murmurs as he accepts the shampoo from Parse.
Parse grins. “Yeah,” he says, “But I can look at you now.”
That makes Bitty blush so hard he accidentally drops the shampoo, and then they’re both laughing quietly, leaning into each other with a lightness Bitty hasn’t felt since before they’d learned about the mission.
Showering together isn’t quite new, but having Parse wash his back is—it’s soothing in the best way to have Parse’s hands on him like this. After they’re mostly clean, they slip into a warm embrace, hands sliding over cocks in an act that’s more for comfort than for sexual pleasure. Parse kisses Bitty long and firm when they’re done, looking down at him with eyes that this morning are green and fond. “If the mission goes well, we’ll have to make that a tradition,” Parse chuckles, reaching over to shut the water off.
Bitty hands him his towel, taking the other one and rubbing it through his own hair. He needs a haircut—he hasn’t had one in a while. He bets there’s someone who takes care of it around here, though, so he’ll have to remember to ask. “Are y’all superstitious?”
Parse shrugs as he dries himself off. “Somewhat.” He smirks. “Everyone has their little rituals, at least. Zimms always brings peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the road, for instance.”
“What was your thing?” Bitty asks curiously, setting the towel on the bench so he can start pulling his clothes on.
“Didn’t really have one, I guess,” Parse answers. “I used to listen to a lot of Britney Spears, but that just made me wanna hum it for the rest of the day—not really good when you’re trying to be quiet.” He laughs softly. “Anyway, now I have you, right?” He winks, and Bitty snorts.
“You’re makin’ a lot of assumptions, aren’t ya?” Bitty raises an eyebrow. “What if I were to find a boyfriend?”
Parse looks briefly stunned, which makes Bitty happier than it probably should. “I’d have to find something new then, I guess,” he murmurs, turning away sharply.
“Parse?”
“Yeah?”
“I ain’t leaving y’all anytime soon, if I can’t help it,” Bitty shrugs on his shirt, feeling a little forlorn at the admission—Lord, he’d rather keep sleeping with them and have it mean nothing than risk losing them both. It seems kind of pathetic even to his own ears.
But Parse smiles brightly, leaning over to kiss him. “I’m really fucking glad you’re around, okay? But don’t feel obligated to do—anything with us, or with me. Like—if you do find someone, that’s—fine, but.” He shrugs. “I think it’s safe to say that Zimms and I both like having you around.”
“Yeah—okay.” Bitty smiles back at him, and Parse takes his hand as they leave the bathroom, warm and familiar against his palm.
They meet Zimms down in the lobby as soon as they’ve gathered their bags, which were packed and ready the night before. Bitty grins at the sight of the coffee cup in Zimms’ hand, and Zimms smirks lightly as he hands it over. “You’ll probably be sleeping for most of the car ride anyway, but we usually go over the mission again at the very beginning, so we need you awake for at least that.”
“Aww, you didn’t bring me coffee?” Parse elbows Zimms.
Zimms looks a little bashful. “I—sorry, it was habit from sparring practice with Bitty. I, uh, can bring you coffee next time?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Parse tells him. But Bitty offers him a sip of his coffee as they make their way out past the training center, and Parse’s expression warms as he accepts it.
Bitty’s never been out on these trails before, so as he and Parse pass the cup of coffee back and forth, Zimms narrates their walk. “That’s an administrative office,” he inclines his head toward a small, nondescript building. “Technically Shitty’s office is over there, but he never uses it. Says he likes the people out in the training center better.”
“I don’t blame him,” Parse interjects with a grin. “We’re definitely more attractive.”
Zimms snorts, cutting diagonally across the path to shove Parse with his shoulder. Parse laughs and tries to retaliate, but Zimms dodges out of the way before he can get a hit in, smirking. “Anyway.” Zimms looks over his shoulder at Bitty, who’d fallen behind in an attempt to get out of the way of their roughhousing. “That’s the explosives building.” He points to a large warehouse down one pathway, separated from them by a large field. “We’ve largely done away with explosives training because they’re too dangerous to mess with in the main training center, but there are still a few older agents who like going out there and practicing.”
Bitty nods, wide-eyed. “Sounds scary.”
“There’s all sorts of regulations they have to follow.” Zimms shrugs. “When done properly, it’s fairly safe, but again—it’s a little risky for us to be training new agents to do it. Oh—here we are,” Zimms directs them down a side path, and Bitty is soon able to see a large, flat building. “This is the parking garage.”
Parse strides ahead, setting one of his bags down to unlock the door, and Bitty gasps when they make their way inside. “Holy hell—how much money do y’all have?”
“Enough.” Parse grins cheekily, glancing over the rows and rows of cars sitting in the warehouse-like building. “You’ll get your first payment after this mission, actually. The Aces take a chunk of that to benefit the facility as a whole, but that still leads a huge cut for us—especially as part of the combat team. Riskier jobs and all.” He shrugs. “Zimms is probably a millionaire by now.”
Bitty stares at both of them. “Seriously?”
“Parse is too,” Zimms mumbles modestly, pulling out a set of car keys.
“Huh—yeah, you’re probably right.” Parse makes a pleased face. “People will pay a fuck ton to have us get rid of targets. Not that there’s much to do with the money around here, but a lot of times retirees will go live at resorts and shit if they don’t stick around.”
Bitty gapes at him. “That’s—hell, that’s almost as ridiculous as sports salaries. Gosh.” He shakes his head, following Zimms and Parse to a medium-sized, nondescript SUV and nodding his thanks to Parse when he opens the trunk.
They stow their bags inside the car. Then Zimms takes the wheel and Parse sits shotgun, leaving Bitty to curl up with his half-empty cup of coffee in the backseat. “This is Zimms’ car, by the way,” Parse shoots over his shoulder. “I told him he should’ve gotten a Ferrari or something, but he said this was way more functional.” He grins.
“I mean, it is,” Zimms furrows his brow.
Parse laughs and flicks him in the shoulder. Then, Zimms reaches into the small bag he’d brought with him and pulls out what looks like—“Is that—a cell phone?” Bitty’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh, right!” Parse looks back at him again. “Yeah, this is probably too recent to be in the version of the manual I gave you, but Chowder figured out a safer way to encrypt certain info across signals. Obviously you shouldn’t use one of ’em to send anything too classified if you don’t have to, but it’s helpful in a pinch, and for keeping contact with headquarters too.”
“Also helps to keep up appearances,” Zimms mumbles, tapping at the phone, and Bitty watches as he pulls up the GPS. “It looks funny if you don’t have one.”
“Eight fuckin’ hours,” Parse whistles, peering over at the screen in Zimms’ hand, and Bitty doesn’t get a clear view of where they are but either way, that’s a lot of time to spend driving. “Gonna be a long one. Want me to switch off halfway?”
“Please.” Zimms smiles at him, and then Parse smiles back, and Bitty’s heart stutters as he watches them get caught up in the moment. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity that Parse and Zimms’ eyes are locked, and it’s not until they both look away that Bitty realizes he’d expected them to kiss.
But then Zimms starts the car and the moment dissolves, a phantom brush of lips that Bitty hadn’t even been a part of. He sits back in his seat and sips his coffee and thinks yet again about what it means that he’s not really jealous of their relationship.
Maybe he should be jealous. After all, he is in love with Parse, falling faster every day on a course that’s practically bound for destruction. But—but seeing Parse and Zimms interact feels so familiar that it’s almost like home. And for once, Bitty thinks that Parse’s happiness isn’t the only reason that he’d like them to stay together.
Bitty yawns a moment later, and Parse flashes him a grin, making a comment about Bitty needing to drink his coffee. Just for a second, Bitty lets himself stare at that smile, one that’s just for him—for Bitty, because no matter what, Parse had said he wants him around. “I am, shush,” Bitty says once that second is broken, but if anything Parse’s smile shifts into a smirk—and maybe it shouldn’t be sexy, but Bitty’s too far gone to really care about what should be attractive at this point. Parse is attractive, all of him, and Bitty wishes he could say how perfect Parse is without it sounding like he’s head-over-heels for him—which, he is, but he doesn’t plan on Parse or Zimms ever finding out about that.
Zimms merges onto the highway, carefully ticking on his turn signal before he shifts into the lane. “We should go over the last-minute details before the drive gets too tedious,” Zimms talks, words overriding the tinny voice of the GPS telling them that they’re “on the fastest route to your destination.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Parse nods. “Wanna recap what you know, Bits? ’S good practice.”
“Sure,” Bitty agrees, settling back in his seat and wrestling all the thoughts flying around in his brain into a semblance of order. “Okay, so the client—and we don’t find out who they are, right?” Bitty asks, and Zimms grunts in assent. “Anyway, the client hired us to take out the remaining high-up members of the Schooners, because there’s been rumors that they’re trying to recruit new members and re-form the organization. There are three of them, and two of them live together—right?”
“You’ve got it.” Zimms nods. “Don’t worry so much about second-guessing yourself, eh? We’ve got eight hours to get your story straight.”
Bitty snorts. “God forbid it takes that long.”
Laughing, Parse smirks. “You never know. Missions get Zimms hot.”
“They do not.” Zimms furrows his brow, nonetheless not taking his eyes off of the road. “Parse is full of shit, don’t listen to him.”
“I’ve kinda figured that out by now.” Bitty grins ruefully.
“Oh, come on.” Parse twists in his seat. “You love me. Admit it.”
Lord.
Bitty is very, very glad it’s still dark out because it means Parse can’t see the flush creeping hotly up his cheekbones. “Well,” Bitty draws the word out, “I guess you’re tolerable. It’s a good thing we’re friends,” he covers, and hell, he’s half-convinced that Parse is going to be able to tell how he feels just from the tone of his voice.
But Parse doesn’t seem to notice, smirking cockily. “Not what you were saying in the shower this morning.”
And Bitty’s still flushing, but at least they’re not talking about love anymore, good God.
“What was he saying in the shower this morning?” Zimms perks up.
“I wasn’t saying much of anything,” Bitty retorts.
Parse chuckles, and Zimms smirks at Bitty through the rear-view mirror. “Oh?”
“Zimms. He’s not gonna give you deets,” Parse snorts.
“You’ve done it every time before though, eh?” Zimms points out.
“Shh,” Parse says with a groan, swatting him in the shoulder. “Later. We don’t have time to stop and have sex right now anyway, and you know where these kinds of conversations lead.”
“Well, we could modify the mission timing. We did leave time for a long nap.” Zimms pretends to consider, and Kent snorts. “Anyway—we weren’t finished going over the mission details, I think. Bitty?” he prompts, and Bitty nods and opens his mouth to continue.
xXx
The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach their destination, and Bitty slides out of the car, yawning and stretching his arms. They’re in front of a medium-sized house, entirely unremarkable in its exterior and well-hidden from its neighbors by the thick swathe of trees that lines the yard. “This is the safe house?”
“Mhmm,” Parse nods. “They had this place set up for—well, for the last time they scouted against the Schooners,” he says, his voice sounding flat.
And God, this has to be hard for him—Bitty can’t even imagine. “This is supposed to be a pretty fast mission, right? So we won’t have to stay here for long.” He tries to smile reassuringly.
Parse’s face softens. “Yeah, you’re right.” He nods, handing Bitty his bag from the trunk. “Hey, Zimms—you been here before?”
“No,” Zimms shakes his head, taking his own duffel out of the car before slamming the trunk shut. “I was, uh. Back at headquarters the whole time.”
Parse nods solemnly. “You know—if you need to—for the mission.” He sighs, “You can—talk about stuff from back then? It’s not gonna hurt as much as it used to, I think. And the details might be important.”
Zimms’ lips twist as he nods. “Honestly, I don’t know much more about it than you do. Less, maybe. But—thanks, Parse.”
“No problem,” Parse replies, a soft smirk flitting across his face.
They head into the house, which Bitty notes is surprisingly clean, if blandly furnished. “There’s a cleaning person who comes in on weekends,” Zimms explains. “They’ve been instructed not to come when the house is in use, but it’s mid-week anyway. We won’t even have to worry about that.”
Bitty looks around at the blank, white walls and the cramped kitchen and resists the urge to shudder—there’s nothing homey about the place. He’s glad they don’t have to stay there long.
“Looks like the master bedroom’s down here,” Kent observes, peeking into one of the doors. “Think we’ll need to use any of the bedrooms upstairs? The bed looks like it’s a king.”
“I dunno,” Zimms answers. “Depends on Bitty—you want your own bed?”
“Ah, no thank you.” Bitty flushes.
Parse grins. “Good. We can cuddle.” He winks, and Bitty feels a pleasant flash of warmth spread in his cheeks.
Zimms stifles a yawn in his fist. “I’m going to need to sleep for a while before we really get going,” he tells them. “Mind looking over the surveillance tapes again, if you guys stay up?”
“Sure,” Parse nods. “There should be copies on my cell, right?”
“Yep. Check the storage on the micro-SD card,” Zimms tells him, aiming a smile at Bitty as he shuffles toward the bedroom and closes the door.
Parse opens up one of his duffel bags, pulling out a phone that looks fairly similar to the one Zimms had been using. “You’ve got a phone too, by the way,” he tells Bitty as he turns it on. “But—we probably won’t give it to you until we’re ready to go out. Sorry,” he says, looking sheepish.
“It’s okay!” Bitty waves his hand back and forth, even as his heart sinks. “I don’t even need one, really.”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Parse adds hurriedly, and that makes Bitty feel a little bit better. “It’s just that they can’t pin stuff on you as easily if you don’t have access to things that you could get in trouble with. But like—you’ll be fine. Zimms and I both know that you know better than to try and call your parents or something like that.”
Bitty honestly hadn’t even thought about it. “I—I don’t remember their numbers,” he realizes, blinking. He’d known them once, back before he’d had his first cell phone, but he hadn’t had much of a need for the knowledge once he’d reached high school. “So,” he shrugs, “I couldn’t do that anyway.”
Parse nods solemnly, leaning over and putting an arm around his shoulders. They stand there for a moment, and Bitty is glad for the warmth of Parse’s touch—he tries not to think much about it anymore, but every day he feels further and further removed from ‘Eric’, from the boy he’d used to be. That boy had parents who loved him and a pet dog, had gotten locked in the janitor’s closet overnight when he was in middle school, had distant friends and relatives who knew nothing about him and ice skating lessons with one of the best instructors in his state. Eric was outgoing, sure, but he was also closeted and eager to prove himself, and even at the best of the times he’d felt rather timid about anything to do with really expressing himself.
Bitty is still some of those things, but—but he feels like he’s more, now. More confident, at the very least, and more sure of his sexuality, among other things.
And now he’s stepping back out in the world for the first time since his kidnapping. He’s joined the ranks of those who’d locked him away, and he might even have to hurt someone tonight, even though he hopes against it with every fiber of his being.
Bitty shivers.
Parse notices, of course, and sighs softly. He presses a kiss to Bitty’s cheek and motions toward the beige, perfunctory-looking couch. “C’mere. Let’s watch the tapes.”
“Okay,” Bitty says, but he tilts his head up and gives Parse a real kiss before they sit down.
Bitty’s seen glimpses of the surveillance recordings before, but he hasn’t yet watched all of them. They’re clips taken from the front desk of an apartment building, the one where two of the targets live, and all of them feature a bored looking night watch security guard. He’s young, brunet, and is thumbing idly through his phone on all of the videos they have where he’s not actually speaking with guests.
“I can’t believe we got this fucking lucky,” Parse mutters, shaking his head. “I guess this is why we didn’t go with a female team to begin with.”
Bitty nods, watching as the guard leans over the desk to chat with one of the male residents—and they’re definitely flirting, there’s no doubt about it. Gosh.
“I guess I shouldn’t have too hard of a time distracting him, right?” Bitty asks nervously.
“Nah, I don’t think so. You’re hot.” Parse waggles his eyebrows, and Bitty giggles. But slowly, Parse’s expression turns pensive. “Hey—you’re sure you don’t mind doing that part?”
Bitty bites his lip, nodding. “It sounds better than—what y’all are gonna be doing, so.”
Parse’s lips twist. “Yeah, but. You were worried about it before.” He shrugs. “I just don’t wanna force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
Bitty thinks about it, then shakes his head. “I think I’m all right with it now.” He gives Parse a small smile. “I mean, I—um. I’ve had sex now? So it’s not as weird?”
Parse nods contemplatively. “And you don’t have to have sex with him if you can help it. All we need is a diversion.”
“Right,” Bitty says, mulling it over. His job for this portion of the mission is fairly simple: seduce the security guard so that Parse and Zimms can get upstairs and back without being noticed. Privately, Bitty thinks that getting the timing right for their return is going to be the hardest part—he doesn’t know for sure if he’ll be able to convince the guard to actually leave his station, nor for how long. It speaks to how different he feels about himself nowadays that he’d barely thought to worry about having to sleep with the man—he’s more worried about Parse and Zimms being safe. “There are a couple times where he gets up for a while, right?”
“Mhmm.” Parse nods, hitting the back button on the video that’s playing and scrolling through the thumbnails until he finds the clip he’s looking for. He taps it, and Bitty watches as half a minute later, a man walks up to the desk and starts chatting with the guard. Bitty’s seen this clip before, but it won’t hurt to watch it again—it’s one of the only handful they have where the guard actually leaves the desk for something or another.
The guard’s face slowly spreads into a smirk as he speaks with the other man. He’s not unattractive, Bitty thinks, but it’s hard to tell on the pixel-y screen, and at any rate—well, he’s no Parse, that’s for sure. The two keep chatting, leaning in almost imperceptibly toward each other. It’s only a few minutes before the guard peers furtively around the room, checks his watch, and then gestures for the other man to follow him off-screen.
Bitty lets out a small sigh, letting his head drop sideways onto Parse’s shoulder. “What if they’re not actually going to have sex?”
“Hmm. That’s possible,” Parse allows, pushing back his cowlick. “But they were definitely flirting. And that leads in a pretty obvious direction, you know,” he adds with a smirk. “I don’t think you’ll be having any problems.”
“If you say so,” Bitty replies wryly. And really, there are so many ways this can go horribly wrong, ways he’s thought about over and over until he feels queasy—but he’s so tired. He’s tired of worrying, and right now he gets to sit with Parse and watch videos and maybe even cuddle a little—for now, he’s safe, and he’s going to try his damned best to enjoy it.
He shifts a little closer to Parse, who takes the hint and slips his arm around Bitty’s shoulders, shifting the phone so that it’s centered between them. Bitty dutifully watches the screen for as long as he can, eventually letting Parse’s warmth and the grainy clips lull him into a doze.
|
Ten
Balancing act. (He never claimed to be an acrobat.)
He barricades himself in under countless layers of earth, stone, and sand. He of all people knows the lair beneath the world is not safe. Not truly his, not yet. Kelpie he releases to do as she will, because as much as the company would be comforting, Pitch does not trust himself to not lash out at the undeserving.
What he deserves is a matter for debate.
He is nothing but a shadow enveloped in the deepest dark, alone with his thoughts.
That is not as reassuring as it should be.
His thoughts seethe and churn, ebb and flow like storm-tossed tides: at the forefront there is the crashing breaker that he was wrong. He had been wrong, all along—he had been.
How could he have not known? Who was Kozmotis then? Did it even matter? It must have been so very, very long since that point of departure. He has forgotten entire periods of time since what he thought was his genesis, in the way of all immortals who exist for so long worn so thin.
The locket is working on him even now, locked in the cage of his fingers, and he cannot decide whether to embrace it or consign it to the depths of Earth's molten core where even the Rabbit cannot retrieve it.
Does he truly want to remember? What path led him here from the stars? No tale that ends with the Nightmare King can be considered a good one. He knows. . . he knows. . .
He closes his eyes against the dark and scoffs. He knows nothing.
How long did he spend in the abyss of indecision?
How long before he heard hooves on stone, echoing through the barrier of sand that surrounds him?
For an instant, fear licks at him—nothing but his own anticipation, instantly squashed when he hears what he distinctly did not expect but should have: an annoyingly familiar voice.
"I'm guessing we're here. Thanks." He can almost imagine the whisper of callused soles touching down, the youngest Guardian no doubt patting the nightmare. "Y'know, for a creepy pony, you're not so bad."
He doesn't have to guess which nightmare it is that whickers back at him. The sound of Kelpie's hooves retreats to a safe distance, likely keeping watch. Leaving the Guardian alone in the echoing cavern Pitch had chosen as his retreat.
If he chose, he could part the sand barrier, step out and confront the Guardian. He could watch from the shadows. Instead he does nothing, curled into the darkness, and waits for Jack to either speak his piece or leave.
It doesn't take long; Jack paces the edge of the hall, the faint drag of his staff giving away his progress. No doubt he's leaving frost patterns behind him, letting his power provide illumination in this place of no light. That brightness presses against his senses as an almost tangible thing. Despite himself, he's aware of the shifting shapes Jack casts, a shadow puppet dancing across the familiar stage of stone.
"Hey, Pitch. Your maze kind of sucks." Jack sounds conversational, casually scuffing his feet. "Yeah, your pony let me in, but down here? All I had to do to find you was pick the way I least wanted to go."
"Navigating by fear, y'know?" Jack's voice stops, and his shadow leans close to the bars cast from the hanging cages, the ones he now knows are tarnished and rusted from their former splendor (which had always struck him as strange but perhaps ironic justice, to keep something so dark wrapped in so much light and he does not know this these are not his thoughts—)
The light dims and he loses track of Jack's progress, his shadow melding into the greater darkness. He must have missed something Jack said, because when he speaks again, his voice comes from a different part of the room. His shadow traipses along one of the arched bridges, walking the railing like a tightrope with nonchalant grace.
"Yeah, I know you're in here." Jack laughs, knowing but not unkind. "Because you want to be alone, to be safe."
Jack snorts, hopping off the rail. There's a dizzying moment where his shadow flies alone along the wall before reconnecting with the boy on the cavern floor. Then it all goes dark, leaving him blind once more. "You're just as predictable as I was."
To be fair, Pitch hadn't known that Jack considered Antarctica his home away from home. It had been an educated guess, from what little he knew about the frost spirit. It had paid off- until it didn't. Pitch scowls in the dark and silently wills the Guardian to grow tired and leave him alone with his thoughts. He has enough to occupy him without interruptions.
Naturally, that's when Jack finds him.
His well-protected hiding spot, at least.
"Whoa, okay, this is new. Pretty sure this is new." Jack's voice echoes oddly from below as he circles the angular shape of the cage, followed by a reverberating thunk as Jack raps his staff against the smooth surface of black sand enveloping it. "Isn't this a little over-dramatic, Pitch? Roosting in one of the cages? I bet you're in there and this isn't just the Nightmares redecorating."
Jack deliberately swats the crook of his staff against the cage's side, ringing it like a bell. Pitch cringes and curls his hands over his ears as if that would help. Of course Jack would come abuse him into granting an audience. It's just as well the cold doesn't much affect him, or the brat would try to freeze him out.
"C'mon, Pitch, come out and play. I'm pretty sure you're not turning into a butterfly, so give the chrysalis a rest." Jack pauses thoughtfully, "Well, you could be. I don't know what you used to be."
Pitch scoffs to himself. At least that much is doubtful. He was a soldier—
He grimaces and deliberately peels his fingers off the locket, letting it fall under his uniform collar. He refuses to think about why the motion feels so very familiar.
Jack continues on, "I promise not to laugh if you've turned into a damn big black butterfly. . . . Nah, who am I kidding, I'd laugh." There's a brief pause and flicker of light as Jack takes off, the damn idiot perching atop the cage's sloping roof. Jack's shadow twines its hand around the thick chain, his voice sounding from directly overhead. "I figure. . . I figured you could use . . . some company, I guess. Someone who didn't know who or what you were. I would have been pretty pissed, too, if someone knew and didn't tell me."
Jack trails off, only to pick up a different thread a moment later. "Did you even open it yet?"
It opens? No, of course it opens. It's a locket, after all, and inside—
He shuts his eyes tightly and grits his teeth in silence.
He's certainly not about to do it now, with Jack bloody Frost overhead on the other side of a foot of solid-packed nightmare sand.
"I was afraid to open mine," Jack admits softly, like it's any shock to the Nightmare King that Jack Frost's worst fear was finding himself as unworthy as everyone else seemed to think he was. "Stupid, right? What I wanted was right there in my hands, but I couldn't do it. Baby Tooth had to give me the courage to open it and find out who I was."
Oh, yes, the mini fairy that had virtually adopted the brat. Pitch rolls his eyes, absently rubbing at the mark that tiny sharp beak had left behind. Does Jack realize he's casting himself in her role? The plucky encouraging side-kick? He sneers into the shadows. That is one thing the Nightmare King past or present never had a need for.
"I keep thinking, I never knew what I was missing, for three hundred years. That's a long time. But you. . ." Jack's voice fades into uncertainty. "You're one of the oldest. That's even worse."
Yes. He is. If Jack thinks three hundred years is a long time, he wouldn't be able to comprehend the spans Pitch has lived.
"Knowing who you are, that's . . . really important. Something no one should take away from you. I don't think you need me to tell you what to do."
And somehow, that is the last straw.
Pitch snaps and steps forward through the shadows like parting a rippling curtain, stalking out of the darkness onto a bridge behind Jack. True to form, the brat has spread frost across the room; the bridges and cages are encased in white-glowing sculptures of dripping icicles. Pitch may have found it pretty elsewhere; now he can only see Frost encroaching on what is his.
"But isn't that what you're doing, Jack?" Pitch bites out. Jack jumps, satisfyingly startled. "Isn't that what you Guardians love to do? To tell everyone what's good and proper?"
Jack nearly fumbles his staff in spinning to face him, coming to his feet atop the cage encased in black sand. "No, Pitch, that's-"
"No, don't be sanctimonious with me. You came to have your word. To assuage your guilt by association." Pitch folds his arms, well aware his shadow is dancing on the wall behind him.
"Argh, would you just listen?" Jack kicks off the cage, floating on an impossible breeze before him. "I don't want to fight you. I came to ask for your help. The nightmares are getting worse and something's going to happen soon, I know it."
"What, you can feel it? In your belly?" Pitch laughs, harsh and mocking. "No, as novel as the idea of a Guardian come begging to me is, I think I've made my position quite clear."
He knows his parting declaration still rings in the Guardian's ears when he blanches. Jack lands in front of him, hands white-knuckle tight on his staff. "I heard you. But we need you."
Pitch quirks up a corner of his mouth, "There's your mistake."
Jack braces his feet against the floor, not quite shrinking back as if he knows he's in for it.
Pitch leans forward, deliberately menacing. "I don't need you."
Jack flinches and ducks behind his staff as Pitch swallows the Guardian in his shadow, warping them both to the surface to deposit the brat on his backside in a cold forest beneath the watchful light of a half-moon.
He stays hidden, nothing but eyes in the dark as Jack picks himself up slowly.
He almost thinks he imagines the rueful chuckle as Jack tilts his head back, seeming to address the sky through the bare branches, "Yeah, that could have gone better."
He doesn't have to wait to watch the winter spirit take to the wind, but he does. To be sure his unwanted guest is gone before returning to the dark, he tells himself. The cavern he'd sought refuge in no longer feels safe, wreathed in icicles and frost that will take weeks to melt. He dissolves his black dream sand ramparts with a dismissive gesture, then takes to stalking the halls.
Kelpie joins him, a silent retainer at his elbow, his only company as the labyrinth shifts around him. Corridors realign, stairwells rotate, and he finds himself recreating the path he took fleeing from the nightmares.
He ends up on the spiral stairs beneath the abandoned well, with the pale grey of dawn filtering down along with the fresh air. Here, the moon has already set.
Pitch pauses at the landing where he lay gasping for days, gathering up the strength of will and wherewithal to venture back into the mortal world.
He meant to do this in isolation. In the pure dark of his namesake. As safe from fear as he could manage. Perhaps. . . this is better. The balance between terror and safety.
Pitch glances back at Kelpie, and smirks wryly at the nightmare's obvious confusion. "If I go barking mad, I strongly suggest you run."
The nightmare stamps, tilting her head, but Pitch is already pulling out the locket. A delicate, practiced movement flips the lid open. In the first golden light of morning, he knows he should see inside—
"She has your eyes."
"And your nose."
He laughs, because he knows perfectly well it's unfortunate. "No one will ever doubt she's mine, will they?"
"Of course not." She falls silent, and leans into his chest, her arms wrapped around their daughter. He folds his arms around her in turn, their entire family held close. "She's beautiful."
"Yes."
And that is the last word he will ever accept on the matter.
They keep giving him medals. Awards. Accolades. His dress uniform is frankly ridiculous. He hates it to the depths of his soul. Each shiny bit of tawdry he earns- he can think of another who deserves it many times more. And when they finally let him retire those tired bits of gold, after one last command performance, he finds each and every grave and final resting place of those more-deserving men and women, soldiers and civilians, and gives them their proper honors.
He deserves no honor for simply being the only one to survive.
She had yelled at him when they last spoke. Cursed him as bitterly as a little girl knows how, and left angrily before he could gather himself to say a single word in response. Not in defense, no. He had not been there when she died. Duty is no excuse for deserting his wife in her last moments. Especially not such desperate ones.
He grieves, and worse, he fears that he has lost his daughter, too.
When he finally stands before her, he stays absolutely still beside the military transport, afraid that one move will tip the balance and she will flee him forever. He meets her eyes, her mother's eyes, and can see his little girl's heart breaking. He hurts, for her, for his lost beloved, for them all.
At last, she does break.
He could not be more relieved that it is to bolt into his arms. He cradles her close, lets her tears soak his uniform with complete disregard for the honors and medals there, and buries his face in her hair. "I'm here."
"I could ask for no better man."
He closes his eyes against the bitter truth. There is open regret in the Tzar's face, plain in his words, but they both know the harsh realities of leadership. He is no stranger to grim battlefield sacrifices. This seems colder somehow.
He knows what is being asked of him. This is a life sentence. A death sentence.
He can't bring himself to say aloud, 'You mean there is no one else' or it would sound like a question, a shirking of duty. No, he knows his role here, even in the privacy of the Tzar's office. A small mercy, on the off chance that he could not bring himself to shoulder this burden.
He has won the war, but he will not be able to retire. He will not watch his daughter grow, no longer so little. He will never again be able to visit his wife's grave. The gardens. The Constellations.
Instead, he opens his eyes, raises his head, and says firmly, "As always, I would be honored to serve."
He wakes in a hospital, nearly dizzy with pain before he can even open his eyes. His last memory is the flash of a blade descending when he was already knocked flat on his back, when he had no possibility of blocking. He knows to his core that he is lucky to be alive, and even luckier- his wife is clinging to his hand. She scolds him, tears she'll never admit to shedding in the corners of her eyes. "Don't ever do that again."
He winces, finding it beyond him to do more than weakly squeeze her fingers in return. "I'm not planning on it."
"They had to put you back together like jigsaw puzzle." She leans over their joined hands, her hair falling forward like a curtain. He has always loved her hair. "I won't lose you."
And his heart aches worse than any wound that he cannot promise he will always be able to come back to her.
"Can you make it?"
He's bleeding, sweat and worse running into one eye, a raw recruit battered beyond anything training could have ever prepared him for, and he knows he cannot stop. He fixes his gaze on the goal, the exit route beyond the teaming hordes of black shadows, and nods firmly. "I can, sir."
"Then go. You won't get any second chances. Believe in this one."
He never sees that officer again, but he doesn't forget her last words.
That's the first time he is the only one to walk away from a battle, but it's not the last.
The first time he saw the woman who would steal his heart, he'd nearly gotten himself killed for losing his focus in battle. When he finally gets the chance to speak with her, he nearly gets killed a second time courtesy of choking on his foot in his mouth.
Somehow, she doesn't murder him where he stands.
He never knows how he got so lucky.
Standing with his graduating class, all sharp and bright as freshly-minted gold in their new uniforms. Such high hopes, such certainty they were doing what was right and honorable and necessary to protect their homes and loved ones. Keeping the Constellations safe.
He hopes he would have made his family proud.
There's more, like bright fragments of a mirror all reflecting different pieces of the same room that fails to make a single coherent image. Here, a pookha hands him a sword. There, he stares reverently at the first sight of the Constellation he'd called home but never truly seen from space. A young man sobs brokenly and he knows loss for the first time. A Fearling laughing over him as it sinks its claws into his back and tears through his flesh. Sharp, heavy resolve as he swears his unprecedented oaths, of the duty he cannot ask anyone else to bear.
His little girl's voice cries out, "Daddy!"
He comes back to himself, the filigreed edges of the locket biting into his fingers, Kelpie nudging his shoulder with worry. Pitch gently flicks the lid closed, hiding the sight of the sharp, time-stained tooth which has taken the place of the portrait of the striking young girl which should be there. As always, reality is a much uglier truth.
He tucks the locket carefully beneath his uniform collar, vaguely annoyed that his current outfit seems to have shifted slightly to bring it more in line with what the Constellations would recognize. The Black General. He snorts quietly at the irony, then pats Kelpie's neck before mounting.
"I think we've spent enough time here. Time for darker pastures."
The sun is high and bright now; no way of knowing how much time has passed. Hours, days. That's a rather disturbing trend for him, on the whole, and one he'd rather be done with. The nightmare needs no further urging to walk on, passing through shadow to a deserted beach on the dark half of the planet.
They are far from humans, from the light pollution that obscures the best views of the cosmos.
From what had been a glorious, riotous mass of color, he can now pick out shapes, name constellations, nebulae, planets, moons. Which had been occupied, which had been overrun, their strategic strength and importance. Their political stances.
All celestial ages out of date, and most certainly not the current state of things after he'd had his way with them as the Nightmare King. Useless.
Pitch scowls at the night sky as Kelpie walks the divide between land and sea, toying with the surf. He can never forget what Kozmotis knows.
What a waste of beauty.
Well, now he knows. He was certainly someone.
He has roughly one thirty-second of a lifetime. The best. The worst. In no particular order, with even more obliquely referenced events he knows from the edges or shadows they cast, but cannot recall why he does. Like picking up a book and flipping through the pages, only stopping to read highlights on scattered pages. Some of the scenes are incomplete, and worst of all—he does not know how or why the story ends, but it can't be well.
The ending is him, after all.
"A hero." Pitch laughs at himself, glad the moon is dark when he looks upwards. There is no one to answer his mocking, "Did you know? What became of your precious general?"
Thousands of years of orchestrating slaughter and bloodshed and oppression, that's what. Of course he made a fine conductor; he'd been trained by nothing but the best.
Kozmotis had been the best.
Pitch grimaces and forces his hands to stop clenching Kelpie's mane. The nightmare doesn't deserve his ire towards Kozmotis.
He is not that man.
How unfortunate for the Guardians, for the world, that he is a monster, not a martyr.
There's nothing really scary about Halloween. Jamie's always loved it alongside all of his other favorite holidays, because even though there's no one spirit for it, this is the day everyone dresses up and believes there might be something else beyond their imagination.
Halloween's the day when everyone plays pretend, and somehow that makes the spirits more real by comparison.
This year it falls on a Friday, so he wears a blue hoodie and khaki shorts with flip flops to school and shares quick grins with his friends when they recognize the outfit. When they all meet up at the park to go trick or treating, he's switched to something a little more ambitious. Sophie had her heart set on being a fairy warrior princess (He has no idea where she got that idea from, not at all), so naturally, he has to be a dragon.
Not that he's seen one yet, but that doesn't mean they don't exist, right? Somewhere out there. He knows if he just believes, he might see one, one day.
They've got a house rule of no store-bought costumes, so they've been working with Mom for weeks now to get everything together. Sophie's dressed like a rainbow explosion in a feather factory with her wings on, and Jamie's gone all green. Sophie couldn't stop giggling the entire time she painted his face, "like an egg." He doesn't care if it's not perfect; they had fun.
Caleb, decked out like a zombie, hails him with an apparently rotting hand, "Mutant Statue of Liberty?"
"Dragon!" Jamie grins, "Can't you see it?" He spins to display the home-made stuffed tail, the cardboard wings and horns. He's pretty proud of the horns, actually.
Caleb laughs and punches him in the arm, "Sure thing, Trogdor. And Soph?"
Sophie proceeds to take center stage and explains her character's story with all the serious an eight-year old girl can muster. Monty waves at him shyly from the back of the group, in a pieced-together Jedi ensemble that actually looks pretty solid. Jamie's proud of him for coming with them, after everything that's happened. They still need to get out and have fun, too.
The group turns up in fits and spurts with various younger siblings attached: they end up with a ninja, a Jedi, a dragon, a fairy, a pair of zombies, a mad scientist, a rock star, and some other things Jamie can't identify immediately.
Pippa doesn't . . . look that different from usual, actually. Jamie wanders over to ask, "Hey, Pip. What's your costume?"
Pippa replies quickly, "I'm playing chaperone for Molly. I'm not really trick or treating."
"Really?" Jamie asks. She's only a few years older than them, a senior now. "But don't you want to have fun while you can?"
Pippa raises an eyebrow and looks at his outfit, "That's fun?"
Jamie shrugs, deliberately waving his wings. "Sure. We made them ourselves."
"And it looks like it, too." Pippa sighs. "Jamie, when are you going to grow up?"
"There's nothing wrong with liking being a kid," Jamie tries not to let the hurt enter his voice. Not this conversation again. It's just Pippa. She's always wanted to be an adult, even when she was the third grader leading him and all the other first graders to the bus stop for the first time.
"You're not Peter Pan, Jamie." Pippa steps backwards, already moving on. "Some day you're going to have to get your head out of the clouds and come back down to earth with the rest of us. There's no such thing as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny."
Monty casts him a quick look from over Sophie's head and Jamie smiles wanly in return. Monty still believes, but the others. . . One by one. They don't even remember that night they saved the Guardians, except maybe as a story or a dream. He's stopped trying to fight with them over it, because there's no changing their minds.
The worst part is, he knows. He knows she's right. There's going to be a day when he too grows up- when he tells himself that he has to stop chasing fairies and dreams.
When he stops believing.
When he'll stop being able to see the Guardians.
Worse, he might even forget he ever did. Like Pippa.
Jamie watches the brightly colored group of kids come together under the park's street lights, laughter and happy voices turning into meaningless but bright background noise. Sophie is chirping at Monty now, displaying the feathers in her hair while he tries to keep a straight face.
He should be in there with them, having fun, enjoying everything about his childhood he can before it's taken from him, but it's like a dark curtain cuts him off from joining the festivities. He should be happy, but all he feels is . . . hurt. Empty. Afraid.
Waving his flashlight over his head like he's directing traffic, Caleb hollers, "Come on, guys, let's move out! We've got a lot of houses to hit and one night to do it!"
He's greeted by a rough cheer that Jamie can't join. When the trick or treaters flood out of the park, Jamie stays, rooted in place, forgotten in the shadows.
Pippa's words echo in the back of his head.
He doesn't want to grow up.
He doesn't want to stop believing.
He doesn't want to change.
That is all the opening the Grim needs.
The monstrous nightmare stalks him, appearing from behind him, then circling through the crowd of children streaming past, ever closer. Jamie can barely breathe for the paralyzing fear. He wants to cry out for the others to wait, to help. He wants to believe someone can save him. Except, right now, all he can feel is terrified.
The enormous wolf's head stops right before him, golden eyes boring into him. If he doesn't want change, if he never wants to grow up. . . he never has to.
No one waits for him. No one saves him. No one with the eyes to see witnesses the nightmare swallowing the former last light whole.
Jamie is rendered blind, bruised and battered by the dark in a way that has nothing to do with physical wounds. It is like falling into a tornado of black sand that scours away his hopes, his dreams, his beliefs. In its place, the nightmare wraps around him, presses in, and whispers, you are afraid. You were alone. Not anymore. Now, you are me.
It is a very, very long fall.
They do not so much hit bottom as stabilize. Spread wings made of shadow and glide to a new understanding. The black sand billows, writhes and swells in size. A long neck arches up like a cobra, lips curling away from a dagger-filled maw even more dangerous than the wolf's. At last, something that is both more and less than human, more and less than nightmare, opens its golden eyes.
Its gaze tracks the last of the brightly-dressed children still streaming away down the street, blithely unaware of the danger behind them.
Like all newborns, it is hungry.
An ocean away, walking the streets of a small town just before dawn, Pitch's head raises like a hound catching a scent.
There is something. . . Very old. Very familiar.
He has never been able to recognize it from so far away before, but his memories have a name for it before he does. The Enemy. A Fearling.
A mortal, fallen into shadow.
Never has this planet seen one truly unleashed. Not with the power and scope this one brings to bear. Pitch lets his breath hiss out between his teeth.
Unbidden, a storm of shadow and heavy limping footsteps herald the arrival of Icarus. The nightmare bears significant damage, claw marks scoring through his flanks like someone had used it to sharpen its talons. One of its fore legs looks gnawed on by rather immense teeth.
All in all, Pitch muses silently, this does not bode well. "My believer?"
The nightmare holds steady, making no response.
"The Guardian's little wonder, then?"
Icarus breaths out a long gusty sigh, head lowering.
"Damn."
A fearling. . . Pitch frowns, eyes not truly seeing the wounded nightmare before him, unmoved by the brisk wind whipping at his coat. In all his reign here, he hasn't allowed a single nightmare to become so strong as to overpower a human. To become like him.
Pitch smiles, empty and sharp. That is what he is, isn't it? Nothing but the fears that overtook one man. They are so very deceiving, fearlings. Sharp, fast, and dangerous; the depths of a soul turned inside out, lurking beneath the face of a friend. All the little darkling poppet has to do is turn its limpid eyes on the Guardians and say "Please help me, I'm so scared" and, well. . .
They'll never know what hit them.
He's tempted to turn up to watch, for that moment of horrible realization alone. The Guardian's failure would taste so sweet.
Though if it's already torn into his nightmare protector like that, chances are the cat is already out of the bag. And if it's faced the nightmare set to protect his believer. . .
Strange. He can't feel Monty's fear.
That raises his hackles more than anything else.
That upstart newborn fearling is stealing his fear. Blocking his believers from him. Poaching the Nightmare King's herds. Taking his throne.
If it succeeds against the Guardians where he failed. . . If it takes the Guardians' fear. . .
Icarus suddenly leans in, lips curling back in interest. Pitch hisses, "Behave. I'm not giving up on the crown just yet."
Perhaps he can't face the fearling as the Nightmare King. But he most certainly can take his seat back as the Black General.
Pitch considers the damaged nightmare before him speculatively, already pulling Icarus back with a hand under its chin. "On second thought. . . eat up."
His eyes go half-lidded as he raises and pours his own anxieties into Icarus, absently stroking its great black nose through a litany of he let it happen he let himself become so weak so powerless can't even hold one believer can't handle the Guardians much less a fearling he has sunk so low he became this. "We have a long night ahead of us. And you're going to need company."
With the nightmare sand surging and rolling in the shadows of his lair, he could animate a thousand nightmares. If there is anything his little fiasco against the Guardians proved, it's the value of quality over quantity. He could make as many nightmares as he liked, but what did it matter, if he couldn't control them? If each was as easily dismissed as a swipe of a blade or a happy thought from a child?
What he has in mind is rather more modest in scale and far more grandiose in power.
He dismounts Kelpie, leaves her like an uneven bookend besides the much larger Icarus, and orders them, "Watch."
He has to trust their loyalty will hold. He cannot dare think anything else, or he'll lose everything before he even starts.
Before he can falter, he closes his eyes and cracks wide the depths of his heart.
He does nothing so kind as dream.
"Daddy!" A girl, his little girl, screaming desperately for him from behind the doors. He cannot bear to hear her, so lost and alone amongst such monsters. He knows what they can do, and what he would give to protect her from all that they represent. Hate. Terror. Pain.
Everything would be too small a price to pay to keep her safe.
He nearly fumbles the keys in his haste to break through the door-
Which slams shut behind him.
The only light emanates from the golden cage in which he stands and she is gone, gone, never there. . . He pays his debts to the sea of shadow.
"Falling for such a simple trap. . . Really, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that." Pitch tsks. "Better than that. Better than all the rest of them."
Pitch stalks around the cage, surveying the golden-armored General. He hasn't truly seen Kozmotis before, but this, this is undoubtedly him, in all his valiant splendor. Kozmotis doesn't have the decency to look broken, to know he's been defeated. Pitch purrs, "I know you, Kozmotis. . . "
And suddenly he is the one staring out from behind the bars, heart beating fast but hands steady as he watches the monster with his face sneer, "You never were the hero they claimed, were you? Just a man. As flawed and foolish as the rest of them."
He-as-Kozmotis lifts his chin and challenges back, "You say you know me, but do you know yourself?"
And he can't tell the difference between them—jailed and jailor hero and villain shadow and light—
He wakes.
The results stand before him, a nightmare pair just as poorly matched as his nightmares on four legs behind him. Pitch surveys the first: a slight young woman, veiled, in a dress of tattered shadow that in myth ought to be white. She floats rather than stands, taloned hands curling at her sides. She weeps, and the bottom of his heart quails. Pitch sets his jaw and ignores it; he has no patience for these old and aggravating emotions that belong to memory.
"Lamia. Called La Llorona, White Lady, langsuir, aswang." A smile he doesn't feel curls his lips. He certainly knows which is Kozmotis's contribution. "How appropriate for the fear of losing a child."
Beside her. . . a man. Tall, angular, thin, with a nose like a beak and golden eyes like a hawk, garbed in a open robe of black shadow. Pitch's own face smirks back at him rendered in black sand, hands folded behind his back. It is exactly as disquieting as it ought to be.
Pitch does not quite grit out the name, "Doppelganger. Ikiryou. Fetch. Changeling. Fear of losing one's self. Yes, I know you."
He sweeps his hands aside to gesture sharply to Kelpie and Icarus. "Let's go, shall we? We're already fashionably late."
And he is feeling rather under-dressed for an encounter with the kind of claws that nearly gutted the heavy nightmare. Shadows wrap around him and resettle in a weight and heft Kozmotis knows intimately; Pitch resolves not to think about it until after the battle.
His treacherous hand reaches for the golden locket and finds it safe beneath a black shadow breastplate. Pitch glances up to find Lamia astride Kelpie, Doppelganger on Icarus. Four nightmares to his name, against the fearling and its herd.
He stalks forward through pure dark, flanked by his creations. He is not a king. He has no vassals, he has no armies. What he does have is his captains. It will do.
|
Mandy called it moping, but Mickey just called it distracting himself.
He sat on his bed, a book resting against his knees and he was trying to read it, he really was. It just wasn't going to very well. Because he kept remembering. He kept remembering the most random things.
Things about his mum, who he'd never really thought about before. Things like how it felt to have his Dad's hands around his throat, trying to strangle the life out of him. The time Mandy had pierced her own nose and it had swollen up, he remembered how it had looked, how he'd laughed at her. He remembered that his older brother Joey had gotten pink eye once and everyone had taken the piss out of him for months. He remembered pissing on first base during his little league baseball game. He remembered Ian being on second base, remembered Ian telling him that in the dugouts. He remembered why baseball made him think of sex. He remembered playing video games with Mandy on his birthday one year and her being the only one who had remembered. He remembered everything about Juvie. He remembered how to be Mickey Milkovich completely, how he used to speak, how he used to act.
He remembered so much that he thought maybe it felt like everything.
He remembered until he didn't want to remember anymore.
He remembered everything about Ian, every stupid little thing he'd ever told him, every little trait he had. He remembered the harsh words, the desperation and the fear when he thought about Frank blabbing his mouth. He remembered the look in Ian's eyes when Mickey had lied to him and told him that he was nothing but a warm mouth.
It was like telling Ian how that old Mickey had felt and telling him that he knew he still felt the same way even now had opened some sort of floodgate. Everything had just come rushing back to him, without him even wanting it to. It was like he'd needed the pain, the pain in his chest to become so intense that it made him forget everything but the pain. And forgetting made him remember. Only Ian Gallagher could make him feel that sort of pain.
It was weird and it was uncomfortable, because his head suddenly felt too full. He felt different, but not different. He felt different because this was the him that he hadn't been for so long. But he didn't feel different because he'd been that him for a lot longer and he also didn't feel different, because even though he remembered, he didn't feel like he was that person anymore. Okay, admittedly remembering had brought some of the anger back, because he remembered where that anger had always come from.
The harsh words, the insults, the bitterness, that had all stemmed from being downtrodden, from being batted around and stamped upon for his entire childhood, his entire life. Nobody had ever given a shit about Mickey Milkovich. Not really. He'd known that, he'd accepted that. He'd accepted that his Dad didn't like him, let alone want him as a son and his mum didn't give enough of a shit to not leave him behind. He'd accepted that Mandy was probably going to be the only one who would ever give two shits. And that had all been fine. He'd accepted that from an early age and moved on. He'd compensated by making sure nobody ever would like him, because he didn't need them to. Nobody ever had before, why should they start now?
And then Ian Gallagher had come along and he'd cared when he wasn't supposed to and he'd contradicted every single thing that Mickey had ever thought, decided or felt. He'd crashed unknowingly through ever single barrier Mickey had put up to stop himself getting hurt and Mickey had freaked. He didn't know how to deal with that, he didn't want to deal with that. He wanted sex and Gallagher gave great sex, but that was supposed to be it.
He wasn't supposed to make Mickey feel.
But that was where the difference was. That was where the difference would probably always be. Mickey could become that Mickey again, he could become rude and harsh and essentially a dick, but he wouldn't do that what Mickey had done. He wouldn't deny being in love, he wouldn't deny anything to Ian, because he wasn't that much of a coward. He wanted Ian more than he wanted to hide away; which meant he probably should have explained the whole situation of loving him a little better than blabbering like an idiot.
To be fair though, he'd panicked.
He swore under his breath when someone knocked on the door, because he didn't want to move. He wanted to sit there and try and forget that he was remembering and try and forget that the pain in his chest that made him feel like he was drowning. He even thought about ignoring whoever it was until they started banging on it with their fist.
Muttering under his breath, he jerked it open and his eyes flew open in surprise when hands grabbed a hold of either side of his head. Ian just stared at him, his face so close that Mickey could practically taste his breath. He stared like he was searching for something and that was when Mickey knew that he'd found out about Mickey's little problem.
"They said you can't remember," Ian said eventually, his voice broken sounding. Like he'd been crying. And yes, his eyes were red-rimmed too. "You let me yell at you, let me hate you and you couldn't even remember."
Mickey didn't know when he'd reached up and grabbed a hold of Ian's forearms. He dug his fingertips into Ian's skin, held on tight, just to convince himself he wasn't imagining this. "I remembered you," he said, because Mickey wasn't going to lie, not this time, "I remembered your voice in my head."
How could he possibly forget him? Not completely. He'd never forgotten him completely.
Ian's fingers pushed into the back of his hair and when their mouths crashed together, it was desperate and needy and everything Mickey felt like he had ever wanted. He'd hated himself when he remembered that he'd never let Ian kiss him. "Kiss me and I'll cut your fucking tongue out." He remembered that and he'd hated himself, but he didn't anymore. He thought maybe it was worth the wait.
He pulled Ian into the house, with his fingers digging into the redhead's hips. He heard Ian kick the door shut behind them, but he couldn't concentrate on anything more than the feel of Ian's fingers in his hair and his lip against his. He couldn't focus past the tongue in his mouth and god that taste! He couldn't even explain it, couldn't define it, he just knew that it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, the best thing he could ever taste. It made him suck Ian's tongue into his mouth, drag them closer together like maybe then it would never end. Because he never wanted it to end. He never wanted to let Ian go, not for a single second.
He pushed at Ian's shirt, pushed his hands up underneath it, needed to feel his flesh, craving it like a drug. And when he felt it, he moaned, because the contact sent shivers running through his body, like electricity. It was amazing and addictive and he dug his fingers hard into Ian's sides because he had to make sure that this was real, that he was really there because Mickey didn't feel like he deserved for anything to feel this good.
Ian's hands pulled his shirt from his body and Mickey shivered a little at the cold air, but then Ian was pressing against him and he forgot to notice. Ian's hands slipped behind his back, pressing into his bare shoulder blades, nails scraping against flesh and making Mickey moan deep in his chest because he'd never felt anything as good as that feeling. He dropped his own hands down from Ian's sides to grab his ass, to pull their crotches flush together and making them both gasp. But then that wasn't enough and he stuffed his hand down into the narrow space between Ian's flesh and his skinny jeans and he squeezed the hot, smooth globes and caused Ian to bite down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but neither of them cared.
Mickey's shirt was the next thing to go and he made this weird whimpering sound because he had to pull his hands out of the back of Ian's trousers to get it off, but then Ian's hands were roaming over his pale torso and he was bending and teasing one of Mickey's nipples into a hard peak with his teeth. Mickey's breath stuttered out of his lungs and he grabbed at Ian's head because as good as that felt, it only made him want to kiss him again.
The redhead laughed breathlessly right before their mouths crashed together again. Mickey thought maybe Ian was feeling that desperation too, maybe they really were on exactly the same wavelength because it seemed like it what with the way that Ian was pressing up against him, clutching him so tight that it was almost hard for the both of them to breathe and there wasn't even air between them, but it didn't matter. Because this was what they needed. This was what they were both craving.
Mickey tackled Ian's belt, pulling it completely out of the loops, hearing it clatter to the floor as Ian backed him up further. He thought maybe Ian was heading for the couch, but they never made it because Mickey pushed Ian's jeans down and they seemed to tangle around both of them and sent them crashing down to the floor.
He couldn't help but laugh even as he kissed Ian, even as he pulled away just long enough to drag the offending item of clothing off of the redhead. And Ian laughed as well and it was quite possibly the best sound Mickey had ever heard. Except, no, the moan that Ian made when Mickey reached down between them and palmed Ian's cock through the fabric of his boxers, that was the best sound.
Mickey wasn't wearing underwear underneath his slacks and he'd never been more grateful for his laziness as he was in that moment. Ian's nails dug into his bare ass as he pulled Mickey on top and Mickey rested on his elbows either side of Ian's head, intent on kissing him to death as their hips ground against each other. He pushed his fingers into Ian's short hair, relishing in the feel of it because fuck his hair was soft. His skin was soft as well, the softest thing Mickey had ever felt and he couldn't stop touching Ian. He thought he would have died if someone had made him. He couldn't stop dragging his fingers over Ian's hair, over his neck and arms. Couldn't stop himself from licking a line down Ian's neck and tasting the saltiness of the sweat there.
And when Ian rolled them so that he was the one pinning Mickey, they just stared at each other for a minute because Mickey thought Ian was realising then that this was the most perfect moment that there had ever been. It wasn't like any of the sessions that Mickey could now remember. That had been great, but that had been fucking. No, this, this was something so much more. Mickey would have called it making love, but even that didn't feel adequate.
Ian lifted off slightly so that Mickey could drag his boxers off his hips and they were kicked away, sliding under the couch and Mickey pressed his thumbs into Ian's hipbones because he hadn't ever thought of hipbones as being sexy before, but Ian's were. His teeth found Ian's shoulder for a second and his tongue lapped over a scar that was there that he knew he made and for a second he thought he could remember making it, but his head was a jumble with all the memories that needed sorting through, but at the same time it was blank because Ian's hands on his thighs, shifting his legs up a little was distracting.
Ian pressed his mouth against the scar on Mickey's shoulder in return and smiled down at him, making sure Mickey was watching as he sucked two fingers into his mouth. When he circled them around Mickey's puckered entrance, pressed them inside just slightly, Ian closed the distance again and caught Mickey's gasp-like moan in his mouth, swallowing the sound.
His entire body felt like it was on fire, but in the best way possible as Ian slowly pumped his fingers in and out of Mickey's hole and when they were taken away, Mickey felt like screaming in frustration. Ian actually laughed at him, obviously seeing something akin to that desperation, that loss in Mickey's expression and he kissed Mickey gently, more gently than they had been doing, more gentle than they had ever been with each other before as slowly he lined himself up.
Mickey made this weird snarling sound as Ian pushed inside, because it burned, but it felt amazing. He could feel every inch of Ian as he eased in and there were a lot of inched. He thought he could feel that thick vein and every bump and ridge and he had to close his eyes because the lights in his brain were threatening to blind him. Ian's breath stuttered out of him and Mickey dug his fingers into Ian's shoulders as he hitched his legs up higher to wrap them around Ian's waist; and that movement made Ian slide in right up to the hilt and it hit that spot inside of Mickey that had him writhing and practically screaming and Ian took that as the sign to fucking move and when he did it was the most glorious thing that Mickey had ever felt.
It wasn't a pounding like it usually was, but it wasn't completely slow either. It was right. Ian slid his arms under Mickey, his hands behind Mickey's head, holding him as he slid into him and it felt almost like he was cradling Mickey. Mickey had never felt protected before, he'd never needed to be, but he felt like he was then. He felt safe and he felt like he was in the only place he ever wanted to be and he pressed his lips against the side of Ian's neck and moaned because he didn't have the vocabulary or the ability right then to explain to Ian how this all felt. He wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him how amazing this all was, how amazing he was, but each time it just came out as, "F-Fuuuck."
He thought maybe that about said it all though actually.
He could feel Ian smiling against his skin and he lifted up a little, peeling their chests apart what with all the sweat slicked against their flesh. When Ian kissed him, Mickey could feel the lazy slide of his tongue right the way down to his toes and he moaned again into Ian's mouth because hopefully that would explain how great that felt. He knew it wasn't quite adequate, but he hoped it would do.
Mickey came first when Ian rolled his hips in that way that did Mickey in every single time – that he could definitely remember – and he thought his ass must have been doing something pretty amazing because Ian sounded like he was choking and then he was right there with Mickey in bliss. Mickey could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a second, or maybe it was his breathing that stopped. Or maybe it was time. He didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to scream, except when he opened his mouth no sound came out, but his eyes rolled back into his head and Ian moaned low and sort of feverish against his skin and bit him lightly and it was with that bite that they started shuddering with nothing but pure, sated pleasure.
There was nothing but the sounds of them panting for a long few minutes and Mickey moaned slightly under his breath when Ian pulled out and that made Ian chuckle. "Don't even think about moving," he said when the redhead started to lift up and he sounded more like the old him then than he ever had before.
Ian just smiled and lowered himself back down, supporting himself on his elbows, his face inches away from Mickey's. Ian kept running his fingers through Mickey's hair and Mickey found his eyes closing because that actually felt sort of nice. He lowered his legs from wrapping around Ian's waist when they started to get a little cramped and settled them either side of Ian's, pressing them together.
"I love you," Ian said, the look in his eyes saying that he was expecting Mickey to push him away and that old part of himself inwardly flinched at what Ian was saying, but the new him punched the old him in the face and told him to shut the fuck up because it wasn't like anyone but him could hear Ian say those words and it wasn't like he didn't feel the same way.
He smoothed his palms up and down Ian's back, feeling the bumps of his spine and Ian seemed to relax slightly, like the fact that Mickey was still willing to touch him was a positive sign. "I know," Mickey said softly, nudging Ian's nose with his in a way that was really stupid but kind of nice as well.
Ian smirked, "You're supposed to say love you too."
"Well I was going to get to that, but then you opened your mouth," Mickey told him, glaring without any venom at all, so it probably wasn't really glaring at all.
Ian stuck his tongue out at him and Mickey darted up and sucked the muscle into his mouth, making Ian's eyes widen slightly before he relaxed and pressed down into the kiss. And Mickey would have happily stayed like that forever, mapping out the inside of Ian's mouth, feeling a heartbeat against his chest and not knowing if it was his or Ian's. Except apparently, that wasn't supposed to happen.
"Holy shit!" Mandy squealed and Mickey twisted his head to see his sister standing there with her hands clapped over her eyes.
Lip walked in not far behind her, "What what's wrong?" And then he looked up and saw them there and swore loudly. "Ian, dammit, I don't need to see that!" he looked like he was about to be sick, "Please tell me you're not having sex."
"The stickiness in my ass would imply not," Mickey said, not knowing why he wasn't freaking out because somewhere inside of himself he felt like he should be. He licked a line across Ian's neck again and then bit down, which dragged a moan out of the younger guy's throat.
"Fuck, what did you just do!" Lip was practically screaming, "Just. . . ugh! No, just stop?"
"Would you rather we stand up?" Ian asked, his fingers still playing in Mickey's hair and making his back arch like a cat when his nails scraped over his scalp. Ian chuckled and did it again, which made Mickey dig his fingertips into Ian's spine.
"Please put some clothes on," Mandy practically begged.
Mickey smirked slightly, "No, I'm comfy."
That and there was the possessive side of him that was making him practically feel sick at the thought of someone else seeing Ian completely naked. Which was stupid, because Lip was his brother and Mandy was. . . well a girl. But still. He couldn't help it.
"Will you at least move to your room?" Lip asked, sounding just like Mandy, practically begging.
"Maybe we should," Ian muttered, his voice low, just for Mickey. He nudged Mickey's jaw with his nose, his tongue flicking out and tasting it. "Or we could get in the shower," he suggested and the look in his eyes was almost enough to make Mickey hard again. Almost, because even Mickey's stamina wasn't that great.
He was rolling them onto their feet before Ian had even really finished speaking.
"Oh for fuck's sake, you could have told me you were standing up," Mandy said, having just opened her eyes again and Mickey couldn't help but laugh.
"Sorry Mands," he muttered as they passed her, even though he wasn't really sorry at all.
Ian was pressed up flush against his back before they'd even made it through his bedroom door.
|
5
John was making good on his promise from earlier in the day. Sherlock had behaved himself the rest of the day. He had helped John make dinner, had helped Hamish clean up his toys, moved an experiment because it was inconveniently placed, done the dishes, and had read Hamish four bedtime stories. He then stayed upstairs and cuddled with his son until he was sure that he was in a deep sleep. Sherlock then carefully untangled himself from Hamish and practically jumped down all of the stairs.
John was irritatingly reading in his armchair, looking completely at ease. His hair had gone a bit more grey in recent years and he had started using reading glasses, which Sherlock found incredibly sexy. John knew what this did to him and he was just torturing him. To make matters worse, once John heard him come down the stairs, he began flexing the fingers of his left hand, the one he used to prepare Sherlock, in the exact motion that he used to stretch him open. Sherlock's mouth went dry at the sight.
He had to play it cool, though. He couldn't take much more of this. So he shook his head, silently expelled all of the air from his lungs, and sat in his chair across from his husband. John didn't acknowledge him for exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds. Sherlock was about to lose his composure and say something when John stood up, gave him a seductive glance, and held out his hand for Sherlock to take. Sherlock followed John, his heart fluttering rapidly. John could feel the fluttering, and he stroked Sherlock's knuckles gently with his thumb.
"I was going to use this opportunity to torture you, but I think I can think of a better way to spend our time, don't you?" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, licking the outer shell and causing Sherlock to shudder violently.
"I'm amenable." Sherlock thought it was a miracle that he was able to respond at all.
John smiled and laid him down on the bed and his husband of his clothes. He then reached into the drawer where they kept lube in their bedside table and pulled out some silk straps. Sherlock's eyes got wide, and John smiled sheepishly. "I want to do all the work tonight."
"Is that fair? Considering the fact that I made you finish my work earlier today?"
John chuckled and secured one of Sherlock's wrists to the bedpost. "I actually thought it was incredibly hot. I figured I should return the favor. Would you just relax and enjoy yourself for once?"
Sherlock nodded and sighed contentedly. "Don't you think you're wearing too much?"
John finished securing the other wrist and kissed it. "I don't want you being distracted. I know what seeing my irresistible body does to you."
"Modest as ever."
"Always. Now shut up."
John worshipped Sherlock's body without any interruptions from his husband. He kissed every inch of skin, left love bites all over and licked the abused flesh after to soothe it, and put his hands wherever they could reach. He even broke out the flavored lube that they used on special occasions and tortured Sherlock by brushing his core, but not getting quite to the spot that he desperately needed to be touched at. He brought him to the edge several times, and then backed off to prolong things.
Finally, Sherlock was moaning wantonly and finally was begging John to take him. John smiled and decided that Sherlock had had enough. He was about to finally get out of his clothes and make slow, sweet love to his husband when he heard feet coming down the stairs.
"Fuck," he groaned. He tossed the sheet over Sherlock and less than ten seconds later, Hamish was in their doorway. His eyes went wide with fear when he saw his Papa tied up on his bed.
"What's happening?" he asked.
John looked at Sherlock, who was no longer flushed from arousal, but from humiliation. He opened his mouth but for once was speechless. John glared at him and was about to respond when Hamish noticed the red welts all over Sherlock's body and started crying.
"Papa, did someone kidnap you and hurt you?"
John walked over to hug his son and was trying to think of a good cover story when Sherlock answered and said, "Yes, but your Daddy found me and scared them off. Don't worry, Hamish, I'm just fine."
This just made Hamish cry harder. John glared harder at Sherlock. Their son now didn't feel safe in their home, and he thought that his Papa had been tortured. Great. John stroked Hamish's soft blond curls and kissed the top of his head, all the time cooing in his ear to try to calm him down.
Hamish pulled himself together a bit and then walked over to the bedside table where his Dad's cell phone was. He quickly hit his Uncle Greg's number before either of his parents realized what exactly he was doing.
"John, it is past midnight. There had better be a good excuse for this," Lestrade's deep voice growled into the phone.
"Uncle Greg?" Hamish whimpered.
Lestrade immediately sounded more awake and sympathetic. "Hamish? What's the matter?"
"Papa got kidnapped."
"Shit. Where's your Dad?"
Hamish could hear his Uncle Mycroft in the background asking what was the matter, and Uncle Greg shushing him. "He's here. They're both here. Daddy scared them away. Could you and Uncle My come and investigate?"
"Tell me what's happening first. Is your Papa okay?"
"He was tied up on the bed and there are lots of red marks on him. They hurt him, Uncle Greg, please come over." Hamish started crying again.
"Hey, buddy, it's okay. Just put me on with your Dad, okay?"
The next voice Lestrade heard was John's. "Greg, I-"
Lestrade was cracking up on the other end of the conversation. John couldn't get a word in.
"This really isn't funny. Hamish is really frightened."
"Are you telling me that you had Sherlock all tied up for some kinky sex and Hamish walked in on you?" Greg could barely breathe.
"Yes, that's the basic story, but I would rather not get into the details of the whole thing now. Or ever, really, now that I think about it.
Greg had dissolved into howls again and couldn't speak. Mycroft pried the phone from his hands and said, "John, put me on with Hamish, please."
John passed the phone back to Hamish and said, "It's Uncle Mycroft."
Hamish hiccupped into the phone and Mycroft said, "Hamish, I will be sending some people over to watch your flat and keep the three of you safe tonight. Uncle Greg and I will come over tomorrow while you're at school so you don't have to watch the investigation. Now, I advise you go back up to your room and go back to sleep. I won't let anything bad happen to you." Mycroft said the last sentence with a softness that he reserved for the people who he loved the most.
"Promise?"
"I promise. You go back up to your room and go back to sleep. May I speak with your Dad?"
"Yes. Thank you, Uncle My. Love you."
"I love you too," Mycroft smiled. As soon as John was back on the line and Hamish was out of the room, his tone of voice switched. "How could he have possibly walked in on you two doing that?"
"Jesus, Mycroft, it happens. No matter how quiet we are, there's always a chance that he could come in. Thank God I was dressed and I got a sheet over Sherlock before he got in here."
"I don't need the details of the act, John." Mycroft sounded incredibly uncomfortable. "Just tell Hamish that I came over with Greg while he was at school and looked into matters."
"Thanks Mycroft. Sorry for waking you two up," John grimaced. He could still hear Greg laughing in the background. He was going to kill that man.
"I don't believe Gregory is sorry you rang. Oh John, next time you and Sherlock feel the need to engage in acts of bondage, please send Hamish to sleep over here."
John went red. "Right. Thanks. Good night."
Once he had hung up, Sherlock cleared his throat. John had nearly forgotten that he was there. He turned around looking exhausted, and Sherlock said, "If you don't mind, my love, I've been tied up for close to an hour and a half and haven't been allowed to have an orgasm. Could you please take your clothes off so we could possibly finish what we started here?"
"You really are a bastard sometimes, you know that," John sighed as he began to slowly disrobe.
"I am well aware, John," Sherlock grinned maliciously and canted his hips up so he rubbed against the sheet and moaned quietly.
That was too much for John. Within a few seconds, his clothes were in a puddle on the floor and not long after he was inside of Sherlock, moving so slow that Sherlock bit his chest to spur him on. They finally came, and John untied Sherlock, but still stayed sprawled on top of him and buried inside of him until he softened enough to fall out on his own. Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs around him and pressed a kiss to his temple.
"Twice in a day," he remarked. "We really need to be more careful."
"I blame you. You started it today," John mumbled.
"Indeed I did. Let's just go to sleep and we'll figure out how to be more cautious tomorrow."
John hummed into Sherlock's chest and soon enough, they were fast asleep.
|
“Does anyone have any more questions?” Pike asks, his hand hovering over the keypad to disconnect the presentation.
There are more, she’s sure, but her classmates have quite nearly exhausted themselves from having a captain come in who was willing to answer anything they can think of to ask.
A captain and his first officer and Nyota’s proud of herself for paying attention as much as she has, with Spock standing there at the front of the lecture hall.
She knows that if she asks him when she calls him that evening, he’ll tell her all about his own perception of it, pick up the train of thought he had left off of the night before when he described being informed by Captain Pike that he was expected to attend the lecture. She can’t help but think about that, now, studying the way Pike says something to Spock, softly, their heads bent together as the cadets around her start to stand and gather their belongings, Spock’s slight ire at being pulled away from his work, combined with his own recollection of having active duty officers brought in for a talk when he was a cadet and how engaging that had been.
“Watch where you’re going,” Gaila instructs and Nyota feels herself get poked in the back, pushed forward into the crowd.
“Sorry,” she mutters, carefully picking her way down the steps towards the front of the room, half of her mind on how to properly navigate them in the crush of other students, the other half focused on the fact that Spock and Pike have been surrounded by a pack of cadets and that she won’t have a chance to say hi to him.
Not that the didn’t talk that morning, quickly, when she ran into him in the mess hall, and not that they didn’t talk the night before, and the night before that.
“Sorry,” Nyota says, again, when she realizes that she’s been focused on retracing those conversations, the warmth and delight they always leave her with, rather than not bumping into Gaila as they head down the hall.
“Cadet Uhura!” she hears from behind her and when she turns, she’s maybe not expecting that he’d be the one calling to her, not with his tone crisp and professional, so different than how low and soft it is over the comm when they talk late at night, how lightly he speaks when they’re among their friends.
“Hi,” she says, then draws up short. “Uh, sir.”
“I was able to procure tickets,” he says, coming to a stop a step closer to her than another officer would stand. Gaila’s disappeared from next to her, which is just fine because Spock is taking up her entire focus, anyway.
“What?” she asks because her mind is caught on the way his science blues hug his torso, the place where the collar of his black undershirt meets the skin of his neck. “Oh, for the-“
“Concert, yes,” he says quickly and then his hand is on her elbow and her heart’s hammering because he’s touching her, soft and gentle and warm through the fabric of her sweater, and they’re standing in the middle of the hall and she feels her attention snap away from his fingers on her arm and widen out towards her classmates, a handful of instructors, Captain Pike in the doorway to the lecture hall still being accosted by overly enthusiastic command track cadets.
She wants to be alone with him, in his quarters, at Thex and Schori’s, in his office, in the break room, anywhere that there isn’t the press of other cadets, and she wants, desperately, for him to never stop touching her like that, her mind centering in on then way his thumb has started moving back and forth, hypnotic and mesmerizing.
“That’s great,” she gets out, which is difficult since the connection between her mind and her mouth seems to not be functioning. Or maybe it’s her brain itself, suddenly blank and fuzzy and full of a cloudy haze that seems to be directly related to his touch.
“Will you have too much school work?” he’s asking when she tunes back into the meaning of his words instead of just the sound of his voice washing over her.
“It’s on… when did you say it is?”
“Wednesday.”
“Today’s Wednesday.” That gets her a smile, one of those tiny ones of his, one which makes her grin at herself and briefly cover her eyes with her hand. Her other hand, so that she doesn’t dislodge the way he’s touching her. “Next Wednesday, you meant. And no I should be mostly done with everything, at least until finals start.”
The hall has at some point emptied around them and he draws her towards the wall, so that they’re more out of the way and so that it’s just the two of them there, the rest of the Academy seemingly far away just for that moment.
“Have you eaten?”
She just shakes her head because her stomach is making a game attempt to jump past her heart and into her throat, and just ends up feeling like it’s lodged somewhere in her chest.
“Would you like to-“
“Mr. Spock,” she hears and his touch is gone from her arm, cool air rushing through the fabric of her sweater to chill the place his hand was.
“Sir?” Spock’s saying and he’s still close enough to her that heat is pouring off of him, making her skin tingle and her mouth go dry.
“Do you have a minute to go over the schematics? I want to do it now so that I can go meet up with Admiral Komack this afternoon.” Pike eyes flick over to her. “If you’re not busy.”
“Of course,” Spock answers and he’s so different like this, so brisk and decisive.
“Cadet,” Pike nods, the greeting cursory and perfunctory and he begins to turn away when his eyes narrow slightly, his attention on her again.
“Sir?” she asks.
“So,” Pike says slowly.
“Sorry, sir?”
“You’re…” he says, then points back and forth between her and Spock. “Nice to meet you, finally.”
“This is Cadet Uhura,” Spock says, his fingers ghosting down the back of her arm.
“Nice to meet you as well, sir,” she says, her hand quickly engulfed in the Captain’s much larger one.
“So what’re you studying?” Pike asks as they start down the hall. “Spock said you were in communications but what are you focusing on?”
“Xenolinguistics,” she answers, trying to get her brain to snap back into focus, trying to narrow in on the discussion with the Captain.
“Studying anything interesting, in particular?”
“Most recently, I’ve been researching the differences in Klingon verb conjugations through different socioeconomic classes in their society.”
“Huh,” Pike says, coming to a stop at the front of the building, just before the doors. “Is that considered fascinating, Mr. Spock?”
“It is.”
“Glad we have our comm officers to be thinking about things like this,” Pike says to her with a wide grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And sorry to steal him away.”
“Not at all, sir.”
She gets another smile from Pike and as he turns away a softer look from Spock.
“Have fun with the schematics,” she tells him, quietly so that Pike can’t hear.
“I will not,” he promises, so seriously that she finds that it’s her turn to grin.
“Illogical?”
“Quite,” he answers and when his hand brushes over her arm again, she returns the gesture this time, the fabric of his jacket surprisingly soft, his wrist wiry and strong under her touch.
She watches them go for a long moment, just staring at him as they walk through the glass doors and out onto the quad, rather unable to look away so that she catches the moment where he looks back, turns over his shoulder to catch her eye, and she smiles all the way to her next class.
…
It takes about thirty seconds into the ceremony before Gaila elbows her in the ribs.
“That’s-“
“-I know-“
“-It’s all-“
“-Yep, I can see-“
“-An entire-“
“-An entire plate of chocolate,” Nyota whispers back before shushing her roommate. “We’re supposed to be listening, you know.”
“It’s more than a plate,” Gaila breathes. “It’s so, so much…”
“We must finish the harvest,” Grippen says from where she’s seated at the front. “To celebrate the new year’s rains, we eat.”
“Now?” Gaila asks, her eyes wide and bright.
“In a moment,” Grippen says with a small smile, which is slightly disconcerting with how sharp her teeth are. “The year on our planet is measured by the weather. We do not follow the calendar that you all do, but align our months and days by when the rains come, when they cease again and when the sun arrives and our crops grow. Some years are long, some are shorter, and it is with great fortune that we are able to end the season with stores still remaining. Some years are not so, some years we wait out the rains in hunger and we go below the ground and sleep, our stomachs empty.” Grippen smiles again and shrugs one scaly shoulder in an approximation of the human gesture. “Or we did. Now, we replicate food, but if it has been a poor year, we honor the traditions of our mothers and their mothers and their mothers by fasting, briefly. But this year has been bountiful, and this year the rains came when we have stores of food remaining, so now we eat, and we celebrate.”
“It’s ok,” Thaalan says, later, his antennae still sticking straight at the mug sitting in front of Nyota. “Not great.”
“I absolutely have to disagree with you on that.” She has her mug cupped in both hands, the steam curling up from her hot chocolate carrying the rich, full scent of it and she raises the cup a little bit more so that she can breath it in more fully. The warmth washing over her face is a pleasant contrast slightly chilly air of Thex and Schori’s kitchen, since so many people are heading out into the night that the door seems to be open more often than not. They’re all sitting there, though, her and Spock and a handful of others, dragging the evening out and not quite ready to go home.
“It’s delicious,” Thex says, hiding a yawn behind his hand.
“I can’t believe that something so similar to chocolate can be found on Gamma Sagittae Prime,” Nyota adds in order to keep the conversation going, since she’s just not really ready to head home quite yet.
“I believe the chemical make up is identical,” Spock says and she looks over at him sitting next to her, watching him study the thick, steaming liquid in her mug.
“Do you wish you had a tricorder?” Thex asks, his hands laced over his stomach as he leans back in his chair.
“It would be most helpful in determining that fact.”
“We should celebrate with Grippen more often,” Schori agrees, coming to stand behind Thex and resting her hands on his shoulders. “Though Spock and apparently Thaalan will be sorely disappointed in their ability to eat anything.”
“An entire meal made out of chocolate,” Nyota sighs happily, letting herself grin at Spock. “You’re right, it is delicious, Thex.”
“I’m going to go find a steak,” Thaalan says, his chair scraping over the floor as he pushes it away from the table. “Wanna come, anyone?”
“We are tired,” Schori answers, her hands drifting down Thex’s chest.
“You both are?”
Thex starts to answer, then glances up at his wife, and looks back and Thaalan. “Yes.”
Thaalan rolls his eyes, his antennae mirroring the gesture.
“You used to be more fun, Thex.”
“Finish your hot chocolate, no need to rush,” Schori says, her hand light on Nyota’s arm as Thex rises from his own chair and wraps his arm around her shoulders. “And please lock up when you leave.”
“You don’t mind-“
“Not at all, take your time.”
“Last chance to ditch the warm chocolate- no, wait hot? Hot chocolate? It’s not even that much chocolate, it’s all dairy,” Thaalan sighs.
“I’m good,” Nyota says, raising her mug again and taking another sip. “Just doesn’t compare to meat.”
“What about bacon?” Thaalan wheedles.
“Close, but no,” Nyota says because there’s basically no way she’s going to leave her mostly full mug behind and go home just yet, not if Spock is still sitting next to her like he is. Leaving Thex and Schori’s will mean walking back to campus, and will mean saying goodnight to him, so she’s staying exactly where she is, no matter how much Thaalan pleads.
“Boring,” Thaalan declares. “Both of you. All of you!” he calls towards the stairs Thex and Schori disappeared up. He gives them one more roll of his eyes – and antennae – before he too leaves, another blast of chilly air seeping into the room as he shuts the door.
“How is your work?” Spock asks as soon as he’s gone and she groans into her mug.
“Fine. I got everything done in order to come tonight, obviously since I’m here, but I can’t remember the last time I spent so many hours in the library.”
“Is that a hardship?” he asks and copies Thaalan in rolling her eyes at him, though she softens it with a grin.
“No. Yes. Stop it, just because I love that building doesn’t mean being trapped in there is what I want to be doing every weekend.” She takes another sip before replacing her mug on the table. “Though I’m mostly done. I have a couple papers due, but not for a while, so I get a bit of a break coming up.”
“That is fortunate.”
“Definitely. The same probably can’t be said for those in your class, though. Did you assign ridiculously long papers to your poor students?”
“I am certain that my students are financially secure and futhermore I believe the papers were within one standard deviation of the average length expected by other professors.”
“Above or below?”
“Above.”
“Knew it.” She takes another sip of her hot chocolate, savoring the rich flavor. It’s good, really, really good, and she can’t help but grin at the way he peers at the liquid when she replaces the mug on the table. “So what exactly happens if you drink it?”
“It has a similar effect as that of alcohol on human physiology.”
“You know this from experience?” she asks, only looking up from watching the steam twist to watch, instead, how the soft light falls across his face.
He glances at her before looking away again and she swears he’s smiling, even if his expression hasn’t changed.
“Perhaps.”
“Because I would think that teenage experimenting is logical, right?”
“Vulcan adolescents often use such rationalization in the face of their parent’s disapproval.”
“So what you’re saying is that you got wasted with your friends and your folks were…?”
“Dissatisfied,” he answers and she laughs.
“Dissatisfied,” she echoes, pausing to take a tiny sip from her cup. “Well, my parents were rather… dissatisfied we brought the human equivalent of hot chocolate on our camping trip when I was in high school.”
“You do not seem the type to so willfully disregard parameters set forth by authority figures.”
Nyota snorts and grins at him over her cup. “I just hide it well. Last year with Kirk, we-“ She stops herself, takes another sip, and lets her gaze slip to somewhere past his shoulder. “Uh-“
“You and he?”
She draws in a breath and presses her lips together.
“I’m not, ah, really sure that…”
He waits for a long moment, probably seeing if she’s going to finish that sentence, before just doing it for her.
“Not entirely certain that your actions were of the type of which you that you should be sharing them with an officer?”
She thinks about lightly saying ‘precisely’ or ‘that was an admirably logical deduction’ or brushing the whole thing off with a laugh, but something feels funny in her throat when she tries to do so.
So instead, she just nods and risks a quick look up at him. He’s just watching her with that steady, calm gaze of his before he looks down at his own mug of tea.
“I had a recent discussion with Commander Ho, which I believe rather emulated the experience you had with her,” he says, finally.
“Did you?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I do not believe, based upon my understanding of our conversation, that she was suggesting in any way that disregard for prescribed appropriate conduct was occurring.” It takes her a moment to parse his words, but when she does, she nods. “However,” he continues, his voice quiet and slow and he still isn’t really looking at her. “Such allowance and sanction does not render the disparity in our ranks… immaterial or insubstantial.”
“No,” she says, “It doesn’t.”
“Within the confines of that factor, do you still wish to…”
“To?” she prompts because he can’t seem to actually articulate it, but her encouragement still doesn’t draw any more words from him.
Which is fine, because she might be a linguist, but there aren’t really words for the heavy sweetness that seems to hang between them whenever they’re together, for the way her stomach flutters and quivers when she thinks about him, and she has only ever had one answer to his unspoken question.
“Yes,” she says.
“Excellent.”
“That’s what you want, as well?”
“It is.”
She reaches out and snags the cuff of his sleeve between two fingers, giving it a slight tug before returning her hand to the warmth of her mug.
“Good.”
He reaches for her mug and snags the handle in his long fingers. When he passes it back after taking a small sip, his fingers brush over hers, sending heat straight through her, and she hardly thinks it could possibly be an accident.
…
She never should have looked at that message. But she was nervous and a little on edge and Gaila had already to told her to stop changing her outfit and just pick something to wear and so it was either sit there and probably literally twiddle her thumbs until it was time to go meet Spock, or find something to distract herself from the tingly, jumpy feeling whenever she thought about the evening ahead of her.
And of course she just had to chose her padd, and of course she just had to check her inbox, and of course she couldn’t resist opening the message from Professor Greaves and now she’s trying to remember that she’s supposed to be having a nice time, a night away from homework and classes and the Academy, an evening out – and an evening out with Spock, at that, which she’s been looking forward to for days – and not staring somewhere past his ear as he dips his head and tries to catch her gaze.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says quickly, tucking her loose hair back behind her ears. “Let’s go.”
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine.”
“Nyota?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s still looking at her and she’s still looking slightly to the side of that soft gaze. “I don’t,” she repeats, quieter this time.
“Very well.”
She makes it half a block before she has to stop and blink against the way her eyes are burning and pricking.
“It’s not a big deal,” she says when he stops next to her on the sidewalk and waits patiently as she stares up at the dark sky and tries very hard not to cry.
“You owe me no explanation,” he says so gently that it makes the back of her throat ache. “However, it must have some significance or it would not follow that it would be so distressing.”
“It’s me, I’m weird, this is just how I get,” she says, trying to laugh at herself even as she drags her thumb under her eye. “It’s not even-“ she starts, attempting to say again that it’s not important, not at all, but he’s just so incredibly nice and kind and caring and who would have ever thought that a Vulcan – half Vulcan – would just stand there with that gentle expression, but it only makes sense because it’s Spock, who helped her with all that stupid homework.
When she wipes her cheek again, her fingers come away wet and the breath she tries to draw in is shaky and shivering.
“Nyota,” he says, softly, stepping closer to her.
“I got a bad grade.”
“I see.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you did not.”
“And I thought I did well – I told you that, the other day, after my quiz, but I didn’t, and-“ She tries for another breath but it catches somewhere in her chest. “And you helped me with everything and I thought… I thought that-“ She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes and draws her shoulders up towards her ears and when she continues speaking she has to force the words past the hard knot in her throat. “I understand all of it when you explain it to me and I knew I did it right but I forgot that thing? With the vector calculation? And I checked my work, I always check, and I just didn’t remember and I-“ His hands close around her wrists and pulls them down with gentle, firm pressure, his grip warm in a way that sweeps across her skin. She can’t look at him still, not really, and ducks her head to the side to wipe her face on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“You spent so much time helping me and I-“
“Nyota.”
“And I feel really bad because I tried, but I couldn’t-“
“Nyota.”
“I thought that maybe I would do well but obviously-“
“Nyota,” he says, his hands sliding from her wrists to capture her hands in his and a deep rush of calm emanates from the contact, spreading through her like sinking into a warm bath, or stepping out into the heat of the sun.
“What’s that?” she asks, staring at her hands nearly completely engulfed in his much larger ones.
“I, ah-“ he starts, starting to loosen his grip and pull away. “I did not intend…”
“That’s…”
“You are exceptionally psi sensitive.”
“I am?”
“It is…” He carefully disengages their hands and holds her upper arms, instead, heat seeping into her skin through her coat. “Distracting.”
“Distracting?”
“Distracting,” he says again.
She looks down at his hand, large and pale against her arm, then up at him.
“That felt… nice.” His hands on her feel nice, too, except looking at them, at the way he’s watching her only brings back that hollow, aching jump in her chest. “I-“
“Nyota, it is illogical to assume that you will not make errors on examinations.”
“But-“
“Much of the point of evaluations is to ascertain to what degree you have grasped the material.”
“But-“
“Furthermore, constant improvement and a commitment to such is the hallmark of an exemplary officer, not the ability to complete a task perfectly on the first attempt.” His hands tighten slightly on her arms and he takes a tiny half step towards her. “Nyota, please do not distress yourself over such an occurrence.”
“Too late,” she says, rubbing her cheek on her shoulder again and wanting to raise her hands to wipe at her face, but it just feels so good to have him touching her that she doesn’t move.
“You can retake the quiz, if you so desire.”
“I don’t, I can’t, I don’t understand it and-“
“You do. You posses above average intelligence and-“
“C’mon, Spock, that’s just- If I was really that smart then I’d have gotten it right the first time.” She does step away from him, then, and rubs at the headache forming between her eyes. Everything feels achy and sore and they’re supposed to be halfway to the concert, not standing on a sidewalk with more than a few passing pedestrians casting curious glances at them. She just hopes she doesn’t know anyone who’s walked past, the idea of Kirk finding her crying over a grade making something in her stomach clench.
“Nyota, a single score on a single quiz does not have the power to define your intellectual capabilities.”
“But I don’t get bad grades, it’s not what I do, it’s not me. That is the only, literally the only thing that I’m good at.” She sniffs, hard, because her nose is all gross, and she lets her jaw tighten as she stares down the street that they’re supposed to be walking down. She can picture it so clearly, how close they always walk to each other, the careful attention he pays to what she says, the gentle way he teases her that is so funny and so sweet and nothing she would ever have expected from him and yet makes every conversation with him such an incredible joy. And now, instead, he’s standing there watching her cry and her chest feels like a gnawing, hollow emptiness. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining all of this, let’s go.”
“You are not ruining anything, and for someone who gives particular import to the correct use of the word ‘literally’, I find myself surprised that you would improperly exercise it in reference to your capabilities.”
She drags her wrist under her nose and squints up at him. “What?”
“You have excellent skills teaching language tutorials, are able to quickly and accurately grasp foreign cultures, have the ability to discern subspace frequency anomalies without error, and are, I believe, peerless in your ability to learn and retain new languages.”
“Well that’s all… that’s easy.”
“Then why do you insist on defining yourself by your failure to achieve such a challenge as scoring perfect marks on a quiz in a subject that you admit is not your strength, and yet give no credence to the ways in which you excel? Certainly – and logically – those aspects of yourself far outweigh the results of your quiz.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”
“I am saying it because it is a fact, and if you do not wish to recognize it as such, that will not dissuade me from doing so.” His hand brushes over hers so lightly that she might have imagined it if she hadn’t seen his arm move. “I would impart the certainty of your accomplishments upon you, were I able to do so.”
She tries to look up at him but can’t, not really, not with the way everything feels watery and shaky inside of her.
“Guess Vulcans don’t lie.”
“We do not.”
“So therefore, logically, I should believe you.”
“Indeed.”
She lets out a shivering breath and studies the front of his jacket and thinks about how badly she wants to step forward and rest her head right there.
Instead, she presses her lips together and looks down the street again.
“I have a headache.”
“Would you like to find some water?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know, maybe.” She shakes her head, but still can’t look at him. “We’re going to be late. We are late, probably.”
“That is so.”
She rubs her palm over her forehead and temple. “I’m sorry. You want to see if we can still go?”
“Are you feeling sufficiently emotionally stable?” he asks and she shakes her head again, which only makes it throb.
“No. But I don’t want to keep you from enjoying the concert.”
“My aim in suggesting the event was to spend the evening with you. I do not have a particular preference for how to achieve such.”
She huffs out a quiet sigh, one that maybe almost borders on a laugh. “You can’t be so nice to me, Spock, you’re going to make me cry again.”
“Why would such a statement induce a physical expression of sadness?”
“Humans,” she says by way of explanation. She drags both of her index fingers under her eyes and wipes them on the hem of her coat, then crosses her arms tight around herself and rocks back and forth on her feet, daring a glance up at him.
He waits until she’s looking at him before he speaks again. “I happen to be rather fond of humans. Certain humans, that is.”
“Who’s on the list?”
“It is a very short list.”
“Shorter than my list of my favorite half-Vulcans?”
“Perhaps not that short.” He touches her hand again, gently, with the back of his knuckles. “Would you consider another activity tonight in lieu of the concert? Unless you wish to return to your dormitory.”
“No. Wait, I meant that I don’t want to go back there.” She doesn’t at all, doesn’t want to have to explain this all over again to Gaila, who already was giving her weird looks when she fell silent after reading that message containing her grade and then summarily refused to answer any questions about it.
“Would you be partial to the consumption of alcohol or ice cream? I understand those are two traditional foods in such circumstances.”
She can’t help but smile at that, his completely bland delivery of that line no matter how bright his eyes look as he says it.
“You been studying up on human rituals, Spock? How logical. And yes, they are, but no. I have a massive headache and it’s too cold for ice cream.”
“Tea?” he asks and she nods.
“Tea.”
Their favorite café is closed, and the other one they sometimes go to is way too crowded and as soon as Spock suggests his apartment as a potentially suitable destination, she finds herself agreeing so quickly that she wonders if that wasn’t exactly where she wanted to go all along.
She waits on his couch while he makes them tea and it gives her an opportunity to look around his place without the distraction of Gaila being there as well. It’s beautiful, really, everything precise and simple and elegant, understated without being plain, and each individual object unique enough that she has to clasp her hands together so that she doesn’t get up and start poking through everything.
His bookshelf looks like something she could spend a couple hours riffling through, and he has actual paper books like Thex and Schori have in their house, and she’s pretty sure she sees an original copy of the first Vulcan – Standard dictionary. She contemplates actually sitting on her hands so that she doesn’t walk over and grab it.
His desk is pushed against one wall of his living room and there’s a holo on it of a woman with dark hair and kind eyes, who’s smiling despite her Vulcan robes and Nyota studies it from afar, hungry to know about his mother.
“She’s coming soon?” she asks Spock as he places two mugs of tea on his coffee table and joins her on the couch. “For Arivn’van-kal’e?”
“Yes. The holiday occurs on Vulcan on Thursday, but I will celebrate it Sunday with everyone here.”
“Are you still going to go with her to see her side of the family?”
“Indeed, I am meeting her in Seattle Friday afternoon. Though I will return on Sunday before her to prepare for Arivn’van-kal’e at Thex and Schori’s.” Nyota reaches for her tea and takes a sip of the warm, spicy blend he chose for them, feeling the last remnants of her headache ease and then fade as she does so. “She has professed great excitement at the notion of joining everyone for the celebration.”
“Really. Good. That’s great, I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Nyota says, quickly replacing her tea on the table.
“You will be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” she assures him. “And I’m still dying to know if there’s actually baking involved in the preparations.”
“If you are available that day, you might be able to ascertain such first hand.”
“I’ll clear my schedule,” she says with a grin.
“Excellent.” He takes a sip of his tea in that precise way of his, so economical and graceful that she wonders how anyone could ever think Vulcans stiff or tense. “Would you like to review your Interstellar Navigation quiz results? I do not know if that would put your mind at ease to work through the problems, or if you would rather avoid the subject for the evening.”
“I want to – wow, maybe we should record this and play it back for Gaila because I think it’s a first – I want to do something fun, instead.”
“Fun?” He glances around his apartment, then back at her. “You may very well find that you have not come to a place with a particular propensity for such.”
“I think you underestimate exactly how much I like conjugating verbs.”
“As I have said, you are not normal.”
“Literally?” she asks.
“Literally,” he repeats and rises from the couch to walk towards his ka’athrya. “If you are so inclined-“
“Yes,” she grins and he picks it up and walks back towards her. She can’t help but watch him as he does so, the lithe, lean lines of his body and the ways his clothes fit him just so, his shirt tight across his shoulders, loose around his trim waist, the way his pants hug his long legs.
Her mouth feels a little bit dry when he settles the harp on her lap, and her fingers feel a little bit uncoordinated when she raises them to place them how his were when he played.
“Bring your elbow to your side,” he instructs and his fingers are warm and gentle as he guides her arm into place. “And sit up straight.”
“I am,” she says, trying to straighten further. “Do you guys learn posture in school? Because I don’t think my spine gets any longer.” She feels the light touch of his fingers on her lower back, his hand slipping between the couch and her body and feels a flush spread through her down to her toes. “Spock.”
“Yes?” he asks, his hand drifting up her back to press just below her shoulder blades. He studies her and she feels the moment stretch between them, hang there with a heavy, delicious tension, feels the warmth of his hand ease the last of the ache in her chest and draw the beginning of a smile out of her.
“I can’t play if you’re touching me like that.”
“You cannot?” he asks, one eyebrow raised as he slowly withdraws his hand. She doesn’t think she’s imagining the slight green stain on his cheeks, nor the way her own face feels warmer than the heat of his quarters should account for.
“Nope. I’ll probably drop this on the ground, and then where will we be?”
“Cleaning it up, I suppose,” he says.
“Which would really put a damper on the evening.”
“I believe that is an accurate prediction.”
He reaches for her hands again, shifting how she holds her wrist and adjusting her fingers with the back of his knuckle.
“Hey,” she says when he finally sits back, satisfied with her position, since she can’t exactly think when he’s touching her, let alone form coherent sentences. “Thank you.”
“There is no need to-“
“No.” She reaches out and touches his arm, just lightly, just a brush of her fingers over his sweater. “I mean it.”
“You are welcome, Nyota,” he says quietly, looking down at where she touched him and then back up at her.
She gives him one of his own tiny smiles, which broadens when she looks back down at the harp. “I moved my hand. Whoops.”
“You did.” He waits while she tries to get her fingers back the way he put them, but she can’t do it, not with the way he’s watching her.
“You’re just going to have to help me again.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. So sorry.”
“You are not,” he says as his hands rise to hers again and that heat races right through her.
She can’t really look away from his hand on hers, how it looks to have him touching her like that and she lets her teeth graze over her bottom lip, just barely biting back a smile.
His eyes dart over her face and she feels suddenly conscious of the fact that she was crying not so long ago, and that she never really bothered to look in a mirror afterwards because it was just Spock. Spock, who’s now silently staring at her, his fingers resting on her knuckles and their knees close enough that they’re almost touching.
“You look very beautiful tonight night, Nyota,” he says and she feels herself flush, her cheeks positively burning at his words. “I had meant to inform you of that fact and summarily failed to do so.” He hesitates before continuing and she can’t help but stare at the way his lips part as he draws in a breath. “I would also take the opportunity to add that I find you beautiful most other times, as well,” he says, then pauses again. “All other times.” He stops again and frowns. “And I do not intend to convey that the sentiment does not include the fact of your considerable intellect, the esteem I have for your personality, or other admirable qualities,” he says and she laughs and ducks her head.
“Thanks,” she says quietly and when she looks back up at him, his eyes are on her, dark and steady, and his hand rises to push the hair that’s slipped forward towards her face back around her ear. His fingers graze over her cheek as he drops his hand, soft and warm, and she feels her heart pound in her chest. “Thank you,” she says, again, her mouth dry.
He just pushed her hair back but she feels nervous and jumpy, like everything inside her body has turn into something tremulous and shaky, and she can’t help but repeat the motion, running her hand over her hair and through those few strands.
“You have moved your fingers again.”
“I am literally not good at keeping my hand still.”
“That is correct,” he says. “However, that is the only thing you have proved to be so inept at.”
“Good thing you’re here, then,” she says as he covers her hand in his warm, large palm and replaces it on the harp.
“It is fortunate.”
“I guess I’ll have to work to have your exemplary skills in that realm.”
“Yes. May I kiss you?”
“What?” she asks, her gaze jerking up from his hand, so big and gentle on hers, up to his face. “I mean, yes.”
He looks a little blank, like maybe he’s shocked that he asked and when he doesn’t move right away, she puts her hand on his shoulder, leans forward, and presses her lips to his.
It’s soft and gentle and he’s not overly responsive but he slowly presses back into her kiss, and when she pulls away and lets her eyes flutter open, he’s staring at her so intently, so incredibly focused on her, that she doesn’t think she’s had anyone look at her like that, ever.
“Um,” she says and watches her hand smooth down the sloping line of his shoulder. She can feel the hard ridge of his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt and the slight hollow below it.
“Would you like-“
“I was-“
She drops her hand from him to raise her fingers to cover her mouth like they somehow have the power to staunch her smile. They don’t, of course, and she ends up pressing her hand to her chest instead.
He blinks and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and when he exhales, she can see his breath shiver over it.
“I had though to offer you tea,” he says and she watches his throat work as he swallows. “Except that we already are in possession of such.”
“We are, aren’t we.” She swallows, too, and reaches for her mug because her mouth is suddenly incredibly dry, and she’s hardly surprised to see the slight tremor that goes through the liquid in the cup at the way her hand is shaking. “I, ah-“
“Perhaps-“ he starts, nodding to the ka’athrya and she looks down, half surprised that she’s still holding it in her lap.
“Right.”
“If you-“
“My hand, right, I-“ She sets her mug back down, wipes her palm that is suddenly sweaty on the bottom of her shirt and tries to replace her fingers where he had them earlier, except she can’t because her mind is utterly and completely blank.
Which is fine because he’s already reaching for her hand and she thinks his mind is a little blank, too, or maybe racing, maybe what’s flowing through his fingers and into hers is a coursing, rushing happiness that echoes and builds upon what’s surging through her stomach and chest and is making her smile so wide her face hurts.
“Like so,” he instructs, adjusting her hand the way he wants it. He studies it for a moment, then looks up at her, leans forward and kisses her again.
She lets her eyes drift shut as his hands rise to cup her jaw, and she feels him exhale a quiet sigh against her cheek. His fingers are so gentle, so incredibly soft and light on her cheeks, and his mouth is too, his lips slow and tender and meticulous against hers, so that when they break apart she’s left a little bit breathless.
Her nose bumps against his and she can’t help but nuzzle into him, their foreheads brushing together, and his lips find the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple before he leans back and lets out a deep breath.
She just wants to look at him, take in those dark eyes and the line of his chin and the way his lips are slightly parted and the muscle that jumps in his cheek, just once, that hints at everything going on behind his calm expression, so it takes her a long time to find anything to say.
“I am actually going to drop this if you keep kissing me like that,” she tells him, reaching out to twine her fingers with his.
His mouth twitches and she doesn’t think she’s the only one having trouble staunching an enormous smile, no matter how contained his expression is.
“As we established, that would be unfortunate.”
“If we established anything, it’s that I can’t concentrate when you’re touching me like that,” she says, letting her words drift off into another smile that tickle of his happiness pricks across her hand again, spreading out from where he’s touching her until her entire arm feels tingly and light.
His head tilts and that light is in his eyes again and she is just so damn happy with him there next to her on the couch, his hand stroking over hers like he can’t help himself, her skin still warm from where he touched her face, the memory of his mouth on her still fresh in her mind. And he is definitely smiling, his eyes dancing back and forth between their hands and her face, and it might be only the slightest uptick of the corner of his lips, but it’s there and it fills her with so much warmth that she feels like her body isn’t big enough to contain all of it, like at any second it will burst right through her, and she thinks she could probably exist in this moment forever, stretch it out and hang on to it with both hands, time drawn out and halted in the way he’s looking at her.
…
She is completely able to concentrate on basic tasks like brushing her teeth. And washing her face. And putting on her pajamas and maybe organizing her desk and also putting away some laundry because she is alternating between having too much energy and staring blankly into space, which is exactly how Gaila finds her, chewing on her thumbnail, staring at the wall, and standing in the middle of their room holding a single sock.
“You’re here,” Gaila states. “And nice sock,” she says gently, removing Nyota’s thumb from her mouth and guiding her to sit on the edge of her bed. “Why did you leave here like you were about to burst into tears? Why are you smiling like that? What’s going on? Why aren’t you with Spock? Why do you have a sock? Are those two things connected? Did a wayward letter P get misplaced?”
“Nothing.”
“Nyota Uhura, what happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You two kissed.”
She bites her bottom lip, smiles, covers half her face with her palm and nods.
“We kissed.”
“And?”
“Had tea.”
“And?”
“He taught me how to play his ka’athrya.”
“Nice.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying, I don’t know what that is so I’m going to assume it’s a euphemism for some incredibly kinky and athletic sex thing I’ve never heard about. Didn’t know you had it in you, Ny. I thought you were more of a ‘hey, look, I had sex at the foot of the bed!’ type of gal.”
“No, it’s a harp, Gaila, it’s his harp that he has,” Nyota says, running the sock through her hands before twisting it this way and that, her mind already retracing the way his hand always seemed to find her knee whenever she was playing.
“Wow. Boring.”
“No, it was…” Nyota just smiles down at the sock and shrugs. “It was…”
“Why were you so upset earlier?”
“Oh, that was only…” Nyota waves the sock at the offending padd with her messages on it. “That was not a big deal.”
“You were almost crying.”
“It was nothing. It was fine.”
“Fine?” Gaila repeats.
“Spock says I should remember all of my ‘positive attributes’ or whatever instead of focusing on one tiny thing I did wrong.”
“Spock said that?” Gaila repeats, slowly this time. “Spock said that tonight?”
“Yeah, he was really sweet and-“
“Spock said that tonight and you listened to him?”
“And then he also said that-“
“Spock says once – once, Nyota Uhura – what I have been telling you for ages now and you listen to him?”
“Um?”
“Humans,” Gaila mutters. “You are ridiculous.”
“I am not!”
“Probably because Commander Hot – sorry, Spock – doesn’t think you are?”
“Gaila…”
“And speaking of supreme hotness-“
“-That’s really not-“
“I’m going to tell you what Schori told me. After Orion night? That night in bed, Schori said that Thex -“
“Gaila! I do not need to know about that!”
“-And here I thought that he was super tired when we left and that she was asleep. I’m so proud of them.”
“You said that what you made us didn’t have any side effects!”
“They didn’t! I just can’t help that they’re totally into each other and a little oral pleasure went a long way. Get it? Food? Oral pleasure? Because speaking of, that is exactly what she said he-“
“Gaila!”
“What? At least it worked for them, unlike two other supremely frustrating individuals I know.”
“You-“
“I love all my friends, you’re totally right, Ny, since I’m sure that’s what you were going to say, even the ones who take their sweet time with things. That’s you and Spock, if you hadn’t figured that out.”
“This is not any of my business! And that’s none – zero, Gaila – of yours.”
“False. She’s the one who told me all about it. All, all about it, Ny. And also please stop destroying my sock.”
“Your sock?” Nyota asks, looking down at it, where she’s twisted it around her fingers. “It was in my closet.”
“And it’s dirty. You’re gross, don’t be gross.”
“Please don’t leave dirty socks in with my clothes,” Nyota sighs.
“Please stop mooning over your totally handsome, totally sweet new boyfriend. And as punishment for stealing my sock, I’m going to tell you in excruciating detail exactly what Schori told me. Seriously, I think that when N'Takim’s contract on Earth is up and he has to move back to Delta Caeli VI I’m going to find myself a Bajoran, because damn, Ny.”
|
Jon's eyelids snapped open as he woke from his nightmare. It was the same nightmare as always. Murdering Dany in a brutal and bloody way while she stared up at him with so much pain and heartbreak on her face, begging for him to save her. But he never listened.
It took Jon a few moments to get his bearings, and when he did, he remembered what had happened earlier; when he had received Dany's diary and read through it.
He quickly sat up, looking at the diary in his hands to make sure it was real, and flicked through the pages again, checking Dany's writing was there.
"Dany," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Stumbling to his feet, he rushed through the flaps of his tent, searching around the temporary camp inside Castle Black, looking for Tormund.
Jon had only arrived at Castle Black the previous day, after being sent back to the Night's Watch for his crime. He was surprised to find the Free Folk had set up camp inside the walls of Castle Black, but Tormund told Jon they were waiting for him, and they wanted him to join them beyond the wall. Jon wasn't so sure he wanted to.
The camp was too crowded for Jon's liking, but the Free Folk didn't seem to mind, and it was only until they left. As Jon weaved his way through the masses of people, he eventually spotted Tormund sat with a group of Wildlings.
"Tormund!" Jon shouted, jogging towards him. Tormund raised his head, and turned his attention towards his friend. Jon held the diary up, panting as he caught his breath. "The package. Where did you get it?"
Tormund shrugged. "It arrived for you a while ago."
Jon shook his head. "Who delivered it?"
"I don't know. Never asked," Tormund said, narrowing his eyes at Jon. "Why? What was it?"
"Why didn't you give it to me yesterday? As soon as I arrived?!" Jon asked, angrily.
Tormund jerked his head back. "I didn't realise it was so important."
"Well it was!" Jon exclaimed.
Tormund stood up and placed a firm hand on Jon's shoulder. "What was it?" he asked again.
"Nothing," Jon mumbled.
"Doesn't look like nothing," Tormund chuckled.
Jon sighed. He wasn't in the mood for this. He turned and walked away, pushing past the other people occupying the area. Crawling back into his tent, Jon hoped no one bothered him any time soon.
***
As the days passed, Jon slept as little as possible, trying to avoid the nightmares that plagued each minute of sleep he managed to get. They were worse now he knew of his and Dany's child. He had killed their child. Dany knew as she was dying that it wasn't just her life that was slipping away. He can't imagine what was going through her head in those final seconds. Had she wanted to tell him as she took her last breath?
When he was awake, Jon read Dany's diary obsessively. He slowly began to learn it word for word, and could quote it all after a few days. There was so much he wanted to say to her. So many missed chances. So much time wasted between the two of them. He had to tell her everything that was on his mind, but he knew he would never speak to her again face to face.
Jon mostly stayed in his tent. He ate when someone put food in front of him, but didn't bother if no one else did. He hardly spoke to anyone, except for Tormund occasionally. It wasn't really speaking, more like grunts, and nods or shakes of his head. He couldn't find the will to do anything. He dreaded every moment, because it was another moment without her, and another moment where he had to face what he did, and what he had lost. Jon knew he wouldn't last much longer. Back in King's Landing, while he was locked up, he had already thought of ways he could join Dany, but now he knew the whole truth, the temptation to stop all of this torture was stronger than ever.
Tormund spent time with Jon throughout the days, but they sat in silence most of the time. His friend was patient at first, but eventually, he told Jon that the Free Folk had to move on. Jon didn't confirm or deny if he was joining them, but asked Tormund to take Ghost when he left. He wanted him to have a good home after he wasn't there anymore.
The night before the Free Folk were due to leave to go beyond the wall, Tormund came with some food for Jon, but he shook his head, and continued staring into space with his eyes glossed over.
"A raven came for you," Tormund said.
That piqued Jon's attention more than the food had. "When? From where?" he asked.
"Today," Tormund answered and shrugged. "The Iron Islands I think they said."
Tormund held the scroll out, and Jon took it in his gloved hands, unravelling it slowly. When he glanced at the words, his heart skipped a beat. Time seemed to freeze around him. He stopped breathing. He couldn't take in what the words were saying at first, but he knew one thing for sure.
"Dany," he whispered under his breath.
"What?" Tormund asked.
Jon ignored him, and read the words slowly.
You were right. When she first looked up at me, I knew Rhaelya was the perfect name for her.
"Jon?" Tormund's voice sounded far away even though he was stood right next to him.
Jon stared at the piece of paper, so many thoughts running through his mind, but two stuck out among the rest - Dany was alive, and his daughter was most likely alive too.
Jon reached out and traced the words, his finger stopping over the word Rhaelya.
"Rhaelya," Jon muttered.
"Jon?" Tormund said his name again.
Jon glanced around at the wildlings surrounding him, then back to his friend. "I won't be coming with you," he told Tormund. "There's somewhere else I have to be."
|
Rhys didn't want to be this annoyed at Jack's behavior. He really absolutely didn't, but here he was, his thoughts still revolving around every word Jack had said earlier that day in vexing circles. It was such a short conversation but it just wouldn't leave Rhys alone with how, well... Possessive Jack was acting. He knew that he and Vaughn were friends. And even then, he didn't really have any official ties to Jack, did he?
Of course he didn't. They still hadn't even gotten the chance to properly talk. Was Jack maybe afraid to talk about it? Rhys couldn't help but suspect that was the case. But that shouldn't have stopped the conversation from happening.
“Are you sure you're gonna have enough to cover us both tonight?”
The sudden voice of Vaughn shook Rhys from his reverie as he blinked quickly a few times, turning his eyes to his shorter friend as they walked down the sidewalk towards their destination. It took Rhys a moment to fully register what Vaughn had said, but soon enough he was smiling and nodding.
“Don't even worry about it, buddy,” Rhys reassured him confidently. “My parents sent me some extra cash for spring break anyway so it's all good.”
“Okay, cool. How are they, by the way?” Vaughn asked, returning Rhys' own smile.
At that, Rhys could only shrug, “They're good. I guess.”
Rhys only caught a glimpse of Vaughn's fading smile as he turned his attention ahead once more, Vaughn sounding cautious and unsure, “You guess?”
“Yeah,” Rhys said with a nod. “I guess. I dunno.”
“Is... Everything cool?”
Rhys raised his eyebrows somewhat as he looked back over to Vaughn, “Yeah, everything's fine we just... Don't really talk much, that's all.”
Vaughn pursed his lips in thought, almost as though he was hesitant on whether he should pursue this or not. He settled for crossing his arms before asking, “Any reason?”
For a few moments, Rhys let Vaughn's question turn over in his mind. Him and his parents were on okay terms, he supposed. As good of terms as you could get with rich parents, anyway. They paid for his schooling and his apartment, so he really couldn't find it in him to complain; he'd feel ungrateful if he did complain. He loved them and he was sure they loved him, but they never were the most social with him.
They always just kind of gave him what he needed and that was that. He'd always guessed that their definition of being a good parent was making sure their kid didn't starve and had enough to make it through each month while away at college. They never really called to talk about how he was doing unless it involved money. He supposed that was good because he wasn't sure that he could explain in any capacity that he was literally fucking his teacher.
That was a conversation that would probably-- no, most definitely, be pretty horrifying.
Taking a slow breath, Rhys finally responded, “Dunno, they're probably busy with their stocks or whatever. Anyway, point being, I can cover for us. No problem.”
It seemed that Vaughn could pick up that Rhys wanted to drop the subject as he simply nodded, “Cool. Which bar are we heading to first?”
That was a pretty convenient question with a pretty convenient answer, because they were nearly there. In fact...
“That's the first one,” Rhys said as he pointed to the run down building across the street. It had the name 'Haven' written on a sign in cursive and decorative font hanging above the door. “We'll grab a couple rounds of shots and move on, sound good?”
“Sounds good,” Vaughn agreed as they crossed the street, pausing as Rhys grabbed the handle of the door and opened it for Vaughn. “Bet I can drink more than you before you're too drunk to even walk straight.”
That just made Rhys laugh as he followed Vaughn inside, “Yeah pal, you keep telling yourself that. We'll see.”
***
Several bars and several several drinks later, Rhys was sure his blood alcohol content was growing closer into dangerously stupid levels. Needless to say, both he and Vaughn were just a bit too drunk, so much so, the current bar they were settled in near the back of was bound to be the last of the night.
Tilting his head back, Rhys gulped down the last of his liquid marijuana, the liquid fully disappearing and leaving nothing but ice in its wake. Immediately after, he slammed the glass down onto the table, perhaps a little too hard. It thudded loudly, startling even Rhys.
“Rhys, easy man, you're gonna break that glass,” Vaughn hissed lazily, trying to be the voice of reason even in his drunken state.
The only response Rhys could have to that right away was a bout of giggles as he brought up his mechanical hand, the very one he'd used to slam the glass down, and wiggled his fingers. They groaned in little robotic whirs as he hummed, “Sorry, don't know my own bionic strength. Seriously though, I don't. This thing can be like-- like extra strong sometimes, man.”
Vaughn laughed before he took another swig of his gin and tonic before saying, “Remember that time you beat Fiona in that-- that arm wrestling contest. Annn... And she got all like... Pissed because you used that arm?”
“And—and--and th-then--!” Rhys tried, but his laughter was coming out in more bubbly spurts. He swallowed before trying again, “And then she s-stole my arm! She actually stole my arm and tossed it in a tree!”
Vaughn was laughing even harder as he leaned onto the table, trying to stifle his chortles, “Your dad-- oh my God! Your dad was so pissed!!”
“H-he was all--” Rhys giggled more, pausing just barely as he cleared his throat, imitating the voice of his dad. “'I paid for that arm young lady and now you're gonna p-pay me back if you don't get it out of that tree!'” Rhys had to pause once more, trying to catch his breath from his laughter. “Then Fiona got stuck in the tree!!”
There was no more of the story the two could recount, they were in a mess of laughter and giggles on the table. Rhys wasn't sure he was going to be able to stop laughing, but after a few more moments, both of their laughter started to die down. Rhys had to wipe the tears from his eyes that had begun to brim from the exertion.
“Yeahhh,” Rhys finally sighed fondly. “This arm's gotten me into-- into a lot of fun shit. Guess it's not so bad.”
Vaughn coughed slightly, clearing his throat as he motioned to Rhys' arm, “Oh yeah, isn't your teacher like a-all... Obsessed with your arm too?”
Even through his drunken state, Rhys was caught a bit off guard from that, “I dunno, I mean he likes it I guess. He did work at Hyperion. And this arm's just completely Hyperion soooo... So that's a thing.”
“I bet he's obsessed with your arm,” Vaughn slurred, sounding like he was attempting to just get some sort of rise out of his friend. “Like he's a fricking robotics professor so... How many of his students actually have a kick ass robot arm?”
Rhys wasn't entirely sure what was so funny about that, but he found himself giggling more. Having Jack on his mind again gave him an odd and out of the blue idea, his thought process not entirely together on a coherent string, but he just didn't care right then. All he knew is he was going to bring out his phone and call up Jack. For what reason? He wasn't sure.
“Hey, I'm gonna call the asshole,” Rhys said in a jumbled slur, reaching into his jacket pocket before pulling out his phone. “I told you he's an asshole, right? Because he absolutelyyyy is.”
In one more chug, Vaughn finished off his drink, setting the empty glass to the side as he studied Rhys carefully, “Then why do you even like him?”
As Rhys scrolled through his contacts, even scrolling past Jack's a few times, he finally selected the right number before he shrugged, “Because he's hot? And he's charming or wha-ever? I dunno.”
“Pfft,” Vaughn scoffed, his voice somehow coming out clearly sarcastic despite the intoxicated tone. “Okay, good reason there, man.”
As childish as it was, Rhys couldn't resist sticking his tongue out at Vaughn as he began dialing Jack's number and bringing the phone to his ear. It took several rings before Jack's voice was on the other end, sounding expectant.
“Hey kitten, what's up?”
There was no stopping the big and dumb grin that crawled onto Rhys' face as he slurred, “I like it when you call me those stupid names. Do it again.”
Silence greeted Rhys' ear for a moment or two before Jack was responding both parts annoyed and amused, “Holy shit, you sound really friggin' drunk right now. You are, aren't you?”
“I'm gonna go get another round,” Vaughn chimed in suddenly, sliding out of the booth and standing, his stance a bit wobbly. “Have fun talking with your boyfriend.”
“Shut up!” Rhys hissed, his words a bit half-assed before he returned his attention back to Jack. His voice suddenly turned whiny and drawn out, “Jaaaaack, call me those names again.”
Jack just laughed, “What names?”
“You know,” Rhys insisted. “The naaaaaaames.”
“You're gonna have to be a little more clear on this, not sure I'm catchin' your drift.”
Okay, Rhys was growing frustrated, his forehead now resting down on the wooden table, “Youuuuu are such an ass.”
“And you're too goddamn drunk,” Jack retorted with a chuckle.
“And you're too goddamn pretty,” Rhys threw back like it was some sort of insult and he'd just proven a huge point.
There was no hiding the smugness in Jack's voice from that one, “Damn right I am. But I know you'd never actually say something like that if you were anywhere near sober. Please tell me you're at least this drunk at home.”
“What?” Rhys scoffed, sounding affronted Jack would assume that. “No! That'd be-- be boring. I'm out.”
“Out?” Jack demanded, sounding quite a bit more serious in tone.
Pulling his head up, Rhys nodded in exaggerated motions even though Jack couldn't see, “Yeah that's what I said. I'mmmm out. At a bar. Oh yeah, by the way, youuuuu should apologize to me for earlier. That was really-- really rude.”
Jack sighed heavily and quickly, “I don't think this is the conversation to have while you're drunk, pumpkin.”
“Aha!” Rhys called out loudly and triumphantly, tossing his robotic arm in the air in some sort of victory. “You said it, you-you-you said the name thing! That's so stupid. I love it. Do it again.”
“Oh my God,” Jack muttered. “What bar are you at right now?”
Rhys chewed this over for several moments before he responded slowly, “I honestly don't... Even remember. It's all purple. Or it has purple i-in the name. I thiiiiiink.”
“The Purple Skag?”
“Yes!” Rhys suddenly shouted. “That's it! ...Wait. Why?”
“Because you're obviously drunk off your bony ass and I don't trust you to get home on your own.”
Rhys probably would've sounded much more offended if he wasn't so intoxicated, “Don't you d-dare, I'm a grown ass man, I cannnn get home on my own. Besides, I've got Vaughn with me, it's all good.”
Jack just snorted, “Too late, I'm already on my way. I'm gonna take you home before you do anything stupid or just pass out on the street.”
Before Rhys' addled mind could form a coherent response, Jack had already hung up, leaving Rhys a bit annoyed. If he were any less drunk, he'd probably be furious with Jack. But as he noticed Vaughn approaching with two glasses filled with their respective drinks, he found he was a little on the more forgiving side.
“You look kinda annoyed, bro,” Vaughn commented as he placed the glass in front of Rhys before settling back into the booth across from him. “Or maybe not. S'hard to tell at this point.”
Without a word, Rhys took the glass and downed several chugs of the liquid, the alcohol leaving a satisfying but distant burn on his throat as it went down. He sighed as he pulled the glass away.
“'Pparently Jack's comin'.”
“What?” Vaughn asked, cup nearly to his lips now frozen. “You didn't like-- invite him, did you?”
Rhys shook his head, “No, but he thinks we can't get home safe or somethin'. I dunno.”
Suddenly, Rhys got an idea and it left him growing into a fit of giggles once more as he tilted his head, “Let's jus' like... Finish and leave before he even gets here.”
Vaughn's eyes widened slightly at the idea, “Won't tha' piss him off?”
“He's pissed me off like...” Rhys paused for a messy scoff. “A lot. Like a lot a lot. So I mean... Payback's a bitch.” Suddenly, Rhys was raising his drink across the table, a daring but crooked smile on his lips. “Bet I can finish mine before you.”
Vaughn returned the smile, a challenging gleam in his gaze as he raised his own cup, “Bring it.”
Clink.
Both boys were downing their drinks in quick and sloppy gulps, each swallow bringing them closer to the bottom of their glasses. Rhys was already ahead and he knew he was going to win, but he got greedy. He tilted his drink just a bit too far back and it spilled over his lips, landing on his v-neck shirt and jacket in the process, but he didn't stop. Not a moment later, and he reached the end, slamming his cup down just seconds before Vaughn.
“I beat you, man! Woo!” Rhys said with yet another fit of giggles.
Vaughn shook his head lazily, “Nope! Definitely didn't beat me. You're seein' things, man.”
Moving to stand, Rhys just scoffed, “You keep t-tellin' yourself that buddy, I'm the clear winner.”
On wobbly, long legs, Rhys began to make his way out of the bar, heading towards the door without looking back to Vaughn. In his mind, he definitely won, and he wouldn't hear any sort of attempts at Vaughn justifying his own victory. Nope. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction. His mind was swimming even more, the pleasant heat of the alcohol bubbling within his chest.
Stumbling just before the door, Rhys rammed into the door, pushing it open with a bit more force than he'd meant. Rhys found it amusing, but the sound of another man's loud and painful groan on the other side told him that this was anything but amusing.
As Rhys and Vaughn stepped out of the bar and looked to their left, there they saw a blonde haired man. He looked to be just slightly shorter than Rhys, but he looked angry and definitely not pleased to have just been smacked right in the face with the door. The guy swore, rubbing at his nose before eyeing Rhys with rage.
“Woah, sorry, buddy,” Rhys said with a careful laugh. “Didn't see you there.”
Before Rhys could register what was happening, he was being tugged forward, the guy's hands digging roughly into the fabric of his jacket. He was soon staring directly into the man's blue eyes. From here he could see he had a nose ring and a pointed beard. He definitely didn't look friendly, but Rhys couldn't be anything but slightly amused.
“You think it's fucking funny that you nearly broke my nose?!” he growled at Rhys. “What if you actually broke my nose, huh? Would it be funny then?!”
“Hey, come on,” Vaughn tried to step in, attempting to sound much more sober than he actually was. “Rhys really didn't mean to--”
“You stay out of this, little man!” the guy shouted at Vaughn, glaring in his direction before tightening his grip on Rhys' clothing. “I think your friend can speak for himself.”
Slowly, Rhys raised his hands, far too drunk to even be scared as he retorted in a slur, “Look, your nose is already kindaaaaa messed up so it's not like I actually did anything bad.”
The other man's eyes widened in a growing frustration as he shouted, “What did you just say?!”
Yet again, Rhys just found this amusing more than anything else, so he just giggled, “You gotta-- gotta weird nose, okay? S'not my fault.”
The next thing Rhys knew, he felt an explosion of dull pain directly on his face. Gravity was meaningless to him as he was floating through the air before the hardness of the ground met his back, knocking the air right out of him. It took him several moments as he gasped for air to realize that the guy had punched him, the coppery taste of blood filling his tongue not a second later.
Suddenly, the sound of a familiar and abrasive voice filled the air past the ringing in his ears, “Hey, princess! Ever hear of an eye for an eye? How 'bout a punch for a fuckin' punch?!”
Rhys wanted to know what was going on, but his vision was slowly going in and out even as he tried to focus. The distant sound of a scuffle and someone in pain met his eardrums, but it was quickly fading. Not a second later, the sensation of hands were present on his shoulders and it took him a few beats to realize it was Vaughn.
“Rhys? Holy shit, Rhys are you okay?”
Rhys tried to speak, but it came out entirely mumbled, “Everything's really... Fuzzy...”
The last thing Rhys remembered in those following moments were the growing taste of blood in his mouth then another voice trying to rouse him, “Rhys? Rhysie, c'mon, stay with me kiddo.”
He tried. He really tried. But it was too hard to fight it. Rhys fell into darkness.
|
“But I shouldn’t have been marked down, then.” Gaila shoves her plate away and crosses her arms, pinning Spock with a hard stare across the table.
Nyota pauses with her finger marking her place in her text, staring between them.
“Professor Kiani-“
“Professor Kiani is a…” Gaila starts, then mutters something in Orion under her breath that Nyota can’t quite catch. Gaila groans and buries her face in her palms and Spock just waits until she’s pushed her hands back into her curls and looks up at him again. “Ok. Sorry.”
“Professor Kiani simply sought to correct the way in which you coded this section.”
“But then she should have put in the rubric that that’s how she wanted it!”
“Perhaps,” Spock says. “However, I believe she assumed that you would use the techniques she taught you in class.”
“First of all, I didn’t go to class because I already know how to do all of this, and second, the way I did it was better. It’s neater, has fewer – and by fewer I mean zero – bugs, and is more easily replicable.”
“There is a certain logic in having standard programming across all Starfleet computer technicians,” Spock says.
“But isn’t there also, then, a logic in having just a better standard for that stupid standardization?”
“I do not disagree.”
Gaila huffs out an angry laugh and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I hate school.”
“Perhaps you would consider taking your case to the administration. Your reasoning is compelling and not incorrect,” Spock says, sliding Gaila’s padd back towards her and wrapping his hand around the mug of tea he had been drinking when Gaila had found Nyota and him in the mess hall and summarily started complaining to Spock about her most recent problem set. He doesn’t go to turn his own padd back on, nor resume any of the other work he has spread in neat piles across the table in front of him, just watches Gaila as she continues to silently fume.
“The deans won’t even listen.”
“Do you have evidence of such attitude from them?”
“I just know.”
“May I ask how?”
“Nobody takes me seriously.”
“It is in their duties to their position to take student opinions seriously. I would encourage you to contemplate my suggestion.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Gaila shoves her padd back in her bag. “And thanks, I guess.”
“Um,” Nyota says when she’s gone. She kind of feels like she should apologize for her roommate, but at the same time, that’s just how Gaila is. What would be rude for a human is just the way she expresses mild irritation, something which Spock seems to understand because he doesn’t appear to be particularly perturbed by such a display.
“It is of no consequence,” Spock says before she can finish deciding exactly how ok he seems with Gaila’s outburst. “I understand that for some it is not particularly easy to be the lowest rank in such a hierarchical organization.”
“I sometimes feel like Gaila’s going to rise through those very ranks, become an Admiral, and overhaul all of Starfleet. Or become the President of the Federation or something.”
Spock glances from his mug up to where Gaila disappeared through the door.
“I would judge either of those scenarios to be probable.”
Nyota just smiles and sips at her own tea, raising one shoulder towards her ear in a shrug. “Well, it’s good that she’s here to make her mark. I give it twenty minutes before she’s drafting that message to the deans.”
“You say that as if you do not believe you will have an equally substantive impact over the course of your career.”
He does that, sometimes, she’s learned. Read between the lines of what she says, or catch something in her tone that proves he’s much more perceptive and attentive than she would have ever thought he would be.
“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging again and fiddling with her stylus. She rolls it back and forth on the table with a finger and studies the way it looks as it passes over the grain of the wood. “I don’t think it’d ever cross my mind to code something differently than how a professor wanted me to, just because I thought it was a better way. If I even knew how to code, I mean.”
“I can teach you if you are interested,” he offers. “And you have proven yourself to have excellent research and analysis skills. I do not believe that one must affect something so large as all of Starfleet to have an appreciable affect during their career.”
“Tell that to Kirk.”
“You are acquainted with Cadet Kirk?”
“He lives in my dorm, down the hall from Gaila and me. And he could stand to be taken down a few notches, thinks he’s going to be the next best thing to hit the stars after we graduate.”
“You do not share his certainty that your career will be influential?”
“I’m going to be sitting in some communications bay calibrating transmitters and if I’m lucky, configuring universal translators for a captain and first officer to bring on their away missions.” She rolls her stylus over until it bumps into her padd and can’t go any further. “Comms is grunt work, it’s not, you know, the front lines of exploration. The best I can hope to do someday is to be a bridge officer, and if I’m lucky work for a captain who will occasionally bring me to translate something in person, instead of just having me code translations from the ship.”
“The study of unknown languages is essential to Starfleet’s mission of exploration.”
“Ok, sure, but you scientists, you’re actually designing experiments, deciding on research protocols, writing up mission reports. Ops is just… work. Doing other work for other people so that they can do their work.” She shrugs again. “I’m not complaining, I love it, and if I’m lucky I be able to still publish research, but I hardly would anticipate I’d be beaming down on exciting away missions every other week.”
“I would not anticipate that you would be in a communications bay for very long after you receive your commission.”
“I hope not,” she says. “I mean, it wouldn’t be too bad, probably still better than just a research posting somewhere.”
“What would be your preference, if you were able to decide?”
“Well, I want to be on the Enterprise, like everyone does, but I’m also realistic about my chances.”
“How so?” he asks carefully, like he has no idea exactly what he’s supposed to say to that.
“Everyone’s going to apply and you get to the Academy and everyone’s a genius and I’m smart but I’m-“ she shrugs, which she seems to be doing a lot, and waves her hands at herself. “Everyone’s somebody here. Kirk is George Kirk’s son, and I have this other friend who is this xenomedicine hotshot, and there’s this other guy with I think the Academy’s best piloting scores to date, and this teenager – if he’s even a teenager he might be eleven or twelve for all I know – who’s a TA for my Intersteller Nav course, and you’re you, Gaila’s the first ever Orion to enroll in the Academy and is apparently planning to completely redo the computer programming curriculum. I’m just human and good at school and I get really good grades – really, really good grades, actually – but that’s it and I don’t stick out in any other way. I’m… normal. Starfleet normal, but normal nonetheless.”
“You are not normal,” he says and she wants to laugh and ask him if he thinks she’s weird, but his tone is so serious and his gaze on her so intent that she just ends up shifting in her chair and floundering for a response.
“Um.” She runs her hand over her hair, then smooths her fingers over her padd, then starts playing with her stylus again. “Thanks.”
“Even if you are regulated to configuring universal translators, I believe I would be partial to receiving one you had worked on.”
“What?” she asks, looking up from where she’s dragging her stylus across the table. “What does that mean?”
“I returned to Earth after completing my deployment on the Lexington in order to accept Captain Pike’s offer to serve as first officer on the Enterprise.”
She drops her stylus off the edge of the table and she hears it hit the floor, and then hears it bounce, and then hears it skitter across the floor as it rolls under her chair.
“Wait, wait, stop,” she says, jumping up, flustered and clumsy as she pushes her chair to the side, kneels, grabs the offending stylus, and returns to her seat. She manages to make the chair squeak overly loud as it scrapes against the floor when she pulls it back towards the table. “What? Wait, what?”
“As I said,” he begins and she swears he’s somehow laughing while maintaining a completely blank expression. And not unkindly, but more like she could not have been more utterly human in that moment than if she had tried. “I am the first officer of the Enterprise.”
“Geez, Spock, lead into it next time,” she says, pressing her palm to her cheek and scrubbing it over her face.
“If in the future I accept such a position, when I share that fact with you I will endeavor to do so,” he promises. He waits until she’s wiped the flecks of dirt stuck to her stylus from the floor, placed it neatly next to her padd, and folded her hands on the table, before he continues. “Will you apply for a posting on the Enterprise after you graduate?”
“Won’t construction already be complete and-“ she pauses, slotting in this new information that when the Enterprise leaves Earth, Spock will be on it. “You all will be gone? Probably with a brand new full complement of crew?”
“I do not believe construction is slated to be finalized before your class graduates.”
“Oh.” She wraps both hands around her mug of tea and feels a smile pull at her mouth. “Ok. Then, yes, I’d apply. See what happens.”
“Excellent,” he says, nodding. “That is excellent.”
“Probably won’t go so well if I don’t pass this quiz, though,” she says, sighing down at the study guide she has in front of her.
“High Romulan?” he asks, peering at her padd and managing to read it even though it’s upside down for him.
“I got the bright idea to try to learn all three dialects,” she explains.
“As I already told you,” he says as he pushes his work aside, picks up her padd and pulls it across the table towards himself, “You are not normal.”
“Well, I might be regretting it, so there’s that.”
“Regret is illogical,” he says lightly. “What is the translation of lesh'riq?”
“It’s a type of pumpkin.”
His eyebrow rises precipitously high on his forehead before his mouth quirks and he looks up from her padd to meet her gaze.
“You are being facetious.”
“Yes. It’s a term for a citizen of the Empire who has performed a great service.”
“And enok-kal fi’lar?”
“Uh, a type of epic poetry? No, like the telling of a poem. It’s a verb, the noun is emok-tal fi’lak.”
“Correct. Bol-threshan?”
“Are you going to quiz me on all of these?”
“Perhaps,” he says and she grins into her tea as she raises her mug to take a sip.
“That’s the word for a guy who’s the first officer of the flagship but just never seemed to mention it for weeks.”
“Curious that the Romulans would have a word for such a person.”
“Hmm. I’m considering recommending it to be adopted into Vulcan vernacular. I might even write a letter to the High Council.”
“I wish you good fortune in your efforts,” he says and she snorts a laugh into her mug, grinning at him as he spends his time choosing the next word to test her on.
…
“We live nowhere and everywhere,” O’nama says in its lyrical voice. It’s somehow capable of harmonizing with itself and Nyota has to concentrate on its words and not just on listening to how beautiful they sound.
She also has to concentrate on not letting herself lean against Spock, where she’s pushed up next to him on the couch. Gouth settled on her other side, leaving her without the type of personal space between her and Spock that Vulcans seem disposed to, and every time she shifts, her hip or shoulder bumps against his. She feels overly aware of the contact, the way he’s fever-hot even through layers of clothes, and the way she’s probably breaking a half dozen taboos regarding how close you can get to a Vulcan.
“Sorry,” she whispers when Gouth shifts, again, and her elbow knocks into Spock’s, again.
He just glances down at her, his eyes warm and dark, before he returns his attention to O’nama.
“We travel like we have always travelled, and like we will always travel, with the space between the stars as our home, and the planets we visit as places to rest,” it continues in that melodic way that warms Nyota’s chest. “I am here on Earth and here on Earth I celebrate Qiameth with you, the day of the year where we leave where we have been so that we can continue onwards.” O’nama pauses, and then forms its mouth into an approximation of a human smile. “Of course, I will not leave as I work at UC Berkeley and my contract is not up,” it says and chuckles rise from around the room. “However, on this day of leaving, we bid goodbye, and give thanks for the place that has supported us, so that we continue to travel as we have always travelled, and like we will always travel, out among the stars.”
“Starfleet should just recruit them,” Gaila says, later, when everyone’s tugging on their coats and saying goodbye to each other. Celebrating Qiameth involves mostly leaving the party, so it’s an early night and Nyota finds herself a bit sad that the group is already dispersing.
“Because they already travel so much?”
“Think of how easy it’d be to be gone from home for years at a time, if your home is just out there,” Gaila says, gesturing up at the sky above them once they’ve stepped outside.
N'Takim follows the motion of her hand and they all stare up at the dark sky, squinting to try to see the stars beyond the lights of the city.
“It’d be nice,” N'Takim agrees, tucking his coat around himself and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “But if we’re going to have long discussions about what species are best suited for prolonged space travel, can we do it inside?”
“By inside do you mean inside a bar?” Gaila asks and N'Takim smiles and leans over and kisses her.
“You know I do, babe.”
“You coming, Ny?”
“I, uh, yes, sure, I guess,” she answers, trying to peer back into Thex and Schori’s house but they have curtains on the first floor windows that face the street and she can’t see if anyone else is going to come outside right then. “Should we maybe wait and see if anyone else wants to come?”
“If you want,” N'Takim says but his teeth are already chattering and Nyota has to remind herself that he comes from a planet even warmer than Vulcan and has only assumed a human form in order to blend in on Earth. A human male form. A really attractive human male form, which Gaila helped him customize, which was kind of hilarious as he tried out different noses and chins, but has the detrimental effect of making a lot of women and lot of men stare after him and Gaila wherever the two of them go. And that’s only how he looks most of the time, so that his friends can tell who he is – Nyota has more than once walked into her dorm room to find Gaila in bed with a beautiful woman, only to find herself introducing herself, again, to N'Takim.
“We can go now,” she says with one last look at the closed front door. “I was just- You’re freezing, let’s go.”
They’re halfway down the block before she hears footsteps behind them, and all three of them turn to find Spock, bundled in a heavy coat, and Thaalan in a light windbreaker.
“Where are you all going so fast?” Thaalan calls after them.
“The bar!” Gaila shouts back. “Wanna come?”
“Do we?” Thaalan asks Spock. “I have a meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t be boring,” Gaila instructs.
“You should,” Nyota adds. “Come I mean, not be boring.”
“We don’t want them thinking we’re boring do we, Spock?”
“I-“
“We don’t,” Thaalan assures him as he and Spock catch up to them. “It’s probably not logical.”
“That is not-“
“What bar?” Thaalan asks, rubbing his hands together and pointing his antennae up and down the street. “The Warp and Coil?”
“I think their happy hour just ended,” Gaila says with a deep frown. “How about the Salty Nacelle?”
“Or Moe’s,” Nyota suggests.
“Boring,” Gaila tells her. “And therefore you all would probably love it.”
It is kind of a boring bar, but it’s also quieter than Gaila’s usual choices, which means Spock only has to repeat himself once to the bartender in order to get across the fact he doesn’t want anything.
“Really?” Thaalan offers in a wheedling tone. “This is your big chance to buy such lovely cadets a drink.” He pauses, then frowns down the bar where Gaila already has four drinks in front of her, numerous cocktail umbrellas sticking out of each one. “Or, rather, buy Nyota a drink. Nope?” he asks without giving Spock a chance to answer. “My treat, my dear, what would you like?”
“Red wine, please,” she says with a smile up at him. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”
“You really don’t want anything?” Thaalan asks after receiving his drink and downing half of it in one gulp.
“I am disinclined towards consuming alcohol.”
“And yet you’re in a bar,” Thaalan says with a grin.
“At a bar.”
“Prepositions,” Thaalan mutters.
“Prepositions are awesome,” Nyota tells him and Thaalan just takes another long sip of his drink, his antennae pointing at her accusatorily, though he can’t keep it up and eventually smiles.
“Coffee, Spock?” he asks, shaking his head once more at Nyota. “I know you pretend to hate it, but-”
“Vulcans do not pretend.”
“Have you tried it ever?”
“No.”
“You know, you’re probably genetically predisposed to like coffee. Isn’t your mom from Seattle?”
“Your mother’s from Seattle?” Nyota asks before she can help herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Sorry, Spock I didn’t realize she didn’t know,” Thaalan’s saying quickly. “I didn’t mean to-“
“It is no matter,” Spock says smoothly. “My mother is human,” he explains to Nyota who tries very hard to cover up how surprising that fact is and probably fails.
“And enjoys coffee?” she asks, just to have something to say.
“She is rather fond of the beverage.” He pauses, his brows drawing together slightly. “’Fond’ might be a slight understatement.”
“Spock and I went on a hunt for some good stuff, so that he could bring her some when he went back to Vulcan last year. And if you can imagine a Vulcan and Andorian trying to find high quality coffee when we both hate shopping, you have a good idea what that afternoon was like.”
“It was successful in the end,” Spock adds.
“Except we almost gave up. Twice. And then we went into that one place? And that Tellarite tried to help us? And I ended up arguing with him for so long it was dark outside when we left? I told you we should have just replicated some.”
“It hardly would have been the same, nor fulfilled the purpose of such a gift. Furthermore, you should perhaps not have engaged a Tellarite in a debate over the merits of beef versus lamb.”
“But that’s exactly it, Spock,” Thaalan says, sipping at his drink again. “What we need to do is to convince your mother to want some meat from Earth.”
“She does not eat-“
“Vegetarians,” Thaalan says with a grin, draining the last of his drink and pulling a handful of credits from his wallet.
“The vexation of acquiring the coffee was offset by her joy in receiving it,” Spock says.
“Well, I’m glad I can help,” Thaalan replies, clapping a blue hand on Spock’s shoulder. “And if you want to shop for loin roasts or hunting daggers give me a call.”
“I will take that under advisement,” Spock says seriously and Thaalan squeezes his shoulder again as he laughs hard enough his antennae shake.
“Have a nice night you two, I have to get out of here before I have any more or I won’t make my meeting tomorrow morning,” he says, still chuckling. He waves goodbye to Gaila and N'Takim, where they’re half entwined with each other a couple seats down the bar, and then disappears into the crowd.
Spock doesn’t really look at her after Thaalan’s walked away and she can’t think of anything other than horribly inappropriate questions about his genetic makeup, so she just focuses on drinking her wine.
“So do you get to see your parents often?” she asks, finally, because that seems appropriately benign. “With them so far away on Vulcan?”
“My mother will be coming out for Arivn’van-kal’e,” he says and something about him seems to brighten, though she doesn’t think anything in his expression actually changed. “My father has an obligation on Ganymede that week so I do not believe he will be able to celebrate with us, but it will be fortunate that I can be with my mother for the holiday.”
“Isn’t there a big Federation conference on Ganymede coming up?” Nyota asks, squinting into her wine and trying to remember the newsreel she half watched while on the treadmill the other day. “All those diplomats getting together for something or other?”
“Indeed. That was quite a specific recollection, I commend you.”
“Stop,” she laughs, the tension that Thaalan left them with breaking and she kicks at the leg of his barstool. “You obviously know, what is it for?”
“The Federation is hosting a delegation from the Alerrawia Empire. Their species cannot survive on Earth, so they have chosen to meet on Ganymede instead.”
“Right, that’s right. And your father does what, exactly, that he’ll be there?”
“He is the Vulcan Ambassador.”
“No.”
His eyebrow climbs up his forehead.
“Yes.”
“Alright, what other interesting facts about yourself are you harboring?”
“None, I believe.”
“No way, you were holding out on me with the first officer thing, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. Let me guess, you’re also a descendent of Zefram Cochrane.”
“I am not.”
“Ok, you invented replicator technology.”
“As I am sure you are aware, that technology has been in use since the early twenty first century, when 3-D printing was first invented and disseminated widely.”
“Ok, ok, you were the one who figured out how to reroute antimatter transducers and increased warp efficiency by 400 percent a couple years ago.”
“No, but I am acquainted with Lieutenant Commander West.”
“Of course you are. Let me think – you were the one who won all the Procyon Award a couple years ago? First time it’s been awarded since 2236?”
“That is not the award I won upon my graduation. I believe that was Commander Xe. She was the class above me.”
“Tau Crucis Honor Society then?”
“I did not apply.”
“Seginus Distinction of Honor?”
“Lieutenant Commander Damar was my class’ recipient.”
“The Cochrane Award, then?”
“Among a number of others.”
“Spock! C’mon, really?”
“If you must know, then, yes.”
“Wow. I feel like I’m sitting next to a celebrity,” she says, glancing over him. “Really? You really won that?”
“Indeed. It is public record, you can check for yourself.”
“I’m going to have to,” she says, sipping at her wine. “That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“I would find it unsurprising if you, too, found yourself if not only a contender for it, but the recipient for your class.”
“There’s a lot of competition.”
“I can conceive of no reason you would not be qualified to receive it.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but there’s a lot of cadets who are working towards that award.”
“And as I told you before, you are not normal.”
She tries to hold back her laugh and can’t, giving him a smile over her wineglass.
“Thank you, I think,” she says lightly, putting her glass back down on the bar. “Normal or not, I don’t think cadets who get the marks I do in Interstellar Nav are really contenders for it. That class is going to drag down my entire grade point average. Don’t think I’m pleased about that fact, either, but I can’t find my way around a star system with a map, a compass, and a trail of bread crumbs?”
“Is that not the tools you are given? A chart, a plotting device, and the signal of a homing beacon?”
“Funny, Spock. And you get my point. I’m like O’nama out there, always travelling between the stars. Except I would be lost because I failed Interstellar Nav and have no idea how to get home.”
“I believe the Federation has coopted a phrase once used in reference to an Italian city, that all interstellar flight paths lead to Earth.”
She gives him a smile, but she can feel that it’s half hearted, and she stares down into her wine. She draws a finger along the stem of the glass and only looks up again when he ducks his head to try to meet her gaze.
“I just… So my parents moved away from Earth when I started the Academy,” she tells him. “And I thought it wasn’t a big deal, since I was moving away from Mombasa anyway – that’s where I grew up, it’s in Kenya – and I’m youngest, so they were pretty clearly waiting for me to move out so they could sell their house and travel. But since then, it’s been really, just, weird? Strange? I have my dorm room here, and they live out on Alpha Sceptri IV, and my brother lives in London except he’s always off planet for work, and my sister just moved with her wife to a colony on Tau Geminorum Prime – they’re terraformers so it was a great job for them to take – but it’s…” She takes a sip of wine and studies his shoulder instead of looking at him. “It sometimes feels like this isn’t home anymore.”
“I see.”
“I’m sorry, that was suddenly really maudlin. We can go back to talking about how you’re totally going to spring on me some fact about being related to Surak, or someone.”
“I am.”
“Spock.”
“My father’s house can trace their lineage back to the Time of the Awakening.” He pauses, then tips his head slightly to the side. “I will admit that it is hardly as impressive as it might be. I believe Surak’s descendants now number above a hundred thousand, after so many generations.”
“You are full of surprises,” she says.
“Perhaps I will compile a compendium about my life before we see each other again.”
“I’m going to need it highlighted and color coded.”
“I will provide an index, if that will be useful.”
“And a thorough table of contents. With subheadings, please.”
“Logical.”
“Will there be a quiz? Multiple choice?”
“Perhaps short essays, instead, in order to prove sufficient mastery.”
“I am really good at essay questions,” she warns him. “But I bet you’re one of the hardest graders at the Academy.”
“I have been told that. And I believe I may, logically, be required to include a section with a map in order to test your understanding of the area in which I spent my childhood.”
She groans and lifts her wineglass to her mouth to take a long sip from it, before wondering if he’ll recognize the fact she’s not really upset. But he’s just watching her, his gaze even and soft, and doesn’t seem particularly perturbed.
“Are places you walked your dog included? Or not dog… do you have pets on Vulcan? Is that something you do?”
“I had a sehlat. And in the interest of full disclosure, I did attempt to play fetch with him. Once.”
“What happened?”
“He picked me up and deposited me before my father.”
“Oh my God. Are they that big?”
“I was quite small.”
She glances over him, the way he’s so perfectly straight on the barstool, his height still apparent despite the fact he’s sitting, and the way he carries himself with that Vulcan grace, the long, lean line of his back, with his sweater hugging his shoulders and the fabric bunched in tiny folds across his flat stomach. “I’m trying to imagine this.”
He gives her that tiny quirk of his mouth and she studies the way his lips curl.
“You said your father’s house, not yours,” she says after taking another sip of wine. That small smile falls from his face and she immediately regrets mentioning it. “Never mind.”
“I find…” He trails off, something so out of character for his normally efficient and economical way of speaking that she can’t help but take notice of it. “I rather understand the experience of not being particularly attached to a certain place, or conceiving of such as a home.”
“Do your parents not live where you grew up anymore?”
“I meant, rather, that quite often I did not perceive it as a place I belonged.”
“And what about Earth?” she asks and he looks at her for a long moment before answering.
“At times, it has begun to.”
…
“You should send me your navigation problem sets,” he says when they reach the Academy gates. Gaila and N'Takim are half a block behind them and on the other side of the street, having just said goodbye before they continue on to his apartment for the night.
“What?” Nyota asks, thinking that Spock was about to bid her goodnight as well and then head down the path that leads to the faculty apartments.
“Your professor, Doctor Greaves, mentioned the other day after a faculty meeting that the problem sets are where cadets lose the most points in his class, rather than the exams. If you would like, I will review them with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says.
“I would be remiss in my duties otherwise,” he says lightly. “And furthermore, I believe that Cadet Kirk is also attempting to win the Cochrane award and I find that I would much prefer you to hold that honor.”
“Kirk,” Nyota mutters. “Ok. I’ll send them to you. If you don’t mind.”
“I do not, or I would not have offered,” he assures her, then pauses for a long moment, watching her. “And Nyota?”
“Yes?”
“I do not share aspects of my life with many, as I often find the resulting questions intrusive.”
“I’m, I’m sorry if I-“
“Hardly. I am attempting to thank you for your interest.”
“I hope you didn’t find me too curious,” she tells him quickly. “You’re an interesting guy.”
“Not at all. It is… pleasing to discuss it with you.”
She watches him for a moment, how the light from the streetlamps plays over his face, accentuating both his severely Vulcan features as well as the softness that seems to play around his eyes more often than not.
“Night,” she says, finally, after a long moment has stretched between them.
“Goodnight, Nyota.”
The final, short walk back to her dorm feels peculiarly lonely, like she should have somehow stretched the evening out longer, stopped time in Thex and Schori’s house, in the bar, so that she could still be around everyone and not alone in the chilly night air.
She unlocks the door to her and Gaila’s room and the silence of the space makes her, for one crazy moment, want to call Spock and see if he wants to get a coffee or something, and makes her think that if she were to jog back downstairs, he would somehow be right where she left him, like she could just step back into the warmth their conversations always leave her with.
But he has work tomorrow, too, and he’s probably very logically back in his quarters by now, doing whatever it is that he does. She tries to imagine him in his home, but she has no idea what faculty quarters are like, and so just pictures him with a cup of tea in his hand, probably working, if she had to guess.
Or maybe doing something really interesting, some hobby she would have never thought about him having, some dimension of his life she wouldn’t guess with how private he is. Or not, private, really, with everything she’s learned about him recently, little details and features of him slipping through his restrained manner, hinting at the fact that he’s far more complex and compelling that she ever might have thought.
He’s probably busy, whatever it is that he’s up to, even if it’s something adorably sweet like calling his mom. She should just leave it be, she decides after she sends him a message with her most recent problem sets attached.
Except that her room is so incredibly quiet and maybe his quarters are too and before she can either realize what she’s doing or talk herself out of it, she has her comm out and has looked up his number in the Starfleet database, which is maybe kind of creepy or weird, but he told her twice that she’s not normal so she’s just going to go with it.
“Um,” she says when he answers, his voice crisp and professional. “Hi.”
“Nyota?”
“I just wanted to say that my scores on those problem sets are embarrassingly abysmal and I don’t want you to think I’m so bad at navigation that I’m going to get lost walking to breakfast.”
Something in the background shifts, like he’s moving something around and she has a horrible, sudden thought that wrenches her gut, that he might have someone there with him.
But then the noise stops and it’s just his voice, clear and warm coming through her comm, and whatever it was in her that tightened eases again at the sound.
“If I see you disoriented as you walk around campus before morning classes, clearly famished, I will be forced to consider that your statement was not accurate.”
“I’ll only be doing that if I drink too much of that Andorian Ale,” she says lightly. “I sometimes think Thaalan just walks around Thex and Schori’s house pouring it into any glass that isn’t already completely full.”
“I have, upon numerous occasions, reminded him that I feel no effects due to the consumption of alcohol and yet he continues to offer it to me.”
Nyota laughs softly, kicking off her shoes and drawing her legs up, so that she can sit cross legged on her bed.
“I hope I’m not bothering you, by the way. I just wanted to call and tell you that.”
“To look for you before breakfast?”
“Spock,” she drawls around her wide grin. “You’re terrible. No, that I don’t, you know, share atrocious grades with most people, so please don’t judge me.”
“It would be illogical to judge you upon the outcome of a performance at which you attempted your best,” he says.
“Oh, ok, good. Thanks.”
There’s a soft clicking on his end of the comm and a notification on her own pops up that her most recently sent message has been read.
“Those are hardly abysmal scores,” he says, but even despite his words she can’t help but cover her eyes with her hands, like he was in the room with her.
“Just ignore the grade, please,” she groans. “And listen, you don’t have to do this now, I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
“Are you otherwise occupied?”
“No,” she says, looking around her empty room. “Just hanging out.”
“I am available, if you would like.”
She looks at her room again, so quiet and still, then down at her comm. “Yes. Definitely.”
“For your first answer,” he starts and she bites at her lip, dreading this but maybe less so with his even, measured voice on the other end of the line, deep and rich and like he doesn’t mind a bit that she didn’t get perfect scores.
She flips onto her stomach, grabs her stylus, her padd, and sets her comm on her pillow.
“That one was hard.”
“It is designed to test your ability to isolate the signal of a homing beacon against other subspace anomalies.”
“But I feel like I should be good at that,” she protests and she can quite clearly imagine him nodding in response.
“It is the fault of teaching discrete subjects at a time. If this was a practical exam and you were at a communications station on a bridge simulator, you would have the tools necessary with which to isolate the other variations in the recording. However, without those instruments-“
“Just calculate the variable difference?” she asks.
“Precisely.”
He waits, patient and silent, while she copies that down.
“I’m coming for your award, mister,” she warns. “Ok, problem two.”
“You are ready?”
“Yep,” she says, sticking her stylus in the corner of her mouth and scrolling down on her padd to reach the right question. “And hey – thanks.”
“You are most welcome,” he says and she settles in deeper into her bed, ready for his explanation.
|
Peter parker was a mysterious man, but a terrific roommate. When reading the daily bugle and finding an ad about another MIT student seeking a roommate, you hadn’t expected it to be this. You had expected a murderer, in all honesty. Who responds to ads in the paper anymore anyway? You do, apparently.
It truly was the perfect living situation. Peter, the roommate in question, happened to be the kindest man you had ever met. He was quiet, did his dishes, handled all the rent payments by himself, and never bothered you.
That last part was easy, he was rarely ever there. You had classes with him and some without, but he always seemed to be busy. He disappeared at random times, always seemed to be running late to things, generally leading a chaotic and mostly unplanned lifestyle. You weren’t close enough to ask why he was always out and about, but you had been able to squeeze some conversation out of him.
Peter was generally shy, not talking much at first. But as you passed time with him, it was kind of cool to see him slowly warm up to you and let himself be around you. You got to discover how hilarious he truly was, and all the extra kindness hiding underneath that cool person. He was also very easy on the eyes.
Needless to say, it was quite enjoyable to have him around. He had become a friend, someone who you thought about more than you should. Like you were doing, right now. Instead of working on this super important end of the year project, of course.
“Focus, stop thinking about your roommate you creep.” You scolded yourself silently. Was there any use in doing this project at all if you couldn’t focus for the life of you? Peter wasn’t even home and here you were, daydreaming about him like he would burst through the door and confess repressed feelings he had hidden for eons-
Was he home? No, definitely not. When you first sat down to tackle the project two hours ago, there was a lot of shuffling happening in the room next to you. You also remember the door to the appartement shutting shortly after, but he could’ve been back by now, right?
No harm in checking, you convinced yourself, knowing you weren’t going to touch your pencil again for the rest of the evening. You snuck slowly out of your room not the living room. The lights were off and the room had gotten dark but there was no sign of life. A quick glance to the kitchen showed no one either. The bathroom light was off as well.
You retraced your steps to the room next to yours, knocking on the door a few times. There was no light beneath it and the apartment fell into silence again as you stopped knocking.
Hm. That kind of sucks.
Instead of returning to the assignment, you roamed the apartment, turning on the lights and closing the few blinds you had Peter install. You crashed on the couch and turned on the tv, hauling a blanket from the end of the sofa towards you. The soap opera you liked to watch with Peter was playing on the tv. It was nice to be alone from time to time but with a rapidly developing crush, you yearned more and more for his presence.
The tv screen suddenly illuminated the room green, the words “Breaking news” flashing in front of you. J Jonah Jamieson’s face was all you could see as he started talking loudly and hectically. You pressed mute immediately, flinging the remote on the pillow and placing your face into your hands. That guy fucking sucks. Always interrupting your favourite programs, taking up the front page of every magazine, never having anything interesting to say. Every time you’ve happened to glimpse one of his reports, it’s a complaint about Spider-Man. Every fucking time.
It’s always the same childish stories, the unnecessary hatred towards Spider-Man making you grow resentful towards him. The world is grim, to have a super-hero is a privilege. Seeing someone talk shit about a person who actively risks their life for strangers is just utter stupidity, there’s no sense in arguing that fact.
You had the feeling Peter didn’t like him either, his news reports never played for long in the appartement. You lazily lifted your head and peaked at the silent television, trying to get an idea of what’s going on without having to hear it. Before your eyes was live footage of something, a kind of creature.
The shaky camera was diffusing a terrifying and grainy image of an ugly creature, one that made you physically react to it. Another camera angle was introduced as spider-man swung into frame, red suit clear as day, even in the middle of time square at night.
The cameras kept jumping back and forth, it was kind of hard to see what was happening as the fight progressed and everything got more dangerous. You watched attentively as New-York’s hero fought, mesmerized by the way he moved. By the looks of it, he was winning the fight.
Jamieson’s face briefly cut in, giving you a bit of a scare. Reluctantly, you unmuted the TV to get a sense of the situation. Something about a scientist and an experiment gone wrong, which seemed to happen too often for this city. Your breath was held in as the report cut back to the fight, Spider-Man seeming to faulter, getting thrown around more than before. He eventually got on his feet of course, but it’s always nerve wracking to watch these broadcasts.
The shakier of the cameras saw a car running towards it and the feed ended, while the second one remained. It was hard to see anything, but flashes of red kept you a bit hopeful. The second camera seemed to faulter and cut out as well, because it was soon replaced by Jamieson. You turned off the TV, not wanting to hear anything negative for the rest of the evening.
You slid down the sofa onto the floor, wishing there was something interesting to do. Wishing your cute roommate could be here so you could bug him while he tried to do calculus or something like that.
“Damnit, Peter.” You whispered to yourself.
A loud thump resonated through the appartement.
“Peter?” You questioned, louder. Odd noises were coming from the bedrooms, someone was in there.
Your heart started to pick up as you rose from the floor. You observed your surroundings for anything to protect yourself with, eyes landing on the big book sitting on the coffee table. You quickly grabbed it, heading towards the bedrooms at the end of the appartement. The noises continued as you approached, slowly realising they were coming from your room.
So it definitely wasn’t Peter.
Your hands gripped the book tightly as you tried approaching the door, heart pounding against your chest.
Fuck, what if that monster from the tv is here-
You stop at the door. Someone is in there, doing something and groaning in what seems to be… pain? You gather up the strength and open the door to your room, ready to face whatever is in there, book gripped tightly in your hands.
That’s when the view of Spider-Man on your floor greets you. He turns to you by surprise, one of his arms strongly gripping his sides. His costume is dirty and even snagged in some places, little droplets of blood staining through the fabric in certain areas. He looks nothing like what he did on TV, from up close he looks far more human than you would’ve thought.
He doesn’t say much, trying to use his free arm to push himself up but failing miserably. He looks so real and so hurt.
“Oh my god” You finally manage to blurt out, dropping the coffee book on the floor. “Are you okay?” You rush to him, helping him stand up. Everything kind of cascades down on you. Reality settles in just as the situation does. He must’ve accidentally swung in your room after the fight, he’s visibly exhausted and hurt, making you wonder if he ever finished his battle. A quick glance to your window and you can see that it’s open but not broken.
“Thank you.” He blurts out once he’s standing against you. He’s significantly taller, your hand lingers on his arm, making you notice how strong he seems to be underneath that fabric. He doesn’t let go of you, you don’t think he can manage to stand on his own and so you don’t let go of him either. His breaths are short and heavy, and his arm is still clutching at his side. In the faint light of the desk lamp, you can see that that area of his suit is much darker than the rest.
“Oh my god, are you hurt?” You ask, maneuvering yourself so that you can observe his side better. “Holy shit” Panic settles into you again, this time fearing for a different reason.
“Just a scratch.” He breaths out a laugh, or at least attempts to. His voice is warm and comforting, even as he’s actively losing blood. In a different context you’d be blushing all over him. It’s kind of intimidating to be standing so close to a hero.
“Here, sit on the bed, I’ll be right back!” You gently guide him onto your bed, and he crumbles down immediately. You hurry out of your room and head for the cabinet bellow the sink in the bathroom, knowing that’s where you and Peter agreed to store the first aid kit. Where is he anyway? You can’t believe he’s missing this. The sight of Spider-Man on your bed is truly something worth seeing.
You quickly grab the small red case and a few face cloths, hurrying back to your room.
“Okay, sit up, I’m going to help you fix that.” You point at his hand, helping him sit up on the bed. You stand in front of him, setting the items you grabbed on the bed and opening the case. He observes you through the mask, following your movements with his head. He doesn’t say much, choosing to remain quiet as you work through the medical equipment.
“Can you remove your hand?” He obeys and you get on your knees to get a better view of the cut. “Hm, it doesn’t seem too serious, maybe a few stitches but nothing more.” You try to reassure him, though you doubt he’s scared at all. I mean, a few minutes ago, he was in the middle of time square, going up against a giant creature of some kind. Escaping with his life and a minor scratch is a very impressive feat.
“It did ruin a hand-made suit.” He protests, making you giggle a bit as you search through the first aid kit for the needle and thread.
“You’re quite the seamstress.” You joke, offering him a reassuring smile. This is fucking insane. You pull out a small bottle of alcohol and some cotton swabs, still on your knees.
“It might be a bit hard to properly clean the cut with the suit still on, you wouldn’t happen to have installed a practical zipper, would you?”
“Nothing about this suit is practical I’m afraid” he laughs a bit dryly. “Are you sure you can’t work around it?” He asks a bit vulnerably, wincing.
“I can certainly try.” You offer him a smile.
“Thank you.” You assume he returns it.
You dab alcohol onto a small cotton pad. “Can I touch you?” He nods. “Lean back on your arms if you can, it’ll help me access your cut a bit better.” He does as he’s suggested, leaning back slightly. “This will hurt but you’re going to feel better afterwards, I promise.” You start dabbing away at his wounds as soon as you get his consent, removing the dirt, grime, and excess blood from the area.
Working on the costume makes it tricky but you don’t mind, focusing on the task at hand. You don’t even notice your hand comes to a rest on his thigh as you clean his wound with your dominant hand.
His body twitches slightly with every touch as he tries to keep his winces quiet.
You finish cleaning off the wound, moving to the needle and carefully threating the thick thread around it. You can feel him observe you as he continues to breath deeply. You meet his eyes for a brief second, feeling a bit nervous. The adrenaline of everything is currently what’s protecting you from not freaking out.
You hoist yourself up a bit, sitting on your heels. You gently manipulate the fabric, your fingers gently brushing against soft skin, making it shudder once again. “This won’t hurt too bad, but you can steal some of my Advil later if you want some, I don’t have pain medicine, so we’ll have to make do.” You smile to yourself, starting the process. “I doubt superheroes take Advil, but I hope it’s sufficient enough.” He breathes in deeply, throwing his head back.
“Mm. You’d be surprised.” He jokes as you carefully handle him, enjoying how soft his skin is underneath your fingertips and how it reacts to your touch. He’s fairly pale but he’s got a bit of a tan, making you wonder how often this part of him sees the sunlight. You wonder about him in general, it’s easy to respect boundaries but curiosity is a bitch after all. He lets out a muffled groan, a sound of pain that makes you tingle for some reason. You adjust yourself on your heels.
“Am I hurting you too much?” You pause to look at him. He lowers his head and tilts his head towards you.
“Not at all, this feels better than getting the wound.” The silence that falls between you is comfortable. He’s charming, very much so. Seeing him so close makes him so real. You’re touching him, feeling his warm flesh. It makes him feel more… normal. Like yeah maybe you can’t also crawl on walls, but your skin definitely feels as warm as his.
You feel a bit underdressed, realizing that you’re nursing a superhero back to health in pink pajama bottoms and a grey tank top that doesn’t leave much to hide. You’re sure he’s seen people in worse states though, so you shake the thought of quickly.
“How did you get this wound?” You cut through the silence, wanting to distract him from the needle a bit.
“Fighting crime, keeping the neighborhood safe, the usual.”
“I saw you on TV.” You blurt out.
“Oh yeah?” His head perks up. “How did I look?”
“It doesn’t do you justice; you look much more handsome in person.” You blush a bit, unable to help yourself from flirting with him. “But you did look cool, I will admit.”
“Glad you find me more attractive here than on screen.” He teases you, making you squirm on your heels and blush even further. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He adds as you complete the last stitches. You can hear the smile in his voice, you have a feeling that he’s enjoying watching you get nervous around him.
“Mhm? You don’t have to flatter me just because I’m currently curing you.”
“I’m serious, I promise.” He takes his right hand and lifts it up to his heart. “You have my honest spider’s word.”
You seal off the stitches and gently snip the remaining thread, caressing the stitches a bit, enjoying the warmth of his skin. He seems so at ease, even when in a stranger’s room.
“Voila! It just needs bandages and you’re good to go.” You adjust yourself on your heels again, for no reason of course, getting some bandages and some tape to seal off the job, admiring the work you did once you’re finished. Your head is spinning, thinking only of the comment he made and how his voice pleased your ear so. You stroke your thumb against the wound as your thoughts distract you.
“Your hands are so soft.” He says quietly. You smile and leave his side briefly to throw out the little garbage the procedure has produced, taking the time to also put away the products you used, tucking the case and the facecloths underneath the bed for now. You stand up in front of him, seeing how relaxed he is, still holding his arms behind himself.
“How are you feeling? Need to gulf down those Advil’s we talked about?” He gets up suddenly and with an incredible agility, standing tall once again.
“I feel great. You really know your stuff.” He places his hands around your hips, a soft grip that catches you by surprise.
“Thank you” You try to look away but it’s impossible, the way he always keeps his gaze on you is intoxicating and you’re really warming up to him, it’s all just a little too dangerous.
“How can I ever thank you for helping me?” He doesn’t let go of you.
“Consider it a gift.” Your eyes twitch down to his lips and to his neck. The seam of his mask is barely visible. He holds you close, breathing lowly in your ear, his hands roaming towards your back. His hands hesitate for a second, he seems to stop completely.
“Is this okay?” He asks you gently, putting a little bit of distance between the both of you.
“God, yes-“ You let yourself spill out, in awe of him. There he is, the city’s hero, standing in your appartement, in your room, wanting you. His hands grab you firmly once again and he pulls you in closer than before, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Where did you learn to take care of people like that?” He questions curiously. You shake your shoulders a bit, huffing out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. He spoke wir you and of you like he’s known who you are for a very long time. You’ve heard stories of course; heard he had been kind of a shy person from time I time. He sure wasn’t shying away now.
“Always had an interest for it I guess.” Silence settles in again. His hands are still on you, gloved and firm.
“I like it when you’re on your knees.” Comes out of nowhere, making your spine tingle and your knees go weak. Your eyes twitch to the clock on your bedside table, trying to not show him the effect he has on you.
8:13 PM
“Oh shit- My roommate should be home soon… fuck I think he had a class tonight,” You remember suddenly that you don’t live alone, a sobering reality that makes you separate from your guest. “I’m so sorry,” You apologize, looking around the room frantically, eyes continuously landing on the clock.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He grabs your arms again, stabilizing you. “I should get going anyway.” There’s a bit of a sadness to his voice, and oh how it made you wish you lived alone, just this once.
“Will I ever see you again?” You ask in return, sounding a little upset as well. He doesn’t say much, observing you quietly as he had done so all night. His breath is finally steady, you watch his chest fall and rise as he holds you still.
“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told, eyebrows furrowing together for a moment. His hands leave your side, the sound of fabric ruffling breaks the silence between you. And then, hands grab your cheeks. Soft ones, ungloved. He strokes your cheekbone with his left thumb, making you lean into the warm contact.
It takes everything for you not to open your eyes as you feel his breath on your face, his nose lightly encountering yours. He closes the gap between you, letting his lips touch you. You can feel him, more than you had before. His lips are soft against yours, his chin a bit rough but so fucking real. He kisses you gently, he’s holding back, his hands still on your face.
And then, there was no more. His hands left you as his lips did, leaving you alone in your small room. When you open your eyes, he’s truly gone. The only reassurance that he was ever there is the cold breeze you feel brushing against you. He left the window open.
|
Your lessons with the two brothers had come to an end for the day. You waved Jyushimatsu and Choromatsu off. They both left with a “Goodbye!” and a wave of their own. You smiled, placing your hands on your hips, proud of them and yourself for the work you had accomplished.
This past week had been an odd one, to say the least. Obviously, since that night, your relationship with Karamatsu had changed; you weren’t entirely sure if you could consider it romantic or not yet, but it was a lot more intimate than it had been prior. You couldn’t really explain it, but the things you did on a daily basis had a different feeling to them than they normally did.
You turned around and laid on the couch with a huff. Karamatsu, for the first time in a long time, was busy with something else today. You hadn’t really been apart since… well, since you met, you suppose. There was some coldness back when you visited your family, but you were still near each other for the most part. It felt really weird, but it was sort of relaxing to just be alone for a bit.
You were no longer alone when there was a knock at the door.
You hopped up off of the couch that you had just settled onto to see who was at the door - could it possibly have been Choro or Jyushi? Maybe they had left something while they were here and came to pick it back up.
When you opened the door, however, you were greeted with an “[Name!]” and a pat on the back. You were really weirded out - even though this man looked like the other Matsunos you had met, he definitely was not any of them. He smelt like old potato chips and had nothing really unique about him that you’ve seen, anyways. You pushed him away, getting a good look at him. With a smile, he rubbed his index finger under his nose.
He began to speak in Japanese to you, and you were pretty sure he was praising you. You didn’t know though, so you cleared your throat to shut him up. “English?” you asked. He only laughed and shook his head. You pulled out your phone and opened up the translator app, switching around a few of the options, then held the phone up to his mouth. “Speak.”
He did as we was told, putting every ounce of enthusiasm he had the first time around into his words. When he was done, he grabbed your shoulder and gave it a good shake. It took a second for the app to translate, but once it, did, it gave you this message:
“I just want to thank you for taking care of my brother! He is, you can be here is now much happiness. Because he is not painful either, etc., it is a plus! You he is really, really happy. We are all right, do not let get in the way of your relationship? He has a relationship, I had some rough patches in the past, and I think he really, really likes you.”
You took a minute to try and figure out what it was saying and eventually you came to the conclusion that he was thanking you for making Karamatsu a happier person. There was also something thrown in about rough relationships in the past, which confused you. It was mainly just thanks, though.
You flipped around the languages and spoke into the phone. “He’s really great, honestly. He makes me very happy, too. I hope he really likes me, it would be a bummer if he didn’t, especially after all of this. By the way, what’s your name? And what do you mean by rough patches in relationships?”
It took him a minute to get what the poor translation was saying, but he eventually got it. He introduced himself as Osomatsu, and you two shook hands. You kept talking like this, back and forth for about an hour or two through your translator app, talking about you and Karamatsu’s relationship until he finally decided to answer your question from the beginning. When talking into your phone, though, he had to pause and sigh a few times. He even began to laugh sourly at one point, and had to stop and wipe the tears from his eyes. But he was smiling and so happy throughout his entire speech. When it translated it back - although it was horrid and it made practically no sense out loud - you think you understood. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t fake. This was all too real for Karamatsu to have someone who loved him like this.
You smiled at Osomatsu and tapped the button on your phone. As you were about to speak into it, your phone began to ring from a familiar number.
“Hey, what’s up, Karamatsu?” You answered into the phone. Osomatsu took a seat in front of you and listened to you speak.
“Not Karamatsu!” A laugh followed after.
“Oh, hi Jyushimatsu. What did you need?”
“Nii-san wanted me to tell you-” he paused, humming in concentration. “Meet at bridge..!
Yes
, meet at bridge!”
“Okay…?” You looked down to Osomatsu who just shrugged. It’s not like he would’ve known what was up, anyways. You shrugged back at him. “What time?”
It took him a minute, and the entire time he was humming like a motor. “Ah!” He piped up, startling you a bit. “Right now!”
“
Right now?!
Okay, thank you, Jyushimatsu!”
“Have fun with Nii-san!”
You hung up and ran over to grab your things. It seemed like time kept slipping out of your hands when it came to meeting up with Karamatsu - although, this one was unforeseen and not your fault. You two probably needed to work on planning things out. You helped Osomatsu up and led him out of the house. You bowed to him. “
Thank you
.”
He laughed, patting you on the back again. When you rose up, he shot you a playful wink and a thumbs up. “Good luck, [Name]!” He walked away and waved to you. As you began to trot over to the bridge, you realized that it was already turning dark. Just what did Karamatsu want from you at this hour? He was an odd one, that was for sure.
You approached the bridge and realized that Karamatsu was facing away from you, and he appeared to be wearing a suit? This was new. You looked in the water and on the railing of the bridge - small, pink candles were lit on the railing and a few were floating in the water. All you could think was “This has so much time put into it, but it’s going to be so bothersome to clean.”
As soon as you set foot on the bridge, Karamatsu turned around, sunglasses over his eyes and a rose in his mouth. He posed, one hand on his hip and the other reaching out to you. You walked up cautiously until he pulled you to him and dipped you.
“Uhm, Karamatsu? What is happening? Is this what you spent all day doing?”
He hummed and placed his forehead on yours, still not releasing you from his dip. “Yes, my love. I spent the entire afternoon, handcrafting each and every candle to fit your beauty. When I was done, I was disappointed to see that not a single one could compare to you.” He “heh heh”’d and closed his eyes. “Now that you’re here, these candles do not shine as bright as they once did.”
“That’s sweet and all, but how is that rose not falling out of your mouth?”
“...huh?”
“I mean, you’re talking to me while practically facing the floor, but that rose is just sitting there in your mouth. It’s not even budging.”
He seemed really put off by the fact that you completely pushed all of his compliments out of the way, but your red face showed that you were just really flustered and needed a way to not focus on the burning sensation. Whether it was from the sudden contact or his poetic words, seeing you react this way to him made butterflies flutter around his stomach. To hide his own growing blush, he lifted you up and adjusted his glasses.
He pointed at you with a smile on his face, rose still in his mouth. “Love always finds a way.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Ah,” he seemed pretty disappointed. “Nevermind that. The reason you are here tonight, my love,” He held onto your hand tightly and knelt onto one knee. He removed his sunglasses to look up at you, his eyes shining under the setting sun. “I want to-” His eyes widened as he coughed, and you realized that his confidence was faltering. “I-I-I w-w-w-w-want t-t-o, u-uhm, I-”
“Take your time.” You squeezed his hand with a smile. “Take a deep breath if you need to. I can wait.”
He swallowed and looked down at his feet. He was still attempting to stutter out something, but you squeezed his hand and shut him up. He took a deep breath and faced you again, his eyes closed. He was still anxious, but not as bad.
“I want to kiss you again.”
As soon as he said it, though, he let go of your hand and hid his face in his hands. He rested on both of his knees, attempting to shrink away from you. You smiled fondly at him, trying not to snicker. He was making weird noises which resembled that of a hungry baby bird.
"You don’t have to ask, you know.” You let out a quick snort, trying to hide your laughter from him as best you could. “You can just, y’know, do it.”
Karamatsu looked at you, his face still red. The stars in his eyes shone brightly with excitement. “Really? I can just kiss you?!”
“Yeah, I mean, why wouldn’t you be able to?” You helped him to his feet, his eyes still wide and a smile placed on his face. He looked like a toddler who you just offered to buy ice cream.
“You mean it?!”
“Yes, I mean it.”
He let out a cheer, raising both of his arms in the air and spinning in a circle. You covered your mouth, quieting the laughter that you could no longer contain. He began to laugh happily with his cheers. When he stopped, he grabbed both of your hands and bent over slightly to look you in the eyes. His face still held a pink tint to it - whether it was from the setting sun or if he was genuinely happy that he could just
kiss
you, you didn’t know.
“Can I do it right now?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Karamatsu immediately threw the rose out of his mouth. He grabbed your face and smiled. Realizing that he was breaking through his cool guy act, he swallowed and put on the bravest face he could. His smile was shaky, and you could tell he was trying not to let it break out into a wide grin. His eyebrows furrowed. He quickly placed his mouth on yours and squeezed his eyes shut. You were finally able to return the favor, as last time ended too quickly for you to be able to react. Your eyes fluttered as you pushed back, but he suddenly pulled back.
“Can I do it again?”
“Yes.”
And he did. When he pulled away, he appeared to be getting more confident.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
He did.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
He did again.
“Again?”
“
Yes
, Karamatsu. I told you, you don’t have to ask.”
He couldn’t contain his happiness anymore as he lifted you up and spun you around in a hug. “You are so
wonderful
, [Name]! I could kiss you all day if you’d let me!”
“I
would
let you, dummy.”
He stopped spinning. “You would?!”
“Yes.”
“Can we do that tomorrow?!”
“Oh my gosh, calm down. You’re getting really excited over this.”
He placed you on the floor, his gripping tightly to your shoulders. “I’ve never had someone do this for me! You’d - you just let me kiss you! That’s so cool!” He grabbed your hand and ran across the bridge. “Let’s go do it now!”
“Wait, we have to clean your candles up-!” You squeaked as he sped up, eager for this occasion to happen. “Karamatsu, please slow down!”
He didn’t.
|
They didn't make it to wherever Alex had wanted to take them to eat.
They didn't make it, because as soon as Alex took Maggie's hand -- confident and easy and seemingly effortless, the way Maggie had first taken Alex's hand the night they busted the alien fight club -- both of their phones chimed frantically.
Maggie's captain was on hers; Winn was on Alex's.
They moved as one -- they didn't even unlink their hands -- on the way to their motorcycles, and they rode as one to the scene of the latest Cadmus attempt to draw Supergirl out into capture.
Alex skinned her elbows on the pavement and Maggie took a solid kick to the gut, but a combination of cover fire from Alex's team and Maggie's team's knowledge of the shopping complex being attacked -- and a few assists from Winn's intel and Kara's heat vision -- the scene of attack was a crime scene within the hour.
Maggie watched Alex impatiently getting cleaned up by her own medics while Maggie refused to be treated by hers, eyes scanning Alex's body -- her impossibly tight jeans, her nearly see-through, black lace shirt incongruous with their black polos, their bullet-proof vests, but somehow, also, perfect -- to make sure there weren't any injuries she was hiding.
"I'm sorry."
Alex jumped at the sound of Maggie's voice when Maggie had finally shrugged off the three different officers needing her signature. Alex nodded away the DEO agents fussing over her elbows, and they obeyed without a second glance, without a question.
Maggie swallowed how turned on Alex's easy command made her.
"What would you be sorry for? Are you secretly working for Cadmus?" Alex teased, leaning forward and raking her eyes up and down Maggie's body, conducting her own assessment of whether Maggie'd been injured.
Maggie chuckled and shifted so she could lean with Alex on the DEO van, both of their gazes scanning over the people working for them, the people processing their crime scene. In both of their jurisdictions.
Because they did make a good team.
"No. But our date. You were gonna take me to dinner somewhere, and now -- "
"And now we'll just have to have a second date to make up for it, won't we?"
Maggie marveled at how Alex could be smooth as all get out on moment, and spluttering helplessly the next.
She marveled at how she could have that effect on a woman like Alex Danvers.
And she hated herself for marveling.
"Yeah, about that. Listen Danvers, I..."
Alex turned to her, eyes wide, eyes terrified. Eyes already set to punish herself. Because her whole life had been about being perfect, and she couldn't even do the dating thing right now that she knew she wanted women.
This woman.
And god, did Maggie want her, too.
She wanted to kiss her -- again, god, again -- and she wanted to taste the sweat on her neck, kiss her way down the nasty scrapes on her elbows, map every inch of her skin with her tongue...
"I know you said you think my ex is wrong. About me. And I know you said you want to get to know me. And I've had so much fun with you, Danvers, but -- "
"And that's all I've been? Fun?"
Alex's voice was hollow and it was hardened and it was every bit Alex Danvers, DEO agent, rather than Alex Danvers, helplessly nerdy, constantly stammering, baby gay softie.
It chilled Maggie's spine and it sent bile up into her throat.
"No. No, Alex, no, it's not... Alex listen, I... you're just coming out. You're just coming out, and I know everything's bright and shiny for you right now -- I'm bright and shiny for you right now -- but that's not... that's not how it is. That's not how I am. And I... I don't meet too many people that I care about. But I care about you. A lot. And I want..."
She wanted everything.
Everything.
She deserved nothing.
"I want to keep doing... this. What we're doing. Dating. Starting to date. Whatever. But Alex, it can't... I'm not... I'm taking advantage of you, Alex. Of... of where you're at in life right now. You kissed me, and it was amazing, it was... I could get swept away in you, Alex, I could... I am... but it's not fair to you. None of this is fair to you, because I'm not what..."
"So you care about me. You care about me, and you're having such a great time getting... getting swept away by me that you don't want to go on another date with me. Because I'm just coming out, and that's not your thing. Because I could be fun, but it'd be even more fun with someone who knows what the hell they're doing."
"What? No, Alex, that's not what I -- "
"You know what? Save it. Just... let Winn know if you make any progress."
"Alex, don't go -- " she called, but half-heartedly. Because of course Alex was going.
Hell, if the roles were reversed, she'd go, too.
"Fuck," she whispered to herself at Alex's back, at Alex's stiff and steady and angry and devastatingly attractive walk. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."
I feel like you didn't really hear what I was trying to say earlier, Danvers.
She waited over three hours for a response. In the end, she was grateful she even got one.
Oh, I heard you. I'm fresh off the gay boat, that's not your thing. You liked kissing me, but not enough to keep dating me. I heard you loud and clear.
Her stomach sank and she nearly threw her phone across the room. Instead, she tried calling her.
Calling Alex.
She didn't pick up.
Of course she didn't pick up.
That's not what I was trying to say, Alex. Not at all.
Another silence.
Maggie sighed and typed another message.
Except the part about liking kissing you. You're right about that part.
Nothing.
Nothing for a week.
Winn contacted her department with updates on the case.
Her own phone calls to her DEO contact number wouldn't get past Pam in HR, who delivered a very pointed lecture, seemingly out of nowhere, about the importance of finishing the things we start.
Nothing for another week.
She was at the bar every night.
Alex never was.
Until one night, three weeks later -- three agonizing weeks, three weeks of unanswered calls and unanswered doors and Alex, I'm sorry and Alex, I meant it when I said that I care about you. A lot. And I don't wanna imagine my life without you. Please, can we just talk? -- Alex was, finally, at the bar again.
Maggie's heart leaped.
Until she noticed Alex's arm.
Draped around the body of another woman.
TBC
|
Loki heard mortals screaming (not due to him, this time) and looked in the direction of the ruckus to see people fleeing a disturbance in the waters of the nearby river, caused by apparently nothing… until a slight blurry shape became visible, revealing a Dark Elf ship. Of course Thor hadn’t discovered that particular function.
He watched as it gouged a path through the ground before eventually coming to a stop, and made his way towards it, as fleeing mortals ran past him, not paying him any attention even though he had dropped the illusions hiding him. He conjured his battle armour and cloak as he walked, but left off his helmet; it looked impressive and intimidating, but was more a hindrance than anything against a real foe. In the sky above him, a portal began to open. This was it. The fate of the universe, and the task of vengeance for Frigga’s death, lay on his shoulders. The Norns must be laughing at their jest. Well, let them laugh. He was Loki, and he did what he wanted. And what he wanted, right now, was the death of the creature that was responsible for the loss of his mother and brother.
“MALEKITH!” he called across the courtyard. “How lovely to see you again. You ran off so fast the last time!”
Malekith, who had been looking up at the portal forming above, turned to watch his approach.
“You needn’t have come so far, Jotun. Death would have come to you soon enough.”
“What can I say? I’m impatient.” He gave a mocking bow.
“Your universe was never meant to be. Your world, and your family, will be extinguished.” He fired a stream of the Aether at Loki, throwing him back, though the hasty shield he threw up just in time prevented any damage.
“Already tried that!” he snapped, quickly getting to his feet and throwing a dagger, which got thrown aside by another blast of Aether, which knocked him down again. Damn, he knew it had been naïve to hope, but he had been looking to rely on his knives. Blasting someone with magic was incredibly draining. This is precisely why he preferred to use his magic in battle for misdirection only, and let Thor handle the mighty smiting of foes. No sooner had he found his feet than he was again felled, this time his shield disintegrated under the onslaught and only his quick reflexes bringing his arms up in time saved his face from total ruin from the sharp slivers of Aether, though a line of pain along one cheek suggested one had hit. This was becoming humiliating.
This time he was able to get to his feet. “All that power at your disposal, and that is really the best you can do?”
As he’d expected, Malekith reacted to his defiance by forming a large cloud to blast at him, giving him an opening to strike out with his own power, knocking the elf back through a column and into a line of cars. Enjoy a taste of your own medicine.
He made to go after him to press his advantage, but found his way blocked for a group of Dark Elves. He snarled with impatience. Time spent fighting these flunkies would give Malekith recovery time. Then a ripple hit the group and several elves disappeared. Ah, Jane’s plan worked then. He quickly dashed through the gap left before those remaining realised what had happened, pulling one of the grenades he’d picked up on Svartalfheim out of storage and throwing it behind him to prevent any pursuit.
The slight delay had been enough for Malekith to recover, and he greeted Loki with another blast of Aether, but he was ready this time and ducked under the streams, before striking with magic, shoving Malekith backwards a few paces… into thin air. There’d been no ripple this time, so a naturally forming portal. He started forward after Malekith, only to have the elf unexpectedly step back into form right in front of him and punch him. The strength lent by the Aether and Loki not being braced for impact meant the strike was enough to send him several feet back into a car.
Humiliated, Loki dived at his foe, who apparently hadn’t expected such a direct attack as he failed to brace himself, and the momentum carried them… onto a hillside in Svartalfheim, along with several of the surrounding cars. They rolled down the ashy slope, which turned out to be at the top of a cliff… then suddenly they were back on Midgard, but still plummeting toward the hard, unforgiving ground, and for a moment Loki saw, not the grey cityscape, but empty blackness dotted with distant stars and nebulae… before he slammed into the unforgiving rock where he waited to dole out something far beyond pain – nonono! – hold on, not rock, but cinders! They were on the ravaged landscape of Svartalfheim, not a broken moon on the far edge of the universe. Pull yourself together, Loki, you coward! You have a fight to win.
Not being subject to such anguish, Malekith was quicker to recover, hitting him with another blast of Aether and sending him sprawling. Marching over, he punched the back of Loki’s head to smash his face on the ground… but instead of his face being forced into the dirt, they both fell through the air again, slamming into the sloping roof of an oddly-shaped building. He desperately scrabbled for purchase on the smooth glass panels, not caring how ridiculous he looked to the mortals within. He felt Malekith grabbing at his cloak, whether in an attempt to pull him down or out of desperate need to grab onto something, he didn’t know. Please no no no! Don’t let me fall! I didn’t mean it, father!
Falling towards the ground, he futilely flailed his arms, as if it would somehow check his momentum and divert him through the windows… and crashed into the icy ground of Jotunheim, fortunately just missing a cliff edge. Not one of his favourite realms, but it still felt like a paradise at this second. He and Malekith got up to face one another, but before either of them could strike, a roar echoed around the crags, and a huge beast of some kind leapt towards them. They both managed to duck out of its way, but its impact against the ground on which they’d been standing was enough to break the chunk of ice off and send them all tumbling into the abyss. Falling, always falling…
…and the relief of landing, and not falling endlessly through emptiness. He picked himself up and looked around him. He was inside somewhere, in front of him a line of carriages emblazoned with the sign ‘Underground’ were just coming to a halt. Behind him on the wall, a sign of a similar design proclaimed ‘London Bridge’, which was evidently a place name. So, transportation. Further down to platform, mortals waited to embark. Oddly, they didn’t pay him much heed. There was no sign of Malekith.
The doors in front of him slid open, and several mortals disembarked, paying him no more attention than those waiting had. He would have almost assumed that he’d put on an illusion without thinking, if not for a girl inside the carriage taking photos on her phone with a stunned expression.
“Excuse me, how do I get to Greenwich from here?” So far it seemed the portals had ejected him in the same city - he was certain he had glimpsed that strange glass building from Jane’s window that morning, and the name on the tunnel wall seemed to confirm his location. Hopefully it would be the case, otherwise he had better hope that SHIELD had arrived in his absence and could handle matters. Or possibly Malekith had remained on Jotunheim and fallen to an icy demise.
The woman in front of him blinked in surprise, but responded calmly, as if she gave directions to attempted world conquerors all the time. “Take this train, three stops.”
“Thank you.” He climbed aboard. He saw some nervous looks from people further down the carriage, and a few more people recording him on their phones, but there didn’t seem to be any kind of panic. While it would have been irritating being in an enclosed space with terrified mortals, he did have to wonder what was wrong with them.
There was a lurch, and they were moving. The speed was quick enough, but he still chafed at the time taken, imagining Malekith unleashing destruction upon the Nine Realms while he was stuck in a metal box underground. People got on and off at the stations they passed, with the new people exhibiting no more extreme reactions than he had seen already. A curious small child even pulled at his coat, before being dragged further down the carriage by her mother. Eventually, finally, came a sign on the wall saying ‘Greenwich’, and he leapt off as soon as the doors opened, scattering people who had gathered round waiting to get on.
The platform was crowded with people. Some were getting up and making ready to leave, but many remained, evidently having simply fled underground for shelter and not inclined to move elsewhere when they had found somewhere this secure. He couldn’t fault them in this case – if Malekith won, it wouldn’t matter how far they ran. They looked at him more fearfully than the others, having observed for themselves that something was going on, and recognising Loki as being involved somehow. He wound through the crowd, down a passageway and up some moving stairs, following the signs to the exit. The gates required passes of some kind that he obviously did not have, but he vaulted them easily, with only a token protest from a nearby guard.
He reached ground level to be was greeted with a huge swirling black cloud, tendrils of which were snaking into the portals above. Oh, Valhalla. Not only had Malekith made it back before him, there hadn’t been anybody to challenge him. He heard his name being called, and turned to see Jane and Selvig running towards him.
“We’re too late,” she said, bleakly.
“The Convergence is at its peak,” added Selvig, seemingly too distracted by their current predicament to be scared of Loki.
“Those things stop it though, yes?” he asked, indicating the metal sticks in Selvig’s hands.
“Not from here,” explained Jane. “We can’t get close enough.”
“I can, and I will.” He snatched the sticks from Selvig and ran into the cloud. He was not going to give into the despair that had consumed them, he refused to allow things to end like this, and he was going to avenge his mother and brother’s deaths if he died in the attempt.
The swirling miasma impeded his progress, battering at him and disorienting him. Fighting his way through the storm, he spied Malekith at the centre, his arms raised, casting the power of the Aether throughout the Nine Realms.
“Malekith!” he screamed.
The elf turned to face him. If he had any reaction to Loki’s presence, it was impossible to discern through the gloom, though his voice, when he responded, was flat and devoid of expression. “Darkness returns, Jotun. Have you come to witness the end of your universe?”
“No. The only thing ending today will be you.” He hurled one of the poles like a spear. Malekith caught it, looking contemptuous, clearly thinking he had foiled Loki. Fool. If Loki had learned anything from the battle of New York it was ‘If something fired at you starts beeping, DROP IT IMMEDIATELY.’ Ignorant of this rule, Malekith failed to drop the device in favour of sneering, until it was activated and his right arm disappeared. Just his arm? Well, he had two more devices; he had better make them count.
He flung the second contraption. Distracted by his missing right arm, Malekith failed to catch it this time and it slammed into his left shoulder. Loki cursed, he had been aiming for the chest, but the whirlwind of Aether was difficult to compensate for when judging throwing angle. Loki had no idea how Jane could tell from her machine that there had been a hit, but she was certainly quick to react to it, and the elf’s left arm vanished. Aether poured from his sockets like smoke escaping a chimney, forming the shape of arms.
“You think you can stop this? The Aether cannot be destroyed!” As if that was the only way of stopping him; he was arrogant enough to forget that the Aether needed a host, and that he was the weak link.
“I know.” Clenching his free hand, he ran towards the Dark Elf, not wanting to risk missing, however good his aim was and however much he felt he’d adjusted for the conditions. Launching himself into the air, he made to drive the weapon down into Malekith’s heart, raising an arm ready to hammer it in with his fist… when Mjolnir slammed into his palm. Without thinking, he used it to drive the device home, the force sending Malekith flying back into the base of his ship. Unused to the impact, Loki was flung backwards, stunned. He distantly, as if it were happening far away, felt the ripple of the final device being activated, and thought he heard Malekith’s bellow of rage being suddenly cut off. There was silence, and then noise, and frantic cries, and then someone frantically pulling at his arm, and then someone lying on top of him – Jane, his mind supplied - and then silence once more.
He felt her sit up, and fought his way back to full consciousness, not wishing her to move away from him. He tried to put his arm around her, and realised that he was still holding Mjolnir. This shocked him back to full wakefulness, and he almost flung Jane off in his hurry to sit up. Looking down at his right hand, he confirmed that yes, he was indeed holding Thor’s hammer.
“Hey, how come you have Mew-Mew?” So the other two mortals had survived the batt- What did she just call it?
Jane tapped it curiously with a finger. “You said only Thor could lift it.”
“As far as I knew, that is true. You have to be worthy to wield it.”
“Oh well I guess that explains it.”
He didn’t, but he was too tired to argue with her. Looking around, he could see that the area was littered with debris, but there was no sign of the Aether, or any Dark Elves. Or the ship, come to that. He pieced together the snatches of evidence that had filtered through to him. The ship had become unbalanced, and was falling. Someone had tried to drag him out of the way, found themselves unable, and remained with him. He frowned at Jane. Surely she wasn’t willing to risk her life for him? Though whatever her motives, he was sure that her actions had saved his life. Erik was holding the device controlling the portals, and would certainly not have stirred himself to send the ship away when it was coming down on Loki’s head.
As seemed to be usual, the silence was broken by Darcy. “So anybody notice anything missing? Like, where the hell are SHIELD?”
Everybody looked around, as if expecting SHIELD agents to pop out from behind columns.
“They can’t have ignored a phonecall like that, right? I mean I get them ignoring my calls, but a guy who brought a bunch of aliens down on New York calls up saying he’s got a hostage and warning there’s gonna be another army, you at least check it out.”
Loki snorted, “They are lucky I was not trying to win when I was here last.”
“Wait, hold on-” she cut herself off as the sound of sirens pierced the air. “We should probably get out of here.”
Loki nodded and got to his feet, pulling Jane up with him. “I have no wish to endure their tedious questions.”
They started in the direction of the car, which was hopefully still working and not buried under rubble or on another realm.
“Are you just going to leave that there?” asked Jane, indicating Mjolnir.
He thought for a moment. “No.”
Picking the hammer up, he walked to the spot where the Dark Elf ship had stood, and placed it down on the ground there. “I have no use for it, and as you said, it makes a good monument.”
|
Seven Months Post-Chapter Ten
“This is why nobody trusts you on your own, and this is precisely why we have to go with you everywhere,” Grantaire was saying. Enjolras was barely paying attention; most of his focus was on his arm, which he was keeping cradled close to his chest. “This is why we have shifts for you. Now you’re going to need a cast, and that’s your dominant hand, you shithead.”
“You can write for me.” Enjolras was trying to joke, but his teeth were clenched and his words held no humor. Grantaire glanced over at him worriedly before turning his attention back to the road and increasing his speed a bit. “The protest got a little unnecessarily violent.”
“I feel like that was a little your fault, since you kind of started it,” Grantaire reminded him, grinning. His cell phone started ringing; he fumbled for it and passed it to Enjolras’ good hand. “No talking on the phone and driving. Answer. Try not to cry.”
Enjolras scowled at him, but he answered the phone nonetheless. “Hello?” Enjolras’ brow furrowed at the voice on the other line; he turned to look at Grantaire with confused blue eyes before he smiled, and Grantaire wanted to smile in return, just because the expression was so rare. “We’re on our way. Yeah, no problem.” Enjolras shut the flip phone, passing it back to Grantaire.
“Who was that?” Grantaire asked curiously, chancing another look at the paradoxical expression on Enjolras’ face.
“Marius. Cosette’s in labor.” Enjolras shifted in his seat and hissed through his teeth when the movement jostled his arm. “Same hospital we’re going to.”
“Oh, that’s exciting!” Grantaire exclaimed, grinning widely. He pointed out the hospital as it came into sight. “Alright, we’re here. Don’t- stop touching the door handle, I’ll get it for you."
When Enjolras opened his eyes, he was met with the impossibly white ceiling of a hospital room. The sterile expanse swam before his eyes; he blinked and turned his head, and was there met with the sight of Grantaire and Eponine sitting in one chair beside him.
“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. Eponine stood up and pat his hand.
“I’m worried about you. If you die, Grantaire’s got to raise my kid all by himself, and he’d suck at that. God knows I won’t be any help.” Eponine offered a smile to Enjolras, who just raised an eyebrow at her.
“Ignore her,” Grantaire instructed from his seat. He leaned back, now that Eponine’s added weight was not in his lap, and observed Enjolras casually. “How you feeling? They gave you a shitload of painkillers.”
“That would explain why the room’s swirling together,” Enjolras grumbled, blinking furiously in an attempt to right his vision. Grantaire finally pulled himself from the seat and helped Enjolras to sit up.
“You broke your arm in two places, hence the cast,” Grantaire informed him as he tried to move Enjolras without jostling his arm. Enjolras was little to no help; the proximity of Grantaire’s face overwhelmed him in this state. Grantaire looked at his face in surprise when he felt the eyes on him. “Enjolras.”
“Yes?” Enjolras replied quietly. Grantaire lifted Enjolras’ broken arm up to his face, and the cast now consumed all of his attention, which was currently not very difficult to do. “It’s lovely.”
“You’ve been out for a while. I got bored.” Grantaire shrugged and let Enjolras hold his arm up for himself. The blond observed the red, white, and blue painted skillfully onto his cast.
“You wouldn’t be bored if you went to visit Cosette with me,” Eponine muttered, and Enjolras suddenly remembered that she was there.
“Eponine! How are you?” Enjolras asked enthusiastically. Eponine and Grantaire exchanged a look that Enjolras chose to ignore.
“I’m... fine, thanks,” Eponine answered hesitantly.
“Besides the whole, you know, M-” Enjolras began, but Grantaire slammed a hand down over his mouth. Enjolras made an indignant noise and bit Grantaire’s palm; Grantaire did not remove his hand.
“He was going to say Montparnasse, and how he knocked you up, you know. A less-than-too-sensitive topic.” Grantaire frowned aggressively at Enjolras before looking back up at Eponine. “Please forgive him.”
Eponine pointed a finger at Enjolras. “You’re a moron. I’m fine. I’ve had to deal with the fact that Marius is having a kid for a while now.”
“Right, the kid,” Enjolras said, once the hand over his mouth had reluctantly vanished. “Boy or girl?”
“Boy. His name’s Alphonse,” Eponine informed him, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed.
“I thought Marius wanted to name him Francis?” Enjolras asked, visibly confused. Grantaire blamed it on the painkillers as he pulled Enjolras’ long, messy hair out from behind Enjolras’ back and started trying to brush the knots out of it.
“Like Cosette would’ve let that name fly,” Eponine snorted. “I swear, if you try to give this kid some moronic name-”
“Hey, you said that once it’s out of you, we have full rights. We can name the kid Patria, and you can’t stop us,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras looked up at him with bright eyes; Grantaire shook his head. “No, we’re not naming her Patria.”
“Fuck you,” Enjolras muttered. Eponine started laughing uncontrollably, throwing herself across Enjolras’ legs on the bed.
“If this is what you’re like drunk, Enjolras, remind me to try more often,” Eponine forced out between laughs. Grantaire chuckled to himself and continued brushing out Enjolras’ hair for him. Once satisfied that it was free of knots, he swiftly tied it into a braid, snapping one of the elastic bands he always had around his wrists onto the bottom of the braid. Enjolras laid back against the bed and reached up to grab at Grantaire’s face.
“Anyways, more about the kid,” Grantaire managed to get out, moving Enjolras’ good hand back down. Eponine sat back up.
“Right. Well, he’s got a lot of this dark red hair. Like, a lot. He’s got a shitload of freckles, too. He looks almost exactly like Marius,” Eponine informed him. “He’s perfectly healthy and all that. Don’t worry about him.”
“I want to see him,” Enjolras insisted. He looked up at Grantaire again. “Can we go see him?”
“Sure, sure. I want to see him, too.” Grantaire moved to gather Enjolras’ clothes for him; the blond frowned.
“Why didn’t you go see him before, if Eponine did?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowed.
“He’s stupidly noble and didn’t want to leave you alone,” Eponine informed him, her tone plainly teasing. Grantaire shot her a dirty look nonetheless.
“Somebody had to stay here with him,” Grantaire shot back. He finally located Enjolras’ clothes; Eponine helped Enjolras move into standing up, clumsy as he was with only one functioning arm. Eponine turned her back as Grantaire pulled the hospital bed clothes off and began dressing Enjolras in his own clothes. As Grantaire tugged on Enjolras’ bright red shirt, Enjolras felt the sudden urge to kiss Grantaire. Free of inhibitions as the painkillers made him, he did as he pleased, leaning in and kissing Grantaire, though his shirt was only partially on him. He ran his good hand over Grantaire’s arm and down his side to his hip. Grantaire moaned quietly before pulling back.
“Stop whatever it is you’re doing,” Eponine ordered from the corner of the room, her back still turned. “I really don’t want to be here if this continues.”
“It won’t continue,” Grantaire assured her, continuing to pull Enjolras’ clothes onto him. Enjolras kept reaching out, touching Grantaire; the artist kept trying to pull back. “Damn it, Enjolras. Keep your hands to yourself for two seconds.”
“Bet you never thought you’d have to tell him that,” Eponine laughed from the corner. Grantaire threw a pillow at her before crouching down to tie Enjolras’ shoes. Once he was finished, he stood straight up again, adjusting the collar on Enjolras’ shirt. Once he deemed the blond presentable, he leaned in and kissed his cheek. Enjolras let his head fall forward onto Grantaire’s shoulder.
“Do you want to go see Al right now?” Grantaire asked, helping Enjolras to stand up straight. Enjolras nodded eagerly, his arm still pressed against his chest in his sling. He smiled at Grantaire, and the artist smiled back, thrilled to have gotten two of Enjolras’ rare smiles out of him in as many days. “Then we’ll go see him.”
“And Marius and Cosette?” Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand with his good hand and let himself be led from his own room; Eponine followed behind quietly.
“Yes, and Marius, and Cosette, and everyone else. They’re all here, somewhere,” Grantaire assured him, squeezing his hand.
“They’re probably still looking at all the babies in the nursery,” Eponine suggested. Grantaire nodded.
“‘Ponine’s right, they probably are,” Grantaire agreed, leading Enjolras up a flight of stairs. “Here we are, see? Maternity ward.”
“This place is terrifying,” Eponine grumbled. Grantaire turned his head to smirk at her.
“Should’ve thought of that before, shouldn’t you?” Grantaire teased. Eponine kicked his calf. “Look, there’s the guys. Go ahead.”
Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand and sped up to the group of people hanging around in front of the windows that looked into the nursery. He was greeted with many pats on the back and wide grins, most of which he returned, much to the group’s evident surprise. Grantaire caught up, his steps more casual than Enjolras’ his hands in his pockets. Eponine ducked into Cosette’s room.
“What’s with him?” Courfeyrac asked. “Spring fever?”
"Painkillers," Grantaire informed them all.
“It’s a little late for spring fever anyways. Courfeyrac, it’s summer in two days,” Joly informed his friend from his place beside Musichetta, leaning against the window. Bossuet and Bahorel had left a moment earlier to retrieve coffee for Marius.
“And then we’re going to be seniors, fuck yeah. Last year of school.” Courfeyrac smacked Joly on the back, earning a frown from the pre-med student, for whom it was not the last year of school.
“Is Cosette going to stay in school?” Feuilly asked, making faces at the babies in the nursery. Grantaire pulled Enjolras over and pointed out Alphonse; Enjolras just grinned and rested his forehead against the glass of the window.
“As far as I know, she is. She said she was going to work out a schedule with her father,” Grantaire informed them, though he did not turn to look at them, busy as he was watching Enjolras. Feuilly nodded and continued making his faces at the babies.
Jehan stood up from the floor, allowing Courfeyrac to spin him around. He laughed like bells and let Courfeyrac kiss the ring on his hand. Marius yawned from his spot in the chair outside Cosette’s room and shifted in his sleep. Enjolras let his eyes close, and Combeferre pat him on the back. The content silence was broken when Gavroche came rocketing out of Cosette’s room and threw himself at Enjolras’ legs.
|
Clint's been in captivity for over two weeks when the alert chime pings and a guy materializes into the room. The guy's older—late twenties or early thirties—good looking and muscular, but slim, with dark hair and beautiful blue eyes.
Clint can't help it, he laughs. He laughs until there are tears rolling down his face and his sides ache. The guy just stands there patiently until Clint regains control of himself and wipes at his eyes, still trying to get his breathing under control.
"Sorry," Clint gasps. "I'm sorry, but I didn't think they'd actually do it."
"They?"
"The aliens or whatever." Clint motions around him at the smooth walls and the few furnishings he's requested—a couch, bed, table, and chair—all as stark white as the walls. "Prisons tend to be grey."
"You know that from experience or television?"
"A little of both," Clint replies, trying to match the guy's bland tone and is rewarded by a small uptick at the corner of his mouth.
The guy steps forward and holds out his hand as if he were wearing a suit and not just a pair of boxer briefs. "I'm Phil. You are?"
"Clint. Welcome to my glorified fishbowl."
Clint shakes Phil's hand and then walks over to sit on the couch, glad for his own pair of briefs. The aliens have rejected all of Clint's other requests for more clothes, claiming that they were there to study the human form. The regularly replenished pair of tighty-whiteys isn't much, but it is still better than walking around buck-naked like he had for the first few days.
"If you don't mind my saying," Phil says as he takes a seat next to Clint, "you don't seem very concerned about this situation."
"Oh, I was concerned plenty the first few days."
"How long have you been here?"
"A few weeks."
"Weeks?"
"Assuming they're brightening and dimming the lights based on actual days, yeah." Clint shrugs. "It hasn't been horrible. It's warm in here, they feed me whatever I ask for, and they haven't tried to dissect me yet."
"Most people would still be freaking out."
"I was raised in a circus, so I'm not exactly most people." Clint shrugs again. "They seem intent on trying to figure out what makes me happy, which… I really am sorry for dragging you into this."
Phil opens and closes his mouth a few times, making Clint grin. It's clear that he's trying to decide which is a more pressing question—whether Clint is lying about the circus or the reason for his abduction. The guy is all kinds of adorable.
"How exactly does making you happy include me?"
Clint leans back along the couch and smirks, letting his gaze roam slowly over Phil's body before meeting his eyes with a raised eyebrow. Phil's eyes go wide and the tips of his ears turn pink.
"You asked for someone to…"
Clint shakes his head. "Not exactly. Sometimes I say stuff and they make it happen even if I don't make it a specific request. It's how I figured out how to ask for my favorite foods."
"And you just happened to be talking about…"
"Let's just say I was 'taking care' of things last night," Clint explains without embarrassment. "It always helps to have a visual in mind—I have a pretty good imagination—and I guess I must have said most of it out loud."
"And I'm—"
The message chime sounds, interrupting Phil, and a line of text appears on the wall across from them.
Are you happy, Clint?
Clint chuckles. "It's not that simple, but I appreciate the effort."
Does he not meet your specifications?
"Oh, he definitely meets my specifications, but you should probably just send him back where you got him."
Does he make you unhappy?
"No!" Clint says quickly, realizing that this is the first time they've asked him that and he has no idea what they'd do to Phil if he said yes. "It's great. He's— Phil's great. Thank you."
We are glad you are happy.
The text blinks off and Clint shrugs at Phil apologetically. "Sorry."
"Is that how they normally communicate with you?"
"Yeah. They chime whenever they want to talk to me or just before something shows up—didn't at first and boy, talk about freaking out—but other than that, nothing but the text."
"Shows up?"
"Materializes? Beams in? I don't know what to call it. It's not all sparkly lights like on Star Trek. It was frustrating at first because I was hoping a door would open at some point so I could try and escape, but the walls are smooth. No seams. Everything just beams in and out. Here, watch." Clint looks up at the ceiling—which is silly now that the thinks about it—and calls out, "Hey guys! We're gonna need another bed."
The air around Clint's unmade bed gets a little wavy looking and then the bed disappears. A second later, it happens again, and a larger bed appears, complete with a second side table and lamp.
"Not quite what I meant, but close enough, I guess."
"Were you with the circus when they abducted you?" Phil asks, making Clint turn back to look at him. "Won't they be missing you if you've been gone this long?
"Nah. Haven't been with the circus in years. I float around on my own now and do, uh... odd jobs." Clint tries not to fidget—it was mostly the truth. "I was hitchhiking out of Alabama one afternoon and then bam! Here I am. What do you do?"
"I'm an accountant."
Clint snorts. "Whatever, man. It's fine. Don't tell me."
"You don't believe me?"
"You're not freaking out either and nobody who moves like you sits behind a desk all day." One of Phil's eyebrows goes up and Clint taps his temple by his eye. "I see better than most people," Clint explains. "Plus I know what a scar from a bullet wound looks like."
They stare at each other for a minute until they both silently agree to stop poking at each other's secrets—for now at least.
"So is there anything more interesting to do than stare at the walls?"
Clint is proud of himself for not voicing the innuendo on the tip of his tongue, instead showing Phil the stack of books he has on the table and how the far end of the room converts to a virtual gym on command.
~^~
Clint knows, intellectually, that Phil was almost literally plucked from his sexual fantasies, but the level of attraction he feels for the other man still shocks him. He's never been so thoroughly distracted by how someone's throat moves while they're drinking or how they lick their finger before turning a page in a book or how peaceful they look while sleeping. What makes matters worse is that Clint likes Phil. He's smart and funny and actually seems to enjoy talking to Clint. They spend hours debating everything from the merits of the last three installments of the Star Wars saga to the reasons why the former Soviet Union collapsed. Clint wishes he were brave enough to tell his alien caretakers that Phil really does make him unhappy because Clint's pretty sure that the frustration of looking, but not touching, is going to slowly drive him insane.
It all bubbles over on the fourth morning when Phil suggests they spar together. It's clear from the look in Phil's eyes that he doesn't think Clint will measure up—a challenge that Clint can't ignore. Clint has never had any formal hand-to-hand training, but he's agile and quick and more flexible than most people expect from someone with his muscle mass. Clint is also sneaky and a fast learner, laughing when he finally manages to pin Phil on his back.
The laughter dies on Clint's lips when he sees that Phil's eyes have darkened with desire, his gaze fixed on the front of Clint's briefs. He must make some sort of noise because Phil's eyes suddenly flick up to meet his and Clint can't keep himself from sitting back, his ass coming to rest on firmly on Phil's crotch and giving him ample proof that Phil wants him back. They both groan at the contact.
Clint suddenly finds himself on his back and braces himself for Phil to hit him or, at the very least, scramble off of him. He's not expecting for Phil's mouth to come crashing down on his, the kiss hard and frantic and nowhere near enough. Clint cants his hips up, desperate for contact, and Phil complies by grinding down against him.
"Phil…" Clint moans—begs—as Phil's mouth starts to suck wet kisses against his neck.
Phil doesn't answer except to shove roughly at Clint's and his own underwear, both of them groaning loudly when their cocks finally come together with nothing between them. Clint wraps his hand around them alongside Phil's and they begin to move in earnest, more coordinated than Clint would have predicted. Clint's gasps and moans fill the room, free hand grasping at Phil's back while Phil can't seem to pull his mouth away from Clint's skin.
Clint feels the tell-tale simmer of his impending orgasm and he closes his eyes, giving himself up to the sensation. He cries out when it hits—stronger than anything he's ever experienced before—tightening his hold on Phil as the older man's hips stutter against him before Phil shudders and bites down on the hard muscle of Clint's shoulder as he comes.
Some indeterminable amount of time later, Phil shoves himself off Clint, flopping over onto his back while they both stare dazedly at the white ceiling. Clint waits for his breathing to even out, a thought occurring to him as his brain function comes back online.
"Did you… Did you just do that to see if they'd send you home?"
Phil props himself up on an elbow to look down at Clint. "Partially," he answers honestly. "And partially because you're gorgeous. All my vices walking around on two legs." Phil brushes a lock of hair off Clint's forehead tenderly, eyes going soft and serious. "I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't genuinely interested in you or had doubts about your interest in me."
Clint struggles not to blush under Phil's gaze and sits up, wrinkling his nose at the quickly drying come on his stomach. "Yuck. I'm gonna grab a shower." He gets up and is most of the way across the room when he turns to look over his shoulder at Phil, who's still sitting where Clint left him. "You coming?"
Clint laughs when Phil jumps up eagerly to run across the room. They're too spent to do much in the shower, but it's nice to share slow kisses and take the time to explore each other's bodies under the warm spray of the water.
Nothing much else changes, except that they now have the freedom to touch and taste when they would have only looked before. When they settle on the couch to read after dinner, Clint lays down with his head in Phil's lap, smiling unrepentantly up at him. Phil rolls his eyes and cards his fingers through Clint's hair, making Clint sigh happily. It's peaceful and comfortable, until Clint gets distracted by the fact that Phil's cock is close enough to taste.
It takes another two days before they move beyond handjobs and mutually mind-melting blowjobs, when Phil blushingly admits that their ever-friendly caretakers have stocked Phil's side of the bed with condoms and lube. Clint doesn't bother with words, shucking off his briefs as fast as he's able and scrambling onto the bed. Phil is amazingly gentle as he preps Clint and when he finally slips inside—his cock filling Clint perfectly—Clint can't help thinking that he never wants to give this up.
It's that thought that has Clint up late into the night, watching Phil's peaceful face as he sleeps curled across Clint's chest. As amazing as the past few days have been, Clint can still see how captivity is taking a toll on Phil—the inaction and thoughts of the responsibilities he's left behind. Clint knows that Phil isn't his to keep.
"Hey guys?" Clint calls out softly and there's a muted chime before the wall lights up with text.
How can we make you happy, Clint?
"You need to send Phil home. He has better places to be than here."
Does he not make you happy?
"He makes me very happy, but he'd be happier if he were home and I'll be happier knowing he is."
Are you certain that is what you want?
"Yes. Don't just leave him in the middle of nowhere, okay? Put him in his bed if you can. Somewhere safe."
We will do as you ask, if it will make you happy, Clint.
"It will." Clint leans forward to brush his lips against Phil's, smiling sadly when Phil chases the contact even in his sleep. "It was nice knowing you, Phil," Clint whispers. "You can take him home now."
Clint doesn't look away as the air between their faces starts to waver, then Phil is gone and Clint is alone again.
~^~
"Hey guys! What's going on?"
Maybe it's Clint's imagination, but the chime that precedes the text sounds panicked.
We appear to be under attack.
"What?!" Everything tilts again, more sharply than earlier, and then the ship is rocked by what Clint has to assume are two direct hits. "Please tell me you're attacking back."
We have sworn not to to harm human life.
Another hit and Clint falls onto his knees as the floor lurches beneath him. "Fuck! Fine. If you can't fire back then get us the hell out of here."
We cannot flee with you onboard.
"Then get rid of me and get out of here!" It takes Clint a few seconds without any response to get it. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."
You have been more than accommodating and we would rather sacrifice ourselves than see you harmed.
Clint wants to bang his head on the floor, but refrains from pointing out that they're all dead if they get blown out of the sky. "Phil! Do you know where Phil is?"
Yes.
"Beam me down to him. I'll be safe with him."
We will comply. Thank you for your cooperation, Clint Barton.
"You're welcome!" Clint yells as the air shimmers in front of his face.
In the next instant, he's kneeling on the ground in front of Phil and beside what looks like a huge cannon pointed at the sky. Clint doesn't really have time to dwell on it because he's being pulled to his feet and into Phil's arms.
"Clint! Oh thank God it worked."
"Wha– huh?" Clint stammers and hugs Phil back.
Phil pulls away, taking off his suit jacket to drape it across Clint's shoulders before pulling him back into a tight embrace. "We had to assume they'd release you before letting you come to harm. I was so worried they'd decide to take you away with them."
"Wait!" Clint leans back to look at Phil. "That was you? How–?"
"There was a tracker embedded in my clothes."
"Of course there was," Clint mutters with a fond shake of his head.
"Nice to see you alive and well, Barton."
Clint turns his head at the familiar voice and is surprised to find one of his regular clients stepping out from behind the cannon. "Fury?"
"How do you know Clint?" Phil asks, looking between the two of them.
"Remember that merc I've been telling you about?" Fury responds. "The one that's been doing odd jobs for SHIELD?"
Phil turns back to Clint with wide eyes. "You're Hawkeye? The world's greatest marksman?"
"At your service?" Clint answers tentatively, unsure if Phil's reaction is positive or negative.
Phil laughs, framing each side of Clint's face with his hands and using it to pull him forward for a kiss that Clint returns enthusiastically.
"I guess it's true what they say—it's better to be lucky than good," Fury comments when they break apart.
"Sir?" asks Phil, only moving his hands far enough to drop them onto Clint's shoulders.
Fury nods toward Clint. "I've been trying to recruit him since his first successful job for us. Can I assume this means you'll stop turning down my offers?"
"Do I get to work under Phil?" Clint smirks and then grins when Phil chokes back an aborted laugh.
Fury doesn't rise to the bait, holding his hand out for Clint to shake. Clint shifts—facing Fury while pressing closer to Phil, the agent's arm slipping around his waist. Phil gives him a reassuring squeeze to his hip and Clint moves his hand out from under Phil's jacket to accept Fury's handshake.
"Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Barton."
~ fin ~
|
They were headed straight to the car, and Rose had prayed in her mind that Jimmy wouldn't notice that she was holding hands with a strange man, but unfortunately, Jimmy was more perceptive than Rose had given him credit for.
"Rose!" He called out, coming up to her. He swept her into an unwilling hug, Rose's grip tightening on John's hand rather than releasing it. Jimmy released her, after sliding a hand over her bum too subtly to call him on. "Graduates now. Maybe we can-"
"Jimmy, this is John." She stood closer to him, her arm pressed against his side, her knuckles brushing his thigh. "My soulmate."
"Yeah, so I've heard," Jimmy looked John up and down.
John's face was a picture of murderous thunder and Jimmy didn't seem to care. John pulled her even closer as Jackie walked obliviously on to the car.
"Nice to meet you, Jimmy, but I think we're going to off now," John said, his voice colder than Rose had ever heard it.
"Oh, you're going together?" Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. "Sorry, Rose, but really? This guy? No muscle on him."
Rose shot him a look. "You're really a piece of work, Jimmy."
"Rose, you don't even know the guy!"
"I don't think anything we do is any of your business," Rose snapped. "I have never been your business, and I'm not going to start now, so you should just leave me alone."
Jimmy started to get closer to Rose, and John sniffed and tugged her backwards, keeping his body in front of hers. "As productive as this conversation has been, Jimmy, I think it's time we left," John said, and started pulling Rose along with him in the direction Jackie had gone. Rose followed without a second thought. She kept looking up at him, just to see if this was real.
"I love your profile," she said softly, hoping to soften the angry dimple in his cheek, even if it was a very cute dimple.
He looked at her, pleased and confused, "What?"
She smiled and ran her free pointer finger along his nose. "S'regal. Can't really see it when we video call."
He beamed. "Well, I like your everything."
"Oh, so that makes us even then?"
"I should think so."
They reached Jackie's beat up old car. She was standing by the driver's door, her hands on her hips. "Jimmy Stone?"
"Blimey, does everybody know what a sod bloody Jimmy Stone is?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.
Rose laughed and Jackie smiled ruefully and nodded. It was, of course, common knowledge that Jimmy Stone was a prat, especially on the Estate. Jackie unlocked her car. "I'm gonna guess you two want to cuddle in the backseat, so go on. Just no funny business, alright?"
Rose blushed and then blushed even harder when John opened the door for her. She slid in and John got in after her, slamming the door behind him. He buckled his seat belt and immediately reached for her hand again. She looked down at their hands, fingers locked intertwined together. His hands were just a little bit tanner than hers and it was surreal to see another hand in hers. She squeezed it and he laughed a little. He brought up her hand and kissed it, watching her eyes carefully.
She smiled at the sensation, something completely new. And she wanted to lean over and snog him until he couldn't breathe, but she didn't know how to snog, and her mother was driving. He rested their hands on his knee and she was staring at them again until she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder.
"I think it'd be good for us to go to that Italian restaurant that we like so much," Jackie said, looking in the rear view mirror. "See if John likes it too."
"I'm sure I will," John said, and Rose could hear the smile in his voice. She loved his smile. She had learned so many things about him over the years of knowing him, and one of her very favorite things was his smile. She cuddled against his side and reveled in the feeling of being close to him.
"Well, I hope you like pasta."
"Love it."
"Good," Rose said, "We'd have to rethink this whole thing if you didn't."
"Rose Tyler, I thought your favorite food is chips?" He pretended to sound shocked.
She giggled. "I'll have to make you some pasta someday. You haven't had pasta till you've had it homemade."
He pressed his cheek to the top of her head briefly and looked back up. "Mrs. Tyler, I meant it when I said I had the bill covered."
"John, not to worry."
"No, I meant it," John said firmly, "You're opening your house to me, the least I can do is pay for a meal."
No one argued with him, because as much as the Tyler women didn't want to admit it, they couldn't afford to go out to eat much, so his generosity was greatly appreciated. Rose squeezed his hand again in thanks. He rumbled out a little hum that made her heart swell.
The meal was very good, but Rose was convinced that she could cook him something better. Jackie sensed that the two wanted to be alone, even though the two of them kept her in the conversation. When they went home, Jackie suggested they go out for a walk.
Rose blushed, thinking of all the graffiti and nasty messages scrawled on the walls outside the Estate. John looked at her carefully.
"I think it'd be nice to go on a walk, Rose, no matter where it is."
She nodded and grabbed a jacket, just in case it got cold, slipped off her graduation shoes and put on her trainers, and he took her hand. He looked down at his trainers and then back at hers. "We match."
She smiled at him, "Yeah. We do."
They walked out the door of the flat and Rose directed him as they walked. She was quiet until she mustered up the courage to ask him what she wanted.
"So... Why did you come up early?"
"I wanted to see you graduate," he said simply. "That's the most important part of it, and you looked so tired after you took your A-levels, I just... I wanted to see it all pay off."
She rubbed her thumb over his and looked up into his face. "Really?" She said. "You're a sap," she whispered, smiling at him.
He hummed happily. "I guess I am," he said, smiling widely at her.
She giggled and looked away, feeling so in love with him that if she looked at him any longer she was going to absolutely explode. Because of that, it was a couple of long minutes before she stopped walking and cupped his cheek, looking into his eyes.
"What?" He asked quietly, stepping towards her.
"You're here," she replied bluntly, "For so long, it felt like you would never show up. Jimmy just kept coming onto me and I kept wondering if I'd made you up and he was just trying to get with the crazy girl. But you're here, right in front of me."
"Yes, I am," he said, smiling at her, his eyes shining. "I am right here and I won't be leaving anytime soon."
"Well, good, because I have to tell you something," she said softly.
He looked a little worried, "What is it?"
"I got accepted to Uni."
"Rose! That's brilliant! Where?"
She grinned, "Thirty minutes from your Uni."
He swept her up in his arms without another word, squeezing her around the waist, his face buried in the side of her neck. "Really?" He muttered against her skin.
"Yeah, really," she said, "So we can see each other all the time, really."
"Yes, we can, Rose, that's brilliant!" He set her back down. "Oh... We could stay together on weekends. This is fantastic, brilliant, wonderful!"
He was so enthusiastic that she started laughing and couldn't stop looking at him. He was brilliant himself, and completely dashing and handsome and she loved him for so many reasons. On a whim, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, making it stick up like it did when he had been studying for a long time. He pushed into her touch, his eyes falling shut.
She wasn't ready to kiss him yet, even though every part of her body was screaming for his touch. She leaned up and kissed his cheek, slowly, hoping to tell him exactly what she meant to say without saying it. She wanted him, just not yet. She was only eighteen. He sighed when she kissed him and then he shook his head.
"You know, we should continue on that walk, or I think we might.. Escalate."
She cringed a little. "Yeah. I agree," she said, and they started walking again, simply holding hands. It seemed like they never ran out of things to talk about, and it was yet another thing that made her heart feel as though it was about to burst.
Eventually, though, the sun started to set, even as it does so very late in the summer, and Rose was feeling a bit tired from her frankly exhausting day.
"Would you like me to carry you home?" John asked teasingly when Rose kept leaning against his shoulder.
She giggled and shook her head. "No, I think I can manage. Just barely, though."
They went home and she showed him the couch he'd be sleeping on, apologizing profusely for it and suggesting that she take the couch, it was only half a summer after all. He shook his head firmly. No soulmate of his was going to sleep on a couch. She reluctantly agreed.
After changing into her pajamas and pulling her hair into a bun, she leaned against the edge of the hallway and watched him sorting out the sheets and covers that her mother had given him.
"Shareen is having a party next week. Would you like to come?"
She watched his brain work, and finally, he sat down on the couch, after he'd made a proper bed, pillow at one end. He looked up at her. "I'd love to meet Shareen." He said honestly. He'd heard about her since forever, after all, she was practically a sister to him already.
"She'll bring her soulmate. His name's Timothy, they've been going around for awhile."
"Oh, that'll be nice," he grinned, "And, um, Mickey?"
Rose nodded. "His soulmate's not coming though. She lives in Cardiff."
"Ah."
"Jimmy will probably be there."
"I don't give a toss about Jimmy, Rose. I will be holding your hand and I'm going to be with you. We're a couple. If he doesn't respect that, then, well..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We'll have a talk."
She liked that little spring of possessiveness. "Okay," She said softly, smiling. "I know social stuff isn't your thing, but you... You talk now. You have friends. Your roommate."
He grinned at her, "Well, that's because of you, my love." His voice sounded dreadfully honest and she found that she thought he wasn't just sugarcoating things. He meant that.
'I'm glad I could be of some help." She yawned, and his smile softened. She looked at him, embarrassed.
"I think it's time for us to go to bed,' he said quietly, as though he was going to wake her up before she fell asleep, "You mum went off an hour ago."
"I know. Yeah." She didn't want to leave him. She wanted to stay up all night and talk to him and hold his hand and cuddle, but... Now was not the night. She was too tired, and she had a feeling that he was too.
He stood and came to her, pulling her into an embrace that she returned carefully, his hands splayed across her back, chin on her shoulder. She listened to his heartbeat and let her eyes flutter shut.
"Goodnight," she whispered into the air, past his ear.
He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight."
She chased him back and kissed him on the forehead. He laughed and flexed his hands against her waist. "Sleep well, my love."
Even though she wished he was beside her, she fell asleep better than she had in her whole life.
|
I’ve searched.
I’ve searched for my place in your heart.
But your heart isn’t even yours anymore.
---
“Where are you going?”
Erik ignores him.
He continues to fill his suitcase.
“Erik, where are you going? Answer me please.”
Erik shuts his eyes. He says,
“I’m moving out.”
“What?! No!”
His organization crumbles. He starts to stuff his belongings in messily, not a care for creating creases. He marches to the restroom, collects everything in an armful, and dumps every item over the pile of his clothes. He goes to his bedside drawer. He scoops up his possessions and returns to his suitcase. The pile has mysteriously shortened. He sighs. He drops his things and goes back into the restroom, where his things are being stocked back. He takes each back by force.
Don’t go, he’s saying.
If only Erik loved him enough.
Oh well.
“Why are you leaving? Where will you go?! This is your home, Erik, you can’t—”
“I’ve found a place. Not far from here.”
Charles touches his arm. Erik goes limp. He lets the boy spin him around.
“Have you lost your mind? You’re going to leave your father?”
Erik smiles, slowly and bitterly.
“He has you now.” He turns around, as though trying to escape from that truth. “I wouldn’t be leaving otherwise. But. He’s happy with you. He makes a point to remind me every single day.”
“He’s happy to have us both.” He’s spun around again. Charles is met with little resistance, as always. “He’d be shattered if you left.”
Erik folds his arms. He could argue with this boy for days. He could laugh, cry, shout, scream, but it would be satisfying. If it means Charles is listening.
“What about you?” he cocks his head. “You’d be bloody glad to see the back of me, wouldn’t you?”
Charles doesn’t mirror his smile, but Erik can see his eyes flit down to look at it.
“Since when did you start caring about me?”
---
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Erik gets it now.
What is it with the fucking trees?
---
He scoffs and turns back to his suitcase. Charles stops reaching for his things now. Erik thinks he’s won. Charles reaches for him instead.
“If you’re leaving because of me I’ll—”
“I’m not.”
Let go of me, he thinks. Let go of me and I’ll go.
“Your father has finally become strong again, and you’re going to go?”
“All the more reason for me to go.”
His one hand is capable enough to toss his clothes back into the suitcase. Charles didn’t get quite far with them.
The boy tightens his hand around Erik’s wrist.
Erik doesn’t struggle.
“If you leave him so will I.”
“You don’t get the point, do you,” he grits out, clenching his fist. “I’m leaving so you can stay.”
“You’re not leaving because if you do, I will too. And then he’ll have nobody. It’s either both of us, or none of us.”
“Why would you do that? Do you not care about him?”
“Do you?”
Erik tightens his fist, hoping Charles will hold on tighter.
---
Like father, like son.
Like father like fucking son.
---
He’s done now, mostly.
“I know you don’t mean that. I know you’ll stay here with him.”
There’s only his other drawer left.
It’s sheets and sheets and pages and pages of his heart.
“And I know you’ll stay here with him too, Erik.”
“I’m twenty-five. I have a job now. I’ve found myself a place. I want to be independent.”
“You think that’s what you want.”
“It’s exactly what I want. It’s the only thing I want that I can actually come close to having.”
A golden sticker for you, Charles, if you know.
“You’re going to leave your father, the one who devoted his entire life looking after you, to some indecent brat he met a month ago? Just so you can go and be independent?”
Erik smirks. The more this boy talks, the more his heart curls in on itself.
Why why why.
Why not me.
Why can’t you be my indecent brat.
Where do I find the seeds for this fucking tree.
Charles unhands him. He steps forward and empties out his suitcase.
“I want back all of my cigarettes that you’ve hidden. Then it’s a deal.”
The boy leaps into his arms.
Again, Erik thinks, as he swallows twice and begins to peel the boy off his skin.
---
He stares at the wall.
He tries to hear for something.
Nothing.
He leaves his cigarette lit against the ashtray. Its odour streams out.
He reaches for the packed suitcase and puts his shoes on.
---
A part of him wants to slip into his father’s room and take the old fedora with him.
That’s the same part of him that wants to see Charles for the last time.
Kiss his father’s brow as a farewell. A thank you. An inadequate way of saying well done, look at me.
I’ve finally learnt to accept that some things are meant for you, and some are meant for me.
All this trouble and look at the bloody good son I turned out to be.
I can’t make you happy.
I want to have the one thing that makes you happy.
Aren’t I just the exemplar son?
---
He hefts his suitcase up to his neck and silently walks past his father’s room.
The cigarette continues to fill the air.
---
He hears a gasp.
He thinks it’s his.
The gasp is, but the reflection in the foyer mirror isn’t.
Startled, he loses his grip on the suitcase.
Charles is sitting on the kitchen countertop, looking consumed with anger. The dark shadows on his face help.
“I bloody knew it.”
Erik turns around. He uprights the suitcase and pulls its lever, all while staring at Charles in front of him.
“You know me well enough not to trust me,” he scoffs. What a pair they’d make.
If only he’d had the right to know.
He reaches for the door handle, but Charles is climbing off the counter and pushing past him. He shoves a key into the keyhole and turns it.
The boy hadn’t trusted him at all.
Good to know.
Then he’s hauling away his suitcase.
“Charles, stop, it’s too heavy for you,” he whispers hotly, as the boy also carries the suitcase instead of letting it roll noisily against the tiles.
“Fuck you, Erik,” he spits, as he drops the suitcase down on the floor in his room.
The boy is fuming.
Erik wants to laugh, because isn’t this exactly what Charles had been expecting? Expecting or preventing, either way, why is the boy surprised?
Then he starts to unpack his things.
Erik bolts to his room.
Sheets and sheets and pages and pages of his heart come unleashed as Charles opens his suitcase.
Every single word a litany of his love.
He had piled them at the top, and now they’re being tucked into the love interest’s hands.
Charles would have been a moment’s glance away from knowing—had Erik not tackled him to the floor.
“Don’t read,” it comes out strangled from the hollow of his throat, “please please please don’t read…”
Even though the pages are scattered around them like a bed of leaves.
Even though the words love and want and need and Charles are surrounding him.
“Don’t,” he chokes, placing his hand over the boy’s eyes.
His other hand gets occupied with collecting every page and shuffling them under his bed and out of sight. He doesn’t know he’s panting until he’s leaning up to reach for the paper above Charles’s head and sees the way his breath makes the boy’s front hair jump. He tries to calm his breath, watching his hair as a way to check his progress, and swallows dryly. He keeps a hand pressed down on Charles’s eyes as he scours around for anymore remains of his heart lying around. Breathing a sigh of relief, he removes his hand and sits up.
He looks down towards Charles and sees his eyes squeezed shut. He eyes the pages shoved deep under his bed, concealed from view. He looks back to Charles, who has a bruise on his elbow he repeatedly rubs.
“May I open my eyes now?”
Erik runs a hand over his face.
“Yes.”
Charles blinks his eyes open to the dark room. Erik turns his head away when he sees Charles’s head move to face him.
“I didn’t—”
“Get out of my room.”
He hears Charles gasp. He rolls his eyes.
“Does that mean you’re going to stay?”
“You’ve locked the fucking door, haven’t you?”
Charles comes up on his knees and spreads his arms, despite his sore elbow, and bows forward to wrap himself around Erik.
But Erik says, “don’t,” making the boy flinch and drop his arms as he slinks away.
The boy doesn’t leave immediately.
The smoke has left its fragrance in the air.
“I could unpack for y—”
“I said get out, didn’t I?”
The boy says, “yes,” and stands up. He’s still in his jeans. Erik leans back on his hands and wonders what his life has become.
Since when did he hand his life over to this boy. Since when did he surrender.
“Good night,” he says, too quickly for Erik to retort, before disappearing from the room.
Too quickly for Erik to stop him.
---
His father doesn’t know a thing.
Charles is propping a band-aid on his elbow when Erik walks into the kitchen.
He walks right back out.
He waits until he hears the sound of his father’s slippers against the tiles before he reenters. The man is grinning as he walks over to the boy and pulls him to his chest. Erik bolts right in.
“Hello, Dad.”
“Good morning, son.”
“Morning, Erik.”
Erik continues to look at the oatmeal in disinterest.
“I hate oatmeal,” he says. Charles’s face hangs.
He’d gotten the oatmeal.
“Erik, Charles just greeted you.”
“But I hate oatmeal,” he groans, pretending he’d shed some maturity overnight. “Who the hell brought oatmeal?”
“I did,” Charles whispers, staring down at his hands. Jakob’s hand around him tightens. “I’m sorry.”
It’s no longer as satisfying as it used to be.
Still.
He goes to wash an apple at the sink.
They’re whispering behind him.
He turns the tap further.
“Erik,” his father says, as he bites into the apple. “You don’t have any plans today, do you?”
Erik shrugs, brushing past them. He stares agonizingly at the hand on Charles’s shoulder.
Long, lean fingers.
So much like his own.
Everyone always says, you look so much like your father.
“Well, I was thinking that the three of us could have a day out. We could go hiking. You love hiking, don’t you? And no oatmeal involved,” he chuckles. Charles doesn’t.
Erik doesn’t.
“I do like hiking, yes.”
“Great! We could—”
He turns around. Charles is smiling nervously at him.
“I only like hiking with you.”
Charles’s smile loses that last thread.
“But Erik. You’ve never tried going hiking with Charles, right? It could be fun; he has a lot of knowledge about the wilderness.”
“I don’t give a damn. Just us or I don’t go.”
He stares at Charles. Stares and stares and stares at him until he drops his shoulders, sets a tear free, and says,
“I won’t go then.”
---
Nobody goes.
So much for all that fucking crying.
He’d thought nobody was listening, that indecent brat.
---
“Erik we both know he’s sitting in my room crying. Stop pretending like you can’t hear.”
He puts down the hammer and nail.
“I can’t,” he shrugs.
He continues to do the odd jobs he suddenly felt compelled to do around the house. He looks around to see what would make the most noise. Should he drill a hole in the wall for fun?
“He’s crying, Erik. I know you can hear it.”
“Well, if I was his boyfriend I would go in and cheer him up. But. As circumstances have it, I am not.”
“Erik you will go in there and make him stop within the next hour. Get my scarf.”
He goes and gets his father’s jacket and scarf from the coat hanger and helps him put on each.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going for my walk. And when I come back, I would really appreciate it if there was some peace in here.”
Peace.
No, there’s no peace for those who relieve their love with hate.
---
He knocks twice before he lets himself in.
The boy is sitting on his father’s bed, knees up to his chin.
“Um,” Erik begins. “Good morning.”
Charles sniffs.
“It’s afternoon, Erik.”
“If these greetings change so frequently why does it matter if I didn’t say it at one point of the d—”
“It’s not that, Erik. It’s how you take this—this great pleasure in demoralizing me every time you see me. Other than that, you know… you’re insufferable.”
“Hm,” Erik says, sitting down on the bed beside the boy. “Is that all?”
“No, Erik.” The boy crosses his legs and shuffles closer to him on the bed. “This isn’t the point. I have no interest in listing off all the ways you’ve been a dickhead. I really don’t.”
When Erik doesn’t look at him, he proceeds to climb off the bed and kneel down in front of him. He moves his head so Erik will look at him.
Doesn’t he know that Erik sees him even when his eyes are shut?
“I want to make this work. I want to do whatever I can to make this work. Tell me, Erik. What do I need to do? The love that I feel for your father is growing every single day. My desire to stay here is growing every day. But I can’t help it if I’m not enough to keep your father happy.”
Erik watches the way Charles’s hands are itching to sit on his knees. Always wanting to touch, he is.
What a pair they could’ve made.
Always wanting to touch.
Always wanting to hold.
But.
Those small hands aren’t in his destiny.
“Give me a chance,” the boy says softly, hands now curling into the red bed sheets. “Just one opportunity to make it better between us. I’m just going to need your cooperation.”
Erik makes a move to stand up so that Charles will shift. Charles does, and Erik comes up on his feet to pace around.
“There—there will be… I have some conditions.”
“Yes! Anything, yes—”
“You need to stop crying so much. It makes Dad unnecessarily upset. He’s out there power walking like a madman as we speak.”
“Alright fine. Fair enough. Next time you upset me I’ll…”
Erik rolls his eyes.
“Should there be a next time, you will grow a backbone and tell me I’m being a dick. I don’t think you understand how much encouragement I get when I see you make that ugly crying face.”
Charles stays silent for a while.
Erik wants to laugh.
“Okay. I will.”
“If I wasn’t Jakob’s son, how many times would you have punched me by now?”
“A few.”
“So there. Also. No hugging.”
“Okay.”
“Another thing. I shouldn’t be able to see or hear or even picture the two of you having sex. I swear to—”
“Sorry, s-sorry, won’t happen again. You won’t, I promise.”
Erik roots around for a cigarette. He finds one and ignores the sigh coming from behind him.
“Dad,” he says, placing the cigarette in his mouth, “really seems to like you. And I know your feelings for him,” he digs into his jeans’ pocket again for a lighter, “are honest. Unfortunately for me,” he sets a flame and lights his cigarette, “I will have to accept that.” He blows his smoke out the corner of his mouth. “Because I want the best for my Dad.”
He turns around, heart throbbing.
The boy is hiding his face in his shoulder.
“What now?” Erik nearly yells. “Why the fuck are you crying again? I thought I just—what did I tell you about that ugly crying face?”
He lets out a breathless sob. Erik pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I want to hug you.”
Erik rolls his eyes. He takes another drag of smoke into his lungs before he tugs on the boy’s shirt.
His arms fold around Erik’s neck so quickly he nearly chokes. Charles had to have done this; their faces are so close Erik can feel Charles take in every breath he does, their cheeks and torsos pressed together. Erik struggles between wanting to shove Charles away and urging to sink his fingers into his skin and hair and wrap him tight enough to bruise and feel his pulse and mistake it for his own.
Instead he pats him with three fingers and shoulders out of his embrace.
“He’s so lucky to have a son like you,” Charles had whispered.
He pretends the words don’t make sense.
“I’m hungry,” he calls out from the door, like his hands aren’t trembling with the effort to keep in tears.
---
Sacrifice.
Sacrifice makes you selfless.
Or does it just make you more and more unwilling to have anything worth wanting.
---
Erik replaces the cake recipe in Charles’s hands with his textbook.
“You need to study,” he tells him firmly. “Dad said you have exams soon.”
The boy nods, clutching his book.
“I’ll cook,” he adds, just as his father comes through the door.
Jakob goes to his son first, clutching him by his jaw and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“My beautiful son.”
Erik groans but smiles, feeling responsible for the warmth in his kiss.
Then his father goes to the boy, who sits primly in waiting with a book on his lap.
“My little angel,” he says, pressing his lips on his forehead for a kiss.
Erik looks away immediately.
---
I get to have him for the whole dream, he thinks.
They don’t kiss, as though they already do enough of it.
Charles tucks himself next to Erik.
Erik tries to reach for Charles’s hand.
But.
He can’t.
---
Erik rouses in the middle of the night.
His head is pounding.
The residue of his dream still casts images in his mind, reminding him of his suffocated struggle to come free of restraints.
Then he’d stopped trying, and now he has to deal with the consequences.
The throbbing makes his temples judder. He reaches for a cigarette but stops himself short. The glass on the table is empty.
He exits his room, bare-chested and hurting, and walks silently out to the lounge.
That boy is sitting at the dinner table, head down in a book. He doesn’t even notice Erik come in; he’s completely engrossed.
Erik thinks he’s going to be stealthy enough to enter the kitchen without notice, but Charles sees him the moment his shadow appears on the tiles. He glances up at him, alert.
“No suitcase, I swear,” he says, holding his palms up in the air. Charles’s expression doesn’t change.
“Are you alright?” he whispers, climbing out of his seat to follow Erik.
“You can go back and study,” he insists, inclining his head, though immediately regretting it when his head spins. He winces as he pours himself a glass of water. “I just have a headache.”
He tries to reach for the medical cabinet, but Charles is suddenly crowding him, up on his tiptoes to place a hand over Erik’s forehead. Erik immediately tenses.
“Headache?” he asks, cupping Erik’s skull.
“Yes,” he breathes. He can no longer keep his eyes open.
“How long for?”
“Just—I just woke up in the middle of the night and my head was hurting.”
He suddenly feels disassembled. He melts against the boy’s intimate touch.
“Gee, I really hope you’d stop smoking.”
Erik opens his eyes, scowling.
“This has nothing to do with smoking.”
The boy narrows his eyes.
“It’s your breath.”
Erik’s mouth shuts itself. He gazes down at the small curl of a smirk on Charles’s lips. His hand darts up, thumb stretching towards the boy’s mouth. His lips look stained with a dark smudge even in the dimly lit kitchen. Curious, he swipes the bud of his thumb against Charles’s bottom lip. The boy frowns. Erik repeats the motion, feeling the soft lip swell beneath his thumb and grow tender. Charles’s hand hovers around Erik’s wrist, but doesn’t remove his hand.
“What’s on your lips?”
“Nothing,” he says, his tongue momentarily flitting out and brushing against Erik’s thumb as he does so. He freezes. He slowly lets his hand drop. He looks away to the side, headache intensifying. Charles takes a step back from him and after a haphazard cough, he mutters to himself and goes to get some round white tablets out of the cabinet. Every corner of their house is so familiar to him, even in this dark. Erik takes the offered medication and swallows it down with the water he’d filled.
“Instant relief,” Charles reads out before he puts the packet away. “Any truth to that?”
Erik shakes his head and rubs his fingers into his forehead.
“Still hurts,” he says, leaning against the sink. “Don’t worry, go to sleep.”
“I wasn’t intending to sleep.”
“Go back to study then.”
“I could make you a cup of tea.”
“Forget it.”
It’s not that easy to dismiss the boy, he’s reminded, when he opens his eyes and sees him still standing opposite him. He slowly comes forward and cups Erik’s skull again, remembering, perhaps, how much Erik had liked it. He places his palm against Erik’s sweaty forehead and pushes down gently. Erik’s eyes shut again.
It’s no surprise his touch calms his heart.
He’s half leaning into it and half swaying backwards because of it. Charles cups his head with his other hand, and although it alleviates the pain, it makes him lose control over what Charles is holding so carefully.
“Feels good,” Erik says airily, mouth hanging open. He’s holding his breath anyway, now.
“Good,” the boy says, making the angle work for him despite of their height difference.
Erik swallows. “What have you done to me, Charles?”
“Hm? What have I done?”
Erik shrugs.
“Stupid boy.”
“Erik. I’m giving you a head-rub and you’re—”
“Shh, don’t cry.”
“I’m not—oh god, you’re so patronising even when you’re drugged.”
Erik shrugs again.
“I’m sleepy.”
Charles hums and steers Erik towards his room. Erik lets himself be taken back, despite of wanting to mumble about the loss of Charles’s hands. Being sat down on his bed brings back a hazy memory. Charles tucks him back under the blanket so neatly he doesn’t even think to take note of the brush of his touch. His head is laid back on the pillow when the bed creaks with Charles’s weight. Cool hands descend on his head again and he contentedly lays still, smacking his lips.
“I was having a dream about you.”
Charles pauses for a second before continuing.
“Yes? And?”
“You were in my bed.”
“Oh…”
The touch pauses again before resuming, this time harder, with renewed pressure.
“I was under the covers and you were over them.”
“Okay.” There’s a relieved sigh.
“You have a dirty mind.”
The boy stays quiet.
“Anyway. I was trying to hold your hand.”
The boy remains quiet.
“Trying and trying and trying. And when I woke up.” He raises his eyebrows. “This.” He points to his temple.
The hands on his head become more desperate, press down deeper.
“Are you better now?” Charles asks lowly.
“Much.”
“I can leave you now?”
Erik chuckles in response.
“Will you be fine to sleep?”
“Yes,” Erik says with uncertainty.
He’s shocked to feel Charles’s hands curl around his for a short, sweet moment.
“There,” the boy whispers.
Erik bites his lip. He promises himself to wait until he leaves to cry.
“Thank you,” he chokes out.
“You’re quite welcome, Erik.”
The bed shifts as the boy stands up.
But he knows he still hasn’t left. His head feels lighter, and with little concentration, he can still feel the boy’s palms on his skin. A dark shadow still captures him.
“You know what I think, Erik?” Charles whispers.
“What?”
“I think you’re starting to like me.”
Erik bites his lip hard.
The shadow of his figure still looms over him.
“I think it was the oatmeal that did it for me,” he says, strained.
The boy chortles, then bows down, and places a kiss on Erik’s forehead.
He doesn’t see the way Erik’s hand jumps forward for his t-shirt.
“Good night, Erik.”
He breathes in sharply, but doesn’t say it back.
Charles expects that much, because he leaves quickly after, shutting the door behind him.
“Stupid boy,” Erik says to his empty room.
|
I hummed to myself as I dusted for Miss Vista. The feather duster ran back and forth along the table edge, cleaning up the few crumbs that Miss Vista had left from the slice of toast that I had given her.
And baked for her, which I was feeling pretty proud of. It was astonishing how much better homemade bread tasted than store bought. And it was so easy, too, as long as you could afford the expensive bread machine that her mom owned.
Honestly, it wasn’t like I got much out of infiltrating Miss Vis- Vista’s house. She never brought her work home and the complaints about the job were obviously censored to avoid revealing any useful names or details.
But I still kept on working, because you never knew when she might let something slip, after all. And that would make it all worth it, finding out something that Lisa wouldn’t manage to get with a few seconds of thought and a few minutes of complaining about the migraine that resulted from using her powers.
“Um, Taylor?” Miss Vista asked from behind m, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I think that you can stop dusting that area now.”
“If you’re sure, ma’am,” I said, standing up and twirling around, feeling the skirt rising up along my legs as I did so.
Miss Vista might have found watching me work embarrassing, but she was still watching me quite closely. There were large blotches of red on her face as she stared at me. I smiled at her and she smiled back.
Miss Vista looked very cute right now, wearing a blouse and jeans. That the blouse was the same shade of forest green as her Vista costume maybe wasn’t the most subtle declaration in the world, but she looked so good in it that I couldn’t help but highly approve of it. Actually, Miss Vista looked good in almost anything. She was a very tiny girl, even for her age, but she was still cute and cool. It was a potent combination.
The maid costume I wore didn’t really fit well. It seemed that they just didn’t make maid costumes for tall, skinny teenage girls. And obviously neither one of us had the money or connections to get a custom fitting. So I wore a costume that was designed for a girl as skinny as me but who was also shorter. As the skirt made clear whenever I bent over.
It was odd how often I bent over right in front of Miss Vista, but that was just how cleaning her bedrooms went. As I told her repeatedly, it wasn’t like I was trying to seduce her or anything.
Technically, I should have been calling her Miss Missy, since she almost never wore her Vista costume around the house. But that just sounded silly. And, of course, I wanted to get her in the frame of mind of Vista, so that she might say something useful for the Undersiders and our mysterious boss.
“I think that you’ve just about got everything done here,” Miss Vista said, shifting from side to side and nervously coughing into her fist. “So why don’t you take a break? Come over here and sit down.”
Miss Vista patted a spot on her bed right next to her and I didn’t hesitate. I went over to sit next to her, kind of glad to take the weight off of my feet. High heels could hurt, especially when I only wore them for maybe three hours every week, just long enough to start to pinch, but not nearly long enough to get comfortable in them.
I hadn’t set out to find out that Missy Birion was actually Vista, the coolest and cutest superhero in the city (as I often told her). It had been entirely luck, if that was the right word. Some thugs had been menacing me and I had been stalling for time, trying to think of a way out of the situation without using my powers. Then Vista had come out of the sky (preceded by a backpack that had knocked one of them silly) to rescue me. We had both been wearing plain clothes, so there hadn’t been any way for her to hide who she was.
And from there, well, things had just moved in what had seemed like a pretty natural pattern until I ended up being her maid. And yes, I had mentioned that my family was poor and that more money was always useful, but it still seemed, in hindsight, a bit crazy.
Well, I wasn’t going to complain about spending time spying on Miss Vista. Not when things kept on working out so well.
I sat down next to Miss Vista. Quite close to her, actually. We were both really aware of how close I was to her. I folded my hands in my lap and looked at her. She looked up at me. We both smiled, we both blushed and we both looked away again.
“You do a really good job of cleaning the bedroom, Taylor,” Miss Vista said, resting a hand on my thigh, just below where my skirt ended and my knee started. “Way better than I ever manage to do.”
“Oh, it’s not hard,” I said, looking around at the very crowded bedroom. Miss Vista owned a lot of stuff. She had more toys and books and everything in it than my bedroom two and a half times over. I had never seen her using most of them, though. “I just need to do a bit of work and everything comes together.”
Dusting and vacuuming wasn’t hard at all, after all. And making the occasional snack for the two of us was only embarrassing when one of her parents were home and saw me in my maid costume. Miss Vista seeing me in my maid costume was just… nice. Yeah, it was pretty nice.
Sometimes she saw me in less than that. I was certain that the time I had tripped and spilled a glass of orange juice all over myself really had been my own clumsiness, but the thought that Miss Vista had engineered that, made it so that I would have to strip down to my underwear as I changed was… something I kind of enjoyed. It had sent a warm tingle all through my body, almost, but not quite, like the tingle I had gotten while I had actually been stripping down in front of her and hurrying to the laundry machine.
“So,” Miss Vista said, coughing into her fist, “what would you like to do now, Taylor?”
“Whatever you want to do with me, ma’am,” I said without thinking.
Then we both started to blush as we realized what I had just said and what it sounded like. I found myself staring straight ahead as I hit my thoughts over the head with a heavy stick. I had not just said that! I wasn’t that stupid, surely!
“That’s, um,” Miss Vista coughed, sounding almost as embarrassed as I was feeling, “something.” The silence stretched out and I shifted around, still feeling my cheeks burning. “Maybe we could try kissing each other?”
I looked down at her, slightly relieved that the topic of conversation had changed a bit but it hadn’t changed nearly enough. Though kissing Miss Vista…
“If that’s what you’re interested in, ma’am,” I said, smoothing down the front of my skirt, “I’d be happy to help you practice.”
“Yes!” Miss Vista said quickly, nodding her head. “This is just practice, so that when we get boyfriends or girlfriends, we know what we’re doing with them!”
I nodded, a few faces flashing through my mind of who I would want to kiss. Two of them were blonde and one of them was sitting right next to me, fidgeting adorably.
“Um,” I said, shifting around in a manner that could also be called fidgeting adorably. “How do you want to kiss me, Miss Vista?”
Miss Vista took a deep breath and, for once, didn’t comment on me calling her that. Instead, she swung herself around so that she was straddling my lap. I made a surprised sound, looking down at her. She looked very cute and very determined right now.
Then she was lifting herself up, resting her hands on my shoulder and getting closer. I closed my eyes, because that was what they did in the movies. I wasn’t sure what to do with my own hands and kept them pressed together.
I felt something soft and wet pressing against the corner of my lips and my left cheek. I opened my eyes just in time to see Miss Vista opening her eyes as well. There were large dots of red on her cheeks as she stared at me.
“Um,” Miss Vista said, drawing back a bit. “Let’s try that again.”
I nodded and this time brought my hands up. I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to touch her, so I settled on resting my hands on her sides, in between her chest and waist. It felt nice to touch her, even through the clothing she wore. And a thought that passed through my mind too quickly to even be called a thought suggested that touching her without clothing could be something that was dangerous to think on too much.
We both kissed again and this time, it worked a lot better. Miss Vista pressed her lips up against mine and held them there. It felt kind of weird to kiss her, but it also felt really good. I found myself enjoying this and I did my best to kiss her back.
This time, when we separated, we were both redfaced and breathing hard. I could feel some emotions bubbling up inside of me. I normally felt them when I was around Miss Vista, but feeling them this strongly, that was really something new for me. I liked it.
“So, um,” I said, my mind barely thinking over what my words were before I said them, “would you like…” I trailed off, not sure what else to say or what else to do. I just wanted to stay here with Miss Vista and get kissed by her again. Or maybe something else.
Miss Vista didn’t answer. She just slid a bit closer to me, pressing herself up against me. I swallowed, feeling the heat of her body through both of our outfits. I looked into her green eyes and saw pretty much everything that I was feeling inside of them.
Then we kissed again. It was even better than the last time. I squeezed down on her sides just like she squeezed down on my shoulders. We both moaned and I felt her tongue sliding into my mouth. I let her do it, even though it felt strange to have that thing moving around inside of my mouth.
“Okay,” Miss Vista said when we pulled apart, panting heavily as she looked down at my lap before back up at me. “That’s,” she swallowed heavily. “That’s really fun, Taylor.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, nodding my head. “It’s really fun.” I smiled and giggled. “It’s really nice to do this with you, Miss Vista.”
“You can call me Missy, Taylor,” Miss Vista said with a blush and a matching giggle. “But… yeah, there’s no other girl I’d rather do this with than you.”
I nodded. Lisa was kind of pretty herself and she was very nice to me. But she hadn’t ever, well, maybe I just didn’t notice any signs that she was giving off. And wow, the thought of Lisa and Miss Vista and I together… Would I be the maid for both of the blonde beauties or would Lisa and I be maids together or would maids not even enter into the equation at all? I might need to think about that later on.
Miss Vista pretty thoroughly distracted me from what I was thinking. She leaned in to kiss me again and this time, I was taken by surprise. I fell backwards and our grips on each other meant that Miss Vista fell down along with me. She ended up hovering over me, pinning me down to the bed as well as someone her size and weight could.
“Um,” I said, staring up at her as my heart started to beat really quickly inside of my chest.
“I’m sorry, Taylor,” Miss Vista said, blushing red as well. Not that she was pulling herself off from me, I noticed. “I didn’t mean to push you down.”
“It’s alright,” I said quickly, still staring up at her and not moving. “I don’t mind.”
“That’s good,” Miss Vista said, sounding like she was just going on automatic. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Then she stopped talking, her pre-programmed polite phrases running out. “So…”
I realized that my hands were moving on their own. They were running up and down along Miss Vista’s sides, clinging to her in a way that they really shouldn’t be. But that was alright, because Miss Vista was sitting down on top of me, right on top of my crotch. I could feel a heat down there, a wonderful heat that wasn’t quite like anything else I had ever experienced.
Then I felt someone walking up to the front door, stepping through the few bugs that I had there. I mentally prayed for it to be a salesman or something, the wrong address, someone who would just go away.
But they stepped inside without any hesitation and now I could hear footsteps down on the ground floor. I sighed and my head fell back against Miss Vista’s bed as I grimaced.
Miss Vista looked down at me with a cute expression of confusion on her face. Then she heard the footsteps as well. She blushed and slid off of me as they came up the stairs.
I managed to remember to sit up and then even get off of Miss Vista’s bed, twitching my costume back the way it should have been. I wasn’t able to do much to keep the blush off of my face so I would just have to hope that it would pass without comment.
Miss Vista’s mother was on the other side. She was a pretty woman who obviously went to a lot of trouble to look pretty, with a lot of makeup and jewelry and fancy clothes. She smiled widely at Miss Vista and myself and I found myself watching her eyes. They weren’t smiling nearly as widely.
“Hello, Missy, Taylor,” Ms. Birion (I didn’t know why she was still keeping her married name. Didn’t want to give an inch of ground, I supposed.) said, stepping into the room. “I was just passing by Wind Creek and I saw a book I thought you would just love, dear.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a slim volume. I couldn’t see any details beyond it having a royal purple cover and gilt lettering. She handed it over to Miss Vista who took it and glanced down at it.
“Thanks, Mom,” Miss Vista said, her voice sounding… complex. “I’ll be sure to give it a go soon.”
“I’m sure you will, dear,” Ms. Birion said, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on Miss Vista’s forehead. “Anything happen while I was away?”
“No, Taylor was just getting done cleaning up,” Miss Vista said, waving at me. I straightened up and kept my hands at my sides as Ms. Birion glanced at me.
“I might have to steal her later to help me bake some cookies,” Ms. Birion said with another smile that was just as wide as the one she had used coming into Miss Vista’s bedroom. “But right now, I need to go talk to Henry. Come see me if you need anything dearest.”
Henry was Ms. Birion’s lawyer. I wasn’t sure if she was sleeping with him or not. I knew that Mr. Birion was sleeping with Maria, his lawyer. And I was sure that Miss Vista knew that he was, too.
It was pretty much impossible to spend time with Miss Vista and not realize that her home life was… I didn’t really have the words to describe it except in the most banal terms possible. Not good, that could work. And I wasn’t sure how many other people got the full picture. Heck, I wasn’t sure I had gotten the full picture yet. I had noticed that I was the only person who came over to spend time with Vista, though. Miss Vista went to visit the handful of non-cape friends she had. They didn’t come here.
I supposed I was lucky that Miss Vista’s parents had seen me as a way to prove that they were the better parent and person to themselves and each other by supporting Poor Little Taylor and her quest to make some money instead of trying to recruit me to take their side and screw over the other one. Miss Vista hadn’t told me any actual stories about what they could do, but some of the things she didn’t say could fill in the gaps.
And she still loved them. To a certain extent. I wasn’t sure that if Dad and Mom had been like these two, I would have been able to love them, even to the level that Miss Vista did. I supposed that might be why she was a superhero and I was… working undercover.
“Yes, Mom,” Miss Vista said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I straightened up again and hoped that nobody had noticed. “Oh, and Taylor already baked some egg bread, so if you want a slice, it’s down in the kitchen.”
“What a helpful girl you are, Taylor,” Ms. Birion said, smiling at me. “I’ll be up for a chat in a bit, Missy.”
Miss Vista nodded at her as she left. She motioned for me to close the door as soon as Ms. Birion was in her office. I did so and then sat back down on the bed next to her, looking down at the book she was holding. Through Strange Forests by an author whose name was in such florid script that I couldn’t piece it out.
“That’s… nice,” I said, trying to think of the last gift I had gotten except for my birthday and Christmas. “That she got it for you.”
“Yeah, really nice,” Miss Vista said, running a hand through her hair and looking away. “Would you like to read it?”
“It looks a bit…” I didn’t want to say childish, but I could tell that there weren’t a lot of pages in it and the heroine on the cover had a look of insipid sweetness. “Thank you, but no.”
“Yeah, well, the offer’s open,” Miss Vista said as she used her powers to reach across the suddenly compressed room and put the book on a shelf full of books with pretty similar covers. “Now… where were we?”
I shifted around a bit at that. Kissing Miss Vista had been… quite nice. But with her mother just down the hall, it didn’t seem like quite such a good idea anymore. And I could tell that Miss Vista was thinking the same thing as she rubbed her forehead and groaned.
“Want to make a headstart on baking those cookies that she talked about?” Miss Vista asked, springing to her feet. “Maybe I could take some in with me to work tonight.”
“That sounds good,” I said, standing back up and dusting my white apron and black skirt clean. “Do people often bring in treats?”
“Gallant or Clockblocker bring in bags of store-bought candy from time to time,” Miss Vista said. “And whenever the suits are trying to score another Ward, it’s pizza parties all day until they sign the deal.” She opened the door. “Rest of the time, we pay for what we want from the vending machines or the cafeteria.”
I nodded. That was just about the most useful bit of information I had gotten from Miss Vista so far about the Wards. But that was no reason for me to stop doing this. You never knew what sort of thing would end up falling into my lap if I waited long enough.
The kitchen was larger than mine was and had a lot more modern look to it, all stainless steel and chrome tubing and the like. The sliced bread sitting on a cooling rack honestly looked out of place. It smelled wonderful, though, even an hour or so after it had come out of the machine.
“So, what kind of cookies sound good to you, Taylor?” Miss Vista asked, sitting down on a chair and pulling out one of the recipe books from underneath the spice rack. “We’ve got molasses, peanut butter, shortbread, chocolate chips, just plain chocolate or,” she flipped a few pages, “there’s all kinds of bars and stuff we can make.”
I joined her, looking over her shoulder at the desserts on display. The pictures of them looked very tasty. I licked my lips, thinking about how good each of them would taste. And how much I would have to run to work even one of them off.
I scanned through the pages as Miss Vista slowly turned them. The chocolate chip cookies had a pretty short list of ingredients and the actual recipe was pretty short as well. Those were both strong arguments for selecting that one.
“Let’s try that,” I said, pointing at them. “Says it makes four dozen of them.”
“That should be more than enough for us and for work,” Miss Vista said, nodding decisively as she stood up. “This should be fun, Taylor.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling down at her and giving her a quick hug. “It should be.”
And it was. It had been… a while since I had cooked with another woman. Miss Vista wasn’t like my mom (and that was a good thing, too, because I did not want to have to answer the questions that would raise in my mind) but making sweets together was quite nice and relaxing. Especially when we both pretended we didn’t see each other sneaking some of the chocolate chips for ourselves instead of the cookies.
As I scooped the dough up into little balls and dropped them onto the baking sheet, I glanced over at Miss Vista. She had a small smile on her face. But more than that, I could see the lines of tension in her body and how they weren’t there. She just looked relaxed. It was nice to see.
I had realized, a few days ago, that I was very glad that during the bank robbery, I hadn’t fought Miss Vista. It would feel really wrong to be fighting her on the streets and then come to clean and mend for her in either of her houses. And I hoped that if we did end up meeting each other as Skitter or Vista, I wouldn’t call her Miss Vista or ma’am by mistake. My buzzing bugs could hide a lot of stuff, but could they hide that much? I wasn’t so sure about that.
Well, hopefully soon I’d find out who was sponsoring the Undersiders and they’d get arrested and Brian and Lisa and everyone could… do something happy and productive that wouldn’t get them arrested. I tried to think about why they weren’t doing that already, but the answers didn’t come very easily.
“Something on your mind, Taylor?” Miss Vista asked, resting a hand on my forearm.
“Um, no, nothing,” I said quickly, shaking my head and filling up the rest of the cookie sheet. “Looks like we’ll have about one and a half cookies left over,” I said, peering into the mixing bowl. “Where should I put them…” I glanced down at the baking sheet.
“Into our mouths,” Miss Vista said, grabbing a rubber spatula and running it through the bowl. It came back with a good chunk of cookie dough on it.
“My mother always said that you’d get worms doing that,” I said, looking at Miss Vista as she stuck the entire spatula head into her mouth.
“Mmm mmmmm mm mmmm,” Miss Vista said in response.
Well, that was a convincing argument. I grabbed another spatula and got most of the rest of the cookie dough. It did taste good, especially the single, lonely chocolate chip that was mixed in with it. We looked at each other and started giggling.
A short time later, the cookies were baking in the oven and we got to the less enjoyable part of cooking and baking. Cleaning up. Thankfully, most of this stuff could just get a light spray and then be stuck in the dishwasher to take care of.
Miss Vista was helping me clean, to the extent that any help was needed. Mostly just putting stuff into the racks and compartments of the dishwasher as I handed them to her.
“I think these are going to taste good,” Miss Vista said, glancing behind her at the oven. “It’s been a while since I baked my own cookies.”
“And they’ll taste even better because we made all of the ingredients, instead of buying the cookie dough from the store,” I said, nodding my head. That was a firm belief I had, even if I might struggle to taste the difference (except for when they came just out of the oven and the chocolate chips were still warm and gooey. Store bought couldn’t begin to compare then.)
“Exactly,” Miss Vista said, glancing at the now thoroughly cool egg bread sitting on the counter. We should bag that up once we were done here. As a maid, I had to keep on top of every little thing in both of Miss Vista’s houses! “I’m sure the guys at work will love the ones I bring in.”
“Of course they will,” I said. Who wouldn’t enjoy some home baked chocolate chip cookies? “Tell me about it the next day I come over.”
“Of course, Taylor,” Miss Vista said, straightening up and wiping her hands clean on a towel. “Heck, maybe I can arrange for you to get one of the Premium Passes the PRT does, to get a special look at our level.”
“That could be nice,” I said, my mind barely engaging with my mouth. “Would it be okay if I bring a friend along?”
“Sure, if I can get two tickets,” Miss Vista said with a shrug. “No promises, mind.”
I nodded, keeping my face straight. Arg, I was suddenly feeling so guilty over asking Miss Vista to let Lisa into the Ward rooms. That would not be good for them. I didn’t know what sorts of things Lisa would find out if she had… however long the tour group would be in the rooms, but it was sure to be a lot. And it might be about Miss Vista as well, which wasn’t a very nice thought, either.
But, well… maybe it wouldn’t happen so I wouldn’t need to do anything about it! Yeah, that sounded like a good resolution to the whole problem. I nodded and grabbed a plastic bag to put the bread into, focusing way more on that then the task actually deserved.
“So, what do you want to do while we wait for the cookies to get done?” Miss Vista asked. “Let’s see, before Mom came home, we were…” she trailed off, a guilty, excited smile appearing in between two bright red cheeks.
“Yeah,” I said, blushing and smiling as well. “That was… nice.” I looked outside at the small yard they had. Nope, too overcast and gloomy to want to go outside. “Maybe we could…”
Pretty much before I knew it, the two of us were sitting in the loveseat in the living room. We were pressed together, though Miss Vista was small enough and I was skinny enough that we weren’t pressed too tightly together. It just felt… nice. Really nice. I smiled and wiggled around, realizing that it wouldn’t take much to rest my hand on Miss Vista’s lap. Or for her to do the same to me.
“Would you mind if I came over to your house sometime?” Miss Vista asked. “Or maybe you could come with me to the movies or something?”
“Um, not as a maid,” I said, blushing. The thought of Dad or the public seeing me wearing a maid costume was just… wow, okay, that was not a thought that was nice at all.
“Of course, of course,” Miss Vista said, smiling widely up at me. She had a nice smile. “Just, you know, you and me. You’d have to call me Missy, though.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding. “I… I wouldn’t mind that, Miss Vista,” I said, feeling my cheeks heating up and up as I looked down at her. “That sounds really nice.”
Miss Vista smiled up at me and rested her hand on my thigh. I could feel her pressing down against the skirt, her fingers less than an inch from where it ended and my knee began. I swallowed around a very large lump in my throat as I stared. She was staring back at me. There was a determined look in her eyes. I was reminded of what Brian had said once, about how every time she fought the Undersiders, she was a tougher opponent to beat and how even in an actual fight, she got more dangerous as time went on. I could see that look in her face right now, that drive.
So it didn’t come as a huge shock when she kissed me again. She squeezed down on my shoulder and pressed her lips right up against my face. I made a sound that was a bit of a squeak and a bit of a moan and I let her keep on kissing me.
It felt really good. Everything about today ever since Miss Vista had let me into her house had been good. And I was willing to bet that the next time I saw her would be just as good.
It was really nice, being Miss Vista’s maid.
|
Kate and Yelena weren't at the house, instead they were at Nat's little memorial area. Yelena looked like she was trying not to cry and Kate was trying not to hug the assassin. Yelena, it seemed, wasn't adverse to being touched but she really only wanted to be touched when she wanted it. And Kate was actually ok with that as she wasn't the most tactile person herself. Yet with how close the pair were having spent the whole day together it was a struggle to not physically comfort Yelena when she was upset.
The dogs were running around playing together, they didn't understand human grief and such which was ok. It was when they stopped and started barking back up behind them though that let the women know they weren't alone anymore. Kate and Yelena both turned at the same time just in time to see Lucky charge past them tail wagging. It was Clint and Wanda, both of them suited up. Kate inwardly thought her Christmas had come again already at the sight.
"Hey bud." Clint smiled gently and stooped to pat the dog. Wanda was looking at Yelena.
"I see you replaced the vest you gave her." Wanda commented and Yelena glances down at herself before frowning.
"You know who I am?" Yelena asks curiously.
"My s Natashey byli khoroshimi druz'yami. Ona rasskazala mne o tebe." Wanda offered with a soft smile.(Natasha and i were good friends, she told me about you.)
"Ona upominala vas ne raz. YA pochti podumal, chto ona na mgnoveniye vlyublena v tebya." Yelena tilted her head as did Wanda with a small frown.(She mentioned you more than once, i almost thought she was in love with you for a moment.)
"Deystvitel'no?" Wanda was decidedly intrigued by this.(Really?)
"Aga. U neye nikogda ne bylo otnosheniy, no ya vsegda chuvstvoval, chto ona bol'she podkhodit dlya zhenshchin." Yelena offered the assessment easily enough.(Yeah. She never had a relationship, but I always felt that she was more suited to women.)
"Eto rabotayet v sem'ye?" Clint asked the question pointedly though with a small smirk on his lips looking at Kate for a moment before looking back at Yelena.(Does that run in the family?)
"Well I'm officially out of the loop." Kate mumbled and ran her hand through her hair.
"Maybe it does." Yelena switched back to English for Kate's sake.
"I know you'd absolutely love it if it did." The blonde added a moment later with a smirk of her own.
"Yep. You're a brat just like she said." Clint rolled his eyes.
"So why are you here anyways?" Yelena asks getting back to business.
"I assume it's not a social call."
"Kate didn't tell you?" Clint seemed confused.
"We are here about your dreams." Wanda speaks up.
"How do you know about my dreams?" Yelena frowned and then looked at Kate who gave a sheepish look.
"It's weird to me that you've had them every night since you came back. So I mentioned the red guy to Clint." Kate explains apologetically.
"I think it's weird too which is kind of why you're the only person I've told about them." Yelena gave her a bit of a dark look.
"I know, I'm sorry little Spider, really. But what if they have meaning. I mean we live in a world where there are aliens and thunder gods and… and Wanda's. If it's more than just a dream we have connections to help figure it out now." Kate spoke rather emphatically willing Yelena to understand. Which she did obviously.
"Alright. It's ok." Yelena sighed but seeing Kate's small smile had her returning it.
"We do believe there is more meaning. Can you explain to us what it is you see in the dream though?" Wanda asks after a moment, she'd rather enjoyed the exchange between Kate and Yelena. They were cute.
"It was… like rolling hills but flat? And it was like it was always twilight, almost dark but not quite. It seemed almost purple. But there was a purple hue to everything. One big hill with a plateau at the top and clouds almost around the top. Nat was laying on the top plateau like she was dead still or maybe in some kind of coma. And the red guy was standing over her. It's always like I'm there and he keeps telling me I have to save her but I don't know how obviously." Yelena explains in a confused and somewhat shy kind of way.
"You've almost perfectly describes Vormir and the Red Skull who has been the guardian there for decades." Clint explains looking from Yelena to Wanda.
"We have to go. But I can't take us there. We need actual transport." Wanda says seriously looking to Clint.
"I'll call Bruce, maybe he knows how to contact Thor and Quill." Clint was already pulling his phone out of his pocket.
"We're obviously coming with you." Kate says firmly.
"Kate." Clint's tone was slightly warning even as he pulled up Bruce's number.
"No seriously. You're talking about possibly saving Natasha. There is no way we are sitting this out." Kate scowls at him.
"This is an off world trip." Clint reminds.
"This is Yelena's sister." Kate fires back.
"You can come." Wanda speaks up taking charge.
"Honestly Clint I've a feeling you're not getting one without the other and there is no chance Yelena would just sit and wait for word on whether this is a hopeless venture or not." Wanda says before Clint can argue.
"But Kate…" Clint says and Yelena shifts.
"Kate's done more for me, and for you, than just about anyone and I trust her. If… if this isn't as good of a turn out as it sounds out loud I'm going to need her." Yelena admits without looking at Kate who was definitely looking at her.
"Damn kids." Clint huffed and stepped away to make the call.
"Honestly you're sure this is … I mean I really tried when I snapped." Bruce looked at the four of them. They had actually returned to Melina and Alexei's home and left the dogs with the odd couple.
"I think when Steve took the stones back to their timelines it's likely that there was some sort of reversal. Or maybe more that she is there but that event didn't actually happen. We can't be sure until we get there but someone the Red Skull is reaching out to the person most on Nat's mind which is Yelena." Wanda explains to the best of her ability to Bruce. They were all waiting for the Guardians to arrive.
"But why didn't it work with the gauntlet?" Bruce still wasn't sure in the logistics of the stones.
"Because Nat was the price of the stone. I suppose there is some kind of Cosmic stipulation saying you can't sacrifice for the stone and then be bought back by it." Clint was frowning as well, this all still gave him a headache.
"And whose the kid?" Bruce looked to where Yelena and Kate were standing close together.
"That's Kate Bishop." Clint spoke as if that alone would explain everything.
"Yelena's… partner? Girlfriend?" Bruce was looking for more details.
"Clint's Partner. I do not believe these two are in any kind of relationship beyond close friendship." Wanda offered when Kate had blushed at the Hulks question.
"Clint's partner? A lady Hawkeye? I like it." Bruce grins brightly.
"See. Lady Hawk would have worked." Kate found her voice again to sass Clint.
"And Yelena's Nat's sister? I didn't know she had a sister." Bruce frowns a little realising he likely didn't know Natasha as well as he once thought and maybe that was a good thing but it sucked a little too.
"Yes. Look." Wanda looked from Bruce to the sky above the field as what was clearly a space ship came into view and made a direct path towards them.
Yelena was more than a little annoyed at being surrounded by so many Avengers but it was sort of worth it to see the complete and utter wonder on Kate's face as that spacecraft came down to land before them. Of course it was also worth it because this could potentially bring her sister back and though she wasn't exactly willing to really hope… there was definitely some there.
Having Kate so close though was a far bigger comfort than Yelena had anticipated. When she had gotten those texts the night of Christmas she really hadn't intended for much of anything to come of it. Perhaps a text based friendship at best, despite how much she really liked Kate after the first time they met on that rooftop. Yet the younger woman had surprised her with a little turn about and it had been… fun. Getting to know Kate, the younger woman was so playful and though she definitely had her moments she could be serious as well. Yelena had, along with the physical attraction, admitted to herself at least that Kate meant a great deal to her and she was definitely a source of comfort.
"Holy shit, little Spider, that's a walking talking Raccoon!" Kate nudged Yelena making the older woman look at the spaceship again, this time a group of people including one little Raccoon, were walking off of it.
"Holy shit, guys, it's a walking talking Moron." The comment, from said walking talking raccoon, was directed at Kate who flushed. Wanda stepped forward and nudged Yelena just as the blonde was about to speak.
"I really wouldn't be mean to Kate if I were you, Rocket… this ones over protective and Kate's just excited." Wanda's tone was firm even if her expression was on the gentler side.
"And just who is 'this one' that I should be so afraid of." Rocket folded his little arms over his chest looking entirely unintimidated.
"This is Yelena. She's Natasha's little sister and just as formidable." Clint speaks up.
"Nat has a little sister?" Thor, still with his long hair but clearly now in better shape, moved down to look at Yelena.
Yelena shifted under the scrutiny though and though she barely moved at all Kate seemed to pick up on it immediately and inserted herself between the Widow and the God. Thor looked a little surprised at this and shifted his attention to Kate. Kate didn't draw attention to the fact that Yelena was uncomfortable. Instead she held her hand out to the God of Hammers and smiled pleasantly.
"It's really cool to meet you." Kate chirped and Yelena couldn't help a little smirk. Wanda was once again watching the two.
"Uh, it's cool to meet you too…." Thor took Kate's hand and gave it a shake despite being entirely confused and looking at Clint.
"This is Kate. She's the new Hawkeye." Clint chuckles lightly.
"Nat had a little sister and you have an apprentice. Things have changed so much in a few short months." Thor stepped back grinning and Yelena and Kate both relaxed slightly.
"Pretty Crazy right?" Clint chuckles lightly ignoring the fact that if Tony and Steve were there it would almost be the whole gang back together. All but Nat. The one that kept them all together.
"So what's the situation? We got asked to loan you the Benetar." Peter Quill looks at Bruce and then Clint.
"Is it ok if we don't tell you why? We kind of just need to borrow it to check something and if nothing comes of it I…. I think it would be best if less people knew about it." Clint speaks up after a moment.
"You want me to just give you the ship and what? Hang out for a while?" Peter sneered at the idea.
"Well…. yeah. Nebula can show you guys around and Rocket and Thor can come with us." Clint nods after a moment and the others visibly deflated.
"Come on. I'll shout you guys to Tacos." Bruce chimed in brightly. Obviously they'd told him why they needed transport.
"Fine." Quill heaved and looked at Rocket.
"You're flying. Not Thor. We only just got her back from last time." Quill says firmly to the raccoon.
"Yeah yeah. No one pilots like me anyways." The arrogant creature brushed the comments off as everyone disembarked the Benetar.
Yelena grabbed Kate's hand and strode onto the space craft then without a second look. She was ready to get this on with and she was more than ready to be away from so many of these hero sorts. Of course she missed the way Wanda was still watching them with a little smirk and she really couldn't tell at all that Wanda was in her mind, nothing but curious. But had Yelena known that she may have curbed these thoughts of Kate where in Yelena was now completely taken with the younger woman.
"So are they like, together or?" Thor looked from Clint to Wanda and back again.
"No they are not." Clint frowned at the idea.
"Yet." Wanda added onto that before making her way onto the space craft behind the other two women.
"Yet? What do you mean yet? Wanda…" Clint frowned following the witch on.
Thor and Rocket exchanged a look before following after the others.
"I would admit this to exactly two people and one of them is presumably dead but i really don't think Spacetravel agrees with me." Yelena had stepped up beside Kate as the craft came out of warp and travelled steadily towards the planet before them. Vormir.
"Can i help at all?" Kate asked immediately and half turned from the view to the blonde.
"I don't think so." Yelena wrinkled her nose and Kate noted how she actually looked pale and sickly.
Without really putting much thought into it Kate gently gripped Yelena's arm and pulled her closer, the assassin turned then and pressed her face into Kates shoulder and drew in a deep breath. Kate didn't mind this for a few different reasons, the most important reason was that it seemed that Yelena relaxed more now she couldn't see where they were and was getting a nose full of Kates subtle perfume. Another reason may have been because the pair was finally on the same team and it made it much easier to admit to herself that she had feelings for Yelena.
"We are almost there. Rocket says we should strap in to land." Wanda seemed to appear beside them, startling Kate slightly but Yelena just let out a little groan and tilted her head to throw a glare at the witch while pressing her nose into the leather of Kates outfit.
"Sorry but only a couple more minutes and you can get out for a bit." Wanda promised the assassin easily.
"Hey what's that?" Kate was looking back out the window and a large yellow glow was approaching them rather quickly.
"Carol." Wanda smiled as she spoke the name glad it was a friend and not a foe.
"Danvers? Captain Marvel?" Kate sounded excited.
"Honestly you have to stop being so excited to see all these new heroes, you're going to give me a complex." Yelena huffed lightly, her tone teasing.
"But you're my favourite." Kate offered with a cheeky grin that Yelena responded to by rolling her eyes and moving towards the seats at the cockpit.
"You would be a cute couple. I hope Nat is alive just so she can experience the Chaos that Clint has had to deal with so far." Wanda commented and Kate blushed but didn't deny it.
"Well if anyone knows Chaos its you right?" Wanda chuckled at the sassy response before moving to the seats and strapping in with Kate. Carol waved to them and followed them down.
Making the descent into Vormir was easy enough, less turbulent than entering or exiting earths atmosphere even. It made Kate wonder how they would be able to breathe but Clint explained that it was likely that the planet made up the atmosphere depending on the person arriving's requirements. It was all in order to gain sacrifice for the stone which ultimately had always seemed to return to this place.
"Yelena. Finally you heed my call." The creepy guy appeared coming towards them as the group approached the plateau.
"Yeah I don't like you." Yelena deadpans easily.
"You're not meant to." The Red Skull returns.
"Good. Where is my sister? Where's Natalia?" Yelena was already over this.
"She is not awake. She will wake for you but take Clint with you. He was the last one she saw." The Red Skull moved aside to show several meters away a still rather comatose looking Natasha laying on the ground.
Clint and Yelena both didn't hesitate. They surged forward dropping down either side of Natasha and Yelena gathered her sister close, pulling her upper body into her lap as Clint reached out brushing dual tone hair from Nat's face. She looked no different from the day she had sacrificed herself. She was clearly asleep but this place seemed to have held her in some kind of stasis, she didn't deteriorate.
Wanda had lifted her hand the moment she had seen Natasha to stifle a gasp that quickly morphed into a sob. She adored Natasha, they had been such good friends in the past and she knew that without a doubt if Natasha had been around the Widow would have checked in on her, made sure she was ok after she had returned. It was a big part of why Wanda had so readily helped when Clint had gone to her. Yet the strangled sound of her sob drew the others to her.
Thor, Rocket and Carol all moved closer to Wanda, crowding her. Carols hand gently rest in the middle of Wanda's back, Rockets paw was patting her knee while Thor rest his hand on Wanda's shoulder all in a show of comfort, to let Wanda know that she had friends there, that they were all feeling the same or similar emotions in that moment. And Kate… Well Kate had never felt so out of place.
This wasn't for her. And it wasn't because she didn't want to be there. She did. But of these people Kate only knew Yelena and Clint and they didn't need her right now. She felt out of place and almost like she was intruding. But she stayed because she was friend to both Yelena and Clint and even if she knew they didn't need her, she stayed just in case. Regardless of how much of an outsider this moment made her feel.
|
When their shift ends an hour after he’d brought Chris back to the station, Eddie finally has a chance to look at his phone. He doesn’t particularly want to, doesn’t want to see the angry texts he’s sure Ana has left him. But he’s a grown ass man, he’s a father and a firefighter, he can deal with an angry ex-girlfriend.
They still need to talk, he’s not going to break up with her over text, but in his mind she’s already his ex.
He’s not oblivious, he was aware that Christopher wasn’t overly fond of Ana from the start. A part of him couldn’t help but try to wait it out though. She was everything his parents had wanted for him, being with her was the easy choice. Sure he wasn’t madly in love with her and Christopher wasn’t her biggest fan but he’d convinced himself that with time, things might work out.
He shouldn’t have bothered, though, because dating Ana had done nothing but hurt his son. He should have broken up with her the minute Christopher yelled at him and ran away to Buck. He should have known then and there that this would never work out.
But Eddie had been confused and trying to make something fit that just didn’t fit. So he hadn’t said anything and now here they were. He’d had to pick his son up from school in the middle of the day because his girlfriend made him cry.
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Eddie glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on Christopher who was starting to doze off, his emotionally taxing afternoon finally starting to set in. Seeing that Christopher was okay, Eddie pulled out his phone and opened his messages.
— 5 Unread Messages —
Edmundo, we have to talk about this.
Answer your phone.
Edmundo! You need to come back and explain to my boss that this was all a misunderstanding. They want to put an official complaint in my file if you move Christopher out of my class.
Edmundo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset Christopher. Please, let’s talk about this.
Seriously?! You’re ignoring me? Stop acting like a child and answer your phone.
Eddie rolled his eyes even as he felt anger burn under his skin. She’d made his son cry and she was worried about herself?! If that wasn’t bad enough, the downright condescending tone of her texts made him want to bare his teeth.
Eddie huffed out an angry breath before forcing himself to calm down so he could reply. He just wanted to get this over and done with.
Yes, we do need to talk. I’m not sure when, though. I’m taking Christopher home now.
Eddie debates just breaking up with her over text. It’s not exactly how he wants to do it but the thought that he could just send the text and have it all be over before he even gets home is tempting. Very tempting.
In the end, he just rolls his eyes again and puts his phone away, starting the truck. He’ll deal with Ana after he gets Christopher settled at home. It’s Friday, so Buck is going to be coming over for their weekly movie night. Not only that, but after seeing how upset Christopher was earlier, Buck had offered to stay the night. Christopher had been ecstatic, his earlier misery forgotten as he jumped at the chance for a Bucky sleepover.
Buck was going to pop back to the loft, get his things, and then meet them back at the house. Usually he came over a bit later, closer to dinner time, so they both had time to wind down after their shifts but Eddie knew Buck could tell just how much Christopher would benefit from a few more hours of Buck time.
Eddie pulled himself from his thoughts of Buck and his son, the two people he thought about the most, as he drove onto his street, the familiar form of his house coming into view.
He felt a frown tug at his lips, however, when he noticed that there was another familiar figure standing on his porch, her arms crossed as she glared at him through the window of his truck.
Christopher let out an unhappy huff when he noticed Ana and Eddie couldn’t help but agree silently with his son.
“Alright, bud, let’s get you inside,” Eddie said, trying to ignore the impatient form of his ex-girlfriend and focus on his boy.
Eddie climbs out of the truck without so much as a glance to Ana as he goes about getting Christopher unbuckled and out of the car. Christopher lets himself be carried and Eddie shoulders his backpack, grabbing his crutches before closing the door with his hip. He’ll just have to come back for his work bag.
Eddie walks up the path to his house, passing right by Ana and walking up the steps to his door. With an ease that only comes with practice, Eddie gets his keys out of his pocket and the door unlocked without dropping anything or anyone.
Figuring that Ana isn’t just going to go away like he so desperately wishes she would, Eddie begrudgingly lets her into the house. He sets Chris on the couch and continues to ignore Ana while he goes about getting Chris comfortable. He gets him a snack and puts on a movie that he knows will keep Christopher’s attention until Buck arrives.
Then, and only then, does Eddie finally acknowledge Ana.
“What are you doing here?” He asks, crossing his arms as her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Did you not get any of my texts?” Ana asks instead, reluctantly following Eddie when he moves into the kitchen and away from the living room where Chris is happily watching his movie.
“I did. Did you not get mine?”
A flash of annoyance crosses Ana’s face and Eddie knows she got his text. Knows that she knows he didn’t want her to come over just yet.
“I was already here when I got yours. I figured I would just wait and we could talk,” Ana replies, and Eddie has a feeling she’s not telling the complete truth.
“There’s not too much to talk about, really. You upset Christopher and quite frankly you upset me too. I realized this afternoon that this, us, isn’t going to work,” Eddie says. He wonders if he should be more upset, they had been dating for a couple months at this point, but this was honestly an easy decision and a part of him is glad that she gave him a reason to end things. He never would have wanted that reason to be his son’s hurt feelings but he can’t help but be glad that there finally was a reason.
“It can work, Edmundo,” Ana pleads, taking a step towards him. “You just need to take some time away from Buck. He’s making everyone confused.”
Eddie couldn’t help but snort. “You actually think I’d take a step away from Buck? Did you not listen to anything I said earlier? Buck is part of my family. He’s a crucial part of my family. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Edmundo,” Ana says, disapproval clear on her face. “You don’t seriously believe that Buck is better than me, do you?”
Eddie looked at her in disbelief. Seriously, did this woman not know anything? “Ana, let me make this clear to you. Buck is the second most important person in the world to me. There is no future of mine that does not include Buck. He is better than you and I will always choose him. He is my son’s other father and my…he’s my something.”
“You’re in love with him,” Ana accuses, looking like all the puzzle pieces are finally starting to come together. “You’re seriously dumping me for Buck?!”
Eddie just nods. “Yes, now will you please leave my house? Buck is coming over and I have a card to help my son make.”
For a moment Ana doesn’t move, just looks at Eddie in shock. She finally seems to snap out of it when she hears Christopher laugh in the next room at something on the TV.
“Edmundo—,” She starts, she can fix this. This doesn’t have to be the end. Edmundo will see that he’s making a huge mistake, that she’s better for him, better than Buck.
“It’s Eddie,” Eddie snaps, running a hand through his hair in frustration. God, he’d asked her so many times to just call him Eddie. He has no idea why she’d insisted on calling him Edmundo, something that everyone knows he hates. Only Abuela calls him that and even that is only when he’s getting a lecture.
“Sorry— Eddie,” Ana corrects, trying to keep her voice even. “I know you’re upset and that you don’t mean what you’re saying right now. Let me stay and make it up to you, I’ll make you dinner. Afterwards maybe we can have a drink and talk,” Ana’s obviously going for flirty but it just makes Eddie’s skin crawl. There’s only one person he wants to be flirted with by and said person is currently on his way over for movie night.
“No, Ana, you need to go,” Eddie replies firmly, hoping that she’ll just leave and he doesn’t need to call Athena. He’s not sure that he actually would but the thought is becoming more and more appealing.
Ana huffs. “Fine, I’ll go. But will you at least call Principal Meyers and explain the situation?” The way she asks the question, like she doesn’t think Eddie is going to say no is beyond baffling. Does she really think that he’s going to help her get out of a reprimand after she made his son cry?
“Uh, no, Ana, I’m not going to do that. You should be reprimanded, the way you acted today was beyond unprofessional. You never even apologized for making him cry! You think I’d actually help you?” Eddie can’t help the anger he can feel bubbling under his skin. He just wants her to leave.
“Everything okay in here?” At the sound of Buck’s voice Eddie feels the tension bleed out of him, visibility relaxing. Something that does not go unnoticed by Ana if the accusing narrowing of her eyes is any indication.
Ana turns around, directing her glare at Buck. Before Ana can say anything, though, Eddie is replying for her. “Everything is fine, Ana was just leaving.”
Ana huffs again, looking between Buck and Eddie and realizing that nothing she said or did was going to fix this situation for her. She’d already lost Edmundo; that is, if she’d ever really had him in the first place.
“Fine, I’ll go. Don’t call me when you realize that choosing Buck was a mistake,” She throws out the words, sneering at Buck as she brushes passed him, letting herself out of the house with a slam of the door.
Eddie clenches his fists at the way Ana’s words make Buck flinch. How she didn’t realize that choosing Buck was the easiest decision he’d ever made, he’d never understand. Why would anyone choose someone other than Buck?
“You okay?” Buck asks, breaking the silence as he comes to stand in front of Eddie. He’s so close yet so far.
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, reaching out a hand to catch one of Buck’s, smiling when the other man automatically intertwines their fingers. “I wasn’t expecting the ambush but at least it’s over with.”
Buck gives him a bright smile. “So I can have you all to myself now?” He asks playfully, only slightly hesitant.
Eddie feels a happy grin tug at his lips and pulls Buck down to meet him halfway, smiling into their first kiss.
“Yeah,” He murmured against Buck’s lips. “I’m all yours.”
“Good,” Buck breathes, raising a hand to cup Eddie’s cheek as he brings their mouths back together again.
In all the times that Eddie had allowed himself to consider what kissing Buck would be like he’d always thought that there would be fireworks, rushed confessions after a close call, or whispered words at a hospital bed. But here, kissing Buck in his kitchen, it feels effortless, right, like coming home.
They break apart at the sound of Christopher’s laugh and the low murmur of the movie Eddie had put on.
They smile at each other before Eddie is tugging at their still intertwined hands. “Come on. Let’s go cuddle our son.”
The answering smile he receives is bright, happy, and full of love.
|
As Ranboo enters the kitchen, the conversation quickly trails out, with both of his boyfriends looking at him. Something about Tubbo's expression is concerning to Ranboo, why was he looking at him like that- "Morning Ran!" Tommy says with a smile, but his eyebrows are slightly drawn, as if he's worried about something. "Morning… what're you guys talking about?" Ranboo says hesitantly, sitting down in the seat next to Tubbo.
"Ah nothing, don't worry about it Boo, how'd you sleep?" Tommy says, placing a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of him, the same half smile set on his face. "I slept fine, why are you guys acting all weird?" Ranboo says, watching Tubbo look at Tommy with a 'you gonna tell him?' look.
Tommy shoots back a glare then sighs, smiling at Ranboo. "It's nothing, don't think about it." There's a bit of silence before Tubbo clears his throat, tapping a small beat on the table with his fingertips. "Anyway, today you're going to see Phil, yeah?" Ranboo nods with the piece of toast sticking out of his mouth.
"Yeah, I think he said this is mostly just a daddy kink, so it should be easy." He finishes his toast and starts to go for his eggs, they were even crispy on the ends, just how he likes it, and he only gets that when they need to say something. What is going on?
Tubbo hums then looks at his phone, sighing and standing up. "I gotta go, I'll see you two later ok?" Tubbo gives Ranboo a kiss on the head that lingers a bit longer than they usually do, and gives Tommy a kiss on the cheek, before leaving the kitchen. Tommy lets out a sigh that has the weight of the whole world behind it before turning to Ranboo.
"So, want me to help you pack?"
°-----°
Ranboo takes a deep breath and knocks his knuckles against the door three times, stepping back slightly after doing so. "This is definitely gonna be something.." Ranboo mutters to himself, looking idly at the houses around as he waits.
After about a minute of waiting he hears some clambering behind the door before it opens, showing a wide-smiling Kristen. "Ranboo!" She exclaims, pulling Ranboo into a bone crushing hug. Ranboo laughs and hugs back as much as he can with his arms slightly grappled. "H-Hi Kristen, can I grab my stuff before you hug me to death?" He says with an exaggerated strained voice.
"Oh, yeah haha!" Kristen says, letting him go so he can then grab his suitcase and bring it inside, toeing off his shoes since he's near the door. Once he finishes that, he turns around and holds his arms out to Kristen, letting her continue her hug. She sighs as she lets him go, walking over to the kitchen and making a beckoning gesture.
"Want anything to drink?" She asks while pouring herself a glass of water from the tap. Ranboo shakes his head while sitting at the table, wringing his hands together underneath the table. "Suit yourself." Kristen says with a shrug before sitting down across from Ranboo, smiling at him while taking a sip of water.
After her sip she laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners as her whole body jumps with the laugh. "Ranboo, I'm not gonna eat you, relax." She says while giving a playful kick to his ankle. Something about that alone makes him uncross his constantly tensing and untensing legs. "S-Sorry, I'm just a bit nervous I guess." He stammers out, continuing to rub his hands together, placing them on the table in front of him.
Kristen tilts her head and takes another sip of water. "Don't be, we're still gonna be respecting what you said about who does what. And on top of that, we're gonna take it slow." She lays a hand on top of Ranboo's clasped together ones. "Do you think getting changed now would help?" Ranboo hums and nods his head, scooting his chair back to stand.
"Yeah, I wanna get used to the clothes and everything." Kristen nods, reaching under the table and pulling out a small plastic bag, holding it out to Ranboo. "Here, everything should fit by the way." She says with a smile. Ranboo takes the bag with a small thank you and walks off to the bathroom.
Once inside, Ranboo opens the bag and feels his body grow slightly warm at the sight. Pulling out the soft grey skirt he holds it up to himself and looks in the mirror. It looks like it'll sit nice on his waist, maybe if he tucks in the shirt a bit the bottom would sit just below his ass. It'll make you look feminine. A voice hisses in the back of his mind, not now, this is the worst time. It's true though isn't it? It'll make you look feminine, and you know it will. Maybe that's why Phil wanted you to wear it, so you can finally dress like the girl you are. Such a faker.
Ranboo knows that isn't true. He knows it's not, but he still can't help the way he shoves the skirt back in the bag with rushed hands. He claps his hands over his ears while screwing his eyes shut, listening to his heartbeat in his own head. He takes a few deep breaths, counts to one hundred using only even numbers and sighs. It's been awhile since he's had a dysphoria spat, but he knew this wasn't going to be the last time, so he should probably take it slow.
"Alright, definitely no skirt yet." He mutters to himself, pulling his shirt off instead and turning away from the mirror before he can even catch a glance of his surgery scars. He knows they're there, but they won't bring him the usual euphoria they usually do right now. Pulling the white sweater out of the bag a small shiver goes through him as he notices that it's actually a crop top, not a full sweater
"Of course." He says with an eye roll. He slides on the sweater, deciding to bite the bullet and peek at himself in the mirror. And,
Huh. He didn't look all too bad. His hair was tossed the wrong way a tiny bit, and the sliver of tummy you could see was throwing him off a tad but other than that, not bad.
Turning at different angles in the mirror he adjusts the straps of his (requested) black panties and pulls them over his hip bones. Holy hell that was a really nice touch. Leaning over the sink slightly with an arm propping himself up, he fixes his hair in the mirror before leaning back again. He does a few more turns and poses before watching his reflection gain a soft smile. He looked… really good.
He hums happily before putting his discarded shirt in the bag, tying it closed before leaving the bathroom. Once he turns the corner he sees that Phil finally made his way downstairs. He's talking to Kristen near the kitchen table, standing up while leaning against the island. Once Ranboo takes another step, making the floor creak underneath him, Phil looks up to see Ranboo, his mouth falling open.
"Holy shit Mate…" Phil mumbles, setting the water bottle he was holding down before stepping close to Ranboo, reaching for his waist before hesitating. "Is it ok if I touch you?"
Now any other time it would be an almost immediate 'yes', but something sour trickles down his spine at the question. He knows the dysphoria is gonna be there almost all day, but getting physical touch always helps…
"Just.. avoid my chest for right now, maybe?" Phil nods and lets his hands mold into Ranboo's waist, hands cold yet warm. Ranboo shivers at the contact and lets Phil pull their hips together, heart skipping a beat at the twitch in Phil's pants at the contact. "Sorry for not putting on the skirt.." Ranboo then remembers something. "Is it ok that I didn't, Daddy?"
He can feel Phil twitch once again, slightly cold hands rubbing up and down his sides, thumbs tracing over his old scars from when he was a kid. "Fuckin' hell Ranboo. Yeah, yeah you're good. As long as you're comfortable." Phil's right hand dips under Ranboo's waistband near his hip. "Is this ok?"
Ranboo nods and shifts back and forth on his legs, feeling slightly warmer now, shivering slightly once Phil feels under the bandline. His thumb brushes over the front of his panties, feeling back up the small trail of hair that leads to his stomach. "You're so pretty Ranboo, genuinely." Phil says into the air between them. Ranboo feels his voice get caught in his throat, deciding to move his hands that were hovering nervously over Phil's shoulders, he clamps them down.
He hums before finally finding his voice. "Thank you Daddy." Ranboo has to hold back a laugh at the groan Phil lets out. Seems like he's really riled up. "God, Ranboo please say I can eat you out, it doesn't have to be now but please."
Oh. Um, ok.
"Y-Yeah you-" Ranboo thinks for a second. "Actually, wait a second." He looks back to the kitchen to see Kristen long gone, he was so invested in Phil he didn't even notice her leave. With a small smile he pulls Phil by the hand over to the dining room table and pulls a chair out for him making it face the center island before patting it twice, prompting Phil to sit down.
Ranboo smiles and walks to the other end of the counter, suddenly having enough confidence to pull down his sweatpants and put the bag with the skirt on the counter. He grabs the skirt and takes a deep breath before pulling it on, making sure to fix his underwear straps after. Ranboo can definitely feel Phil's eyes on him as he walks back to him, tossing the bag into the living room area.
He hops up onto the counter in front of Phil and crosses his legs, a small bit of pride sparking in him as he sees Phil's eyes flicker down before meeting Ranboo's eyes again. He giggles. "Hi Daddy." Phil sighs shakily and smiles at Ranboo. "Hey Boo."
Ranboo looks down and sees Phil straining in his pants, hands turning white while holding onto the arms of the chair to not touch it. "So, I want you to do a eensy-weensy thing for me, ok Daddy?" Phil nods like he just got told he can cure world hunger, Ranboo laughs at the excitement.
"So I," Ranboo presses his fingertips to his chest, moving with ellagance. "Want you," He points his right leg out to Phil. "To jerk yourself off before you eat me out." He drops his arms down and grips the edge of the counter, uncrossing his legs and kicking them back and forth slightly. "You think you can do that Daddy?"
Phil nods and rushes to pull himself out of his pants, pulling a small bottle out of his pocket and squirting some lube into his palm. Ranboo laughs. "Daddy, you perv! Did you have that ready for me?" Phil groans at the degrading tone and laughs ashamedly. "Can you really blame me Baby? You're fucking gorgeous, of course I'm gonna think like that."
Ranboo blushes slightly and smiles. Something about the slight power over Phil he's been given is very addictive, he's happy they agreed on that. He's pulled out of his thoughts as Phil groans, moving his hand slightly faster. "Jeez Daddy, I'm not even doing anything and you're that riled up over me? You really are a perv."
Phil moans as his hips snap up into his fist for a second from the words. "Baby please-" Ranboo rolls his eyes teasingly. "'Please' what Daddy? If you wanna get to this," Ranboo says while spreading his legs, knowing damn well Phil can get a glance up his skirt. "All you have to do is cum. I'm not even holding you back."
The sounds of Phil's groans and thrusts into his slick fist grow louder. Ranboo's having a bit of a hard time keeping his composure and not pouncing right on him, but he knows it's for the better, he knows Phil likes being teased like this. "Fuck, I can't wait till I'm in you Ranboo," Phil moans, rubbing his thumb over his slit. "I'm gonna fuck you so fucking good, fuck."
Ranboo smiles and crosses his legs again, ignoring the constantly growing warmth in his lower region. "I'm sure you'll feel amazing Daddy, all you have to do is cum for me."
Something about Ranboo's words must've tipped him off, cause next thing he knows Phil's thrusting into his fist, cum spurting out of him as he groans. Ranboo giggles at the display and hops off the counter. "A bit of a quickshot hm?" Ranboo says, dropping down onto his knees in front of Phil and grabbing the hand that was wrapped around himself before licking the semen off, groaning at the taste.
Ranboo had always been a bit of a whore for cum.
Phil chuckles and scratches the back of his head with his hand while the other caresses Ranboo's face. "Sorry Baby, I've been a bit pent up since you agreed to come over. Plus, I don't have amazing stamina." Ranboo hums and nuzzles into Phil's hand. "It's ok Daddy, you can still fuck me later." Ranboo says with a wink, standing back up.
"But I can still eat you out now, yeah?" Phil says, trying to hide his excitement but failing miserably. Ranboo begins to respond but feels that same sliver of doubt, of discomfort. It's dumb, and it shouldn't bother him, he shouldn't let it bother him- "Um, a-actually I, changed my mind. I'm really sorry, I just, n-not right now, I don't think I can-"
"Ranboo, mate, it's ok, seriously. I asked for a reason." Phil says while standing, grabbing Ranboo's once again wringing hands and squeezing them. "If you wanna do something else we can, I'm completely fine with that, ok?" Phil tilts his head into Ranboo's drifting line of sight, making the boy jump and nod.
He didn't even notice he wasn't making eye contact, he hadn't done something like this in a while. Well, he also hadn't felt this bad in months. Let alone with gender dysphoria on top of it. And it's not like eye contact was his strong suit when it came to stressful situations, he always got in trouble for that sort of thing.
It's fine, he was fine.
Ranboo feels a slight tug in his hand and follows Phil to wherever he's dragging him. They end up in his streaming room, which confuses him because he definitely didn't say that he was streaming with him here. Phil must notice this slight change in mood from Ranboo. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not streaming today." Phil says with a laugh, letting go of Ranboo's hand and sitting down in his chair near his desk. "I thought you probably need a brain break, so you can just sit in my lap while I work." He pauses, then notices that Ranboo hasn't moved from the door. "If you want to, that is." He hastily adds on.
Ranboo's in a bit of a state of shock at that. Sure, he knew Phil wasn't going to force him to do anything, but this seemed oddly.. domestic. And he wasn't complaining, he was just a bit lost. Ranboo mutely nods and after closing the door and goes over to Phil, getting himself adjusted in his lap.
It takes a minute because of his legs, but once he's situated he rests his head on Phil's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his torso. "Aw, look at you, you're just a big ol' teddy bear aren't cha?" Phil says with that classic little laugh, warming Ranboo's insides and making him cuddle closer.
"Yeah, you definitely are, just one big lanky cuddle bug." Phil lets a hand rest on Ranboo's lower back, rubbing up and down idly. "I'm just gonna be editing a video, so feel free to get up and move if you need anything ok?" Ranboo nods into his neck.
He probably won't get up to get anything. He feels more than comfortable right here in Phil's lap. The constant motion of the hand rubbing up and down his lower back, the little hums that Phil would do every now and then, the near silent sound of the PC fans wirring. Maybe domestic wasn't the right word, it was more, home-ish. Like this is something a kid could come back to every day. Now of course he didn't actually see them as parent figures cause he has his own parents (and it would be kinda weird to fuck your parents), but there was still something nice.
And he would be damned if he ever admitted to anyone that him using 'Daddy' and 'Mommy' was for any reason other than sexual ones. No one had to know that. Certainly not the person whose lap he's sitting in.
But even as the world around him gets quieter, lack of sleep taking him over, he does know that this sense of comfort, of home, he hasn't felt in a while, even with Tommy and Tubbo to an extent. Not that they don't make him feel safe and wanted, but not in this sense.
And the last thing he can think of before he fully drifts off, is how much more it's gonna hurt when he goes back to the US.
"Ivory!" A voice booms from outside of his room, making him pull out his other earbud. He wasn't even supposed to be listening to music while working, but he hasn't been caught quite yet so he sees no reason to stop.
He hops out of his bed and leaves his room. Looking around he sees no one in the hall, meaning it came from downstairs. Oh boy. He feels a familiar pit start to form in his stomach as he makes his way down the steps. Turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs he sees his Dad sitting on the couch, some kind of paper in his hands. Even better.
Ranboo walks to him, standing to the right of his vision so he doesn't block his dad's view of the TV. Ranboo swallows and forces himself to look at his Dad's face, even though his mind is screaming at him to look anywhere else. "Y-Yes?" Fuck him for stuttering, that just shows that he's scared, he can't show that with him.
His dad hums and turns down the TV before tossing the remote away, finally looking at Ranboo with those same boring grey eyes stop looking at me- "Can you tell me what this is, Ivory?" Ranboo's eye twitches at the sound of that name, face scrunching in discomfort. Looking at the paper his father is holding out, it looks like, the mortgage papers?
"It's the receipt for the mortgage?" How is this something bad? Why was his dad using the 'you did something wrong' voice for him paying off the house's mortgage? His Dad hums and nods, turning the paper back around to himself before holding it out to Ranboo. "See anything wrong with it?"
Ranboo strains his eyes to try and look at it before his Dad shakes it towards him, prompting him to take it. He hesitantly steps forward and takes the paper, resisting the screeching urge to step back and looks over the paper. The payment's to the right card, it's their house, it's totalled off to zero.. everything seems right.
"I.. don't see what's wrong." Ranboo says, handing the paper back to his Dad, who makes no attempt to grab it. "Look at it again, check the payment details." Ranboo hesitates before looking at the paper once again. Credit details… payment number… card na- oh, right. He did it on his personal card, not his business one.
"Is… Is it about the name?" Ranboo says, forcing eye contact once more, seeing the bored filter leave his father's eyes, disappointment replacing the previous emotion. "It is, Ivory. Now, why does it say that instead of your real name? I thought we said don't change stuff like that without our permission." 'We' didn't say anything, you said don't do that. You're the only one that doesn't support me.
"You did.." Ranboo murmurs, making the mistake of letting his eyes drift to the side of him. His Dad snaps his fingers at Ranboo, making him flinch and snap his eyes back. "Eyes on me, don't make me tell you twice. Now, if we said 'don't do something', what makes you think you have the right to go off and do it anyways?" Ranboo can feel his hands itching to grab at his arms, he instead clasps them behind his back and rubs his thumbs over his own skin. Calm down, just calm down.
"I didn't mean anything by it, I'm sorry. I just-" "'I'm sorry', who?" His Dad spits, a clear frown set on his face. Ranboo can see the ticking time-bomb in that gaze, every word is making it closer and closer to detonation. "I-I'm sorry, Sir." More time gets added to the clock and his dad leans back against the couch, nodding. "That's better. Now, I don't even want to begin to hear the excuse you have for that. I'll let this slide since it's your account,"
Wait, he's letting him keep it? He's never- "But." There's the hunch.
"We're putting Life360 back on your phone for a week, got it?" He says, Ranboo nodding in response. That wasn't too bad, he's hardly used his phone except for- wait. How the fuck is he gonna get around his Dad seeing his dm's from Tubbo and Tommy? They've been dating for a bit now, maybe he can just delete it on his phone? No, cause he needs it for streaming, hm, he'll figure it out.
"Yes Sir, I understand." Ranboo says. "Good, now get out of here." Ranboo nods and walks away, hands coming up to his chest and shaking with joy that he got off with a relatively light punishment. "Have your phone on the table when your work is done, ok?" Ranboo shoots back a quick 'yes Sir' from the bottom of the stairs before taking two at a time back up to his room.
Maybe things are changing, slow progress, but it's still progress. Next is working on getting him to actually use his name. Slow and steady wins the race, or whatever.
Ranboo opens his eyes to soft humming and occasional terrible beatboxing. Groaning and rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye with a yawn he sits back and sees Phil's face, making brief eye contact with a smile before looking back at the screens. "Hey sleepyhead, how was the rest?" Phil hums, Ranboo yawning again.
"It was good, you're a good pillow." Ranboo says, finishing rubbing his eyes once again before turning around in Phil's lap, looking at the monitors. An open editing screen fits his vision, clips and footage sitting nicely on the timeline, he hasn't seen something like this on his own computer for awhile. "Well I'm happy to oblige. So, whatcha feeling?" Phil asks, watching the taller melt off his lap and onto the floor.
Once he's there, he rests his head on Phil's left leg, cheek rubbing against his thigh before he looks up at Phil. "I just wanna be down here for a minute. 'S warm.." Phil chuckles and lets a hand thread into his hair, idly scratching at his scalp. Ranboo feels like if he could purr he would. "Well, as long as you're comfy and everything, Bubs."
Ranboo whines softly at the nickname and presses his face more into Phil's thigh, the older man laughing at the action. "Cute."
They fall into a small bit of silence after that, Phil humming every now and then while continuing to work with one hand. At one point, the discord call ringtone rings out over Phil's speakers. Once he answers it he hears Phil plug his headphones in, Wilbur and Techno's voice now muffled under the speakers.
Humming, Ranboo suddenly gets a very, very good idea. He lets his hands slide up Phil's legs, finally reaching his thighs and squeezing the skin there. He can hear Phil's talking stutter for a moment, before passing it off as a cough, giving Ranboo a look. The boy gives Phil the best wide doe eyes he can, even batting his lashes with the small smile he gives.
The innocent look means absolutely nothing as his right hand continues to slide up his thigh and palm over Phil's slowly hardening cock. Phil looks down at the boy once again just to see him give a small grin, tugging at the older's pants. He mouths the word 'off' at Phil, which of course he hesitates at, but eventually raises his hips and lets Ranboo pull his pants and boxers off.
Ranboo hadn't expected it to be this easy, but he was definitely liking the way this was going. Ranboo keeps his eyes up as he hesitantly takes the tip of Phil's cock into his mouth, kitten licking the slit. Phil cuts himself off midway through a sentence, breath catching in his throat as he coughs into his fist. Ranboo giggles at this.
"Daddy, calm down. You don't wanna give me away, do you?" Ranboo whispers, kissing along the length of Phil's now fully hard dick. Phil huffs and hits something on his keyboard before fully looking down at the other, the hand in his hair pulling to guide his head back. "Look, I'm not gonna play the teasing game with you, ok? So, you either suck me off now and wait down there till I'm done with the call, or you cockwarm me with that pretty little mouth of yours till the end of the call. What's your choice?"
Oh. Jesus Christ. That had no right being half as hot as it was. He weighs his options for a second before finally deciding. Scooting closer, he takes the head of Phil's cock back in his mouth and continues to slide down, finally stopping once he reaches the base. Phil sighs then chuckles. "Yeah, I expected as much, fits a cute thing like you. Now stay still, ok?" Ranboo whines at the subtle praise before leaning his head on Phil's thigh, mentally preparing himself for a lot of waiting.
Now this wasn't Ranboo's first rodeo at this kinda thing (it was under much worse pretenses the first time around), but the call also went on for a while. And Phil didn't fully ignore him, he would keep combing his fingers through his hair and itching at his scalp occasionally, but other than that all he had was his thoughts, which were cloudy and heavy at the same time.
Ranboo wasn't a whore per-say, but he definitely had a thing for having stuff in his mouth, he's known that since he was a kid. Oral-fixation, he remembers vaguely hearing that one time. Yeah, yeah that must be it. Because his head is so far up in the clouds that he can't even focus on the slight ache in his jaw from holding it open for so long, it fades with everything that may be happening in the room.
What does catch his attention is the hand in his hair fully pulling him back, making him whine and open his eyes. When did he close them? "Yeah, I know, I know, but I gotta make sure you don't get lockjaw. So close." Phil says, now holding Ranboo's chin with his other hand and making him close his mouth.
"Good boy, now open again." Ranboo was going to anyway, but as if Phil can hear his every thought, he presses a thumb into his mouth and guides his jaw open with the thumb pressed against his tongue. And it was perfect, and it felt so nice to have that weight back, and he wants it there forever don't take it away-
"Hm, I was right, you do just like having things in there huh?" Phil says, but it's not really a question, and he's aware it's not. Nonetheless Ranboo still whines, opening his magically closed eyes and forcing his eyes to focus on Phil. The older man coos. "Poor thing, you're so out of your own head, aren't you? Aw, don't worry, I'll take good care of you ok?"
Ranboo nods, shivering at the feeling of the rest of Phil's fingers caressing his jaw. "Now, c'mere, scooch up." The older man guides Ranboo's mouth back to his cock, he kinda forgot about that, letting his thumb leave his mouth. "You still in the mood to take care of this Bubba?" Ranboo nods so hard he thinks his head might fall off his shoulders. "Pff, ok, ok calm down. Here, just.."
Phil grabs his head with both hands, pulling him forward until his lips are wrapped around his cock once more. Ranboo groans around the head and adjusts his arms, hooking them under Phil's thighs and taking in the rest of the mass, the both of them moaning at the feeling. "God, someone's eager, huh?" Phil says, already slightly breathless.
Ranboo hums in affirmation, swallowing once and bathing in the long drawn out groan Phil gives at the action before starting a slow pace of pulling his head back, to where just the head is in his mouth before sinking back down to the base. "Fuck me, you really like having stuff in your mouth, mm."
Ranboo hums again, already getting addicted to the feeling of Phil's cock twitching in his mouth from the vibrations. Phil must appreciate it to cause the hands in his hair start to tighten their grip and begin to guide Ranboo up and down for a slightly faster pace. "Mm, yeah, there you go Hun, just- fuck, just like that."
They fall into a bit of a simple pace after that, Phil would occasionally make him go faster, pulling his head up and down more rapidly. "God, such a good boy- fuck, taking my cock so well, mm-!" Ranboo slides his right arm from underneath Phil's slightly trembling thigh and lets it slip between his thighs, rubbing at his clothed cunt.
It was only a matter of time before he started pleasing himself, the constant push and pull down his throat, Phil's hands scratching across his scalp, the praise flowing from his lips. It was so much, too much to not do anything. The panties were slightly damp on the outside, he could feel more leave his body as he continued to rub at himself through the cloth.
His own ministrations make him whine and huff through his nose even more, making Phil handle him faster and rougher. "Fuck, Ran- Ranboo I'm close, fuck. You're gonna take every fucking drop, understand?" Ranboo looks up at him and hums a 'mhm', making the man nearly claw into his scalp.
Phil comes with a groan and Ranboo's name on his lips, his hips grinding up into the boy's mouth as cum spills down his throat, completely blocking off his airways. It felt so good, it was a bit hard to swallow it all down but he did. After the orgasm was over, Ranboo taps at Phil's thigh, lungs now burning from lack of oxygen.
"Ah, sorry Mate." Phil lets go of Ranboo, the boy pulling back and coughing harshly, finding it a bit difficult to catch his breath. "Woah woah, easy there Ran, come on. Breathe in, in for me." Ranboo finds a space between his coughing to finally take a deep breath in, nearly choking on his breath as he does so. "Now out." Ranboo breathes out and is eventually able to catch his breath.
He laughs weakly. "S-Sorry, bad lungs y'know?" He says with a little cough, rubbing his palm across his sore chest, aching from how hard he was trying to hack his lungs out. And though it hurts in a bad way, Ranboo keeps rubbing at himself, feeling the slick against his fingers. Why was he so riled up over this?
His head hits Phil's thigh, mouth huffing out hot breaths against his skin as he finally pulls his panties to the side and rubs against his folds. "Uh, Ran, You ok?" Phil says, rubbing a hand on Ranboo's shoulders, he shivers and whines, tilting his head up to meet Phil with pleading eyes. "Daddyy, please- I need you please."
Something hot yet dangerous sparks in Phil's eyes, and he nods. "Alright c'mon, up." Ranboo groans but forces the hand from in-between his legs, planting them on Phil's thighs to help him stand up. Once he does Phil does too, grabbing Ranboo's hand and leading them to the bedroom.
Before they get there, Kristen walks out of the bathroom and notices them. "Ah, just the boys I was looking for! How are you two doing?" She asks, standing in front of the two of them with a smile. Something about the situation was very arousing to Ranboo. Kristen just talking to them as if Ranboo wasn't being taken to get his mind fucked out of him. It was nice in a way, good secrecy.
"We're good, just going to do something real quick." Phil says, making Kristen hum and give him a kiss on the cheek, standing on her tippy-toes and giving Ranboo one as well. "Well, dinner's gonna be ready in a bit, spaghetti with garlic knots, good?" Ranboo's eyes light up as he nods, prompting a giggle from Kristen.
"Alright, I'll probably be done by the time you are. Now have fun you two!" Kristen gives Ranboo one hand squeeze before heading downstairs, presumably to the kitchen. That, was really nice. Really home-ish again.
Pulling him out of his thoughts, Phil pulls him along to their bedroom, it's very very basic, nice, but basic. "Go ahead and lay down how you want to Bubbs." Phil says softly, giving Ranboo a pat on the ass for encouragement. Ranboo laughs at the gesture and sits on the edge of the bed, shuffling his feet across the floor.
Phil sits next to Ranboo, deciding to not touch him just in case. "So, do you want anything specific, or do you just want me to wing it?" Ranboo thinks for a second before coming up with an idea. He wants healthy ways of doing this, so why not tackle a position he's been dreading for awhile.
"Can you scoot back a tiny bit and open your legs?" He asks softly, making Phil quirk an eyebrow. "Is this some weird backwards way for you to just suck me off again?" Ranboo sputters then laughs while shaking his head. "No! Why would you- ok, thanks for the clear and obvious trust in me Daddy." He muses, readjusting himself so he's in-between Phil's legs once he scoots back.
Phil holds his hands up in faux defense. "Hey, I didn't say all that, I was just making sure." Ranboo hums a laugh and takes a deep breath, he can do this. "So," He starts, grabbing Phil's hands from where they were, bunched in the blankets. "This one can go here," He says while wrapping Phil's left arm around his waist. "That's mostly cause I squirm a lot. This one," Ranboo takes his other hand and makes it slide between his legs, feeling over his panties. "Can go there.. I really want you to finger me, they're just, really big so, yeah."
Ranboo's breath hitches as Phil's fingers rub over him, his index rubbing circles into his clit, making his hips stutter forward. He lets his hand dip under the band and feels over the slickness with his own fingers, Ranboo melting into Phil as a response, the feeling of someone else doing it was always so much nicer.
"Is it ok if I take these off Hun?" Phil says, pulling at the band of his panties. Ranboo hums a 'mhm' and lifts his hips so Phil can pull them off. "God Ran, You're fucking soaked." Ranboo gasps then keens as Phil finally pushes a finger into him, rubbing at his cocklet with his thumb. "Oh my- Daddyy, god- fuck me." It for some reason was a lot harder to think, the pleasure clouded his mind pretty fast, making it so he could hardly think of how he was acting, which was very whorish.
Phil's chuckle vibrates right against his ear when his head falls back against the older man's shoulder. "You like the way I feel, Baby? Like the way Daddy's making you feel?" Ranboo moans again, open-mouthed and breathy as the finger in him begins to move in and out. "YesS! Yes Daddy I do- ohh it's so good Daddy, I love it so much. Please keep- mm, keep going."
Phil hums some kind of affirmation against the side of his neck and adds another finger while slightly speeding up. "You're doing so well for me Ranboo, and you look and sound so fucking gorgeous, just keep enjoying the pleasure."
Now that, Ranboo could do. Do nothing but mewl and moan as Phil fingered him, crooking his fingers up every now and then. It was so good, much better than the last time he was like this.
A cry is torn out of him as a third finger is added, making his hands, which were fisted in the sheets, grab onto Phil's thighs and squeeze. "F-Fuck, Daddy! 'M close, please Daddy, please make me cum- please!" Ranboo whines, feeling the fingers in him move faster.
"Ok Baby, go ahead, cum nice and pretty for me." Phil murmurs against his neck, crooking his fingers up one more time while his thumb rubs at Ranboo's clit. And that breaks him, he shakes, his orgasm crashing into him like a tsunami, slick squirting out of him as the word 'Daddy' flows from his lips over and over. Phil is very happy that he came not too long ago, cause he would've most definitely got hard from that.
After a bit when Phil notices his breath has calmed down he pulls his fingers out, Ranboo whining at the action. The two sit there for a moment, Phil humming random songs while hugging Ranboo close to his chest. And he suddenly felt small. Well, not literally, but in the sense that everything, everyone else in the world was gone. Everything that was happening was right here in this house alone, that the paternal energy he was feeling was real, and he was loved and cared for and he wouldn't get hurt, he wouldn't wake up to the smell of alcohol-
And then he feels tears sliding down his face, and he snaps himself out of his spiral and wipes at his face. "Daddy 'm hungry." Ranboo murmurs, the feeling is still there, but on a small scale. "Well, I'm sure Kristen's done by now, wanna go and check?" Ranboo rubs at his eye and yawns, squirming to get out of Phil's grip.
"Actually, can I have some sweatpants first? I wanna change out of this skirt." Phil nods and goes over to a dresser, pulling out some grey sweatpants and giving them to Ranboo. Once he puts them on and pulls the skirt off, Phil grabs his hand and leads the two of them downstairs.
The dinner was already done so they started to eat pretty quick. It was nice, that feeling of smallness and home sitting in his stomach all dinner, making him feel warm. He hadn't felt like that in such a long time that he also felt lost, the feeling was familiar but he couldn't quite pin where it was from.
Picking up his plate he stands up and takes it over to the sink, taking the sponge and soap as if on instinct and starting to clean the dishes. Kristen makes a noise then bumps him to the side with her hip. "Nu-uh, you're not doing the dishes, mister. What are you trying to get, allowance?" She says jokingly, grabbing the sponge from his hand.
Ranboo's lost, why wouldn't he do the dishes? "I-I mean I'm supposed to clean my stuff, I got it dirty.." Phil puts his stuff in the sink then grabs Ranboo's hand, pulling him towards the table. Oh, he wants help cleaning. "Yeah, well you're also a guest. The only guest we make clean up their stuff is Tommy, and that's cause he's a gremlin." Phil jokes, giving the remaining dishes to Kristen and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"B-But-" Kristen splashes some soap at him by flicking her hand at him. "No 'but's! You're not doing anything and that's final, now go and get ready for bed with Daddy." Something about the way the nickname flows so easily off her tongue, for some reason, makes the small feeling in his stomach grow. He mutters a small "yes, ma'am" under his breath and lets Phil take his hand and guide him upstairs.
What were they doing to him?
They get ready for bed pretty easily, he changes his sweater into his white Philza hoodie and decides to ditch the sweatpants, legs out were nicer anyways. Once the two of them settle into bed, Phil wraps his arms around Ranboo and tucks the boy's head into his neck. Ranboo sighs in content at the feeling, this was so nice.
"So, how'd you like today?" Phil asks softly, Ranboo smiles at the question. "I liked it a lot, it was a nice change of pace honestly. Plus, you and Mommy are-" Ranboo's brain catches up instantly and he sputters for a second. "You and Kristen are r-really nice… please don't tell her I said that." Ranboo mutters ashamedly, very happy that his burning face was tucked into Phil's neck.
Phil laughs and kisses Ranboo on the head. "Don't worry, you're all good Ranboo. Just means I lost a bet." Ranboo scoffs and looks at Phil. "You made a bet on me?" Phil breaks into a small fit of giggles while nodding. "It was between me and Kristen, but yeah. It was just to see if you would do it at all."
Ranboo gives a look for fake offense. "Wow, can't believe I was bet on at all, this sucks." He yawns, cuddling close to him once again. "I'm so offended."
Phil laughs. "Yeah, I can tell. Now get some rest, ok?" Ranboo yawns and nods, letting the warm feeling of home coax him to sleep.
|
He’s having the same dream again.
It started not too long after Mom died. It’s always the same, down to the very smell of it – dusty tatami mats and lacquer.
In the dream Ichigo isn’t a boy. He’s a ragdoll, all flat cloth and stuffing. And somehow he’s come to pieces, his limbs hanging by threads, clumps of cotton littering the street. Above him is a beautiful lady – but she’s not a lady, she’s a puppet, all articulated limbs and shining rounded fingers. She stitches him together again, pulls his flattened limbs back and stuffs him plump again.
Sitting by his head is a man – but he’s not a man, he’s a toy soldier. He wears a dark coat and a brimmed hat and carries a rifle that shines in the darkness. There’s a light above them all that casts long shadows over them; outside the circle of its glow the world is black, empty.
No one speaks in the dream; the puppet stitches silently and the soldier stands guard. Ichigo doesn’t feel afraid, not even of the puppet’s long bone-white fingers as they rapidly prick thread into the cloth of his limbs. He feels safe here; he knows the puppet and the toy soldier are taking care of him.
The dream ends just before the puppet puts in the final stitches, a few clumps of white stuffing still lying like cotton balls on the asphalt.
This night, like always, the puppet reaches its smooth fingers out over the final rips in his fabric – and Ichigo tumbles out of the dream and into half-wakefulness.
The room is dark; it’s still the middle of the night, hours from dawn. The house is quiet all around him, the street outside empty. Ichigo closes his eyes, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.
***
Ichigo is not a complainer. He lost his mother at a young age, and the older kids at school bully him for his hair colour, and now he’s got a down-on-her-luck Shinigami living in his closet and a pervy lion doll stalking the house looking for ero-manga that Ichigo definitely didn’t hide under his winter sweaters. And not once has he complained about the unfairness of it all (although he does tread on Kon’s face on a daily basis). He has his shit together, he can handle pretty much all the BS life throws at him.
Right now, though, looking down at the red dripping wound in his side, he thinks that he doesn’t have the ability to deal with this.
It was a hollow, of course, not particularly strong but fast as a swift, and with long wicked claws that dug like knives into his side. Ichigo can slice through walls and trees and probably even cars with his blade, but it is long and it is heavy, and he is at his worst against agile opponents.
His blood is hot against his palm, already spilling through his shihakusho. He needs a hospital, needs surgery, but right now he’s a spirit and if he goes home and reclaims his body he probably will be in time only to bleed to death in his bed. He’s a Shinigami, and he needs a Shinigami solution.
Ichigo’s encounters with Geta-Boushi have done little to engender confidence, but he is the man who saved Rukia after the hollow took a formidable bite out of her. And he’s been dealing with all her Shinigami needs, albeit not very satisfactorily. And he has, once or twice, been of slight assistance when things got a little weird.
Things aren’t weird now, they’re just grim. Ichigo limps through the dark streets of Karakura, blood dripping on the asphalt. Does spirit blood stain? Will anyone other than him see it? He doesn’t know.
His vision is starting to go dark as he drags himself towards the old-fashioned front of the Urahara Shouten, its rickety doors closed against the warm spring night. There’s no lights behind the glass, the building dark. Ichigo trips on uneven concrete and falls against the doors, wood and glass shuddering loudly in the quiet night. He tries to prop himself up on his elbow but his body is heavy, so heavy, and it’s all he can do to keep breathing.
White light shines in his face, blinding him, and then there’s the sound of wood and glass rattling.
“Kurosaki-san?”
Ichigo looks up into grey eyes, blond hair shining pale as winter wheat. He tips forward, knees giving out under him, and whatever words he intends to speak come out as a groan. His face mashes into a solid chest, cloth-covered and smelling of pipe smoke and mosquito coils. Old-fashioned, summer smells.
Strong arms catch him; a moment later he’s being pulled into a dimly-lit room, then up into brightness. He staggers along for a few steps but he’s losing feeling in his legs, his body growing cold, his thoughts pouring away through cracks he had never noticed. He feels himself lifted fully, grey eyes looking down at him oddly familiar.
He’s put down, numb and insensitive, and watches with thoughtless eyes as glowing hands hover over him. They glow soft as fireflies, a pale green that washes over the face hovering above him.
Slowly, slow as a flower turning towards the sun, warmth starts to seep back into him. The sensation of his heart beating in his chest returns, then the awkward press of his sheath against his spine, and then finally pain. Considering he has two stab wounds in his side, each at least five centimeters deep, it hurts much less than it should.
“What… are you doing?” his voice is raspy, as though sliced out by a serrated blade.
“Saving your life, Kurosaki-san. Isn’t that why you came here? Or were you perhaps just looking to do some late-night shopping? I have a deal on hard candy.”
“Jerk, I –” spittle catches in his throat and he coughs, and then the pain comes with sudden sharpness. He moans and balls inward, rolling onto his side and drawing his knees up to his chest, unable to stop coughing.
“You really are a beacon for trouble, Kurosaki-san,” says the laughing voice as he fights to breathe. “I wonder how bright you’ll shine.”
A cool hand wipes over his forehead and the pain – and his consciousness – wash away.
When Ichigo wakes, much later, he’s lying in his bed. His side is tender, bandaged, but there’s no trace of blood. Just the memory of a warm glow, and grey eyes above.
***
The next time he wakes up in the Shouten, Rukia is gone, Ishida is injured, and Ichigo is beat all to shit.
It’s neither the start nor the end of something, just a piece in the ever-expanding saga that’s suddenly his life. And standing in the background, all smile and shadow like a puppet-master, Urahara Kisuke.
***
The thing about Urahara is, he’s an ass. A deceitful, conniving, secretive ass. He saved Rukia’s life, then he left her to Soul Society to build Ichigo’s character. He trained Ichigo to go after her, but didn’t tell him the secret he buried within her gigai. It’s only in the calm after the chaos of Soul Society that Ichigo realises just how cunningly he orchestrated every step of his introduction into the world of the Shinigami, how very intentional it all was.
But the thing about Ichigo is, he doesn’t bear grudges. He’s fire, not ice, and when the heat of his anger burns down it leaves fertile soil ready to grow forgiveness. Urahara tricked them, but he also saved Rukia, and Ichigo, and Chad and Inoue and Ishida and any number of other people. The positive impacts of his actions spread outwards like ripples.
So when Urahara gets down on his knees on the flight back to their world and apologizes, Ichigo accepts it. Slate wiped clean, wrongs forgiven.
They sit side-by-side as the enchanted paper flies over Tokyo, the city’s tiny lights twinkling below like inverted stars. “You know, you didn’t have to sneak around. You could’ve just asked for help,” says Ichigo. Somehow despite the fact that they’re almost in the clouds the air here isn’t cold, the wind just a pleasant caress against his skin.
“Maa, Kurosaki-san. Don’t think of it as a judgement upon yourself.”
“I definitely wasn’t. I was thinking that you’re a scheming, duplicitous, paranoid tinkerer who probably has deep-seated trust issues.”
Urahara smiles, face half-hidden by his fan. “You’ve seen the machinations of the Gotei-13 for yourself now. Do you really think my trust issues are so unfounded?”
Ichigo looks at him, turns up his face to the moon, the white light casting them all in shades of grey. Urahara’s hair glints like platinum in it, all the pale colour drained away. “I’m not them,” he says simply, arms crossed.
Urahara’s grin softens, like a sheet smoothed by a gentle hand. “No, it would be quite hard to mistake you for that. I suppose I’ve just grown used to solitude. Of thought and action,” he adds.
“Sounds lonely.”
“You fill your life with colour and noise and friendship, Kurosaki-san. It’s a very impressive trait. You turn enemies into friends. I… I turn friends into enemies.” He’s still smiling; bitter, brittle.
Ichigo punches him in the shoulder, hard, and he sprawls onto his face. “Mwa!” In the background Inoue lets out a sound of surprise. Yoruichi makes a gruff noise, a black cat’s laugh.
“Don’t give me that crap. You’ve got the stacked giant and those two weird kids back there living with you. And you and Yoruichi-san were friends in Soul Society, right? That was back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, so obviously you’re doing something right. And now you’ve got me, and Ishida and Chad and Inoue, and Rukia too. You’re not the kind of guy to get all weepy, so don’t start now. ‘Cause I’m not either.”
“No, you aren’t,” agrees Urahara, sitting up. In the moonlight his eyes are the bright colour of polished steel, glinting in the shadow beneath his hat. Ichigo can feel the weight of his gaze, neither testing nor assessing. Just confident, confident in him. “You could go far.”
“I will go far, you mean,” says Ichigo.
Urahara props his fan beneath his chin. “Perhaps. What I’ve learned in my time, Kurosaki-san, is that nothing is ever certain.”
***
Ichigo is struggling to breathe.
Behind him somewhere, limp and broken, lie Inoue, Chad and Arisawa. Limp and broken because of him, because he wasn’t strong enough. Because he’s afraid of himself, of the growling darkness in his heart.
By rights, he should be dead. He expected no rescue; he expected to be enough. Wrong on both counts.
Over him stands Urahara, his sword extended towards the Arrancar, his reiatsu harsh as glass shards. He keeps his power under such a tight leash that Ichigo has hardly ever felt it before, only a few times in training when their training sessions got to their most heated. For all his smiles and jokes, Urahara’s reiatsu is violent, hungry for blood. Benihime, thinks Ichigo, as he looks up at the figure above him and the crimson flicker of his spirit. Intensely powerful, and under immense control.
The Arrancar decide that they don’t want to face up to Urahara and Yoruichi, which is just another kick in the face to Ichigo. But mostly he doesn’t care because now they’re gone, and he can roll over and watch as Yoruichi goes to check on Chad and Arisawa and Urahara squats beside Inoue and calls that warm green glow into his hands. Ichigo crawls over on his elbows, his whole body a mess of pain, and watches the cuts and bruises fade from Inoue’s face. Ichigo can see now that her forearm is bent unnaturally, the skin bruised darkly; in his chest, something tightens.
“She’ll be alright, Kurosaki-san,” says Urahara, glancing at him. “I can’t do much for her broken arm, but I’m sure she will be able to take care of it soon.”
Ichigo’s fingers dig furrows in the dirt, stones slicing into his skin. His breath catches in his throat, choked.
Urahara speaks into some small device. A few moments later the muscled giant, Tessai, appears out of shunpo. “Back to the Shouten,” he says. The man nods and scoops up Chad and Arisawa like so many bags of rice. Yoruichi strides over and raises up Inoue, surprisingly gentle. The two of them are gone in a moment.
“Well now, Kurosaki-san,” says Urahara, looking down at him. His sword has reverted to its shikomizue form and he’s leaning on it, feet spread wide apart and back curved.
Ichigo’s chin is in the dirt; he can smell it, almost taste its dry grittiness. “Just leave me here and go take care of Inoue and the others,” he says.
“How self-sacrificing. And unusual, for you to be so long-faced.”
Ichigo looks up at him, pulling his arms in under his chest to prop himself up; his ribs are screaming, his back afire. “You saw what happened.”
“I saw you trying to protect your friends.”
“You saw me fail to protect my friends. Not because I wasn’t strong enough. Because I was afraid. I chickened out and Inoue –” he swallows thickly, looks away, cheek to the ground. “He could have snapped her neck,” he says quietly.
“You don’t like seeing people hurt. You don’t like not being strong enough. Old memories, perhaps?”
Old memories flash through his mind in a space that has no place in time, memories of rain and a small child and his mother, running. And, just like that, he’s on his feet, lunging at Urahara. Urahara, who reaches out with one hand and plucks his wrist out of the air, swivelling with him and twisting so that he falls to his knees with his arm held bent above him, painful and powerless.
“I’m not trying to goad you, Kurosaki-san. Merely suggesting that you should reflect on your motivations. And your weaknesses. Your drive to protect others does you credit, but it also hamstrings you. You have a lot of baggage, and –”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent years thinking about the costs of my failures? I know,” he spits, twisting in Urahara’s grip. “I know that my actions have consequences, that my failures have consequences, and those consequences are people I love dying. What do you know – you cut yourself off from your life, you hide away in a store playing the mad scientist, and when you make a mistake you just fix it up or hide it – no problem.” He’s panting, his whole body trembling with each heavy breath. He stares up through the spikes of his bangs, sweat trickling through the dirt on his face. “When have you ever just done something to help someone because it was the right thing to do – not because you have some secret plot on the go?”
Urahara lets him go abruptly; without that tether he falls on his face again, slamming into the ground. He opens his eyes and stares at Urahara’s geta, wood and leather old, worn. His feet are long and smooth like river rocks.
“You’re a bright boy with considerable potential, Kurosaki-san. I wish nothing for you but success. And if my methods are somewhat unorthodox, well, I’m afraid you’re not spoiled for choice. The fact of the matter is, you’re stuck with me. You don’t have to accept my advice but I’m afraid that right now, you do have to accept my help.”
Two long arms reach down and haul him up, hooking him against Urahara’s shoulder. “Fear of losing control isn’t the same thing as cowardice,” he says.
“Why shouldn’t it be? The results are the same.”
Urahara is silent for a moment, then steps into shunpo. They leave the field, and this discussion, behind them.
***
It’s Urahara, once again, who sends them forward. This time to Hueco Mundo, to rescue Inoue.
“I’m not gonna fail this time,” Ichigo tells him as the Garganta opens before them like a yawning mouth, a portal into darkness.
“Think first, act second,” advises Urahara.
“Not my jam,” says Ichigo, and steps into the void.
***
It’s Inoue who heals him in Hueco Mundo, Inoue dressed all in white like the Arrancar, her face so sad. She’s faded, the colour and the life washed out of her by this. By her connection with Ichigo who dragged her into this strange new life of Shinigami and hollows and reiatsu in the first place. Inoue is sweet and kind and lovely, and caring about Ichigo is killing her.
He brings her home, first to the false Karakura, then the real one. He is thankful for her healing, the gentle caress of her power like sunshine against his skin.
It reminds him of something, the softness of her kindness, and the strength of her resolve to protect her friends.
It’s only when he’s at home, with Aizen defeated and the world back on kilter and Goat-Face and his sisters back together eating a meal, that he realises what. It’s the poster that does it, the dumb, shiny, blow-up poster of his mother.
The woman I fell in love with… was a woman who could die protecting her son.
He wants to admire it, wants to love her for it and be proud of her the way Dad is. But that kind of love, that kind of sacrifice… it just makes him hurt inside.
***
He doesn’t know why he ends up talking to Urahara. It must be the lack of reasonable male role models in his life – with the other options of Goat-Face, Don Kanonji, and Kon, the former captain of the Twelfth seems a perfectly reasonable, rational choice.
It’s February and Tokyo’s bitterly cold, the humidity of the bay holding an unforgiving chill that seeps in under collars and through layers of cotton and wool. At home Ichigo keeps his heater blazing, but Urahara, unsurprisingly, doesn’t have an AC/heater system. What he has is a kotatsu and a box of mikans. So they sit in the Shouten and peel oranges, Ichigo drinking steaming coffee and Urahara shouchu.
Ichigo has spilled his guts like so much chum, the sad pathetic story of his love life at almost seventeen, while Urahara delicately peels the white stringy bits off the mikan slices. He looks up when Ichigo finishes, half-way through making what are disturbingly accurate likenesses of the Gotei 13’s flower crests out of them. “I’m confused, Kurosaki-san,” he says. “I thought you liked Kuchiki-san.”
“Yeah. I did. She’s so determined and fearless, and she wasn’t anything like any of the other girls I know. She’s calm and collected, but her first instinct is to fight. I like that. But she’s not really into me in that way, and besides how could it work?”
“Mm, love across worlds, a difficult trope,” agrees Urahara. “So you turned your sights to Inoue-san.”
Ichigo’s head snaps up. “No – I mean – you make it sound calculating, like I thought it all through and… and decided to like Inoue.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s not really your M.O.”
“No. No, but I’m not blind, y’know. I know she likes me, I know she’s done so much of everything with Soul Society and Aizen and the Arrancar because of me – because she wanted to look out for me. And I like Inoue! But… she’s not like Rukia. She doesn’t have a shred of violence, or meanness in her. She forces herself to fight for us, and she throws herself into protecting us because that’s what she can do. But she’d never strike first, or be cruel. And people like her, people who are kind and want nothing other than to protect the ones they love… they’re the ones who die. I want someone who would fight for me, not someone who would die to shield me. Not that I’m ungrateful! I’m not! Or maybe I am, I don’t know…” his head drops and he stares down at the table; it’s old, the varnish scarred and scuffed in places. Urahara’s living quarters have a smell that’s quietly familiar, tatami and old lacquer; it makes Ichigo feel unaccountably at home. He’s relaxed here in the Shouten, with the winter winds rattling the windows off in the distance and his body enveloped in warmth from the kotatsu. It takes a little of the tightness away from the conversation, loosens his throat.
“I don’t consider that ingratitude,” says Urahara slowly, laying out a stem for the stem of the Tenth’s daffodil with steady hands. “It’s an unusual attitude, certainly. But one I can understand. But Kurosaki-san, I think you’ll have a hard time finding someone as willing as you to step head-first into battle. Such people abound in Soul Society, but not here. Are you perhaps condemning yourself too soon to loneliness?”
Ichigo runs his thumb along the rim of his mug, the steam hot against it. “I’d rather live with loneliness than guilt.”
“I see.”
Ichigo looks up, finds Urahara watching him from beneath the brim of his hat, eyes calm. “You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?”
“I think the motives driving you run bone-deep. They may not be wise, or healthy. But trying to run counter to them would make you deeply unhappy. I will say that emotional intelligence is not a strong point of mine, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. So you should take my advice with a grain of salt.”
Ichigo smiles and takes a sip of his coffee. “I always do, you know. Otherwise who knows where I might end up. Um… I don’t really know how to ask this, but… are you and Yoruichi-san…?”
Urahara’s laugh is soft, more breath than voice. “Maa, it’s been a long time since someone asked me that. No, we’re not. We were friends, then superior and subordinate, and then colleagues. But never lovers. My interests don’t lie in that direction.”
“Oh. Oh. Right.”
“Indeed. But if you’re asking whether Yoruichi-san is available…” he grins, eyes shining.
“I am absolutely not,” says Ichigo, and grabs his bottle. “And I think you’ve had enough of that.”
“Maa, Ichigo-saaaan…” He grabs for it and Ichigo pulls back, amused.
“You’ve never called me that before.”
Urahara, face now pressed to the table from over-extension reaching for the shouchu, looks up. “Ichigo-san?”
“Yeah. ‘S kind of nice.”
He blinks hopefully. “Nice enough that you’ll give me back my alcohol?”
“Nope. You’re cut off.”
“Stingy.”
***
For a little while, Ichigo honestly thinks that he might have a chance of going back to a normal life, studying for finals, going to university, maybe even becoming a doctor no thanks to any coaching from his old man.
Then the Quincy invade, and everything goes to shit.
This time it’s not about rescuing a friend, it’s not about righting an injustice. It’s a war to save two worlds. Ichigo and Chad and Inoue go to save their world. Rukia and Renji and the Gotei 13 go to save Soul Society. Ishida, all alone in the Quincy faction, goes to prevent catastrophe.
In the end, even Urahara and Yoruichi deploy. And while Ichigo and his friends all return to Soul Society following the defeat of Yhwach and the Quincies, Urahara and Yoruichi don’t.
Soul Society lies in ruins around him, Shinigami buried in mass graves, dead captains buried with haste and without ceremony. Throughout the rubble people are mourning, are despairing, and are struggling to just keep going with the huge burden of daily tasks. Inoue steps in to help with the Fourth, while Ishida advises Kyouraku about possible remaining pockets of Quincy resistance and Chad does manual labour to help with clearing roads and flattened houses.
Alone in the midst of this chaos, Ichigo realises for the first time what it’s like to suddenly not have Urahara behind him, guiding and scheming and grinning. Urahara who stepped in again and again without Ichigo ever asking, who was simply there when needed – with a sword, with a plan, with healing kaidou – and then gone like mist on a sunny day.
Urahara who he’s come to rely on. A presence he never noticed but that was always there since the very beginning.
The search parties find Askin’s corpse and the ruins of the battleground. The earth is poisoned, the air fetid. There’s no sign of Urahara or Yoruichi or her brother. But the searching Shinigami do bring back a single piece of cloth, stiff and tattered. It’s striped with white and green. They deliver it to Kyouraku, who gives it to Ichigo with gentle hands. Part of the hat crumbles away in his palms as he stares at it, throat tight.
Ichigo still remembers the scrape of Urahara’s reiatsu against his skin, the brutality of it, the fierceness. Such strength, and such control. Urahara isn’t like Rukia or Inoue or any of Ichigo’s friends. He doesn’t fight to protect. He fights for himself alone. And yet he came to Soul Society’s aid. To Ichigo’s aid. And now…
“There’s still no body,” says Ishida when he sees the remains of the hat. “He could be anywhere, healing, recovering.”
“How many people did we see completely destroyed? If he was alive he’d have called by now.”
“He’s not exactly considerate,” says Ishida.
“He would have come to finish the fight,” replies Ichigo. certain. “If he was alive, he would have come.”
A Shinigami from the Second runs in with some information for Ishida, and Ichigo slips away.
He should pull himself together. Urahara is a friend, yes, but a weird one, and really they don’t know each other that well. How much time have they ever spent together? How much does he know about Urahara that’s come from the man’s own lips and not someone else? He’s mourning a ghost, a shadow. He needs to get over it, put it behind him.
But he can’t. Every time he tries he feels a bleeding emptiness inside, a little notch of hollowness where something warm and round and whole used to sit.
Two days later, a Garganta from Hueco Mundo opens up in the First. Urahara Kisuke, Shihouin Yoruichi, and Shihouin Yuushirou step out.
***
Ichigo is all the way in the Tenth helping Toushirou with some paperwork when he hears about it from the gossiping eighth chair in the hallway – “And Shou-chan said the former captain of the Second and the Twelfth just showed up in the Captain-Commander’s office.”
Ichigo drops the inkwell he’s holding, black ink splattering across the floor when the stone tablet shatters. He yanks the door open so fast he rips it right out of its runners; the two Shinigami in the corridor turn and stare.
“Is that true?”
They gape at him, wordless.
“Urahara Kisuke – he’s back?”
“Um, yes, Kurosaki-san. In the First.”
Ichigo doesn’t wait to hear anymore, he simply steps into shunpo and flies. Across the compound, across the city, crossing the entire expanse without taking a single breath.
He appears right at the doors of Kyouraku’s building, startling the guards there. “Open it,” he orders and they scramble to do so for the hero of Soul Society. Inside is an entryway, then a corridor, then the wide space of Kyouraku’s office. Ichigo slams the door open, lungs burning, leg muscles fiery, and sees –
Urahara Kisuke in the flesh, sitting on a zabuton having a cup of tea. There’s a fucking biscuit on the table.
“You absolute asshole, where have you been?” he demands, striding into the room. Urahara – sans hat, in what looks like a borrowed shihakushou – turns to look up at him, wide-eyed.
“Ichigo-san –”
“I thought you were dead,” he spits, suddenly shaky. “I thought – fuck,” he says, and kicks the teacup out of Urahara’s hand; it flies out and shatters against the wall. And then, abruptly, his legs give out and he drops to his knees on the hard wooden floor with a thump. His chest hurts and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why he can’t seem to breathe right, why he feels like his lungs are full of smoke. “Why didn’t you call?” he whispers, voice rough.
“My apologies, Ichigo-san,” says Urahara in a low voice. “I’m afraid it wasn’t my choice. Working with Yoruichi-san and Grimmjow I was able to defeat the Quincy Askin, however the effect of his final attack left us all tumbling towards death. We were rescued by the Arrancar Nel and taken to Hueco Mundo to recover. And naturally, there are no direct lines of communication between there and Soul Society! So alas, I was unable to inform you of my status. I am still very much alive. And… forgive me, but I didn’t think that you would care so much.”
Ichigo looks him right in his eyes. “Of course I care. You – you’re – you’ve always been there and yeah you’re a jerk and yeah you’re always up to something, but… I don’t want a world where that’s not true anymore. I want to go home and finish high school and go to university, and I want you to be there at your shitty store selling expired candy and giving me bad relationship advice.”
Urahara leans back. He looks very pale in the dark shihakushou, his blond hair platinum-bright. He’s an ungainly-looking man, all angles, many of them not quite right. But Ichigo’s come to like the look of him; it’s disarming in a way very little else about Urahara is. “I see,” says the shop-keeper. “A simple life, is that it?”
“Is that so wrong?”
Urahara smiles. “No. There’s nothing wrong with it, Ichigo-san. And if you like, we can try to make it happen.” He looks over at the teacup lying smashed on the floor by the wall. “Now, if you’d please hurry and clean that up before Kyouraku-san gets back – he never says anything scolding but he gives you this look…”
“I’m not your servant,” says Ichigo. “Clean up your own mess – it’s entirely your fault.” He stands. “I’ll see you later.”
“But Ichigo-saaaa –” calls Urahara plaintively, his whine cut off when Ichigo shuts the door behind him.
***
Ichigo does finish high school, and in the spring starts at Chuo University doing a pre-med course. Goat-Face has a lot of speeches about how he’s carrying on the family name with intelligence and honour, Inoue bakes him a cake at the bakery, and Chad gives him a medallion of St Luke. Ishida doesn’t do anything for him – he’s joined Ichigo at Chuo in pre-med, primarily to piss off his own father, apparently. Ichigo can get behind that.
They have lectures and labs, class sizes ranging from two hundred to twenty. Some are boring, from professors who have clearly been teaching the same lessons for decades and could deliver them in their sleep; some are interesting and thought-provoking, and genuinely engage Ichigo in the topic. He’s used to working hard and doing well; university is even more work than high school was, but with things now calm in Soul Society, he has a lot more attention to devote to it.
And weirdly, Urahara is just as helpful now as he was when Ichigo was acting as a Shinigami. He’s a scientist and could obtain an MD any day of the week; he has no trouble explaining concepts that Ichigo gets confused about, or walking him through mathematical formulae or chemical processes. They get together a couple of times a month to chat, sometimes when Ichigo comes home on the weekends, or other times at local restaurants near the university.
Time passes, a year, two, three. Cherry blossoms blossom, fall leaves fall. Ichigo studies, and learns to cook for himself, and goes on a smattering of dates that never seem to go anywhere. In the background, as always, is Urahara.
It’s the shop-keeper who tells him that Inoue’s moved in with Arisawa, one evening in an izakaya with the two of them drinking pale ale. “Oh,” says Ichigo. “I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to me. But I guess they’ve always been good friends.”
“I think perhaps more than friends?” suggests Urahara. Ichigo blinks at him; Urahara smiles. “You didn’t realise?”
“Um. I kinda thought that Arisawa had a thing for Inoue, but… this sounds bad, but I guess I was always so focused on not leading Inoue on that I didn’t really notice?”
Urahara grabs a gyoza with his chopsticks, smearing it in sauce. “I think it’s nice. Arisawa is clearly devoted to her, and Inoue deserves someone who can offer her her whole heart.”
“Yeah. She does. She deserves the best.” He looks down at the table, littered in appetizers.
“Feeling a little left behind?” asks Urahara.
“What? No. No – I’m glad. And anyway, I don’t want – that.”
Urahara picks up a piece of tempura and drops it on Ichigo’s plate. “And what do you want, Ichigo-san? Still someone to fight beside you? Someone to attack, not protect? Someone like, shall we say, Zaraki Kenpachi?”
“Are you kidding? No. How could you settle down with someone like him, he’d be down at the sports bar picking fights with the patrons seven nights a week.”
“Someone like Kuchiki-san, then – calm, but deadly.”
“I love Rukia, and I’d die for her, but her sense of humour should probably be surgically extracted. I’m not looking for a comedian, but I brood. I know I do. I need someone who’s light-hearted.”
“Someone like Abarai-san?”
“Too abrasive. We’d be fighting every five seconds.”
“Like Yoruichi-san, then?”
Ichigo looks up at him. “Urahara-san, she’s great, but you’ve gotta stop trying to set me up with her. She’d crush me like a bug.”
Urahara smiles. “It seems that, unbeknownst to me, you have a fairly long list of requirements in a significant other.”
To be honest, Ichigo is surprised himself. He’s never given it much thought before. But every name Urahara suggested to him provoked a strong reaction. He knows they’re not right for him. He shrugs.
“Perhaps you have someone already in mind?” prompts Urahara.
“Nope. There’s no one.” The words slip out easily, without thought. A moment later he remembers the emptiness that had sat inside him for those five days in Soul Society, the ache of a loss he couldn’t shake. He glances across at Urahara, drinking from his glass, at the long curve of his throat and the delicate shell of his ear. Behind his mask of innocence lies something unexpected: power, brutality, intelligence, and absolute control.
In Ichigo’s chest, something throbs. He rubs it and looks away. “Why don’t I order another round?” he suggests.
***
Ichigo’s thought about guys before, as romantic partners. In a thought-experiment kind of way, imagining strong hands on his hips, a firm body against his. He’s never taken it further than that, although there have been a few male students he’s been happy to eye up in class.
Now, as he sits in bed that night with a medical textbook open on his knees, he lets his mind wander. Imagines pale skin beneath his lips, blond hair spilling over his pillow, grey eyes wrinkled with ardour. A strong body easily capable of flipping him onto his back, pinning him down with its weight and holding him, all power and restraint.
The thought of it makes his spine tingle, a warm throbbing settling in his cock. His fingers fall away from the pages of the book and he leans back and lets his imagination paint in the complete picture of Urahara taking him to bed.
Fuck, it’s hot.
***
It’s the end of the day on Friday, Ichigo finishing up his last lab before the weekend. He had been planning on a study party with Ishida but Urahara emailed to say he’d be in the neighbourhood with some snacks offloaded by another local convenience store, and could he come by to give some to Ichigo? So he’s dragging his feet while he cleans up, most of the class gone, just his professor and a couple of other students still here finishing up.
He doesn’t particularly notice the door open, doesn’t even really notice the slow footsteps until they pass behind him, padding lightly on the lino. He glances up to see an unfamiliar student in a navy sweater and black slacks pass by him towards the final lab table where the professor is packing up. Sloped shoulders, dirty pants cuffs. And, in his hand, a scalpel.
Ichigo turns just as the student rounds the table towards the professor. He sees his professor look up, sees surprise, then shock, and then he sees the scalpel rise.
Ichigo isn’t a Shinigami anymore – after three years of peace he doesn’t even carry his token with him. He has only his human speed and his human strength and it’s enough, just barely, for him to cross the space between them and grab the student by the shoulder. The young man swivels to reveal a face contorted with fury, eyes fever-bright, skin shining with sweat. He slices the scalpel across Ichigo’s hand, blood splattering in an almost horizontal line, then moves in to stab.
Ichigo never learned any of the Shinigami hakuda techniques. He flails, instinctively reaching for a sword that’s not there, and manages to deflect a few of the blows with his forearm, the razor-sharp blade slicing through his lab coat. He tries to wrestle with the student but he’s like a wild animal, furious, fighting wildly.
Ichigo notices somewhere in the back of his mind that the other students and the professor have fled, shouting, that he’s now alone with this madman. He catches the scalpel in his hand once, but it slices through his palm straight to the bone and he grunts and lets go. And then it digs in, cutting into his chest, slipping in between his ribs and cleaving his flesh. He smells blood – he tastes blood, hot and metallic – and he falls. He feels wrong, his heartbeat wild, a hot wetness catching in his lungs as he tries to breathe.
“I’ll show him,” mutters the student. “I’ll show him – show him – show him –” he raises the scalpel to stab down towards Ichigo’s throat. Ichigo prepares to kick his knees out from under him, gauging his opportunity with eyes that are darkening. And, as he starts to lean down, the student is blasted into the far wall. The scalpel clatters away and he falls, limp.
A moment later Urahara appears around the corner of the desk to stare down at him. Ichigo tries to say something but there’s blood in his throat, in his mouth, foaming between his lips.
Urahara’s cane is suddenly a sword, his reiatsu like knives, sharp and slicing. “Bankai.”
It’s the smell that Ichigo remembers. The smell of tatami and lacquer, old but familiar. Above him the beautiful puppet unfolds herself, her hair like onyx, her robes crimson. Her long articulated fingers reach out and start putting stitches into his skin where it was rent by the scalpel, piecing him back together again.
Limbs of cloth being pulled together, stuffing on the street.
Beside him stands Urahara, his naked blade shining in his hand, long and straight as a rifle.
“It was you,” he says, as the blood in his throat, his lungs, fades. The pain is disappearing, and Ichigo watches as she puts stitches in the flayed skin of his hands and joins it together again, the wounds disappearing almost instantly. Even the blood vanishes, his skin growing smooth and clean.
Cotton stuffing on the street shrinking, shrinking.
It hadn’t been cotton stuffing. And his limbs hadn’t been fabric.
Ichigo remembers – light, sound, pain. So much pain he could hardly understand – the blood, and white bone poking through twisted flesh. And above him the puppet and the soldier.
No. Urahara and his bankai.
He stares up at them unmoving as she finishes putting him back together for the second time. “It wasn’t a dream.”
Urahara opens his mouth to say something, and there’s a clatter of footsteps and the door to the lab flies open. Ishida rushes in, his bow glowing, and looks around the room.
“Kurosaki?!”
Ichigo sits up and the bankai pulls back. Urahara flicks his wrist and it – she – disappears. He runs his hand over his sword and it once again becomes the familiar shikomizue form. “I’m fine,” he says absently, looking up at Urahara. “It was you – you – what happened?”
“Kurosaki, some students said a guy with a knife attacked you – security’s right behind me. What the hell’s going on?”
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” murmurs Urahara.
Ichigo reaches out to him, his fingers brushing against the shop-keeper’s haori before it pulls away. “Wait – please –”
“Perhaps you should come see me tonight,” he says. From the hall comes the sounds of shouting. Urahara smiles thinly. “Bye.”
In an instant, he’s gone. Ichigo pulls himself up – even his clothes are repaired, the cuts gone from his lab coat and shirt.
“But what happened?” says Ishida, banishing his bow and stalking over to examine the unconscious man on the floor.
Ichigo pinches the bridge of his nose. “All I know is, it’s gonna be one hell of a pain.”
***
It is one hell of a pain. The police are called, and an ambulance, and Ichigo spends hours giving statements. He learns that the scalpel-wielding student is a drop-out named Tachikawa Eita, and whose university career had ultimately been cut short by his failing Ichigo’s professor’s course. Things had spiralled from there, with him losing his line of credit and his housing and the respect of his friends. With his life seemingly unrecoverable, he had picked up his scalpel and come to get revenge. A sad, broken life that nearly destroyed two others.
Ishida’s waiting for him when he finally is allowed to go, loitering outside the police station in a canvas coat and a newsboy cap. “You look like a creepy underwear thief,” Ichigo tells him.
“You’re welcome.”
“What for?”
“Having a friend to meet you on your release.”
“I wasn’t released – I was never being held. They just wanted my statement, okay? I’m not in trouble with the law.”
“Uh huh.”
They start walking towards the nearest subway station, Ichigo tucking his hands into his pockets, Ishida unzipping his coat. “So. What happened?”
“Some crazed drop-out tried to stab the professor, I got in the way, he stabbed me instead. Urahara-san fixed me.”
They walk a few more steps in silence. “You should carry your Shinigami token with you – you would never have had a problem if you had.”
“Yeah. I guess. I just… I’m ready for a normal life, y’know?”
“Perhaps it’s not quite ready for you,” replies Ishida dryly. And then, “Was that Urahara-san’s bankai?”
“Guess so. Not sure how it works, but it put me back together again.” He rubs his hand across his chest, over the sites of his recently-healed wounds. “I think – never mind.”
Ishida glances at him. “What?”
“Since I was little, I’ve had this dream. Not a lot – a couple times a year, maybe. It’s always the same. I’m a doll, and I’ve come apart, and this big puppet lady stitches me back together. And… and there’s this guy there, in the shadows. In my dream he’s a toy soldier, with a rifle and a black uniform.”
Ishida frowns. “Are you saying you were foretelling the future?”
“No, idiot. Everyone’s a toy in my dream because I was a kid. Because something happened to me when I was a kid, and he put me back together. And he never said anything about it.”
“Maybe he thought you weren’t saying anything about it.”
Ichigo stops and stares at Ishida.
“That didn’t occur to you?” asks Ishida.
“No! I just figured it out, okay? Jeez, what if you’re right – what if he thought I’ve just been acting like nothing happened because I’m a dick?”
“Kurosaki – you were a kid. I doubt it influenced his opinion of you. Anyway, why does it matter?”
Ichigo pulls his hand through his hair hard enough that it hurts, his scalp tingling. “I just – why would he do that?”
“Maybe because you were a badly injured child and he’s not a monster?”
“No – I mean… Urahara-san never does anything without a reason. He doesn’t do good deeds just for the sake of doing them.”
Ishida shrugs. “I guess you’d have to ask him that, then.”
“Yeah,” says Ichigo, slowly. “Yeah.”
***
The Shouten is dark when he arrives on its doorstep. He circles around to the side where the house entrance is, and rings the bell.
It’s answered by Ururu, who smiles up at him. “Ichigo-san. Come in, please.”
He enters and toes off his shoes, shrugs out of his coat and puts down his shoulder bag. She leads him through to the space Urahara uses as his sitting room, tatami with a low table and zabutons. Somewhere else in the house he can hear the TV playing, something loud with a lot of bass. Probably Jinta watching a shoot ‘em up Hollywood movie.
“Can I get you anything, Ichigo-san? Some snacks, or something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m fine. You go do your thing, Ururu-chan.”
She smiles and gives him a little bow and slips out. Ichigo takes a seat on one of the zabuton, pulling out his phone to text his dad and tell him he’ll be over later.
He looks up as the door slides open and Urahara enters, for once without his hat. “I see you took me up on my suggestion,” he says. He comes over and takes a seat, his long body loose and leggy.
“Yeah. Uh – I should say thanks. For today. You have a knack of being in the right place at the right time.”
Urahara smiles, just a little. “The screaming students running down the hall were something of an indication. In any case, you’re quite welcome Ichigo-san.”
“You never told me you’d used your bankai on me before,” says Ichigo.
There’s a pause, the shop-keeper settling himself. “No. Either you remembered and were saying nothing, or you didn’t. Either way, what was there to say?”
“I didn’t. Remember. Not really, just – I used to have this dream about it. Something happened, in the street?”
Urahara brings one leg up to his chest, arms around it, and leans back. “You must have been, oh, nine or ten? There was a road accident – a hit and run. I found you in the street. To be frank, you were dying.”
Ichigo nods, swallows. “And you healed me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what your bankai does – it heals people?”
Urahara looks at him and Ichigo can feel him considering his options. Bankais are private, always. Not something to be shared, not even with friends – and especially not by secret schemers like Urahara. And yet… “No. My bankai has the ability to repair physical damage, or to augment things – people, weapons, even space. The augmentations only remain within the realm of my bankai. But repairs to physical damage, as long as the damaged object is returned exactly to its original state, are permanent. It isn’t a healing power, but it can be used in that way.”
“Why did you heal me – back then, when I was a kid, I mean?”
Urahara gives him a very straight look. “Are you suggesting I would let a child die when I could save them?”
Ichigo flushes, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m saying – you’ve always got an angle. You knew my parents – you must have known even then that I had a lot of reiatsu, and –”
“Ichigo-san, I healed you for no reason other than that I was there. I was there and you were dying, and you didn’t deserve that. And now, if that’s all…” he starts to rise, pushing himself up.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out, quick and pained. He reaches for Urahara and catches hold of his wrist with his fingertips. “Urahara-san – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have implied… I didn’t mean to suggest that you’re heartless, or calculating.”
Urahara stares at him, face calm. “No? But I am calculating, Ichigo-san. Very calculating. And I can be heartless when I need to be.”
“But you’re also loyal, and reliable, and – and you’re smart and strong and sly and you’ve never let me down. You’ve fought for me without my ever asking, and you’ve given me the chance to get stronger and protect the people I want to protect. And when I’ve come apart, you’ve put me back together again. I – I really care about you, Urahara-san. Kisuke-san.”
Kisuke is staring, eyes wide now, face awash with surprise. “Ichigo-san…”
“You asked me before if I had someone in mind when none of your suggestions for a good partner landed, and I didn’t think I did but I was wrong. It’s you. It’s always been you.” He takes a breath, face hot, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. “And I guess I should go now, ‘cause I’m just some guy in pre-med and you’re a former captain who invented stuff that would make NASA jealous, and I don’t want to make it weird between us.”
He pushes upwards and Kisuke twists his hand so that now he’s the one holding Ichigo, his long fingers wrapped around Ichigo’s wrist. “Ichigo-san… thank you. I forget, sometimes, just how unique you really are.”
Ichigo stares. “Huh?”
“No one has ever considered me an attractive package. In Soul Society I was a silent killer, then a unscrupulous scientist tossed out for experiments deemed unethical. Here I’m nothing but an eccentric shop-keeper with a limited grasp on reality. I appreciate your feelings.”
“But…?” asks Ichigo, sensing the unspoken word.
“But the stigma that lingers around my name – my existence – is significant. You should find someone cleaner. And perhaps, someone kinder.”
“Bullshit,” says Ichigo, immediately. Kisuke blinks, surprise writ across his face. “You’ve cleared your name three times over – you’re a hero to Soul Society. And you’ve always been there for me, with a sword, not a shield. And… and I did think that you were only concerned with yourself, with your plans. But I was wrong. You saved my life in the street, Kisuke-san, for no reason other than kindness. And today you saved it again. I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks – and I think I’ve earned that right. Yours is the only opinion that matters.”
Kisuke lets out a soft laugh. “Maa, Ichigo-san, you flatter me. To be courted by the saviour of Soul Society… that’s an honour.”
“I’m not here as a hero – I’m here as Kurosaki Ichigo, hopefully soon a med student, looking forward to a small practice and a quiet life with someone I care for.”
Kisuke’s fingers slip, just slightly. “You know, Ichigo-san, you talk so much about relying on me. Has it never occurred to you that I was the one relying on you? The things you’ve done, the person you’ve become – all those are beyond me. I’ve watched you grow from a flickering flame to a sun, bright and powerful and blinding. I’m not talking about your reiatsu. I’m talking about your passion, your heart. You have a gift of making others care for you. Even old, twisted, jaded ones like myself.” He takes a breath, suddenly hesitant, the only time in five years Ichigo has ever seen him doubtful. “Do you really want…”
“Yeah. I really do.” He twists his wrist, slips out of Kisuke’s hold and takes his hand instead. “Could we try it? You and me?”
“Hero and mad scientist?”
“Med student and shop-keeper.” He pauses, considers. “At least, on weeknights.”
Kisuke presses his hand. “I have a lot of bad habits, Ichigo-san,” he says, but he’s smiling.
“Don’t worry; I know them all already. Well?” his heart is rabbiting in his chest, rushing so fast he can’t count the beats. “You’re killing me here, Kisuke-san. Say yes, or say no, but say something.”
Kisuke leans forward instead, pulling Ichigo in with a flash of reiatsu that’s so familiar, that scratches over Ichigo’s skin like sisal, and kisses him. His mouth is warm and wet and he tastes of oranges and miso. Ichigo wraps his arms around him and holds him close, responding firmly. Want opens up like an ocean above him, raining down on him and he digs his fingers into Kisuke’s back and opens his mouth to bring them closer together.
They end up tangled on the floor, zabutons tossed aside, Kisuke’s blond hair spilling like silk over the tatami. Ichigo pulls himself up on his elbows to look down on him, considering. He really is lovely – not conventionally, but in a way that’s just as unique as the rest of him. The shop-keeper catches his eye, lips crooked. “Was that answer enough?”
Ichigo gives a shuddering laugh. “Yeah. Yeah. But maybe you should give it again, just to be sure.”
Kisuke reaches up and catches hold of him, pulls him down, and seals their lips together. Warmth, strength, brightness. A sword waiting one step just behind him, always. Ichigo smiles into the kiss.
END
|
Resting through the night is challenging, to put it bluntly. You practically leapt into your bed as soon as you returned home but somehow, even after adjusting your pillows up to four times, sleep decided it would not be your friend. You toss and turn into every sleeping position in the books but none of them feel comfortable. It doesn’t help that you keep breaking into cold sweats when you’re on the verge of finally, finally passing out.
Your mind is racing like a hamster on a running wheel, and every thought is a new subject. Freddy’s voice box needs to be repaired immediately, Chica most likely needs her stomach pumped, Monty is past due for a new set of hands, Roxy needs an eye examination, Sun and Moon need…
What does Sun and Moon need?
You huff up at the ceiling before rolling over to flick your lamp switch. The light makes you squint but there isn’t a point in laying in the dark for the next—you glance at the time on your phone—three hours before sunrise. If sleep wants to evade you, then delving into research is the next best option.
You stagger out of bed to fetch your Fazbear Entertainment textbooks and notes from the living room. They’re pretty messy and insanely disorganized but they’re your pride and joy. Normal people watch tv when they can’t sleep. You, on the other hand, have never classified yourself as normal and that logic will never work. You’re an anxious workaholic with a talent of taking too many responsibilities on at once.
Better than being a couch potato, you suppose.
You crack open your laptop with the question, “what do Sun and Moon need?” in mind. For starters, Sun desperately needs a set of sun rays that aren’t made out of jagged metal. That violates a lot of safety regulations and if something were to happen, Fazbear Entertainments would be sued for thousands, maybe even millions. That would affect every employee too.
Secondly, you noticed there could be a wiring issue. The way his hand locked up, the slight twitch of his head, the crackles in his voice box. Those are signs you need to be weary of. Wires are animatronic nervous systems and if you mess with it for long enough, then they might do something outside of their programming. Their A.I. would never allow them to hurt a guest but if they aren’t in control of their body, then it doesn’t matter what commands they send to their neural interface.
You have no idea what to do about Moon yet, seeing that his other half has a fear of the dark. You could break your promise and turn off the lights without permission but that would ruin the trust you have built with Sun thus far. The last thing you want to do is scar Sun. He already carries himself with a little anxiety—how in the world robots have emotions, specifically the gruesome kind, is mind blowing. They adapt, they learn, they feel, and that is pretty screwed up in hindsight.
If their making was up to you, you wouldn’t have burdened them with human downfalls. Emotions burn down cities, countries even. They start wars and end in bloodshed, so why on earth would robots be any better at handling emotions not meant for them? They were never meant to feel, they were meant to entertain. But here they are, alive and on the brink of being human and you ask yourself what went wrong when they were being created.
You pass out on couch not too long after settling down. Instead of using your morning before work to tidy up around the house, buy a few groceries for dinner, catch up with your family, you rightfully sleep it away. What wakes you up is the scheduled alarm on your phone, warning you to get ready for work unless you want to be late. It takes a few tries to pry yourself off the couch. The dark circles under your eyes are sure to catch the attention of your coworkers but at this point you can’t bring yourself to care.
If you drop to the floor in exhaustion, you pray they just leave you there.
You finally arrive at work after dragging your feet the whole way. The swarms of people just inside the lobby makes you roll your eyes, hissing between the cracks of your teeth, and you push your way through. You might have shoulder clipped someone just a bit too rough but the cries of a very angry mother go in one ear and right out the other. Normally you would take the extra second to apologize but your to-do list is more of a burden than the comfort of a guest.
The glamrocks are all clustered in parts n service when you slink through the entrance. They watch you sink into your desk chair and hit the desktop with your forehead, mumbling about how you desperately need a heavy drink. They share a look at your lack of energy but Freddy is the first to speak up. You intentionally cover your ears with an exasperated sigh.
“S-s-superstar, are you not—not feeling well?”
His voice box sounds worse than the last time you saw him. Which was yesterday around this time. You really can’t put it off any longer. The next show is in three hours and that is just barely enough time to get all four of them fixed—in actual working condition that is presentable for the stage. Your procrastination really nipped it in the bud this time, didn’t it? It’s your own fault and now you have to own up to it.
You lean back in your chair and crack each individual knuckle until all tension is released from your hands. “I’m just tired, Freddy. No need to worry. Let’s get you fixed up.”
Monty crosses his arms over his broad chest and snaps his jaws at you. “Sure, let Freddy go first. Not like I have anywhere to be, Pipsqueak.”
“I suggest you lose the attitude or I might leave you to rust,” you shoot him a glare, and he tilts his face down to eye you above the star shades, “and don’t think I’m bluffing because I’m not, Tough Guy. You’re too much of a smartass for your own good.”
Freddy and Chica gasp in unison. “No foul language in the workplace!”
“Sorry.”
You motion Freddy to the parts n service machine for him to climb in, pitching the bridge of your nose and mumbling more profanities under your breath. Roxy decides it would be the opportune time to poke you with a metaphorical stick even when Chica is waving her hands in dismissal, mouthing the words, “don’t do it. don’t do it. don’t do it.”
“Maybe if you got laid then you wouldn’t be so moody,” Roxy scoffs whilst examining her perfectly painted nails, “because you obviously aren’t.”
There is no way in hell she just said that to you. What a shallow observation—an accurate one, but a shallow one as well. How does she even know what getting laid means?
“That was rude, Rox! You can’t just say that!” Chica squawks loudly.
Monty let’s out a bellowing laugh, hand pressed to his stomach like it hurt. “It’s true though! Maybe if you had some fun for once you wouldn’t be a stick in the mud.”
You grit your teeth and slam your hands on the keyboard you’re currently typing on. All four of them freeze at your short outburst of aggression and watch in anticipation as you breathe in and out to calm the fire bubbling in your blood. These are your ‘friends’ regardless if they can be jerks or not, the only so called friends you have in this god forsaken pizza plex. They do care for you despite the constant pestering. The lack of sleep is the leading factor in your mood, you know that, but some silence while you work would do wonders on your mental battery.
“Listen…” you clench and unclench your fists, “I really need to get you guys in perfect condition before the show and arguing is not doing that. I’m the only one in this whole plex that can fix you, so please stay quiet while I work. Just this once.”
They leave you alone after that. Freddy and Chica are always a delight to work on because they never try to tell you how to do your job. They always allow you to work without a single complaint, but Roxy and Monty try to put up a fight as per usual. You appreciate them respecting your wishes to stay quiet, because they do as they’re told, but that doesn’t mean Roxy doesn’t swat your hands away when you accidentally rustle her hair, or Monty doesn’t snap his jaw at you for shits and giggles. If you could get away with murder, you might just… tug on a wire that isn’t meant to be touched.
You still put your focused concentration into fixing them good as new—even when you want to wring their necks. Chica makes sure to peck your cheek in thanks before sprinting out of parts n service with the other three hot on her heels. Your lips curl into a tired smile. At least they have been taken care of until the next break down and who knows when that will be. You cross your fingers that Monty doesn’t decide to destroy his room and himself in process later tonight. He will just to spite you, as he has done before.
A glance at your fazwatch says you have time to kill until you can visit the daycare. If you go there now, you very well might be roped into helping with the kids and that is the one thing you cannot do today. Your patience is already paper thin and you don’t want to risk making Sun’s job harder than it has to be. So with your free time, you grab yourself a grape flavored fizzy faz and pop a couple ibuprofen to ward off the oncoming headache.
Now is a great time to order Sun a new pair of eyes, blue ones specifically, and safer sun rays from the department that works in the lower levels of the pizza plex. You hate traveling down there for spare parts. The endo skeletons move on their own and you find that especially unsettling. It would take a few extra days for them to be delivered but, well, that gives you an excuse to visit with Sun if anyone decides to pry about your whereabouts.
You look forward to seeing his smiling face later… or you could go now? The parts have been ordered, the painful buzz under your skull has started to subside thanks to be medicine, and you have to preoccupy your hands with something lest you go insane from boredom. Sure, you could use this time to do a little maintenance around the building—but do you really want to? Not particularly, and so you decide to skip on down to the daycare after packing a bag of equipment. Since you have nothing to repair him with, you might as well give his system a thorough sweep for any signs of glitches.
You attempt to sneak by the break room without getting caught but someone spots the bag slung over your shoulder as you pass by.
“Hey!”
The shout that echoes into the hallway causes you to freeze in place. You keep your wide-eyes forward, afraid moving might give away your not-so-secret position. What you’re doing isn’t against any of the rules but you feel as somehow you have made a grave mistake.
“Where are you going?”
There is one thing you hate more than regular people… and that would be nosy people. If everyone would mind their own business around this place, maybe there wouldn’t be a ridiculous amount of gossip spreading like a disease. What you do on your own is private, whether it happened at work or not, and they are sorely mistaken if they think you want to talk. None of them like you, so why do they need to know your business?
Smile and wave, you repeat. Smile and wave.
You slowly peek over the doorframe with a stiff curl of your lips and wave. “I’m on my way to the daycare.”
Some of the clicks pass along a look of skepticism. “Why the daycare? You don’t work there now, do you? What’s the bag for?”
The consistent questions back to back make your smile go slack into a monotonous stare. Smiling and waving isn’t going to cut it this time.
“It really isn’t any of your business,” you cross your arms and narrow your eyes at the two girls whispering in the back, “if you want gossip, you aren’t getting it from me. Especially you two in the back.”
They go tense when you point a knowing finger at them.
“Someone is cranky. I should teach this bitch a lesson,” you hear a snicker from the local womanizer who’s name you didn’t bother to remember.
That causes your expression to twist into a heavy scowl. In a moment of black out anger, you stalk into the break room and snatch a cup of water off a random table. A round of gasps are heard when you toss it in his direction and it splatters across his chest. He raises from his seat with a girlish yelp that causes you to grin. His shoes are sopping wet now.
Good.
“Humble yourself, you sexist pig,” you snarl, making a cut throat motion.
“I should—“ he raises a fist like he wants to attack and you just cackle until the back of your throat burns.
“What? You going to hit me in front your friends? Would that make you feel better about that insecure confidence? Aw, you poor thing…” you slap your knees like beckoning a dog, bottom lip jut out in mockery.
The room breaks into chaos as you turn on your heel and exit, chin held high. You ignore the calls to come back and finish the fight, and although it is very tempting, your physical strength could never match his. You know your boundaries well from past experiences and you hardly cross that line unless absolutely necessary. Blackmail is easy to obtain. You aren’t worried about the consequences of your actions. That whole interaction was a waste of time, precious time that could have been used for your job.
There is something seriously wrong with that guy. You find yourself sprinting for the daycare in search of some sort of safety because who’s to say he isn’t following you to finish what he started. There aren’t many people at the checkout desk and you realize just how much time actually passed. The last trickle of kids are leaving and you pout over the fact you couldn’t watch Sun send them off.
You owe it to yourself to slide into the daycare this time. After carefully pushing your bag of hardware down the green entry slide, you flash security badge to the camera above the checkout desk and then throw yourself in. Your inner child squeals on the way down and you plant face first into the ball pit in a fit of giggles. After fishing for your bag and forcefully climbing your way onto solid ground, you perk your head up to find Sun frantically running around to put things in the proper place.
You notice he’s acting stressed, mumbling to himself and scratching around the delicate, exposed wires behind his head like it itches. But it… can’t itch, can it? He shouldn’t be able to physically feel things like that, but then again he shouldn’t really have emotions either. Whatever Fazbear Entertainments was trying to do during the creation process, you don’t think it was meant to make them sentient. Sun is pacing back and forth, unable to focus on one thing at once.
You frown as you watch him retrieve a couple of toys, catch wind of another mess, drop the toys and rush over to clean the new trouble area. Then the whole process restarts which is unfortunate because he really isn’t making progress in terms of tidying up. You set your bag down by the security desk before attempting to inch closer.
“Hey, Sunshine,” you softly call out, “are you feeling okay?”
The bells attached to his wrists chime when flinching at the sound of your voice. His head swivels around, a perfect rotation, but his front half stays facing away from you and the sight is a great reminder that his body isn’t limited to how far it can stretch. Unlike humans who break so very easily.
“D-dewdrop! Hey, hi, hello! You sure took your sweet time getting backbackback here! I thought you had forgotten!”
Dewdrop? You find yourself warm in the face, rubbing the tip of your shoe into the multicolored play mats. He doesn’t give you long to be bashful because the next second he’s lifting you from the floor by your waist. His arms wrap tight around you, pulling your chest flush to his and he nuzzles his unmoving face into your hair, machinery humming. You decide to accept his touch and lock your arms around his neck with an exhale of relief—you’re safe here with him. It would also be terribly rude not to return his affection.
The position of which your body fits to his is perfect in allowing you to lay your cheek to his chest plate. Your eyes flutter closed to the sound of his artificial heartbeat and you let out a hum in contentment. He is incredibly warm, too. You’re sinking deeper and deeper into his embrace as the seconds pass, but he hasn’t moved away yet so it must be fine. When you glance up at his face, he is already staring at you. You can’t exactly pinpoint what he’s thinking but you know good and well that his mind is zipping.
“What’s wrong, Sun? You look a little stressed,” you use your forefinger to draw different shapes over where his mechanical heart is and you swear you feel him shudder, “anything I can help with?”
“Oh…” his sun rays sink into the back of his head and you realize he’s being shy, “I wanted the daycare to be clean when you got here. It’s still a mess mess mess!”
The panicking was for you? He cares enough to do that? Everyone avoids him like the plague, unrightfully so. If you take a moment to look past the jitters and the obnoxiously loud voice, under all that metal is a bot that wants to be validated. No one can blame him for that. You refuse to blame him for that.
You leverage your hands onto his shoulders and tug yourself further up the length of his body so you can press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “That is very sweet of you, Sunshine. Why don’t I help like yesterday?”
The soft brush of your lips against his faceplate sends him into a spiral. His internal cooling fans whir full blast and his voice box crackles with words that don’t come out clear enough to understand. The grip of his slender hands tighten around your waist to the point it pinches with pain and you bite the inside of your cheek as he inwardly fights to calm down. He lowers you back to the floor, being extra careful of his strength, and then leaves a single pat on your head.
He is such a dork. You love it.
“How about we make clean up time interesting? Play a little game?” You tilt your head, mouth curling with a smirk.
“A game? Oh oh oh! Let me guess! Eye spy, charades, patty cake, hide and seek—“
You interrupt his rambling by poking his poofy pants, since it’s the only thing you can really reach, and break off into a sprint. “Tag, you’re it!”
Do you have enough energy to play tag right now? No, but you’re determined to do it anyway.
The excited laugh he lets out melts your insides into mush. Adrenaline surges through your blood when his jingling footsteps follow in pursuit—hot and heavy too. You make the mistake of turning your head back to catch a glimpse of how close he is and shriek when he leaps. You barely manage to roll out of the way before his hand touches the flesh of your forearm. You scurry under the play structure where he can’t squeeze through and cackle, kicking your feet when he realizes he can’t reach you.
“Hey, that isn’t fair! Get out from under there,” he swipes for you like a cat and you playfully stick your tongue out.
“No way! If you tag me, I won’t be able to catch you! You’re like,” you gesture to his size, “huge! You would have me running in circles for hours!”
That idea makes him purr. The sound sends a rush of warmth to your cheeks and you try to hide the slight embarrassment by cupping your palms to your face. Why was that attractive? Are you really getting attached to the daycare attendant? This cannot be happening. You refuse to harbor a crush on the machine you’re supposed to fix for work purposes. What kind of hole have you dug yourself into this time? You always do this to yourself—getting into situations that always turn out for the worst. Like the break room. That could have been avoided.
Sun scans your reaction, eerily still. “Are you feeling okay, Dewdrop? Your vitals spiked! Am I scaring you?”
You really wish he would quit calling you that but he says it with such conviction, such earnest. This is why you don’t make friends because this always happens. You get attached, they get creeped out, and then they leave. Sun isn’t the type to bounce, you like to think from the brief moments of getting to know him, but the thought still haunts you. How dare your baggage reveal itself now of all times.
You momentarily forget about the game of tag in favor of reaching out to touch his outstretched hand. His face spins at the contact.
“You want to finish tag later? We still need to clean and, if you’ll allow me, I would like to check your code.”
You should be ashamed for changing the subject. Tag was fun while it lasted, at least.
Sun coaxes you out from your hiding spot with a giggle. “Of course, of course! I trust you, Sunspot! Comecomecome on! So many messes to clean!”
You wipe the perspire from your brow with a relieved conscience. At least he isn’t upset at your sudden stop to the game and even welcomed the break with open arms. You guess it’s in his nature to switch tasks for the many children he takes care of. He isn’t the most passive animatronic you have taken care of thus far, that would be Freddy, but he does have a calming aura about him that can’t be explained. You get tingles in your fingertips anytime his warm hand connects to your skin.
The two of you get to work on cleaning daycare spotless. Sun works on returning things to their rightful place while you grab a broom from the supply closest to sweep by the arts and crafts table. Sun steadily talks himself through the process but the mindless chatter is like having a tv running while playing on your phone. You’re so focused on picking up left behind children’s drawings that you miss his not-so-subtle staring.
“I think that’s everything,” you glance around, dusting glitter from your hands, “anything we miss?”
Sun jolts sky high when you turn to address him. You quirk a single brow at his skittish behavior and shuffle closer to put a hand on his outer thigh. His head gives a hard twitch at the contact and you almost rip your hand away so it doesn’t happen again. That is one of the main reasons you’re about to have your sticky fingers all in his programming. It could be as simple as squashing a pesky bug.
“Sun?”
“O-oh, yes that seems to be everything! Didn’t y—didn’t you say something about a code code code check?”
You can’t determine if his voice box is stuttering or if he is. What is going on? His ticks are worse than yesterday and the twenty hour period you didn’t see each other wasn’t nearly enough time for a glitch to corrupt that much of his system. The oddity has you scratching the back of your neck that ultimately melts into a shrug.
You will know soon enough.
“Come sit over here for me, Sunshine,” you stalk over to the security desk and pat the ground near an electric outlet.
Sun shuffles his way over, albeit his lowered posture looks nervous. You purse your lips into a thin line as he lowers himself down to the floor and glances at the exit like he is participating in something he shouldn’t. He is quiet as a mouse, which is suspicious in itself, while you attach wires and cords to his central processor on the back of his head. His fingers thrum against the stripes on his pants as you sit down in front of his with an open laptop. You swipe some hair out of your face before peering into the screen.
“I’m just going to test your motor functions. So you do what I say, okay?” You offer a smile and he visibly relaxes if not but a tad.
When you tell him to raise his right arm, he gladly does so and without complaint. You go through each of his limbs, fingers, and every sun ray to make sure there isn’t anything abnormal in the movements. There isn’t anything unusual poking around in his programming when it shouldn’t be, and admittedly the lack errors irritates you. You were positive that something was wrong—so positive that you would have bet money on it. The head twitching sold it.
“Why the long face, Sunbite?”
His uncharacteristically soft tone of voice gets you to look up from the computer screen.
“Nothing, Sun,” you wipe the look of disappointment from your features with the back of your hand, “I was just worried about what I would find. I want you to be in perfect condition, otherwise who will I talk to if you aren’t around? You’re the only friend I have here.”
His rays spin wildly as the word friend leaves your mouth. The mixture of a hum and a giggle filters through his voice box as he rocks back and forth. If robots had blood and veins to blush, you’re sure he would be.
“No, we aren’t friends! We’re best friends, silly! Why why why else would you treat me so nice?” He inquires as if no one has ever shown him genuine kindness before.
Everyone deserves to be treated nice. Even the sentient daycare attendant that no one likes. You find him charming, maybe a little overbearing, and Sun is the most excitement you have had in awhile. You never know what he might say or do and the anticipation feels like a drug coursing through your blood. Sun keeps you held on your tippy toes and a break in your tightly knit schedule is exactly what you need. You want something more than the same routine and Sun provides that.
You said you didn’t want to befriend him and yet here you are hanging onto every word he says. He’s just so unlike anything you have seen and that draws you in like a moth to flame.
“Because I have a feeling not many people do,” you quirk an eyebrow at him, teeth peeking out from behind your lips.
Sun’s voice crackles with a sound akin to an inhale but it dissolves into a choke as his head twitches to the side. Hard. His hands fly to his face as you stare in blatant shock. The dull metal of his fingertips scrape down the notches in his face and a shiver rolls up your back at the sound. You have a hard time deciphering the muffled, manic murmuring into his metal palms before he throws his head back, a little too close to hitting the wall behind him, and he shrieks.
“The lights are on! Stop, stop, stop!”
Your eyes briefly flicker down to the computer screen to watch his code unfurl on itself. A breath of amazement is ripped from your lungs at the sight. That isn’t a glitch or odd quirk: it’s The Moon A.I. fighting The Sun A.I. for the shared body’s control. Sun is desperately attempting to override Moon’s almost frantic clump of commands to take over. You suppose this is the only way they can squabble since physically throwing punches at each other isn’t really an option.
Your hands linger over the keyboard, lacking confidence in your coding skills to stop them. You could shut this down with a lot of over complicated commands but that would be silencing Moon and you need his trust. There is no way you want to hand him a reason to hate you—overriding his brunt force attacks towards Sun would surely start a war. You have to figure out what to do with haste because smoke is starting to rise from Sun’s joints as he scrambles to keep his counter part at bay.
You set your laptop to the side and out of reach where Sun’s kicking feet can’t accidentally crush it. It takes some dodging his flailing limbs to get close enough to the cords attached to his circuitry. You gently pry his hands away from his face, whispering that the two of them don’t have to fight for control while you’re around—and like a flip was switched by the gentle brush of your voice against his cheek, the fighting ceases.
“You two are going to overheat doing that,” you curl your arm around his head to detach the wires, “Sun, you have to be more considerate. Moon, you know switching under lights will do you more harm than good. Your A.I. isn’t meant for bright spaces.”
Sun is stunned speechless and somewhere under the unmoving smile, you swear you can feel Moon is in shock too. You take your precious time unhooking him from your computer, humming in the base of your throat to keep them docile while your fingers are digging into their central processor. His arms are now glued to his sides but the mechanical clinks of his fingers curling is a sign he isn’t fully calm.
“I would like to meet Moon before I leave, Sunshine,” you pull back from his chest just enough to stare him in the white eyes, “and I made a promise not to turn off the lights. You have to do it.”
Sun immediately begins to rapidly shake his head. “Nonono the lights have to stay ON. They stay ON!”
“Sun…” you grasp the bottom of his faceplate to keep him still, “I have to leave in thirty minutes. I need to see Moon before I go.”
“But what if he hurts you?!” He grips your forearms tight enough you wince.
You thought about that and, honestly, you could care less. Monty is hostile towards you anytime you disagree with him, which is almost every check-up. Dealing with difficult animatronics isn’t exactly a walk in the park but it beats working a dead-end job that goes nowhere. If you get some scrapes and bruises in the process of doing your work efficiently, so be it. There are no reports of Moon hurting anyone and that is enough for you to go through with this.
“Please,” you plead, blinking up at him, “it would mean a lot to me. We’re best friends, right? You can trust me.”
Sun takes a moment to process your begging. You sweeten your words by promising to return to the daycare tomorrow in exchange for getting a second with Moon. The internal struggle is written all in his gangly body language but you’re surprised when he removes you from standing over his straightened legs in order to reach for the light switch.
“I—I warned you, Dewdrop. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
The absolute terror that causes his voice to tremble is a great reminder to stay cautious. If somehow Moon craves to harm you, it wouldn’t take much to snap your neck in his huge hands. You are a grain of sand in comparison to their size and their strength, and if Moon wants to be brutal, you can’t do anything to get away. It isn’t that this possibly hasn’t crossed your mind before asking, but when darkness floods over you, it feels a little too real.
The overhead lights from the security desk never shut off but every other light in the daycare is nothing but shadows now. You’re stuck in place—by fear or by curiosity you don’t know—as Sun’s body goes limp, arms dangling helplessly as his lifeless eyes stare forward. Then they begin to roll into the back of his head to leave nothing but a black pit of emptiness. His sun rays are sucked into the back of his head and out pops a star pattern night cap with a bell on the end from his faceplate. There is a drawn out hiss as the body lowers into a crouching position.
You swallow harshly when two red eyes flicker from inside the empty eye sockets. A chilling laugh sizzles through the voice box, deep and rough like sandpaper.
“Hellooooo, little Starshine…”
That shouldn’t have sent chills down your entire body but it did. Starshine. He called you Starshine.
“Hi, Moon,” you smile despite the inkling of fear that urges you to run for the exit, “nice to finally meet you.”
You hold out your hand for him to shake and his whole head spins. Perspire runs down the side of your face when he creeps forward towards your awaiting, open palm. Instead of him shaking your hand like you intended, he tugs you into his chest by the grip on your upper waist. He peers close, crimson eyes flickering over your state of confusion. The bloom of color that spreads across your cheekbones is enough to elicit a giggle from him.
“Such a tiny star,” he uses a free hand to twirl a finger into your hair, “will you play fair, Starshine? You played with Sun, didn’t you? Why don’t we play a game? It’s only fair fair fair.”
“What… what game did you want to…” he cuts you off by rumbling something in his chest.
If it were possible to grin any wider, you’re sure it would reach to the ceiling. His grip releases from the flesh of your middle in favor of turning you around by your shoulders and pushes you away. You stumble forward, desperately trying not to trip from the force of his shove.
“Better get to hiding, Mouse. I’m the seeker.”
|
“I do.”
The words that left Harry’s mouth sounded so final. And he supposed, for him, at least, they were. Life as he knew it was over.
Not that it mattered in the long run. Harry’s opportunity at a functional life had been over with his parents' deaths. Given his raising, he hadn’t exactly had the chance to nourish his ‘caring and compassionate’ side.
Irritating people just made him stabby, which, according to most people, probably wasn’t the most appropriate reaction to have.
Not that he’d ever told anyone that. He couldn’t imagine Dumbledore would react well to Harry asking him
why
he should be saving the arseholes in the Wizarding World who’d ostracised him at the slightest provocation. Not to mention the fully-grown adults, who couldn’t pick up their own wands to defend themselves or their families.
It was a shame, really, that the ‘light’ witches and wizards seemed to think that not using dark magic meant that they could be weak and get away with it.
Either way, Harry was now married to the Dark Lord on the orders of the light side, and wasn’t that just a trip?
They thought he’d be able to
temper
Voldemort. That was a laugh. Harry was more inclined to don the pom-poms and come up with a chant to egg him on.
Still, he wouldn’t disabuse them of the notion just yet. Better to let them find out on their own.
It was more fun that way.
…
Harry twisted his wedding ring around his finger absently. He was sprawled in his seat beside Voldemort, one leg thrown over the arm of his chair as he paid little mind to the meeting he’d been asked to attend.
The Death Eaters were all sending curious looks his way as Voldemort outlined the raid he was planning for that very night.
Harry figured they were wondering why Harry wasn’t pleading with him to
save the children
or some such nonsense.
Truth was, Harry didn’t really give a toss.
An elf popped in, interrupting Lucius Malfoy mid-sentence, and Harry snorted. Voldemort turned red eyes on the elf.
“Pius Thicknesse be arriving with a report, Sir,” the elf squeaked.
Voldemort nodded. “Send him in.”
Oh, wonderful. A report meant that Harry was going to be stuck there for hours, and he was already bored.
The Death Eaters remained silent as the elf popped off again, and moments later, footsteps could be heard echoing on the corridor floor, the door opening a few seconds after.
Pius Thicknesse looked like a particularly well-groomed weasel, in Harry’s opinion. His hair was smoothed back with enough hair gel to provide for everyone at a Muggle prom, and Harry was quite sure that he’d never seen a man with better tended eyebrows.
None of that mattered when he opened his mouth and Harry heard his voice. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and Harry visibly cringed. He managed five minutes before he cracked.
And it clearly wasn’t just him. Voldemort’s already pale hands were so tight on the arms of his throne-like chair that they were practically translucent.
Harry interrupted the prattling man with a raised hand. “Are you being so irritating on purpose, or is this some kind of passive suicide that I don’t know about? Get to the point!”
Thicknesse blinked at him and opened his mouth to speak.
“Choose your next words very carefully, Pius,” Voldemort warned, visibly amused at Harry. “My husband has clearly outgrown his patience.”
Pius swallowed hard, fear evident in his eyes, and he eventually said, “The Ministry has fallen apart, My Lord. It’s yours for the taking.”
“See, that wasn’t hard, was it?” Harry said, rolling his eyes. He looked at Voldemort. “Can something be done about his vocal cords? I’ll rip them out if I have to hear them often, and that just doesn’t seem very polite.”
“There are potions,” Voldemort replied with a shrug. He glanced back at Pius. “I suggest you look into them. You’re dismissed.”
Thicknesse bowed low and walked out of the room as fast as he could without running. Harry watched him go, and then rolled his eyes at his own dramatics. He really could be quite mean; Voldemort was a terrible influence on him.
He was letting his thoughts out more and more lately. Usually, he’d only
daydream
about ripping someone’s vocal cords out, he wouldn’t give into the temptation to actually
say
it.
“My Lord?” Lucius asked, the hesitation clear in his voice. “Will your husband be joining us on the raid?”
Voldemort glanced at Harry and then tilted his head curiously. “Will you be joining us?”
Harry thought for a second and then nodded his head. “Sure. Be nice to set a few fires.”
Voldemort snorted. “The light has no idea what their ‘saviour’ is really like, do they?”
“Pretty sure I’d have been locked in a dungeon, shackled to the wall, if they knew—and not even in the kinky way.”
There was a pause, and then Voldemort’s lips tilted up. “Perhaps we’ll have to try that out, beloved. In the kinky way, of course.”
Harry grinned. “As my Lord wishes.”
…
The knife sailed through the air and landed exactly where it had been targeted. Red lined the edge of it around the wound it had created, and Harry summoned it back with a mere wave of his hand as he used his wand to cast an overpowered
Incendio
on a nearby building.
He really did like fire; it was so pretty.
He could see Voldemort a little down the street, his wand firing spell after spell at the Muggles who were trying to run, clearly confused and scared about what was happening.
The few wizards that lived in the area had already either died or scarpered, the cowards.
Harry set a few more of the houses on fire—just because he could—before he let his knives sail through the air again. While most of the Death Eaters seemed to prefer curses to torture their victims, Harry couldn’t help but think that the more hands on approach was more… personal.
He liked that.
Though of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t also like to use magic on his victims. An Entrail Expelling curse hit a fat guy in the gut as he tried to sneak into the car parked on his drive.
Harry snorted. Did he think he was going to run people over and escape? Idiot.
“That’s disgusting!” he heard from beside him, and he turned to see Lucius Malfoy—face hidden behind a black and silver mask, but that hair was unmistakable—watching as the man’s large intestine was literally vomited up through his mouth.
“You’ve never been interested in biology?” Harry asked, as he moved his wand in a large overarching C pattern towards a woman who screamed as she was ripped in half. “I like to see how the insides of people work.”
“Potter, you’re insane,” Lucius muttered, shaking his head. “How the light thought you were theirs, I’ll never know.”
“I’ve got an honest face,” Harry said, shrugging.
They worked together to blow up three cars and a house, and shared a smirk.
“I’ve seen honest faces… they usually come attached to liars.”
Harry winked. “Exactly.”
They separated to hit the end two houses on the block, herding the remaining Muggles in the area towards the other Death Eaters. Harry finds a couple of stranglers, and ends them quickly.
Time was ticking, and he knew that Voldemort hadn’t wanted to have to fight the Ministry or the Order tonight. He’d wanted to prove the point that they couldn’t be reached in time to stop the damage.
Harry glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the destruction behind him. The houses still burned, and the ground was covered in patches of dark red, the blood of the Muggles staining it beautifully.
Turning to catch his husband's eye, Harry smiled at him as he used the spell that was the green of Harry’s eyes.
After his last killing curse, he raised his wand to the sky and cast
‘Morsmordre’.
As one, the Death Eaters Apparated from the scene just seconds before Harry and Voldemort did the same, leaving behind only chaos and destruction and death.
A successful evening, it was.
…
Harry let his fingers fly over the keys of the piano, the melody familiar and soothing to him as he played.
He’d had a bit of a day—including a meeting with Dumbledore in which the man had been disappointed in Harry for not stopping the raid earlier in the week; Harry had wanted to make his eyes pop out from his skull—and he wasn’t in the mood for interruptions.
Which was why, when a knock on the door sounded followed by the door opening, he was about ready to murder whoever it was.
“My Lord, the—”
“Did I tell you to come in?” Harry asked, not even bothering to look who it was.
“No but—”
“If you knock on a door and there’s no answer, do you walk in?” He turned to see Goyle Sr looking at him with wide eyes. “Or do you assume that whoever is inside is busy?”
“I heard you playing,” Goyle pointed out rather stupidly.
Harry closed his eyes. “You're an imbecile.”
“I don’t even know what that means, but uh, I’m sorry?”
“What do you want, Goyle?”
Goyle shifted his feet. “The Dark Lord asked me to tell you that dinner is being served.”
“Tell him I’m not hungry,” Harry said with a grimace.
“My Lord—”
“Go away, Goyle. My fingers are twitching, and if you don’t let them play the piano, they’re going to start playing with knives.”
The door closed a few seconds later, and Harry turned his attention back to the piano, but the mood for it had left him. He dropped his head onto the keys with a groan.
A few minutes later, the door opened again, and strong, long fingers pressed into his shoulders, the palms of two hands pressing into his back.
“Are you quite alright, beloved?”
“Meh,” Harry muttered. “Today has been the worst and I don’t want to deal with people.”
“The minions seem to be quite concerned about you,” Voldemort murmured. “Some more than others. Bella offered to come and cheer you up, but we just redecorated in here so I thought better of it.”
Harry chuckled. “Bella’s idea of cheering me up makes some sense though.” He leant back against the taller man, his head resting on a flat stomach. “Come and spar with me for a while?”
Voldemort leaned down to press a kiss to his head. “Of course.”
…
Harry stood by the doors of the manor, coffee cup in hand, watching the storm. He loved thunder and lightning, he always had. There was something soothing about a storm.
“Rabastan has gotten himself in a sticky situation, My Lord,” Lucius said, joining him at the door. “He’s hoping you’ll give him a hand.”
“Don’t tell me he provoked Bella and Rod again,” Harry groaned. “I’m enjoying my coffee, dammit.”
“You could always leave him to her mercy,” Lucius suggested with a wry smile.
“Don’t tempt me.”
He finished his remaining coffee and banished the cup, casting a longing glance at the storm before he followed Lucius through the base to where Bellatrix had Rabastan cornered. Rodolphus sat on a desk nearby, watching with amused eyes.
It didn’t take long for Harry to realise why he seemed to be amused. Rabastan’s usually brown hair was bright orange, and he was sneezing uncontrollably while Bella cackled.
Harry snorted. “Why was I needed for this?”
Lucius was staring at the scene, clearly completely baffled. “I… I thought this was going in an entirely different direction.”
Laughing now, Harry shook his head. “How is this my life?”
And the thing was, as more of the Death Eaters were drawn in by Harry and Bellatrix’s laughter, Harry realised that this
was his life now,
and he didn’t hate it.
Later, he’d go and find his husband and probably have kinky sex. Or there would be a raid, and he’d get to play with his knives. And tomorrow, something else would happen. And the day after, something different again.
He was certainly no longer bored, and he was definitely not pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
Actually, he thought, saying ‘I do’ on the orders of the light was probably the best thing he could have ever done.
Not that they’d agree.
Hey, you can’t please everyone. Right?
But he was certainly pleasing himself.
|
When they return from the mission, all battered and bruised, they’re immediately whisked away into the butterfly estate.
All of them except for Rengoku. Though he sees to it that they’re all well before he returns to his own estate. Pillars were really something else, being able to overexert themselves with barely breaking any sweat.
Lucky, Kaigaku had mused as two of the butterfly estate girls struggled to support him, he had a quiet place all to himself while he had to deal with three screaming kids all day.
Kaigaku himself had initially refused to get treatment, but ended up getting dragged into a check-up anyway. Apparently, he was on the brink of dehydration and his legs could use a good splint or two.
“Don’t move.” Aoi scolds as she forcefully stretched his legs, “What were you thinking about, overusing your muscles like that?”
“I didn’t--” Kaigaku winces when she tugs at a particularly sore point. Man, he’d really like some anesthesia on this. “I didn’t think.”
Aoi just glares.
Zenitsu, as it turns out, was in a similar situation as him. Less bad, but from the way he whines about it, it might as well be like his legs were going to get amputated.
“I can’t feel them!” Zenitsu screams from the other side of the room. “Big brother, I can’t feel my legs!!”
“Then how the fuck were you able to stand up and say ‘hi’ to Nezuko earlier?!” He yells back, beating Aoi to it and chucking a pillow at him for good measure. “Quiet down!”
“But I don’t want to walk.” Zenitsu’s in tears again, clinging to the nearby scaffolding in fear.
“It’s either you do or you won’t ever again.” Kaigaku mutters, forcing his own legs to bend.
It’s been a few days, and part of the recovery process meant stretching the muscles out. It’s painful, still, but Kaigaku grits his teeth and pushes through it. Even if his muscles feel like they’re tearing instead of healing. What else can he do? They both need to do it, whether they like it or not.
“It hurts!” Zenitsu repeats, as if Kaigaku hadn’t heard him the first time. Kaigaku would give him a gentle slap (read: violent) to shut him up, but unfortunately, he’d rather not walk a couple of extra steps just to give his dear brother a concussion.
So he just sighs and waddles off at his own pace. Zenitsu would follow soon enough, the blonde just likes to whine to get some attention.
“Zenitsu!”
And here that attention comes.
Tanjirou runs in from the gates, looking disheveled. He’s recovered far faster than either of them, same goes for Inosuke, and has even begun taking missions again. Kaigaku’s not jealous whatsoever, but it would be nice to walk around again like he wasn’t about to keel over.
Kaigaku watches as Tanjirou slips the blonde’s arm around his own, “Lean on me and I’ll help you!”
Zenitsu is immediately driven to happy tears. “Tanjirou!”
The atmosphere is immediately sweeter, Kaigaku swears he could see those damned floating flowers in the background. He’s not sure if the damage from his legs had finally climbed up to his brain, causing the hallucination, or if this kind of thing really happens canonically in-universe.
Kaigaku just sighs and forces his legs to move faster. Damn lovey-dovey kids.
He’s about to leave them both in the dust out of sheer will, that is until he feels himself being lifted off the ground and--
“What--?” He exclaims, struggling before looking down in panic only to see a familiar tuft of blue hair.
“Inosuke!”
The kid cackles maniacally, even having the audacity to throw Kaigaku up in the air a bunch as a show of strength. “You king is here to help!”
Kaigaku, feeling mortified at having a kid lifting him up with no problem, screams. “You stupid fucking boar put me down!”
He hears scandalized gasps in the distance. Oops, he probably should watch his mouth in front of the girls.
In usual Inosuke fashion, Kaigaku’s ignored. The boar even runs faster, to where? Kaigaku has a feeling they both don’t have any idea.
“Look Kuugaku! We’re winning!”
“This isn’t a damn race you--”
Shinobu trips Inosuke and sends them tumbling down the dirt road.
They both get sent back to the recovery room for detention.
Inosuke nurses the bump on the back of the head, grumbling. Shinobu had taken the liberty of punishing him earlier. “Why can’t you just move it?”
Kaigaku grunts back, trying to do light stretches with his legs. He’s currently banned from standing up, lest Inosuke get some ideas again. “Because it hurts.”
“Just twist it around!” The boar starts demonstrating with his hands. Eventually he gets fed up when Kaigaku doesn’t seem to understand what he’s saying and stands up, doing a weird gesture with his leg. “Twist!”
“Twist?” Kaigaku humours him. This kid is really crazy. Having enough stamina to still scream and jump around.
“Yeah! Like this--”
And Inosuke just decides that dislocating his fucking leg in front of him is a good idea.
“See?”
Kaigaku passes out.
Inosuke is put into detention for twice the amount of time. Again.
It’s been a day or two since the Inosuke fiasco has happened and he’s gained his standing privileges again. Aoi gave him a new cane (the old one broke from their fall) and told him to continue walking around; near the building of course, so that he didn’t need to worry about rotting to death alone if he fell down a ditch.
Kaigaku puts his all in extending and flexing his legs, though he barely manages to get himself to do it through the shaking most of the time. He’s eager to be walking properly soon. The weather is always so nice around the estates, not too hot and not to cold, it’s such a shame he has to experience it all while in pain. He’d like to take a proper stroll again once he’s better.
But for now, suffering.
He clicks his tongue in annoyance when he can barely stretch his legs out straight. It’s just not letting him do it. If he had someone here with him, maybe he’d ask them to pull on it and--
“Inadama!”
No need apparently, because getting jump scared by a pillar is enough to get the job done. Kaigaku resists the urge to just fall on the ground and scream. He turns to the (indirect) cause of his pain, finding Kyoujurou leisurely making his way towards him with his ever-blinding grin.
“Sir.” Kaigaku greets, as he ever so slowly returns his legs to a leisurely bend. Thankfully he’s able to mask the pain with a smile.
Kyoujurou laughs unabashedly when he reaches him, none the wiser. “Back to formalities, are we?”
“What are you here for?” Kaigaku asks bluntly. He’s not exactly in the mood for banter. His left leg feels like it’s on fire.
But he is, however, very curious about the neatly folded cloth draped over the pillar’s right arm. It bears the same style and pattern as Kyoujurou’s own haori. Is he doing laundry?
Kyoujurou perks up, noticing his interest, “Hm. This?” He pats the cloth a few times, lost in thought, as if debating something. Then he’s back to his usual cheery disposition.
“It’s be a surprise! Come I’ll--”
Kaigaku is tugged forwards all of a sudden and his grip on the cane loosens, putting all of his weight on his still very injured legs. He can’t help the shout that comes out of him as he staggers to a fall.
“Ah.” Kyoujurou frowns, worried as he catches Kaigaku by the shoulder. “Are you still hurt? You can’t walk around in that state.”
It’s not like he had much of a choice. “It’s part of the recovery process, sir.” Kaigaku answers dutifully.
Kyoujurou hums, then slings the cloth over his shoulder. He pulls Kaigaku roughly towards him. Kaigaku's is too stunned to register the pain that happens because what the fuck is this guy doing--
“Then let me assist you for the time being!”
Frankly, Kaigaku thinks as Kyoujurou links arms with him, he didn’t know what the difference between using a cane and leaning on this guy would be. Aren't they basically the same?
[+100]
Kaigaku blinks. Well, look who’s back. What was that?
[Points.]
I know. For what?
[Doing a great job so far with your recovery.]
“Kaigaku? Is this okay?”
Kaigaku stutters, a bit out of sorts when he’s met with Kyoujurou’s concerned gaze. Oh. He forgot to say yes.
“Yes. Thank you, sir.” He’s able to croak out. The response is good enough for the pillar and they start making their way to--wait, where were they going?
Kyoujurou is quick to quell his confusion. “Right, off to visit Tanjirou then!” Ah. “I’ve come to invite him to my estate as a pupil.”
So it’s finally happening. All according to plan, of course. Even though he would very much like to know Kyoujurou’s thoughts on taking in Tanjirou as a Tsuguko, as long as it happens, he’s fine without knowing.
“And if he declines the new haori?”
Kyoujurou laughs the possibility off. “It’s just a formality!” He exclaims with a shake of his head. “He can refuse.”
Kaigaku questions no further. He doubts that Tanjirou will refuse in the first place.
Arriving at the training grounds comes far slower than expected, mostly due to the fact that Kaigaku slows their pace by a large margin. He’s half tempted to tell Kyoujurou to go on without him, but whenever he hesitates in step to speak up, the pillar tightens his grip.
Kaigaku sighs. Fine then. At a snail’s pace they go.
Kyoujurou boisterously announces his presence when they arrive, the three kids reacting in varying levels of enthusiasm. He gingerly assists Kaigaku to sit down on one of the nearby benches before he relays the big news.
Kaigaku catches Zenitsu staring the whole time it happens, and glares at him. The blonde yelps and holds his own cane close, hurriedly doing some pacing back and forth.
Oh. He wants to tell him that no, that glare didn’t mean ‘why aren’t you walking’ and actually meant ‘there is nothing suspicious about the flame pillar helping me sit’, but if it helps to motivate Zenitsu to exercise then so be it.
Then, as if on cue, a pretty strong gust of wind suddenly sweeps the landscape, taking Kaigaku out of his thoughts.
It ruffles the trees and scatters leaves down the pavement. It’s all rather cinematic, especially with the way Kyoujurou and Tanjirou are standing in the perfect place to make it seem like the sun is a spotlight over them.
So this is how those pretty shots in manga would look from a bystanders view. He thinks it’s rather overrated. Especially since he’s under the tree that’s shedding leaves at a worrying rate, he’s had to brush off a forming leaf pile off his head a few times now.
“Kamado Tanjirou!” Kyoujurou’s voice bellows as another gust of wind blows. Kaigaku has to keep his bangs from obstructing his view and also potentially puncturing his eyes. “I have witnessed your skill with a sword and your drive to kill demons. I wish to hone that ability to its fullest.”
Kyoujurou offers the haori to him, the golden flames embroidered into the fabric glinting as if they were real gold.
“Will you accept me as your mentor?”
Tanjirou looks starstruck. Mouth opening and closing in shock. He’s practically vibrating from excitement, and his sword lays on the ground long forgotten. Eventually he agrees with a shaky yes and takes the haori like it’s made out of glass.
Cute. He’s happy for him, but he’s also hoping this doesn’t fuck up the future plot. After this was supposed to be the red-light district arc. If Tanjirou would have managed to hone his sun breathing technique this early, would that mean that he’d be the one to eliminate Daki if given the chance? And would that prompt Muzan’s approach early?
[I think you’re overestimating what Tanjirou can do in such a short time.] His system reminds him. [He’s just a kid.]
He’s the protagonist. Kaigaku quips back, I can overestimate him at least a little.
Kaigaku’s only this worried because the new demons might become stronger, to scale with how Tanjirou is growing stronger himself.
Kyoujurou laughs at Tanjirou’s babbling in the distance.
Good thing they have more support this time.
Beside him, Inosuke sneers. Kaigaku scoffs. Someone’s jealous of all the attention Tanjirou’s getting. Well, what can you do? He’s technically the main ‘main’ character, these things are meant to happen. Surely there must be a mentor figure for Inosuke to come, he’s still a deuteragonist.
Then again, Inosuke wouldn’t have anyone to guide him on his technique since his breath technique is self-made. Sanemi might be a close contender for teaching the beast breath technique, but only because he looked like a beast himself. Maybe even Gyomei?
“Inosuke!” Zenitsu musters all of his strength to waddle over and shake Inosuke in his disbelief. Kaigaku nearly jumps out of his seat to support him when he stumbles. “Tanjirou’s becoming a Tsuguko…!”
“Whatever! I don’t care!” Inosuke shakes him off, “Tsuguko or not, I’m still the better slayer!”
He says that but, Kaigaku sinks down on his seat, he sure sounds like he cares.
And from the way Inosuke’s grip on his swords wavers when Kyoujurou gives Tanjirou a hug, he cares a whole lot.
Fucking hell, these kids.
Kaigaku clears his throat hoping to catch the pillar’s attention.
Sure enough, Kyoujurou meets his gaze. The trio are far too busy in their own worlds to bother noticing him; Zenitsu and Tanjirou gawking at the new haori with Inosuke throwing a tiny tantrum.
Kaigaku momentarily gestures to the sulking Inosuke. Do something about him, he tries to say without words.
Kyoujurou only takes a moment to frown before he’s back to all smiles, nodding obediently.
[You seem to posses some sort of telepathic communication with him.] The system says, mirth in its tone.
Shut up, Kaigaku chastises as Kyoujurou faces Inosuke.
“And I haven’t forgotten you as well! Your tenacity during the fight was contagious!” The pillar lays a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re also invited to be my student and I’d be honored to have you!”
Kaigaku furrows his brows. Well. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. It’s was one way of cheering him up.
If Inosuke’s mask was off, he’s pretty sure the kid would be on the verge of tears. But all he can see from his view is him shaking from the shock. At least he’s happy.
Another gust of wind, ugh. He’s getting cold here. But it adds to the dramatic effect when Inosuke suddenly jumps in the air out of sheer excitement. Tanjirou joins him in the celebration.
“That’s great Inosuke! We’ll be classmates!” The brunette exclaims, looking incredibly ecstatic. They both express their joy by running around the training grounds and shouting at each other. Zenitsu, however, is whining at the sidelines that he didn’t get picked. Truly not a single braincell is present in any of them.
Inosuke brandishes his swords with a newfound vigor, laughing maniacally as he tries to attack Tanjirou. The brunette parries it away with no problem. “I’m not your classmate, I’m stronger than you!” He boasts.
Zenitsu is quick to play the straight man. “Tanjirou got invited first, you know.”
“Hah?!” Inosuke sneers. The blonde yelps when the swords are pointed at him, hobbling to Tanjirou for help. “Who cares! I got invited last because Kiijiro was so scared to approach me first!”
The blonde continues to argue back, no shame at all as he uses Tanjirou like a meat shield. “That’s a pillar you’re talking about!”
The training grounds continue to be filled with sounds of swords clashing, running footsteps and the sounds of either kids shouting at each other. Kaigaku is close to getting a headache from it all, but at least no one’s in a bad moon anymore.
Kyoujurou sits down with a huff beside him, beaming much like a father would at his kids.
“Didn’t want to add Zenitsu to the roster?” Kaigaku jokes.
Kyoujurou sounds shocked that he’d even ask. “I can’t take your brother from you.”
Kaigaku chuckles and doesn’t say anything more. Such a serious answer.
The rest of the afternoon is spent watching Tanjirou and Inosuke jump around, play fighting each other in the training grounds until they’re panting from exertion. Surprisingly, Kyoujurou stays with them, quiet for the most part, but indulges Tanjirou and Inosuke when they try to drag him into conversation.
Zenitsu, having no strength to join them in training, inevitably wandered over to Kaigaku to complain. Kaigaku is subjected to barrage after barrage of chatter from his brother, not that he minded because he didn’t have anything to say himself, but Zenitsu can be very talkative when given the chance. He’s lucky they’re stuck here with a pillar so he can’t shut him up like he usually does.
The blonde eventually grumbles himself to sleep on his lap, and the other two run off to fetch some snacks from the butterfly estate, finally tired after all the screaming.
That left Kaigaku and Kyoujurou to themselves; the pillar with his eyes closed, leaning on the tree and Kaigaku playing with Zenitsu’s blonde hair.
“I didn’t mean you should take him as a Tsuguko as well.” Kaigaku says, after a moment of silence stretches for too long. Kyoujurou doesn’t seem to mind that they weren’t speaking, but
The pillar looks genuinely confused. “Hm? I shouldn’t have?”
“No I--” It’s not that he didn’t want him to, but Tanjirou and Inosuke are pretty rambunctious. Kyoujurou has to have a lot of patience. “I just wanted you to compliment him too or something.”
“This seems like a better compromise.” Kyoujurou says, “Inosuke is a delight.”
“I don’t know if we’ve talked to the same kid.”
Kyoujurou laughs at this, loud and free like he usually does. Zenitsu stirs from the noise and Kaigaku has to soothe him back to sleep.
“They’re both a delight.” Is what the pillar says.
Tanjirou was quick to show off his new haori from Kyoujurou the next day. Of course, Inosuke was just as fast to make it a competition on who can show everyone their shiny new haori around first.
Inosuke would win by a landslide, but only because he could scream the loudest.
Giyuu reacted somewhat poorly at first. Tanjirou did practice the water breathing technique before everything else, so it probably feels like betrayal. But in true water pillar fashion, his disappointment is barely noticeable and fairly short. He seemed pretty content afterwards, even entertaining Inosuke’s request for a quick spar.
Sanemi didn’t respond whatsoever, as expected of him. Or rather, how unexpected. He usually wouldn’t have hesitated to try and put the both of them 6 feet under. Gyoumei just cried his way through the conversation, but he seemed happy for them.
Shinobu indulged their antics, even riling them up so that when they eventually approached Uzui, the sound pillar found them too annoying to even tolerate and kicked them out of the estate. Kanroji took them in right after, and subjected Obanai to a very noisy tea time with the duo.
Kaigaku watched all of these unfold from the sidelines. As much as he’d like to interact with the main cast too, they seem to only spawn within the protagonist’s general area. Kaigaku could barely see them roaming the streets himself, but come Tanjirou and all of a sudden, they’re everywhere.
Kaigaku sighs, feeling a little forlorn as he observes the trio bumble around the water estate. It’s been the norm for them to hang around the pillars and bother them in their residence, much to the ire of people like Sanemi and Uzui. So energetic, those three. It’s like they never really run out of things to do together.
He’d like to join them, but admittedly it was rathe awkward to participate. It was a little disappointing. He would have liked to see more of the characters in person, but he was in the body of an NPC. Nothing special about him to warrant any pillar’s attention.
“Inadama!”
Except for one, it seems. Then again, Kyoujurou was a special case.
Kaigaku turns, greeting the approaching man with a bow. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Don’t be so blue!” Kaigaku is given a slap so hard it could’ve ascended him into another transmigration. “I’ve heard that you’ve come back victorious from another mission!”
“Yes.” Kaigaku chokes out as Kyoujurou attempts to cheer him up with multiple pats on the back. “I have.”
Kyoujurou laughs heartily, ignoring the way Kaigaku responds to him in deadpan completely. Honestly quite a feat.
“I miss my own brother.”
The piece of dango making its way down Kaigaku’s throat nearly goes through his windpipe from the surprise. What a way to start a conversation.
They’ve both taken refuge under the shade of the old tree in the training grounds, the very same place where Kyoujurou had offered Tanjirou his Tsuguko status, sharing a nice afternoon snack. Kaigaku had only passed by and greeted, not wanting to bother the pillar, but Kyoujurou was quick to coax him to sit down.
It’s been rather peaceful. Until, of course, Kyoujurou’s amazing icebreaker.
Kaigaku hides his choking with a quick sip of his tea and a persistent clearing of the throat. “Then go talk to him?” He offers.
“I can’t!” Kyoujurou shouts.
Kaigaku shifts in his seat, too late to spare his eardrums. Is that something you should be so loud about?
“It feels like.” Kaigaku’s annoyance is dampened when he sees Kyoujurou’s unusually contemplative expression. “I forgot what I had to say after coming back from that train. Or if I had anything to say at all.”
He should’ve known there were consequences.
Kaigaku tries not to let his panic show, despite the chill slowly creeping down his spine. This isn’t good. “Is it not a blood technique left over?”
“There shouldn’t be.” Kyoujurou shakes his head, smiling wanly. “I’ve checked with Shinobu already.”
There’s a lull in the conversation and Kaigaku assumes that’s the end of it. The atmosphere is terrible, or maybe it’s just because he knows too much? Guilty people usually feel uncomfortable even in situations that are completely normal. But Kaigaku has nothing to be guilty of. He saved this guy’s life; Kyoujurou should be happy.
Then again, he’s the only one who knows that. That past Kyoujurou doesn’t exist, and this present Kyoujurou has to deal with the fact that he wasn’t written to be alive in the first place and therefore has no clear purpose to exist.
Kaigaku heaves a sigh, his hold on his tea shaking ever so slightly.
A lone dancing cactus drifts down in his periphery. His system’s way of trying to cheer him up.
And just when he thought he’s finally began to calm down, Kyoujurou decides to open his mouth yet again.
“Have you ever struggled to talk to people you love?”
Kaigaku feels like this is the hardest conversation he’s had ever since he came here.
Honestly, granted that he isn’t from this world and has no prior connection to anyone, yes. But he can’t say that. “Sometimes.” Is what he settles for.
“It’s like choking yourself.” Kyoujurou explains, voice low and quiet. Kaigaku feels like he isn’t meant to see this side of him. “Painful.”
Kaigaku dissects the pillar’s words carefully. Was Kyoujurou aware of what was supposed to happen? He probably didn’t know explicitly--unless this guy also transmigrated--but he supposed the ghost of a scenario was still ingrained in him.
But maybe he already had an inkling of his death prior to the mission? Pillars did have heightened intuition.
Still, it’s hard to think that Kyoujurou had any plans to die at all. So why was he feeling so lost?
Kaigaku tries his hand at comforting words. “I’m sure that’s not the case for you and your--” He hesitates to add Kyoujurou’s father to the picture, but he supposes he should. “--family.”
Kyoujurou chuckles, it’s hoarse and shorter than his normal outbursts of laughter. “It’s not my place to say that.” He mutters. “Not anymore.”
Damn. Kaigaku bites the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from saying anything stupid. He’s not sure how to respond to that.
Another bout of silence passes by, but this time Kyoujurou doesn’t do anything to break it. Kaigaku, too scared to say something wrong, does the same. Despite the freely flowing wind, Kaigaku feels claustrophobic. Despite the warm glow of the sun, he feels so cold.
Saved or not, it’s his fault that Kyoujurou’s lost his fire, all because he was so focused on completing his mission.
There’s muffled chatter approaching from the gates, distracting his thoughts from tumbling down yet again.
It’s Tanjirou, along with Aoi, Zenitsu and Senjurou. He can’t make out what they’re talking about, they’re still far from where Kaigaku and Kyoujurou had decided to situate themselves in. The brunette notices them first and waves them over.
Kyoujurou glances at him but Kaigaku shakes his head--another silent agreement—and it’s only the pillar who stands up and walks towards them. Kaigaku felt vaguely fatigued, so he waves off Tanjirou’s frantic attempts at catching his attention.
Kyoujurou smiles in front of his younger brother, and Kaigaku sees the slight strain as he does. So it’s been bothering him for a while now. Kyoujurou must have been feeling awful keeping those thoughts to himself, he was thankful that he was at least able to help get some of it off his chest.
Senjurou says something he can’t hear, and offers his brother the plate of mochi he’s been carrying with him. They’ve probably just finished making them, judging from the left-over patches of flour on his face.
Kyoujurou take a piece and with each bite, his smile becomes more and more genuine. Eventually that all familiar grin is back, none of the hesitance and doubt that Kaigaku saw earlier. He was finally Kyoujurou once again.
Kaigaku stays in his seat, watching all of it happen. They laugh at a joke Tanjirou accidentally makes, they take turns trying to taste a bit of Senjurou’s mochi to praise him, the atmosphere is calm, bright and—
There’s a crushing weight on his chest. His smile falters and his legs feel weak.
He’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to exist.
Kaigaku has always understood that, but now, it feels worse. Seeing Kyoujurou light up and blend in so easily with them has made him realize that despite the pillar being disconnected from the plot, he still had a place within this world. He served the same purpose as when he would’ve left.
He’s never thought about it before, how lonely he actually is in reality. He knows all of these people but they barely know him. He has all these memories of past events, of things that should have happened but didn’t because he messed with the timeline. Now they haunt him, and haunt the people who were involved. And it’s all his fault. All for his dear little brother.
Kaigaku watches Zenitsu whine at something Aoi says.
Is he even his brother?
Zenitsu meets his gaze, probably having noticed that Kaigaku was only staring and not walking over. He tries to beckon him over, but Kaigaku shakes his head. He’s not sure if he’d be able to pretend any further today. Kaigaku feels the aching loneliness wash over him when Zenitsu’s frown is immediately abated by a call from Tanjirou. He should probably go too.
And when Kaigaku finally leaves the scene behind, it really does feel like he’s choking himself.
Later in the evening, Zenitsu brings him a plate of steamed dumplings that they were all feasting upon earlier.
They’re cold because the brat hasn’t bothered to reheat it, and it’s stringy when chewed.
It soothes the pang in his heart, nevertheless, and makes him feel like he too might have a chance to belong.
|
Hop and I entered the stadium building and saw quite a bit of trainers milling about. There were a variety of trainers around, old, young, you name them. “Wow look all these trainers Hop looks like they are gonna be tough competition,” Some group of trainers were staring at us,
“ Hey that’s the Champion’s brother”;
“I heard he got endorsed by Leon himself”;
“I bet he just whined and told his brother to endorse him”;
“I bet he’s not even that good”. That got my blood boiling, I was gonna say something to those trainers for insulting my friend, but Hop called up to me,
“Hey, Vic let’s go register!” I ran up to the counter and stood behind a boy, who had curly light blond hair and wore a magenta coat, he scoffed and pushed Hop to the side and walked out the door.
“Seriously? What a piece of work.”
“Ahem, if you’re here to register for the gym challenge then I will need to see your endorsements please,” The clerk stated, I handed the clerk my endorsement, “Wow first time we’ve seen a trainer endorsed by the Champion.” Hop slapped his endorsement down as well,
“Well, now you got two of them mate!”
“What two of them? What’s come over Leon lately? You two must be special to be endorsed by him.” The clerk was a little shocked but played it off for laughs.
“I’m Hop! Leon’s brother and the next champion, get me signed up would ya?”
“Yes, yes best of luck to you sir.” The clerk turned to me expecting me to say my name, “
Oh, I’m Victor.”
“There we go Hop, Victor you both have been successfully registered in this gym challenge. Now if you be so kind as to give me a number to be put on your jersey please.” I thought about it for a bit and decided on the day I met Hop.
“227” please,
“227? Right away sir.” “Please wear these bands during the gym challenge to let people know you are participating. The ceremony will be held tomorrow,
“Oh, it’s tomorrow? For some reason, I was told that it was today?” I stared at Hop with an annoyed expression who whistled and looked away,
“Sorry, Vic I was just so excited to come here so I had to make us hurry so we could get a head start.” Hop tried to act all innocent but I hit his head with my hand,
“I’ll forgive you if you treat me to dinner tonight.” The clerk cleared his throat
“you are free to stay in the Budew Drop Inn; the Chairman has taken care of everything for you folks.”
“That’s the Chairman for you, Vic, I’m gonna go on ahead and check out the new digs, I’ll see you later mate.” Hop excitedly ran off.
As I walked outside, one of the league staff members motioned for me, “you’re challenger Victor correct? The Budew Drop Inn is this way if you be so kind as to follow me this way. He lead me to the west side of the city and stopped in front of the Inn; it was a large tower overlooking the stadium, “Try to rest for the upcoming challenges that await you.” With that, the clerk went on his way. I stepped inside, but not without seeing a crowd of people putting up signs saying “Do your best!” or “Fight on!”
I met up with Hop who was waiting for me inside, “Hey Vic, this place is pretty sweet!” As we entered we saw Sonia who was waiting for us by the statue.
“Hiya you two! Looks like you both got registered.”
“Sonia, what are you doing in our hotel?” Hop questioned,
“Well, I’m investigating the mysterious Pokemon you lot saw back in the Slumbering Weald! I reckon if I look into the Galar legends I’ll figure something out, care to join me?” Sonia directed us to a statue,
“What’s all this then?” Hop questioned,
“That my friend is the statue of the hero who saved the Galar region long ago.” Sonia looked like she was gonna give a lecture so Hop rested his chin on my shoulders; I didn't mind and we listened intently. “Long ago...a great black storm covered the Galar region, people referred to it as ‘The Darkest Day’. The land was assaulted by giant Pokemon but was defeated by a single young hero, bearing a sword and shield. This statue is to depict the young hero who saved the region.”
“Huh, sounds like the hero was as strong as Lee then.” Hop rose from my shoulders and put his arms around his head.
“Looks like you have your hands full on your research Sonia, good luck,” I bowed to her,
“Thanks, Victor! I’ll do my best to uncover more of the legend of Galar” Sonia walked off and gave us a thumbs up.
“Man I’m beat, I can’t wait to sleep on a bed again.” Hop was so excited he was too distracted by a group of crazy looking people standing at the front desk.
“We came all the way to the city to properly cheer on the gym challengers. We are Team Yell and if you got a problem with us then you are in for a battle if you wanna stop us!” These guys were painted with black and magenta face paint and wore a bunch of spikes on their clothes,
“Sure I could go for a battle,” I said smiling causing them to be shocked, one of them walked forward with a scowl on his face,
“You hear me, right kid? We are Team Yell and we are here to cheer on ONE special gym challenger so that she can win the gym challenge. And you’re gonna help us make some noise.” I stepped forward ready for my battle, that is until Hop ran up to me,
“Hey, you sneaking some battles without me? Let me join you, Vic! I wanna get some more training in!” I nodded and another member stepped forward to help her buddy.
We both went with our starters again and sent them out. Thankfully the battle at the cafe gave us enough knowledge to defeat these clowns. The Team Yell guys sent out a Zigzagoon and Nickit. “Zigzagoon give them a snarl!”
“Sobble, Scorbunny dodge it!” Hop and I shouted in unison, with ease they jumped away,
“Scorbunny use double kick!” Scorbunny kicked the Zigzagoon away dealing a one-hit KO to it.
“Alright, Hop! Nice shot, now it’s our turn Sobble!”
“You little punk, Nickit use quick attack,” Sobble took the hit and I called for it to use Water Pulse, Sobble shot a glob of water and knocked out the Nickit.” Suddenly Scorbunny and Sobble began to glow,
“Hop they’re evolving!” I shook Hop who also was beaming with excitement. After the light faded out came two new Pokemon I took out my phone and snapped a photo of them,
‘Bzzt bzzt Drizzle the Water Lizard Pokemon has been recorded! This pure water type is an expert combatant, using water balloons and traps to defeat its foes;
Raboot The Rabbit Pokemon has been recorded. This pure fire type’s thick fur protects itself from the harsh cold of the winter.
“We are getting stronger and stronger every day, Vic!” Hop hugged me on the side and I was too happy to notice. Just then we heard a voice,
“what are you lot doing here?” It was a young girl, probably around mine and Hop’s age, she had black hair, with a pink skirt and a black jacket. She had a Morpeko with her who just smiled at us.
“M.m.Marnie!” The grunts coward in fear, “Uh nothing ms. we was just…” Marnie shook her head,
“I knew you lot would be curious ‘bout the gym challenge but you gotta show a bit of restraint.” Her voice was soft but stern, she turned to us and bowed, “sorry ‘bout them, they are like my fans who call themselves Team Yell and follow me around, cheering for me and whatnot. They just get all caught up with wantin’ to support me they get a bit shirty with the other gym challengers. Sorry if they caused you any trouble.”
“So you’re a gym challenger too?” Hop smiled, “Pretty impressive that you already have a group of fans to call your own.” Marnie looked a bit surprised but smiled,
“Best of luck to you both.” and she walked away.
“Man I’m beat Vic, let’s go to our room already.” Hop started leaning on my bag, weighing me down a bit making it hard to move,
“Alright mate just let me just check-in and we both can get some sleep. We asked the hotel clerk if we could share a room since we are taking the journey together, to which they agreed. As we opened the door, we noticed that there was only one bed.
“Well, I guess we are sharing a bed, Vic!” Hop grinned with glee. I let out a huge sigh and shook my head,
Why do I get the feeling the clerk had something to do with this, I swear everyone has been teasing me.
Hop and I laid on the bed next to each other, I stared at the ceiling for a bit and shifted slightly, “Hey Hop, you asleep yet?” I turned and he was already sitting up,
“Not really, what’s up Vic?”
“You see earlier back at the stadium some people didn’t take too kindly to your status, and that just made me so angry that they would say that to you, I wanted to say something but I just couldn’t. What I wanted to say was I’m sorry.” Hop looked at me all confused,
“Oh I knew already, but I’ve always grown up like that. It don’t bother me all that much; which is why I’m doing this to make people think twice about me you know, I wanna surpass Lee and become a strong trainer” Even though it was dark, I could see Hop’s smile, “What about you Vic? You’ve never told me why you wanted to do this challenge?” I looked up at him and thought about how I wanted to say it,
“I guess I just wanted to become stronger, not just as a trainer but a person as well.” Hop laughed quietly,
“Nothing less than from my rival! Let’s get some rest Vic, we gots a whole day ahead of us!” Hop went to bed and I thought about what I declared,
I wanna be stronger so I can be someone worthy of Hop’s rival, I wanna be stronger so I can have the courage to face my fears; to finally be able to confess to him.” I turned over and fell asleep, ready for what’s to come tomorrow.
|
Apart from her husband and her children, there are very few constants in Brienne Lannister’s day-to-day life. Her time has always been governed by the demands and complexities of her missions, which makes every single day a necessary readjustment from the day before.
One thing she’s come to count on, however, is the simple pleasure of soaking in a tub after a long stakeout. It’s a habit she picked up from Jaime; a window of time carved out and reclaimed as her own. It had taken her ages to get past the lingering guilt—she hadn’t been sure if the act of sitting-and-watching earned her such a reward—but she’d eventually allowed herself this one small luxury. Even with all that’s happened, even with Sansa Stark stumbling onto their porch two weeks ago, Brienne had wanted to hold onto this constant, selfish as it might be.
But there will be no long bath tonight, though she’s spent her entire day conducting surveillance. She knows this as soon as she steps into the house, and sees the dark look on Jaime’s face, the sullen way he’s setting the table for dinner, the furtive glances Pod and the twins keep shooting in his direction. Even Bear, who tends to nip at their ankles during mealtimes, is keeping a safe distance.
Something happened.
“Where’s Alayne?” she asks, brightly as she can, as if she’s noticed nothing amiss.
“She says… she isn’t hungry,” Pod answers. “She won’t… she won’t come out of the room.”
That isn’t particularly surprising—Alayne had barely left Pod’s room for the first week—but she’d been more willing to at least have meals with them in the past few days, and Brienne had hoped they might be getting somewhere with her. Too many lemon cakes, she expects Jaime to quip, spoiled the girl’s appetite. He hadn’t thought much of the idea when she’d suggested it, though she’d explained that it wasn’t about the lemon cakes at all, just about providing Alayne with something familiar. And he’d grumbled this morning when she reminded him to swing by the bakery. But Jaime doesn’t say a thing now, quip or otherwise. He only motions for Brienne to sit down.
Something happened.
Dinner is a much more subdued affair than usual, and Jaime hardly eats. Afterwards, he doesn’t even wait for the table to be cleared before he tugs Brienne by the arm and drags her down to the basement. Yet, despite his urgency, he can’t seem to bring himself to speak for the first few minutes. She sits on the stairs, four steps up from the floor, and watches him open his mouth, close it again; turn towards her, turn away.
“What is it, Jaime?” she finally asks. “She said something, didn’t she?”
He nods, and leans his forehead against a wall. “She said—” he heaves a sigh— “she said the man who did it—the man who killed her family—she said he looks a lot like me.”
Brienne just stares at him for a long while. That information means nothing to her, not at first, and she can’t see why it would bother Jaime this much. It’s not as if Alayne accused him of anything, though it explains why she’d reacted so strongly to Jaime on the first night. “…That’s it?” Brienne pushes, when Jaime doesn’t elaborate. “That’s all she said?”
He comes towards her then, kneels on the ground before her. “You don’t understand,” he says, and there’s something wild in his eyes. “It’s—it has to be—it’s my son.”
His son. His son. His first son. She’d rarely thought about him over the years, though she’d known of him practically from the beginning. Besides telling her his son existed, and that he was brought up primarily by his father, Jaime had spoken so little of him, possessed practically no affection for him at all. Called him a cruel child, once, and it had sent chills down her spine. The boy shared Jaime’s blood, but he had never been his; not the way the twins are, or even Pod.
“Are you sure?” Brienne says. Her left foot taps a staccato on the step beneath it. “How is that possible—he’s here? Tyrion should have told us—he’s never said—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. It has to be him.”
“We can’t know that, Jaime. It could still be—it could be anyone—”
“Sansa said.” He doesn’t bother to use her alias, and Brienne tries not to flinch after two weeks of avoiding that name. “Not that he was my son, but—she seemed so sure of the resemblance. And he’s always been… when I last saw him, he looked—he really did look like me. Like my cousin.”
It wasn’t just blood that Jaime and his son shared, then, but a face as well. She tries to picture a younger version of her husband, but cruel. She finds it difficult, at first—Jaime can be harsh, and cold, but never truly cruel—and then she thinks of the one time she was in the same room as Jaime’s cousin, and suddenly it all falls together.
(She tries to forget something she’s never dared bring up with Jaime—how he and his cousin looked so much alike, too. She tries to forget how it had disturbed her. Jaime and his cousin had been so young when their relationship began, and Brienne could imagine how they might have mirrored each other in their youth. Then they had a son, and later, the twins. Yet—that woman had—she’d almost hit Jaime, and he’d said it wasn’t the first time—and, gods, the way he’d described her reaction to the loss of his hand… Still, Jaime had remained tethered to his cousin for so long, tethered to what little she deigned to give him. Brienne could never fully understand it, but at least she’d thought about it less and less over the years. And now…)
Brienne puts a hand on Jaime’s shoulder, pulls him towards her to coax him off his knees, and he sits down heavily two steps below her. “Alright—alright,” she says. “Assuming it was him. How old is he now? How is he here?” The twins are not even ten—
“Twenty,” Jaime replies, then shakes his head. “No, twenty-one. We had him when we were—we had him young.”
Twenty-one. She was twenty-two when she arrived here. It wasn’t beyond reason that he’d be out in the field already, especially if the General had been training him the way he’d trained Jaime. “But why would he—what motive would he have to kill the Starks?” Brienne asks. “He can’t have been acting on the Centre’s orders.” Gods, the Starks were always so loyal. She can’t believe they could have done anything that would warrant them being… removed. And the way it was done—messy, and now it was all over the news…
“I don’t know,” he repeats. His left hand is in his hair, pulling tightly on the strands. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. But he—he can’t have come here without the Centre. Whether he’s at the embassy, or—or like us—”
“Sansa didn’t say anything else about it?” Some other clue, any clue.
“No—it took me a long time to even get that out of her, and then the moment she said it she panicked. Ran up to her room and hasn’t come out since.”
There’s an itch in the back of Brienne’s mind, a question she’s been thinking about since the first news reports came out. “If,” she whispers, “if it really was him, and he was able to kill Ned and Catelyn, why do you think Sansa’s still alive? Why was she allowed to escape?” Jaime doesn’t reply beyond a shake of his head, not that she was expecting him to have an answer. None of it makes any sense. If Jaime’s son was capable of killing two well-trained officers with decades of experience, then Sansa shouldn’t have been a problem for him at all. It seems so sloppy.
That, or it was intentional. It seemed like—a message. Like he was sending a message. But to whom? Is that why he wanted it public, wanted it all over the news? The Centre had to be involved, and what would they achieve by doing that? There shouldn’t be any way for the Starks’ true identities to be uncovered, but their murder still puts the entire Programme at risk. Unless—the Centre wasn’t involved at all? But how would he have gotten close to them in the first place?
None of it makes any sense. It was just question, upon question, upon question.
Then, Brienne’s stomach drops.
“Jaime.” She grips his shoulder again, and she can feel her nails digging into his flesh. “If your son is here—if he knew the Starks—if he, he was really the one who killed them—does that mean he’ll be able to find you? Would he be looking for us, for the children?”
Jaime whips his head towards her. “It’s been weeks since they were killed—if he was looking for us, why would he wait? Why would he have gone for the Starks first?”
It’s true, that doesn’t make any sense. But none of it makes any sense. Seven, was the message for Jaime? No, it can’t be—there wasn’t any clear link between them and the Starks, and Jaime wasn’t close to them at all—but Brienne can’t shake this fear that they might be next. None of it makes sense, yet three people are dead already, and it might not stop there. Their children—
Brienne stands, and heads up the stairs towards the door. “We have to get Sansa to talk. Now.”
When they emerge from the basement, Jaime is relieved to see that the kids are still watching television in the living room—they’ll need absolute privacy with Sansa. Brienne is already making her way up the stairs, her hand gripping the handrail tighter with each step, but Jaime pauses to wave Pod over from where he’s sitting on the couch.
“Keep them down here as long as possible, will you? We need to talk to her. And careful of the—”
“The news, I, I know,” Pod says under his breath. “I will.”
“Thank you, Pod.” Jaime pats him on the arm, then glances at the dining table, empty of the dirty dishes they had left behind. “And thank you for clearing up, too.”
“You’re—you’re welcome. Is everything… okay?”
Jaime just pats Pod on the arm again, and heads upstairs. When he catches up with Brienne, he reaches for her wrist before she can make it to the door.
“Should we tell her first?” he suggests, leaning in close. “About—my son.”
“Would it scare her?”
“Probably. But if we wait till after—it feels like it’ll be…” Manipulative. Dishonest. Wrong. “Maybe if we’re upfront about it, about why we need to know now, she’ll be more likely to talk.”
This is manipulative in its own way, Jaime realises. It puts pressure on Sansa to safeguard their family, people she’s known for only two weeks, against a threat they can’t even entirely comprehend. But his gut says telling her first will be the better option—offer her the truth, even if it doesn’t make hers come easier afterwards.
Brienne nods in agreement, and he releases her wrist so she can knock on the door. “Alayne,” she calls, as she raps her knuckles against the wood. “Alayne. It’s really important that we speak with you. Please, open the door.”
They can hear footsteps shuffling closer, but the door stays locked. Brienne looks at Jaime and rotates her hand, miming the turning of a key. But he shakes his head, and says through the door: “Sansa—Sansa, please. Will you let us in? We don’t want to have to use the key. Can you let us in, please?”
For a while, there’s no sound, no more movement on the other side of the door. Just as Jaime’s about to give up on waiting, the doorknob turns, and Sansa opens the door just wide enough for them to see half her face. She’s pale, and can’t meet their eyes. She looks like she’s been crying again. She looks like she did on that first night.
“Sansa,” Brienne whispers, “We know—we don’t want to push you. But we need to know what happened. There’s a… a chance we may need to protect our family. Our children.”
Sansa inhales sharply. “Why? You think he’ll come here? You think he’ll be able to find this place?”
“We don’t know. But if you tell us what happened, maybe we can stop him from… from hurting more people.”
Beyond a tremble in her lip, Sansa barely reacts at first. Then, as if to no one in particular, she murmurs: “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
Her fault? Jaime shares a look with Brienne at those words, then turns back to Sansa. “Will you let us in?” he pleads again, without addressing her odd confession. “There are—there are things we need to tell you too.”
Reluctantly, Sansa steps back from the door. Jaime pushes it open, slips into the room with Brienne, and locks the door behind him. Brienne takes a seat at Pod’s desk, while Jaime stands beside her; they watch as Sansa retreats to the bed, and hugs her knees into herself.
“Sansa,” Brienne starts, once Sansa seems settled enough. “Jaime told me what you said. That the man who killed your family looks a lot like him. Is that true?”
Sansa nods, then hurriedly says, “I didn’t mean to imply—that, that Jaime was somehow responsible—”
“No, no, that’s not what we think at all,” Brienne assures her. But Jaime has the thought that if his son really did it, really killed the Starks, then he was in some way responsible. Not just by fathering the child in the first place, but by being absent after, and failing to stop his son from—to stop the General from—
(He tries not to wonder if his father, in raising the boy, had been determined to compensate for something he deemed lacking in Jaime. Perhaps the General judged Jaime too much of a bleeding heart, deep down, and sought to rectify—to preempt that flaw in Jaime’s son.)
“Listen, Sansa.” Jaime places a hand on Brienne’s shoulder as he says this, and she reaches up to interlace her fingers with his. “There’s something you should know. And this—I promise you, we had no part in what happened at all, whatever happened to your family. But I…” He feels himself grimace. “I have another son. A son I didn’t get to raise. I think—”
“He’s yours.” Sansa doesn’t need him to spell it out for her. “Oh gods, he’s—Joff… Joffrey’s yours.”
Joffrey. So Sansa knows him, not just how he looks—knows him by his cover here at least. Brienne tenses beneath Jaime’s hand; she noticed it too, that Sansa could identify the killer by name. Joffrey. Jaime doesn’t say it out loud at first, but he balances this name on his tongue, and it seems to expand in his mouth, a mass of cotton wool pushing against his palate, the insides of his cheeks. It’s strange, this alias the Centre had invented for his son; there is a kind of softness to the edges of its syllables that is so at odds with the boy he remembers, so unlike the name that boy had been given at birth. Then again, Jaime hasn’t spoken his son’s real name in years, and there is a strangeness to that name too, now that it’s crawled up his throat from some forgotten place between his ribs, and nestled itself alongside Joffrey. Joffrey’s yours.
“That’s… that’s what we suspect,” Brienne replies first. She doesn’t draw attention to the name. “We’re not sure. But we’re concerned he’ll come looking for us, for our family. So it’s really important that we know what happened. The truth.”
“The truth,” Sansa echoes. She hugs her arms a bit tighter around her knees.
“Again, I swear to you we had nothing to do with this,” Jaime continues. “And we’d—Brienne had promised your mother we’d take care of you, if you ever came to us like you did. If you don’t feel like you can trust me after what I’ve just told you, I can walk out that door right now. But you have to tell Brienne what happened. So we know how best to protect you, and our kids too.”
“But he hasn’t come here. It’s, it’s been weeks and—he hasn’t come looking so far.”
The way Sansa says this—the desperation in it. It almost sounds like—Jaime can’t understand why, but it sounds like Sansa’s begging them not to make her reveal the truth. It’s all my fault, she’d said. How could that be possible?
Then, Brienne stands from her seat, and walks towards the bed. “Is it okay if I sit with you?” she asks gently, and Sansa nods. “And is it okay if Jaime stays?” she adds. There’s a long pause this time, before Sansa nods again. Jaime lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, slips into the now-vacant chair, and waits. Sansa may have chosen to reveal one vital piece of information to him, but it’s Brienne who should take the lead now. He knows this. He knows that Brienne knows this too. He hates that they know this not because of how they speak to Myrcella, or Tommen, or Pod, but because of every single interaction they’ve had over the years with each mark, or asset, or agent, or handler.
Now they use this knowledge on a fifteen-year-old girl, so she might tell them how his son left her the only surviving member of her family.
“What exactly did your parents tell you,” Brienne says, “about the work we do for the Centre?”
“They only told me it was—it was dangerous. That they didn’t want me anywhere near it, at least not right now. That the Centre—that Joff had no right—”
And then Sansa claps her hands over her mouth, and squeezes her eyes shut. Seven hells, what the fuck had the Starks gotten themselves into?
“Okay.” Brienne replies, in her most soothing voice. “Okay. I know you’re strong enough to do this, Sansa. Your mother always told me she was so proud of you.”
Sansa puts her head in her hands. “I don’t deserve that. It was my fault,” she sobs. “Joff met me first. I let him—I gave him the chance to—I thought I loved him.”
Fuck. Joffrey had—what had Joffrey done? She’s fifteen—
“I promise, Sansa,” Brienne says, and Jaime can hear the effort it’s taking to keep her voice steady. “We’re not here to assign blame, okay? All we want is the truth. And we’re here for you, we’re here to support you. So, why don’t you start from the beginning?”
He knows Brienne is trying to be cautious, trying to let the girl fill in the blanks for herself. He knows he should trust Brienne to control this conversation. But he so badly wants to tell Sansa that if the Centre was involved, if Joffrey was acting on orders from the Centre, from the General, then no, it isn’t your fault. It’s us. It’s how we’re taught to manipulate everything and everyone, to do terrible things to people who don’t always deserve them. Not for the sake of the country, the Centre, or the Cause, but for the men that control them all.
And then, before he can let this rashness overcome him—
Sansa talks.
It’s slow, at first—she doesn’t so much break her two-week silence as let it fracture—but once she finally gets going, she can’t seem to stop. She tells them about her parents, how they were good, and caring, but less and less present in recent years. How it had always been her and Robb, left to their own devices, until Robb had started disappearing too, and never telling her where he was going. (A result of his training, Jaime guesses, and feels the hair stand up on the back of his neck.) She tells them about the coffee shop she’d study at after school, sometimes with friends, sometimes on her own. Then, a few months ago, on one of those days she was alone, a golden-haired boy with emerald green eyes had started speaking to her. And on another day, and another. He introduced himself as Joffrey, but she could call him Joff, and he was so handsome, and he said he was in college—and he seemed interested in her. It was just talking, and coffee, and she was happy with that, until one day, they’d gone walking in the park, and—he’d kissed her. Her first kiss.
It hadn’t gone that much further than kissing, Sansa claims—Jaime feels thankful for that, and then sees the absurdity in feeling thankful, considering what happened after—but then their conversations started becoming… strange. Joff would talk about these beliefs he had, and all he was willing to do to make those ideals a reality, and at first it sounded interesting, and refreshing, even inspiring, and isn’t it something worth sacrificing for? Wouldn’t you be interested in working for such a Cause? Which was fine, until it became wouldn’t you do it for me? Don’t you love me? And the more he brought it up, the more it felt like he was on the verge of forcing her to do something, though she didn’t know what, and there was also this—this aggression in the way he touched her sometimes (but maybe that was fine too; he said he loved her, didn’t he?), and then she began to realise there was some emptiness in the way he spoke about these things in which he claimed to believe, until one day she got tired of his pushing and she told him stop, I don’t want to talk about that stuff anymore, and then he—
he slapped her.
She’d run all the way home, after, and she was crying, and her mother was there, and Sansa finally told her everything. Her mother was angrier than she’d ever seen. Told her she was never to see Joffrey again, to forget everything he’d ever told her. But the next week, that’s when her parents told her who they really were. They didn’t want to lie to her anymore. They told her, in as few words as possible, where they were really from, about their work for the Centre, and how their Cause was Joffrey’s too. And Robb—even Robb already knew, but they hadn’t wanted to tell her so soon, and not like this. The Centre had no right to send Joffrey to her. Sansa had felt so betrayed—by her parents, by Robb, by Joffrey. She spoke to none of them for weeks.
But then—it was so stupid, but she missed Joff. He’d hit her, but he’d become such a big part of her life, and she missed him. (Gods, Jaime understood that feeling too well, from a past life, a past love.) And then someone had—had slipped a letter into her bag, she wasn’t sure how, but it was a letter that turned out to be from Joff, and he told her he was so sorry, so sorry for hitting her, for lying to her, and he truly loved her, please will you meet me at this place on Saturday, at this time? I miss you, Sansa. I don’t care about the Cause. I want to be with you. I love you. When she decided to go, she wasn’t even sure why—half because she wanted to tell him never to contact her again, half because she did miss him, still loved him. But she’d waited all afternoon, and he never showed.
When she returned home that evening, determined never to think of Joffrey again, her family was—
No. Not all dead. Her mother was still alive, barely, though her throat had been… And she gave Sansa the key, the key on the chain that she always wore around her neck, the key that Sansa knew opened a safe in her parents’ bedroom, though she never knew what they kept inside it. Within that safe was a book, with a bookmark sandwiched between pages seventy-four and seventy-five, and strange markings in pencil, and a small piece of paper on which her mother had written a single name. She knew then that her mother was telling her to run, to run to someone called Brienne. So she changed out of her bloody clothes, and she grabbed the key to the car, and she ran.
Joffrey had spoken to her, one day in a coffee shop. Joffrey had told her he loved her. Joffrey had slapped her, then apologised in a letter, told her he loved her ten times over. Told her he wanted to be with her. Joffrey had begged her to meet him. Joffrey hadn’t shown. And then—
“If I hadn’t gone,” Sansa gasps, “if I had stayed home instead of meeting him that Saturday—I think he would have killed me too.”
The message wasn’t for Jaime.
It dawns on Brienne that night, as she watches over a sleeping Sansa. The girl had collapsed—exhausted—after telling them all she knew, and Brienne had thought it best to stay with her, while Jaime left them alone. It had given her time to think.
The Starks—they weren’t killed because of Jaime. She’d thought Jaime must have something to do with it, if his son was responsible, even though the link between him and the Starks was tenuous. But Jaime had told her before, that his son—Joffrey—had never been much attached to him, hardly even resented him for being so often away.
The message wasn’t for Jaime at all.
It was for Sansa.
Sansa, who had been lured from her home by Joffrey’s letter. Who would have died if she hadn’t done as the letter said. Whose life was spared by her decision, but who was punished anyway, in the most horrifying and sadistic way. Coming home to her whole family, dead, and if Brienne hadn’t given that book to Catelyn—
Punished. Was Joffrey acting alone in this punishment, or under orders from the Centre? It seemed too twisted, too personal—and that was heinous in itself, that one man could have been responsible for this. But Sansa seemed to imply that Catelyn was… that her parents had some kind of conflict with the Centre. It must have been the Centre, the General, that had sent Joffrey here in the first place. Why would he have needed to go behind the Starks’ backs, just to recruit Sansa? They were already training Robb, weren’t they? Brienne had always understood the Starks’ decision to bring their children into the fold as a mutual agreement between them and the Centre. But if that was the case, then there would have been no need for Joffrey at all.
Does this mean that—shit, does this mean that the Centre could do the same with the twins? Send someone to recruit them, without the express consent of Jaime and herself? Hells, they’d bent over backwards to keep the children out of it. They’d raised them with all the love they could give, provided them with every happiness. She can barely imagine Pod having to do all of what they do, even with his skills and his training. Myrcella? Tommen? She can’t bear the thought—and she doesn’t think she should have to. For Seven’s sake, they’d decided, she and Jaime. That should be the end of it.
Shit. They need answers. And they only have one avenue for those answers. Brienne hadn’t wanted to get Tyrion involved—Catelyn had entrusted Sansa to their care because she was worried about how the Centre would manage her children, Brienne is sure of that now—although the logistics of keeping Sansa safe and hidden in the long term was another matter. But she can’t see how else they can move forward, now that they know Sansa’s side of the story. If there is to be any justice for Sansa, any life for her beyond one spent imprisoned in the Lannister home as Alayne Stone—if they are to get any assurance that the Centre wouldn’t try to recruit Myrcella and Tommen—then they have to make contact with Tyrion.
Maybe—if there was a chance that—if Jaime could approach Tyrion, not as their handler, but as his brother—
Brienne looks over to check on Sansa, who still seems sound asleep. Then, she steps out as quietly as she can, and returns to her room to find Jaime. She expects to see him in bed—it must be two, three in the morning—but he’s sitting in the armchair instead, in darkness, his form barely illuminated by the little light that is streaming in from the hallway, from the window. The bed isn’t empty, though. There’s three figures beneath the covers, two smaller than the third. There’s a fourth, too—Bear, curled up at their feet.
“Thought I’d let Pod sleep in a proper bed tonight,” Jaime whispers, when she walks towards the armchair. “The twins wanted to join, and I let Tommen bring Bear in. Hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is.”
He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with hers. “I couldn’t sleep. But I didn’t want to leave them alone. I wanted—I needed to—”
“I know.” Even sitting just two rooms away, she couldn’t help but worry about the kids. She imagines she is Sansa, who arrives home to find her whole family dead. She imagines she is Catelyn, who’d died not knowing if her daughter would be safe.
“She’s still asleep?”
“Yeah. Can we—can we talk? Downstairs?”
Jaime gets up from the armchair then, his hand still in hers, and they make their way down to the living room. But when they sit on the couch, all she wants to do is hold him, be held by him. She leans into him, wraps her arms around him, breathes him in. Jaime. Jaime who isn’t anything like his father, or his first son, or his cousin, or even his brother. Jaime who is her husband, and the father of her children. Jaime who is himself only, who is her entire world. Jaime.
“I think,” Brienne says, after a long while, “I think we need to talk to your brother.”
She feels him stiffen in her arms. “Are you sure?”
“No. Not at all. But I don’t see any other choice. Do you… do you think he will listen as, as your brother? Do you think he’ll keep secrets from the Centre, if we ask him to?”
“I don’t know. But we can try, I suppose. Tomorrow?”
Brienne shakes her head. “Not unless he can meet us while the kids are at school. I don’t want them out of my sight otherwise.” There’s still this thought inhabiting one corner of her mind, that Joffrey might come looking. Or anyone else, for that matter. He’d just been a college boy in a coffee shop, when Sansa met him. “Might be too late to call a meeting now.”
“Mm. I’ll still send a message first thing in the morning. Do you think it’s wise to meet at the usual place?”
“Maybe outdoors would be best.” Their safe houses aren’t supposed to be bugged—there’s so many things discussed that they couldn’t risk being recorded—but she’s worried nonetheless. There’s also the possibility that Tyrion himself might come wearing a wire—
Fuck. She can’t believe her mind is telling her to guard against the Centre like this.
“What do you think happened, Jaime?” Brienne changes the subject, though she’s keenly aware that she’s exchanging one paranoia for another. “Do you think the Centre really sent Joffrey to recruit Sansa?”
“I wonder—maybe something happened with Robb. Last we heard, Ned and Catelyn were open to training their children. We knew about their plans for Robb, and I’d assume they were planning to move forward with Sansa at some point, too.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. There’s no reason why the Centre would need to send someone for Sansa.”
She feels Jaime’s chest rise and fall beneath her cheek as he sighs. “You know what this means, don’t you? If the Centre didn’t seek their permission, the twins—”
“I know. Damn it, Jaime.” Brienne breaks away from their embrace, but keeps her hands tightly fisted in his shirt. “I know, I know you’ll think this is stupid, but I’m still hoping there was some kind of mistake. Some… miscommunication with the Centre, that led up to all of this.”
Jaime cups her cheek with his hand. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I don’t know how all of this started, but I—I genuinely don’t think the killings were ordered by the Centre. It’s too—it’s far too conspicuous.”
“But… is it really possible that your son killed them all? On his own?”
“Gods.” His hand falls from her face, limp. “It’s pure savagery.”
They’d seen photos of the crime scene on the news. Cropped, blurred out, but what they could see was bad enough.
“You said your son was cruel, before,” Brienne reminds him. “And you said your father brought him up to be—”
“I know what I said. But it was—I don’t know, it wasn’t like this. I never thought it would turn out like this, Brienne.” Jaime presses his stump into his forehead, kneads nervously at his temple. “I suppose—I’m guilty of leaving all that behind. Of washing my hands off of everything. But isn’t there… isn’t there a line between cruelty and savagery? Hells, even I knew that, back when I was—”
“Jaime.” She frames his face with both her palms, and sweeps her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Don’t. Don’t you dare go back to that place.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever left that place, Brienne. I don’t think I—we—can leave.” He tilts his head towards her, and—there’s such pain in his eyes. “Until… we do.”
She’d thought they had more time. It hadn’t been easy, especially since everything that had happened with Jorah, but they’d struggled along, and they’d persevered, and she’d thought they had more time. But that was before Sansa Stark had found her way to their house two weeks ago. They don’t even have the full story yet, Brienne tells herself—they only know what Sansa’s told them. Brienne wants to cling to this hope, that there’s some other explanation for all of this. There’s still a chance, a chance that a truth exists that they can live with.
Perhaps Ned and Catelyn Stark had thought the same—that there were truths that they could live with, that they had chosen to live with. They’d believed in them so much that they had wanted to offer them to their children, too. And these truths, they’re also the truths they were prepared to die for.
But not like this.
Gods—not like this.
|
It was close to five o'clock when Toya pulled her Jaguar in the driveway of the condo she purchased last year. She shut off the engine and got out, deciding to leave her luggage in the trunk. She walked inside her home and nearly screamed when she saw Miguel sitting on her couch holding a bouquet of lilies, her favorite flower.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" she screamed at the incredibly sexy Cuban as he rose from her couch. She was grasping her chest, breathing to slow down her heart beat.
"I called your job yesterday and they said you were in the city for your high school reunion and I figured you'd be back by now and I wanted to surprise you." He walked towards her and handed her the flowers.
The two had dated for nearly three years and he had even asked her to be his wife last year, which she had accepted. But he ended the relationship when she outright refused to move with him to Cuba to be closer to his family after the wedding. That was nine months ago and two months after their split Miguel came to her home bringing by things she had left at his apartment and before he could get two steps in the two engaged in an intense round of good-bye sex.
"How did you get in here?" she asked a little pissed, but not angry enough to accept the flowers; they were gorgeous. Miguel pulled out her spare key that he 'conveniently' forgot to return to her. He dangled it in front of her and she snatched it before picking up an empty vase on the coffee table and making her way into the kitchen. She placed the vase in the sink and filled it with water before placing the lilies inside.
Her breathing increased when she felt Miguel's raging hard on grind into her ass and his humongous hands cover her breasts. "I've missed you so much." he moaned. He pushed his body into hers forcing her to bend over the sink.
"I suspect that you have since I haven't heard from you or seen you in seven months asshole." she spat back. She wiggled free of his grasp and spun around to face him. She shot him the evilest look she possessed and pushed past the 6'2, 225 pound man.
As she started to walk away Miguel grabbed her arm and pinned her in her place. "Toya, you broke my heart when you refused to marry me." He was blaming her for their demise.
"Miguel if I had asked you to uproot yourself and move with me to Africa would you?" she hypothetically countered.
"Yes!" he shouted quickly. "Because I love you! I've been going crazy over the months. Please take me back."Miguel begged but Toya could see through the controlling prick. She shook her head and pulled her arm from his grasp.
"Get out." she slowly said and walked into the living room. Miguel followed and she pointed to the front door.
"NinguÌ n hombre le amará la manera que hago y usted la sabe." Miguel said to her in his irresistible Spanish tongue. "Remember that." He then walked out the door. She could sense and see the sadness in his tone and in his face but it didn't phase her, she made the right choice kicking him out.
Toya dragged her luggage inside an hour after Miguel left and now she was sitting on her couch eating a defrosted frozen dinner while watching reruns of 'Good Times'. Her doorbell rang and she placed the dinner on the coffee table as she rose and walked to the door. She tip toed to the peep hole to see her visitor(s) and smiled as she opened the door.
Erika, Lucas and Kirk fell though the doorway and each latched onto her body. "Why didn't you call us and tell us you were back bitch?" Erika playfully snided revealing a perfectly white smile set against her chocolate skin.
"Shit! That reminds me!" Toya yelled bringing her mind to Wes. She pushed her three best friends off her and ran into her bedroom. "I'll be right with you guys!" she yelled to them as she entered her room.
The three surveyed the room and Lucas noticed the food and Toya's choice of a TV show. "Eww. Frozen TV dinners? Good Times? Girl, who done pissed you off?!" he called and Toya nearly curled over in laughter.
"Give me ten minutes and I'll tell you guys every detail." She found her phone and redialed the number of the last incoming call; she had to remember to save Wes's number in her phone.
"Hello?"
Toya tried to contain herself as she heard his sexy voice. "Wes? Hi, it's Toya. Just calling to let you know that I'm home." she said.
"Oh, well I'm glad you made It safely." After he said that there was a pause in the conversation. "Damn it. I miss you already." he finally said and Toya blushed. "I'm really glad you decided to come to the reunion."
"Now I am too." she smiled.
"When can I see you again?"
Toya bit her lip, an act she always did when she was nervous. "The only day I have free during the week is Sunday." she tells him.
"Well, how about I give you a call during the week and we can try to arrange something?" he suggested.
"OK. That sounds fine. I've gotta go. Some friends drop by so I can't have you holding me hostage and they are dying to know how the reunion went." she laughed.
Wes laughed as well. "Don't tell them too much." he said this in a warning tone but gave it away with his chuckle.
"A lady never does." she giggled and said good-bye . She walked into the living room and the Three Stooges were nowhere to be found. She made her way into the kitchen and saw them raiding her fridge.
"Time to go grocery shopping." Kirk said stuffing her last slice of honey roasted turkey in the trash bin he called a mouth. She would have considered Kyle attractive if he didn't gross her out with some of the crap he put in there.
Nevertheless her friends were her life. She met the group her freshman year in college and even after 10 years they still made her feel like an eighteen year old. Erika was the sweet and sensible one who kept the group sane. Lucas was the heart throb who was the life of the party where ever they were and had some moves for a white boy. Finally, Kirk was the fighter of the four and would take on the devil himself if he disrespected his friends. He was black but grew up in rough neighborhood so he grew up taking tons of self defense classes and was freakishly strong.
"So do you wanna tell us what's got your panties in a bunch?" Lucas had walked to Toya and wrapped an arm around her and had just finished chomping on a chocolate chip cookie. When he asked her the question a crumb fell on her cheek. She flicked it off and looked up Lucas who was a good seven inches taller than her. She pushed Lucas off her and then leaned against the counter behind her.
"Miguel was here when I came home." she told them. They all gasped and hung onto every word she said as she explained what happened.
"I thought you wanted Miguel back." Kirk rubbed his head and Toya shrugged her shoulders.
"I did six months ago when I was going through some serious withdrawal symptoms."The group busted out in a huge laugh and Erika walked to Toya and threw her arm around her shoulder.
"Guys, why don't you go and watch the game. I need to have a talk with my best friend." She swatted the guys out of the kitchen and pulled Toya into the dining room. They sat at the table and Erika leaned on her elbows. "So, how did the reunion go?"
"It went well. I enjoyed myself." Toya held back her smile.
"Girl, you know I can see through you like a ghost. Who did you hook up with?" Erika blurted out. She couldn't hide anything from her.
"Two guys..."
"You fucking slut!" Erika gasped and playfully hit Toya's arm.
"It wasn't like that!" Toya said trying, but failing, to dodge the strike. One I slept with, the other I didn't but he gave me a whole new view on the word intimate."
Erika smiled at her friend's smile. "Who were these guys?"
"One was this guy that I had a major crush on from sophomore year up until senior prom, his name is Ben and the other was my senior English teacher."
"You messed with an old man?!"
"No, he's like 35. And he's just as hot if not hotter than any 25 year old I've ever seen."
"Are you going to see any of them again?" Erika asked.
"Wes, the teacher, wants to see me again but after Ben fucked me up, down and sideways, he bounced right after so I really don't care if I see him again." Toya said and saw that 'I'm ready to cut a bitch' look on Erika's face. She may be sweet but when it came to her girl, Erika did not play.
The look quickly faded away and Erika jumped up. "Well, I'm putting my money on Wes. Come on let's go and join the guys." Both women walked into the living room and sat on the couch in between Lucas and Kirk.
"Oh, guys I forgot to tell you." Kirk said and faced his three friends. "Miranda and I are getting married. I proposed to her over the weekend."
Toya loved Miranda. Of all the girlfriends that Kirk had over the past ten years she was the one that lasted the longest and kept Kirk's anger in check. She was a beautiful half black, half Hispanic former beauty queen and was the nicest person you could ever meet and Toya was glad Kirk was finally deciding to settle down and marry the girl; they had been together for the past four and a half years.
"Girls, Miranda wants you all to be her bridesmaids so clear your schedule for the next eight months because it will include dress and wedding rehearsals and she wants your help planning the wedding since you both know me so well." Kirk told them. "And I want you all to bring a date to either the wedding or the reception."
"I suggest we go out and celebrate! This is big news!" Erika exclaimed.
"No, guys I have to go to work in the morning!" Toya complained.
"Oh, we all do. Shut up and go put on something sexy." Lucas commanded and pushed her off the couch.
"Aren't you guys gonna change?" she asked as she headed to her room.
"Can we take your Jag back to our place?" Kirk asked.
"Hell no!" she screamed back.
"Then no. Hurry up so we can leave!" Lucas replied.
Toya changed into a short blue jean mini skirt, a light blue long sleeve blouse with a low neck line, a silver waist belt and silver knee high boots. She knew they were headed to either a nightclub or a bar and she would be the designated driver. She walked out of her room and Kirk and Lucas whistled their approval of her attire. The four squeezed into her Jag and headed to Gino's, a nearby nightclub/restaurant. Erika once dated the bouncer and the fool is so pussy whipped that even though they broke up two years ago he stills lets her and the group in for free.
They stood in the semi-lengthy line and Toya helped Erika apply some last minute eye liner. Of course Lucas was getting all the female attention while they waited in line; he had already gotten three numbers and they weren't anywhere near the door.
They made it to the front of the line and Erika threw herself on the bulky bouncer who could pass for The Rock's twin; Erika had a thing for muscle bound men. "Hey Jax." she whispered sweetly in his ear. He was so tall that his hug lifted her off the ground.
"You look nice." Toya heard him say. She also saw his large hand land and squeeze her ass.
"Thank you." she giggled as he placed her back on the floor.
"When are you gonna let me get back in here?" The entire crowd behind Toya, Lucas and Kirk drew their attention to Erika as Jax cupped her crotch through her jeans. Erika pushed his hand away and tip toed to his ear.
"You'd said you'd wait forever for me so I'm holding to that." She pushed him aside and walked inside. Toya, Lucas and Kirk followed and the four grabbed an empty tabled. Lucas and Kirk went to order their food and pitchers of beer and lemonade.
"Why do you tease Jax like that?" Toya asked Erika when the guys were out of sight.
"Because it's fun. You're not the only one who's allowed to be a slut." Erika winked and danced in her seat to the music.
Lucas and Kirk returned with the food and the four toasted on Kirk's engagement and ate until they were stuffed. Toya rubbed her belly as Kirk pulled Erika on the dance floor to work on the food and booze. Lucas found one of his admirers from the line and led her onto the dance floor.
"You are too fine to be sitting here all alone." Toya heard a voice that sounded as if it hadn't hit puberty. She turned in the direction the voice and saw a boy who barely looked 18 and she wondered how he even got in.
"How old are you?" she asked annoyed and he took the empty seat next to her.
"Old enough. How 'bout we go back to my place? My parents are out of town and we can have the whole place to ourselves." he suggested and Toya laughed so hard and long that the boy got up and left the table with what was left of his pride.
Toya finally decided to get off her ass and went out on the dance floor and worked her body to the beat with Erika and Kirk. She danced behind Kirk as if a guy got the balls to dance up behind her Kirk would shoot them a look to back off. If this had been the weekend before Toya would've cussed him out for cock blocking but tonight she appreciated the over protective side of him.
The four left the spot at 1 AM and Toya drove home. The three got into Kirk's Buick when she pulled into her driveway and Toya waved good bye as Kirk pulled out and headed to drop Lucas and Erika off at home before he headed home. Toya walked inside and after locking up she walked into her room and collapsed on her bed.
She awoke the next morning when her alarm went off at 5:30. She reached over and shut off the annoying buzzing. She grumpily crawled out of bed and did her best to make it to her bathroom on four hours of sleep.
She showered quickly and ate an even quicker breakfast. After dressing, putting on her makeup and doing her hair she left and headed to the office for Eruption, the men's magazine she had been working for during the past five years.
She pulled into the parking lot at 7:30 and walked inside the five story building. She signed in with the security guard who was always flirting with her and got on the elevator and rode it to the top floor. She got and walked into her office. The owner of Eruption, Charles Merriweather was sitting on her desk.
"Good morning Ms. Daniels." he smiled and she knew she was in trouble. Mr. Merriweather was only in a good mood when he was either firing someone or saving a shitload of money. She slowly laid her briefcase on her desk and waited for him to speak.
"I received those articles you edited over the weekend and do you know you saved me three full pages that I was able to sell to our top contributors and they just announced that if they see an increase in their business by the end of the month they'll increase their stake in the company and that means a huge raise for you sweetie!" he said and caught her nose in between his thumb and index finger.
Toya breathed a sigh of relief and Mr. Merriweather left her office. She collapsed in her chair and turned on her computer. While it loaded up she pulled out the handwritten articles that she manually edited and then signed into the office computer. She jumped up from her desk and placed the articles on their respective writer's desks. Just as she placed a horribly written article on Geoff Peter's desk, the office heart throb Sebastian Varner walked in and winked at her.
"So, how was the reunion?" he asked as she passed by her and she felt him 'accidently' slide his hand over her ass. If he wasn't one their best writers and so damn cute she would slap a harassment suit on him. The other only reason she didn't was because she never entertained his advances or comments; she always kept it professional.
"It went well. Thanks for asking." she said and walked back to her desk. She worked for the next three hours and jumped at the buzzing of her cell phone; she always put in on vibrate since sometimes she had phone conferences with other departments and didn't want the jingles she downloaded, especially 'Play" by David Banner which used to be Miguel's ringtone.
She grabbed her phone and answered without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Toya, it's Ben." she heard and nearly dropped her phone. "Hello? You there?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm here."
"I thought you might be pissed that I left so quickly the night before. I'm really sorry about that." He let out a soft sigh and Toya didn't know what to make of his apology. She figured Ben just saw her as a one night stand or fulfilling an old high school fantasy, somewhat like she was, so she wasn't really tripping.
"Hey, it's cool. Listen, I'm at work so I have to go." she said quickly and was about to hang up when Ben stopped her.
"Wait! Can I see you again? I mean I would really love to see you. Just name the time and place and I'll be there."
Whoa, this man is bold as shit, Toya thought as she bit her lip. "Can I get back to you on that. Like I said, I'm at work so I can't really talk." She hung up before Ben could answer. She worked with a head full of thought and was interrupted when lunch time rolled around by Sebastian.
"Hey gorgeous. Wanna go to lunch? I just finished the article you assigned to me and I got some free time before I head out." Damn, he finished the article already, she thought. She had given it to him around nine that morning and it was just 1:30.
"Bring me the article and I'll look over it and I'll e-mail you if there are any changes to be made." she told the blonde haired, green eyed babe.
"So, that's a no to lunch?" he smirked.
Toya sighed and looked up at Sebastian. "Look, I have got way too much work and too much shit on my mind to entertain your ego today." she spat angrily; so much for her professional persona.
"Whoa! So the Ice Queen does show some emotions." Sebastian chuckled and turned on his heels. He returned two minutes later and laid his article on her desk. She skimmed the article regarding advice to men on the do's and don'ts of oral and anal sex. Sebastian had also included advice from doctors that he had contacted personally. He was good, Toya had to admit. She placed the article in her briefcase to take home and thoroughly edit it.
"Toya, go to lunch!" Mr. Merriweather screamed to her when he passed by her office at 2:45. "Those articles aren't going anywhere."
She sighed and grabbed her purse and left the office and walked to a Japanese restaurant. She ordered a plate of tempura and a handful of California sushi rolls. Kyoshi, the cashier/cook punched in her order and took her money and went into the back to cook. She took a seat in the semi-crowded small restaurant. Kyoshi came out of the back and placed her order in front of her. He also sat in front of her and the two talked. They had become friendly after Toya had tipped him $20 since it was the only bills she had at the time. That was a year ago and since then he always gave her extra sushi rolls since she told him she loved them.
Toya told Kyoshi about the reunion and asked his advice on the Wes/Ben situation. "I can't give you honest advice because I do not know these men." Kyoshi said in his adorable accent. "But I can sense that you like this Wes gentleman a little more than Ben but go with your heart. It will lead you to the right choice." Kyoshi took her hands and placed it on her heart. He nodded and smiled and then a Japanese couple walked through the door. Kyoshi spoke to them in his native language and got up from his seat. He returned to the counter and took their order.
Toya finished her meal and walked to the counter. She slipped a few bills in Kyoshi's tip jar as he helped a new set of clients. She leaned over the counter and placed a kiss on his cheek. "See you later!" she yelled and walked back to her office. When she boarded the elevator her cell phone rang and she answered it when she saw Wes's name on the screen.
"Hey." she answered.
"I know I said I would call during the week but an idea just popped in my head." Wes stated. "You said you were free on Sundays only so I could come upstate Saturday night and we could spend all day Sunday together." he suggested. "Of course I'll stay in a hotel Saturday night."
"But I'm a good five hour drive from you. I don't want you coming out of your way to see me." Toya reasoned.
"No, you're a five hour drive from the city. I live right off the interstate so I'm only a two hour drive to where you are at the most." Wes told her.
"Oh. Well, OK I guess that would be all right. Um, let's just talk during the week to confirm the plans." she said and they said good bye and hung up.
Toya got off the elevator on her floor when she ended the call with Wes. She completed the rest of work and left the office at 3:45. She had to make it to the publisher by 5 PM so that Eruption would be on the stands in the morning. She made it to the publisher at 4:50 and handed the layout to Greg who had been with the publishing company about as long as she had been with Eruption. "Greg work your magic baby." she smiled and took the verification that layout had been received and she turned on her heels and left and headed home.
As soon as she hit the door she pulled off her heels and picked up the cordless phone that was in her living room. She called Erika and when she answered she sounded a hot mess. "I told you we shouldn't have gone out last night." Toya laughed. "So did you make it to work today?"
"Hell no!" Erika groaned. "I've got a headache the size of Texas! I'm not talking to you right now so call me Wednesday." With that Erika hung up and Toya shook her head and laughed. She was pretty sure Lucas and Kirk were in worser states so she decided not to call them.
It was close to six o'clock and Toya was nowhere near tired so she worked on the articles submitted to her until she fell asleep inside her office.
She awoke after hearing the faint buzzing from her alarm clock from her bedroom. She lifted her head and realized she had drooled on Sebastian's article. She was thankful she had typed up the article last night and e-mailed it to her business account. She jumped up and ran into her room. 5:45 blinked on the alarm clock. She sighed relieved and turned off the blaring buzzing. She went about her morning routine and prepared for a new day.
The day went by faster than normal and Toya repeated most of her activities from the previous day and she was anxiously awaiting Saturday. Wes called her when she got home that day and told her he was free that weekend. He would leave Saturday around 4 and meet her at a nearby bed and breakfast then they would go out to dinner, maybe go out dancing afterwards and take it from there. Toya couldn't contain her smile as she crawled in her bed around 11 that night.
The ringing of her phone woke her she groaned at the time: two in the morning. Who was calling her at this time? She was glad she put her phone by her bed after her conversation with Wes ended at ten o'clock.
"Hello?" she groggily answered.
"Toya, I know it's late but I missed out on the opportunity to be with you in high school and I have always wondered what if since then and I don't want to have that feeling ever again." Toya heard Ben slur. He was obviously drunk or was heading that way.
"Ben, you're drunk." she sighed.
"No, maybe a little intoxicated but I am not drunk." he laughed and she heard him gulp down whatever he was drinking. "Toya, I had an amazing time with you over the weekend I just want to see you again, that's all I ask. Whenever you want, just say the time."
Toya gave in knowing he wouldn't let her off the phone if she didn't. If she hanged up he would call back all night; a tactic Miguel used to convince her to go out with him and she was in no mood to hear her phone going off all night. "Fine. Saturday. 8 o'clock." she hung up after he took down her address.
The rest of the week flew by and on Saturday after Toya left the office her phone rang and she excitedly talked with Wes as she drove to the bed and breakfast where he was staying that night. When she pulled into the parking lot Wes was waiting by his car. Toya hung up the phone and jumped out of her car and jumped in Wes's arms.
"It's so good to see you!" she said against his cheek.
"Same here." he smiled and placed her back on her feet. She looked up at him and tilted her head as Wes bent down to her and kissed her lightly but with passion. "Let's go to dinner or something." he suggested pulling away.
"I've got a better idea. Let's go back to my place and I'll give you a home cooked meal."
"That sounds like a magnificent idea!" Wes exclaimed and they rode to her house together. They arrived and Toya led him into her home. "Nice place!" Wes shouted admiring her decorating skills.
"Thank you. Make yourself at home and I'll whip us up something to eat." Toya pushed Wes onto her couch and walked into the kitchen. She opened her freezer and pulled out some boneless chicken. She grabbed a pan from beneath the sink and set it on her stove. Coating it with non-stick stray she threw the chicken inside and also started to boil water for vegetables and pasta.
"Hey, Toya! Can I use your bathroom?" Wes called from the living room.
"Sure. It's in the back, the second door on your left." she told him.
As the food cooked Toya was surprised when her doorbell rang. She had told the crew she would be 'entertaining' the entire weekend so she would be unavailable. She walked to her front door and opened it and saw Ben standing there with a bottle of wine and a huge bouquet of red and white roses. She was sure her face displayed her shocked feeling.
"What are you doing here?" she asked regaining her composure.
"Remember we made plans to see each other today?" Ben said and the conversation they had that late Tuesday/early Wednesday morning. Toya slapped her head with the palm of her left hand.
"Ben, you were drunk! I didn't think you were serious." she said and saw his face sank from her statement.
"Of course I was serious! I really wanted to see you." He handed her the roses and used his now free hand to reach out and caress her cheek.
"Toya?" She heard Wes's voice behind her and saw Ben's stare leave her face and look over her head.
"Mr. Chaplan? What are you doing here?" Ben said stepping further into Toya's home.
"I was invited. Toya and I---" Before Wes could finish his sentence Toya smelled the chicken burning. She rushed into the kitchen and placed the roses on an empty counter. She shut off the burners and salvaged what she could for the meal.
She leaned against the counter let out an exasperated sigh. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned and faced Wes. "Are you OK?" he asked.
"Is Ben still here?" she asked not knowing what she was going to do about the situation she had gotten herself into.
"Yeah. I think he's waiting on an explanation from you." Wes said and stared into her eyes. "If you want me to leave so you can talk to him I have no problem with it."
He turned to walk away but Toya quickly grabbed his arm and spun him back to her. "No, don't go. Listen, I'll talk to Ben but I want you to stay. Dinner is ready so just set it up in the dining room OK." she told him and he nodded his head.
As he grabbed the plates containing their dinner Toya made her way into the living room where Ben was sitting on her couch. He stood when she approached him. "Toya, why is Mr. Chap---Wes, here?" he asked still in the dark.
Toya took Ben's hands and sat down on the couch. She pulled him down to sit with her. "Ben. I had an amazing time with you over the last weekend and I think you are an amazing man but I don't think that will be anything between us other then what happened."
"Are you upset that I left so abruptly that night?" Pure shock and disbelief was written all over his face.
"No, it's not that..."
"But you said I wasn't too late to maybe start something between us. What happened between the mind blowing sex we had and now?" Ben held her stare waiting for an answer. Toya sighed and her eyes finally met his and she spoke.
"Wes happened."
A smile crossed Ben's lips and then he let out a laugh that made her feel like he wasn't taking her seriously. "Toya, are you telling me that you want to be with the man who was once our teacher? Isn't that illegal?"
"We're adults now and I don't want to lead you on anymore than I already have. I'm sorry but I think I need to go down a different path...with Wes."
Wes smiled as he overheard the conversation. She wanted to be with him and she was proving it by turning away the man he knew she wanted more than anything ten years ago. He peeked around the corner and saw Toya hug Ben and when she released him he walked to the door. When he heard the door open and close he walked out and hugged Toya from behind. Toya felt his erection against her ass. Wes swayed with Toya in his arms and kissed her cheek.
"Dinner's getting cold." he whispered.
Wes pulled Toya into the dining room and they ate the dinner she had prepared. When they were done Wes washed up the dishes and Toya dried them before putting them up. "You were quiet during dinner. Is everything OK?" he asked handing her the last dish.
"Yeah. I'm sorry but can I ask you a question?" She placed the plate on the counter in front of her and faced Wes. He turned off the faucet and turned to the gorgeous woman who had a look of sorrow on her face.
"Hey, why is this beautiful face holding a frown?" he leaned down to her and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
"Wes, I don't know what you life is like but mine is very hectic and I feel there's something here between us but I have to know that it's worth it. Please tell me it is."
"Toya, I am willing to try if you are. I'm not guaranteeing everything will be fine and dandy but I can promise you three things: I will never lie to you, I will never hurt you and I will always treasure you as the gorgeous creature that God created and decided to bless me with." He took her hand and kissed it.
He then traveled his lips up her arm and to her lips. He pushed her against the counter and growled as he lifted her onto it and buried his body between her legs. They kissed and when Toya felt him grind his hard cock into the crotch of her jeans Wes scooped her in his arms and carried her into the back of the house. "Where's your bedroom."
"First door on the left." she told him and he entered her room and softly laid her on the bed. He pulled his shirt above his head and Toya's eyes bugged at the body that was sculpted to perfection. She would have never guessed that body was underneath the layers of clothes he wore.
"Like what you see?" Wes smiled seductively and removed his shoes and jeans. Toya nodded her head and licked her lips.
"So I take it you see this relationship going somewhere." Toya said remembering his words to her last weekend regarding sex. Wes grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled a condom from the pocket.
"Of course." He walked to the bed and kissed Toya gently. "I want this. I want you." he whispered.
"I want you too." she told him and he helped her remove her shoes and jeans. She pulled off her shirt and Wes laid his body gently atop hers. Kissing Wes pulled off her bra and panties and tossed them aside. He removed his boxers and slipped on the condom.
"Are you ready for me baby?" he asked halting his cock at her entrance. He could feel the dampness of her waiting hole at the head of his cock and the anticipation was seriously going to cause him to blow his load right then and there and he didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to cum until Toya was screaming his full name: Wesley Jonathan Chaplan. She was his now and he wasn't going anywhere as long as she wanted him by her side.
Toya nodded her head and felt him slide his throbbing member into her. He went into her slowly so that she could adjust to him and she was thankful for that. She hated when men started off fast and the sex lasted two minutes max.
When Wes was fully inside her he moaned in ecstasy. She felt wonderful and her pussy wrapped around him like a glove; a perfect fit. Toya grunted as Wes plowed into her and she held her legs open to give Wes deeper access to her core.
"Toya, you're amazing!" He fell into her body harder and wrapped his hands into her hair and pulled lightly and Toya looked over his shoulder and saw his ass flex as he fucked her.
"Wes, please. I need to cum!" she screamed and snaked her hand between their bodies and to where they were connected. She rubbed her clit furiously and Wes grabbed her hand.
"No!" he said into her ear. "I want us to cum together."
"Well, come on baby. I need it!"
"Then scream my name."
"What?"
Wes fucked her at a faster pace and she took his earlobe in his mouth and bit down on it lightly to muffle her screams.
"Scream my name and we'll cum together." he explained.
"Wes!" she screamed.
"My whole name. Wesley Jonathan Chaplan. Scream it sexy." He gave her a hard thrust, she screamed his name and Wes exploded in the condom. He also felt Toya achieve her orgasm and stayed still as her body quivered beneath him.
He kissed her forehead and her lips when they both came down from their high.
"That was so good!" Toya yelled as Wes crawled off her body.
"Baby, that was better than good. You are stuck with me I hope you know that." Wes smirked as he sat up and stared at her over his shoulder. He pulled off the cum filled condom and before getting out of Toya's bed he leaned over her and gave her a kiss with all his might.
When he let go of her full lips he walked out of her room and into the bathroom to dispose of the rubber. When he walked back in Toya's room he couldn't help but smile at the beautiful sight before. Toya was fast asleep and looked like an angel. Wes slipped easily next to her and pulled her close before drifting off to sleep himself.
|
*
Charles and I rested and talked in bed over many topics since we had not socialized at work. We did many comparisons between groups and different people that we both mutually knew.
As we were chatting, there was a rap on the door. Charles asked who was there. We heard, "It's me Sherry. Can I talk with Amy, please?" We grabbed for the covers and Charles said, "Sure Sherry, come on in."
Sherry walked in smiling and seeing us still in bed said, "Wow I was hoping to chat with you Amy but see you are still occupied."
We heard Charles say, "I'll get lost in the shower Sherry and then you and Amy can have your private conversation. All I ask is that you join me then Amy."
Charles was not bashful. He threw the covers off and headed to the shower. We heard Sherry go, "Wow!"
Charles said, "Anytime you want it Sherry, just hint."
"Crawl in bed here Sherry and let's chat. I got lost in the fun. Who did you sleep with last night?"
"Well the host and his wife. He talked me into getting in the sack with him last night and I never did get out. Between him and his wife, I lost track of the orgasm. All I know is that I woke up hearing them talking and his wife was telling him how delicious you were to eat and he was telling her how tight you were around his cock. I remember smiling to myself and falling back to sleep. This morning, Heather was eating me. John was smiling and had that morning hard-on in his hand stroking it slowly."
"John then said, 'I hope you enjoyed yesterday Sherry and I hope you are enjoying what Heather is doing for you now again. She tells me she cannot get enough of you and your friend Amy. It's been some time since I have seen her so hot for somebody of her sex. I hope you come to our parties often.'"
"John then said, "I am going to give Heather a good ride while she is in doggy eating you. Her ass in the air like that always has me hard. I hope you and Amy hang around the rest of the day and party with some of the other guest. They all want a piece of you and Amy."
"Well Heather had me sailing as she ate me again and at the same time doing me with her fingers."
"So it must have gone good with you and Charles. You can fill me in later. Did Charles say anything to you about hanging around the rest of the day?"
"No he has not Sherry; are you staying?"
"Only if you do Amy; I won't if you won't."
"Do you want to stay Sherry?"
"Yeah, John's cock did things for me that no other cock has done. I am wondering if some of these other black teammates of Charles can do the same or better. I have nothing planned for today; do you have to be anywhere?"
"Well, let me hop in the shower and see if Charles brings anything up. Let's play it by ear a little bit."
"The host said that brunch is buffet style in the kitchen. I will meet you there then."
"Okay Sherry, see you in fifteen minutes or so."
I headed for the shower and Charles was letting the water spray on his face. I smiled as a stream of water was falling off the end of his flaccid cock making it look like he was peeing.
I stepped up behind him, pressed my breast into his back, my one hand to his balls and the other to the cock. Blood flowed immediately to the cock. It was expanding nicely. I had laid my head in the center of his back and smiling nicely.
I heard, "Amy I hope you and Sherry can hang around the rest of the day. I know I want to be with you and I know some of the other guys on the team want some time with you and Sherry. I hope you are comfortable with that."
I said, "I'd like that very much Charles. If I do let some of the others guys spend some time with me Charles, I hope that it is okay with you."
"Babe it sure is. Chances are John and Heather will ask you both back to some of their parties. They are swingers as you might have guessed. Last night did you know that it was Heather that ate you and then John stuffed you while I was in your ass?"
"I did not know at the time, Charles but Sherry mentioned something about them coming back to bed talking about me."
"So you see if it's a swinger's party there may be three or more guys with you and maybe a girl or two, so I cannot get my nose out of joint. I hope you stick around and get stuck more."
I squeezed his cock hard and then said, "I assume you mean getting stuck with this thing from you and your friends?"
"Yeah babe, you have the picture."
"Well the invitation sure has resulted in a lot of things happening for Sherry, me and it looks like for you and your friends."
"Yeah Amy it sure looks that way. Thanks for accepting the invitation. So tell me are you hungry for food or the thing you are playing with?"
"I want both Charles but I would like to ask a favor of you."
"What is it Amy?"
"Can we stay here and let me get you off with my hand. I want to watch you fire onto my breast. I want to see your juice since I swallowed it. You are the first guy that I let do that but I will never get over the fact that I did you. You did not do me."
"Sure Amy you can do that. I hope you will do that for me again. It was awesome for me. Anything that you might want that might be a fetish or different let me know. I will try to make it happen."
We turned into each other. We kissed. I then lowered myself to my knees to concentrate on getting him to fire the nut juice so I could see and smell it.
It is always so neat to watch and feel a guy's balls lift up to load the gun a second or so before the gusher erupts.
After he sprayed my tits with his warm baby making stuff, we finished the shower with him getting me off with his finger massaging my clit.
When Charles and I arrived to take some food, Sherry was talking with some guys. She looked at me with that look of wondering are we staying or leaving. I winked at her and she really grinned then, knowing we were going to stay.
Heather approached us smiling and said, "I hope you are enjoying the gathering Amy. We are so happy that you and Sherry accepted Charles's invitation to come to the celebration of their win. Both you and Sherry are most welcome to join us in the future when the team wins. No special invitation is required; just make your appearance here after the game. This is our way of celebrating and it gives a reason for the team to concentrate on winning. This is our reward to them. From time to time during the off-season, we do get together. Please leave us your phone number or e-mail so we may inform you of the time and date so you can make plans. We sure are anticipating seeing you and Sherry often."
Heather then leaned into me to whisper, "In fact even now I desire you. I hope we can have some fun later today."
I turned to face her and said, "I think Sherry and I both will be going to the games next season more often than not. After I get some food and it has settled I will search for you. I feel the same way but Charles and some strangers that snuck into the room last night have me so weak that I need to restore some go power."
Heather leaned in again to whisper, "John and I have been talking about how great that visit was for the both of us. I'm sure John will be ecstatic knowing you will be at the games next season. We just need the team to win a lot."
With that comment, Heather patted my butt and said, "Enjoy the food and see you later then."
Charles and I filled our plates with great food and went to the pool area to eat it. I was surprised that some people horsing around in the pool did not have suits on. I assumed since those that stayed had been at the parties before were comfortable in doing it. Soon some guys walked by saying, "Finish that food and join us Amy and we hope you don't wear anything to hide those assess of yours." I blushed and heard, "Damn she is still innocent. Did you see that blush?"
I looked at Charles and he was smiling. He then said, "Do whatever makes you comfortable Amy. You know guys."
Charles and I sat around chatting awhile when I caught the sight of Heather approaching. When she reached me she said, "Ready?"
I replied with, "Yes very much so."
Heather extended her hand and Charles said, "Have fun and Heather don't exhaust her. I'd like her to have some life left later for the initiation."
My heart skipped hearing the word initiation. I asked Heather what was that all about. She replied that later when the party was swinging in mid-afternoon that Charles probably would ask me to let all the teammates give me a kiss and at the same time finger fuck me for a few seconds. They would each get fifteen seconds with me. Then the one that had a finger in me at the time I orgasmed would have the honor of doing me in front of everyone in doggy position. I inhaled a lot of air when I heard what she had said. I asked if I needed to do that. Her response was, "No way Amy. Some girls like to flaunt it and naturally, the guys love it. It usually ends up with every guy in the room doing the girl then. Remember, it's a swingers party. Now if you do choose to go through with it, there will be girls that will lie on the floor so you can eat them while the guy is doing you. Are you getting turned on, Amy?"
"My God yes Heather but I'd be too embarrassed to do that."
"Eventually Heather if you join us a lot, you will be like a close family member. We share everything and sex comes so natural for us. That is why we are here. It is fun to be close, hearing the moans, groans, watching perspiration develop, enjoying the time we share with each other and seeing others enjoying themselves. It makes us hornier so we enjoy our partner or partners more at the time."
I was extremely warm by now when we reached the bedroom. Heather and I did our girl thing. When we were showering Heather said, "Amy, Charles will spot you and ask you to head to a bedroom to get it on. If you do, he will bring you to the point of climaxing and just at that point will stop. You will probably beg for him by saying no not now. He will then suggest the swinging party. If you say no, he will make sure you still have a good time but all of the guests are hoping you will say yes and become a member of our family quickly so they all can feel freer about asking you to get it on with them. You will be so horny by then you probably will say yes. If you do go through with it, I will make it easier for you. I will lie on my back so you can eat me since we know each other. As other guys do you then, other girls will lie down then. By then you will not desire the party to end."
I stood in shock. I was wondering about Sherry. "Heather is the same going to happen to Sherry?"
"Yes Amy she will be asked. If she agrees, then both of you will be in the same room and the same will be happening to both of you at the same time. Now if one of you does not join the party thing, then you are free to do with whom and whatever you choose. Generally, a girlfriend sees what is happening to her girlfriend and quickly joins the party so as not to be left out."
When we joined the other guests, there were smiles on all the faces. Charles walked up to me and said, "Well sweetie, I've recovered and I see Heather saved you for me. Do you want to get it on like we did last night?"
I slipped my arm into Charles and said, "Yeah do me again." I did not mention what Heather had told me so I played along. I looked around for Sherry and did not see her. I asked Charles if he had and he said she and John were getting it on again.
Well Charles got me worked up to the point of climaxing by starting with his fingers and then included the tongue. I knew what was going to happen and attempt to slow down the impending climax but could not. When I reached that point Charles stopped his oral on me asked me to join the swingers. I was chicken and said, "No Charles I'm to shy maybe next time."
He reached for the remote next to us and turned on the TV. I saw the room full of naked people. Guys stroking themselves, girls stroking the guys and themselves, all concentrating on a girl in doggy, eating a girl as she was receiving white cock. Charles continued with the fingering and asked, "Are you sure you do not want to go home with awesome memories?"
"I do and don't Charles. Oh God get me off please Charles then I will decide."
"How about if I blind fold you and take you there and then whenever you feel comfortable you can take the blindfold off?"
"That might work Charles then I don't have to look at so many eyes hungry for me."
"Okay babe let me put on the blind fold. I will carry you there with my cock in you and then get you off with you on your back. Then when I pull out you can go into doggy and let the party start from there with guys lined up. Oh, by the way you might hear from a girl wanting to be eaten or maybe a guy wanting you to suck him off. Still game?"
"God yes Charles I need to cum. You have me so hot and watching that TV has me extra horny. God knowing it is real and not a porn movie makes it so much hotter."
I put the blindfold on after having gotten Charles's cock in me. I placed my face in his neck and wrapped my arms around him as he carried me into the room. I knew when I entered the room by the moans and smell of sex juices.
"Okay babe, I am going to lay you down now and give you your wish."
I felt him lower me to the floor. Someone had placed a pad on the floor so it would more comfortable.
Charles layed on top of me and did his thing. His chest pounding my tits and him whispering into my ear with his head next to mine, "My God Amy your pussy is so tight. I could do this all day with you, mmm...mmm...mmm..., oh babe, I'm going to fire; it is so, Uggggghhhhhhhh."
As he stiffened, I arched and had the climax I needed for over an hour.
He laid there panting. When he recovered his breath he said, "Okay Amy I'm going to pull out and then you get on your knees and show that beautiful ass of your to the guests. There are guys already in line to fill you up again. Relax; no one can touch your ass. Heather is waiting for you to eat her. She looks so wet and wanting. Sherry is about ten feet over from you and she is getting her third cock of the day that I know of."
I did as Charles suggested. I felt hands go for my hips and a cock bury itself in one deep shove. I felt Heather get in position, holding my face and guiding me to her honey hole. Well we just got into the flow and the guy had his cum, I had mine again, and Heather had hers.
Before Heather pulled out from under me she said, "Thanks for sharing Amy and just take a break whenever you are thirsty or need time to catch your breath. Is it alright if I take your blindfold off now?"
"Heather, may I leave it on for a few more minutes. I want to get a little bit more comfortable."
"Sure babe, just slip it off when you are ready."
The next person I ate was a real moaner. She apparently loved to have her pussy eaten. I got braver and fingered her pussy. I experienced my first pussy squirt. I had seen it in porn movies but thought it was fake. I lifted up gagging. I ripped the blindfold off and saw Sherry. My eyes bugged out of my sockets and saw that her face was full of embarrassment along with a scared look.
I heard, "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, Oh Amy I'm sorry. That has never happened to me before. I am so embarrassed. Please don't be mad at me. I never realized how horny I must have been for you to eat me. Your tongue and fingers just got to me."
Instead of getting mad as I should have I felt a power surge come over me and jammed three fingers into her, lowered my mouth and went to eating her again. The room erupted in applause but I just ate away until she exploded in another cum but did not squirt. When she had recovered, she pulled out spun herself, reached up and pulled my mouth to hers. As we were French kissing, I exploded on the cock that was in me. I felt Sherry shaking as if she was coming. I opened my eyes, lifted my head and saw her being eaten and fingered by a black guy that had a cock like a miniature pony.
After Sherry had calmed down, he crawled up to her, lifted her butt slightly and aimed the black rod to her pussy. My eyes bugged watching her pussy taking it. I then felt a cock going into me. It had to be huge also because I went, "Oh God that's thick. Easy please, easy until I adjust. My God you have me stretched."
Sherry and I both went into Blissville having cocks in us bigger than we have ever had.
The afternoon continued in a similar fashion. I took a break about every hour or so. Sherry and I chatted while on our breaks about how wild a party, we had gotten ourselves into and we were looking forward to more parties.
Things began to slow down because it was a few minutes between guys desiring to do us. Sometime in the afternoon guys would ask us to either be on our backs or doggy.
I was taking a sip of soda and Charles approached. He sat next to me and said, "Amy would you do me a favor and let me do your ass in front of these people. No one can ask you to do it with him then until the next party. We will not tell them. I will do your pussy first and then after you have had a cum, collect your juices and slip my cock into your ass."
I looked Charles in the face and it had that nice puppy look of "please."
I smiled, moved into doggy and he went at me. I had my cum, felt him gather the juices to lube his black cock, place a foot on the floor, placed the head at the entrance and began a slow push. I closed my eyes trying to visualize his hard black cock snaking its way into a warm hole, and trying to remember how good it felt last night so I could relax. It worked. He was stretching me but it was making him feel good, and I was feeling good about it at the same time.
He reached under me and played with a boob with one hand and the other went to the clit. I heard in the background, "Look Charles is doing her ass. Look, look at Charles and Amy."
His balls were bagging my thighs. He was moaning. We both sensed the level of excitement and we both stiffened and moaned our pleasure so everyone could hear us. I collapsed with Charles on top of me. We both were panting. Charles cock still was flexing which made me glow.
When we seemed to have recovered Charles said, "Let's hit the shower and then grab a bite to eat or I can run you home, or stick around and let the guys have another round with you."
"I think a shower, a bite and just chatting will be nice. If you don't mind Charles I'd like to soak in a tub for a few minutes. I have been used and I feel it but I also am feeling awesome about it. Look at Sherry snuggled up with that guy. She is happy also. Thanks for inviting us."
We soaked while Charles kept my nipples hard sitting in the tub. I leaned back onto his chest. We then showered, ate and chatted until about 8:30 PM when I asked him to run Sherry and me home.
Thanks for the mail to those of you that read Chapter one.
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Preface
This is the third part of the continuing saga of Brooke and Brad. After their stay at Pine Lake and their honeymoon in Maui they embark on a new life with their new friends. I recommend reading the first two sagas. Couples Camp and Honeymoon in Hawaii
A word of warning, most of my stories contain elements of: cuckolding, chastity, BDSM, and sharing. Some contain elements of consensual non consent and extreme situations that some might find disturbing. Everything I describe is pure fantasy. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1
Michelle, Ron and Brad all sat enjoying their dinner under the stars of the Caribbean sky. The long flight on their private jet had gotten them there just in time to enjoy a comfortable meal at a private poolside table.
"I hope everything is to your liking ma'am." The friendly waiter inquired.
"It's fine, thank you." Michelle responded politely.
Brad was trying to keep his mind on the job and the reason he was there, but it kept drifting back to the visions of his beautiful wife yet to catch up with him.
"Ms. Kingsley," a man's voice rang out as he approached their table.
"It's Mrs. Kingsley, and don't you forget that." She angrily snapped.
"I'm sorry ma'am, of course Mrs. Kingsley and of course Mr. Kingsley as well. Welcome to our island." The eager man apologized.
Brad sat quietly studying the man as he approached. He wasn't wearing the same shirt the rest of the staff had on but instead donned a white silk button up. He was scurrying towards the table like a scared child, surprised by his parent's early return home from work. It reminded him of when he was a kid and feared he was caught sneaking a taste of his parents liquor stash.
"I'm surprised at your arrival, pleasantly surprised of course." He quipped.
"Brad, this is Juan. Juan is our resort manager. He will do everything he can to help you, if there is anything you need this is who you should talk with." Michelle authoritatively explained.
"Oh absolutely," Juan replied as he extended his hand out to shake Brad's.
"Good to meet you sir. I've heard all about you and I'm ready to get started whenever you like."
"Good to meet you as well." Brad responded.
"If you don't mind I'm a little tired from the flight. How about we get started first thing in the morning?" Brad suggested.
"Absolutely sir, would you like me to meet you at the front office, you can get started looking at the books?" Juan enquired.
"Yeah, that sounds good. Say seven?" Brad proposed.
"Seven it is sir. See you then." Juan confirmed with a nod of his head.
"Again ma'am it's excellent to see you and the Mr." Juan snapped.
"Thank you Juan, but can you give us some privacy please, we have business to discuss. " Michelle informed him.
"Absolutely ma'am, till tomorrow," Juan abruptly responded nodding his head again towards Brad and quickly scurrying off.
"I don't trust him." Michelle declared quietly enough that only her two table mates could hear.
"Then why don't you just fire him? " Brad asked.
"He worked at the resort for years before I purchased it, and his family is in the local government. It's beneficial for us to maintain relationships with the local government. If I was to get rid of him, I'm sure he would cause us a lot of problems." Michelle explained.
Brad didn't completely understand but accepted Michelle's explanation, finishing his meal and pushing his empty plate aside. The three sat there, enjoying the warm Caribbean breeze as they finished what was left of their drinks. Something about the air here was different. Sure it was another tropical island just like Maui, but yet there was a palpable difference. The laid back family atmosphere was completely lacking here. Maybe it was just the vibe from the resort, but there was a hedonistic feel to it Hawaii lacked.
It didn't take long and the three agreed they were too tired to continue. Brad found his way to his temporary home on the second floor of the resorts main building, while Michelle and Ron stayed in a private villa a few hundred feet from the pool and just steps from the sandy beach.
"Sleep well, jailbird." Michelle laughed as she and Ron walked off into the night.
Brad didn't need any reminder of his predicament as the pressure of his captivity was a constant reminder. As he slid into bed naked from head to toe with only his steel prison restraining his freedom he glanced over at the clock. It was only nine o clock and yet it felt like he was getting home from a long night of drinking after the bars closed.
His head hit the pillow and instantly Brad fell asleep, only to wake up and turn to see it was three in the morning. Brad tossed and turned trying to ignore the early morning hard-on that was attempting to poke out, but the painful swelling in his crotch refused to subside and finally caused him to get out of bed. Brad's body was conditioned to need to use the bathroom first thing when he awoke and today was no different. Only problem was this time there was no way for him to relive himself naturally without creating a mess and getting it all over himself. The holes in the tip of his steel trap would have his morning pee shooting out all over like the fountains at the Bellagio. The only chance he had of not causing a complete disaster was to sit down like a woman to do his morning ritual.
Brad did his business, glad Brooke wasn't there to see his humiliation and returned to bed attempting to fall back to sleep. Regardless of how much he tried though Brad was unable to drift back to dream land, instead he found himself wide awake as if he was ready to take a run on the beach.
After an hour of tossing and turning, he finally gave up and got up. There was a fully stocked dresser and closet as well as all the toiletries he was used to having. Michelle had once again shown she knew exactly how to get things done, and done right. Brad decided to slip on a pair of shorts and running shoes and headed for the beach. A good morning run should get his blood flowing and get him ready for the day.
Brad took off down the beach not sure exactly where he was going but thankful the moon lit the beach like a spotlight lights a stage. He barely got past the private villas when he noticed a couple lying on the beach obviously making love under the moon lite sky. The thoughts of Brooke quickly entered his mind and filled it with wonder as he did his best not to interrupt them.
Brad ran for what felt like an hour before turning around and heading back, by the time he returned made it back to the resort the sun was just starting to peak up above the horizon. He made it back to his room and jumped in the shower to wash the salty sweat from his skin before getting dressed for the day. Brad looked over to check the time and it was only six in the morning as he left his room once again.
Brad figured he would take a look around and get a feel for the property before heading up to the office and his meeting with Juan. As he made his way around the resort he stopped at the main poolside bar. They were serving hot coffee and breakfast sandwiches so he took a seat and got something to eat. It gave him a perfect opportunity to ask the server a few questions and start his professional probing.
"Hey do you mind if I ask you a question?" Brad asked the dark skinned woman.
"Ok, what do you want to know?" She inquired as she topped off his cup.
"Is this place always busy, or is it busier certain times of the year?"
"Oh it's pretty much always busy sir." She responded.
"Not much happening this time of day though is there?" Brad again probed.
"Oh no, mostly night sir,"
"I bet a lot of people are up late here drinking." Brad laughed.
"Not that late sir, if you want to drink late night you has to find private party." She responded quietly looking around to make sure she wasn't overheard.
"I see," Brad confirmed before taking a sip of his coffee.
Brad didn't want to prod too much and raise suspicions with the staff, so he just thanked her for the coffee and continued with his breakfast. Brad took one last swig of his drink before he tossed down a tip and left his half eaten breakfast behind.
Brad took his time walking up to the office, observing the staff as he went. In addition to the dark skinned waitress, he observed two gardeners diligently sweeping up any fallen leaves and making sure the flower lined walkways were perfectly groomed. As he made his way down the winding stone path he saw one of the maids appearing to carry a set of clean sheets to one of the villas, and a young man in his twenties who was carrying some guest bags towards the front entrance to the hotel. Nothing seemed out of place to him. It was just a normal hotel resort, with lots of friendly staff ready to serve their guests at a moment's notice.
Brad was ten minutes early, when he arrived at the front desk.
"Excuse me, is Juan in yet?" Brad asked the young woman at the counter.
"I believe he's in his office, yes." She replied motioning to one of the doors off the lobby.
"Thank you." Brad replied as he walked towards the closed door.
Brad knocked twice on the door and turned the knob as he pushed inward. Juan was sitting at his desk looking though some of the books and pushing papers around, obviously startled by Brad's early arrival.
"Mr. Simmons, Sir." Juan yelped.
"Please it's Brad."
"Yes sir, Brad then. Good morning Sir, err Brad." Juan stammered.
"Here are the books, if there is anything else I can get you please let me know." He stuttered as he got up from his desk.
"Please make yourself at home. My office is your office." Juan finished with as he offered up his seat to Brad.
Brad took a seat and quickly got to work checking the way the finances were being spent. He double checked the math and everything seemed to be adding up, but it would take days to know for sure. Brad asked to be left alone to review all the entries and spent the five hours going line for line double checking every detail.
At around noon there was a knock on the door and the nice waitress that had served him breakfast offered him a platter of food.
"I was told bring this to you sir." she said as she placed the tray on the desk and left.
Brad spent the remainder of the day closed up in the office combing through the books, looking for anything out of place before finally calling it a day around 6pm.
Brad's head was full of numbers and lines trying to connect dots and spot the potential source of the leaks. He really needed a break and the only way to quit his mind was to swing by the bar and get a drink.
Brad sat there sipping on his second rum and coke when he spotted her. It was Brooke. She was walking down the path towards the bar and Brad. Brad wanted so badly to run up and give her a hug, but they had traveled there separately for the sole purpose of appearing to have no connection to one another. Brad tried not to stare as Brooke past tossing him a quick smile. It wasn't the kind of smile a wife would give to her husband upon his return from a week long convention, rather the dismissive smile of a woman who wasn't interested.
Brad looked down, as if he hadn't noticed, but he did notice something else. She wasn't wearing her ring. He shouldn't have been surprised, after all she was supposed to be there as a single woman, but seeing it for the first time weighed heavy on him.
"Where's your wife?" The bartender asked.
Brad looked down, realizing he was still wearing his ring, and tried to quickly think of a response.
"Oh, uh, she's not here with me." Brad responded.
"Yeah I kinda figured, by the way you looked at that one." The tall dark skinned man laughed.
Brad realized he better be more careful, he didn't want Brooke getting targeted, if the same people that went after Liam and Abigail went after him, he didn't want Brooke getting hurt too. Brad tried to ignore the curiosity he felt to look where Brooke went, but after a third drink he just couldn't resist.
Brad moved down to the end of the bar, with his back to the pool so he could look over into the dance club, suspecting that was where Brooke had gone. He continued sipping on his third rum and coke trying not to be obvious about looking that way.
"You wanna dance?" A woman sitting at the bar a few seats away asked.
"Oh, um, I," Brad stammered.
"I saw you looking over there, thought you might be missing that wife of yours." She said with a serious tone.
Brad started to panic. This whole clandestine thing was new to him, and he wasn't doing a very good job of having a poker face.
"I take it you left her at home?" She continued.
Ahh, she must have noticed his ring Brad thought, as he looked down at his hand. It was too late to take his ring off now, next time it might be better off to just not have it on at all.
"Oh, yeah, actually I'm here on business." He explained.
Brad continued to have a polite conversation with her, as he discreetly looked for Brooke. It wasn't long and he spotted her bobbing and swaying to the club music just like a college girl on spring break. He could only catch a glimpse of her every now and then through the opening to the club area as she crossed the dance floor.
The lack of dinner had Brad feeling a bit woozy half way through his fourth rum and coke, when Ron set his hand on Brad's shoulder and invited him to sit at a table with him and Michelle.
After a few words of encouragement from Michelle about how Brooke could handle herself and how she was just doing her job they got a bite to eat. Michelle did her best to settle Brad's nerves and re focus him on his job rather than Brooke. By the time Ron and Michelle left for the night, Brad was feeling much better.
"Go back to your room and we will see you tomorrow." Where the last words Michelle said to Brad as she and Ron got up from the table and headed towards their villa.
Brad was about to head back to his room too, when he caught another glimpse of Brooke dancing. This time it was to a slow song and she had her arms wrapped around a man. Brad considered going back to his room and trying to ignore the thought of her sharing her time with him, but just couldn't resist taking a seat back at the bar to get a better angle to watch her from.
A short peak here and there was all Brad could catch without looking too obvious, so after a few more minutes he finished off the last of his drink and headed back to his room. The booze added to the long day and the time change his body was fighting with, so it didn't take long before the soft pillow took him away from reality and sent him deep into dream land.
Brad woke up a little later the next morning, and decided to head straight to the office to get started on the books again. He was still looking for anything out of place that would explain why the resort didn't seem to be making any money despite it appearing to be so busy all year long.
After another long day double checking accounting records and sifting through receipts Brad decided once again to head off to the bar for a drink and a quick bite to eat.
"Nice to see you again Sir," the young lady behind the bar cheerfully declared.
It was the young lady who had served Brad his breakfast the day before.
"Oh, hi, good to see you again," Brad responded to the familiar face.
"What can I get you sir?"
"Oh please, it's Brad." He quickly informed the young beauty.
"Yes Brad, nice to serve you," she replied.
Brad felt uncomfortable at the way she was treating him like a guest that demanded constantly to feel as if they were being pampered by the staff, but instead wanted to break though and try to develop a little more of a friendship with her. Perhaps it was just his nature or maybe it was his strategy to gain more information, either way he tried to reduce the formality.
"What's your name?" He questioned her.
"Mia, sir."
"Please Mia, call me Brad."
"So where are you from Mia, you don't sound like you're from here on Anguilla."
"Oh I'm originally from Brazil; my Mother was from Anguilla my father Brazilian." She explained.
"Well, nice to meet you Mia." Brad said as he welcomingly extended his hand.
Mia gently grasped Brad's hand and shook, asking him for his order.
"Thank you Brad, can I get you something to drink?" She asked, in a little bit of a hurry.
Mia was trying to be friendly and polite, but the bar was starting to get busy. She brought Brad his rum and coke and headed back down the bar to help the other guests who were starting to pile into the seats surrounding the outdoor tavern.
Brad enjoyed the scenery as he watched the activity around the pool and the beautiful woman in bikinis showing off their bodies as if they were all in a beauty contest, competing with each other. He took in the sunset as he finished off the last of the burger he ordered for dinner. Brad was just about to head off to his room when he saw her.
It was Brooke. She was dressed in a transparent white silk dress that hid as much as a clear plastic bag. The pink bikini she wore underneath was calling out for everyone to notice as she strutted past Brad, once again on her way to the dance club. This time when she passed though she didn't make eye contact and there was no indication either of them even knew the other was there.
Brad decided he would head over to the dance club as well, not only was he curious and wanting to see his wife, but he also needed to see more of the club for professional reasons. The club was nothing unexpected. Typical black walls and ceiling with a hard wood floor perfect for dancing. The lights cast around bouncing off the glossy floor casting their excitement all around the room. There was another bar with a few tall seats where Brad could sit and observe as the club filled for the nights activities.
Brad ordered a coke with no rum this time, wanting to keep his head straight and focus on work rather than let his jealous emotions get ahold of him. He looked around and didn't see Brooke anywhere, which he thought was odd considering the club wasn't that large. Surely she had gone in but was nowhere to be found. It was about a half hour later when he noticed her coming out of a door in the back of the club. It looked like a small office, but he wasn't certain.
Brooke walked across the dance floor and sat down at a small private booth that was already occupied by another couple and what appeared to be a single man. Brad tried not to look, but he could tell Brooke was cuddling up to the single man as the other couple made out with one another. The man with Brooke looked to be keeping his hands to himself, but it was obvious Brooke was trying to get him interested.
Brad was reminded once again of the predicament he was in as his caged manhood became painfully tight. The sight of his wife with another wasn't anything new for him, nor was the conflicting emotions about it, but instead of the angst diminishing the emotions seemed to be getting even stronger over time, and the reflection of the club lighting that bounced off the silver key hanging from her neck only intensified those feelings.
Brad sat there the facts and figures running through his head competing for space with his emotions as the club spun with excitement for hours. He was trying to keep from staring at Brooke and doing his best to keep out of sight from her as well. He watched as she danced with her date, allowing him to rub his hands all over her body as she ground up against his.
"Brad!" he heard.
Brad looked next to him and to his surprise it was Mia the bartender.
"You wanna dance?" She yelled, trying to be heard over the thumping club music.
Brad was reluctant, but after a few minutes of continued pleading he finally gave in and stood up. Mia energetically pulled him to the dance floor and began gyrating to the music with her hand waving in the air. Brad was enjoying her enthusiasm and certainly enjoying the sight of her. Rather than the dull work uniform she had on earlier, now she too was wearing reveling club clothes. The white polo shirt and tan shorts had been replaced with, a skimpy golden bikini top and black micro shorts. Mia's dark skin was glistening in the heat of the Caribbean night air as she jumped around with excitement.
Brad was distracted by the lovely young lady pulling his attention away from his thoughts and lost sight of Brooke. When he glanced back to her booth she and the others were gone, taking his thoughts with them. Brad tried to forget about what Brooke was doing and have fun with Mia, but every time he thought he had forgotten about her, Brooke's image flooded back into his mind.
Finally the Dj announced last call and the music came to an end. The club was closing for the night.
"Hey you wanna go to one of those after parties I told you about?" Mia asked trying to tantalize Brad into coming along.
"I don't know, I have a lot to do tomorrow and I should probably get to sleep." He sheepishly responded.
"Oh come on, just one drink. It's just a few steps up the beach." Mia pleaded.
Brad thought for a minute. He was pretty wound up from dancing and even though he was tired, there was no way he could go to sleep right away. One drink wouldn't hurt to relax him and get him ready to go to bed, and as long as it was close enough to be back at his room in just a few minutes, then what the hell.
"Ok, one drink." He agreed.
Mia was excited and grabbed Brad's hand leading him out of the club and passed the bar she had met him at.
"It's right over here at Villa number ten." Mia cheerfully exclaimed, dragging him along towards the beach side villas.
Number ten? How ironic Brad thought to himself as he followed Mia's lead, up to the door. Ten was his name and number for a month at Pine Lake. There was a large black man standing at the door, extremely muscular and tall. The type you would expect to be a bouncer at a strip club.
"Evening Mia." He said as he stepped aside opening the door for her and letting her and Brad enter.
Inside the room was set up more like a sports bar than a guest's home away from home. There was a large bar in the center where people could sit and TV screens scattered around the room hanging on the walls. The vibe was a mix between a strip club and sports bar. As Brad made his way to the bar with Mia he noticed people coming and going down a hallway leading off the main room.
"What's down there?" He asked her.
"Oh you don't want to go down there, maybe another time." She responded.
"You gotta try this, it's my favorite. "She told Brad before turning to the bartender and ordering.
"Two pink panties." She requested.
Brad took a seat next to Mia as he scanned the room and tried to take it all in. Most of the people looked like locals. Either they worked at the resort or knew someone who did. Some of the people he recognized from over at the dance club but many of them he didn't. All the men were dressed to impress while all the woman clothes left little to the imagination. In fact Mia was about the most modestly dressed of the lot. Her bikini top was small, but covered her breasts completely, allowing only her cleavage to show, and while her shorts were tinny they did cover her completely.
Mia was talking with someone else while Brad was looking around half hoping to see Brooke again, when the bartender set there drinks down in front of them.
"Two pink panties." He announced before turning to help the next customer
Brad pushed aside the umbrella and took a sip of the frozen pink cocktail. Surprisingly enough it was good. Not too sweet but not overpowered with the taste of alcohol. He detected the gin right away something he didn't normally like that much but it worked in this frozen concoction.
"Good isn't it?" Mia said before taking a second sip from her straw.
A few minutes later, and half the drink was gone. The small talk and eye candy didn't do much to take his mind off of Brooke until the TV screens changed from the music videos they were showing to a black screen all at once.
The mood in the bar quickly changed and everyone quieted down. Even the bartenders quieted their service, trying hard not to clank glasses and distract from the entertainment.
On screen a round red bed appeared, spotlighted by a bright white light, and two women walked into view, one leading the other. One was a tall blonde haired lady wearing nothing but a pair of black high heel shoes. The other was dressed from head to toe in black leather. Her tall black boots and tight black corset practically disappeared against her dark black skin.
The ebony mistress took the blondes hand and guided her to the center of the bed, before turning and walking off screen. The light skinned woman ran her hands around her body exploring every sensitive spot, seemingly warming herself up.
Brad sat silent like everyone else, anticipating the show this woman was about to give them all. Her hands causing her skin to become flush with excitement as the camera eased in to fill the screen with the round bed. Her tan skin started to glow taking on the red hues of the silk sheets as she started to let light anticipatory moans escape.
Brad felt the effects of what he was seeing as it pushed against his tight confines, causing him to think of Brooke and how she would feel knowing he was getting excited watching another woman. He felt a bit embarrassed and ashamed. First of all he was watching this woman on screen and it was exciting him, a woman that was not his wife. Regardless of everything that had transpired recently he still felt loyal to Brooke and Brooke alone. On top of that although unbeknown to everyone else in the room, he was wearing a chastity device that prevented him from even getting hard at the sight of another woman.
Brad's thoughts of Brooke quickly evaporated as he watched a large black man kneel down on the bed next the blonde and start to fondle her breast. The contrast of his large black hands against her lightly tanned skin was insatiable. He was kneading both her tits with his powerful hands as she let his hands take over for hers. Brad looked around the room quickly to see how everyone was reacting to the interracial scene unfolding on screen.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Mia whispered.
Brad quickly looked back up on screen as the heat from Mia's breath swirled in his ear. Yes the woman was beautiful Brad thought as he watched her lose herself under this man's touch. It was seconds later when to Brad's surprise three more, large black men joined the couple all three just as muscular and fit.
All at once the four men ran their hands all over her body, dipping into her and pulling her excitement up to her mouth to feed her. She was feasting on herself in a frantic attempt to get herself off of each large finger as the gift was brought up to her lips. The camera zoomed in to show the affects it was having on her as the microphone picked up the sloshing sounds coming from her dripping pussy.
The sounds on the screen filled the room as everyone remained silent and fixated on the flickering light on the screen. The muscular men gradually pulled their hands away one at a time as the camera pulled back, showing them replacing their wet fingers with their stiffening manhood.
The blonde woman reached up and took the first dick into her mouth, stroking it causing it to almost double in size. As the now erect dick was pulled from her grasp another quickly took its place and also grew considerably. One after another she worked each up with her mouth and hand until she got to the largest man who had started the whole thing.
As the woman took him into her wet mouth, the camera once again zoomed in showing the saliva dripping from her lips. The glistening wetness shined off his slowly stiffening cock as she struggled to take him into her mouth. The blonde was by no means tiny, but she could barely wrap her hand around him let alone her mouth. As her slobber lubricated his shaft she worked her way down gradually taking more of his length with each attempt.
The grunts of the man on screen indicated she was doing a good job of giving him pleasure while the gagging sounds coming from around his cock were a strong indication that the screen was not lying about his size.
"That's it whore take that whole cock." The behemoth commanded as he pushed himself deeper and caused her to gag.
Brad was fixated on the screen, watching this woman as she attempted to swallow this colossus, when he was shocked back into his seat. He felt the pressure of a hand in his crotch causing him to instantly snap back and look down. It was Mia. She had reached over and placed her hand in his lap, attempting to feel for his reaction. Brad was mortified at the idea Mia would discover his situation and tried to pull himself out of her reach.
Brad looked up at Mia with humiliation dripping from his face. She must have felt it. There was no mistaking that tiny steal prison for the stiff approval of a real man. But instead of a disapproving, Mia had an accepting smile.
"It's OK, relax." She silently mouthed, as she reached for him once again.
Brad was too wrapped up in the excitement of the show and the reaction of Mia to resist, so he let her reach for his locked member.
"She's a lucky girl." Mia whispered as she knowingly squeezed Brad.
He wasn't sure if she was talking about the blonde on screen who was struggling to engulf the elephant growing in her mouth or if she was referring to the woman who he was willing to be locked up for. Either way Brad wasn't going to ask right now, instead concentrating, and watching the action on screen.
The sounds of a woman choking on dick reverberated around the bar as she plunged her down again and again trying to take his entire dark shaft. There was just no way, she was going to get the whole thing down her throat and eventually he pulled it from her mouth.
The spit dripped off his cock as the camera pulled back, once again showing the whole bed. The contrast of color between her white skin the red sheets and the black men had an almost artistic design to it. It was almost like an ancient sacrifice with a modern twist.
The giant cock she had given so much of her time was now waiting patiently as the other three men took their places. Two men took their places on either side of her replacing him in her drooling face. The other took his place between her legs grasping each with his strong hands and forcing her legs wide.
The vision on the screens changed, no longer were they all showing the same thing. Instead, now they were all showing a different angle of the action. One was zoomed into the two shafts fighting for attention from her hungry mouth. While another was zoomed into the dark fat head now ready to press into her gushing pussy. The largest screen in the center of the wall was still showing a wide screen view including the ring leader patiently waiting his turn.
Even though he had recently seen a lot, much of which was beyond anything he had ever imagined, the sight of such interracial activity was new. The contrast of the skin colors mixed with the taboo of the activity was unexpectedly arousing. The fact that Mia was now encouraging that with her light, black, hand pressing rhythmically against him was only adding to that excitement.
The blonde offering gasped out as the man between her legs slid gently in, stopping about half way and pulling himself completely free. He was obviously driving her wild, teasing her with the prospects of the good fucking that was to come.
"Get on with it." The deep voice of the waiting man instructed.
The man between her legs responded to the order and pushed himself forward once again. This time he again stopped half way in but quickly retracted and pushed forward again. It only took a few more strokes as he dipped in deeper and deeper each time, before he had his entire dick slamming into her begging cunt.
Mia must have liked what she was watching as she too picked up her pace to mimic the action on screen. Jiggling and tugging at the tiny little cap that covered Brad she seemed to almost mirror the motion of the man fucking the blonde.
It wasn't long and the man between the blonde's legs pulled out and took the place of one of the men at her mouth. The empty hole was quickly filled by the other man who had been sharing her mouth with his friend. He wasn't as large as the first man, but was certainly making up for his size with zeal. The slightly skinnier man jack hammered her pussy causing her to have her first orgasm and scream out in approval.
"Bet you'd like that." Mia whispered.
Again Brad wasn't quite sure what she meant. Her comment was a bit more ambiguous than he would like, but once again chose to concentrate on the screen rather than engage her in discussion. After a few minutes, the jack hammer between her legs took a break and the last of the three men took his place. He moved back up to her mouth feeding his glistening cock to her willing mouth as the other friend replaced his absence between her dripping fold.
The third man was by far the largest of the three and knew it. He was considerate as he pushed himself inward slowly stretching her swelling cunt. Inch by inch he pressed his way in as the blonde slut screamed in ecstasy yet again.
The camera trained on the black cock now entering her zoomed in even more, showing the slick coating she was lathering it up with. With every stroke he withdrew the length showing the results of her continuing orgasms. He was fucking her like a wild animal as her body lost all control and started to shiver.
"That's enough." The waiting giant bellowed as he placed his hand on his accomplices shoulder.
The waiting titan took his place between the writhing blonde's legs, his powerful shoulders completely obscuring her body from the overhead camera. Brad was intrigued at the sight of the massive veined monster as it pushed its way into the swollen red folds. The giant took no time in letting her adjust to his size. But instead pushed forward quickly with a single firm thrust causing her to scream out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
The behemoth cock forced its way into her, stretching her pussy out beyond its normal capacity, and obscenely opening her body up to his invasion. Luckily for her he took pity on her as she screamed and a few tears left her eyes. The giant of a man waited a few seconds before he slowly withdrew most of his length once again pressing onward this time much slower. He showed mercy on her as he gradually worked his way in and out allowing her to lubricate him and loosen to except his size.
"Are you ready slut?" He growled as he gradually increased his pace.
Before long he was fucking her with the same vigor as the jack hammer, only this time with something more a kin to a baseball bat. It didn't appear to be as pleasurable to her as it was to him, but her body was losing control quickly and the juices flowing from her spilled out like a waterfall.
Brad couldn't believe how much liquid was flowing from her as she appeared to go limp, her tongue hanging out of her mouth like a weak animal. With apparently no concern for her at all the large man slamming into her began to tense up and push into her with increased vigor. His dark black ass clenched as he grunted pushing into her violently.
Brad didn't blink as he watched the veins pulse and the thick white liquid ooze out of her filled hole. Once again the contrast of his dark black shaft and the white slime flowing from her increased the sexual excitement of the whole scene. Pulse after pulse flowed from her spent body as he held himself in place. The pressure of her intruder forced the hot liquid into her only to have it more than she could take.
The three men stroking themselves at her wide open mouth began to fill it with their seed as well. One by one the team of three added their gift to her lifeless body one shooting his hot sperm across her supple tits while the other two simultaneously added their batter to her wide open mouth.
The blonde had lost complete control and her body had checked out. Her eyes rolled back in her head and the heaving in her chest momentarily stopped. She had passed out only to re awaken with a mouth full of hot semen.
The camera focused on her facial expressions, caught the fear in her eyes as she regained conciseness, and feared the prospects of drowning in semen. Her expression was priceless as the two men continued shooting rope after hot rope of baby juice into her wide open hole and the third branded her tits with strands of his hot semen.
The fear in her eyes was short lived. As soon as she regained her awareness, the excitement once again overtook her and she began bucking into the giant monster filling her with lava. Her exuberance only served to reinvigorate the whole group and rather than the four men losing their steam and retiring for the evening, they're doubled their efforts and attacked her with even more ferocity.
"I bet your wife would like that." Mia whispered.
Brad was too focused on the show to completely comprehend what Mia was saying. Without responding to her he simply shook his head agreeing as she continued to wiggle his tightly confined cock.
Brad watched intently as the veined monster pulled himself from the blonde's dripping cunt. Her pussy was pulsing uncontrollable as she bucked wildly trying desperately to get him to come back. As he pulled from her and stood up at the edge of the bed, the large puddle of spent white fluid collected on the silky red sheets. There was a puddle of cum between her legs that looked like more than any one man could possible deposit.
Brad was amazed the action was not yet over, when the ring leader once again got up from between her sticky mess and placed his sloppy cock at her mouth.
"That's it bitch, show your devotion." He growled.
She proceeded to lick clean the sloppy mess dripping from his cock as one by one the other three fucked her stretched out hole. There was no way she could be feeling them brad thought. The damage that monster did to her has to be permanent.
Brad was amazed when the first man shot a second load into her only to have his mind blown again and again as the second and then the third did the same. She took four loads into her sloppy cunt and was still sucking her monster lover with the utmost zeal.
Again the giant veins in the monster cock swelled as she wrapped her lips tightly around the head of his cock. Brad could see the rush of juice as it pushed its way down his shaft and filled her mouth. Pulse after pulse filled her slut mouth and yet she never lost hold of his enormous head. The seed of his black lineage pushed past her greedy tongue and forced its way down her throat searing his ownership of her as it filled her stomach.
As he pulled his now spent cock from her mouth the black god ran his hands through her golden blonde hair praising her.
"That's a good girl." He bellowed, as he stroked her like a kitten hungry for their master's attention.
The screens all switched back to the same wide view again showing the blonde woman covered in thick white sperm. Her mouth was overflowing and so was her pussy while her tits had become glazed with the drying white goo.
"This is my favorite part." Mia giggled, releasing her grasp on Brad.
All the screens remained on the wide angle as the four black men left the woman alone in the middle of the bed, completely used, when another man approached from off screen. He was small and pale, his skin whiter than the oozing liquid dripping from her body.
Without a word being spoken, he took her hand in his. She responded with a smile as she pulled him towards her and kissed him deeply. The silence of the room was filled with the chuckles of the onlookers as the man kissed his mate. The blonde woman put her hands on his face and guided him down to her gapping pussy, pushing his face closer and closer.
The large screen in the middle of the wall flickered and once again a close up of her slimy cunt was filling the screen. Brad watched with amazement as this frail man lapped away at her glazed gash with exuberance. The taboo of everything was overwhelming. Not only had he witnessed an interracial gang bang but now he was watching what appeared to be her husband or boyfriend cleaning up the results.
The room gradually got back to normal with people talking and mingling around again as if the scene on the wall was over. It wasn't over yet, the man on screen was still drawing out glob after glob as he sucked on her red swollen lips and caught the escaping semen with his hungry tongue.
"So you want another one?" Mia asked looking down at Brad's almost empty drink.
"Uh, no, um I uh, I better get going Mia." He stammered.
Mia realized it was a lot for Brad to take in, in one night and figured it best to make light and let him go without any argument.
"Ok Brad, I'll see you tomorrow?" Mia asked, as she motioned for the bartender.
"Oh more please." She ordered, as Brad took the opportunity to stand up and start to call an end to the night.
Brad headed for the door of the club as the man on the screen continued relishing the gifts he had been given, the rest of the room returning to normal as he left for the night.
It was a short walk through the resort back to the main hotel and Brad's room, but it felt like miles, as he replayed the scenes he had witnessed again and again in his mind. He had completely forgotten about Brooke and the man she had last been seen dancing with. The visions of her and the worry about what she was doing had been completely overshadowed by the show he had just witnessed. It wasn't until he was almost to his room when the visions of the blonde being thoroughly satisfied began to be over shadowed by the shock he had let Mia fondly his caged masculinity.
How could he let a complete stranger know he was wearing a chastity cage and then let her fondle him in it? What was he thinking? What would Brooke say if she found out? Sure she was probably off screwing around on him, but that was her job and they had both agreed to her being able to do that. But him, they had never talked about him having that luxury.
Brad lay down and tried to fall asleep, but couldn't quite his thoughts enough. He kept seeing the giant cock swelling and pulsing. The desire to masturbate was overwhelming, but his attempt to gain any pleasure from it was fruitless. He thought of Mia and her flirtation with him and once again felt the frustration of his swelling. Nothing he did could bring him any gratification and nothing he did could distract his thoughts.
Brad lay there completely frustrated almost ready to cry when another thought rushed into his brain. Where were the receipts for all the alcohol at that party? All the receipts added up and made sense for the bar and nightclub, but there was a lot of booze at that party. Then he thought back to the room Brooke had come out of in the night club. Whose office was that, and what was she doing in there?
The wheels in his head were again turning. Something was up after all. Something wasn't quite right about either the nightclub or the villa party Mia had taken him to. Brad ran a few different scenarios in his head about what he thought might be going on, as he finally lost hold on reality and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Brad woke up and headed straight into the office. He wasn't concerned with breakfast or the morning runs he had become so used to. He wanted to look for anything that had to do with the activity in villa number ten.
It was six fifteen when the door to the office swung open. It was Juan the manager of the resort.
"Oh Mr. Simmons, "He said, surprised to see Brad there so early.
Juan made some excuse about having to grab a scheduling sheet from his desk, before hastily leaving the room and Brad. Juan's tone and body language made it obvious, he knew Brad was on to something.
Sure enough when brad looked again, he couldn't find any receipts for liquor associated to the club set up in villa ten. He then looked for the rental records on villa ten and discovered it hadn't been rented out for over a year. There wasn't any records of the resort operating an afterhours club and there wasn't any records of anyone else renting the villa and running their own parties out of there, so what was going on? Rather than confront Juan about the discovery Brad decided to do a bit more digging to get a better idea of what was really going on.
Around noon Brad decided he had learned everything he was going to learn from the paperwork and told the young lady working the front desk he was leaving for the day. Brad's intuition told him there was a connection between the club and the after party, and he wanted to know more.
"Hey can I get a menu?" Brad called out, as he sat down at what was becoming his regular seat at the bar.
Brad sat there eating lunch and watching the door to the club trying to figure out what the connection could be. He was again sitting with his back to the pool so he could see the entrance to the nightclub without appearing to be watching it.
"So how is everything going?" Brad heard as he turned to see who it was. It was Juan.
"How is everything looking, the books all look in order?" He asked.
Brad swallowed his food, giving him time to think of how to respond.
"So far yeah, everything looks good. I do have a few questions about how the resort is ran, nothing to be concerned with really, I just like to know how an operation works if I'm really going to make an accurate assessment. "
"Certainly sir," Juan responded.
Something about the way Juan said Sir triggered a thought in Brad's head. That morning Juan had called him Mr. Simmons. How did he know his last name? Had Michelle told him?
Juan seemed to sense Brad's frustration with his interruption, and took the opportunity to excuse himself.
"Well I'll leave you to your lunch sir," Juan said as Brad took another bite of his sandwich, watching Juan head off towards the front desk.
As Brad finished the first half of his sandwich he saw a well-dressed man enter the club, and decided to go see who he was. Leaving behind the rest of his lunch Brad inquisitively headed towards the club entrance, entering the empty quite room.
The overhead lights were on, unlike the night before it now looked like an old run down building that had a thick coat of black paint over everything. In the dark with the colored lights and lasers flashing it looked like a modern dance club, but in the light of the day it looked more like a seedy run down warehouse.
Brad was alone as he walked towards the bar he had sat at a few hours ago.
"Can I help you?" A deep voice bellowed.
Brad turned to see the well-dressed man who had entered the club standing at the open office door looking out over the otherwise baron room.
"My name is Brad, are you the manager here?" Brad responded, trying to muster as much confidence in his voice as he could.
"Oh, Mr. Simmons right?"
"Yeah, Brad Simmons," Brad confirmed.
"What can I do for you Brad?"
"Well I'm here to see how things are going with the resort and was curious about the operation of the club." Brad continued.
"Is this you're office?" Brad questioned as he made his way up to within arm's reach.
Brad stuck his arm out, offering up his hand.
"Hope you don't mind my dropping by."
The olive skinned man appeared to be annoyed at the intrusion but took Brad's hand and shook it.
"Omar," he said as he firmly gripped Brad's hand and gave it a quick jerk.
Brad wasn't able to see the whole office around this imposing man, but he did see a large couch and chairs, more reminiscent of a living room than a business office.
"Can I buy you a drink?" Asked the manager as he pulled the office door closed with his other hand and walked towards the bar.
Brad followed him, assessing his body language and demeanor. It was obvious; this otherwise muscular man was trying to act unassuming, and draw Brad away from the office, but it was the powerful scent of his cologne that was truly distracting. The woody smell of cedar wood and musk filled the air, trapping Brad in the wake of his scent like a bird trapped in the haze of an aerial crop duster.
Brad asked him about how many customers a night the club drew and what the average ticket per customer was. He was trying to figure out if the club was a profitable operation or was it part of the anchor pulling the resort down. Omar was polite and answered Brad but most of his answers were vague and unhelpful. He wasn't sure of the specific numbers Brad was asking for and referred him to Juan for that information. A few minutes of polite conversation and Brad thanked Omar for his time and headed back out into the warm tropical breeze.
Brad could sense something was up. Omar was hiding something and knew more than he was letting on. The villa had to be connected, and Brad had an idea of how, but needed to look at the books again to be sure. Brad headed straight back to the office this time with an idea of what he was looking for.
After a few hours of comparing numbers and calculations Brad had confirmed at least some of his suspicions. He had found part of the problem but there was still much more he didn't know. As it grew late and he grew more tired, he decided to call it a night and head back to his room, opting to get room service and decompress without the loud noises of the bar and club activity.
Brad flipped on the TV and started scrolling through the channels as he waited for his dinner to be delivered. Lots of old syndicated reruns, some classic sports games, and a few movies that were half way through and then he clicked on a channel that caught his eye. It was called TEN. As soon as he hit select the screen lit up showing the same round red bed he had seen the night before on the screens at the villa.
Brad was amazed at the sight on the screen, paralyzed to change it. This time instead of four large men completely abusing a woman, it was two women passionately kissing.
Brad watched as their tongues wrapped around one another and their hands explored. The pale skinned brunette's eyes barely able to open as she dreamily allowed her body to relax. The brunette had on only a pair of black lacey panties and black high heels, her bare breasts heaving with every breath. Her lover was a thin charcoal skinned goddess in a tight purple corset.
Brad was enthralled with the way the brunette was gradually getting heated, her desire for her mistress growing with every touch, her need to please bubbling up like a boiling pot.
Brad was startled by the knock at the door.
"Room service,"
He jumped up off the couch and hastily searched for the remote to turn off the TV, but before he could retrieve it from between the cushions the door flung open.
"Surprise,"
Brad was surprised all right. Behind the cart containing his meal stood Mia. She was in her work uniform sporting a devilish smile.
"Surprise, I saw it was your room and asked to be the one to deliver your dinner."
Brad was frozen in place. In front of him was the cute young woman he had shared drinks with and behind him was a porn video of two women making out.
"Uh, yeah, um let me find the remote," Brad stammered as he turned around feverishly trying to find it.
"Oh please, relax I've seen it a thousand times."
"You have? " Brad instinctively responded.
"Oh please its fine. Leave it on." She instructed.
Brad felt a bit uncomfortable leaving it on, but her nonchalant attitude about it made him feel like turning it off at this point would be making more of a than just forgetting about it and acting like it was nothing.
"I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty to bring us a few drinks too." Mia said, handing a highball to Brad.
Brad hesitated but took the glass, as her words sunk in.
"You want to sit on the couch to eat?" She asked, as Mia took the shiny cover off of one of the plates, revealing a heaping pile of jerk chicken on top of a bed of steamed rice and topped with what looked like mango chutney.
Brad took a seat on the couch as Mia set the plate down on the glass table in front of him. He took a sip of his highball and tried to make sense of what was going on.
"I hope you don't mind if I join you." Mia asked, genuinely hoping he was ok with her company.
Brad was surprised when Mia took a seat next to him placing another plate on the table in front of her, and leaning back to relax.
"Cheers, "she said raising her glass to his.
Brad raised his glass to meet hers, and accepted the idea of her joining him.
"You're ok with me having dinner with you aren't you?" Mia asked.
"Yeah, sure," Brad responded.
Mia once again got a mischievous smile on her face as she picked up her fork and started to nibble at her dinner. Brad was off balance by Mia's cavalier attitude about the porn scene playing out in front of them, but picked up his fork and joined her. The two of them sat their eating their dinner as the two women on screen filled the room with sexual tension.
Mia finally broke the silence after the two of them had almost finished their meal.
"That is one amazing pussy eater. " Mia genuinely exclaimed, as she picked up both of their plates and returned them to the cart.
"You think your wife would ever do that while you're off on some Caribbean island?" Mia asked.
Brad wasn't sure if she was just joking with him or was truly trying to make him concerned, but certainly knew she wasn't back home in the embrace of another woman.
"I don't think so, no. She's into men too much to do that." Brad said with a chuckle.
Mia returned to the couch with another highball in hand and handed it to Brad as she sat down next to him, this time so close her leg was pressed up against his. She quietly sat watching the screen with him as the two woman continued fondling and caressing one another.
Brad wasn't sure if it was the full stomach after a long day or the whisky highball he had already downed, but he was quickly relaxing and almost feeling tired.
"Why don't you relax and kick your shoes off?" Mia asked.
That sounded like a good idea, he hadn't even taken his shoes off yet.
"Don't you think her pussy looks to delicious?" Mia hungrily asked.
"Absolutely," Brad agreed.
Brad kicked his shoes off and instantly the tension of the day began to melt away. The numbers and balance sheets faded away, replaced with the bliss of a full stomach and a distracted mind. He sat watching as the dark mistress stirred the desires of her pet into a cauldron of bubbling desire.
Brad was watching intently as the chocolate mistress pressed herself against the brunette, smothering her in the passion now dripping from her pussy. He was completely surprised when he realized Mia had pulled her skirt aside and was now playing with herself as they sat together watching the two women.
Brad looked at Mia in shock, only to be even more surprised at her response.
"Would you help me?" Mia questioned.
Brad didn't say a word. He took another gulp of his whiskey as his eyes traced the smooth path down to her fingers.
"I really need a tongue on me." She hissed.
Brad was overtaken with desire. The sound of Mia's voice encouraging him along with the sounds coming from the TV had him delirious. The soft folds of Mia called to him like a sirens song, pleading for his attention. Brad wanted nothing more than to taste her. The frustration of being locked up added to his arousal and he could no longer resist.
Brad slowly leaned over to get closer to her, when she reached up and grabbed him by the back of the head and forced his face into her exposed pussy.
"That's it baby; show me what you can do."
Brad was overtaken by the desire to please her. Mia's words were like a challenge to do his best, and mixed with the pent up desire he was carrying around, he was ready. As he moved closer Brad was drawn in by the dark complexion of her Caribbean skin. The dark edges of her folds gave way to the bright red of her inner desires, calling him like a dog whistle, only he could hear.
"Oh that's it," She called out as his tongue touched her for the first time.
Brad savored the flavor of his Caribbean goddess as he drew his tongue up her manicured runway. The texture of her soft skin highlighted by the coarseness of her finely trimmed bush was much different than what he had become used to with Brooke's completely bare privates.
Brad was completely disarmed by her sexual power. It was as if his desire to please her overtook his whole body, making him forget about the rest of the world.
"That's it little boy," Mia declared as she pushed Brad into her more forcefully.
"Get that tongue in there."
Brad was stretching his tongue to its limit trying to reach up inside Mia as far as he could. Her words commanded him and his body and mind complied. He wanted nothing more than to satisfy her and prove his worth to her.
"I have a surprise for you baby. I Brought you desert too."
Mia pushed her body into him and tensed up as she held him firmly in place, his tongue darting in and stroking her soft interior. Brad felt a warm thick sensation oozing from her as he continued to caress her innermost space, the warm goo rushing down his tongue and filling his mouth.
"That's it drink up little man." Mia goaded as Brad's mouth filled with her gooey mixture.
Mia had one hand on the back of his head, her fingers intertwined in his hair pressing him against her. Her other hand was petting his cheek like as if he was a kitten she was consoling.
"I knew you would be a good pet, devoted and addicted to me." Mia laughed.
Brad barely heard her words he was too obsessed with her pleasure and his desire for her flavor to concentrate on anything but coxing the salty slick goo from her steaming hot pussy. He was obsessed with her and her juices.
Brad worked and worked to get every last drop from her, becoming more and more disappointed as her pussy ran out of nectar. Resolved to get every drop he withdrew from her depths and chased the escaping drops down her crack.
"Easy there little man, you have to earn that." Mia chirped as she pulled herself out of his reach.
Brad wanted nothing more than to catch the last few drops that had found refuge around her puckered hole. He was like a drug addict dying for a fix. He felt as if he needed to taste her ass or he would die.
"If you're a good boy, maybe mama will let you earn the right to clean her ass." Mia bluntly informed him as she pushed his face away.
Brad felt a combination of pride and shame. He felt accomplished and at the same time denied. He had tasted the delicious nectar of a Caribbean goddess, and yet his body was begging to lick her ass.
Brad felt a little light headed as he came up from her throne.
"Just relax baby, watch the TV and relax."
Brad leaned back as her words soothed his spinning mind. He felt the warmth dripping down his throat and into his stomach as he lay back and focus on the screen in front of him, the pale woman on the bed now being violently pounded from behind by the purple corset.
"I bet you would love to watch your wife like that." Mia seductively whispered as she kissed Brad on the neck.
Brad stared at the screen fixated on the purple phallus as it rammed in and out, the ebony mistress using her girlfriend's body as a play toy. The scent of Mia covered his face and chin as he leaned back spent from the day's activities. Brad didn't even have the energy to look down when he felt Mia's hand once again grab his caged cock and start to wiggle it.
"Wish I had the key to this. I could sure have some fun with this." She giggled.
Brad's mind was mush. He couldn't even muster up the imagination to fill in the blanks. He was reduced to only being able to process what was in front of him and nothing more. Brad leaned back and just watched as the black mistress thoroughly fucked the skinny brunette, causing her to cry out her devotion for her mistress and pledge her everlasting loyalty. The whole time Mia jiggled Brad's cage as if she was trying to jerk him off. She cuddled up against his quickly fading body and made him feel completely satisfied.
Brad woke up to a bouncing logo on the screen, realizing he must have fallen asleep on the couch. Mia was gone along with the dinner cart and any sign she had been there. The only remnants of her presence were now a dry glaze on his face and a dried spot on his shorts.
Brad gingerly picked himself up off the couch and made his way to the bedroom where he stripped down and crawled into bed. He felt a little light headed as he got into bed tossing his clothes to the floor. The memory of what he had done spinning around in his head replaying like one of the old reruns on TV. The smell of Mia seared on his face and the flavor of her marinated in his mouth as he lay asleep on the couch, now they reminded him of his infidelity. The thought of Brooke quickly left his mind though as he became completely preoccupied by Mia.
Brad drifted off once again, this time to the wonder and curiosity of what he could do to earn more of her. The only thing keeping him from masturbating to the thoughts of her was the tightly fitted prison locked around his privates. If there was ever a time he wanted to get out of this predicament it was now. If only for a few minutes to relive his frustration.
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Introduction
A little insight into my naivety and a friend of mine might help for the story. Sherry and I work for a company that has over eight hundred employees just in the main office alone. We are interracial in employee mix but Sherry and I never socialized outside of our white mid-western upbringing. In fact, we never even discussed interracial relationships.
Our group consists of ten women taking orders and processing them after we have cleared the credit hurdles for the customers, etc. The age of the group spans fifty-five to twenty one. Sherry and I are both twenty-eight. We both started to work together the same day and have become close friends. She is married but suspects her husband is cheating. I am single. Sherry has black hair and the greenest eyes. She weighs maybe one-hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and maybe reaches five-feet five inches. On the other hand, I am 120 pounds at five-foot seven inches, with naturally light blond hair and blue eyes, because of my Scandinavian ancestry.
Her "B" cups make her look like she has a lot for the guys because of her frame compared to my "C" cup.
We both play in summer league volleyball and winter league bowling. We both party after the games. By partying, I mean pizza, beer and dancing. I do not have a study boyfriend so sleep around when the urge takes over.
It was early September. On a Tuesday morning, we all had invitations by inter-office e-mail to watch a team that a fellow employee was a member of, compete for the local cricket championship.
The fellow extending the invitation was black and worked in the engineering group. His name is Charles. Charles is a good-looking guy showing no signs of the beer gut. I guess he keeps in shape playing sports. Sherry and I talked it about it at lunch and decided why not. We knew nothing about the game cricket. The weather forecast was for it to be a great weekend and we had no other plans. Her hubby was supposed to be fishing with some buddies.
The story:
Sherry and I went to the park at 10:00 AM to watch the game. There must have been two-hundred people there to watch. We had no idea the game was so popular.
Both teams were interracial but the black males outnumbered the white about 2-1.
We knew nothing of the game and listened as people spoke to pickup on the logistics of the game. We soon understood most of it. The fellow co-worker's team won the championship.
As we were leaving the park, Charles came rushing up and said, "I was sure glad seeing some of the office staff here watching the game. Here is a special invitation for you both to a party for the team. The directions are in the envelope. It will be an outdoor Barbeque with a rock and roll band and some island music also. Hope you two can make it." We thanked Charles and congratulated him on making some scores.
As we were walking to the car, we chatted about the invitation. We looked at the map and saw that the party was going to be at a house, on a lake, where the real estate lots start at a million dollars. We decided it probably would be our only chance in a lifetime to see how some people live.
Since we did not know the area, we drove to a hotel in the area and then took a cab so as not to get lost.
When we were in the vicinity, we could see cars parked on the street from the overflow. The drive was clear so the cab pulled up to the front door using the circular drive. Our mouths hung open from the size of the mansion. The door opened and a white hand extended itself from one side and a black hand from the other side to help us out of the cab. We were asked for the invitations. We thrashed and found them stuffed in our little purses. The white guy, dressed in a butler suit asked the cabby driver how much. The cab fare was then paid by the white guy. Both Sherry and I looked at each other in shock. We felt out of place being in jeans and just a halter-top. However looking around, others were walking up the drive dressed as us so we relaxed.
The black guy pointed us to the door and escorted us. Upon reaching the door, we were offered wine or colas. The female servers, a mix of white and black females, were dressed in very skimpy, black and white uniforms. Some might call them Apron Baby Doll uniforms. There was lots of cleavage, a black G-string so butt cheeks showed and then a white see through apron letting one know that the mound was covered in black material. Sherry and I smiled at each other. After taking the wine, we were pointed in the direction of the back yard. As we walked, we kept saying to each other, "Wow, look at that or look at this." The home, lavishly decorated, even smelled of money.
The food displayed on a table for self-service, looked so inviting and luscious. The band was into full swing. Charles walked up with a big grin, thanked us for coming, and then said, "Let me introduce you to the host."
In the few minutes it took to reach the host, Charles asked us what we thought about the game and asked if we were hooked enough to watch next season games. We giggled and smiled.
The hosts were a couple in their mid-40, so it appeared. He was a lawyer and went by John and she was an interior designer going with Heather. He was black and she was white. My heart skipped a beat seeing how handsome he was and thinking about him doing her. After some idle chat, some other players brought up guest to be introduced so Charles excused us and we headed for more wine and dancing. For some reason I was feeling this glow that I have never experienced before with wine and assumed it was the warm afternoon. Some people were swimming in the huge outdoor pool. I tested the water and it was so nice. I wish they had mentioned a suit.
Sherry and I danced with so many fellows, both black and white. Our feet were so sore that we took our shoes off. We commented to each other often of how great the party was. When they played island music, the black guys would grab us and teach us the wiggles. We had enough wine in us we just enjoyed.
During a break, Heather saw Sherry and me sitting and walked over to us to ask how we were enjoying ourselves and if we needed anything. With my big mouth I said, "I sure wish I had known about the pool. That water is so inviting."
"Come with me, we are about the same size. Let me fix you up with a suit. Do you want a suit also, Sherry?"
"No thanks, Heather."
Heather and I walked to the house and into a bedroom on the lower level. Heather opened a drawer and started to toss suits onto the bed. They were all bikinis. As Heather was separating them she said, "Amy why not strip and by the time you get naked, I will have two or three for you to choose from."
I followed her suggestion. Heather handed me a suit and said, "I think you will look hot in this." It was white silk and just enough material to cover the nipples and most of my bare mound.
"You will look hot for sure since you are shaven."
I placed the top on and the strings made it adjustable so that the material did cover the nipples.
I heard, "Let me see, hon."
As I turned, Heather was grinning ear to ear and said, "Well the guys will sure love it and so do I." She stepped into me, placed an arm around me, and pulled me close to her so she could deep kiss me. In shock, I moaned, from the pleasure. Her right hand then went to my mound and her middle finger ended up in my vagina. My knees buckled as I broke the kiss to exclaim, "OOOOHHH!" My heart was pounding. I just melted into her instead of revolting and running. I had never been French kissed before by a girl; always check to cheek much less a female finger in my pussy. My body was on fire.
"Let's get together sometime for some real fun, okay Amy?"
All I could do was managed, "God yes."
As she withdrew the finger from my pussy, Heather slipped it into her mouth, sucked it and then said, "I want more of you. I hope you want me as much." I stood bugged eyed. "See you later Amy and enjoy the swim."
I plopped down on the bed wondering what hit me. After catching my breath, I put on the bottoms and went to the pool. Naturally I had to listen to the catcalls and whistles from the guys. On my way to the pool, I did not see Sherry. The water was so relaxing. I noticed that my nipples were very prominent now that the suit was wet. More and more guys were getting into the pool and soon we had a net up and ball tossing.
I switched sides so that everyone had a chance for me to be on their team from time to time. I then decided to dry off, find Sherry and head home. Charles had been watching from the pool deck and offered me a towel as I climbed out. He was grinning and saying how great I was at relaying and volleying the ball.
I asked him if he knew where Sherry was. He looked away and said, "Yes."
"Can you take me to her? I'm ready to go home and I want to see if she is ready."
"Amy it might not be a good idea to disturb her just at this moment. See, she is with a guy."
"Oh! So you are saying she might be having sex with a guy?"
"Yes, probably so Amy. Com'on let's get you to your clothes and we can chat awhile unless you want me to get a cab for you, or me take you home, or wait for Amy."
Charles walked me to the bedroom and before entering he said, "Amy, would you be interested in seeing Sherry and her date getting it on?"
My heart skipped several beats. "You mean go spy on them?"
"No we can flip a channel on the TV and watch the action. Com'on, I will show you if you are curious."
My heart was beating hard and I was getting hot but I had no revulsions about watching Sherry and her date.
Charles placed his arm around me, we walked to the TV and he pushed a button. On the screen was a black guy burying his ever so long cock into a white pussy. The guy had his hands placed next to her head as he supported himself. God, his sack was huge also. The girl's knees had to be pressed on her tits. As Charles turned the volume up, I heard, "Oh God yes John. Make me cum again. I have lost count. Your cock is the best that has ever done me. Yes, Yes, oh God Yes. Give me more." My God it was John, the host unless there was another John there.
I turned and buried myself into Charles, turning my head to watch the TV. I could not see the girls face. I focused on all the cum on John's black cock. She must have generated a cup of it. It was coming out every time he pulled out and more came out as he shoved back in.
My heart pounded in my chest. Charles had to be feeling it. He just held me. My heart was beating harder and faster as I continued to watch John assault her pussy and her screaming how good it felt and needing more. How long could he go without unloading?
I watched as he lowered himself and whispered into her ear. He pulled out and let Sherry flip over onto her stomach. He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her up into doggy. I inhaled loud knowing what was going to happen next. As the cock slide in I could plainly see it was Sherry from the side view as he put her in resting on one knee and a foot flat on the bed. Her tits were swinging as he was deep fucking her. She was in a delirious state. All she was saying was, "Yes, more, yes, more, yes more."
I then realized I was leaking and was wet clear to my knees. I also then realized I wanted a cock. I did not notice before but Charles had a boner. He was not pushing it hard into me but there was no mistake he had a hard-on.
I never ever thought about a Blackman doing me before but at this point in the night, I did not care. I wanted to be filled with a cock.
I turned from the TV, looked Charles in the eyes, and said, "Charles, please fuck me."
He placed his hands under my knees and carried me to the bed. He placed me in the center of the bed, reached over to the nightstand and turned off all the lights and the TV.
He laid next to me and said, "Thanks for asking Amy. I hope I can take you to places you have never been."
We began by soft lip kissing as his hands removed the top and bottoms of the swimsuit. When the material was gone, he began to give my neck soft kisses and licking. I was glowing, knowing soon that I would have a cock in me.
I heard, "Your essence smells awesome Amy. I am having trouble controlling myself. I want to eat you so much."
His mouth encircled a nipple and softly sucked it in. He was pressing his cock into my thigh. He then did the other nipple.
I took my hands and placed them on the side of his head to push his head down to the honey pot. I wanted to feel him eating me. When Charles tongue was at my navel, he twirled it, increasing my desire for it to be on my clit. With more force, I pushed his head down further. His mouth and tongue played games with my mound and lower lips. I tried to control his head direction but could not. I was building and humping. I needed to cum. When the tongue touched the hard clit, I exploded and sprayed his face with a gusher. I have never in my life squirted a cum. I was both embarrassed and feeling awesome at the same time as I heard him slurp up the liquids and felt him sucking them from my pussy. He then wrapped his arms around my thighs, opened my pussy lips with his fingers and went to work with his mouth and tongue. I kept begging to be fucked but he kept attacking me with his tongue. After my third cum, he lifted my legs up, my calves on his chest, my knees on my tits as he guided his cock into me. I was humping and cumming at the same time as it was going deeper and deeper.
All I was managing to mumble was, "Yes, god, yes, Oh yes, Oh God, yes, yes."
After being stretched like never before, knowing I had a thick cock in me and three orgasms from his cock pounding me I literally collapsed and went limp like a wet rag.
Charles rolled me onto my stomach. I assumed he was going to do me doggy but he surprised me. He slid a hand under me to my mound and started to massage my clit. When I responded by moving to the stimulation, he took his other hand and started to insert fingers into my pussy. I was delirious with the pleasure. I felt him pulling liquids up my butt crack and lubricating my back door. His fingers, at the anal opening, were feeling good. I never let a guy touch me there before. Then a finger slipped in and out like it was fucking me; then two fingers, causing me to hump because his fingers were working my clit at the same time. Then his thumb went in. After removing his thumb he used three fingers to open me more. I was moaning at the pleasure at the feelings my body was experiencing and my impending cum.
He then rolled me onto my left side, lifted my right leg and buried his cock into my pussy. I arched from the pleasure and moaned. I went on to have my big O from having my pussy stuffed again.
He kept teasing me by removing his cock all the way then reinserting it. I was continuing to build because of the finger manipulation on the clit. He was slowing down his thrusting but I was ready to go over the edge. Just as I hit the peak, he quickly shoved his cock up my back door as I was going over the edge. He was so wet and lubricated and I was off into another world that all I saw was stars in Technicolor and went into a continuing convulsion as wave after wave of orgasms consumed me with him using his fingers so gently on my clit and him slowly fucking me in the ass.
I heard, "Amy can I cum in your ass?"
I did not have the strength to answer yes. I just tried to hump his cock. He got the message and stiffened as he delivered his load deep into me, causing me to relish in the glow of a continuous cum. This deposition in my ass gave me a bonding feeling with Charles. I was looking forward to more of his cock or maybe it was black cock, I have no idea.
When I woke up, I was still impaled on Charles cock. The room was still dark. He was on his back, and I was on my back laying on his chest and stomach. My eyes flickered wondering what was going on. A tongue was flicking my clit. I was building and wondering who was eating me. I really was not caring because it felt so good having Charle's cock in my ass and being eaten at the same time. Charles hands went to my breast and messed with them as the tongue continued its assault.
I exploded with another squirting cum. I had not even finished cumming when my legs were lifted up on a guys chest and a cock was sliding into my pussy. I continued the cum as the cock fucked me. Charles squeezed my breasts harder, lifted as he arched and made another deposit. I heard Charles, the other guy and me all moaning our pleasures at the same time.
The guy withdrew, Charles rolled us to our sides and we fell asleep. When I woke, it was daylight and Charles was on his back with the guy's morning hard-on.
I crawled out of bed, went to the bathroom to clean up, brought back a washcloth and towel, and washed Charles cock, which woke him. I swung into a sixty-nine position. We ate each other and as I was coming, I let him fire his nut juice deep into my stomach. I was shocked that I took his whole cock with gagging. I have never let a guy do that to me before and here I was doing it to a guy. I let his cock deflate, lifted off, turned and kissed him deep. After breaking the kiss I said, "Thanks for the invitation."
This is a good place to stop the story and leave your imagination wondering what more transpired that weekend. Interested?
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The car turns in a long shady drive towards the cottage. The cottage, I smile, is rather like a large house than what I pictured in my mind. It was a week ago when the courier brought this adventure. Tucked into a red envelope, neatly written was this address, day and time. I recognized the handwriting immediately. It belonged to my Master, my top, my Dom, my Christian Grey, as people who lived "vanilla" lifestyles would understand it.
The driver who has attempted to make small talk the entire way, was now only a distant murmuring sound, as we approached the building. It was lovely, and charming. It reminded me of a place that one would go to regroup after a challenging year at work. Or, where new agers would gather for group hugs. As peaceful and solitary the facade seemed, I know that inside there would be something quite different waiting for me. Yes, my world , my submissive world, is behind that door we are now parked in front of.
The driver announces our arrival in a louder tone, that breaks me away from my trance. I reach into my purse for another envelope that was provided to me to give to him. My Dom, always thinks of everything. As I hand what I'm assuming to be his fare to him, I look away from his eyes but softly touch his hand with my finger tip in a light stroke. I've been trained and taught so well. Always demure. Always seductive. An intoxicating blend for any hot blooded man, or woman for that matter.
I smooth my hip hugging mini skirt, as I get out of the car. There is nothing left to do but to walk up the stone path and enter the door. My usual trembling starts as I can almost feel his presence. He has always had that effect on me. Hard as I try I can never overcome my physical reactions.
The wood door is heavy as I grasp the handle and push against it. The inside is just as charming. A fireplace adorns this great room with vaulted ceilings. Stairs on both sides lead to upper levels, and hallways veer off in both directions to probably what are the many guest rooms of this B and B." Rustic", I have time to think to myself for a quick moment, than I see Him.
He is looking out the far left window into the forest behind the cottage, and his back is turned to me. The excited trembling quickens, and I am rooted instantly to my spot.
"Come to me" he says.
I slowly and carefully make my way across the room. His familiar scent of cologned begins that even familiar ache between my thighs. All I want and need is to be against his body and the rest of the way to him seems suddenly very far. Finally, I reach up and lay my hand on his shoulder.
"Kneel for me nikki"
Immediately my knees meet the hard, cool, wood floor. I rest back on my high heeled shoes and turn my head down towards my hands, which lay palm up on my thighs. Sensing him turn to me, a smile parts my lips.
"You will be rewarded in due time, nikki, for arriving on time and following all of my instructions, but first I have a game to play with you."
" Yes, Sir." I whisper, hardly audible.
Doesn't he know I ache to be in his arms, to be touched by him. The increasing ache, and wetness, is making my thong panties feel too constricting. Doesn't he know that I want him to tear them off of me, lift my skirt to my waist, and sink his cock deep inside of me. Yes, he does know, and this is all part of the game. I try to concentrate on the grain of the floor to push the thought of my increasing need aside.
His hand strokes my hair, down my cheek, to my chin. He is gentle, as I know he can be. I also know his firm side. Each can be just as pleasurable. He lifts my chin. " Ready?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine, now upturned. "I'm always ready, Sir."
Out of his pocket, familiar objects appear. Two wrist cuffs. I remember the leather and velvet cuffs from previous times. Hard and soft, tough and tender, giving and unyeilding. He grasps my hand, and slowly puts them on. They are tight and firm. "There now, you always look better when you are adoned" he says as he pulls to test their fit.
"Thank you Sir" I say
"You are welcome nikki, and you may stand"
He assists me, as I rise. I try to push my body closer, but he keeps me still a few inches from touching him. It's killing me, and I feel that I'm going to orgasm with the desire that fills my body. My nipples push against the fabric of my bra, giving me at least a little feeling of ecstasy.
My Dom takes a small box from the table near to us, "This is how my game works. All you need to do is reach into this box, and choose one, then follow the instructions. As you know you should always carry yourself the way I've trained you, throughout." I nod and peek into the box, which is full of keys with a small piece of paper attached to each. "Keys are so interesting aren't they nikki, you never know where they will lead and what is on the other side of a locked door." I glance at him, and try to put together in my mind what he may have in store.
I reach in and grasp a key, but change my mind and choose one from the bottom of the pile. I open the folded paper attached.."room 25" it reads, " Deliver a bottle of champagne"
"Show me" he says. I turn the paper towards him. "An excellent choice, my precious nikki, now carry on. You'll find champagned chilling in the kitchen, which is down the hall there to your right." Game on, I can't help thinking to myself as I head to get the bottle.
I proceed down the right hall that takes me past the dining area in to kitchen. A bottle of champagne is chilling inside a bucket on a large center island. I reach out, grasp the neck and wrap my fingers around it. My fingers should be put to other uses right now, rather than for an errand, I think as I lift the cold wet bottle. I wrap a nearby towel around its base and return to the great room. He is sitting near the fireplace smiling at me." You will find the room upstairs, there", pointing to the left staircase. "Yes, Sir" I reply, hoping that he sees the yearning in my expression to stay.
I climb the steps to the second floor landing and proceed down the hallway. There are several doors on the left as I look down the hallway. The first is room 20. There must be 10 similar rooms downstairs. I think of the keys in the box. Was there one for each room, or would all of them lead me to room 25? I continue,...room 21,...room 22.
As I pass room 22, the door to room 23 opens and a fair skinned man with dark features looks out and leans against the door frame. He says nothing but continues to watch me as I approach. He crosses his arms, and his smile and eyes are hungry looking. Watching me like I'm a young girl in a red cloak, as he is a wolf.
I hurridly glance down towards the floor, as I'm trained to do as I passed, but not before I catch a glance of his room. It is dark with curtains drawn, and candles are lit. There are ropes on the bed, layed out straight. I'm suddenly more aware of the cuffs around my wrists as I look away and continue on. "That's a shame,..maybe later." he says to my back, and my heartrate beats a little faster, as I have now been given a clue as to what my seemingly simple errand might lead to.
Room 24....
Room 25. I turn and hold the key out towards the lock.
Pausing, and listening to what or whom may be behind the door, my breath quickens. I can hear a low voice, and perhaps another a bit higher in pitch. Almost dropping the key, I shakily insert it into the lock and turn. The door easily swings in and there are two African American men seated, staring at me. Two more black men are at a small table on the side of the room. I am still, looking into the room as a fifth black man approaches me from the right of the door. He takes me by the elbow and leads me into the room saying, " Gentlemen, we have a guest."
Being a petite 5 foot 1, he towers over me at least 6'3. He closes the door behind me and takes the key from my hand. One of the men seated on the lounge chair, got up and took the champagne bottle from me and proceded to a small bar in the room. My first greeter, put both of his large strong hands on each of my shoulders and turned me to him. His cologne was intoxicating, and I could instantly feel power in his body. "I have a special seat for you by the window. I have been told by your Dom that you are to do what we ask of you, is that agreeable?" I nod, as I feel the already stirring desire in me increase even more.
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the chair. All of the other men begin to rise and approach. Naturally I'm frightened and I think that he can feel my trembling. "We are going to make your visit here memorable." I remind myself that my Master would never put me in a situation that is dangerous, and I force myself to relax.
He pushes down on my shoulders firmly as I sit onto a straight back chair facing out the window. Dusk is approaching and all I see is a vast forest in front of me. All the men stay behind me. "Look straight out the window" someone else says. I watch the leaves for a moment before I see a black blindfold held in front of my face. In a smooth, firm movement I'm blind folded, and can only hear and feel their closeness to me. Someone takes my wrist and I feel a clasp being applied to the O ring on my wrist cuff. My other wrist is grabbed and I am cuffed together behind the back of the chair.
Someone brushes my hair from my shoulders and I feel his heat as he leans in to kiss my neck from behind. Chills rush up my back and I feel my nipples harden. My fear is quickly turning to excitement as I realize what is going to happen. I was sent here to give them whatever they want. I have a feeling that they instead would just take whatever they want.
Hands on my thighs, I feel my skirt being slid up. The fingers are reaching up, higher and higher until they hook around the top of my panties and pull. The strong hands lift me off my seat slightly as he pulls off my thong. Pantiless, and exposed, my pussy starts to ache in need. Needing to be touched and played with. Wanting so much to come hard around a big cock. I suddenly find myself hoping that this is not just a tease. I am hoping and wishing that their intentions are to fuck me.
My hands still firmly behind the chair back, my thighs are spread and held open. Someone is pushing against the back of my chair, while fingers are at my blouse buttons, unbuttoning them quickly. I hear a few approving comments, but I'm beginning to get wrapped up in my senses to where I can only feel touch and heat. My blouse is open and my bra is pushed under my breasts. Fingertips are groping, caressing and pinching my nipples suddenly and I feel myself more wet. Fingers are replace with a hot mouth licking and sucking. The rise of pleasure intensifies as someone slides his finger inside of my pussy. Pushing deep inside while running a thumb over my clit, bringing me closer to exploding. I do not have any idea how many men are touching me. The sensations run into one another.
My wrists are released and I am pushed firmly from the chair to my knees. I feel my face cupped and turned. I feel the heat and hardness of a cock brushing against my lips. "Suck it, baby" a deep voice says. I part my lips and take him in. He is unbelievably hard in my mouth, and tastes delicious to me. I tighten my lips, and work my tongue as he starts to thrust. A hand goes to my hair and wraps itself into it, holding me there firmly. I moan slightly to match his, as my sucking brings him closer to orgasm. I feel him even closer, but he pulls from my mouth, leaving me wanting more to taste.
"Bring her here to me" I hear, and I'm suddenly being helped up and lead forward. My legs bump against the lounge chair, and I feel someone take my hand and pull me forward. Hands lift me from the waist and I am straddling a seated man. My hands are held firmly above my head by another, while he reaches down between us and places his cock against my pussy. With one upward push of his hips beneath me, I am suddenly filled with hard hot cock. "Ride me baby"
My arms are released, and I begin to move. I want to feel this cock deep within me. He grabs my waist and sets the pace. I throw my head back, as the pleasure is building in me. The head of his cock is stroking me so sweetly inside, and pushes me to the edge. Finally the wave of my orgasm sweeps over me, as he pushes deeper and quicker into me.
"I'm going to come" I hear as he pushes hard twice more than stills. We stay together for a moment, and the aftershocks of my orgasm sill run through my body like a river. Only a moment passes and my blindfold is pulled from my eyes. The man before me smiles and licks his lips. " We aren't done with you yet."
My 6'3 greeter stands naked to my right and grasps my hand. " Come with me" he says as he pulls me lightly. He leads me to a bed and pushes me onto my back. He kneels between my thighs, and I see that his cock is very large and swollen. I need to feel him and I push my hips up in eagerness. He pushes into me and enters me easily. I could be full of his cock all night I think as he strokes me again and again. My clit rubbing against his body with each hard thrust, I feel myself building again. 3 of the other come close. Two are stroking their cocks , and watching me as I'm fucked hard. One man kneels next to me and plays with my nipple, "Stroke my cock", he says. I wrap my hand around his hard cock and begin to masturbate him. The cock in my pussy is getting harder and larger as he approaches his orgasm. He increases his rhythym and pounds me harder. His breathing turns to panting and moaning. Just as I am sure he is about to come, he pulls out of me, glistening from my juices. He wraps his hand around his shaft and rubs hard and explodes onto my belly. I turn to the man next to me so I can taste him and put him into my mouth. I hear the other two come over me and feel their hot liquid fall onto my skin. I suck firmly on the cock in my mouth while my hand moves up and down the shaft. "Let me come on your tits", he says, and I take him out of my mouth, continuing my stroking. His body tenses and I feel him come hard, covering me once again.
I lay back on the bed, and as each man in turn dresses, kisses me lightly and leaves the room, I wonder if I will be allowed to choose another key from my Master's box.
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Donna woke to the sound of the waves crashing and the wind rustling in the trees. She opened her eyes slowly, getting accustomed to the glaring sunlight. She could also feel the cold water as the waves lapped against the right side of her body. Still lying down, she moved her head so she could try and figure out where she was. She looked up and saw that the beach seemed to carry on, almost to the horizon. To her right, the sapphire-blue water glided slowly up and down the white-gold sand, while in the distance she could see the waves, terrifying with a white foamy head crashing down, before mellowing out as they got closer to land. She looked to her left and saw that there was a dense forest of impossibly tall palm trees. Donna squinted into the trees, but couldn't see beyond the first few trunks, such was the thickness of the foliage. She wiggled her fingers and toes, before slowly sitting up. She felt incredibly sore, the kind of sore you feel a day after completing your first workout in months. Her arms and legs ached and, as she looked down at her body, she saw that she was covered in small cuts and bruises.
"What the fuck happened?" She said, half to herself, and half to anyone that might have been around. When she received no answer (unsurprisingly) she gradually got to her feet, wincing as she did so. She looked down at herself again and saw that her outfit was in ruins. The strings of her bikini top were nearly all frayed, only one or two strands keeping everything in place. Further down, her sarong skirt had been turned into nothing more than a series of ribbons that hung around her waist, though thankfully the bikini bottoms she had on were still largely all there, meaning her modesty wasn't too ruined. She looked back up and across the sand. Now that she was standing up and more focussed on what was in front of her, she saw that what looked like a large amount of debris had washed up. She started walking towards it, unsteadily at first, but getting more confident with each step. She reached the first piece of debris and saw that it was just driftwood, clearly part of a bigger piece of wood that had been snapped completely. What had brought all this up? A storm? Donna looked out over the ocean. The waves on the horizon were still looking quite vicious, it was certainly possible that was the storm in question. She kept on walking, passing cupboards that had had their contents spilled out on the sand, furniture that could only now be used as firewood (and even then, with a thorough drying out) and more smashed pieces of wood until she saw one that looked vaguely intact. She walked over to it and knelt down next to it. The wood looked like it had been shaped properly and so she ran her hand over it, to clear off the sand and seaweed, so that she could read it. The sign simply said Amazon. All of a sudden, Donna's memories seem to come flooding back.
The Amazon had been the yacht that Donna had spent the past week sailing on. With the k**s at college, both her and her husband had decided to go to the Caribbean on a sailing vacation. Donna could remember her husband selling the idea to her all over again and she replayed the memories as she kept walking along the beach.
"Baby, two weeks in the sun, going wherever we want -- island hopping, cruising, or just sailing out to where no one else is around us and enjoying the sun. All you'd have to do is pack as many bikinis as you want, lie back on the deck and the crew can bring you as many cocktails as you want while you top up your tan and the sea breeze helps you drift off to sleep..." he'd said. Donna had never had an interest in sailing before, but he had made it sound quite nice. Of course, things were different when they had arrived in Barbados. Craig, her husband, hadn't booked a crew at the same time that he had chartered the yacht and the only crew available at such short notice was incredibly expensive. Of course, he didn't want to pay that much money and was confident that he could sail the yacht all by himself. Brushing Donna's protests aside ("yes, I'll do the sailing, the cooking, the cleaning, and I'll bring you the Mai Tais"), the two of them had boarded a yacht that was too big for two people to live on, never mind two people to crew it. Craig had done an okay job as the sole crewmember for the first week or so, mainly because the yacht never really got up to speed and rarely ventured far beyond the safety of the marina. And, of course, the one time that they decided to risk it and venture out to the next island, the storm came along, blew them off course, smashed up their yacht and left her stranded on an island in the middle of god-knows-where. 'Well', she thought, looking at the sign, 'looks like we won't be getting that deposit back any time soon'.
The moment she said that, she felt a pang of guilt. Her first thought had been about the money she had lost on the yacht, not about her husband. She had no idea where he was, and if he was still alive. A lump formed in her throat as she thought about it, but she blinked her eyes furiously and forced the lump back down. She wasn't going to sit here and cry about it. She was going to find him. No doubt he was doing the same -- eventually they would have to bump into each other, right?
"And when I find him," Donna said, quickening her pace up the beach, "he's going to wish he was dead." Her feet kicked up the sand as she walked, almost ran, up and over sand dune after sand dune. Each time she got to the top of one, she stopped and looked out over the land, trying to find her husband, or more debris that might lead her to him. But nothing came up, beyond the usual mess of wood and metal. Finally she climbed up the highest sand dune out of all of them and looked down at the scene of carnage below her.
Both halves of Amazon lay on the beach. She had been snapped right down the middle and been washed up, with about thirty yards between her halves. Her two propellers were half-dug in the sand and the engines lay next to them, water still pouring out of the turbines. How recently had this washed up? Something this big and loud was surely going to get her attention, she had thought. Suddenly she could see movement at the base of Amazon. Could it be Craig? She ran down the dune, getting closer to the person who was now climbing around the wreck of the yacht. Twice she almost fell, but she kept going until she reached the bottom of the dune and was no more than sixty yards from the wreck. Then she stopped, frozen. The figure (from this distance Donna could see that it was a man) had climbed down from the wreck back onto the beach, and was joined by two more men who had also emerged from the yacht. None of these men were her husband. They were all quite tall and lithely built, with very little body fat but also not a lot of muscle -- they looked like the long-distance runners Donna had seen at the Olympics. She started to back away slowly, when one of them noticed her. He pointed at her and shouted. Donna stopped where she was and tried to reason with the men.
"Can you help me?" She shouted, "this was my yacht! I am looking for my husband!" The three men looked at each other and seemed to be speaking to each other in a language Donna couldn't understand. It didn't sound like a European language, so maybe it was something more native? Donna had no idea, but the optimism that these men might be able to help her had rapidly disappeared. Especially when the three men looked at her and broke into a run at her. Donna screamed and turned round, running back up the dune, but she had no chance of getting away from three men who were built for running, especially when she was still sore from the storm. They bridged the distance between them and her easily and one of them tackled her into the sand. Donna screamed again and tried to get away, but the men wouldn't let her go. They turned her round so she was on her back. Donna looked up at them, terrified of what was going to happen next. One of the men reached for what looked like a set of vines on a belt round his waist and he pulled her wrists together, tying them together. He then did the same to her ankles, before saying something to the other two men. Between them, they picked her up and carried her off into the jungle. All the while, Donna tried to reason with them -- "please don't do this", "I just need your help", "please let me go -- I need to find my husband." All the cries and protests fell on deaf ears, however. Eventually all four of them walked -- or were carried -- in a tense silence. Donna took this as a chance to study her captors further. They all looked to be very young, perhaps barely nineteen, and they all had long black hair that went down past their shoulders. It also hadn't escaped Donna's attention that they were all black -- their skin was incredibly dark, much darker than Donna had seen anyone else's before. Donna stared at the men as they jogged through the jungle, each taking it in turns to carry her, until Donna could suddenly start hearing different noises. Voices, laughter, the sounds of a****ls -- were they getting near a village? Someone there must speak English!
Suddenly they broke through the dense jungle and came out into a clearing. Donna looked round (as much as she could while being slung over the shoulder of one of the men) and saw maybe twenty or thirty small wooden huts dotted around the clearing, with small fires between them. c***dren ran between the huts, playing chase and other games and women knelt, tending the fires, washing clothes and otherwise managing the camp. Both the women and the c***dren stopped what they were doing when Donna walked past, eyeing her with suspicion. At one end was a clearer space, where a series of large wooden tables sat in front of a huge stone throne. In one corner of the clearing there were about half a dozen cages, each of them sitting on the ground, but connected by a chain to a series of beams at the same height as the tree canopy, so they could be lifted up. Donna swallowed nervously as the men carried her over to the cages, but breathed a sigh of relief when they diverted at the last minute, instead throwing her inside one of the small huts. It was wooden, but looked to be crudely reinforced with metal. Donna guessed this was some sort of prison. She landed on the ground and turned round in time to see them shut the door in her face, before they walked off.
"Assholes," Donna spat at their backs, not daring to do it to their faces. She jumped when she heard a voice in the corner of the room.
"Took them long enough to bring you up here," a woman said drily. "news of a shipwrecked yacht reached the camp a few hours ago." Donna spun round and saw the woman sitting in the corner of the hut. She was wearing cargo shorts and a white t shirt. Donna noticed that neither item of clothing were especially dirty, especially when compared with her own ripped and ruined outfit.
"Who are you? You speak their language? How long have you been here? Have you tried to escape? Have you seen my husband at all?" The woman laughed at the deluge of questions.
"First of all, my name's Lauren," the woman began, "yes, I speak their language -- it's an amalgamation of West African languages which I know a fair bit about. I've been here four years, maybe -- you tend to lose track after a while. No, I haven't tried to escape. And no, I haven't seen your husband and if I'm honest, that's for the better -- the Tamawe tribe don't treat white men with the same care that they treat white women."
Donna stared at her in disbelief. "Four years?! Why have you been here so long? Why haven't you tried to escape?! And what do you mean about treating white women with care?"
At that moment the door to the hut was barged open and two men stood in the doorway, blocking out all the light. They stepped inside the hut and Donna saw that they were two different men from the ones who had captured her earlier. These men were a lot more muscular and taller. They were both sporting beards and their hair was cut shorter than the young men. They were clearly older, stronger, more powerful. Donna gulped as she started to back away from them. The men kept walking towards her, eyeing her up hungrily, until Lauren broke the tense silence.
"You're okay -- they're not here for you. They wouldn't dare touch you." She said, standing up. She walked into the middle of the room, where she met the two men, who stood either side of her. She ran her hands over their hardened chests while they hungrily groped and squeezed Lauren's boobs under the shirt. Lauren's own hands ran down their chests, idly traced the lines of their abs with her fingers and dipped below the waistlines of the straw-looking skirts they wore. She tugged gently at the waistbands, using her fingers to slide them down to the ground. Suddenly their cocks sprang free, long, thick and throbbing hard. The men, together, lifted Lauren's shirt over her head and then undid her shorts, watching them slide down her long, pale legs.
Donna sat in the corner of the room, horrified at the scene in front of her. This woman -- clearly an intelligent woman of some class -- had boldly stepped between these two black men and was brazenly letting them play with her, as much as she was playing with them! And yet, as disgusted as Donna was by the whole thing, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Especially when the two cocks had been set free. They were, by any other word, gorgeous. As black as the rest of the men's bodies, apart from the heads which were almost purple in colour. They looked to be throbbing and this, combined with the massive pair of balls that swung under each cock, gave the impression that neither man had cum in a very long time. Something it seemed that Lauren was going to change very soon. She sank down to her knees between the two men, completely naked, with a cock in each hand. As she stroked them, Donna noticed that the cocks seemed to be getting bigger -- there's no way that was even possible! Both of these men were way bigger than her husband had even been -- again, another pang of guilt as she realised it had been a long time since she had thought of her husband, and she was only doing it now because she was faced with two men that were a lot more endowed than he was. Donna stared, open-mouthed, as Lauren glanced quickly over at her, before opening her own mouth and swallowing one of the cocks, taking as much of as she could in her throat. The man getting the treatment moaned and put his hands on the back of her head, pushing her down on his dick even more. Lauren rested her hands on his muscular thighs and relaxed her throat, taking more of his cock down. The man wrapped his hands in her hair and held her there, moaning gutturally as Lauren obviously struggled for air. Eventually she started to gag and slapped his thighs, silently telling him to let her go. He did and Lauren launched her head back, coughing and blinking back tears. The second man obviously wanted his turn and simply grabbed Lauren by the hair and turned her round. He shoved his cock in her mouth and assaulted her throat, shouting what sounded like obscenities at her. Lauren didn't pay attention to what he was saying, instead focussing on trying to get the entire length of the thick dark shaft in front of her down her throat. The other man was stroking his cock while his other hand groped Lauren's boobs, squeezing them with his big hand. He stopped every now and then and looked over at Donna, leering at her. Donna recoiled at the attention, but didn't stop staring, her gaze switching from his own thick cock that he was stroking, to the face-fucking that Lauren was getting. Eventually the man let his cock fall out of Lauren's mouth, strings of spit landing on her boobs and running down her body. One of the men stood behind her and pushed her down onto all fours with his foot. He then sank to his knees behind her and pushed his cock up against her pussy.
"Oh, fuck..." Lauren began to say, feeling the huge head slide inside her. She began to moan and scream as inch after inch of thick black cock stretched her pussy out, until her moaning was shut up by the second man now getting on his knees and forcing his cock back down her throat. Lauren willingly let him slide in and her screams were muffled as she swallowed the huge cock in front of her, while the huge cock behind her filled her up too. The two men started pistoning back and forth, but all Donna could see from her current angle was the back of the guy fucking Lauren's mouth. His ass was thrusting back and forth greedily and Donna couldn't help herself. She shuffled round the hut until she could see both men and Lauren between them. One of her hands was wrapped round the thigh of the man fucking her mouth and the other hand between her legs and she rubbed her clit furiously. The two men didn't care about her doing this, neither did they help her, instead just pounding away at both ends of her. Their thrusts seemed almost perfectly timed, one of them sliding out of Lauren as the other one slid in, meaning that Lauren was always full of big black cock. Between this and rubbing her clit, Lauren soon came, holding even tighter onto the man in front of her for support as her whole body shook. The man behind her kept on thrusting in and out of her, holding onto her body and fucking her through her orgasm. Eventually Lauren spat the cock out of her mouth to scream even louder.
"Oh fuck!" She cried out, looking back at the man behind her, "give me that big black dick, fuck this white pussy up. Take it, it's all yours, it's all yours, it's all fucking yours..." Donna could feel herself getting turned on listening to Lauren abandon any sense of decency as she got fucked. She'd never dreamed of saying anything like that to her husband -- but, then again, her husband had never given her any reason to say anything like that. Lauren turned back to the man in front of her who was eagerly stroking his cock. Lauren ducked underneath the long black shaft and began sucking on his big heavy balls, alternating between bouncing them off her tongue and taking them in her mouth one at a time and coating them in her spit. The man moaned at the stimulation, especially when Lauren took over stroking his cock with her free hand. Donna noticed that she was wearing a wedding ring on that hand and couldn't help but compare it with her own hand. What if that was her? Her own white hand, complete with the ring that showed how much she loved her husband, stroking up and down a big black cock like that? Even half an hour ago, Donna would have shuddered at the idea. Now, however, it turned her on. She could almost feel herself getting wet at the thought of taking Lauren's place. But, for some reason, the men would hardly look at her, never mind touch her or even fuck her. And Donna certainly wasn't going to go over there and take it.
The sound of more moaning brought Donna back to reality as she suddenly the saw the man whose balls Lauren was sucking on begin to cum. He pointed his cock right at Lauren's face and a huge rope of cum erupted out the end of his cock. Lauren closed her eyes and smiled while rubbing her clit again. Her whole body began to shake as she came again, perfectly timed with more and more cum flying out the end of the guy's cock. Donna sat there and watched, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. She had never seen so much cum in her life! Even in the porn videos she had started sneakily watching behind her husband's back, the guys never produced that much cum! It seemed like a constant firehouse was blasting onto Lauren's face, so much so that it was dripping onto the floor of the hut. Lauren stayed where she was, a look of satisfaction on her face as the man fucking her pussy started to cum as well. He pumped twice more, grunted and then rammed his cock all the way up inside her. Lauren gasped and moaned again as she felt him cum. Donna didn't doubt that there was the same amount of cum in her pussy as was on her face and she felt a pang of jealously at Lauren because she wasn't getting the same treatment. The man fucking her from behind stayed inside for a few more seconds, while his cock softened, before pulling out. Donna could see that, even though he was no longer fully hard, his cock was still longer, thicker and darker than her husband's. Both men were. They got off their knees and walked silently out the hut, leaving Lauren there. Donna could almost hear her purring to herself in satisfaction, as the cum started drying on her face. Donna could also see it start to drip out her pussy and pool on the floor of the hut as well. Finally, Lauren fell onto the floor and looked over at Donna.
"You wanna know why I've been here four years and not tried to escape?" Lauren said, "I think you got your answer..."
|
"Still no sign of them?" Phil asked, setting his cup down.
Wilbur shook his head and yawned. "Nope."
Techno slid the eggs onto a plate. "I went out lookin' for 'em last night, but I didn't see anything."
"Did you check the barn?" Phil asked placidly as the porcelain of the plate was set before him. He muttered a thank you and picked a shaker.
"Yeah," Techno replied lightly, masking any inkling of what he'd experienced with indifference. "Nothin' there, though."
"It looks unstable," Wilbur chimed in. He reached for his toast and bit into the crunchy bread.
With a shrug, Techno sat himself down and reached for his spoon, gathering cereal into it. "You look unstable."
Wilbur kicked him under the table.
"Maybe Kristin drove them out," Phil joked.
With a quiet snort, Wilbur swallowed his bite. "Yeah, sure, your dead wife drove out the ghosts. Be serious, Phillip."
"I cannot believe that dame drove us out," Tubbo spat as they stared through the window, squinting to look through the glass. They dared not get closer, even though they were a good few feet farther than they thought safe. "Out of our own house! Again!"
"Don't insult her, Tubbo, She might come back," Ranboo reminded.
"How the hell are we going to deal with this?" Tommy asked, arms crossed. "This is my farm, she can't just come in here and do... whatever it is she wants!"
Tubbo quirked an eyebrow at him. "Well, from the looks of it, she can ."
Tommy crossed his arms and sent Tubbo a dirty look, but couldn't manage more than a few grumbles in response.
"But what can we do, anyways?" Ranboo asked. "We can't fight her, we can't banish her, we can't, like, kill them..."
"Well--" Tommy stopped himself. "Um..."
The ghosts lapsed into silence.
"Are you gonna start YouTube again any time soon?" Wilbur asked out of the blue.
Techno hummed, looking over at where Wilbur had sprawled himself across most of Techno's bed, leaving him only his little sliver where he tapped at his laptop.
"Checkin' the comments on your video," Wilbur said by way of explanation. "Dream left a comment saying we were killed by ghosts."
Techno resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Tell him that being dead is more fun than makin' videos with him."
Wilbur grinned and set to typing. After a moment, he looked back up at Techno. "Seriously, though, how long is it gonna take for you to get the stuff here?"
With a shrug, Techno finally looked to him. "Uh, Phil said it'll take a bit, but that it should be ready soon. Like, this week soon."
"Seriously?" Wilbur beamed up at him, moving to sit up. "Oh, you have to stream for your first day back! I wanna be there, too. And I'm gonna help you unpack so you don't quit before it's finished and leave the extra monitor unused for years."
"It wasn't years , okay--"
Techno laid down in bed with a sigh, situating himself comfortably under the blanket and snuggling into his pillow. He glanced over at the clock, noting that it was midnight, and relaxed further into his bed. Moonlight danced against the wall opposite him, highlighting the barren walls.
He waited a moment.
He set to getting out of bed, reaching for the hoodie he'd worn last night.
A quiet breath of relief escaped him when he managed to avoid waking anybody. He could hear WIlbur's light snores when he passed the room, and he didn't hear any typing from Phil's, so he thought it was safe to assume they were actually asleep.
Techno crept down the stairs, almost worried when his foot found a particular grove to rest in about mid-way down, worn in from use.
(A part of him wondered if it was from Field Kid's family.)
He bypassed the kitchen, only risking a glance back at the screen door leading to the forest and the door to the bathroom, cracked open to reveal pitch.
He slipped out the front door and took a good look at the barn.
The thing was dark, in the night. Where he remembered worn possibly-oak, was now an almost pulsating black , sticky and rotted. The windows leered over at him, teasing shadows and whispers of movement.
The door was cracked open, a line of black glaring out at him. The ground around it seemed to have darkened, crawling with roots of personified something that reached out before plunging back in.
Techno didn't remember it looking like that in the day.
He moved towards the inky grass, his shoes brushing near-silently against the blades. He stepped into the dark zone and forced himself not to think of what the hell might be under his feet.
He approached the door to the barn, more two slats of wood than a door, and knocked.
Techno held his breath as the noise reverberated around the space, rattling nearby windows and shaking the hinges.
He waited.
And waited.
" What do you want? " came a hiss from his side.
Techno glanced at the side, where the voice had come from. "Just wanted to know why you three haven't been in the house recently."
(" Tell him to fuck off! " Tommy shouted from inside.)
The area was silent, which Techno used as a reprieve to try to get the heartbeat he could hear in his ears to silence itself. He felt the clamminess of his hands and wiped them on his sweatpants. Blood roared as it pumped adrenaline through him, begging him to run .
" Field Kid says we need a break from the living, " Ranboo said. " He's actually guilty about hurting Wilbur. "
(" Are you putting the fanny up, Ranboob?! "
"No. Probably.")
The edge of Techno's mouth quirked up in some semblance of a half-grin. "I'll be sure to tell Wilbur. By the way, I'm getting my computer sometime soon, so..." Techno trailed off. "Y'know, I'll be able to tell you more about what I do in my spare time."
" Sweet, " Ranboo contributed. " Do you, like kill people? "
"Only orphans," Techno joked.
The two went silent.
"Well," Techno began, "I'm gonna head back inside."
" Yeah, you should probably, uh... do that. "
Techno moved to leave, giving a final awkward wave to where he thought Ranboo was. Despite the calm he was maintaining, his feet carried him away from the barn as fast as they could without running.
Wilbur seemed unusually refreshed that morning. Or, well, what would have constituted as unusual only after the time he'd been spending waiting up every night for a ghost.
"Your turn to cook breakfast, then," Techno said when Wilbur said he'd been awake for a good while.
Ignoring the whines and shuffles coming from the couch as Wilbur moved to start breakfast, Techno turned the corner to head to the bathroom, wincing at the brightness of the light against the cream-colored walls.
"We need to get back in that house," Tommy said one day, the sun high above them in the sky. "We can't just let them have it ."
"No, I know," Tubbo assured, sat cross-legged in the air above his seat by the chessboard. "Just... not yet."
"When, then?"
Tubbo didn't reply, pointedly not looking away from where Tommy peered through the window of the barn at the house.
Ranboo hummed. "You guys noticed how she, like, only appeared when the living were scared, right? So what if we just... don't scare them, y'know?"
"But that's my calling! " Tommy complained, moving away from the window to send Ranboo a stare somewhere between ' how dare you suggest that ' and ': pleading_face: '. "Asking me not to scare the living is like asking a dog not to drink."
"I think a dog could go its whole life without drinking," Tubbo commented, still not looking at Tommy.
Tommy paused. He was silent, staring at Tubbo.
The barn was quiet.
Tommy opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it. His throat bobbed before he mumbled out, "I don't think they'd survive very long, Tubso."
Tubbo looked up, confused, before panic flashed across his expression. "No, no, that was an alcohol joke! Dogs don't like sauce. Probably... Could a dog...?"
The three were silent in contemplation.
"Who cares?" Tommy huffed, turning back to the window. "We should be figuring out how to get back into that house without you-know-who showing up, y'know?"
"I say we just walk right in."
Two sets of eyes turned to Ranboo.
"Well, it's not like she stopped us from going back inside last time." Ranboo shifted, standing up from where he was lounging mid-air. "Maybe she's got a three-strike policy. If we don't, like, scare them again , we should be fine."
Tubbo moved over to Ranboo, tilting himself in the process. "What if she only gave a second chance, and we're not allowed inside anymore?"
"Then we run," Ranboo said. "And we coax the people out so we can kill them."
Tommy startled, whipping around to send Ranboo the same wide eyes as Tubbo was now giving him. "We what?! "
"Well, if she's, like, protecting the house, then we can't get inside," Ranboo explained simply. "And we don't know how many generations these people are going to have, or if they'll move out. And if we can't get in to, like, scare them out, we'll have to kill them."
"What if she curses us for killing them?" Tubbo snapped. "And how would we lure them out, anyways, go corporeal?"
Ranboo shook his head. "No, Techno's been showing me horror stories. He says that a no-sleep sub read them, and all the ones he's shown me, I can replicate with my illusions."
"Why can't we scare them out with that, then?" Tommy asked, twiddling his fingers and moving to block the window from Ranboo's view.
"Cause they're just illusions, and I can't send them into the house."
Tubbo backed away from Ranboo. "How... What kind of illusions?"
Ranboo shrugged. "Well, there's this one thing called Siren-head, I can replicate the sound of it and the footsteps. There's ones of people just... standing in the street and stuff, that'll be easy. I can block light, and change the weather, and make it look like the house is in a completely different area."
Tommy and Tubbo didn't reply.
Ranboo stared back.
Tommy and Tubbo shared a look.
"Or we could just walk in," Ranboo suggested, shrugging casually. "That's an option."
The barn was silent.
"Have I ever told you how much I hate you, Ranboo?"
"Only every day, Tommy."
Tubbo poked his head outside the door of the barn, waiting a moment as if he'd find a guard to sneak around. He slipped through the door, Tommy and Ranboo moving silently behind him.
They congregated around the door, staring intently at the house.
A breeze ruffled the grass and made leaves sing.
A bird fluttered by.
Slowly, the three stepped forward. They moved as one as they slithered to the corner of the barn closest to the house.
Tommy was the first to step away from the barn. He paused, waiting. Watching.
No particles.
They made the short walk to the house in silence, feet gliding across the ground, hardened by years of feet treading on it, hammering it into itself.
Ranboo stepped over a crack, paused, then quietly placed his foot on the crack with a bit more force than necessary.
They slowed as they approached the wall to the kitchen.
Clouds darkened above them, covering the sun from leaking into the clearing.
Tubbo elbowed Ranboo, and the clouds cleared.
They stared at the plain wall in front of them, worn from years it had been standing despite all the repairs made to it.
"So," Tommy started, "who first?"
|
Bea walked towards the field at the same time I did…; her eyes showed fierce determination and focus; she looked at me and I felt her gaze pierce right through me. Yikes! That was scary ...okay Vic, calm down you can do this.
“Please welcome our challenger! He’s defeated the first three gyms and won the hearts of many! Victor!” I flashed a peace sign to the crowd, and heard quite a bit of people cheer,
“Good Luck Victor! We love you!” I blushed at my little Fanclub…
“And now, please welcome our Gym Leader, the master of combat-the Fighting-Type Leader, Bea!” Bea bowed to me,
“Greetings honored Gym Challenger. Do you have an unshakeable spirit no matter what comes at you? I think I’ll test this out!” The battle had begun.
“Go, Hitmontop!” Bea started out with the Handstand Pokemon,
“Okay Butterfree, let’s do this!” Butterfree fluttered her wings and flew around in excitement.
“Hmmph, interesting choice Challenger.” Bea nodded as she readied her fighting stance,
“Himontop, use Triple Kick!” Hitmontop spun and kicked at Butterfree, “
Butterfree, slow it down with Electro Web!” Butterfree shot a web at Hitmontop damaging it and slowing it down, “Butterfree use Air Slash” Butterfree flapped her wings and blasted a current of air making a direct hit on her opponent,
“Hitmontop, use Revenge!” Hitmontop moves to attack Butterfree, but he winced and didn’t move,
Awesome! Air Slash managed to flinch Hitmontop! “Finish him with another Air Slash!” Butterfree shot another blast of air, knocking out Hitmontop.
“Your battle prowess impresses me, Challenger...however this is just beginning. Go sirfetch’d!”
Sirfetch’d flashed his blade and smirked, “Whoa! So cool!” I admired the new Pokemon in amazement,
“Challenger, you’re adorable but please focus on the battle.” I composed myself and swapped Butterfree for Mimikyu,
“Okay Mimikyu, time for your first battle!” Mimikyu scurried over to me and patted my leg, “Yes, yes I’m okay Mimikyu.” I appreciated that she was looking out for me. Mimikyu dusted my shirt before heading off into battle, I smiled a bit,
“Sorry Ms. Bea, I think she’s just watching out for me.” Bea smiled,
“I knew you were kind with Pokemon, but to think the reverse is also true...It was a good choice for Leon to endorse you. Now, Victor come at me with all your might!”
“Sirfetch’d use swords dance!” Sirfetch’d shined his sword, “Now go for a brutal swing!” Sirfetch’d rushed forward and struck Mimikyu.
“Mimikyu!” That was a direct hit! As the dust settled Mimikyu was okay, well expect that her outfit broke. “Mimikyu! Are you okay?” Mimikyu’s shadowy hand appeared and slapped Sirfetch’d away; she then turned to me and did a peace sign, “Awesome, use Shadow Claw!” Mimikyu dashed and charged her attack, Sirfetch’d blocked her with its sword, the two hits were pushing against each other, “Mimikyu you can do it!” I called out to her and she pushed Sirfetch’d back! “Finish it out with Play Rough!” Mimikyu’s eyes shined and she rushed and assaulted Sirfetch’d with a flurry of hits, knocking it out.
“You’re strong, Victor...but are you strong enough to survive my Pangoro!”
Pangoro jumped out and growled intensely, I returned Mimikyu and sent out Riolu; “Becareful Riolu, I sense that Pangoro will be tough to beat!” Riolu nodded,
“Pangoro, go for a Bullet Punch!” Before Riolu could react, Pangoro rushed him with a punch to the gut knocking him into the air, “Keep it up Pangoro, use Night Slash,” Pangoro jumped up and slashed at Riolu,
“Riolu!” I shouted as Riolu crashed into the ground, “Riolu! He’s too strong for you, here let me switch you out!” Riolu stopped me and struggled to stand, “Riolu..you still wanna fight? But...but...I don't know if you can beat him.” I was worried about him, I couldn’t let him get hurt more than he needs to…
Pangoro ran towards Riolu and punched him into the ground. Riolu stopped him, and struggled to push him back, Riolu ...you're trying so hard to win...it’s like how I am...trying so hard to achieve your goal, I understand now…” “Riolu! Give it your all!” I shouted to Riolu, who then started to glow…”What the?” I gasped and realized that Riolu was evolving!
Riolu’s size grew and when the light dispersed, Riolu evolved into Lucario! “Lucario, you evolved!” I jumped up excitedly and the crowd went wild!
“Impressive...your love for Riolu has shown itself and allowed him to evolve into Lucario! You’re a remarkable Trainer, Victor.” Bea smiled, “But can you stand up the assault of Pangoro? Pangoro, use Night Slash!”
“Lucario dodge it and use Force Palm!” Lucario ducked and dodged the attack and struck Pangoro in the chest, pushing it back a bit.
“Pangoro, use Revenge!” Pangoro stepped forward and prepared to hit Lucario,
“Lucario, use Low sweep!” Lucario ducked and swiped at Pangoro’s legs causing it to trip, “Now use Aura Sphere!” Lucario charged a ball of aura and blasted Pangoro, knocking it out. Lucario breathed heavily and fell down on one knee, “Lucario!” I ran towards Lucario who leaned on me, I hugged him, “you did amazing buddy, get some rest!” Lucario nodded and I returned him to his Pokeball. Bea readied her stance again,
“It’s time to dig our heels in, I’m not giving up and neither should you!” Bea then sent out her final Pokemon Machamp.
Machamp flexed its arms and posed for the crowd; I thought about it for a bit and sent out Litwick, “Your skill is worthy of this, it’s time to Gigantamax, Machamp!” Bea returned her Machamp and charged energy into it. Gigantamax Machamp appeared, glowing and causing the air to steam around it. I breathed in,
“Okay, Litwick let’s do this!” I returned Litwick and charged his Pokeball with energy...I threw it into the sky and Dynamaxed Litwick, I felt a sharp pain in my chest but it went away easily, “L-L-Litwick, use Max Flare!”
“Machamp use Max Darkness!” the walls of flame and darkness collided, pushing each other with no chance of either side of budging. “You’re power is fierce, Challenger! But we won’t back down! Keep pushing Machamp!”
“I’m not gonna back down either, I have to be stronger! For myself and for him!” My feelings, resonated and Litwick began to push Machamp’s attack back. “Litwick! One more push!” Litwick’s flame increased and blasted Machamp, engulfing it in fire...as the smoke cleared Machamp laid knocked out ...I had defeated Bea!
I cheered and waved to the crowd, “Victor! Victor! Victor!” I smiled and flashed a peace sign to my fans! Bea bowed at me,
“I felt your fighting spirit during our battle, you are worthy of the praise about you.” Bea walked forward and shook my hand, “As a way to show you’ve defeated me, I’ll give you this.” Bea handed me the Fighting-Badge, “I hope you meet much more strong trainers, and may they nourish your spirit in the future.”
I walked out and was greeted by my fans, “Mr. Victor can you sign this for me!” A kid walked up to me and blushed, “You and Your rival are amazing! ” My heart skipped a beat; there are people out here calling me amazing and strong ...
Oh, Hop, I wish you could hear these kids, I began to tear up,
“Are you okay Mr. Victor?” a kid pulled on my sleeve,
“I’m okay, just happy that’s all.” I signed their autographs. They asked for pictures and went on their way. “Hope you’re doing okay Hop…” I walked outside and was greeted by Sonia’s Yamper.
“Oh hey there Vic! Perfect timing, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about!” I looked to the ground,
“I wanna tell you something too Sonia,” I told her about what happened, with Hop and with my father; I started to tear up and shake. Sonia hugged me tightly.
“Vic, I’m so sorry! You gonna be okay?” Sonia got to my eye level and dried my tears.
“I’m just so scared Sonia, w-w-what if he comes for Hop? Or my Mom!” I’ve haven’t been this afraid before, I felt helpless;
“I’ll go talk to Leon and have him watch for anything suspicious, for now, you need to focus on finding and saving Hop from his funk.” I nodded and hugged Sonia,
“What did you wanna talk to me about?” Sonia stood back,
“right, so there’s this mural in Stow-on-Side that talks about the hero of Galar, although it’s just a replica. I figured with your good insight, you could figure something out!” Suddenly we heard a loud KABOOM!!!
|
Steve
Steve hums as he heads into his favorite engineer’s workshop, in that kind of smooth, easy mood that comes from a problem free Sunday morning. He plans on coaxing Tony out of his work mood with the promise of brunch, the kind with the orange juice and champagne that makes Tony gigglier then he would ever admit.
His tune falters however, when he doesn’t hear the characteristic sound of Tony’s music, or any machine’s running a process in the background. Rather, it’s Tony himself, talking over a phone.
Actually, he’s yelling over a phone, and Steve starts to frown.
“—told you once, told you a thousand times, it’s not going to happen!” Tony snaps from where he’s sitting at one of his tables.
“It’s nothing you haven’t built before.” A gruff and familiar male voice comes from the speakers in the ceiling. Steve suppresses his sigh.
“What you want me to build is a weapon, which, hello, I don’t do anymore!”
“Need I remind you, you have an obligation—”
Tony catches sight of Steve, and Steve gives him a piteous smile. “Oh look, our scheduled 12 minutes are up. Call me back if you want, just know that my answering machine is now actually the sound of a call being disconnected upon receipt.” He says, and JARVIS hangs up before he can get in another word.
“Ross?” Steve says, stepping up behind Tony’s chair, gently rubbing his hands into the tight muscles of his back, worn from years of being the world’s best mechanic.
“Ross.” Tony mutters, “wants me to build…well it really doesn’t matter does it? More garbage to perpetuate more wars and keep the defensive budget growing.” Tony sighs, leaning only slightly into Steve’s touch. “And I know it’s the same shit every time, trust me, I’m used to it, but the fact that he has the gall to act like that with me. Like, he thinks he owns me.”
Tony’s tense, and looks like he needs something to fight. Steve, who’s been with Tony for the better part of three years, decides to offers up their usual, alternative form of stress relief.
“When we both know who really owns you.” Steve says, then reaches around Tony’s neck to grab his chin, tilting his face backwards until he was forced to look into Steve’s eyes.
Tony’s breath hitches like it’s the first time they’ve done this, but Steve fights to keep his expression mild, just in case. “You open for business, babe?” Steve says, and he smiles, stealing some of Bucky’s Brooklyn accent that makes Tony’s knees week. Steve feels Tony’s Adam’s apple stutter as he swallows.
“Hell yeah.” Tony breathes, already falling into his role, and Steve grins.
Three minutes later, Tony’s sitting pretty on his knees with his arms wrapped around Steve’s pants as Steve slides into his throat, one hand behind his head and the other forcing his mouth open wide, Tony’s eyes rolling back into his head.
Seven minutes, and Tony’s thighs are wrapped around Steve’s waist as he fucks into him in the air, Tony moaning like the whore he was as Steve moves his whole body for him, Tony’s cock jerking with each thrust.
Twelve minutes, and, oh yeah, Steve likes him like this, on his back spread obscenely wide on the worktop, his toes curling into points and his knuckles turning white as his grips the edge, Steve trying to see if he can rip the bolts that hold the table to the ground.
He manages to tear one before he finishes with a moan, noticing idly that Tony’s already painted his own stomach, and has been hanging on the right side of oversensitive for the last minute.
Steve pulls out with a wet noise and makes a puddle on the ground. Tony drops his legs and stands shakily, and they share their first kiss, Steve pulling it out of Tony long and slow, not minding the way Tony’s naked body wets his shirt.
“Shower, then brunch?” Steve asks softly as he observes the face in front of him, and Tony responds with a nod and an easy smile, looking at him with rare, open admiration it took Steve a long, long time to earn.
Bucky
Bucky is trying, okay?
He had two and half hours of social time, not only outside his room, but outside the whole fucking tower, in the open Goddamn air like a naïve little civilian. And it sucked, but Steve kept giving him these silly little happy looks which made it all worth it, despite the hundreds of thousands of people in this fucking city, all that could have knives, Steve and be Hydra, Steve, but nooo, that stupid, stubborn man just walks by them like it’s nothing, going so far as to pick up a frisbee and throwing it back to a little girl who messed up her throw on “accident”, like it couldn’t have been, been… a bomb, Steve!
And Bucky knows he’s being irrational, okay? But this is what he’s feeling, and it’s happening, and Dr. Ryan keeps saying that despite all the logic in the goddamn universe, illogical feelings are valid, and while he works through his traumatic past and shit, he needs to find a proper outlet for them, or else he’s going to explode.
“JARVIS.” Bucky says, tapping his foot impatiently for the elevator. “Is Tony open for business?”
“Yes, Sargent Barnes.”
“Take me to him.” Bucky says as he jumps in the elevator. Worst part is, is that Sam still probably out there, with Steve, being his new, happy, mentally stable best friend, that smug-faced bird fucker. Probably getting ice cream and encouraging him to throw more frisbees back to evil Hydra agents in the park. Unbelievable.
The elevator opens to his living room, Tony lying on the couch, a holographic screen of text scrolling in front of him. He opens his mouth to great Bucky, but he doesn’t even have time to get the first word out before Bucky picks him up, ignoring his surprised floundering. He strides to their bedroom with Tony over his shoulder and tosses him on the bed, manhandling him until he was on his back, neck hanging over the side of the bed.
Tony’s mouth is already open by the time Bucky gets his cock out, and Bucky guides it to his mouth, pressing into his throat, him taking with practiced ease. Bucky fucks his throat hard and fast and proper, muttering to himself between gasps but not paying attention to what he was saying, focusing more the way Tony’s throat expands and retracts around his thrusting cock, the way his spit drools down his own face, the way his lower body squirms to try and find friction with the air, and aw hell, Bucky can’t believe how lucky he is to end up with something as good as this.
Bucky balls slap Tony’s face as he cums with a sigh, and Tony swallows, chokes, then swallows again. He pulls out and Tony inhales heavily, and Bucky leans over and pulls Tony’s sleep pants down without preamble and sucks until Tony’s taste is coating his own tongue.
Bucky leans back up and looks down at Tony’s face, and makes a fond noise that could be construed as a laugh as takes in the mess he made. He walks to the bathroom to grab him a wet towel.
When he get’s back, Tony is lying on his stomach, leg’s kicking in the air like a teenager at a slumber party. “You’re jealous of Sam?” His voice sounds like he swallowed a pound of gravel.
“Shut up.” Bucky mutters, wiping Tony’s sticky face clean. “You didn’t get any in your eye, didja?”
Tony shakes his head, and Bucky sprawls back against the bed, encouraging Tony to curl into his chest.
“And frisbee-bombs?” Tony says a few minutes later.
“Shut. Up.” Bucky mumbles into Tony’s hair.
“I mean, you know how ridiculous you sound right?” Tony rubs Bucky’s back soothingly.
“Today was hard.” Bucky pouts. His not sure what makes him act like a petulant child, but as of late he’d been complaining and whining more than ever. He’d brought it up once with Dr. Ryan, but she started dropping words like ‘regression’ and Bucky panicked and shut the conversation down.
“But you lasted, what, three hours? That’s three times as long as your last record.” Tony says. “That’s enough time to get anywhere in New York! Well, maybe Manhattan. Upper Manhattan. Depends on the time of day, really.”
“But it’s just three hours, babe. How am I supposed to function when I can’t even be outside for more than three hours?” Bucky says, exhausted and sad all at once.
“Baby steps, Bucko.” Tony squeezes him once. “Baby steps.”
“I know.” Bucky sighs. He’s not one to give in so quick, but the way he feels with Tony pressed against him, lax from his orgasm, he doesn’t feel like fighting back. Bucky drifts away as Tony turns in his arms, pulling up his hologram to read as Bucky cuddles him from behind.
Tony
Getting between Bucky and Steve while they were arguing was like trying to stand between two trains, barreling towards each other at full speed. Of all the benefits of a friendship as theirs, (one of them being sharing lovers, thank Asimov for that) one of the drawbacks is knowing every button to press, every flaw in the other’s being. And while couples fight, a fight between those two in a triad like theirs left Tony in the war path, watching the trains approach him at an unstoppable speed.
Luckily, he’s picked up a few tricks to handle their emotional uprisings, and it’s worked out supremely well in Tony’s favor. Like, supremely supremely well. Which is how Tony finds himself being spit roasted by two super soldiers as they each try to fuck him across the room in opposite directions, each too busy pumping their hips into Tony to shout any more words they don’t mean at each other, the fight devolving into a competitive fuck-off, with Tony drifting in and out of the clouds.
Later that night when the steam had dissipated, and crash was averted, and Tony had closed for business, Steve and Bucky make it up to him and each other by rubbing lotion into the rug burn Tony’s developed on his knees and kissing him all over. If Tony was honest with himself, which he never is, he’d realize that the reason he’s so patient through their fights is because the aftercare lasts for-ever. And when he’s on his side while Bucky fucks him slowly as Steve strokes his cock, breaking him apart as the whisper how much they love him each of his ears, Tony can't help the way the warm emotions well up inside of him.
All Together Now
Steve walks into his room about midnight and drops his shield on the carpet with a dull thunk, muscles protesting against the combination of a too hard work out and too much time sitting in a chair in meetings at SHIELD. Every muscle in his body is taunt and begging for release.
“JARVIS, is he…?” Steve says as he strips his shirt off in the sitting area, not even taking the time to fold it, strewing to the side on the couch.
“Open for business, sir.” JARVIS supplies quietly, and Steve doesn’t even let himself feel embarrassed that the AI had answer the question before he could ask it. Instead, Steve sighs in relief as he strides to their bedroom, pants and boxers falling to the wayside as well, cock already hard and insistent against his stomach.
Stepping into the bedroom, Steve is greeted by one of his favorite sights: Bucky, dozing lightly on his back in his pajamas, hands behind his head and cat-that-got-the-cream smile on his face, and Tony, completely naked, face in the mattress and ass in the sky, breathing deeply into his pillow.
Without preamble, Steve strides to the nightstand and squirts some lube into his hand from the gallon bucket that Tony had ordered when he realized what sex with two serum-enhanced men would entail, and slicks himself up quickly. Bucky wakes when Steve kneels behind Tony and inspects his hole—deliciously loose from Bucky’s thick cock— and gives Steve a lazy yet smug I-got-here-first grin, like they were fighting over who got to be player 1 at Mario Kart, or who got the first piece of a freshly made sponge cake.
Not that Steve ever minds sloppy seconds. Or thirds. Or fourths, really.
He leans himself over Tony’s body and presses in, exhaling at the feeling of warmth around his cock, Bucky’s cum easing the way. He’s strung too tight for slow, and sets a pace with his orgasm in mind, rutting into his hole like a teenager would a masturbation sleeve, not even bothering to lift Tony’s hips and aim for his prostate.
At some point Tony wakes up, babbling and confused, and Bucky leans over and kisses him chastely on the top of his head as Steve’s hips start to stutter, the thrusts making an almost comical squelching noise as he digs in. Finally, Steve thrusts in deep, and finishes with an exhausted moan, filling the hole more than it can manage, his cum trying to make its way farther in and out at the same time.
When he finally pulls back, both of their cum gushes out afterwards, the hole not even bothering to close, seemingly happy with being stretched, almost begging for another round.
And, well, Steve’s still hard.
But, he sighs to himself, he should probably brush his teeth and get ready for bed first; his hole will be there when he gets back. He points at Bucky then points at himself, then points at the bathroom.
Bucky shakes his head with a grin, pulls his cock from his pajama pants instead. Starts tracing the cum leaking from Tony’s hole with the head.
Steve shakes his head fondly, heading to the bathroom to clean himself up. By the time he gets back, Tony’s given up all pretense of sleep as he’s stretched on Bucky dick, Bucky lying on his back and using his hands to lift him and lower him like a ragdoll, Tony’s head lolling to the side, mumbling deliriously, overwhelmed with the zero to sixty of sensation.
Steve hums to himself as he joins them on bed, and pushes Tony over so that he falls on Bucky with an “oof.” Bucky continues to work his body on his cock as Steve slips a lubed finger into the place where they were joined, sliding in with ease.
“Our hole’s getting loose, isn’t he Stevie?” Bucky grins as Steve presses his finger in deep, already trying to work in a second one. About their heads, Tony keens, cock hard between them.
“He’s just elastic.” Steve hums. “Plus, someone had to get in a few rounds before I got home, didn’t ya Buck?” Steve starts to wriggle a second finger inwards, ignoring the way Tony was trying to move his hips and gain friction on his cock.
“Well, you know what they say…” Bucky starts with a grin, and Steve fights the urge to roll his eyes as he works two fingers in next to Bucky’s cock. “Doors must remain open during business hours!”
Steve mouths the words as Bucky says them out loud, the phrase old. “Must be nice, not having a job.” He says ruefully, “Getting to stay home and play with your toys all day.” Tony whimpers into Bucky’s shoulder.
“Well when ya got one that looks as good as this…” Bucky starts.
Steve pushes in a third finger, and the noise Tony makes is somewhere between a sob and a plea. “I don’t blame ya Buck.” Steve responds, before slicking up again, lining up, and pressing in.
Steve’s the kinda guy that doesn’t back down from a fight, and that mentality he applies whole-heartedly sex as well. He pushes relentlessly into the seemingly impossible tightness of Tony’s hole, already stretched so, so wide around Bucky’s thickness. But he knows what Tony is capable of, knows he’s opened himself up this wide before, and knows he will do it for them again.
When Steve’s head finally pops through the ring, Tony comes with long strips of white and several cracked sobs. Steve presses in further as Bucky soothes Tony, and starts a firm pace, leaning over Tony’s back to give Bucky a sloppy kiss. Bucky’s hips start to move with his, and they start a back and forth into Tony’s dripping hole, wet and eager and stretched wide around them both.
Steve’s not sure how long they were fucking, but he somehow still finishes first with deep moan, biting into a limp Tony’s neck as he stutters his hips. He slips out, and watches with a lazy smile as Bucky fucks upwards long and strong, drops of Steve’s cum rolling down his cock. He slams inwards, jerking Tony’s body upwards once, and adds his own cum to the slurry inside Tony.
Steve gently nuzzles his nose up to Tony’s lax neck, his head lolling to the side, kissing lightly at his sweaty skin. “You okay, babe?”
“He passed out again, Stevie.” Bucky says on an exhale, with a happy, tired smile on his face.
“Mmm… come on. Think we need a bath.” He sweeps Tony up in his arms, who comes to gently on the walk to the bathroom. All he has the energy to do is tuck his head into Steve’s shoulder, sighing in content.
“Think I’m closed for business now sweetheart.” Tony mutters into Steve’s shoulder, as Bucky starts the bath. Steve huffs out a laugh, forever amazed at how much Tony can handle.
“Sure thing sugar. We’re just gonna get you cleaned up.” Bucky says as he kisses Tony gently, and Steve absorbs the way Tony’s contended smile stretches across his face when he looks at Bucky. It’s all worth it, Steve thinks, to be able to come home to this.
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Request by TheIronyOfItAll
Hey can I request one of Chanyeol and Jimin where they are a couple and every time they try to get freaky their band mates interrupt them, until one day they feel bad about it and rent a hotel room for them? Oh and can it have smut? Please and I love your writing!
Word count: 2435
Jimin didn’t know how much of this he could take. It was getting beyond a joke.
All he wanted was to spend some quality intimate time with his boyfriend but every time they had been interrupted by one of their band mates. The frustrating part was that they didn’t even do it on purpose. Like, who would actually want to walk in on two people trying to get it on in the first place?
Jimin didn’t count himself as someone who was prone to suffer through bouts of sexual frustration but when it had been months since the last time he had had sex with Chanyeol one was bound to develop at least mild levels of sexual frustration. They didn’t get to meet up all that often so it hard to even try. But when they did manage to get together and try to get it on they would be unintentionally cock blocked by their members. The mood would be completely ruined and their boners would soften. They wouldn’t even bother trying to get the mood back up.
Their members would apologise profusely and while Jimin knew they were completely and one hundred percent genuine in their attempts he still couldn’t help but feel annoyed and a little bitter.
With the amount of times it has happened he’s lost the ability to feel humility having being caught in far too many compromising positions to even care anymore. He just wanted Chanyeol’s dick up his ass, was that too hard of an ask?
He knew Chanyeol was just as frustrated as he was. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? They were healthy young men with active sex drives whose needs weren’t being met. It had come to a point where even Yoongi had started to feel upset for them and their unfortunate situation and that said something.
It seemed like the world was working against them.
That was until he and Chanyeol were handed an envelope by their respective leaders one day and their eyes opened comically wide when they saw what had been included in said envelope.
Everything looked normal at first. They had taken out the card only to open it and see a receipt for a two night stay at a hotel, one that had already been booked and payed for. Included in the card were messages from their members which made them blush beet red.
They didn’t know it they should feel touched or creeped out that their members were basically cheering them on to have sex. Their own personal cheer squad.
There was no questioning what was going to take up their time during their stay there and they were going to make the best of it.
~X~
As soon as they entered the room Chanyeol wasted no time in slamming Jimin up against the door. Jimin couldn’t contain the yelp that had escaped him despite the fact that he had been expecting the move. Chanyeol caged his small body in, hands on the door on either side of his head. Jimin had always loved their height difference, how Chanyeol towered over him, how his hand completely covered his own and how his hands would grasp at his hips like they could cover the entire expanse of them.
Chanyeol ground his hips against Jimin’s, the friction making them both groan as their interest began to grow. Jimin leaned his head back as the elder mouthed at his neck as he revelled in the feeling of the others cool lips on his hot skin. Jimin hisses as he feels a mild but sharp pain from Chanyeol nipping at his adams apple, the rapper chuckling lowly.
Jimin feels like he’s in heaven already and they had barely even started.
Chanyeol licks into his mouth and Jimin grants him entrance without a second thought. There tongues move together with practiced ease. While it may have been a while since they have had sex, this was something that they had still been able to enjoy as it took less effort and time on their parts. Jimin rolls his hips forward and smiles at the moan that his action brings out of the taller.
“Clothes off now.” Chanyeol growls, pulling Jimin off the door and walking them backwards with their lips still connected as they stripped out of their clothes. By the time they get to the bad Jimin is completely naked while Chanyeol only has his pants still resting on his hips. He pushed the younger only to the bed, Jimin bouncing once as he hits the mattress.
He watches as Chanyeol digs into his back pocket and pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom and places them on the bedside table. Chanyeol locks his lust filled eyes with Jimin as he slips both his pants and underwear off in one go, Jimin’s gaze wandering down his boyfriends chest to his fully erect cock standing proudly. Jimin licks his lips.
It had been to long since he’s had the pleasure of seeing it in all its glory.
If Chanyeol notices where his eyes are he doesn’t say anything but the twitch of his lips definitely indicates that he wasn’t ignorant to where his eyes had been drawn to.
The rapper kneels on the bed, Jimin spreading his legs on his own accord, Chanyeol coming to rest in the space between them. He drags his large hands up and down the youngers thick thighs carved from years of dancing. Chanyeol had always loved how full they were and they were no stranger to the attention Chanyeol loved to shower them with. He had to show his appreciation somehow.
Jimin had to bite his lip to restrain the sounds of frustration as his boyfriends hands got oh so close to his dick only for them to skip the area entirely and go all of the way up to his hip the where they rest for a moment before continuing up to his nipples.
“Patience Min.” Chanyeol tsked, finishing it off with a tweak of his nipple which makes Jimin arch of the bed. His nipples had always been sensitive and it’s something Chanyeol was well aware of. Jimin huffs but let’s Chanyeol continue on with his ministrations. While he may not fully appreciate how slow Chanyeol is being at the very moment he loves it when the elder worships his body, telling him just how perfect he is.
As someone who had and still does have problems with his own body image it makes him feel good about himself. He has Chanyeol to thank for his increased self-confidence.
Jimin whines when Chanyeol’s hand finally finds itself wrapped around his member and his hips thrust upwards into the elders hand. He gives a few teasing strokes before he removes that hand and Jimin nearly voices his annoyance at the move only to witness the elder reaching for the bottle of lube. He becomes hyper aware of everything around him as Chanyeol pops the cap on the bottle, pouring a generous amount of the think liquid onto his long fingers.
“It’s been a while so if you need me to slow down just tell me.” Chanyeol says earnestly.
Any other time Jimin would find the words sweet but right not he just wanted those fingers inside of him. “Just hurry up and get them in me. I can take anything you throw at me.” He says impatiently and nearly whimpers when he sees the challenge burning in the elders eyes, neving being one to back down from a challenge.
Chanyeol trails his lube slicked fingers down his cock which twitches at the contact. He cups Jimin’s balls and rolls them around and Jimin needs to grip the sheets to stop his hands from grabbing onto Chanyeol’s hands and dragging them to the spot he needs them. Chanyeol seems to take sympathy was he ceases his foreplay and circles one finger around his rim. When he finally slips it inside Jimin nearly sighs in relief.
He begins to work his slim finger in and out, adding in a second one soon after. Jimin knew more was to come but just the feeling of having two of Chanyeol’s fingers inside of him was nearly enough to have him coming on the spot. Sure, he had fingered himself in between the last time they had had sex but his fingers just weren’t the same. They didn’t have the same reach and width that the elders did.
He nearly didn’t feel Chanyeol slip in a third but the stretch this time has a little painful. He distracted himself by paying attention to Chanyeol face and the way it was set in a look of complete seriousness and determination just made him look all the more attractive than he already was.
He couldn’t help but hiss when a fourth was added. Chanyeol usually stopped at three but it had been so long and a little extra prep wouldn’t hurt. His entire body felt like it was on fire, red patches located all around his body. He could felt Chanyeol’s hot length against his inner thigh and it was slight but he could feel how Chanyeol would minutely slide it against his skin and knew the elder would not be able to keep himself restrained for much longer. And that’s what he was counting on.
“Yeol… hurry up.” He whined. “Please Yeol, I need you.” He could see as Chanyeol’s composure began to break. “Yeol I need you in me. Now.” And that did it.
Chanyeol removed his fingers and wiped his hand on the sheets. Again he reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the condom. He’s about to rip it open when he pauses and Jimin finds the corner of the packet pressed to hip lips. He pinches it with his teeth and Chanyeol pulls it, opening the packet. He quickly rolls it onto his length before squirting more lube onto his hand, jacking his cock a few times to spread the lube over his member.
“Okay, I’m going.” He warns before he slides in completely to the hilt, his balls flush against Jimin’s ass. Jimin moans loudly as he arches, his legs on impulse coming to wrap around Chanyeol’s waist.
“God yes!” he grunts as he adjusts to Chanyeol’s girth. Chanyeol was big, there was no denying that.
Chanyeol gives him a moment to get used to the feeling on him filling him up before his hips begin to move slowly back and forth. It was almost painful, how slow his was being. He tried to rotate his own hip but was stopped by Chanyeol holding him down with his large hands on his hips. Jimin makes a sound of distain and Chanyeol replies with a hard thrust of his hips that has him sliding further up the bed.
“You’re so fucking tight.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, his grip on Jimin’s hips hardening. Jimin is more than certain his hips will sport the tell-tale marks of the elders hands when this is over.
Jimin reaches up and latches onto Chanyeol’s hair and brings him forwards. Chanyeol’s hiss of pain is silenced by Jimin’s mouth on his own. The kiss is messy but neither of them care. Jimin’s cock is red and hard. It feels like he’s going to explode. He needs release and he needs it soon.
Jimin leans back which detaches their lips and Chanyeol instead sucks on the youngers neck. He screams when that spot inside him in finally hit. Chanyeol adjusts his angle so with every thrust the tip of his cock hits the youngers prostate. Jimin’s mouth is wide open as wonton moans spill out one after another, the volume increasing as Chanyeol ramps up the pace. Jimin has to grip the headboard to stop his head from slamming against it.
The sound of Chanyeol’s hips slapping into Jimin’s thighs is filthy and the sting adds to the overall pleasure. Jimin could feel his release coming. He removes of his hands from the headboard and places it on his dick. He moves his thumb over the slit and uses the pre come that had gathered there as lubricant to make the slide easier. He moves his hand to the same rhythm as Chanyeol’s thrusts.
“Shit, I’m close.” Chanyeol grunts out and Jimin responds with a moan that relays that he’s in the same position.
Chanyeol’s thrusts begin to lose their rhythm as he chases his release, all finesse thrown out of the window as that’s what becomes important.
Suddenly Jimin jacks his cock at a furious pace and it doesn’t take long for the walls to come down, come spurting out of it. It’s only a couple of trusts later that Chanyeol follows and Jimin can practically feel his cock pulse inside him.
Chanyeol nearly collapses onto Jimin but managed to catch himself in time. They’re both panting as they try and catch their breaths. They hadn’t lasted as long as what they usually had but when you factor in how long it had been and how sexually frustrated they were could you really blame them?
Chanyeol leans over and lands on his side, in doing so his cock slips out of Jimin’s hole making the younger whine at the loss. Jimin goes to curl into Chanyeol but is pushed away as the elder gets up and lethargically walks over to the bin and disposes of the condom. He comes back soon enough and with a bottle of water. Jimin gulps down half of it and relishes in the coolness of the liquid. He hands the bottle back to Chanyeol who finishes it off.
Chanyeol lies down and brings Jimin closer to him and Jimin rests his head on his chest, bringing his hand to rest above Chanyeol’s heart.
“Well… that was something.” Jimin comments and Chanyeol laughs.
“It definitely was.” There’s silence for a moment. “Want to go for round two?” Jimin hits the other on the chest.
“Not right now. My ass needs time to recover before you start pounding it again.” he chastises. “But when it does I’ll let you fuck me however and where ever you like.” He whispers into the elders ear and there no hiding the shiver that comes from Chanyeol.
By the end of their time at the hotel both were sated and exhausted and Jimin’s ass was sore but he didn’t mind one bit.
Jimin made sure they both sent thankyou texts to their members. After all, it was because of them that they finally got want they had wanted for so long.
|
"What are you doing here?
The words sounded less than welcoming and Arthur regretted saying them the moment he did. Somehow, he knew that Arel would not raise an eyebrow, a gesture copied by Lord Alric, and say that he felt flattered by Arthur's enthusiasm.
"The same as you," Arel said. "Looking for a chamber. With all those people, I'll be happy if I even find a cot that I'll need to share with only two people."
He wasn't jesting but something did not sound right. Arthur looked at him. "I thought Alynna had her own chambers here."
"She does," Arel agreed. "Or she did. With Errol."
His voice was even and Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to glimpse what the situation was. The answer didn't appeal to him. Arel's eyes were hiding nothing. There was nothing to hide. He and his new wife were not with each other, had never been, although Alynna had surely recovered from the birth of her last babe, Errol Gargalen's posthumus son.
"When asked, she agreed readily to give them up to whoever needed to be quartered there. She'll sleep with Elia's ladies."
Arthur stared at him. "Don't you care what people are going to think?"
Arel laughed now, harsh and bitter, and angry. "You seem unaware of what people are already thinking. Word has it that I killed Shanai so that I can wed a woman who can give me an heir."
Arthur's jaw dropped. "What? Who says this nonsense?"
"Everyone who likes a juicy gossip," Arel replied. "Like that girl, one of Elia's northern companions. I guess now bets will go just how long I am going to wait before I force myself onto Alynna demanding my conjugal rights. To procure the heir I killed Shanai for."
There was no accusation in his voice and still Arthur felt as foul as he had faced Elia this first time since leaving Dragonstone with Rhaegar a lifetime ago. He had been so close as his brother had lived through this nightmare but instead of being there for him, he had played a nursemaid to a wild woman-child.
"Stop repeating this nonsense," Vorian's voice said behind them, startling them both. They hadn't heard him opening the door, entering the small chamber that was still two times the size of Arthur's cell in the White Sword Tower. "Just because some fools have nothing better to do with their time, it doesn't mean you should sink to their level… I told Doran both of you were staying with me," he went on, having clearly decided that he had given the rumours enough attention. "In Alric's rooms. I suggest we go there now, so people who need this room can use it. Do you need help to collect your belongings, Arthur?"
"No," Arthur said. "Arel will do."
It felt weird to think how little belongings he had after all his years at King's Landing. Very soon afterwards, he entered the rooms that Doran's father now lived in when he was at Sunspear. And he froze.
His brother and uncle noticed his reaction and Vorian nodded. "He chose it this way in person," he said, as if Arthur had said something. "It isn't that Doran threw him in this dungeon. In fact, both he and Mellario were pretty appalled when Alric had this refurnished."
Darkness. All in this solar was stark, severe, serviceable. There were no books on the shelves, no items of art spread around. None of the things that had given the late Princess' husband joy. Nothing of beauty. Not one of the faces of his family that, in the rooms he had shared with Arianne, had stared at the newcomers from all around the rooms from statuettes, tapestries, and even wood. The solar was as devoid of life as Alric had been in the few days Arthur had seen him here after their arrival.
"You and Arel can take the couches," Vorian said. "I'll sleep in his bedchamber."
Arthur wasn't surprised but quite worried to see that the bed in the sleeping chamber was a narrow one. Hasn't Lord Alric taken a woman here? Not once since his lady wife's death? Even before, more likely. Arthur had heard about the Princess' long illness. It sounded quite unlikely that she would have been able to accept Alric in her bed. And for all his notoriety, he wasn't the man who would go to another woman as she lay dying.
"Is he going to come back?" Arthur asked, his voice soft, as if Alric, the way he had been once, could hear them from somewhere and bark a scathing reply. "To himself? Ever? You've known him since childhood. Is he going to overcome it?"
Vorian didn't hesitate – clearly, he had thought about it. "Perhaps," he said. "I think he can do it. Now, if he will – this, I cannot say. But I think that Elia might help – if she can get over her own misfortune. The Seven above see that Loreza isn't doing much for his spirits. Elvar's state isn't exactly encouraging him to return to life either."
"It isn't Loreza's job to recover just to make it easier on him," Arel said sharply. "And it isn't Elia's either! Or Elvar's!"
"I am not saying that it is," his uncle said calmly. "Arthur just asked about Alric." He gave Arthur a shrewd look. "Well, I suppose you can help Alric by helping Elia. Not that it's your job, as your brother is going to say. But you stand a good chance if what I've seen this far can serve as a reference point."
Arthur felt how his cheek became warm and he cursed his fair skin. Now, his brother had come out of his brooding and looking at him curiously. "Is it true? You and Elia? Who knew! What's been going on as I was away?"
"You'll be the first one to know when I get there myself," Arthur promised most sincerely. Had he ever thought that the six other Kingsguard could truly be his brothers? At this moment, it looked impossible to him to have ever believed so and yet he had. "What?"
"It's good to have you back," Arel said and then, without thinking, Arthur reached out. He wasn't pushed away, as he feared that he would be, for a moment. Instead, Arel returned his embrace with equal strength.
"It's good to be back."
Elia woke up to the sound of weeping – deep, heart-wrenching sobs that set her to alarm immediately. What had happened? She scrambled for the candle at her bedside and lit it just when, on the couch, Loreza stirred and looked at Alynna with bleary eyes. "You still weep at night," she murmured, her voice heavy with slumber.
Alynna sniffed. "You still drink all day and night long," she replied.
Loreza agreed readily. "You want some?" she offered generously and produced a bottle. When she filled a goblet, the wine sparkled dark as death. Elia looked away.
Alynna gave the bottle a speculative look.
"No one is going to drink tonight," Elia said firmly, kicked her covers away and loomed over her sister, holding her hand out. Loreza hid the bottle behind her back but that just gave Alynna a chance to take it easily and hand it to Elia.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her eyes cast down. "I didn't want to wake up either of you."
Impulsively, Elia sat on the couch and hugged both her and Loreza. "By the Seven, Alynna! I should be the one sorry! If it wasn't for me…"
"If it wasn't for him," Alynna said determinedly and sniffed again. "You did nothing wrong."
Neither did you, Elia thought, and yet you lost far more than I did. It was strange, how guilty she felt right now. She felt guilty even for feeling sorry for herself. She had lost her honour, her children's legacy, her crown, her pride – but her sister and cousin had lost loves. Alynna had lost the man she had turned a crown down for. What were Elia's woes compared to theirs!
"We'll get through this," she said determinedly while the three of them still held each other. Suddenly, she felt that she understood Doran's determination to keep her on the surface by the hair if need must far better. "I'll get you through this. You'll see. I'll take care of everything – starting with you."
She rose and took the bottle and goblet in the antechamber. Loreza whined indignantly.
"You can as well get used to it," Elia said sternly. "That was your last drop of wine for quite a while."
Loreza snorted. "Don't be ridiculous! You can't make me…"
"Try me," Elia said. "Doran gave me unlimited powers within this household. And my first order tomorrow morning would be that you not be served any wine. Any booze, in fact."
Growing up in the Water Gardens had showed her just how many cheap substitutes good wine had.
The other women were so stunned that Alynna stopped sniffing and Loreza actually gaped at Elia. I must look quite changed, Elia thought. "Go to sleep, my dears," she said. "Tomorrow, we rise at dawn to go to the market."
The last thing she saw before she blew the candle off was the sight of their stunned faces. She smiled and snuggled comfortably. For first time in more than a year, she was eager for the next day to come.
That night, Elia woke up a few more times, her dream troubled by the fear that she might oversleep. Almost every time, she heard Alynna's sobs but she could do little to help her. She couldn't give Errol back to her. Her father. Her brother. She could only offer comfort that was no good because at the end, they weren't there and when when Elia startled awake next time, Alynna was crying again. At least Loreza was in the merciful oblivion of drunken stupor. At least I have a father, no matter how low in spirits he is.
Finally, Elia rose a little before dawn and without hesitation nudged the other two awake.
"What?" Alynna groaned. "You were serious?"
"It's too early!" Loreza whined but Elia unceremoniously pulled their covers away.
"Get ready!" she ordered. "We're going to the market."
The furnaces had yet to stark cook the morning meals when their group of five women and three guards left the Old Palace. Coral Hightide was looking wide-eyed as the veils of morning mists retreated, turning the waking market into a magical place of abundance and colours. Even the Myrish merchants were at the ready, waiting for victims… err, clients. The girl watched, wide-eyed, as the ever so regal Princess started looking at roll after roll of silks and laces. Slowly, her sister and cousin's interest awoke, too, and Coral had to admit that there was certain charm in the chance to walk around a shop and examine whatever you want instead of being limited to what the merchant had deemed wise to bring to the castle. In no time at all, Elia had chosen two fabrics and insisted that Coral and Ashara choose something as well. The girl soon overcame her initial reluctance. She wasn't making the Princess give her gifts, right?
"And now, let's go to the fresh produce," Elia finally said. "With so many visitors, we should make sure that the kitchens are well-supplied, and only with truly fresh vegetables. The Mother knows how easy it is to get people sick because with such quantity of items, a rotten one is more likely to find its way through."
Coral's amazement reached a new high when, in the rising light, she saw how people reacted to Elia. They knew her; they must have seen here, in the markets, hundreds of times since she had been a child… "We're happy to have you back, Princess," an old man said quite incoherently through his fallen teeth. "The Seven will punish the King for what he did."
"Men can never be relied upon," a portly fisherwoman proclaimed as Elia examined her goods. "What a man would leave such a lovely woman!"
"The North will never rest easily for what they did to you there, Princess Elia," a man vowed. "We need no throne, iron or not!"
Coral could see how moved the Princess was – and how happy. Colour came to her cheeks, her eyes started shining – unlike the other lady, her cousin who looked so uncannily like her and who could barely hold her tears when people addressed her, as well. "Lord Errol was a good man, my lady. I am so sorry for your loss."
"It was the greatest love story known to Dorne. You could have been queen and you refused, all for love!"
"Your father was the greatest head this fleet has ever had. And he was so handsome."
"They will be avenged. Dorne will not forget them."
The lady was weeping again and Coral was all curiosity about this Errol. If Alynna could reject Lord Dayne for him, then he must have been at least equal to the Warrior…
As if brought over by her thoughts, Lord Dayne arrived with sunrise, tall and handsome, the sunrays turning his black hair unexpectedly vibrant. Coral barely tore her eyes off him to the man at his left. She needed a moment to recognize Ser Arthur. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him in something other than Kingsguard white but here, he looked changed. As if he were another man.
"Why so early, ladies?" he asked with the air of long acquaintance. Coral nodded. Another man, yes. She had never heard him address the Princess of Dragonstone, the short-lived queen with such familiarity. "Something that was so important to buy that you couldn't wait?"
"We have a palace to feed, after all," Elia replied. "What about the two of you?"
He shrugged, looking sheepish. "I just wanted to… feel the city, I guess. And Arel was so good to keep me company. So, except for foods, did you buy something for yourselves?"
"Some silks," Elia said and then laughed. "I'm afraid we got carried away, so when we saw some wooden bracelets, we didn't have the money for them. Alynna is still disappointed," she added, pointing at her cousin who was standing a few steps away, still looking at the cheap but beautiful straps of coloured wooden beads.
Arel went to her. "Which one do you want?" he asked and Alynna shook her head.
Her answer was too low for them to hear but Arel's next words filled the gaps. "Alynna, it's nothing, really. Let me do this small thing for you. I am your husband."
A few moments later, the lady returned with a bright string of yellow and violet on her wrist and Coral felt a vague twinge of disappointment that was cut short by the icy look Lady Loreza gave her. She looked down and didn't say a word until they returned to the palace, even when Ser Arthur offered to buy the Princess the wooden jewels that she liked and she accepted.
"I don't care what you say," Elia suddenly announced when she was done with her morning tasks. Her head was pulsing but not quite throbbing yet and she didn't have the time to lie down for a rest. She ordered a cup of tea, hoping that it would make both her head and the babe happy. Looks like she liked it at the market, she thought, delighted. After a few kicks, the babe had quieted down, as if the noise and Elia walking had soothed it to sleep. The sitting position was less to its liking, it seemed, and it couldn't get comfortable. "I am going to the Water Gardens. I want to see Father."
Doran looked up from his parchment. "Very well, I'll send some letters with you."
Elia and Oberyn looked at each other, amazed. "Very well?" Oberyn repeated. "I thought you had forbidden her to go to the Water Gardens."
Doran sighed with the air of someone who had long suffered other people's jumps to conclusions. Arianne looked confused from her father to her uncle and finally Elia. "You did forbid Aunt to go there," she said, corroborating Oberyn's doubts.
Elia was relieved to hear this. At this point, a few moments later she would have started doubting if such a conversation had ever taken place.
Doran sighed again and looked at his daughter, as if he had forgotten that she was here. He might well have – when he was working, Arianne could be very quiet indeed, or he'd evict her in the most cruel way. "Do you not want to go to your mother?" he asked. "It's quite boring here."
"No," the girl stated flatly.
Doran looked at his siblings. "I forbade her to go hiding into the Water Gardens," he explained. "Feeling sorry for herself. Going to see Father is another thing. Besides," he added and smiled, "she'll barely have two or three days to spend there. We'll have a grand reception only two weeks from today. She'll have lots of work."
"Indeed," Elia murmured, stirring so the wooden beads on her ankle rattled – a sound that delighted her no less than it had Rhaenys who had insisted that she got the same bracelet. She intended to take all sorts of books and archives with her at the private residence but even so, Doran was off with no more than a day or two.
Oberyn looked disgruntled. "When I told you that I was going to see Father, you said no."
Doran rolled his eyes. "Are you trying to compare yourself to Elia, Brother? Elia won't try to needle him out of his grief thinking that she's helping. Elia won't tell him that he's wasting his life away and isn't he going to get a grip over himself already? Elia has tact."
Oberyn snorted, reached for the closest cup available, noticed too late that it was Elia's tea and almost snorted it through his nose.
"Tact!" he spat after he got his breathing under control. "You've been nothing but tactful this far – and see where it has brought him! You still think that your way is the better way? We're losing our father, Doran, just as surely as we lost Mother, and I can't believe that you – all of you! You! Grandmother! Uncle Mikkel! – are just sitting idle and let him sink further. And when I try to do something, you actually prevent me from doing so!"
Indeed, Elia agreed inwardly.
Doran, however, looked unmoved. He only stared at Oberyn silently, not denying the accusations. No. He even smiled, weakly. "Do you remember that time nine years ago when we were in Essos? We were hunting along the Rhoyne. We saw a lion – even in Essos, it was a rare beast – and Father wounded it with his spear. We found it dead the next day in its lair. It had hidden there to fight death alone. But if it had pulled through, it would have emerged from the dark cave again in the light, strong and fierce…"
Oberyn looked down, his face stricken. Elia felt uncomfortable looking at him, so she trained her eyes on Arianne instead. Doran didn't add anything either.
"Have you seen him do it before?" Oberyn finally asked. "Pull through?"
"Yes," Doran replied. "I have."
Elia could only hope that she'd see the same thing. Because, while Doran might be right in his assessment, Oberyn was right about his as well: their father was losing all the things that made him.
"That's a lie!"
Bony fingers gripped Lyanna's hand and yanked her back to her seat. "Sit down!" the Queen Mother hissed in her ear. "Do not behave like a screeching peasant woman!"
Pycelle had paused uncomfortably, not quite sure what to do. The King, his face stony, nodded at him to go on but Lyanna spoke again, "It isn't true! Only the gods know what they're hoping to win with this lie. Elia Martell is barren and even if she isn't, the child is not Rhaegar's! It can't be!"
She looked at him to see his own rage at the accusation his embittered former wife had thrown against him. She found none.
Could it be true? No, Rhaegar had told her that he'd repudiate Elia. That he had never loved her. Why would he bed her when he had already decided to send her away? He was no Robert, unable to control his urges. He loved Lyanna. It was all a plot whose purpose she could not understand.
Now, all members of the Small Council looked uncomfortable, avoiding to look at either her or Rhaegar.
"Keep reading," her husband said again icily.
The rest of the letter buzzed around Lyanna's ears, not making its way to her head. Everything was like Rhaegar had expected. Secession. End of diplomatic relationships. Some accusations of dishonourable treatment. All Lyanna could think about was the outrageous claim about the babe that was not Rhaegar's. That did not even exist, most likely.
"Well?" she asked as soon as her husband entered her solar later in the afternoon. "What are you going to do about that?"
He gave her a dark look. "As a start, I won't let you to be present at the meetings of the Small Council."
She gaped. "What?"
He waved her handmaidens away. "How can I when you show such lack of control? The Small Council deals with important business, not little girls' outbursts."
Lyanna stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. Now the focus was on her behavior? Not on the fact that he was being described as a monster who had sent his faithful wife away as she was carrying his child?
"Don't you care about the things they're saying about you!" she exclaimed. Oh, she knew about all the things people said about her but they were not to break her. But this was another thing altogether. The merest hint that Rhaegar could be unfaithful to her when their love had cost her so much was enough to bring her wolf blood onto the surface in a gush of blood – hers, and not only. "Even if there is a babe – which you told me is impossible, - only the Seven know who the father is. She must have had an old flame in Dorne if she got with child right away. They're trying to blame it on you, on top of all the other things people blame us about already."
His face went red – for the first time since she knew him. She ground her teeth, holding her ground. Something very strange was taking place here and she was determined to learn what it was.
"Listen to me," he said, very softly, each word pronounced clearly. "This isn't like the things they say about us – the untrue ones, I mean. Doran Martell wouldn't say that there is a child if there isn't. Now, all the world will be looking at them. He's too smart to take such a risk. And there is no flame of Elia's in Dorne. The child is my child. And while I didn't do any of it maliciously, the fact is that I wronged Elia and my children in a most grievous way. I now must think of how to contain the damages to the Seven Kingdoms because, really, I can think of no way to contain the damages I did to her and our babes."
"What about the damage you did to me!" Lyanna yelled. "What about my babe!"
There was only one way for him to think that the babe was his. She had lost her father, Brandon, Ned's love, and the lives of all those best men of the North because of her love for a man who cherished it no more than Robert would have.
She screamed and lunged for him with fists and teeth.
|
She hadn't bothered shopping for a new dress.
If she was being honest, she didn't see the point in dressing up as fancy as she could to go to a dance with her friends. School discos back at home never involved wearing pretty dresses, so Bonnie went with something casual but pretty that was already hanging in her closet.
Usually, dresses were her go-to outfit, but she couldn't wear them in winter. A school dance was a perfect excuse to get out one of her favourite pink ones. Makeup wasn't much of an issue either – she just did what she usually did and kept it fairly minimal. Simplicity was what she was going for.
She beamed when she heard the doorbell ring, and assumed it was one of her friends here to pick her up. She sprayed herself with her bubblegum perfume and then headed down the stairs, pausing midway when Marshall was stood in the hallway, making awkward conversation with Peter.
"Marshall?" Bonnie frowned, "I thought Jake was picking me up."
Marshall flashed her one of his lopsided grins. "Yeah, there was a change of plan. Jake's car was too full so my sister is dropping us off."
Bonnibel's expression soured. "Your sister?"
That was a great way to start her evening; an encounter with Marceline. Fabulous. No doubt there'd be some obnoxious comment about how her dress didn't fit her right or her glasses were awkward or something of that nature.
"Yeah. I never passed my driving test, so- uh, she's the one with the car." He let out an awkward laugh. "I'm going to try and pass my test again, though. Marceline isn't coming with us to the dance, if that's why you're looking so worried."
At least there was a little bit of good news. She'd only have to deal with Marceline for the ten minute drive to school. "Alright then. I can be civil for ten minutes."
He cringed. "You two didn't get off to such a good start, huh?"
"Not at all," Bonnibel let out a soft laugh and looked over to Peter, "What time should I be home for?"
"Ten at the latest," He squeezed her shoulder in a comforting manner, "Have fun. I'll wait up for you."
"Alright," Bonnie smiled at him and followed Marshall out of the door. Being outside kind of made her regret her decision to wear a dress, but she knew that she'd be fine once they were at school and inside. No doubt the gym would be cramped and far too hot.
She jumped backwards when Marshall put a hand on the small of her back, and smiled gratefully when he put a small amount of distance between them. Unexpected contact wasn't her thing.
(Contact with people she isn't close with wasn't her thing either.)
She followed Marshall to Marceline's car – he jumped in the front seat, and she resolved to sit in the back, as far away from Marceline as she could get.
Unfortunately, Marceline decided to talk to her.
(Well, more like talk about her.)
"I can't believe she's your date." Marceline didn't bother to keep her voice quiet. In fact, Bonnie could've sworn she was speaking louder than usual. "She's so…uptight. Not to mention prissy."
Bonnie rolled her eyes as Marshall replied. "Shut up, Marceline. Bonnibel's nice to people that aren't…well, you."
"I'm nice to everyone, Marshall," Bonnie corrected him, "as long as they're nice to me."
He laughed, "I don't see why anyone wouldn't be nice to you."
"I can think of a few reasons," Marceline muttered under her breath, but it was loud enough for Bonnie to catch it. That was probably on purpose.
"Ugh, you're so-" Usually Bonnibel would've finished that sentence, but she didn't. For Marshall's sake. He was her friend, and she didn't want to push him away by retaliating to his sister's ridiculous comments. That was what Marceline wanted, anyway. She was purposefully trying to get under Bonnie's skin to get a reaction.
It was obvious.
Bonnie decided to keep her mouth shut on the ride to the school dance. Whatever Marceline thought about her, she didn't care. It wasn't like Bonnie wanted to be within fifty feet of her anyway.
Not acknowledging Marceline's existence worked rather well, actually. She chatted with Marshall for most of the drive and listened to him recount a story about the time he fell off stage while playing with his band.
Occasionally, Marceline would make a sarcastic comment about her – usually something about her attitude – but Bonnie would act like she didn't hear it. Her personal favourite was 'your glasses are so big that you look like Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter'. Not because she liked being likened to the weird character, but because it was a Harry Potter reference, coming from the girl who walked around attempting to intimidate everyone.
Not once did Marceline turn around to get her attention with these remarks. They faded eventually, and she was the one keeping her mouth shut when they pulled up outside school.
"Thanks for the ride, Marce," Marshall grinned at her, "Don't worry about picking us up, we'll figure something out."
Marceline nodded in response to him and then finally craned her neck to look at Bonnibel. Idiotically, Bonnibel let out a soft gasp when she stared back at Marceline. Her left eye was bruised and blackened and she found it hard to believe that it wasn't swollen shut. That looked painful. So painful that Bonnibel's stomach lurched at the sight, but not in a disgusted way. In a weird way.
Bonnibel clenched her jaw, which had been hanging open in her initial shock. She wasn't going to be sympathetic.
In fact, she was going to show Marceline how little she cared about her.
She let out an amused scoff. "Wow. Really, Marceline? A black eye?"
There wasn't a response. Just a scowl and Marceline's hands tightening around the steering wheel. Good. Shows that I'm right.
"You know, when people told me you got yourself into fights, I planned on giving you the benefit of the doubt." Bonnie lied. In reality, she'd planned on staying away. She still did plan on staying away. "But apparently, you're no better than the rumours about you. Shouldn't have expected anything, should I?"
With that, Bonnibel climbed out of the car after Marshall and headed into the dance with a triumphant smile on her face. There. That was bound to make Marceline stop being so immature and insulting her every few seconds. That's what you were supposed to do, right? Stand up people.
Marshall sent her an awkward smile. "Can I ask why you two don't really like each other?"
Bonnibel scowled. Marceline was the last thing she wanted to think about while she was out with her friends. She was supposed to be having fun.
"She's just too…abrasive." That was putting it lightly, but she was doing it for his sake. If she had been talking to someone like Lady, she wouldn't hold back. "And rude. Our personalities clash and I don't think I'd be able to get along with her even if we were a thousand miles apart and talking over Twitter."
Actually, Bonnie thought that Marceline would probably be even more annoying across the internet. There would be no reason to hold back anything she says on there, considering she'd be hidden behind a screen.
"Fair," Marshall looked a little disappointed, "but you should know that she's cool once she's comfortable with you."
Bonnie interpreted that as 'try harder', but she didn't want to. She had no desire to be friends with someone that ended up with a black eye just because she went out at the weekend. Violent people weren't good people.
"Eh, whatever," Bonnie's response was coupled with a casual shrug, "So, where are we meeting everyone else?"
It was Marshall's turn to shrug. He pulled his phone from his pocket, presumably to check for any texts from Finn or Jake. "They haven't called to let me know where they are. I guess they'll be inside, but I wasn't sure what time they'd be setting off."
"They probably came around the same time we did," Bonnie smiled gratefully as he held the door to the gym open for her, "We'll see them inside, most likely."
"Yeah," Marshall didn't look all that concerned about their friends, "so, what made you want to come to the dance tonight?"
"I've never really been to a school dance before. Not a semi-formal one like this, anyway." Bonnie explained, "Obviously I went to my year eleven prom at home, but it wasn't like I had a big group of friends to party with. Bubba was my date and I had a lot of fun with him, though."
"Bubba?" Marshall raised an eyebrow, "Should I feel threatened by this Bubba guy?"
Bonnibel didn't know why he'd be threatened in the first place. She was allowed to be friends with more than one boy. Weird.
Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, Bonnibel let out an awkward laugh and replied, "No, Bubba is my best friend from home. He offered to take me to prom since he couldn't find a date and there wasn't anyone that I liked in the year."
"All the guys there weren't your type, eh?" Marshall nudged her with his elbow and she shifted uncomfortably. "That sucks. Maybe there's someone here that you'll like."
"Yeah, maybe. I've never had much of an interest in dating, really. It just seems kind of…trivial." Bonnie murmured. She spied Lady over by the punchbowl, and before Marshall could respond to her, quickly cut in, "I'm going to say hello to Lady. I'll be right back."
"Okay," Marshall blinked in confusion as she walked away from him. She heard him mutter something else, but she didn't quite catch it.
Bonnibel sent Lady a smile to grab her attention. "Hey. When did you get here?"
"About ten minutes ago," Lady held up an empty cup, "Punch?"
Bonnibel glanced down at the liquid and shook her head. "No thanks. Why didn't you text me?"
Lady frowned, "What do you mean?"
"To say that Jake's car was full." Bonnibel explained. Marshall had told her that there had been a change of plans because of Jake's car, but none of her friends had called to explain.
(Just another instance of her being forgotten about.)
Apparently, Lady remembered. The way she smacked her free hand to her forehead was kind of a giveaway. "Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you but then Elle had a dress mishap and threw a huge tantrum. It kind of slipped my mind amidst all the yelling. Sorry."
"It's okay," Bonnie accepted her apology and glanced over at the table all of her friends were sat at. From where she was stood, Elle's dress was fine. Finn and Jake were both looking dapper and Phoebe and Fionna were both really beautiful.
Elle was by far the most dolled up, though. Her purple dress was impossibly frilly and reminded Bonnie of something that she'd see a queen or a princess wear to an extravagant ball. Definitely not suitable for a school dance. Her makeup was…experimental? Honestly, Bonnibel couldn't think of a good word to describe it.
But hey, if Elle wanted to wear bright purple eyeshadow, she should go ahead and do it. Bonnie wasn't one to judge.
Besides, everyone knew that Elle wasn't very familiar with the term subtlety.
"Are you going to come and sit with us?" Lady asked her, her gaze not entirely focused on Bonnie. Her smile shifted to more of a devious smirk. "I think Marshall's waiting for you."
Bonnie cast a quick glance over at Marshall, and sure enough, he was stood right where she'd left him. "Oh. Uh, I think I'd rather sit down. I feel like he wants to dance and I'm not much of a dancer."
If she wasn't mistaken, Lady looked slightly disappointed at that. Maybe she'd hoped that Bonnibel would branch out and try new things? Or be more extroverted, considering they weren't in an academic environment?
"Alright then," Lady beamed at her, "Come on."
She followed Lady over to her other friends and sent them a smile, collapsing into one of the spare seats. She was going to relax for a few minutes and then work her way into the conversation.
It wasn't long before Marshall sat down next to her.
"Hey again." He flashed her a smile. "Do you want some punch?"
"No, thanks." Bonnibel waved a hand in dismissal. She didn't mean to be rude and she appreciated chivalry, but she'd rather just… sit. Take things in before she did anything. She hadn't quite grasped the general schema yet. "You don't need to offer, though. If I want some, I'll get it for myself. I'm not that important."
"Just trying to be gentlemanly." He held his hands up in defence and Bonnibel felt a little guilty. She hadn't meant to cause any offence. "Would you like to dance?"
Just as she'd predicted, he'd already asked. She felt a little awkward; dancing involved touching, and Bonnibel didn't feel like she was comfortable enough with him for that. Except she felt like she'd alienated him already and didn't want to make him think that she didn't want to be his friend.
She settled for something elusive. "Maybe later. I think I'm just going to relax for a while."
His face fell and she felt something sink in her chest. It was only for a second, though, before his hopeful expression came back full force. "Well, if you're not down for dancing, maybe we could do something a little more your style some other time. Not a school organised thing, if you know what I mean."
She frowned in confusion. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean."
"Uh," Marshall laughed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, "I mean like… a date. Kind of. Maybe. If you're down for that. I was thinking next Friday night, maybe. We could go bowling or something more exciting than that if you want."
Bonnibel blinked at him. He'd just asked her out. She really didn't know how she felt about that. "Um, no. Sorry, Marshall. I like you, but not in that way. It's just- I don't want to ruin our friendship because of this…"
She trailed off, unsure how to finish. All she knew was that she didn't like Marshall like that.
"Oh," His face fell again and Bonnibel's guilt came back, ten times more than before. "That's alright. I'll just- um,"
Bonnie watched as he stood up and walked over to his friend who was the DJ for the night, across the other side of the room. She assumed he needed his space after that.
Trying to push her guilt from her mind, she pulled her phone from the little purse she'd brought with her for a distraction.
She was surprised when she already had a text.
Unknown (7:16PM): do you ever feel like you just shouldn't exist
Bonnibel blinked in confusion. Usually, her anonymous friend was the comforter and she was the comfortee.
Bonnibel (7:28PM): Very existential. If it makes you feel any better, I'd be super sad if you didn't exist. I like being able to talk to you about things. You're a really good friend of mine and I don't even know your name. All I know is that you're a girl and you're friends with Keila.
Bonnibel (7:29PM): I'm sending you virtual hugs right now, friend. :) x
She hoped that was good enough to cheer someone up. Usually when somebody was upset around her, Bonnibel made as many dorky comments as she could and told them silly anecdotes to get their mind off things.
Unknown (7:30PM): thanks
Unknown (7:30PM): I don't know I just... feel like everyone would be better off if I'd never existed. I just drag everyone down and I'm useless and it's like… why does anybody care about me
Unknown (7:31PM): why do you even care about me
Unknown (7:31PM): you seem like you're so much better than this. than me.
Bonnibel read over the texts multiple times before replying. She wanted to be one hundred percent certain that she'd shut down all of her friend's self-doubts.
Bonnibel (7:31PM): You're so good at making people feel better. You've made me feel better so many times and given me awesome advice. Without that, I'd have a lot of unsolved predicaments on my hands. And I care about you because even though I don't know you, I can tell that you're an amazing person. You're kind hearted, funny and talented. You're probably really pretty. If anyone's the better person here, it's you. Fifteen minutes ago I put someone down just for the sake of it and I'm already regretting that. You don't seem like the type to do that.
Bonnibel (7:32PM): I wish I had a name to call you by. So I could reassure you properly. I feel like you might claim that I don't know you because I don't know your name, but I care about you. And I'd be very sad if you just disappeared.
Bonnibel smiled, satisfied with her reasoning. Hopefully her friend would see that she's worth something and not feel so down. Bonnie hated it when her friends were down, and she felt even more powerless in this type of situation where she couldn't buy her a chocolate bar or something.
Unknown (7:34PM): call me m.
Bonnibel blinked down at the screen. She hadn't been expecting that response. It took a moment, but she eventually smiled and typed back.
Bonnibel (7:34PM): Hi, M. Call me B. :)
Marceline paused, staring down at her phone one more time and reading B's reassurances. She'd been parked outside the building for at least a half hour, waiting for the right moment to go inside. It wasn't like she hadn't been here before, but every time she came, she felt…off. Like something bad was going to happen.
(The fact that she looked like she'd just been mugged really wasn't reassuring, either.)
But someone thought she was worth something. It didn't matter that the prissy princess had been a little bitch and insulted her like she had. B believed in her. She had someone.
She pushed open her car door and took in a deep breath. No turning back. She tucked her phone in her pocket with a smile and walked towards the building, knocking on the door. She waited until she heard feet shuffling a quiet murmurs, putting on a smile when the door swung open.
She awkwardly waved, hoping that it'd be casual enough to distract him from her eye. "Hey."
"Marceline," Simon didn't look all too pleased with her as he beckoned her inside, "what the hell happened to you?"
"Um…I hit myself with a cupboard door while making green tea." Marceline was thankful that Simon wasn't one to buy into the constant rumours that she'd hurt herself from fighting. She wasn't an aggressive person and was grateful that she had one person who believed that. Even if he didn't know about said rumours. "I know. I'm a klutz."
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and worked on making them coffees. "You really need to be more careful. I remember when you were younger and you nearly hit yourself with that guitar. I don't know what you were doing swinging it around like you were."
"I think I was trying to be a rockstar." Marceline let out a soft laugh, relieved that he hadn't pushed her more about her injury. She could relax now. "I don't know, I was a weird kid."
"Was?" Simon raised an eyebrow in amusement and she rolled her eyes as best she could. "You're still a weirdo, Marcy. Hanging around with me when you could be out with your friends on a Friday night."
"They're all at the school dance. Not my thing." Marceline reminded him. She didn't like being at school for any longer than she had to be. "Besides, I like hanging with you. You'll marathon Star Wars movies with me."
"I suppose you being here is better than you being with that Ash fellow." Simon mumbled to himself as he turned to grab the coffees. "You're not still hanging around with him, are you?"
Marceline coughed and glanced down at her feet. "I don't know. Kind of."
Simon sighed and she cringed. The last thing she wanted was somebody else to think she was a disappointment. "You shouldn't be doing that. But, if he makes you happy…"
Ash didn't make her happy. Far from it. But she had other reasons for being with him.
No. Someone else was the source of her happiness, lately. "I made a new friend."
"Really?" The way Simon's face lit up and how proud he looked made Marceline feel much better. "What's their name? Tell me all about them."
"I like to call her B. She's in my grade and she's sixteen. I met her because of Keila." Marceline reeled off all the things she knew to be fact about B. "She's really cool. I like her a lot and we have some things in common but there are differences, too."
"It's nice that you've made another friend, Marcy. I'd like to meet her one day." Simon adjusted his glasses and sipped on his coffee, and Marceline couldn't help but agree with the latter half of that. Yeah, she thought, I'd like to meet her one day too. "How's Marshall doing? He doesn't come over as regularly as you do."
"He's fine. He said he had a date tonight with the new girl at our school." Marceline sunk down in her chair at the mention of Bonnibel. "I don't like her."
"You don't like most people, Marcy." Simon let out a soft laugh. "I'm sure she's nice enough once you get to know her. Your brother wouldn't like her if she wasn't a nice girl."
"Either that or my brother isn't using his two remaining brain cells very well." Marceline muttered and folded her arms across her chest. "She's so pretentious with her stupid accent and the way she thinks she's so much better than everyone."
"Accent? So she's from abroad. I'm sure your brother is just attracted to her because she's from a different background. That kind of thing is enthralling." Simon explained to her.
Marceline shook her head in protest. "It's not that, it's just- she seems to have everyone else under this little spell of hers. She has everyone wrapped around her little finger and it's so annoying. It's like I'm the only person who can see her for what she really is. Even Dad likes her. He likes her so much that he's paired her with me on some stupid project just because he thinks she'll influence me."
Calmly, Simon shushed her and spoke. "Does this girl happen to be good at science?"
"Yes," Marceline reluctantly admitted, "she's crazy good at it. Why is that important?"
"Because that's probably why your father likes her. Hunson has always taken a liking to people with scientific minds. Why do you think we're friends?" Simon chuckled lightly in an attempt to release the tension in the room. "He probably paired you up because he knows that this girl is good at the subject and you'll do well on the project with someone who favours the analytical and factual side of their brain over the creative one."
"She's still a pretentious asshole though." Marceline was adamant on that fact. "I would work better with Keila."
Simon sent her a knowing look. "No, you wouldn't." At her sheepish smile, he nodded towards the lounge. "Come on then. Now that you seem slightly less upset, let's marathon the Star Wars movies."
Marceline beamed and followed him into the lounge, her brother's 'date' with Bonnibel completely slipping her mind.
|
Cheryl Thomson arrived at Sherman High School in Potoxy, GA to begin her new teaching job. She was very excited to get this opportunity. While her husband Rob earned enough money so that she didn't need to work, she had gone back to school to get a masters degree in education and wanted to use it now that she finally finished the program. Rob was a trader and could relocate his office anywhere as he did everything over the internet and he felt lucky to find lower cost labor with good education just outside of Potoxy.
Cheryl felt very lucky to land this job. At 41 years of age, she was well past the typical graduation age for a recent grad student, but she didn't regret taking time away from her goals so she could raise two wonderful children, John who was 20 and Lisa who was 18. Also, now that John was already in college and Lisa was off to college, Cheryl felt she could use this time to get back into the workforce.
She had taken great care in dressing today also. One source of embarrassment for her was her breasts. Prior to the birth of her children, the were a large and firm 36C, but following the pregnancies they enlarged to a 40D, before reducing slightly over the years until now they were a 38DD. What embarrassed her was she came from a very religious household where bodily sin and shame of her good looks were preached to her from her father and mother. Although Rob was able to get her pregnant and still found her body incredibly exciting, he stopped trying after years of rejection as Cheryl was taught sex was for pregnancy and she had already given birth to her two babies, and did her duty raising them, so now it was time to work.
Her attire consisted of a loose-fitting white blouse, as well as loose-fitting black skirt and matching black blazer jacket. Even though she had made it a specific point not to look overly sexual, but with her body, which in addition to her large breasts consisted of a slim waist and womanly curved hips rounding to a perfectly shaped ass, there was not a clothing choice Cheryl could make that did not just exude sex appeal. Yet sex appeal was the furthest thing from Cheryl's mind as she only wanted to look professional and pure for her first day of what would hopefully be a long and successful teaching career.
Cheryl drove her car into the teacher's parking area, but almost all the spots were filled. She noticed a sign for the janitor's parking space and felt it strange a janitor would have a dedicated space, but also felt lucky that there was a free space next to it and she pulled in, put her Audi A4 in park, gathered her purse and some supplies, and walked towards the school.
Walking towards the school, Cheryl heard a few catcalls and whistles, but didn't think anything of it. Her teacher training had emphasized not to show reactions to the students and their overactive hormones and also thought they could be whistling at someone else as there were high school girls near her as well. As she approached the front door, she realized she had forgotten the way to the school office and saw several large black students to her right and two smaller and pimply faced white students to her left. She felt safer going to her left to ask the two white students directions to the office.
"Excuse me," stated Cheryl to the two white students, "could you point me in the direction of the school office?" she asked.
Both boys looked up at Cheryl in awe of her beauty. More precisely, they were in awe of her breasts and stared openly. One of the boys began to stutter... "Ummm... umm..."
Cheryl quickly interjected, "Boys, my eyes are up here..." pointing to her eyes and laughing a little bit to try and lighten the situation, but again hearing her mother's voice in the back of her head telling her that men are sexual animals and one must resist those urges as they came from the devil.
The boys laughed nervously and looked at her face, which was also beautiful, but kept sneaking glances at her breasts which Cheryl noticed and felt her face beginning to flush a little in embarrassment.
Just then, one of the sets of the front doors to the school opened and an elderly African American man in overalls exited and walked straight towards her and extended an open hand and inquired, "Mrs. Thomson I presume? I'm Claude Johnston, the janitor here at Sherman High School. Principal White asked me to be on the lookout for you today."
Cheryl stared at the coal black face which was topped by silvery white hair and although he was of an intimidating size since her towered over her 5'5" frame with him being 6'5" tall. The one thing that amazed her though was how fit he was. Then she thought that maybe the overalls hid any excess fat Mr. Johnston might have. She extended her hand, timidly at first, but then more confidently, and answered, "Thank you so much Mr. Johnston, you're a lifesaver, as I forgot where the office was."
"Then it is both of our lucky days Mrs. Thomson, as I got to greet you first, and I DO know where the office is," laughed Mr. Johnston, "And please call me Claude, almost everyone else does. Either that or Janitor Claude."
"Of course, Mr. umm... I mean, Claude," said Cheryl a little sheepishly. The two then entered the school, saw many students at their lockers, different groups and cliques huddling together as they walked by and finally they walked into the school office.
"Why you must be Mrs. Thomson," said the woman behind the office countertop in a thick southern drawl, "welcome to both Potoxy and Sherman High School. I'm Mrs. Harris, the lead administrative secretary here, and why don't you take a seat. Can I get you a coffee? Would you like to use the washroom to freshen up before you meet with Principal White?"
Cheryl almost giggled hearing the name White, as, except for the two nerdy white boys outside the school, almost everyone she has seen at Sherman High School has been black. "Why yes, a coffee would be nice, and I would like to freshen up quickly, thank you," answered Cheryl.
Claude smiled in a grandfatherly way, smiled and put his finger to his lips in a "Shhhh..." way and said, "Let me guide you to the executive washroom, it is much nicer, oh, and how do you like your coffee? I do say we have the best cream with the local farms here and all..."
"Why thank you Mr. J... I mean Claude. I will try the cream," answered Cheryl and then Claude showed her the back of the office with an immaculately clean and well-designed washroom. There were brushes, combs, hairsprays, and even mouthwash. Cheryl couldn't believe her luck as she noticed some of her hair had become a bit ruffled from the wind on the drive and walk over to the school.
As she exited the washroom, Claude greeted her again with a cup in each of his hands. One hand held a full-sized mug and the other hand held a miniature sized cappuccino-sized cup. He smiled and said, "Here you go Mrs. Thomson, the mug is for your sit-down with the principal and this little mug is for a little quick caffeine jolt," and he handed her the smaller of the two mugs. "Go ahead, you can drink this one like a quick shot."
Cheryl took the miniature-sized coffee cup and looked inside at the thick, rich, foamy surface and placed it at her lips and dipped her tongue inside to test the temperature. The thick cream had a strange taste, but Cheryl figured it must just be the difference between fresh squeezed milk and store-bought processed milk. The coffee drink under the cream had a sweet taste and Cheryl lifted the shot-glass sized mug up to gulp down the drink in one fell swoop. At least she tried to, the thick cream sat in the back of her throat and Cheryl had to gulp about three times for it to finally go down her throat.
Claude smiled and reached out his hand to retrieve the smaller cup from Cheryl while at the same time handing her the larger of the two coffee cups. "How was it?" he asked.
Cheryl had to ahem several times to clear her throat, as the thickness of the cream almost felt like the phlegm from a sinus infection still sitting at the rear of her mouth. She also worried as, in addition to the aftertaste in her mouth, her toothpaste-fresh breath now had a strange odor to it. A frown formed on her face and she looked at Claude, asking, "Do you think my breath is bad for the meeting with Mr. White?"
"I don't notice a thing, Mrs. Thomson," answered Claude. "Mr. White will see you have a coffee in your hand, and it might just be the difference between the cream where you're from and the cream we make down here," continued Claude with a compassionate smiling face.
Mrs. Harris walked up to the two, looked at Claude and said, "Now let this Mrs. Thomson speak with Mr. White now Claude and be on your way," in a somewhat curt voice.
"Right after I clean the washroom Mrs. Harris," replied Claude, "I let Mrs. Thomson tidy up a bit before her meeting," and he walked in the direction of washroom while Mrs. Thomson entered Mr. White' office.
Claude entered the washroom and was rejoicing at his luck. A thick layer of Cheryl's lipstick coated the edge of the cappuccino cup and plenty of her stray hairs from when she brushed her hair lay in the sink in the washroom. Claude quickly collected the hair and went back to his office to extract the lipstick and Cheryl's saliva from the cup.
"Welcome Mrs. Thomson," greeted Mr. White as he stood and walked around his desk to shake Cheryl's hand. "How are you liking Potoxy?" he asked, while noticing a cup of coffee in her hands. "I see ol' Claude already fixed you up with some fresh coffee," he continued smiling while nodding at the cup in Cheryl's other hand, "and did Claude convince you to try some of the cream? I swear he really pushes the fresh cream from his farm."
Cheryl giggled, relaxed and smiled. Mr. White was indeed white and much younger, and the first on the administration she met thus far who actually was Caucasian. "Indeed he did Mr. White," laughed Cheryl, "and I'm not used to such thickness in the cream, I nearly choked." Cheryl guessed Mr. White was about her age at 40, or maybe even younger.
Mr. White smiled knowingly, but tried to put an innocent look in his eyes as he explained, "Well, I mentioned a few weeks ago that today would be your first day. Claude intentionally did no milkings for about a week before this morning so your first batch of cream would be extra thick and potent."
"That it was Mr. White, that it was," said Cheryl, still trying to clear the thickness sitting in the back of her throat, and now feeling a bit flush as well, sitting with Mr. White. "I guess it is that natural coffee and cream from down south that I will hopefully get used to," as she said this she was feeling very warm as if hot flashes were shooting through her body. She quickly thought to herself,
Mr. White smiled wider as he saw the reactions occurring in Cheryl and he continued, "Yes, your body will get used to the coffee and cream. It really is like any new thing, I suppose. Please continue drinking your other coffee in the larger mug, the cream is more diluted in that one so it should go down smoother."
Cheryl smiled and reached for her mug and brought it to her lips. As she drank this coffee, the cream seemed more diluted with more coffee in the cup, yet it still had a thickness gathering in the back of he throat. She tried to drink the coffee more to wash down the cream, and before she knew it, that cup was gone as well.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Mr. White in a concerned voice, "two cups of our southern coffee with cream in such a short time period may be too much of a caffeine jolt for you. Claude makes especially potent coffee, and I already mentioned the special care taken for the cream for you."
The jolts and flashes going through Cheryl's body increased and a slight haze and fogginess fell over her. Her thought patterns felt strange, but she wanted to, no, she needed to make a good impression.
"I'm sure I can do this," said Cheryl as she stood to try and clear her mind, but the words came out very measured and staccato like a drunk person trying to pass a sobriety test.
"Lucky for you Mrs. Thomson," answered Mr. White quickly, "your first class of today isn't for another 30 minutes. I blocked out your first period with a substitute teacher so we could have our meeting. There is a sofa near Claude's office. You can relax and rest there."
Cheryl looked at Mr. White exasperatingly and replied, "Thank you so much, this coffee really is strong. And even the diluted cream was quite, what was the word you used? potent?" explained Cheryl as she did not want to explain these hot flashes that were shooting through her body. Sexual desire was not something she had thought about for years and she was feeling a wetness from between her legs dripping out from inside her.
Mr. White guided Cheryl through the school and as she passed by the window, she saw her car parked just outside, so she guessed this was the direction in which Mr. Joh... Claude's office was. She saw a well-lit area in which the sofa was featured. Mr. White instructed Cheryl to sit, and then lay down which she gladly complied. Her head and body were spinning and these jolts of energy and excitement coming from between her legs were scaring her. Cheryl heard Mr. White's voice gently saying, "Please feel free to take...." and her mind fell into a deep sleep, as he finished, "... a nap."
Mr. White continued back into Claude's office where he found Claude with a candle underneath an urn filled with a mixture of what looked like the cream. "Things are proceeding nicely," he said to Claude.
Claude looked at Mr. White and smiled, his shining white teeth a deep contrast to his coal-black face. "Our first new student from the 'Online Academy of Education' is here. I am so glad we created that school and especially that we were able to put your white face as the administrator of this school to give it validity. We even got some accreditation if one can believe that. So, she really has a degree from our online school, but in all likelihood, the only place that will hire graduates as teachers from our 'school' is us," and he chuckled at the irony.
Mr. White asked Claude, "What is the next step?" as he looked at the contraptions and pagan religious symbols on the wall of Claude's office.
Claude Johnston was indeed one of a long line of voodoo witch doctors dating back to pre-Revolutionary War Haiti. He ground up the mixture of Cheryl's lipstick and hair and burnt it into a powder while chanting, "Ye Ghede ah kok renmen; ye Ghede ah kok renmen; ye Ghede ah kok renmen..." meanwhile, Mr. White was still not accustomed to seeing this but Claude had his massive cock out and was stroking the monster, he stiffened and at the moment his cum shot out onto the dish in front of him, he poured the powder on it, and said decisively, "Cheryl Thomson ye Ghede ah kok renmen."
A yellowish-red aura glowed around the mixture as Claude finished the stirring process. Mr. White said matter of factly, "I'm not sure she can handle another dose today. Her throat is almost closed from the thickness of your week-long buildup in the cum, or rather, cream earlier this morning."
"Well James," started Claude to Mr. White, "luckily this is my third load of the day, so it is not nearly as thick as the first two loads I lined her coffee with. Obviously, the cappuccino had the thickest first load," he smiled as he continued, "and the majik fizyon (Haitian for magic fusing) process of her cells thins out the fluid to make it more watery." He then looked up at Mr. White, handed her the cup of the infused liquid cum, and said, "It is much more effective if delivered warm and fresh. Shall you do the honors? She might trust you more than me after the two coffees I fed her this morning."
Meanwhile, deep in her slumber, Cheryl was having the strangest dream. She dreamt she was on her back and could not move, and above her was a large black cow and a black farmhand. The black farmhand was pulling the udders of the cow and shooting the milk straight into Cheryl's mouth. In the dream it did not make her gag, but it left a craving feeling for the milk.
James White considered himself a Christian man, yet for some reason, this mystical aura of power surrounding Claude Johnston left him wanting to comply with him. In addition to that, the sexual repression within his faith added to the exciting naughtiness of what he was doing. He quickly took the glass of infused cum to Cheryl, shook her gently to wake her, and put the glass to her lips, saying, "Here Mrs. Thomson, you passed out pretty hard. Here is a glass of warm milk to help you."
Cheryl quickly sat up, albeit groggily, and lifted the glass up and began drinking the fluid. It had a similar taste to the cream earlier with something new in it, something almost burnt, but she was thankful she was able to swallow it without issue this time. After finishing, she looked up at Mr. White and almost sobbed, saying, "Mr. White, I must be leaving the worst first impression. Taking a nap, and just what I feel is lack of professionalism, I'm so sorry!"
"Are you sure you can handle this job Mrs. Thomson?" asked Mr. White in a concerned tone of voice. "The demands put on you, as well as moving to a new area and getting used to it all might be too much for you."
"Mr. White," pleaded Cheryl, "please give me a chance to show you what I can do. I want to..." and just then Cheryl's arm rose up with her elbow to the side and began twisting in a strange contortion. "I mean..." at that moment, her knee jerked upwards and then to the side.
Claude had the miniature doll in front of him and was adjusting it, first the arms, then the legs. He received a beep on the intercom as a signal from Mr. White that the voodoo was in fact working.
Cheryl was so embarrassed. Was she having an epileptic fit of some sort? Were her nerves telling her she was too old for this job? No, she had to go through with this. Rob would be so disappointed in her after they moved to a whole new area and uprooted everything for her and her dreams.
"Please Mr. White, I know I can do this," Cheryl again pleaded.
Mr. White smiled encouragingly and replied, "I know you can also Mrs. Thomson. Let us get you to your first class. You're taking over Miss Sharice Long's class. She's on a maternity leave. Sharice Long was dedicated. Sharice Long was firm, and... oh Harry can you stop over here for a moment?" Mr. White called out to one of the few white students in the hallway. "I was telling Mrs. Thomson here about Miss Sharice Long's class she will be taking over." He looked at Cheryl and continued, "Harry here was one of Sharice Long's favorite students. We at the administration couldn't help but notice Harry and Sharice Long." he stated, and continued and kept repeating, "Harry and Sharice Long."
Cheryl blinked and with all of the sensations going through her body, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, it truly sounded like Mr. White was saying Harry and Harry's schlong. With an urge she could not resist, she glanced in the area of Harry's crotch.
she thought,
Noting the glance, Mr. White knew Cheryl was ready for the next step and he guided her towards the classroom. "Unfortunately, Harry won't be in your first class, but you may see him later today. In fact, since you're not feeling so well, if you'd like to nap again later, please feel free, but let me know so I can sub for you if need be."
Just before they entered the classroom, Mr. White said to Cheryl, "Ummm... Mrs. Thomson, do you want to maybe go to the ladies room over there and just check yourself. The classroom is right here, but, umm... nevermind, I'm going to head back to the office."
Cheryl, understanding the hint Mr. White was giving her, quickly rushed to the ladies room to see what was wrong with her appearance, if anything. She almost died from embarrassment seeing herself in the mirror and thanked the heavens Mr. White had been such a gentleman warning her before she entered the classroom. Looking in the mirror, her breasts appeared even fuller behind her jacket and her nipples were protruding and visible even under the jacket fabric.
Cheryl splashed some water over her face and tried to pull the jacket forward to reduce the visibility of her protruding nipples, but finally she heard the bell ring and she rushed into her class. Her excitement as she opened the door was filled with a little dismay as there was a giant grotesque picture of a male penis on the chalkboard covered by what looked like a lot of pubic hair. Someone, she couldn't tell who, from the back of the room snickered, "Wait a minute, it isn't the hairy schlong (clearly a reference to the former teacher Sharice Long) but it is something much better."
Cheryl remembered her training, and went to the board, and erased the vulgar picture to the groans and awws.. of the class, and wrote her name on the board. She then turned to the class and said, "Hello class, my name is Mrs. Thomson." to which no one heard as they were still maintaining conversations among themselves about the picture, their summer, and other things. Cheryl repeated, "Hello class, my name is Mrs. Thomson." again to a class that was clearly ignoring her. Just then, she saw Claude through the window on the classroom door and he clearly saw the frustration on her face as well as her continuing protruding nipples under her jacket and shirt.
Claude opened the door, and cleared his throat, and the class instantly quieted down. He then gave a warning, "You pay this lady good attention, you hear?" to the class. Cheryl smiled at Claude and mouthed a "Thank you," as he turned and left. She then turned to the class and began teaching her lessons. Although she felt flush, she was able to continue lecturing. However, every time she turned to speak to a student, his eyes kept bobbing from her face to her breasts and back to her face. Sometimes, not even making it back up to her face but just staring at her breasts. Also adding to the embarrassment was the fact that her nipples were still extended a little bit and were very sensitive. Every time she turned, she felt a rush of pleasure down her body.
Claude went back to his office and turned to the video screen filming Mrs. Thomson's class. He also reached into his desk for a feather and the voodoo doll he created of Cheryl Thomson. He saw the struggle she was already having with her nipples extended sexually, and smiled as he felt like adding another sensation to the mix. He held the doll vertically and brushed the feather between the doll's legs.
Cheryl's knees buckled under her and she collapsed against the board. A jolt of electricity just shot up her body from her pussy to meet the jolts of electricity going down her body from her nipples. Her face and breasts and the whole front of her jacket smeared against the chalk covered board during the time her knees buckled. When she turned again to face the class, she saw giggling and heard snickers from the students as she knew her face was covered with white powder from the chalk as well as the whole lapel and front of her jacket was also covered. She felt relief for an instant as the bell to end class rang and the students filed out of the room, but that relief was suddenly replaced by panic when she saw Mr. White in the doorway to her class looking at her with a concerned face.
"Are you ok Mrs. Thomson?" asked Mr. White in the best imitation of concerned that he could muster.
"Yes, yes, Mr. White," replied Cheryl although she was clearly not alright but trying her best to give a good impression.
"Your jacket, and your blouse, as well as your face, they're covered in chalk," stated Mr. White observantly.
"I'm sorry Mr. White," answered Cheryl, "during class I stumbled against the chalkboard. I don't know what happened," she said apologetically.
"Here," said Mr. White, extending his hand for the jacket, "give me your jacket. I think I have one that will fit while I get this one cleaned up a bit for your next class. Go wash your face in the restroom too if you'd like," continued Mr. White helpfully.
Cheryl went to the ladies room and turned on the sink to splash water on her her face quickly so she could get back to class. She looked back up into the mirror and almost cried out in dismay as the upper portion of her white blouse had gotten wet and was sticking to her upper chest almost transparently. Luckily she had on a bra, but she clearly had to wait for Mr. Jones and the jacket now. She stood at the door inside the ladies room waiting for him with the door cracked open.
Mr. White, seeing Cheryl, approached her with a different jacket and asked if she could try it on. Cheryl was able to reach back difficultly and get her arms into the arms of the jacket extending her breasts forward a great deal to Mr. White's enjoyment. Once she had the jacket on, it was clearly small and almost forced her to stand in a manner pushing her breasts out. In addition to that, it didn't cover much of the wetness of the blouse that was now transparent. Cheryl was very embarrassed. Mr. White said comfortingly, "I'm sure the students will understand and he opened the door into her classroom to which she entered."
She walked to her desk, her arms somewhat pinned behind her in the tight jacket, and realized sitting down might rip the jacket so she stood. She looked at the class schedule and saw this was a language course, but she had no idea on the language itself. Why would Mr. White put her in this class? There was a note on the syllabus which she quickly picked up, it was from Mr. White.
She picked up the paper and scanned it over. It was clearly a ceremony with words, then insertion of names, and definitely in a language she didn't know, being from the Midwest prior to moving to Potoxy, Georgia. Well, she thought, Mr. White has been so helpful on this dreadful first day, I may as well try my best.
"Hello class," started Cheryl, "I am going to be a practice speaker for your ceremony today." Cheryl was pleasantly surprised when a few cheers and hoorays went up with her timid statement. She looked up and saw this class paying attention much better than the previous class, but then also wondered if they were just staring at her breasts which were being pushed out by the jacket. One of the students raised his hand, "Yes, um... I don't know your name yet."
"It is Travis, but my ceremonial name is Jeyan Kok Wa. Since this is practice for the ceremony, should we practice using our ceremonial names?" asked the student politely. The young man was also African-American but not intimidating like the three black boys she met on the way into the school nor a giant like Claude.
"Since this is for the ceremony," thought Cheryl aloud so she said it as she thought it, "we may as well go through the ceremonial names. But I want to learn your other names as well, maybe we go over the other names in a future class."
She went around the room and most of the names of all the black students ended in Kok Wa or Chef Pwens, while the white students had names ending in Bebe Kok. She knew she would never remember all of the specific names so she asked if she could just call the African American students Kok Wa and the white students Bebe Kok. The black students all nodded in agreement enthusiastically while the white students agreed begrudgingly.
"Ok then," started Cheryl as she began reading down the page to begin her lines, "mwen, Cheryl Thomson..." and just then the door opened and Mr. White entered quickly carrying what appeared to be a dark brown/almost black wooden flute. He quickly interrupted...
"Mrs. Thomson," holding out the wooden object, "the ceremony requires the use of the traditional pipe, and while this may just be practice, could you try it?" he asked.
Cheryl took the traditional pipe from Mr. White and stared at it. It was about a foot and a half long, very thick in diameter and narrowed in a rounded edge on one side with a ridge about two inches above that.
Mr. White continued, "Since we cannot smoke in school, I've put a liquid in the end of the pipe so you can practice the puffing motion, is that ok Mrs. Thomson?" asked Mr. White. The ceremony requires a puff for each of the inductees here, and he pointed towards the black students.
"So, I will puff for each of the Kok Wa students," as she nodded towards the black students, "but what about the Bebe Kok students Mr. White?" inquired Cheryl, as she pointed towards the two white students.
"Ah yes," answered Mr. White as he tried not to laugh as the translation of 'Kok Wa' was cock king and 'Bebe Kok' was baby cock, "the um... Bebe Kok students will be here to support you if needed." He quickly maintained a straight face and exited the room before he burst out laughing at the naivety of Cheryl. The potency of Claude as well as the events of the day so far must have really affected her resolve. He peeked in the window and saw the students moving eight desks into a large circle surrounding a single chair in the center.
Meanwhile, in the city center at Rob Thomson's new office, Rob couldn't be happier. His new traders were bringing him information on trades that were new strategies he didn't know about, but they needed short-term funding and he was already up nearly a quarter of a million dollars on his first day. This was unbelievable, and they were a lot cheaper than his northern office as well. Rob was addicted to success and this quick success was an adrenaline rush he was just getting started on.
, thought Rob,
He spoke with one of the managers who told him anything was possible and the money would keep rolling in.
Cheryl took the smaller end of the pipe and tried to stretch her mouth around it to no avail. It was just too big. The student, Jeyan Kok Wa, told her to wait, that the ceremony would clear everything and make things right according to tradition. "As a matter of fact, it is now time to begin the readings."
Cheryl was still in a bit of a haze, topped off with the fact she was embarrassed as well as uncomfortable about the jacket pinning her arms back causing her to shove her breasts forward. She thought, I'm never going to be able to relax with this jacket on. "Boys, I'm a bit embarrassed, but would it be ok if I took off this jacket?" she asked as she looked and her shirt was mostly dry.
One of the other Kok Wa students replied quickly, "Ma'am, we want and need you to be comfortable, so please do what you need. We really appreciate your help on this ceremony. It is a big deal for us."
Cheryl removed her jacket and put it on the back of her chair. She looked down and could see some skin and her bra was visible under her shirt, but figured it didn't show anything a bikini didn't show. At least the black students were behaving maturely although the two white boys acted like children.
Cheryl sat down and already began apologizing, saying, "Please forgive if I don't pronounce these words correctly."
Jeyan Kok Wa smiled, and said, "You are forgiven souyon mwen, but let us now try to do everything by the script."
Cheryl read the instructions, she was to say her line, then place the pipe to her mouth, an puff the smoke. Wait a minute, down below were instructions for if indoors and no smoking, to press a button and pull the pipe forward one layer as it folds in on itself eight times like a reverse telescope and liquid will come out.
Everyone was staring at Cheryl, waiting for her to speak, she finally lifted the pipe and said, "Mwen, Cheryl Thomson, volontè yo dwe yon souyon kòk chante nwa," and she placed the pipe at her mouth, pressed the button and pulled back one level. A thick substance similar to the milk in her coffee filled her mouth, she tried desperately to swallow it all but some dripped out her lips down her chin.
Jeyan Kok Wa lowered his hand, and then raised it, and the eight black boys said in unison, "Nou akeyi ou kòm yon Cheryl Thomson jennès."
Cheryl read the next instructions, worried she will again have to drink that fluid, but she wanted to do her best, "Kijan mwen kapab mèt jennès ou a?" and she again pressed the hole of the pipe at her mouth and pressed the button and the thick milky substance shot into her mouth as much as she could swallow as the reverse telescope closed in another layer. She tried to slow down the rate of ejection, but it was still too fast for her and a lot ended up dripping down her chin and neck.
A complete fogginess similar to the fogginess she felt earlier in the morning came over Cheryl. Her jaw drooped and her eyes glazed over. The pipe was beginning to slip out of Cheryl's hands when Jeyan Kok Wa came forward and stood in front of her and held the pipe so it was at her lips. He began chanting, "Cheryl Thomson ye Ghede ah kok renmen," and the group around the circle repeated "Cheryl Thomson ye Ghede ah kok renmen!" Jeyan pushed the wooden pipe forward and to Cheryl's amazement and dismay, her mouth stretched around the very wide object and the first two inches of the pipe slid into her mouth.
Cheryl heard the click of the button and knew what was coming, as she felt stream after stream of the milky substance enter her mouth. She tried to gulp, she started to choke, tears were coming out of her eyes, until he body just spasmed and she half swallowed and felt a liquid dripping from her nose.
This was crazy. She needed to get out of there, but although her mind was saying that to herself, her body wasn't responding and now she felt the two white boys holding her arms out to her sides, and leaning her forward to create more of an opening in her throat.
Cheryl was in disbelief as she felt the pipe go deeper into her throat, so much so that the liquid pumping out went straight to her stomach without her even having to swallow. The process continued with more fluid pumping out into her stomach as the button kept being pressed.
Finally, the boys all stood and began clapping and bowing before Cheryl. She had never been so out of it as she was just then, but she got caught up in the moment and clapped with the boys, albeit a bit dazed. Jeyan came forward with tears in his eyes and said, "Thank you so much Mrs. Thomson!!! You are an inspiration and so unexpectedly great!"
While Cheryl wanted to feel disgust with how she looked and felt as the fluid was bloating her stomach and she wore quite a bit of it on her face, neck, and shirt, the excitement and gratitude of the boys was helping her to feel safe. She had felt like a failure so far this day, and while it ended somewhat messy, it was clearly a success.
Cheryl went to the ladies room. Time seemed to have flown by as the school, except for her and the boys, was empty. She just took her shirt off and rinsed it and squeezed what water she could out of it and put it back on, knowing it was now completely see-through. She looked out the ladies room door and was grateful her jacket was there, still a little dusty but good enough to wear home.
Cheryl put on her jacket and went out to her car.
thought Cheryl. "
Just then she looked at her phone seeing two missed calls from Rob and one voicemail.
she heard Rob's voice,
Cheryl herself was exhausted and couldn't wait up for Rob even if she wanted. She wasn't even hungry from all the fluid she felt pumped into her stomach. "
thought Cheryl,
End of Chapter 1
|
*****
Cheryl woke up about 4am to the sound of Rob stumbling to bed. She struggled to open her eyes just in time to see him flop, still fully clothed in his suit, onto the bed. She wondered what he had been doing. On top of that, her mouth, jaw, and throat were aching unbearably. Cheryl would have believed that it had just been a bad dream if she didn't suffer the physical aftereffects of the "ceremony."
Her mind just couldn't get the whole day out of her head, even though it happened as if she were in a daze. Starting from the cappuccino and coffees during the school day and the ending with the practice ceremony with some of the school boys, where she sat in the middle of the classroom and they fed her the black peace pipe as she stared up at them. How she was able to fit that thick pipe into her mouth and how it was able to get pushed back into her throat without gagging her still left Cheryl confused.
As the sunlight peeked through the window and sent a ray of light across Cheryl's face, she couldn't help but notice the dryness in her mouth. Whatever had been in the pipe, her current thirst was almost unbearable and she ran to the bathroom for a glass of water. She quickly ran the tap water and filled a glass and put the glass to her lips.
thought Cheryl,
She struggled to keep the first glass of water in her mouth without drooling, but then the second glass was a little easier.
She went back to sleep and fell into a dreamlike state. It seemed as if her mouth was being violated, but she opened her eyes and only saw the greyish dark ceiling alight slightly from a combination of the sun rising and a bit of moonbeam shining in through the window. No one was violating her mouth, and in fact, Rob was still face down in the bed and it smelled as if her vomited and was sleeping through it. Cheryl couldn't stand the smell of the vomit and saw it was almost 6am on the clock so she awoke and headed towards the bathroom.
Cheryl entered the shower and stepped under the water. The water sprayed onto her back first and when she turned towards the jets of water, as the water jets sprayed on her breasts, Cheryl flinched as her breasts seemed incredibly sensitive. She looked down and was shocked to see her nipples were fully extended and quite pinkish red. This was quite confusing for Cheryl.
Toweling off, Cheryl was careful as the sensation from her nipples was still creating discomfort. She was able to get dressed, but even after all this time between the shower and dressing, Cheryl's nipples were still extended. Luckily with the bra, they weren't as visible but they were still somewhat noticeable.
Cheryl went down to the kitchen and prepared a coffee. She went over to the refrigerator and got some milk and poured it in and took a sip. The coffee just didn't taste right. Even though she thought Claude's coffee had made her ill, there was something in the taste that made everything else unsatisfying. So, she left the coffee on the table in case Rob wanted it and got in her car and headed off to school.
Arriving at the school much earlier this morning, the parking lot was nearly empty, but for some reason, like a bee attracted to honey, Cheryl parked her car down by Claude's office. After getting out of her car, she wondered why, because the walk to the front door was much further from here, but passed off the decision as just habit.
thought Cheryl,
But, before she could act on that thought, she heard a voice call out to her.
"Mrs. Thomson, there you are," heard Cheryl and she turned to see Claude who continued, "I've got myself a batch of fresh warm cream here for you." Cheryl saw his smile widen with his white teeth contrasted greatly against his coal black face. Cheryl hesitated upon seeing the towering frame of Mr. Johnston reaching out a small cup of cream. "Here," Claude continued, "just take a sip so we have the rest of it for your coffee." As Claude saw Cheryl put the cup to her lips, he added, "It might even be better if you take a small mouthful and hold it in your mouth, so you can get a true taste of dairy."
Cheryl paused putting the glass to her lips to hear Claude's last suggestion. It worried her how she felt the day before, so she was somewhat nervous to try this again, but may be easier today. It was fresh dairy per Claude. Cheryl continued the action of putting the glass to her lips and allowed the rich viscous "cream" fill a portion of her mouth. The "cream" had a consistency of a jam with a swirling thickness in some areas but a salty taste in some parts as well as watery consistency in other parts as she allowed her tongue swish around it in her mouth.
"That is," started Cheryl, "a strange taste for a cream," she said to Claude. "I've never known a salty taste or such texture in a cream I've ever had before." Cheryl looked at the glass puzzledly and then handed it back to Claude.
Claude could barely contain his joy as Cheryl willingly completed the next level of the voodoo spell he was casting on her. He was overjoyed she came to school early but it was almost too early as he had just finished masturbating into the cup with the remainder of Cheryl's hair and lipstick he obtained the previous day. He had quickly mixed and ground the fresh cum with her genetic material to create a physical and chemical bond that could be further exploited if she were to hold the mixture in her mouth before swallowing. Luckily, she had done just that.
thought Claude,
and Claude's grin grew and he hoped Mrs. Thomson wouldn't see the devilish gleam in his eyes.
"Salty you say???" questioned Claude to Cheryl, "I had worked so hard to improve my livestock's diet to get rid of that salty taste. I was told it was to improve to a smoky taste, before clearing out to normal. Could you try just a little bit more?" Claude laughed, and then continued while giggling, "We farmers here in the south treat our dairy and crops almost like fine wines. Maybe swish it in your mouth like a wine tasting if that might help," he suggested to Cheryl.
Cheryl smiled nervously, as she remembered how she felt the prior day, but trusted this kindly old man and took a small mouthful of the "cream" into her mouth and began to swish it back and forth in her mouth as if she were sampling a wine.
Cheryl heard Claude speak in a deep commanding bass voice as she was unknowingly swishing his cum in her mouth, "Pandan w ap kenbe espèm semenn mwen an nan bouch ou, eple kontwòl m sou ou konplè." [translates to: As you hold my semen in your mouth, my spell of control over you is complete].
A small trancelike state fell over Cheryl. Her entire identity and being felt in stasis as she looked forward at Claude Johnston. He spoke to Cheryl derisively and overbearing, saying, "Se mwen menm Mèt Voodoo houngans, ou pral soumèt nan lòd mwen." [I am a voodoo master, you will submit at my command.] Then, at a snap of Claudie's fingers, he was smiling and asking Cheryl if she noticed the smoky taste in the cream.
The sound of a snap seemed to bring Cheryl back to reality. The muskiness, smokiness in the flavor of the cream, was what was on her mind. "Why yes Claude," stammered Cheryl, "the muskiness added a special smoky flavor to the cream. The first I have ever tasted."
Claude laughed as there was no muskiness or smoky flavor at all, it was just his cum. He was happy at Cheryl's progression.
"Well Mrs. Thomson," said Claude politely, "I hope you have a good day in class," and he started to turn away, but then quickly turned back, "oh my, Mrs. Thomson, where are my manners? Here is your coffee," and he handed Cheryl one of the cups of coffee in his hand.
"Why thank you Claude," said Cheryl, starting to feel a little more like herself and less in the trance. She looked at the coffee and noticed it was still black. "Could I have some of the cream?" she asked Claude.
Claude smiles and lifted the cup of cum to her coffee mug and began to pour, "Say when..." he commented.
For some reason, Cheryl let him pour quite a bit into her coffee before saying, "When," to which Claude smiled and added, "I'm going to have to get to pumping to keep a supply of cream here for you Ms. Thomson."
Cheryl, assuming Claude meant pumping the cows, didn't think anything of it and turned towards her class to begin walking there. She then dipped her tongue into the top of the coffee and the thick layer of "cream."
thought Cheryl.
As Cheryl walked down the hallway towards her classroom door, she felt heat emanating from between her legs. Again, a wave of pleasure began pulsing through her body. This was a strange feeling but not as powerful as the prior day and just as she was about to step into her classroom, she heard a voice call out to her.
"Mrs. Thomson??? Mrs. Thomson???"
She looked in the direction from which she heard the voice and saw Mr. White looking at her and nodding when she looked at him as he confirmed he called to her. She turned towards Mr. White and they approached each other and he said, "I'm sorry Mrs. Thomson, I have a favor to ask of you," he stated somewhat apologetically. "Mrs. Long, our school counselor, normally leads group sessions of a confession group, similar to twelve step programs, for the Caucasian female students."
thought Cheryl, but then she asked, "Mr. White, why is it you are requesting me?"
Mr. White got quite serious and professional and replied, "First of all, Mrs. Long is almost finished with her doctorate in psychology, which is why she leads the program. I am a doctor of education, but after me, you have the highest level of education with your Master's degree." He paused a moment and then continued, "You see, the anonymity of this program on an agreed upon level helps the student discuss things difficult for them that I do not think they would disclose to me, and because you are new, I don't think they will feel threatened by you."
Cheryl looked puzzledly at Mr. White and inquired, "But what do they discuss at this, um... meeting?"
Mr. White shrugged his shoulders in a gesture signally he didn't know and replied, "It is supposed to be anonymous, so the students feel free to speak their minds without judgment. Mrs. Long never disclosed the meeting topics of discussion unless students were a danger to themselves or others, which only happened just after the program started about six years ago." And then he stood and waited for Cheryl to answer.
"But this is a lot of responsibility Mr. White. Do you think I can handle it?" Cheryl asked nervously.
Mr. White gave Cheryl a gentle pat on the back and stated, "I'm sure there's no challenge you can't swallow."
"Excuse me?" stated Cheryl nervously and a bit embarrassedly confused.
"I'm speaking of the peace pipe ceremony," explained Mr. White, "I was told you were incredible and were able to swallow the whole challenge. I am amazed at your prowess."
Cheryl thought she detected innuendos in Mr. White's comments, but his facial expression was calm so maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. "Ummm... thank you Mr. White," she replied. "Where is this meeting you want me to chaperone?" asked Cheryl.
"Oh, yes," responded Mr. White, "it is in the conference room near ol' Claude's office. Here, let's walk over there together now."
Cheryl walked with Mr. White down the long corridor filled with lockers in some areas mixed with windows in others. They walked for awhile until they approached a double door to which Mr. White said, "The meeting started already, it is in there," and he pointed towards the doors.
Cheryl heard laughter from inside the room which lightened her heart a bit and then she opened the door. But when the group made up of teenage girls and several adult women saw Cheryl, they instantly hushed up.
Cheryl, sensing they needed an ice breaker, said, "Oh, please continue, I'm taking over for Mrs. Long."
Claude Johnston viewed his video cameras of the school and knew Mr. White was to bring Cheryl Thomson to the meeting, so he turned up the audio. Claude handpicked the group for the meeting today to describe items to pique Mrs. Thomson's curiosity, her temptation, and her inner slut.
To provide background, Claude Johnston's ancestors were voodoo priests and priestesses of the highest order in Haiti. In fact, even though much of the higher magic was lost, Claude travelled on several pilgrimages to Africa, the Far East, Brazil, and the islands of Antigua to gather data and information to recompile much of the lost dark art so he could master it.
And master it Claude did. Most literature says that the dark arts are a matter of fiction, but Claude knows the magic is real. His magic is real. His magic is powerful.
The year is 1853, and the two Haitian slaves sat together among a large group of other slaves doing their evening rituals. The male and female were in love, and knew that if they were going to conceive a child, being slaves, that child would also be a slave. In speaking with their voodoo priestess, she offered to incant a spell invoking spirits to protect them and their child.
The voodoo priestess spoke only partial truths. She wished to invoke a powerful spell channeling Boukman, a voodoo spirit to grant powers to the child. She knew not whether the parents would be safe. And in fact, Boukman's dark spirit channeled the spirits Ayizan, goddess of initiation into sacred truths and head Mambo [voodoo priestess] and Kalfu, the moon god and ruler of the night who is the patron deity of sorcerers, especially those who practice black magic. Both spirits inhabited the bodies to conceive a child.
The slave holders learned of the ceremony and put most attendees to death, but allowed the woman to give birth to her child before she too was executed. In an attempt to erase the connection with the child's heritage, he was given an American name. Since the child was a slave, they gave him the last name of the slaveholder, Johnston. They finally decided on Claude as a first name.
Upon seeing the destruction of that babe Claude's mother and father who were the physical forms begotten of Ayizan and Kalfu, Kalfu the dark god implored justice from his twin brother Legba, the sun god and intermediary between the gods and humanity. For one of the few times in history, the dark god Kalfu and his twin, the god of light and justice, Legba agreed to combine powers to embody in a human, and granted them upon the young babe Claude.
It took Claude until he was eight years old to learn that his true name was Tichef Kalyizan symbolizing his birthright and power.
Cheryl Thomson entered the room and saw a circle of chairs, facing each other as she approached after introducing herself. There were nine females in the room. She noticed three of them were adults, perhaps a few years younger or maybe older than herself. Of the females, two were black, both student age, and the other seven were white. One of the other things that Cheryl noticed was that five of the nine females appeared to be pregnant. Three of the five "pregnant" females were visibly showing and the other two had what appeared to be "baby bulges".
The younger of the African American girls appeared to be quite young, but she spoke as Cheryl entered, "Oh, so now we got some new white missus to be the boss over us," and she glared at Cheryl.
Cheryl was a bit taken aback, but understood that she was new, so she would have to take it slow, and she answered, "I'm Mrs. Thomson. I'm not anyone's boss, but here as a counselor should anyone need it during our discussion today," and she hoped that would suffice to gain everyone's trust. "Now," she continued, "could everyone introduce themselves? I'm sorry that I'm a little late, as Mr. White just told me about this responsibility."
The girl that spoke previously was the first to speak up again, "I'm Jamaya Jones, and this is bullshit! It used to be seven white trash ladies and three sisters, and now Mr. White(y) is throwing in another whitey to keep putting us down," she ranted.
"I'm sorry you feel that way Jamaya," answered Cheryl, "and what grade are you in?"
"Fucking ninth," mumbled Jamaya disgustedly.
Cheryl guided the rest of the females in the room to introduce themselves, but her thoughts remained on Jamaya, so she only half-heard the other introductions.
thought Cheryl,
After all the introductions had completed, Cheryl spoke softly, "I'm just here to observe and be an administrative presence. I am not here to interrupt or tattle on anyone, so please continue whatever you were discussing."
The girl named Jennifer, an innocent looking white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, sighed and spoke panickedly, "I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm three weeks late, and if my parents find out, they will kill me. They have their heart set on me marrying Jason."
Cheryl assumed late was late with her period and from what she could guess, the potential baby wasn't Jason's.
The other African American girl, Lateesha, laughed, "Jason's nickname is toothdick because his dick is the size of a toothpick. Everyone knows that. "
Cheryl wasn't sure about the rules, or whether crosstalk or other feedback was appropriate, but figured she would learn as time progressed. The fact that everyone laughed, except Jennifer, gave her some comfort that the discussion was within the "rules."
Lateesha looked at Cheryl, and commented, "Mrs. Thomson, just so you get an idea of this group, it is a pregnancy support group for the students. And, before you get it into your head, neither Jamaya or me are pregnant, the seven white women here are. The adults are pregnant from men not their husbands and the students aged are just pregnant."
Cheryl looked at Lateesha and answered, "Thank you Lateesha. That is so great of you to offer support and wisdom. This is really a great group."
Lateesha laughed again, this time at Cheryl, and grunted, "Support? Not exactly." Then she looked at Jennifer, and gave a circular glance which was a half-glare at the rest of the girls and women in the room, and spoke harshly, "How and the fuck did you goddamn sluts get pregnant? I told you, the customers HAVE to wear condoms, and that you should first blow them to get their first, most powerful load out of the way, to prevent condom breakage."
Cheryl was shocked.
Cheryl's eyes grew larger and she nearly choked on her coffee but managed to maintain her silence.
"Jennifer," commanded Lateesha, "explain yourself."
Jennifer stood up, blushing and shy, and first looked at Lateesha and said, "I'm sorry Lateesha. Mr. Lucas swore he had gotten a vasectomy. I tried giving him head, but his black cock was just so thick. I tried licking his balls, and I could tell I should make him cum because they were huge. His cock was almost as thick as my wrist if not more so. I licked around the tip, trying to get him to cum, but finally he told me we just had to fuck."
Cheryl's eyes were about to pop, listening to this innocent and wholesome looking, blonde student describe a prostitution encounter as if it were second nature.
"Did you make him wear a condom?" Lateesha asked sneeringly.
Jennifer stammered a bit, "We started with a condom on. He said it was choking his big thick black cock and that it was cutting off circulation as they don't make condoms big enough for him. He said he wouldn't be able to cum, and therefore I wouldn't get paid, unless he took the condom off. He promised he would pull out."
"YOU BELIEVED THAT BULLSHIT????" yelled Lateesha, "Goddamn, I feel like a failure letting you go to Mr. Lucas to begin with," pretending to empathize with Jennifer. The truth was, that now both Mr. Lucas and Jennifer would be added income streams to the ring with an additional child. It was all going according to plan.
Lateesha turned to what appeared to be a forty-something woman, very well preserved with a stunning body, but some wrinkles around the eyes. She had quite the hourglass figure with a narrow waist, nice breasts and a round bottom and hips. "Now Mrs. White," started Lateesha, "what happened with you?"
Cheryl put her coffee down before she spilled it and hurt herself.
she thought,
"Lateesha," started Mrs. White, "I followed the protocol for the most part. I did blow Tyrell, twice to be exact."
"The most part?" asked Lateesha again in a scolding and commanding voice.
Mrs. White looked down defeatedly, "He told me to let him start without the condom to help him get hard, as he had just had two orgasms."
"Tyrell is a goddamn teenager Mrs. White!!" screamed Lateesha again, "Do you really think it takes more than just your luscious white tits and big white round ass to get him hard????"
"It's my fault," sobbed Mrs. White, "he told me he was going to cum and asked me if I wanted him to pull out. I was almost at my orgasm!! His big thick black cock felt sooooo good. If you can believe this, his cock got thicker and harder before he came, and his cock spurted so many times and I just seemed to cum more and more with each spurt that was filling me!! Please forgive me!"
Lateesha didn't scream this time, but merely asked, "Does Mr. White know? Are there going to be any issues with us here at the school since, well, you know, his position and all?"
Mrs. White gathered herself and sat up more straightly and answered, "Yes," she started meekly, "he is aware. We knew the risks when this started, and well, I had to complete this, you know."
thought Cheryl,
Cheryl sat in the room in a daze as one story after another story of thick black cocks, orgasms, pregnancies, and loads and loads of cum was told. She couldn't help but think how lacking her own sex life had been but was totally shocked at the openness and detail which was shared. I guess this is why Mr. White wanted a professional here, to keep oversight with the professional knowledge of confidentiality.
The last person shared and the women and girls filed out quickly. Lateesha and Jamaya motioned for Cheryl to wait after the meeting, which she did. They awaited the other women to all leave before Lateesha took Jamaya aside for a moment, while Cheryl waited, they gave each other a hug, and Jamaya left. Lateesha looked at Cheryl and said quickly, "I just have to grab something from the closet, I will be back in a moment."
Suddenly, the lights went out in the room, but only for a moment. Soon after, there were spotlights shining directly on Cheryl and she could feel the heat and intensity of the bulbs shining down on her chair in the center of the room. Just then, a glittering disco ball spun from the ceiling sending flashes of glittering light around the room and music started playing...
Suddenly, all the new side lights, as well as the music, that was just on turned off and the regular overhead lights turned on. Lateesha walked back inside and said, "I'm sorry Mrs. Thomson, this is the backup rehearsal school stage and for some reason, the timer must have started the music."
Meanwhile, in Claude Johnston's office, he was viewing the film.
Claude Johnston put on magnifying glasses and went to work on dubbing and editing the film that was just shot.
Lateesha looked pleadingly at Cheryl, "Please Mrs. Thomson," she begged, "can you consider this?"
Cheryl didn't know whether to be disgusted, shocked, embarrassed, or ashamed. Lateesha had just asked her to work for her.
"Let me get this straight," started Cheryl, "you want me to be a prostitute for you?" she inquired in a skeptical, doubting, and almost disgusted voice.
Lateesha knew how to play this. Cheryl's ego was getting in the way. It was time to change tactics.
"Mrs. Thomson," began Lateesha, "you are too important to our community for me ever to have you degrade yourself in any way."
Cheryl already began to feel at ease with these kind words coming from Lateesha's mouth.
"The program is not designed to be sexual in any way," explained Lateesha further, "but the program was designed to create interactions between black males and white females who might, in other circumstances, ever have any contact with one another." Lateesha tried to think of a soft fluffy suburban or normal city program and quickly added, "Think of it like Big Brother or Big Sister programs to help the less advantaged people. To help them make better life choices. I'm sorry you saw me so angry today because the program is not designed for sex."
While Cheryl liked what she was hearing, the descriptions and stories she heard in the meeting were totally different. She looked doubtfully at Lateesha and asked, "Why was it then, that all the ladies in the program were pregnant?"
Lateesha quickly answered, "Mrs. Thomson, we have hundreds of ladies in this program. What you saw today were those who, shall we say, 'messed up'. Please don't think the whole program is such filth."
Those words helped Cheryl's idea of the program, but she still had doubts. "What would I do?" she asked.
"Well," explained Lateesha, "you would be an escort, so to speak, but only on the terms that you set up. There is never expectation of sex and I could set your profile up as green, meaning you are happily married with children and off limits for anything extracurricular. Of course, green is also the lowest income stream, at first, but can be potentially very lucrative."
An omission Lateesha did not mention to Cheryl included the fact that most black men within 200 miles of Potoxy would travel to make their attempts to defile a profile rated green. So, while it wasn't lucrative for Cheryl, it was quite lucrative for Lateesha and Claude Johnston.
"I'm not sure Lateesha," explained Cheryl.
Just then, Lateesha's phone rang, she stepped away, but Cheryl could hear Lateesha's end of the conversation... "Hello," ... "Yes, she's here," ... "The ceremonial pipe? No, not here, but I have something that might substitute," ... "Yes, it does," ... "I agree, let me ask her,"
"Mrs. Thomson," began Lateesha, "the ceremony that you practiced the other day with the boys, would you be open to work on that? The administration is very happy you might be our savior to ensure that program happens."
Cheryl had almost tried to sneak and rush out the door when she heard about the ceremonial pipe. She was still feeling some of the aftereffects, she thought, regarding that practice.
"Ummmmm..." stammered Cheryl, "are the boys coming?"
"Oh no," laughed Lateesha, "you and I will just practice this."
"The pipe?" asked Cheryl nervously, worried about the long thick pipe in her mouth and throat.
"A pipe," explained Lateesha, "but nowhere near as large as the actual ceremonial pipe," she said comfortingly.
Cheryl agreed begrudgingly. She followed the instructions to sit in her chair and pull it up to the curtains at the middle where the curtains met. She was told to reach behind her and grip the back of the chair while leaning forward into the curtain opening.
Just then, the black pipe with the mushroom head extended from the curtain opening. Cheryl heard Lateesha's voice say, "I have the pipe strapped to me Mrs. Thomson, is it ok to practice the next level of the ceremony?"
"But," stammered Cheryl, "I don't have the script, nor a background..."
Lateesha wore the current 8-inch long and 3-inch diameter pipe on a belt which positioned it like a strap-on dildo with which to fuck Cheryl's mouth. Lateesha ran her fingers through Cheryl's hair as she approached her and let her hands go to the back of Cheryl's head and began to pull her head forward to the pipe.
Cheryl, feeling Lateesha pulling her head toward the pipe, allowed her head and face to be guided to the mushroom shaped end of the pipe. As her lips and tongue touched the pipe, she noticed a thin layer of what seemed like the coffee cream coating the pipe. A sense of calm came over her.
Cheryl noticed the spotlights all came on. Lateesha whispered, "Close your eyes, feel the moment," and Cheryl closed her eyes, relaxed, and while consciously she knew her mouth would never stretch around something so large and thick, she felt the pipe consistently sliding out of her mouth just a fraction of an inch, and then sliding back in a bit further than it was in previously.
Cheryl didn't know how long this had been going. Her head hurt, her jaw hurt, her throat felt full. The movements had changed. No longer was the pipe being slightly pulled out and edged just a bit further in. Now the pipe was being pumped in and out of Cheryl's mouth almost to completion on every stroke.
Lateesha turned on the spray hose connected on one end to a vat of cum and the other side connected to the back of the pipe. Lateesha asked, "Are you ready?"
Cheryl began to answer, "Ready for...," *ack* *cough* *sputter* gagged Cheryl as the cum shot into her mouth. It caught her by surprise and she coughed, hacked, and also swallowed as hard as she could to keep up with the flow.
Lateesha waited a moment before turning off the flow and then she looked at Cheryl, still coughing. Cheryl looked up dazedly and defeatedly, cum dripping from her chin, dripping out her nostrils as the surprise shot into the back of her throat ended up coming out her nose, as well as all over the front of her clothing.
Lateesha quickly apologized, "I'm so sorry Mrs. Thomson," she explained, "I didn't know how fast the flow would go," she lied.
The aftereffects of the cum were not as powerful this time, but still had an effect on Cheryl. She was staring off into space as Lateesha spoke to her. In fact, she looked up at Lateesha, who had apparently been speaking on the phone for a few minutes, and then said, "Let me ask her," and she turned to Cheryl and explained, "I have an emergency. I had a cancellation of an escort tonight. It is for an eighteen-year-old boy. Totally innocent."
Cheryl immediately thought,
then she thought,
after which she thought,
after which she thought,
Cheryl picked up her phone, and saw there was a voicemail message.
thought Cheryl,
"What would I have to do Lateesha?" asked Cheryl.
Lateesha was pleasantly surprised at how quickly things had turned for the better. She figured Claude flying Cheryl's husband Rob out of town for a few days might help things along, and she was right.
"Just be yourself," answered Lateesha, "oh, and one more thing, this is sensitive and may be more than you've bargained for," Lateesha figured she may as well go for the gusto since Rob was out of town and Cheryl was stoned on Claude Johnston's cum, alone, and lonely.
"I'm n-ooooo—t gooooo—ing to hhh-aave ssssss-ex," stuttered Cheryl, completely out of her wits.
"Of course not," reassured Lateesha, "but he is a virgin and may want to masturbate in front of you. You are a very sexy woman, but I told him that was the limit of anything you would do and he agreed."
Cheryl thought about her teenage days with Rob when they were in school together. He would take out his penis on their dates and at first, she wouldn't do anything with it, but then she would rub it until he came. She remembered how her fingers wrapped all the way around it and when she stroked it, her hand covered the entire shaft. She tried to think of his size now, and figured, maybe three, maybe four or possibly five inches at most.
Cheryl hesitated for a short while, but then she looked at Lateesha and said, "I-I-I h-h-ave not-t-thing better to do. Do I at least g-g-get d-d-dinner?"
Lateesha knew she had hit the jackpot. "You will most definitely be fed, yes Mrs. Thomson," said a smiling Lateesha. Lateesha then pulled Cheryl aside and guided her to the costume wardrobe. She started handing her items to try on, as Cheryl's clothes were stained. Cheryl looked at the clothing being handed to her, even in her dazed state, she knew the stitched clothing was not for her busty build so she went for stretchy fabric. Unfortunately for Cheryl, all of the stretch fabric was two to three sizes too small, which stretched even more and gave more prominence to her tits and ass. Cheryl looked further for a bit of a long loose skirt to pull some of the attention from the stretchy fabric on her ass, but the swell of her hips and chest still looked incredibly sexy.
Lateesha's phone rang, and Cheryl heard Lateesha say, "We're on our way out now."
Cheryl felt like a giddy school-girl about to go on her first dress up date. It must be the effect of the stage clothing as well as the "cream" she had earlier. Cheryl was very excited to meet the suitor for the "date" knowing that it was going to be strictly platonic based on her discussions with Lateesha.
As they exited the stage room near Claude Johnston's office, the only person in the vicinity was a youngish-looking African-American, only about 5'2 inches tall, with a disgustingly fat body shape almost like Jabba the Hut. She looked at Lateesha, who only sighed, and reminded Cheryl it was just a quick platonic date.
The eighteen-year old boy walked towards Cheryl and reached out his pudgy little hand and said, "Hello, my name is Samuel Thompson."
Cheryl laughed at the similarity of names, as well as the politeness of this young man, and said, "Why hello my gentleman, I'm Cheryl Thomson, without the 'p' in the name."
Samuel put out his elbow as if to guide Cheryl and she looped her arm into it and they headed towards a limousine parked in the school parking lot. Cheryl looked at Samuel surprisingly and grinned, "A limousine? Wow! Very impressive Mr. Thompson," she said, accentuating the 'p' in Thompson, and while she was thus far disgusted with the looks of Samuel Thompson, he was being polite and had gone to a lot of effort for their platonic date tonight.
Samuel opened the door for Cheryl and followed her into the large back seating area of the limo. There was a bar, a small television, a camera to video tape and the window controls. The driver turned and asked, "Where to?" to which Samuel answered, "The Ritz restaurant in Atlanta."
Cheryl was again impressed, The Ritz-Carton was an extremely expensive and exclusive hotel and restaurant. The Samuel was going to a lot of effort to impress. She also knew that Atlanta was about a two-hour drive at least, and with traffic could be more.
Samuel spoke, "You may wonder why I am spending so much. Well, I have little time left. The doctors give me, well, maybe a year, maybe less. I have a pituitary gland issue which causes my deformed body shape and well, I was just hoping to spend my eighteenth birthday with a gorgeous woman, and man, Mrs. Cheryl, are you gorgeous!!"
Cheryl was embarrassed, and confused, and ashamed. She had judged this young man based on appearance, and here he was with a terminal illness.
Samuel looked at Cheryl's eyes, seeing her inner turmoil and shame for her prejudging of his appearance. He had to work hard not to smile.
thought Samuel. He knew he could now proceed to step two, as the drive to Atlanta was a long one. "Ummm... Ms. Cheryl?" said Samuel inquiringly, "could I ask you a favor?" he asked almost ashamedly and apologetically.
Cheryl thought she should correct Samuel to Mrs., but decided against it. She almost expected what he was going to ask based on Lateesha's conversation with her, and she decided to move forward by replying, "Yes, Samuel, what would you like to ask?"
"Miss Cheryl," started Samuel, "I am now eighteen years old, and I may die soon, and I have never had an orgasm (he quickly thought,
, to maintain honesty.) I am hoping, or rather, I am praying, that you can help me."
Cheryl looked stunned and saddened at Samuel, asking, "What do you mean? Have you never masturbated? Never fooled around with anyone?" She was also a bit confused as he started with Missus, and the went to Ms. and now is saying Miss.
Samuel began to form tears at his eyes (a trick he had learned), and he explained (in an exaggerated story), "These short stubby arms cannot reach my cock properly, and these fingers also cannot do a proper massage to bring me to orgasm. And, look at me, no one would do it actually, until now, when I'm eighteen and can pay for it."
"Samuel," began Cheryl, "I'm married. I was told this was to be just a platonic date, and that you might want to masturbate for me, but not that I would do anything sexual. I'm sorry," she trailed off sadly, thinking
Samuel sighed sadly, and just sat there looking out the window for awhile. He knew he had to play this slow enough that it didn't seem staged. After about ten minutes of silence, Samuel asked, timidly, "Miss Cheryl, would you be able to help me get my pants open and take my pee-pee out?" He also used the term pee-pee instead of cock this time, because she would now be expecting a tiny child penis like his small size rather than the twelve inches of thick cock he possessed. He felt blessed that his cock was almost one-fourth of his body size.
Cheryl could not deny this young man in need. She crawled over to his lap, and reached to his large belly, and began undoing the snap at the front of his pants, and lowering his zipper. She could see he didn't have on any underwear and felt his pubic hair as she continued with the zipper and asked him to lift his hips so she could slide his pants downward.
Samuel was overjoyed his story of a premature death was working yet again. He scanned the car to make sure everything was in place. The red light on the camera meant the camera was recording. The green light on the digital deck meant he had hours of recording time left to make. Now, it is time to enjoy.
Just after the pants slid down Samuel's hips, his cock snapped to attention and brushed against Cheryl's lips and chin with its massive length and thickness. Cheryl remembered she had thought about Rob's penis earlier, and when Samuel described his pee-pee, she pictured something more like Rob, but this was shocking.
"I'm so sorry my Cheryl, I didn't mean to strike you in the face with my pee-pee. I've never felt anything so nice on my pee-pee as when it brushed against your lips," suggested Samuel innocently.
Cheryl hesitated,
she thought,
she told herself in her mind,
she finally thought and looked at the thick shaft inches away from her mouth and face.
and she began lowering her lips to the head of Samuel's cock.
Samuel felt Cheryl's lips wrap around his thick cockhead and he knew the next step was complete. Now, it was time to go further. "Cheryl," explained Samuel, "since this may be my one and only time, could we try things?"
Cheryl, uncertain of where this was going, stated nervously, "What do you mean Samuel?"
"Your boobies Miss Cheryl," trying to sound innocent again, Samuel explained, "could I see and play with your boobies Miss Cheryl, they are soooo beautiful!!" Samuel was also trying to undress this gorgeous woman step by step.
Cheryl thought to herself,
and she answered, "Ok, Samuel, let's make this a special night for you," and she lifted the shirt she had on over her head and undid her bra to allow her breasts to fall free.
Cheryl didn't panic as Samuel rushed forward, cupping Cheryl's breasts and pushing Cheryl to her back as he crawled up to place his thick cock between her breasts. Cheryl was a little surprised at the quickness of the move as well as the sexual knowledge of this young man. "Can you squeeze your breasts around my thick cock Cheryl?" he asked and instinctively, Cheryl cupped her large breasts and squeezed them around the thick cock sliding back and forth between them.
thought Cheryl, when suddenly she felt both of Samuel's hands surround her nipples and she felt his thumb and index finger massaging them until they started to rise, and a wetness flowed from her pussy as well. Next, a jolt of energy shot through her body as Samuel pinched and twisted the nipples and lifted the breasts straight upwards by the nipples as she pressed her massive tits around Samuel's cock. "Oh my... mmmph," stammered Cheryl as just when her mouth opened, Samuel shoved his cock upward and forward until it not only was being wrapped between her breasts but the head of his cock was being sucked, or rather, fucked into Cheryl's mouth, as well.
Working to further excite Cheryl, Samuel reached back and put one of his hands back between Cheryl's legs to rub her pussy under her skirt while the other hand lifted her head so he could fuck her mouth. Cheryl almost jumped out of her skin as Samuel's hands instantly found her clit which was extended from the excitement of everything happening thus far tonight.
thought Cheryl as Samuel's fingers tickled her clit all while he yanked her head forward to have her lips rubbing against the head of Samuel's thick cock. All the while, Cheryl still held her breasts together as Samuels massive shaft slid between them.
Suddenly Samuel stopped. He looked sadly at Cheryl, and said, "Cheryl, I think I love you," with eyes of adoration mixed with lust.
Cheryl's feelings of passion were no less at that moment as she was approaching a sexual peak she had never yet experienced in her life, but she was sure she couldn't utter the 'love' word, "That is so sweet Samuel, but I told you, I'm married, this is just... ungh, ungh..." and Samuel found an extremely sensitive spot on Cheryl's clit that started taking her to the next level.
Samuel looked down between Cheryl's legs, still covered by the skirt, and began removing the skirt from her body, while asking, "Can I?" as he licked his lips.
Cheryl felt the loss of sensation as Samuel stopped twitching his fingers on her clit, and she was trying to regain control of the situation, so she tried to reach down and pull her skirt back up, while asking Samuel to stop, but just then, Samuel dove his face between Cheryl's legs and his tongue, also disproportionately long and thick for his small stature, disappeared into Cheryl's pussy.
"Oh... my... god..." stammered Cheryl as the sensation of Samuel's tongue was like nothing she had ever experienced. Instead of pushing Samuel's head away, she held it firmly between her legs as wave after wave of pleasure descended down upon her.
Samuel reached down and positioned Cheryl on her knees in front of him as he knelt behind her and continued stabbing his thick tongue deep into her body, rotating it in ways to bring intense pleasure to Cheryl. Cheryl felt a deep wave of intense pleasure building, it centered in her lower spine, surrounded her hips, racked her nipples with sensations, and was building, building, until...
Suddenly, Samuel backed away from Cheryl. Groaning, she arched her hips backward, chasing his tongue as it pulled away. "Oh god Samuel, don't stop, please..." she groaned, but then she felt his hands on her hips pulling her kneeling form backwards and she felt an extremely large bulbous shaft pressing against the entrance to her pussy. "Oh no, Samuel, please we can't..., OH... MY... GOD..." as just a few inches entered Cheryl's dripping wet pussy.
"Cheryl, please, it may be my one and only chance to do this, to fuck a gorgeous woman," asked Samuel in a questioning tone.
Cheryl, knowing it was wrong, but unable to stop the sensations in her body reacting to everything new sexually to her, answered, "Just this once..., OH... GOD!!" she exclaimed as upon hearing Cheryl accept him fucking her, Samuel thrust all of his thick bulbous cock deep inside her and began thrusting in and out of her near virgin tight pussy (for Samuel) like a piledriver.
Cheryl felt so ashamed on one hand, but at the same time, she had never experienced such pleasure. The slapping of Samuel's belly into her ass created a rhythmic, almost musical staccato of a steady beat that added to the sensation of the thickness and length being shoved in and out of her body and drove Cheryl nearly insane with pleasure. Explosions of pleasure rocketed through Cheryl's body as thrust after thrust of Samuel's thick cock ravaged her tiny pussy and sent Cheryl into multiple realms of orgasmic pleasure the likes of which she had never dreamed.
As much as he wanted to use Cheryl's pussy as a cum dump, he knew she was still of limits for his use, so he pulled his thick cock from Cheryl's pussy. He watched amazedly as her pussy gripped his cockhead expanding backward from her body until finally his cock popped out and her pussy snapped back into place. She backed her hips trying to recapture Samuel's cock the way she chased after his tongue, all while still shuddering after the orgasms which racked through her body.
Cheryl next felt her head being yanked back roughly by her hair and she twisted her body to keep Samuel from breaking her neck and suddenly she was facing his thick cock again. "Suck you whore!!" was a thundering command coming from Samuel and she felt his cockhead pressing into her mouth again. Cheryl thought to herself,
But the reality was that this married, educated, professional woman was on her knees in front of a near stranger that she normally would never have given a second glance, and he was feeding her his cock, having just pulled it from fucking her sopping wet pussy. Cheryl heard Samuel groan, "I'm going to cum," and she felt his already monstrously sized cock grow even thicker and longer in her mouth, stretching out her jaw, and she felt jet after jet of his cum spurting out of his cock and filling her mouth and throat. After the moment of joy subsided, Samuel spoke.
"Oh my god," exclaimed Samuel, "you are the best whore Lateesha has ever set me up with!" he exclaimed excitedly.
Samuel's words sunk into Cheryl's brain, and she stuttered, "But," she stammered, "I said, I'm not a whore. What about your sickness? What about his being your first time? What about everything you said?"
Samuel, in his grotesque fat shape laughed at Cheryl, and replied, "You seemed like you were having some guilt about what needed to be done on this trip. I figured a little role-playing would help things along a bit." Samuel gripped Cheryl's head firmly and placed his cock, which was still dripping some cum, at Cheryl's lips, "Clean up my cock you fucking whore!" commanded Samuel, now glad he could treat Cheryl as the slut he wanted to treat her.
The realization of what had just happened to Cheryl began crashing down over her. She was in a limousine with a near stranger. He played on her good nature to get her to have guilt about him. While he was shorter than her, he definitely had strength that she felt from his grip on her head, and she knew he probably outweighed her by a good forty or fifty pounds. Tears began streaming down Cheryl's cheeks and she began sobbing as she felt Samuel's firm grip on her head, guiding her towards his dripping cock. She feared he might hurt her if she refused. He clearly had strength he could probably break her neck.
Cheryl untensed her body and allowed Samuel to guide her head to his cock and she began licking up the cum pooling on his leg where his cock lay on the leg and she traced the line of cum up to his cockhead.
"See?" commented Samuel while smiling, "I knew you could be a good whore with a little incentive."
Cheryl, licking up the pools of cum and still swallowing portions of the load Samuel just shot into her mouth, began to think about the slightly salty taste and texture of Samuel's cum. She also kept hearing Samuel referring to her as a whore. She hated Samuel, but then she thought about it, was it Samuel or did she really hate herself for falling for this? Or Lateesha for setting her up?
On top of that, to Cheryl's dismay, there was a part of her brain and body that was craving cum. She made the connection to Claude Johnston and his "cream" but it didn't matter anymore, as angry as she was, her need to feel the taste and texture of cum overpowered those feelings.
Samuel moved to the middle of the seat and motioned for Cheryl to kneel between his legs, facing him in the back of the limo. Cheryl, now feeling utterly defeated, complied. Samuel reached down between his legs and pulled his cock up towards his belly so that his balls extended forward disgustingly beneath his pudgy belly and between his short stubby thighs.
"The evening is not over yet," explained Samuel, and he pointed down between his legs and said, "now whore, lick my balls," to Cheryl's dismay. She hesitated and, with a quickness and force which she had not expected, Samuel slapped Cheryl, stunning and confusing her. "Did I stutter, whore?"
Cheryl moved forward now, her mind no longer clouded by lust, and she realized her situation. Samuel's ball sack was filthy and she cringed each time her tongue ran along his scrotum, but she didn't know of any other option. "There you go whore," said Samuel gently, "take my left nut into your mouth and just hold it there softly, and run your tongue along it." Upon hearing that, Cheryl wanted to scream, and even hurt Samuel, but instead, she stretched open her mouth, and allowed Samuel's scrotum and left testicle to sit in her mouth as she unconsciously ran her tongue along it. After what seemed like an eternity, even though it had probably only been minutes, Samuel stated gently again, "Now, whore, the other nut, whore," repeating the word "whore" to firmly plant the concept in Cheryl's head.
Cheryl did not hesitate this time, and moved her head forward quickly to take Samuel's other testicle into her mouth. Again, it was absolutely disgusting and dirty and she could taste the sweat and dirt on him, but she accepted her role and rolled his nut in her mouth and massaged the area to try and give Samuel pleasure. "Now you're getting it whore," said Samuel calmly, "now get out."
Cheryl noticed the limo was not moving but didn't have any idea of how long they had been stopped. She looked out the window and saw they were parked in front of her house.
thought Cheryl,
Cheryl was cringing in shame as she reached her hand towards the door.
"I almost forgot," said Samuel as Cheryl began crawling out the door and she looked back at him and he had two $20 bills that he pushed into her hand. "I deducted from the normal fee because I had to do so much work. Next time maybe you'll get the full fee," and he pushed her out the door with his foot and closed the door quickly.
Cheryl stood in her driveway, looking at the $20 bills in her hand. A sad and terrifying thought overpowered her,
and tears streamed down her face as she began sobbing hysterically,
Cheryl then quickly scanned the driveway, thankful Rob has been working late and his car was not in the driveway and she rushed inside to her bathroom and stripped down and began scrubbing Samuel's cum off of her body and trying to rinse the taste from her mouth.
After a long time of scrubbing and trying to rinse out her mouth, Cheryl headed to bed, no more tears in her head to cry but she still felt terrible and guilty. Her phone beeped from a new message arriving. She thought it might be Rob, and she looked,
Although Cheryl thought she had no tears left to cry, they began streaming down her face and she cried herself to sleep.
|
I giggled and we both start kissing each other. I can taste my juices off his mouth.
Brian – We had done lots of hard work tonight, so I think we need to eat something.
He left the room and when he came back, he was having one tray filled with fruits, pastries, cream and vodka. I was still in my gown and he was in his trousers.
Brian – Don't you think we are wearing so many clothes?
I smiled and said – Sort of.
He made me stand and came behind me. He opened the zipper of my gown and I let it go off my body. Now I was just in my bra. He opened the hook of it and moved strap off my shoulder. I tried to hold my bra but he stopped me. Now he moved infront of me and removed my bra and tossed it to the floor.
Brian – I was aware that you have an awesome pair but it's beyond my imagination.
Now he pushed me on bed and rotated my position, so that my face will be on the edge of the bed. I was able to see him upside down. He sat on the floor on his knees and took a strawberry. He kept that in between his lips and placed on my lips. As we chewed it our mouth has filled with its fruity flavour mixed with our saliva. We were kissing each other so passionately and he was caressing and fondling my boobs.
Now he took one banana and start tracing it all over my lips. I was getting aroused by this.
Brian whispered– Open your mouth honey!
I smiled and parted my lips. He placed the banana on my lips and I started to suck it slowly. He was observing the pleasure I am getting in sucking a banana.
Brian grinned and said – Someone likes to suck. Even I got something for you.
He got up and opened the button of his trouser. Now I can see the bulge in his underwear. He pulled down his underwear and revealed his whole 12 inches of his big black cock hanging between his legs. My eyes got widen by his cock size, I was just amazed by the thickness of his cock. He was as thick as my forearm. He took his cock and move forward a bit. Now he placed his cock on my face. His cock length was covering my face from forehead to chin.
Brian whispered – It's still not so stiff and I am sure you will help me out.
He took his cock and start rubbing and tapping it all over my face. He held my shoulders and pulled my face more towards the edge. Now my head was almost hanging in air and my hairs falls down the floor. Now he took his cock, slowly placed it on my lips and slowly pushed it through my lips.
Brian moaned – Mmm! Your mouth feels like heaven.
My lips were wrapped around his cock and he was slowly moving his cock to and fro. My mouth was fully opened and still I was not able to take more then 1/4th of his cock. He was moaning in pleasure and slowly trying to move his cock deep in my mouth. Now he held my head and slowly started to give me deep throat.
Brian – Turn around baby. I want your lips to be wrapped around my cock.
Now I was on my belly and can see his monster properly. Still my head was on the edge. He leaned and kissed my lips.
Brian – Open your mouth baby!
He placed his two fingers on my mouth and made me suck it. Now he took the cream and filled my mouth with it. In order to eat and swallow the cream, it's started to spill out of my mouth.
Brian – That's bad, let me help you with that.
He placed his one hands on back of my head and with other he took his cock and showed his way to my mouth. He started to move his waist in rhythm and his cock started to move back and forth in my mouth. Cream was dripping down my mouth and some of it was going down my throat. Now he kept both his hands on back of my head and started to push it slowly deep down my throat. After pushing it deep he pulled it out completely. I can see the gooey threads between my lips and his cock. Again he kept his cock in mouth and started to fuck it faster. He held my hairs and started to fuck my mouth vigorously.
Brian grunted – I am going to cum!!!
I tried to pull it out of my mouth but he held my head. He started spurting cum and filled my mouth. His cum started to spill out of my mouth and made a thick trail on my chin. Some of his cum rushed down to my throat. Slowly he pulled out his cock and rubbed his tip over my lips. Now his cock was limp and hanging between his legs.
He moved to bed and lay on his back. He pulled me besides him, took my hand in his hand and made me stroke his cock. He started kissing me passionately; meanwhile I was stroking his cock. Again his cock started to grow and became hard. I continue to stroke him and his hand moved to my butts and started caressing it.
Brian whispers in my ear – It's time to feel your depths.
He got up, held my knees and spread them to make some room for him. He was now just sitting in between my legs. His cock was lying over my pubic region and his tip was nearby my belly button. He applied good amount of jelly on his cock and started rubbing its tip on my slit. Now he kept his cock's tip over my love hole and gave a gentle thrust, which made his cock to explore my warm and wet pussy. With each thrust his cock was inching deep in my pussy and my pussy walls can feel the stretch. Slowly my pussy was able to accommodate half of his big and thick cock. He placed both his hand on each side of me and started pumping his cock deep in my pussy. We both started to moan in pleasure. My pussy walls were gripping his cock and I was getting the great pleasure. With each thrust his cock was moving deep in my pussy and I can feel every inch of his cock in me. Now he laid over me, placed his lips on mine and started to fuck me harder. I can hear the loud sloppy sounds, my pussy was making while his cock was going in and out of me. He stopped for a while and slowly started grinding his cock. He was stretching my pussy wide by grinding his cock deep in me. Suddenly he pulled out his cock, which left a big gap in my pussy.
Brian – Oh! That's a lovely gap you got there!
Now he turned me around and made me on my all four. He moved behind me and started rubbing his cock over my slit. Slowly he pushed his cock in my pussy, held my waist and started to fuck me in rhythm. His cock was now exploring my virgin territory and I was in moaning in pleasure. And suddenly with a hard thrust he pushed his whole length deep in me. I screamed and felt his tip was touching my cervix. We stopped for a moment to make my pussy muscle relax and accept his big cock. He leaned over my back and cupped my boobs. Meanwhile he was kissing my shoulders to keep me relaxed and calm. Slowly he started to pump my pussy and started giving hard thrusts. By then my pain were replaced with the pure pleasure and I was enjoying his cock deep in my pussy. I felt he increased the intensity and started to fuck me with long and hard thrusts. His cock was throbbing and his grunts became louder. He grabbed my butt and pushed his cock deep in my pussy. He stayed there for a moment and with a loud grunt, I felt spurts of his warm cum splashed all over my pussy walls. He slowly started to pull his cock out of my pussy and left a cum trail behind it. He pulled his cock completely out of my pussy and I can see cum droplets on his cock. He came just infront of my face with his limp cock hanging between his legs. I wrapped my lips around it and sucked him clean. We both were exhausted and breathing heavily.He lies just besides me and pull up the blanket over us and we slept in each other arms.
|
Daenerys XVI
D
aenerys smiled softly at Visenya watching her jumping off Viserion's back.
While Aegon had been occupied on the training grounds, making fools of seasoned warriors and duelling with his uncle, Daenerys had taken some time to be with ser Jorah and Rakharo.
Both wanted to return to Dorne at the earliest notice, ser Jorah because he felt suffocated by lady Stark's hatred for what he did with those men he sold as slaves and Rakharo because they had learned little before departing Sunspear that Irri was with child. Daenerys had offered Rakharo to stay behind with his pregnant wife, but the Dothraki had reminded her she was blood of his blood and where she went so did he.
It was almost time for the birth and Daenerys hoped to return to Sunspear fast enough for Irri and Rakharo to share the joy of bringing in the world their child.
Visenya, instead, had taken Viserion for a flight. Aegon had shared that albeit reluctantly in the beginning Visenya had taken at flying the same way she took at everything with passion and marvel.
Often
he had said
if I do not know where to look for her I just have to look up
.
Daenerys loved flying with Drogon although she was often scared and marvelled both about how strong and single-minded her child could become.
Visenya smiled back, her curly hair framed her forehead and her face nicely as swept by the wind and having been musled by the winds.
She wore the attire Daenerys had had made for her plus the headpiece Aegon had gifted her. They must have looked quite the sight, Visenya all dark hair and strong and dark Targaryen colors and Daenerys all light hair and white attire.
She had chosen white because she had heard many a whisper in the keep about how the king was better to marry her off for a possible alliance since she wasn't a maiden anymore having been married to a dothraki warlord. She wanted them to see, to know she didn't feel ashamed of her past and she was as pure as any Targaryen Queen was to be. Pure and terrible if needed.
"I see you have took at flying the same way you take everything, marvelous! - she smiled proudly at her niece - I cannot begin to tell you how happy
and
grateful I am that you managed to bring my child back from that
state
he was in."
Visenya smiled as Viserion nudged her shoulder with his snout.
"He helped me equally as much - she admitted - he is a part of me, same as Ghost."
Daenerys smiled and held out a hand to pet Viserion. No matter who their riders were, the dragons remained her children and as such always welcomed her praise and love.
The dragon made a strange purring sound and leaned his face against her touch.
"What do you say we go cheer for Aegon on the training grounds?" she offered "I feel as if we haven't seen much of each other since our time in the North."
Daenerys smiled and nodded "I should apologize for that. I left without an explanation." she shook her head, the bell in her hair clinging.
Visenya held the clasp of her red cloak in her hand and nodded.
"After what Jojen had shared… I felt the need to have some alone time to wrap my head around the fact that I could do that to the people I only wish to live in peace."
Visenya leaned in her space throwing her arms around her neck and embracing her.
"That person is not
you
!" she declared hotly "Daenerys - she murmured - you are
our
Daenerys. That Daenerys is not you, you are not bound to her mistakes or by her fate."
Daenerys circled her waist holding her thigt.
"I promise you, Daenerys. I'll never let you loose control."
And Daenerys believed her, nudged her cheek with her and planted a kiss on her forehead.
"
Kirimvose, Senyā
." she murmured against the skin of her forehead.
She took a step back and offered her, her hand. Together they walked to the training grounds where Aegon was busy talking with ser Edric after having won their duel.
Lord Robb and lady Margaery were there too, lady Margaery was sat watching her brother and betrothed duel. They caught the end of their duel as lord Robb pointed his sword to ser Garland's neck.
The two parted amicably as they clasped hands. As they finished and Daenerys was greeting Aegon with a kiss on the cheek lord Robb called out:
"What do you say,
Visenya
- he called familiarly - why don't we give these men a good show?" he asked making a wide gesture with his hands.
Daenerys caught lady Margaery's hurt face before observing Visenya react, Aegon too was waiting to see how she would react.
Visenya turned around to them likely mulling over the thing in her mind but lord Robb had left her no choice, either she refused and would be looked at as weak or she accepted.
Daenerys knew which one she'd take. Visenya exchanged a look with Aegon, unclasped her red cloak letting it fall to the side, then unsheathed Dark Sister from her back and unclasped the scabbard she wore on her back.
"You sound too cocksure,
Stark
- she pointed out - mayhaps you won't stand a chance against me."
He just made a gesture which meant
come at me
.
Daenerys looked at Aegon and saw his face was stoic just as that of lady Margaery. She returned her gaze to her niece and her cousin who were circling each other.
"You have grown
heavy
, Stark - she taunted him - sure you can keep up with me?"
It was then that he attacked with a sheer force that left Daenerys clutching Aegon's arm for support, and yet Visenya met every hit with a graceful par or dodging it. It was as if they were dancing to a music only they could hear.
They seemed so in sync that it was like watching two forces clash together. Like wind against water.
"He is holding back" Aegon muttered and Daenerys commented it was mayhaps because he was used to duel with her without using all his force.
Visenya twirled around bringing Dark Sister above her head just as lord Robb's sword come down on her. The two swords clashed together as Visenya planted her feet steady on the ground then ducked to the side letting the sword fall throught, lord Robb unbalanced after her move had to take a step not to fall and Visenya used this distraction to kick him in the ribs with all her force making him stumble back.
She then started attacking but they were too close, lord Robb circled her shoulders with an arm and kept his sword at her neck.
"Do you yield, your Grace?" they heard him pant.
Daenerys felt Aegon stiffen obviously unnerved by seeing his wife with a sword at her neck.
"Never" she spat "You stubborn fool, we are
even
." she declared nudging him to move aside a little as he did his clothes revealed that Visenya had her dagger pointed to his liver.
They watched as Robb took some time to consider this and then let her go taking a step back.
Visenya turned, probably to offer him her hand but lord Robb didn't even look at her as he sheathed his sword at the scabbard at his hip and wiped a curl from his forehead.
"You have grown slow, your Grace - he declared - the life of a queen is treating you too well."
He then turned on his heel wistled at Grey Wind and left the training grounds with his direwolf hot on his heels.
Daenerys exchanged a look with Aegon as he approached his wife.
Tormund Giantsbane was there too commenting on some moves and declaring she really was
Mance Rayder
's daughter with that swordmanship.
Daenerys approached Aegon, Visenya and Tormund with ser Edric Dayne in tow.
"That move with the dagger! - the wildling was saying gesturing wildly - fastest little bugger I ever seen you are, Mancesddaughter."
Daenerys took her hand in hers.
"You fought real well,
Senyā
." she complimented her niece "Real graceful too."
Aegon had her other hand she smiled sadly at them and nodded.
Daenerys decided she needed to have a
chat
with Robb Stark. For he was being a jerk and was hurting the woman she meant to take as wife and dragons did not take well to others hurting their own.
so, sorry for the in-chapter notes, I don't know why but my phone browser doesn't open up the panel for me to write the author notes even if I have selected it, and I have no time to copy-past everything by pc since I am headed to work and I whished to leave you with a chapter before I begun my turn.
So point is Robb is being a jerk because reasons he won't admit, Daenerys is on a war path because said Warden of the North is hurting Visenya and Aegon is barely keeping it together... Oh and Margaery apparently now has seen first hand what she had only thought before. So, here's that.
Next chap we are in the Lannisters encampment with Robert, Tiwyn and how they react to the news Stannis has taken prisoner Joffrey. No, you are not gonna get Cersei's reaction just yet ;P
Let me know what you think! As always good things to you all!
|
Taehyung woke up to the smell of something burning and the frantic screams of Kangjoon.
He sat up in a hurry looking around and noticing that Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jungkook were nowhere to be found. Kangjoon was standing at the door, looking like he was trying to decide whether or not to come in.
It took Taehyung some time to understand why that was the case—he had completely forgotten that both Jimin and Yoongi, who were sleeping to his left, were in their heat.
Last night, after Jimin and Namjoon had come to the room, their leader and oldest hyung sat them all to tell them about what happened with Yoongi. They explained that Taehyung using his alpha voice triggered him greatly since he was currently on a “suppressants detox” and caused him to go in heat. It had pained the younger alpha to know that he forced his hyung’s body into something so painful without even knowing it but Seokjin had told him that it was bound to happen either way and that it would only be a couple of days, maybe even two, before Yoongi could go back to living his normal life. More than anything, the hyungs had both begged them to not take this ‘lie’ that the omega had been telling too bad, and to wait until he was back on his two feet to demand an explanation. They had all agreed on that and promised to take good care of him and Jimin.
Which is why, when he got reminded of their current vulnerability his instincts kicked in.
“
Don’t you dare.
” He growled at the older alpha, moving to shield both omegas with his body. His wolf was demanding him to go and snap Kangjoon’s neck for even daring to come near their room. But his mind knew better than that, it understood that if Kangjoon was there, something really wrong was happening.
“I am so sorry.” The older alpha backed off and raised his hands up high. “But it’s really urgent. An intruder was able to get inside Haneul’s suite and attacked Jiwon before he set the room on fire.”
“WHAT?” Taehyung found himself screaming in shock. He tried to stand up but, seeing how Yoongi was starting to move in his sleep, didn’t want to risk waking them up.
He was, once again, faced with a situation where he had to act like the alpha he was supposed to be and almost felt himself melting from the pressure. But when he heard a scream from the next suite he quickly made up his mind.
“Where is Hyekyo-noona?” He asked as he tried to look around.
Thankfully, she appeared right at that moment and after raising her hands up, signaling that she intended to help the alpha, came inside.
“I am here. I’ll stay with them. You can go.”
Taehyung nodded, kissed both omega’s foreheads, and, checking on Hoseok, who was still unresponsive, took off out of the room to see what was happening.
At his arrival to the other room, he noticed one thing—and it was neither the flames nor Jiwon’s bloody body on the floor. No, what Taehyung noticed first was some asshole holding up a dagger and pointing it at Namjoon’s throat. The pair were standing at the door of the suite right next to Jiwon’s body and a few guards were inside the room trying to put out the fire. Jungkook and Haneul were nowhere to be found, although, in hindsight, it was clear that his lover would go out with the baby to make sure that he wasn’t too traumatized by what he had seen. Seokjin was the only one facing the pair, saying things that Taehyung couldn’t care to know.
All he could focus on was the fact that right in front of him was a guy who, for some reason, thought it would be okay to try and harm his hyung, his leader.
Taehyung pounced before he could even gather his thoughts properly. Falling on the bastard's body, he snatched the dagger out of his hands.
And then their eyes met, and something weird, something cold took over his body.
His head hurt as he remembered a scream.
Everything was blurry, but he remembers.
He remembers a shadow getting closer.
He remembers quickly shifting lanes.
He remembers bloodstains.
He remembers feeling suffocated and running.
He remembers agony and then...nothing.
The man under him spoke quietly.
“You didn’t think you’d get away with it, did you?” He snickered, and although his voice was weak from all his pain, he carried on. “Little pretty baby gets handed everything on a diamond platter, doesn’t he? And if the said baby makes a mistake, it doesn’t matter. Even if he kills people, innocent people, and ruins their loved one’s lives, he should never get punished, cause he’s a brat, cause he’s their baby, their precious pretty baby. But little did he know, that’s not how real life works, and soon enough he’ll be getting his punishment.”
Taehyung frowned and loosened his grip on the man...What killing? What was this guy talking about?
“What are you saying?...I’ve never ever harmed someone. Why are you accusing me of...of these things and who are you and what...why? Why are you doing this?”
His eyes shone as his heartbeat started picking up; he was getting worked up and he didn’t even know what for.
“Awn. Such a baby that you can’t even remember doing anything wrong?”
He felt the man’s hand sneakily moving behind his back and then it clicked in his mind: he was distracting him.
He didn't remember doing anything after that, he only remembers, then and now, a strange feeling, a wave of overwhelming anger, a need to protect, a need to tear apart….a need to
kill
.
“
NO MORE HURTING MY HYUNGS. NO MORE. NO MORE. I WON’T LET ANY OF YOU COME NEAR THEM!
”
He felt his fangs appearing, was able to sense the flesh as he bit into it over and over again. His wolf took over and bared his claws, scratching the bastard's face like there was no tomorrow.
He could feel blood running over his palms as he hurt the man, but he didn't care, he wanted to do more, inflict him the greatest pain for ever thinking of coming close to his hyungs. A fire was burning near them but the fire inside of him was ready to explode further than these four walls. There were too many pent-up emotions, so much hurt and betrayal that he needed to let out. He howled loudly, and gripping the guy's throat with one hand, he was ready to snap it, when he felt familiar hands grab him. They were so soft yet held him strongly. He was pulled up and into one of his hyungs' arms, instantly recognizing Seokjin's rosy scent.
The fact that he was so gentle, that he held him delicately because he knew, he fucking knew, that Taehyung was breaking, made the latter’s heart warm up. The tears started and he wasn’t able to stop them, he clutched him so hard, he could practically feel his claws dig into his back skin.
“No more, please...no more.”
“Shhh...It’s okay Prince, it’s okay, it’s all good, this is all a bad dream and hyungies will fix it, okay Prince? How about you go to sleep, huh? Doesn’t that sound so good? Fall asleep in hyungie’s warm embrace.”
And yes, he wanted to go to sleep, he needed to erase everything from his memory.
“Alpha, take care of Prince?”
“Of course baby,
of course
.”
He felt him lick his neck slowly and he closed his eyes.
“Sleep…”
“
Yes baby, be a good boy and go to sleep.
”
The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was his hyung’s rosy scent as it filled his nostrils, taking him far away to a place much safer than this one.
▪︎▪︎▪︎
When Seokjin woke up, a couple of minutes earlier, he had heard a high-pitched scream coming from Haneul’s suite.
He didn’t waste any time trying to understand what was happening, instantly getting his gun and running out of the room.
His breath got hitched when he arrived at the suite’s door: it was wide open. Seokjin ran inside at the exact moment when a match was thrown.
There was a body lying down on the floor, a pool of blood at its side, the body was that of a woman and a dagger, that shone even in the darkness of the room, was planted in the middle of her chest.
He heard crying coming from behind the body.
Not any crying, his
Haneul
crying.
He growled.
The match was thrown on the bed covers and a man, that he couldn’t see clearly, laughed.
Seokjin snapped then. He ran to his son, taking him in his arms and planting hundreds of kisses on his forehead. He whispered sweet nothings in his child’s ear, all while snatching the dagger out of the lifeless body.
Being this close he could discern Jiwon’s features, his heart clenched but there was no time for that. He aimed quickly at the man’s lower abdomen while covering his son’s face and distracting him as best as he could.
The man fell down to his knees, wide eyes, but with a sly smirk still on his face.
“...You came.”
The voice was familiar enough, had a strange accent that he couldn’t put his hand on, but he was sure that the guy wasn't Korean. His face was covered, but his eyes weren’t of course. Those eyes shone with a kind of hate and envy that could kill people on the spot.
Seokjin backed out of the room quickly, not sure of what to do first. He needed to keep Haneul safe. He needed to save Jiwon because who knows...there might be a chance, at least he
hoped
there was a chance. But he also needed to make sure that the bastard was alive, they needed him to know what kind of plan was behind all of this.
Without even realizing it he howled, calling out for his packmates. And before he could even blink he saw Namjoon rushing to his side, Jungkook closely after. There was movement everywhere, guards came running to the hall and Jungkook hurried to get Haneul from him, running out with him to the floor’s terrace.
Namjoon, ever being the brave alpha he is, burst into the room, which was practically burning at this point, and hurried to get Jiwon out of there.
“GET THE ASSHOLE OUT OF THE ROOM AND NOW.”
The guards hurried to execute their Boss’ orders but he was quicker, taking the dagger out of his own abdomen and aiming it at Namjoon's back.
Seokjin froze then, not wanting to do anything that might trigger the man into harming his lover. He didn’t reach for his gun but he looked the man straight in the eyes, thinking that if looks could kill, the bastard would be dead in a second.
He tried to reason with him, letting him know that he was a dead man either way but that if he put that dagger down, they would consider sparing his family’s lives.
Just as the asshole, who scoffed, was about to answer, Seokjin saw someone throwing themselves at him and realized that it was Taehyung.
One second they were speaking in a hushed voice, the other, Taehyung was tearing apart his face, using his claws to scratch any part of his body that he could reach.
Seokjin didn’t intervene at first, wanting him to let out all his pent-up anger on him. But when he saw that he was about to snap his neck, he ran up to him, taking him in his arms and not letting him go until he was a crying mess in his arms.
He tried to soothe him, using his alpha voice to get him to relax. He kept brushing the alpha’s hair until he felt his breathing get slower.
“Oyabun. The fire was put out.” Kangjoon came and bowed in front of him. “I am so…”
“Save it. Get the jet ready and be set to take off in 15 minutes. We're going back home.”
Hoseok’s right-hand man bowed and excused himself as Seokjin turned around to see what was happening around him. He could see Namjoon disappearing at the end of the hallway carrying a bleeding Jiwon and following Jinah who came running as soon as the guards alerted her of what had happened. Two of their guards were carrying the body of that asshole who, so far, wasn't moving.
"Is he dead?" He asked them.
One of the alphas nodded his head and Seokjin
tried
not to think too much of the fact that he just witnessed Taehyung killing someone. The bastard did deserve it after all so it shouldn't be that big of a deal. Except it maybe was and his heart might have been hurting from that realization but he chose to ignore it all.
Seokjin took a second to just
breathe
trying his best to compose himself before he had to go back to their suite to tell his omegas that something bad happened
again
while they're in their heat.
"Is he dead?" Jungkook asked as he got inside the hallway, two guards following him closely.
"Yes." Seokjin nodded and opened his arm to his two pups, breathing a sigh of relief when he noticed that Haneul wasn't crying anymore.
“Good.” Jungkook reacted in a stern voice, putting his head on his hyung’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “I wanna go back home.”
“We will, baby.” Seokjin ran his hands in Jungkook’s hair and kissed Haneul’s forehead. “Pup, are you okay?”
Haneul nodded his head but didn’t say anything which had the two alphas sharing a concerned look.
“Appa…” The pup whimpered after a while, his eyes starting to fill up with tears.
Seokjin was quick to place soothing kisses on his forehead, and, grabbing Jungkook’s hand, they both walked to the suite where the other members were.
They found Hyekyo there, sitting down with the two omegas who were now wide awake and silently looking around. Jimin was in Yoongi’s arms, leaning his head on his shoulder. Near them, a few staff members were getting Hoseok ready to be taken to the roof where a helicopter was waiting for them.
Upon seeing his Appa, Haneul started fidgeting in Jungkook’s arms, demanding to be put down.
“Haneulie!” Yoongi exclaimed and stood up, immediately running to them and taking Haneul in his arms.
He started kissing all over his face and trying to check if he was okay.
“Who did this?” He asked with a frown on his face as he looked at Seokjin, his eyes demanding immediate answers.
“We still don’t know but we soon will.”
“What about Jiwon?”
Seokjin let out a sigh.
“She wasn’t breathing when we found her, but Jinah and a few other doctors are trying their best to save her. Namjoon is with them.”
Yoongi didn’t show any emotion at that, he only nodded his head and, holding his son close to him, walked out of the suite.
Hadn’t Seokjin known better he would have sworn that Yoongi was unaffected by any of this, if not a tiny bit too enraged. Yet, he knew that, somewhere deep inside of him, the omega was breaking, was shattered because he could have lost what’s most important to him: his son.
From where he was, Yoongi looked strong. He stood tall and when his eyes met Seokjin’s they were terrifyingly dark, promising a vengeance, promising to give anyone and everyone a taste of The Godfather’s wrath. He walked, holding Jimin’s hands and whispering sweet little lies into his son’s ears. He walked proudly as if nothing happened, but still, Seokjin could see it, something reminiscent of one day two years ago. On that day, he remembers Yoongi walking into their mansion after they’d heard a shot fired. His mask was impeccable as he smiled at his hyung, he didn’t say a thing, only headed towards the elevator. That day and today, when he turned around he did that boss walk of his, his head was held up high but Seokjin looked closely enough to see his hands shake slightly and his shoulders shudder under the weight of his unspoken truth. Then and now, Seokjin saw, kept quiet, and understood that behind the smiles and the confidence something dark was lying.
They might have uncovered one secret of his on that day, however, Seokjin felt like there was more to it than meets the eyes. A curious part of him wished to know what he was hiding but his secretive side demanded him to respect the omega’s privacy; after all, Seokjin himself wouldn’t want anyone snooping around and finding out his own secrets.
▪︎▪︎▪︎
It took them five minutes to get Hobi and everyone ready and onboard the helicopter, which was waiting on the hospital’s rooftop, and five more minutes to arrive at the hangar where their jet was kept. They boarded quietly, Jinah and their medical staff making sure that Hoseok was properly wired and set for the trip back home.
Yoongi kept Haneul in his arms all the time and didn’t let go of Jimin’s hands even when they were seated inside the jet. The omega was keeping his mouth shut, not talking to anyone and only staring at Hoseok longingly. And he might not have known what was going on between them or why Jimin was so broken, but he was, at the end of the day, an omega just like him and going through a heat as well, so he understood that he needed to be kept warm and taken care of at all times.
“It’s okay.” He whispered in his ears as he kissed his cheeks. “We’re going back home and our alphas will take
such
good care of you.”
Something in Jimin’s eyes lit up at the prospect and that was enough for Yoongi to calm his worrying heart.
Namjoon was the last one to get inside the jet and looked like he was bearing bad news to Yoongi. He opened his mouth to speak but the latter only shook his head. There was no point explaining it; he already understood that Jiwon was no longer there with them.
“Where is her body?” He asked.
The alpha sat down next to him, putting Jimin on his lap and hugging him close to his chest before responding.
“Still in the hospital. Jinah and Kangjoon stayed back to finish all the legal stuff and get the body ready for the funeral. It’ll be held tomorrow at our funeral home.”
“She had no family.” Yoongi frowned and kissed Haneul’s forehead, trying and failing to hold back the tears that came streaming down his face. “Only a couple of friends from her time in Tokyo.”
“I am aware. Kangjoon has their contacts so he’ll be letting them know and sending a private jet to get them to Seoul.” He tried to smile and patted his shoulder. “She was a loyal beta. We all loved her very much so we’ll make sure to honor her legacy as much as we can.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
Yoongi’s voice broke as he said that and Namjoon pulled him into his embrace, planting small kisses all over his nape as the omega started crying silently.
“Let it out.” The alpha said and Yoongi could only do that.
He cried and cried, still not letting go of Haneul who started sobbing in his arms.
And God, did Yoongi feel weak at that moment! He felt so helpless, not even able to keep a strong facade for his baby who, although he might still not know it, has just lost his nanny, a woman that has been there with him since he was a few days old.
The omega also felt dirty for staying in Namjoon’s arms mere hours after they had just discovered his truth. They must have all had so many questions for him, must have felt so betrayed, and yet here was Namjoon, holding him close and letting him cry in his arms. He acted as if nothing had just happened, as if the heat smell that was filling the jet wasn’t partly coming from him.
Their reactions, or lack thereof, made Yoongi feel that much more attracted to them and although he understood that he was undeserving of the love that Seokjin showed him earlier and that Namjoon was expressing silently at that moment, a part of him was willing to accept it, because what happened to Hoseok taught him to never take any of them for granted.
He had been so busy trying to cover his truth and keep his secrets that he failed to notice just how lucky he was to have these six men around him all of the time. And the news of Jiwon passing away only made him see this truth more clearly.
Bangtan was all that he had from day one, and he wasn’t willing to risk losing it for anything in this world.
So he chose to express even a small part of his feelings and emotions right then.
He looked up at Namjoon with his puffy eyes and whispered the words that he should have been saying every single day for the last decade.
“I love you and I am so grateful to have you.” He moved his head to kiss his neck, possessed by a sudden urge to let all of them know that they were
all that he has
.
He heard Namjoon chuckle but he also heard him sniffle and saw, from the corner of his eyes, as he tried to discreetly dry his own tears.
“I love you so much, hyung.” He whispered in his ears and brought his head up so that they could kiss.
This wasn’t their first kiss—they had messed around a couple of times in their trainee days so Yoongi already knew what to expect. He had an idea of what Namjoon tasted like; early morning warm coffee but what came as a surprise to him was how his style changed.
Back in the day, Namjoon used to kiss greedily, as if devouring his mouth. He expressed his lust and longing in bites and licking all around the mouth but at that moment, he kissed him sweetly, shortly, with all the care in the world. He cradled his face in between his long slim fingers and tilted his head slightly as he explored his mouth for the first time in years.
They could both taste each other’s tears while kissing but Yoongi didn’t feel bothered by that, if anything it made it feel that much more authentic to have them bare their feelings in front of each other for what seemed like forever.
“How sweet!” They heard from behind them and finally broke the kiss.
Seokjin had been the one to speak. He had a smile on his face and was sitting on the other side, Taehyung was sleeping on his lap and a distracted Jungkook was sitting by his side.
The maknae looked like he was freaking out internally and Yoongi was reminded of how much the younger alpha hated take-offs.
Yoongi wanted to stand up and go over to hold his other hand through the process, but when he saw Seokjin whispering something in his ears, which had Jungkook closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he was convinced that their hyung would be able to handle it on his own. So he sat back, keeping his head on Namjoon’s shoulder and holding Jimin’s hands who has, thankfully, fallen asleep as well.
The jet started moving slowly then picked up its pace, Yoongi held Haneul extra close knowing how scary this part was for his baby.
“Appa…”
His voice was small, unsure, and Yoongi cursed the whole world for being unfair. His child was way, way, too young to be this scared, to witness such traumatic events.
“Yes, little one.” He kissed his forehead and faked his most reassuring smile.
“W..where is ‘Wonie? Why not wid Haneulie?”
“Well…” He started, unable to find the right words to let his son know that his nanny that he loved so much, had just given her life up to protect him.
“Haneul, baby” Namjoon stepped in at the right moment, red eyes and nose but still sporting a bright, forced smile. “Remember what Daddy told you about Angels?"
The little kid nodded his head and took his Daddy's hands in his. Namjoon kissed his palms and stared at him as the child spoke.
"That they live in haneul?"
"Exactly. Angels live in the sky. And you know Jiwon-ssi is always working so hard to stay by Haneul's side, but it turns out her family missed her and asked God to take her back to her home."
Haneul frowned at his father's words.
"...so no 'Wonie?" His lip started wobbling as he looked between Yoongi and Namjoon with big hopeful eyes.
"No, no...baby please don't cry."
Yoongi tried to hold him even closer to his chest.
"If you cry it's going to hurt your 'Wonie, and she will be so sad up there, and if she's sad she won't ever be able to come back and see Haneul. Do you want that?"
"No…" The toddler shook his head. "No, no...Haneul won't cwy." He held his Appa tight and kissed Namjoon's hands. "No cwy...see Daddy? Haneul so stwong."
"Of course he is. Haneul is so strong just like his Appa."
Yoongi smiled and planted a small kiss on the alpha’s lips. For a moment, as he leaned into Namjoon's arms, he was able to breathe in his scent. He closed his eyes and imagined, for a small second, if this was all just a part of the longest dream someone ever had.
If he were able to, he'd go back to when Hoseokwas about to exit that damned suite and stop all of them. He'd stay by Jungkook's side and force Taehyung to listen to everything they had to say.
He smiled, imagining what it would be like if one night ago they were able to bathe in each other's warmth, without worrying about a thing. He dreamed and dreamed, painted a perfect life in his head, and somewhere along the way, he fell into a deep sleep with a heavy sigh and a regretful heart.
He didn't open his eyes, even when they were landing. It wasn't until he felt the comfort of their own mansion that he was finally able to move in Namjoon's arms. He cracked one eye open and saw that they were indeed back home and heading towards their den.
"Hyung."
Namjoon smiled and kissed him as he placed all three of them on the empty bed.
Jimin was still sleeping, moved slowly when he undoubtedly recognized the den’s smell and Yoongi was able to notice the smallest of smiles lit up his face.
"Where is everyone?"
He pulled Haneul closer into his arms. He was thankful that he didn't have to ask Namjoon to stay, the alpha had already tucked himself behind his back and spooned him.
“They’re coming. They took a different route because...security and stuff.”
Yoongi nodded, aware that, for security reasons, the seven of them never take a single car and usually follow different routes. Yoongi didn't like that one bit, his wolf needing to be close to all of its packmates at all times during its heat, but it was bad enough that they all took the same jet, they had to, at least, be careful on the road.
“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked as he ran a hand through his hair which had Yoongi closing his eyes and letting out a shameless moan.
He could feel his mind clouding up and a warmth traveling all the way down to his groin area.
Suddenly, he wasn’t so conscious of his movements; one second he was lying down in front of Namjoon, the other he was on his lap as they engaged in a heated makeout session.
They kissed and there it was; the Namjoon he knew from years ago. The one that kissed with a fervor and wouldn’t back away until he got him panting and begging for more.
“Joon-ah…” He whispered as he could feel slick starting to stream down his thighs.
Namjoon didn't respond, just pulled on his hoodie and, when Yoongi failed to take it off in time, bared his claws and ripped it all.
Yoongi found himself being turned on by that, and subsequently could feel more slick traveling down his legs.
“More!” He begged and started fidgeting with Namjoon’s belt, trying his best to take it off quickly.
But just as he did so, and was about to help Namjoon get rid of his stupid jeans, he could hear his phone ringing on the bedside table.
At first, his clouded mind failed to realize that he was supposed to pick it up but when he heard a chuckle and could feel Namjoon literally lifting him off his lap, he was slowly brought back to reality.
“Easy, tiger.” Namjoon laughed softly and kissed his neck. “Your phone is ringing, it might be important.”
And there he goes, making Yoongi fall even harder for him with his responsible attitude towards life in general.
Yoongi groaned at first, annoyed that they had to be interrupted in the middle of this, but he ended up reaching over for the device. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was the head guard of the Hill's entrance. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and then picked up.
"Listening"
"Godfather-nim, I am sorry for bothering you but...it's important."
Yoongi figured it'd be something important— the guards, no matter how high up the ranks they are, should never be bothering him.
“Speak.”
“Your um…Hyungnim is here. Godfather-nim, he insists on meeting you.”
The blood in Yoongi’s body grew cold. What? Now? Was this man crazy? He was about to respond with a simple “no'', when he turned back and saw Haneul. His little baby Haneul who was sleeping so peacefully in his Papa's arms without a care in the world. And frankly, why should he care about anything? He was far too young and pure and innocent to ask the questions Yoongi has been dreading ever since he gave birth to his son. This little pup had no idea that he was a secret which, if revealed, could singlehandedly cause the biggest and cruelest war the region has ever witnessed. Chanyeol had no idea about his existence and Yoongi wasn’t even going to try and entertain the idea of him knowing. And God, he was probably just outside waiting at the Hill’s entrance. He could force his way in if he felt like it, would probably bring a bunch of his own guards to do so. Had he wanted, his ex-mate would climb the stairs with his fast stride and barge into the room. He would be basically signing on his death, but would it really matter at that point? What difference is it going to make when he opens the door and sees Yoongi and his pup? His pup who looks so much like the omega, who is an exact replica of what they had spent nights dreaming about. Chanyeol would understand in a second, and then he would use his alpha voice and force him to confess. Namjoon would most definitely interfere but the omega would stop him. Why? Because Yoongi is a bitch. Because Yoongi is still so weak from the repercussions of literally having to tear himself away from his den, from his alpha, the father of his pup, and the man he swore to stay with “through it all”. Because Yoongi would be too scared to keep the mask on, he’d be terrified of Chanyeol spilling his secret, or Namjoon mentioning anything about Haneul being his son.
The pale man squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe properly, not wanting Namjoon to notice the fear that was growing inside of him.
Getting back to his senses, he spoke firmly but quietly.
“Let him in. Get Minseon-ssi to accompany him to my office and get his Americano ready.”
He ended the call and was startled when he heard Namjoon ask.
“Americano for who?”
Yoongi turned around and saw that Namjoon, who at this point had brought Jimin to sleep on his lap, wore a confused expression on his handsome face.
“I have a guest.”
The alpha’s frown deepened at that, and he sat up to face his hyung.
“What guest? You’re in your heat, hyung. You shouldn’t be getting out of the den unless absolutely necessary.”
Yoongi sighed and closed his eyes.
“I get that but this
is
...”
“Why is Park Chanyeol in our house?”
Seokjin appeared in the doorway followed closely by their medical team, lead by Jinah, and Taehyung who was holding Hoseok’s hand. Yoongi averted his gaze quickly. He couldn’t be looking at Hobi right now, it hurts too much, it weakens him too much.
“Chanyeol?” Taehyung questioned from where he was helping set Hoseok down, Yoongi supposed.
His voice was tinted with something which vaguely reminded him of the way he'd addressed them when trying to get them out of the suite the previous night, something like...possessiveness, protectiveness?
"Hyung, it's work-related and…"
"Since when do we have work-related meetings here Yoongi? Besides, you’re in heat. You shouldn’t be meeting a stranger."
"He is not a stranger he used to be my…"
"Used to be. Stress that shit. He
used
to be your husband. He
used
to be your mate. Now he is nothing but a competitor. Hell! He is a fucking enemy but you are too blind to see that."
Okay, that was unnecessary and uncalled for. Yoongi frowned and shook his head.
"I don't wanna fight."
He wasn't lying. The last thing he wished for was to get into some sort of fight with his hyung. He only wanted to cuddle him and sleep in peace.
"Good. Cause you are not meeting that asshole."
"Hyung..." Namjoon tried but Seokjin was quick to shut him up.
"Don't."
His voice was venomous, laced with so much anger that even Namjoon, brave Namjoon, shied away and chose that the floor was much more interesting than whatever was going on between the pack's hyungs.
"Okay. I don't know what's going on with you, but I am not dealing with it right now. Right now I need to be The Godfather and go meet Hyungnim who, may I remind you, is waiting in my office, under this very roof. Your anger could wait until later when he's gone and it's just us."
The omega looked straight into his hyung's eyes as he chose to speak with his calmest voice, to get the message through once and for all: He. Doesn't. Want. To. Fight.
Seokjin walked closer to him and pulled at his wrist.
"I want it to be just us. Now."
Yoongi jerked his hand free.
"Wait."
"No."
"You're being very bratty, hyung. If you need love so fucking much why don't you go cuddle with your boyfriend and ignore the living hell out of us just like you always do? Isn't that what gets you to calm down now? Isn't everything just about Namjoon now? Ever since you got into your stupid-ass relationship you've been acting like he is all you care about and frankly I've come to realize that yes, maybe you do actually only care about him. Did you realize that in these last few hours you've held me more than you've done in the last few months? Hell, I could even say a year. So no hyung, it's not because shit is going down and we are vulnerable and need each other's closeness that you will suddenly turn all pack alpha on me and tell me what to do and what not to do. Now, if you would fucking excuse me, I have a meeting I need to hold."
And he was about to storm off.
Knowing Seokjin, he would never stop him after he'd just said all that, but there was a faint voice who called for him. So quiet and weakened yet still as beautiful as he remembers. He heard a small
"Kitten"
and almost fell to his knees. He looked at the pack members standing in front of him and was able to see the surprise in their eyes. Taehyung's eyes shone brightly as he turned around to the source of the voice but Yoongi couldn't. He felt himself shake and...why was his head spinning so much?
Arms were on his hips, steadying him in less than a second.
"Easy there, hyung."
He started crying when he turned around and finally,
finally,
met those beautiful eyes he's been longing for. The next few steps he took were wobblier than those of a baby and he didn't care. All that mattered was him. Him looking at Yoongi with a tired smile and those shiny eyes that held the entire galaxy inside of them.
He took one last step and fell to his knees, grabbing his hand as he began loudly sobbing into it. He kissed it so many times, breathed into the familiar citrusy scent, felt his pulse as it returned slowly to its normal rhythm.
"Kitten."
He looked up and there it was; that grin that he loved with his all.
"Hoseok. You're awake...Hobi."
|
Some days, a young Neil learns, his mom doesn't like to cook or clean or fold clothes, or even get out of bed. Neil asks her if she gets sick a lot, and she says it's "something like that". His dad calls them "episodes". She calls them "quiet days". Neil doesn't really understand what either of those things mean, so Neil just calls it a sick day.
Sick days, his dad has taught him, means putting away the silverware AND the other dishes (even though that isn't part of his chores). Sick days means making himself something small for lunch, like a peanut butter sandwich, while his dad tries to get an extra shift at work that day.
When he's really little, (and his father doesn't have any shifts, and the sick days happen a lot more often) sick days mean Neil needs to visit the neighbors and see if their dogs need walking or things like that. Mr. Carson, who's very nice and has a strong handshake, always asks Neil to pick up sticks around the front lawn so that later when he mowes, the mower doesn't get jammed.
He gets paid a cent per stick, which his father says is good, but Neil can see it's not enough, so he starts snapping the sticks he finds into smaller pieces so he gets paid more. Neil's dad finds out pretty quickly, and smacks him for it. Neil cries really hard, because his dad can yell a lot, but he never hits. His dad apologizes, but tells him their family is not that desperate for money. It confuses Neil, because if they don't need money badly, why is his dad always telling him he has to be a doctor because of how well it pays?
His dad also tells him to never, ever be dishonest like that again. This also confuses him, because both his parents seem to really like it when he's dishonest. Like when his mom comes home from work late, and she's really tired, and she asks if his dad made him supper already. Neil lies and says yes, even though his dad never makes supper. He goes to sleep pretty hungry, but after it's happened a few times, it doesn't really bother him too much anymore. More importantly, it makes his mom relieved and happy.
Neil's parents don't seem happy very often, so he likes to make them happy whenever he can.
He's good at figuring out how to make them happy, too. When his dad is upset, he does extra reading from one of the big medicine books in his room and lists off what he's learned. When mom is upset, he makes her a snack or gets the laundry out of the dryer. What makes them happiest, though, is simply when Neil's happy.
It makes sense. After all, Neil likes being happy better than being sad anyway. The only problem is no matter how hard he tries, he always ends up mad, or sad, or scared. So, even though his mom and dad always tell him it's important to be honest, he pretends to be super happy anyway. His parents like it better that way, and if he pretends really well, he can convince himself he's happy, and he likes it better that way too.
The habit continues when he meets Charlie, his best friend ever. Charlie's really happy too, or at least that's how it seems at first, but the more Neil gets to know him, the sadder his best friend seems. Well, Neil decides, that's okay. He can be extra happy for the both of them. The same logic from his parents holds true. Charlie's always happier if Neil's happy.
Does it get tiring sometimes? Sure. Especially when he enters middle school, and his friend group gets bigger than just him and Charlie. Not to mention high school. It's worth it, though, because Neil loves being the happy one.
He knows what will make each of his friends smile most. He knows what joke to tell, what activity to suggest, what story to dramatically act out. He has the power to make his friends less mad, or sad, or scared, even if it's only for a minute.
After the night of the play, this routine gets a bit more... Complicated.
Now his friends know he isn't always happy. Still, he keeps hope. After all, he convinced his father this was some one-off accident. Maybe the same is true for his friends. And, it ends up that way- that, or they just forget about what happened. Neil doesn't care either way. As long as he still gets to be the happy one.
And he does.
~~~
Neil comes back into the room after showering and is immediately at attention. Todd, rather than fixing his hair or writing like he usually is around Sunday morning, is curled up on the floor, wedged between the heater and his bed. Neil's crouching on the ground in a heartbeat.
"Todd?" He murmurs it quietly, knowing better than to talk loudly when Todd gets like this.
Todd shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. His breathing is coming in quick and ragged.
"Just me, love. Just me." Neil reaches out a hand, then hesitates. "Can I touch you?"
"I- I don't know." His voice is low and hoarse, and he winces as he says it. Neil can practically hear Todd getting frustrated with himself. His breathing gets quicker, and he forces out, "Need you. Please."
Neil grabs one of Todd's hand, moving it to his own chest. "Okay. Just make your heartbeat match mine, okay? There's no rush. It's just you and me, babe."
Todd eyes shut tighter, desperately trying to focus. Neil rubs a thumb over Todd's hand. "Just me, Todd. Just me. It's okay."
Todd lets out a small whimper, and Neil takes a slow, purposeful breath. He waits a minute, then repeats. Todd does it with him.
Neil smiles, softly encouraging. "That's good, Todd. That's perfect. Just like that." Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, they take another breath. "Good," He says again.
They continue until they're in sync, Todd and Neil breathing in and out on the same heartbeat. Todd's eyes slowly open, looking up at Neil. "Sorry," He mumbles.
Neil shakes his head slightly. "Don't be. You okay?"
"I..." He swallows roughly. "I don't know."
"Okay. That's okay." Todd gives a wet laugh, and Neil cups his cheek. "Hey. That's okay."
"Right. Right." He sighs, a light sob coming out with it. "Sorry."
"It's okay. What do you need?"
He looks up at him. "You?"
Neil scoots forward, wrapping an arm around him. Todd leans against him, head against Neil's collarbone. He takes a long, shaky breath. Neil just raises a hand to his back, gently rubbing it.
They're quiet for a few minutes. Without lifting his head, Todd whispers, "Neil?"
He keeps rubbing. "Yeah?"
"Can you... talk?"
"Sure, baby. What about?"
He grabs at the edge of Neil's sweater. "Anything."
"Did l ever tell you about the time I saved my neighbor's business?"
He shakes his head.
Neil begins speaking, voice still low. By the time he's reaching the end, Todd's body is limp against him.
"And then the bakery reopened- with a special pie named after me."
Todd hums. "Neil, love?"
"Hm?"
"Did that really happen?"
Neil's quiet a moment. "No. No, I just made it up as I went along."
Todd lets out a laugh, and Neil can't help but giggle along with him.
"You're good at making up stories, then."
"You're just rubbing off on me," Neil insists.
Todd smiles, snuggling closer into him. "Maybe."
Neil kisses the top of his head.
It's not a good day.
Neil doesn't know why, but it just isn't. When he woke up, he got the familiar, sinking feeling, and Todd's anxieties seem to confirm the suspicion. Neil has no time to dwell in his own bad feeling, however, because Todd isn't the only one having a rough start to their morning.
Todd goes to the library, checking to see if someone is still borrowing The Bell Jar, and Neil's phone buzzes. It's from Knox.
'do you have a minute? need advice lol'
That gets Neil on his feet. Knox never actually texts 'lol' unless he's trying to make something seem less serious than it is.
'What's up?'
'my room? nbd if you can't btw'
'I'll be there in a sec'
Neil doesn't have to say a word. The minute he closes the door behind him, Knox is rambling frantically that "holy shit, I think I like Charlie. Like, LIKE Charlie!"
Neil spends about an hour with him, coaxing him to relax and trying to get his mind off it. By the time he's finished up, Knox seems to be feeling a bit better, which is Neil is glad for.
He heads down to the dining hall to get lunch early, when he runs into Pitts, who practically begs him for help. Apparently, he's accidentally deleted the file for his History project, and Meeks is visiting his moms for the weekend, and it's due Monday, "and I don't understand this stuff at ALL, Neil, but you were studying the other day, right?"
It's really not a big deal. He'll have a big dinner. And Pitts is so, so happy once Neil's helped him bang out 8,000 words. It took a few hours, so he's tired, but he's happy. And he only gets happier when his phone pings, telling him he's got an email.
The minute he opens it and reads through, he feels like he could cry.
'Rehearshals start in a week, and again, we're excited to have you playing Moritz!'
He's in. He's IN. He swipes open his contacts, excited to call Ginny, but she beats him to it.
"Gin! Did you get it?"
"I'm Ilse," The reply comes.
"Yes! Yes! I just got the email! You're looking at Moritz Stiefel. Well, not looking, but- Rehearsals are in a week! Can you believe that? I've been reading through the script, of course, good to get a head start, but still. One week! Do you want to meet at Henley, say 5-ish? We can walk together."
"Yeah. That sounds good." Her voice is quiet. Detached.
"Ginny?"
"I'm sorry. I'm being dumb."
"What is it?"
"Ilse. I tried out for Wendla."
It comes back in a flash, and Neil feels like an idiot. Stupid. Stupid!
"Oh..."
"I'm being dumb, right? I mean, I got a part. And Ilse's a really good character, and she and Moritz have that whole scene together, so that'll be really fun..."
"I'm really sorry."
"No, it's fine. It's fine."
Neil bites his lip. "Ginny?"
And then he's at it again. By the time he gets off the phone with her, it's well-past dinner, which is no biggie. He's not super hungry anyway, and honestly, how much of a dick does he have to be to forget who Ginny auditioned for? He was selfish, got carried away thinking about himself. So he shouldn't really eat, and it doesn't matter, because he's not hungry, because he's just TIRED.
He's been helping his friends all day it feels like, even though he knows he's being dramatic and all of them together probably wasn't even an hour. Besides, it's not a big deal, because they're happy, so he's happy. And he really is. Tired, but happy.
He's so tired he doesn't even want to bother giving the guys the big news. He'll just tell them about the show tomorrow. He enters his room, debating telling Todd for a second, but then he remembers that morning. Todd was worried about Neil being in a show when he first suggested it, and Todd doesn't need anything else to worry about today.
Instead, he settles into bed, spooning Todd because even though he seems fine now, Neil's still worried.
"Neil?" Todd mumbles from behind Neil's chest.
"Hm?"
"You'll tell me if you're feeling that bad again, won't you?"
Still wrapped around him, Neil tenses.
"Or at least someone, right?" Todd looks down. "I know you don't believe it, but we all care about you so much. And they- we- I can't do this without you."
"Todd..." He doesn't want to do this right now. He's TIRED. He doesn't want to do this.
"I really can't. And I-I don't care if it's selfish. I need you."
Neil looks down. "I know. I need you too."
"This isn't healthy, is it?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe I don't care if it's healthy," Todd says, fists clenched tightly to hide his trembling hands. "It's true. I need you. You- you can't do that to me again."
"I'm trying," Neil says honestly.
Todd sighs. "I know."
Neil reaches out and grabs Todd's hand. "I'm not going try it again. I promise."
"You can't possibly promise something like that."
"I'm doing it now."
"Neil..."
"I'm serious," Neil insists, with no idea of whether or not he's telling the truth. All he knows is he can't stand that look on Todd's face. "Never again. I was... I was scared, and- and desperate, and I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again. I'm happy. I'm really, really happy."
Todd looks at him, a sad smile on his face. "You're lying," He says. "You can fool yourself all you want. But not me."
Neil frowns. "I'm happy," He repeats.
"If you were really happy, you wouldn't be doing this to yourself."
"Doing what? Trying out for a show I'm passionate about? Combing through the library's poetry section for something to read at the next DPS meeting? Binging crappy soap operas with Charlie and cuddling with you? What exactly am I 'doing to' myself?"
Todd gives him a hard look. "Scratching your arms until they almost bleed. Staying up late every night to study things you already know. Punishing yourself for every little thing you think you've done." He pauses, before adding. "Lying to all of us when we ask if you're okay."
Neil scowls, defensive. "So, I'm not perfectly happy. That doesn't mean I'm sad."
"No, it doesn't."
"I don't know what I am."
Todd searches his face. "You're... You're Neil."
He scoffs, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "No idea who that is. All I know is I'm sick of being him."
"I like him quite a bit," Todd says simply.
"Why?"
"I like how he's always ready to cheer up his friends when they're down. I like how he takes initiative and gets them to try new things. I like how he manages to smile, even when things get hard. How he'd do anything for someone else. I like that Neil."
Neil deflates. "I know."
He doesn't have the heart to tell Todd that's precisely the problem.
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Ever since I left Culuweth, turning my back on the Gnoll Empire and Bethsabe, the Rakshasa Court has become my home. For years I hated the Rakshasa, ever since I was little I was told how they were selfish, lazy, and greedy. I had been forced to believe the Rakshasa was lesser than. But when I came here, I pushed my prejudice aside and came to King Amit with all I had.
I turned traitor on my own country for one I used to hate. But here, I have never felt more at peace with myself. I married here, taking the hand of my beloved Eliza. She received such excellent care here. It was because of her I turned my back on the Gnolls, on my family. For years I had struggled with myself, I was unhappy with the way my cousin the Queen, Bethsabe was treating me. I was displeased with how she was running her military and the kingdom. It wasn't until Eliza I fully opened my eyes. Under Queen Mythri's hand, I married her, and we've been in bliss ever since.
For this safety, I traded all my knowledge about Bethsabe and her strategies to King Amit. He took my own personal expertise and asked me to join his military. Under the guidance of General Kalidas, I felt I was finally putting my skills to good use.
"If someone had told me I would be working alongside a Gnoll, I would have called them insane," Kalidas smirks at me one day during training.
It's been a long time since I've had to go through such rigors, so I'm a bit out of breath and tired. "I feel the same way," I force out a chuckle between heavy breaths.
Kalidas chuckles and throws me a towel. "My grandfather was a slave," he tells me. "He fought in the uprising and the war against the Gnolls."
"Oh," I gasp. "Kalidas I'm-"
"I never thought we'd be at war with them again," he sighs.
"War is inevitable," I answer. "It will always exist no matter who we like and who we hate. It will come eventually in our lifetimes."
Kalidas shakes his head. "With all that is happening in the Ruby Empire, I feel as though there is too much change coming. His ears then twitch, and he looks up with alarm and concern. I turn, seeing Foluke come in with three strangers standing beside him. There are two Sabertooth Tigers and one young woman. The woman bears a frightening similarity to Queen Mythri, and I have to double take.
"What's going on here?" Kalidas asks as he steps towards them.
Foluke hands out a letter with a royal seal. "These three come with news from Imani," he replies.
Kalidas takes the letter and looks it over. His ears go flat to the back of his head, and his eyes widen. "My god, is this true?"
"The Gnolls are planning an attack on the Rakshasa Court, specifically targeting King Amit's kingdom while he's away," the young woman replies.
"We knew that," I say coming forward, and the woman glares at me. "I've already told them all this."
"So you know about the dragon?" The young Sabertooth asks.
I feel my entire body go cold. I feel as if time is moving slowly around me. "Dragon?" I rasp. "What dragon?"
"Bethsabe has one under her control," the girl says. "She plans on using it to attack."
Kalidas looks at me with an angry glare on his face.
"Tell me," I gasp at her. "How do you know Bethsabe has a dragon?"
"I saw it," the young Sabertooth speaks up. "The one controlling it spoke directly to me in a vision. He worships Bethsabe and is doing everything she commands. This dragon is somewhere in Rakshasa country."
"Of course this happens while Amit is away," Kalidas snarls.
"What do we do?" Foluke asks.
"We'll join Imani's army," Kalidas replies. "Like she says in her letter. We'll search for this dragon and make sure we put a stop to it. It's obviously here because Amit isn't," he growls. "This Bethsabe plans to strike down Amit while she can."
I shake my head slowly, taking deep breaths. "I never knew about this," I whisper. "In all the plans and maps...my god...she hid this from everyone."
"What do you mean?" The girl asks.
I look up at her, feeling as if I am looking into the eyes of Mythri. It is uncanny how similar they are. "I came here and gave Amit all the information I had. I was the General of the Gnoll Navy," I shake my head. "I thought I knew everything she had up her sleeve."
"She hid this for a reason," the older sabertooth replies. "That much is certain. She obviously knew she would be betrayed at some point."
"I feel sick," I growl.
Kalidas eyes me strangely, and he turns back to the others. "Send out word Foluke. Maybe we can get word to Amit and Mythri in time. We'll start preparing our military. Imani's troops should be arriving soon."
"We're staying as well," the older sabertooth replies. "We've brought some of our men with us. We plan on helping protect the palace."
"Go with Foluke then," Kalidas replies. "He'll help you get everything sorted." He then turns to me. "You," his voice is low and grave. "I need to speak with you alone."
He takes me aside, leading me into a secluded and dark hallway. "Look me in the eye and tell me you had no knowledge of this."
I look into his eyes. "Kalidas, I swear to you, had I known about this dragon it would have been the first thing I brought to your attention."
His lip curls and he lunges at me. "I am still trying to decide if I trust you," he tells me. "All this time, I've been worried you've had a knife for my back."
"I don't!" I argue. "Kalidas, I came here out of fear! Bethsabe is unstable, and her plans are catastrophic! The fact she had this dragon and hid it should be proof of that!"
Kalidas backs down, but his tail still swishes back and forth behind him. "I want to trust you, Nadeem, but this knowledge makes it hard."
I want to look away, but I keep my gaze on his eyes. "I know this. I know that this dragon adds tension to everything. But I swear on my life I am loyal to Amit and this court. I cannot stand with Culuweth anymore."
Kalidas sighs. "For now, I have no other option but to trust you. Let's hope that doesn't change." He walks away from me, and I remain there in the shadows.
I return to my quarters where Eliza is waiting with food. "Is something wrong?" She asks me. "You're quiet."
I reach out and wrap her up in my arms. Her small, warm body comforts me, but I am still horribly uneasy.
"Nadeem?" She murmurs. "What's wrong?"
"I am scared," I whisper to her. "News arrived today, news about Bethsabe."
"Tell me," she murmurs.
I sigh and sit down, and she sits beside me, taking my hand and holding it tight. "Members of the Sabertooth tribe arrived today. They rescued a convoy belonging to Queen Imani. It was attacked by Gnoll slavers."
Her mouth drops open. "They're already here?"
"Worse," I growl. "She has a secret weapon I didn't know about."
She puts her arm around me and holds her breath.
"She has a dragon under her control," I whisper. "Someone with power over creatures worships her and has captured her a dragon." I hang my head in my hands. "I look like an enemy to Kalidas," I whisper. "He thinks I am still loyal to Bethsabe."
Eliza puts her arms around me and pets the back of my head. "He's scared," she whispers. "Just like you are."
I hold her tight. "What am I to do? Bethsabe plans to attack while Amit is gone."
Eliza places her forehead against mine. "You fight with them," she whispers. "You fight with your new brothers." She then gives me a soft smile. "You will protect your home and your new family. You are strong and dedicated." She kisses the tears on my cheeks. "Stand beside Kalidas in battle."
I sigh and nod. "What about you?"
"I'll worry," she answers. "But I will be proud of you, and I will be safe here."
I enveloped her in my arms again and held her tight, saying a silent prayer.
Over the next few days, Kalidas evacuated the city. He sent the civilians to protective, underground bunkers that Amit's grandfather had built. He is doing an admirable job and commands like a real leader.
"Amit would be proud of you," I tell him as he agonizes over maps and plans.
"Would he?" Kalidas growls. He is focusing on the West Sea, but because of the dragon, he fears an attack could happen from anywhere. "We have Chiyo and her archers," he replies. "That will give us our first line of defense once they start advancing on the walls." He then growls and shakes his head. "But the dragon-"
"The dragon can spill blood just like any of us," I tell him. "Dragons are powerful, but that is not undefeatable." I kneel before Kalidas. "You cannot let fear and doubt rule you. You must use them to your advantage, General."
Kalidas looks at me, and I see the exhaustion in his eyes. "You'll be fighting your own blood, you know that right?"
"I am wearing the armor of a Rakshasa, that is what matters to me right now." I stand up and look over the map. "Even with the dragon, knowing the planning prowess of the Gnoll military let's still expect them to come from the Western Sea," I tell him. "We can prepare extra archers at the south for the dragon if you think that is what will happen."
Kalidas stands up. "I agree. We'll get our main troops here. We have extra troops from Imani we can place here. If they're foolish enough to try and advanced towards the south, they'll have to deal with Czar Gregori and his bears." He looks and me and smiles. "Thank you, Nadeem."
It isn't long before the horns start sounding. The watch at their posts is signaling down the line, warning us that the Gnolls are approaching. I go with Kalidas to the front of the lines, wearing the armor of a Rakshasa.
"It suits you," Kalidas smirks. "How does it feel?"
"I'm shitting myself," I answer truthfully. "But I feel I am standing with a military I can believe in."
Kalidas claps his hand on my shoulder. "Have you ever fought in a war before?"
I shake my head. "Not a war, General."
"You won't get used to it," Kalidas then turns, and I see the smoke on the horizon. I smell fire and blood, and I hear the whooping war cries of the Gnolls. "Good luck," Kalidas whispers as he removes his saber from his belt. "I won't my promises. But I pray we see the morning."
I take out my sword and nod. "Agreed."
"Fire!" I hear the scream from above. I then see the hellish fire of arrows come down like a wall before us. It slices through the advancing line of Gnolls, many dropping before they even set foot before us.
Kalidas roars, thrusting his saber into the sky and our troops rush forward. A dark shadow moves in the clouds above us. The breath of the dragon ignites the sky and sends sparks and smokes down all around us. The beat of his wings knocks the arrows off path, and he heads straight for the castle.
I have no time to worry or doubt, all I can do is fight off the Gnolls that are invading. My sword tastes blood, I taste blood. I am beaten and wounded, but I do not falter. I keep charging forward, protecting this land.
I hear a painful scream, and I see Kalidas ahead of me, knocked to the ground with a sword in his leg. The Gnoll over him is yipping and laughing, and to my horror I recognize him. Ludovic, he was a friend of mine, we had grown up in the academy together, and we had worked side by side many times.
"Traitor!" I hear him bellow when he sees me.
I stand still, feeling cold again.
Ludovic laughs loudly. "Working for the pretty kitties now?" He twists the sword in Kalidas' leg. Kalidas roars in pain. "You're such a disappointment Nadeem," Ludovic snarls.
I hold my sword out before me. "Let him go."
Ludovic yips. "That's funny you think I give a fuck about these cats." He rips his sword from Kalidas' leg. "It's funny to think you give a fuck." He looks down at Kalidas then back at me. "You will be much more fun to kill."
"Try!" I snarl as I charge at him. Our swords clash, and he fights hard. He is bigger than me and has always been stronger. We struggle for the longest time, clashing and missing one another. He eventually knocks me down and readies his sword to strike me. I think about Eliza at the palace. I pray the dragon doesn't find her. I pray she doesn't mourn me long.
Ludovic starts to laugh as he raises his sword above his head. I close my eyes and wait for death. But a saber punctures through his chest. He coughs and heaves, staring down at the saber. I open my eyes as he falls over. I stare in awe, seeing Kalidas standing there.
"General!" I gasp.
Kalidas rips his saber back out and falls back. "You're lucky," he pants.
I go to him and help him up. "You saved my life."
"You distracted him," Kalidas laughs then snarls in pain. "He would have killed me first." I help Kalidas get onto a horse.
"Get back to the palace," I tell him. "I can lead from here."
"It's far too late," Kalidas pants. "I might as well stay here and-" the roar of the dragon cuts him off. We both look up, seeing the dragon come swooping down towards us. "Can I say I'm dying with a friend?" Kalidas whispers.
"You may, General," I reach out and take his hand and he squeezes it back.
But the dragon glides over us and heads directly into the Gnoll army. His fire cuts through them, and he eats those that escape the flames.
"What is happening?"Kalidas gasps in awe.
I laugh. "A miracle!"
"Then we must not waste it!" Kalidas takes the reigns of the horse. "Advance while you can! I'll tell the troops to keep pushing forward!" He gallops off, and I race ahead. I commend the men on the front lines to follow behind the dragon.
I then see her, Chiyo, the girl from the Sabertooth tribe. She rides astride the dragon, commanding him and guiding him through the Gnoll army. As the Gnolls retreat the dragon lands and Chiyo steps off. Kalidas approaches on horseback.
"You?" He is stunned into near silence. "What is this?"
Chiyo looks up at him, and I see in her eyes something I've never seen before. The grief and pain she is in, the rage she feels, all mixed with a stoney sense of calm. This was what real warriors looked like.
The dragon lays its head on the ground beside her, and she stands protectively before him. "The dragon is no longer under Gnoll control," she says, and her body sways. I rush forward and grab her before she collapses. "He's on our side now."
I look at the dragon. "Is this true?"
"She saved my life," he replies. "I owe her a great debt."
"As do we, apparently," Kalidas murmurs.
Foluke and I lead a sweep for the rest of the Gnoll troops. Meanwhile, back at the palace, there has been considerable destruction. We also learn there had been a plot to kidnap the princes and princess, but Chiyo saved their lives.
Eliza was hiding with the children when they were attacked. Luckily Brahmi, Kalidas' wife, protected her. I go to visit them one day and see how Kalidas is doing. He insists on being kept with his men instead of in his private chambers.
When Amit and Mythri return I feel a bit of relief. Having them here means our job was well done. Even if the palace and the city are in chaos, having them here made things feel like they could heal.
I meeting is held with me, Kalidas, Chiyo, Foluke, Mythri, and Ravi, one of his soldiers who now works across the Cobra Strait. Also with us is Demir, the centaur warlord. He came to show his solidarity with Amit and offer his support for reconstruction. He called the meeting to discuss what to do about Bethsabe.
"I cannot let this violence on my people stand," Amit growls.
"Not just violence on you," Chiyo replies. "But specifically targeted to you. Bethsabe wanted to hurt you the most."
Amit's expression is one of such rage I feel suffocated just seeing it. I cannot imagine the storm raging inside his body. "If she had attacked me I could understand that. But she attacked my children."
"Bethsabe has never been afraid to hit her enemies where it will hurt most," I reply. "She once executed the entire harem simply because he husband was feeding them apples." I glance up to Amit. "She also holds family members of her inner circle ransom at all times, so they do not betray her."
"What about you?" Chiyo asks. "What did she hold over your head to keep you in line?"
"Esdras, her king, he was once my best friend," I answer with a low voice. "And Bethsabe was my cousin. She was my blood and only family. I loved them both and would have done anything for them."
"What do you think she will do now?" Ravi asks. "Now that we've stolen her greatest weapon and destroyed one of her armies, what does she have?"
I shake my head. "She has nothing now."
"Then I saw we attack her on her own territory," Foluke growls. "We grab at her as she grabbed at us! If she truly has nothing, then we topple Culuweth with Demir."
"But what will happen after we do this?" Mythri asks. "Bethsabe's court is loyally devoted to her. Those who worship her will certainly try to overthrow whatever efforts we do. Even if we take Bethsabe-"
"We will not take her," Demir says cooly. "I plan on killing her and mounting her head on a spike for all to see."
I shudder, and Mythri touches my hand.
"I know you are kind, my queen," Demir says to Mythri. "But would you show mercy to the woman who wanted to murder and skin your children?"
"I wouldn't," she answers. "But we cannot plan on emotion," she tells him. "We must think with tact and our future in mind. If we keep her alive, we can keep an insurgency from happening. Her loyalists are fanatical-"
"You have a cult, my queen," Ravi replies with a smirk. "You are a goddess, and she is mortal. "Who do you think will win?"
Mythri scoffs. "That is not the point! Bethsabe is an incredibly intelligent woman. She knows we will want her dead, so she for sure will already have contingencies in place for when that happens."
"You sound so sure of that, my queen," Demir says.
"Because I would do the same!" Mythri snaps. She then shakes her head and holds back a sob. "I want her dead more than anyone! But bloodlust will not solve all our problems! It will only-" Amit places his hand on her back.
"My love is wiser than I," he says. "Like Demir, I wanted to storm her castle and take her head home with me. But we must act with grace to her bloodlust," he replies. "Her loyalists will be a threat if we don't."
"Then what do we do to replace her?" Kalidas asks. "If one of us stays it will do no good."
"We have her blood on our side," Demir remarks coolly. He turns to me and smiles. "Cousin to Bethsabe, heir to the throne of Culuweth, what say you?"
I sare back and forth at the faces in the room. I look at Amit and Mythri and then to Kalidas. "You would honor me so?"
"You're our best bet to keeping loyalists calm. It won't be enough for most of them, but it will be more than if we let one of us do it," Amit murmurs.
"I don't know what to say," I gasp.
"Say yes, friend," Kalidas replies. "For your country."
I take a deep breath. "For King Amit," I whisper. "I will take this honor."
"Then we will leave at dawn," Demir replies. "I will take Nadeem, Chiyo, and Amit with me," he says. "Your lives are my responsibility. I leave my life with your partners."
"Do I have to stay here?" Eliza's voice is weak as I pack my things.
I close the chest and sigh, turning to look at her sitting on the bed. "Mythri promised she would look after you. You won't be lonely."
"It's not that," she says as she lifts her head slightly. "I'm worried about you." She turns her head towards me. "Demir wants you to take over Culuweth, and you could be in danger. I want to be there with you."
I go over to her and kneel before you, placing my hand on her cheek ."That is exactly why I don't want you there," I whisper. "If my life is in danger, then for sure your life is."
Tears run down her cheek. "I don't want to imagine you hurting and suffering alone," she whimpers.
I take her in my arms, and she holds me tightly. "I'll be safe, I promise. Just for you. Demir is leaving his men with me. I promise I'll take care."
Eliza slips away from me and opens up her blouse. "Before you go," she whispers. "One last time?"
I smile at her and kiss her. I trail my lips down her neck and fall with her back into bed. I cannot express how much I love her. If anything were to happen to her, I would die. Being apart from her is going to be bad enough, but I can't risk the life of the person I love most in this world.
I meet with the others late, and we leave Rakshasa Country for the harbor. "Where's Chiyo?" I ask.
Amit points up. "She's fetching Addor. She'll meet us at the strait."
"Is there enough room for him on the ship?" I gasp.
"I've made sure to have the deck cleared and prepared for him," Demir replies. "It'll be a tight fit for him, but he'll be able to stretch his wings whenever he needs to."
We first have to travel across the strait where we will change ships and pick up some of Demir's men as well as the boats with his military. Once there, I meet the Bailin, the uncle of Demir's wife who will be helping me in Culuweth. Amit has also allowed me to pick some of his soldiers to be my guards while I stay in Culuweth.
After we leave the strait, I'm starting to feel the surmounting pressure. I know in my heart what I'm doing is right, but I feel guilt and pain. I am attacking my own people, my home, my family. I may be a traitor, but I still love Culuweth. What I am doing is for the best of the country and the people, but I hate the thought of bringing a war to its shores.
"Why are you crying?"
I gasp and look up, seeing Chiyo standing in my doorway.
I wipe my face and sniffle. "Oh, Chiyo," I rub my eyes, but the tears won't stop.
Chiyo walks into my room and sits down. "It's ok, cry." She replies. "After all, you're becoming as close to a king as you can get."
"What?" I scoff.
She tilts her head. "Come on now," she murmurs. "You can be honest. This is why you ran to Amit isn't it?"
I stare at her. "No! It never even occurred to me that-"
"Excuse me if I sound rude," she says. "I intend to protect the interests of my family. I'm part of this fight now, this war of jewels or whatever they call it, I just want to make sure we're fighting for something."
I huff and glare at her. "I came to Amit out of fear," I tell her. "I know Bethsabe, and I know what she's capable of. I came to Amit to stop senseless bloodshed."
Chiyo touches her cheek where the cuts are still healing. "I'm sure you heard the story, about Mythri and me," she starts. "Our parents were traveling home when they were attacked by Gnoll slavers. My father died trying to get Mythri to safety, and my mother found Bastat." She looks at me with those haunting eyes of hers. Where Mythri is filled with wisdom and peace, Chiyo has eyes that are steeled and vigilant.
"I understand," I reply. "You don't trust me. You don't trust any Gnoll."
"I don't want my sister's trust broken," Chiyo's voice is low. "Seeing a Gnoll at her court was jarring. Seeing you on the battlefield made me wonder." She then sighs and looks at her hands. "And then Kalidas told me what happened." Her eyes look back at me. "In my mind, I could have sworn it was Kalidas who carried me from the battle. But it was you. You commanded the Rakshasa with Kalidas while you carried me to safety."
"You're a hero," I reply. "It was my honor. You helped save my Eliza."
"The blind girl," Chiyo nods. "She is sweet." She then stands up. "I have no choice but to trust you," she replies. "They say a tiger can't change its stripes."
"Thank goodness I'm not a tiger," I try to laugh.
Chiyo smirks. "Your tears," she murmurs. "What causes them?"
"Conflict," I whisper. "I want to do what is right, but I am afraid of what will become of Culuweth."
"Then perhaps you will be a good leader. Try and sleep," she says as she heads back out the door.
I am not sure if I earned Chiyo's trust them or not, all I know is that if she feels that way, then there could be others who feel the same.
During the journey, I spend time with Demir and his men. Bailin is a brilliant man, and I'm pleased to find we get along.
"Tell me, who on Bethsabe's court do you think is worth keeping around? At least ones that will see eye to eye with the cause," Bailin asks me.
"I'm not certain," I reply. "A lot of them are being held there against their will. I'm not sure any would want to stay."
Bailin sighs. "So no one at all?"
"Maybe," I murmur. "The queen's husband, Esdras, his sister serves on the inner circle. Ismay, she has hated Bethsabe for as long as Esdras has been married to her. But Bethsabe keeps her around because of her own wealth and properties. Ismay's loyal to Culuweth as I am. I used to talk to her about my frustrations with the position I was in. She is very much in the same league as me."
"But will she stay if we have to kill her brother?" Bailin asks.
"Please," I gasp. "Esdras is a dear friend. If there is anyway, we can spare him-"
Bailin holds his hand up. "That will be up to you," he then smiles. "If you see fit to keep him alive, then we will try." He then looks at the maps. "You said this Ismay has properties?"
"She's a savvy businesswoman," I reply. "Sharp as a tack and twice as hard. She owns the lumbermill in Culuweth as well the shipyard."
"Really?" Bailin asks. "She has a monopoly, you'd say?"
I nod in agreement. "I told you, Bethsabe likes ruthless people. No one is more in on the game than Ismay. She started buying property when he brother became betrothed."
When we get close to Culuweth,, we send Chiyo and Addor out first. Hours later, we land on the beaches of Culuweth and are met by the forces of Bethsabe's military. We storm the beach, soldiers from all corners of the Ruby Empire emerging from the ships. Bethsabe's people are overwhelmed. Most retreat at the sight, but there is still a massacre on the sand.
The white sand has turned pink with the stain of so much blood, and my stomach churns as we walk across it.
"No doubt she'll have her castle and city more protected," Demir muses as he cleans off his sword.
Amit growls, and I see he has sustained a wound on his arm. "Those who ran away probably retreated to return and protect the city."
The beach is frightening cold, and our breath comes out in thick white clouds. I can smell smoke and the distinctive scent of dragon's fire.
"I feel horrible asking Chiyo to do what she's doing now," Demir sighs.
I look up at him. "Do what?" I gasp.
Demir is quiet, but he doesn't look away from me.
I step back and snarl. "Do what?" I nearly roar.
Amit reaches out and grabs my arm. "Calm yourself, Nadeem," he whispers warningly. I wrench from his grasp and curl my lip up at Demir, showing him my teeth. "What have you asked Chiyo to do?"
"Scorch the land," Demir replies cooly. "We're going to make the civilians dependent on us after you take over. They'll have no reason but to trust us."
I only see red. I am filled with rage. "You could kill them!" Amit grabs me and his blood stains my robes.
"I am fully aware of that," Demir responds. "I plan on taking responsibility for my actions. Do not worry. My first act will be to provide rations to the people and assist with bringing their land back." He starts to walk up the beach. "Come now, we have much more important work at hand."
The siege on the city is fully underway. Chiyo and Addor have scorched the earth and used the dragon's fire to keep Bethsabe's troops at bay. We quickly walk into the city and through the gates of the palace.
The palace has always wreaked of blood and death, ever since Bethsabe took over. But now, you could see it. Dead guards and soldiers lined the halls as we walked through. I can't help but shed tears. These were men I knew, men I had trained alongside and commanded.
The doors to the throne room are wide open, and I am not prepared for the sight I see before me. Esdras is on the ground, crying hard and loudly. In his arms, he holds Bethsabe who is dead and bleeding.
I race towards him. "Brother," I whisper urgently at him. "What is this?"
Esdras lifts his head. "I couldn't let her die by their hands," he chokes. "I couldn't let her be held by them either." He looks at me. "I put her out of her misery." He grabs my shirt with his bloody fist. "I love her still!"
I shiver, feeling his pain and love. "I understand, brother," I whisper. I take his hand and mine. "You did what she needed."
"What do you command, my lord?" Demir asks you.
"Take him captive," I whisper. "But do not harm him." I look at Bethsabe's corpse. She looks at peace, for the first time in her life. "We will hide Bethsabe's body. For all that the public knows, she is captive."
"No!" Esdras screams. "She deserves a proper burial! You owe her that much!" He shakes me hard. "You owe her! You owe her!"
I put my hands on his face. "I know what I owe!" I howl at him. I then stand up as his grip loosens from my shirt. "Take him, prisoner," I mutter. "And take Bethsabe to the ship," I say. "Let no one see her."
Esdras screams and howls as they take him and I go to the window.
"My lord," Demir murmurs. "You are now master of Culuweth. What is it you decree?"
I am numb to his words, but I still give my orders. Over the next few days, we weed out the loyalists of Bethsabe we can find. I am able to create my own council with the help of Bailin and Ismay, who joins our ranks freely as long as we keep Esdras alive.
Amit and Demir stay to see me through the difficult period. Demir keeps to his word, bringing in ships worth of crops for the civilians of Culuweth.
"To be honest," Ismay tells me, "Bethsabe's crops weren't even for the people." She smirks and chuckles to herself. "She had them growing supplies for her colonization efforts." She turns and looks at me. "Destroying those crops and providing for the people was a brilliant move. You've already gained their trust but taking care of them first."
"But," I shake my head, "I didn't-" I glance back at Demir and Amit who are going over edicts and proclamations that have been written up. I now realize what Demir's real actions were.
Suddenly the doors burst open, and Chiyo comes walking in, dragging a Gnoll by his throat. "Nadeem!" She shouts at me and tosses the man at my feet. "I have a request!"
The man chokes and heaves. He looks bloody and beaten, and he scrambles to try to get to his feet, but Chiyo kicks him.
I stand up and push Chiyo away from him. "What is the meaning of this?" I gasp.
I look down, recognizing the man as General Wulsi, one of the oldest members of Bethsabe's inner circle. Chiyo had returned from the Rakshasa Empire with urgent news for us. An assassin had been hired to kill Mythri and the children, and Wulsi was to blame. He's heaving and spitting blood, who knows what Chiyo did to him before she brought him to me. Chiyo had been upset when she brought the news, but now, she was angry and clinging to her reason.
She points at the Gnoll. "This is the man who killed my family!" She seethes. "I recognize him from my nightmares!" She snarls. "He continues to hunt my family like animals! I want justice!"
I push her back again and glare down at Wulsi. "I think your sister deserves some retribution as well," I tell her. "Take him back to Rakshasa Country as your prisoner, like you originally planned. You can decide his fate there."
"You are lucky," Demir snarls as he rises from the shadows. "Bethsabe tried to makes grabs at the children before. But why Mythri this time?"
Wulsi lifts his bloodied head and grins. "Us Gnolls do not like deities, especially when they're living."
I hold Chiyo back as she tries to rip through me to tear Wulsi asunder. "We need him alive!" I warn her.
"He threatened my family! Again!" Chiyo roars. "I'll see him dead!" She ripped from behind as Demir picks her up off the ground.
"I do adore your fire, my champion," he tells her. "But you need to stay calm in these matters. Thank the gods Amit wasn't here to hear this." He steps over to Wulsi and kicks him, knocking out a few teeth along with his consciousness.
"I showed mercy, and that was with my adoration for Mythri." He sets Chiyo down and sighs. "Take him prisoner, my champion," he tells her. "I'll send you and Amit home right away."
I go to Chiyo and place my hand on her, but she wrenches it away. "Get all the information you can from him," I whisper to her. "Find out who he has been colluding with, and I will see them all hanged on the gallows in your name."
"Why would you do that?" She growls.
"Because I am loyal to my country and my people and that now extends to the Rakshasa and your family," I tell her.
He wipes the blood from her nose and sniffles. "Thank you," she whispers.
Chiyo and Amit return home that evening, leaving on a boat directly headed to the shores of Rakshasa country with Wulsi as their prisoner. Some weeks later, I receive word from them on what has happened. Wulsi was put on trial before Mythri. Before he was sentenced her confessed the names of his conspirators, who I eagerly dealt with. Wulsi was hanged for his crimes.
Then, I see a letter sealed with the one sent from Amit. It is written by Mythri and dictated by my Eliza. I open it in a hurry, excited to hear word from her.
"My love, I so wish you were here so I could tell you in person, but I have wonderful news to share with you. You're going to be a father."
I have not felt such joy since I married Eliza. I had gone through so much grief and agony these past few months that this bliss is overwhelming. My tears fall on the letter, streaking the words.
"I so want to join you in Culuweth and have the baby there, but I am warned that in my condition it isn't safe for me to travel. I must admit, I am scared, but I am happy. I don't know what to do with myself without you."
I am a wreck. I so want to be with my Eliza, but I don't know how. She cannot travel, and I can't leave Culuweth.
One day, Addor returns, flying in and landing on the shores. I go to meet him and on the way run into Chiyo. "What is wrong?" I gasp, expecting something has happened.
"I've come to fetch you," she says. "The travel on dragon's back isn't long."
I furrow my brow. "Travel?" I ask.
Chiyo grins. "She's going to give birth any day now, don't you want to be there?"
I hug Chiyo tight, and after leaving orders with Bailin and Ismay, I leave with Chiyo and Addor to go to Eliza.
When we return, I am rushed to Eliza's room. Inside she is screaming and crying in pain as the nurses tend to her.
"Nadeem!" She cries.
"I'm here, my love," I take her hand from a nurse. "I'm here."
She smiles at me. "The little one-" she whimpers.
I kiss her forehead and pet away her damp hair. She screams and cries as the nurses urge her to push. There is so much blood on the bed, and Eliza is exerting so much effort. I am filled with terror. I cannot lose her, not like this.
I then hear it, and the world goes silent. I listen to the powerful screams of the baby.
"Here she is," a nurse coos.
"She?" I gasp.
Eliza sniffles and giggles. "How does she look? Does she look like her father?"
The nurse washes and bundles the baby up and lays her in Eliza's arms. She's a Gnoll, but she's pure white all over, and when she opens her eyes, they're strikingly pink.
Eliza's starting to cry. "What does she look like?" She commands me. "I can't see her! You have to tell me!"
"She's beautiful," I coax her. "She's white like snow."
Eliza chokes. "What?"
"She's beautiful like you, but she's a Gnoll like me," I tell her. "And she's all pink and white."
"Is that normal?" Eliza sounds panicked.
"No," I chuckle. "But she's perfect."
Eliza touches the baby's face and kisses her all over. The baby whimpers and cries, sounding angrier than anything.
We name her Emeline, once Eliza calms and recovers we settle on the name. She's beautiful and looks like a little doll. She grows fat and chubby as she nurses on her mother, and she's quiet and calm.
"Do you have to go back?" Eliza whimpers.
"I do," I whisper. "Believe me, I don't want to leave you. But I have to do what's right."
"She is your princess, and you dare leave her?" Eliza scoffs she then sniffles. "I can't see how beautiful she is," she cries. "How will I know if you can't tell me?"
"Because you have Mythri and the nurses," I assure her. "And you know how beautiful she is without looking." I kiss her lovingly. "When you're well enough you can join me in Culuweth."
Emeline starts to fuss, and I pick her up from the bassinet and hold her close. As I look at her, I know that everything I do now will be for her.
|
Saturday afternoon is far too slow in coming if you ask Clint's humble opinion. He and Phil had spoken only briefly the day before, deciding that it would be better to talk in person, and he'd spent the night tossing and turning in giddy, terrified anticipation. He's dreading and eagerly awaiting the meet-up in turns, fear and hope churning heavily in the pit of his stomach, and above all things he's worried about his daughter.
Kate doesn't really respond when he tells her the plan. She looks miserable, nods her head weakly and keeps her eyes down, starts chewing on her fingernails, a habit she hates that she has. He can hardly do anything but sigh and wrap her up in a hug, promise her it's all going to be ok, and even then he's not sure she believes him. She makes plans to go over to America's house to spend the night, after Clint has checked in with Amalia and Elena Chavez, and he hopes that the impromptu sleepover will be both a distraction and a way of cheering her up.
He's glad she's making friends here, but he's glad too that she'll have somewhere to be and things to do that will keep her mind off of... well, everything.
Clint's doing more than enough ruminating for them both thanks very much.
"It's not a date Clint," Natasha warns over Skype as Clint rips through his closet. "What are you even hoping for?"
Clint swallows and refuses to glance over at the screen – he can hear the frustration and confusion in her voice, and when Natasha Romanov is frustrated and confused, you know things are bad.
"I know it's stupid ok? I know that," he insists, his shoulders slumping. "But I need to... make a good impression."
Natasha sighs, and he knows without looking that she's wearing her pity face. This is serious business – this casual talk over coffee. He's about to tell an Alpha that he's had his child and kept it from him for years; no small feat even if it wasn't exactly Clint's fault that he couldn't come clean. The fear and the anxiety and the needing to keep Kate safe and close is all tangled up with this connection, this fondness and love he still feels for a teenager who's not a teenager anymore, and he doesn't know what to do with any of it.
"Wear the sweater I bought you," Natasha says quietly, "And your good jeans."
Clint tosses her a smile, ignores the way she's glaring at him from whatever secure Army base she's stationed at now.
"Thanks Nat," he grins, and her eyes narrow.
"It's not a da..."
He'll pay for closing the laptop on her later.
For now he just sighs with relief.
He runs through a quick shower and shave, glad that he'd already dropped Kate off at her friend's house even if it had been difficult, even if they'd hugged each other extra long and hard before he'd driven away. He doesn't think he could've hidden his excitement, his giddiness from her any better than he'd done, and the closer he gets to stepping out the door the harder it is to contain it all.
He looks good.
He maybe even stole a little bit of Kate's eyeliner before he left.
He remembers how much Phil had liked that look on him all those years ago.
God, he is so screwed.
He doesn't think about anything on the ride over. It's kind of crazy, but his head actually goes quiet except for the roar of the bike beneath him. It's nice, calming, and lord knows he needs that. When he pulls up to the curb at the address he'd been given he's not surprised to see a neat little two-story condo waiting, complete with a proverbial picket fence in front, and all his nerves come flooding back into his stomach like they'd never left. He manages to hold it together though, leaves his bike on the little paved drive leading down to what must be sub-level parking.
He can't breathe as he climbs the steps to the front door, his heart pounding in his chest.
His hands actually shake as he reaches out to knock.
Then the door opens and Phil is standing there in jeans and sock feet and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms and it's like nothing's ever been wrong.
"Hey," he breathes, that stupid grin he can't help tugging at his mouth again and a jolt of hot electricity running through his core.
Something in Phil's face seems to crumple at the greeting and his shoulders cave forward, like he'd been preparing himself for a punch in the face and can relax now that he realizes it's not coming. His eyes sparkle the way they used to and the corner of his mouth ticks in an aborted smile the way it always did, and when he steps back to wave Clint through the door he can't help but brush past him on his way in, setting all sorts of butterflies to fluttering in the pit of his stomach.
He toes off his boots and hangs his jacket in the entryway, well aware that Phil's eyes are on him the entire time. He doesn't mind the attention but he wonders what it means, worries what it means, and the expression on Phil's face when he turns around doesn't reassure him.
"God, it's so good to see you," he hears himself say, and surprise flashes across Phil's face.
"Is it?" he asks carefully, hesitantly. "I didn't think... I mean, I wasn't sure..."
Clint moves before he thinks, with a desperate need to make Phil understand, to make him believe. Before he knows it, he's got his arms wrapped around Phil and is holding him as tight and close as he can, his face buried in the curve of Phil's shoulder. He freezes for a moment, clearly shocked, but then he melts into Clint's hold and it's so perfectly reminiscent of how they used to be that Clint feels like he's been forcibly thrown back in time almost sixteen years.
They're both taller, but Clint's still got an inch or two on Phil.
They're both broader, but their arms still weave around each other effortlessly.
They're two completely different people, but they're clutching at each other like they'd never stopped all those years ago, and Clint can feel his heart cracking right down the middle.
"I missed you," Phil chokes, crushing Clint even closer, and he has to bite down on a whimper in response.
"Missed you," Clint mumbles right back, and Phil's fingers tighten on his hips, shake.
"I'm sorry," he breathes desperately, ducking his head and nuzzling at Clint's temple, sliding his arms around Clint's waist. "I'm sorry. Clint, I..."
"I missed you," he interrupts, because, no, that's wrong, that's not fair. "God Phil, I missed you so much. I still miss you; every day, I..."
And then they're kissing.
He didn’t expect it, doesn't think he's the one who started it, but it doesn't matter.
Holy hell does it not matter.
The only thing that matters is that Phil is right here in front of him, in his arms, under his hands, kissing him like no time has passed at all. Clint presses back against him, drags him in close, bites and sucks and tries to breathe him in, tries to consume him as surely as he himself is being consumed. There's fire and flame burning him up, electricity and heat and all the old, good things coursing through his veins, and who is he to fight it after all this time, loving the cherished memory of the man setting him alight?
Phil's fingers creep into the hair at the nape of his neck, his tongue doing that wicked thing Clint remembers so well, and his other hand grips Clint's belt tight. The suggestion of a tug, that's all it takes, and then suddenly they're stumbling down the hallway groping each other like teenagers, as the fire burned bright and devoured.
AVAVA
"Wow!" Phil grunts, dropping onto his back hard enough that the mattress bounces and what little air there is left in his lungs gets knocked back out again. "That was..."
"Damn right," Clint huffs beside him, trying to laugh even as he pants, sprawled across Phil's bed with his clothes all crooked and his hair sweaty. "That hasn't changed."
Phil barks a laugh, because damn, it really, really hasn't. Sex hasn't been this good since... well, since Clint, since he was a teenager, and given that they'd both gone off in their pants after fifteen minutes of rolling around in his sheets, kissing and humping and stroking over their clothes, it's a pretty good analogy.
Slowly his pounding heartbeat eases, the crackling sparks of orgasm fading from his skin, and the overwhelming rush of lust and love and sheer thankfulness begins to fade. As he stares at the ceiling insecurities begin to creep back up, all his concerns from the last few weeks stealing back into his mind, and he quietly begins to panic right there in the twisted bedsheets.
He hadn't meant for this to happen.
Hadn't planned it, hadn't dreamed it was even a possibility, but here they were, lying side by side as they try to catch their breath, grinning stupidly at the ceiling...
To think that they'd wound up here like this after so much time, to think that he feels the same, deep stirrings in his chest that he had the very day he'd up and left so long ago...
Oh god, what is he doing?!
"Hey," Clint murmurs, and Phil blinks, turns his head to find the man staring at him with those all-seeing Hawkeye blues. "You regretting this?"
"No!" he blurts, hand sweeping the bed until he finds Clint's and tangles their fingers together. "No, I just... this wasn't why I asked you over. I didn't mean to..."
"You didn't pressure me into anything here Phil," Clint murmurs, turning onto his side. "We're both consenting adults; we aren't hurting anyone. Right?"
"Right," he insists, picking up on Clint's sudden hesitancy. "I'm not... I mean there's not anybody else..."
"Oh. Um. Me either."
Phil feels a smile pulling at his mouth and he doesn't know why, doesn't want to examine the feeling too closely because that way lay madness.
"What about Kate?"
...Shit.
He hadn't meant to say that, had meant to let Clint be the one to...
Clint stares at him, mouth quirked thoughtfully, then he lifts his free hand and drags it slowly down Phil's chest.
"This?" he says quietly, his eyes following the path his hand takes. "This is between you and me. Consenting adults remember? I'm here to talk about the rest of it, if that... if that's something you want."
"I want," Phil promises, and there's probably too much of the truth in his voice but it makes Clint's whole face light up. "But if memory serves, I've only got about three more minutes with you before you're out for the count."
A slow smile curls over Clint's face and he closes his eyes, rolls onto his back and stretches slow and languid.
"That's what coffee's for," he hums, before cracking an eye and peering at him hopefully.
Phil laughs, brushes his hand through Clint's hair before pushing himself up and out of bed.
"Alright, alright," he agrees, stepping gingerly over to the dresser. "We should probably clean up anyway."
Clint casts a look down the length of his own body, pulls a face like a disgusted cat.
"Bathroom's through there," Phil says with a laugh, jerking his chin toward the door as he tosses an extra pair of sweats onto the bed. "I'm going to grab a shower – you're welcome to join me if you'd like."
"Oh god," Clint groans, his head dropping back onto the pillow. "I'm not sixteen anymore. You're gonna have to give me at least an hour before I'm up for another go."
Clint freezes, his eyes going wide as he stares up at the ceiling.
"Um... I mean..."
"We'll talk about it," Phil promises, and the way Clint looks at him makes him think that yes, perhaps they could do this, perhaps he...
Perhaps he could have everything he was hoping for.
Shaking his head, he smiles softly and goes to start the shower.
|
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
This is a sound Angela hates to wake up hearing. Without opening her eyes, she knows she’s fallen asleep in the hospital, in a back corner of an E.R. hallway. Not quite on-duty enough to be on the clock but not on call enough to be at home, suspended between responsibility to herself and to her field. Unfailingly, wherever she is stationed, there’s always a nurse who takes it upon herself to mother her, force her to go to sleep in between surgeries or does a few of her rounds, brings her coffee or keeps sweets on hand, slipping them into the doctor’s scrub pockets. Her dry tongue tangles with strands of her hair. She’s definitely going to need some coffee before she returns to her office.
When she opens her eyes, Angela realizes she’s not seventeen or eighteen anymore, not even twenty-two or thirty. She’s thirty-seven and her hospital days are long behind her. In front of her, Fareeha’s asleep, breathing deeply. One of Zenyatta’s orbs floats over her girlfriend’s hair, humming quietly. She spits her hair out and looks up to gray tiles and chrome-backed lights- the med bay. How did she get here? She tries to remember, blinking against the little streams of sunlight coming in from the window overhead. It’s dim inside; the lights are low and the windows are blinded. It was daytime on the mission, too; she wonders how long she’s been unconscious. She squints, remembering the parapet, Reaper, gunshots, pain-
A whimper slips out of her lips before she can stop it. She cranes her neck toward the beeping. Of course, it’s not a nearby patient’s- it’s hers . She sucks in a breath and tries to push up quietly. The tape holding her IV down tugs against her arm as she wriggles it up. By the time gets her body in a plank position, Angela realizes she’s stark naked. She flops back onto the bed, grateful she didn’t try and rip the sheets off. The air between her and the bed rushes up and billows the sheet out. Cursing her carelessness, she braces herself for the pain when it settles, but the sheets drift softly and do not cause pain, but a twitch. And then another twitch, like her nose is tickled. She doesn’t dare to breathe. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel good or strange. It just feels like a sheet settling gently on her.
Now she’s wide awake and thinking fast. She glances at Fareeha but she’s sound asleep still. She starts pulling the sheet around to her front, wriggling it around her chest like a toga of sorts. Once she’s halfway decent, she sits up. The deflated blood pressure cuff is off with a quick tug and but the I.V. is the real trouble. A little bit of maneuvering gets her on her hands and knees. The bed creaks and she winces, reaching out for the flow control for the IV line. Her fingers graze it barely and the Swiss huffs, shuffling forward, trying to keep the sheet around her with one hand and grab the control with the other. Suddenly, her knee hits the soft spot where the two beds meet, pivoting her toward Fareeha. With a yelp, Angela throws out her arm for balance, abandoning the IV control and stumbling closer to the sleeping woman next to her. She flails backward to keep from falling on her; her back arches and spasms in a way she cannot quite describe.
Angela freezes. She can feel the wind that’s been stirred up but she can’t shake the feeling that she created it. She shoots a glare at the windows but they’re all closed. The sky outside offers no explanation, the brightness contrasts the dimmed lights of the med bay, but the blinds are not swaying in a breeze. She takes two breaths and tries to force herself to look over her shoulder, but she can’t bring herself do it. She instead looks toward the mirror across the room; it’ll have to do.
I.V. control forgotten, she plucks the needle out of her arm and presses a handful of the sheet to the hole it leaves. It'll leave a nasty bruise but she's not worried about that. She scrambles off the hospital bed, happy to find it so close to the ground. As soon as her soles touch the tile, Ana stirs from her seat in the armchair. The doctor jumps, having been unaware of her presence.
"Well, welcome back, Angela. Athena, lift the lights, wouldn’t you?" As the A.I. slowly brings up the lights, Ana untangles herself from the recliner and stands up, ignoring the urge to yawn in favor of approaching her startled patient. Unnoticed by the Swiss, her wings flutter slightly, puffing out in alarm. She can’t help but smile at the sight.
"Welcome back indeed.” Angela straightens up and wraps the sheet around herself more securely, making a skirt of the trailing sheet that’s not covering her front. “I can only imagine the shape I was in since I’m here. Did we at least complete the objectives?"
Ana waves her hand. "Of course, but that’s neither here nor there, Angela. How do you feel? You seem to have some idea of what's happened to you."
She pales, hands fisted in the sheet. During their exchange, she's been edging a little closer to the mirror over the hand-washing station. Now she stops and smiles sheepishly at Ana.
"I'm not exactly sure...how bad is it?"
Ana huffs out a laugh and Angela’s brow furrows. She’s expecting a frown or sympathy or anything except for laughter. Her thoughts spiral out of control trying to figure out what could have happened to her that would warrant laughter, of all things.
"Bad enough for you to take out your I.V. apparently. Jesse will never let you hear the end of that, what with all the trouble you've given him for sneaking out of the med bay over the years."
"Ana, please-"
"Come over to the mirror, dear. You are none worse for the wear." Angela follows Ana to the mirror, peeking at her profile as she edges into the view. Just before she can see her back, the older Amari spins her around to face her, to face away from the mirror.
"Angela, you have to promise me something before you can see."
The young doctor is practically vibrating with anticipation now, between the coiled tension in her shoulders and the blood leeching out of her brachial vein. She forces herself to take a deep breath before speaking again.
"Of course, Ana."
"You can't keep this a secret from the rest of the team anymore."
Her face falls. Self-hatred etches itself on her brow and Ana sees this. With a frown, she tilts her younger woman's face up. "You're not the only person who can take care of you."
Angela can't help shooting a look at Fareeha. "Of course."
"Not just Fareeha either. You'll get both of you killed like that."
The blood drains from Angela's face at that. "I wouldn't-"
"Yes, you would. And you nearly did yesterday. I don't want you to take that lightly."
Angela clenches her jaw, but she manages to look Ana in the eye.
"I won’t."
"Somehow, you are still as hard headed as you were when you were younger. It's so difficult to tell you these things before they go wrong. You know, I don't actually like to scold you."
"Of course," says Angela, swallowing. "I understand. You have my sincerest apologies. Fareeha has been telling me, but I haven’t been listening."
"And Winston, too. He’s none too happy about this. You gave him a right scare."
"I can imagine and I will apologize to him as well. I don't want-" Angela trails off as she hunches her shoulders and the tension in her back loosens slightly. She jumps, feeling a slight tickle on the outside of her arms. She tries to turn around to look but Ana pulls her face back forward, pinching her cheeks.
"Ah, not yet. You must promise me something else! You cannot panic, Angela. We live in a strange world and none of us are exempt from that, least of all you. And then we must get you a bandage and a gown before you freeze."
With her cheeks squished something fierce, it's all she can do to nod vigorously until Ana releases her.
"Okay, you may look. Remember, I'm right here."
Tired of hesitating, Angela looks over her shoulder before she can lose her nerve and yelps. Her wings flare out in alarm, the pale blonde flight feathers fanning out from their base of secondary feathers and fluffy down. She turns to face the mirror and spins around a couple of times, trying to get a better look at them. They are roughly the same length as the destroyed blisters, from the second joint of them to the tips. She watches them fold in neatly, just like the Valkyrie's mechanical ones, and flare open at the same thought that engages the hover. New muscles ache and burn, unsure of their finer purposes. They flap and fuss, their movements janky and uncoordinated, but Angela can’t take her eyes off of them.
Ana chuckles as she watches Angela spin around in silent shock, her expression alternating between confusion and thinly-veiled delight. It's not long before the commotion wakes the only other person in the room.
Confused, Fareeha opens her eyes and sits up, feeling well rested. It takes a moment to identify exactly what woke her up: her mother’s laughter and Angela's confused, barely audible squeaks.
"Ange?" Fareeha bats away the harmony orb until she remembers to take it out of her orbit. Once deactivated, she sits it on the covers that puddle around her lap.
Eyes wide, Angela spins around, her wings snapping into a closed position. What little delight in her posture drains as she takes in her lover’s confused expression. She can’t look her in the eye for more than few seconds, unsure of what to say. She stares at her feet instead, blood draining from her face. Fareeha tilts her head, almost able to forget the wings exist for a second if not for the tension in her body. She shoots a glance at her mother, who shrugs and leans over to stage whisper to the woman next to her.
“Angela, Fareeha has already seen your wings-”
“They’re not my wings.” The blonde grits out, glaring back at the mirror at the quivering limbs. “They are just there and hardly permanent. It will be easy enough to amputate them.”
Fareeha sputters. Ana actually takes a step back.
“Ange, why would you-? You don’t need to get rid of them.” Fareeha starts to scramble out of the bed but her girlfriend turns on heel and stalks to her office, shutting the door behind her. She pauses for a second, trying to understand what's happened, then untangles herself from the blanket and vaults over the beds. In three quick strides, she’s at the doctor’s office door. It’s already locked.
“Ange, we just talked about this!” She knocks loudly on the door. When Angela doesn’t respond, Fareeha shoots an irritated look at her mother, who throws up her hands.
Do something! Mouths Fareeha, gesturing to the door. Ana sighs and crosses her arms.
“Angela, you promised not to panic. If you do not come back out this very minute, I will never give the two of you my blessing and you will have to run far to elope.” When the door still doesn’t open, she adds, “And when you do not run far enough, I will assassinate the minister before you can finish the ceremony.”
A beat, then two more. Angela yanks open the door, now dressed in one of her sundresses with an open back. The sheet’s wadded up and pressed to the inside of her elbow. Fareeha heaves a sigh of relief at the sight of the intact wings over her shoulder.
“They don’t hurt,” mumbles Angela, shifting from foot to foot as her wings flutter nervously behind her. “But I still don’t want them.”
“You can’t just decide that now!” Fareeha can hardly believe this is the conversation they’re having, but the flicking of the silver wings keeps her rooted in their bizarre reality.
“They’re a liability, ‘Reeha. I can’t keep them!”
Throwing up her hands in exasperation, she shoots back, “How can you not want them? You don’t even know anything about them yet!”
“I don’t want to! Everything is complicated enough as it is!” hisses Angela, stomping her foot and planting herself in defiance. Her wings snap out to match her aggressive display and crack sharply against the doorjamb. Within seconds, she’s crumpled to the ground, gasping in pain, her wings curled reflexively around her slender frame.
“You’re in love with an idiot,” murmurs Ana, ignoring the look her daughter shoots her way and heading over to the counter. Fareeha drops down to Angela’s level, grateful that her Arabic is mostly restrained to medically useful conversation.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about. Liability.” Angela groans, her voice muffled by her hands over her face. “Not to mention, this is ridiculous.”
“You stood in a doorway and opened your wings,” says Ana, crouching down with the supplies to bandage Angela’s elbow. “They’re not ridiculous, you are.”
Fareeha rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to dispute.
“I didn’t mean to open them! They just did…” Uncovering her face, Angela trails off in her protest, sounding petulant even to her own ears. She holds out her arm when Ana gestures, doesn’t complain about the peroxide sting, and holds a cotton ball in place while the sniper wraps gauze around her elbow twice, then ties it off. Before she speaks again, she makes sure Angela’s making eye contact.
“I imagine Satya will have something to say about amputating perfectly good limbs for convenience.” She watches with grim satisfaction as Angela pales and practically wilts. When impassioned, the ex-Vishkar agent would give sermons on the importance of bodily autonomy, having been stripped of her own at such a young age. Having been a staunch supporter of the Indian woman since she’d defected, Angela can’t help feeling chagrined.
“I suppose she would.” Her wings return to their resting position without thinking. “I’m not thinking clearly, I apologize.”
“You promised not to panic.” Ana raises her eyebrow at her; Angela drops her gaze with a sigh.
“That I did and I did so immediately. I admit I have not been the most reliable lately.”
“You keep trying to deal with this by yourself, Ange,” Fareeha interrupts before her mother can continue. “And you’re making dumb decisions. You can’t just decide to amputate your wings because you’re freaking out.”
The blonde woman only nods tersely, massaging her temples. She gets to her feet with Fareeha’s help while Ana watches the pair like a hawk. Angela drops Fareeha’s hand as soon as she’s steady and stares out the blind-shaded window instead.
“‘Reeha,” says Ana, standing in a smooth motion. “Why don’t you start breakfast? It’s well past dawn. I'm sure we're not the only ones awake.”
“I mean, I can wait for you two-” She catches the glare that her mother’s sending her. “Mom, seriously-”
“I’ll take coffee, dear, if you wouldn’t mind.” The winged woman offers a small smile. Fareeha grimaces but makes no further argument against the dismissal. They both watch her collect her slippers and leave the med bay, letting the door slam behind her.
As Ana tidies the counter, Angela slumps against the office door frame. The cold metal chills her bare shoulders. Her wings droop behind her and she shivers at the alien sensation of the cold door behind her, sapping the heat from her upper feathers. She still frowns at the thought of them belonging to her, of being a part of her. The adrenaline from the panic ebbs slowly, leaving her drained and a little dizzy. Hunger boils in her gut but exhaustion threatens to win over it. Her eyelashes flutter as she struggles to keep her eyes open.
When Ana feels she’s let the young doctor stew long enough, she turns around to find her dozing against the door frame. Leaning on the counter, she clears her throat, startling her out of her shallow sleep but it isn’t Angela she addresses.
“Athena, this is Captain Amari speaking.” At this, Angela straightens up, confused. Ana makes it very clear, to the point of annoyance, that she retains no rank in the reformed Overwatch.
“Good morning, Captain Amari. What can I do for you?”
“Athena, please disable any presence masking protocols that Dr. Angela Ziegler has access to until further notice from either myself or Winston.”
“Wait a sec-” Angela squeaks but Ana holds up a single finger and she hushes.
“Additionally, Angela’s on medical leave until further notice.”
“First request granted, Captain Amari. However, indefinite medical leave requires Dr. Ziegler’s approval.”
“And I do no-” The doctor in question sputters but Ana lifts her voice up a notch and says, “alpha-alpha-eight-twelve-beta-delta-fourteen, override.”
“Override accepted. Dr. Ziegler will remain on base until her medical leave is terminated.”
“Thank you, Athena.”
Angela does nothing to mask the disbelief in her voice. “Are you grounding me?”
“You’re an adult now and you have wings; I couldn’t ground you if I wanted to,” Ana smirks. “But you are being terribly reckless, and I’d like you to keep it in a confined area until you realize that this isn’t the end of the world.”
She watches the younger woman droop- expression, shoulders, wings and all.
“Treat it like a virus, Angela. Let it run its course.” As she expects, the doctor perks up at the analogy.
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.” Angela glances over her shoulder and stretches, her brain scrambling to understand just exactly what she is doing. Her left wing responds slowly and she steps away from the door before she repeats her earlier mistake. The delighted expression starts small and slowly grows until Angela lets a small giggle. Ana suddenly understands the past 20 minutes.
“Angela, what makes you think Fareeha does not like you like this?” She watches Angela’s expression shatter and her wings retreat again.
“It’s strange. They shouldn’t- I shouldn’t-”
“You act as if you haven’t known each other for nearly two decades. Sweet child, she was worried sick. She all but passed out yesterday more than once over you. If you believe Fareeha is so shallow to not love you after this, then you must not know her very well at all. She still chased you when you ran, didn’t she?”
Feeling small, Angela nods.
“You fool,” says Ana fondly, stepping closer. “I won’t always be here to sort you two out, you know?”
Her throat closes at the thought of losing Ana for good, so she nods again. Her adoptive mother reaches up and ruffles her hair, then pulls her into a hug. For the second time that morning, Angela feels like a teenager again. Then her stomach growls loudly, ruining the moment.
Ana laughs, pulling back to pinch her cheeks. “You’re such a cranky baby bird. I think you’ll feel better after breakfast. We should get you cleaned up, make you look a little less like you just crawled out of an egg.”
Angela rolls her eyes. She can’t deny that a shower and breakfast sounds amazing. She rummages in one of the cabinets until she finds a pair of socks to ward off the cold tile of the watch point. Her wings flap wildly about for balance as she puts them on.
“You can’t fly yet, dear!”
“Ana, stop the bird jokes, please.”
“I don’t have a choice! Fareeha’s declared angel jokes unfunny and if I treat you too seriously, you’ll do something stupid.” Ana shoos her ahead, powers down the medical equipment, and locks the med bay door behind them. Before Angela even asks, she hands her back her key ring necklace that had been removed along with the rest of the suit prior to the surgery.
“Ana, thank you,” Angela says, tucking the keys back into her dress as they take the back way toward the living quarters. “I don’t think anyone could have cared for me after the mission yesterday the way you have.”
The sniper shrugs gracefully but she’s grinning. “I do know field med, Angela. Not all of us had to go to medical school.”
“Of course,” replies Angela, ducking and hiding a smile of her own. Her wings fluff and quiver, giving her away. They walk in companionable silence for the rest of journey. Ana promises to come to Angela’s room after her own shower so they can walk to the kitchen together. The younger woman breathes a sigh of relief at that; she hasn’t come up with a good way to explain the situation to her teammates.
Angela makes a beeline for her shower, unbuttoning the top buttons of the dress and letting it fall to her feet, toeing out of her socks. She starts up the shower and edges in, flattening herself against the wall underneath the shower head. It takes a few tries before she’s willing to edge a wing into the spray. She feels only warmth and a tickle, nothing unusual. Having confirmed that, she takes her shower as usual, using a handled loofah to get to difficult spots under her wings. Because of what she knows about birds, she keeps her body wash and shampoo away from her feathers. Stripping any oils on them would prove nothing short of disastrous. She bends over to wash her hair, getting lost in logistics until Athena alerts her that Ana is waiting outside her door. She turns off the shower and asks Athena to let Ana in, grateful that her room is not a mess.
Drying off is an adventure. Her wings and hair drip the most, of course. Her hair can be dealt with as usual with a towel but her wings pose a problem. Though she can extend and retract them at will, Angela does not quite understand how to flap them yet. Instead, she lifts one leg up and purposely unbalances herself until her wings flap enough to relieve most of the water. All things considered, it works well.
She emerges from the bathroom, one towel around her hair and another wrapped around herself. Ana’s reading on the other side of the room in the beanbag and looks up when she steps into the main room.
“I found an old blouse of mine at the back of my closet. Should fit you and your wings.” Angela glances over at her bed and sure enough, there’s a dark blue half-sleeved blouse with a heart-shaped hole cut out of the back draped over the foot of her bed. She snorts, grabbing her underwear, the shirt and the rest of her outfit and disappearing back into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, Angela emerges positively glowing. Aside from a new wrapping around her elbow, she’s dressed like it’s any other summer day on the Watchpoint. Her hairs mostly dry, now brushed and in her usual ponytail. Her wings look a little mussed but that’s to be expected, having been shoved through the hole of the blouse. They move freely within the cutout though. Ana, having gotten up and moved toward the door, watches them flutter absently as Angela roots around in her closet for a pair of sandals. From the way Ana is also dressed- linen blouse and denim jeans- one wouldn’t think they were international miscreants. With Angela confined to the base and Ana self-assigned to her, there's no reason for either of them to expect active duty any time soon. Angela flicks her wings out once more, but they still look messy. They argue for a quick second before Angela allows her to straighten out some of the bigger feathers and align the secondaries in their proper directions. Finally, they're ready.
As they walk toward the kitchen, Angela can’t help feel her appetite shrink as she hears the commotion from down the hall. Ana reaches out and pats her shoulder but it doesn’t stop her from flattening her wings against her back.
Sure enough, the main kitchen and dining room is full of most of the team, cooking, eating, and creating a festive mood. Genji and Mei are arguing about the tea they’re making while Aleks’ nabs a red bean bun from one of Mei’s dim sum steamers. Jesse’s helping Fareeha set up a bar for huevos rancheros. Jamison’s flipping pancakes on the stove while Lena ferries them to the kitchen island which is quickly getting overloaded with various foods. Jack’s checking on a squash dish that’s sitting next to a pan of scrambled tofu. Mako and Hana are making a game of inventing place setting for all the couches and stools and chairs in the adjacent dining area; Hana’s losing. Satya’s watching with concern as Hanzo pokes at something in a slow cooker. It’s not until Lucio looks up from where he’s taking a jug of orange juice out of the fridge that anyone notices Ana and Angela in the doorway.
“You’re here!” He shouts over the din and everyone looks up now, the room filling with cheers instead of the usual banter of their gathering. Ana chuckles and Angela finds it contagious. Fareeha grabs a mug and fills it with coffee, crossing the room and pressing it into her hands with a lingering touch. The shorter woman stretches up on tiptoe to give the Egyptian a kiss on the cheek and receives one in return; it’s all she can do to keep her wings from fluttering wildly like her heart.
“We were to have this feast last night,” explains Aleks around a mouthful of bean bun, “but your health was a concern. We waited until this morning. Do not worry, we mostly had everything cooked.”
“But it ain’t breakfast without eggs,” quips Jesse, as he cracks a few more onto a sizzling pan. Angela huffs out a laugh at that. Coffee delivered, Fareeha hurries back over to stir the refried beans before they begin to burn.
“Are you feeling well, Angela?” Satya’s cool voice cuts across the room, her eyebrows raised expectantly. She freezes, trying to think of the best way to present this. Fareeha shoots her an encouraging smile; she takes a deep breath and sips at her coffee. Fareeha loves her. Ana loves her. If it doesn’t matter to them, it won’t matter to anyone.
Ana jabs her gently in the ribs and whispers, “You may as well be dramatic, dear. You only get to do this once.”
Angela smiles into her drink. Overwatch is nothing if not full of dramatics. Lowering her mug, she steps forward, being sure to put the sniper out of range. She’s thankful that she allowed Ana to fix her feathers earlier.
“I guess you could say I’ve finally lived up to my name.” She shrugs, then flicks out her wings.
Even as small as they are, they create a sharp whoosh as they spread. Their platinum sheen glints in the bright light with soft white-blond shadows where they overlap. Most of the downy feathers are hidden behind her back and so they appear fully fledged. To anyone who knows any physics, which is most of the team, they’ll know they’re far too small to fly with, even at her size and weight. That doesn’t stop the room from going pin-drop silent, doesn’t stop all of its occupants’ eyes from becoming wide as saucers, doesn’t stop every jaw from dropping.
Ana just laughs. She has the best daughters.
|
Clarke arrives at work the next day surprised to see Lexa isn’t in her office. Clarke jumps on her computer and checks her boss’s schedule to see if she was at a meeting. But there is nothing scheduled for this morning.‘Very strange’ Clarke thinks to herself. Clarke thinks back to their encounter in the bathroom yesterday and hopes she didn’t go too far. The look in Lexa’s eyes before Clarke left the bathroom was unreadable. Clarke wishes desperately that she knew more about the girl so it would be easier to figure out what she’s thinking. Clarke is brought out of her thoughts when she sees Lexa exiting the elevator and walking toward her office. Lexa slows as she approaches Clarkes desk. ‘good morning Clarke’ Lexa greets the blonde.
‘Good morning miss woods’ Clarke responds, and Lexa continues on into her office.
Clarke glances over to look at Lexa in her office occasionally, she doesn’t seem herself, she looks frustrated like she can’t focus on her work, Clarke notices her puff out a few loud sighs and sees her running her fingers through her hair quite often. Clarke decides to stay out of Lexa’s way for the day.
The day goes surprisingly quickly and everyone is starting to shuffle around collecting their things ready to head straight out as soon as the clock ticks over to 5:30.Clarke looks over at Lexa and Lexa is staring right at her, her eyes aren’t dark this time, they’re soft and a little sad. She doesn’t look away. Lexa gives her a small smile and a nod before looking back at her computer screen.
5:30 hits and everyone in the office moves at once, gathering their things and making their way to the elevators. Clarke decides she can’t leave without at least talking to Lexa.Clarke knocks on her boss’s door, she waits for Lexa to respond instead of just walking straight in.A few moments later she hears Lexa‘enter’Clarke walks in cautiously.‘yes Clarke’ Lexa starts ‘can I help you?’
‘um no, I’m good’ Clarke replies ‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing. You seem a little out of sorts today and you were late for work, I’m pretty sure that’s one of the signs of the apocalypse’
Lexa smiles at the blonde‘I just had a rough night, I didn’t sleep very well and I knew I didn’t much on this morning so I decided to let me self lay in bed a bit longer, I’m fine really’
‘Well that’s good to hear’ Clarke says softly.
Clarke walks over and takes a seat opposite Lexa.
‘I was a little worried that I’d gone too far in the bathroom yesterday, you know, I know we’ve kind of got this thing going on, but I guess we still don’t know each other all that well and I just hope that I haven’t done anything that’s made you uncomfortable’ Clarke says with genuine concern.
Lexa looks into Clarkes blue eyes, touched by her concern.
‘No Clarke. You don’t need to worry about that at all. If I was uncomfortable I would stop you. I have thoroughly enjoyed all of our interactions’ a small smile slips onto Lexa’s face. then quickly disappears as she continues. ‘I hope you would also feel comfortable telling me if I was in any way making you uncomfortable?
‘Oh yeh of course ‘Clarke assures Lexa ‘I’m 100% comfortable. I’m just worried that we’re both so both so stubborn that we might not actually ever get to have sex! I mean honestly, does it really matter who’s top and who’s bottom?’
Lexa looks at Clarke her mouth hanging open, and then she can’t help herself, she starts to laugh, like not just a chuckle. A full on laugh.Clarke can’t believe what she’s seeing.
‘What’s so funny?’ Clarke questions
Lexa stops laughing and looks back at Clarke
‘that’s what you think this is all about? I’m just fighting to be a top? I don’t even really know what that means Clarke’ Lexa laughs again
Clarke is a little shocked, she truly has no idea what is going on.
‘So what is this is all about then? Lexa I don’t really get it’
‘Clarke’ Lexa starts. ‘I don’t know if I can really explain why I am the way that I am. But the whole dominant thing isn’t a game for me, and it’s got nothing to do with wanting to put you down, it’s about me keeping control over myself. I spent most of my life being told that I was nothing, that I was weak and worthless, and for most of my life I believed it. I had no confidence, no hope, no pride.’
Clarke can’t believe what she is hearing, she can’t imagine Lexa Woods ever being weak. She is the embodiment of confidence, Clarke has been so impressed and intimidated by her from the moment they met.
‘Things happened and I made a decision to change myself, and I did, I completely turned my life around and made something of myself.. but sometimes I still feel that weak little girl hiding inside me, sometimes I feel like this person I have become is just a façade.’Lexa waves her hand over face, as if it would be that easy for her to transform.‘I maintain strict control in all aspects of my life Clarke, because I’m scared of slipping. I’m scared of slipping back into who I was. I’m scared of you, because you make me feel weak.’
Lexa gasps a little when she realizes what she has just told Clarke. She had not intended to tell her any of that, it just came out, she’s never been this open about herself with anyone besides Anya. Lexa is suddenly filled with terror, she’s never felt so exposed, what will Clarke think of her now?
Clarke looks over at Lexa, there are tears in the brunette’s eyes, Clarke feels so overwhelmed right now. How hard that must have been for Lexa, to open up like that.Clarke gets up out of her chair and walks around until she’s in front The brunette, Lexa is looking down at her hands, Clarke lifts Lexa’s chin up so they are looking at one another, there is a tear running down Lexa’s cheek, Clarke cups Lexa’s cheek wiping away the tear with her thumb..
‘Clarke’
Lexa whispers so quietly Clarke only just hears it before she leans further down and brings their lips together, they begin to move their lips together, it’s a slow and gentle kiss, It’s soft and loving and perfect.Clarke pulls away first and rests her forehead against Lexa’s, green meets blue and they gaze at each other for a long moment before Clarke dips her head down and catches Lexa’s lips again, the kiss starts slow but rapidly becomes more desperate, Clarke feels Lexa’s tongue swipe across her bottom lip and Clarke moans and opens her mouth granting Lexa’s tongue entrance. Clarke is brought out of the moment when she feels Lexa’s arms start to move, Clarke knows that Lexa is about to grab onto her. She quickly grabs Lexa’s hands before she can do anything and she holds them down on the arm rest of the chair. She doesn’t want Lexa to break her own rule and touch her. Clarke doesn’t want to make her feel weak.
‘Wait’ Clarke says. ‘stay like this’
Clarke stands up and hitches her skirt up so she can straddle Lexa on her seat. Lexa gasps at the feel of Clarkes body on her own.
Clarke cups Lexas face with both hands.‘Lexa’ she starts. ‘I want you to come to my place tonight. When you get there, I want you to kiss me hard and strip me naked, I want to feel for mouth, you lips, your tongue all over my body, I want you to bite and scratch and mark me.’Lexa feels her thighs clench together and a hot wetness grows between her legs as Clarke continues
‘I want to feel your hands all over me’ Clarke reaches down and grabs Lexa’s hand and brings their hands up together to her breast. ‘on my breast’ she squeezes Lexa’s hand hard on top of her breast. Lexa moans at the contact. Clarke still holding Lexa’s hand. She starts guiding her hand down her body, Clarke slides their hands down into her panties until Lexa can feel the wetness of Clarkes folds.
‘on my cunt’ Clarke husks‘I want to feel your hands everywhere’
Lexa can’t help another moan from escaping her lips, she doesn’t think she could possibly be more turned on.. she was wrong.Clarke pulls Lexa’s hand out of her panties and brings it up to the level of their eyes.Clarke holds Lexa’s hand up so they’re both looking at it, it’s still dripping with Clarkes juices. Clarke folds Lexa’s pinkie, ring finger and her thumb in toward her palm leaving the remaining two fingers erect.‘Then I want you to I want you take these fingers and fuck me so hard with them that I forget my name’As she finishes talking Clarke takes the fingers in her mouth, sucking them in all the way to the knuckles. Lexa’s hips buck involuntarily, she starts shifting trying to get a better position so she can get some friction on her throbbing sex, she shuffles them so that Clarke is straddling her thigh, with her knee jammed up tight in-between Lexa’s thighs pushing against her hot centre. Lexa watches as Clarke slowly pulls her fingers out of her mouth, once they are all the way out Clarke releases her grip so Lexa can have her hand back, but Lexa keeps it positioned right where it is, hovering in front of Clarkes mouth, finger tips touching Clarkes lips.Lexa’s eyes have all but lost their colour, they’re dark with desire.
‘More’ Lexa growls.
Clarke smiles a little before opening her mouth allowing Lexa entrance. Lexa slides the fingers back into the blonde’s mouth, watching them disappear right down to the knuckles, Lexa is well aware how long her fingers are, she’s not sure how Clarke is taking them all the way down without gagging. She continues slowly sliding her fingers in and out of Clarkes mouth as they both begin to roll their hips on one another. Clarke is staring right into Lexa’s eyes as the girls fingers are sliding in and out of the blondes mouth and Lexa thinks it might just be the hottest fucking thing she has ever seen, she can feel her self-becoming ridiculously wet.Lexa uses the hand that Clarke isn’t sucking on to grip Clarkes lower back and help her grind down onto her thigh. Reluctantly, Lexa removes her fingers from Clarkes mouth and uses her newly free hand to get a grip on the leg that is wedges between her thighs, pulling it into her as tight as she can, she still can’t get the extra friction she needs.Clarke notices her struggle and brings her hand down between their bodies and slides it into Lexa’s pants and then into her panties. She gasps when she feels her.‘Fuck baby!... your so fucking wet!’Lexa grips Clarkes hips hard, now with both hands and helps her grind down on her thigh as Clarke is rubbing furious circles on Lexa’s clit.
‘Clarke…. I’m so fucking close!...... fuck.. I want you to cum with me..’Clarke uses her free hand and grabs onto the back of Lexas neck, she pulls her in so their foreheads are connected, kissing messily between the panting and moaning.‘Fuck you feel so good baby’ Clarke breathes ‘I’m so close, I’m gonna come… fuck Lex’With a few more rolls of the hip Clarke reaches her high, Lexa watches Clarkes body quivering as her orgasm takes her and Lexa feels her own high coming on.‘fuck Clarke don’t stop’ Clarke being consumed be her orgasm had stopped moving her hand over Lexas clit.
I’m sorry baby’ Clarke pants into Lexas mouth as she begins rubbing furious circles again. In only takes a few seconds for Lexa to be taken over by her own orgasm.‘Fuck Clarke! Oh god, don’t stop… fuck!’
Clarke watches as Lexa comes undone beneath her, her body shaking, her breath frantic. Clarke slows her pace right down before stopping completely and sliding her hand up out of Lexa’s pants and wraps her arms around Lexa’s neck.Lexa leans in resting her head on Clarkes breast wrapping her arms around the blonde, holding her tight. They stay like that for a while, coming down from their highs, enjoying the closeness.
Lexa eventually lifts her head up of Clarkes bosom and green meets blue as their eyes connect.
‘that was hot’ Lexa says with a smirk.
‘Hope you’re up for round 2 tonight’ Clarke replies, her smirk matching Lexa’s.
Lexa grabs Clarkes waist and stands up from the chair, with Clarke wrapped around her hips, she slams her on the desk. Pushing her body hard up against the blonde, Clarke lets out a throaty moan at the motion. Lexa brings a hand up to grips the side of Clarkes face.
‘I could go for round 2 right now’ Lexa husks before smashing their lips together, it’s a messy and desperate kiss, they moan into each other’s mouths, their tongues fight for dominance.Lexa slides her hand under Clarkes shirt, her skin feels so soft.She’s shocked when she feels Clarke grab her hand and pull it out from under her shirt.Lexa looks at Clarke in confusion.‘If we start this again we’ll never get out of here’ Clarke states with a wide smile.‘it’s already getting late and I’ve got a big night planned for us when you get to my place later’
Lexa sighs loudly and takes a step back from the blonde as if it’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.
‘Okay’she reluctantly accepts Clarke’s reasoning.Clarke slides off the desk and fixes her skirt up.
‘I’ll text you my address. See you at 8?’ Clarke asks
‘I’ll be there’ Lexa replies.
Clarke leans in for a quick kiss, but as she goes to pull away Lexa grabs her and pulls her in tight and kisses her deeply, Lexa takes Clarkes bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth and slowly releases it, when Clarke moans Lexa takes her open mouth as an invitation and plunges her tongue between Clarke’s lips and starts exploring her warm mouth, Clarke meets Lexa’s tongue with her own and they slide against one another.When they finally break the kiss they’re both panting and out of breath.
‘Sorry’ Lexa says. ‘I just had to do that one more time before you left’
‘you don’t ever need to apologize for doing that’Clarke tells the brunette with a huge smile on her lips.
‘l’ll see you at 8’ Clarke says, looking into green eyes.
Lexa simply nods in reply, unable to fight the smile that’s tugging on her own lips.Lexa watches as Clarke walks out of her office and over to the elevator, she takes a seat at her desk and looks at the time on her computer screen. She’s got nearly 2 hours until she sees a Clarke again.It feels like an awfully long time to wait.
|
Stiles pushes past Kira, bursts into the dressing room off the back of the banquet hall and says, “I’m freaking out!”
Turning from the mirror, Malia arches an eyebrow and looks him up and down pointedly. She's beautiful and glamorous in her ivory shift dress, beaded fringe clicking gently together against her thighs.
Stiles smoothes down the silky material of his own sweet outfit and makes a face, because he’s definitely not freaking out about that. The dress is fantastic. It’s well known that Stiles occasionally likes to indulge in a skirt or two, but he’s never had one tailored to his form before—the folds of it fall perfectly across his chest and cinch tight around his waist. He’s going to wear this one until it falls off his body.
No, Stiles is freaking out because: “Derek Hale is your cousin!”
Malia looks doubly unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure I told you that already.”
“You told me your cousin was Derek,” Dorky Cousin Derek, specifically, who Malia used to tease relentlessly when she was little, Stiles has heard the stories, “not Derek Hale.”
The Derek Hale, who punched out that photographer last month for getting too chummy, who’s hot and talented and rumored to be a total douchebag and also a complete sweetheart. He’s amazing on screen, Stiles may have been a little obsessed in his teenage years, but he definitely does not want to walk down the aisle with him.
“Does it matter?” Malia is a blank kind of baffled in the face region, like she wants Stiles to go away but realizes she needs to show some concern for his hysterics.
Malia is one of Stiles’s best friends, okay, he loves her, but Malia sometimes has trouble understanding basic human functions. He’s pretty sure it comes from living feral for too many years in the preserve.
Which also means:
“Oh my god, he’s a werewolf.” Stiles is torn between being delighted and terrified beyond all reason.
Kira peeks around the doorjamb. “Everything okay? Only the officiate is getting restless, and Luke’s sister Sophie is threatening to start the music without you.” She’s looking at Stiles, like Stiles is the one holding up the wedding, and not Derek Freaking Hale.
Malia says, “Stiles is having a sexual crisis.”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Stiles says, and then flounces his way out of the room. His frilly skirt makes stalking impossible. Normally, Stiles would be pleased.
*
Sophie is glaring daggers at him by the time he makes it to the back of the hall, but Sophie has issues with Stiles as a bridesmaid, so Sophie can stuff it up her ass.
Stiles had been totally fine with wearing a tux on Malia’s side of the aisle, but Malia can be weird about certain things she deems normal, and she’d been adamant about color balance. Stiles is clad in the exact same bright red short-skirted chiffon dress as every other bridesmaid, and he’s fine about that too.
Anyway, Stiles is already on Sophie’s shit list, and this minor wedding hiccup has made her look even more sour. Stiles truly likes Luke, he doesn’t understand how they can be related.
He shimmies a little to straighten the fall of his skirts and sticks out his tongue at Sophie before taking his place behind her as second in line.
Second in line to walk down the aisle. And stand across from Derek Hale. God. Because heaven forbid he wear a dress for Malia. Nevermind the fact that Scott’s on the groom’s side as well.
Look, Stiles just really likes the dress, okay? And nobody cares what the McCall pack emissary does anyway.
Except for possibly Sophie Dent.
Thank god Luke doesn’t expect Malia to marry in the other way. She would eat everybody in the Dent pack alive.
The music starts and Sophie pastes on a smile and glides forward and Cora pokes him in the middle of the back to get moving.
Stiles trips over his sparkly red sneaks and grips his bouquet of roses and hopes to god he isn’t flushing in splotches all over his exposed parts. His head is freshly shorn, because Malia likes to scruff her hand over it for good luck, and normally Stiles wouldn’t give a shit, but right now his shoulders feel tense and Derek motherfucking Hale’s gaze is dark and judging and Stiles’s sixteen year old self is sobbing uncontrollably into his pillow.
*
The ceremony is a blur. Stiles has no idea what actually happens beyond Malia and Luke tying the knot, Scott stepping forward as Luke’s new alpha, and Stiles almost falling on his face in the middle of the aisle, saved from out-and-out humiliation by Derek’s strong arm around his waist.
Which is another sort of humiliation in and of itself, given that Derek can probably smell all the pleasure Stiles’s is deriving from his big, warm hands.
Ugh.
Stiles risks a sideways glance and notices the clench of Derek's jaw, and Stiles murmurs a, "Sorry," and, "Thanks," in the same breath, hyper aware of how terrible it is that he's making Derek uncomfortable. He's usually better about this, getting his gross feelings all over the place; he's been living with werewolves for years.
The McCall pack is small but mighty, nestled in the tippy-top of California, a tiny slice of territory carved out with hard work, determination, and a zero tolerance policy for meddling murdersome supernaturals. They've got a Nemeton. Stiles had once been proud of that, but nowadays they just have to keep fighting back evil wizards. He's pretty sure that's why no other wolf pack had claimed Beacon Hills before them.
Malia belongs to the McCall pack despite technically being a Hale, mainly because Stiles and Scott were the ones who found her after her three-year sojourn in the woods during her teen years. Not to mention the fact that her biological dad is a half mad demon wolf, and her mom was some sort of death coyote.
She’s friendly enough with her aunts and uncles and cousins—with Derek—because they’re blood and she'd grown up with them, originally, but she sticks with Scott because of a fierce, smothering loyalty that most of the Hales just don’t understand.
They’re wolves, but not wolves, and Malia will always be kind of a wild animal. Responsible forever for what you have tamed. In a fit of romantic whimsy, Stiles had gotten that tattooed on his ribs when they’d been dating, but he honestly never really regretted it, even after they broke up. It’s not like the sentiment will ever change.
So, anyway, Malia is a Hale, but not of the Hales, settled far more south in California—Hollywood—and Stiles still has no idea how he didn’t know about Derek.
*
No one has ever accused Stiles of being dainty. He doesn’t become particularly lady-like in dresses; he just likes the way they swoosh all over his bare legs.
Derek scowls at him over their clasped hands and says, “Can you watch your feet?” through his teeth.
Stiles swallows back his nerves and smiles sunnily at him and says, “No.”
It’s not that Stiles is a terrible dancer—it’s just kind of like he’s lost all rhythm in the face of Derek’s… everything. His adorable teeth, the gray peppering his beard, the absolute crushing shine of his unreal eyes. Stiles has no chill, he’s holding on by a bare thread here, and the growl of Derek’s voice isn’t helping matters.
"You know, I always figured you'd be nicer," Stiles says. "In person." He stares in fascination as the tips of Derek's ears burn red. "Like the public asshole persona was just a front for your sensitive soul."
Derek dips his gaze and says, "I always figured you'd be wearing pants."
"Well, that's a weird—wait." Stiles stops himself mid-sentence, licks his lips, squeezes Derek's hand and says, "You've figured stuff about me?"
The arm around his back sweeps him closer—damn Malia and her wedding traditions—so their fronts are pressed all together, and Stiles barely stops himself from accidentally stomping on Derek's feet again.
The long suffering sigh is belied by the heat sweeping in from Derek's ears to color his cheeks, the way he ducks his head in closer so their noses brush. "Your pack has a Nemeton, Stiles. Everyone has figured stuff about you."
Derek is a movie star. He's an action hero. He's a leading man with criminal scruff, more abs than are humanly possible, and the thick, hairy thighs of a god.
And he's currently nuzzling into Stiles's neck, like he's only just holding back from licking him.
"I'm not sure what's going on," Stiles says faintly. He's pretty certain they were hurling vague insults at each other a few minutes ago. One stilted waltz to—he grimaces—a slow, jazzy live band cover of Uptown Funk shouldn't be this arousing.
"Are you wearing stockings?" Derek says into his neck, the hand on the small of Stiles's back oh-so-casually inching down to cover the top of his ass.
"Oh my god, you have a panty kink." Stiles knocks his shoulder into the side of Derek's face and yanks on his shorthairs until his head is forced back. Derek's pupils are blown. Stiles can't decide if that's a good thing or not.
And then Derek's blinking, turning his face away, jerking upright into a more formal stance, gripping Stiles's hand so hard he's half afraid his werewolf strength will break him.
"Hey, big guy," Stiles says, wriggling his fingers ineffectually, "fragile human bones here."
Derek heaves a deep breath and drops Stiles's like he's scorching.
Stiles stumbles back a step to applause, and belatedly realizes that the music stopped, that the wedding party opening dance is officially over.
"Well," Stiles says. "That was weird."
Derek tosses him a half-hearted red-faced glare before stalking away.
*
Stiles thinks the main problem with Malia's wedding is that it's everything Malia thinks it should be like, but not necessarily what she really wanted. Big wedding party, classy live band, neat symmetrical bouquets, five tier stark white cake with pink rosettes, a groom cake in the shape of a car.
Malia smashes Luke's face with the first piece of wedding cake and Luke wisely does not smash one back.
After the first hour, Malia looks like she's ready to tear off her dress and go howling through the preserve, but Talia distracts her with an enormous slab of venison.
After the second hour, the Hales and the Dents look like they're ready to dance battle a la West Side Story.
Kira has made Stiles do the Electric Slide.
Stiles has slow-danced with Jackson twice.
About three dozen handsy werewolves drunk on wolfsbane-laced beer have scruffed hands over his buzzed head while shouting, "Huzzah!"
And Derek is a constant looming dark presence that Stiles is studiously ignoring while not actually ignoring him at all. This is all of Stiles's teenaged fantasies come to life. Derek's vampire adventure movie from a decade ago, These Dark Mountains, had featured heavily in Stiles's rich and vivid daydreams. All they need is a cave and a rainstorm and the adrenaline thrill from surviving a vampire attack, some heaving bosoms and torn skirts and, you know, a lot of Stiles's kinks can be traced back to the way Derek Hale looks on screen.
He's in so much trouble.
Creeping up on the third hour—which is nearly the last hour, thank god—Stiles has his sneaks off, curled up on a chair in the back corner of the room, nursing a piña colada.
He's not even surprised when Derek slides up next to him and says, "I'm not an asshole."
Stiles tilts his head back to look at him, and a tiny zing goes down his spine when Derek's eyes flicker to the pulse point on his neck and then back up to his face again. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets, "I've got a grumpy resting face."
"And a mean right hook," Stiles says.
"And a mean right hook," Derek says with a bob of his head and a faint smirk.
Stiles pushes out the chair next to him with a bare foot and says, "Sit," and he may look totally relaxed, but mostly his heart is in his throat and the back of his knees are sweating and his dick is acutely aware of Derek's forearms. He's pretty sure Derek knows all this, but is probably used to politely ignoring those kinds of reactions to his person. He's been shirtless in almost every photo spread since he graduated out of teen comedies.
Stiles tenses at the heavy hand on his calf. He makes an embarrassing squeaky sound, but all Derek does is tug his legs across his lap so Stiles can keep up his lounging, and if his fingers spread up a little too high on Stiles's thigh, well, neither of them say anything about it.
The skirt of Stiles's dress is rucked up against his crotch and he can't seem to suck in enough air on his next breath, but Derek just smiles this charming asshole smile, like he knows exactly what he's doing to him, and asks him about his father.
"You seriously want to talk about the Beacon Hills County Sheriff right now?" Stiles says, voice definitely not a note too high.
"Sure," Derek says, teeth flashing through his grin. "I hear he carries a mountain ash bat covered in runes, and he's been elected five straight terms in a row."
"He's retiring," Stiles says. He drops his gaze to where Derek's hand is curling under the back of his left thigh, right where his garters stop. His breath hitches as Derek's fingers toy with the lacy, elastic tops. "Okay, so," Stiles says, because, you know, that's really hard to misinterpret, right? "Wanna go make out in the coat closet?"
*
The coat closet of the banquet hall is actually large and well-lit and Stiles shoves past an entire rack of scarves and shawls—Isaac's?—and drags Derek all the way back against the far wall, where they're at least out of sightline with the door.
"This is so stupid," Stiles says. "Do paparazzi come to these kinds of things?" He'd prefer not to end up on TMZ with the headline 'Derek Hale Sex Tape', but, you know, that's also not going to stop him from sticking his hands down the back of Derek's slacks.
Derek growls and uses his werewolf strength to heft Stiles up, hands on his ass, the tops of Stiles's shoulder blades pressed into the paneling. Manhandling is a go.
"Hello, beard burn," Stiles says, rubbing his palms over Derek's cheeks.
Derek rolls his eyes, and then dips in to suck kisses all up Stiles's neck, the sensitive skin under his ear, and Stiles melts and wriggles at the same time.
"Stiles," Derek says, fingers walking up and up until the skirt of the dress is out of the way, and hot hands are against the bare skin of Stiles's lower back, the crease of his thigh just under his briefs.
"Yeah, yes, okay."
*
Stiles is not proud of the fact that he loses track of everything except Derek's mouth and his hand on his dick and the taste of his skin, but for a few brief moments he doesn't care about the sudden hush of muffled music, the expectancy in the air around them.
It's not until he's panting into the hollow of Derek's throat that he thinks: "Oh my god, they're all waiting for us to be done, aren't they?"
Derek's hands tighten on his hips. He says, "Do you think there's a back way out?"
"Of a closet?" Stiles asks, incredulous. And then he unlatches himself from Derek's body and straightens his skirts and clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling. "Right," he says. "Right."
"Should we, uh…" Derek trails off, and Stiles risks a look at him—he's pink above his beard and has an aw, shucks dip to his head that his dad is going to eat up, god.
Stiles says, "We should move this to your hotel room," before he can think better of it.
At Derek's wide eyes—like he isn't a star, geez—Stiles adds, "What, like our entire families don't already know what we were doing in here?"
Stiles would appreciate a bed, is what he's saying, and he definitely would like to be pressed down into it by all of Derek's muscles. There are things that you just can't do in a coat closet in a reception hall with over a hundred guests accidentally listening in. Werewolves.
"If you're lucky, I'll let you buy me breakfast." Stiles is going to milk this for all that its worth. If he's lucky, Derek will be in town for at least another day.
"Is that a good idea?" Derek asks, but he's already curling close around him again, burying his face in Stiles's neck, ignoring the pounding on the door and Scott's distinctive, "Come on, guys, it's getting late!"
Derek takes a deep, bracing breath and says, "Okay."
*
Apparently Scott's been holding off the masses like a good bro and alpha, but he gives them dirty glares as they slip out of the coat closet. And then there's, like, an embarrassing announcement from the lead singer of the band and tired cheering in response, but the reception isn't completely over, so there's only about thirty or so guests who were waiting to leave.
They're halfway down the big ornate stairs to the lobby when Derek grabs his hand and tugs him to a stop.
"Stiles, I—" He cuts himself off, opens and closes his mouth, then shoves a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. His eyes flash and he clenches his teeth.
Stiles swings around and places his other hand on top of their clasped ones. "What's up, big guy?"
Derek grimaces. “I shouldn’t be seen—”
“Holding hands with a dude?” Stiles says with pointed shake of their hands.
“No," Derek grips him tighter before dropping Stiles's hands completely, "that’s not—”
“Holding hands with a dude in a dress?” Stiles straightens up to his full height, only a little peeved that they’re basically eye-to-eye, ignoring the sharp stab of disappointment and hurt. "That they'll think you're dating a dude in a dress?"
"Stiles," Derek growls. “Let me—no. I shouldn't be seen dating another pack’s emissary.”
Stiles’s mouth clicks shut, frame loosening. Huh. He wrinkles his nose and says, “Scott won’t care.”
“Maybe not,” Derek says, gazing down into the lobby. “But my mother probably will.”
Stiles scoffs, shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't matter, even if he's dying a little bit inside. “Only if you’re planning on marrying me.”
Derek’s silence is way too loud.
Stiles's silence is too loud. His brain thoughts trip over themselves and his heart grows three sizes and it's too early in the game to scream yes, but he's somehow not surprised by how much he really, really wants to.
"Oh my god," Stiles finally says.
There's a tick in Derek's jaw. "It's not—"
"Oh my god." Stiles is vibrating. Stiles is half sure he's having a heart attack. Stiles wants to drag Derek back to that coat closet and tumble him to the ground and fuse their souls together in ways that an emissary never should.
"Can you please shut up about it?" Derek looks embarrassed and harassed and like he wishes he never opened his mouth, but the glorious thing is that he can't take it back.
"I'm the McCall pack emissary," Stiles says. He wants to wriggle back into Derek's space and thinks about the logistics of wrapping his arms and legs around him like an octopus, and whether or not Derek could stop them from falling down the rest of the stairs if he did.
Derek looks resigned. "Yeah, I know."
The thing is, the world at large doesn't know about werewolves and packs and emissaries, and all TMZ will care about is Derek Hale and a dude in a red dress. But all Derek Hale cares about is the possibility of leaving his mom.
"Well," Stiles says. "This is a mess." He moves in closer anyway, though, and rests his forehead on Derek's shoulder, curls his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt.
"It's not—I'm supposed to be Laura's second," Derek says, and he sounds adorably baffled, and it's breaking Stiles's heart.
"I'm with you for whatever you want to do, dude," Stiles says, because everyone knows where Stiles's loyalty lies—this is Derek's decision. "I'm not saying I want to marry you over pancakes, but I'm not not saying that either."
The truth is Stiles would elope with him in a hot second, even if it all ended terrible.
"You're a menace," Derek says, but his voice his fond and his hands are careful on his nape. He brushes his mouth along Stiles's temple.
"I am a goddamn delight," Stiles says shakily. "Also I lost my shoes. You might have to carry me across the pavement."
"So sure this is gonna happen, right?" Derek murmurs against his cheek.
Stiles is not sure. Stiles has the cold sweats and his throat feels tight, and if Derek walks away now he will totally understand and also curl up in a ball right there and cry. Ten minutes ago he had no idea he was this invested.
Then there's an extra loud sniffle behind them and Derek says, "I know you're there, Cora," and Cora says, "I'm gonna be Laura's second, asshole, and I will fight you to the death for it if you don't leave with this ragamuffin man-child right now," and also, "If you tell anyone I was crying I will eat your fucking liver."
"I believe her," Stiles whispers, and wisely doesn't take offense at 'ragamuffin man-child.' Stiles is as elegant as a princess for once in his life, and Cora Hale can't take that away from him.
Derek's thumbs slip forward to cradle the sides of his face as he whispers, just as soft, "Me too."
He's still tense. Stiles still has no idea which way the wind will blow, in the end, but he's absolutely certain they're at least going to have tonight, and it's going to be fucking magical.
Also: "We're not going back to your hotel room," Stiles says, pulling back to gaze at Derek's face.
His beautiful hazel eyes are wary and glorious and Stiles is going to have to hide every single magazine he owns with Derek on the cover before morning because: "I'm taking you home."
|
Tommy and Tubbo had, to put it lightly, thrown Ranboo to the dogs.
It was his idea, they argued, pushing him towards the house, therefore he gets to die if she's there .
Such good friends, they were.
He had no reason to be scared, he told himself. Whatever it was protecting the Minecrafts was arguably more powerful than the three of them combined, and he knew that if she wanted to find them, she would have.
If she wanted to hurt them, she could have.
If she wanted to toy with them, she'd be doing it now.
(Maybe that's why Ranboo's hands quivered just the slightest bit as he slid through the wall.)
The kitchen was empty. There were dishes drying beside the counter on a rack with a towel beneath it, likely leftovers from breakfast. He could hear the sounds of the TV in the other room, almost unable to mask the sounds of computer keys.
The typing stopped. Something scraped against what Ranboo assumed to be a table. There was a moment of silence as whatever was going on on the TV paused before it came back in a quiet uproar.
Ranboo heard a quiet little "ah" of contentment--it was Phil out there, he could tell now--and the sound of the drink being set down.
The typing resumed.
Ranboo poked his head back through the wall, reporting to the other two that it was safe.
"We're off the hook?" Tubbo asked hopefully.
Ranboo nodded.
Tommy and Tubbo still looked apprehensive as they stepped forward. Ranboo pulled back and moved away from the wall, waiting for them to enter.
A glance into the living room showed Phil watching what looked like footage from the point of view of someone hiding under a bed played onscreen.
Some sort of baby noise played, along with the sounds of something heavy thudding closer.
A scream-laugh played through the TV, followed by hushed murmurs.
A woman's voice played through the screen, stating that they might have to turn around.
"Is there a demon baby in here?" Tubbo asked, his own voice a whisper.
"No, I think it's, like, a movie," Ranboo answered calmly, eyes glued to the screen as a door burst open behind the person, and the noises amplified.
Tommy and Tubbo joined him, peering around the entryway to the kitchen to watch as something fleshy dragged itself before the person, positioning itself before the bed.
It let out a garbled noise that resembled a call for a parent.
"Little squishy," said the woman's voice.
"What the fuck is that?" Tommy demanded, eyes wide.
"Demon baby," Ranboo answered.
The person backed up quickly, standing once they were out from under the bed.
The baby let out a loud cry suddenly, making Ranboo jump.
Tommy jolted, but quickly fixed himself, moving closer to the TV.
In response, the person turned and ran, the woman--presumably the one holding the camera--freaking out.
She ran through the hallways with a familiarity, rounding an arguably inconvenient kitchen counter and pushing open a door.
A map of some kind opened on the screen, pausing the sound of the baby.
"Is it not a movie?" Tubbo asked. "Cause movies don't have stuff like that."
"It might be a game, y'know?" Ranboo conceded.
The map closed and the woman ran up the stairs, asking someone named Ethan Winters why he was walking so goddamn slow.
It was footage from a video game, they decided, and two people were playing it. Somehow. They... weren't exactly sure of their names, but there was a man and a woman, and the man was on push-to-talk for a reason. Whatever push-to-talk was.
The ghosts had moved closer to crowd around an empty chair, staring intently at the screen as the two directed their camera to an elevator.
Phil typed on nonchalantly as if there wasn't a freaky demon baby thingy chasing these people.
They used the key on the elevator.
The demon baby shrieked.
"Oh, goddamnit," Tubbo cursed, standing up abruptly. "Oh, fuck, the baby's back." He settled back into place quickly.
The people on the screen pulled up a map, and the sounds of the game paused.
"Can they not get into the elevator?" Tommy asked. "Why can't they get into the elevator?"
Ranboo resisted the urge to beat his fists against the chair to relieve some of the stress alight in his body. "Cause it's--it's up, it has to, like, come down first, y'know?"
"What about the baby?!" Tubbo demanded. "They can't wait for it, can they?"
Tommy shook his head. "That fuckin' god forbid--I don't like this. I don't like this, and I'm going to--"
The map disappeared, shocking them into silence.
The person ran into a nearby room, flitting around a desk of some kind and staring at the door.
"That flashlight's shit," Tommy whispered, which was true.
The door burst open.
The camera held steady.
The baby dragged itself closer and--
Tommy threw himself away from the chair with a shriek. " What the fuck is that?!"
Ranboo and Tubbo joined him, shouting their own disapproval at whatever the fuck was just on the screen.
Phil reached up to crack his back, barely sparing the vod of Tina and Corpse playing Village a glance as he placed his computer to the side. He grabbed his bottle and moved to the kitchen to get a drink, unknowingly causing the ghosts gathered by the doorway to scatter to avoid tipping him off that they were there.
("He didn't even flinch at the demonbaby," Tubbo whispered as a reminder.
The three ghosts were quiet as Phil rummaged for a snack.
"What the hell are these people made of?" Tommy asked, turning to Ranboo and Tubbo. "And why the fuck are we not dead?")
("Hey, Phil," Wilbur greeted as he stepped down the final bit of stair. "Were you yelling earlier?"
Phil looked up, surprised. "No, it was the TV. I thought it was quiet enough you couldn't hear."
Wilbur rubbed at his eye with a hum and turned to head to the bathroom.)
"Nighttime," Ranboo muttered, his Christmas-colored glasses staring out through the front window of the living room. "Isn't that when scary stuff happens?"
"Only one way to find out," Tubbo mumbled.
Phil cleared his throat behind them.
As the people on the TV chatted and laughed, the three ghosts watched.
They waited.
The shadows grew, orange hinting at itself between them.
Phil got up from the seat, calling up to Techno and Wilbur if they wanted to order pizza.
The final dredges of light escaped along with the delivery car that brought their food.
Tommy let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
("Hey, why's the TV glitching?" Wilbur asked before he took another bite of his pizza.
As if on cue, a line of static ran across the screen, followed by an awful drag of a syllable, lasting only a second. The video froze to allow the audio to catch up before it resumed playing as normal.
Phil shrugged. "I dunno. It's tolerable, though, unless one of you wants to go through the trouble of opening everything again."
Neither Techno nor Wilbur reached for the remote.
Half the screen lagged, creating a terrifying mix of color before it corrected itself.)
"I think this means we're safe," Tubbo finally spoke, his voice nothing more than a breath in the room.
They couldn't see the moon yet--not over the tops of the trees--but if the fact that they could barely make out the details of the trees yet wasn't a tell that it was night.
"Has the barn always been that...?" Ranboo trailed off.
Neither responded, all eyes focused on the smudge of soot that loomed over the yard.
(Tubbo halted outside Phil's bedroom door upon seeing the crack in the doorway.
Ranboo passed through into Techno's room, Tommy hesitating behind him outside Wilbur's.
Tubbo swallowed.
Tommy took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
With a short start, then a pause, Tubbo hurried over to Techno's room.)
Wilbur was asleep.
Well--okay, no, he probably wasn't. But he was laying in bed and his eyes were closed. So.
Tommy quietly padded over to the other side of the room, despite knowing only he was able to hear the quiet movement of his own bare feet against the wood. He rounded the corner of the bed and stepped over to Wilbur, looking down at him.
Wilbur's chest rose and fell in quick succession, letting Tommy know he wasn't asleep yet.
Tommy messed with his fingers, contemplating.
Wilbur didn't dare change his breathing pattern.
He knew something was in his room, looking over him. He could feel the tell-tale chill of a ghost, but didn't move for fear of scaring it off.
He was certain the ghost had already clocked his breathing pattern when it entered, so pretending to be asleep would only let it know that he was aware of it.
It shifted, then moved away.
A quiet little tink reached Wilbur's ears. It was soon followed up with more-- tink. tink-tink. tink.
Wilbur peeked an eye open, finding the pens in their holder dancing around each other, shifting and moving to clink against the side and make noise.
They stopped.
"Hello?" Wilbur called out.
The pens were silent. Then they clinked once more.
Wilbur sat up, shaking away whatever hints of sleep came to him. "Field Kid?"
They clinked again.
Wilbur rubbed his eye. "I haven't seen you in a while. Are you okay? I'm really sorry about... y'know, the other day. You're not hurt at all, are you?"
(Tommy glanced around, looking for some way to signify a no.)
One of the pens picked itself up before shaking side to side, as if it was shaking its head no.
"Oh, that's good." Wilbur stifled a yawn. "Listen, I really am sorry about just blurting out your, um, initial. I was just really excited and I forgot to ask if you were okay with it."
The pens were silent. Then the one in the air shifted slightly, like whoever was holding it was adjusting themself.
Wilbur swallowed. "Field Kid?"
The room quiet.
Then--
"For... give..."
Wilbur blinked, surprised. "You forgive me?"
The pen tilted up, then down in a nod.
"I promise I won't reveal anything else without your permission," Wilbur promised, a smile beginning to stretch over his features. He yawned deeply, tears springing to his eyes.
The pen slowly moved over, prodding into his chest.
Wilbur pushed it away, opening his mouth to ask what the hell he was doing.
The pen pushed him back again, forcing him to prop himself up on his elbow to stop from flopping back onto the bed.
Wilbur forced the pen away again. "What are you doing?"
The pen flailed lightly, the holder obviously slightly upset.
Wilbur's sleeve pulled itself down and the pen clicked, setting itself up to scrawl something on his arm.
Wilbur waited for Field Kid to finish (holding back winces at how hard the pen was being pressed into his arm), then pulled his arm close to himself to read it in the low light.
"Oh," Wilbur said plainly when he realized it read sleep . After a moment, he added, "Your handwriting's shit."
The pen threw itself at him.
|
10th Month of 283 A.C. King’s Landing
Ser Jaime Lannister
The night his father came to King’s Landing at the end of the rebellion still haunts his dreams. Never before had he seen so much carnage, so much destruction, all in the name of one man. His father had been late to Lord Robert’s party, and the actions of the sack showed that he had abandoned the Targaryens once and for all. All the while this had been going on Jaime had been stuck in the throne room worrying about Princess Elia and Prince Aegon, he remembered very well the oath he had sworn to Prince Rhaegar and he was desperate to ensure he maintained it. Yet, King Aerys continued to stop him from fulfilling his duty, King Aerys kept him in the throne room, the only Kingsguard of seven left within the capital, the Bold was injured, Hightower, Dayne and Whent were with their prince, Martell and Darry had died at the Trident. Aerys had taunted him, taunted him with things best left unsaid, spoken of his mother, the Lady Joanna, and Jaime’s anger had gotten the better of him, he had slain the King and then gone, gone to try and save the Princess and her son, he arrived too late. They were dead by the time he got there, Aerys last plan had worked.
And now, now he was expected to help his father and their family secure their hold on the throne. The marriage, the marriage between his sister and Lord Robert was to take place today in the Great Sept of Baelor, and well Jaime could not see what was so great about it. He looked at his sister, and found he was aching for her, but at the same time he felt only revulsion. “Is this truly what you want Cersei?” he asks her.
His sister looks beautiful, she truly does. “Yes, of course. How could you ask me such a thing?” she replies.
“How can you want to marry him, and still claim to love me?” Jaime asks.
“Because you are my twin Jaime, we have always been together. But Robert, Robert is the King, and he will make me Queen. And then we can ensure that we are never separated.” Cersei responds.
Jaime feels something tighten in his gut then. “And you only want to marry him for that right Cersei? For no other reason?”
His sister looks at him with something bordering on contempt. “I want to be Queen Jaime, you have always known that. Father always told me how I would be queen, and now, now I finally have that chance to be Queen, why should I not take it?”
Jaime can feel his anger begin to grow now. “Because you are marrying a man who condoned the killing of children. You are marrying a man who claimed to be fighting the war for one woman, and then discarded her the moment you were presented to him. Robert will not love you Cersei.”
“Oh do not be so naïve Jaime. We are not children now, to consider such things as love important. But Robert, how could he deny me, when father won him his throne, had cleared a path towards it by removing that boy? Yes it was terribly done, but it needed to be done. Surely you can see that? After all you did kill Aerys for the family did you not?” Cersei responds.
Jaime feels something within him tighten at that. “I killed Aerys because it was the right thing to do. The man was mad, and would have destroyed us all had he been allowed to live.”
“So you did do it for the family. Come now Jaime, do not look so hurt. We are not children anymore to live by childish fantasies, surely you can see how my marriage to Robert benefits not only the family but us as well. We can remain together now.” Cersei says.
“He is a damned child killer Cersei!” Jaime growls. “He is not worthy of you, he will use you then forget you before the day is out. How can you not see that? He fought a god’s damned war for Lyanna Stark and then cast her aside the moment father took King’s Landing for him and Stark disappeared. How can you be certain he will not do the same to you?”
“Because I am not Lyanna Stark, and I know how to fight for what is mine.” His sister replies coldly.
“And what is that?” Jaime asks. “A crown? A thing built on the bodies of dead children? Is that what this is? You would be a Queen over ashes?”
“No, I would be Queen over a kingdom that has seen the stain of the Targaryens removed. A kingdom that is beginning to heal from the wounds inflicted by the man you swore to defend and killed. Robert will be a far better king than Rhaegar ever could be.” Cersei replies bitingly.
“You do not know that.” Jaime says. “You do not know that. Baratheon never spent any time in the Stormlands after becoming its lord apart from when it came time to fight the war. Does he even know a thing about ruling?”
“It does not matter if he does not know. I will help him rule the kingdoms, and we shall ensure that they see a golden age.” Cersei states.
Jaime snorts. “Come now sister, we both know that such a thing is not possible. Father never taught you how to rule, and I doubt Jon Arryn would even consider allowing you, a woman, a Lannister woman at that, even an inch of power.”
His sister slaps him then, the sound ringing in his ears. “Get out. Get out and leave my sight.”
Jaime moves back, holding a hand to his cheek. “Of course…Your Grace.” With that he turns and walks out of her room, he merely nods at the red cloaks stationed outside and begins the long walk back to White Sword Tower. As he walks toward the tower, Jaime finds himself wondering about a myriad of things, he has never truly understood why Prince Rhaegar did not go to the Trident himself, such a thing never seemed right, and the fact that the other Kingsguard were so willing to help him, that does not sit well with Jaime. He does not know what to make of it all, but as he walks up the stairs to White Sword Tower and sees his sworn brother and the new Lord Commander sitting there he feels something akin to anger boiling inside of him. “Lord Commander.” he greets the man curtly.
“Ser Jaime.” The man replies coldly.
“I would have thought to have seen you with the king?” Jaime responds.
“The king dismissed me for today, it seems he is more than happy with the guards he has from Storm’s End. He will summon me when needed.” Ser Barristan replies.
“And you think that wise?” Jaime asks incredulously. “The king is without a Kingsguard on the day of his wedding? Is that truly wise?”
The Lord Commander looks at him with contempt. “The king has decreed it, and so it shall be. We are not ones to argue with the king. It is not our place.”
“Even if the king’s wishes are a risk to his safety? I thought our primary duty was to protect the king?” Jaime asks.
“And yet you failed to do such a thing when it came to King Aerys, Ser Jaime. I do not believe it is mentioned within the vows that killing the king is an option.” Ser Barristan replies coldly.
“He was a threat to the city and to the people within it. He was mad, he broke every single code of conduct, and you know it.” Jaime snaps, wondering where this sudden heat is coming from. “I did what I had to do.”
“Did you now? Or did you merely act because you knew it would gain you the favour of the new king?” Ser Barristan asks.
Jaime grits his teeth then, his anger beginning to grow. “I did no such thing. Aerys was going to do something terrible to the city and I tried to stop it.”
“And what was this thing that required you to kill the king you had sworn to protect? Was it not merely just opportunism, as your whole family seems willing to seize on that allowed you to slay a defenceless man?” Ser Barristan replies.
Jaime is stunned by the accusation, he looks at the man and asks. “Do you truly think so little of me?”
“I think you are Tywin Lannister’s son and all know his reputation.” Ser Barristan replies coldly.
Jaime feels something inside him break away then, arguing with Cersei and now with Ser Barristan, something inside him snaps. “And what of you then Lord Commander. Since we are speaking of sins, what of your own? What of allowing the king to rape his wife, an innocent woman whilst you stood there silently? Are we not sworn to defend the innocent? What of when he burned Rickard Stark alive, for a crime none could comprehend, are we not supposed to provide counsel to the king? What of when he hit Princess Elia despite her doing nothing? You did nothing then, and you stopped me from doing something. What of those?”
The knight looks distinctly uncomfortable then, but his voice is calm when he replies. “I obeyed my king and did as he asked. It was not my place, nor was it yours to interfere in such a thing.”
Jaime laughs then. “Not our duty to interfere? We are knights, it is our duty to interfere if an innocent person is getting hurt. Is that not what we are taught when we are mere squires? That a duty of a knight is to help defend the innocent? Or does that suddenly stop meaning anything when it comes to the Kingsguard? Are we not still knights?”
“We serve the King and the royal family. We are to remain silent until they ask us for help. In none of the circumstances you mentioned did they ask for our help or guidance. They did as was right, it was not our place to question them.” the old man replies.
Jaime looks at the man long and hard then. “How? How could it not have been? Surely if they are doing something that harms themselves, we have a duty to intervene? We did nothing and the kingdoms burned and now the wrong man sits the throne.”
“We are knights of the Kingsguard, not politicians, we do not intervene in things that do not concern us. Our duty was to the king and to the family, nothing more, and nothing less.” Ser Barristan replies.
Jaime laughs even more at that. “Truly Ser Barristan, are you sure you were not a jester in a past life, for that must have been one of the funniest things I have ever heard. If our duty was to the king and his family, pray tell me why you bent the knee to the Usurper?” the man stares at him unseeingly and Jaime goes on probing. “When you bent the knee, Aerys was still alive, as were Princess Elia and Prince Aegon. Yet you bent the knee and recognised Robert as your king. You broke your vows, you committed treason, far more than I did. I kept to my vows, you, you broke them.”
The Lord Commander is silent for a long time, and Jaime begins to wonder if the man will ever speak. Eventually he does, and his voice is strained. “Do not dare question me Ser Jaime. I did not kill my king, nor did I profane my blood with those of men within the Red Keep. You did, and now, now you would dare raise question when your sister marries the King? The king who you too have sworn an oath to? I do not know about you, but the age of the dragon is done, for now.”
Jaime snorts. “It is not, nor shall it be. I am done with this Ser Barristan. I am done with you and your hypocrisy. And I am done with this city.” With that Jaime walks out of the room and down the stairs, to where he knows not, all he knows is that he is done, done with this place and his sister and father. He spares a thought for Tyrion briefly, but then he is removing his white cloak and is walking further down the steps and out of the tower. He will leave here if he can, and be done with it all.
12th Month of 283 A.C. Lys
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen
Lys was a bustling city, filled with activity almost constantly, it was somewhat soothing for him, to know that they could get lost within the confines of the city, and there was a sense of ease for him, having grown up in King’s Landing, seeing such activity once more. Being aboard the ship from Starfall had nearly driven him mad, he had not liked the dull days and the mere sense of keeping his head above water had been like to make him moody. Lyanna had not fared any better, she was constantly sick and as such they could not sleep together as often as he would like, Jon was growing and that was good, but often the prophecy came to plague him. Aegon was dead, his prince was gone, but Rhaenys was still alive, on Dragonstone, hopefully mother would know to send her and the others onward, he needed another child now. The prophecy needed to be fulfilled, it had to be, though Rhaegar did not know how certain he was now. Nothing made sense anymore.
“Are you well my love?” he hears his wife ask. His wife, gods but that is a strange title, for so long Elia was his wife, and now because of his foolishness she is gone, dead. “My love?”
Rhaegar looks at Lyanna and sighs. “I am well Lyanna, thank you. I was merely thinking, that is all.”
“About what my love?” his wife asks him. “You weren’t worrying about that damnable prophecy again were you?”
Rhaegar is silent a moment and then asks. “Does it show up that easily on my face then?”
His wife looks at him incredulously. “Rhaegar, for the love of the gods, we have just reached Lys, we managed to get away from Dorne thanks to the Daynes and to Ned, and you are already thinking about the thing that brought the kingdom to its knees? Why?”
“Because it cannot be stopped, Lyanna. I have spent most of my life considering it, and now I am wondering whether I was right to.” Rhaegar responds. “If I was wrong, then everything I have based my life around was a lie. And Elia and Aegon died for nothing.”
There is a long moment’s silence, and Rhaegar notes that Lyanna’s shoulders have stiffened, and he realises just what his words might mean to her. Before he can speak though, she asks. “Is that what this is to you then? Was this just a way of placating my father or soothing your longings for a prophecy? Is that what Jon and I are to you?”
“No of course not. You are my wife, and Jaehaerys is my son, there is nothing that would change my mind on that. I love you both, truly I do. It is just that, I regret what happened to Elia and Aegon.” Rhaegar replies quickly.
His wife does not seem appeased though. “As do I, and yet it has happened. We cannot continue mourning the dead Rhaegar. It is not good for any of us, including Jon. We must ensure that we give him something necessary. I will not have our son turn out like your father.”
Rhaegar feels something akin to anger prickle within him then. “What do you mean by that Lyanna?”
His wife does not seem to catch the hint in his tone, something Elia would have done. “What I mean is that your father was mad, and I do not want our son to become mad. Focussing on the past would only make him so, comparing him to some god damned prophecy that brought nothing but pain would do the same as well. Surely you can see that?”
His anger begins to grow now. “My father was not always mad Lyanna. It was the scheming of lords and the events of Duskendale that made him so.”
“And you were there scheming as well. I know about the pact you and my father made Rhaegar. Do not treat me as a child, not now. Not after all of this has happened.” His wife replies.
“No one is treating you like a child Lyanna, I do not know why you continue to think that.” Rhaegar says exasperatedly.
“Then why do you not speak to me of Rhaenys? I know she is on Dragonstone, and that she has been for some time. Why are you not making any effort to get her to come to us here? What about your mother and brother? Why are you not bringing them here?” Lyanna asks.
“How do you know that I have not made plans for them?” Rhaegar asks cautiously.
“Because you do not speak of them with me.” his wife replies. “Before we used to speak about almost everything, and yet since coming to Lys, we have spoken rarely. You spend most of the time in meetings with the magisters and with Ser Gerold and Arthur, why are you leaving me out of this?”
Rhaegar looks at his wife and replies. “I am trying to protect you. Lyanna, you are my wife, but you are also Jaehaerys’ mother, he must be protected, and you are the best protection he can have. Being raised by a mother who loves and cares for him…” he tails off then thinking of his own mother.
Lyanna looks at him then, and Rhaegar can see the hurt etched on her face, and even though it pains him, he knows it is for the best, she can never know the true extent of the plans he had made. “How are you protecting me by keeping me in the dark Rhaegar? I can only help you, if I know what to do.”
“You are my wife, and the mother of my son, that is all you need remember. Support me that is all I ask.” Rhaegar says, closing himself off, knowing he has to do this, to ensure that they are safe.
“And here I thought you would be different to Robert. It seems you are all the same.” his wife replies coldly, standing up then and walking to the door, she turns round once, and when he merely looks at her blankly, she huffs and then walks out of the room, the door slamming behind her.
Rhaegar slumps down then, his head resting on his hands, he sighs. Nothing he seems to do now is going right, the magisters are giving him a hard time, well those who can be bought off are, and now Lyanna is going to be sulking for the rest of the day. Gods’ almighty. He raises his head then and looks at Arthur standing silent as a shadow in the corner. “Well, say what you have to say Arthur and be done with it.”
His friend, looks as tired as Rhaegar feels, but his voice is still composed when he replies. “Why do you not tell her everything Rhaegar? She is your wife, she is your queen, and it does no good to keep secrets from her.”
Rhaegar looks at his friend and sighs. “Because she is too young to bear these burdens Arthur. I need only look at her to remember she is a young woman, just turned six and ten. That is not the sort of burden a new mother needs to have, knowing how to regain the throne. She needs to raise our son and raise him right.”
“You were six and ten when you took on a burden similar to the one you know hold. What is stopping you now? And do not tell me that it is because she is a woman, I know you thought highly of Elia, despite how you treated her.” Arthur responds.
Rhaegar grits his teeth then, even from Arthur he does not hear the end of the wrongness of his treatment of Elia. “She does not truly understand everything happening. I fear this would drive her away if she knew all that must needs be done to regain the throne. We know the Usurper married Cersei Lannister, and that Jaime has gone missing, there is much and more that must needs be worked on. I do not want to burden her.”
“And if she wants to be burdened with it? What then Rhaegar?” Arthur asks.
Rhaegar looks at his friend and sighs. “Then I fear I am at a loss as to what to do. Elia would not have thought to question me, but Lyanna will, and I know she will remain quiet until I give her what she wants.”
Arthur nods. “Of course, she is a she wolf, but there is something else you are holding back from is there not? Rhaenys?”
Rhaegar looks at his friend then and laughs. “You know me too well. Yes Rhaenys is a concern, I do not know how Lyanna will act around her. She claims she will love her as if Rhaenys is her own flesh and blood, but it is one thing to say that and another to do it.”
“And what has caused this concern to suddenly come up my prince? You were so sure she would treat Rhaenys and Aegon fairly when you were in the tower. Why have you suddenly started having doubts?” Ser Arthur asks.
Rhaegar runs a hand through his hair. “I do not know. I think I was just living in a dream in the tower, believing everything would be okay. I do not know what to think anymore, truth be told I am considering whether the prophecy was wrong all along and there is something more to it.”
His friend looks at him cautiously. “Might I speak freely Your Grace?”
“Of course, I would not expect otherwise.” Rhaegar replies.
“Is it wise to continue pursuing the prophecy? It brought the war about the moment your grandsire decided to wed your father and mother together. Surely it has caused you nothing but pain and grief? Why continue pursuing it?” Arthur asks.
Rhaegar looks at his friend, and replies. “Because I need to know whether I was right or not. Whether the prophecy is true or not, I need to know.”
“Why?” his friend asks.
“Because then I can decide whether to continue with my path or change my decision. I will not make the same mistakes I made the first time round.” Rhaegar responds firmly.
“And how will you do that my prince? You are supposed to be dead, you cannot go gallivanting around Essos now. There will be eyes looking for your siblings as well. How do you propose on finding out the right course?” Arthur asks.
“Ah but it is precisely because I am believed to be dead that I can do these things. After all no one will believe their eyes, not when the man is dead. Robert will spin whatever lie he wants and people will believe it for a time, so long as it keeps the king’s eyes away from them. I will find out what I need to and I will find it before it is too late.” Rhaegar responds firmly.
“Where will you go? How will you find what you are looking for? Would you leave your child and wife here? What of Rhaenys and your mother and brother?” Arthur asks.
“Of course not. Seven Hells Arthur, I am trying to find out what to do, what to do to make our lives easier. I cannot do that if you constantly keep questioning me!” Rhaegar fumes.
“Then talk to Lyanna! She is your wife, it is time you started treating her as such. She is not just some girl. You want to make amends, start with your wife and son, and when Rhaenys comes make amends with her. For the love of the Seven, Rhaegar, you have something most people kill for. Do not ruin it because of some damned prophecy.” Arthur growls.
Rhaegar looks at Arthur in shocked silence and then when there is a knock on the door he calls for whoever it is to enter. And there he finds himself looking at Ser Oswell and a man he has not seen in a long time. “Richard? What are you doing here?” he finds himself asking.
“I have come to serve the rightful king Sire.” Richard Lonmouth replies breathlessly.
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Part 3
One of the first things Darnell learned was that he was supposed to take his pain medication with food otherwise he'd act like a drunken, drugged up fool, as had proved the case the night before.
As the week passed it was yet another venture into the surreal.
To his utter humiliation, Heather cleaned and bandaged the wound in his gut twice a day. It was all he could do to keep himself from pushing her away.
When she first unbuttoned his trousers and began to pull his pants down he grabbed her hands to stop her.
"They're hurting you and irritating the wound," she stated firmly. "Just let me do what I have to do. Okay?"
Unable to refute the fact, he nodded and, flushing in humiliation, reclined on the couch, spread his legs and watched as she sat on the floor between them. This gave her the best access to his wound. Looking at her blonde hair, her brow furrowed in concentration, blue eyes intense as she tended to him, his eyes couldn't help but stray down the loose-fitting cotton blouse she wore. He found himself watching the firm mounds of her breasts rise and fell slowly as she breathed and stared at the most interesting and beautiful cleavage he'd ever seen. He couldn't help it, he felt himself getting hard. He snatched up the pillow she'd used the night before and covered his crotch, telling her that she could lean against it if she needed to.
She wasn't touching him anywhere other than where he'd been hurt but she had noticed the large growing bulge in the loose-fitting pants he wore. She pretended not to notice the growing bulge or his staring eyes and continued to tend to him, though she felt a strange pleasurable flutter in the pit of her stomach.
"Um... are you sure I can't take care of it myself?" he asked, trying to distract her so she wouldn't notice his condition.
He might be a short man but he wasn't short in other places. As a matter of fact, the few women he'd been with had all told him that he was probably one of the most well-endowed men they'd ever seen. He wouldn't know and didn't really care. None of them came back anyways so obviously it didn't matter.
When she finally finished she insisted on checking on his broken nose.
He stared at the lovely face just inches from his own as she rinsed his cuts with hydrogen peroxide and put a fresh bandage on his nose. Perfectly arched dark blonde eyebrows, long lashes the same dark color as her brows enhanced her vivid blue eyes, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was absolute perfection. He could easily picture her in a makeup commercial or a magazine advertisement walking down a runway modeling expensive clothes or underwear.
What is she doing here, he asked himself? I'm sure she has something better to do or somewhere else to go.
Screw it, he thought. Why question it, why fight it? Just enjoy the attention, enjoy the scenery and go with the flow.
And so they got to know each other and every day they became more comfortable with each other. They developed a mutual respect and as they drew closer, they came enjoy each other's company.
They rose early every morning. He showered quickly and left immediately after she checked his wound. Heather took an hour getting ready, quickly getting dressed, brushing out her long blonde hair, and putting on light make up.
He worked slowly but efficiently through the day but he wasn't able to get as much done as he needed. It didn't help that he was distracted... the face and body of a blonde angel were constantly in his mind's eye. He kept pausing in his work so the day just seemed to drag along, he didn't get much done.
Heather went to class as normal but she couldn't help thinking about Darnell. He was on her mind all day also. She smiled when she pictured his big swollen nose and the grey spongy hair around the sides of his head, his pate bare and shiny.
She frowned in concern when she thought that his wound might be hurting him. He had to be doing a lot of bending and lifting, all the things the doctors had told him not to do.
I'll help him out when I get out of class, she thought to herself.
He was slowly but meticulously sweeping one of the class rooms when she finally found him. She wore the same cheer-leading uniform she'd worn when he rescued her from the thugs and her hair was in a shiny blonde ponytail, swinging and bouncing with every step she took.
He couldn't help but admire her long slender legs and the uniform hugging her womanly body as she strode quickly towards him, at the lovely rounded curves of her, at the bounce of the shiny blonde ponytail.
"I've been looking all over for you, Darnell," she said, stopping close before him, frowning darkly. "You've been doing too much. I can tell!"
And she could. He was sweating, his skin was ashen and he looked exhausted.
"Look white girl, I'm fine, I have a lot of work to do," he said gruffly. "There ain't anybody else to do it."
He sounded gruff and impatient but the smile on his face at the sight of her told her that he was glad to see her.
She'd noticed the way he'd looked at her and liked it from the very first. She caught him admiring her body when he thought she wasn't looking, making her stomach flutter strangely and pleasantly. It felt like a caress, admiring, not lustful like the way most boys looked at her.
"So... what do you need help with?" she asked.
Mouth open, he stared at her.
"What do you mean!?" he asked, startled.
"You ain't getting your hands dirty scrubbing bathrooms or getting calluses mopping floors!" he exclaimed indignantly.
"Look, Darnell, you need the help and I want to help you so let's just stop arguing and get everything done so we can go relax. Okay?" she said smoothly and reasonably.
Darnell stared at her for several seconds then chuckled, his round belly bouncing in merriment. She smiled her best dimpled smile down at him.
"All right white girl, you're right, I could use your help but you have to change into something you don't mind getting dirty or torn and you have to wear gloves, I don't want you getting blisters," he insisted.
And so the rest of the week passed. Every day she helped him at work after she finished school, she changed his dressings, they watched movies, took turns cooking and cleaning, and talked late into the night. It became a routine they both enjoyed.
Strangely, though neither one of them admitted it, their time together was the highlight of their day.
Both of them thought the week had passed way too fast when Heather's mom came home the following Saturday.
Dawn arrived quietly that afternoon, standing quietly in the doorway watching them as they sat relaxed and comfortable on Darnell's couch, watching a movie. Actually, Heather was leaning against Darnell and he had his arm casually draped around her shoulders. They were both laughing, obviously watching a comedy. Darnell's deep booming laugh made his large belly bounce and quiver comically, making him flinch in sudden pain. Her daughter, not noticing his flinch, was laughing uproariously and had turned to bury her face in his chest.
Looks like they're getting pretty close, she thought to herself. But I'd say everything's okay. They look like fast friends.
"Hey guys, what are y'all watching?" she asked loudly, making them jump in surprise.
"Mom!" Heather exclaimed happily, jumping up to hug her.
"I thought you weren't coming back 'til tonight. How was your trip?"
"It was good. I've just got our company ten more clients," she replied. "Business is good. So, what movie are you watching?"
"The first Ace Ventura," said her daughter with a giggle, giving her a kiss on the cheek and another warm hug.
Darnell stood slowly. His wound was obviously bothering him but it was healing and he did look much better. He didn't have that weird "ashen" look.
"Welcome back, Ms. Galen, I hope you had a smooth trip," he said sincerely, giving her one of his big-toothed smiles.
He put out a hand unsure. She ignored it and gave him a quick hug.
"Darnell, please call me Dawn," she said, smiling. "From everything I heard from Heather, it sounds like you really made her earn her keep while she stayed with you."
"Actually I didn't want her to at first but to be honest, I needed the help. I would have had a really bad time without her help," he said. "And don't worry, I made sure she did her homework and sent her home to make sure everything was okay."
Heather went to stand beside Darnell and put her arm casually and comfortably around his shoulder and he put his a bit hesitantly around her slender waist. Again, Dawn was forced to notice the contrast between her tall, young, lovely daughter and the short, ugly old black man. There contrast between them was blaring, but there was a strange vibe between them. She just couldn't put her finger on it.
"We've found out a few things about each other since I've been here," Heather was saying with a dimpled smile. "As it turns out, Darnell is short, fat and he isn't very smart."
"And Heather is tall, skinny and has a head as empty as a balloon," Darnell went on smoothly. "I think every blonde joke ever told was really about her."
All three broke out laughing.
Half an hour later, after several hugs and kisses on the cheek, and promises to call, the mother and daughter climbed up the stairs talking merrily and were gone.
Now he knew what an empty tomb felt like. His place felt empty and hollow. Her absence left a vacuum filled only with emptiness and silence. His spirits crumbled. He sat back on the couch and turned off the movie. Five minutes later he turned off all the lights and went to bed though it was only late afternoon.
Back to the real world, he thought to himself before he drifted off to sleep.
The phone woke him about an hour later.
It was Heather, "Hi, Darnell," she said hesitantly. "It sounds like I woke you. Why don't you go back to sleep. We can talk tomorrow."
"Are you kidding?!" he exclaimed. "No way! This place is empty without you. I've been pretty bummed since you left. That's why I went to bed early."
He paused, "to be honest I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again."
They talked for almost two hours about the movies they'd watched, books they'd read, about their lives in general. Finally both agreed it was getting late. Heather promised to stop by the following day to help him at work and to check his wound again. She knew it was almost healed but she wanted to be sure.
And so it continued. She would come to help him after school then do her homework, help him around his place, and cook sometimes. They actually went to the movies several times and ignored the looks people gave them. Several times young men tried to hit on her or tried to pick a fight with him and the two of them would end up leaving but it didn't stop them... they just went to the movies another day or went to another theater.
To be continued...
|
Part 5
Heather's birthday came and her mother threw her a huge party. Darnell stood in the outskirts of the party. He watched Heather and chatted with Dawn, enjoying every moment. He hadn't been to too many birthday parties or social events over the years.
Heather and her friends spent the day and far into the night dancing, talking, and enjoying themselves.
Dawn noticed Heather had changed a lot in the past year, since she'd been assaulted. Not so much physically, though her breasts had gotten larger, her curves had deepened and she'd grown several inches. She was now six feet tall, as tall as her mother, and was having a hard time finding clothes that fit.
The biggest change, however, was that she no longer paid much attention to boys and young men. She thought they were fun to talk to, fun to dance with but she didn't flirt with them, and she didn't notice any of the things they did to get her attention. Heather had eyes only for Darnell. Short, fat, ugly Darnell was all she would talk about. Dawn just put it down to a case of hero worship and decided it was a phase she'd get over when the right boy came along.
Heather tried to hide her feelings from her friends but they noticed, though they didn't say a thing. They were embarrassed and thought she was weird for liking and wanting to spend so much time with the janitor. Even if he had saved her, the guy was old and ugly as hell and he wasn't very cool. They chose to ignore the whole situation.
Until recently, she felt conflicted. Torn.
How could she possibly be attracted to the janitor, of all people?
He wasn't handsome, he wasn't rich, he didn't have much of a future so why was it that just the idea of never seeing him again or not having him in her life caused her throat to constrict, brought stinging tears to her eyes, and caused a deep, despairing pain in her chest, in her heart.
She wondered if there was something wrong with her. She had always felt there was something different about her, she just didn't expect it to be her attraction for a certain man.
It was at this moment that she stopped thinking and analyzing and looked deep into her heart. In that brief moment of stillness and clarity, that blink of an eye, she realized she had fallen totally and completely in love with Darnell.
What are my friends going to say? Heck, what's my mom going to say? I know there was a big age difference between her and dad so I hope she'll understand that much at least.
Do I really care what anybody thinks or says? Well, honestly, I do and I yet I don't. I do want to be happy and I want Darnell to be happy and I think that we could be happy together. It just won't be easy. Then again who said anything worth having, I mean really worth having, is ever easy? Mom's always said the things you work for, the things you fight for, the things you didn't have handed to you in a silver platter are the things you value most. Maybe this is one of those things?
But how could it be so wrong for her to fall in love with him when it felt so right? When every fiber of her being cried out for him? She thought about him constantly, she dreamed about him almost every night, he was almost an obsession to her. Whenever she saw some someone who even slightly resembled him out of the corner of her eye, her heart would race and her heart would fill with joy at the thought that he was there.
Alright, I've admitted it but now what do I do? I know he stares at my body all the time but how does he actually feel about me?
She had confided her feelings about Darnell only to her best friend Kim, a short, chubby Asian girl she'd been best friends with since kindergarten.
"Kim, I know you're going to think I'm crazy but you know Darnell, the guy who saved me?" Heather asked.
"Yeah?" Kim said. "He's really nice, strange, but nice. What about him?"
"I like him. I mean, I really, really like him," Heather answered.
Kim looked at her closely. Heather couldn't meet her eyes. She looked down at the floor, around the room, anywhere but at her friend.
"But he's so old! And he's black!" Kim exclaimed with her face screwed up with a look of distaste. "And he's so short and fat, and he's ugly!"
"He is NOT ugly," Heather said defensively. "He's just ... different that's all but he's not ugly!"
"You just need to be realistic, Heather. He's the janitor, he's, like, 60 something and you only just turned eighteen," Kim had said.
"I know, I know but I just can't help it," Heather had replied. "I actually think I love him."
"Are you serious?! I mean come on, Heather!" Kim exclaimed. "You're, like, the prettiest girl in school and you always have all the cutest boys drooling all over you. Why don't you forget about the fat little janitor and date one of those cute boys?"
"I don't want any of those boys," exclaimed hotly, tears brimming in her blue eyes. "Every time I even look at them, I see those other boys' faces leering at me, slapping me, tearing my clothes, touching me like a bunch of animals. I don't want anything to do with them."
"They really messed you up didn't they?" Kim asked. "Well, you're my best friend and so if he's what you really want, I guess I'll stand with you no matter what," Kim said. "I guess he is a really good guy."
"So what are you going to do?" Kim asked.
"I really don't know," Heather answered. "I'll just have to see happens and just take things as they come. Besides, I don't know how he feels about me."
"Are you kidding?" Kim said with a giggle. "He looks at you like a love-sick puppy ... the same way you look at him. I noticed it before but just didn't want to admit it but now, after everything you've told me, I can see it plain as day."
They talked a bit more and after a few minutes, arm in arm, they rejoined the party.
During the party, Heather occasionally glanced around to see what Darnell was doing. Just knowing he was there gave her a warm feeling deep in her belly, she felt comforted and reassured ... safe.
Heather couldn't believe how lucky she was this day. She realized she was in love and when her mom had her cover her eyes and walked her to the garage, her day was truly complete. A little white car with a huge pink bow wrapped around its middle was parked in the driveway.
Her mom had actually bought her a car! Sure, it was only a Prius, but it was all hers, and now she could go where she wanted, when she wanted. She'd also gotten tons of clothes, shoes, electronic gadgets and money. She was ecstatic. It was by far her best birthday ever.
She'd only gotten her license earlier this same day and now she had a car to go with it. She was in seventh heaven.
But where's Darnell's gift? She asked herself, looking around. Where is Darnell?
She looked all over the house until her mom told her he'd left. He'd wished her a happy birthday and he'd like her to come over to his place so he could give her his gift in person.
Disappointed, she went back to the party, but it wound down fast. It was midnight and her friends were bone tired. Fifteen minutes later, they were gone and she and her mom sat alone on the couch, exhausted.
"Mom, I'm going over to Darnell's," she said, standing quickly. "He said he has my birthday present and I want it. I don't want to wait 'til tomorrow."
Dawn laughed.
"Fine, just be careful, you don't want to get a ticket on your first day as a licensed driver."
Darnell had kept her gifts at his place because he wanted to give them to her himself. They were personal and he was embarrassed to have her open them in front of a bunch of people, especially the kids she went to school with. He knew they'd be critical and judgmental. He wanted to avoid that scene so he figured he'd give her his gifts whenever she next came by, maybe sometime tomorrow.
He'd been in bed maybe ten minutes and was just drifting off when Heather jumped on his bed.
"What the hell!" he yelped, rolling sideways to land with a thump on the floor. Clumsily, he stood and watched as Heather jumped on his bed grinning from ear to ear, her hair a heavy veil of gold and silver that bounced and shimmered with a life of its own.
"I've got a car now so I can come by at pretty much any time I want," she said with an impish dimpled grin. "Now ... where's my present?!"
Darnell turned on the lights and watched her, entranced, as she bounced on his bed. She was wearing her birthday outfit, a shimmering topaz dress that matched her eyes perfectly. It was formfitting, cut low in the back and front with small ribbons at the shoulders. It left an incredible amount of cleavage visible, her rounded breasts seeming ready to pop out every time she bounced.
"Come down from there, white girl, before your bazooms fall out of your pretty dress," he said gruffly, wishing it would actually happen.
Smiling her lovely, dimpled smile, she climbed down off the bed and stood eagerly bouncing up and down on her toes, clapping her hands excitedly in front of her, looking for the entire world like an eager young puppy.
"Okay, it's nothing to get so excited about," he said with a chuckle. "Look there on the coffee table."
She rushed off and eagerly started unwrapping two small packages. She could tell he'd taken the time to carefully wrap them right and, even though she wanted to just tear the wrapping off, she peeled off the tape and carefully took out the gift. He wouldn't of cared if she'd torn everything off, what mattered was her reaction.
The first one she opened was a copy of a classic movie he knew she'd like, then a copy of one of his favorite books.
She exclaimed in pleasure at the dozen white roses standing tall and proud in a crystal vase. There was a small envelope leaning against it. Smelling the flowers, she leaned down to pick it up, opening it, she read it. He'd written her a poem in his small, neat print.
You may think that I saved you a year ago but actually, you saved me. Thank you for saving my life.
Happy Birthday
May you have many, many more.
Love ... Darnell
With a squeal of delight she ran and jumped on top of him. Surprised, he tumbled backwards to the floor where he was showered with feather-light kisses and fat tears. Her soft lips fell on his eyes, nose, all over his round cheeks, on his bald head and lastly on his mouth. She lingered there and after several heart-pounding seconds, he responded. He kissed her back and was delighted when she opened her lips and hesitantly put her tongue in his mouth. She tasted faintly of strawberries.
Both were hesitant and awkward. She was surprised and thrilled at the softness of his lips at the minty freshness of his breath. Both breathed happy sighs as their breath mingled.
Still straddling him, Heather, pulled back slightly, her lips still close to his.
"That was nice," she said, smiling nervously. "Did you like it?"
"Uh, of course I liked it, but you need to get off me, this isn't right," Darnell said, gruffly and nervously.
Heather felt his member swell against her belly as she hesitated climbing off him. Then, embarrassed, she stood and looked down. She saw him look up her dress then glance away quickly. Reaching down, she grabbed his hands and helped him up.
"Thank you so much for my gifts, Darnell," she said softly, still holding his hands. "I especially liked your poem."
"You're, uh, welcome," Darnell said, mortified at his body's noticeable reaction to her touch. He kept trying to pull away from her but she held on to his hands. Her grip was very strong.
"Darnell, I want to tell you something," Heather said seriously.
At her tone, Darnell stopped trying to pull his hands away and looked up into her vivid blue eyes. What he saw in them confused him. Never in his life had a woman ever looked at him the way she did at that moment. Her eyes were full of an emotion he had no experience with, had never known.
Swallowing, his stomach churning with nervousness he said "Yes?"
Heather was stumped. Though she didn't show it, her stomach was a churning mess of butterflies. She knew what she wanted to say but she didn't know how to say it and was scared what his reaction might be.
She looked down, again noticing the huge bulge in his trousers, and then looked at him again through long lashes.
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad you saved me and I'm glad that you're ... that I'm ... that we've gotten so close," she mumbled nervously.
Still looking at him from under her eyelashes she whispered "You're card said 'Love, Darnell,'"
Hesitantly, she asked "D...Do you really love me, Darnell?"
Darnell looked at her, at the glistening down-cast blue eyes. He knew at that moment, without a doubt in his mind, that he did love her. That he was absolutely crazy about her.
What should I say? She's so young and we are so different. I don't want to hurt her but I don't want for her to waste her time with a bum like me. Hell with it, come hell or high water, I'll put the truth out there and see what happens.
"This is crazy, white girl," Darnell answered flippantly, not meeting her eyes and trying to squirm out of her grip. "You've had a long day, why don't you go home and get some rest?"
Heather's lower lip pushed out slightly and started to quiver, unshed tears glistened in her eyes.
Darnell couldn't do it. He couldn't bear to see her upset. But he couldn't tell her outright how he felt.
"Everybody who knows you loves you," he said roughly, after what seemed like an eternity.
Choosing to hear what she wanted to hear, her heart jumped for joy and a radiant smile suffused her face, making her even more beautiful.
"Oh, Darnell!" She exclaimed, bouncing on her toes again with happiness, "I love you too, with all my heart."
Darnell stared at her in amazement, his face a jumble of conflicting emotions ... joy, consternation, elation, anxiety, euphoria, and sadness.
"Look, you shouldn't be saying things like that. You have your whole life ahead of you ... you think you feel that about me because I saved you from those boys!" he exclaimed. "God damn it, girl, I'm a freaking high school janitor, I'm old, I'm fat and I'm black ... what the hell business do you have saying that to me? You can do a million times better. You need to get that out of your mind."
"But I don't want anyone else," she wailed. "I want you!
"Why can't you understand?" she whispered passionately.
"The first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep at night is you," she continued. "Whenever something happens, at school or wherever, you're the one I want to share it with."
"B ... B ... But ..." Darnell stuttered, struggling to say something that would convince her, though in his heart of hearts he wanted to tell her that he felt the same way.
Stepping close, she leaned down to kiss him again, pressing herself against him, her tall slender body molding itself to his round stout one. Helpless and rubber-kneed, he responded hesitantly. His hands came up to rest on her rounded hips and, tilting his head back, he let her kiss him ... and kissed her back.
His senses a conflicting jumble of emotions and his mind swirling at the pleasure of her touch, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body under his hands ... he kissed her tentatively. More than anything, he wanted to crush her to him fiercely, to tell her how he really felt about her ... he wanted this impossible dream to be true.
He tried to hold himself in check with his entire being. He tried to resist. He knew he was hanging over a dangerous precipice from which there was no return.
He was helpless to resist. Like a man about to take a plunge into a bottomless pool, he took a deep breath and dove in head first, resigning himself completely to his fate. He wrapped his chubby arms around her crushing her to him tightly and kissed her passionately.
No more thinking, no more questioning, no more doubting. I'm just going to take things as they come, he thought vaguely, through the pleasure of the moment.
From that day on she kissed him every chance she got. Sometimes they were quick and hard, other times they were long and lingering. Her kisses were always exciting and always left them both breathless and exhilarated. Though Darnell always felt confused and frustrated, he knew he should push her away, knew that she needed to find someone better than him but he just couldn't help himself.
He constantly told her to stop, not to do that anymore, but he never pushed her away or kept her from doing whatever she wanted with him and he would always kiss her back.
They always laughed when she kissed him while they were standing, since she was so much taller than he. She would put her arms on his shoulders and lean down to kiss him and laugh when he got on his tiptoes, his chubby hands entwined in her long blonde hair as he brought her face closer to his. That was the only thing he ever did with his hands, he always kept them to himself, though she longed to feel her body.
Sometimes during school, she would surprise him by sneaking into the janitor's closet while he poured out the mop water or did some other chore. She would wrap her arms around him from behind and kiss his chubby neck, or the top of his bald head. When he started in surprise, she would spin him around and kiss him in the mouth. Always, he'd tell her to stop but never with much conviction. He didn't really want her to ever stop.
To be continued...
|
“Okay. What’s up Stiles? I know we haven’t really hung out like this in a while, just the two of us but you are being really freaking weird right now.”
Lydia looked at him with such concern. She really cared. The second that he’d asked if she wanted to hang out that evening she’d jumped at the chance. A break from her ‘studying’. They’d gone for ice cream because their ‘dates’ always seemed best when they pretended they were twelve. She’d talked and talked and up until now he’d managed to get away with monosyllabic answers and grunts as he tried not to think about the real reason he’d asked her here.
“I guess it must be Derek rubbing off on me,” said Stiles spooning in another mouthful of sundae into his mouth. “I’ve got the whole lurking thing down already.”
“Stiles, as much as I love you and Diles as the new destined forever couple of this group, I really have no need to know who is rubbing off on who.”
Lydia telling him she loved him sent a dart straight through his heart. How he’d longed to hear those words! Now he had they were like poison, seeping in through his heart.
“Diles?” he asked.
“Derek and Stiles. Diles.”
“You do know how stupid that sounds?”
“Well what else am I supposed to call you two?”
“You could always try, I dunno, Derek and Stiles?”
“Boring!” she chimed.
He laughed.
“I’m so sorry my amazing, fantastic, earth shattering, three times in one night love life bores you.”
“Stop talking now or I swear to God I will tell you every detail of what Jackson does in bed.”
“Go ahead. I’d love to have some dirt to dish on that bastard.”
“Eugh, fine. I’ll tell you everything that Allison’s told me about her and Scott’s love life. How about that?”
“Oh god, I give in.”
They both started to laugh before Lydia looked up at the clock on the wall.
“What time did you say the film started?”
Reality hit him like a shock of air. For a moment, a brief moment, he’d managed to forget. She’d taken him away from it and they’d just been Stiles and Lydia. In a few minutes time all that would end. No matter what happened after that moment they would never be like this again, two friends making each other laugh with inane banter.
“You’re right. Don’t want to miss the previews,” he said trying to sound like his heart wasn’t breaking.
They left the diner and started to walk down towards the cinema. Stiles gently took her hand and led her sideways down an alley.
“It’s a short cut,” he said.
“Really?” she said incredulously but followed him anyway. “You know if you want to have your way with me you just need to ask, no need to lead me down dark alleys. I promise I won’t tell Derek if you don’t tell Jackson.”
She laughed. Stiles managed a weak smile. He could feel Derek close by. He always could these days.
“Tempting but Derek would be able to smell it the second we walked in. Besides, this fine piece of ass is well and truly taken.”
“You really love him don’t you?”
Despite himself Stiles managed a real smile. “We love each other. I’d do anything for him.”
Derek appeared behind Lydia and wrapped his arms around her. She struggled and pulled at the material Derek held over her mouth for a second before her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his arms.
Stiles would do anything for Derek and Derek would do anything for Stiles.
*****
Lydia’s head lolled forward. Groggily she tried to lift her arms to rub her head only to find them bound to the chair she sat in. The tiny aborted motion made Stiles feel sick. He knew what that felt like, knew the shock of terror that cut through the fog like a sabre.
Derek’s hand squeezed at his shoulder. Stiles reached up to cover it with his own, needing that small point of contact, an anchor to tie him in the here and now.
Lydia shook her head and looked at the ropes on her hands. She was rapidly coming to her senses, her eyes darting back and forth across the room, seeing only the brightly lit circle she sat in. Only when she tried to call out did she realise there was a gag in her mouth. She tried to rock the chair but Stiles knew better than to let his own escape trick work against him. They’d bolted it to the floor.
Her eyes found them standing in the shadows. She tried to shuffle away, unable to see their faces. Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. He stepped forward into the light. She stopped struggling when she saw him and tried reach out towards them. She thought he was there to rescue her.
Crouching down beside her chair Stiles slid the gag out of her mouth.
“Stiles! Thank god, what happened. Get me out of here.”
Stiles looked at her sadly and shook his head.
“I can’t Lydia.”
She fixed him with a wide eyed shock.
“Some madman has me tied to a chair and you’re just standing there? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Her voice trailed off as she scanned across to where Derek was stepping into the light.
“Don’t get too close,” he warned. “We don’t know what kind of mojo she’s working.”
Stiles stood up straight and took a step back. He felt the warmth of Derek’s hand press into the small of his back but it only heightened how cold the rest of the room was.
“What are you talking about?” she looked at them. Stiles could see the truth dawning on her. “Oh my god. This is you. You did this to me.”
Stiles cast his eyes to the floor and turned his head away.
“One of you better tell me what the hell is going on right now or I swear to God…”
“Why were you at the Mears lunch?” Stiles asked quietly. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance there was an explanation for all this. Perhaps it could still all be a mistake.
“What are you talking about? What the hell even is a Mears lunch?” She wasn’t scared. She was angry. Like this was a great injustice and they better untie her right now or she’d make their lives hell.
“The business lunch where everyone got poisoned. You were there.”
“No I wasn’t, Jackson was. I was at the library, studying. I go there every day.”
She believed it. Truly believed it. Either that or she was a fantastic actress as well as being a genius. Whatever she was doing, she really had no idea what was happening to her. Stiles pulled the photograph out of his pocket and held it out to her.
“This was taken by one of the guests there,” he said. “The waitress in the back. Are you going to tell me my Mom isn’t the only one with a long lost twin sister?”
Lydia squinted at the picture. Her eyes looked glazed and she scrunched them up as if she were in pain. They were showing her the facts but her brain wasn’t allowing her to comprehend them.
“I… I… That’s not me. It can’t be.”
“Lydia. It is you.”
“You’re lying,” she said quietly. “This is just another one of your jokes I don’t get right? You photo-shopped that and now you’re putting me through some sort of test like Allison and her Dad.”
Stiles tried to comfort her but he couldn’t find the words.
“This is real,” said Derek softly. She jerked away from him, as if only just realising he was there. “I wish it wasn’t but it is. We’re going to help you Lydia. We want to find out why you’re doing this but we need you to help us. Think back to the other day when the community centre got hit. That night where were you?”
“I told you,” she said. She was fighting against them but tears were filling her eyes. “I was at the library, studying.”
“Studying what?” asked Derek.
“History, for the test yesterday.”
“How did you do on the test?”
“What?”
“How did it go? Spend all evening studying, it must have been easy.”
“It… I…”
“You tanked it didn’t you?”
“I have post-traumatic stress disorder!” she yelled. “Of course I’m struggling. Do you really think kidnapping me and duct tapping me to a chair is going to help me any?”
“Derek that’s enough,” Stiles shouted at him. Derek shook his head slightly at him, imploring him with his eyes.
“Tell me where you sat in the library,” Derek asked a little more calmly.
“I sat by the… by the history books… I think…” Lydia shook her head again.
“Focus on the details. Try to remember the details. Break through the story it your head to the truth.”
“I was by the history books. I was picking out a book on… the civil war but we were studying the Cold War and… I…”
She screamed, scrunching her body into as much of a ball as she could manage. Stiles took a step back, Derek suddenly in front of him with his claws and teeth out. Suddenly Lydia went limp, her head lolling forwards before slowly beginning to rise, face calm and eyes open. Someone else stared out of them.
|
Adrien closed the door behind him and set his bag on his bed with a sigh. It hadn’t taken long to find Marinette after the battle. Despite knowing she was alright since he had seen her race off as Ladybug, he caught her in a hug when he saw her running up towards him. Maybe that had been the right move - after all, she had seemed confused when he wasn’t still hiding in the bathroom. Or maybe it hadn’t been a good choice - she stiffened up when he held her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes the entire rest of the field trip. She could barely speak afterwards. Did he really bother her that much…?
“What was that, kid?!”
Speaking of being bothered… Adrien took a seat in his computer chair and waited for Plagg to berate him.
“I know… I couldn’t do it.”
“Yeah. I saw that much.” Plagg was floating in front of him, paws crossed and tail flicking back and forth. “I thought you said that today was going to be the day? Reporter girl even managed to do most of the work for you and got the two of you alone. You were all the way there and chickened out at the last second.”
Adrien rubbed at his face with one hand. “Trust me, I get that. I just-” He threw his hands up. “I don’t know! I’m scared, okay? I just want to enjoy what we have for a little while longer before I accidentally mess it up like everything else.”
There was silence as the words hung heavy in the air. “Is that what you think, kid? That she’ll care about you any less?”
More silence. A defeated nod from Adrien.
The quiet was broken with Plagg’s cackling. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say. Except maybe that you’re just plain wrong, but we both know that, don’t we?”
“Hey, wait a minute-”
“No. Listen kid - Does Ladybug care about Chat Noir?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess, but-”
“And does Marinette care about Adrien?”
“Sure, probably, but if you’d just-”
“Then why in the name of ME would anything be any different just because those two people she cares about are actually one person?”
Adrien opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find any words to refute his kwami. Instead he groaned and leaned back. “You’re right, but that doesn’t make this any easier.”
“Oh no. A superhero will have to do something slightly difficult. How awful.” Plagg scoffed. “Anyway, you’ve got plenty of opportunities coming up, between school and all those akumas. If we can get to Fu’s next week with this out of the way, then it’ll be great for all of us.”
“I’ll try to bare my soul to Marinette within your precious time frame.” Adrien glared at his kwami, but his attention was already elsewhere.
“That’s great, kid. Now get me some camembert. Dealing with you has been almost as tiring as that akuma fight.”
-----------------
Her eyes darted between the project she’d been working on all afternoon and the clock. It was late, late enough that her parents would be soundly asleep and on a school day she definitely would be too. There wasn’t much time left before Marinette had to meet up with Chat Noir for their meeting with Master Fu and she had to decide now if she was going to attempt to get this next patch done or leave it here for now.
With a sigh, Marinette sat down her fabric scissors and collapsed onto her chaise.
“I’m proud of you, Marinette. It’s very wise to know when to carry on and when is best stop,” Tikki chirped as she appeared in front of her.
“Thanks, Tikki. But that means I don’t have anything else to do while we wait.”
“Well… we could talk, if you want.” Tikki settled down on the chair beside her. “Is there anything on your mind?”
“Chat has been acting weird, I guess?”
“That’s very true. We don’t usually see him so… timid or shy. What do you think is going on with him?”
Marinette rolled her eyes. “Knowing my kitty, he is probably plotting to ask me to something again. Maybe he has a rooftop picnic or something in mind.” She glanced outside as a cold wind howled. A shiver shook her as she reminded herself she’d be outside in that before too long. “Although hopefully not.”
“So you aren’t too worried?”
“If it isn’t that, then what else can I do for him? Our hands are kind of tied with the whole secret identities thing.” Marinette shook her head sadly. “No, I’ll do my best to be here for him, but there is only so much comfort I can give.”
“It wasn’t that long ago that you two were trading little facts about yourselves. What happened with that?”
Marinette squirmed in place. She was aware that they’d stopped doing it and she had tried to tell herself that it didn’t bother her. But there was a part of her that was disappointed. Chat Noir often felt like he was larger than life, an exaggeration of a person. But little details like his favorite dish? They made him feel more real, more grounded. Maybe that was why she was scared - anything could happen in their fight. She’d already had to see him get erased or turned against her. What would happen if she knew who exactly was under the mask? Knew exactly who she had failed to protect?
She was startled out of her thoughts by a tiny paw patting the side of her head.
“I know it all seems scary, Marinette. But I’m here for you, one hundred percent. And I know that Chat Noir is with you completely. The best we can do is face things together, right?”
Marinette nodded before her eyes widened as she remembered to check the clock. Only five minutes until the meeting started.
“Tikki, spots on!”
--------------------------------------
“Ah, greetings to both of you,” Master Fu said as Marinette and Chat Noir entered the room together. It had been close, but she made it. Apparently Chat had also been running behind since they landed at their usual meet up at practically the same time.
They both gave awkward bows as they hurried to their spots. In front of each of them was already a cup of hot tea.
“I suspect that you have questions for me?”
Marinette shared a look with Chat Noir, who shrugged. How did he know…?
“Yes, master. There has been some weird stuff happening with our powers lately.” Marinette took a hesitant sip of her tea. Delicious as always.
Master Fu raised his eyebrows, but there was a glint of amusement in his tone. “Oh? What sort of ‘weird stuff’?”
“She purred, I got cold, she could see and hear pretty well. Not to mention the weird empathy, thought sharing… stuff that happens sometimes.” Chat Noir raised a finger for each point, but Master Fu seemed unconcerned as he raised his cup to his face. Chat’s cat ears perked up. “Oh! And there was that time we swapped who could do Cataclysm and Lucky Charm. Then that last akuma when we did something weird with Cataclysm.”
Fu jerked back in surprise. “The central abilities of your miraculous were swapped?”
“Yes, master,” they replied simultaneously.
“I see. This is excellent news!” Master Fu folded his hands together and smiled. “You two are moving quicker than I had anticipated.”
“This… is supposed to happen?” Marinette asked in confusion. She didn’t see how it could be helpful to have their powers randomly swap for no discernable reason. Although… the destruction orb had been useful.
“You need not worry. This is perfectly natural.” Master Fu stood and retrieved a tablet from the shelf. He flipped through the familiar pictures of the book they’d briefly stolen from Gabriel before settling on an illustration of the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous. “It is believed that, in the beginning, the kwamis of creation and destruction were one and the same - the kwami of reality.”
“But they aren’t anymore,” Chat mused, as he cupped his chin. “When did they get split? And what does this have to do with us now?”
“Patience, young one. The kwami of reality was to be bound into one miraculous five thousand years ago, but their power was too great. The kwami was split into two parts - creation and destruction - and bound to separate miraculous. Even then, the legendary sorcerer only barely survived. But this origin is unique among all the miraculous.”
He flipped to the next page on the screen, showing another illustration. This one was of a person glowing with energy, the earrings and black cat ring worn simultaneously.
“These miraculous are the only ones that can be safely worn by one person at once.”
“Huh? Are the others really that dangerous?”
“Alone, no. But the miraculous were designed to be worn one at a time. Two at once can overwhelm an individual and cause terrible damage. To themselves, to the people around them, sometimes even to the miraculous.”
Chat sighed. “And there goes my dreams of Dragon Chat…”
Marinette elbowed him in the side. “Be serious!” Despite her words, there was a faint smile at her lips.
“The other unique quality is the power sharing you have mentioned. Essentially, once there is a powerful tie between the users, the miraculous begin reconnecting as well. Energy can be shared between them - minor quirks of those powers are often first, like with cat and ladybug tendencies. But this shared energy has incredibly versatile potential, culminating in the ultimate ability of the two - mastery over reality itself.”
There was silence as the two processed what Master Fu was saying. Eventually Chat Noir spoke up.
“So… a wish?”
Master Fu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Chat Noir. A wish.” He fixed them each with a stern look. “But do not rush to that skill - it requires an immense amount of training to achieve and even then should only be used sparingly. Toying with reality often has dire consequences, although it is necessary at times as a final resort. There are some problems that can only be repaired with a wish.”
“I think I understand.” Marinette rubbed one of her earrings between her fingers. She narrowed her eyes in thought. “You said the kwami were bound to the miraculous. Was that by choice?”
“The kwami are benevolent beings who had yearned to assist mankind since the beginning. The sorcerer merely convinced them that the miraculous was the best way to achieve this.”
“But why?” Marinette tilted her head, remembering the events of Style Queen and her team up with Plagg. “The kwami seem plenty powerful by themselves.”
“Your question holds the answer: The kwami are powerful. Too powerful. The miraculous acts as a filter so that they do not harm the world around them by accident.” Master Fu frowned and stared at Chat Noir - or, more specifically, his ring. “Hiccups in that design have lead to… accidents.” He shook himself out of his memories. “Which reminds me. Hawkmoth has been clawing at these restraints for some time now.”
“What makes you say that?” Marinette ignored the spear of panic that pierced her heart. The idea of her nemesis breaking those filters worried her immensely.
“His akumas have grown more and more powerful, all the while becoming less and less cooperative. More often than not, the akumas turn on their master. Besides the obvious reasons, Hawkmoth dismantling these restrictions can have devastating consequences. At best, the miraculous gets broken, which is something that is not easily fixed. At worst… he gets the power he so craves. More than he could ever hope to handle.”
Marinette shared a look with Chat Noir and was pleased to find the steely determination in his eyes. “We will do everything it takes to defeat Hawkmoth before that can happen.”
“I am glad. For now, the best we can do - short of discovering his identity - is to hone your newfound abilities. I am certain that mastery of them will prove vital in the coming battles.”
With that, they spent the remainder of their time in meditation and the fine manipulation of energy. Once they had a handle on where to find their opposite power, it became easier to draw on it, however crudely they did it. The real difficulty came from their physical reaction to that power. Marinette quickly became nauseous using the power of the black cat, while Chat Noir became exhausted. Master Fu assured them that once they got used to the energy, these side effects would fade away.
It was in the earliest hours of the day that they finally left, Marinette wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep in. But she didn’t make a few steps out the door before Chat Noir had snagged her wrist.
“Um, m’lady? Can we… talk?” His ears were flat to his head and he struggled to meet her eyes. The poor boy was struggling.
She remembered her talks with Tikki. “If this is a romantic thing, Chat, can we please not-”
“No, no, it isn’t like that, I promise. But this is something that I need to tell you…” He looked around theatrically. “...Away from any prying eyes and ears.”
She sighed, already yearning for her warm bed. “Alright, Chat. Lead the way.”
|
His classmate rolled her eyes. “Of course Nishinoya-kun asked you to come over tonight.”
Asahi blinked. “Well… he found a training video of the Japanese Olympic team, and he wants to—”
The girl stood with an exasperated sigh. “He knows when the athletic department’s mixer is. It’s only been plastered on every message board across campus for two weeks.”
“Maybe… maybe he just doesn’t want to go?” Asahi tried. He had the definite impression he was supposed to know why she was annoyed. Unfortunately — and not uncommonly — he was just confused.
“You mean he just doesn’t want you to go,” she muttered. She threw her bag over her shoulder. “Never mind. Maybe warn Nishinoya-kun about the wave of hate mail he’s going to get tomorrow. I’ve had a few people ask me specifically if you’ll be there.”
Asahi stood quickly, grabbing his own bag. “Hate mail? Why would he get—?”
“You know what?” His classmate paused in the computer lab’s doorway, digging in her bag. She pulled out a marker pen and threw it at him. Asahi didn’t have time to be pleased that he caught it. “If that little libero doesn’t literally write his name on your forehead sometime soon, I will not be held responsible for the actions of all my cockblocked friends. See you in class.”
“Ah! Ah, Hiyori-san! Your pen—!”
But the door closed behind her.
Asahi stared at it. Then stared at the pen in his hand.
Clearly, he wasn’t getting something.
“Noya…”
“Mm?” The short young man didn’t look up from his laptop.
Asahi was lounging on his old friend’s couch, waiting for him to pull up the Olympic training video he’d found. You’ve got to see this jump serve, Asahi-san, it’s unreal! And the libero can return it! I’ve never seen anything like it, you have to…
And so here he was. In Nishinoya’s apartment instead of at the unofficial mixer for the entire athletic department. He felt a little bit bad about that. He had told Hiyori he’d be there when she said she was organizing it. But he kind of sucked at parties anyway, and if Nishinoya was going to be here watching a video, the party wasn’t going to be that much fun anyway.
“Noya,” he tried again.
“It’s buffering, sorry.” Nishinoya set the laptop on the coffee table and climbed up on the couch. He sat cross-legged, something Asahi could never manage comfortably on furniture. “What’s up?”
“Um… did you not want to go to Hiyori’s party tonight?” Asahi asked. It wasn’t his real question, but the real question seemed… stupid.
“Meh.” Nishinoya shrugged narrow shoulders. “It could have been fun, I guess. Wait.” He looked at Asahi sharply. “Did you want to go?”
“Ah. Well?” Asahi pretended to focus on the laptop. “I sort of promised Hiyori I would. She seemed a little pissed today when I told her we were doing this instead.”
Nishinoya narrowed his eyes. Without taking his eyes off of Asahi, he hit pause on the video. “Uh huh.” He leaned back against the couch and folded his arms across his chest.
“Uh. Are we not watching the video?”
“Sounds like we’re talking about this first,” Nishinoya said, a note in his voice Asahi couldn’t quite place. “What do you mean, she was pissed?”
“Well, as pissed as she ever gets about anything.” Asahi shrugged. “I guess she told some of her friends I’d be there? I mean, she might not like telling them one thing and then it not working out. Or something.”
“Hiyori specifically wanted you there, is that what you’re telling me?”
“I don’t think she cares if I do anything,” Asahi said quickly. “It’s just she kind of told—”
“So she’s trying to hook you up with somebody,” Nishinoya said flatly.
“Look, she didn’t say anything like that!” Asahi wiped a hand over his face. “Augh, nobody said anything to me about wanting me there or not, I guess I just wanted to make sure you definitely didn’t want to go, so I thought I’d ask.”
Nishinoya raised an eyebrow. The expression coupled with his spiky black-and-bleached hair conjured an image in Asahi’s mind of a very suspicious elf. “All right.” He reached over and shut the laptop. “Get your coat.”
“Wait, what?” Asahi sat up in surprise. “I wasn’t saying… this is fine!”
“Nothing doing.” Nishinoya slipped his arms into his leather coat. It was new. Well, kind of. A high-school graduation present. Asahi still tried not to be jealous whenever he saw it. It was a really cool look. Nishinoya flashed one of his signature cocky grins, which of course turned the whole image up to eleven. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get in your pants, Asahi-san. What kind of friend would I be if I kept you here tonight?”
“N-Noyaaaa!!!”
“Well, well, look who decided to show the fuck up after all?” Hiyori leered at Asahi, beer in hand.
Asahi held up his hands in embarrassed surrender. Nishinoya had made him walk through the door first, the traitor.
“Heard someone was waiting for him.”
Asahi made an embarrassingly startled sound as Nishinoya pushed under his arm to get through the doorway. “Didn’t realize I was keeping him from getting some,” he added with a smirk.
“Noya, will you knock it off?” Asahi hissed. Steam was coming out of his ears, he just knew it.
Hiyori blinked at Nishinoya, all spiky-haired and wiry and a little… belligerent, strutting into the house. “Now I am surprised to see you here,” she said. “You decided to let him out for an evening?”
“Why, Hiyori.” Nishinoya draped an arm over the girl’s shoulders. It shouldn’t have been an easy gesture for him, Asahi thought, given that Hiyori was the captain of the girl’s volleyball team and Nishinoya was the libero of the men’s team. A talented libero, of course, but still. Every bit as short as he’d been in high school. Still, he made it look effortless. Everything Noya does looks effortless. Asahi frowned.
“Hiyori,” Nishinoya continued, “sometimes I have to let Asahi-san’s fans know he’s still alive.”
“Nishinoya Yuu, I do not have fans!” Asahi spluttered.
As one, Hiyori and Nishinoya gave him flat stares.
“I… I don’t—!”
“Azumane-saaaaaaann!”
Holy shit!
A tall brunette wrapped herself around one of his arms, a beer coyly held to her lips. “Hiyori’s been so confusing all night, all night long. Azumane’s coming, Azumane’s not coming.” Slender fingers clenched his bicep, long hair fell over his jacket. “I almost left.”
“And yet here you are,” Nishinoya deadpanned.
Asahi opened his mouth to… well, he didn’t know what he was going to say, but Nishinoya looked… normally Nishinoya looked really cool when he got all serious, but right now he just looked—
“Azumane-san, have you met Riri?” Hiyori waved her beer at the model-esque woman hanging off his arm.
Asahi swallowed hard. She really was clinging quite tightly, and he could feel her, uh, push-up bra through his jacket, and it just… “She’s a wing spiker, right?” He grinned down at her cautiously. “I’ve seen a few games.”
“Ooooo.” Riri lowered her lashes. “Do you come and watch my games, Azumane-san? I’m so flattered.”
“Um?” Asahi tried to scoot away a little bit, but her grip was, well, what you would expect of a spiker. “Nishinoya likes to. And I used to play, so—”
“Did you?” Riri cooed. “What… position?”
Nishinoya groaned, and Asahi felt like he’d missed something. Again.
“Ah… well, yours actually,” he offered.
Riri’s hands tightened, and both Hiyori and Nishinoya sucked in a breath. Asahi glanced at all three faces in turn. Riri looked like Christmas had come early, Hiyori’s eyebrows were in her hair, and Nishinoya… Nishinoya’s eyes looked like someone had put a laser beam inside his head.
“I mean… I played wing spiker,” Asahi added carefully. “That’s… that’s what I meant.”
“Aw, you are so cute, Azumane-san,” Riri purred. “Why don’t you play now?”
Sometimes Asahi really wished Tanaka had come with them to college. He was always a lot better at analyzing girls than Asahi was, and Nishinoya was just unhelpful. “I’m studying sports med. I want to be serious about my internships, so I figured joining the team wasn’t the best thing for me.” Asahi laughed. “And I’m not nearly as good as Noya. If that’s the caliber the team needs, I’m out.”
“Whatever!” Nishinoya spat. “No one can take my tosses like you could.”
“Did I hear you played volleyball, Azumane-san?” A firm hand slid up his other arm, and wow the women on the volleyball team were tall up close. The blonde at his side was almost as tall as he was. Asahi glanced down. Ah. She was wearing heels but still. “I bet you were really cool to watch.”
Nishinoya mumbled something under his breath.
Is he jealous? Asahi wasn’t a complete idiot, he was aware he now had two women hanging on him. It was probably enough to make any guy want to punch his friend in the face. Maybe they should find the women’s soccer team? At least some of them were bound to be here tonight, and they’d probably be closer to Nishinoya’s height.
“I had fun playing, but Noya’s a lot cooler to watch than I ever was,” Asahi said loyally. “It’s only his first season with the team, and he’s already a starter.”
Riri didn’t even bat an eye (which Asahi found a little annoying. Wasn’t she supposed to be interested in volleyball?), but the second woman glanced down at Nishinoya in surprise.
“Oh! Oh, you’re the new libero!” she said, awe coloring her voice a bit. “I’m Shizuku. I’m a setter. I saw your last game, and I gotta say I watched you pretty much the whole time!”
Her grip on Asahi’s arm loosened, and he hoped his sigh of relief wasn’t too loud.
Nishinoya looked up at the blonde dubiously. “You watched the libero the whole time? And you’re the setter?”
“Oh, I’m not the setter,” Shizuku said, a bit sheepishly. “Second string. And you’re, uh, pretty damn dynamic on the court, you know.”
“Ugh, we are not talking about volleyball tonight.” Riri tugged on Asahi’s arm. “Let’s leave them to it, Azumane-san. Hiyori? Where are the other girls?”
Hiyori, who had been sipping quietly at her beer till now, shoved herself away from the wall. “I heard one of the basketball guys was going to try to get the old hot tub in the backyard going. I bet they’re all laughing at him.”
“Let’s go laugh at him, Azumane-san. I want you to meet the rest of the team.”
Asahi glanced back at Nishinoya, hoping to calmly and discreetly convey his panic. He liked people. Usually. But Riri was frankly a little intimidating, and Nishinoya was good with intimidating people.
Shizuku and Nishinoya were in full animated conversation now. Asahi felt his mouth lift at the corners. Nishinoya looked like he was back in high school, going over a game with Tanaka or Hinata, all fiery gold eyes and electrifying grins.
Hiyori slapped Asahi on the back, hard. “He’ll be fine. Let Riri lead you to your doom, let’s go.”
“Ah! But…” Asahi looked again at Nishinoya. Well… if he’s enjoying himself. He did love talking about volleyball, and Shizuku seemed pretty into it. Maybe she’d be okay with a shorter guy?
Riri tugged him through the house, and Hiyori followed closely.
Sure enough, most of the women’s volleyball team and a decent selection of the men’s basketball team were lounging around the backyard. The early spring night meant that only the dumbest guys weren’t wearing jackets.
“Laaaadddiieesss!” Riri trilled. “I’ve got something for you!”
Asahi’s eyes widened, and he heard Hiyori snort behind him.
“Riri, where did you find that?”
“Azumane-san, I thought you weren’t coming tonight!”
“Hey, remember when you taped my ankle two weeks ago? Can I mess it up again tonight?”
“Eeeehh, he’s never been around when I get hurt.”
“Cuz you never do anything!”
Someone pushed a beer into his hand, and then there were… arms and faces and… lots and lots of hair and perfume.
Asahi was a little out of his element. So he smiled at everyone and commented when he understood what was going on and laughed when he didn’t and joked with the basketball guys and complimented the volleyball girls and just generally tried to survive.
I wonder if we’ll get back too late to watch that video.
…
I wonder if Nishinoya likes tall women?
|
The first time, it’s not his fault. Their clothes are constantly getting mixed up on the floor. He hadn’t realized they were Billy’s sweats. Hell—he suppresses a strangely hysterical giggle—he doesn’t even have to worry about washing off the come stains.
He does have to worry about Billy. Standing behind him, hand wrapped around Steve’s still-hard cock. Holding Steve up as he pants, regains his breath. Feels the flush that’s crept up his chest, his neck, heated his skin.
Steve didn’t know he swung this way. Didn’t realize either of them did.
But whatever. It’s just a hand.
A hand, and a voice. A drunk voice. Murmuring filthy promises in his ear in a tone that would make Satan himself part his lips.
Steve’s head is lolling back on Billy’s shoulder, like a sunflower too heavy for its stalk. In a way he’s abruptly aware is baring his throat. And Billy’s behind him, so it’s not quite submission, but it’s close.
“Pretty boy,” that voice says in his ear, soothing, enticing. “Always knew you’d be so pretty. Coming apart in my arms like that.” It’s almost a croon, sinful, delicious. “Wearing my clothes. How fucking gorgeous are you going to look wearing my spunk? Pretty pearl necklace for a pretty pretty boy…”
Steve shivers. No. This has to stop now. He pulls away with an effort, turns. “Billy, look. I’m sorry. I won’t wear your clothes again.”
Billy’s grin is drunk, lazy, but not sloppy. “You sure ‘bout that? ‘Cause you look great.” He takes a surprisingly steady step forward, hooks his fingers into the waistband of the sweats. Pulls Steve closer. “Make me want to do all kinds of things to you—”
Steve lays a hand on Billy’s chest. “It’s not like that, okay? I just…this was a one-time thing.”
A pause, as this sinks in to Billy’s thick skull. Steve watches his expression change. “Oh. I get it. No homo, right? Like, you’ll come all over my hand, but you’re not queer?” Billy makes a disgusted noise in his throat, pushes Steve away. “Whatever, asshole.”
“No, it’s not like—” Steve trails off as Billy leaves, slams the door. “Fuck.”
*
Three days of Billy being gone. Billy’s Instagram feed is full of pictures of parties. Beer pong, glow paint, girls. Girls with glowing neon necklaces and stripes of UV reactive paint across their cleavage. Girls with tequila running down their bellies. Girls in wet t-shirts, draped over Billy’s beer-drenched shoulders.
Steve considers reporting a TOS violation, but closes the app instead, determined to study. Falls asleep at his laptop. Wakes when a balled-up t-shirt hits him in the back of the head.
“Hey roomie, it’s time to work out.”
Steve silently curses his past self who thought it was a good idea to be workout buddies with his roommate. His ridiculously ripped, ridiculously hot, ridiculously ridiculous roommate. But he grunts and gets up, grateful, at least, that it was a clean t-shirt.
He should know. He did all of Billy’s laundry for him.
*
The second time, it’s maybe his fault. It’s hard to wrap your lips around a guy’s cock without having some say in the matter.
Then again, he’s really only returning the favor. So it’s kind of Billy’s fault still.
Billy’s thick. Girthy. But Steve’s never been one to back down from a challenge, and he sucks Billy down like he’s apologizing, like he’s promising never again, baby, I’ll never hurt you like that ever.
Billy’s fucking into it. Any lingering doubts Steve had about his roommate’s sexuality are shoved aside—Billy’s fingers are in his hair, tight, curses and praise spilling from his lips as he leans back against his desk. “Shit, babe, you feel so fucking good,” he’s muttering, and if he didn’t have Billy’s cock in his mouth Steve would grit his teeth, wondering how many people he’s said exactly that to in the past. How many stock phrases of encouragement he keeps in his toolbox, keyed to this sensation or that movement. But it’s whatever. Whatever it takes to get him off. To give him the best head of his life.
Steve kind of hates that he’s so determined to feed his roommate’s ego, but there it is.
He’s always been a bit competitive.
So he slides his tongue along the shaft, lets his lips stretch, makes little slurping sounds, getting really enthusiastic—and Billy’s getting louder, more insistent, and Steve’s swirling his tongue underneath the head now, pumping Billy with one hand, spit-slick and obscene, feels Billy’s cock pulse as fingers tighten in his hair, and hot jizz is flooding his throat and he’s swallowing him down without complaint.
Billy’s still gasping when Steve pulls back, hollowing his cheeks until he comes off with a satisfied pop.
“God, I love your mouth,” Billy says, eyes heavy-lidded as they take in Steve. And because he apparently doesn’t know when to quit, he tugs Steve up by the hair, lets go, only to use his thumb to wipe away an errant drop of something unmentionable from the corner of Steve’s mouth. “How did I not know you could do that?”
Steve grins, wide. “Guess I’m just full of surprises.”
“Fuck. I feel like I could bench press 400 pounds. Or run a mile. Or get shitfaced and dance all night.” Steve feels warm at the praise, but then Billy’s holding his phone up, selfie-camera showing their faces in the desklamp byglow. “C’mon. Start-of-the-evening photo. Then we go out and get shitfaced. Go dancing.”
“Dude, your dick is still out.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s a face picture, nobody will know.” Billy waggles his eyebrows. “Though maybe they’ll guess…”
And Steve suddenly goes cold. Pushes the camera away. “No, dude. I don’t want to be on your trophy wall. And I don’t want to go out and get drunk either. I’ve got class tomorrow.”
“So what?” Billy sets the phone down, tucks himself away, picks a shirt up off the (once again covered) floor. “We get drunk, we study. We’ve done it before.” Steve just looks at him; he raises his eyebrows, opens his hands. “What, do you want me to ask you out? Like we’re in middle school?”
Steve just sighs and turns away, ignores the painful wobbling in his chest. “Life isn’t an endless party, Hargrove. Some of us have more important shit to do than work out and drink.” And if he stays, Billy’s going to leave, so Steve pulls on his shoes, a sweater, picks up his backpack and keys. “I’m going to the library. I’ll see you later.”
Out of the corner of his eye, before the door closes behind him, he sees Billy’s face, and he feels a wash of regret in his belly—he’d swear to god his asshole roommate looks hurt. But then the door closes, and Steve shakes his head, certain he’s imagining things.
*
The third time definitely isn’t his fault.
Steve can’t control the fact that he occasionally has nightmares, even years after anything creepy has happened to him. Even after the dream has faded, the images still haunt him—his hometown overgrown by vines and leaves, air thick with spores, friends speared by branches or torn apart by monsters. He lies on his bed in the dark, body curled in on itself toward the wall, listening to Billy’s snores. Sobs uncontrollably, does his best to swallow the sounds, feels grateful that he’s never been the type for dramatic screams in the middle of the night.
As the worst of the storm passes, he realizes that he hasn’t heard Billy snore in a while. Debates calling out his roommate’s name, but doesn’t trust his voice to stay steady. Then he’s startled by the sensation of his mattress shifting, dipping under the weight of Billy’s not-inconsiderable frame.
“Hey, man. It’s okay.” Billy’s voice, quiet in his ear; one thick, strong arm circles around his waist, pulls him close. “It’s just a bad dream.”
Somehow that only makes his body shudder, only brings forth a fresh burst of tears, hot shame spilling out onto Steve’s cheeks. Billy makes a soothing hum, strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair.
“It’s okay if you’re homesick,” the voice continues; it’s quiet and certain the way it is when he’s whispering filth into Steve’s ear, but different. Talking just to talk, to be present here in the dark, a rope Steve can cling to to pull out of his own head. “I get homesick sometimes, and I don’t even like my home. Plus it’s, like, a couple hours away. You’re way further from home than I’ve ever been…”
Eventually, Steve quiets, breaths smoothing out, body relaxing. Billy still holds him close, kisses the back of his head, the curve of his ear. Steve shivers, presses back into Billy’s frame, and admits, just for a moment, just to himself, how nice it is to feel cared for.
*
The fourth time…might be Steve’s fault. A little.
It’s Billy’s birthday, and Steve wants to surprise him with something nice. Hits on the perfect idea—a turntable. Reaches into his own birthday-money savings to get a nice one, spends an entire fucking day on the Internet figuring out how to set the damn thing up, nabs some vintage records. The Scorpions. Pink Floyd. Def Leppard. The Who. And some newer stuff, too—Billy might be the worst roommate, but he’s got decent taste in music.
Billy is out late that night, and Steve might be obsessively refreshing Instagram to see if he’s staying the night with some new squeeze. But only because, if so, he can stop pretending to work on this History paper and go to bed. Definitely not because he’s hoping Billy will come home. After all, there’s no reason he can’t give him his present tomorrow—
The sound of the key in the lock has him dashing across the room. And just as the door opens, Steve’s got the needle dropping.
Billy comes in, and he’s blinking, nonplussed, as if a Post Malone and Swae Lee collaboration is something brand new and foreign. Steve smiles, bopping his head along. “Hey, roomie. Happy birthday.”
Billy still looks confused. “I thought you hated my music?”
“Some of it doesn’t suck.” Steve motions to the setup, on the shelf over Billy’s desk. The turntable, the receiver, the slightly battered records sitting next to the speakers. “I got you a new player. Hope you don’t mind.”
His roommate moves over to his side of the room, seems hypnotized by the spinning record. “This is for me?”
“And the records.” Steve’s about bursting. “Found some good deals at a thrift shop.” Billy’s still quiet, and Steve is starting to worry. “Hargrove? Everything all right?”
Billy turns, and Steve’s never seen this expression on his face before. Something strangely cracked down the middle, jagged but soft. “You did this for me?”
Steve laughs a little, walks over to him, bumps his hips into Billy’s. Takes his hands. “I don’t see any other birthday boys around. C’mon.” And he tugs Billy forward, slides his arms around Billy’s neck, swivels his hips meaningfully.
And Billy, who can dance because of course he can, catches on, puts his hands on Steve’s hips, pulls him even closer. There’s a moment of confusion as they fight over who leads, but Billy slides his arm around Steve’s back, and Steve remembers the solid feel of Billy’s body that night. He lets go, allows himself to melt into the embrace; a moment later, they’re swiveling and twirling in tandem, laughing as they dodge piles of clothing on the floor.
The song is over too soon; Billy’s cheeks are a little pink, his blue eyes sparkling. Steve screws up his courage, reaches forward, and gives him a little peck on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Billy.”
There’s a moment of silence, and Steve can feel something change between them. For a moment, he panics, afraid he’s messed things up. But Billy only reaches up, brushes his face with his fingertips. Threads those same fingertips through Steve’s hair. Pulls him close until their lips meet.
And Steve realizes he’s never kissed Billy Hargrove before.
He wonders why he’s waited so long.
*
The fifth time, it’s definitely Steve’s fault.
It’s Steve’s fault because it’s been two weeks since Billy’s birthday, since they kissed, and Billy’s barely so much as touched him.
It wasn’t like it was even that deep a kiss. You could almost describe it as “chaste”, if you could describe anything Billy Hargrove was involved with as “chaste”. Mouth mostly closed, no tongue.
But since then, since Billy had said “thank you” and pled exhaustion, things have been…normal. Working out. Studying. Getting drunk. Getting drunk and then studying and then going to class on two hours’ sleep because they’re twenty years old and invincible.
Things are normal, and Steve is scrabbling at the walls. What is Billy waiting for? Did Steve screw it up worse than he’d thought? Does Billy just want to forget everything?
To make the whole thing even more surreal, the stream of girls have largely disappeared from Billy’s Instagram. He still posts, but mostly pictures of food, party selfies, the occasional now-playing post with one of the records Steve bought him.
Steve can’t figure it out, but if Billy wants to pretend nothing’s changed, well, Steve’s family wrote the fucking book on that. So he pretends right along with him. Pretends he’s into studying. Pretends he’s into working out. Pretends he’s into his roommate a normal amount.
Actually, it turns out that he doesn’t have to pretend to like working out. He feels better afterward. Helps to clear his head, keep the nightmares away. And as much as he dislikes the studying, Billy and their study benders are the reason he’s passing all his classes, so.
So Steve can maybe be forgiven for being a little blindsided when he’s home one afternoon, sitting on the bed in old clothes, when Billy comes in dressed to impress. Tight jeans, cologne, shirt open down to the navel, because this is southern California and it’s ridiculously warm outside in March. And he’s carrying a flower.
A sunflower.
“Hey,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet, as he sits at the foot of the bed. “I’m…I’m not good with relationships. Never really done them before. And I…I don’t think of you as a trophy. I don’t think of anyone as trophies, really—my Instagram isn’t for bragging, it’s for remembering. Because there are so many things in my life I’d rather forget, and I’m afraid if I don’t post about the good times I’ll forget them too.”
“Billy,” Steve’s voice is quiet.
Billy keeps going, with the increasingly frenzied determination of someone afraid of what will happen if they stop. “And I’ve had so many good times with you, and I started to think about why that is, and I realized it’s because you make them happen. And I wonder if that isn’t what love is. Someone who puts in the effort to make sure you have more good memories together than bad ones. And I’ve never really had that before—”
“Billy,” Steve’s voice is a little louder this time, but it’s still not enough to break through.
“—I don’t know if I can have this, or if I’ll mess it up or whatever, but the point is that I want you. Like, I want to fuck you, I want to see you wearing my come, I want to hear your voice as I split you apart on my fingers or maybe my cock—” Steve finds his mouth suddenly dry— “but also I want to hold you at night. I want to keep hearing those little grumbling noises you make when I wake you up to go work out. I want to find whatever it is that gives you nightmares and crush it. I want you in my life, Steve, and if you need me to ask you out like a seventh-grader, I’ll do it. So.” He clears his throat, holds out the sunflower. “Will you go out with me?”
Steve feels a smile slowly spread across his face. “Billy.”
Billy blinks, eyes seeming to focus on Steve for the first time. “What?”
And Steve’s smile grows wider as he takes the flower, caresses the petals, sets it carefully aside on the bedside table. “Didn’t you remember? It’s laundry day.”
Billy looks down, sees Steve dressed in Billy’s Thrasher shirt, in his old sweats, and a moment later Steve is in his arms, Billy’s weight bearing them both down onto the bed as he plasters their lips together, as their hands roam each other’s bodies, fingertips finding heated skin as their tongues caress, Steve’s moan soft in his throat as his rapidly-filling cock bumps against Billy’s constrained erection.
After a moment, Billy comes up for air, looking down at Steve as if he can’t quite believe he’s there. “Fuck. There’re so many things I want to do to you I’m not even sure where to start.” He runs a hand down Steve’s side, and Steve feels the heat even through the clothes, feels the answering heat rising up to his skin. “Tell me what you want.”
Steve finds his courage. “You said something about splitting me apart?” Smiles a little. “D’you think you can do it while I’m still wearing your clothes?”
Billy’s grin is slow, predatory. “I’ll do you one better than that, sweetheart.” He reaches over to Steve’s bedside table, grabs lube. “Lie back and relax. I’m going to make you feel amazing.”
And some part of Steve can’t quite believe this is happening, that he’s about to let Billy Hargrove—practically the school bicycle—fuck him, but here he is, and there’s no denying the way he’s hard in the borrowed sweats. He palms himself a little through the fabric, eyes hot on Billy’s hands as his roommate turns back to him, sees what he’s up to. “Nuh-uh,” Billy says, smile curving his lips again. “Hands over your head. Grip the headboard. If you let go, I’ll stop.”
It’s a threat, and a filthy fucking promise, and Steve can practically feel the flush creeping up his skin as he obeys, raises his arms overhead. Billy reaches over, fingers catching in the waistband, as he tugs the sweats down. Steve isn’t wearing underwear, and he sucks in a breath as his cock springs free, cool air suddenly caressing sensitive skin.
“God,” Billy says, almost reverently. “So fucking beautiful.” He brings his head down, nuzzles the join of Steve’s thigh with his lips, breath hot on Steve’s skin, before pulling away. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Steve sighs, lets his head fall back onto the pillow, hears the snap of the lube bottle. Feels Billy’s fingers, a moment later, sliding into the space between his legs. The waistband of the sweats is still around Steve’s knees, and the lube leaves an obscene trail of wetness on the insides of his thighs, but Billy is talking again, like he always does when he’s turned on, soft-voiced promises of things to come, even as his fingers find Steve’s hole.
The sensation is unfamiliar, and Steve sucks in a breath, but Billy just holds there a moment, stroking the sensitive rim. And as his finger begins to press, he nuzzles soft kisses against Steve’s skin—his thighs, his belly, his navel. “God, you’re so tight for me. All for me. I can’t believe it. Just breathe, baby. You know how much I fucking want you.”
Steve breathes. Lets go of the uncertainty, the anxiety, the wondering who Billy would be with right now if it wasn’t for him—because it is him, he’s here, and Billy’s finger is pressing up into him, and it’s unfamiliar but not bad, not with those lips pressing praise into his skin, not with Billy’s breath hot on his skin and Billy’s face brushing against his aching cock and Jesus fuck—
Steve can hear his own ragged cry, can feel Billy’s grin against his belly. “I thought you’d like that, pretty boy.”
“I didn’t—didn’t even know—” Steve’s voice breaks off into a ragged whine as Billy does something with his finger, something that sets off a shock wave of pleasure, expanding through his nerves. “Fuck, I didn’t know—”
“You’re so beautiful like this.” Two fingers now, pressing. “Keep breathing. Let me in.”
Steve’s eyes are shut tight, his breath ragged, and Billy’s barely touched his cock. Steve bites his lower lip, breath catching in his throat as Billy kisses closer in, until those fingers crook in and down and there it is again, that sensation of expansion, of heat, fire fizzling through every single one of his nerves, and again—
“You’re going to come like this.” Billy’s voice is soft, deep, certain; an inevitability settling deep into Steve’s hindbrain. “You’re going to come, just like this, on nothing but my fingers. You’re going to paint my shirt with your spunk, and you’re going to beg me to do it again, to take you in my mouth, to fuck you, to give you everything I have, and I will—”
“Please—” Steve is gasping, the words and the kisses and the strange overwhelming sensation flooding his body, those wicked fingers eliciting sensations that fill him, whiten his knuckles, push tears from his eyes. “Fuck, please, Billy, let me come—please—”
And even with his eyes closed, Steve can see the grin on Billy’s face, can hear it in his voice. “Just for me, pretty boy. Come for me.”
Another press, and another, and Steve is full, is spilling over, is spilling out, wrecked moans overflowing from his lips, sobs wracking his frame, whole body convulsing as Billy presses in and up, demanding everything Steve has to give. And he gives it, willingly, lets it go, until he feels free and light and empty. Even gives his quiet sobs into Billy’s mouth, after, when he comes up for a kiss.
It’s not Steve’s fault, the way he looks at Billy then, tears clinging to his eyelashes, creating a halo of light around Billy’s golden hair. Anyone would have done the same, in his position. Surrendered to Billy Hargrove’s hands, his care, his pure joy in giving this to Steve.
It’s totally Steve’s fault how Billy looks at him. Like something bright, and beautiful, and completely unexpected, and all the more precious for its rarity.
Like a sunflower, in the middle of a grey winter’s day.
|
“-And, with that, we’ve managed to cover all the essentials!”
Midnight clapped her hands together for emphasis, startling a few students who’d been in the process of progressively spacing out more and more over the duration of the day’s first class. With the exception of a few key students, Izuku Midoriya being one of them, the rest hadn’t been all that interested in the year’s inaugural block of Art History.
(Bless the little guy though, he never stopped taking notes ever since class started. Not even for the extra-boring stuff like the course syllabus! That studious attitude of his makes me want to check and see how he did the written portion of the entrance exams…)
Midnight stifled the pleased smirk threatening to overwhelm her professional persona’s neutral smile. She then walked around to the front of her teacher’s desk, taking note of how almost every pair of eyes in the room followed her movements. The exception, of course, being Mina Ashido. Who, to Midnight’s internal delight, continued staring at Midoriya from the corner of her eyes.
(Well, isn’t that just adorable ~)
“Now, as I’m sure you’re all more than well aware, your next block of instruction today is Foundational Heroics-”
More than a few excited cheers echoed out within the classroom at Midnight’s declaration. Anticipation for the chance to do something directly linked with Hero work flourished among the students like flowers sown in especially fertile soil.
Midnight allowed the more vocal members of the class to get the sudden burst of energy out of their systems, deliberately pausing mid-sentence until they settled back down.
“-And, as if that wasn’t already enough, you’re all in for an extra-special treat! Your Heroics instructor this semester is a brand-new member of our faculty that’s sure to smash your expectations to smithereens~”
Several students’ jaws fell open at Midnight’s hinting, their eyes immediately seeking out those of their classmates to confirm that they’d heard correctly. With wording like that, along with the Symbol of Peace’s appearance in some of their acceptance letter videos, it could only mean their next instructor was-
“We’re gonna get taught how to be a Hero by friggin’ All Might?!?!!??”
A yell erupted from the back of the classroom as Eijirou Kirishima, one of the more vocal students, took it upon himself to put into words what everyone else was surely thinking. Thankfully, he’d refrained from using a proper cuss because otherwise Midnight would’ve been forced to reprimand him for using inappropriate language in a classroom setting. (A part of the job that Midnight understood and complied with, but didn’t really enjoy. After all, she was personally quite fond of certain words that most people considered ‘foul’)
Midnight just grinned at Kirishima’s outburst and carefully brought a finger to her lips in the universal gesture of ‘it’s a secret’. She then made her way over to the section of wall closest to the door and pressed something unseen, causing a section of the wall to retract with a mechanical hiss. A, now exposed, storage space extended out from the wall, revealing rows of numbered metal cases resting upon gleaming steel racks.
“Alright! Each of these cases have been marked with your student numbers. Inside, you’ll find the first functional draft of your Hero outfits, based entirely on the designs you submitted prior to the start of the semester~”
Midnight sashayed closer to the storage rack and picked out a seemingly random case, hefting it over her shoulder like nothing more than a stylish handbag.
“Once you’ve finished changing into your new threads, head straight to Training Site Beta to meet-up with your next instructor. I’d also recommend taking some time to hydrate; you’re going to be working up quite the sweat out there~”
Midnight then cocked her hip to the side, coolly appraising everyone in front of her with the calculated gaze of a veteran. Her eyes lingered on a handful of students for a bit longer than the rest, mainly those that had been admitted on recommendations (Todoroki and Yaoyorozu are both exceptionally talented, but they also have just as many things holding them back, if their files are anything to go by) before letting her attention rest on Midoriya.
“Keep in mind, these are all still effectively prototypes and that means you should always be looking for ways to improve or change them to better suit your needs. Not only in terms of function, but form as well.”
Midnight’s next words might have seemed like they were meant for the class as a whole, but, in that moment, she may as well have been personally addressing Midoriya alone.
“Looking your best is half the battle, after all~”
The boy in question earnestly nodded at her freely given piece of advice, taking great care to jot down a quick note of her words in his, now nearly full, notebook. Midnight felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to gently pinch his freckled cheeks, but quickly quashed it. There was just something so bizarrely endearing about the way he accepted her trademark teasing completely at face value.
Midoriya’s obvious, and incredibly earnest, desire to simply learn from her would’ve normally taken the wind right out of Midnight’s sadistic sails. However, just because he wasn’t easily riled up by her antics didn’t mean that her other target of interest was equally immune. A fact that Midnight happily took full advantage of.
Case in point, every time Midnight glanced over towards Mina Ashido, the midnight-eyed (and wasn’t that an amusing coincidence, in and of itself) student tried and failed to look like she hadn’t spent the entire period staring at the back of Midoriya’s head from her place near the back of the room.
Feeling a particularly dark spark of inspiration, Midnight waited to catch Ashido’s eye and then sent a knowing wink her way; effectively letting said student know, in no uncertain terms, that she’d been caught staring. The belated realization left the fuchsia girl’s face a blushing mess, much to her teacher’s (harmlessly) fiendish delight.
If Midnight were a betting woman, she’d feel pretty damn confident about putting down a hefty sum of money on Ashido’s own notebook being utterly devoid of anything related to Art History. It was waaaay more likely that those pages were full of things pertaining to a very different subject matter altogether. One with green eyes and an innocent streak a thousand miles wide.
Midnight briefly considered starting up a betting pool with Present Mic over how long it’d take for Midoriya to realize he had an admirer. The prospect felt even more appealing when she took into account the advantage she had thanks to her current deal with Eraserhead. Being able to stay in the know with inside knowledge would make it a breeze to fairly earn (read: cheat) her friend over some rainy day drinking money.
(Now there’s a thought worth holding onto…)
Having tucked her most recent diabolical scheme into her metaphorical back pocket for the time being, Midnight gestured to the rack of costume cases.
“Go ahead and grab your cases everyone! You wouldn’t want to keep your Heroics instructor waiting now, would you~?”
With excited murmurs and bright eyes, all of the students made their way over to the rack and methodically retrieved their designated cases. All except for Midoriya, who wound up standing somewhat awkwardly in front of Midnight as everyone else began shuffling out of the classroom.
“Um, Miss- I mean, Midnight…?”
The Heroine in question gave him her most innocuous smile, pretending not to have any idea what he needed from her. Which, after several seconds of silence, led to him taking a more direct approach.
“I, uh, I think you still have my... case?”
Midnight made a show of looking shocked at having been so forgetful, even going so far as to place a hand over her, now opened, mouth.
“Oh my! I’m so sorry, little guy! I didn’t even realize I hadn’t put this one back! I can be such a ditz sometimes, huh~?”
Midoriya violently shook his head in disagreement, his eyes devoid of even the slightest trace of suspicion.
“That’s not true! I know better than anyone that you’re one of the most observant Heroines out there! It’s just… Um, well-”
He paused, obviously trying to think up an explanation for Midnight’s oversight while also keeping his prior statement from becoming a lie. In no time at all, a reassuring smile broke out on his face like the sun emerging from amidst a sea of clouds.
“Everyone makes mistakes every once in a while, right?”
It was in that moment that Nemuri Kayama, a single woman still in her mid-twenties and without any plans to start a family any time soon, felt her maternal instincts properly switch ON for the first time in her adult life. And, much in the same way as a blind person that's suddenly regained the ability to see, she was shook down to her very core by the raw intensity of the neurological feedback brought on by the change.
Now, a weaker woman might’ve shed a tear over such a profound awakening; possibly accompanied by a powerful need to zealously embrace the object of her newfound motherly affection. Midnight, however, was anything but a weak woman. Which is why her eyes remained dry and all she did in the face of her epiphany was gently hand Midoriya’s costume case over to its rightful owner, taking great care to make sure he had a proper handle on it before letting go.
“...I guess we do, don’t we, little guy?”
It was only after Midoriya, along with all of his classmates, had finally vacated the classroom and left Midnight completely alone that she realized she’d unconsciously patted him on the head when she’d said that. Exactly like her own mother used to whenever her younger self had said or done something especially adorable.
(...Oh god.)
Eraserhead was not going to be happy about this.
- - - - - - - - - -
Soon enough, all the members of Class 1-A were crowded around the central section of Ground Beta as they awaited the arrival of their mystery teacher. Small social cliques had formed almost instantly, the young heroes-in-training grouping themselves according to even the most minuscule similarities.
Thankfully, by the grace of whatever God was responsible for the complete 180 that Izuku’s life had undergone over the past year, he hadn't been naturally isolated from everyone and left to fend for himself in the background. Instead, he was inexplicably surrounded by people he’d never have pegged for the type to be interested in a wallflower such as himself.
For reasons currently far beyond his mortal comprehension, he’d attracted the presence of four whole people! One of which, much to Izuku’s relief, was Mina (who was seemingly refusing to make eye contact with him for some reason). The other three, however, were classmates he’d never exchanged so much as a word with before now.
On Izuku’s left was Kirishima, the redhead having gravitated right to him once everyone realized they were stuck waiting a little longer. His hero outfit was relatively minimal, consisting only of dark pants, sturdy boots and a sleeveless undershirt the same color as his vibrant hair. (Izuku could only imagine that the general lack of protective elements must have something to do with the other boy’s Quirk)
Not having had the chance to speak with Kirishima much before that point, Izuku initially had no clue what he was meant to do or say in response to the unexpected company. Thankfully, the redhead took it upon himself to ignite the conversation with an enviable amount of confidence and social gusto.
“So! Ya’ll really think our Heroics teacher is gonna be All Might? Or d’ya think Midnight was just playin’ around with us?”
Meanwhile, on Izuku’s right was a face he’d be hard pressed not to recognize.
“I doubt it. If he were, then I’m sure we would have seen around him by now. The man doesn’t know how to keep a low-profile.”
Shouto Todoroki (aka the son of the Number 2 Hero: Endeavor!!!) answered Kirishima’s question with clipped tones and an almost bored look on his face.
Compared to Kirishima’s outfit, Todoroki’s wasn’t that much more visually impressive. A somewhat formal looking jumpsuit with a vertical color split, which left one side white and the other blue. Izuku also took note of silver cuffs on both Todoroki’s wrists and ankles, but couldn’t come up with any guesses as to what they could possibly be for.
It took every ounce of willpower in Izuku’s body to not start rapid firing question upon question about Todoroki himself. About what it was like living with such a prolific Hero, if he ever trained with him and whether his Quirk resembled his father’s and, if so, by how much-!
“I dunno, Midnight basically went out of her way to tell us it’s him. I mean, ‘smash our expectations’? Seriously? She should change her nickname from ‘Queen of Pain’ to ‘Queen of Subtlety’.”
The fourth, and final, member of Izuku’s impromptu circle of acquaintances, a boy by the name of Hitoshi Shinsou, lazily retorted to Todoroki’s pessimism, his fingers forming air-quotes to emphasize the sarcastic title. He even went so far as rolling his eyes slightly, drawing Izuku’s attention to how bloodshot and tired looking they were.
Lack of energy non-withstanding, Shinsou’s hero costume certainly had more flair to it than either Kirishima or Todoroki’s. An elegant two-piece suit and fedora, all dark gray, and a long, mauve duster-coat called together the image of an old-world detective. In fact, Izuku could almost swear he smelled the semi-sweet scent of cigar smoke hovering around Shinsou like an unseen guardian angel.
However, regardless of his costume’s aesthetic, just glancing at the indigo-haired boy made Izuku want to take a 12 hour long nap.
...And speaking of being tired, Mina’s eyes looked like they were trying to race Shinsou’s to an early grave.
As if to lend even more credence to that theory, Mina chose that particular moment to let out an impressive yawn that forced her eyes shut and gave Izuku a moment to carefully inspect her own costume without fear of getting caught staring.
As his gaze zeroed-in on his friend (Are we technically friends? Sure, we exchanged phone numbers and I didn't go out of my way to correct Midnight when she’d identified Mina as such, but still. It wasn’t like we've ever verbally confirmed it?) the sound of the other boys’ continued chatting about the likelihood of All Might’s impending appearance fell away into focused silence.
Mina’s outfit was… Well, for lack of a better word, it was very practical, considering the nature of her Quirk. Offering up a fusion of necessary exposure and thoughtful protection.
The foremost layer of clothing was a skintight bodysuit, the same general color as Mina’s skin, with deliberately placed slits in the fabric at key areas (the sides of her forearms, upper thighs, shoulders, hands, lower back, and stomach) that exposed the flesh underneath to the open air. To better facilitate her ability to secrete acid without interference from her clothing, Izuku’s brain unhelpfully supplied after forcing him to visualize all of those parts of Mina’s body during his analysis.
On top of the bodysuit was an amalgam of more standard protective wear, bearing a mixture of pitch-black and vibrant pinks that kept the open spots of the under wear exposed: finger/palm-less gloves with reinforced knuckles, elbow and knee pads, robust cargo pants that hugged her legs, steel-toed boots with visible slits around the sole, and, last but not least, a body warmer-style jacket that was most likely filled with some kind of protective material instead of the usual stuffing.
(Potentially carbon plating or maybe some sort of ballistics gel to help absorb the force of impacts?)
Topping off the entire ensemble was a small, white domino mask perched on Mina’s face. It served to draw attention to her obsidian eyes thanks to the direct color contrast, a small detail which Izuku found he liked very much. There was just something pleasantly mesmerizing about her eyes, a comfortable hum in his gut whenever they turned his way that he found himself craving whenever he thought about it.
And, as if right on cue, Izuku was suddenly hit by the full-force of that feeling when Mina’s eyes finally reopened after finishing up with her yawn and caught him giving her outfit a full, comprehensive examination. Her eyes went slightly wide, her expression bordering on the edge of confusion and embarrassment.
An apology was already composing itself on the tip of Izuku’s tongue, the words ingrained into his very soul after a childhood spent giving them for any and everything, both big and small.
However, he never got the chance because, without warning, an unknown shape suddenly crashed down with a deafening bang several dozen feet away from the crowd of students.
The abrupt impact kicked up an impressive amount of dust; the fallen object’s fall resembling a small meteor with the sheer force of its collision. Everyone remained silent in the wake of the unexpected explosion of noise and debris, their eyes now glued on ground zero.
Seconds ticked by and the dust obscuring the center of the newborn crater slowly but surely dissipated. At first the only thing anyone could make out was a vaguely humanoid shadow standing within the veil of kicked up dirt. However, before anyone could so much as think about moving from where their feet remained rooted to the ground, the unknown figure leapt upwards into the sky.
With wide eyes and apprehension filling their hearts, all of the gathered students finally witnessed the new arrival’s unconcealed appearance.
They had spiked gray hair, ambiguously militaristic clothing stretched over a hulking frame, and an imposing respirator hiding their entire face. Whoever they were, they appeared to have a powerful, masculine body shape, if their overall resemblance to a sturdily constructed brick shit-house was anything to go by.
Soon enough, the mystery person landed back on solid earth, now only a scant handful of meters away from the nearest student. For several painstaking seconds, the only sound to be heard was the steady rasp of the intruder’s breathing through their filtered mask; the noise akin to the angry growls of a broken war machine. If one looked closely enough, they could even pick out hot puffs of steaming breath escaping from the seams of the mask.
The world remained utterly still, nobody able to muster up the courage to so much as question the newcomer about who they were or what they wanted. That was, however, until Izuku’s eyes fell to an oddly shaped mass of white and black at the intruder’s side. There was a small bundle of familiar fur and clothing hanging from their left hand, dripping a disturbing amount of sinister crimson into a growing puddle at their feet.
Izuku’s heart froze solid, even as he found himself helpless to stop the question slipping out from between his, suddenly dry, lips.
“...Principal Nedzu-?”
As if in direct response to Izuku’s barely audible question, the mysterious figure proceeded to nonchalantly toss the motionless body of the school’s eccentric principal onto the ground in front of them. It rolled once, twice, and then a third and final time before coming to a stop with the former principal’s face limply pressed into the ground.
Nedzu’s diminutive form seemed so much smaller, so much more fragile, in that moment. He looked like a broken doll whose owner had played with too roughly before throwing away. Nothing more than a lifeless mass of cold flesh and bone that would never again move of its own volition.
Nothing about this felt real. It had to be a bad dream, just a holdover from someone else’s nightmare that somehow forgot to end on its own.
Somewhere behind Izuku, someone began violently retching.
Then, without uttering so much as a single word, the harbinger of Nedzu’s unceremonious demise raised a bloodstained hand and pointed directly at Izuku’s huddled group.
The gesture’s meaning was clear as day; something that sent a violent chill down the spines of everyone involved.
[ Y O U ’ R E N E X T ]
|
It was the first day back from Christmas vacation during your senior year at Hetalia Academy. You were in the last class of the day European History which was taught by Mr. Braginski who was Russian. Mr. Braginski was your crush ever since you quite literally ran into him on your first day at Hetalia Academy as a freshman. The moment you two met replayed in your head.
~Flashback~
'Oh great, I'm going to be late to my first class on my first day at Hetalia Academy!' You said to yourself inside your head as you ran as fast as you could to your classroom. You turned the corner and crashed into someone, knocking them over and landing on top.
"Oh? You have quite the guts to ram into me like that, da?" A man with violet eyes wearing a light brown cardigan sweater, tan dress pants, and a pinkish white scarf said in a Russian accent as a dark aura formed around his body. Everyone around you two started whispering and giving you concerned looks. You immediately got off the man who looked like he was one of the teachers here.
"I'm really sorry, I was just in a hurry to my first class. I didn't mean to run into you, honest!" You apologized and offered to help the man up. He took your hand and you helped him get to his feet.
"I suppose since it was an accident I can let it go. I'm Mr. Braginski, the European History teacher here." Mr. Braginski said as his dark aura disappeared and a smile made its way onto his face. As soon as he smiled, you fell in love with the guy.
"I'm (y/n). And again, I'm sorry about running into you. I need to head to class now though or I'll be late. Nice to meet you Mr. Braginski." You said as you took off again to your class as you blushed madly. You knew he was a teacher, but he was handsome as hell. You'd think that lots of girls in the school would have a crush on him, but they, along with everyone else just seemed scared of him.
~End of Flashback~
You never understood why everyone seemed to be afraid of Mr. Braginski. They always say that he's scary and stuff, but all you see in Mr. Braginski is someone who seems tough on the outside to hide a much more vulnerable persona. You can relate to that because you're like that too. Your parents were physically and verbally abusive towards you. Eventually you were taken away from them by Children's Protective Services at five years old and put in foster care where you were bullied by the other foster kids. You've gone through many foster homes over the years. All of this abuse has built you up to who you are today: someone who seems tough and has earned herself a bad reputation but in reality is a vulnerable person full of hurt and painful memories. The only reason you're at Hetalia Academy is because of a scholarship for your excellent grades. You may have been a trouble maker, but you were damn smart. The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. You then started to head to your foster home. It was winter and your feet crunched through the snow as you walked home. When you entered the house, you were confronted by your foster parents.
"(y/n) we have to tell you something. Please don't be mad at us." Your foster mother said as you looked at her, puzzled.
"You're moving to another foster home. The foster care organization found out that we have been taking care of one more foster child than they allow. And since you're the one who's been here for the least amount of time, we're sending you off. I hope you understand." Your foster father said as you got mad.
"So why did you even take me in if you knew you were taking in more than the foster care organization's policy allows?!" You yelled at your foster mother and father.
"Honey, we love children and we want to help those in need. And when we saw that you were in desperate need of a foster home, we couldn't turn our backs away." Your foster mother said as she reached out to comfort you, but you smacked her hand away.
"And you were willing to risk the foster care organization finding you out and took me in anyways just because you care about children in need. Well look how that worked out!" You yelled and ran upstairs to your bedroom that you shared with 4 other kids. Fortunately, the other kids weren't in the room so you locked the door, sliding down it while bursting into tears. You heard two pairs of footsteps approaching the door.
"Honey I know it's hard, but it is what it is." You foster father said through the door.
"Pack up your stuff. Your new foster father will be here at 7:00 tonight." You foster mother told you through the door.
~Time Skip~
It was 7:00 pm and you were finishing up your last dinner at this foster home when there was a knock at the front door.
"Ah! That must be (y/n)'s new foster father!" Your foster mother said as she got up to answer the door and your foster father got up and followed her.
"Welcome Mr. Braginski! Please come inside. We're just finishing up dinner." You heard your foster mother say.
'Wait what?! Did she just say Mr. Braginski?! No, it can't be! Maybe it's a different Mr. Braginski.' You said to yourself inside of your head.
"(y/n)'s over here finishing up her dinner." You foster father said as he and your foster mother came into the dining room where you and eight other foster kids were eating the last of the food on their plates. Both yours and Mr. Braginski's eyes widened when you saw each other.
"(y/n)?!" "Mr. Braginski?!" Both of you said simultaneously.
"Oh so you already know each other?" Your foster father asked.
"Yes. (y/n) is my student in my European History class at Hetalia Academy." Mr. Braginski said, smiling.
"Well (y/n), it looks like you won't be starting completely anew. You already know your new foster father." Your foster mother chuckled.
"Are you all packed up and ready to go (y/n)?" Mr. Braginski asked you as you finished the last of the milk in the glass.
"Yeah. I'll go get my stuff." You said as you got up from the table and headed upstairs to get your things. When you gathered up everything, you went downstairs to leave with Mr. Braginski. You waved farewell to your now former foster parents, loaded the car, got inside and Mr. Braginski drove off with you.
"So Mr. Braginski, what made you want to be a foster dad?" You asked Mr. Braginski.
"Well I was kind of lonely at my place so I thought why not be a foster parent. It was a pure coincidence that I ended up with you. I didn't even know you were a foster child. Anyways you can call me Ivan, but it's still Mr. Braginski at school." Ivan said as he pulled into the garage of his house. You got your luggage out of the trunk of his car and brought it inside. It was pretty cold inside and it was winter.
"Where can I put my stuff?" You asked Ivan while shivering.
"Just put it in my bedroom." He said as you stopped in your tracks.
"Wait, I don't get my own bedroom? Also, aren't you cold in here?" You asked Ivan who looked at you and smiled.
"Nope, I'm Russian so I'm used to the cold. I save money on heating if I have the temperature set lower. This is a two bedroom house. The second bedroom I use as an off campus office." Ivan said, still smiling.
'So you decide to be a foster parent, but you don't even have a bedroom for the kid.' You thought to yourself as you brought your stuff to Ivan's bedroom. You put on your pajamas so you wouldn't have to do it later and started working on your homework. When you were finished with your homework, you went over to Ivan's office.
"Hey Ivan? Where am I going to sleep? Do you have a sleeping bag, inflatable mattress, or pullout couch I can sleep on?" You asked Ivan who looked at his watch.
"Oh it's this late already? You can share the bed with me. It's a king size so it should fit both of us. Any objections?" Ivan said, a faint but dark aura forming around him.
'There he goes again with his tough guy aura.' You thought to yourself.
"No objections." You said with a blank expression on your face as you headed back to the master bedroom. To be honest, you were super happy that you would be sharing a bed with your crush. You were internally screaming like a fangirl. You climbed into the huge king size bed and waited for Ivan to join you. It was cold inside the house and the covers weren't as warm as they looked. So you curled up into a ball to keep warm but to no avail. You felt the mattress dip as Ivan got into the bed. Then you felt a pair of warm, strong arms snake around you and pull you up against a broad, bare chest.
"You cold? I'll keep you warm." Ivan said as you whipped your head around to face him. He was only in his boxers which made you blush.
"I-Ivan? Why are you only in your underwear? Aren't you embarrassed?" You asked Ivan as he shook his head no.
"No, not really. It's just what I wear to bed." He answered as he held you closer, making you blush even more. His body warmth quickly made you drowsy and soon you fell asleep in his gentle embrace. Early the next morning, you were woken up by Ivan moaning. He was still holding onto you.
"(y-y/n)..." Ivan moaned again as his grasp on you tightened a bit more and you felt something long and hard poking you in the back and it was growing in size. You started to blush madly when you realized the thing poking you was Ivan's penis.
"(y/n)... inside... feels so good." Ivan moaned as he started dry humping you in his sleep.
'Ehh?! Is he having a wet dream about me?!' You thought to yourself inside your head as you tried to wriggle free from his grasp. Ivan only held you closer and kept thrusting, causing his penis to rub against your back. You couldn't escape his hold so you were stuck and had to deal with it.
'Man Ivan is strong! This is quite awkward.' You thought to yourself as you endured the ordeal.
"C-cumming!" Ivan announced in his sleep as his thrusts became more frantic before finally stopping. You then felt a warm liquid seep into the back of your pajama shirt. After Ivan came, his grip on you loosened and you were finally able to wriggle free. You then went to your suitcase and picked out an outfit and headed to the bathroom to shower, change and get ready for school. You threw your pajamas and dirty underwear in a pile, showered, put on your clean underwear and clothes, then brushed your hair. After you were finished with your hair, you picked up your pajama shirt and studied the semen spot on the middle of the back. You sniffed the wet spot before giving it a lick. The damp spot tasted musky yet oddly tasty.
'So this is what Ivan's semen tastes like. Wait, what the hell am I doing tasting my teacher's sperm?!' You said to yourself inside your head as you threw your pajama shirt back onto the dirty clothes pile. Just then, you heard a knock on the door.
"(y/n)? Are you done in there? I need to take a shower." Ivan's voice called on the other side of the bathroom door.
"Yeah, just a minute." You answered as you gathered your dirty clothes and opened the bathroom door to find Ivan there with a towel draped over his shoulders, only in his boxers which had a wet spot on his crotch area from when he ejaculated earlier. You blushed and hurried out of the bathroom and put your clothes in the dirty laundry basket before heading into the kitchen to make breakfast. Ivan joined you shortly after and the rest of the morning went by awkwardly and silently. You rode with Ivan to school, blushing the entire way there. You desperately hoped that no one would notice you get out of the car with Ivan when you got there. Unfortunately, three male students from one of your classes were in the parking lot heading to school and noticed you two.
"Hey (y/n), why are you catching a ride with Mr. Braginski?" One of the male students yelled at you in a mischievous tone.
"Did you and Mr. Braginski get down and dirty last night?" The second male student teased.
"You know that romantic relationships between teachers and students are against school policy, right? We're gonna have to tell the principal about this, huh boys?" The third male student said as he nodded at the other two students who nodded in response.
"Shut up! It's not like that!" You yelled back at the boys angrily.
"Ooh defending your lover, eh?" The first boy teased again.
"If you don't shut the hell up, I'm gonna kick your ass!" You yelled back out of anger again, raising your fist at them threateningly. Just then, you felt a large hand touch your shoulder. You looked up at Mr. Braginski who had a serious look on his face.
"Let me handle this. I don't want you getting in trouble." Mr. Braginski said to you as you reluctantly backed down. Mr. Braginski stepped in front of you.
"(y/n) is telling the truth. I'm her new foster father so she lives with me now." Mr. Braginski told the boys who didn't seem convinced, they just started laughing. Mr. Braginski was getting mad now as the dark aura started to fume off of him.
"I don't recall anything in the school policy forbidding a teacher from being a foster parent to a student. If you have proof of that, you can go ahead and tell the principal. If you don't have any proof, then scram before I do something about you guys." Mr. Braginski raised his voice a little as the dark aura grew even more, making the boys cower in front of him before running away off to their classes.
"Thanks for keeping me out of trouble." You thanked Mr. Braginski smiling up at him.
"It's no problem. Normally as a teacher I would take you to the principal's office for threatening other students, but since I'm your foster father now, I have to keep you out of trouble too. I'll see you at seventh period, da?" Mr. Braginski said as you nodded your head yes and headed off to your first class. During the entire school day, your mind was fixated on what happened this morning back in Mr. Braginski's bed and what those boys in the parking lot teased you about. Things only got more awkward for you when you arrived at Mr. Braginski's classroom for European History. You couldn't quite pay attention to what Mr. Braginski was teaching and he noticed your mind was off on its own tangent, but he let it go. He figured he'd just go over it with you after you went home together.
~Time Skip~
When you got home, you went directly to your shared bedroom to do your homework for European History. Fortunately in all your other classes, you were just reviewing content for tests so you had no homework in those classes. Mr. Braginski's class moved at a slightly faster pace and you just had a test so you were onto the next section and therefore had homework. You were sitting on the bed, stuck on the first question of your worksheet because you couldn't recall what Mr. Braginski taught earlier. You began to shiver because of how cold Mr. Braginski kept his house in the winter. Suddenly a warm pair of strong arms wrapped around you.
"Stuck on the first question, da?" Mr. Braginski asked you as you jumped.
"M-Mr. Braginski?!" You yelped in surprise.
"It's Ivan when we're at home, remember? Anyways, I figured you would get stuck here. I noticed that your mind was elsewhere when I was teaching today. Would you care to tell me what you were thinking about when you should have been paying attention in class?" Ivan asked you as you looked back at him guiltily.
"Umm... I was thinking about what happened this morning before we got ready for school." You answered, hoping that Ivan would leave it at that. But unfortunately, he wanted more details.
"What do you mean?" He asked you. It almost seemed like he knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wanted you to tell him directly. So you guessed you had no choice but to tell him.
"W-well, uh, this morning y-you started moaning my name while dry humping me in your sleep. Th-then you came on the back of my pajama shirt." You said while starting to blush madly. Ivan chuckled at your cuteness.
"Do you know why I dreamed about you in that way?" Ivan asked you in a low seductive tone as you started to get aroused from the sound of his voice so close to your ear.
"Это потому что я люблю тебя." He whispered huskily in your ear. That sent pleasurable shivers down your spine when he said "It's because I love you" in Russian. You knew a little bit of Russian because you had a friend who was a Russian international student at your middle school and you asked him to teach you some Russian before he left for his home country at the end of the school year.
"You were cold a minute ago, but now you're unbelievably warm. (y/n) are you getting aroused?" Ivan asked you as you started to blush even more.
"W-well who's fault do you think that is?" You said while pouting and crossing your arms. Ivan chuckled a little.
"It's my fault, I know. So I will take responsibility for it." Ivan said seductively. Before you could react, he pinned you down on the bed while holding your wrists firmly beside your head and kissed you passionately. Your eyes widened at his sudden action but then you closed them as you melted into the kiss. Ivan started to grind his hips into yours, allowing you to feel his large erection which caused you to gasp. He took this opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth. Both your tongues danced together in a hot wet tango. Unfortunately, both of you needed air so you broke the kiss as a string of saliva formed between your tongues. You panted from the heated make out session as Ivan began taking off his clothes, revealing his muscular body. He then started to undress you and you didn't resist because you've actually wanted to do this with him. You've fantasized about this moment for quite a while now. But as soon as the cold air hit your skin, you curled up into a ball to keep warm. Ivan surrounded you with a warm and gentle embrace.
"Don't worry, you'll warm up soon. Обещаю." Ivan said in a low voice before leaning in for another passionate kiss. It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside when he said "I promise" in his native tongue. Here you were, completely exposed to your European History teacher/foster father yet you didn't feel a tinge of embarrassment. Maybe it's because you had been yearning for Ivan for so long. Ivan broke the kiss and began making a trail down your chin, then your neck, then to the valley of your breasts before latching on to your left breast while massaging the right breast with his left hand. He did this for a while before switching breasts, giving the opposite one the same treatment. You were a moaning mess now and your womanhood was getting wetter and hotter by the second and you were aching for him to be inside you.
"I-Ivan! I need you inside me now... please." You pleaded as he stopped playing with your breasts.
"But you're a virgin aren't you (y/n)? It's going to hurt." Ivan warned as he hovered over you.
"Yes I'm a virgin, but I don't care about the pain. All I want right now is for you to be inside of me. And we've already come this far." You said as you panted.
"Alright, but I can't guarantee that I will be able to hold myself back once inside." Ivan said as he got into position. Even though you wanted Ivan really bad, you couldn't help but flinch a little when he prodded the tip of his penis lightly against your entrance. You raised your head up and saw how long and thick Ivan's shaft was. You panicked a little and gripped Ivan's shoulders tightly.
"This is going to hurt. Just take deep breaths." Ivan said before inserting himself inside of you and breaking past your hymen, moaning as he did because of how tight you were around his penis. You yelped in pain, digging your nails into his skin as you felt like your walls were being torn apart. Ivan hissed in slight pain as your nails drew a little blood, but he kept easing himself inside of you slowly. Eventually he was all the way in. He then waited for you to adjust to his presence inside you, but you could tell he was using all of his will power to hold himself back. Ivan sometimes rocked his hips back and forth ever so slightly to cope with his impatience and desire, still careful not to hurt you as you continued to adjust to him. After a couple minutes, the pain turned into the desire for stimulation.
"You can move now." You told Ivan. He wasted no time and started thrusting into you slowly at first, but then sped up until he was thrusting hard and fast. Both of you moaned as you dove into the depths of pleasure together. At one point, Ivan hit a spot that made you drown in ecstasy, your g-spot.
"Ah-ahh~ Ivan~! Hit there again!" You moaned out as Ivan nodded his head and aimed for that spot over and over again. This drove you over the edge and you quickly reached your orgasm. You came and your walls tightened around Ivan's penis, causing him to reach his orgasm too.
"(y-y/n) I'm cumming!" He announced as his thrusts became more frantic and he released his semen deep inside of you. He gave a few more weak thrusts before pulling out. Some of Ivan's semen leaked out of you as he collapsed beside you on the bed. The two of you panted heavily, trying to regain your breath. You suddenly sat up in a bit of a panic. Ivan sat up as well.
"Is there something wrong (y/n)?" Ivan asked you before planting a kiss on your cheek which made you blush a little.
"I need help with the homework worksheet for your class that's due tomorrow and it's getting late." You told Ivan.
"I'll help you with it tomorrow and postpone the due date by one day. Just get some rest tonight." Ivan said kindly as he laid back down on the bed and you followed his lead. He kissed you on the forehead before pulling the covers over the both of you and held you close to his bare chest.
"Я люблю тебя." Ivan said to you sweetly.
"I love you too, Ivan." You responded as you inched up to give him a peck on the lips. Ivan leaned down to meet your lips and kissed you passionately. After your lips parted, you guys cuddled for a while before falling asleep.
|
Steve's skill with a bow had improved since the Collegium. He wasn't up to Bucky's standards—he'd never be up to Bucky's standards—but hunting for their dinner had honed his abilities. It had taken him hardly any time at all to come back with the brace of rabbits that were roasting over the fire.
These sorts of nights were his favourites. The sky was clear, their Companions were content, peacefully grazing next to the mules, Honey tethered out of reach. Bucky was leaning against his legs, whittling something unrecognisable and Sam was whistling—one of the bouncy, cheerful tunes common around Lake Evendim—while he tended the rabbits.
Steve dropped a kiss on Bucky's hair, saw a smile curl the corner of Bucky's mouth, and went back to leaning on his hands, staring up at the sky, watching the stars come out.
Suddenly, all three Companions lifted their heads. :A Herald's coming,: Winter sent.
:But it's not an emergency,: Shield added thoughtfully.
Steve turned to look at them. Riley was giving them both a sour look. Steve knew he still didn't think much of their tendency to talk to both him and Bucky, and the less said about them carrying them both the better, even if it didn't bother Sam.
"Might need to break into the Waystation stores after all," Sam said mournfully. "I don't think these bunnies are going to stretch to four, not even with the greens Bucky brought back."
The sound of hoofbeats and bridle bells arrived before the Herald, but it wasn't long before she was trotting into the clearing, waving and calling a cheery, "Hello," and, "Don't worry, I'm not staying, I'm riding courier so I'm heading through to the inn."
Her Companion arched his neck, looking smug, and their three exchanged amused looks. He had a coltish look to him, and Steve was guessing he was young. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about before, but next to Shield, Winter, and Riley—he seemed young.
She was sliding off, digging into her saddlebags, striding over to Sam. "I'm Myrian. You're Samuel, right?"
"Call me Sam, but yes."
"I have a message for you," she offered him an envelope, sealed with the Circle's seal, "and I'm supposed to take an answer back in the morning."
Sam's eyebrows hit his hairline, but he said, "Alright," easily enough.
"I'll wait at the inn for you."
"We'll come and find you, or, can you mindspeak your Companion?"
"Yes?"
"Then I'll have Riley send a message to him if we get held up."
She blinked, like that hadn't occurred to her, then grinned. "Perfect." She turned to Steve and Bucky, glancing between them, holding another envelope. "And I have a letter for James."
Bucky tensed, Steve felt a flash of worry—anything coming by courier wasn't going to be good news—but she hurriedly added, "It's not important. They only sent it with me because I was coming anyway." She paused as her eyes widened slightly. "No, that's not what I meant. Of course someone writing to you is important. I just meant it's not courier important." She paused again, glancing over her shoulder at her Companion, who was staring at her imploringly.
Bucky's flash of worry was completely gone, replaced by amusement.
"I mean it's not urgent. I'm sure it's very important."
Bucky held out his hand, putting her out of her misery. "Thank you for bringing my letter," he said gravely.
She set it in his hand and muttered, "Sorry. This is why they have me riding courier."
"It's fine," Bucky said with a chuckle. "You're fine. That was exactly what I needed to know. And you did stop me from worrying about it."
"You're welcome to join us for dinner," Steve offered.
"Thanks, but no. I'm going to head to the inn before I run out of feet to put in my mouth."
When she was gone, Steve and Bucky both zeroed in on Sam.
"I can't see through the paper," he said without looking up.
"So open it," Bucky said.
"Come take over dinner, and I will."
Sam moved over on the log and Bucky went to sit next to him, poking at dinner while Sam opened the letter. Sam was an enigma when he wanted to be, and neither Steve nor Bucky got anything from him but the crinkle of paper; if Sam didn't want them to know something, they didn't know it.
When he finished reading it, he carefully put it back in the envelope, folded it, and slid it into his belt pouch.
"Sam?" Steve asked.
"After dinner."
There was no arguing with Sam when he used that tone.
Bucky gave the bunnies back to Sam and opened his letter. Steve watched him, distracted from the question of Sam's. He knew who it had to be from. They didn't write often, but once or twice a year a letter would arrive from Bucky's family. They were almost never personal, beyond the standard asking after his health. Steve's health, too, once Bucky had told them about him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd never quite made peace with how he felt about Bucky's family. "Your parents?"
"My parents."
"Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. Goats are doing well. Another cousin got married."
"That's good."
Bucky gave him a long look, then wandered over to sit next to him, leaning into his side.
"Goats, huh?" Sam asked.
"The finest silky coated goats in Valdemar," Bucky replied. "I'll get them to send you a sweater." He gave Sam a narrow-eyed look. "Even if you won't tell us what's in the letter."
Sam laughed and started dishing out dinner.
When they'd cleaned up, tucked the Companions and mules in for the night, and settled into the Waystation, lanterns hung high, Sam gestured at them to sit.
Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, then sat side by side on their bed. Sam sat on his. Studying them.
"You're over a year into your internship."
Steve didn't say anything. Bucky slowly nodded.
"I'm just standing by in case things go disastrously wrong, and I was right when I said that wasn't going to happen," he added.
Steve felt his own swell of pride echoed from Bucky.
"You're older than most Heralds are at this point, and not just in years, so I'm going to leave this choice up to you. I'm not sure that's what the Circle intended, but they weren't specific, so this is what I'm doing."
"It's going to be tough to make a decision if you don't tell us what we have to decide," Bucky pointed out, and Sam grinned at him.
"True. Alright. Before I got landed with you pair, I spent some time down on the Karsite border."
"We remember," Steve said.
Sam gave him a puzzled look.
"Sleeping in your soup?" Bucky said. "Riley told Winter where'd you been."
"Right. I didn't know he'd gone into detail. Anyway, point is, things are a bit different down there."
"A bit?" Steve said, more than a little dryly, and Sam huffed a small laugh.
"Sometimes a bit, but you're right, it's sometimes a lot. Right now, they need a Herald down there who knows the border. They've had two they've had to pull off—not dead, but injured, and they want to send me back."
"How did they get hurt?" Steve asked.
"That's an excellent question. One was just plain old bad luck. Slipped on a rocky slope and shattered his leg. The other," Sam fixed them with an intent look, "the Karsites got her. She was in a grey area of the border near Rethwellan, where its mostly bandits and brigands, she was there at the same time as the Sunsguard, and, well. You know how the Karsites feel about Heralds and Companions."
Steve wasn't sure if the surge of anger was his or Bucky's. "White Demons and Hellhorses."
Sam nodded. "Her Companion got her out, but she's in a bad way."
"What are you asking us, Sam?" Steve asked.
"I think what the Circle intended was to pull me off your internship and send me down, send another Herald up here to finish with you. What I'm offering you, if you want it, and I'm not sure you should want it, is to come with me and finish your internship on the border."
"Why?"
That was all Bucky asked, but Steve could feel what he meant, and he added, "Why are you not sure we should want it?"
"Because I'm torn." He sat up straighter and sighed. "We need more Heralds who know the border, but not everyone's suited for it. The two of you, the two of you together… I know Riley doesn't think much of you talking to each other's Companions, of riding each other's Companions, and I'm not gonna lie, at first it didn't do much for me, either. But it's part of why you're stronger together. And you are stronger together. I don't know if it's the lifebond or something more, but the two, no, the four of you together—and keep in mind I will deny saying this even under torture—are something special. As a Herald I want that for Valdemar. I want that trained to deal with the border. As Sam…" He shrugged. "Again, deny under torture, but I like you, damn it. You should be able to finish your internship in peace."
It was Bucky who smiled slyly. "You like us, huh?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "That's what you took away from that?"
Steve grabbed Bucky and slapped a hand over his mouth, but he was trying hard to hold back laughter, since Bucky was licking his palm. "Can you give us a minute?"
"I'll give you more than a minute. I'll give you a whole candlemark." He eyed them. "Two candlemarks, even. Do with it what you will, just air the place out when you're done."
When the door shut behind Sam, Steve took his hand off Bucky's mouth, wiping it on his pants.
"He likes us." Bucky batted his eyelashes and Steve shoved him. He tipped over on the bed, grinning, then yanked Steve down to lie beside him. Steve curled his knees up, so they were tucked against Bucky's shins, and Bucky folded an elbow under his head, slipping his other hand under Steve's shirt to rest against his skin.
The touch sent comforting warmth through both of them. Their heartbeats slowed and they breathed together, deep and even.
"What do you think?" Steve asked after some time had passed.
Bucky's mirth had faded. "I want to know what you think."
"Why?"
"Humour me."
"I want to do it, but only if we both agree it's what we should do."
Bucky was nodding. Whatever he was feeling, he was keeping it closed off from Steve. "I don't want to finish our internship with another Herald."
"That too." Steve knew how lucky they'd gotten with Sam. He'd been willing to take them both together, he'd adjusted to their relationship with each other's Companions. They liked Sam, and Steve knew neither of them wanted to give him up, not Sam and not what Sam could teach them.
That didn't mean Sam was right about the four of them being special. They weren't special; they were just them.
"We should ask Winter and Shield," Bucky said.
"Yeah," Steve agreed. :What do you two think?: he sent to both Shield and Winter, mindspeaking both automatic at this point.
:I think this is a decision you have to make for yourselves,: Winter replied, which was supremely unhelpful, and prompted a snort from Bucky, but not unsurprising.
"But you wouldn't be unhappy if we decided to go with Sam to the border?" Steve persisted.
:No, Chosen, we wouldn't be unhappy,: Shield replied.
"So it's down to us to decide," Steve said.
"It was always going to be."
"True. It'll be more dangerous than fishing disputes and missing horses." It wasn't a protest, and it wasn't a problem, but he needed to make sure Bucky considered everything.
"And pirates," Bucky pointed out. "Are you forgetting the pirates?"
"I was forgetting the pirates." He kissed the tip of Bucky's nose; he hadn't forgotten the pirates or the raiders or any of it, and he knew Bucky knew it. "Sorry."
"I should think so. How do you forget pirates? Seriously, Steve."
He bit back a smile.
"What part of being a Herald's not dangerous? It's what we do. It's what we are. And," Bucky was staring over Steve's shoulder, and he could almost see the thoughts coming together, "if Sam's right, if we are stronger together, if we can do more together than two other Heralds could, we should go. Because it's dangerous, because maybe it'll be less dangerous for us."
A glowing twist of pride and love burst to life in Steve.
A small smile played around Bucky's lips. "I can feel that."
"I know. Sorry." He wasn't sorry at all.
"You're not." Bucky's hand was drawing slow patterns on Steve's stomach.
"No," he admitted. Bucky laughed, and Steve leaned forward to kiss him softly, pressing their foreheads together.
"And from a purely selfish viewpoint," Bucky said, "if we're good at this, if they can use us together on the border, we've got a better chance of staying together."
Steve watched Bucky's fingers move under his shirt, dragging up to his chest and back down, tracing slow circles. Bucky was right. It wasn't why either of them were deciding the way they were, but Bucky was right.
He looked up at Bucky's face. "So we stay with Sam?"
"We stay with Sam." Bucky met his eyes, hand flattening against Steve's chest. "Are we done talking? Nothing else to decide?"
"I don't think so…"
Bucky pounced, rolling him over, straddling his hips and pinning his shoulders to the bed. "Good." He grinned as Steve laughed, dipping down to kiss him. "Because we've got the better part of two candlemarks alone with a bed, and I'm not wasting a second of it."
* * *
Whether the Circle had intended for Steve and Bucky to finish their internship with Sam or not, they didn't object to them going with him to the Border.
It was a long ride, back through Haven and down the South Trade Road, following the Terilee River. Steve had suggested, given they were passing back through Haven, and the Quartermaster was right there, they could swap Honey for a mule that didn't hate him.
Sam laughed, Honey brayed with suspiciously convenient timing, and Beans put his head down, like he didn't want to be involved in any of it.
"I guess that means we're keeping Honey?" Steve asked.
Sam grinned.
"We're keeping Honey," Bucky said, chuckling under his breath.
* * *
The land near the Karse border was tough, rocky and wild, mountains rising tall against the sky with high hills clinging to their sides.
It was the first place Bucky had ever been that Heralds weren't welcome, weren't wanted.
It wasn't the norm, and they hadn't actually encountered them yet, but a stretch of the border lands was occupied by Sensholding, home to the Holderkin, and they were famous for wanting nothing to do with Heralds. They had views about Heralds, and they weren't the kind of views that could be repeated in polite company.
No one else seemed to have a problem with Heralds. It was different down here, rougher, wilder, the border something they had to constantly be aware of, but there were still towns and villages and settlements and farms. There were still disputes to solve, Judgements to deliver, records to collect and livestock to be admired.
There was more fighting, bandits and raiders seeming to breed like rabbits in the rocky hillsides that stretched high only to drop into sudden valleys on the other side of the border.
There were more people on the roads, more people travelling along the passes through the hills, traders and wagon-folk and visitors. There were people from all across Valdemar who came to climb the hills to White Foal Pass, where Herald Lavan Firestorm had sacrificed himself to save Valdemar and end the last Karsite war.
They'd detoured to see it for themselves. Even a hundred years later, the pass still bore the marks of the fire he'd called down to burn the Karsite army to ash—the Karsite army and himself, his Companion already dead.
They'd stood silently, Heralds and Companions, heads bowed, then they'd silently turned and began to make their way down the narrow path.
* * *
One big difference about riding Circuit so close to the Karsite border was how closely it meant working with the Guard.
How to work effectively with the Guard had been part of their training: how the Guard was structured, its ranks and traditions, they'd been trained to fit themselves around the edges of an active Guard unit without interfering—and how, if needed, to take charge of one.
The circumstances that could give rise to that were rare and, even if they did arise, neither he nor Bucky would ever dream of wielding their meagre experience against an experienced Guard unit. Especially not this experienced Guard unit, who were greeting Sam like he was one of their long-lost brethren returned at last.
"What did Sam say they were called?" Steve asked.
Bucky looked at him askance and Winter snorted. "You remember, you just can't believe it."
He tilted his head sideways in acknowledgment. Some Guard units ended up with nicknames, they'd met a few here and there, but Howlies was a strange one.
"And these are my interns," Sam said, freeing himself from the hugs and exuberant backslaps. "Steve and Shield," he pointed, "and Bucky and Winter," he pointed again.
"Baby Heralds!" one of the guards said gleefully, while another stared at Sam in disbelief.
"You brought baby Heralds to the border?"
Steve and Bucky looked at each other, amusement flowing between them at the way the guards were talking to Sam like they couldn’t hear them. They weren't offended, not by the attitude and not by being called baby Heralds. By the standards of an experienced unit of Karsite border guard, they probably were baby Heralds.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Riley's ears pricked forward; he looked delighted. "No, not baby Heralds. They're new but they're good. I wouldn’t have brought them with me if they weren't."
The eyes watching them turned speculative.
"Well that changes things a bit." The large blond guard with the bushy moustache offered them a slow smile. "If Sam says you're good you might even survive down here."
"We'll do our best," Bucky said.
"If you see them on the wrong Companions," Sam added, "don't worry about it. They're weird that way."
"Thanks, Sam," Steve said dourly.
"My pleasure," Sam replied with a grin. "Let's get you settled and then we can do introductions. I'm looking forward to sleeping in a room I don't have to share with your snoring." He waited a beat. "Or anything else."
* * *
"Have you told them about the demons?" Gabe asked, clearly addressing Sam, who'd dropped into a chair next to the fireplace, close enough his Whites were going to end up sooty if he wasn't careful.
Introductions had been made over dinner, the Heralds seated among the guards, white uniforms bright next to the guard's dark blue, and they'd never seen Sam so at ease with people who weren't Heralds.
They'd settled in the Guard Post's common room afterwards. It was toasty, with fireplaces at each end, battered comfortable furniture, and Bucky was warm, full, and had a mug of ale. Winter was tucked away with Shield and Riley in the stables, all three warm and fed and groomed, in proper looseboxes designed for Companions. Steve was tucked next to him, the two of them curled together in the ridiculously comfortable chair. They had a room to themselves for the night, and not one member of the Howlies—he didn't know why Steve thought the nickname was strange; Bucky thought it suited them—had given a damn they were sharing it.
Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I haven't told them about the demons."
Steve interrupted the boos and tsks of disappointment to point out, "We're Heralds, we've heard of demons before."
"Have you now?" Falsworth asked, deliberately sinister as he slowly leaned forward in his chair.
"Yes?" Bucky waved politely, drawing every eye to him.
Sam covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
"Remember Herald Vanyel?" Bucky continued. "There's," he made a show of counting on his fingers, first one hand, then the other, then he grabbed Steve's hand and started counting on his fingers, then threw up his hands and said, "too many songs to count about Herald Vanyel fighting demons. Most of them are awful, but they exist. It's been over three hundred years and they still exist. So we know about demons."
This was greeted with scoffing, laughing, and general, all-purpose mocking.
Dugan wandered in, ale in hand, and dragged a chair closer, sitting down in a purposeful way. "You don't know about demons, boys. You know about songs. We're going to tell you about demons. About real demons."
As if on cue, wind howled down the chimney, making the fire flicker. Completely against his will, Bucky jumped, felt a matching puff of startlement flow into him from Steve.
Morita laughed evilly.
"Did you pick up a Gift somewhere along the way?" Sam asked.
"We've spent too much time down here. The wind's starting to bend to his will," Gabe replied.
"Uh huh." Sam's look was dubious, but Dugan grinned.
"All right," Dugan said. "You Heralds have your tales, I'll give you those. Well we in the Guard have our tales, too. But those ones, people don't sing songs about." He paused long enough to let silence settle. "I've been in this unit since I joined the Guard. My Da was in this unit and his Da before him, and his Da before that, going all the way back to the last Karsite War. That's when it became the Howlies."
Dugan raised his mug in a salute, and the rest of the Howlies did the same.
"None of us have seen a war, and Kernos willing we won't. What see down here is bad enough. But my Grandda told me stories that his Da told him. The endless waiting to fight. The lines of tents bivouacked on the border. How at night, even with guards on watch, with patrols riding out, even with Heralds standing by," he nodded at Sam, "the damn Karsite Sunpriests would send their creatures—their demons—to howl around the tents. Couldn't be seen, couldn't be stopped, and in the morning people would just be lying in their bedrolls dead, not a mark on them." He took a long drink. "There was nothing to fight. Just voices in the night killing people."
Steve's focus on Dugan was so intent he felt like strained rope through their bond and Bucky knew if he could somehow follow the winding path of Dugan's words into the past to try and stop it, he would. He slid his hand down Steve's arm and curled his fingers over Steve's. Steve's hand closed over his and Bucky settled closer to him.
"But my Greatgrandda and his mates, see, they weren't going to stand for that. Weren't going to stand by and let people die. The way they figured it, only sleeping people were dying. So when the demons started up their howling they started howling themselves. Howling to drown out the demons, howling to keep people awake, howling to each other to check in while they went from tent to tent, making sure people woke up, making sure they stayed awake."
The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks in to the air, but no one moved, everyone watching Dugan.
"Eventually they started calling them the Howlies. Of course, that was before you Heralds got your Herald Firestorm involved," he continued. "After that, it was a rout." He raised his mug to Sam, then tipped it towards Steve and Bucky. "I've got to admit, Heralds can be useful."
The air seemed to shiver, releasing the same tension Bucky felt flowing out of Steve, everyone relaxing, leaning back, refilling glasses.
"The Guard's records," Steve asked. "Do those demons show up again?"
"Not those ones," Dugan replied. "But demons are the Karsite weapon of choice. There'll always be more demons. And if there are, the Howlies'll deal with them."
Steve opened his mouth and Bucky knew this risked turning into an impromptu demon lesson, but Sam jumped in first. "How about a different story. Maybe one with not so many demons."
Dugan grinned slyly. "You mean like the first time you got sent to the border and you and Riley got stuck in the—"
"Nope, no! Not that one. You were sworn to secrecy."
"I've got one," Gabe said, turning to Montgomery. "You remember? That Bard that came traipsing through last spring, following his divine inspiration. What was his name again?"
"Hmm, let me see. Lorris? Lerris?"
"Lerris, that was it." Gabe grinned. "I don't know if he ever found his divine inspiration, but he did find the pointy end of one of the oldest, meanest bucks around, right in the middle of rutting season, and I don't know much about music, but apparently neither do deer, since he thought the Bard's pipes were a rival buck."
"Was he…alright?" Bucky asked, head tilted as he tried not to imagine the possibilities.
"Oh, he was fine. We found him perched at the very top of a tree, swaying gently in the breeze, honking his pipes as loud as he could, calling for help. And every time he'd honk his pipes, the buck would bellow and charge the tree."
Steve made a sound suspiciously like a giggle.
"Turns out life in Haven," Montgomery said, "might not prepare you for roughing it on the border, but it did teach him impressive tree climbing skills."
"I don't know," Sam replied, "he came looking for divine inspiration. Sounds like he was deeply inspired to climb the tree."
|
Sonia and I stumbled at the sound, “What in the world was that? It sounded like it came for the ruins! Let’s go check it out, Vic!” I nodded and we ran up the steps, pushing aside a few people who got in our way. As we headed to the top, we saw Bede with a Copperajah, he seemed very annoyed,
“Destroy it! Destroy it all! We got to find those Wishing Stars! We’ve got to bring the Chairman more Stars to please him! Copperajah, if you’re truly the Chairman’s Pokemon then you’ll be honored at a chance to help him!
“What are you doing? Stop it!” I ran up to Bede who just scoffed,
“Oh, you again? What’s the matter, still angry that your boyfriend doesn’t want you anymore?” I got irritated and clenched my fist and raised it, but Sonia stopped me,
“Vic, I know you wanna hurt him, but what would Hop, or your mother think if you resorted to this!” Sonia was right, as much as I hated Bede for insulting everything I cared about, I won’t stoop this low.
“You’re gonna destroy a historical site, Bede! Think about what you’re doing!” Bede got angry,
“You just wanna steal the Wishing Stars for yourself and gain the Chairman’s favor! Well, I won’t let you stop me!” Bede took out his Pokeball and I did the same, I smirked,
“I’ve been itching to crush you for what you did to Hop.”
Bede sent out a Duosion and I sent out Butterfree, Looks like he trained up his Pokemon, “Looks like you got stronger, Bede, still that’s not gonna matter much.” I smirked which caused him to get beet red,
“I’ll show you! Duosion use Psybeam,” I wanted to end this right here and now. I was furious; he insulted Hop, he crushed his spirit, unforgivable, unforgivable…. Those words repeated in my head endlessly,
“Butterfree, dodge and use Bug Buzz!” Butterfree, flew towards Duosion ad flapped at fast speeds sending waves of sound at it. “Now, use Air Slash,” Butterfree gave no time for Duosion to react, “finish it with a tackle!” Butterfree defeated Duosion easily, “Bring out your next Pokemon Bede, or are you too afraid to go up against me?” I saw no joy in this battle, all I felt was rage. Bede stammered and stumbled as he sent out his Gothorita.
“Gothorita use-” I stomped my foot,
“Butterfree use Bug buzz!” Butterfree obeyed and attacked Gothorita. Butterfree followed my every command regardless.
“You? How could you be so strong? Shouldn’t be dejected that I crushed Hop?” I got angry,
“Don’t you dare use his name like that! You’re the reason he’s like this. For that it’s unforgivable! Butterfree use Air Slash!” Butterfree’s attack knocked out Gothorita.
“Okay, Victor I give, I give!” Bede looked helpless; I relented and called Butterfree to me. Bede then sent out his Ponyta and tried to sneak attack me. I saw it coming though,
“You’re pathetic; Butterfree use Stun Spore!” Butterfree paralyzed Ponyta, “I bet you used this tactic on Hop! Butterfree use Bug buzz!” Butterfree defeated Ponyta…I felt some strange darkness overtake me...it felt consuming, suffocating, like all I wanted to do is hurt, Bede,
“I’ll-I'll show you! Go Hattrem!” Hattrem appeared but I didn’t care, all I wanted to do is see Bede grovel and suffer like the dirt he is…
”Butterfree you know what to do,” Butterfree looked back at me, “Just do it!” I yelled, Butterfree used a final Bug Buzz which knocked out Hattrem, “Go for an Air Slash!” I was about to call for another attack, but Sonia stepped in the way.
“Victor! Please Stop!” I stopped my hand, “Look he’s already defeated, you can stop now!” Sonia walked towards me and hugged me tight, “this isn’t you Vic! Please, you’re better than this! You’re no better than he is for just using your Pokemon to hurt others.” Sonia began to cry, as her tears dripped on my face, I snapped back into reality ...
”Sonia...what have I done….” I realized that I just used Butterfree to put all hatred into this battle, “Butterfree...I’m so sorry!” I ran to hug Butterfree who also cried. Hop, I’m sorry that I let my emotions take over me...I hope you never see this side of me ever!
Bede got up and yelled at me, “How can this be! I’m the one who got endorsed by the Chairman himself. How could I lose to you, I was supposed to be an elite trainer, I was supposed to become Champion, I was supposed to shoulder the burden of Galar!” Hearing Bede cry out like that turned all my anger into pity,
You and Hop are the same…. “Bede...I” we were interrupted by the sound of the Gym Officials and Chairman Rose.
“Challenger Bede!” Oleana looked angry, “I knew you were up to something when you asked to borrow the Chairman’s Copperajah! I can’t believe you using it to destroy a historical site!” Bede laughed,
“Who cares about some ancient site, when Galar’s future is at stake, how can you help the Chairman if you keep thinking like that!” The Chairman walked forward and shook his head,
“Young Bede, it truly pains me to say this...but I’m disappointed. It’s true that I found you when you were all young and all alone. I saw talent in you, you reminded me of myself when I was younger. This is why I sent you to trainer’s school, to give you a chance of success.” Rose became angry, “But you tried to destroy the mural-part of Galar’s history! You show no love for Galar! You clearly aren’t worthy of becoming a Gym Challenger! We will decide what to do with you later, for now, head back to Hammerlocke.” I was stunned, someone Bede looked up to, who he cared for, dropped him like that.
“Y-y-you must be joking? You can’t drop me from the Gym Challenge. You endorsed me yourself! Surely there’s a better way to fix this!” Bede looked helpless, he looked over at me, expecting me to stop this, but I looked away in pity. I just didn’t know what to say. Oleana walked forward,
“I’ll be taking those Wishing Stars you collected,” Bede was carried off.
“Challenger Victor, Ms. Sonia, I’m so sorry you had to see this. I never wish to see us lose Challengers like this. But we must keep things fair,” Rose walked towards me, “I believe this belongs to you, Victor!” Rose handed me Hop’s bracelet he got from the daycare people, I had forgotten that he didn’t have it, I must’ve been too distracted for me to notice. “It seems Bede took it from Hop when he defeated him; I can tell this is special to him so can you return this to him when you see him?” Oleana and Rose walked off, leaving Sonia and me by the damaged mural.
“You know, I’ve heard Bede had no family, The chairman took him in, so I guess he was doing all this for someone he cared for...kind of like someone we know!” I clutched Hop’s bracelet,
“Sonia...thanks for saving me...I don’t know what came over me.” Sonia nodded,
“It’s okay kiddo! I saw how emotional you got, so I had to step in, good thing too I almost lost you both! Still, this is all a disaster! I hope the mural didn’t suffer too much!” Suddenly the mural began to crack and came crumbling down on us.
“Look out Sonia!” I pushed her away as the rocks came crashing down on me.
|
Chapter Thirty Seven:
The packs alarm clock rung out at seven AM, causing a collection of four groans simultaneously. Niall buried his head underneath his pillow, now it was the summer holidays the lad enjoyed laying around in bed all morning, much to the disgust of the alphas. It was Zayn who often liked to get up at an early hour, but Harry had been the one to set the alarm that morning.
“It’s the summer holidays,” Niall groaned loudly as he felt the bed dip “who the fuck set that alarm?” The comment resulted in a tut from Zayn and a light slap on the ass from Liam who was now reaching up and stretching his upper body tiredly.
“It’s an important day Niall,” Harry explained, wandering around the room to collect some clothes and towels. “In a few hours we will all be bonded as a pack of five.”
Niall wanted to roll his eyes at the comment, being so early in the morning but he couldn’t deny that he too was somewhat excited for the events. Some would be surprised to hear this, thinking (especially now with a bond to the pack) that he would be protective and territorial over his mates. But Louis was different. Louis was the only omega he would ever consider sharing his three alphas with and it gave him a warm feeling to think he would always have another omega to share this experience with.
“We made the day special for you.” Zayn commented, rubbing his omegas back lovingly. “So it’s only fair we go all out for Louis too.”
Niall thought back to the day of his own bonding. It had been a long time coming, having received his ring many years beforehand. The alphas had each taken turns in taking him out during the day, Liam for a nice breakfast first before Harry had taken the reigns and they had walked around Camden Market before enjoying a picnic in Hyde Park. That evening Liam had taken him for a fancy dinner, whilst the other two had gotten their bedroom ready for the evening. It was the most romantic, perfect day and had ended in the omega being bonded with all three of his alphas.
Of course he wanted the same for Louis, but he also wanted to be involved too. They had always told him that he would be bonded with Louis along with them, that their bonds between the alphas would also bring them together too.
“I want to help.” The blonde stated eagerly, finally opening his eyes and sitting upright quickly. This was his pack as much as it was the other boys and inviting someone new inside seemed like quite a big deal. Even if Louis had been living with them for nearly a year.
“Of course you can help Niall, we have to go to the shops to get everything we need later.” Liam smiled lazily, rubbing his eyes slightly from sleep.
Niall frowned, that is not what he meant.
“You get to take him on dates and have fun. I want to do that too.” He whined, with a shake of his head. He didn’t want to be their personal assistant for the day, he wanted to make Louis feel special before their bonding.
Before the other two alphas could reply, Harry was sticking his head out of their bathroom, his hair already wet like he had been in the shower.
“You have the most important job of all today Niall,” Harry informed the lad when he saw his sad face, “You need to keep Louis happy and get him to stop stressing about the whole damn thing. If he sees how excited you are to have him as a mate, maybe that will help.”
Although this wasn’t exactly what Niall had in mind, he couldn’t help but grin happily. He had the most important job, and he would do it well to please his alphas.
“Great, where is he then?” Niall asked, immediately jumping from the bed to go and see his best friend. Excitement filled his whole body at the thought that he would be the one to get the omega ready for all his dates today, just like Louis had done for him.
“Woah, Niall it’s only 7.” Zayn laughed, sliding his shoes on as he did so. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, already in his work clothes which also explained the early morning alarm. “Let him sleep for a little longer, hey.”
But Niall was already up and bright eyed, he didn’t have time to let the lad sleep. Not if they had a breakfast date to get him ready for.
“Well, who’s taking him out first then? I need to get him ready for them.” Niall was frowning, already taking his new role a little too seriously.
Liam glanced at Zayn, who looked back with a straight face.
“It’s going to look a little different to your baby,” Liam replied “we are just going to take him out as a pack today. We can’t take the day off work like we could for you.”
Now this really had Niall frowning. The boys had stated they were going to be making this day special for their newest omega, but they weren’t going to take him out like they had done with Niall? The selfish part of the boy was happy to hear this, liking to know that he had a sense of importance over the other lad in his alphas lives. But the bigger part of him was cross, Louis deserved everything Niall experienced on his day of bonding.
“You’re kidding right?” Niall asked, bemused. “It’s not everyday you get to bond with your omega, you can’t even get a few hours off each to make him feel special?” The boy was annoyed and crossed his arms over his chest to signify so.
“Niall, it was all very last minute. We were going to just bond with him last night, but he suggested today.” Harry explained as he exited the bathroom. “It’s not like what we have with you, we couldn’t ask for the time off again.”
Niall was most surprised of this attitude from Harry, who seemed like he would move mountains for the omegas in his life. He was the closest alpha in the pack to Louis and Niall had expected he would want to treat him like a prince.
“Louis deserves more than that.” Niall answered with a shake of his head, letting the alphas know his opinion on the matter.
Zayn decided now was the perfect time to leave, quickly followed by Liam who also did not say another word on the matter to the blonde. Harry was left, having a stare off with his omega who was still standing with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.
Harry sighed, walking towards the smaller boy in front of him,
“It is lovely that you want this for Louis, I do too. But we just can’t do it today. But I promise, once we are bonded we will plan a whole day for Louis too, just like what you had.” The alphas promised, kissing the blonde haired omega on the forehead gently.
“You better.” Niall warned, not fully happy with the situation but was feeling a lot better.
“You have my word,” Harry smiled, holding Niall’s smaller hand in his own for a few moments before he turned around to leave. “We are going out for some business this morning, Louis is downstairs in the guest bedroom next to the study, let the boy sleep. I suggest you do the same.” Harry had a slight glint of humour in his eye as he glanced back at his omega, who was already looking like he could fall asleep standing up.
“Yes daddy,” Niall laughed, rushing under the covers as he heard Harry groan.
But Niall didn’t spend long in the bed at all, which was very unusual behaviour from him. He could usually fall straight back to sleep, even if he wasn’t tired but not that morning. He couldn’t help the excited thoughts of what was to come that day.
And he decided, if these alphas weren’t willing to make the day special for the omega, then it would be up to Niall to di it for them. The lad hurried out of bed to get ready for the day, texting their private chauffer that he would need the car ready in exactly 10 minutes.
The boy was very tempted to push the door open to the guest bedroom before he left, wanting to catch a glimpse of the smaller lad but had decided better not to. He didn’t want Louis waking up before he could get his plan into motion.
The omega had travelled to the nearest shops and had spent hours browsing the different shelves and stores for the perfect arrangement. He had a personalised bouquet of flowers delivered to their home, with strict instructions to have it placed in their bedroom. He didn’t want Louis to see, but it included all their favourite flowers. Louis’ scent had started to come through after his birthday, it was getting stronger by the day but it reminded Niall of candyfloss and caramel.
The boy bought dozens of red roses, teddy bears and a small present for Louis from himself. The boys had gifted him the ring, but Niall was yet to get him something to welcome the lad into their pack. And Harry did say it would make Louis feel a lot better if he felt welcomed by Niall. The blonde lad was planning to give it to the boy before the alphas get home, a small gesture between the two omegas in private.
Yes Niall was using the alphas money to purchase these but it was the thought that counted.
The lad left the cartier shop, a small bag in hand and a huge smile on his face, he really couldn’t wait for Louis to see everything he had done.
When he walked through the front doors, the lad dumped all the shopping bags in the foyer, asking the staff who were waiting there to set up the bedroom perfectly with the items. All but one bag, however, which he gripped tightly as he wandered to the guest bedroom.
Taking a small breathe, the omega pushed the door open, a smile on his face as he glanced around.
“Oh dandelion,” Niall chimed but instantly his smile fell as he saw the empty room. The only things inside were his phone and wallet on the bedside table, the sheets had been made and everything else was left untouched. Niall did get a funny feeling from the sight, but he pushed it down quickly.
He left the room in search of the other boy, first checking the kitchen to see if the boy was in there having some lunch. But he was no where to be found and the kitchen staff had even said they hadn’t seen him yet. Niall still wasn’t worried, wandering to their games room. Louis liked to hangout here and would often forget to eat of another member of the packs wasn’t there to remind him. Niall was trying to remember that Louis would probably be feeling quite nervous and so this wouldn’t be unusual for him.
But again, Louis was no where to be seen.
Niall spent the next few minutes wandering the house, checking every room, and asking different staff he met along the way. But no one had seen the brown-haired omega, and every room he looked in was empty.
“Oh Lou,” Niall whispered, finally starting to feel anxiety pool in his stomach “what have you done?”
The omega had immediately phoned the boys, feeling the stress levels build as the phone rang.
“This better be good Niall.” Harry snapped down the receiver as he answered the call, grunts could be heard in the background, indicating they were in the middle of a job.
But Niall’s next three words had everything coming to a halt.
“Louis is gone.”
--
The alphas had dropped everything and immediately come home, bursting through the front door shouting profanities at each other as they went.
Niall had been sat waiting on their living room sofa, the cartier bag still by his feet in hope that their brown haired omega would be walking through the front door any second.
“Niall, I need you to tell me everything that has happened right now.” Harry demanded, standing in front of the shaking omega with a stern look on his face.
“Don’t shout at him,” Liam pitched in, which received a deathly loud growl from Harry back.
The alphas had been shouting at each other ever since they had left their job, accusing each other of all sorts, without really knowing what on earth was going on. Harry hated the feeling of not being in control and those three words were his worst nightmare.
And so Niall ignored the bickering, taking in a deep breathe and calmly telling them everything that had happened that morning, up until the moment he realised he was gone.
“Fuck Niall, why did you leave the house?” Harry shouted, slamming his hands on the coffee table in distress. The omega had been asking himself the same question all morning, tears pooling down his face as he cried.
“It’s not his fault.” Zayn chastised, bringing their omega closer on the sofa in comfort. “Louis might’ve already left before any of us had gotten up.”
Zayn was always the alpha of reason, not that it meant anyone ever listened to him. Harry was on a pathway of blame, only seeing red as he started to bark orders at the staff waiting around the edge of the room.
“Harry,” Liam put his hand on his mates arm to try and stop the shouts. “Before we have half of London looking for him, lets check the security footage. It will tell us what tome he left and which direction he headed in.”
Harry didn’t reply, only huffed in an answer and stormed out of the room, bumping right into one of their body guards as he did so. Liam and Zayn followed, leaving Niall behind to sit and think in silence once more.
Everything seemed to be falling apart in the blondes eyes, although many would deem this dramatic. The boy may have only gone out for a walk and some fresh air. But Niall knew, Louis wasn’t coming back.
The alphas stood behind the two security guards who were manning the cameras, watching the screens as they whizzed backwards slowly.
“You better not have been on shift when he left.” Harry warned as the time kept going backwards.
It took around 20 minutes, the tapes continuously stopping as someone thought they had seen movement. But it wasn’t until they had reached one in the morning that Zayn called out “STOP!”
“What? Where?” Harry leant forwards, trying to see any sign of his omega on the tapes.
“There, camera 7 facing the outside fencing.” Zayn pointed, causing the security team to immediately open the camera wider, zooming in on the smaller figure on the fence.
There was their precious little Louis, sitting with one leg hanging over each side of the fence, staring directly into the camera with a soft smirk on his lips. His middle finger pointing to the camera. As the guards let the footage play, they were zoomed in so much that all three alphas saw his lips move into the words ‘fuck you’ before he disappeared over the fencing and out of sight.
They watched as the boy ran down their driveway, disappearing into the dead of night without another backwards glance, hoodie over his face and black clothing meaning it was almost impossible to see him on the cameras.
The footage stopped, and a silence fell upon the room.
Before Harry roared out in frustration, whipping his hand along the desk to send all the equipment flying.
“Find him!” Harry roared, the anger making his body shake. “Fucking find him. Now.”
--
Louis had walked the long distance across Falmouth, his backpack slung over his right arm and his head buried in Google Maps on his new phone. It was a gorgeous, small town with little colourful houses and seaside shops at every turn.
The first thing Louis noticed when he got off the bus was how quiet the place was. Sea gulls cawed in the sky, flying low at times but other than that there was nearly no sound. On occasion he passed by another person, who smiled and wished him good afternoon in greeting. Everyone seemed to be nice and friendly, the complete opposite to London.
There was no business men in suits, or double decker buses or black taxis. He didn’t have to dodge across the pavement to stay out of the way of the weaving crowds. The pavement was deserted for the most part, and if he did pass anyone by they seemed to be leisurely strolling down the road without much of a care in the world.
Louis smiled. He could definitely get used to this.
The boy reached his apartment block and looked up at the place he was soon to be calling home. There was no graffiti on the outside, or intimidating groups of teenagers hanging around the carpark. It was quiet.
Stan had given the boy his key to his new apartment a few weeks earlier, having had to drive all this way to retrieve it for the omega. It was a University apartment based off of campus, a studio apartment with one room and a bathroom.
Louis ushed the door open and sighed. It reminded him of his home in London with his mother. There was a small single bed, a kitchen on the side and a sofa with the worlds smallest TV on a coffee table. A small door led to a tiny room, which held a toilet, sink and walk in shower. It wasn’t much, but it was everything Louis could have ever wished for. He dumped his bags down and jumped on the bed, a huge smile on his face.
After a few moments of letting it all sink in, he got up and peered past his curtains to the car park outside. For the first time in nearly a year, Louis wasn’t worried about who would be pulling up in the driveway to come and take him away.
He was safe.
That night the boy laid in bed for a while, the TV quietly playing in the background as he researched the campus he would be studying at. He had checked a few times prior in the evening that the door was locked, but now he couldn’t help the relaxed feeling of comfort that washed over him.
He didn’t allow his thoughts to drift to Stan, or is mum. He couldn’t face that yet. He just wanted to enjoy this moment of safety, snuggled in his new bed far away from everything that hurt him in London.
At the exact same moment, a blonde haired omega was lying in his own bed, alone too. Though his house was anything but quiet, the shouts of anger and anxiety travelling up the stairs for him to hear. He gently reached his arm out and dug through the cartier bag until he pulled out the little box.
Opening the velvet box, the blonde saw the sparkling silver necklace inside. It boasted a diamond infinity symbol on the delicate chain, Niall turned it over to see their names engraved on the back. A tear slipped down his check as he gripped the necklace tightly in his hand, soon the sobs took over. The boy could no longer hear the chaos downstairs as the boy cried for everything he had lost.
A friend. A mate.
But most importantly, an omega who he could have shared this life with.
|
Sara walks into the backyard, leaving Sam and Zari inside, knowing the women wanted to talk about their latest findings while Ruby naps. Sara notices Lena sitting at the end of the dock with Ace laying beside her. The CEO is watching as Kara and Alex chase each other around on jet skis, with Ava splashing them occasionally. Sara smiles as she slowly approaches the CEO, hearing Lena laugh as she shakes her head at her wife speeding around and screaming happily.
“Mind if I join you?” Sara asks before Lena looks at her with a smile.
“Absolutely,” Lena says as Sara moves to sit next to her.
“Sam and Zari, inside?”
“Yeah. Ruby is taking a nap. I think that all of the frozen margaritas and the sunshine are getting to their heads more than they would like to admit,” Sara says, covering smoothly, causing Lena to laugh.
“Sounds about right,” Lena says with a nod.
“Do they really need Ava’s supervision on the jet skis?” Sara asks as Lena nods.
“Oh yeah. Last time they were left unattended, they crashed. Something about a rogue seal lion but really, they were playing chicken and were afraid to tell Ava,” Lena says, causing Sara to laugh.
“You know, I’m not surprised by that,” Sara says as Lena laughs.
“Yeah, but to be totally honest, Fish is the happiest when she’s on or near the water. So, it’s a win-win for her,” Lena says softly, staring at the water.
“How are you doing with everything?” Sara asks as Lena scoffs lightly.
“Me? I should be the one asking you that question,” Lena counters as Sara nods.
“Fair enough. Well, to be honest, I’ve never been with someone in the military. So, this is my first time experiencing a deployment. I don’t know how to feel, I guess. Today’s been amazing, fun, and just so carefree. I know we still have so much of the day left, but I can’t help but know that it’s going to end. I don’t know how to describe it. Bittersweet is the closest thing that I can come up with at the moment,” Sara says honestly as Lena nods.
“They’re hard,” Lena says as Sara nods.
“How do you do it? Like, not think about it the entire time?” Sara asks as Lena shakes her head.
“Well, you never stop thinking about it. Me, I work. Keeps my mind busy and my feelings locked away in my tiny boxes. It’s easier for my mind to process the weight of it all,” Lena says as Sara nods.
“I get that,” Sara says softly.
“Standing at the base, when she gets off the plane. Seeing her smile, all in one piece, and hugging her as soon as you can, god. It makes the pain from her being gone worth it. Hold onto that thought and it’ll help get you through it,” Lena says as Sara smirks.
“You know, seeing her with you was one of the first reasons why I fell so hard for her,” Sara says as Lena arches a brow.
“At the gala?” Lena asks as Sara shakes her head.
“No, when you came into the hospital cafeteria. Yelling in Irish,” Sara says as Lena shakes her head.
“Ah, not my best moment,” Lena says as Sara shakes her head.
“At first, we didn’t get along. At all really, due to my own prejudices but that was the first time that I really got to see a glimpse of the real her. How loving she was with you, and god, when she held your hand, phew. It was probably the sweetest thing that I had seen in a very long time. It reminded me a lot of my relationship with my sister,” Sara says softly.
“You were really close with her, right?” Lena asks as Sara nods.
“Oh, yeah. We weren’t nearly as close as you and Ava are though,” Sara says as Lena nods.
“Not many people understand our relationship. Kara, she tries, but it’s different for her and Alex. She was adopted by the Danvers when she was eight and Alex was eleven. They actually weren’t close until they got older,” Lena says as Sara nods.
“Well, as for Laurel and me, we were only a year apart in age. Our mom ran out on us when we were young. She chose drugs over her family, and our dad chose drinking to cope with everything. His drinking really picked up when we were in high school and left us to kinda fend for ourselves,” Sara says as Lena’s eyes widen.
“I had no idea,” Lena says as Sara nods.
“Not many do. He would disappear for days, boozing around the city and Laurel, she took care of me. A lot. She stepped up when our parents couldn’t do it. It’s nothing like what you two went through but I understand what you two mean by being each other’s entire hearts. Laurel was mine. Hell, still is. I think that’s why I’m not quick to get upset if she runs to you first or just wants to cuddle you instead of me,” Sara says softly.
“Well, I wish that my wife felt that way sometimes,” Lena whispers as Sara arches a brow.
“She gets upset with you for that?” Sara asks as Lena sighs.
“Eh, maybe that’s not the best choice of wording,” Lena says.
“It’s a stretch, but, what do you mean?” Sara asks as Lena sighs.
“It’s just, a part of me feels like no matter what I do, what I say, a black cloud hovers over me and everything that I care about. Fish can relate because we both feel and carry that with us because of the reputation that our last name holds. With Kara, she’s always been this light, joyful bundle of all things good. I mean, the woman literally is the sweetest woman that I’ve ever met. Everyone adores her, and she’s never known anyone to hate her or despise her. When she’s trying to relate to me on that aspect, she just doesn’t understand. So, I bottle it up and run to Fish,” Lena says honestly as Sara nods, making a mental note of something Lena said before sighing.
“Well, you’re not alone. I’m horrible with expressing my feelings. Laurel was the only person that I could really do that with. She just could do something small, like a look, smile or just hug me. Like she knew exactly what was going on in my head before I did,” Sara admits as Lena looks at the surgeon.
“Yeah, Fish spoiled me in that aspect. Still does, actually. She’s incredible,” Lena says as Sara nods with a smile.
“She really is. I still don’t know what in the hell I did to deserve a woman like her,” Sara says with a loving smile. Lena smirks before wrapping her arm around the surgeon.
“When are you going to tell my sister that you’re in love with her?” Lena asks as Sara sighs.
“I have already. She just doesn’t know it,” Sara says as Lena arches a brow.
“What do you mean?” Lena asks.
“One morning, we were laying in bed, sipping coffee and doing the crossword. I found myself tracing the words along her back,” Sara says as Lena smirks.
“Ah, when she thought you were asking to go to the zoo or have her buy you the moon? Drove her crazy,” Lena says as Sara laughs, little does Sara know, the CEO is hiding the fact that her sister told her all about it—and the real phrase.
“I know it did. I told her again after I watched her revive one of her favorite patients. I watched her do CPR for over thirty minutes, doing everything she could for him and then seeing her with the family afterward. God, my heart exploded. She fell asleep on my chest after telling me about the family. How much she wants to help them just got me feeling so many things. I whispered it before I could even think twice,” Sara says as Lena smirks.
“Well, this is very hypocritical for me to say. Considering that I, myself, am the queen of keeping my emotions locked away, even after being with my wife for almost six years. But, you should tell her,” Lena says as Sara smiles.
“I know,” Sara says with a nod.
“You’re good for her,” Lena says as Sara nods.
“Thank you,” Sara says with a smile.
“You’re welcome and thank you,” Lena says as Sara arches a brow.
“Why are you thanking me?”
“For wanting to help. Stepping up and protecting us while she’s away. You didn’t have to do that. Still don’t,” Lena says as Sara nods.
“Well, our little group is the only family I have now. I will do everything that I can to keep you all safe,” Sara says as Lena nods with a smirk.
“I appreciate that,” Lena says sweetly.
“Well. I’m no Ava, but if you ever need anything, all you have to do is call,” Sara offers as Lena nods.
“Likewise,” Lena says softly.
“Well, I do have an idea about something you can help me with. Something we can work on while she’s gone. A surprise for her and it’ll keep us both busy,” Sara says as Lena arches a brow.
“I’m listening,” Lena says as Sara smiles.
The surgeon quickly fills Lena in on her plan to help the family of Ava’s favorite patient. The CEO nods enthusiastically, loving the idea as they continue to talk details and enjoy getting to know each other better.
Two hours later...
The group of women find themselves in the kitchen, preparing side dishes for dinner, laughing and telling stories as they prepare their meal. Ruby is happily playing with Ace in the living room, squealing with happiness as Kara grabs two beers from the fridge. A warm smile crosses her face as she watches Alex and her wife laughing together at something Sara said before glancing out on the back deck, finding Ava standing next to the grill. Kara plants a quick kiss against her wife’s cheek before walking into the deck, closing the door behind her.
The marine turns her head from the grill, offering a small smile before checking the variety of fish, chicken and steaks on the grill. Kara smirks, moving to stand next to Ava, before the marine closes the grill. Kara hands Ava a beer, one she readily accepts. The women clink the neck of the bottles together before taking a long sip as a sigh escapes Kara’s lips.
“What’s up, Kid?” Ava asks.
“Nothing, just enjoying everything today has to offer,” Kara says as the marine nods.
“It’s been amazing. Thank you,” Ava says as Kara smirks.
“Don’t mention it and yes, today has been incredible,” Kara says before taking another sip of the beer.
“So, want to tell me what’s really on your mind?” Ava asks as Kara sighs.
“It’s just, today has been everything that we’ve needed, ya know? I know that it comes with a huge emotional wall for us tomorrow and with everything going on with James, this mystery person, gosh. Ugh, I just. I don’t know. I’m just trying to keep it together,” Kara says sadly before Ava wraps an arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, hey. You’re allowed to be frustrated, upset and stressed. Hell, I don’t know how you’ve managed to put on a smile after what that gobshite has been doing. Not to mention, flirting with you while you know what he’s been up to. You’re allowed to be upset,” Ava says as Kara sighs.
“I’m scared that once you leave, Lena is going to just clam up, work herself to death and we aren’t going to figure out who is doing this. Not to mention, worrying and thinking about you the entire time. It’s just a lot to process,” Kara says as the marine sighs before planting a kiss against Kara’s temple.
“I believe, full-heartedly, that no matter how hard of the circumstances, are put into our lives because we are strong enough to handle it. Are they always fun and easy? Hell no, most of the time, it’s complete shite. However, you can’t let the actions of some horrible people change who you are because that’s what they want. You’re an incredibly strong woman and have an amazing heart. Focus on the things you can control, and everything will work itself out,” Ava says sweetly.
“Thank you,” Kara says as she leans her head against the marine’s shoulder.
“Don’t mention it. Our family is strong, courageous, and I have no doubt that we will figure it out. You can’t focus on the what-ifs, or it’ll bloody-well drive you crazy. All you can do is enjoy the moment in front of you and take it as it is,” Ava says as Kara nods with a small laugh.
“Gosh, I’m really going to miss you,” Kara says as Ava smirks.
“Me too, Kid. Now, come on. No more moping around. Your puppy eyes are just as bad as Birdie’s and I can’t stand it,” Ava says as Kara laughs.
“Thank you for letting me just get it out. I needed it,” Kara says as Ava plants a kiss against her forehead.
“Well, I know something that will perk you up,” Ava says sweetly before reaching into her pocket and grabbing her phone.
She syncs her phone to the outside stereo system before handing the device to her sister-in-law. Kara’s eyes widen slightly as she notices a playlist of songs, multiple songs that she has mentioned wanting to sing at karaoke before smiling at the marine.
“Are you serious?” Kara asks as the marine smiles.
“Consider this, along with your heelies, your deployment gift,” Ava says sweetly as Kara’s smile widens.
“I love you,” Kara says as Ava smirks.
“Love you, Kid. Now, if we’re going to do this, you have to pick a good one,” Ava says before turning to check on the food. Kara scrolls through the songs before settling on one before showing it to the marine.
“This is it but I want to do it Glee style,” Kara says as Ava nods, laughing lightly.
“Done. However, you better not hold back on the lead,” Ava says with a smirk.
“It’s not every day that I get to sing with you. So, I’m going to make the most of it,” Kara says with a wide smile.
Kara quickly presses play, as the instrumental version of ‘Be Okay’ by Oh Honey, begins to echo along the back deck. The marine smirks as Kara slowly nods her head to the music before starting to sing, her voice strong, passionate as she smirks. Kara points to the marine, as the marine sings the next line of the verse, her voice being more sultry and raspy than that of her sister-in-law.
The pair smile as they continue to sing, enjoying their moment. From inside the kitchen, the rest of the family are laughing before Alex’s ears perk up at the sound coming from the deck.
“Guys, shut up,” Alex says as the women glare at her.
“Excuse me?” Lena asks before Alex shakes her head.
“Listen,” Alex says, nodding her head at the deck.
The women fall silent as they hear the duo singing before glancing at the deck, noticing Kara and Ava singing. The marine playfully presses against Kara’s stomach, causing her volume to increase as the women sigh happily.
“Dude, she can sing,” Zari whispers, causing Sara to nod with a wide smile.
“Yeah,” Sara says in a happy whisper.
The women smile as Kara moves to grab Ava’s hand, happily singing their hearts out, oblivious to their audience. Alex smiles sadly as she notices Lena’s eyes beginning to fill with tears. The surgeon wraps her arms from behind the CEO, holding her close as she rests her head on her shoulder.
“We’ll be okay,” Alex whispers as Lena nods rapidly, fight back tears before holding onto Alex’s arms.
The women watch the duo, noticing how Kara closes her eyes as she sings. As they finish the last part of the song, Ava wraps her arms around Kara, holding her close as the younger woman buries her face into her chest. The marine holds Kara close, planting a lingering kiss into her hair, fighting back her own emotions.
The sweet moment hits the family instantly, gripping their heart and twisting ever so sweetly but yet so painfully. Every woman in the kitchen finds themselves clinging onto one another, each fighting their emotions. Lena possessively grabs Sara’s hand, holding it tightly, causing the surgeon to wipe her eyes before gently squeezing the CEO’s hand. Zari wraps her arms around Sara and Sam, holding them closely next to Alex and Lena, as they fall into an emotional silence.
The family’s night is nearing its end, and no one is ready for it.
Especially, Lena.
But even more so for Sara. The woman she’s in love with is getting deployed, and even if it kills her, she has to tell Ava.
Tonight.
|
Magnus is nervous. It’s his day off from work and he’s nervous because he really wants to spend it with Alec, but Alec hadn’t texted him again after the ‘Can’t wait’ thing two days ago. Magnus had assumed he was busy but perhaps he’s just waiting for him to take the first step? Which Magnus is fully ready to do, definitely. But why is he so nervous about it?
He eats his breakfast thoughtfully, scrolling through past messages with Alec on his phone, smiling as he reads them. He really wants to spend the whole day with him, take him out for a fancy lunch or something and then, hopefully, make out with him and have it lead to a bit more than what they’ve been doing so far. Magnus knows that just because they’ve been tested now, it doesn’t mean they’ll hop right into bed, but a man can hope. But really, he’d be happy just to be with Alec, whether that means fucking or just cuddling.
Magnus bites his lip, feeling his cheeks heat up. He feels like a teenager with a crush, texting to tell them his parents aren’t home. There’s a lot more sweetness and innocence in their relationship than Magnus had expected. He knew he’d end up caring about Alec, he can’t be with anyone and not care about them, but he didn’t know he’d care this much. It makes him dread the day they eventually break off the contract and go back to their separate lives.
[To: Alec, 8.15 a.m.] Can I see you today? We can do more than just cuddle 😉
He sends it without thinking too much about it, and then the minutes crawl by incrementally while he awaits a reply, his stomach doing flips. Fortunately, Alec doesn’t take too long to text back.
[To: Magnus, 8.21 a.m.] I’m free after 4 p.m., which is when my last class ends. I’ll be there by 5?
Magnus can’t help but be disappointed. 5 p.m. is ages away. He was expecting to see Alec sooner. He pushes past his discontent and texts back, sighing heavily.
[To: Alec, 8.23 a.m.] Great! Can’t wait to see you, darling.
He throws his phone onto the couch and sinks down on it too, feeling quite gloomy. It’s not like he has work to take his mind off things either. Ten minutes go by without him even moving, but then he gets up and plucks his laptop from the coffee table. If Alec is coming over that late, it’s the perfect chance for Magnus to try and cook him dinner. It’s something he’s been meaning to do anyway but hasn’t really found an opportunity to.
Feeling slightly happier, Magnus trawls through several cooking blogs and gets sucked into a recipe vortex. His head swimming with various options, he finally emerges at nearly 11 a.m., shocked to see how much time he’s wasted just trying to decide what to cook.
“Fuck, I don’t even have ingredients,” he mutters to himself, looking for his phone so he can jot down the stuff he needs and go on a little shopping trip. He’s decided on an easy enough appetizer – ham and blue cheese crostini – and a main course that looks like he can pull it off – roasted tomato basil soup with cheesy croutons. It sounds like a hearty meal, and one that he can probably make without too much trouble, given his lack of cooking skills.
He’s bubbling with excitement as he does the necessary grocery shopping and then lays down all his purchases on the kitchen counter. His cook pops her head in to ask if he needs any help, but he dismisses her with a jovial wave, saying he’d like to try this one for himself. He dismisses the rest of his staff as well, not wanting any interruptions as he cooks and prepares for Alec’s arrival.
It's too early to start on the crostini, so he starts with the soup. The recipe calls for roasting the tomatoes and the garlic and stuff before anything else, so he sets up his oven, finds two sheet pans and lines them with paper, feeling rather pleased with himself.
Cutting up the tomatoes and onions isn’t too hard, but the garlic poses a bigger problem and it takes him nearly half an hour to remove the papery outer bits and get to the smooth clove underneath. A little frustrated with how long it took, he throws on the garlic, pops both sheets into the oven and pours himself a drink.
Whew, he thinks. It’s about 2 p.m. and the vegetables will take at least 45 minutes to roast so he has a bit of time for himself. Looking up the recipe again, he calculates how long it will take for it to be complete. After roasting, he’s supposed to cook it on the stove for about 30 minutes before taking it off and pureeing it so it’s all smooth. The croutons are not too hard either, he just has to cover the slices with butter, drape them with cheese and then put another buttered slice on top and put them in the oven. They’ll be cut into squares once they’re all crispy.
Magnus finds himself suddenly overwhelmed when he remembers he hasn’t even started on the crostini. And that is the appetizer. Shit, he thinks as he looks at the two big loaves of French bread he’d bought, regretting dismissing his cook and staff.
“Well,” he murmurs to himself, finishing up his drink and setting the glass on the counter. “No use regretting it now.” He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.
It’s nearly 4.15 p.m. when he finishes pureeing all the soup and puts it in a nice crocket (that he’d also bought that day). He can warm it up in the oven again when it’s time for dinner. The cheesy croutons are prepped and in the fridge, and the crostini is on the counter in a nice, covered platter. Now all that’s left is taking a shower and deciding what to wear.
He hurries to his bedroom and rummages through his closet, trying to find something nice but easy to get out of. His fingers skim over his pants, stopping over a super-soft, extremely comfortable pair that he’s had for ages. Magnus knows it hugs his ass quite nicely and he plucks it off its hanger, grinning.
Now for a shirt. There’s the glittery, sheer shirts but they’re too fancy for a night in. His silk button downs don’t feel quite right either. He stops at a billowy, turquoise tunic with gold and bead trimming but rejects it as too bright and over the top. Finally, he sees it. The gorgeous burgundy shirt with devoré detailing and an open collar. He takes it out and smiles, setting it next to the pants on his bed. Perfect.
It’s 4.45 p.m. when he’s finally showered and shaved and all ready, except for his makeup. He decides to keep it simple and just go with a subtle, glittery golden eyeliner under his lower lash line and some mascara.
At 4.50 p.m., he starts to set the table and put out the wine.
At 4.52 p.m., he fidgets with the remote and puts on some music.
At 4.55 p.m., he checks to see if the crostini is okay and not soggy or anything. Finding them perfectly crisp, he replaces the cover and paces nervously in the dining room.
What if he’s put too much salt in the soup? Or not enough topping on the crostini? What if he overcooks the croutons and they burn to a crisp and are inedible? What if Alec is allergic to something in either of the dishes? Fuck! He should’ve asked him beforehand, like Alec had asked him.
When the doorbell finally rings at 5.03 p.m., Magnus is a nervous mess. He opens the door and breathes a small sigh of relief at Alec standing outside, holding up a box from Giovanni’s, a bakery nearby. They sell the best chocolate fudge brownies, and Mangus is delighted, because in his hurry, he’d totally forgotten about dessert options.
“Alexander!” He exclaims happily, his nervousness leaching out of him at the sight of Alec. Alec smiles widely, steps inside and kisses him on the cheek.
“I did bring dessert but perhaps we can order something for dinner? I’m kind of starving. Haven’t eaten since breakfast,” Alec says, handing Magnus the box and hanging up his coat and bag. “You look extremely beautiful, by the way,” he adds, producing a small, slightly squashed bunch of roses from his bag, looking shy.
“Oh my god,” Magnus breathes, blushing. He can’t remember the last time anyone had bought him flowers. “Thank you so much, darling.” He pulls Alec in for a proper kiss and smiles into his mouth, feeling like he’s on cloud nine.
“It’s nothing,” Alec rubs the back of his head awkwardly. “Wait, what’s that yummy smell?” He asks, sniffing the air suddenly.
Magnus laughs self-consciously, setting the roses in a vase on the side table and leading Alec into the dining room. “I cooked for you. It’s nothing much but I tired. I don’t even know if it’s good or not,” he rambles, feeling nervous again.
Alec’s smile widens at his words until he’s laughing. “Oh, Magnus. You did?” He says, almost unbelievingly. “That’s so sweet of you,” he reaches for Magnus again and kisses him slowly. Magnus melts in his arms, his own arms thrown around Alec’s neck, crossed behind his head.
“Mmm,” he says, breaking away after a minute, “Aren’t you starving?”
“Perhaps not just for food,” Alec says, low and intense, mouth curled into a smile that nearly breaks Magnus’s heart in two. He swallows, unable to speak for a minute while he gets his thoughts together.
“But the food will go cold,” he says lamely, pushing Alec away playfully even though he is loath to let him go.
Alec laughs. “Lead the way, sweetheart,” he says, dropping the pet name so casually and thoughtlessly, it takes Magnus’s breath away again.
“So, here’s the appetizer,” Magnus manages to say as he hands Alec the platter, feeling unbearably nervous. “Ham and blue cheese crostini.”
“Oh god,” Alec breathes, picking one up as he sits down on the couch. “You made this?”
“Yep,” Magnus nods, pouring their wine and sitting down next to Alec, who is now taking his first bite.
“Wow, Magnus.” Alec smacks his lips in appreciation and shifts closer, brushing his shoulder against Magnus’s. “This is amazing.”
“Let me just go and heat up the rest of the food,” Magnus excuses himself, his heart racing. Calm down! You haven’t even had dinner yet and you’re already all riled up, he chides himself. He and Alec haven’t had time to themselves lately and it just feels so good to see him and get to kiss him and touch him again. Magnus pops the croutons and the soup in the oven and sets the timer for six minutes, going back to the living room where Alec is.
“What did you make for me?” Alec asks as he sits down again.
The crostini is almost finished, and Alec looks at him apologetically. “Sorry, they were so good, I just kept eating.”
Magnus smiles. “I made, um, tomato and basil soup,” he replies, trying out the crostini and feeling shocked at how good it actually is. For a first attempt at actual cooking, he crushed it. “Roasted tomato and basil soup,” he corrects himself. “With cheesy croutons.”
Alec grins, looking surprised and very happy. “Magnus, I can’t tell you how utterly sweet it is that you cooked for me,” he says, leaning in after setting his wine glass down.
“I wanted to do something special,” Mangus murmurs, his brain short-circuiting when Alec noses down his jaw and kisses his neck. He sets his glass down as well and tangles his fingers in Alec’s hair, his head falling back to allow Alec better access to his neck. Alec bites down on a sensitive spot under his ear and Mangus tries not to moan but it slips out anyway, unbidden and quite desperate. Alec chuckles into his skin and leans back, looking at him with a fond expression.
“The food,” Magnus says in alarm, when the timer on the coffee table suddenly goes off. He scrambles towards the kitchen, asking Alec to sit down at the table while he brings out their dinner.
The croutons look amazing, oozing with cheese as he cuts them into squares and tosses them into a big bowl. He sets that and the crocket on a big wooden tray he finds in one of his cupboards and goes back to the dining room, wondering if this would be as good as the crostini.
“It smells delicious,” Alec tells him as he enters the room. Magnus smiles and sets the tray down between their plates, settling into his chair after he’s done fiddling with the lighting, turning it up a bit so they can see their food properly at least. It’s not as romantic but so what?
“Tastes delicious too,” Alec says after he’s had a few bites. Magnus’s heart does a little dance in his chest and he settles back into his seat, feeling relieved. He can officially declare the dinner a success and Alec’s smile is reward enough for the nervous breakdown he almost had earlier that day while cooking.
“I’m glad you like it,” Magnus says, enjoying the way Alec’s knees are brushing against his under the table.
They eat in comfortable silence for a while, sending each other flirty, charged looks. Magnus has never had a meal that he’s enjoyed this much while also simultaneously wishing it would end soon so he can climb Alec like a tree. Alec’s ankle is now hooked around his and he’s close, but not quite close enough and his eyes are like honey, sticking to his skin and skimming down every curve, and every muscle. Magnus feels like he’s been put on display in a museum, the way Alec is looking at him. The hungry look in his eyes has nothing to do with food anymore and Magnus sets his spoon next to his empty bowl, skin buzzing with the anticipation of what’s about to come.
“We can clean up later, right?” Alec asks. Magnus nods, knowing he’s about to suggest they move this to the bedroom. Instead, Alec gets up and languidly makes his way to the couch, settling down on it and looking over his shoulder at Magnus. “Come here,” he says, tone still flirtatious. “I’m in the mood for some wine, aren’t you?”
Magnus nods in agreement, gets up and tops up their glasses, shuffling over to the couch as well. He’s confused about why Alec didn’t just ask where the bedroom was but he’s willing to go along with a bit of extended foreplay and teasing, if that’s what he wants.
He sits down a little further away from Alec than he usually would’ve and smirks into his glass at Alec’s mock hurt look. Two can play at this game, Magnus thinks, putting his feet up on the coffee table and turning on the TV. “Netflix?” he asks innocently.
“Why not?” Alec agrees, sipping at his wine and spreading himself out on the couch so that he’s a little closer to Magnus without his intention seeming too obvious.
Magnus smiles to himself and flicks through several options before Alec tells him to stop, on an episode of Schitt’s Creek. Surprised, Magnus presses play and asks if Alec has seen the show before.
“It’s one of my favourites,” Alec admits. “I love how they’re so snobby in the beginning but then staying in the town softens them up and they end up loving it there.”
“Me too!” Magnus replies. “I love David’s arc especially. He and Patrick are so goddamn adorable.”
“I cried at that proposal,” Alec says, laughing. “It was so perfect.”
“One of the best TV proposals I’ve seen so far,” Magnus agrees.
They stop talking then and laugh at something Moira’s just said about ‘acting like a disgruntled pelican’. Before they know it, they’ve watched three episodes back-to-back, and ended up next to each other, almost cuddling.
“This is really nice,” Alec breathes against Magnus’s ear, making him shiver. “But what do you say we move onto…” he pauses, grinning and then continues, “dessert?”
Magnus groans, punching him in the shoulder. “You little tease,” he mutters, climbing onto Alec’s lap and running his hands down his biceps. He leans in, as if to kiss Alec, but stops barely centimetres away from his waiting lips, laughing.
“Who’s the tease now?” Alec asks, his voice a little rough but amused.
“You’re the one who suggested wine and Netflix,” Magnus reminds him, running a hand through his hair and mouthing at his ear. This makes Alec whimper and Magnus smiles, feeling pleased at getting such a reaction.
“And then dessert!” Magnus adds, biting down lightly. Alec makes a small, keening noise and his grip on Magnus tightens.
“Kiss me, Magnus,” Alec almost orders him, sending a thrill down Magnus’s spine at the authoritative tone. He obeys, leaning in and locking both hands behind Alec’s head, pulling him in closer.
Alec’s hands run up and down his back as Magnus kisses him thoroughly. Schitt’s Creek continues in the background, but they don’t even notice because now Mangus is rolling his hips just right and Alec bites at his bottom lip and they’re both hard by now and their clothes are getting in the way.
“Fuck,” Alec breathes as Magnus leans back to look at him. Alec’s lips are red and kiss-swollen, his pupils blown wide and he’s breathing hard. Magnus’s own skin feels feverish and he knows his mouth must be red too.
“Can I take your shirt off?” Magnus asks, hand hovering over Alec’s buttons.
“Fuck yes,” Alec says. “Only if I can take yours off too.”
Magnus laughs and puts his hands up in the air so Alec can do just that. Then he moves onto Alec’s buttons and pops them open, taking his own sweet time with them and kissing every little new patch of skin as it’s revealed.
Alec squirms under him and as soon as his buttons are all open, shrugs off the shirt impatiently. Then he flips their bodies so that Magnus is lying down on the couch, head propped up on the armrest, with Alec hovering above him.
“I want to blow you,” he breathes out, sitting back on his knees, in between Magnus’s legs.
“Okay,” Magnus chews at his lip, his heart skipping in his chest.
Not needing anything else, Alec strips him of his pants and boxers as soon as the word leaves his mouth, and lowers himself over his crotch, hands on Magnus’s hips.
“Guide me,” Alec murmurs, taking one of Magnus’s hands and placing it on his own head. “Show me how you like it.”
“Fuck,” Magnus says as Alec pulls him a little close and mouths along the base of his cock, licking a stripe up the side and then finally closing his mouth over the tip, sucking very lightly, teasing. He pushes down on Alec’s head to urge him to take in a little more, and Alec obeys, swallowing down almost his entire length in a smooth move. Magnus is breathing hard, trying not to buck his hips and fuck into Alec’s mouth.
Alec bobs his head up and down, fingers digging into Magnus’s hips, probably hard enough to leave marks. His mouth feels amazing – warm and tight – and he’s almost gagging on Magnus’s cock when Magnus makes the mistake of looking down at him. His face is flushed, and his eyes have welled up a bit. His hair is rumpled and messy from Magnus’s constant pulling on it and he’s almost choking on Magnus’s cock. One of his hands traces the curve of Magnus’s ass and moves further inwards, resting the tip of his fingertip against Magnus’s asshole like he’d done before, that night in his own apartment. He pushes at it with the lightest pressure, probably because he remembers how it’d made Magnus come undone.
“I’m gonna,” Magnus manages to say in a strangled voice, pushing at Alec’s head for him to get off. Alec doesn’t budge though, stubborn and determined. Magnus arches his back and comes down his throat, feeling his toes curl.
“That was…” Magnus pants, searching for a word big enough to fit the feeling. Incredible? Mind-blowing? Unbelievably sexy? None of them seem good enough. Fortunately, Alec gets it. He gets up, smiling and wiping at the come dribbling down his mouth. Magnus watches mesmerized and then pulls him in for a kiss.
He tastes salty and a little bitter, and Magnus licks into his mouth, feeling even more turned on at the taste of his own come.
“I’m thirsty,” Alec says, reaching for his half-empty glass. The wine is too warm by now though and he makes a face, setting it back.
“I’ll get you some water,” Magnus says, getting up, feeling like his bones are made of jelly.
“Perhaps some of that brownie, too?” Alec asks, adjusting himself in his pants and grinning. “Before we continue?”
“Coming right up,” Magnus laughs, stalking off to the kitchen completely naked. What’s the point of putting on his clothes again when they’re just going to be taken off again minutes later?
He plates up the brownies, picks up a pitcher of water and some glasses and carries it all back to the couch. Alec is curled up on one corner, hunched over his phone.
“Here you go,” Magnus smiles, pouring him a glass and turning to hand it over to him, when he notices Alec shaking slightly. “Fuck, what’s wrong?”
Alec doesn’t look up, but he does shake his head and put out a hand to say he doesn’t want to be touched. Magnus bites at his lip, worried sick, and takes the opportunity to quickly pull on his boxers again.
“Alexander,” he says softly, kneeling down on the carpet beside his hunched over figure, taking care not to touch him even accidentally. “Please, darling. Are you okay?”
Alec’s whole body is shaking violently now, and Magnus feels like he’s about to go out of his mind. “Are you having a panic attack? Did something happen? Please, Alec, I just want to help.” It’s devastating, not to be able to touch him but Magnus doesn’t want to even place a hand lightly on his knee without express permission.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, his brain repeats over and over. “Please, Alec,” he nearly begs, his heart breaking at the way Alec is shaking.
“I’m okay,” Alec’s strained, hoarse voice is a relief to hear, even if he’s clearly lying.
“Alec,” Magnus says, shaking his head. Please tell me what you need. What can I do? How do I stop this? How do I make it better?
“It’s a panic attack,” Alec wheezes, his breathing ragged and uneven, his hands curled into tight fists. He straightens up a bit and Magnus is shocked to see his face, running with silent tears, his skin flushed and his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down from how hard he’s trying to swallow back more tears.
“Okay, okay,” Mangus murmurs, fidgeting and trying to keep himself calm. He’s no use to Alec if he’s a mess too. “Um, I read somewhere that regulating your breathing can help alleviate the anxiety. Do you want to try that?”
Alec takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods. Magnus nods back, murmuring ‘okay, okay, okay’ to himself, trying his best to remember what exactly he’d read.
“Breathe with me, okay?” He says, ducking his head a little to look at Alec. He places a hand over his chest, indicating Alec should imitate him and then breathes in deeply, counting it out loud so Alec can follow. “In. 1, 2, 3. Out. 1, 2, 3.”
Alec breathes with him for a few seconds, then hesitantly reaches for Magnus’s free hand, placing it with his own, on his chest, letting Magnus count his own breaths for him.
“In,” Magnus murmurs, palm flat against Alec’s chest. “And out.”
Alec’s eyes are closed now and Magnus shifts on his knees, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“And again,” he whispers quietly. “In. Out.”
Alec has stopped shaking by now, and his hand slips from Magnus’s hand, into his lap. He lets out a shaky, sigh and wipes at his face, looking ashamed of himself. Magnus climbs onto the couch, next to him and bites at his lip.
“Can I hug you?” he asks softly. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”
“It’s okay,” Alec nods, leaning into Magnus’s side and letting him wrap his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in as close as he can.
“Feeling better?” Magnus asks after a few minutes, rubbing his hand soothingly across Alec’s back.
“Much,” Alec replies, leaning away and looking ashamed again. “I’m so sorry for freaking out on you. I haven’t gotten a panic attack in years, and never one as bad as this one. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Magnus says firmly, keeping one hand on Alec’s shoulder, but giving him space otherwise. “This is not your fault at all.”
“But I didn’t want you to have to handle anything like this,” Alec murmurs, looking away.
Magnus doesn’t reply for a minute. The implication behind Alec’s words is clear – he’s not comfortable showing Magnus this side of him. It hurts but it’s a hard truth: their relationship is based on certain rules. Like Magnus had first explained to Alec the day he gave him the contract, it’s a relationship that cannot grow and evolve with time. The rules are there so that none of them expects anything more from each other than what they’ve clearly stated at the beginning. Magnus is frustrated with this now, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it without uprooting their entire contract and declaring it null and void.
He has to work within the rules.
“I’m sorry, Alec. But there’s nothing you can do about that now and I’m not a monster that’ll turn you out on the streets after something like this,” he says, then pauses. He’s not sure how his next suggestion will go over with Alec, but there’s no harm in trying. “For tonight, do you want to maybe just, forget the contract? Can I please comfort you and take care of you without sticking to our rules? Can I just be there for you, as a friend and as somebody who cares about you?”
Alec takes a minute to think about it, his fingers fidgeting, and then looks up at Magnus, face bathed in relief. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Magnus repeats, nodding to himself. He pulls Alec into his arms again and hugs him tightly. “How about I make you some tea and then we can talk about it, if you like.”
“Okay,” Alec agrees. Magnus squeezes him once more before getting up to go make the tea he’d promised. It’s such an English thing to do but it’s something that Ragnor had always done for him, and it’s the only thing he can think of now.
Surreptitiously, he googles ‘what to do after a panic attack’ on his phone while he waits for the water to boil. Most of the websites talk about breathing techniques and he’d already done that. As far as he could tell, Alec was breathing normally now. Some of the blogs mentioned feeling negatively about oneself, and countering that with positive self-talk. Well, they could try that.
Magnus pours out the tea, scrolling through more websites, all of which encourage the person to talk to a loved one. Sighing, he tucks his phone under his arm and takes out the tea, hoping Alec is okay to stay over and talk it out.
“Here you go,” Magnus says, handing over a steaming mug to Alec.
“Thank you,” Alec murmurs, wrapping both hands around the mug and taking a deep breath.
“Alexander,” Magnus starts, sitting down so that he’s facing him. “I’ve read that talking about what triggered the attack can be very helpful. Or even just talking about your feelings in general. Especially after the one you had, which like you said, was much bigger than the ones you’ve had in the past.”
Alec nods, but doesn’t reply. Magnus continues, hesitantly. “I know perhaps I’m not the perfect person to talk to but I’m here for you, believe me when I say that. Everything you say will be confidential and if you want, we can never refer to it again.”
“I know,” Alec murmurs. “Um, I haven’t told you about something important about my mom that happened a few days ago.”
“Okay,” Magnus nods, glad that he’s opening up. Until now, he’s been wondering if the panic attack has something to do with him – did he do something wrong? Did he fuck up? But now that Alec’s said it’s about his mother, Magnus feels a tiny bit relieved.
“My siblings and I,” Alec continues, taking a deep breath, “We went over to her place for lunch and we ended up confronting her about everything she’s been doing to us. All the horrible, controlling things.”
Magnus reaches out to place his hand on Alec’s knee, nodding. He doesn’t want to speak before Alec is done.
“She didn’t take it too well. We left before we even finished the meal and Izzy was really upset so I couldn’t also show how upset I was. I needed to be there for Iz.” Alec takes a sip from his mug and clears his throat.
“Anyway, I was working through it on my own terms and making the best of it but then right now, when you left to get the brownies, um, my mom texted me.” Alec stops, closing his eyes and trying to breathe calmly. Magnus stays silent.
“Here,” Alec unlocks his phone, pulls up the message and shows it to Magnus. “I can’t read it again.”
Magnus takes the phone and reads the text, his blood boiling with every word he reads.
You are no son of mine if you continue like this. You will either finish your degree, do your internship in a proper, finance related field instead of settling for a disgusting, service job, marry a good, rich woman and settle down, or never set foot in my house again. And you can tell Isabelle I expect the same from her. If she cannot do something worthwhile or find a man suitable for herself, she is no longer welcome either. I expect you two to realize your mistakes and come ask me for forgiveness.
Magnus reaches the end of the text and realizes he’s squeezing his mug so hard, it might shatter.
“I’m so sorry, Alec,” he murmurs, not knowing what else to say, how else to make it better.
“I don’t care about the stuff she said to me,” Alec says, his voice breaking. “But how am I supposed to tell Izzy all that?”
“Shh,” Mangus says, patting his knee soothingly. “It’s okay. She’s amazingly strong. You need to tell her so she can cut your mother out of her life for good so she can never hurt either of you again.”
“I don’t think I can do it,” Alec half-sobs. “Izzy was so upset after that lunch, even though mom treated her horribly.”
“Darling, I’ve only met your sister once, but I can tell you, she’s strong as hell,” Magnus says, smiling a little.
“She is,” Alec agrees, wiping at his eyes again. “But I don’t know if I am.”
“You are,” Magnus exclaims. “You’re so strong and gentle and kind and you deserve the world, Alec. You don’t deserve a parent like Maryse.”
Alec nods, looking a little embarrassed at the praise. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, drinking some more of his tea.
“Thank you, Magnus,” he says after a while, looking at him with immense gratitude.
“Don’t mention it,” Magnus replies, smiling.
He waits until they’ve finished their teas before speaking again. “Alexander, would you like to stay over tonight? I don’t want you to go home like this.”
Alec nods, not meeting his eyes. “Okay,” he says. Then he looks up guiltily. “I’m sorry I ruined our night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Magnus says sternly.
He gently takes Alec’s hand and leads him into his bedroom where he motions to the left side of the bed and waits until Alec has sat down on the edge. Then he drops to his knees, undoes his belt buckle carefully and pulls off his pants and then his socks.
“Do you want pyjamas?” He asks, folding the clothes neatly and placing them on a nearby chair.
“No, it’s okay,” Alec says, looking a little embarrassed. “Are you getting in too?”
“Just a minute,” Magnus assures him, going off to the bathroom. He cuts his nightly routine back as much as he can and comes out barely ten minutes later. Alec has gotten under the covers, but he still looks a little lost. Magnus smiles, turns off the light and gets in next to him.
“I know you like being the little spoon, but will you hold me for a bit, please?” Alec asks, voice very quiet and hesitant.
“Of course,” Magnus replies, wrapping both arms and legs around him, hugging tightly. He presses a kiss to the nearest piece of skin he can find, which happens to be his collarbone, and hums quietly.
“Are you singing me a lullaby?” Alec asks, the hint of a laugh in his voice.
“No,” Magnus denies it quickly.
“You’re too cute,” Alec murmurs, smiling against Magnus’s chest.
Magnus laughs, running his fingers lightly through Alec’s hair, scratching at the scalp soothingly.
“Magnus,” Alec whispers after a while.
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to quit grad-school and go for that job at Tan’s full-time,” Alec says.
Magnus lets out a delighted noise. “I’m so proud of you, Alexander,” he exclaims.
“Thank you.” A pause, then: “For everything.”
“Not a problem at all. I’m going to call Xavier tomorrow and tell him the good news.”
Alec laughs, snuggling in closer. He sighs and settles down, drifting off after a while. Magnus stays up, playing with his hair and thinking about how he’d like to do this every night.
|
It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be to get Nightmare out of the room where Blue was. Nightmare had taken one sniff of the blankets, after Horror pointed out that they hadn't done laundry in a while, blanched, and run off with, well, the entire nest. Horror smiled softly. It wasn't all that bad, not if Blue's peaceful smell was to be believed. He'd probably like waking up to their smells instead of his brother's or Ink's.
His heat was on its way, and Horror's own forced dominant one could tell it would be submissive. He liked that fact, although he felt a little guilty about it. He didn't think just using his strong sense of smell counted as taking advantage of Blue, but he was mortified at the possibility that it might.
Horror, ever so gently, slipped Blue's skull onto his lap where they sat on Nightmare's giant mattress. He didn't even think about doing it. He'd done the same thing for his brother thousands of times in far too many RESETs. His brother had done the same for him. Submissive heats made you crave love and attention. At this stage of things, that was all that Blue would have: a craving. Horror knew about cravings. He loved the looks on people's faces when they got fulfilled.
For Horror, he could hold off the sexual part of his heat fairly well. It wasn't uncontrollable. You had to choose to give in. Monsters knew that, or at least they should. Ones who pretended otherwise were just assholes.
He was choosing to give in to his craving for protection, though. Dominant heats in his world brought the need to give care and attention to someone else. It was why he was the perfect monster to watch over Blue right now. He'd do anything for the abused little monster. He'd have done anything for him when they were still enemies. Horror was a non-discriminate carer.
It was at that point that Horror felt Blue stirring in his lap. The exhausted monster was finally recovered; the days-long sleep had finally done it for him. Good. They'd been so scared for him. Now Horror could feed him all of the magic food he'd made. He really didn't get that he'd made too much. He'd made more food than 500 Blues would have been able to eat in one sitting. Blue wasn't all that big. He needed to eat more than he did, but for right now, as Horror should have known, smaller portions more often would be a better way to feed him.
Horror didn't beat around the bush very well, so when Blue opened his eye sockets (Only the left eye light switched on at first. Cute.) "hey there, blue. nice to see you awake again. d'you want anything to eat?"
#
Blue didn't hear Horror's first words to him. He wasn't exactly aware of his surroundings, which scared him as soon as he realized it. What if someone had come after him? Horror didn't count; Blue knew his honor was impeccable. All of the supposed Bad Sanses were. Everyone knew that, although there were certain exceptions. Stealing and murder. Those were the main two exceptions. But they never took advantage of anyone... Well. Ink didn't really count. Ink wasn't nice to them. And even then they'd only go as far as getting him to give them things they could easily steal.
Maybe it was because it was Horror that was holding him that Blue had felt so safe in his sleep? He'd woken up so slowly, something had to have made him feel safe. Horror smelled safe. It was kinda weird. Blue could smell that Horror was in heat, and that he was in a dominant one, but he still smelled safe. Good. Good and safe. Blue had never smelled someone like that.
"blue? food?" Horror said, his voice full of hope.
"Killer gave me hot chocolate," Blue answered distractedly. He was too busy concentrating on not purring. Purring would be the wrong thing to do when in the clutches of his enemy... Right? Were they even still enemies? Blue was usually sure that everyone was his enemy, but-
"blue."
He blinked at what he was starting to realize wasn't his enemy and probably never had been. Not in a dangerous way, anyway. "Yes?"
"blue, that was six days ago. that's almost a week, blue. it's time for food."
Blue blinked at Horror some more. "No? Food is-"
Horror suddenly stood up, bringing Blue into his arms and limping off towards the kitchen. Blue was fairly sure it was towards the kitchen. They had been talking about food. "how often did that bastard let you eat?"
"I don't eat so he can have enough food. He doesn't have the time to buy it, so I have to go, and they charge me a lot more. We can't... Really afford to both eat, but I don't want him to know that."
Now Horror was stopping dead in the middle of the hallway so he could stare down at Blue. The little skeleton wiggled, trying not to think of how it had to look. He just wanted to get free, and he knew Horror wouldn't hurt him for it. He never did.
"Ink's money doesn't really work in my world, and I'm so busy with my friends that I can't work in my world anym-"
Horror was nuzzling him. Horror was nuzzling him. Stars, it felt good. Wait, what?
"one, ink and stretch are lying assholes. gold is the same everywhere and stretch makes plenty for you both to eat. three, dream is an idiot. you are starving and he is your friend and should make sure you have food. four, you are adorable and deserve a lot better than what you have. i am going to give you so much food. do you know what that means?"
"Kind of? I know your world doesn't have much, so please don't-"
"nightmare feeds us now. food is love, blue, and he loves me. you give stretch all your food because he's an asshole who spends all your money on booze and knows that means you're starving, but you still love him. i am going to feed you. forever. i am going to feed you forever. do you get what that means?"
Slowly, a blue blush bloomed on Blue. Oh. He... Didn't really want to acknowledge what that meant, not really, but... Horror was in heat, right? This had to just be his head talking. Right? Right?
"Th-thank you for your care, Horror, but you really don't have to keep feeding me. I can smell your heat. You can stop after, okay? I-if you want to, that is."
"yeah, no. i'm gonna feed you forever, if only because of the Big Brother Code. you sacrificed for your brother. you deserve to know that means a lot. if you're not ready to think about the deeper stuff, just go with that. okay?"
Grateful for the out, Blue jumped on it. Without really thinking about it, he nuzzled Horr'r's chest. "Thank you! I'll do that!"
|
Sidor slowly came to feeling weirdly numb and floaty. He refused to open his eyes while he catalogued and sent his senses throughout his body, to his utter panic he could not move anything under his neck. His distress must have alerted his father through their empathic bond, for he could feel instantly feel the love and concern being pushed towards him by his father. At the same time, fingers started to card through his hair, soothing him instantly, telling him that his father was just nearby. His eyes popped open and he stared helplessly at his dad, trying to convey what he was panicking about when his voice absolutely failed him. Thankfully, his dad knew him well enough.
“Calm Little one, don’t panic, you are not paralysed you are simply immobilised below the neck. The curse that the menace duo hit you with cut a little too close to your spine, and I have immobilized you from the neck down to make sure that you will be able to walk out of our quarters when you are healed. Before you ask, I am the one that has been healing you, Poppy have not seen your body or more specifically your scars, neither have your friends. You are in our quarters' little prince. I promise you will be fine. The armband managed to deflect most of the damage. My little one, you have to remain this way for probably 2-3 days. I know it seems long but this is a sensitive area, and we just want to make sure that you will make a full recovery, and is back to pranking and annoying us soon enough.”
“Yes little fledging, you will be okay, I promise if Sev can’t be here for you while he is teaching we will. Let us help you little fledgeling, I know you hate feeling dependent and in your words
useless
, but I promise you none of us feels that way. Let us in all the way Sidor, trust us, we will always catch you.” (
You never know when therapy is happening when you are with Grandma Pen)
Sidor started and looked around the room, his Grandma Pen and Granddad Nick was here, so were both his godfathers granted they did look different, they all had glamoured and transfigured most of their features, but he could pick out their magic anywhere, it wrapped him up in warmth and love and reminded him of a burning fire on a cold winter’s day. He turned around and asked his father the question that had been burning him at since he had come to.
“Dad, how did you find me? And how long have I been out? And what becomes of Potter and Weasley.”
“Little Prince, you basically gave all three of us a heart attack when our rings started to heat up and vibrate. I followed the tracker to look for you and found you bleeding at the lakeside while Potter and Weasley were gloating over you. Your little friends were desperately holding a shield around you while the little Hufflepuff was about to run off to notify Poppy. Before you say anything, I much rather have known you were injured than to have to be notified of your passing, and your grandparents agree with me. As for the Menace Duo they are currently under probation and will have to spend every free minute in Minerva’s office when they are not in lessons or when curfew has not passed, it will be that way until we can deal with them. As for how long you have been out, it has been about 2 hours don’t worry, Little Prince.”
Severus looked at his child, pale, worn and almost colourless on the dark purple duvet that his son was buried in. Just hours ago he had apparated into a scene that had taken years off his life. His child pale lifeless and bleeding from multiple wounds across his back.
Flashback
Severus nearly had got a heart attack when the disillusioned ring on his finger that tied to the health of his little one started vibrating while heating up to almost unbearable temperatures. He knew it could only mean one thing, and he could only pray to mother magic above that he would be in time to save the precious child he called his son. Suddenly he felt an infusion of magical power and he knew that Lady Magic and Lady Hogwarts was on his side. He quickly dismissed his class that had been gaping gormlessly at him while he stared off in the distance and panicked internally. He let the magic of Lady Hogwarts envelope him and followed the link between his ring and Sidor’s armband and did the impossible in Hogwarts and apparated.
Instantly he bounced into action, he will not let his child slip away from him, he instantly bound and immobilised the menace duo knowing that they were the responsible for this crisis. He knelt down at his child’s side and sent diagnostic spell after diagnostic spell trying to figure out what had happened. He sucked in a breath when he realized how close his imp was to complete body paralyzation. He sent off a Patronus to Minerva to come and collect the trash and to warn her to keep it from Albus Dumbledore, reassured Sidor’s little friend before immobilizing and splinting his son’s entire body and levitating his son back into his quarters.
Unsurprisingly to him, he found both his pseudo parents in his quarters, he had missed them severely and knowing they were there to help him in this crisis soothed that still panicking part of his soul. He looked around a little more and noticed the canine couple in his rooms as well, and he was mortified to find himself feeling a little gratified about his choice of picking them to be his child’s godparents. And judging from the worried faces on the couple, he was more than justified and correct in his faith in them.
“Okay, Healer Prince where do you want us?”
The subtle reminder to his professional identity gave him a kick in the tuchus, and he switched immediately into his Professional healer mode and started snapping out orders exactly how he would towards another Healer. They were going to heal his son, and nothing was going to stop him. He could vaguely feel Lady Hogwarts and Lady Magic almost surge in him in agreement.
Flashback End
Back to the present though, he watched as the energy of Sidor faded quickly, and the little boy was basically panting even though he was simply lying on the bed. Even the simple act of looking around and asking questions and drained him completely. He quickly summoned a few potions and coaxed the little boy to drink them down, before starting to card his fingers through the unruly mop knowing that it was the one thing that never failed to put him to sleep.
The next time Sidor woke, he knew what he was expecting, but there was so still no stopping the immediate swell of panic that welled up in him when he remembered that he could move anything below his neck. Even the soothing voice of his grandma reading a Charles Dicken classic out loud was unable to soothe his mindless panic.
“Okay little Fledgling, I know you are awake. Let us start with a little morning mindfulness, shall we? To calm that busy noisy mind of yours, everything will be okay I promise you. Right Sidor, breath in, hold one two, out one-two. Follow that breathe little Fledgling, draw your attention to the physical sensation of breathing: the air moving through your nose or mouth, the rising and falling of your little belly. Focus your attention on your little belly, feel that belly move and down. Open your eyes small one, feel the bed sheet that is touching you, feel the cool air that is moving over your body. Okay, my beloved grandson, return to me. Look at me young one, it’s going to be okay, we will get through this together.”
Sidor unconsciously followed the instructions of his grandmother, and he could feel his panic receding. He opened his mouth wanting to ask his grandmother where his dad was, but his voice died with him. He could feel the dark tendrils of depression and the feelings of worthlessness start to grapple again at him. He was 100% reliant on his grandparents and father for everything for a minimum of two days and a maximum of the rest of his life. How on earth, and why on earth would anyone want to take care of such a useless freak like him? A almost soundless “thank you” was pretty much the only thing he could force his throat to croak out.
To his relief, however, his grandmother did not notice his turmoil and instead and magicked a damp hand toilet into existence and had started wiping his unmoving hands and feet, while his grandfather meandered into the room with a tray in his hands.
“Okay, Little Colt, while I know you can control wandless magic to feed yourself, but we want you to save your magic to heal rather than expend it needlessly. Please allow me to feed you?”
Sidor looked at his grandfather and he could feel the dark void of depression drawing closer,
he was even reliant on his family to eat there was no redeeming factor for the useless lump of human he was
. He gave a weak nod to his grandfather, tightly occluding away his apathy and melancholy until he could deal with it later.
The two days passed quickly, the hours blended together and Sidor quickly lost track of time, and his imprisonment seemed to stretch on endlessly. He rarely spoke even when his grandparents and Dad coaxed him into banter, he rarely responded. His father popped in as much as he could and every night he fell asleep in his father arms as he had always done all the years ago when he was bedridden in the first few days of him coming to live with his Dad. His grandfather and father took turns to help him shower, and his grandmother sat with him every day and fed him. Both his grandparents took turns to read to him and talk to him or even each other when he was in the room. While his godparents did all they could to entertain him and make him feel normal while basically helping him to take care of his toiletry or human needs. While he appreciated what his grandparents, his godparents and his Dad did for him, he couldn't help but feel like a burden and that behind his back the three adults could not wait to get rid of him.
Now it was finally the morning of the third day from the attack, and today was the day that his father was going to remove the immobilizing spell and see that is he was indeed going to be walking out of their quarters. And for some reason, he could not shake the anxiety that was threatening to swallow him whole.
|
If the clattering of the pans didn’t wake him, who knows how long he would’ve slept. Loki rubbed his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. He had no idea of the time, but judging by the amount of sunlight that slipped through the curtains, it was well past morning. He sat up and looked around. His memory of last night was vague; like a dream, yet he still recalled what had happened. His eyes landed on the other side of the bed, which was empty but obviously slept in. He smiled a bit, realizing Thor’s snoring hadn’t even woke him. Another clank came from outside the room, this one resembled a falling plate. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, wondering what was going on. There were no voices, so a visitor was unlikely. He went to stand when the door opened, and Loki saw something he would have never been able to make up. Thor in an apron. He couldn’t help but cackle.
“Lovely garment,” He laughed. “Looks like something our mother would wear.”
“Perhaps that is because she had fantastic style,” He replied, striking a pose.
“May I ask what it is for?”
“I’ve taken up a part-time job as a maid,” Thor said sarcastically, but with a smile. “What do you think? I’ve made us breakfast!”
Loki raised his eyebrows, his mouth dropping slightly.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes!”
“Like, cooked food?”
“Yes, Loki, it is cooked food.”
“Nothing’s on fire?”
“Not anymore.”
Loki rolled his eyes.
“I suppose that’s better than currently on fire.”
“I even learned how to use the Midgardian cooking device called a stove! It took me almost 5 hours, but I did it-”
“What? Five hours-? Thor, what time is it?”
“Well, I would imagine around one now. Technically lunch, but that’s alright. You were sleeping so peacefully I decided not to wake you,” He said.
Loki looked out the window again, he knew it was past sunrise, but not that far past. He very seldom slept in.
“Do not dwell on it, the food may get cold,” Thor said, grabbing Loki’s arm. **Loki yelped, quickly pulling his arm away without thinking.
Thor stepped back, looking confused. Loki cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back.
“Yes, I am a bit hungry,” He said, hoping Thor would dismiss his action. To his disappointment, Thor didn’t move.
“Loki, what was that about?” He questioned, his smile faded now.
“Nothing, I just did not expect you to pull me up,” He said slowly. Thor’s gaze remained.
“Let me see your arm.” He said, holding out his hand.
“That really isn’t necessary-”
“Loki let me see your arm,” He repeated sternly.
Loki raced for something else to say.
“Brother stop this foolishness, I do not see why you insist I-”
He didn’t have time to move away when Thor grabbed his arm, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. He tried pulling away but knew it was no use against his physically superior sibling. He could hear Thor’s soft exhale, but he looked away.
“Loki…” He said quietly. “How badly did those dig into you?”
Loki looked up, confused.
“What?”
“Your shackles. The marks are still fresh, almost. Why have they not healed?”
“Um, I do not know,” He said. “Perhaps they need more time.”
“Do they still hurt?”
“A bit sore, yes. Nothing serious, they will be gone eventually.”
Thor let go of his arm, nodding. Loki slowly put down his arm, sliding his sleeve back down.
**“Now how about that breakfast, yeah?” Loki said. Thor grinned.
“You can tell me if I did an acceptable job,” he chuckled. Loki patted his brother on the back.
“I’m sure you did well.”
...
Loki had to hand it to his brother, he did not expect such a good meal. It was simple; eggs, bacon, and toasted bread with butter, but it tasted great. Sure, pots and pans were everywhere, and the place looked nearly destroyed, but Loki would clean it up for him. It was a simple gesture, but a kind one. Still, he couldn’t help but let what happened earlier run a course through his head.**It was not the shackle marks he feared his brother seeing, but older, more personal marks. They were nothing large, just thin, horizontal lines reaching from a little bit above his palm to the inside of his elbow. They were old thankfully, very old, did not fade like a lot of his others.
He had only heard of the practice from a group of drunkards in his youth, who insisted it was something some Midgardians did. He went on to talk about how they had no real problems and were foolish, but he left before he heard anything more. At first, he was curious what it would feel like to purposefully maim oneself. Then, with time, it became a habit.
Until one day his mother didn’t knock.
He would never forget the look on her face when she saw the dagger, the way she ran over and embraced him while he cried. He promised her that day he would never do it again, and he never did. Like any addiction, he had his close moments, but he never broke his promise. In return, she swore to never say a word to anyone, including Thor. She would constantly try fading them for him, but they never seemed to want to go away. Breaking away from his musings he looked up, Thor was facing away, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. Loki wondered, did he see them?**
“I made you tea, by the way,” Thor said, still facing away. “I know you don’t like coffee, so I hope that’s alright.”
Loki looked over from the table and saw a kettle on the stove.
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.” He said.
Thor set down his paper and got him a cup. Loki couldn’t help but notice the air had grown tense. Was it because of what happened? Thor set down the teacup gently and flashed Loki a quick smile. A smile that seemed forced. He eyed Thor, taking a sip from the cup. It wasn’t the best tea he ever had, but not that bad either.
Beep! Beep!
From across the room, a device went off, then without further warning projected an image of a man. Thor gasped, dropping his cup.
“Malicious blue man, what business do you have here?!” He yelled, pointing a pen at him. Wherever the pen came from.
“Calm down-”
“It speaks!”
Loki realized it was the Stark man being projected.
“Hey Shakespeare, it’s just me, Tony,” He said. “Listen, where are you at right now?”
“Ah, Man of Iron you have frightened me,” Thor said, setting down the pen. “What do you need?”
“Are you aware you are wanted?” He said plainly. “Is Loki there with you?” He asked.
Loki resisted the urge to hide under the table, though he did nothing wrong. For once.
“Yes, I just picked him up last night. Why?”
“Someone has placed a reward for both of your captures. Who did, we’re still trying to figure out, but it’s a pretty hefty reward. Two Million we’re talking.”
Thor looked at Loki with narrowed eyes.
“Does it refer to any crime in particular?”
“The murder of some diplomat or something? It was very vague, but nothing you did, I’m sure. Loki on the other hand..”
“My brother would not have done such a thing. He has been locked away this entire time.” Thor defended. Loki could notice there was a twinge of doubt in his voice.
“You are quick to accuse, Stark,” Loki spoke up. “But I am afraid this crime was none of my doing.”
“I wish I could believe you.” He said. “But I can’t. Strange told me about the situation-”
Stark was interrupted by someone jumping into the feed.
“Who are you talking to, Mr. Stark? ᵒʰ ᵐʸ ᴳᵒᵈ ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵀʰᵒʳ? ᴹʳ. ᴸᵒᵏᶦ ʰᶦ! ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ! ᵀʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶜᵒᵒˡ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ!”
Loki was impressed by how high the kid's voice had gotten in such little time. If he wasn’t being accused of the murder he might’ve laughed.
“The hell? Peter, get off the feed!” Stark said, shoving the boy away. “Anyways, we’re trying to sort out the whole situation, but we need more answers. I was going to ask you in person, but that seems to be out of the question so Thor, I’ll let you sort this one out. Loki, I hope you come clean to save your brother some trouble. It’s not that we don’t trust you-”
“ᴵ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᴹʳ. ᴸᵒᵏᶦ!” A small voice piped from somewhere in the hologram.
“It’s just that we don’t trust you.” He finished. Loki bit his tongue, deciding now wasn’t the time for a snarky comeback. Instead, he glared.
“Just hit the button on here to contact me when you have more information. Until then, see what you can do.”
The image flickered, then receded. There was a moment of silence, Loki knew what was about to come.
“I trusted you!” Thor growled, turning to Loki.
“Thor, you cannot possibly deny me so quickly,” He said calmly, hoping his demeanor would rub off on his fuming brother.
“Really? Then explain to me why we are both wanted for murder!”
“I don’t know,” Loki said.
“I haven’t had you back for a day and you’ve already crossed me!” He yelled. He didn’t notice it, but Loki flinched the smallest bit at it.
“I did nothing!”
“I bet this is all a ploy! Another trick of yours to get what you want! I chose to forgive you faking your death again, but this?”
Loki shook his head. “What do you mean I faked my death again? I did not!”
“Like HEL!” Thor spat, walking over to Loki. Loki stood up and backed away.
“Why can’t you believe just this one time? I’ve nothing wrong, Thor!”
The words, though true, sounded fake. Thor kept advancing, backing Loki into the far wall.
“Liar!”
“I’m not a liar!” Loki yelled back, his eyes brimming with tears. The last person on earth to have faith in him doesn’t even believe him now.
Thor grabbed Loki’s wrists, pinning them to the wall. Loki barely registered it, all he saw was the electricity spilling from his brother's eyes.
“Thor, what are you doing?” He said. Thor ignored his question. He knew Thor’s temper had gotten the best of him.
“Tell me the truth, Loki!” He yelled, squeezing his arms tighter.
“Thor, you’re hurting me,” Loki said, trying to remain calm.
“TELL ME THE TRUTH!”
A surge of electricity shot from Thor’s hand right into Loki. He cried out from the unexpected pain that spread from his arms to the rest of his body.
“You’re mad! Stop this!” He yelled.
“I stop when you tell me the truth!”
It was like a hallucination; the way the horrible memories flooded back in. The men, beating him, screaming for him to tell them information about the Avengers. What they were, how they could be brought down. They had tried everything to get the information, he never spilled, in the end, he was on their side. They never took no for an answer. Anything he tried telling them they knew wasn’t the truth. The memory came in slow at first, then everything surged in like a mudslide, trapping him under it. He screamed the loudest scream he had emitted in months as the electricity crept into the corners. His vision was spotty. It didn’t matter, he didn’t see his brother anyways. He saw the armored men now. He screamed again, pushing against the restraints. He needed to get away. To make the pain stop.
Then it did.
He crumbled to the ground and curled up into a ball. What he usually did to help with the pain. He held his wrists to his chest. He barely realized he was speaking. More sobbing actually.
“I’m not a liar, I’m not a liar, I’m not a liar-”
He kept repeating the words like a sacred chant he couldn’t control. His trance was broken by a touch. The static cleared a bit, and he could hear a voice.
“No no no! Loki! Please, please look at me!”
Who was speaking? Thor? How was he here?
He then realized, he wasn’t in the cell anymore. He was with Thor. He willed himself to pry open his eyes. He looked at his arms, red branched out, spreading from his palms up his arms. Two arms reached down, pulling him up from the ground. He looked up and saw Thor. His eyes were no longer electrified but full of tears.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I did this, Loki please speak to me-”
His words were fast and jumbled, but calming in a way.
“Thor,” He breathed.
“Brother,” He said, pulling Loki in close to him. Usually, Loki hated affection, but now it felt different. Safe, like everything, was okay now. He wrapped his arms around Thor and buried his head in his chest.
“Loki I cannot express how sorry I am, I didn’t mean to hurt you..” Thor said. His voice was shaky.
“It’s okay,” Loki said, his voice muffled.
“I believe you Loki, I’m sorry I doubted you. We’ll find who set us up,” He said.
“Just don’t grill them, Brother,” Loki chuckled. He pulled out of his brothers embrace and smiled. Thor smiled back, but a sadness lingered.
“I will do my best to keep my temper in check,” He promised. “I guess it is safe to say you really were there for a long time… weren’t you?”
“Yes,” Loki said. “But it’s over now.”
Thor put a hand on the side of Loki’s neck, a common show of brotherly affection.
“We’ll get this sorted out, do not worry. In the meantime, your drink is getting cold.”
Loki looked over to his cup, still on the table. He laughed, a bit shakily, but a laugh.
“Perhaps I can teach you how to work a microwave,” He said.
“A what?”
Loki laughed again.
“Exactly.”
They both chuckled again, making their way back from what occurred. **Loki glanced down at his arm again and slipped down his sleeve.**
|
Taking the stairs with silent, confident strides Zoro glanced down at the watch donning his right wrist as the other hand remained occupied with the large case in its grasp. Noting the time as he rounded the final flight onto the floor that was required with only five minutes left until he needed to be in position. Ducking out of the stairwell onto the floor and making his way down the deserted hall.
Entering a prearranged apartment, he softly locked the door behind himself as he made for the window situated in the bedroom that would allow for the best angle. Keeping himself out of eyesight he cast a careful glance through the window and across the large courtyard that separated the illustrious apartment complex from the ambassadors palace. If the intelligence that they had was still viable then the man that was marked would be in the dining room of the west hall at precisely this time.
Dropping down to one knee, he flicked open the clasps to the sleek black case before flipping the lid up and began assembling the matte parts with practised ease. Eyes glued to the building as he easily attached the barrel of the rifle with nimble fingers, making sure not to loose sight for even a moment. Muscle memory guiding his hands along the gun as he assembled the final few components before moving into position.
Hand flicking the stabilizing arms down, he placed the barrel of the gun along the sill of the window as he edged forward carefully to catch sight of the building through the scope. Fiddling with the knobs on the side with micro-millimetre movements as he calculated for distance, wind, and other interference until he had a perfect view in through the window on the second floor. Sniper jobs weren't his area of expertise, but it didn't stop him from still being one of the best at it.
A single buzz of his watch announced the arrival of the political figure and as though on cue stepped in front of the window and into Zoro's sights. Without removing his sights from the man, Zoro dug into his pocket and pulled out a small device, flicking it open and placing it on the sill. Eye darting from the scope to the small anemometer to take into account wind speed and variation every other second as he await for the man to get into position.
Slowing his breathing to nearly undetectable levels he watched through the scope as he was able to discern details on the man's face with incredible detail. Watching as he chuckled heartily at a comment made by one of the other men before turning to face someone out of sight as he presented his back directly to the window.
Hands steady as always flexed in preparation as his finger finally lowered to the trigger just as a tightness started to develop in the centre of his chest. Branching outwards in small pulsating waves that began restricting his lungs and caused his breathing to grow short as a grunt of pain wheezed past his lips. Eyes falling out of focus for a few important seconds as he found himself choking on the air around him as a terrifyingly familiar memory hovered beneath his subconscious that had him taking in panicked gasps.
“Zoro?” A voice barked into his earpiece, the word drawing him back into the moment with rigour as he blinked furiously to shake the ill feeling, “What the fuck are you doing? Take the shot!”
Swallowing thickly and pushing the odd moment out of his mind he gazed back into the scope in horror as he found the target stepping away from his line of sight and just beyond the window. Eyes flickering to the anemometer and back before realizing he was far too late to worry about semantics as this was his last chance for the shot. Counting the steps in his head as a cold sweat broke out across his body while he slowly swivelled the rifle to compensate for the movement of the other man.
Readjusting the barrel to aim at the next window as he waited for the man to reappear as he pointedly ignored the shrill wailing of the commander in his ear as he once more flexed his grip, released a slow breath, and then pulled the trigger just as a shape stepped into front of the window. A barely noticeable cracked hissed across the large courtyard as a faint shattering of glass could be heard just before screams could be discerned.
Coming back on his haunches Zoro took a last look through the scope to see the shattered window and the lack of a man standing before it as shadowy figures of politicians rushed to the aide of the shot man. Hefting the gun up to rest the butt against his thigh, he kept a hand on the barrel as he looked out towards the large building with a small smirk.
“What kind of bullshit do you think you're trying to pull, Roronoa?” The voice growled angrily in his ear, “Not everything has to be a game!”
Raising his free hand, he pressed on the earpiece before speaking softly, “I got him, didn't I?”
There was some brief muttering as the man no doubt didn't have a proper response before finally grunting, “You don't need to show off every time.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Zoro grunted with a smirk, releasing the microphone and setting about dismantling his gun. Methodically taking it apart and replacing each piece back into its respective place inside as he tried to shake the weird feeling that had refused to abate at the thought of the strange breathlessness that had just occurred moments before.
~X~
Zoro's eyes flickered open with the same weary urgency that they always had, hand reaching out blindly for the alarm clock in a motion that he had now completed countless times. Once again met with an earlier time than he should have before giving up with little reluctance and climbing out of bed. Going downstairs to partake in his daily routine without so much as a look of indifference over the tasks; workout, shower, and breakfast.
Several weeks had passed with the same routine remaining as uninterrupted as it had before, once more managing to keep his episodes at bay. Days fading into weeks as the only thing that gave Zoro any note to the passage of time was the changing of the seasons, or the arrival of monthly bills in the mail, far too used to his mundane routine to attempt to change it.
Wife already gone for the day, Zoro wearily slipped on his shoes and shucked on his jacket before stepping outside into the cool morning air and took a slow glance around. Summer aromas drifted across the light breeze as birds chirped happily in the wee hours of day break, a calming grey overcast shut out the blue sky but still left the area humid. Heaving a sigh, he decided he might as well walk into town as it didn't appear like the weather would turn to rain.
The walk was fairly short, and significantly mindless as Zoro filled the time with mundane tasks such as counting the lines in the sidewalk, or noting all the different flowers present along the neighbours gardens. Specifically focusing on trying to remember the names of each to keep his dreary mind active; not allowing it to stray towards memories that would forever haunt him.
It wasn't long before he had reached the centre of town and he was making his way up the stairs of the small medical building just off of main street. Zoro stood balefully outside the door leading into his therapists office as he tried to prepare himself for the taxing events that would no doubt take place. Knowing it was for his own good, but hating how drained he felt afterwards; never really able to comprehend how talking about himself was somehow more exerting than scaling a thirty storey building.
Hand coming up to run through his hair in exhaustive acceptance, he placed his other hand on the knob and pushed inside firmly. Met with the familiar warm glow that he had become accustomed to over the past several months, eyes drifting from the leather lounge chair in the middle of the room to the more posturepedic one positioned off to the side that currently had his awaiting therapist sitting in it.
“Mr. Roronoa,” She greeted with a cool tone, crossing one elegant leg over the other as her hands remained clasped over the clipboard in her lap. Sharp, calculating eyes watching him as perceptive as ever as she offered warmly, “Good afternoon.”
Zoro nodded stiffly, making his way into the small office as he managed thickly, “You too.”
A fine brow was raised at Zoro critically and the man refrained from making a face of infuriation as he made for the chair opposite the intuitive woman. Sitting down with a little too much force as he made eye contact with her and tried congenially, “Good afternoon, Ms. Nico.”
“Why thank you.” Ms. Nico noted with an airy smile, completely ignoring the withering stare that was barely concealed on Zoro's face as she continued to watch him intently, “How have you been?”
“Good.” Zoro grunted, attempting to sink lower into the chair as he prepared himself for a long, torturous hour. While he could leave any time he wanted, Ms. Nico – Robin – had an aloof way of making him unable to leave without feeling like he was losing to her. A trait which made him both loathe and respect the woman to an unbelievable extent. “You?”
“Quite well, thank you.” She mused calmly, eyes never straying from where they locked unnervingly onto Zoro's own as she continued lightly, “What have you been up to?”
“Nothing new.” Zoro lifted one shoulder in a lame attempt at a shrug, matching her gaze tiredly as he vaguely wondered how a therapist in a small town could have a more intimating aura about her than some of the world's deadliest assassins; she would have made a remarkable villian.
“Sure?” Robin coaxed knowingly, and Zoro had to refrain from growling in annoyance at her perceptiveness. Not that he was entirely hiding the fact that he was sulking, however coming into her office always immediately reminded him of all of his failures and issues over the past month.
“I had a moment.” Zoro admitted gruffly, eyes staring at the floor as he scowl in self-berating frustration. Still not quite over what had happened a couple weeks ago, and unable to shake the feeling that he had failed in some way. It hadn't even been a fully fledged memory but it had still shaken him enough to cause him to drop his drink; being distracted like that in the field would've wound up with him dead.
“Tell me about it.” Robin coaxed soothingly, always gently aware of how much these moments affected Zoro, but also stern enough to force him to face them. Zoro floundered for a moment as he fought to figure out how to begin, and Robin simply leaned minutely back in her chair to give him the time needed.
“Car backfired.” Zoro explained eventually, trying not to focus too hard on the memory lest it jar something loose again, eyes falling to the arm rest as his fingers picked at the leather with intent focus, “It only lasted for a couple seconds.”
“Take me through it.”
Zoro refrained from groaning in annoyance and raised an exhausted hand, pressing his fingers and thumb against his closed eyes and rubbed at them with dismay before finally dropping his hand and levelling the woman with a defeated look. It was hard enough committing to coming in here once a month and opening himself up to her, and sometimes having to be forced to relive experiences was not his idea of a pleasant afternoon.
“I was out walking a dog.” Zoro began simply, eyes respectively raising to meet hers as he kept his senses attuned to the stiffness of the leather underneath him. Focusing on the slight creak of the fabric to keep himself present so he hopefully wouldn't relapse as he recounted the event, “Went and got a coffee when the car back fired. It wasn't really memories, just flashes. Darkness. Pain. Gunfire...”
At the last word Zoro raised a hand and numbly rubbed at an old wound unconsciously, feeling an ache deep beneath the skin that had long since healed. A memory started to rise and he dropped his hand swiftly, eyes snapping back to the woman in the opposing chair as he sternly forced the memory from his mind and back onto the present and concluded simply, “Dropped the coffee.”
“I imagine that was a little frustrating.” Robin offered softly, her tone consoling.
Zoro just shrugged before grunting, “It was like two dollars; I'll live.”
Robin just watched him flatly for several long seconds as they both knew that that had not been what she had been referring to, and they also both knew that it was Zoro's lame attempt at deflecting a conversation he did not want to have. She must have been in a more lenient mood today as she let the comment slide and instead of prodding with more questions offered an insight instead.
“That is progress.” Robin noted softly, “You haven't been having many full memory incidents lately.”
Zoro shrugged.
“That isn't something to shrug off.” Robin urged sternly, her body still relaxed even as her tone gained a bit of an edge, “Slow progress is still progress; you need to focus on your triumphs.”
The woman had an excellent point. Robin was actually always brimming with wonderful insights and ideas, most of which Zoro had to begrudgingly give her credit for. Three years ago he had been a mess of insecurities, trauma, and anxiety, but through their sessions he had come to evolve into a relatively functioning adult. Through her guidance he had managed to take back a large portion of his life, but despite his gratitude she never seemed to understand what was truly causing him suffering.
All the therapy in the world couldn't fix the small, significant fact that the life he was fighting to obtain with her wasn't even the one he wanted. She had him working towards this idealized fantasy of normality when all he wanted was to be back at work, back at what he was good at. Every iota of his being craved being apart of his former life of espionage, expect for his memories which seemed intent on thwarting him.
“I still can't sleep well.” He finally offered into the silence, his inability to sleep just another failure stacked onto the ever growing pile that was his suburban life.
“But you sleep.” Robin corrected, glancing down at her notes briefly before turning a much softer gaze onto him, “When you first came to me you hardly slept; you had nightmares. Now you sleep a regular six hours and haven't had a nightmare in months.”
“Still can't sleep eight.” Zoro offered petulantly.
“I may have you working towards eight hours, but you are also the type of person whom clearly does not like to sleep that much.” Robin noted, “Just because you haven't done what I suggested doesn't mean you haven't succeeded.”
Zoro didn't respond. Simply letting her insightful words sink in much like he always did every visit; of course she was right. She was always right. His grief wasn't with her, or with his progress, it was with his seemingly immature inability to let go of the past and simply be happy in his life now.
“You know what I think?” Robin mused, drawing Zoro out of his thoughts to refocus his attention back on her. Watching wearily as a few dust motes floated heavily across the sun piercing through the office window, offhandedly noting that the sun must have finally broken through the cloud cover.
“You'll tell me anyways.” Zoro grunted.
“You're too used to following orders.” She surmised simply, a frown breaking out across Zoro's usually stoic face at the words that she always seemed intent on bringing up every once in a while. A theory that no doubt had some merit, but also one that Zoro loathed to hear.
“You hear me say that I want you to do this, or that, and you take it literally.” Robin explained, as she could quite obviously tell from Zoro's scowl that he wasn't about to enter into this particular conversation, “This isn't some mission that you need to complete; this is your recovery.”
Zoro still refused to respond, and they sat for several long minutes simply staring at each other in what could only be described as a battle of stubborn wills until eventually Robin seemed to find something in his gaze that placated her. Looking away and down at the notes for a contemplative moment before addressing Zoro again much more congenially, “I think it would be healthy for you to pick up a hobby.”
“I do.” Zoro finally spoke.
“Something more tangible; something that can offer you a goal.” Robin explained as she jotted something down on her notepad, “Working out is mindless, and while I am very happy with your volunteer work and your model building, there is no finish line with that. You clearly thrive off of competition, and I think having something you can work towards will give you a good outlet.”
“You didn't like any of my choices before.”
“Before you weren't doing as well.” Robin countered, “I trust your judgment now.”
“Alright.” Zoro finally conceded, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall in relief as he noted his time was up and pushed himself out of the chair, simply relieved that the session was over for at least another month. Making for the door as he ignored the obvious annoyance gracing Robin's elegantly beautiful features at Zoro leaving without being excused.
“Think up a list and we'll discuss it next time.” Robin ordered as she watched him stride across the room, “And Zoro?”
“Hm?”
“Just because you don't succeed; it doesn't mean you've failed.”
The words impacted deeper than Zoro wanted to admit, so he simply nodded in understanding as he made for the door, one hand finding his pocket as the other opened the portal in his dreary excitement to get out of the room. First foot falling out of the room and back into the waiting area as the rest of memory they had been discussing was suddenly brought back with a warming clarity.
Hand pausing on the frame as a fragment of the memory struck him and it had him turning back to look at the woman with words hovering in his throat. She was still watching him intently, and at his hesitation raised a thin brow in invitation. It took several moments to find his voice, but when he did he uttered quietly, “There was something else.”
“Hmm?” Robin intoned curiously.
“When I dropped my coffee,” Zoro paused frowning at the memory as an odd swell of warmth bloomed in his chest, a sensation that he was not entirely familiar with and caused him to wince at the credulity of it, “A stranger gave me one of his.”
“Sounds very kind of him.” She noted softly. Zoro immediately not liking the way her calculating eyes seemed to read far more into his words than he himself could even begin contemplating.
“It was.” He responded shortly, defensive.
“Why did you feel the need to tell me this?” Robin prodded, her question almost seeming more for his benefit that her own as she continued to watch him closely. Zoro's eyes finally straying from hers to look down at the floor as a moment of introspection washed over him only to come up with nothing more than slight confusion.
“I don't know.” Zoro admitted quietly, frowning to himself as he shrugged, “Guess it just made me feel...”
“Happy?”
Zoro's gaze refocused as he tried not to contemplate on the feeling for longer than was necessary as he turned and made his way out of the office with a barely muttered, “Something close to it.”
~X~
Out on the street he made his way down the sidewalk and towards home, still mulling over everything he had talked about with Robin that morning. As much as he found himself stubbornly withdrawn during their sessions, he always felt relieved after she had managed to force him to open up. He knew it was for his own good that he continued to talk about everything going on in his life – knew that it was imperative to his recovery – but he couldn't stop himself from shutting down when confronted.
It could've been from the years of military existence, or possibly his fear over the reality of his situation, but whatever the reason he doubted he would ever find it easy to come to terms with what had happened to him and where he was now. This hadn't been the ending he had foreseen for himself, and now that he had to build it from the foundation up he felt at a loss.
Rounding the corner onto the main street that ran through town, he glanced up just as something began to feel off. Eyes falling to a young boy that was mid-step to wandering into the street, before darting up to note a silver truck heading down the road with little intention of slowing down. Light cast a reflection across the glass that flickered away for a moment in the wake of a shadow as Zoro only caught a glimpse of the person behind the wheel, but it was likely they hadn't seen the child.
Without even hesitating Zoro was darting across the street as fast as his legs could carry him, launching himself at the boy just as the truck neared and the driver slammed on the breaks a moment too late. Arms wrapping around the child, he managed to get his left up to cradle the head and his right around the body as they went sailing towards the sidewalk. Nearly out of harms way when the vehicle skidded into them and slammed into Zoro's right side sending the both of them sailing across the asphalt to land in a crumpled heap several feet away.
The boy in his arms was crying as Zoro tried desperately to get his bearings through the pain lancing through his right side, trying to blink through the stars that were booming across his vision. Keeping his hand cradling the back of the small child's head, he tried to ignore the poignant pain flaring up from his right arm as he continued to shelter the other even as everything had come a halt around them.
Memories like fleeting whispers tugged at all corners of his mind before another wave of pain managed to ground him enough to redirect the thoughts along another path. Pushing through to bring himself back to the present as he noted the rushing sound of blood in his ears that was to be expected and sensing people converging around them as he relaxed enough to release the sobbing child.
Rolling off the boy slowly, he eased himself onto his back as he gently curled his right arm into himself to try and quell some of the pain flaring through it. The parents of the child were already rushing to check on their son as a crowd was beginning to gather and Zoro could vaguely hear someone on the phone contacting an ambulance. While Zoro was mainly concerned that the child was alright, he vaguely hoped he wasn't so messed up that he'd need to be taken away on a gurney.
Ignoring the clamouring around him, he instinctively fell into a military mind set as he began mentally assessing himself and confirming that everything was likely just external damage and he'd be fine enough to stand. A motion to his right had his eyes snapping up as the father crouched down next to him, making sure to not touch or move him until the paramedics arrived, but still wanting to assess him. Hands clearly hovering over Zoro in concern but panicking enough that he wasn't sure what to do as his eyes seemed fixed on Zoro's right arm in horror.
“Are you alright?!” The man asked nervously, eyeing him critically as his eyes kept drifting to Zoro's arm before back to him, the paleness of his face not a good sign for state of his arm. Zoro absently flexed his hand, relieved to find it worked albeit regretting the motion as a sharp wave of pain lanced up it afterwards.
“Fine.” Zoro grunted softly, eyes flicking over to the child that was still cradled in his mothers arms and wailing in terror, “How's the boy?”
“He's fine.” The father urged seriously, a slightly hysterical laugh barking from his chest as he seemed a little shocked that Zoro was concerned for the child at the moment, “Ambulance is on its way; you're probably in rougher shape than him.”
“The truck?” Zoro gritted through his teeth, finishing his mental assessment and deducing that it was totally fine for him to get himself off of his back and into a seated position.
“Driver took off.” The man explained, anger seeping into his tone, “No plates.”
“Probably stolen.” Zoro surmised with a hiss, placing his good arm under himself to slowly begin pushing himself up into a seated position. With only his right arm and shoulder damaged there was no need for him to remain lying on the ground, and it would make dealing with the paramedics easier once they arrived.
“Woah, woah.” The father put out a concerned hand, “You sure you should be sitting up?”
“It's okay.” Zoro reassured gruffly, getting seated on the curb as he finally cast a glance down at the arm he held against his side. Noting with slight annoyance a jutting irregularity to the bone of his forearm and scowling, “I've had worse.”
The comment had the man's eyebrows climbing in concern as he was clearly interested to know what on earth could have happened to him to make him brush this off, however his questions were cut short as the wail of the ambulance came into earshot. Crowd parting to make way for the vehicle as many people still stayed to be able to oversee everything that was happening; the smaller town loving anything to gossip about.
Police were nearly on the tail of the ambulance, and as the officers went about getting statements a couple paramedics made their way over to the family and Zoro. A red-haired woman and young male with curly hair began assessing the boy and talking to the family as another man made his way over to Zoro, it wasn't until he was dropping to a knee in front of Zoro that he recognized the blond from several weeks ago.
“Hey!” The blond intoned with a reassuring smile, “Coffee guy! Fancy meeting you here!”
Zoro didn't say anything, once again not one for such trivial small talk as he watched the man with a calm intent, noting the subtle differences in his appearance since their last meeting. Looking remarkably less sleep deprived; he had shaved his face into a clean cut goatee, and his earlier mess of hair was cleanly tied back this time with only a few bangs falling in his face to obscure his left eye.
The nurse scrubs had been swapped out for a dark paramedics uniform that fit him snug, and as he placed a large red first aid box down on the ground next to him Zoro realized he had been talking. Glancing back up to meet the man's eyes as he grunted impolitely, “Huh?”
A small moue of concern twitched across the man's lips as he no doubt suspected Zoro had a concussion before asking again, “Name?”
“Zoro.” Zoro grunted roughly, before adding quietly for legality sake, “Roronoa.”
“Alright, Zoro.” The man nodded, “I'm Sanji. How're you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” Zoro grunted thickly.
“Well, your sense of humour is intact.” Sanji joked playfully as he began to pull on a pair of latex gloves and open the first aid bag he had brought with him, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Kid ran out onto the street; driver wasn't paying attention.” Zoro summarized shortly, gaze flicking around as he was beginning to more clearly take in the scene around himself. Cops were now taking statements from the parents of the child and while the crowd was thinning he recognized a few faces of people in town he vaguely knew, “I tackled the kid out of the way, truck hit my right side.”
“Alright.” Sanji noted calmly, having already begun a basic check of Zoro's vitals to ascertain that he didn't need to be immediately rushed to the hospital. Zoro complied with everything easily, knowing he was fine but also aware things would go quicker if he just let the other man do his job, “How about your head? Neck? Any pain?”
“No, that's fine.”
“Okay, well I would still recommend coming back to the hospital so we can properly x-ray your side and see what we're dealing with.” Sanji requested simply, “If that's alright?”
“Figured.” Zoro shrugged his good shoulder, knowing that until they had fully assessed him they were likely going to treat him as though there was a potential he was dying. It wasn't long before another ambulance arrived to take the boy away to the hospital to be assessed and Zoro was loaded into the first one.
In the ambulance Zoro remained laying back on the gurney calmly, knowing he didn't need to be lying down but also knowing that it would make Sanji's job easier if he didn't make a fuss. Plus having his arm resting across his stomach was much less painful than having it hanging when he was sitting upright. Already calculating the severity of the break and knowing that he'd be spending quite a bit of time in a cast.
“Okay, Zoro.” Sanji continued calmly as he was still frantically reaching out adjusting straps and bars as the vehicle careened down the street at an unsettling pace, “I'm gonna have to cut your shirt off now to get at your arm.”
“Sure.” Zoro supplied, not at all concerned. Knowing that he had already bled all over it, and that most of it had become torn after skidding across the pavement. Luckily he was still in a very military habit of wearing identical cheap shirts that didn't hold any sentimental value to him.
Pulling out a pair of oddly bent scissors, Sanji nabbed the top of his shirt and began cutting the fabric away with careful strokes. Getting down to the hem before turning to do both of the arms so they could fully remove the ruined bit of clothing, the front of the shirt falling open to expose his damaged body.
Zoro could see the muted surprise in Sanji's gaze as he noted all the scars and injuries that Zoro had collected over his torso throughout the years. Nearly uncountable bullet marks – some messier than others as he had had to dig a few out himself on missions – that decorated every part of his body, and numerous scars from blades and shell blasts. There was a particularly nasty one stretching from his left shoulder to his right hip that was no doubt distracting the blond the most.
Steeling himself for the conversation that was about to happen, Zoro watched as Sanji composed himself and an impassive mask slid in place as he turned his attention to Zoro's arm. Working silently to cut the rest of the shirt away and get the scraps of fabric off of him to get a better view at Zoro's injury. Relieved that he didn't have to explain himself, it seemed that Sanji's profession kept him from making any sort of comment on it.
It wasn't long before they were at the hospital and Zoro was being unloaded from the back of the ambulance and onto a large gurney to be wheeled into the hospital. A nurse with florescent blue hair had arrived to help Sanji and the other two paramedics to get him out of the vehicle, and as they eventually left to take the ambulance back to the station Sanji held back for a moment.
“Alright, Zoro.” Sanji consoled with a charming grin, placing a reassuring hand on Zoro's uninjured shoulder, “You're in good hands with Vivi here. She's going to make sure you're right as rain.”
Zoro didn't know what to say so he just continued to look up at the caring man with a calm expression until he eventually nodded and turned away. Giving Vivi a short wave before walking off to some unseen part of the hospital as Zoro was wheeled inside the E.R. and lost sight of him.
~X~
After numerous tests, x-rays, and hours spent hooked up to various machines they eventually deduced that aside from several fractures along his right side there was no serious damage. His arm would need to be heavily casted, as well as kept in a sling for several weeks as a fracture to his humerus would heal, but he was otherwise released with a clean bill of health. It had been about the same diagnosis he had given himself upon first impact, however he would be remiss if he didn't let the system do its job.
Back in the room that had become his temporary waiting area for the past couple hours he carefully struggled to put on a plain white shirt that had been provided by the hospital. A pained grimaced tore across his face as he finally got his injured shoulder through the hole before managing to wrestle the rest of it on with little difficulty. Just as he was finishing tying his shoes and intending to go find a desk to check out at the door swung open.
“Hey!”
Zoro glanced up at the cheery baritone that chirped from the doorway as the blond paramedic from earlier made his way into the room with a paper cup in hand and a jovial smile on his face. Hair no longer tied up in a bun as it fell around his face in a wavy mess as he approached. No longer dressed in his work clothes as he held out a coffee as he laughed, “You're a tough one, aren't ya?”
Zoro shrugged, eyes flicking to the cup and back up at the blond, “Had worse.”
“So I was told.” Sanji snarked before jerking the cup at him, “Here; thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
“Is that a joke?” Zoro asked flatly, not entirely sure if the man was pretending like coffee was a proper remedy for being hit by a vehicle, or if he honestly thought some caffeine might do him some good. Giving his laces a final tug to make sure they were done up, he slowly rose to his feet to be on level with the other man.
“Could be.” Sanji shrugged, clearly not one to be perturbed by Zoro's brutish behaviour as he once more waved the cup in Zoro's face expectantly. It seemed to be a tactic that the man had discovered to work because Zoro found himself taking it from him soon thereafter and having a small sip.
“Why are you here?” Zoro managed after a moment, and Sanji seemed a little caught off guard by the blunt question. Zoro quietly berated himself as he tried to remind himself of how his therapist wanted him to remember most people were not used to his gruff comments; it was certainly part of the reason that after nearly three years in the small town he had few friends.
“Shift's over.” Sanji shrugged, recovering easily as it seemed he wasn't one to be scared off by grouchy patients. No doubt dealing with much more sour people on a daily basis, “Figured I'd see how you were doing.”
“'m fine.” Zoro responded, “Thanks.”
“Not the talkative type, are you?” Sanji noted with a shrug, that annoyingly cheerful smirk unable to be erased from his face as he began pulling on the jacket he had had slung over his arm. Not even bothering to wait for Zoro to respond as he jerked his head for the door, “Shall I show you the way out?”
Zoro just nodded politely and followed after the other man, silently grateful as he had a sinking suspicion that without help he would get lost in the confusing hallways. Down several corridors and an elevator they were soon at ground level as the blond asked, “Got someone coming to get you?
“Ah, yeah.” Zoro nodded shortly, the nurse on staff having called his wife and informed her of the incident a little while ago. “Wife.”
Sanji's eyes briefly flickered down to Zoro's left hand that was holding the coffee cup where the wedding band was prominently displayed before back as a warm smile broke out across his face and he offered sincerely, “Good to hear.”
Zoro didn't know what to say in response so he just remained quiet as he gave a short nod in agreement to the comment, hand uncomfortably fiddling with the paper cup in his hand. Sanji saved him from fighting to continue the conversation by giving a jaunty wave and beginning to make for the exit.
“It was good seeing you again, Zoro.” Sanji smiled, “Try not to get hit by any more vehicles.”
Zoro just stood awkwardly in the waiting room surrounded by numerous other patients waiting their turn to be seen as he watched the blond's retreating figure. That familiar warmth of gratitude at the stranger's actions once more causing his chest to constrict ever-so-slightly as a panicked urged wrestling itself out of his throat as he called after the blond with slightly poor timing, “No promises!”
Automatic doors sliding open, Sanji turned at the call and gave a cheeky wink before continuing off into the parking lot and out of sight but leaving the swell of appreciation behind. Not a moment later the doors slid open once more to reveal another blond whom strode in with a worried look on her face and nearly knocked the coffee out of his hand when she fell into his arms in a relieved hug.
~X~
The drive consisted of Zoro slumping low in the passenger side seat as he idly fiddled with some of the bits of casting material that were fraying around his knuckles as Kalifa fumed in the seat beside him. Most of the words lost on him but only occasionally catching infuriated comments about reckless drivers, absentminded kids, and poor parenting. Zoro simply bit his tongue and when they pulled into the driveway didn't bother to ask why she wasn't getting out of the car.
Heading inside as he ignored the sound of the automotive pulling out of the driveway, Zoro wasted little time in treading upstairs and into their bedroom; carefully removing his clothing over the cast and sling that were now going to pose an additional annoyance in his life. Shucking off his pants with much more ease as he made for the bed and climbing under the covers, pointedly ignoring the shirt forgotten on the dresser that absolutely did not belong to him.
TBC...
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Chapter 12 : What Lies Beneath
Time passed in spurts and sputters. It was impossible to keep track of in Vader’s private quarters as the days dragged on yet nothing changed. A week had passed. Maybe more?
Day in, day out it was the same. Time bled together, only interrupted by the intermittent presence of the Sith Lord as he played with his favorite toy.
Darth Vader continued his assault on Obi-Wan’s mind at his leisure—seeming to take far greater pleasure in his mental anguish more so than any physical pain he could have easily dispensed. Some days he didn’t see the Sith at all except for when he returned to his quarters, threw Obi-Wan inside the hyperbaric chamber and locked it for the night. He could here the scuttle of droids emerging from the panels in the bulkhead to tinker away out there, helping Vader from his suit and into the bacta tank, making repairs. Then everything would fall quiet for four or five hours before he was removed and the process started over.
Force how he hated that kriffing hyperbaric chamber. Whenever he was thrown inside it madness never felt far behind. The air was too still. Heavy and sterile, cleansed of any life except for Obi-Wan’s. Trapped in that chamber he could not even find peace through meditation for it messed with his connection to the Force; for hours he could get lost in the belief he might be the only living being in existence. Lost in an endless echo chamber of pain and suffering—suffering as the images of an amputated Anakin in their final confrontation haunted him, all wrought by his hands. The images shared directly from Vader’s mind were not so easily scrubbed away for there was no denying he was the final piece of the puzzle that made the sadistic monster now terrorizing the Galaxy. He felt the dark side waiting just at the edges of his consciousness. A viper lying in wait, ready to strike at a moments notice and claim his weak mind if it slipped even for a second.
It was unbearably cold too. All he had for warmth was the memories he clung to in the barren chamber. One’s of a man slightly larger in stature than he, who he’d grown used to sleeping at his side. The confounding amount of heat he produced a second blanket that kept Obi-Wan warm and safe. If he closed his eyes and focused hard enough he could convince himself it was Anakin’s strong arms wrapped around him and not his own, shivering and weak. It was never enough though…
When released from his temporary imprisonment in the chamber, he’d be left free to wander the Sith Lord’s quarters while Vader went about his daily business. Again, Obi-Wan found himself too exhausted to do much of anything but curl up in a corner and attempt sleep. There seemed to be no real intent behind his capture as far as he could gather—no interrogation techniques or mind probes to be seen.
Most days Vader would return to his room, the Force tightening around Obi-Wan suddenly like a vice the only warning he had, holding him firmly in place before the Dark Lord would dive into his mind. He couldn’t say he ever truly got used to it. Vader’s mind against his. The power of the dark side always stunned him in its overwhelming ability to blot out all his light, like a small candle snuffed out in the vacuum of cold unforgiving space. A suffocating mass tangled tight around his being until it was all he could feel trapped under its weight.
After that first day he’d managed to seal off the part of him that was connected to Anakin from Vader, but to do so required he shield himself from the bond, through which even at this unknown distance he could still feel Anakin if he opened himself up to it. If there was one part of his mind he did not want the Sith to have access it was that, for it was his lifeline to sanity and the light; and so protect it at all costs he did. Vader could touch whatever he wanted, dirty Obi-Wan’s mind with the foul taint of his wrath and fear, but he could not have his Anakin. For he was all that he had left. He was family, he was so much more than he’d ever allowed himself to contemplate, and now with the truth laid out before him of what could have been Anakin’s future he wanted nothing more than to return to his arms and never let him go. For if he just held on, crushingly tight; showed him exactly what the man meant to him, no more denials or Force-damned Jedi Codes as an excuse, then maybe he’d never fall.
Today Vader returned, but the Force did not grip Obi-Wan in place, at least not right away. Instead a pile of rags were dumped at his feet.
“You will put these on,” The gravelly voice commanded.
On second glance Obi-Wan realized they were not rags, but dirtied old robes. He wondered where the man could have gotten them, for they did not look newly purchased and he doubted this vessel made pit stops at local markets for second-hand Jedi apparel.
“And if I don’t?”
“You won’t like what happens next.”
“Do I ever?”
With a heaved sigh he stood from the corner in which he’d not proudly been huddled napping—like a browbeaten youngling hiding in the corner—and began to strip. He would fake no modesty before this monster, not that he’d been given any to start. Vader’s impenetrable mask was as unreadable as ever as it bore down on Obi-Wan’s slighter frame while he shucked his pants, now just down to his white undergarment, before pulling on the tunic and tights, then the robe.
“Satisfied?” He ran his hands over the lengths of his robe to smooth out the wrinkles. It had a singed scent to it.
Despite how unreadable the Sith was due to his suit and mask, there was something on the air. Vague and indefinable, yet paradoxically intimate and known. Obi-Wan could not understand what all of this was for, what his reasons were for capturing him, yet letting him live.
“Why keep me here?” He finally asked, unable to contain his frustration anymore. If he hazarded a guess maybe eight or nine torturously long days had passed since his capture. “Why not execute me or whatever it is you do with the surviving Jedi you find?”
“There are no Jedi left and there is no need to execute you when you are already dead.”
Obi-Wan had already surmised as much based on the lightsaber in the redwood box mere feet from them—now protectively encased behind a ray shield—but still he couldn’t pretend like the revelation didn’t affect him. It was one thing to guess at your death and quite another to hear it so blithely confirmed.
“I cut him down once, I do not need to cut you down again so quickly. There was no pleasure derived from bringing you’re pitiful existence to such a swift end. Not after everything you did and all the years I’ve waited. No, now, I shall enjoy taking my time.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Vader drilled in on Obi-Wan, menacingly so, attempting to force him to submit. Show fear. Obi-Wan did neither as he stood defiantly tall and stared the armored man down with the most serene and regal of his Jedi looks he could muster under the circumstances.
“Do you wish to see what became of you? How old and pathetically weak you grew in self-imposed exile? What the loss of your precious Order did to you? For it is the only future you will ever know.”
The world melted away as Vader pressed outwards on the air, his presence pouring out into Obi-Wan’s steeled form. A part of him began to suspect some fraction of Vader enjoyed this. The way he dove into his mind like an addict searching for his next fix, usually wasting no time with words or physical violence before pushing out across the Force and plunging into Obi-Wan’s psyche. This time was no different. His Force signature was a bleeding writhing mass of anger, demanding greed and want, bashing against his mind with its grubby hands eager to take, take, take. For if there was one burning similarity between Vader and the man he used to be it was his overwhelming desire to possess.
Did he yearn to see if he could recreate the connection they’d had so long ago in this timeline? Or did he just desire to posses the man as he so righteously believed everything was his for the taking? To be denied something would not stand and apparently he’d been denied Kenobi a long time. Either way his own thoughts were soon lost to him as Vader’s coiled around him like a possessive Felucian python, constricting until he was immobilized.
They were in another hallway, black and gleaming with striped lighting panels that caught against Vader’s black suit. A startlingly weathered old man and his familiar blue blade were attempting to fight past Vader. Words were exchanged, but they were warped, possibly on purpose. Everything about the memory seemed distorted like fire twisting the air. This was a dangerous memory, Obi-Wan could feel it. Vader wanted to show it to him, but he didn’t wish him to see the full truth of the encounter. The feelings that rippled just beneath the surface were exposed and raw like bacta patches torn from still pulsing wounds. It had been years, but nothing had healed in the interim for either of them. It was painfully obvious how unbalanced Vader was by the appearance of his old Master. How he lashed out to strike him down with such fury and vengeance to mask what truth lie in his mangled heart. If only Obi-Wan could dip beneath the surface to see it.
Vader’s grip on his mind tightened like a noose and he spasmed in pain just as Vader’s red blade cut through the old Obi-Wan like he were a ghost. The very robes he now wore fell to the floor, emptied. Then they were back in his private chambers, Obi-Wan a panting, sweaty mess and Vader unnervingly close and silent. Not even a breath to be heard. Oh how he craved in moments like these to touch the mind of his Anakin, to know the light still lived inside him. But he could not reach out, for Vader was sure to follow the trail straight to Anakin’s mind and devour him as well.
“You may strike me down in hate a thousand times, Vader, but you will never snuff out my light. For the dark side might hold more power, more strength than one Jedi can stand against in times as these. But in its strength lies a weakness you cannot see; the power of the dark side is incomplete. It will never make you whole. Never keep you warm like the fire of the light inside your soul. You will always be cold, empty—”
There was a sadistic roar unleashed from deep in Vader’s belly, scraped across his throat, and twisted by the voice modulator into something unrecognizable. The ventilator wheezed with his ragged angry breath. Then the air tightened all around Obi-Wan and he was flung across the room, landing in a heap of robes and limbs against the opposing bulkhead. There was a flash of red light as a lightsaber was ignited, springing to life all around him on the various mirrored black surfaces.
“You believe the light side makes you whole?”
Vader stormed over to him, the red point of his blade coming to rest against Obi-Wan’s exposed throat, searing the flesh. “You believe the Jedi and their subservience to it makes them right? When they would deny you the true composition of a full life? Tell me, then, why do I feel nothing but sorrow from you? You are incomplete, it is pathetically obvious.” He held his angry blade in place until the smell of burnt skin permeated the air. Obi-Wan maintained Vader’s stare defiantly, fighting back the sting in his eyes, ignoring the way his flesh screamed in agony, until Vader de-powered his saber and holstered it on his belt at the intruding knock on the door.
Vader swept from his huddled mass and answered. Hesitantly Obi-Wan brought a hand to his throat, hissing as his fingers touched the crisp charred skin. He shuddered. If the Sith had pressed any harder it would have pierced his trachea and that would have been the end of him.
There was another voice at the door, strikingly familiar. It was the voice of a clone. His head whipped to Vader’s form blocking the doorway and he groaned at the tug of his skin against the wound on his neck.
“Did I not forbade you from coming to my private quarters?” Vader growled.
“Apologies Sir, but the Emperor has been trying to reach you and he comm’ed me directly…”
The voice was hoarser than he remembered, aged and slower in tempo, and definitely filled with unease. But it was unmistakable. He could never forget the voice of the commander that stood unfalteringly by his side for the past two years of the Clone Wars.
“Cody?” Obi-Wan rasped.
The stormtrooper’s body went rigid before its helmet slowly turned in the doorway to peer around Vader. He could feel nothing, see nothing from the man, but he knew it was him. The viewing port drilled into him and he held the gaze firmly with wide incredulous eyes; attempting to ask all he couldn’t: why he was here, what had happened to him in all the intervening years? But Vader stepped between them again, severing the connection, and spoke, “Return to the bridge at once, I will be there in a minute. Alert the Emperor I am on my way.”
Cody seemed to hesitate for the briefest of seconds, then he nodded in the affirmative and hustled from sight. Vader glanced back at Obi-Wan and turned to leave when a light blinked at the console by the bacta tank followed by a quick succession of three chirps and then a holodisplay came alive. The room was bathed in a blue-white light. Vader swept forward and fell to one knee, “Master…”
Palpatine’s form appeared on the holovid, his cloaked back to Obi-Wan. His whole body tensed as the Emperor spoke. His voice was no longer so insufferably sweet as he remembered from his time spent with the senator, now it dripped with disdain—it was undeniably his true voice, the one Obi-Wan had ever known just a guise so as not to alert the Jedi to his vile machinations.
“Darth Vader, I grow exceedingly weary of these games,” Palpatine seethed. “First the stunt you pulled disappearing to Moraband, then the return of Kenobi, and you chasing him across half the galaxy, and now you dare evade my calls? I will not be denied. What is the status on the failed Jedi Master now?”
The very air in Vader’s private chamber seemed to vibrate, a chill seeping in all around, and Obi-Wan was forced to stifle a gasp as invisible hands clasped tight around his limbs and pulled him to the furthest corner of the room.
“I do not know what you mean, my Lord, I do not play games,” He spoke with distaste for the word.
“Then answer true, is the Kenobi really from another universe or is this some Jedi trick played to distract you from our objective? You never were able to produce a body for me on the first Death Star. I sense attachment still clouds your judgment all these years later,” Palpatine spat the words, dripping with disgust. “There is no room for error anymore, not with the Rebellion so emboldened, and I will not suffer your failure again.”
If a man in a full cybernetic suit could bristle, Vader did.
“He does hail from another universe, I have been inside his mind,” There was the slightest pause, which only Obi-Wan seemed to catch before Vader continued. “There is no denying it.”
“Fine, then we may proceed with our plans. Bring him to me in the Endor system and we shall lure the other Skywalkers out of hiding, he just may be of use to me yet.”
“My Lord, he carries a peculiarly strong bond with his Skywalker, it shall not be hard to lure the heedless man, but I have yet to ascertain its true depth. He hides it well from me.”
Palpatine hissed, “No, no. This is unacceptable! I will need to verify this in person if this is true. It is a danger we must snuff out before it has time to grow to its full potential, do you understand? It will require delicate in person work on my behalf. Alert your crew, you are to make the jump to hyperspace at once and bring him to me.”
“As you command, my Liege.”
The holo shut off and silence fell on the room, the mechanical breathing of Vader like a metronome as the quiet dragged on.
“Still a puppet I see, just not the Order’s anymore.”
That set the Sith off. He roared and lunged across the room at Obi-Wan—bulkhead panels rattled with the power of his rage. But this time it was Vader who slipped, his steely hold on the shields of his mind faltering and letting Obi-Wan slide inside. A pinprick of light in the dark. It was enough, it illuminated what he needed to see. It gave him the confirmation of a creeping suspicion he’d had since this all began. Still he was not prepared for the confrontation of that truth.
He was back on Moraband, the red sands swirling all around in a vortex reaching higher than the mountaintops. In the eye of the storm stood Vader, his soaring black form an impenetrable statue stronger than any of the stone around him. His wrath like the sun, a burning heat of boundless energy. But what truly sustained it was the deep vulnerable longing beneath, never sated. He was alone. Utterly, unbearably alone. He’d known it since the moment he gave himself as apprentice to Darth Sidious, but now Kenobi was gone too and he thought he could handle it. Continue on, but he couldn’t. Still so pathetically weak, brought to heel yet again by attachment. So he laid siege with his mind on the home world of the Sith and raged against Darth Plageius’s tomb, demanding that the spirit within submit to his will and give him what he sought. The secrets to life eternal. A way to bring back the dead. What had been promised to him! He had failed Padmé, but now at the true height of his power as a Dark Lord of the Sith he would not fail again.
The spirit of his Master’s former Dark Lord would not capitulate.
You will always fail, always fall. There is no light in the dark, for you have killed it. The answers you seek do not exist. One cannot return a soul to its body after it merges with the Force so willingly. Give up. Give in. Let the dark side fulfill you…
NO! His rage exploded forth from his statuesque form like a thermonuclear detonation, wave after wave of pulsating destructive energies. The Valley of the Dark Lords quaked with its force and ripped apart. Landslides collapsed its walls. Earth rent apart at his feet. Massive fault lines cracked open across the surface of the statues and tombs. The very fabric of the Living Force itself torn asunder as he fought with its ebb and flow, demanding that it yield to his power, which like a fist breached through its surface, searching, pulling. He was Lord. He was darkness incarnate. He would not be denied!
And then it was over. His rage fizzled out. The flash-bang of Force energies dissipated across the fabric of space and time. And Darth Vader was left with the one thing he’d always known to be true, he was truly alone.
The vision warped and faded, the red light of Moraband falling from view and replaced with a stormy night on Coruscant. Anakin was but a young teen before his Master.
“I don’t want to be alone,” He cried. The Force overwhelmed him. It was too much, flowing into him unbidden. He could feel all things at once, yet he was removed from it all. He couldn’t be part of them, the other younglings, for he was not like any of them. He wanted so desperately to be a part…
“Anakin, dear one,” Obi-Wan spoke soothingly, stroking the young boy’s short hair as he sighed and looked out on the thunderstorm, ruminative. Anakin looked up on him now, having never noticed just how young Obi-Wan was. The look of sadness in his youthful eyes. They were the same.
“You are never alone. Don’t you feel that? The Force connects us all. We are bound to one another. No matter the lightyears or time that separate us, I will always be at your side. A part of you, in your heart, and you mine… Never forget that.”
Obi-Wan was slammed back to reality. Tears not shed since his Master’s death now streaming down his cheeks. Vader’s black mask hovered inches from his face.
“Oh, my Anakin…” He gasped. The world was too cruel, fate a truly devilish thing to have woven such a wicked tale. For it all made sense now, ringing with an undeniable clarity, rushing to fill his bones with the solemn weight of their truth. The reason for the keepsakes. Why Cody remained in Vader’s service. Why he only seemed to want to live in Obi-Wan’s mind, so desperate to reform a bond, an attachment, with Obi-Wan despite the fact that a Sith and a Jedi could never be bonded. It was Vader who brought them across time and space. It was his longing that split open the Force, bent it to his will, and plucked his desires from an unsuspecting universe.
“I see now, I understand. It was I who abandoned you. But it’s not too late, it never is. You’re really still in there.”
The tears could not be ceased as he brought a hand up to caress the mask. What lie underneath he did not know, but oh how he wished he could touch it. Flesh to flesh. To heal, provide the comfort and warmth so desired, but thought not deserved.
“Anakin is dead. Halt this pathetic emotional display,” Vader ordered, but Obi-Wan could no longer be fooled. He was in there. He had always been in there, just waiting on someone to believe in him again. He could not unsee the youngling inside.
“No, you may lie to yourself, but not to me. It’s never too late. Return to the light, Anakin.”
Something snapped in Vader. Maybe it was the vulnerability of having been exposed, or Obi-Wan’s overwrought emotions, all the anguish and sorrow and horror, pouring out of him like a broken sieve. Whatever it was it caused Vader to grip the Force with an unyielding fist, which wrapped around Obi-Wan’s neck until there was no air, nothing except for Vader’s all-consuming presence. His feet lifted from solid ground and he was brought into the firm physical grasp of Vader’s gloved mechanical fist. He squeezed and bones and tendons threatened to snap under the pressure of that hateful durasteel fist.
“Anakin… please…” He wheezed out, tears now streaming from lack of oxygen as much as the grief contained in his heart. This time he feared Vader truly meant to do him harm. Just as the light in his eyes dissolved to but a pinhole the dreadnought shook and then klaxons blared, the chamber bathed in flashing red lights.
“Rebels,” Vader sneered and dropped Obi-Wan from his grip, leaving him where he crumpled to the floor and sweeping from the room.
There on the floor Obi-Wan remained; the husk of a man. For his experiences in Vader’s mind had left him hollowed out, excavated of all feelings except for regret. Despondency. Loss. That deep well of despair in the cavity of his chest growing wider yet. A darkness at the edges called to him, whispering. Promising he didn’t have to feel this, if he gave in. Gave himself over to it. And maybe that would be the easiest thing. Maybe he could finally rest then. But the call of the light, it grew brighter. Warmer. It was closing in on him, wrapped around his quivering frame.
“Master?” Another voice from his past. He curled in on himself tighter. “Master is it really you?”
Tentative hands now touched him, rolling him over, and Obi-Wan realized the voice wasn’t from the past, but the now. Very much real and alive and present. He looked up upon the voice with newborn hope. Shock and disbelief coursing through his system before he reached out a hand to clutch one of her blue and white lekku.
“Ahsoka?”
|
1740
WINTER
The very first time Yoongi met Jimin was at the tender age of nine.
It was late winter, the cold wind blowing thick snowflakes into the boy’s face as he and the royal soldier were riding the pitch black horse towards the palace that was visible in the distance. When they had reached the huge gates and the soldier called for someone to open up, Yoongi let his gaze wander over the tall towers bathed in moonlight. They seemed to cut into the gigantic, glowing ball hovering above.
His eyes were wide with wonder, cheeks and nose flushed as he breathed into the cool air, creating a small cloud that ascended to the sky.
The gates opened with a squeaking sound, disturbing the silence of the night.
“Welcome to the palace,” the soldier said, tapping on the horse`s side to make it enter the royal property.
As they made their way to the building, Yoongi looked around the spacious piece of land. Most of it was grass, but he could also see a forest and a river in the distance. There were several stables on the other side, smoke coming out of the chimney of a small cabin nearby.
“King Park is waiting in the hall,” the soldier said, descending from the horse before walking to the door to knock. He came back to help Yoongi get off as well. “Pray that he’s in a good mood and willing to accept your offer.”
The big oaken doors were opened and the two entered, the boy releasing a deep sigh at the warm air breathing over them.
“Gong?” A firm voice reached out to the hallway they were standing in, echoing through the whole palace. It was coming out of the room in front of them. There was light seeping through the crack of the door. “Do you bring the tax money? I hope everyone could pay this time!”
The soldier looked back to Yoongi for a second before heaving a sigh and motioning for the boy to follow, making his way to the door.
When they entered the hall, Yoongi had to squint due to brightness flooding them. There were dozens of torches hanging between the impressive tapestries on the high walls and huge, luxurious chandeliers carrying candles several meters above the ground. Servants holding silver trays or instruments lined the walls, all of them turning their heads to the new arrivals.
At the far end of the hall there were thrones, four in number.
“Who is that child, Gong?” The man sitting in the biggest and most pompous throne asked. The smaller throne next to him was empty. “What is his request?”
The soldier cleared his throat.
“Your Majesty, this boy-“
The man stopped when Yoongi started walking towards the king until he came to a halt in front of the three people looking down to the visitor.
“Good evening, Your Majesty,” the boy called out. “My name is Min Yoongi.”
The king raised a brow, a small smile tugging on one corner of his lips. Seconds later, Yoongi was kneeling on the floor, his forehead resting against the cold marble.
“I beg you to take me in exchange for my father’s lifetime taxes.”
It was quiet for a moment, then a wave of whispers went through the hall. A few seconds passed until the king spoke again.
“Stand up, boy.”
Yoongi closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before following the order, getting back up and holding the king’s gaze.
“Explain your situation.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” the boy answered, pushing his palms against his legs to hide their trembling. “I’m the oldest son of a poor farmer and his wife. My father works hard, from the early morning hours until late at night. He has always paid his taxes and kept his loyalty to the royal family. But recently… father got sick. And on top of that our harvest was worse than ever this year. He tried his best, we all did, but we barely had enough money to buy food. So please…”
Yoongi lowered his head, clenching his hands into fists. “Please…I’ll serve the royal family until I die. Please, just waive our tax money from now on.”
It was as if the entire hall was holding its breath, no sound breaking the silence for what seemed like an eternity.
Then the king hummed, tugging on his beard as if deep in thought. “What could I use you for?”
It was a genuine question and Yoongi’s head shot up, hope gleaming in his eyes.
“A-all sorts of things, Your Majesty,” he uttered, nodding quickly. “I am strong and healthy and can take care of the cattle or clean or even work in the kitchen. I am diligent.”
The man’s eyes rested on the boy. “How old are you, Yoongi?”
“Nine, Your Majesty,” Yoongi answered, flustered at the sound of his own name coming out of the king’s mouth. “I-I am nine years old.”
The king nodded slowly before turning to his left, craning to see the person on the lowest throne next to the empty one.
“How old are you again, Jimin?”
Yoongi followed the man’s gaze. It was a small boy sitting on the throne cross-legged, leaning forward to Yoongi as if he had been watching the visitor intently the whole time. His gown was of a bright yellow color, small parts glowing in a soft, innocent white. Curious eyes blinked down to Yoongi from under the brown strands of hair falling into his forehead. His cheeks and plump lips were all rosy, the eyelashes long and dark. He was pretty.
Yoongi swallowed, taking his eyes off the boy to look back to the king, ignoring the quick pounding of his heart in his chest.
“I’m seven, Father,” the boy giggled, shaking his head at the king. “Did you forget it again?”
The man just smiled and looked back to Yoongi.
“This is my younger son Prince Park Jimin,” he said. Then he turned to the throne on his right side. “And this is his older brother.”
The other boy seemed to be older than Yoongi too. He was handsome with his strong brows and fierce eyes. He looked calm and bored.
“My name is Park Daehyun.”
Yoongi bowed his head to the older prince before turning back to Jimin, keeping his gaze on the floor as he bowed to him as well.
“Daehyun will be the next ruler of this empire, Yoongi. He’s training hard to become a skilled and strong fighter in order to protect his nation. As for Jimin…,” the man explained before looking back to the youngest that was bobbing up and down on his seat, eyes turning into crescents as he grinned at Yoongi. “He’s weak. He comes after his mother, delicate and soft.. couldn’t hurt a fly. That’s why he needs someone to protect him. Someone that will be by his side all the time, since my soldiers will mainly focus on the safety of the heir to the throne in case of a hostile attack. I would like to give this task to you, Min Yoongi. Would you be Jimin’s companion and pledge to protect his life with your own?”
Yoongi raised his head at this, locking eyes with Jimin. The prince looked just as surprised as Yoongi felt. However, he didn’t need long to make his decision.
The boy sensed everyone’s gaze on him when he dropped down onto one knee, putting the palm of his right hand over his heart and lowering his head to the youngest prince.
“I, Min Yoongi, swear that I will do everything in my power to protect Prince Park Jimin. I will follow every single one of his orders and put his life over my own until the day I die.”
When he looked up, Jimin was still watching him. His eyes were wide and reflected the light of the chandeliers, lips parting without a sound.
The king nodded contentedly.
“So be it. Welcome to your new home, Min Yoongi. Someone as brave as you will be a great enrichment to this palace. You can be assured that my soldiers will no longer collect taxes from your family. Of course you’re allowed to visit your parents once a month if you want to.”
Yoongi released a sigh of relief, a smile forming on his lips.
“Thank You, Your Majesty,” he called out, bowing down again.
“Daehyun,” the king spoke, leaning towards his older son. “From tomorrow on, Yoongi will attend all the classes together with you. You will also practice sword combat in your free time. He might even become your brother in arms if he’s skilled enough, who knows?”
The prince’s eyes landed on Yoongi for a second, then he looked back to his father, nodding silently.
“Servants!” the man called out, watching two of them hurrying over, keeping their heads low in humbleness. “Guide Yoongi to the room next to Jimin’s. It shall be his.”
Before anyone could move an inch, a soft voice echoed through the big hall.
“I’ll lead him there, Father,” Jimin said as he slid off the throne clumsily, small feet pattering on the marble floor towards Yoongi. “I was about to go to bed anyway.”
“Fine,” the king answered, leaning back into his seat and waving the servants away. “Good night, Son.”
“Good night, Father.”
Jimin waited until Yoongi had bowed another time before he grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the door he and the soldier had come from, intertwining their fingers. He was a few inches shorter than Yoongi.
“Please, let’s be friends, Yoongi hyung,” Jimin said, smiling at him. “I’ve never had a friend before and I like you.”
Yoongi flinched slightly when the younger came even closer, his nose brushing over the other’s jaw. He blushed, hiding his face from Jimin as he nodded.
“You don’t have to call me hyung,” Yoongi added shyly, feeling the softness of Jimin’s small hand in his own. “You’re a prince after all. I’m only serving you.”
Jimin shrugged at that. “But I want to. You’re still older than me.”
The boy giggled at the baffled expression on Yoongi’s face, starting to run upstairs towards their rooms while pulling the older with him. When they had arrived in front of a beautiful wooden door, Jimin let go of Yoongi’s hand to open it. The room was decorated plentifully with bookcases, paintings, plants and an ancient wall clock. A huge bed with burgundy sheets and fancy curtains stood at the wall across from the door.
“This is your room now, hyung,” Jimin explained, pushing the older in gently. “I hope you will enjoy it here. I’ll tell the servants to buy you clothes tomorrow. But now you should sleep, I’m sure you’re tired.”
The prince walked to the door, placing his hand on the knob before turning back to the boy, a smile on his lips.
“Good night, hyung.”
“Good night,” Yoongi said, bowing his head faintly. “My prince.”
Jimin giggled at that, waving to the older before closing the door. Yoongi listened to his footsteps sounding in the hallway. Another door opened and closed nearby.
The boy walked over to the bed and threw himself on top of it, chuckling at the way his back bounced on the soft sheets. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling in silence. Then he opened his mouth, whispering to himself.
“Park Jimin.”
His lips twitched into a shy smile and he raised his hand to ruffle his dark hair. The boy turned around to curl up on the comfy bed, dozing off seconds later. It was a beautiful name.
…
It didn’t take long for them to get closer. How could it when someone as pushy and determined as Jimin had declared Yoongi his new friend? Not even a week had passed when Yoongi woke up in the middle of the night, to an excited Jimin in a white nightgown standing next to his bed, a teddy in his hand. The eyes of the plushie weren’t of the same size and color; the bigger, red stone glowed in the moonlight, making a scary image in the dark room.
“My prince…,” Yoongi whispered sleepily, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Is there a problem? Are you okay?”
Jimin nodded, the grin on his face growing even wider.
“I’m fine, hyung. Just couldn’t sleep. And then I got an idea!”
“Which idea?” Yoongi yawned, lowering his head back onto the pillow.
The younger giggled, walking around the bed to climb on it from the other side.
“A friend sleepover!” He whispered, excitement audible in his voice.
Yoongi frowned when he turned to look at the prince, ready to convince him that this was a bad idea because he needed to rest after the hard training Daehyun and he had gone through all day. However, he couldn’t do anything but release a soft chuckle at the sight of Jimin’s crescent eyes gleaming at him and his cheeks emerging like small apples due to the wide grin on his face. He was adorable.
“Fine,” he sighed. “What are friends doing during a sleepover?”
Jimin giggled again, pressing his face into his teddy to muffle the sound.
“A book I read said that they talk a lot,” he whispered, turning onto his tummy and resting his chin on the plushie so that he could look at Yoongi properly. “So please tell me something.”
“What do you want to hear about?”
Jimin closed his eyes firmly, humming to himself while thinking.
“Ah!” he called out loud enough to make Yoongi flinch in surprise.
“Shhh,” the older hissed. “You’ll wake Gong up and he’ll give me chores for tomorrow.”
The boy covered his mouth with his chubby fingers, eyes wide.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly. “Hyung, you went to school, right? Together with other kids.”
“Yes,” Yoongi answered. “You didn’t?”
Jimin shook his head, pouting a little.
“I’ve always had private teachers that visit the palace. I only read about what schools are like in some of my books. Please tell me about your time there, hyung!”
They spent the next hours taking turns in talking and listening to each other, laughing at some parts and asking countless questions, urging the other to tell more about a topic that was especially interesting. When both of them finally fell asleep, the sun was already rising over the horizon, turning the sky into live coal and ashes.
Later that morning a servant would open the door of Yoongi’s room to wake him up for his sword exercises at the gym and get surprised at the unusual image that was displayed in front of her eyes. The prince would lie on the right side of the bed, Yoongi on the left, the thick burgundy blanket pulled up to Jimin’s chin while the older’s upper body was free, his chest rising and falling gently. The prince’s left hand clinging onto the hem of Yoongi’s cotton shirt.
After that night, Jimin would visit Yoongi frequently, finding new excuses each time. Yoongi stopped trying to refuse after the third time, doing nothing but releasing a soft sigh when the boy woke him up and rolling over so that Jimin could crawl under the blanket next to him.
1744
SPRING
Over the years it had turned into a habit to bathe together in the spacious bathhouse, the two of them and Daehyun. When they were little, it amused them to splash each other with water until a servant came in and begged them to stop before they flooded the whole palace.
However, someday Daehyun, that had just turned 14 years old, preferred to bathe alone, leaving Jimin and Yoongi to themselves. It was the same with Yoongi when he reached the age of 13 and Jimin didn’t quite want to accept that.
“But why?” he pouted as he stood in front of the big bathtub Yoongi was sitting in, completely naked and holding a fluffy white towel in his right hand.
Yoongi avoided to look at Jimin, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.
“We’re too old for this now, my prince,” he answered, letting his body sink deeper into the hot water. “Please use another bathroom or wait until I’ve finished washing myself.”
Jimin’s nose scrunched up in distaste.
“This isn’t fair!” he whined, stamping on the ground angrily. “You also no longer allow me to sleep in your bed! I thought we were friends, hyung? Do people stop being friends when they get older?”
Yoongi just sighed, shaking his head.
“Of course not,” he said, keeping his gaze on his feet resting on the edge of the stone bathtub. “I just…don’t want this anymore. I think it’s weird to see your friends naked or sleep with them every night.”
Jimin’s shoulders slumped down at that, droopy eyes gazing down at the boy with the red cheeks.
“Okay..,” he muttered then, turning around and walking to the door. “But we’ll still play together, right?”
Yoongi grinned at that. “Yes, of course.”
“Good!” Jimin laughed, pushing the door open. “Enjoy your bath, hyung!”
“My prince,” Yoongi called out before Jimin could leave the bathhouse.
“Yes?” the younger asked, turning around curiously.
“Please wrap that towel around your waist,” Yoongi sighed with an amused smile on his face. “There are people in the hallways.”
Jimin gasped in surprise and looked down on himself, emitting a loud giggle.
“I totally forgot!” he called out, quickly unfolding the towel in his hand.
Yoongi rolled his eyes, grinning to himself as he listened to the small feet pattering out of the room and into the empty corridor.
1745
AUTUMN
One year, when the leaves of the trees surrounding the palace started falling in drops of red, brown and yellow and the scent of rain lingered in the air, the king and Daehyun travelled to a neighboring kingdom to discuss the shared future of their territories.
Jimin and Yoongi stayed at the palace, spending their time taking walks in the forest, letting the sunrays warm their skin as they sat on the meadow and ate the berries they had collected.
That day, however, they were lazy and decided to stay in the palace. Two boys sitting across from each other on the marble floor of the spacious throne room, the sunlight seeping in through the huge windows bathed them and the wooden chess board between them in a soft gold.
Yoongi looked up to lock eyes with Jimin, an amused grin on his face. The younger groaned in annoyance when Yoongi moved his castle, caging Jimin’s king with no avenue of escape.
“I’m tired of losing to you, hyung,” Jimin sighed, getting up and walking towards the empty thrones, his steps slow and calm. Yoongi watched him, smiling to himself.
Jimin climbed onto his father’s throne, laughing at the shocked expression on Yoongi’s face. The older immediately turned to the few servants standing in front of the throne room’s wall.
“Don’t worry,” Jimin assured him, leaning back into the seat, one leg dangling over the armrest of the luxurious throne. “They won’t tell anyone.”
As if to prove Jimin’s point, the servants smiled at Yoongi, albeit keeping their straight posture that was proper for royal staff.
“Besides…I would never want this throne anyway.”
Yoongi raised his head in surprise. “Not even if you were the only heir?”
Jimin smiled and shook his head. “Not even then.”
“Why? Are you scared?”
“No, that’s not the reason,” Jimin explained, looking out of the window that faced the forest next to the palace. The afternoon sun gave the whole scenery a breathtaking shine. “I just…prefer to live, hyung.”
“What do you mean?”
Jimin released a soft sigh and jumped off the throne, walking back to Yoongi and sitting down on the cushion in front of him again, leaning back on his palms braced on the marble floor.
“It is a great honor to be the head of a kingdom, I know that. But to me…it’s more like a prison. You breathe and exist for your people. As a man, you’re king before father. And in the worst case you have to marry someone you don’t love.”
“Did your father have to?” Yoongi asked curiously.
Jimin shook his head, smiling softly.
“No, father loved mother a lot. But not everyone is as lucky as him. I would rather die than be separated from the person I love the most.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Yoongi chuckled quietly.
“You’re only 12, what would you know about love?”
Jimin huffed angrily. “And you’re 14! I know that I don’t want to feel responsible to marry someone just because of my royal title.”
“Well then you should make sure that Daehyun doesn’t run away from the throne, because if he does, you’d have to become the next king.”
Jimin rolled his eyes.
“As if hyung would ever do that. He has wanted to lead this kingdom ever since he was little, he’ll do a great job.”
Then he stayed silent for a second before leaning closer to Yoongi, giggling cheekily.
“And who says that I wouldn’t run away as well?”
Yoongi’s brows jumped up.
Jimin grinned.
“Don’t worry, hyung. Of course I would take you with me.”
This time it was Yoongi’s turn to roll his eyes, however, he couldn’t help but return the smile that was resting on Jimin’s face.
Through the tall windows of the throne room, the sun poured her golden light over the prince and his eyes turned into a sea of honey and blood, his dark hair shimmering like the ocean at night.
Yoongi averted his gaze, pointing his finger at the chess board, one brow raised challengingly.
“No!” Jimin groaned. “You’ll win again...”
“Come on, my prince,” Yoongi chuckled. “A test of courage. If you want to run away from your crown someday, a simple game shouldn’t scare you so much.”
Jimin glared at him.
“I’m not scared,” he blurted out, pouting a little. “Fine, let’s play.”
1747
SUMMER
The day Daehyun turned 18 years old, the king hosted a huge celebration in the palace to which princes and princesses all over Korea were invited. Everyone knew that it was a father’s way of giving his son a chance to choose a wife when he had reached the marriageable age. After all, it was Daehyun’s duty to produce heirs to the throne as soon as he became the new king.
The hall was filled with colorful gowns, gold and gemstones sparkling in the light of the chandeliers as the young people danced to the soft tunes of the music played by the group of musicians sitting in one corner of the spacious hall.
“I am so bored,” Jimin sighed, sitting on the lowest of the stairs leading to the thrones as he watched the dancers, his puffed out cheek resting in his hand. The many rings on it flickered when he tapped his fingers against his temple, impatience residing on his face. The younger prince that had turned 14 recently was wearing a crimson red gown with golden embellishments on the collar and sleeves, heavy rubies dangling from his ears. The servants had lined his eyes with a piece of coal and used red berries to color his lips. Yoongi noticed a faint blush on his cheeks. There was no doubt: Jimin became more and more beautiful as he grew older.
Yoongi stood next to the boy, turning his gaze away and paying him no attention.
“I also want to dance, but everyone already has a partner,” the prince called out before jumping to his feet. “Hyung, will you dance with me?”
Yoongi frowned, repulsion visible. “What? No!”
“Whyyy?!” Jimin whined, grabbing Yoongi’s shoulders and shaking him. “Come on, it’s boring to just watch others having fun all night. Pleeeaaaseee!”
After several minutes of discussion and the prince actually tearing up, Yoongi gave in with a loud groan.
“Fine!” he hissed, grabbing Jimin’s hand with the many shimmering rings and pulling him towards the dance floor. “You crybaby.”
Jimin laughed when they finally stood in between the dancing couples, rubbing his eyes before taking the earrings off and putting them into the pocket of his gown.
As if the musicians knew that the young prince was a ball of energy, the slow, romantic song stopped and a traditional folk song with a fast rhythm started playing. Yoongi watched the pairings around them linking their arms with each other before starting to turn in circles, one hand kept in the air gracefully. Halfway through it, the boys threw the girls up before catching them again and dancing into the opposite direction.
Yoongi turned his head just in time to see Jimin’s mouth opening in awe and his eyes glowing with excitement as they followed the beautiful princess, Daehyun’s dance partner, getting thrown in the air, her long purple gown and golden bracelets shining in the light of the torches next to them. Yoongi couldn’t help but smile at the sight, clearing his throat before holding a pale hand out.
“May I ask for a dance, my prince?”
Jimin’s lips twitched into a grin when he put his hand into Yoongi’s, giggling in delight.
“You may.”
The older just laughed, pulling Jimin into the mass of colors swirling around at a dizzying speed. Since Yoongi was receiving the same education as Daehyun and Jimin, dance classes were also included. Thus, the boy didn’t leave the spotlight to Jimin alone. Within seconds, some of the dancing couples paused, standing still and craning to watch the two boys making their turns in the big hall, the younger laughing uncontrollably whenever Yoongi grabbed him by his waist, lifting the boy up. At one point they stopped paying attention to the dance steps all in all and held each other’s hands instead, turning around one another as fast as they could. They both laughed cheerfully, most of the guests joining them shortly after.
When the song came to an end, the people started dispersing in all directions, to get a drink or rest before the next song would be played.
All of a sudden, Jimin staggered slightly, his eyes fluttering shut just when Yoongi raised his arms to catch the boy before he could fall.
“My prince!” the older breathed into Jimin’s ear, holding the other against his chest firmly. His voice was thick with worry. “Are you alright?”
Jimin just giggled, nodding after a moment.
“’M fine… juzz a bit dizzy…’s so much fun, hyung! I looove laughing with you.”
Just then, Yoongi noticed the strong smell lingering in the air between them, Jimin’s hot breath on his neck.
“A-are you drunk?”
Another soft giggle escaped Jimin’s mouth, followed by a hiccup.
“I took one of the glasses and it didn’t taste bad, so I took another one and then another one,” the boy answered, his cheeks painted in a deep pink. “I dunno if I’m drunk.”
“Your father forbade you to drink alcohol tonight, did you forget?” Yoongi hissed, lowering his voice so that no one else could hear him. “If anyone notices that you’re drunk in this special night- He’ll be furious when he finds out!”
Jimin stared at him, a frown on his face. Then he shrugged, another hiccup breaking free.
Yoongi released a deep sigh before turning around and grabbing Jimin’s arms, heaving the prince’s tender body onto his back. Jimin blinked up curiously, his chin resting on Yoongi’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around the older’s neck and slurred in his ear.
“Where are we going, hyung?”
“Shh,” Yoongi hissed, turning his head to the side so that he could look in Jimin’s droopy eyes. “Stay quiet for a moment.”
The black haired carried the boy through the big hall, dodging guests right and left as he let his eyes scan the room, searching for the king. He held Jimin’s legs in a firm grip, careful not to hurt him.
“Hold on tight,” he spoke to the younger, however, it wasn’t necessary since Jimin already clung to him the best he could, nuzzling his face in Yoongi’s neck, the soft strands of black hair tickling him.
Yoongi didn’t have time to think about the way his heart started beating faster as soon as he had Jimin’s warm body pressed against his own, for he spotted the king standing in a corner of the hall, talking to a man that radiated the same royal power as himself. The two were surrounded by servants holding goblets of wine and trays full of fruits and other delicious snacks up, their heads lowered in humbleness.
When Yoongi had reached the men, he bowed as well as he could with Jimin hanging from his neck, straightening back up to face the king.
“What is it, Yoongi?” the old man asked tipsily, a cheerful smile on his lips. His cheeks were of the same red color as Jimin’s gown.
“Your Majesty, I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation. I want to excuse myself and the young prince. It seems like all that spinning was too much for him, I guess he needs some fresh air.”
The king’s eyes wandered to Jimin that giggled quietly and raised his hand to wave weakly.
“Of course, Yoongi, go,” the king nodded. “Take him out to the meadow.”
When the king had turned back to the man he had been talking with, Yoongi released a breath of relief, hurrying towards the big oaken door that led to the palace courtyard. Jimin squealed happily when the warm night air brushed over their faces, making their hair dance quietly as they approached the small grassy hill splayed under the moon. Yoongi squatted to put Jimin down before lying back next to him and turning his head to muster the younger.
A thin layer of sweat glistened on the boy’s forehead and temples, a few strands of his brown hair sticking to the heated skin. He had his eyes locked on the night sky, the pupils darting back and forth, as if trying to capture every single star and lock it away in his memory. His lips formed a smile, the crooked front tooth catching Yoongi’s attention. Jimin wasn’t just pretty, he was the most beautiful thing Yoongi had ever laid his eyes on.
Jimin turned his head to the other, their gazes locking. The smile on the boy’s lips grew wider, small wrinkles appearing next to his crescent eyes. Yoongi averted his gaze, irritated by the sudden tightness in his chest. Were friends supposed to feel their heart clenching when the other looked at them?
“Hyung,” he heard Jimin murmur next to him, his voice quiet. “’m so glad that you came here in that winter night.”
With that, he turned onto his side so that he could watch Yoongi properly, humming to himself.
They stayed like that for a moment, then…
The older’s brows rose in shock when Jimin leaned forward to press his soft lips on Yoongi’s cheek, his breath hitching audibly. Yoongi didn’t move, his eyes still looking up to the starry sky above. He heard his own heart thrumming loudly, as if trying to put the summer cicadas to shame. It felt nice. Having Jimin so close.
The young prince hiccupped, giggling to himself as he rolled on his back again.
“So happy that you exist.”
He yawned softly before his eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back onto the green.
Yoongi lay there, motionless, looking up to the full moon that spilled her milky white light over the two boys, the soft blades of grass scraping against his bare arms and neck. Of course he couldn’t see his face, but the heat that had risen into it was enough to know that the blush on his cheeks must have been visible, even in the dim light of that warm summer night.
1748
SPRING
Jimin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the fresh forest air. He loved the way the spring smelled. It was a mix of flowers and earth, maybe a hint of honey. The wind blew the strands of brown hair out of his forehead and he opened his eyes again, smiling as he crouched down to pluck even more herbs. These were Yoongi’s favorites, thus, Jimin got up early to collect them in the forest. He wanted to put them into the meal he would prepare for Yoongi as a welcome gift.
His brother, Yoongi and all the soldiers had been gone for more than three months. Daehyun had to fulfill his duty as the oldest prince and lead his troops when they went to protect the borders from hostile soldiers that tried to take territories. As Daehyun’s closest companion and the most skilled swordsman of the palace, Yoongi had been cleared of his duty as Jimin’s guard and sent to lead the troops into war alongside Daehyun.
Jimin had been sad and angry at first. Why did Daehyun have to take Yoongi with him and leave Jimin all alone at the huge, empty palace? However, he knew that he couldn’t fight against his father’s orders, so he had agreed, wishing Yoongi and his brother a safe journey. He had waved next to his father, watching the troops mounting the horses after filling the wagons with enough food and water for their trip. He had smiled at Yoongi that grinned at him, sitting on the tall, black horse next to Daehyun’s brown one, the two fastest animals of the palace. He had smiled even though it hurt to know that he wouldn’t see Yoongi for a long while.
Maybe he only saw what he wanted to see, but Jimin was almost sure that there was a hint of sadness in Yoongi’s smile. The thought that he wouldn’t be the only one that missed the other comforted Jimin.
The months passed slowly without his friend. Jimin spent most of his time reading on Yoongi’s bed he also slept in. The room was still filled with his scent and Jimin enjoyed staying there, it almost felt as if Yoongi was right next to him. As if he would throw a pillow on him any second and challenge him to a race in the yard.
Anyway, it was still boring and lonely to spend his days without Yoongi, hence, Jimin jumped out of his bed in joy and hugged the surprised servant that came to wake him up and give the news of the citizens that had spotted the troops approaching the town. He had grabbed an apple from the breakfast table and ran out of the dining room, calling out words of explanation to the confused king and almost bumping into the guards at the palace gate on his way to the forest.
“So you already got the news, prince Park?” Gong called after him, a grin on his face.
Jimin turned around and raised his arms, his cheeks hurting from smiling so wide. “He’s coming home, Gong! Hyung is coming home!”
Of course, none of the guards knew which “hyung” Jimin was actually talking about.
Jimin filled the basket with herbs, chuckling to himself at the thought of Yoongi’s surprised smile when he heard that Jimin had prepared the food. When Jimin wasn’t reading books in Yoongi’s room, he stayed in the kitchen, watching the servants cooking dishes, mumbling the ingredients and different steps to himself while scribbling onto a piece of parchment. He even befriended the cooks.
The servants of the palace had always had a soft spot for the young prince whose heart was just as warm as the one of their beloved queen that died when Jimin was little. They had watched Jimin making notes and smiled amongst each other. After a while, they told Jimin that he could come closer and help them with the dishes since he would learn better that way. From that day on, the kitchen was filled with bright laughter, Jimin enjoyed talking to the servants and cooking dishes himself, it distracted him.
He couldn’t wait for Yoongi to come home and try the food, his cheeks glowed in a soft pink at the mere thought of the older enjoying the dish he made.
<><>
Meanwhile, in the throne room of the palace, the king was drinking a cup of tea, staring out of the window and waiting for his son to arrive. Their return meant that they had won the battle. He was proud of his son, he knew that he would lead this kingdom to even more wealth, make it prosper. Of course, he also knew that the young man fighting by his side was the reason why Daehyun was invincible.
The soldiers had told him about Yoongi’s extraordinary speed and technique, his skills in combat. He had even watched the two practicing together in the yard and indeed, the boy was talented, worthy of being a prince’s brother in arms. The king nodded to himself, proud of his decision to welcome Yoongi in his palace, he proved himself to be a true enrichment.
The loud sound of the palace gates crashing open startled the king and he turned to his servants, demanding to know what was going on out there.
Just when the servants hurried towards the door, it was pushed open with the same force as the gates, one of the palace’s soldiers stepping into the room, panting heavily. His face was flushed as if he had run to the palace, supporting himself on his knees as he gasped for air.
“What happened?” the king asked, rising from his throne. “Speak! Is the prince safe?”
The soldier straightened himself again, nodding quickly.
“The prince is alright, your majesty. But- but master Min-“
Before the man could continue, more noise entered the palace, a group of people approaching the throne room.
“WE NEED HELP!” Daehyun’s firm voice echoed in the hallway. “YOONGI IS WOUNDED!”
The prince’s face that usually was calm and resolved, was drained of all color, the shock resting in every feature.
“Father!” Daehyun called out when he entered the throne room, blood splatters on his face and clothes, his hands painted in a deep red. “Yoongi, he- Someone has to help him.”
The king’s eyes darted into the dim hallway behind Daehyun, catching sight of the soldiers holding a person up. The uniform was ripped and bloody, a pale hand dangling in the air.
“Servants! Those who are skilled with wound treatment, take him to the nearest room. Do whatever it takes to save him!” the king exclaimed and within a second, a group of servants rushed out of the throne room, following the soldiers that carried the wounded boy.
The king walked down the few stairs in front of the thrones and walked to his son that was standing next to a few soldiers.
“What happened, Daehyun?” he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
The prince swallowed, looking up to meet his father’s eyes.
“I was distracted for a moment,” he said dryly, clenching his fists. “I-I didn’t see the arrows. Yoongi pushed me away, father. He was wounded because of me.”
The king’s brows lifted in surprise, silence filling the throne room.
“Of course he would do that, Daehyun,” the king answered. “You’re the prince and he is your comrade. Yoongi fulfilled his duty and we will honor him for it.”
If he survives, the king thought to himself.
“What about the other soldiers?”
This time it was the man who had entered the room first that answered to the question.
“A few are wounded, but it’s nothing serious. My men are treating them outside, on the yard.”
The king nodded, satisfied.
“Good. Welcome back. You are discharged.”
The soldier bowed to the king and Daehyun before hurrying into the corridor and out of the palace.
“Are you alright?” the king asked, putting a hand on each of Daehyun’s shoulders. “The blood-“
The king’s eyes wandered over Daehyun’s hands and clothes.
The prince nodded. “It’s Yoongi’s. I’m not wounded, father.”
“That’s good,” the king said, a smile on his face. . “Congratulations on winning your first battle, son.”
Daehyun nodded, forcing himself to smile weakly.
The king led his son to the thrones afterwards, calling for the servants to bring him food and something to drink. Daehyun only took the glass of water from the tray, waving the servant away. They sat like that for a while, the king listening to the prince telling him about the combat out in the fields, of the way Yoongi commanded the soldiers when Daehyun was busy, the way he saved his life. The king was silent, nodding as he listened to the story, resolve flickering in his old, dark eyes.
They were interrupted by the door opening once again.
Jimin entered the throne room, holding a basket in his right hand, a wide grin on his face.
“Welcome home, hyung!” he called out, raising his left to greet his brother. “Where’s Yoongi?”
The king rose from his seat, watching Jimin’s smile falter as he approached the two, his gaze jumping from one to the other.
“Jimin, Yoongi is…he saved Daehyun…he lost a lot of blood,” the king explained, holding the boy’s gaze. “The servants are trying their best. They-“
Jimin didn’t hear a single word after that, the world seemed to be robbed of her sounds. Only the rushing sound of his own blood filled his ears. He couldn’t hear his father and brother calling after him when he dropped the basket to the ground and spun around, begging his legs to carry him to Yoongi faster.
Yoongi. Jimin didn’t realize that he was panting the name out loud, again and again, like a charm that would protect the older boy. He ran down the dark corridor, towards the small crowd of people standing in front of one of the servant rooms, hot tears running down his cheeks. Yoongi. Yoongi.
“YOONGI!” Jimin cried, startling the soldiers that turned around to him.
“Your Majesty,” one of them said, raising his hands to stop the young boy. “You can’t go in there!”
The soldiers pushed against him gently, trying to lead him away from the room, but the boy couldn’t be stopped, he hit and kicked around, screaming angrily.
“Let me go!” he growled. “Let me in there! That’s an order! I want to go to Yoongi, go away!”
After another attempt to stop him, the soldiers gave in, retreating from the open door to let Jimin pass.
When the boy ran to the door, he stopped in front of the room, his shoulders slumping down at the sight. Yoongi was lying on the narrow servant bed, the light brown cotton stained in a dark red. There were four servants in the room, one was putting the last bloody arrow, the third one, on the foot of the bed. Two of them were dipping pieces of cloth into alcohol before wiping them over the wound. The last one used another wet cloth to wipe Yoongi’s forehead.
Suddenly, the sounds returned to the world and Jimin wished that they had stayed hidden.
It hurt. Even though they were Yoongi’s screams of pain, Jimin could feel the hurt as well. Seeing Yoongi’s face distorted and pale with pain and hear him groaning and hissing out when the servants cleaned his wound, teared at Jimin.
“GO AWAY!” Jimin called out, running into the room and pulling at the servant’s clothes. “LEAVE! YOU’RE HURTING HIM!”
“But your majesty!” It was one of the soldiers that had entered the room. “They still have to stitch the wound up. Please be reasonable-“
“I will do it,” Jimin answered, still panting heavily. “Just- Just give me needle and thread. I can do it. Everyone leave. I won’t repeat this order.”
The servants hesitated, looking at the high-ranking soldier in confusion. The man closed his eyes and sighed, waving for the servants to leave the room. The men and women left the room one by one, the last one putting a needle that was already attached to a long piece of thread on the bed next to Yoongi.
“Please clean your hands with alcohol before you start, Your Majesty,” she said before following the others out into the hallway. The door closed.
“My prince,” a husky voice said from the bed. “Why did you do that?”
Jimin turned around to look at Yoongi, his heart clenching at the weak sound of his voice.
“I-I don’t know, I just- I wanted them to stop hurting you,” he stuttered before hurrying over to the buckets of alcohol, dipping his hands in and rubbing them against each other feverishly. “D-don’t worry, hyung. I will stitch it up now, i-it will stop hurting, d-don’t be scared.”
He took the needle and sat down next to Yoongi, looking at the bloody cloths sticking to the wound. His hands were shaking.
“I’m not scared, my prince,” Yoongi chuckled, wincing at the pain shooting over his abdomen. “I-I know you’ll do a great job.”
Jimin’s lips twitched into a small smile, more tears rolling down his cheeks. He rubbed his face against his shoulders to dry his tears, inhaling deeply to calm himself. As he exhaled, his brows were drawn together in concentration. He pulled the cloths away and started working.
Yoongi tried to stay still, biting on his lips to keep himself from groaning. Even though Jimin’s hands were more gentle than the servants’, his lower abdomen, where the arrows hit him, was throbbing in dull pain. His breathing was shallow and he felt dizzy, his vision blurring and getting clear again.
His eyes rested on Jimin the entire time. The boy’s eyes were swollen, tears staining his cheeks and dropping from the tip of his nose, his face red and puffy from crying. A deep frown rested in his features.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed for a second.
Jimin snorted quietly, not taking his eyes off Yoongi’s wound. He was almost done.
“That’s fever talk,” he answered. “I’m almost done, hyung, please hold on.”
A few minutes later, Jimin used a knife to cut off the remnants of the thread and started covering the stitches with the bandages waiting on the bed next to Yoongi.
“See, hyung?” he panted, getting off the bed to wet a cloth with cold water. “We’re done. It’s over.”
“When did you learn how to stitch?” Yoongi asked, trying to stay awake.
“Mom taught it to me when she was still alive,” Jimin answered. “It was fun, so I didn’t stop practicing, even after she died.”
When he returned to the bed, he sat down on the edge, dabbing the wet cloth over Yoongi’s face. His cheeks were flushed, cold sweat dripping down the pale skin.
Yoongi’s dark eyes locked with Jimin’s, he seemed to be close to losing his consciousness.
“Hyung, please stay with me,” Jimin cried, grabbing Yoongi’s left hand. “Please.”
The older squeezed Jimin’s fingers, a soft smile on his lips.
“I’m alright, my prince, please don’t cry. I already feel better. I’ll be fine.”
Jimin gave up on trying to keep his composure and just let himself fall against Yoongi, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s neck.
“Please don’t ever hurt yourself just for me,” he sobbed, running his fingers through Yoongi’s damp hair and tugging on the brown strands.
Yoongi chuckled huskily, again, wincing at the pain running over his body.
“I can’t promise that and you know it.”
Jimin sniffed against Yoongi’s collarbones, his tears falling on the other’s heated skin.
“I don’t know what I would do without you, hyung,” Jimin whispered, more tears filling his eyes. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” Yoongi breathed, raising a hand to caress Jimin’s soft hair.
Jimin flinched when the door opened, raising his head to see his father and Daehyun entering the small room.
The king’s eyes rested on the two for a moment, his brows pulled together in a frown. Then he cleared his throat. Jimin drew back, rising to his feet to face his father.
“Daehyun told us everything about your heroic actions, Yoongi,” the king began. “I have watched you ever since you joined our palace as Jimin’s guard and companion. You proved your skills to me and Daehyun and today, you proved your loyalty in the most honorable way. You risked your own life to save the heir to this throne. Therefore, Min Yoongi, I declare you first commander of prince Daehyun, his right hand during combat and someday in the future in terms of reigning as well.”
Jimin raised his brows in surprise, looking at his father and Daehyun alternately. His brother looked determined, nodding solemnly as he listened to the king. Jimin turned to Yoongi and their gazes locked. The pale commander looked stunned, eyes wide and incredulous. Then, his lips twitched into a shy smile that Jimin returned immediately, lowering himself to put his forehead against Yoongi’s, totally forgetting about the presence of the king and Daehyun.
“Congrats, hyung,” he whispered in his ear, his hand searching for Yoongi’s. “Or should I call you commander now?”
They intertwined their fingers, soft chuckles filling the room.
Many years had passed since he had come to stay in the palace together with the royal family, but just now, when he was slowly growing into a young man, did Yoongi realize that his feelings for Jimin had blossomed into something deeper; something that went beyond friendship.
1748 SUMMER
Summer was newly reaching its end, so there still were a few flowers scattered in the flowerbed on the yard. Jimin was crouching next to the flowers, pretending to pluck them. He was actually watching Yoongi and Daehyun practicing sword combat a few meters away from him, averting his gaze as soon as the pale boy turned to his direction. He didn’t want Yoongi to notice.
Of course, Yoongi had noticed. It was impossible not to feel Jimin’s gaze burning on his skin, luring Yoongi to turn around so that they could lock eyes. Daehyun used his friend’s distraction to hit his side with the wooden sword, squeezing the air out of Yoongi’s lungs when the boy fell to the dusty ground, holding his side in surprise. Daehyun pointed his sword at Yoongi’s throat, laughing to himself before he held his hand out to pull him up again.
“Your wounds have healed completely, so I’m not holding back anymore,” he explained, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “What distracted you like this? You weren’t paying attention at all.”
Daehyun looked around the yard, overlooking Jimin entirely, his eyes stopping on the female servants watering the plants behind Jimin.
“So that’s how it is,” he chuckled, giving Yoongi a meaningful grin. “After all, you’re slowly reaching that age too…you’re 17 now, aren’t you? I can order them to visit your room tonight. You deserve it after training so hard.”
Yoongi looked at him in confusion. When the realization dawned on him, his eyes widened and his cheeks turned red.
“N-no, I d-didn’t, I-I mean, I don’t want to-“
Daehyun raised a brow.
“I just don’t think that it’s the time for that,” Yoongi added, having calmed down again. “We should focus on our training.”
Daehyun rolled his eyes at that.
“You’re so boring, Yoongi.”
Daehyun said that he was thirsty and wanted to go back into the palace, since they had trained enough for one day. He started walking towards the gates, however, Yoongi stayed where he was, turning to look at Jimin. The boy raised his head and smiled at him. Just when Yoongi wanted to go over and talk with him, Daehyun called his name and Yoongi raised his hand as a farewell before running after the young heir.
When they were in the throne room, Daehyun sitting on his throne and Yoongi on the stairs underneath him, drinks in their hands, Daehyun told his friend that he would get married and become king soon.
“Father is getting old. It’s time.”
“Are you scared?” Yoongi asked.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Daehyun answered, looking out of the window; watching the trees dancing in the breeze going over the palace grounds. “But… ever since you came to the palace and we started training together and became friends, I feel safer. I know that you’ll always be there to fight alongside me.”
Yoongi smiled.
“Don’t let this get to you,” Daehyun grinned. “You’re already such a cocky brat.”
“You just can’t take that I beat you in almost every match!” Yoongi laughed.
Daehyun groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Here we go again…you’re just talented, that’s all. And I didn’t focus on our fights anyway.”
“Of course,” Yoongi deadpanned.
“Shut up before I tell Jimin that you want to go collect berries together. In the forest.”
Yoongi chuckled. He wouldn’t mind it. After all, they hadn’t had a chance to be alone in a long while.
1749
SPRING
One day, when the whole palace was amidst the wedding preparations for Daehyun, the king ordered Yoongi to his chambers. It was evening and the sun was ready to set, bathing the hallways of the palace in a red light as Yoongi headed to the highest floor of the palace, where the king was staying.
When he walked past the guards and entered the room, the king was sitting in a big armchair, wearing a green robe and holding a book in his hands.
“You called, Your Majesty,” the commander said, bowing down before straightening himself again, locking eyes with the king.
“I did, Yoongi,” the king said, putting his book down on the small table next to him before leaning back into his seat. “Please sit.”
Yoongi nodded and took a seat on one of the chairs in the room.
“The reason why I called you,” began the king, his hands running over the armrests of his chair. “Is to thank you for everything you did for my family, especially the young prince. You protected him well up to this day and now you’re even the commander of my older son.”
“That’s the least I could do to thank you for the mercy you showed my family, Your Majesty,” Yoongi answered, inclining his head in humility. “I have to thank you.”
The king nodded, his dark eyes resting on Yoongi heavily.
“Jimin will get married soon,” he spoke.
The young man was motionless for a moment, no words coming out of his mouth either. He resembled a statue.
Slowly, he moved his lips.
“T-the young prince?”
“Yes,” the king confirmed, his voice echoing in Yoongi’s head. “To the king of a faraway kingdom that’s even bigger than ours. He will live a life in wealth and happiness. You want Jimin to be happy, don’t you, Yoongi?”
Yoongi was quiet. His mouth was dry and the room seemed to turn around him, a suffocating nausea blurring his senses.
“I do,” he managed to answer, noticing that his knuckles had turned white from grabbing his knees too firmly. He relaxed his hands, exhaling a stuttering breath to regain some of his composure.
“Then I hope that you will give him and his new husband your blessing. Of course it would mean that you’re free from your duties as Jimin’s guard. You will solely be Deahyun’s commander from now on.”
Yoongi swallowed and nodded, standing up and bowing to the king.
“You are discharged,” the king said, taking his book from the table. “Good night, Yoongi.”
“Good night, Your Majesty.”
Yoongi left the room, closing the door behind him and walking down the hallway until he was sure that the guards in front of the king’s room couldn’t see him anymore.
When he was alone, he gave in to the tremor in his legs, his body falling against the cold wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the ground. When had he started crying? What if the king had seen it? It no longer mattered anyway. Yoongi thought that the king must have known about his feelings for Jimin, why else would he call him to tell him the news? It had been an order. Yoongi shouldn’t try to interfere. The commander sat there, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at the dark, naked wall in front of him, his gaze empty. The sun had almost set, only a small amount of light was seeping in through the windows.
Just now, Yoongi realized, that he had been carrying some hope in his chest. Hope, that Jimin might feel the same someday. That they could leave the palace together and give Jimin the life he wanted, away from his duties as the member of the royal family. How foolish he had been. Yoongi wondered where that king and Jimin had met. When they had agreed on getting married.
He shook his head, wiping his face with she sleeves of his gown. There was no use in crying now. As long as Jimin was happy, Yoongi would be fine.
The commander got up slowly and, though staggering a little, walked down the hallway, towards the stairs that would take him downstairs. He had to go out into the cool night air. He didn’t meet anyone on his way out, the servants were busy in the kitchen or the throne room, soldiers were on the training grounds, practicing for the crowning ceremony. When he had reached the flower garden, he stopped and leaned against one of the tall marble pillars of the pavilion, releasing a deep breath.
He thought about how lonely the palace would be when Jimin was gone. He saw him sitting in between flowers and walking out of the forest, a bright smile on his lips as he ran up to Yoongi. Or how he stole food from Yoongi’s plate during dinner when the older wasn’t looking, giving him a sheepish grin when he got caught. It hurt.
Yoongi turned around, wanting to go back to his room and sleep until the end of time.
There he was, standing right in front of him between the flowerbeds. Jimin’s gown was of a bright blue color, making him look out of place in the darkness of the night. Their gazes met and Yoongi’s heart clenched at the wet shimmer in Jimin’s eyes, on his cheeks. The boy’s hands were clenched into fists, his body shaking severely.
“My prince,” Yoongi croaked, walking towards Jimin, his hands raised in concern. “What is-“
Before he could finish his sentence, Jimin had run into his arms, a loud sob breaking the quiet of the night.
“H-hyung, please help,” the younger begged, tears staining the front of Yoongi’s dark blue uniform. “H-he w-will s-send me a-away.”
The commander wrapped his arms around Jimin’s body, holding him close to his chest without realizing. He stroked the boy’s soft hair, whispering calming words in his ear.
“My prince, please breathe… I am here. Please try to breathe and explain me what’s going on.”
It took Jimin a few minutes to calm down, minutes in which he tugged on Yoongi’s shirt, mumbling weak pleas for help as more sobs shook his body. When his breathing had finally returned to a normal pace, Yoongi released the boy, holding him an arm’s length away so that he could muster his face.
“Tell me, my prince. What happened?”
Jimin bit his lip, more tears running down his cheeks.
“M-my father promised me to another king. They will s-send me away so that I can m-marry him.”
Yoongi’s brows were drawn together.
“Do you not want that? Your father said that your life would be good.”
Jimin shook his head quickly, his hands coming up again to grab Yoongi’s collar.
“No, no, no, hyung,” he urged, still shaking his head. “I overheard the servants talking about that king. Apparently he already has three wives he treats terribly. And he’s also much older than me. Maybe as old as my father. I-I don’t want to marry him, I d-don’t love him, I love-“
Yoongi’s hands cupped Jimin’s face.
“So they force you?” he asked. “You don’t want to marry him?”
“Of course not,” Jimin said, his grip tightening around Yoongi’s collar. “I l-love someone else, hyung.”
Yoongi’s brows raised in surprise, his heart making a small, hopeful jump.
“I love y o u, hyung.”
Jimin’s voice was weak, teary and so hurt when he spoke those words. Yet, it was the most beautiful sentence he had ever said to Yoongi.
“I love you too.”
Jimin’s eyes widened, more tears running over the soft skin, his hands dropping to his sides.
“T-then what will we do now?”
They were quiet for a moment, only the weak, occasional hiccups of the prince breaking the silence. Then, a smile formed on Yoongi’s lips.
“Run away,” he whispered.
Jimin frowned, the moon that was towering on the sky now reflecting in his eyes.
“What?” he mumbled.
“You said it yourself,” smiled Yoongi, brushing his thumbs over Jimin’s cheeks to wipe the tears away. “That you would run away from your crown if you had to. And that you would take me with you. Don’t you remember?”
Jimin remembered. For a moment, he was scared. Scared of leaving everything he knew behind. His family, his friends, his home. However, when he looked up and met the calm, dark eyes of the person he loved, Jimin felt peace. It was as if every small piece of fear was fading away. He knew that he could do it, if Yoongi was by his side.
“B-but you swore loyalty to my father and Daehyun, hyung, you shouldn’t-“
Yoongi shook his head, letting his fingers run through Jimin’s dark hair.
“No, my prince, in that night I pledged loyalty to you alone, no one else. I promised that I would protect you with my life and I stay with that pledge.”
The prince put his own hands over Yoongi’s, nodding at the other with a soft smile on his lips, his crescent eyes sparkling with tears.
“Let’s run away, hyung.”
Yoongi nodded, pressing his forehead against Jimin’s.
“Everything will be fine, my prince.”
“Hyung, please,” Jimin whispered, his eyes closed. “Call me Jimin. Just once. Now.”
“Jimin.”
The boy’s lips twitched into a smile and he opened his eyes, filled with warmth and adoration.
Then, he moved his hands up to Yoongi’s hair, digging his fingers into the soft, brown strands as he pulled the older into a kiss.
Jimin’s lips were tender and warm, a bit salty from his tears. Yoongi wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist, pulling him even nearer, so that not even air could fit between their bodies, he wanted to have Jimin close. So close that no one could take him away from Yoongi. They kissed until they were breathless, eventually parting just to cup each other’s face and lock eyes again, wide smiles emerging.
“How will we run away?” Jimin asked, intertwining his fingers with Yoongi’s.
The older squeezed his hands, his forehead still resting against Jimin’s.
“The servants will come with the goods soon. We will mount a horse and wait on top of the hill. As soon as the gates are open and the soldiers help the servants with the wagon, we’ll ride down and escape.”
Each week, two servants would go to the marketplace to restock their inventories. They would return with a wagon filled with food, clothes and other goods that were needed in the palace. Today, another wagon should arrive.
“Then we should hurry and go to the stables,” Jimin said.
Yoongi nodded, taking the prince’s hand into his and pulling the boy with him, into the night. The way to the animals was dark, no lanterns were burning in those parts of the palace grounds, thus, they didn’t have to worry about getting seen. When they had arrived at the long wooden building with the horses that were used in combat, Yoongi slipped in, Jimin followed him quickly. Dim light was seeping into the stable from the windows, there were lanterns on the other side of the building. The horses were sniffing, preparing themselves for sleep.
Yoongi motioned for Jimin to follow him, heading to the cabin at the far end of the stable, calling out softly.
“Hana…”
The beautiful, black mare that belonged to the commander stepped closer after a second. She pressed her big head against the palm Yoongi was holding out, the dark eyes gleaming in the sparse light of the spacious room.
“Follow me, beautiful,” Yoongi whispered, opening the cabin’s door before entering it and tying the rope halter on the animal’s head, tugging on it gently to get her to leave the cabin.
They exited the stable and Yoongi helped Jimin mount the horse, grabbing him by his waist and lifting him up as he did when they danced at the festival all those years ago. That night seemed to belong to another life. When Jimin was sitting on top safely, Yoongi heaved himself onto the animal’s back, coming to sit in front of Jimin.
“Wrap your arms around my waist,” Yoongi said, before tapping his foot against the horse’s side, leading her out to the meadow.
Jimin obeyed, pressing his face against Yoongi’s back and hugging his arms around his body. His heart was still beating quickly.
When they had reached the hill, Yoongi stopped the horse.
“They are opening the gates.”
Jimin raised his head to look and indeed, the soldiers had moved from their positions next to the gate and opened it.
“We’ll ride down as soon as they have passed the gate, before the soldiers can start to close it. Hold on tight, my prince.”
They watched the servants’ horses moving onto the palace grounds, both of them holding their breaths.
Then, when the wagon had passed and the gate was wide open, Yoongi’s heel kicked the horse’s side firmly, his hands tugging on the leash around its head.
The animal snorted loudly, starting to gallop down the hill, picking up speed the closer they got to the gates. When they were close enough to be seen by the soldiers, the men turned around in surprise, running out of the way in fear. The mare broke out of the palace grounds with a long jump, continuing to run relentlessly.
“THE COMMANDER AND THE YOUNG PRINCE! THEY WANT TO ESCAPE!”
“INFORM THE PALACE!”
“GET THE HORSES!”
Jimin’s hands clutched the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt, the boy clenched his teeth in fear. They would catch up eventually. It was night, so the street was empty, the black mare shot through the cold night air at an incredible speed, they rode like this for a few minutes, leaving the palace behind. Hana neighed when the distant sounds of their chasers grew louder.
“Hyung, how can they be so close already?”
Yoongi growled angrily. “They must have used some shortcut… Only Daehyun knows the palace grounds better than me.”
Indeed, just a short while later, the older prince’s solid voice broke into the silence of the night.
“YOONGI, YOU TRAITOR! YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!”
Yoongi let the leash crack against the horse’s back, the animal neighing loudly, starting to run even faster. They were riding next to a forest now, Yoongi let his eyes wander over the trees in the distance, trying to see if they could enter somewhere, but the road they were on was too high, there was no way the horse could enter the forest from there. The pursuit continued for a long while, Yoongi noticed how Hana’s breathing got more shallow and her speed dropped slowly, their followers getting closer with each passing minute.
“Hyung!” Jimin called out, turning his head in horror. “They’re right behind us!”
“MIN YOONGI, YOU FALSE RAT! I TRUSTED YOU!”
Daehyun’s voice was shaking with anger, it was devoid of any other emotions, only cold, merciless rage.
Everything happened within seconds. There was the sound of Daehyun’s cold voice echoing in the darkness, an order to the soldiers riding behind the two.
“ARROWS READY! SHOOT!”
Yoongi had never liked the buzzing sound of arrows cutting through the air. It resembled a song of death. What he hated more, however, was the feeling of the sharp stone drilling itself into his skin. He heard Jimin screaming out in pain behind him, Yoongi wanted to turn around, protect the prince from more pain, but the next second, they were both floating in the air, the horse having panicked and thrown them up before galloping into the darkness. Yoongi heard the calls of the men getting more and more distant as they rolled down the hill, deeper into the forest.
Sticks and stones scratched against his skin, a white bolt of pain shooting over his back, spreading to his entire body. When they had finally stopped, they were lying on a meadow, a small forest clearing that was covered with flowers carrying small, white buds, turning the meadow into a piece of winter during spring. It almost looked as if they were lying in a pile of snow.
Red dots were appearing on the untouched snow, growing from one flower onto the other.
Yoongi opened his eyes, wincing in pain as he turned his head to see Jimin. The boy’s face was bloody, deep cuts on his cheeks and forehead, his hair a mess. Yoongi’s heart hurt at the sight. However, the most painful view were the long arrows sticking out of Jimin’s side and back, so many that Yoongi couldn’t bear to count them. He hoped that they were less than the ones that had pierced through Yoongi’s back, wished that he could take all of those arrows in Jimin’s stead.
The moon bathed the two in her eery light, the wind blowing over the scenery gently.
Jimin opened his eyes as well, looking at Yoongi.
“Jimin,” Yoongi rasped, holding his hand out. Jimin took it, squeezing it gently.
“Hyung.”
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you, my prince,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little.
Jimin shook his head, a choked sob leaving his mouth.
“I don’t blame you, hyung,” he answered softly. “I blame fate. For being so cruel to let this end here, in this night. It isn’t fair…I’ve never had the chance to love you.”
Yoongi closed his eyes. The pain was slowly fading and a sudden calmness came over him.
“Maybe…” Jimin coughed, dark rivers leaving his mouth, his lips a deep red. “Our love…this life… are cursed, hyung. After all… You betrayed a friend… and I betrayed my…own blood.”
Yoongi shook his head, using his last energy to lean closer to Jimin, putting his forehead against the boy’s temple.
“No life in which I meet you could be a curse, my prince,” he whispered in the boy’s ear, the prince whimpered softly.
They both smiled, tears running down their cheeks.
“I love you, hyung,” Jimin breathed, his voice weaker than before.
“I love you, my prince.”
Jimin’s eyes fluttered shut, his hand still resting in Yoongi’s. The older took a stuttering breath, letting his gaze wander over the boy’s face one last time. He wished that he could see it unstained, safe and full of life once again.
Min Yoongi looked up to the sky, the full moon reflecting in his dark eyes. It was the moon that had brought him to Jimin all those years ago. The man’s lips twitched into a smile and he gave the small fingers a last squeeze, the sounds of the forest growing more distant.
We would like to believe that their hearts stopped beating at the same time.
|
After the automail incident Elric became much more distant. He still studied with Roy in the afternoons, but he rarely stayed for longer than an hour or two and their previous enthusiastic debates turned into brief, stilted exchanges.
It was a subtle enough change that Roy doubted he could properly explain the significance of it to anyone else. After all, Master Berthold didn’t seem to have noticed the new stiffness of their interactions at dinner. But the difference was there and it felt upsettingly as though he might have ruined his budding friendship.
He wanted to apologize, and even opened his mouth to do so a few times when the silence of the library became particularly heavy, but he could never quite find the right words.
He practiced a few times in the privacy of his room, cross-examining the implications of different phrases and tones, standing in front of the mirror to repeat them all back as he searched for just the right thing to say.
Twice he was convinced he’d crafted the perfect apology, but each time he was confronted with Elric’s withdrawn silence his carefully crafted speeches shrivelled on his tongue, ungainly and inadequate.
In the end it all came to a head three days later, when Roy came downstairs one morning to see Elric’s travel case sitting in the front hall.
Stunned black eyes traced over the scarred and battered leather in disbelief, before he jumped the last two stairs and skidded into the kitchen.
“You’re leaving.”
It came out more an accusation than a question. Elric looked up from his breakfast, brows slightly furrowed.
“…G’morning to you too.”
Roy waved the concept of morning pleasantries off impatiently, anxiety making him jittery as words tripped too-quick off his tongue.
“I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but surely there’s no need for you to leave yet! Master Berthold’s project-”
Elric cut him off, expression tight and uncomfortable. Roy would almost say he was angry, but there was something about the set of his brows that didn’t quite fit that.
“Breathe, Mustang.”
Roy broke off and shifted his weight uncomfortably, caught between embarrassment, indignation, and upset. He scrambled for something smoother, straining to remember the apologies he had put together in the past few days, but Elric beat him to it.
“Look, this isn’t…. The project we're working on, that’s a long term thing. Most of the research can’t be done locally, and it's not like the old hermit's gonna go do it.”
Roy struggled not to glare at the blonde, but he couldn’t keep the edge of heat from his voice.
“You never said that you would be leaving so soon!”
Elric settled back in his chair, voice tight and cautious.
“Thought it was obvious. We've worked through most of what I brought in already, so it’s time to go check out a few more things. Never get anything done if we just sit on what we’ve already got.”
Roy dropped into a chair across from Elric with the sort of belligerent unhappiness that never failed to make his aunt mutter long-sufferingly.
“Except that as neither of you tells me anything about what you’re working on, I could hardly be aware of it requiring your absence. You haven't mentioned it once since you arrived.”
He hesitated for half an instant, and then pushed stubbornly on, setting his jaw mulishly.
“Are you still upset with me? For asking about your automail?”
It wasn’t the most delicate approach to the topic, but Roy was too worked up to be circumspect. Elric crossed his arms over his chest, and his expression took on a definite hint of guilt.
“That... Look, I’m not upset with you. Automail makes people curious, I get it. Just-”
He cut himself off, and his eyes fixed on a point over Roy’s shoulder in a thousand yard stare.
“It just reminded me of something.”
There was something almost melancholy about the words, and for a long moment the two of them sat in silence so loaded that the heavy press of it on Roy's skin nearly made him shudder.
Soon enough though Elric shook himself free of his contemplation and cleared his throat.
“My point is it’s nothing you did, so you can put away the guilt complex.”
Roy blinked at him, surprised. He’d never thought of himself as having a guilt complex. On the contrary, Master Berthold and Aunt Chris had both accused him of being a shade too flippant more than once.
Still, he was a little suspicious of this sudden forgiveness after being given the cold shoulder for days on end.
“Still, I shouldn’t have pried. If you would allow me to make amends, I would be grateful.”
Elric snorted, and his expression eased into something a little closer to familiar.
“The fuck, Mustang. You already apologized, and I already said it was fine. Let it be already.”
Roy frowned slightly.
“I simply wanted to ensure that you understood how much I regretted my carelessness. I'd like to think we're friends, after all.”
Elric cocked his head, eyeing him strangely.
“Friends, huh?”
Roy felt his stomach turn a nervous somersault, face heating up slightly.
"Yes. Friends."
The tone of his voice dared Elric to argue, but after studying Roy for a minute he gave a hesitant nod.
"I guess so."
Roy nodded decisively and reached for the boiled eggs, trying to cover his embarrassment with the bustle of serving himself breakfast. For a while the only sound was the clink of silverware against plates as the two of them ate.
Eventually, Elric cleared his throat.
“I’ll be gone for a couple months or so, but I should be back by December. If you’re still around, maybe I could help you work on that vacuum project you were talking about.”
Roy looked up in pleased surprise.
“The displacement circle? The one you said was an unsound theory that was too volatile for practical use?”
Elric rolled his eyes.
“No, I said it was a dangerous idea that was better off staying an academic theory. But since we both know you’re definitely gonna try it anyway, I might as well hang around to watch the fireworks.”
Roy grinned.
Things still weren’t quite as relaxed as they had been before, but the worst of the tension had dispelled. Elric was back to his usual sharp, impatient self and more than willing to argue with Roy over the practicality of his latest exercises.
After they cleared away the breakfast dishes Roy followed Elric out to the front porch.
“I could come with you to the train station.”
Elric lifted a hand dismissively, slinging the case over his shoulder as Roy pulled the door closed behind them.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll probably end up catching a ride with a cart or something after I hit the road.”
The blonde started down the porch steps, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
“See you in a couple months, Roy.”
Elric didn’t look back again, but Roy waved anyway as he watched the other teen leave.
It wasn’t until later that evening when he’d abandoned his texts for Aunt Chris’ latest letter that he realized it was the first time Elric had ever used his first name.
|
"What’s he in for?" Derek asks a fellow deputy, pointing to the nude man in cuffs facing the wall, a conveniently placed stack of boxes obscures his bottom half from most everyone.
The other deputy gives him a look like Derek’s an idiot because it should be obvious what the naked man is in jail for. “Indecent exposure, although if you ask him it’s for ‘enjoying nature and being one with the Earth.’”
Derek rolls his eyes, “Some hippie dude then?”
The other deputy smirks, “Nah. Kid’s in college. He’s just being a smartass. That’s why you get to deal with him.”
"Oh geez thanks." Derek takes a peak over the stack of boxes to confirm that the man really is completely naked. "Could no one give him a jacket or blanket or something?"
The deputy shakes his head. “He refused. It was hard enough getting the freakin’ cuffs on him. Greenberg ‘bout had a heart attack cause the kid was giving him such a hard time with it.”
"He put up a fight?" Derek quirks an eyebrow.
"Uh… not exactly. Let’s just say, kid’s not afraid to use his body to his advantage."
Derek narrows his eyes in confusion because what the hell is that supposed to mean? The other deputy shakes his head and waves him off as he answers his phone.
Derek makes his way around the boxes to get to the holding cell. The others didn’t have a chance to book him yet and with him refusing clothing, Derek thinks the others were too afraid to do more than just stick him behind bars and deal with him later. Or in this case make Derek deal with him.
The man is conveniently facing the wall, which Derek guesses was the least he could do since he wouldn’t cover himself. Derek can’t help but stare, letting his eyes travel down the man’s back, watching the smooth lines of his muscles twitch with a shiver from a cool draft. Derek spends far too much time than he should counting the moles scattered across his back and a few on his ass. He spends countless seconds focusing on that ass and how it would feel in his hands, how his body would look in his bed, under him.
Derek shakes his head to clear his mind of the fantasy before he gets in trouble. He walks into the cell because as much as he wants to see how great the front is compared to the back and make the kid come to him, he’s sure that would be frowned upon by his coworkers.
The kid looks over his shoulder when Derek approaches and gives him a wink. “Enjoying the view?”
Derek refuses to answer or blush at the comment even though the answer is a resounding yes. Instead, he soldiers on in a gruff, angry voice. “Got a name?”
The kid gives him a wide smile. “Stiles. I’d shake your hand, but…” He wiggles his fingers and moves his arms up a little before resting them back at his sides, the cuffs pressing into the skin on his ass.
"Last name?"
"Stilinski."
"Stiles Stilinski? Do you really think it’s a good idea to be lying to a cop while you’re in jail?"
Stiles rolls his eyes, like this is something he gets everyday and if he had a quarter for every time someone questioned his name, he’d be a millionaire. “I’m not lying. Stiles might not be on my birth certificate, but it’s my name and the only thing anyone calls me.”
Derek doesn’t want to argue. It’s been a long day, and he just wants to go home and possibly fantasize about the naked college student in front of him in the privacy of his bedroom where no one can judge him but himself. The last name, Stilinski, sounds familiar though.
"Wait, Stilinksi, like—"
"Yes. Like Sheriff Stilinski three counties over. He’s my dad. And before you go calling him up, one, he won’t be surprised in the slightest, and two, he’ll tell you my name is Stiles, too."
"And why won’t he be surprised that you’re naked and in jail?"
Stiles shrugs then turns enough to level Derek with a wide grin. “College shenanigans.” He says it like it’s a cure-all, like of course that is why he’s been running around naked in the woods, but his smile is too big to be real, like he’s covering up something. Derek’s just not sure what, nor does he think he wants to dedicate the time to find out. Not now anyway.
Derek sighs, “Look, Stiles, I’m going to let you go, but I can’t let you walk out of here naked.”
Stiles pouts, “Why not, big guy? Afraid the others won’t be able to handle the beauty?”
Derek snorts. “Right. Or how about I don’t want to traumatize people.”
"The nude body is a wondrous thing to behold. Mine especially," he says with a wink.
Derek pretends not to be affected by that wink. “Will you at least wear a pair of pants till you get out of the station and out of sight of civilians?”
"You going to help me get in them?" He wiggles his eyebrows and leans forward against the wall so his ass sticks out more. Derek can see why Greenberg had such a hard time. "You sure you got something that can cover this?" he says as he shimmies his ass a little.
Derek does not look but he wants to. “I’m sure we have something,” he replies, just barely maintaining his gruff, cop, “I mean business” voice.
Stiles stands up and turns to face Derek, and Derek stares straight ahead, refusing to let his eyes go any lower than Stiles’s neck. Stiles looks Derek up and down and steps closer. “I think yours will do,” he says.
"Excuse me?"
"I’ll let you walk me out of here in your pants."
"Seriously?"
Stiles nods. “Only yours. I’m sure you got an extra pair in your locker or your desk drawer. Although… I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t. I’d be happy with the ones you’re wearing right now.”
Derek narrows his eyes, and Stiles just grins. Derek knows the type, knows Stiles won’t accept anyone else’s pants, and if Derek tries, Stiles will cause a scene, more so than he has already. He shouldn’t be compromising with a criminal, but the last thing their department needs is for someone to walk in, see Stiles naked, and throw a fit. And it’s not like Stiles did anything serious; it’s why they’re letting him go.
"Fine," Derek grits out before he does an about face and walks out. He has a pair of basketball shorts in his locker. He grabs them and the paperwork for Stiles and goes back to the holding cell.
As fast as he can, Derek unlocks the cuffs and throws the shorts at Stiles. He’s trying to go for angry, like Stiles is a waste of his time, but really it’s because he can’t stand to be any closer to Stiles’s naked form than he needs to. He doesn’t need to watch Stiles slide his pants over the curve of his ass or watch him tuck or adjust himself in them. He’s at work, and he does not need an embarrassing situation in his tight uniform pants because of a stupid twenty-something. At least Derek hopes he’s twenty-something.
Once Stiles is ready, he pats Derek on the shoulder. “You can look now, big guy. I know you want to.”
Derek rolls his eyes at him because what else can he do. “Come on,” he says holding the door open for Stiles and locking it behind them. Stiles follows him to the front to sign the papers he needs to before he can go. When everything’s filled out, Derek gestures towards the doors. “You’re free to go.”
Stiles frowns and looks down at his bare feet and back up at Derek. “You’re giving me a ride.”
Derek balks at the command. “No, I am not.”
"Yes, you are. I am not walking home barefoot in a borrowed pair of shorts."
"You should have thought of that before getting arrested in the buff."
"Oh, like I planned to get arrested. Come on," Stiles looks down at the badge on Derek’s uniform, "Deputy Hale. Please?" He practically purrs Derek’s name and gives him the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes Derek has ever seen.
Stiles steps closer to him, leans in to whisper, “Don’t you want your shorts back? I’ll let you take them off me.”
Derek should tell him no, that Stiles gets to suffer the consequences of being out in public without clothes, that Stiles can keep the shorts. He should push Stiles away before it goes any further, before he gets himself in trouble.
But, Derek is weak a nice person, and he does like those shorts.
|
Fictional characters always seemed to have the most exciting lives. No day was boring, none the same. If the character didn’t reunite with their long-lost lover, whom they had assumed to be dead, then they spontaneously quit their job, leave behind all their possessions to instead live in the woods and start all over. Get inspired, escape the dullness of everyday life.
And people watched and read those stories, filled with the desire to do exactly the same. As if it were that easy. As if the exciting life was better. As if safety could truly be called boring.
It’s not that deep , Dabi thought to himself, slightly annoyed by his own thoughts.
Admittedly, a routined life sounded boring in theory. He could understand that much. Nonetheless, if it was between a boring life and the one he had lived so far, the former sounded far more tolerable.
The man in his early twenties had run away from home once he was old enough to know how to not die immediately in the wild world. Despite this, there were many things he had to leave behind; his younger siblings, the comfort of a roof over his head, food and more money than even a kid would know how to spend. While the absence of money and a warm bed were the greatest challenge to physically deal with, mentally it was tough knowing his siblings were still back there. Keeping them in the hellhole he so desperately needed to escape felt wrong, however, not knowing how to keep himself alive was a risk far too great to be watching over his siblings, too. They would have to find their own way.
In the end, he just wanted to survive. Nothing was more important.
The raven-haired male had found his way about two years ago. Escaping the prison they called a home, the selfish monster they called a father. Ever since then, living meant never staying in the same place for too long. It meant stealing the necessities and living off the bare minimum one needed to survive.
Sometimes he even earned money in the noble way of doing honest work. Due to not being able to give out his identity, online jobs were his source of income, where no one required legitimate identification. And no one had to see his face either. This was especially important as people’s need to make rude remarks about the scars he hated so much reminded him too much of the life he tried to get away from.
Currently, Dabi had enough money saved from these jobs to treat himself to something. In addition to that, there was an abandoned mansion he currently stayed in, which was an upgrade in comparison to the countless accommodations on the road so far.
The mansion seemed to have been abandoned for a while, yet came with functioning electricity, including a TV.
Dabi decided to celebrate his great find by watching a movie and treat himself to one of those ridiculous things no one appreciates enough when easily accessible, but when unavailable turn into a luxurious dream - pizza.
After the raven-haired man got comfortable on a bed of pillows he had placed on the living room floor, he took out his phone to look up the nearest pizza place.
Luckily, it had quite a decent variety and good prices, too.
Once Dabi had browsed their entire menu about a hundred times, drooling even about the salads, he finally placed his order.
Ready to send it off, Dabi quickly typed in the address of the mansion, hoping the delivery guy would be able to find it. One empty field was left for him to fill out. Special requirements.
Life alone on the roads had been rather lonely, especially since his scars and overall aura wasn’t exactly the most inviting, which had made the internet and memes a great place of positive social interaction. For a while, they always managed to make him forget about his life, and sometimes that was all Dabi needed.
One particular meme now filled his head. And he decided to make it a reality. Not like he had anything to lose anyway. Without thinking any longer about it and possibly going back on the idea, he hit send:
Order:
1 x “The Box - Menu for 3 to 4 people”
with a medium chicken supreme pizza
1 x portion of country potatoes
1 x portion of garlic bread
4 x chicken wings
1 x curry mango and 1 x mexican salsa dip
1 x Lipton Lemon 1,5 liter
1 x large ice cream bowl of ‘Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough’
Special Requirements:
Send your cutest delivery guy.
Dabi wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen. In fact, he expected nothing would actually happen. The internet lied, after all. A part of him hoped that this time would be an exception, though.
A weird, obnoxiously loud noise startled him out of his sleep. For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was, but quickly regained enough consciousness to remember. With that, Dabi realized the obnoxiously loud noise must have been the pizza delivery guy, so he rose up from the ground and hurried to the door.
He opened the old wooden door carefully, scared that it would fall apart right in front of his pizza, with even just a little bit of strength.
“I could have sworn this was just a prank order,” the bright face in front of him joked with a wide grin stretching over his face. Were people allowed to be so joyful?
Dabi must have looked confused, because the blond guy in front of him quickly elaborated, “This place hasn’t been lived in during my entire life and kids always make up all these stories about how it’s haunted. So for the first sign of someone living here being a large delivery order was either a prank or a ghost suddenly craving pizza.”
“You’re not wrong,” Dabi said, more to himself than to the pretty person in front of him.
“What do you mean?” Curiosity filled the brown set of eyes staring into his.
“Nothing.”
They both stood in silence for what felt like forever, although it was more likely only a second or two.
The delivery guy made a quick motion downwards, opening the box containing the food. He took everything out and handed it to Dabi, who put it on the small table next to the door, before taking the money out of his pockets to pay. He even gave a tip.
“Thanks,” the delivery guy politely said after taking the money, “Guess that means all of your needs were met.”
Dabi was, again, confused about the cheerful reaction from the guy in front of him.
“You asked for the cutest delivery guy. From the tip you gave, I gathered that I fulfilled that request. Although I told Mr. Bando, my 67-year-old boss, that he should go, but he just got mad and told me to go do my job. But he is such a cutie, I’m sure you would have really liked him, too.”
Dabi only half-listened, as he felt slightly embarrassed remembering that part of his order. He also wasn’t sure if the guy was joking or not.
“Anyway, I’m off. I’m working tomorrow, too, so, if you need a cute delivery guy then, as well, it’s between me and Bando again.”
Dabi only nodded, “Right.”
“Anyway, enjoy your party,” the delivery guy waved, before turning around and using his red wings to fly off into the night.
Dabi had been so confused by the entire conversation that he only noticed the wings now.
He took his order into the living room, wondered what party the delivery guy was talking about and then decided to just focus on the TV and his food. Finally, a warm and fresh meal.
And the delivery guy really was cute. The internet actually hadn’t lied this time.
|
Dabi took a long drag of his cigarette. He held his breath, feeling the warmth of the smoke filling his lungs, the tension of his chest while he didn’t breathe, staples stretching his skin with a little sting and a dull pain radiating from the bruises across his torso from the fights he had had. When he exhaled through his nose, his chest felt like it was draining out of all warmth. He licked along his lower lip, feeling the split there, digging the tip of his tongue in. It has always been a funny feeling, it felt like licking the armrest of a pricy leather-couch, smooth, but still sort of rough, cold and dead. He bit his lower lip, letting the tip of his tongue touch the staple just beneath. He didn’t do that often, because it burned and pulled in the most uncomfortable way, but he needed the distraction, the metallic taste of something that was not blood, but close enough.
He still refused to think and kept his mind carefully blank. He refused to think about the things he had seen after that woman’s quirk had hit him. Neither the flashbacks nor that… no. No, he didn’t think about it.
He looked up. The sky was vast and grey. There were no big rainy clouds or anything, just never ending grey in various shades and depths. No birds, no sun, nothing. He remembered the light blue color of the sky he saw the last time from here. It hasn’t even been a week ago and yet… all of that seemed too far away.
Then again there was the not yet familiar screech of the metal-door opening and closing. Dabi shot a look over his shoulder to Hawks, who was approaching him with a huge, dorky grin and a raised hand. “Yo,” he said, all too casual. Dabi squinted and took another deep inhale of his cigarette. This was fake, all so fake. A grin spread across his lips. This was going to be fun.
“You made it.”
“We agreed to meet here, didn’t we?” Hawks blinked a little. It looked almost confused. Dabi didn’t buy it anyway.
“The leader wants to meet you.”
“Oh.” Hawks didn’t seem to be expecting that all to soon. But frankly speaking, neither was Dabi.
“I can’t have you meeting him yet anyway.” Dabi chuckled. He enjoyed the entirely lost expression on the birdbrain’s face. It looked all too precious. He willed himself to look away. No need to dwell on things he didn’t get anyway. For a moment he sucked on his lower lip and let the tip of his tongue rest on the staple right beneath again. It tasted cold and coppery, like something he knew. When he focussed on Hawks again, the blonde stared at the motion of his mouth, gaping only slightly. Dabi huffed. “I still don’t trust you,” he stated in a carefully neutral tone, trying to sound neither too pissed nor too pleased.
“So…,” the hero asked, obviously pushing for more information without treading on any mines. He forcefully looked into Dabi’s eyes again, but Dabi wasn’t having any of it. He closed his eyes again, inhaling some more smoke.
“So.. I’m going to have you do something very villainous. Nothing more, don’t worry too much, little birdie.” Images of blood on the walls shot through his head, of knives and fists, of fire and frightened eyes. He chuckled a little and the smile that crossed his lips pulled at his staples just the right way. The rumbling sound vibrating in Dabi’s throat sat heavy between them. He thought he might have heard Hawks swallow audibly.
“Whaddya mean?” With his eyes closed, Dabi was able to focus on Hawks’ voice, hearing the little strain that made it pitch about a half-tone higher. That strain tugged at the corner of Dabi’s mouth some more, making it curl mischievously. Very slowly Dabi opened his eyes again, stopping only when he was looking straight into Hawks’. He stared back. His eyes didn’t waver, he might have looked almost composed, if there hadn’t been that small, almost imperceptible crease between blond eyebrows.
He blew the smoke out into Hawks’ direction. Thinned out, it hit his face. If he minded, he didn’t show it. Too sad, Dabi thought a little disappointed. He really liked it when people backed off a little, intimidated by displays of dominance. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have you kill someone,” he stated simply. The other still didn’t show any reaction, he looked almost frozen. That was something at least.
But then, the hero released a breath, scrunched his face and scratched a spot behind his ear. Another act, Dabi thought. “That’s going to be troublesome, I suppose.” Again Hawks breathed dramatically and shrugged his shoulders anyway. “Well… whatever you say,” he added in a sing-song sigh. It didn’t sound as defeated as Dabi would have liked it to. Hawks kept scratching his head and looked across the scenery in front of them. His posture might have looked carefree but clueless, if it wasn’t for that little squint of his eyes.
Dabi watched him another moment, taking in the quick change of attitude again. There seemed to be a method behind it, of course there must have been a method. This was all an act, the whole hero-image was an act. Almost every reaction was carefully crafted and thought through. He let his eyes linger some more on Hawks’ face, then he turned his face away and looked into the same direction the other did. He took a small drag from his cigarette, keeping it in his mouth, just to inhale some more air and suck it in deep. He held his breath, because it hurt, just a little. He gave his lip another small bite, before he released the smoke again, savoring the foggy and burning sensation in his lungs and throat. It clouded his mind enough to smother the gleam of something different kindling in his chest.
No, there was no way he’d buy that hero act. He had seen enough of that and he would never be fooled again by any of those liars who claim to help others, fight evil, care about all of those in need and fear, but couldn’t even save those right next to them.
“You never told me what your business with Endeavor is,” Hawks said quietly. The words reached Dabi’s ears as soon as they were spoken, but they took some time to register through the fog in his head and chest.
“None of yours,” Dabi replied after another moment. It was quiet. No birds, no cicadas yet. Not even any rain.
“It is, if you plan to kill him while I’m around. You know, you did quite a number on him with that high end Noumu, right?”
Dabi felt his eyebrows twitch and knit in irritation. He bit a little bit harder down his lower lip, worrying the split in the middle as if to measure its depth. His gaze shot to Hawks, watching him from the corner of his eye. Hawks sat down on the edge of the roof in a swift movement, his legs dangling in an almost relaxed manner. His face wasn’t giving off any expression. Dabi couldn’t make out any. He seemed distant and aloof.
Maybe he had been imagining that little bit of warmth there after all.
He felt a little sting somewhere among the fog, a very little one - like touching a lighter the wrong way after having it lit up for too long.
No, this was all fake after all.
The distance between them was good. It made him see clearer.
Having hit the filter, Dabi flicked the remains of his cigarette away.
Something uncomfortable had started stirring inside him, all attempts of killing it vainly failing. It stung and felt ugly. It wasn’t his familiar anger, not the oh so welcome hate, no. He didn’t remember this feeling. It felt so close to many things, and yet so different. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew for sure who and what caused it. So he turned to Hawks, crouching down next to him. Hawks blinked a little, when he saw the commotion next to him, but before he could fully face Dabi, the villain was already tugging at his hair, drawing a helpless yelp from the hero.
Hawks’ raised his hands to pull Dabi’s away, he grabbed at his wrists, but didn’t fight much otherwise. Dabi felt his own fingers twitch, when that electric jolt shot through his arm to his chest and up to his head. He leaned a little closer, bringing their faces so close they could feel each other’s breath on their skin, almost touching. Just almost. Maybe Hawks noticed the little hitch in his breathing. Big, golden eyes stared at him, widened in shock and disbelief. The hero wasn’t shaking, wasn’t moving at all. He just held the stare of Dabi’s squinted eyes. That silent, wide stare made the distance between them appear so much bigger than it was.
“Maybe I should make you kill another hero, someone you seem to adore a little too much,” he drawled, tasting the sweet tingle of each word on his tongue, savoring them thoroughly. He leaned in even closer, feeling a foreign temperature against the patches of his good facial skin and a phantom tickle of the little stubble on Hawks’ chin. He clenched a bit harder on the other’s hair, making the winged hero gasp slightly. Hawks’ winced, a small tear formed on the corner of his eyes from the pain. He didn’t pull back though. The grip on Dabi’s wrists loosened a little. It almost seemed like surrender, as if subjecting himself to the villain would appease him. Another act. The hero couldn’t surrender if he wanted to. Hawks’ still had the most versatile weapon, made of the most wondrous shade of red.
“I’ll do whatever you say.”
It was a simple statement, uttered again in careful but pained neutrality. And yet, Hawks eyes relaxed a bit. He still didn’t move, but the sheer silence around him only stressed the lack of movement in Hawks’ body. No fight, no smile, no retort. Nothing. And yet, a little bit of warmth seeped through the numbness of burned skin.
Dabi let go of his hair immediately, pulling back as if touching the hero had burned him. His nose scrunched in disgust, when he stood straight again, looking down on the hero with cold eyes. He hoped that all the disgust he felt in this moment showed in them.
“Of course you will, you scum of a hero. If you really want to meet our boss, that’s the only thing you can do.”
Hawks slowly, carefully scratched his scalp and blinked a few times up to Dabi. He looked very irritated and confused, but not hostile. Just confused.
Dabi took a step back and mustered the hero all over. He wanted the distance between them clear and visible, putting the wannabe-villain into his place, drawing a clear line between him and the hero. “I’ll contact you tomorrow. You’ll do exactly as I say as soon as possible. No questions asked. Got that?”
Hawks blinked again, then nodded carefully.
His eyes still on Hawks, Dabi turned away. When he saw that the hero wasn’t about to move, he turned his back on him and headed for the door. Some thoughts shot through his head, afterthoughts, things he might have said to Hawks, but he kept those words to himself. Things about Endeavor, about heroes, about proximity, about death. Meaningless words that were better brought to action than to be spat out. There was no chance that Hawks would get any of what he could have said anyway. How could he, being a hero, living in a perfect world with only villains tainting it? There was a clear line between them, they were lives and worlds apart.
- - - - -
After calling Hawks the next day and giving him his assignment, Dabi tried to go about his business as usual. He had been in this area before, so he did notice some of the street rats scrambling when they realized who was approaching them. No need to argue with cowards like that. He chuckled, knowing it’d sound mean. He held out his hand and somebody who didn’t know him, might have mistaken it for a kind gesture. But a small blue flame darted up and danced above the palm of his hand, growing bigger, getting hungry for flesh and blood.
“You know you can’t run!” he shouted after them with a laugh. Sometimes a little hunt was fun and a welcome distraction and maybe, just maybe, if Hawks failed on his mission, he could present Shigaraki some of these dregs to save his skin at least. He threw a fistful of his blue flames vaguely in the direction of the figures that tried to escape. Some jumped into the waste which piled alongside the brick walls, others tried to outrun him. Fools. The slowest one got hit, his dirty clothes catching fire. An almost inhuman shrill scream echoed through the narrow valley. The man dropped to the ground, the flames immediately died out. He ripped off his shirt, trying to get rid of the flames, only to realize that there were none of them any longer. His legs were shaking and his face was pale as limestone. He obviously realized he wasn’t burning, letting out several harsh pants, before his breath stopped again when he saw his hunter standing right in front of him. He looked up to Dabi, eyes wide in unspeakable fear, widening impossibly large when he recognized who had almost set him on fire.
Dabi just looked down on him, grinning satisfied and pleased. This was how it was supposed to be. People should be afraid of him, he was a nightmare with a quirk made for killing. He saw it in the face of the man, in his eyes, that wavered so much that Dabi thought he might pass out any minute. The man had brown eyes with a small golden halo around the pupil. The colors were hard to make out through the shaking of his whole body. Fear distorted the features of the man beneath him - and then it hit him.
Fear.
That was what irritated him. It was fear that was missing elsewhere. He felt his own smile freeze and as if to test his theory, he raised his hand in a slow motion, trying to reach out for that almost pitiful bastard to his feet. He shrieked, shuffling back as much as possible on shaking limbs. Dabi stopped his motion right away, because it was already enough. He knew it, that man was so afraid, it edged on panic.
He blinked, examining the lowlife closely. He couldn’t help himself but chuckle a little bit, unamused. “Scared little much, huh?” he whispered, more to himself than to the man.
He didn’t answer, just scrunched his eyes closed, ducking his head and whimpering pathetically. Fear, pure and delicious fear. That was how it was supposed to be.
He summoned another flame at the palm of his hand, feeling the weight of its warmth that edged on painful. This. This was how it was supposed to feel.
“No… please!! I beg you…,” the man whined, “I’ll do whatever you want!”
This was how it was supposed to sound.
Dabi smirked. Yes, that was it. This was him.
Just when he was about to fuel his flames, he heard a shout that pulled him out of his thoughts:
“STOP THAT!”
He suppressed the shiver that was about to travel down his spine. It clenched around his heart though. He knew that voice, recognized the familiar tone, even though it had dropped much lower than he last heard it clearly. He felt something tug somewhere within his chest, but simply willed it away. So Dabi turned his head only slightly, making sure to take his flame with him to show that he was ready for a fight and a kill. “Ha?”
The boy was standing tall at the end of the small valley, his blue costume a mismatch to the red and white of his hair. The bad fashion sense seemed to have been passed down, that much was obvious. Dabi tilted his head, showing that he was intrigued by the bold interruption. The last time he had briefly seen this boy was back on his first real mission for the league, when he captured that varmint of a hero-in-training. Back then, the boy had tried to stop him, too. He remembered the shock in those eyes, the anger. No fear or anything else though, and he thought of it as a little bit sad, even now.
In front of him, he heard the man yelping and running off. He didn’t care. This boy was so much more interesting. Maybe their little encounter would end a little different this time around, Dabi thought and a little smirk crossed his lips.
As soon as the man was out of hearing distance, two large walls of ice encircled him and cut off all his escape-routes. The ice didn’t touch him, it built up precisely, high and strong. He still had to laugh. The boy threw ice at him, as if it could withstand his fire, as if he had forgotten about the man in front of him completely. “You forgot about me, didn’t you? Despite the nice talk we had at the training camp, Todoroki Shoto?” Dabi drawled, while he approached the hero step by step. The flame in his hand grew taller and taller and when he threw it at his opponent, it melted the ice-walls effortlessly - of course.
Shoto was skilled and quick. It seemed only natural that he dodged the sloppy fire-attack easily, jumping high and countering it with his own red flames. The differently colored flames danced around each other, just to disappear high above them.
“Dabi,” the boy yelled angrily, “from the League of Villains. You kidnapped Bakugou.” His eyes were fierce, but he didn’t neglect his fighting position. He carefully raised his arms in front of his face to defend himself from whatever was about to come. Even in his slightly crouching position, he was tall and lean, obviously well trained and focussed. There were hardly any emotion in his eyes, just determination.
Oh, and Dabi was willing to test how far he’d go, how far Endeavor had pushed his precious little experiment.
“How sweet of you to remember me, hero,” the villain sneered and as he said those words, a large whirl of blue flames shot into the boy’s direction. He knew, that’d do little, so he didn’t allow himself to rest, now encircling them in walls of tall, blue flames. He heard Shoto hiss a little, but he used his ice to shield himself for a little while. It didn’t help much, Dabi’s flames were too hot for his ice.
Profanities left the boy’s mouth and they made Dabi laugh out loud. “Is that how they teach kids to talk in the house of the No. 1 hero? Who would have thought that?” Under other circumstances, he would have liked to tease him some more about this little show of defiance.
“Shut it,” Shoto bid back and launched a large wave of fire at Dabi. He held his own fire against it, trying to keep the red flames at bay. It was harder than expected first, Shoto’s flames might not have been as hot as his own, but there were a lot of them. He tried to withstand the pressure, but soon realized that Shoto was pressing harder and harder and he was losing ground. He tried to divert Shoto’s fire by adjusting the current of his own flames, it helped a little, enough for him to step aside and dodge the worst of it. His skin burned where it wasn’t covered my by his coat and it gave off a sizzling sound and a pungent smell. Dabi didn’t feel it, but he knew his arm was burned.
Shoto jumped and approached him in quick and smooth moves, Dabi tried to escape, but a sharp pain bore into his shoulder. There was suddenly ice where there had been none before and he hit it with the full force of his movement.
“Fucking Shortie!” he shouted, reacting just in time when he saw darts of ice flying at him. He threw his fire back at them, but still some pierced his left arm and shoulder, one gracing his cheek.
He heard the boy gasp, but still he didn’t hesitate to raise another wall of ice, that was quickly approaching Dabi. The villain summoned more flames, but was slowed down by the ice-crystals stuck in his arm. The wall of ice hit and captured him in an instant. “FUCK!!” Dabi shouted, unable to do anything else as his body was rendered immobile by a cage of ice.
Shoto approached him, now a little bit more careful. He was panting heavily. His clothes were a little burned, there were small patches of ice on his right arm and leg, there were small scratches and burns on his face and hands. At least the little fucker didn’t claim this victory unscathed.
“It’s over for you,” he said calmly, staring directly at Dabi’s eyes. Quite bold, unlike anything he had known about the boy. But they were all bound to change anyway, Dabi guessed. He held Shoto’s gaze, trying to see any kind of reaction in them. There was a little tilt of his head as he examined his captive. Determination filled grey and red eyes, mixed with something akin to annoyance as they moved slightly, as if searching for something. There was no fear in them, no anger, nothing else. When the boy’s eyes stilled, Dabi chuckled. No, there was nothing. No reaction, no remembrance. The hero’s eyes narrowed and the look reminded Dabi so much of the past they didn’t share.
“You wish.” The ice had done a good job to cool him down enough to use his quirk again without completely burning off his skin. So he raised a large and bright billow of flames to melt the ice that got a hold of him quickly. Before Shoto could do anything to stop him, Dabi called out for the Doctor: “UJIKO! Get me out of here!!”
He hated to do this, he hated the foreign bile that suddenly flooded his lungs and mouth, hated it’s smell when it surrounded him, pulling him down into black nothingness. It was his only way out though. He still saw how Shoto ran towards him, reaching for him as if he could stop the transportation by pulling Dabi out of the black fluid. “NO! WAIT! YOU-” he heard the boy call out. It sounded almost funny.
“Your loss, Todoroki Shoto,” he purred, the sharp grimace of his grin pulling at the newly burned scar-tissue in the most painful way.
- - - - -
Getting back to the hideaway of the League was exactly how Dabi thought it would be.
Himiko laughed at him, while Twice tried to calm her down, handing out some shit himself at the same time. He really didn’t know if they were actually mocking him or if it was their twisted way of showing they care. Either way, he didn’t feel like dwelling on it now. His body ached and he was tired, so he didn’t answer their questions about what had happened to him, again. Mr. Compress on the other hand didn’t push it, he was even decent enough to hand him some bandages without any words added. The silence between them was nice for a change.
He still had to talk to their leader, but he just wanted to get over with it. So he roughly told him about the outcome of the events of the past two week and Shigaraki was pleased to hear that Dabi’s recruit with the hero-intel made it after all, even if he showed it in probably the most creepy way Dabi could have imagined. So he left Shigaraki’s room as quickly as his sore muscles allowed him to. On his way out, the leader ordered Dabi to arrange a meeting in their hideout. He thought about taking care of it later. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right away.
When the deed of his half-assed report was done, he was just glad to finally retreat into his room and tend to his wounds.
He was tired and exhausted. When he sat down on his bed, it felt like a hundred bricks hit his body and pulled it down. He groaned a little from the pain every bone in his body radiated. Clumsily he put on some bandages and plasters over the worst of his wounds, scratches and burns. He knew it wouldn’t help much, but he didn’t want to deal with infections either. The only thing he wanted to do right then and there was rest.
He allowed himself a deep sigh, after most of his skin was covered with white. He kicked his boots off and laid back down on his bed. It creaked a little under his weight, but even if it was old and worn out, it was warm and offered something resembling comfort. He was still dressed, but he didn’t bother to take any of his clothes off, he didn’t have the energy left to do so. Sleep tugged at his eyes, but Shigaraki’s order still nudged at the back of his conscience, effectively keeping him from relaxing. So he took out his phone and sent a short text message with a time and place to Hawks. Looking at the screen for a moment longer than intended, he got annoyed with himself, threw the phone carelessly to the far end of the bed and rolled onto his side. Then, finally, he could close his eyes and pull the blanket up to his chin, inhaling the mixture of smells. It smelled like detergent, smoke and something spicy, yet sweet and while he dozed off, he wondered if this was how he smelled for others. Not that it mattered anyway. He was alone again, at last.
Black. There is this nothingness. Yet again. But he isn’t alone, there is a body right next to him, curled up and facing away from him. He immediately recognizes Hawks, sees the messy blond hair and those huge wings which rest on the man’s side, spread like a blanket.
He does not find it strange. He registers warmth seeping through his clothes where Hawks’ back and wings touch his front. It takes him some moments to will his body to move just the slightest bit, raising his hand to reach out and touch the red of smooth looking feathers. He doesn’t get to touch them though, Hawks stirs when Dabi’s fingers are close enough to sense a little bit of body temperature coming from them. They must be sensitive, he thought.
Hawks turns a little, folding his arms under his head like a headrest. He doesn’t move away from Dabi, but he faces him with a small smile, eyes almost closed, but resting on Dabi’s. He looks tired but not exhausted, just not ready to get up yet.
They look at each other for some moments, none of them moving. Then Hawks closes is eyes again and turns his head some more into Dabi’s direction. He shifts a little closer until his side touches Dabi’s front. Those lines blur easily and Dabi doesn’t think much of it.
It’s just warm. He doesn’t find it strange, because it’s warm and it smells like everything that is himself.
Dabi blinks in an effort to understand, but when he opens his eyes again, Hawks is gone.
He slowly blinked several times, trying to adjust to the twilight in his room. He must have slept for too long, the sun was already gone.
Through another cloud of fog in his brain he registered voices beyond the door, one of them raised his pulse, because it told him that he was too late and that meant he had lost some of his control. The voices were dull, but he still heard them too loud, too clear. The distance suddenly seemed too big for him to do anything.
There was a familiar rustle, and then the hero’s voice saying, “I really think you need to pay more attention to whom he’s fighting with. If he pulls another stunt like that, I don’t think I can help him. And between the two of us, I don’t think he’s a match for Endeavor. Them fighting would just end in us, losing one of our big numbers.” A beat of silence. “He’s one of your big numbers, isn’t he?” Dabi recognized that little nervous pitch in Hawks’ voice, even though he sounded more like making jokes. It made the rage in his chest rise and burst. He clenched at his blanket to give it another outlet, other than burning this whole excuse for headquarters down to ashes.
“He’s a jackass, nothing more,” Shigaraki eventually supplied.
Dabi didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. He didn’t know if it was because of them moving away or because of the blood rushing so hot and loud through his veins that it made his ears ring. It was a sense of betrayal that made his blood boil. Who were they to talk about him like that, as if he was a rampaging teenager who needed to be rebuked and punished for some silly things he had done? Who was Hawks to draw assumptions?
Anger gripped at his throat and made it hard to breath. It burned in his chest, in his throat, in his eyes. For once he was glad again for those walls keeping him where he was, drawing a line between him and those who kindled not flames, but anger.
|
Caleb Widowgast is the only student to show up to Essek's study hours. Caleb...is not enrolled in the class or the program, but Essek has to be here anyway and Caleb has the book and is determined to learn.
Also he brings Essek coffee every single time and it's never the same but always delicious so Essek doesn't mind explaining the basics or going over concepts between lesson planning in exchange.
Caleb has very pretty eyes.
-
There are two teiflings watching him from the shelves of books directly across the study room he holds his sessions in. One is dark purple, with dangling horn ornaments and crimson red eyes; the other is pale blue with purple eyes and a cute blue bob. Both of them have been trying to hide since he has set up and keep looking between he and Caleb with increasing levels of curiosity.
Caleb hasn't noticed them, perhaps. He doesn't appear uncomfortable, not like he had at the start of their lessons in the beginning of the semester, and he doesn't even glance in their direction as he writes in his tiny, cramped hand in the margin of his book.
Essek won't bring them to his attention, for now.
He drinks his coffee and smiles when Caleb glances up at him. He has strikingly blue eyes and they only stand out more brightly through the dark red strands of hair he has to peek through to find Essek.
"Yes, Mister Widowgast?"
Caleb clears his throat, sits back to reveal what he has written and asks in his soft, thinly accented way; "Could you, perhaps, check this? I don't know that I am completely understanding."
"Of course." Essek slides into the seat next to Caleb, brushes against his arm. He doesn't smile when Caleb does not shy away, but only just. Out of the corner of his eye, the purple teifling leans clean over the waist-length bookshelf to get closer and is yanked back by his blue friend.
"Thank you." Caleb looks at him with those nice eyes, warm and familiar, if not quite inviting just yet.
Essek simply taps the text thoughtfully and begins to check Caleb's work.
-
They exchange numbers because Essek offers his tutoring services in case Caleb has any more questions while he is studying.
He expects the first text he receives to be text-related and to be sent at a decent hour, because Caleb is a proper kind of man.
Instead, it is a text sent close to midnight on a Tuesday and simply says Essek?
He decides to respond only because he imagines Caleb would not be breaking decorum without reason. That, and those damned eyes of his. Essek doesn't appreciate how foolish he acts when those eyes are on him.
He sends a simple yes? in response.
He gets a number of texts barely seconds later in quick succession.
Hello. Apologies for the late communications.
It is only you are the only one who might be able to help me. I have found myself rather stranded and am not above begging for a way home at this point.
How much coffee would I owe you for a ride home from a particularly dark street?
Essek reads the texts, and then reads them again and then stands up from his desk and stretches his arms above his head, feels his joints ache sharply and then crack back into place. His knee aches at being held in the same position for so long. He could do with some fresh air, he supposes.
Send me your location, Mr. Widowgast. I will be there momentarily.
-
There is a human woman sitting on the side of the road with Caleb, the both of them bathed in the only working street light on the block. Essek knows this part of town and knows students often come here to drink and get fleeced of all their money. He has never found reason to come himself, but he can admit that there has always been a sharpness to Caleb that he is sure would taste gritty were he allowed to test it.
Caleb looks so relieved to see him when he pulls up and parks his four-door that he finds himself actually getting out instead of simply waiting for Caleb to get off the ground and come to him. His knee protests but he delays levitating to save time in striding over.
"I am so sorry, Essek." Caleb says before he's even reached he and his friend, face drawn and pale, hair greasy and barely held in his usual tie. His eyes are red-rimmed. His companion has a bleeding nose and a split brow, head resting on Caleb's shoulder.
"Are you well?" Essek dismisses the apology, offering a hand. Caleb hesitantly takes it, allows himself to be pulled up and dragging his friend up with him. It is the first time they've actually touched and it is brief. Caleb is warm and his fingers are rough with calluses.
"Oh, ja," Caleb smiles thinly, "Yes, just...too much to drink for my friend. It has been a...rough start of semester."
Essek hums, but he stills finds himself giving Caleb another once-over before nodding to himself and turning to the woman. "Do you need a hospital?"
"Nah," she grunts and knuckles a fist across her nose, smearing the blood, "I can patch myself up. Thanks, uh, man. For showing up. You're Caleb's, like, nerd friend, right?"
Caleb shoves her roughly with a glower and she pinwheels hard but catches herself on Caleb's shoulder and nearly brings them both to the ground all over again.
"Beauregard." Caleb hisses, "Essek is a professor and he just drove out to the other side of town at fuck-off in the morning to help us. Some respect please."
"Yes," Essek says easily, allowing a twitch of a smile, "I am Mister Widowgast's 'nerd friend.'"
Caleb flushes pink and Essek finds that, somehow, the street lighting suits him nicely.
"You address, please, Mister Widowgast." Essek continues, turning sharply to return to his car. His knee will not thank him for all the movement but he finds he is feeling pleased enough not to mind. "Let us return everyone to their rightful residence for the night."
"Ah, yes, of course," Caleb and Beauregard scramble behind him to follow.
He drives them home in quiet, though it is not too uncomfortable. Caleb has taken the passenger seat and Essek does not turn on his usual talk radio stations because he wants to see if Caleb will attempt to fill the quiet.
He does not, nor does his friend aside from quiet cursing as she attempts to avoid bleeding into Essek's upholstery.
They live off campus, but only just. It is a large house with a tree that reaches far into the sky growing in the back yard, possibly having been touched by druid magic in the recent past to have reached such a size in a college town. It dwarfs the house, despite its not-unsubstational height.
"Thanks, uh...professor?" Beauregard nods at him and then stomps out of the car without a backward glance.
Caleb stays, shifting uncomfortably. His hands are clasped tightly in his lap, though his fingers stroke against each other in a way that Essek thinks would make more sense as motions against a material or pelt.
"I really can't apologize enough." Caleb starts, staring straight ahead, frown tugging severely at his lips, "This is...very inappropriate and I can not thank you enough, perhaps, either."
"You needed help, Mister Widowgast." Essek does not reach over to touch him, but he finds the urge almost difficult to resist. Caleb had never seemed receptive to overt physical touch. They have just barely reached the point where prolonged eye contact doesn't make Caleb too anxious to continue conversation. "Never hesitate to ask me if you need help. A favor from a friend is not something I would begrudge you."
Caleb opens his mouth and then closes it.
Finally, he says, quietly, "Please call me Caleb, Essek. If we are friends."
"Caleb." Essek says gently and Caleb glances at him in that lightning-fast fashion of his, as if he worries he will be caught.
"I meant it about the coffee." Caleb flattens his hands against his thighs and Essek finds himself closing his hands around the leather of his steering wheel in response.
"Your usual will suffice." Essek allows a more obvious smile than before, though he knows the shadow of the car has probably hidden it against his dark skin. "Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions about the text. I'm sure I will find use of you in some way in return that does not end in my overdosing on caffeine."
Caleb seems to relax at the redirect to usual business and he nods shallowly and opens the door to slide out of the car.
"And Caleb," Essek says before Caleb can shut the door. His not-quite-student ducks down to look at him, blinking those soft blue eyes in question. He looks exhausted, but that is not unusual. "I look forward to our next meeting."
Caleb's lips curl up in a smile, slight but genuine. "I, as well, Essek. Gute nacht."
Essek stays parked until Caleb has gone inside and then he silently pulls away and drives home. He does not turn on the radio and he does not return to his desk when he gets home.
He sleeps and does not remember dreaming of blue eyes and red hair and a shy smile wrapped around accented words shaping ancient spells. He wakes rested and class is not nearly as trying despite three papers he is forced to fail for bad effort.
-
A very tall, very muscular woman sits across from him two days later when he is eating lunch at his usual spot in the South Quad atrium.
He has never seen this woman before, but she is striking in her darkness, with her traditional face markings and the sword she wears despite being nowhere near any adventure guilds.
"Hello." She says, voice deceptively quiet.
"Hello." He says politely and sets down his utensils. His salad, unfortunately, will have to wait.
"I just wanted, uh," she frowns and it would be terrifying were he a lesser wizard, "Well. You brought my friends - well, my friend and my girlfriend, who is also my friend, um -"
Ah. Another friend of Caleb's.
"Yes. Caleb and Beauregard. I hope she was able to recover from her injuries."
Despite Caleb's words, neither of them had smelled like spirits of any sort and Essek still has no idea what they were doing in that part of town. Caleb runs with an interesting sort, it seems.
"Yeah, Beau's fine. She's a tough one." The woman grins and it lightens her face, de-ages her eyes for a moment. "Anyway. I just wanted to thank you."
"It was no problem."
"Well, it was nice of you." She stands as abruptly as she had sat and clasps his shoulder heartily, "Caleb seems to like you. I'm glad you're a good sort."
He does not know how to respond to that so he just watches her leave in confusion, salad forgotten.
-
They meet as usual in the library, and a short goblin woman has joined the two teiflings.
Caleb, again, does not seem to notice. He has chosen a seat closer to Essek than usual and is bent over his book, face pinched in thought as he studies. Essek ignores their audience because there is a more interesting subject for him to examine in the man that sits with him. He has far surpassed the class by this point and is a fast learner with a passion.
"Caleb." He says when nearly an hour has passed filled only with the sounds of their writing; his own lesson plans and personal notes and Caleb's study.
Caleb blinks up at him, dazed from broken concentration.
"Your home." Essek says thoughtfully, "It is not a fraternity house?"
"Nein," Caleb taps his pen against his book, "It used to be. A friend owns it now."
Essek hums and finally looks over to meet the intense stare of the goblin, who box jumps onto the shelf in her surprise and then is dragged behind it by a pair of brightly colored hands. When Caleb looks, nothing is there.
"Interesting. Beauregard's girlfriend came to thank me for taking you both home the other day and it made me curious."
"Yasha." Caleb smiles and it is one of the most brilliant ones yet, wide and real, "She is very fond of Beau."
"I gathered." Essek nods, still needing a moment to put himself to right against the brightness of that look. He surprises himself with how easily he is bowled over by this man at times. It is disconcerting how a simple human, powerful as he may be for a human wizard trained in mundane arcane arts, has such an effect on him at times. "And of you."
The smile turns more shy, but no less bright.
"My...family..." Caleb hesitates, stumbles over the word, as if it is unfamiliar, "We are an odd lot. But close."
Essek, somehow, is not surprised by that. It explains, at least, the growing cohort of infernal beings spying on his study session.
"That's good." He says, because it is. He finds it a nice thought, that there are people that Caleb, with his timidness and genius and sharpness all, has found for himself.
He catches wide purple eyes peeking at them moments later and goes back to his lesson plans.
-
A call wakes him at - he checks his clock - 3:54 in the morning.
Somehow, he does not need to check to know who is calling him.
"Good morning, Caleb." He says and has to clear his throat afterword.
"I am deeply sorry." Caleb says in response, regret practically dripping from his words, "Truly, so sorry, Essek, I have no words."
"How can I help you, Caleb." Essek does not sigh as he sits up and rubs at his eyes to force them to focus. He had only gone to bed perhaps four hours ago, after a very intense grading week. He is very tired, to say the least, but has the self control to not take that out on Caleb, who would not be calling for any small reason. He allows himself the fantasy that Caleb is only calling to confess a deep desire for his person and not to make him go somewhere.
"You see," Caleb begins and then launches into a very complicated story about someone named Fjord ("No, not like the car, like Sognefjord,") being stuck six miles out of town with someone named Molly along with a number of regrets and perhaps a lost boat of some sort.
What it boils down to, in the end, is this:
"Would it be at all possible," Caleb says, in that gentle voice of his, sure to be paired with those eyes of his, "If you could save them from their absolute stupidity and bring them home? There's very good food as a reward. Anything as a reward. How can I sweeten this deal for you? They're idiots, but I don't want them kidnapped and murdered."
"Caleb," Essek says as gently as he can while mourning his brief fantasy and also sleep, "They will be neither kidnapped nor murdered. You do not need to sweeten anything for me. I will go pick them up."
"Thank you." Caleb says, relief thick in his voice, "This is the last time I'll call for something like this, truly,"
"It is fine." Essek says and does not believe him as he goes back to silently cursing as he stumbles out of bed. He steps onto air and levitates to his closet to find a robe, not even attempting to put weight on his strained knee at this point in the morning. He has skipped stretches all week and it will come back to bite him soon.
Caleb says nothing while he dresses. Does not say anything until the ding of his car door opening echoes.
"Are you…" Caleb finally says, timid in a way he has not been in quite some time. It makes Essek stop what he's doing, still only half in the car. "Are you very mad, Essek?"
Essek gets into the car, closes the door and turns the key before he is able to answer.
"Of course not." He puts his car in gear, "I told you to call when you needed help. They're your friends and they need help."
"They do." Caleb clears his throat, "Thank you, Essek."
Essek thinks Caleb must realize the power his words hold, for him to use Essek's name as often as he does. Has he realized he need only say Essek's name for him to fold like a school boy with a crush?
"Of course, Caleb. Now, you need to direct me."
Caleb does so. It takes almost an hour, but Essek eventually finds a familiar purple teifling in what appears to be a pair of billowy bloomers and nothing else and a strangely scrawny half-orc with oddly small tusks limping down the highway toward town.
Both fit perfectly into the vision he is building of Caleb's family.
"You must be Molly and Fjord." He says through his rolled down window, in no mood to get out of the car this time. It is chilly in the early morning.
"Professor!" The purple teifling grins wide, "Fancy seeing you here. Picking up the cutest twinks on the block? I'd never imagine it, sir."
"Get," Caleb says furiously through speaker, voice static in his anger, "In the fucking car, Mollymauk Tealeaf."
Molly and Fjord meekly got in the fucking car.
Essek almost feels sorry for them. He cranks the heat as they huddle together for warmth and imagines how he could get Caleb to sound so sure of himself without being on the receiving end of that temper.
This time, he's sweet talked into parking and actually coming in to the large house he has only previously seen the once. He follows the cowering pair into the house, where it is not Caleb waiting with hands on hips at the door, but a very tall firbolg.
"Oh shit." Fjord mutters and gets a pat on the shoulder by Mollymauk.
They get frogmarched upstairs by the firbolg, who is the physical incarnate of I'm not angry, just disappointed. Essek watches for only a brief moment before he is found by Caleb. His hair is in a messy braid, but clean, even if those familiar dark circles are still around his eyes. He looks freshly shaven.
"Hello." Caleb says awkwardly, like they have not been speaking for the last hour and a half.
"Hello, Caleb." Essek says easily.
"You, ah...were promised food. Yes. Would you like breakfast?"
Essek has class in less than three hours. He still needs to return home and change for class, check his email and respond to a number of student questions before class begins.
"Yes." He says and allows himself to be towed by the edge of his sleeve into a large, cared for kitchen.
He meets the rest of Caleb's family over a rather delicious, if simple, breakfast spread of potatoes, eggs and mushrooms. The firbolg, Caduceus, is the cook and, when he comes back down, he pours Essek a special blend of tea Essek has never had the pleasure of tasting before.
There is Nott, the goblin woman, and Jester, the blue teifling, who are both too grumpy with lack of sleep behind a mug of coffee the size of her head and a baked sweet bun the size of her head respectively to be embarrassed about meeting Essek face to face; Yasha is gone but Beau is manning the coffee machine in a thick hoodie about five sizes too large and Caleb is feeding a ginger cat that, somehow, matches his hair exactly. His name, Essek learns, is Frumpkin and he is Caleb's good boy, as far as Essek can tell. When Fjord and Molly join them, looking less chilled to the bone, they thank Essek profusely.
He is pleasantly full and an hour behind schedule when he finally leaves and the sheer insanity of the group has elevated enough that he feels a migraine beginning despite his best efforts. He is not used to this much personal interaction and it is, despite the good company, mildly discomforting.
Still, he is in a fine mood as Caleb walks him out.
"Essek…" Caleb says at the door, the freshly risen sun warming Essek's skin not nearly as enjoyably as Caleb's warm gaze.
"Please do not thank me again." Essek warns, amused. "Your hospitality was more than enough. And I am keeping track of how many favors you owe me."
"You are far too kind." Caleb smiles, "And perhaps worry me with how many favors you are going to have at your fingertips. Aside from that, though. I only would like to say that...I look forward to our next meeting."
"I, as well, Caleb." Essek nods his head, levitating back to his car only once he has basked enough in Caleb's smile.
Caleb watches him and Essek watches back until he no longer can.
-
"Hello Professor Essek!"
Caleb's expression is nearly as apologetic as his voice when he says, "You...remember Jester."
"Of course." Essek nods at her amiably. "How can I help you, Jester?"
"I am here to learn the dunamagic." She says firmly and drops into the seat right next to him. He wants to rub his face.
"Dunamancy." Caleb corrects firmly.
"Bless you." Jester smiles sweetly. Caleb rubs his face.
"You see, Jester," Essek says after taking a moment. She is...very close and it is not a distance he is used to having with someone who is still much a stranger to him. "It is too late in the semester to begin teaching you. If you are interested in learning the history of dunamancy, you are welcome to test into the program for next semester."
"But Caleb did not test into the program." She tilts her head thoughtfully, leaning into his space. He leans back to match, keep what little distance they have between them firmly in place.
"Caleb is a special case." He says firmly.
"Oh, really?" She puts her elbows on the table, smiling wide, "Is it because you like him, Professor?"
"Jester!" Caleb thunders, face going red, "What is going on with you today!?"
"Yes," Essek matches her innocent smile with one of his own, smaller though it may be, "Caleb is pleasant and by far my most gifted student. Maybe he can tutor you next semester, should you test into the program."
"Caleb is pleasant, huh?" She wiggles her eyebrows and stands sudden enough that her chair rocks, "Well, I do not think I am as gifted as Caleb, so I will leave the two of you alone to study together. Very closely." She wiggles her eyebrows again even more aggressively, "Study very hard and very long together, you two."
Caleb puts his head in his hands.
She winks at Essek and then flounces out as happily as she'd skipped in. When Essek looks down, there are two doodled penises on his lesson plans.
"I will leave now." Caleb says into his hands.
"Nonsense." Essek finds himself smiling again, "I think it would be a waste of an evening to leave now. How has your studying been going?"
"You do not have to study with me if you're uncomfortable," Caleb drops his hands and the furrow between his brows indicate that he may be truly upset.
"Caleb," Essek says, "I can safely say that a meddling teifling is not enough to chase me away from our lessons. Come here. Sit."
He rights the chair Jester had vacated, an offering. Slowly, Caleb comes and sits. He has his book in the holster it is always in and Essek flattens his own text to make a point, watches Caleb struggle with himself until he finally lays his own text open to their current lesson.
"When this text is finished," he says casually, "we may be able to move on to actually practicing the spell work. I look forward to seeing you in action, Mister Widowgast."
Caleb makes a high, humming noise in response, refusing to look up from his book. Their arms brush together when Essek settles in to get back to work on his lesson plans and neither of them move away.
In fact, Essek would be willing to swear that Caleb leans in.
-
The spying stops.
The random calls for help do not. On one hand, Caleb does also text to ask questions and, once, simply to wish Essek a good day. On the other, Essek has had most rotations of Caleb's motley crew in his car at odd hours of the day and night more often than he had thought possible. Memorably, he was called thrice in one day because Nott and Caleb were desperately attempting to hunt down a particular book and Caleb was enthralled enough with his potential catch that he deemed it an emergency on par with being marooned on the side of a dark street or highway.
Essek, for the most part, does not mind. More accurately, it could be said that Essek could feel as annoyed as elvishly possible, only for those feelings to melt away upon a look from Caleb's pale eyes or his name in that Zimnian accent. Essek has never had a thing for accents before now. Or blue eyes and red hair.
Or maybe it is simply a thing for all things Caleb Widowgast.
Either way, it is highly pathetic and he can't help even an ounce of it.
-
Their study sessions turn into...more, slowly but surely. Though they have only been meeting like this for a few months, Essek fast finds himself wanting to know more. Wanting to, somehow, share in exchange, if it means more knowledge gained.
He learns that Caleb is actually majoring in General Wizarding with minors in History and Ritual Magicks. He learns about Caleb's friends; that Mollymauk is a performer for the local theater and Jester is a cleric double majoring in New Age Religion and Healing; that Beau is a member of the Cobalt Soul but is taking classes for a certificate in combat training and she and Yasha do part time adventuring for the local Guild; that Fjord is still thinking about what he wants to do with his life but has recently joined Caduceus in worshipping the Wildmother and does water conservation volunteer work, while Caduceus holds small, free classes for people interested in gardening and canning. Nott, Essek learns, is older than most of the others, except perhaps Caduceus, and that she is closer to a mother to Caleb than a friend. She has a husband and a son in another town, but she wanted to return to school and finish her degree in Chemistry so she and her husband could grow their business together. Frumpkin is a familiar, which should not and does not surprise Essek in the least. Caleb seems like a cat person.
Despite all the odds, not a single wheel is owned between the lot of them. They've made do with public transport and walking for the last year after settling in to their studies.
Essek has to wonder how they handled their various emergencies before Essek fell ass over teakettle for their resident wizard. Presumably Uber.
He also has to wonder how he has managed to learn so much about Caleb's academics and the lives of his friends, but so little about Caleb himself.
-
Essek is in class when he glances at his phone to check the time and notices the text.
He still has forty-five minutes left to his lecture and, with finals coming up in the next month, he does not have time to check personal texts when he should be giving his full attention to his students.
He casually taps the notification as he clicks to the next slide and then does not continue speaking because Caleb has sent nothing but an address in one text and pls in another received a minute after the first.
He has a very important decision to make here. He's allowed Caleb to touch nearly every part of his life here, from his rest to his eating habits (he now regularly hosts one or more of Caleb's friends at the South Quad atrium throughout the week). He has not, however, allowed his personal life to impact his teaching. He is a professional.
But Caleb has said please and, even more worryingly, he has said it using lingo, which is...not how Caleb texts. Something is wrong and Essek knows it in his core.
"I am sorry." He clears his throat and shuts down his powerpoint as his class begins to murmur amongst themselves. He has never let a class go early before. "Something of a personal emergency has come up. I am ending class early today. I will be emailing out my powerpoint and notes, contact me if you have any questions. Remember my study sessions if you need help revising. Have a good day."
He slides his laptop and papers into his bag and is out of the room before any of his students.
-
It is still mid-morning. He has another class in two hours, but he isn't really thinking about that because he recognizes the area of that address and knows it as an unofficial "frat row." Why Caleb would be anywhere near there is far behind him, as Caleb has never shown an interest in fraternity life, be it the social circle or volunteer service.
He finds the house within fifteen minutes of levitating to his car and carefully navigating off campus.
It is a strange mirror to the first time he received a text from Caleb. There is no beaten Beau at his side and it is broad daylight rather than night, but Caleb is sitting under a deactivated street light on the side of the road. His head is buried in his arms, legs pulled up tight to his body until he's practically a ball. Even from the car, Essek can see him trembling in the cool wind of the settling winter.
He doesn't bother turning the car off or levitating as he gets out and takes long, uneven steps to Caleb. He drops down, angling his protesting knee awkwardly so he can carefully hover his hands around Caleb's form. They glow a soft white and then green and he feels his stuttering heart begin to slow.
Caleb is okay. He is not dying currently.
"Caleb." He says softly, knows his own accent wraps around the name too intimately for a simple tutor and pupil, or even friends.
Caleb hunches tighter, and it is not the cold, perhaps, that makes him tremble.
"Caleb," Essek says again, still gentle, "I'm here to get you, my dear. Let me take you home."
Slowly, one arm untucks from Caleb, reaches out until it finds the cloth of Essek's shirt and then clasps tightly around it, bunching fabric firmly in his hold.
"Essek." Caleb says, voice rough and ruined. He does not look up, nor does he move otherwise, but Essek is not strong enough to resist touching now. He allows Caleb to pull him closer, let's his arms drape around Caleb's fragile human form and then gathers him into a close, tight hug. Caleb's knees dig into his chest and it is anything but a comfortable embrace, but Caleb sobs and breaks apart right there, tosses his arms around Essek's waist and buries his face in Essek's shoulder. There are hot tears and Essek smells the astringent reek of vomit in Caleb's hair, the stink of panic and fear making it all the more repugnant.
Essek rocks him, holds him close, close, close and doesn't care about getting dirt and asphalt on his slacks or what he is sure is plenty of tears and snot on his shirt.
It must be a, he decides, a thing for Caleb Widowgast, because he has never in his life been so honored to be the one cried on before.
-
He gets Caleb home, eventually. He does not often teleport, but he uses a high level spell to get the two of them and his running car to Caleb's home. He also uses his magic to turn off and lock his car and then unlock Caleb's front door. No one is home as far as he can tell, and he is not sure if that is good or bad.
Essek has now been in the house a number of times. This does not, by any means, make him familiar with it outside of the most basic of ways. He knows where the couch is and he knows enough to summon a glass of water and a cool, damp towelette from the kitchen without much thought.
Caleb's face is blotchy, cheeks red-raw and eyes bloodshot. His nose is running and he accepts the towelette without a word, keeping a tight grip on Essek's hand even as he carefully, methodically runs his face clean. He is no longer crying but his pretty eyes are distant and dull, more gray than blue.
"Drink." Essek orders and Caleb drinks the cool water to the last drop and then Essek summons another glass and has him do it again. Caleb does it without complaint - does not even hesitate. Somehow, that makes Essek's stomach roll.
"Who do I call, my dear?" Essek strokes his cheek, keeps his touch feather light, traces the edge of his jaw until Caleb leans into his touch without being lead to.
"No one." Caleb sounds like he's gargled shards of glass, "Please. Can you stay with me?"
"Of course." Essek says and means it. This is not a request he has it in him to deny.
He leans back into the couch, tugs Caleb until he's comfortably draped across Essek's chest, face tucked into his neck, and let's his arm rest along Caleb's waist. His other hand cradles the back of his neck.
"Does talking help?" Essek asks because what else is he to do? He has no experience comforting. He has no den-siblings and his den is far from this town and far from his heart. He loves them, but not with the familiarity and fondness of Caleb's little podge-podge family. He has no idea what is required of him.
"Tell me what you're teaching this week." Caleb takes pity and gives him a topic.
Essek, nothing else to do, does. He tells him about his lesson plans and his thoughts on exams, about what the students are learning about and how far they are behind Caleb. He feels Caleb relax in increments. He just runs soothing circles into his back, holds his neck and offers his words and his embrace. It is all he has and, in typical fashion, nothing more is asked than his absolute best effort.
He sends an email with a free hand as he speaks, canceling his classes for the rest of the day, and then sets his phone aside.
-
They sit for awhile. Essek knows time at any given moment as if he is a watch himself, it being one of his specialties, but he finds himself too enthralled with the present to have kept track.
Caleb has calmed. He breathes easy, chest rising and falling steadily, heart no longer stuttering. He traces arcane sigils into Essek's chest with no magical intent behind them and Essek takes to guessing the sigil to himself and tracing its counter against Caleb's back.
"Thank you." Caleb says at last, voice weak.
"My pleasure." Essek can only say, because it is.
Caleb huffs in wan amusement. "I would not describe dealing with...this," he motions to himself, "as any sort of pleasure."
"And yet, it is how it was described." Essek counters and squeezes Caleb's arm, "You are not stupid, nor unaware of your effect on me. It is a pleasure."
Caleb flusters and ducks his face.
"I suppose I owe an explanation."
"You owe nothing." Essek corrects, stroking the sigil for transferring energy from potential to kinetic into the folds of Caleb's shirt.
"Can I…" Caleb stops, sitting up fully to face Essek for the first time. He looks drawn and messy, so very human. He looks conflicted and confused, too, and Essek finds himself wishing there was something he could do to ease his mind.
"You have done much for me," Caleb swallows, eyes glassy, "More than I deserve, truly. I don't know why. I can't tell what you want from me. I thought I knew, but you've never…"
Essek almost snorts. Caleb has played into Essek's attraction to him more times than Essek can count by this point, batting his pretty eyes or smiling a certain way to appease Essek when he needs his car.
But Caleb's face is too serious for any joking responses.
Essek can admit that, at least for the first few weeks, he had had not much of an interest in Caleb outside of perhaps a shared night or two. But hours of working through complex spellwork and history, of getting to see more of Caleb's personality and his mind, had deepened the desire into something Essek can honestly say he has never quite felt before for another. At one point, he may have wanted not much more than one thing from this man.
"Right now," Essek decides to say, stroking matted hair off Caleb's brow and out of his eyes, using his thumb to brush dried tear tracks off his cheek, "I would like only for you to feel better."
Caleb's lip trembles and he closes his eyes. He leans into Essek's hand like a cat and Essek does not hesitate to touch him like one, fingers along Caleb's hair and cheekbone in a long, measured movement.
"I smell like shit." Caleb declares, mostly to himself, and stands. "I need to go...shower."
"I will wait for you down here, then."
Caleb nods, once, but watches him for a long moment with those pale, wet eyes before he leaves the room.
Essek...takes stock, once he hears an upstairs shower turn on. He spells his clothes clean and straightens up his hair, runs through a mental checklist of himself. His knee is throbbing, he realizes, from Caleb leaning much of his weight against his leg for the last while, and the crouching about like a youngling. There isn't much he can do for that aside from a pain potion and proper stretches.
He goes to make tea.
Precisely thirty-five minutes later, the shower stops. He sips his tea, leaning against the counter with his feet a few inches off the ground to take pressure off his leg, and waits.
When Caleb returns, he is dressed only in a thin robe tied loosely around his waist, arms crossed but planes of pale skin exposed.
Essek continues to drink his tea.
"I don't know what you want." Caleb says softly, "But if it is this," he motions at himself, "Then you are free to take."
Essek smiles and sets his mug aside.
"What I find myself wanting, Caleb, is not something that I can take. It is something given."
"Tell me what it is, then!" Caleb says with distress, "I thought you wanted me - the way you look at me sometimes is familiar. But you've never made any sort of advance."
"Do you want me, Caleb?" Essek finds himself asking, straightening from his lean and smoothing out the lines of his outfit thoughtfully. "Would you have appreciated my advances?"
"After all you've done for me, you are well within your right-"
"Caleb," Essek interrupts gently, "While you and your friends have certainly racked up quite a few favors with me, I would never expect you to repay them with your romantic interest."
"That is not what I meant!" Caleb shifts, looking frustrated, "I know you wouldn't. That is not what I meant."
"I will say this clearly, then," Essek taps the counter thoughtfully, things shifting into place for him, making the vague picture of Caleb Widowgast and his secrets just a bit clearer, "I have a romantic interest in you. What I desire is to continue spending time with you, however you see fit. I enjoy our time together just as it is, and am happy to remain as friends if that is how you would like it to be. I will not be in any way leveraging the times you have asked for my help or our lessons in order to get sexual favors from you."
"Maybe I want you to." Caleb snaps at him, arms curling defensively in front of him. Essek has not seen much of his temper outside of when he is dealing with his friends, but he can hear it lurking below the words. "Maybe I want you to leverage them."
"Maybe." Essek agrees placidly, "But I will not be doing so."
Caleb looks stricken, like Essek had glided over and slapped him.
"Please leave."
Essek goes.
-
Caleb does not come to their usual study session. Nott, instead, and Mollymauk, are waiting at the table.
Essek nods at them as he sits. There are three students present, as their final projects are beginning to wrap up.
"We need to talk." Mollymauk says when he sees him. One of Essek's students looks intrigued.
"I have study hours." Essek explains as he sits, "I am happy to speak to you afterward."
"This is more important than study hours!" Nott begins, but Mollymauk calms her with a hand and takes a casual seat to wait him out.
Wait him out they do, as he helps his students with final questions or talks project problems out. His time runs over while he is working with his last student of the night but Mollymauk and Nott - one more patiently than the other - stick around until it is just the three of them.
"Now," he straightens up his book and the papers within, "How can I help the two of you?"
"You and Caleb broke up!" Nott points a daggered finger at him, voice high and mighty, "What the fuck!"
"What my tiny friend is trying to say," Mollymauk smiles beautifically, "Is that we want to know why you haven't been around as much."
"It has been," Essek does not need to pause, "Approximately eighty-three hours since I last spoke to Mister Widowgast. We have gone much longer without communications in the past."
"Yeah, well, why have you gone so long now?" Nott doesn't lower her finger, just stabs it wildly in the air again. She is much shorter than him, and sickly thin, but Essek still feels the slightest bit scolded by her scowling face and tone.
"I was asked to leave and did so. If Mister Widowgast would like to speak to me, he has multiple ways of doing so. In fact, we have a standing weekly date," Essek pretends to check a watch he does not wear, "Now, it looks like."
"When Caleb tells you to leave, you don't actually listen!" Nott articulates her words with more hand waving, which Mollymauk easily dodges from his perch next to her.
"I disagree." Essek says simply, "I rather think he has had enough of people not respecting his wishes."
"People not listening is the only reason he told you to leave in the first place! You weren't supposed to actually go for forever! I thought you liked him!"
Essek gives in to the urge to sigh. It is a rare thing he allows himself, but sometimes even he is too weak to contain it.
"Forever is hardly an accurate description." He manages, "It has been, as I said -"
"Listen up, buster!" Nott menaces, exposing yellowing fangs as she snaps at him, "I won't have you both being idiots. If you really like him, you're going to have to understand that Caleb is as dumb as he is smart! He pushes you away when he wants you to stay close and he'll let you float your pretty butt right out the door if he thinks you actually want to go, no matter how much he wants you to stay!"
"Hardly sensible behavior to encourage."
"If you wanted sensible, you've barked up the wrong wizard!" Nott bangs her tiny fist on the table for emphasis, "Caleb is the least sensible boy I've ever met and you should have picked up on that by now!"
"Nott, maybe raking Essek across the coals for doing nothing wrong isn't the best tactic here." Mollymauk tries to assuage her, though not nearly firmly enough to mean it. Essek has a feeling he's come more for the show than to actually be the good cop to Nott's bad.
"Doing nothing is going to lose him his chance, damn it!"
"Nott," Essek breaks in, and tries to show his sincerity as he speaks, "I truly do appreciate your words. They have...shed light on the last interaction I had with Caleb. Thank you."
She opens her mouth to continue but he holds up a hand to stop her.
"But Caleb asked me to go. I have nothing but respect for him and will not disrespect him by ignoring his words. I told him that I value him and now, I am proving that. He will speak to me when he is ready."
"You made him so happy." Nott drops the aggressive stance, eyes big and wide in a way he has never seen from a goblin before. It makes her look much like a child, brutish face somehow mournful, "You made him happy, Essek."
"That is…" Essek allows himself to taste what he wishes he could say before he finishes with, "Gratifying to know. I hope he does reach out to me, Nott. I truly do. I will be waiting."
She just stomps her foot and, with a curse, leaves.
Mollymauk watches her go and then salutes Essek with a finger. "See you when I see you, professor."
"Yes, Mister Tealeaf."
Molly leaves. Essek does not watch him go.
-
Essek does not see or hear from Caleb again up to finals. Fjord and Jester join him for lunch many of the days he eats in the atrium and, on one memorable occasion, Yasha and Beau drop by to bring him rare dried herbs from their latest adventure. Beau tells him, in her own gruff way, that Caleb has buried himself in his exams.
It is a comfort, he supposes. An excuse for why he has not received even a text.
-
Can we talk?
After a month of silence, Essek supposes it is not the worst way to open a conversation. It is the text he sometimes wished he would get, at the very least.
Finals have been over for close to three days and Essek is still growing accustomed to no morning classes. There are still a few weeks before his spring courses begin and he has been thinking of taking a trip into the uncivilized lands to get in a few practical hours and refresh his skills after a full semester of teaching. His queen had been right about teaching dulling his senses.
Now? He sends as a response after deliberation.
Yes, please. Caleb responds within the minute.
It is not yet nightfall. He could do with some fresh air. When he asks about a meeting place, Caleb suggests the room they use for their study sessions and Essek agrees to meet within the hour.
He lives not uncomfortably far from campus and his knee feels fine enough that he thinks driving would be a waste. He levitates, instead, and allows his magic to carry him to his destination.
Caleb is waiting for him, hunched over in his chair. He looks - rested. And clean. He has shaved and the dark circles under his eyes are still there but have lightened.
Essek is...relieved. He has worried, he can admit to himself, and he is pleased to see that Caleb looks healthy.
He stands when Essek enters the room, hands tight against his side and eyes wide.
"Essek." He says, almost a verbal caress. Essek takes a brief moment to look him over properly, take him in. He has missed him.
"Caleb." He nods his head in greeting, "You look well."
"And you." Caleb offers back, shifting from one foot to the other, "How...how was the end of your semester?"
"Uneventful." Essek selects the chair across from Caleb and lowers himself easily, clasping his hands in a relaxed dome on the flat surface. "And yours?"
"Similarly...vacant of interest." Caleb lowers himself back to his chair slowly, worrying his bottom lip, "Your classes were all successful? I suppose that means that you will be moving on to practical application in the coming semester."
"Yes," Essek agrees, "My hours will be the same, but will be taking place in the spell casting gymnasium. You are welcome to join, but there has traditionally been more students attending those sessions than these."
"You would...still teach me?"
"Of course." Essek does not tense his hands together, but he does unintentionally gentle his tone when he says, "I told you that I would not use our lessons against you. I meant it, Caleb. You are welcome to my study session at any point that you wish to join them."
Caleb nods, dropping his gaze to his hands. He's also clasped them together on the table top. Unlike Essek, his fingers squirm in their tense hold on each other.
An uneasy silence descends over the room as Essek waits for Caleb to ask his next casual question and Caleb does not do that. Essek does not mind waiting in the quiet, but he begins to notice when it gets to his companion, fingers twitchier and face twisting into a pinched frown.
"What did you want to discuss, Caleb?" He asks directly, and watches the words hit Caleb like a blow.
"I wanted…" Caleb starts and then stops for a short moment. "I wanted to deeply, deeply apologize for my behavior, Essek."
Essek does not speak, as Caleb looks as if he would like to say more. He does, however, allow a smile when Caleb glances at his face. It is the first bit of eye contact made and it is refreshing to see those familiar blue eyes, even filled with apprehension and remorse.
"If possible, I would like to explain myself."
"You do not owe me an explanation." Essek reminds him and is offered a slow smile in return.
"I know." Caleb says firmly, like he is confirming it for himself, "I know you would not ask me. But I want to. Can I, Essek?"
"I will listen." Essek agrees, because how is he to refuse?
Caleb clears his throat and relaxes his hands on the table.
"I ran into someone from my past while on campus." He begins. "We had a...history. I was stupid enough to allow her to take me back to where she was staying and things did not...go as planned. There were others that I used to know there as well and, to put it bluntly, the reunion was shitty. I, um. I panicked and ran away. And then I threw up a lot. And then I called you."
"I'm sorry." Essek offers sincerely.
Caleb gives him another small smile. "You came. You came and you brought me home and...and I threw myself at you because I didn't want you to go. And I thought that, maybe, if I gave you what I thought you wanted, you wouldn't leave like they did. Would not hurt me, perhaps, like they did."
Essek tries to decide how he wants to respond to that. He slowly opens his hands and slides them toward Caleb in offering and, blinking rapidly, Caleb unknots his fingers and presses his palms flat to Essek's. When Essek strokes his wrists with the pads of his fingers, Caleb shuts his eyes.
"I would not." Essek says quietly and Caleb laughs hoarsely and nods.
"I know. Logically, I know. I knew. But I was...very upset. And I knew you desired me and I just...I just wanted you to stay."
"You could, perhaps, ask, should the need arise again." Essek squeezes Caleb's hands and Caleb laughs again, still rough, and nods hard three times in a row.
"I keep fucking up." Caleb admits, "I want to spend time with you and I end up using you to get around town. I want to...want to ask for more of you, and I end up telling you to leave."
"Learning curve." Essek traces Caleb's veins through his skin, feels his pulse rapid at his wrist, "We all have them. I froze my clock in a permanent time loop when I was still learning my magic. It takes time to perfect what we are learning."
"Or relearning." Caleb swallows, "I...Essek, I am not a stable man. I have a horrible past and hang ups. I lash out when I shouldn't. I will use myself to try to manipulate you. I'm trying, I swear it, but I stumble often. I am easy in wrong ways and not very easy at all in others."
"There is much in my past you are unaware of, too." Essek points out, "Much in my present, I suppose, as well. It may have to remain that way. I could be recalled to the Bright Queen at any moment. I have a job many fear, and for good reason."
"And yet you come in the middle of the night to rescue stranded boys and girls."
"Only for special boys and girls." Essek allows the tease to be voiced and enjoys the way Caleb flushes pink.
"Special, hm?"
"Very."
Caleb twists his fingers into the cuffs of Essek's sleeves and Essek allows it, appreciates the burning warmth of Caleb's skin. He looks forward to finally seeing the magic he can feel thrumming through his skin unleashed.
"You could have had me." Caleb drops his voice, as if giving sound to a secret, "I wanted you to take me."
"Perhaps." Essek carefully maneuvers his hand until he can slide his fingers between Caleb's, clasp their palms together. "But I would rather be given your heart and your mind because you wish to give it than take your body because you thought I wouldn't hold you before using it. I will. As often as you want me to."
Caleb sucks in a sharp breath, eyes going bright and wet. He digs his nails into Essek's skin and holds tight.
"Will you, then?" He asks, voice trembling, "I want you to hold me now and not let me go."
"Then I will." Essek says and stands. "Would you like to come home with me?"
"Yes."
Essek teleports them to his front door, fingers still held tight in Caleb's. He does not let go.
Instead, he sits the two of them on his couch, and he does exactly as Caleb asked and holds him close. He does not let go.
When Caleb kisses him, lips salty with tears, Essek responds gently. They lay together, wrapped up in each other, and learn through their kisses until their lips are numb and their eyes are tired. Caleb is both well versed in the act and clumsy at it, shy and confident in equal measure. Essek takes to the challenge with pleasure.
He still does not let go.
-
"ESSEK, GO FASTER!" Jester screams from where she has shoved her head out of the window.
Essek stares straight ahead at the road in front of him and does not go faster.
"Yasha is meeting us at the northern checkpoint," Beau repeats for the third time since they left, reaching for the map in front of Caleb from the back seat, squishing Nott's protesting form between Essek and Caleb as she does, "She can't stay past sunset so we're going to -"
"Beau, we're fine," Fjord says in his new accent, which Essek has chosen not to question during their time on this trip. "Just relax, we'll get there -"
"Get off!! Get off, I can't breath!!"
"Miss Nott, stop screaming," Caduceus says from where he has been firmly stationed in the back, listing to the side so he can fit comfortably, "I am trying to listen to the wind songs."
"If you want a song, baby, all you had to do was ask. The Mighty Nein play a mean fiddle." Mollymauk kicks at the back of Essek's seat, "You heard the lady, put the paddle to the metal! We got a barbarian to catch!"
"Molly, stop kicking the seat," Caleb hisses at his friend, snapping the map straight menacingly, "We will turn this car right around."
"Shush, Caleb, no one is turning anything around! We are going on an adventure!" Jester howls.
Frumpkin, sitting at Caleb's feet, meows pitifully when Caleb's struggling with Beau's arm causes his carrier to be jostled.
Essek stares straight ahead and remembers that he likes these people usually and that he has been promised a lot of coffee (and also, perhaps, a kiss or two) for this.
He hears Caleb laugh, suddenly, barking and genuine, and - for what he is sure is not the last time - most of his annoyance melts away.
He is going to have to invest in a bigger car.
|
----
Adora
Shadow Weaver calls out the name of a magical substance from the spellbook in front of her. Adora turns to the shelves behind her and searches for the right bottle.
Adora passes the vial filled with dark purple liquid to Shadow Weaver, who adds the substance to the large, black cauldron in front of her. A large plume of smoke rises from the cauldron, showing that the spell is working.
Shadow Weaver turns to Adora, who’s now standing beside her, “Those are all the ingredients I need. You may leave now.”
Mostly when she helps Shadow Weaver with spells, Adora will leave the second she’s not being forced to help. This time, though, she has a plan. This time, she stays.
Instead of going back up the stairs of the basement, Adora goes and sits down on the small, comfortable armchair that sits in the room's corner. Usually, Shadow Weaver sits there to read books on magic or wait for her potions to finish brewing. Adora hands her legs off of the edge of the chair and rests her back on the arm of the chair.
Shadow Weaver simultaneously looks surprised and annoyed to see Adora staying and sitting in her chair. “What are you still doing here? Get out, I have work to do.”
Adora groans as she rests her head on the arm of the chair, “I’m bored, though. I have nothing else to do today, anyway.”
The dark sorceress crosses her arms, “So you’ve decided to annoy me while I work?”
“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’ sound as she lifts her head back up to grin mischievously.
Instead of forcing Adora to leave, Shadow Weaver sighs and continues working on her potion, "Fine, but don't break anything."
----
After hours of trial and error, Shadow Weaver’s potion still doesn’t seem to turn out how she wants it to.
Adora is napping on the armchair in the same position as when she first sat. There’s only so long you can watch someone throw random stuff into a cauldron and form some runes on top of it.
The blonde is awoken by a loud and very annoyed groan from her mentor. She opens her eyes to see Shadow Weaver reading a page in her spellbook with enough focus to burn a hole through the worn-out paper.
“What happened?” Adora rubs her eyes as she yawns.
Shadow Weaver turns to look at Adora with a slightly surprised expression, as if she forgot Adora was even there. After placing the book down on a table beside her, Shadow Weaver crosses her arms again, “I didn’t realize you were so interested in dark magic.” Her tone is practically dripping sarcasm.
Adora snorts, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not. Dark magic is a waste of time, and resources. I just have nothing else to do. Besides, maybe explaining the problem to me will help you figure out a solution.”
Shadow Weaver doesn’t seem offended by Adora’s opinions on dark magic. Well, to be fair, she has heard them loud and clear for the past few centuries. The masked woman seems to ponder Adora’s words for a moment, though. “Fine. There’s one ingredient that I must add to the potion, light essence, but the substance isn’t reacting well with the other ingredients. I changed the recipe to replace the light magic with dark magic, but the dark magic is going against that one ingredient.”
Adora shrugs, “Easy, don’t add the light essence, then.”
The black-haired woman’s eyes widened, showing that she never thought about that, “You can’t just remove this ingredient.”
“Why not?”
“It’s one of the first rules of sorcery! Without light essence, the magic might become unstable.”
Adora raises a brow, “Yeah, but that rule only applies to normal magic. You’re clearly not using normal sorcery, so you shouldn’t follow normal sorcery rules.”
“It’s dangerous and reckless.”
“Oh, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“If this goes wrong, it’s your fault.” It surprised Adora when Shadow Weaver agreed so quickly. She must really want this spell to work.
With a sigh, Shadow Weaver turns back to the cauldron and dumps the liquid inside into a large drain on the floor. The dark sorceress turns back to Adora, “Go get me the same ingredients from before, but without the light essence.”
Grinning, Adora goes to get the bottles from the shelf. It wasn’t actually a part of her plan to help Shadow Weaver, but whatever distracts her for longer.
They go through the entire spell process but without one ingredient. Adora sits back down after she hands the ingredients to her mentor, hanging her legs off the edge again.
The plume of smoke rises again but, after a few minutes, the smoke changes from an ashy gray colour to a vibrant purple colour.
Shadow Weaver stands back, watching the purple smoke with wide eyes, “Huh. You were right.”
Adora scoffs, “It was a pretty simple solution. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it before.”
Shadow Weaver turns her head to look at Adora with a look in her eyes that Adora’s never seen before. Is that… pride? No way, Shadow Weaver has never been proud of Adora before. “Hm… Maybe you should help me with spells more often.”
At that, Adora actually laughs, a rare occurrence when with the masked woman. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.” Shadow Weaver doesn’t seem disappointed in her words.
Adora glances at the clock on the wall beside the door. She’s late.
She stands up and stretches, “Well, this has been fun, but I’m going to go take a nap now.” They’ve been in the basement for so many hours that it’s dark outside by now. Napping is a good excuse, right?
Shadow Weaver doesn’t glance up at Adora, too focused on skimming through her spellbook and changing her spell recipes, “Alright. Good job, Adora. You did well today.”
Adora pauses at the stairs. That’s the first time Shadow Weaver has ever complimented her while nobody is around. Usually, she’ll give Adora fake praise in front of others so that she looks like a good mentor, but she’s never given her a genuine compliment for her actions.
The words remind her of her mother’s sweet voice as she congratulated Adora for anything she’d done. Sometimes she wouldn’t even need to do something for Marlena to give her support. She would just give and give every ounce of love in her human heart.
Adora shakes her head weakly as she continues walking up the stairs. That time is long over. She’ll never hear her mom’s voice again. She’ll never feel her hugs, or her forehead kisses, or hear her laugh, or be able to go to her for advice. That bridge burned over five hundred years ago, and now all she’s left with is Shadow Weaver. The woman who is the exact opposite of the kind, caring woman who raised Adora. Shadow Weaver wouldn't give Adora any love from that charred, black lump of coal she calls her heart.
Maybe, though, she can honour Marlena by trying to be a good person, even after all these years.
It’s the least she deserves after everything she did for Adora. She was always so kind, so compassionate, and how did Adora repay her? By joining the Horde and killing thousands. By becoming a monster.
It’s… disgraceful.
It’s weak.
But maybe she can change. Maybe she can be strong for her.
Adora keeps walking until she reaches her bedroom. She opens the door and quickly locks it behind herself to ensure that Shadow Weaver won’t come in.
Instead of going to bed, like she told Shadow Weaver, Adora goes under her bed to grab the rope ladder she hid yesterday.
The blonde vampire opens her window, looking down to see Hordak standing at the bottom expectantly. He crosses his arms as he looks up at Adora, “You’re late.”
The blonde throws down the rope ladder she found in the basement for Hordak to climb. One perk of being immortal is that you collect a lot of random junk over the years that might be useful one day. “I had to make sure Shadow Weaver wouldn’t get suspicious.”
Hordak makes it to the ledge of the window fairly quickly. It’s a good thing he was genetically created to have stronger muscles, or else that climb would’ve been way more difficult for him.
Adora grabs his hand and practically pulls him inside. Once both his feet are on the floor, Adora pulls the ladder back up and closes her window. She turns back to see Hordak looking at her anxiously, “So there’s no chance of her finding out about our plans?”
“There’s no way. She’s going to be busy doing spells for the rest of the week, at least.” She has a smug grin on her face as she says this, proud of herself.
Hordak nods, not questioning Adora’s methods, as he goes and sits down on the edge of Adora’s bed. Adora sits down in her desk chair as she pulls out some old papers from a drawer.
Hordak looks at the papers with scrunched brows, “You already planned all that? We only agreed to do this a week ago.”
Adora lays out the paper on her desk, “No, these are from a few hundred years ago. What, you think this is the first time I’ve planned to kill Shadow Weaver?”
Hordak’s brow raises, “So, why haven’t you succeeded yet? You’ve been planning for so long, how have you not killed her yet?”
At that, Adora sighs and puts down the last paper on her wooden desk, “It wouldn’t work. She could’ve killed me with dark magic again.”
“I thought you were immune to her magic, though.”
“I am, but that’s only because I’ve developed a tolerance to dark magic after being around it for five centuries. I’ve only been immune for a few decades, but Shadow Weaver doesn’t know her magic doesn’t hurt me anymore.”
Both of Hordak’s eyebrows are raised now, “You’ve been pretending to be affected by her dark magic.” It’s not a question, but a statement, as if he’s connecting the dots in his head out loud.
Despite Hordak not asking her, Adora nods.
After the initial shock passes, excitement quickly replaces it, “Do you know how easy it would be for you to kill her? She’s practically useless without her magic!”
Adora laughs, “Well, it’s touching that you’re so confident in my strength.”
Hordak scoffs, “What are you talking about? Of course, you’re strong. I would argue that you’re the strongest person in the Fright Zone.”
“Well, what about you? You’re strong, too. I wasn’t genetically modified in a lab to be extra strong like you.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t trained as a child to hunt vampires and use deadly weapons.”
The two friends laugh loudly, but try to stay quiet once they remember Shadow Weaver is two floors below them. Adora wipes the tears of mirth from her eyes, “Let’s just agree that we’re the two strongest people in the Horde.”
“Agreed. It’s a perfect tie.”
Their cheerful moods quickly disappear as they remember why Hordak’s here in the first place. Hordak sighs, “So, should we plan now?”
Adora nods, “Yeah. So, what first?”
----
Many hours later…
It was a painstakingly long process, but they finally came up with a plan that’s mostly safe (as safe as you can get while killing a tyrant) and ensures that nobody will become suspicious of them.
The plan is to kill Shadow Weaver first, then Horde Prime. If they kill Horde Prime first, Shadow Weaver will take the throne for herself. Also, Shadow Weaver is more likely to catch on to their plans than Horde Prime. The man is the ruler of the Horde, it’s not likely he’ll notice if Hordak is acting a little different after his Second-in-Command dies.
First, they’ll kill Shadow Weaver at the very end of a party a few weeks from now. They’ll do it after Horde Prime has said goodbye to her for the night, then they’ll attack her while she’s distracted. Adora will act all heartbroken over the death of her ‘devoted mentor’, and Horde Prime will be too busy dealing with the aftermath to focus on Hordak or Adora.
Killing Horde Prime will be an entirely different story. Guards almost always surround the ruler, especially in the daytime. Well, that’s because the last person he expects to assassinate him is someone of his own kind. He’ll never see it coming. Adora will meet with Horde Prime in his manor to discuss Shadow Weaver’s death (she’s already got her crocodile tears ready) while Hordak takes care of the guards. While Horde Prime and Adora talk, Hordak will strike when he least expects it.
Adora groans from her desk chair, “I don’t understand why we can’t make their deaths more painful, though.”
Hordak sighs for the umpteenth time. He’s been trying to convince Adora to keep their plan as safe as possible for at least an hour now.
“There’s no point in useless theatrics right now. We need to make their deaths quick and as undramatic as possible, it’s the safest method.”
“You and I both know they deserve so much worse than what we’re giving them.”
Hordak knows there’s more to it than that. The blue-haired man stands up and in front of Adora’s chair, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I know you want to make Shadow Weaver suffer as much as she’s made you suffer, but she’s not worth the effort. Trust me, I know that Horde Prime and Shadow Weaver deserve deaths a million times worse than what we’re planning, but we need to be careful. We need to succeed where they didn’t.”
Adora’s eyes soften at Hordak’s speech. She sighs as she puts her face in her hands, “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t make this any easier.”
Hordak chuckles dryly as he pats Adora’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”
Adora raises her head to give him an incredulous look, “Do you really believe that?”
He nods, confident.
The blonde places her head back into her hands as she rests her elbows on her knees. Hordak leans backwards until he’s lying on his back on the bed and half of both his legs are dangling off the edge. They two sit in comfortable silence as Adora collects her thoughts.
Eventually, she remembers what she was thinking about while she was walking upstairs.
What’s the point in all of this if she and Hordak are just as bad as them? They’d basically be the new Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime. She practically shivers in disgust and fear at being even remotely like the masked woman.
There’s no point in doing any of this if they’re going to continue being monsters. The Horde would just continue being a kingdom full of the angry and alone bloodthirsty killers that the rest of Etheria knows. Who decided that vampires are incapable of being regular, happy people? Nobody chooses to be a vampire, so why are the citizens of the Horde forced to live out the rest of their immortal lives in misery?
It breaks Adora’s heart to think of all the wasted potential that was lost in the Horde. All of those doctors, scientists, artists, engineers, bakers, shopkeepers, and just… people that were robbed of the opportunity to live, forced to spend their years killing to survive.
Maybe if they got Entrapta to find an alternative to human blood, vampires could lead mostly normal lives and maybe even be happy.
Finally, Adora lifts her head up to look at Hordak, who seems to be taking a nap on her bed. She sighs and stands up to glare at him. The vampire grabs a pillow from her bed and slams it into Hordak’s face. The man wakes up with a startle, jumping up into a sitting position with a terrified look on his face.
He whips his head around to look for what just hit him, “What?! What’s happening?”
Adora dissolves into fits of laughter at the look on his face. Hordak glares at her angrily as he throws the pillow back into Adora’s hands rather forcefully.
After Adora has regained her composure, she jumps up onto the bed and sits down with her legs crisscrossed. Hordak’s angry glare slowly morphs into a curious look as he turns around to face her, “What do you want?”
Adora scoffs, “Okay, first, you were napping on my bed while we were planning.” Hordak looks ready to argue at that, but Adora beats him to the punch. “Second, we still have one more thing to think about.”
“What’s left? We’ve accounted for almost any circumstances.”
“What about us being, I don’t know, good people?”
Hordak raises a brow, “What are you talking about?”
“We can’t take over the Horde if we’re going to keep being bad people. We might as well just let Horde Prime keep ruling the Horde if we do that."
Hordak seems to think about this for a second, before sighing in defeat, “You’re right. We’d just be replacing them if we continue. I don’t want to be like Horde Prime, and I know you don’t want to be like Shadow Weaver.”
They both grimaced at the thought of replacing their mentors and essentially becoming the younger versions of them.
“But what do we do?”
“Let’s just try and brainstorm some ideas.”
----
Way Too Much Time Later…
Hordak groans from his spot sprawled out on the hardwood floor, “This is impossible!”
Adora mumbles in agreement while she buries her face in a pillow on her bed. She’s considering just falling asleep here and letting Hordak find his own way of sneaking out without being noticed by Shadow Weaver.
She’s awoken by a throw pillow hitting the back of her head, ruining her hair, which has been out of its usual ponytail all day.
“If I'm not allowed to sleep, then you can’t either," he grumbles with a loud yawn.
Adora runs a hand down her face, “Hordak, we can’t do this on our own.”
Hordak seems surprised to see Adora giving up so soon. He’s never seen Adora give up before, and he’s known her for over five hundred years. “So, what are we supposed to do, find someone to teach us how to be good people?”
He was being sarcastic when he said this, obviously, but that’s exactly what Adora plans to do. She stares at her friend until understanding dawns on his face.
“No.”
“Hordak, come on.”
“I will not do that.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
“No, Adora. I refuse to ask the princesses for help!”
----
The next day…
The skiff drives through the Whispering Woods, leading Adora and Hordak to Brightmoon.
Adora has a smug grin on her face as she looks over at Hordak that reads, ‘I win.”
Hordak crosses his arms and pouts, “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
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A few days passed, everyone setting a few feet away from the house, and the old Alpha, Hershel Greene, agreed to let them stay for now as long as they didn't carry guns on his property. Rick had been able to negotiate that one of them could as well as Rick himself. They held a funeral for Otis, Shane telling his story but a few people could tell something wasn't right with it. From what Rick could tell there were now a total for four mature Alphas around, himself, Shane, Hershel, and Hershel's eldest daughter Maggie. The girl was tough as nails and had seemed to caught the eye of Glenn, they went on a few supply runs together and would always come back smelling like each other. Carl was healing, his life saved by Hershel, and the hunt for Sofia was going no where, even with maps and a clear course of action they couldn't find her.
Rick sighed as he scrubbed his hand over his face and looked at Carl sitting next to Glenn and talking with the Beta. His son was still pale...pale but alive, it seemed like there were no complications and he was glad that his son was going to live to see maturity. Lori was trying even more, never straying far from Rick or Carl, though Shane seemed to avoid Rick, staying off by himself or near Andrea. He had began to teach them how to shoot, Carl had asked if he could learn and Rick had said yes, saying that the boy needed to learn how to use guns not fear them. Rick had found himself wondering over to Merle and Daryl's little area a little ways away from the house and camp and he paused as he watched Daryl fashion bolts out of wood and Merle chew on a bit of hay while he cleaned his gun.
"Need something Officer Friendly?" Merle cracked as he squinted up at Rick.
Rick groaned as he crouched down. "Really wish you'd stop callin me that."
"Why? S'actly who ya are. Officer Friendly, makin nice wit whoever ya meet." He chuckled, his eyes holding mirth instead of malice. Somehow the three of them had formed an easy sort of friendship. Daryl stayed quiet most of the time, but Rick learned it was just because he didn't really care to say anything. Merle was a loud mouth but mostly hot air unless something threatened Daryl. They were self reliant and Rick knew he didn't need to keep an eye on them, that the brothers could watch out for themselves. Rick heard Daryl snort and he cut a glance at the Omega to see a small smirk crossing his thin lips. Rick narrowed his eyes and flicked a twig at the other, chuckling as he swatted it away.
"Back to my question, whatcha need?" Merle asked again.
"Nothing, just...started walkin found myself over here." Rick said with a shrug as he twirled another stick in his hands. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "Just...keep wonderin when or if we're even gonna find Sofia."
Daryl sighed. "We're gonna find her, I'm headin out again on horseback, found a place that looks like she mightta been there." He said.
"You goin alone?" Rick asked.
"I track better by myself. I'll be fine." He muttered, he really just wanted to be away from everyone, he needed some time to think. Time without Rick's scent around him, Carol's depression and feeble hope for Sofia, Lori's hissing every time he stepped close to the Alpha or Carl, and then there was Shane. The Alpha just smelled wrong, he would watch Lori with longing, Rick with a barely concealed hate, and most of all when Shane thought no one was looking, he'd watch Daryl with a barely restrained hunger. Daryl knew Alphas like Shane, all his life, growing up as an Omega, one from a poor family that couldn't afford the suppressants and with a fucking crazy fucker for a father...Daryl had seen that look more than once. It was an Alpha intent on takin an Omega. Daryl stuck mostly with Merle or Rick...occasionally Carol but he was never alone around Shane. He made damned sure of it. Daryl didn't know if it was simply because he was an Omega or if it was because he was, more specifically, Rick's Omega. He had finally admitted to himself that he was Rick's. He knew and Rick knew it, course they didn't act like they knew it. They simply did as they did now, going on in this manner but Rick would always check on Daryl and Daryl's eyes would search for Rick.
Rick simply nodded. "I know you will be." He said softly. Rick wanted to reach out and touch the Omega, but he knew that wouldn't be welcomed. He wasnt invited to touch and Daryl didn't offer, so he kept his want in check. He was still married..even if his Omega was just a few feet away.
Merle stood up too. "I'm headin out on a run wit ol Shane. Says there's a decent sized town not to far from here, might even be some more medical supplies, food, clothes, hell might even be some booze, could use a drink." He laughed shaking his head.
Rick nodded. "Just be careful out there." He said giving Merle a thump on the shoulder. "I'm going to try to see if I can talk Hershel into letting us stay. He says he wants us out when we find Sofia...but I think we could really help him out...make a real home here."
"One big happy fuckin family." Merle laughed as he walked off to where Shane was standing, leaving Rick and Daryl by themselves, the one thing they tried to avoid.
Rick watched as Daryl strung his crossbow across his back and tucked a bandana into his back pocket. His heart ached to reach out to the Omega, but he knew that the touch would be unwelcomed. While Daryl didn't mind him being around he still flinched away from most touches from everyone, except his brother. The Omega still smelled like heaven and it just made everything harder, but Rick refused to be ruled by what he was. "You be careful out there." He said, his voice holding a bit of that Alpha tone in it.
Daryl shivered slightly at the tone, he loved when Rick's voice dropped like that. It only happened when the man was worried about someone, it was never used when he was giving orders. Daryl stepped closer to Rick and sighed as he looked at the man, they were nearly the same height, Rick may have been a little taller but that didnt matter. "I'm gonna be fine, always come back don't I?" Daryl reached out and touched Rick's arm lightly.
Rick looked down at his hand, his breath caught in his throat at the electric shock that went through him. "Daryl..."
Daryl sighed. "Maybe Merle and I should just pack our shit up an take off...this...it's gettin painful for ya Rick."
Rick's hands shot out and he grabbed the other bringing him in close. "No...don't leave...please...I can control it." He begged.
Daryl sighed and rested his forehead on Ricks. "I don't wanna leave...but ya tell me if it's gettin ta be to much..." His lips ghosted over Ricks before they ripped away from each other, their heads filled with the scent of the other.
Rick sighed softly as he watched the Omega. "Then don't leave, it's not gettin to be to much. I can handle it. I need you here." He said softly. "I'd just come lookin for you otherwise."
Daryl simply nodded. "Then I'll stay." He said as he turned and walked to the stable, waving over his shoulder as he went.
Rick sighed again as he kicked at a rock before turning around, he caught sight of Lori watching him and he sighed again. She was just there...always there watching him with Daryl and Merle. He didn't know how else to reassure her that he was there for her. Rick braced his hands on his hips as he looked up at the early morning sky. With any luck he'll be able to make this their new home and they could stop running.
~~:::~~:::~~:::~~::~~:::~~:::~~:::~~:::~~
Merle sat in the truck that they were using for the run. He'd had a plan to talk to Shane, he wasn't likin how the Alpha was looking at his little brother. Merle knew that Daryl was Rick's Omega, hell seemed like everyone knew, they were just avoiding it because of Lori's temperament and Rick's code of honor. But just because an Omega was destined for an Alpha didn't mean another Alpha couldn't take said Omega by force. They got to the Walmart that was located in the center of the town. "Well shit, good ol Wal-mart, might be somethin good in there." He chuckled.
Shane rolled his eyes, he really didn't want to bring Merle with him but the Beta was fucking annoying...and persistent. "Good place for an ambush."
"Then I guess we gotta stick together yeah?" He said as they moved through the doors. They moved quietly in the walmart, taking out the few Walkers that were slumming around the place. They gathered up the few supplies they could, Merle breaking in behind the pharmacy counter to gather the supplies there as Shane gathered the few things on the shelves around them. As they went to the automotive section Merle paused as he looked at things for his bike. "You know there was a reason I wanted to come with you. I ain't appreciating tha way you're lookin at my baby brother." Merle said He saw Shane's shoulders tense and he smirked, nail on the head. "I know how ya Alpha's work, and the way you're workin is easy. Ya hate that Rick's got everythin'. He's got the girl, he's got the kid, and now he's got the Omega. And what's Shane got? Nothin."
Shane whipped around with a snarl, his gun out and pointing right at Merle. "You don't know what you're talking about you redneck piece of shit."
"Whoa there, ain't no need ta be pointin that at me. I'm just sayin, stay away from Daryl and we ain't gonna have a problem." Merle smirked. "Less you want me to tell Rick that you're tryin to move in on his Omega too."
Shane ran forward and slammed his fist into Merle's gut. "Just shut the fuck up. I'll take what I want. Lori is mine...Carl is mine...and Daryl...Daryl will be mine too because Rick is going to die."
Merle reared up and landed a solid punch into Shane's face, making the Alpha stagger back. "The fuck they are. Shit you can have Lori, she's just a used up bitch anyway. Daryl ain't ever gonna roll over for you, he thinks your scum man. Ain't no way he'd ever present for you. And Rick's the only one that's keep us together." He growled as he kicked Shane back into the shelves, making them clatter and clang.
"I was the one keeping us together! Rick is weak!" Shane yelled as he launched himself at Merle. They scuffled, running and falling into shelves until Shane had Merle pinned down by the hardware section. He slapped a pair of cuffs on the man and stepped back watching the Beta snarl.
"You let me out of these you son of a bitch. Whatter you gonna say to everyone?"
Shane smirked as he threw the key somewhere else. "You died to save me and the supplies."
"That lie ain't gonna work twice." Merle snarled.
"Ain't a lie, no one to disprove what I say." He said as he shouldered both of their bags and walked off, whistling as he went while he heard Merle yelling and shouting after him.
~~:::::~~~:::::::~~:::::~~::::~~::::~~:::~~::::
Rick sighed as he walked around the camp, Daryl had been gone a while and Shane still wasn't back with Merle. Lori had gotten on Rick's ass about what she saw between him and Daryl, but he reassured her once again that nothing was going on. He sighed as he looked at the setting sun...then Andrea's yell of 'Walker' caught his attention. "Andrea no guns!" He yelled as he ran towards it. "T-Dog, Glenn let's go!" He yelled as they ran. As they got closer they saw that it was Daryl, covered in blood, mud, and drenched to the bone dragging his crossbow behind him. He squinted at Rick and smirked as he saw the Alpha holding his gun out.
"Ya know, I don't like guns being pointed at me unless they're gonna be shot." He grumbled causing Rick to let out a startled laugh.
Before Rick could say something he heard the sound of a gun going off and Rick watched in slow motion as Daryl was knocked back. "No! No!" He screamed as he ran forward and knelt at Daryl's side. "Daryl."
Daryl groaned as he lifted his hand to his head. "I was fuckin kiddin." He growled before he passed out.
"Help me get him to Hershel." Rick said as he slung one of Daryl's arms over his shoulders, T-Dog taking the other. Glenn walked with them.
"W-What the fuck happened to him? Are those ears? He's got fucking ears around his neck!"
Rick ripped the necklace off of Daryl and shoved it into his shirt. "We tell no one about this." He hissed. "C'mon Daryl, you can pull through this."
Glenn paused as he saw something and held it up. "Guys...isn't this Sofia's?" He asked as he held up a dirty doll.
Rick went cold as he continued to drag the unconscious Omega. An hour later Daryl was hissing and spitting at Hershel as the man stitched up his wound. Rick sat on the chair by the bed, a map in front of him and Daryl pointing out where he was and where he found the doll. "Shit! watch the hands." He hissed at Hershel as the man tugged on the thread to make sure it was tight.
"If I had known we'd be going through the anti-biotics so quickly-" Hershel muttered as he finished up. "You should rest for a few days at least, give yourself time to heal."
"Fuck that, we got a lead on Sofia, I ain't gonna lay round here."
"Daryl you've given us our biggest lead. You can take a few days-"
Daryl growled at him. "No-"
Hershel sighed as he cleaned his hands off. "While you two figure it out I'm going to check the horses. If you had bothered to ask I would have directed you to another horse, we call that one Nelly, as in Nervous Nelly." The old Alpha sighed tiredly as he left the room.
Rick watched the door close and he turned his eyes back to Daryl, taking in his beat up appearance. His head was bandaged, thankfully the bullet only grazed him, and his side was bandaged up. Rick reached out to trace his fingers along on his side. "I can't believe you fell into a ravine."
Daryl shivered as Rick's fingers grazed his side. "Rick-"
Rick ripped his hand away. "Fuck...Daryl I'm sorry-"
"I don't mind when you touch me...I just...dont want you to see." He said softly as he pulled the blanket higher over himself. Daryl looked up at him. "Why are we torturin ourselves like this Rick?" Daryl asked him softly.
Rick chuckled sadly. "Because we keep denying our biology." Rick sighed as he leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. "But...I can't just-"
Daryl groaned. "I know..I know Lori."
Rick nodded. "Carl would understand because he's an Alpha...but Beta's they don't understand." Rick sighed. "If only I met you years ago."
The door opened and Rick jumped away from Daryl when Carl ran in. "Dad! Shane's back...but Merle isn't with him!"
Rick's eyes went wide and he saw Daryl try to get up. "Daryl you can't-"
"The fuck I can't!" The Omega snarled as he struggled to get up. Rick sighed as he helped the other up and they went down the stairs where Shane was helping sorting out the things from the run. It was dark outside now and Shane was sporting one hell of a black eye. "Where's my brother shit-head?" Daryl growled at the Alpha.
"We got attacked." Shane said, "Merle stayed behind to take care of them."
Daryl's eyes narrowed. "Tha fuck he did, I know my brother and he'd rather leave you behind instead of staying behind himself."
Rick laid a hand on Daryl's chest, feeling how the Omega's heart was racing. "We'll go look for him. You get back in bed, I'll take-"
"I'm going with you." Daryl said.
"Daryl you aren't-"
"Tell me what I ain't one more time Rick and I swear to god I'm gonna kick your ass." He growled.
"Fine, we leave in the morning then. Take tonight to rest and we'll go find him."
Daryl growled as he ripped away from Rick and limped back to bed.
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The next morning Rick stood with his group. Daryl was leaning heavily on the car as he waited. "Alright, I'm taking T-dog and Daryl with me. Glenn and Andrea you keep searching for Sofia, follow the map in the way we marked out. Carl you stay and watch camp with Dale. We'll be back before sunset." He said as himself and the other two got into a car. He could feel the disapproving look from Lori but he ignored it as they drove to where Merle and Shane were the day before. They moved to the Walmart and dispatched the few walkers they saw there. T-dog moved into the store quietly to scout ahead and Rick looked at Daryl. "How you holdin up?"
"My side fuckin hurts." Daryl growled, the pain making him grouchy. "Let's just find my fuckin brother and get back."
Rick looked at one of the carts and smirked. "I could always-"
"finish that sentence and I'll rip your knot off." Daryl bristled at him.
Rick laughed softly as they followed T-dog. They moved silently, Daryl keeping up surprisingly well for having an arrow in his side the day before. They moved back to where Shane had said they were attacked and looked at the destruction. "Shit...looks like Shane was right." Rick muttered.
Daryl knelt down gingerly as T-dog started picking up a few things for Dale. "nah...there were only two people fightin here." He said. "Look at the scuff marks, and theres not nearly 'nough blood ta say that there was more than two men fightin."
Rick knelt by his side, trying to see what the younger Dixon was seeing, "And you're sure?"
Daryl nodded as he got back up, using Rick's shoulder as leverage. "Looks like the fight moved down this way." They followed the trail until the hardware department when Daryl finally saw it. "No! No!" He screamed before clutching at his side. There in the middle of the aisle was a severed hand, a pair of bloody handcuffs, a hacksaw, and alot of blood. "That son of a bitch lied to us!" Daryl growled as he glared at the cuffs. "those are police issue."
Rick knelt down and checked them out, feeling his blood run cold. "Yeah...and they're Shanes. I remember because he called them his lucky cuffs, he carved the number 22 into them...same number as his football days, necklace too. Always said 22 was Shane's number."
Daryl snarled. "Maybe I'll shoot him 22 times then."
T-dog looked around. "Um guys...it looks like Merle got up and walked away after cutting off his own hand."
They followed the blood to the camping section where they found two dead walkers and some little propane tanks that were set up and a bit of metal that T-dog picked up. "What is on it?"
"Flesh." Daryl muttered. "Fucker cauterized the wound then booked it the fuck outta here." He felt the tears prickle in his eyes and he angrily brushed them away. "Took off...maybe he's already back at the farm."
Rick nodded. "Maybe. C'mon lets gather what we can and get back." He said gently taking the omega's arm and leading them back to the car. They stopped when they saw some fresh blood on the pavement and more dead walkers. "How the fuck did we not notice that when we came in?"
"Cause we were to busy thinking we'd find Merle here." Rick said. "Looks like he got picked up by someone..."
"So he's lost." Daryl said softly.
"We'll find him...and we'll make Shane pay for what he's done." Rick promised.
"don't waste resources on Merle...fucker can take care of himself. Let's just find Sofia and kick Shane's ass." He said as he got into their car.
Rick sighed, he knew Daryl was hurting but he'd do whatever the Omega asked of him. He looked at T-dog who shrugged and got into the car with their supplies. Rick got in and drove them back to the Farm.
~~:::~~::~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::~~::::
The next couple of days were a whirl-wind of shit. they tried to confront Shane but the man said that Merle tried to kill him and it was all in self-defense, Daryl didn't buy it for one second and growled and glared at anyone who came near him, even Rick. Glenn had discovered that the Greene's were keeping Walkers in the barn and had told everyone, Shane wanted to open up the barn and kill them all but Rick had told him that it was Hershel's farm and Rick was going to get to the bottom of it. Things were tense with the older Alpha during their talk, he honestly believed that they were just sick people and that if there was a cure they'd be better. Tensions were running high and Shane had set up someone watching the barn at all times, Daryl stayed at his own spot in camp only leaving to go hunting or to look for Sofia (but that search was going no where). After a few days Hershel had asked Rick to come with him and Jimmy, he lead them to the small muddy stream that ran the property where a couple of walkers were stuck. Hershel explained his theory and his thoughts on them and Rick tried to understand. The Older Alpha had him start to lead one of the walkers...when they got to the Farm...things were not good.
Shane was handing out guns and everyone was running to the Barn. Rick looked to Hershel and felt the anger rolling off of the older Alpha. "Whats your man doing with guns on my property?"
"I dont know." Rick said, hoping the Alpha could tell he wasn't lying. As they drew closer they could hear Shane yelling about how Hershel was keeping walkers in the Barn, using his rage to fuel people into action. "Shane! What the fuck do you think your doing?!" He yelled, causing everyone to turn around and look at them.
"I'm going to get rid of the Walkers in the barn! I ain't weak and gonna keep letting them stay down the lane from us! I'll keep us safe!" Shane screamed.
"They're people!" Hershel yelled. "Now step back son!"
"Could a person walk away from this?" He yelled as he shot the woman Walker that Hershel had several times in the chest. "Heart, lungs, gut, could a living person just walk away from that? No you have to shoot them like animals to get these nasty things down." He yelled before shooting her in the chest. He gave Rick a cold look before shooting the walker that Rick had. Then Shane ran to the barn.
"Shane no!" Rick yelled. He cursed as he turned to see Lori and Carl running up. "Keep Carl back." He yelled as he tried to run after Shane, but the man was to quick he'd already got rid of the chains and the doors were opening as several walkers were making their way out. Rick looked at Hershel to see the man on his knees with Maggie crying as Glenn lifted his gun. Rick snarled as he brought his gun up, helping the others kill the walkers as they made their way out of the barn. Once they were all dead a deathly silence filled the area, Shane was panting proud of himself for what he had just done. Rick was ready to pound on him when a sound caught their attention. A small shuffling and light growls. Everyone's eyes turned to the barn...and they saw Sofia making her way out of the barn. Her clothes were dirty and ragged, her hair unwashed and unkempt, and the bite mark on her neck was apparent. Rick's vision turned like a tunnel and he heard Carol cry out. He saw Sofia starting to walk to them and he raised his gun, shooting her in the head. He heard Carol scream and he turned to see Daryl holding tightly onto the woman as she tried to reach out for them. He saw the look in the Omega's eyes and knew his own mirrored the pain and loss that they both felt for finding Sofia this way...It was another part of their hope dying.
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Weiss glared hatefully into those lilac eyes. 'Traitor' her mind whispered. Someone she trusted, someone she loved as a friend, a woman she'd believed in, had betrayed her. The tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her she had struck first, she had screamed such hateful words at a woman who had lost everything, but she quickly shoved that voice back again as she always did when it spoke up. No. This woman was to blame, it was her fault Ruby had gone, and she'd still have Ruby at her side if Yang hadn't failed to stop her from running off! Yes, it was Yang's fault, of course it was!
Something in her mind hit her, a moment where she realized exactly where she was and what was going on. For a brief second, the haze that always seemed to cloud her mind cleared, and she realized she was holding Yang by her hair and yet…Yang's eyes were lilac. Not red. Not a single drop of crimson had flooded into those eyes, though they stared back into her blue ones.
Weiss took a moment to study the woman before her, to actually look at someone who she hadn't seen in eight years. Her hair was matted and tangled, its golden shine dulled to a sickening yellow. Though none of her trademark crimson was in her eyes, they were bloodshot. Her arms hung limply at her sides, the sleeveless garments revealing shoulders and arms crisscrossed with scars, far more than Weiss remembered her having when they were in a team. A team. Her old team, her old times...
"Weiss! You need to try this one, this would look great on you!" Yang gushed as she came running up to Weiss. Weiss glanced over her shoulder, her perusal of new skirts being interrupted by Yang's exuberance. Yang had a wide grin on her face as she darted over, holding a pristine dress in her hands. She quickly held it up against Weiss before the shorter woman could react, before nodding once. "Yeah, you gotta try it on. C'mon, go!"
Weiss had long since given up on trying to argue with Yang when they went shopping, so with a heavy sigh she took the dress and marched into the changing rooms. Though Weiss and Yang's personal tastes in clothing could not be further apart, Yang somehow had this instinctual knowledge of what would look good on her friends and teammates. Weiss had learned to trust her judgement. Running her hands along the soft fabric of the dress Yang had shoved at her, she had to admit it looked beautiful in her hands.
When she finished putting it on, she glanced up at the mirror, her eyes widening. It really did look incredible on her. A soft blue, it hugged her torso, accentuating her slender form without clinging to her. The top was cut just low enough to highlight the gentle curve of her chest, as the thin straps reached up to bind behind her neck in a halter style. She spun about, glancing over her shoulder to see her pale back revealed down to her lower back, leaving her smooth skin on display. A high slit ran up the left leg, letting flashes of her legs appear behind the fabric.
She stepped out of the changing room to stand before Yang, the brawler's eyes going wide as Yang gave a laughing cheer to herself. "I knew it! That looks amazing on you! You have to buy it!"
"I don't know Yang. It looks great, but it seems a waste. It's not like we have many formal events left, it's our last year and the dance already passed…" Weiss trailed off.
Yang brushed it off. "Oh come on! We've got the celebration after we graduate still! You can wear it then! Maybe even impress a certain somebody? Eh?" Yang winked at Weiss, the heiress' cheeks going pink.
"I've no idea what you're talking about!" she huffed as she spun about, crossing her arms over her chest. Four years living with Yang had inured her to her personality though, and she kept her tiny grin well-hidden as Yang chuckled behind her. She went back into the dressing room and began stripping the dress off carefully.
"So how many books do you think our bookworms will have covered the floor with?" Yang asked from outside the dressing room, amusement in her voice.
Weiss rolled her eyes as she sighed. "Considering this is the first break we've gotten in four months? By the time we get back the entire contents of the shelves and Blake's personal collection she hides under the bunk."
"Which one of them?" Yang asked as she held up a shirt in front of her, critically eying it.
"Dust, all of them I'm sure. I've no idea how you can stand letting Ruby read that tripe though."
"She's her own girl, if she wants to read bad ninja smut with Blake she can," Yang replied as Weiss stepped out of the changing room holding the dress. Yang eyed Weiss for a moment, before the heiress sighed and nodded. Yang broke out into a wide grin again, winking at Weiss.
Weiss pointed at Yang. "You know the rules. If I buy this dress, you have to buy something like it too."
Yang nodded enthusiastically. "Yup, I already got it! I found a dress for me too, that's how I stumbled across that one!"
Weiss arched an eyebrow at Yang. "So who are you trying to impress, hmm Miss Xiao Long?"
Yang sputtered, her face going red for a moment before she managed to control herself and glared at Weiss. "No one, Princess!"
"Sure, whatever you say, oaf."
"Oh shut it, Ice Queen."
"Make me, brutish fossil!"
"Fossil? I'm only three months older than you!"
"And thusly you'll always be the old fossil and I'll be the young beauty."
"I'll have you know we Xiao Long's age incredibly well! You should see my father, looks like he's still under thirty!"
"I have seen your father. I've also seen your uncle."
Yang made an hmph noise at that. "Hey, Qrow's a perv, but he's still in his prime too."
Weiss rolled her eyes as she carefully held the dress, gesturing to the desk at the front of the store. "Well? Are we ready to return?"
Yang grabbed up the plastic containing the dress she'd found, along with assorted other articles of clothing she'd found and nodded. "I wanna stop and get a coffee before we return though. I feel like we're gonna need it."
Weiss shrugged as she lay her clothing out at the register, handing her card to the attendant without waiting for the total. "Sure, I could go for some coffee. But to go, we have to get back before curfew or Glynda will have our heads. Again."
Yang chuckled as she pulled out her wallet to pay for her clothing. "Aw, it wasn't that bad, at least it was just training."
Weiss rolled her eyes. "For you, miss 'works out six hours a day', sure. I don't do well with weight training."
"Yeah, you're too scrawny for that. But since Ruby likes you being scrawny like that, guess you won't complain huh?"
Weiss spun about eyes wide as she stuttered. "W-wait, Ruby likes…wait, no! I don't know what you're talking about!" Weiss turned away from Yang and snatched her bags off the counter, stomping to the door as Yang grabbed her own and followed her, chuckling.
Weiss shook her head slightly, clenching her eyes closed tightly for a moment before opening them to glare once more at Yang. Forget that, forget the past, forget it all, Yang had to pay! That's what they said she had to do, that's how she'd get Ruby back. Right, they knew what they were talking about. She could trust them, they'd been the ones there for her when no one else was. They had promised she'd have Ruby back and it was coming true, so of course they were right! Right? But first…payback.
The summoned knight lifted its blade, holding it out wide as though to bring it across in a wide slash. Blake's voice caught in her throat as she tried to scream out, but Pyrrha wasn't frozen. Metal chains scattered about the courtyard flung up and wrapped themselves around the massive creature, tethering it to the ground and nearly dragging the sword from its hands. Weiss growled, and with a peremptory gesture rune circles formed around the chains, glowing a brilliant blue for a brief moment before the metal shattered. The knight quickly flung its right arm out to the side, heading towards Pyrrha's form. She lifted her shield to intercept the blow, the force of it launching her off her feet.
Jaune cried out, throwing his free arm out to grab Pyrrha. His prosthetic lost grip on the wall as her momentum hit him, and the two of them went tumbling to the ground, his leg sparking and hissing as it skidded across the cracked concrete below. Ren began to move forward, but a black glyph formed below his feet and locked him to the ground, preventing him from moving. Not once did Weiss let her eyes leave Yang's as she straightened her shoulders. The knight once again lifted its sword, preparing to swing.
In that moment, Blake, unable to move, barely registered the sounds of a weapon unfolding behind her, or how the air suddenly felt full of static. But a tremendous explosion behind her got her attention, just in time to see a blur shoot forward in a blaze of flame. For a second, Blake's addled mind confused the fire for Yang's, wondering when Yang had moved, but one moment later, as the knight was impacted by the blur, its form shattering into nothingness as it was disintegrated in one blow, Weiss tumbling away as well.
Yang dropped from the wall where she had been held, her legs hitting the ground and instantly buckling, falling to her knees with a loud crunch. She hissed in pain, biting her lip, but just let herself fall the rest of the way, slumping into a sitting posture against the wall. Blake looked up to see a wrathful Nora standing above Weiss, Magnhild at the ready, her face twitching slightly not unlike Weiss'.
Nora snarled at Weiss. "How could you?! Blake has spent years looking for you two and Ruby, and the first thing you do is fucking try to kill Yang?! She's your friend Weiss! So is Blake! And you fucking hurt Jaune and Pyrrha and almost hurt my Ren!" Nora darted down and grabbed one of Weiss' arms, yanking her to her feet and stepping forward into her space. With nearly identical height, their noses were barely a few centimeters apart as Nora glared at the wide-eyed Weiss.
Blake felt a sudden warmth blossom in her chest at Nora's words, reminding her once again that she didn't deserve such wonderful friends as these four. She glanced back to see Pyrrha on her feet, helping Jaune scramble up as he panted. She saw the tremors pass through him as he tried to support himself, but Pyrrha just threw his arm over her shoulder and gave him the solid foundation he needed to stand. Motion from Weiss brought her attention back to the two women before her, seeing Weiss shake her head once, twice, a third time. She brought one hand up to beside her head, the other shaking, as she smacked her palm on the side of her head, a gesture Blake had seen Nora do time and again.
Nora noticed it too, her glare turning into a shrewd glance as she narrowed her eyes at Weiss. She dropped Magnhild, the loud thud of the hammer drawing Weiss' attention to it for a brief moment before Nora planted her hands on Weiss' shoulders, forcing the white-haired woman to look at her. Ice blue eyes full of confusion latched onto Nora's. Nora cocked her head at Weiss and spoke, her voice quiet. "You hear them, don't you?"
Weiss nodded in response. Blake waited with bated breath as she watched Nora, who stood staring at Weiss for a moment, a look of understanding passing over the two women's faces. Nora reached down and grabbed Weiss' hands gently in her own, before pulling them up and covering Weiss' ears with them. She released Weiss' hands, before placing her own over her ears. The two kept their eyes locked for a moment as Weiss stopped shaking. She took a deep breath, the courtyard dead silent, before relaxing her shoulders.
For the first time since she'd arrived, her eyes seemed clear momentarily, although her face still twitched as her gaze scanned over the area. She stopped at Yang's slumped form, biting her lip, before she shook her head again. She looked over and for the first time in eight years, she saw Blake.
Amber and blue met, as Blake's eyes welled with tears. Weiss rocked back slightly, her expression unsure as she stared. Nora placed a hand on Weiss' shoulder, making her jolt, before giving her a small push towards Blake.
Weiss stumbled as she walked, leaving Myrtenaster behind on the ground where it had been thrown from her hand, but she managed to make it to a few feet before Blake's kneeling form. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but her head twitched and she closed her eyes tightly. She took in another deep breath, before looking down at Blake. "H-hi," she managed to choke out, before words failed her again. Ren came up beside her, looking down at Blake pityingly.
"Weiss, come with me. You should rest," he said, sharing a glance with Nora who nodded. She quickly grabbed Magnhild and Myrtenaster, before following after Ren. Blake opened her mouth as if to speak to her, still desiring to apologize for earlier, but Nora shook her head at her with a soft smile. She bent down for a brief moment to speak to Blake softly.
"It's ok Blake. You're forgiven. Gotta stick together, right? You can handle it, I believe in you! Now go get your partner." Nora straightened up and with a tiny nudge on Blake's shoulder, marched off after Ren who was leading a silent Weiss away.
Blake looked over to see Yang, still slumped against the wall, the bottle she had been holding currently held up to her face as she drained it. She shook it for a moment, before sighing, giving the bottle a weak toss. It hit the concrete on its side, but the throw had so little force in it the bottle just slid across the ground, skidding until it hit a crack in the concrete and rolled over it, getting stuck in the small dip it created.
Blake stumbled to her feet, shuffling slowly over towards Yang. As she got near, her nose was hit with the incredibly powerful scent of alcohol. She nearly felt drunk just from the scent. For her part, Yang slowly lifted her head to look up at the approaching Blake. Blake had lost track of how many times she'd choked back a gasp today, but this time she couldn't resist letting it out.
Yang's eyes, once such a clear lilac, were bloodshot and blurry. Her right eye was blackening, the bruise spreading across her face rapidly, turning pale, dirty skin to a dark color. Her lip was split, blood trickling down her chin, dripping off it to fall into her lap. As she glanced at Blake, a spark of recognition flared as she mumbled in a raspy voice. "Hi Blake."
Blake gulped, feeling so many emotions flooding through her at once she wasn't sure what she was feeling anymore. But she was determined that this meeting would go better than the one with Weiss. "H-hello, Yang." Inwardly she winced. Who the hell just says 'hello' to someone they'd not seen in eight years?
"I look like shit, I know," Yang commented. She gave a humorless chuckle. "You got anything to drink around here?"
Blake straightened up. "O-of, of course! I mean, I can get you some water, and we have some juice somewhere-"
"That's not what I meant and you know it. You're not that stupid Blake, unless things have changed that much," Yang's tone was drained and tired as she replied to Blake.
Blake felt like she had been slapped from Yang's words, and her jaw dropped. "I…I…" She mentally slapped herself. Now wasn't the time to be getting insulted by Yang's insinuations. Yang was still hurting and upset and drunk, no need to blame her. "W-well, you really shouldn't be-"
"Shut…up," Yang warned, making Blake jerk back in shock. "I don't care what I should or shouldn't be doing, got that?" Blake's mouth dropped open at the openly hostile tone in Yang's voice, her eyes flaring red for the briefest of moments. "I spent eight years thinking my baby sister was dead, and now you people fucking come around telling me she's alive or whatever. I sure hope you're right, because when I find her, if she doesn't have a damn good explanation, I'm going to break her fucking face. So, believe me when I say, I need a fucking drink."
Blake was saved having to respond by Pyrrha's timely arrival, the red-haired woman reaching down and hauling Yang to her feet. "I'll find you something. Let me show you to your room."
Blake just watched as Pyrrha helped Yang stumble away. Pyrrha turned around and mouthed 'I'm sorry' to Blake as she tried to help Yang walk away, leaving Blake stunned. A hitch clack noise from behind alerted her to Jaune's presence behind her.
"I'm sorry that this went like this, Blake," he said, his voice contrite.
Blake shook her head in negation. "No. I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't want to believe it. I…I don't know…I don't know what to do now. How do I fix this? Jaune, what do I do?!"
Jaune placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze as he leaned slightly on her. She reset her stance automatically, used to the position. The two of them would often stand like this, late into the night, looking up at the sky and just talking, going over their day. Sometimes they'd talk about their worries and fears, just the two of them. Jaune didn't want to burden Ren, not with how much Ren had to work through to help Nora, nor could he talk to Pyrrha when half of them featured his worries about his relationship with her.
For Blake's part, she found Jaune to be the perfect, attentive listener. He'd just listen as she spoke to him about her mission, about her wish to have her team whole again, and never discouraged her. It was nice, having someone who'd just be there by you and would listen.
He sighed. "I don't know, Blake. I really don't know. Maybe…maybe it'll get better after a little while. It's been eight years. Nora can help Weiss I'm sure. Whatever's wrong with her, seems to be a lot like Nora's problem."
"Ren said Weiss was vivisecting and torturing the Grimm. Nora didn't do that."
"Nora has a hammer. Weiss has a rapier. Weapon probably had something to do with that. Nora did break the legs of every Grimm she found after all."
Blake had no idea why that made her giggle, but something about that memory, about that line, reminded her of the first time she'd ever said that. Jaune's dry chuckle beside her made her realize he had thought the same as her, the two of them sharing a tiny laugh for just a brief moment. She sighed, taking a deep breath after. "We probably shouldn't be laughing at that."
Jaune shrugged. "We probably shouldn't do a lot of things. Doesn't seem to stop us."
Blake smiled, a genuine smile as she glanced up at Jaune. A single tear trickled out of her eye as she sniffled slightly. "Thank you. For being here."
Jaune glanced down at his leg, and flexed his other arm for a moment, before giving a rueful half laugh. "Not easy for me to go anywhere else, really."
Blake gave him a gentle push in the shoulder, before straightening up. "I guess we should head in. Let's get you back to your room."
Jaune nodded, shuffling forward with the same clanking noises as Blake walked beside him. "Maybe tomorrow will be better."
Blake closed her eyes tightly, squeezing them together before taking a deep breath. "I hope so, but I doubt it right now."
"Have hope, Blake. Don't give that up. It's kept you going this long. I'm sure it'll serve you well."
|
Connor and his parents were saying their goodbyes to Melissa as they dropped her off at the train station. It was Sunday afternoon and Connor and Melissa had spent the day filling each other in on their respective lives. Melissa had told him that she wouldn’t say anything about him being gay to his friends at home. Connor said he didn’t care if she did.
It had been good and nice to see Melissa again. Despite that, Connor was more than happy seeing her get on the train as he picked up his phone and called the one he’d wanted to talk to all day.
After a few rings, Jude denied the call. Connor just shrugged and figured he’d just try him again later since he obviously was busy. When Connor got into the car he received a text.
“Sorry, can’t talk today. We talk tomorrow at school, ok?”
Connor couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He had been looking forward to this since to woke up this morning after all.
“Ok. Is everything ok?”
“It’s ok. Phil is just being weird. Talk tomorrow.”
“Ok I understand. Miss you :)”
“:) Miss you too.”
Connor still wanted to hear his voice. God how he wanted to hear his voice. That last text did however make Connor smile and brought a warm feeling to his chest. Possibly slight on the left side of his chest. He could wait until tomorrow. Probably.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Jude was sitting on his bed texting with Connor. Seeing Connor’s text telling him he missed him brought a smile to his face for the first time since Phil came home several hours ago.
Jude’s mind had been working nonstop for a long time now. He had so many things to think about and consider that he didn’t even know where to start. This thing with Connor, that had only been a thing, a fantasy. This thing was miraculously turning into something real. He never in a million years thought it would.
He didn’t want to have to think about what this could mean. What he would have to do. What Connor would have to do. He just wanted to think about the fact that Connor had given him the first kiss of his life. He had his first kiss not 24 hours ago in this very room. That is what he should be able to think about, nothing else. Unfortunately, reality was not that kind to Jude Jacob.
His mind was still racing. If only Connor wouldn’t have come along. His plan had always been to survive the years in this house and afterwards his life could begin without any lies or facades.
Now, Connor was here and he couldn’t even imagine a life without him. He snorts at himself. How pathetic he is. This thing with Connor, he shouldn’t feel like this already. It’s happened too fast. Can’t imagine a life without him. He repeats in his head mockingly. If only it wasn’t the truth though, if only.
Problem is, a life with Connor can never be. If Connor knew everything about Jude and of his past, not even his superhero would stay. Connor was a saint for sure, but not even he would stay…
Or would he? If anyone would stay it would be him… No, stop it. You know better Jude.
But he’s perfect…
Yes, he is. But you are not. He made sure of that a long time ago.
Jude shook his head, he had enough problems to think about to let his internal dialogues take over what was left of his sanity. Jude walked into the bathroom and took off his shirt.
He’s done this so many times before but for some reason it’s even harder this time. He knows why. He’s reminded of why his heart doesn’t even stand a chance. Connor will break it unwillingly.
He trails the fingers on his upper body and chest. He closes his eyes when a split-second memory flashes before his eyes. A horrible memory. He can’t believe it still hurts, just thinking about it. He regains control and opens his eyes again, staring into the mirror.
You’re disgusting. He made sure of that.
Jude puts his shirt back on. He notices that he’s got tears running down his cheeks. He’s almost amused that it seems that it’s so common that he doesn’t even register when he starts crying. He lies down on his bed and picks up his phone. He hesitates. He hasn’t done this in a long time but he needs to.
He types in a text and sends it to a number not in his address book.
“Hey it’s Jude. I need to see you.”
It takes several minutes for the recipient to reply.
“Jude. Long time no see. Name the time and place, I’ll be there.”
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Callie called, as she always did on Monday mornings. Both of them were polite to each other but no more than that. Jude didn’t have the energy to engage her and she didn’t know what to say. It had been one of their more awkward conversations. Jude didn’t even mention Connor to her. She didn’t deserve it he figured.
Jude and his four friends are as usual walking to school together. Madison is going on about all the embarrassing things she did at the party. Melissa seemed to have made an impression, she and Hannah had even texted afterwards. All in all, the party had been a hit.
“Hey Jude, why did you leave so early?” Ashley asked, being a little out of the loop.
“I just didn’t feel well. Didn’t want to make you all sick if I was coming down with something.”
“Ok. Don’t know if you’ve heard but you missed Connor and Chris having some kind of fall-out.” Jacob said.
That peaked Jude’s interest.
“Umm… no I didn’t hear.” Jude was afraid to ask but he did it anyway. “What about?”
“Don’t know. I think it was about Melissa because Chris was angry about something to do with her. Perhaps Connor was jealous or something.”
Jude made a mental note to ask Connor about it.
“I don’t know. Chris almost seemed angry at Connor for bringing her at all. It was super weird.” Hannah had been sober and she still couldn’t wrap her head around the situation.
“And shortly thereafter Connor left, and after that Chris left.” Jacob stated.
“Boys will be boys.” Madison said and they all agreed.
Jude was relieved when the conversation drifted towards other topics.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
The gang had split up when they arrived at Anchor Beach. Jude was deep in thought as he made his way towards his locker.
His troubled mind and expression needed but a second to be blown away completely. When he looked up to orientate his way to the locker he saw him. Connor had already seen him as he was leaning on Jude’s locker. When their eyes locked Connor’s smile filled all that was Jude. Jude had to hinder himself from laughing and running towards Connor.
“Hey you…” Connor said as Jude approached him.
Jude was already blushing just looking at Connor. Where did this come from? God I’m awkward…
“Hey you…” Jude replied while taking in Connor’s appearance. Connor was wearing a dark blue short-sleeved shirt tucked into his tigh-… into his jeans. Jude liked the belt… yes, it was a nice belt. Jude looked up again. Yes… awkward it is.
“Had a good Sunday?” Connor asked.
Jude shrugged, he really hadn’t.
“I had a better Saturday.” Jude replied giving Connor a sly smile.
Connor snickered. “Yeah, me too.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to compare any day to Saturday.” Connor said.
Jude shook his head, neither one of them breaking eye-contact.
“No. It was… a really good day. Well when I think about it the best part actually happened on Sunday.”
Connor was confused for about two seconds, his mind still occupied with just looking at Jude’s perfect face. He had to make an effort not to constantly flicker down his gaze to those plump lips, the lower one fatter than the upper one. Oh yes Connor could probably draw a picture of Jude's lips blindfolded.
“Yeah you’re right. Early Sunday was pretty awesome.”
“It was…” Jude was a goner.
After just looking at each other in a comfortable silence, Connor finally said.
“You know I think I might need tutoring again. Soon.”
Jude laughed, mostly at the way Connor’s eyebrow went up suggestively.
“I guess we have to have a session then. Can’t have my student flunking any subjects now can I?”
“No. Imagine the shame. So… my place, after school?”
“I can come over after dinner, if that’s ok?”
“Yeah sorry, forgot about that…” Connor gave Jude a sympathetic look.
“It’s alright. I’ll text you when I hop on my bike.”
“Great! I have to get to class, see you tonight then.” Connor is grinning when he starts to walk away from Jude.
“Hey Connor, which books should I bring?”
Connor turned around and looked at Jude, he shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.” Connor’s smile is infectious and Jude returns it.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
“I’m on my way!”
Jude puts down his phone in his pocket and puts on his helmet. He had just told Phil that he was going to Hannah’s. He didn’t want Phil to know about he and Connor hanging out more than necessary.
He had already informed Hannah to cover for him if needed. She didn’t like it, he noticed. She didn’t care about lying to Phil, no that wasn’t it. He could tell that she was worried about him. For now, Jude didn’t care, he just wanted to be around Connor again. He… needed to stay in this fantasy a while longer.
Jude’s bike had never gone faster than it did this Monday afternoon.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
“Please dad!”
“Nope. Not a chance.”
Connor groaned.
“Sweetie you can’t kick us out on such short notice. Your father has work to do.”
“He just wants to be here so he can embarrass me!”
“I am hurt that you would even think that about me.” Adam said jokingly.
“Your father will behave.” Mrs. Stevens looked over at her husband. “Won’t you dear?” She gave him a look. Their son needed to be able to calm down as he was on the edge of freaking out already.
“I will. Don’t worry.”
Connor sighed. His parent’s weren’t yielding.
“Fine… But you are not to come into my room.”
The Stevens’s looked at each other awkwardly.
“What?” Connor noticed.
“Umm… your mother… and I would prefer if you left the door open.”
Connor knew this wasn’t Adam’s idea.
“What!? Are you kidding me? Why?”
“Well you’ve kissed…” Mrs. Stevens started.
“So?! You only know because I told you! I can’t believe this.” Connor was starting to get upset.
“Calm down son it’s not that big of a deal.” Adam tried to soothe him.
“Yes it is! It’s not fair. We’re just going to study!” Connor was for once sounding like the teenager he was and not his normal mature self.
The Stevens’s looked at each other once again. Adam gave his wife a silent pleading look, she gave him a small nod.
“Ok… we leave you two alone and you can have the door closed. But you have to tell us if things… progress. Deal?”
Connor didn’t like it but time was running out. Jude was already on his way.
“Fine. Deal.” Connor shook his parent’s hands, as custom demanded when they made a deal.
Connor was going back up to his room when he remembered something, he looked back at his father.
“And promise you won’t embarrass me.”
Adam smirked. “Sorry son, not part of the deal.”
Connor just sighed loudly and walked upstairs in defeat. Life was unfair. Adam laughed seeing his son’s retreating figure going up the stairs.
Mrs. Stevens looked sternly at her husband.
“Really Adam can’t you give him a break. It’s hard enough being sixteen without having your parents meddling with your love life.”
“I know I know. I can tell having Jude over tonight means a lot to him. I’ll be good. That doesn’t mean he has to know that.”
His wife just shook her head. “You’ll never change Adam Stevens…”
Adam chuckled. After a few minutes of them reading in silence he asked her.
“Hey, you ok?”
“Yes why shouldn’t I?”
“This… our son, having a boy over. You know as much I do they won’t study all night.”
Mrs. Stevens gulped. She had preferred thinking that her son wasn’t doing anything other than study, it was naive of course, deep down she knew that.
“He’s a good kid you know. Jude. I’ve never met a boy as kind as Connor before I met Jude.”
Mrs. Stevens nods. “I know… I haven’t talked to him much but I can tell. He seems nice.”
“And Connor likes him. A lot.” Adam emphasizes the last part.
“What do you mean?”
“He told me… about the time he first saw him…” Adam paused a moment before going on.
“Let’s just say that I don’t think our son just have some crush.”
“Adam… he’s only sixteen.”
“And I’m forty-five. I’ve seen and heard a lot… But I’ve never heard anyone talk about another person the way Connor talks about Jude.”
The Stevens’s look at each other a few moments. Mrs. Stevens can’t fight the smile creeping up on her face as she’s observing her husband.
“What?” Adam asks.
“Oh just you… being you. Always the hopeless romantic. How did I become so lucky?”
Adam smiles softly, reaching out for her hand.
“You know why… angeleyes.”
Mrs. Stevens almost blushes. It has been long time ago since he last called her that. On the other hand, it has been a long time ago since her family were this close.
They sit in silence for a while. And as it sometimes does, Mrs. Stevens mind start to race. She’s been told from several experts that it’s something that she has no control over.
“Thank you… for staying.” Tears building up in no time, it had happened quite often since the move to San Diego.
Adam tightens the grip of her hands.
“What are you talking about. It’s us. It’s you and me and Connor. It’s always going to be us.”
“You didn’t sign up for this… for me. I wasn’t like this when we met. I was… not sick.” Tears were running down her cheeks. She frees a hand from Adam’s grasp and wipes her face.
“Honey… I did sign up for this. A long time ago. In sickness and in health. Remember?” Adam talks slowly, the way he needs to do to be able to talk her down. He need her to listen to the words.
“God… I’m sorry. I know Jude is coming over soon. I want to say hi to him. For Connor. I’ll go and freshen up.”
Still not 100 % stable but Adam had succeeded, she was in control again.
“Take your time honey. If you feel you can’t right now you can always tell him goodbye when he leaves.”
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Jude is panting when he dismounts his bike outside the Stevens’s. Jude panting doesn’t mean that much. Stamina isn’t his strong suit but he had made an effort to be at Connor’s as quickly as possible.
He takes off his helmet and walks up to the front door. He takes a few deep breaths before ringing the doorbell.
Adam opens up and welcomes him with a wide smile.
“Hey Jude, welcome! Come on in.”
“Hi Mr. Stevens, nice to see you.” Jude is standing up straight, he’s planning to make a good impression. Even though it isn’t the first time he’s meeting the Stevens’s this time it feels important to Jude. Wonder why.
Adam notices Jude’s efforts and he picks up on the hint of nervousness that Jude’s trying to conceal.
“Nice to see you too. But please Jude, you know it’s Adam.”
Jude nods at Adam before he takes off his shoes and jacket.
“Connor is upstairs. I’m not sure but I think he’s looking forward for your tutoring lesson.”
“Yeah me too. By the way can I use the bathroom?”
“Sure Jude, go ahead.” Adam points towards the downstairs bathroom and Jude makes his way there.
Jude goes directly to the mirror, he unzips his backpack and takes out his hair wax. He carefully molds his hair exactly as it’s supposed to be. He couldn’t let Connor see him in helmet-hair now could he? He takes a final look in the mirror. “Like a pro…”
Adam can barely refrain from smiling seeing Jude coming out of the bathroom with his hair completely different from before he went in there. The toilet didn’t flush, Adam noticed.
Jude is about to head upstairs when Mrs. Stevens comes out of the master bedroom.
“Oh hey Jude, good to see you.”
Jude’s opinion about Connor’s mother sure had changed over the months. He knew all about feeling worthless on the inside and what it did to you.
“Hi Mrs. Stevens, nice to see you too. I like your dress.”
“Thank you Jude, but please you can call me Mi-“
“Jude!” Connor was standing on top of the stairs, his enthusiasm over Jude being here lost to no one.
Adam shook his head and now he couldn’t help himself from smiling widely. Connor had changed his clothes for the fourth time today and he had probably spent an hour on doing his hair. Images of the two of them fighting over the use of the mirror going through Adam’s head.
“Hey Connor!” Jude forgot his manners as his focus shifted from Mrs. Stevens to the boy on top of the stairs. Mrs. Stevens didn’t mind, the look on Jude’s face while he looked at her son told her all she needed to know.
Connor had finally decided for a white t-shirt that fitted him like it was tailor made. His pecs showing through the thin fabric and the short sleeves barely fitted Connor’s arms. He was wearing a pair of denim light blue jeans that he got when he was at the mall with Jude.
The two boys just stood there and looked at each other for a few moments before Adam coughed, very discreetly of course.
“So, you two just let us know if you need anything. We’ll be downstairs.” Adam said.
As Jude walked up the stairs Mrs. Stevens joined him. Seeing Connor’s face as Jude made it to the top of the stairs gave them both a warm feeling inside. Adam kissed his wife on top of her head as she was leaning on his shoulder.
“God, I remember when you looked at me like that…” She says with a hint of nostalgia in her voice.
“Hey, I still do.” Adam says while planting another kiss on her head.
“You know what I mean.” She says jokingly.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
As Jude walks into Connor’s room with his backpack over his shoulder he immediately notices that Connor’s room is clean. Like, ridiculous clean. Jude approves.
Jude turns around the same moment that Connor closes the door to his room. Connor leans his back against the door and looks at him. Jude figures he’ll never get used to having Connor look at him like that. Connor exhales and his eyes are shining, like he’s relieved that Jude is finally there.
Jude takes another moment to just look at Connor. His tanned skin against the white t-shirt was a look that Jude didn’t mind one bit. Jude bites his lower lip, unintentional of course, before he speaks without thinking.
“You look hot…”
The second the words left his lips Jude realizes what he just said. His eyes go wide and his usual pale skin goes red.
Jude close his eyes and hid his face in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry… God I’m awkward… Sorry.”
Oh, if Jude only knew what the evening in Connor’s room had in hold regarding that topic.
|
"How. Did. You?" Lexa tried to catch her breath as Clarke trailed a line of kisses back up her body, stopping to nip at the soft curve below her hip.
"Where did you learn to do that?" She finally managed, releasing the fistfuls of sheets that she had been gripping to drag Clarke's face back toward her own. Clarke only grinned and kissed her. Lexa felt Clarke's body shudder on top of hers, the same aftershocks she was experiencing, telling her that she had not been alone in her ecstasy.
"Clarke," she murmured again against her love's soft lips, tasting herself on them.
"Believe it or not? Reading." Clarke answered finally, pushing herself up slightly to roll off to Lexa's side.
"Reading? Reading taught you all that?" Lexa turned her head to follow Clarke's movement, resting when they were nose to nose again.
"I have a really good research library at my disposal. Really really good. Also the Internet." She laughed extracting herself from the bed, brushing gently at the silver bar in Lexa's still stiff nipple as she pulled away. She waited for Lexa to breathe again before asking,
"Water?"
"Please."
"I'll be right back, don't move."
"I'm not sure I can." Lexa let her head drop back into the pillow dramatically to prove her point, Clarke's laugh filled the room behind her as she went downstairs to the kitchen.
"Well, now I'm exhausted, I feel like I should apologize for keeping you up after a long day," Clarke said as she returned with two bottles of water, hers already down to half.
"Don't you dare. Never in my life have I been happier to miss a few hours of sleep." Lexa cut in, grabbing her bottle on one hand, and pulling Clarke back into bed with the other. She huffed a short laugh,
"Honestly, you are scary amazing in bed, I'm almost embarrassed, I don't think I will ever be able to live up to that. First and last time, I give up, can't compete, you win." Lexa reached for the crumpled bedding and pulled it up over them, wrapping herself around Clarke with tickling fingers as she joked. Clarke's response was to halfheartedly bat her away, giggling at her girlfriend's antics.
"A fluke performance I'm sure, beginner's luck. I'm thinking it's safe to assume it's been a very long time since you've been laid, since you've obviously forgotten what good is." Clarke teased, Lexa's praise making her blush. "How long has it been? We've never brought that particular topic up."
Lexa chewed her lip, squinting upward to think.
"Aside from the two 'almosts' at your mother's house.... that was eight months, Ummm, tack another ten to that? Yeah, before Afghanistan, the senate tour. Texas." She snapped her fingers as she remembered.
"I can't remember her name though."
"What did you get a hooker? Do we need to get tested?" Clarke asked, only half sarcastically.
"No. No, she was a friend. Ish? She was technically part of my mission." Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Not to sleep with her! I was guard detail for a senator, she was one of his assistants or press managers or something. We just spent a lot of time waiting outside closed doors together. Anyway, your turn. How long has it been?" Lexa turned the conversation back to Clarke before she dug herself a deeper hole.
"Well... not eighteen months? More like, maybe nine?" Clarke flinched back from Lexa's embrace expecting shock or judgement or even anger.
"Oh?" was all she got. Lexa just looked curious.
"It was just some stupid thing. We were just screwing around and he wanted it to be more serious. I called it off a few weeks before I flew home."
"Why do you seem nervous about this? we've been together for eight months, what you were doing nine months ago isn't anything I can get upset about." Lexa's face drew up in concern.
"It's not really a big deal, it's just we were friends, and then that happened, and well, we still run into each other a lot. He's kinda my neighbor." Clarke tapped the wall behind their heads indicating the next apartment over.
"Same floorplan over there?" Lexa asked, throwing Clarke off for a second before she nodded.
Lexa just grinned at her. The upstairs of the townhome was essentially just a bedroom loft, which meant that this neighbor's bedroom was right on the other side of the wall, probably an exact mirror to Clarke's.
"So he probably heard us?"
Clarke dragged a hand down her face, groaning.
"I can never leave the house again." She moaned.
"Is it really that bad? He's a guy, he's probably been jerking off this whole time, live action lesbian porn next door is kind of every guy's fantasy." Lexa had heard plenty of her classmates and fellow marines say as much over the years. She'd had to transfer out of one unit because one of her teammates hadn't stopped harassing her when he'd found out she was sleeping with a woman and he wanted to watch.
"Actually, he's probably sobbing into his pillow right now. Wells is, he's kinda still puppy dog in love with me. He helped me move in here, and we started hanging out and got to be really good friends and it was cute at first. Then we got drunk and slept together and it was fun so I let it keep happening, but then he wanted to actually date and do couples things. I just couldn't see him as anything other than my friend, and I broke his heart." Clarke's guilt spilled out all at once.
"He tries to act like it doesn't bother him, and I've tried to stay friends with him, but it's really awkward now. I couldn't tell him about you, I just couldn't cross that line, talking about relationships with him, and now he's probably over there crying thinking I'm just randomly hooking up with women that show up at my doorstep."
"I'm suddenly questioning your judgement on mentally sound partners Clarke."
"Rude." Clarke stuck her tongue out, grazing the tip of Lexa's nose with it and earning another blitz of tickles.
"If it's really bothering you, why don't we talk to him together, maybe if he understands that you didn't blow him off just to 'randomly hook up' with other people, he'll chill out a bit. You still want to be friends with him right? If he cares, he'll understand and maybe try to move on." Lexa said as she relented, propping her head up on one hand to look at Clarke.
"And none of this bothers you?" Clarke asked incredulously.
"Should it? Should I be shocked that someone else fell in love with you like I did? I'd be pretty torn up in his position too. Maybe not crying myself to sleep over it, but I'm not a pansy, so..." Lexa rolled her eyes and sucked in a breath through her teeth, shrugging slightly. "Maybe I should be a little jealous. But this isn't someone you used to love, this is a friend you used to fuck, I'm not worried about you suddenly deciding to leave me for him, that would be more than a little crazy. I'm messed up, but not that insecure."
Clarke could only shake her head, in awe of Lexa's ability to rationalize a situation that could have gotten grossly out of hand. She could remember Bellamy and Finn being almost violently jealous of each other in high school just for being 'the ex' and the 'new boyfriend' even though by the time Clarke was dating Finn, Bellamy was technically her brother. A fact that for some reason, made Finn even more possessive and Bellamy more protective. Two things that did not mesh well and caused both boys to be kicked out of family dinners multiple times, and ultimately led to Clarke cutting Finn out of her life.
"You aren't messed up Lex, really. Sure you've got crazy ass nightmares, but messed up people don't take finding out the person their girlfriend used to sleep with still lives next door quite so well. You've actually got a pretty healthy outlook on things."
"What are you a shrink now too? Clarke Griffin: Political space lawyer and psychobablist."
It was Clarke's turn to launch a tickle attack, finding an unexpected sweet spot at Lexa's ribs.
"Your therapist is going to hate you." Clarke informed her as she writhed away from the unbearable torture. "And there's a psych pre-requisite for Law. How else are you going to convince a jury or figure out if your client is being honest."
"Ok, ok, you win!" Lexa panted, signalling her defeat, and Clarke relented.
Trying to catch her breath she brought them back to a less sarcastic level of conversation.
"It’s good for some things, I’ll admit that, but lets just agree to not talk about the psychowhatsit anymore yeah? That shit makes me nervous as hell. I don't like me being in my brain, I really don't want anyone else poking around in there." She yawned and Clarke brushed her now wild hair away from her face, deciding she’d kept Lexa up way past her bedtime. It was late on the west coast, and Lexa’s body was still set to east coast time.
"Sleep love. We'll talk about all this in the morning ok?" Lexa hummed agreement as Clarke reached over her to click the lamp off.
"You have Space. On your ceiling...." Lexa muttered, her eyes adjusting to the dark to find a swirl of stars glowing above her. She was at once awed by the talent obvious in the drawing of it, and slightly concerned why a twentyfive-year-old would chalk a glow in the dark galaxy all over her bedroom ceiling, and where she had obtained glow in the dark chalk.
"Yep!" was the chipper reply, accompanied by a kiss on the cheek before she settled into Lexa's side.
"Ok."
|
Wednesday, 16 June 2004
Should she?
It’s ridiculous.
He’ll hate it. He’ll hate her.
Hermione turns the bottle over in her hand, staring at the plain, undecorated label, the gloomy walls of her office fading into the background.
Apothecaria
Well of course he won’t hate it; he liked it before. And liking something, Hermione is realizing, is the rarest stamp of approval that anything can get from Snape. She knows, now, that his love is all tangled up with guilt in the most intricate of ways. His hatred comes as naturally as breathing does to him. Amusement is rare, but even she has achieved that on occasion. But liking something, as far as she can see, has only ever extended to this shampoo, to the coffee she brings him from her favorite cafe, and to Esmerelda on the Green (“Ezzie,” for short), the ancient therapy kneazle that visits his ward every other day.
Maybe one day, he’ll extend it to her.
If she doesn’t fuck it all up royally by giving him this shampoo.
She isn’t sure what had prompted her to go to the expensive part of Diagon yesterday on her walk home from St. Mungo’s. She had been thinking of Snape and what it must have been like for him, keeping everything hidden away, keeping Rosier hidden — from Dumbledore; from everyone. She wondered the efforts he must have gone through to conceal… whatever their relationship was. She wasn’t sure what it must have been like, both of them in Slytherin, both of them in the Death Eaters, surrounded at most times by a cohort of pureblood extremists and dealing with the general levels of ignorance at the time.
Rosier got him flowers. Something that no one — not even she — had thought to do when he woke up in St. Mungo’s.
It was with this thought in mind that she had impulsively grabbed the shampoo off the shelf, determined not to wince when she was told the price.
She had gone home, pondering Snape’s past through the rest of her evening, stirring her takeout dinner absently, wondering if he and Rosier had ever eaten together, wondering if Snape cooked for him, wondering if Snape cooked at all, or if, like her, settled for scrambled eggs at midnight as an acceptable form of sustenance.
The odd patchwork memory removal had created more questions than answers; unbidden flashes of his memory flitting across her mind.
What she didn’t see;
What he kept;
Insignificant moments that somehow seem more significant than anything when pulled from the right context; from the right state of emotional vulnerability.
She had fallen asleep with the side of her face pressed into the pillow, thoughts swirling with black petals and black hair and black coffee.
-
Suddenly, her door bursts open, and DMLE Head Liam Hughes looms in front of her.
“Granger. I’m glad I caught you.”
“What can I help you with?” Hermione asks, trying to will her pulse to slow. She sets the bottle of shampoo down on her work bench as though it can be camouflaged by the surrounding bottles of memory. It doesn’t work. Hughes moves closer, eyes narrowing as he surveys her work with hawklike precision.
“I thought we could have another chat about your research. I’m aware of your current project, but once it’s completed, we’d like to circle back to our previous proposal.”
Her heart sinks. How did he know about her current project? Was it Harry who told him? Or Dumbledore?
And which morally dubious “previous” proposal is he referring to? There were several.
“You mean the charmwork to make memories resistant to Occlumency once replaced?” she ventures. That endeavor had failed rather grimly, which is why so much pressure had then been put on Blaise to create a potion equivalent.
“Ah, I had forgotten about that. Although we’re a bit past the time, what with the man whose memories you’re currently working on being the only one we’d really have a concern for unflappable Occlusion.”
“How — how did you know about —” Hermione cuts in, curiosity unable to be contained.
“I’m referring,” he continues, pointedly ignoring her interruption, “to the illumination charms, designed to identify falsehoods.”
Shite.
“Of course. Well. As you might remember from our previous discussion,” Hermione says and then realizes how transparent her stalling must appear. She tries to square her shoulders. “Color coding Pensieve scenes for perusal is easy enough. But falsehoods are things we would need to already know — before I begin the coloring charms — and that is not something I’ve been trained to —”
“It’s funny you should mention training. And yet you still continue to dodge all my offers to audit the Auror Basic Training to learn these exact techniques. Granger” — he steps closer, the smell of him like metal and determination invading her senses — “I’m offering you an opportunity, here.”
Hermione hesitates for a brief moment before drawing herself up and meeting his eye. “And I’m declining.”
He chuckles in response, his teeth glinting in the cool light. “Perhaps we can revisit this topic another time, then, when you’re sufficiently… motivated.”
She gives a tight smile in response and stands her ground, and it’s only after he leaves that she relaxes her arms that have somehow tightened across her chest.
She paces around her office a bit before the silence feels too full of the echoes of the conversation with Hughes. She wrenches her door open, intent on grounding herself with a visit to Blaise.
“What’s on the menu for today?” she asks, hoping her voice conceals the desperation she feels for some normalcy.
“Habanero salsa.” Blaise pauses a moment to count his stirs.
“A very respectful pepper,” Hannah says from the doorway, lips barely covering her teeth as she fights off a smile.
“I can’t even see where you’re going with this one,” Hermione says.
“Oh really?” Hannah asks with mock innocence. “Do you want to know how you can tell if a pepper is being nosey?”
“No,” Blaise says.
“Well I’ll tell you anyway: it gets jalapeno business! Thank you, I’ll see myself out.”
Hannah leaves a plate of scones on Blaise’s desk and places several protective wards over it before heading back to her office. For once, Hermione is grateful that no one is there to chastise them for eating around volatile ingredients, because when else would they eat? She’s surprised to realize that none of their portraits have ratted them out to any superior either.
Hermione pauses, casting her eyes around Blaise’s lab. There are more little cauldrons stationed around with more little flames and parchment notes on almost every surface.
“How many, er, recipes are you working on right now?”
He purses his lips together before answering, “Three. Everyone has different tastes. It can be challenging to know which to prioritize.”
Hermione nods and slowly steps away, deep in thought. At least this week’s recipe is going to be salsa and not something horrid like pickle soup — she freezes, hand halfway to the door of her office.
Pickle soup.
Stolen tax returns.
An unknown international job.
What was it that Percy had said?
“Not on me.”
The Ministry may not be able to find anything amiss with Percy’s impeccable record, but perhaps they could have discovered something about Luna Lovegood — Luna with her timely, furtive appearances in the Ministry and her penchant for anarchy.
It doesn’t feel like a fully satisfying explanation, but at least now Hermione has a vague understanding of Percy’s motives.
-
When she has secured herself in her office and triple checked the wards, Hermione reaches into her bag for Snape’s notes on the flasks of memories. She shouldn’t feel such an odd giddiness when reading his words to her. Especially when those words are things like, “Terrorizing students, presumably,” and “Emmeline Vance, Slytherin, class of 1979.” But somehow, being with him feels like taking a breath of air after being underwater.
It is with this thought in mind that she reaches for the next flask of memories. Something nostalgic and personal seems to tug at her magic, and her fingers trace the smooth, rounded glass that surrounds scenes from Hogwarts.
She tips it over her Pensieve and prods at it several times with her wand, whisking through an assortment of scenes from various familiar landmarks — the stone halls, the potions classroom — she pauses as the hospital wing flickers into view, and then she almost falls over when she sees a younger version of herself staring back with wide, tear-filled eyes.
She can’t help it. Fuck protocol. She staggers forward and plunges her face in.
There she is, sitting with legs dangling on the end of a starchy looking hospital cot, her front teeth having extended down to the level of her bellybutton as Madame Pomphrey sets aside a bowl of thick blue paste. She must have painted the ends of Hermione’s teeth with it to freeze them in place.
Strange. Hermione doesn’t remember this bit — only the spell to shrink them. She slips closer. Her younger self nods and blinks back her tears, scribbling a “Thanks” on a small lined notepad with a clickable pen.
Footsteps behind her sound suddenly, and she twists aside as Snape comes into view. He has a look of grim resolve, and a muscle twitches in his jaw as he stands before her. He begins speaking in a brusque tone.
“What I said was uncalled for. It’s not appropriate for me to make jokes at the expense of someone’s appearance. Not to mention hypocritical. I… apologize.” His face is blank and neutral now, and Hermione wonders how uncomfortable he must have been to Occlude so heavily.
She quickly tears her gaze from him and scans her own younger face. The tears had come back and are spilling over now, as she shakily reaches for her notepad and holds up the same message she had written to Pomphrey:
Thanks
Snape nods and sweeps away, the corner of his robes brushing the dividing curtain and sending a ripple across it.
Hermione blinks in shock, her eyes most certainly just as wide as the younger version of herself. But then the memory shifts again to the corridors of Hogwarts. She finds herself standing beside Snape as he pauses by a large seascape painting to let a group of students pass.
“Longbottom, a word.”
A terrified younger Neville freezes and slowly turns around to face them. His lower lip is trembling.
“I wouldn’t actually poison your pet toad.”
Neville’s face falls, and Snape gives an exasperated sigh at his horrified expression. “Or anything worse either! You just need to stop bringing him to Potions lab. The environment is incredibly hazardous to animals who aren’t themselves ingredients.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Neville stammers.
“And you should do the reading ahead of time and stop letting Ms. Granger salvage everything for you. She won’t be there to take your O.W.L.s.” His voice is gruff, but is there a pleading quality to it, or is Hermione just imagining it?
Neville can only nod in response.
“Would it be of use to send an owl to your grandmother? Perhaps she could help arrange —”
“No! Please don’t. I — I’ll try harder. Professor. I’ll read everything twice over before class. I promise.”
“Very well.”
Neville stares at him.
“Er — you may go.”
A beat later, Neville seems to regain control of his limbs and hurries off.
Hermione lingers, staring at Snape as he runs his hands through his lank hair and stomps off in the other direction.
The next memory shifts into view. Fred and George have somehow run into Snape at Honeydukes, eagerly pressing him with potions questions as they back him into the corner with the ice mice. The shop is packed, and Hermione can barely overhear his answers, but she doesn’t miss the way his mouth twitches in amusement or the earnest way George jots down his responses on a scrap of parchment he has propped on Fred’s back.
The potions classroom again. A tiny Luna Lovegood with ivy leaves woven into her scraggly hair, posing question after question about alternate realities, quantum physics, and the possibility of soul translocation. Snape answering each in turn, sipping tea with an amused expression on his face.
The memories come faster now.
Hagrid’s hut with baby pumpkins about the size of Quaffles. His large hand on Snape’s angular shoulder. “Don’t worry about forgetting tea, Professor, I know you’re busy with the first round of exams. We’ll grab a drink next week, eh?”
An older Luna Lovegood, beaming as she holds a roll of parchment covered with Snape’s red spiky comments. “I can’t wait to have this theory published in The Quibbler! Dad will send you a copy for free.”
On and on it goes. There are dozens of these brief little encounters. Snape saying sorry. Others insisting it was fine. People thanking him. Little flickers of kindness that have been snuffed out by something ruthless, unyielding.
The final memory is in the Headmaster’s office, and Hermione has almost forgotten that she completely deviated from her usual methods.
Dumbledore is seated behind his desk, his placid gaze trailing Snape’s black-clad form pacing back and forth, turning every few paces in an agitated billow.
“I’m not sure I see the utility of this. Surely I’m vile enough as is.”
“Severus, we agreed this sort of thing may become necessary. I believe it was your idea to begin with, was it not?” Dumbledore asks, gesturing with his cursed, darkened hand.
“Yes, although the process of Obliviating so many students —”
“It will likely only be a handful,” Dumbledore replies evenly. “It’s doubtful the ones that have already graduated would remember these encounters very vividly anyway, or have any influence on Hogwarts once it’s under your control.”
Snape halts abruptly. Hermione stumbles around to see his face, which is held in a resigned sort of grimace. He closes his eyes, a deep furrow between them.
Hermione tries to quell her nausea and counts the minutes on the large clock. Two and a half pass before he speaks again.
“Alright! Alright, I’ll do it. I know we can’t risk my cover, not after I’ll have sacrificed so much. But these only; you promised you wouldn’t view the others.” He looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else as he steps up to Dumbledore’s Pensieve.
Consent.
The memory cuts off harshly just as Snape raises his wand to his temple, and Hermione is forcibly thrown from her own Pensieve. She can’t even take three breaths before she has to rest her head on the cold stone tiles, the room spinning and bile clawing its way up her throat.
-
Hermione drags herself up from the floor, stashes the memories and shampoo in her satchel, and heads down the hallway toward Auror Headquarters. She has to talk to Ron. Get some collateral information — something to settle this deep ache in the back of her head. A fresh wave of nausea overtakes her, and she leans against the wall, letting the soft wallpaper press back into her hair.
“Hermione?” The voice is gentle.
She opens her eyes. “Luna? What are you still doing here?”
“Oh, just some reconnaissance work. Er — if you see Auror Mariner, don’t mention I was here. You look quite ill,” she adds.
Luna steps forward, her large eyes scrutinizing Hermione’s face, and she conjures a glass of water and pulls a sprig of mint from her pocket.
“Sometimes smelling this helps with the nausea.”
“Right. Thanks, Luna,” Hermione says, plucking a leaf and holding it to her nose. She’s right; it does help. Hermione is able to manage a few sips of water as well as the small vial of antiemetic potion Luna holds out to her.
Luna smiles in response and tucks the rest of the mint into her hair, and suddenly Hermione has a vision of a much younger Luna with leaves in her hair and that same serene smile, and she can’t help but ask —
“Do you think Dumbledore ever Obliviated some of your memories of Professor Snape?”
Luna blinks.
“I’m sorry if this sounds so blunt, but —”
“It’s ok. And no, he didn’t. I didn’t let him.”
Hermione’s mouth opens.
“I told him I had probably already forgotten, you see. So many Wrackspurts swarming around the Potions classroom. And then I started telling him more about the history of Wrackspurts and other invasive species, and he sort of smiled in that twinkly way and left me alone.” She pauses, examining a small loose thread on the hem of her robe. “After what I’ve seen with mind magic — with what happened to Ginny and Professor Lockhart — I would never agree to being Obliviated. Not even when the Healers offered to remove my memories of being kidnapped and held hostage all those weeks during the war. It’s a part of who I am. I’m… I’m so sorry that happened to you, Hermione.”
It’s always uncanny how she just knows, without having to ask for details.
“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione says, her voice shaky. Luna pulls her into a side-hug and leans a bit of Hermione’s weight against her shoulder as they walk down the hallway together.
When they reach the door of the Auror Headquarters, Luna smiles again and slips away down a side corridor, wand out and body pressed against the shadowed wall.
Hermione enters to find Ron grinning around a mouthful of Pumpkin Pasty, his feet propped on his desk that’s bare except for a few photo frames.
“Hermione! Blimey, you look awful.”
“Good afternoon to you, too, Ronald.”
“What can I help you with? Is it about…”
“This might sound strange, but when… When Malfoy cursed my teeth in fourth year, did you — not that I’ll be upset if you say no — but did you come visit me? In the Hospital Wing?”
“Well, of course I went to see you in the Hospital Wing! I was a bit of a tosser, but I was still your friend.”
“And what was it,” she asks, almost afraid to hear the answer, “that you saw?”
Ron pauses, taking his feet off of his desk. “Well, we had sort of traipsed in, bending down to see whose feet were hanging down behind those curtains. And I caught sight of those awful orange-y boots you used to wear —”
“Honestly, Ron, they basically matched your hair, if that wasn’t a 14-year-old sign that I was interested —”
“And Pomphrey was about to start shrinking your teeth, so she shooed us away and a glob of blue paste got flung from her gloves onto my shoe.”
Hermione’s stomach sinks.
“So we just said a quick hello through the curtain and then agreed to meet up in the common room later.”
“Of course.”
“Look, what’s this about, suddenly asking these questions about fourth year —”
She takes a sharp breath in and presses her lips together. “Work,” she says, as flatly as she can manage. But she has to be sure. “Did — did Dumbledore ever pull me aside to talk about something? Maybe later, sixth year, or —”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. There was so much going on and it was forever ago.”
Hermione nods. He’s right, with all of the things happening with the war and everything else, why would he remember something like that? “Well, thanks, Ron. This has been helpful.”
He gives her a puzzled look in response, before something seems to click.
“You know what? He did pull you aside sixth year! Around breakfast one day. Said it had something to do with Professor Snape, and Harry started making gagging faces behind him and you just sort of rolled your eyes at us and followed him out into the hallway.”
There is a coldness spreading through her limbs.
“H-how long was I gone for?” she manages to ask.
“Five minutes, maybe ten. You were a bit confused when you sat down again, didn’t want to tell us what he had said.”
Her insides are hollow.
Ron lowers his voice. “Look, is this about Snape’s memories? I wouldn’t think shrinking your teeth would have anything to do — Hermione, are you alright?”
She turns from him and strides back down the hallway. She doesn’t even hide her glare from Dumbledore’s portrait as he smiles in that gentle, sympathetic way that now feels increasingly like a mockery.
The guilt tears through her as she makes the trek back to her office.
Her parents. She did this to them. She violated their minds when they didn’t fully realize what it was they were agreeing to. It is some sick, twisted karmic justice that she has suffered the same fate without even being aware of it until this point.
But she agreed, too. That must have made it better, right? But she can’t push back the other guilt that she consented to giving away something that wasn’t hers: Snape’s apology. How many little apologies did she witness in those memories? How many simple utterances of “it’s ok,” “thanks, mate,” “no problem,” were shredded and burned, until all he was left with was that one night outside the Gryffindor common room full of bitter rejection and self hatred?
How many others would have known about his true allegiance if they hadn’t had their own minds tampered with? She thinks of Hagrid; of Luna and Neville and Fred and George…
Her thoughts swim in a rush around her as she casts her refinement charms, back in the Pensieve with her mind far away at Hogwarts.
Was she morally just in agreeing to Dumbledore’s request? Was she even able to have consented without knowing the full implications of her choice? And what did he say to her to get her to agree to have a moment from her life — from Snape’s life — erased fully and completely?
The questions tear at her resolve as she finally decants the memories back into their flask and makes her way to the warded fireplace.
-
The sight of Snape’s room settles Hermione’s uneasiness a little when she enters.
He has another bedside table now. Well, more precisely, a large wooden crate full of Ogden’s that is doubling as a place to store an immense amount of parchment notes and several tins of ginger newts. Perhaps the lapses in his memory are not so full and complete. Perhaps they’re not victims but arbiters of their own will.
Snape looks up as she enters, and raises his chin in greeting. “If you want to witness the Petrification process from the other side, I suppose you could stick around.”
From beside Snape’s bed, Shen gives a wide grin and holds her thumb up along the side of her Dr. Pepper bottle.
While they wait for Birchbauer (“Don’t expect him to be on time, and you won’t be disappointed,” Shen chastises), Hermione listens to Snape and Shen describe the process of Petrification, wondering absently if it’s anything like the process of Obliviation.
“Do you remember it?” Snape asks. Her face warms at having so much of his attention directed at her, fueled by what looks like pure and genuine curiosity.
“Er — not really. Penelope and I were using her hand mirror, and I just remember seeing this odd golden glow from it. And then not being able to breathe for a terrifying few seconds when I woke up before Madame Pomphrey stunned me.”
“The paralysis is somewhat disorienting,” he says in response, and Hermione wonders what else he’s experienced that the sheer terror of it simply registers as “disorienting” for him.
“That’s one way to put it,” she offers.
“Bloody fucking horrifying would be more apt,” Shen says absently. At their combined looks of surprise, she adds, “We all practice it in training. How else would we learn all the potential complications?”
“Right. I don’t know if it’s more or less reassuring that you’ve managed to survive your own experimentation,” Snape says.
Hermione’s brief bubble of laughter bursts when Birchbauer’s heavy footsteps sound behind her.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says with a half-hearted grin, and switches on the camera.
Snape seems to hesitate briefly, a flicker of apprehension passing across his features, before he turns to Hermione. “See you once I resurface.”
The process is as smooth and unrippled as a placid lake. But Hermione doesn’t miss the deep shuddering inhale that Snape takes as his eyes open and he searches out her own.
“Don’t hold me accountable for any insults that may slip out; apparently I speak my thoughts aloud for the next few minutes,” he tells her.
“On that note,” Shen says, before gripping Birchbauer by the arm and hauling him toward the door with a pointed look. Snape watches them leave with a satisfied smirk, and Hermione wonders if his facial features are as honest as his words right now.
He catches her staring at him. His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches before he says through gritted teeth, “And don’t remind me of what I was thinking the last time you witnessed this.”
“Right, well, if you want me to step out —”
“I’d rather have you — here.”
“Oh.” He would? Snape seems equally surprised at this admission, his eyes momentarily going wide.
And oh gods, did she just unconsciously lick her lips? She is not the one who has no filter at present, what is wrong with her —
“— But as much as I want — that — it’s probably best if you go.”
Hermione nods, trying to quell the racing of her mind at the implication of his words. She almost runs off with the shampoo, but remembers to set the bottle on his bedside table before she leaves, offering no explanation that could trigger more unbidden words to tumble forth. This way he can also bin it with a minimum of notice and then forget she ever crossed that particular boundary.
Except he probably won’t forget. And neither will she.
She lets her speculations run wild as she heads through the halls and Floos home.
Things feel eerily silent without the constant shifting background noise of the Pensieve memories. While part of her wants to head back to her office and analyze the last encounter to study Snape’s face for every microexpression, she knows how much trust he placed in her to even be present in the first place. Her questions will just have to wait. She makes a cup of tea and settles on her couch with Crookshanks, watching the beads of rain form and tunnel down the window, eyes growing heavy.
-
She wakes to an insistent tapping. The rain has stopped. Crookshanks has gone, leaving only a collection of orange hairs across her thighs. There is a flutter of movement behind her window, the night sky deep and black behind it with no starlight peaking through the clouds.
She opens the window to find a business-like St. Mungo’s barn owl who takes off immediately after she unties the message from its leg. She traces the thin parchment and unrolls it to find a single, spiky word in blue ink:
Thanks
|
“Mr. Inadama!”
Kaigaku is unsure of what to do when Naho runs towards him, crying.
“Naho?” He crouches and catches her when she trips over to him. Sumi and Kiyo are right behind her, both wailing and full of tears.
Kaigaku doesn't know what to do with his hands, flustered by all the commotion.
“Why is everyone fucking crying?”
“Bad words!” Kiyo manages to reprimand him through tears, gripping on his left sleeve. Sumi does the same on his right, but her complaints are far too unintelligible from crying too much. Kaigaku coos an apology out and gives them each a few ruffles on the head. Geez. What happened?
“I’m sorry.”
Kaigaku blinks, looking up to see Kanao politely standing there. He didn’t even realize she was there. Right beside her is a teary-eyed Aoi, hands clutching the Tsuguko’s in comfort.
“Tengen sir had wanted them for a mission.” She says, voice soft and almost drowned out from all the crying in the corridor. “He wasn’t,” She pauses, “…very nice about it.”
Oh.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, it's okay. That big bad pillar’s gone.” Kaigaku continues to soothe the trio with pats on the back. Inside him, the anxiety grows.
This was going to be a tough arc. While he knows they’ll be all fine by the end of the day, save for some injuries, the guilt of not being able to help is there.
While he fusses over the little girls, Aoi turns to Kanao, sniffling. “Thank you.” She says. “You stopped him for us.”
“I-I didn’t.” Kanao’s voice is high-pitched, in denial. “It was Tanjirou and the others.”
“You still tried.” Aoi squeezes her hand, looking so sincere. “So, thank you.”
Kanao doesn’t say anything in reply, but smiles back.
How sweet. Kaigaku thinks as the little girls continue to huddle around him for comfort.
His pigeon coos at him, perched on one of the many wisteria trees that surround the headquarters.
“Yeah, yeah.” Kaigaku mutters, taking one last look behind him.
At the direction where Zenitsu and the others headed off to.
Right after the whole fiasco with Tengen, Kyutaro had flown in and given him a mission. Pity, he’s stuck with random demons as action.
Then again, it’s probably better that way. Kaigaku muses.
There’s a bunch of people waiting by the gate when he reaches it. About five or so. It's his entourage for today's mission. He’s been getting group missions a lot lately, and while he misses the quiet of going through things solo, he doesn't midn the company . Sure makes things easier than being alone.
One of them stops, seeing him approach, and gives a salute. “Reporting for duty, sir!”
Kaigaku pauses, what a formal tone for someone like him. “No need to call me that.” He says, holding up a hand as means to calm him down. “We’re all equals here.”
The boy hesitates, but eventually gives in when Kaigaku gives him the look. The look being a glare.
“...Okay.”
Eventually, everyone greets each other casually, and they’re off on foot. Kaigaku doesn't bother too hard remembering their names. At some point you just learn people's names through osmosis.
The same boy chuckles when Kaigaku keeps in stride with him, attempting to start another conversation .
“It’s a little awkward to call someone on a higher rank so casually , though.”
Kaigaku hums in curiosity, but nevertheless stays quiet. The boy doesn’t mind his lack of response, in fact he seems used to it, and moves on to chatter with a friend of his.
Kaigaku pokes his system. Higher?
[Check your rank, Kaigaku.]
Kaigaku does discreetly , whispering the password and clenching his fist to check the back of his palm .
Kanoto, it reads. He takes a peek at the uniform of his companions. They’re all marked as Mizunoe.
Huh. Well. He is of a higher rank, but not enough to warrant being called Sir.
How would they have known my rank?
[Maybe you just have that oppressive energy.]
Shut up, you. He waves off the mark from his hands with a few flicks of his wrist.
The village they’re called to is quaint and small. Much like the one Kuwajima stays in. It’s slightly more urban looking, but it’s still isolated from the way thick trees shroud the area around it.
The boys he’s with scatter immediately, eager to talk and get information from the locals.
Kaigaku stays back, letting them do all the work. He’d rather not steal the spotlight away from them, he'll just keep himself scarce. He finds himself a decently secluded tree to sit under.
The peace doesn't last long, especially when one of the kids approaches him as he's halfway through a good nap; brimming with vigor . "Sir! Nothing out of the ordinary in this area!"
"Hm?" Kaigaku groggily acknowledges. "Good job."
"They haven't seen anything over here either, sir!"
"Mm." Kaigaku nods back to another boy, confused. "Keep it up."
"The streets over here are clean too!"
"...Uhuh." Okay. At this point, it's getting weird.
Maybe I should have worn the uniform. Kaigaku tugs at his necklace, watching them rush back to gather more information. My kimono makes me stand out, doesn’t it?
[I still think you’d be noticed , regardless.] His system chirps. [You look important.]
Kaigaku sighs. That's what he gets for being transmigrated into an antagonist's body.
“—What should we do?”
Kaigaku narrows his eyes, turning to the boy who'd suddenly appeared before him.
“What was that?”
“Ah, um.” The poor kid stutters. Oh, he didn’t mean to look mad. “No one seems to know if there are any demons at all.”
No demons? That can’t be right. They're probably just having a hard time finding them because they don't have an enhanced sense of hearing or smell like some people.
“Let’s stay the night.” Kaigaku concludes after a moment. "They’re here somewhere.”
“Right, S—Kaigaku.”
Almost got called sir again. Kaigaku just sighs and leads them to the nearby inn.
The owner accepts them joyvially , overjoyed at the prospect of so many customers. They get ushered into a big room with the fanciest futons. The kids don't seem to have a lot of cash on them, some of them don't even have money at all. Kaigaku quietly prays for his wallet.
They don't stay to dawdle inside of the room, choosing instead to throw all of their stuff on the floor and start booking it out . Kaigaku can't even scold them fast enough.
Not that he should. Maybe he's grown into the older brother trope more than he thought.
One of them rushes back with a grin, only wearing a towel wrapped around his hips. “Sir Kaigaku! Join us for a bath?”
Kaigaku pauses in unfurling his futon, thinking about it for a moment before shrugging in assent . It wouldn’t do him any good to act like a loner anyway.
He follows them to the hot springs.
The kids are ecstatic as he catches up with them on the way. Well, at least Kaigaku thinks they’re kids. He’s a good few centimeters taller than all of them, but not as small as Zenitsu and his friends are compared to him.
They enter the hot spring and immediately Kaigaku feels a sense of relief wash over him. He's pretty sure it's got something to do with the steam.
“Don’t hurt yourselves doing that.” Kaigaku can’t help but warn when one of them runs to dive into the water.
He takes his time scrubbing himself clean before joining them to soak. It does wonders for his fatigue, relaxing muscles that he didn’t know were tense. This was a good idea.
Until some of the kids start splashing each other. Kaigaku ends up being caught in the crossfire and they all laugh at him.
He just sighs and pushes the damp hair out of his face.
"Sorry about that, sir!" One of the perpetrators hollers, followed by some snickering between the group.
Kaigaku rolls his eyes. They're not sorry in the slightest, but he'll let it slide. He'll point out one thing, though.
“Why do you keep calling me so formally ?”
The boy next to him hums in curiosity. “Aren’t you a high-ranking slayer?”
Am I? “I’m just one higher than all of you. Kanoto.”
Chaos.
All of them turn to him, with various expressions ranging from betrayal to outright shock. Some have taken the liberty to express their bewilderment physically and vocally . Kaigaku's worried they’ll wake up the entire neighborhood.
“You are?!” A kid screams from where he's half submerged. He looks like he'll choke on spring water if he isn’t careful. “Man, if we’d known then—!"
Kaigaku decides to pull him up by the arm before he'd drown himself in his dramatics. “Where did the assumption come from?”
“Well.” Another kid hums. “We saw you hang around the flame pillar estate a lot and—”
Of course. He should’ve known.
“My little brother’s friend is a Tsuguko of his. Two of them, actually.” He explains through the ruckus. “I just come with them to make sure they behave.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Another pipes up from the showers. “We thought you were the Tsuguko, dude!”
Kaigaku frowns. “Me?”
“I don’t know, we see you with him more often.”
That's his fault for barely making attempts to befriend anyone else. But he's not always with him, is he? “I barely hang out with him.”
One of them raises a hand. “I saw you eat together during lunch.”
Ah. Suppose he did. Kyoujurou had a knack for suddenly appearing in the vicinity. It doesn’t help that he’s good at drawing people’s attention to him too.
“Only that and nothing more.”
And with that said, the chatter dies down. Most of the kids are back to doing their own thing, lounging around and playing amongst themselves . Only the closest to him still look preoccupied with his reveal.
“Say, you know any special techniques?” Kaigaku is poked on the arm playfully . “You’re there for the special training when they do it, right?”
Oh he's not giving them any ideas. “I don’t pay attention to them.”
He’s met with groans of disappointment.
Kaigaku delivers the final slash to the demon's head, wincing when he skids to a stop from his speed. His legs are still pretty sore. Better not do any fancy moves more than once.
“Good work.” He huffs, sheathing his sword back in place with a clink. “No civillian got hurt.”
Thankfully , none of his companions got hurt either. They've done their fair share of fighting against the demon too, but apart from some tattered uniforms and ragged breaths, they were fine .
They even had the energy to flock around him to scream and shout.
“That was so cool!”
“I didn’t know you practiced the breath of thunder!”
“Yeah, we thought you were just like us but better!”
Probably because I don’t wear yellow. “Alright, everyone shut the fuck up.” Kaigaku gently chides them, “Somebody report this back to the chief.”
"Yessir!" A kid yells before running back into the inn to compose a letter. Looks like he's not gonna shake off that habit of them calling him 'sir' anytime soon.
"Kaigaku-nii!" Oh. Scratch that. That's a new way to address him. "You're bleeding!"
He is? Kaigaku slowly looks down, for a moment he thinks it must be just a small scratch, but then he sees the large wound on his right arm . Now when did that get there?
"It's nothing new." He hisses between his teeth when he flexes his arm. He was doing just fine earlier, but it seems that seeing the wound reminded his body that injuries are supposed to hurt like hell . That demon must've done a number on him when he wasn't focused.
One of them produces a bag from their person. "I bought bandages with me, let's fix it right up!"
Kaigaku opens his mouth to retort and say he's fine, but disregards any further protest. He just offers his arm to the kid without further ado.
"Clear the area of debris." He tells the others instead. "Make sure every townsfolk is alright, got it?"
As the kids scramble to fix the mess they made fighting the demon, and as two of them fumble with his injuries, Kaigaku looks at the moonlight and wonders how his brother is fairing .
The next morning is peaceful. There's a sense of respect from the people they receive thanks from, and it never fails to make Kaigaku feel better about himself .
The kids appear to be affected by the positivity too, especially with the way they're filled with even more vigor compared to yesterday . They're running and jumping all over the place.
“Mr. Inadama!" He's tugged forwards by the sleeve. "Let’s get something to eat!”
Celebrating already? What an excitable bunch. They’re supposed to be on their way back to the corps, but they've still got the energy to go and do other things.
“Are the shops even going to attempt to open after the attack?” He attempts to humor them.
“Well, not here.” The kid says with a roll of his eyes, like it was obvious. “But they said there’s another city just beyond the road!”
Kaigaku can already hear his feet groaning in protest at the distance, but it's probably a big deal for these kids to celebrate . Team unity and all that.
“Alright.” He concedes despite his doubts. “Lead the way.”
He should not be here.
Kaigaku finds himself eating at a decently built ramen shop--
In the red-light district.
The kids right beside him are rowdy as always, but the owner of the stall pays it no mind because they pay really well. Especially while drunk.
Geez, how old were they actually? And to think he'd been calling them kids for so long. Whatever, they're shorter than him. They're kids. And as long as they don't get shit faced, he's fine with them letting loose.
Kaigaku keeps to himself in the corner, away from the door and any potential way he could be seen . Zenitsu and the others are roaming around the area as they party up here.
Best not to meddle with that. He can barely handle events as they are, how could he handle trying to steer everything back in place when he fucks it up ?
Kaigaku slurps his ramen noisily , trying to dispel his thoughts with the broken singing of his companions .
“Ah, look!” One of his teammates yell ecstatically . “An Oiran parade!”
Kaigaku pauses from trying to console a kid who'd eaten too much ramen (and is currently paying the consequences) to look, curious .
People are whispering amongst themselves in awe, gawking at the young lady who walks on the street gracefully , a rhythm to her step as her entourage lead her somewhere .
Pretty, Kaigaku muses to himself. What a spectacle too. They don't hold back when it comes to showing their best, don't they.
His team don't even bother hide their stare, even going so far as stepping over each other just to see the lady better. Kaigaku snorts when they almost topple over. He understands the need. It's not every time you see such a pretty display. Parades back in his past life were great and all, but he wasn't lucky enough to be a frequent observer either.
Not enough time to smell the roses before, he had business to do.
Business, huh. Kaigaku thinks as the parade continues to pass him. He feels bad for Zenitsu to miss out on this, such a shame that he didn't have the money to buy a camera.
Wait. Kaigaku snaps back to attention, stepping back in alarm.
Zenitsu is in the area. He has a mission. He should keep himself scarce.
The kids look like they're not going to budge anytime soon, so he should go on ahead first. As much as he'd like to watch the rest with them, he has his own thing to do and that's to avoid the plot as much as possible.
“You boys go an enjoy yourselves!” He shouts over the noise, he's pretty sure only a few acknowledge him, but that's fine. “Be sure not to let your guard down, and go home after this.”
“Okay Kaigaku-nii!” They chorus without giving even a single glance back. Well, at least he's addressed more casually now.
He weaves through the worst of the crowd , trying not to accidentally anger a drunken man on his way . The less eyes on him, the better. It proves to be a pretty big challenge especially with the amount of people gathering. But he grits his teeth and marches on.
Kaigaku finally manages to squeeze out of the mob, composing himself in the open space and dusting himself off. Now to find the shortest route back to the corps.
Except, he isn't able to because someone grabs his arm and pulls him back. He swallows the yelp that escapes him, both from the pain (the wound was still fresh! ) and surprise . He uses his free hand to throw a punch back because he's not going back inside that crown or so help him he--
But his fist doesn't land.
What the fuck? He's trapped now. He's on the verge of giving a kick when the stranger turns him around with ease.
Oh. Kaigaku sags in relief when he recognizes the familiar golden eyes staring right back at him.
Pillar reflexes are terrifying. He clears his throat and relaxes from his previously tense stance. Why do they keep meeting out in the field like this? And how was Kyoujurou even part of this storyline?
“Good afternoon Rengoku, sir.” He manages a small shaky nod.
“Kaigaku!” Kyoujurou laughs, like he hadn’t just given Kaigaku a heart attack. “Your reflexes are great!”
“Thank you.” Kaigaku croaks drily . He’d rather not be tested for them, though.
“Hm?” Kyoujurou looks at the bandaged arm he’d grabbed, adjusting his grip to the wrist in concern. “You’re wounded pretty badly .”
“I was on a mission in a nearby village.”
The pillar’s eyes sparkle with delight. If Kaigaku hadn’t known any better, he’d think the guy was happy he was hurt or something.
“What a coincidence, then! We were able to meet.”
Apparently just happy to hear he was nearby.
As nice as it was to not be robbed, and have a little chit chat with a familiar face, he did not have the time to stay here. If Kyoujurou was near then that means the plot is near. Kaigaku's not about to risk it.
He’s just about to excuse himself from the conversation, when the sun gets blocked out.
“Oh? A lower rank?”
Nevermind, it’s just the fucking sound pillar.
Kaigaku falters at seeing Tengen sneak up from behind Kyoujurou, much like how a predator. He’s even more intimidating in person. And even taller at that. The casual wear he dons helps ease the presence he has, but against the crowd he still looks huge. As expected of him, he's able to execute the expensive look flawlessly .
Kaigaku clears his throat and bows. “Tengen, sir.”
“Yes!” Kaigaku doesn’t realize Kyoujurou has yet to let go of his hand. The pillar decides to lift it up and shake it around like they’re toddlers waving for a teacher. “He’s the one who fought an upper moon with me.”
Tengen raises a brow but his face remains blank, skeptical of him. Kaigaku struggles to keep eye contact. He’s lucky to have Kyoujurou here. He's the only pillar who was approachable from the entire roster. Tengen is stupid huge.
[+100]
Hey!, Kaigaku hisses in embarrassment. He has no idea what those points were for, but it’s not something he wants to know.
Tengen’s hum brings him back from his musings.
“If Rengoku considers you, then--” A smirk is thrown his way. “You must be decently flamboyant.
Kaigaku doesn’t know how to feel about that. “Thank you?”
And then, just as sudden as he’d blinked, Tengen shoves something unto his chest. It’s soft and oddly feels like--
“Wear this. I’ll have Kyoujurou brief you on the case.”
Kaigaku, still fumbling with the folded cloth with his good arm--Kyoujurou fucking let him go already--can only manage a garbled ‘Yessir?’ .
Kyoujurou just grins at him, grip still iron tight on his hand, and drags him to follow Tengen. To where? Kaigaku has no fucking idea.
Confused and panicked, Kaigaku repeatedly pings his system.
Um?
[Good luck, Kaigaku!]
|
Ten years ago…
Sasha patted the back of Anne and Marcy as they emerged from the portal, emerging onto the side of a freeway. “I guess this is goodbye, Marcy…”
“We can still keep in touch over long distance, but yeah, it won’t be the same…” Marcy replied.
Anne had her head hung low. Sasha looked over to her and gave her a gentle pat on the armored back. “It hurts to come back, I know.”
“Why couldn’t I…” Anne huffed quietly to herself. “Why did we have to leave? Why were we only given those little slivers back?”
Sasha and Marcy huddled around her. “You’re going to leave too… and all this change is coming so fast and sudden to me. I thought…”
“I thought we would have more time too.” Marcy replied, giving Anne the tightest hug.
“We have to do the hardest thing: change.” Sasha replied, joining in the hug.
Ten years later…
Sasha patted the food with her fork. Anne and Marcy were far more comfortable with Thai food than she was, and she almost watched in sort of playful envious way as they used chopsticks to eat at their plates.
As the only American in the group, Sasha wasn’t exactly eating stuff like this very often. That being said, it was worth it for Anne, even if it took Sasha about half an hour to pick one item off the menu. She poked at the squid and basil, chewing on the cooked cephalopod as she watched Marcy and Anne eat and laugh as they talked to each other.
“…so, you kind of just hopped right into the first job you could, huh?” asked Marcy, swallowing some chicken.
“I mean, yeah, when you think about it, young adulthood is a pretty good time to try different things, you know? I was kind of aimless still even after Amphibia, and as much as I love my mom, it’s not like I really want to tackle running a restaurant. I’m not someone who can really handle a lot at once.”
“I think if you applied yourself you could… I mean, goodness, I do a lot today, I just told my followers I’m going to be a little busier than usual, but my webcomic has a backlog of about a year’s worth of comics…” Marcy replied. “I mean, not to brag or anything!”
“Oh yeah, I need to read some of that, huh?” Anne said, nervously chuckling. Her eyes darted over to her mother, who placed down three glasses of different lemonade mixes, making a trifecta of blue, green, and purple.
“Thank you, Mrs. Boonchuy…!” Sasha said, raising her refilled glass. Marcy and Anne quickly grabbed their cups together and clinked the glass together in a harmony. Mrs. Boonchuy gave a soft smile, returning back to the kitchen.
“Hey, so when are we opening up gifts, hm?” asked Anne as she finished the last of her meal, pushing the empty plate to the center of the table.
“Oh! Any time you’re ready!” Marcy remarked, dropping a piece of chicken back into the plate as she suddenly turned her attention to Anne. Sasha smirked a little as she folded her arms.
“Yeah, what Mar-Mar said!” Sasha quickly noted. Anne nodded her head.
“Alright then…” Anne chuckled, holding up the two presents and placing them on the table. Marcy’s gift was an impressively large orange bag with a frog on it, while Marcy’s gift was a blue present box, surprisingly well-wrapped. No nails in it like their old gifts used to be. “Hah… which one should I open…?” she laughed quietly, looking to the two women for their reactions. Marcy leaned in a bit in excitement while Sasha glared at her with her famous robot-slaying stare.
Anne put her hands on the blue present, unwrapping it from the bow, taking a deep breath in as she started to rip it apart. Under it all, was a white box. Sasha handed her a knife.
“Wait, how…”
“What, did you really think I stopped hiding knives?” asked Sasha. “Got two more hidden on me.” Marcy chuckled as Anne slid the knife across the white box, breaking the tape. Anne was starting to get really curious about this now, yanking a pair of headphones and a couple K-pop albums.
“Oh, Sasha! This is so cool!” Anne gleamed, holding up the physical cd covers. “I remember these… Blackpink, EXO, BTS… all the great hits of the 2020s!” she chuckled. “Guessing the headphones are so that I don’t blast your eardrums with it.”
“Ex-actly.” Sasha sarcastically remarked. Anne moved her attention to Marcy’s bag, removing some of the bundled up paper to find a stuffed frog, which she squeezed.
“OH MY GOODNESS! It looks just like Sprig!” she shrieked, holding it close to her chest. “Pink skin, the green tongue… heck, it even has a little aviator cap… where did you get this?”
“I saw it at Create-A-Carnivore! They’re kind of undergoing a rebrand… or that’s what they want you to think, anyway.” Marcy said, nursing her drink and sipping some more of her limeade.
“God, it’s so cute…” Anne replied, holding it close still. “I can’t believe they had something like that!”
“Hahaha… me neither…” Sasha said, darting her eyes away, resting her chin on her hand. Was she the only one who had moved on from the whole Amphibia incident? Ten years on, and they seemed to be unconsciously reconjuring their memories from it. She had read some of Marcy’s webcomic, she saw the parallels to a unseemly large extent with their time and journey into Amphibia.
She also couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very strange about Marcy. Something she wasn’t telling either one of them, for some reason. In the same comic, it seemed like the protagonists had a much more overt queerness to them. Maybe she was reading too much into it… even so, she had taken notice of how Marcy was acting around them. Very touchy-feely, even now she had her hand on Anne’s shoulder. They were across the table, it was deliberate.
Was this just her own inert paranoia? What the hell was this feeling? Why did it bother her so much to see Marcy like that with Anne? She was the therapist in the building, why didn’t she know any of the answers to these questions?
“Hey, Sash, you alright?” asked Anne, looking over to her. Sasha snapped out of her fugue state, looking to her.
“Having a great time! Just wanted to give you two some space.” Sasha replied, smiling.
Only one of those things were true.
|
After Stiles showed his skill as a Spark, Deaton didn’t hesitate to contact Ailfryd in regards of having the young beta join their clan for training. Ailfryd was honored to have Stiles joined and wanted him to join as soon as possible. However, Stiles wanted to take at least a week or so to relax back home before he heads out to some secret location. After all, his body was still recovering a little bit from his wounds and he really just wanted to spend some time with his father and Derek anyways.
Speaking of his father, he and Parrish decided to move back to town after a couple hours talking with the County. Since his father was the Sheriff once, they were happy to offer them both positions. They were set to begin working within 2 weeks, giving them time to gather their things back in New York and move down to Beacon Hills. Parrish had already left to begin packing their things so that Noah had time to spend with his son.
The first day, Stiles was bed-ridden. He was so exhausted after what had happened. He spent the entire day napping in Derek’s arms. But during the bits and pieces of when he was awake, he spoke to Derek. Each time he woke up, he’d ask Derek the same thing.
“You still love me…?”
“Yes. Of course I do, Stiles.”
“Even after all I’ve done…?”
“None of it was your fault, Stiles. Gerard twisted his way into your mind, just like he did with the other hunters. He even had Scott and Allison in his ropes. Don’t put all of the blame on your shoulders, alright?”
“If you say so, Sourwolf…”
The second day, Stiles felt a whole lot better with more food and sleep in his system. He seems more of himself—more spirratic and energetic. It was a relief, to everyone, to see him like this. They thought he’d act different after Gerard. Although they’re all sure Gerard did his toll on Stiles’ mental health, they were all glad that the bastard didn’t change Stiles as a person.
He spent pretty much the rest of the week with his father. Bonding with him and getting to know him. His father told him all about his mother, didn’t leave a single detail out. There was so much Noah wanted to tell him and apparently, Stiles is just like his mom. She was kind, a bit headstrong and stubborn, but patient and loyal. Noah told him that he originally didn’t know that Claudia was a Spark — just figuring that she was being nice by feeding the herd of deer that would come by the backyard every once in a while. But after they had gotten married, she told him but urged for him to keep it a secret — especially from the institute. If they had found out that she was a Spark, there was no doubt in her mind that Gerard would have a bounty on her head. He was a strict “no supernatural or anything close to supernatural allowed in my walls ” kind of guy.
“Are you happy with how everything had ended?” Derek asked quietly as they curled up together on Derek’s large bed; legs tangled together underneath the blanket. The lights were off and the window was open, letting in the crisp Summer night air. The moonlight that was peeking into the room was their only source of light, though Stiles knew Derek could see better in the dark anyways.
Tomorrow, Stiles leaves. And frankly, no one is ready for him to go. Who knows how long he’ll be gone? At first, Derek insisted on going with Stiles but the beta rejected. They both knew Derek was more needed here, in Beacon Hills, to watch over the town until he returns. Because who know what kind of trouble they will be faced with in Stiles’ absence.
Stiles lifted his head from Derek’s chest to peer up his mate. “You mean… with Gerard being dead?” He asks in return. “I mean… I feel indifferent about it, I guess. He did raise me. He was a part of my life. Though I’m sure he got what he deserved. He got what he had coming—and the same thing goes with Kate. The hunters at the institute… I’m not quite sure what they’re up to, honestly. But I heard from Allison that it’s pretty much split in half. Half of them took our side and left the institute to live normal lives and help protect Beacon Hills, living under their own codes now. While the other half remained at the institute, siding with Gerard.”
“Do you think those hunters will make a visit?”
“They can attempt to.” Stiles laughs. “It’s not like they’ll be quite successful, Derek.”
His words made the alpha snort a little. “That’s true. We got some… extra security now.”
“If you mean a Hellhound and the County Sheriff, then yeah.”
“We’re one hell of a pack.” Derek chuckles, burying his nose into Derek’s hair. “So much supernaturals mixed into one. We’re definitely a pack no one should dare mess with.”
Stiles grins and leans up to press a kiss to his lips. “But you know the world by now, Der. There’s bound to be that one guy who thinks they’re tough enough to handle all of us. But let me tell you something,” with a swift swing of his leg, Stiles was on top of Derek, straddling his hips. Derek allowed him to do so with a fond look in his eye; feeling more than content at the feeling of Stiles running his warm palms up and down his chest slowly with delicate strokes. “once I master my powers, this pack will be even better. I’d be like the Harry Potter of this pack. Except… minus the glasses and the scar.”
Derek barks out a loud laugh and reaches up to gently grasp Stiles’ hips. “Just promise to not turn anyone into a chocolate frog, will you?” He warns lightly, a teasing tilt to his tone. His eyebrows raise and his only answer is Stiles grinning cheekily at him.
“I make no such promises.” He chirps.
“Of course not.”
The alpha leans up and slips his arms around Stiles before leaning in, gently nuzzling their noses together. The action causes Stiles to smile wider, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck then surging forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Derek’s chest fills with warmth and he’s sure Stiles feels the same—for the boy clings a little tighter to him, pressing closer, and tilting his head. He catches a whiff of desire coming off of the boy on top of him and he definitely doesn’t have an issue with spending the night like this.
So he lets himself fall back on to the bed, laying back down on his back. Stiles grins against his lips in response and maneuvers his arms a little bit so that one arm was still wrapped around Derek’s neck and the other was pulled out, hand cupping Derek’s scruffy jaw. A low moan leaves his lips when he feels Derek’s hands wander down to slip beneath the hem of his sweats and grasp at the soft flesh of his bottom. Back arching and lips parting, Stiles shudders a little when a hot warm tongue slips into his mouth and swirls sensually around his own. But then a sudden, teasing brush of Derek’s fingertips against his entrance has Stiles gasping.
“ Fuck—don’t fucking tease.” Stiles hisses against his mouth. But it only makes Derek chuckle softly. The next thing Stiles knows, he flat on his back with his shirt off. Derek was between his legs, sitting back on his heels as he works on slipping his own henley shirt off as well. He’s allowed only a few brief seconds of admiring Derek’s toned torso before the alpha crawling back on top of him.
“You’re so beautiful.” Derek murmured against his jaw. “So beautiful. And all mine. All mine.”
Stiles’ lips curl up into a fond smile as his eyes fluttered. “All yours.” He answers softly in response, tilting his head to the side and emitting a soft mewl when the sensation of teeth and stubble brush against his neck. He reaches up and tangles his fingers into the dark, soft locks as he feels the weight on top of him begin to shift. Reluctantly, he flutters open his eyes and watches Derek trail a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses. Letting out a few heavy breathes, Stiles arches into his lips but a pair of sturdy hands hold his hips down. A huff of frustration that leaves his lips makes Derek smile against his abdomen.
“What did I tell you about teasing—ah.” Stiles’ words were cut off by a moan as he tilted his head back, fingers curling and tightening in their hold on Derek’s hair. The alpha had cupped him through the thin layer of his sweats and gave him a gentle squeeze.
“To not do it anymore.” Derek replies. He could hear the smirk in the idiot’s tone and it made Stiles scoff a little.
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
Derek doesn’t answer at first. His careful and gentle hands work on tugging the hem of Stiles’ sweats and boxers down, removing both bits of clothing in one move. Tossing them to the side to take care of later, Derek dips down and hovers his lips around the tattoo on Stiles’ pelvic area; thriving in the shudder he receives in return.
“Because I like seeing you writhe.”
Whatever Stiles was going to say next, he swallowed down instead when Derek swooped down to take his length into his mouth. His hand guides one of Stiles’ thigh up so his leg was thrown over his shoulder as his other hand works on snagging the lube out from the nightstand. Stiles lets out a noise that was a mix of a moan and a chuckle when he realizes Derek was having a little bit of trouble blindly locating the bottle. In retort, Derek “accidentally” drags his teeth gently along the main vein of his cock and grins in victory at the trembling mewl that answers him. He works on smearing some lube on to 3 of his fingers before he shifts his body a little, laying down on his stomach for a more comfortable position before reaching up to tease Stiles’ rim with his fingertip. He makes sure to finger his lover nice and slow and surprisingly, Stiles doesn’t complain. Derek’s movements are measured but passionate as he shifts up to gently push into him.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat.” Derek murmurs against his lips as he thrusts in to him. For a moment, Stiles is a little surprised before he smiles at him.
“B-Brushing up on your Gaelic, huh?” He manages to ask with a somewhat steady voice, despite his body vibrating with pleasure with each thrust against his sweet spot.
“Yeah… did I say it right?”
Stiles laughs quietly and wraps his arms around his neck, bringing him in for a heated kiss. “You said it just f-fine… and I love you too, Derek.”
— ✯ —
“There’s no guarantee that I can call or text you once I’m there.” Stiles sighs as he stands before all of them, Deaton behind him waiting patiently for their journey. “But I might be able to write some letters. The place I’m going to is secretive and Deaton told me they don’t have anything electronic over there. It’s completely shut out from society, so it’s impossible to find them or track them—not to mention the protective bubble they placed over their camp. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I could be gone for months, maybe even years. I’m not asking any of you to wait for me, okay? Just know that I will come back. I’ll come back. I promise.”
“Of course you will.” Scott grins as he approaches him, engulfing him in a tight hug. “Who else will be my partner in crime?”
“Maybe Erica will be in the meantime.” Stiles laughs. “She is a feisty one.”
“It’ll be tough with you here.” Peter speaks up as he squeezes his shoulder. “But I think we’ll find a way to try to cope until your return.”
“If I had to be honest here,” Deaton steps forward with calculated steps. “most Sparks spent 5 years to train for mastery of their power. Each Spark has a certain field that they specialize in. For example, there are Nature Sparks, Water Sparks, Fire Sparks, pretty much anything. Me? I think that’s a given—I’m a Healing Spark. Which is why I’m a vet, it’s a very suiting job for a Spark like me. However, each Sparks timespan of training depends on the hold they have over control. It didn’t take me that long to control mine—just about 4 years—however, a Beatha is very different. Because you see, a Beatha masters every form of Spark. They’re a Nature Spark, a Water Spark—name it, and a Beatha is it. You’ll be mastering more than any Spark will be able to master, so your training will be tough, sometimes cruel, but you’ll be working hard not only control your power but harness it as well.”
Derek glances at Stiles before looking at Deaton. “So how long do you think he’ll be gone?”
The doctor pauses briefly to ponder. “I’m thinking maybe… 2 years.” He replies. At everyone’s bewildered expressions, he chuckles. “Stiles already showed extraordinary control over his power. When the bullet nearly hit his heart, his power blocked the effects of it to reach his heart—he had already unconsciously casted a protective ward over himself without even realizing it. And when he forged that fire wolf in his palm, it shows he’s very intune and connected with his Spark. I truly don’t think he’ll be there long. In honesty, I think a majority of his time there will be of him learning new things, new spells, and new levels of his Spark instead of time spent controlling it. In my point of view, he’s a prodigy. He’ll do well, I promise you.”
At the praise, Stiles feels himself relax a little and let out a breath of relief. “And what about Derek in the meantime? He’s staying back here, but he’s still my familiar.”
“I’ve arranged things with Ailfryd. While we both agree that Derek should stay back here to protect the pack, he also thinks that Derek should undergo some training as well. I will be teaching Derek a few things about what it’s like to be a familiar. Ailfryd will be sending me assignments and test to put Derek through.” Deaton explains with a brief nod towards the alpha. “You both will be in good hands. But we should go now, Stiles. It’s a bit of a journey by car.”
“Alright, just give me a moment to say goodbye to everyone.” Stiles watches Deaton head to the car before he turns to begin hugging everyone goodbye. They all had tears glittering in their eyes and it was hard for Stiles to hold himself back as well.
“It’s just 2 years max.” Derek reasons softly as he holds him tightly in his arms.
The beta snorts a little and buries his face into Derek’s shoulder. “You say that as if it’s 2 months.”
“You’ll be okay, Stiles. I know that you’ll be safe and you’ll know that I’ll be safe. Everyone here will be safe.” Derek reaches and gently makes Stiles look at him. “I won’t let anything happen to anyone while you’re gone. When you return back home, it’ll be like as if you never left in the first place.” With a small smile, Stiles nods softly and leans up to press a few more kisses to his lips.
“By the time you return, I’ll probably be Sheriff of Beacon Hills.” Noah jokes as he hugs his son tightly. “Again.”
“Dad, you were meant to be Sheriff of Beacon Hills.”
“And you, son, were meant to be here, in this moment. I’m proud of you, Stiles. I’m proud of the man that you surely will become.”
When Stiles finally brings himself to climb into the back seat, there’s a steady silence falling over the pack as they watch. When the car starts and begins to drive away slowly, Stiles turns around and looks back to see everyone looking at him. He flashes a small, sad smile at him and lifts his hand to wave. And before they disappear out of sight, he spots Derek step forward and his eyes flash pine green.
1 year, 5 months later
“You know, these hunters are beginning to be a real menace.” Peter grumbles irritably as Deaton tends to one of his wounds. “Minding my own goddamn business, taking a freaking run through the preserve and one of them decides to shoot me with a freaking wolfsbane arrow.”
“We’ve kept the peace with them for as long as we can. But I guess they have no intention of keeping back.” Laura sighs, rubbing her face. “They’ve been poking us with sticks for 7 months now. Shouldn’t we do something?”
“Oh, you should know better to ask me things like this by now.” Talia answers calmly, hands behind her back with a casual posture. “I’m no longer the pack Alpha, afterall.” All of their eyes turn to Derek, who steps forward to glance down at the table they had in front of them. There was a map laid out in front of them where several red marks were painted on certain points on the map. Where they’d been attacked by the hunters and other markers where the hunters had attempted to land an attack. All of the markers had pretty much circled the preserve.
“If you ask me,” Noah pips up as he joins Derek’s side. “it looks like they’re trying to run us out of the preserve.”
Derek frowns a little and looks up at the Sheriff. “You think they’re trying run us out of our land so they could claim it as their own?”
Noah exhales and puts his hands on his hips. “Looks like it. Every time we bump into the hunters, it seems like their numbers are doubling. Has Erica, Boyd, and Isaac returned from scouting the institute?”
“Not yet. They left about 2 hours ago, though. Shouldn’t they be back by now?” Scott worries, concern evident on his expression as he continues to look at his phone. “I have a bad feeling.
“They’re definitely being held there then.” Cora growls. “They’ve got something planned. They’ve been planning something for a while. We need to go get them!”
“How do you know it’s not a trap?” Parrish intervenes. “What if they’re being used as bait to lure us in?”
“Then we go in swinging.” Derek says in a firm tone. “I’m getting tired of their games and getting treated like we’re toys. On our own property . They think they can take us? Fine. Let’s see what they’ve got then.”
Talia smiles as she slowly steps towards the table, observing the map for a moment. “Do you have a strategy yet? I think I have an idea.” She lifts her hand to point at the marker that shows where the institute was set. “However, it won’t really work if we don’t have a general idea of the institute inside and out.”
“Oh, we got more than just a ‘general idea’.” A sudden voice caused all of them to whirl around. Derek grins a little at the sight of Erica, Boyd, and Isaac safe—if a little scratched up— but with a guest with them.
“A hunter?” Peter questions as he sits up once receiving the clear from Deaton.
“Oh, he’s not just a hunter.” Erica chuckles and shoves the male forward, causing him to stumble clumsily before looking around nervously. His hands were bound behind his back and he looked more beat up than the 3 betas behind him. “He’s second in charge.”
“Second in charge, huh? So there is something going on at the institute.” Parrish hums and folds his arms across his chest. “So who is the leader then?”
The hunter shoots the deputy a harsh look. “I ain’t tell you guys shit.” He hisses before spitting at Derek’s foot. Derek simply raises an eyebrow and looks over at Parrish, who looks equally as unimpressed as him.
“You know, it’s not very wise to spit at us.” Deaton advises as he dries his hands off. “Do you know who you’re standing in front of?”
“A bunch of fucking abominations that should be eliminated, that’s what.” The hunter scoffs.
Scott shakes his head a little and steps forward. “You’re completely wrong, wow. But, here. Let me introduce you to everyone. See her?” He gestures to Allison, who was leaning against a small table as she polishes some of her arrows. “Her name is Allison Argent. Yeah. Argent . But don’t let her pretty face fool you. She beat Boyd in a practice match. And him?” He gestures over Deaton. “He may be human, but he’s our Emissary. He’s also a Spark, someone can do magic. So unless you want your underwear to catch fire, I’d watch your mouth. Oh, and let’s not forget Parrish.” As if on cue, Parrish’s eyes glowed a fiery orange. The hunter’s eyes widened a little and he took a step back. “ Hellhound .” Scott grins cheekily at the fright in the hunter’s face. “But then we also have Derek, which I’m sure you’re somewhat familiar with? Probably not. Derek, why don’t you introduce yourself.” Derek charges forward, his eyes flashing pine green before blood red, canines extracting out as he lets out a snarl. The hunter lets out a yelp and stumbles back until he lands on his ass. Wincing slightly, he looks up only to scramble backwards at the sight of a towering black wolf growling at him. Scott peeks out from behind the wolf and points to it. “This guy? Yeah, he can shift into an actual wolf but he’s also a familiar to the most powerful of Sparks. So, if you want your throat ripped out by his teeth, be my guest.”
“You’re deciding to declare war on us ?” Noah scoffs, as if unable to believe the audacity. The hunter gulps a little and watches with wide eyes as all members of the pack surround him. “Yeah, most of us are human. But that doesn’t mean you should take us for granted, now should you?”
“These humans can still bring fire power to your war.” says Christ Argent, cocking his shotgun for emphasis. “Is really wise of you to poke us with sticks for 7 months?”
“They just want revenge for what you did to Gerard!” The hunter stammers out.
Allison tilts her head, not believing the hunter’s words. “Oh come on. You think we’re stupid or something? There’s more to Gerard’s death, which he deserved by the way.” The hunter falls silent, hesitation lingering in the air. The wolf growls louder and takes a few steps forward in warning, causing the hunter to panic.
“Okay, okay, okay!! I’ll talk! Just p-please don’t kill me!”
The wolf lets out another small growl before swiftly changing back into human form, albeit naked, and pins the hunter to the wall.
“ Talk .” Derek hisses. “Who is in charge?”
“H-Her name is Monroe. She was Gerard’s prodigy. After Gerard was killed, she flew back from Italy to join the hunters that were still at the institute.”
“What is she planning?” Talia asks.
“She wants revenge… she—she wants to kill all of you for killing Gerard! And she’s got a lot of people on her side. She’s been recruiting a lot of people, from even here in the town, to help her… she’s using fear as her weapon to convince people to join.”
“Just how many people does she have?” Peter steps forward. “How many?”
The hunter swallows thickly. “You… you guys don’t stand a chance. She’s got like 300 hunters… and growing!”
“We can take you guys.” Cora barks as she charges forward only to get stopped by Laura. “We’ve taken on more than 300 before. But now we’ve got more people.”
But the hunter chuckles a little, shaking his head. “You guys seriously think you got a chance against us? What—a pack that’s mainly filled with humans than supernatural? Sure, you have a Hellhound, a True Alpha, and a Spark on your side. Who the hell cares? Your little boyfriend isn’t even here but if he was, then yeah—you guys probably would’ve had a chance. But he isn’t. And guess what? When he returns, he’ll see you all dead.”
“Keep talking and you will be dead.” Isaac warns menacingly. With a low growl and a harsh glare, Derek stood up and accepted the clothes his mother gave him.
“We have no more use for him now.” He mutters as he slips on his clothes. “Take care of him.” His 3 betas nod and as Derek turns around to face the table, he ignores the yells from the hunter as the werewolves drag him outside.
“What do you think we should do?” Noah inhales sharply. “300 is a lot, Derek. We’re a small pack, mainly with mortals.”
“I can handle that.” Scott chirps up. Derek raises his head and sends him a look of confusion. “Remember when Gerard died and the institute was split in half? Well, I’ve been keeping in contact with a member of the half that sided with us since Monroe has been targeting us. They relocated to Kansas to build more in number and in strength.”
“Okay, well, what use do they have for us in Kansas?” Peter drawls.
Scott gives him a look. “I contacted them last week about their stats. They’ve got like 400 hunters by now, including a few werewolves and other supernaturals they’ve run into. If I call them right now, I can get them on a flight tonight.”
“Call them.” Derek immediately orders. Scott nods and dashes upstairs to make the call, Allison in tow behind him. “Once they get here, we’ll make a solid plan. Deaton, do you think you can cast a ward around the preserve in the meantime?”
Deaton hesitates for a moment before he nods. “The preserve is quite large. So I’ll need some extra help to do it.”
“We’ll help.” Cora and Laura say in unison.
“As will we.” Noah says, wrapping his arm around Parrish’s shoulders. Deaton nods and gestures for all of them to follow as he heads outside. A few minutes later, Scott comes back down with a smile on his face. He tells everyone that his friend, Jackson Whittemore and the other hunters, already had their stuff packed—that they were just waiting for the call. They’ve booked their flights and will be heading out in 2 hours to catch the flight and will be in California in 3 hours.
It takes Deaton a good while to put the protective ward over the preserve so that only those granted permission can enter the property. By the time they return to the house, everyone is asleep except for Derek, who is sitting upstairs in his room rereading the only letter that Stiles was able to send.
Dear Sourwolf,
I’m sorry that I was unable to write to you until now. By now it’s been nearly 4 months since I’ve been in the clan and I’ve learned SO MUCH. I’m learning quite fast, according to my mentors. I’ve already mastered Healing and Water. There’s so many categories that I’ve still got to learn… but I can do it. On top of learning new categories, I’ve always been put into sparring lessons! And let me tell you, I can kick your ass now. I swear I’m like the Black Widow from The Avengers. Except, I don’t got any boobs or red hair.
I hope the lessons Deaton has given you have proved useful. The only thing Alifryd’s told me if that you’ve learning well, despite struggling here and there. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’re doing well.
I did get permission to tell you about what it means to be a Beatha though! Aside from being Life itself, a Beatha is considered a God in the supernatural world — although I’m sure that was quite obvious. When it comes to Sparks, they live in a hierarchy. There’s the common Sparks (like Deaton, the Healing Sparks and the Water Sparks). There’s also the “nobles”, which are the Nature Sparks, Electricity Sparks, and Weather Sparks. They’re treated a little higher than the common Sparks. But royal of Sparks is just one kind of Sparks, which aside from a Beatha, is the rarest. And that’s called a Telepathy Spark. A Telepathy Spark can read minds, control minds, and adjust people’s thoughts to their own. They can take memories away and create different ones in its place. Ailfryd is a Telepathy Spark. But he told me that there’s one more level above the “royalty level” on the hierarchy, which is the “God/Goddess Level”. I guess it’s obvious to say that a Beatha is the only one in that category. So, yeah, I’ve been treated like a freaking God the second I walked into the camp. Which is really weird. I mean, I’ve been dreaming of being treated like royalty ever since I dabbled in the awesome world of Skyrim — you need to play that fucking game, you caveman — but actually being in a setting where it happens is kinda making me feel uncomfortable. Does that make sense? Probably not.
Anyways, I hope it’s well over in Beacon Hills! I don’t think I’ll be able to write again. Ailfryd is quite strict when it comes to outside communication. But hopefully I won’t be here much longer. Hopefully.
I love you, Derek Hale. I can’t wait to see you again.
Love Always,
Stiles
P.S. please tell my dad that I’m alright. I’m sure he’s worried the most. Oh and keep reminding Peter to water the fucking garden.
Smiling softly to himself, Derek ran his thumb along Stiles’ signature before he neatly folded it up. He placed the letter in the top drawer of his nightstand and glances out of the window. It’d been a few hours by now, and he was beginning to wonder when Scott’s hunter friends would show up. Maybe they landed in California by now. Noah and Parrish had volunteered to go to the airport to meet them. They’ve been gone for about 4 hours.
Derek was just now beginning to regret not falling asleep like the others decided to. But someone had to watch over the pack, just in case.
A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and he turned his head, calling out come on in to whomever was on the other side. The door opened and Derek straightened when Chris walked in. He looked a little tired, like he had just woken up from his slumber.
“Noah just rang.” He starts. “They’re about to pull into the preserve. And uh… I think Scott was a little misinformed about the amount of hunters.” Perplexed, Derek frowned a little at the Argent. But before Chris could explain, lights shown into the darkened room and it caused the pair to look out of the window. Derek climbed out of his bed and walked over to it, Chris joining his side. At the sight of several cars pulling up in front of the house, Derek thought they were hunters however at the sight of Noah climbing out of a van, they both breathed in relief.
“I’ll go wake everyone.” Chris says, patting Derek’s shoulder before walking out. Derek stayed at the window for a moment in pure amazement at the sight of several hunters now standing in front of the house before he turned to join Chris.
“Jesus, Scott. I don’t think that’s 300 hunters.” Peter gasped as the pack slowly emerged from the house.
Scott chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the side of his neck. “Well, like I said… I checked in last week. I guess their numbers must’ve grown a bit since.”
“What’s up, nerd.” Jackson greets, with no real menace in his words; just a friendly expression as he stalks over to Scott and Allison. “Long time no see. How’ve you been? I mean,” he pauses his greeting to hug the pair before pulling away. “aside from the whole Monroe thing.”
“We’ve been really good actually!” Allison cheers with a smile, happy to see a friendly face. “It’s so good to see you, Jackson! How’ve you been holding up?”
“Good. I think I’ve just gotten the hang of everything.” Jackson replies. Allison smiles, a knowing glint in her eye.
“Uhm, not to sound crabby or anything but, do you mind introducing the rest of us?” Peter asks expectantly.
Jackson pauses briefly in realization before he smiles sheepishly. “Right. Sorry. Hello, everyone. My name is Jackson Whittemore. I was a hunter with Scott and Allison. When the whole thing with Gerard went down, as you all may know, the institute was divided almost immediately. I took as much as I could with me to Kansas, where I met up with another clan of hunters. We trained there to help strengthen ourselves — I think we all knew that this wasn’t the end of everything just yet.”
“You have a very… peculiar scent. You don’t smell human.” Cora pointed out, growing a little suspicious. “What are you?”
Jackson grins. “I’m actually half Kanima, half werewolf, so… yeah, a bit of an odd combination, I know. Don’t ask. Even I’m not that quite sure how it happened. But I’m not the only supernatural here in the clan. Guys, come over. Introduce yourselves.” Derek watches with interest as a handful of other people walk word to join Jackson’s side.
“Hi, I’m Corey.” A sheepish, yet very friendly boy lifts his hand to wave. “I’m a Chimera. Uh—like a werewolf, I have enhanced speed and healing. But I’m also immune to mountain ash, which is a blessing I think. Oh and I can also turn invisible and see those who are invisible too. It was handy when it came to defeating the Ghost Riders in Kansas.”
“It was a mess , Corey.” Another male laughs and Derek immediately can tell the two are together. “You’re lucky we got there in time to save your ass. You see, some crazy lunatic decided to use Corey to merge the dimensions of the Ghost Rider’s with our world.” At the look Jackson was giving him, the boy sputtered a little when he realized he didn’t even introduce himself. “Right, yeah. Introduction. I’m Mason. I’m human but I’m the pack’s Emissary.”
“Lydia.” A girl with strawberry blonde hair and a smile on her plump lips. “Lydia Martin. Banshee.”
“Oh. Banshee?” Peter exchanges impressed looks with Derek and Talia. “Interesting.”
“I’m Liam. Just a werewolf, so is Theo right here.” Liam greets with a shy smile, while Theo beside him nods stiffly to Derek. “We’re betas.”
“I can tell by your scent.” Derek replies with a small smile.
“Are you the True Alpha that Noah was talking about?” Theo asks, curiously eyeing him.
Derek raises an eyebrow at Noah, who shrugs. “Yes. I am. I’m also Stiles’ familiar.”
This puts a smile on Theo’s lips. “Sounds badass.”
“My name is Malia. I’m a werecoyote and — surprise ! I’m your niece.” Malia bluntly states, with not very much enthusiasm behind her voice. Derek’s eyebrows shot up and he looks over at Peter and Talia, who look just as surprised as he was. “Yeah, I’m technically a Hale, I guess. Peter’s my dad. Desert Wolf is my mom, so, uh…”
Sensing the awkward atmosphere, Noah lightly chuckles. “She’s very blunt.”
“Well, uh, it’s nice to meet you? Daughter? Wow, I didn’t know I had a daughter .” Peter gaps. Malia smiles, this time sincere instead of forced, and rushes over to hug him.
“Long story short, Desert Wolf angry. She thought Malia stole her power at birth and decided she wanted to try to take it back. In the midst, found out her father is Peter Hale.”
“Hi Auntie.” Malia greets Talia awkwardly. “Hi cousin. Well… cousins .”
Laura’s short laugh broke the moment of awkwardness. “Well, shit. Welcome the family then.” Malia beams a little and rushes over to greet her and Cora in tight hugs. But when she turns to Derek, she immediately straightens at his presence and grew a bit awkward. Derek laughs a little and reaches forward to hug her gently.
“And I’m Kira! Malia’s girlfriend.” A petite girl beams, waving her hand excitedly. “I’m a Kitsune.”
“I’m sorry—a Kitsune ?” Isaac sputtered. “The heck is a Kitsune?”
“Japanese fox.” Parrish answers. “There’s many forms of a Kitsune. Her mom is a 900 year old Celestial Kitsune. Kira is a Thunder Kitsune.”
There was a brief pause before Peter speaks up. “ Christ , Jackson. The fuck did you find these kids?”
Jackson’s lips form a thin line. “Long story. You don’t wanna know.” He answers. Peter lets it go and looks over at Derek with his eyebrows raised.
“Well, we don’t uh… have nearly enough room for 450 people.” Derek admitted. “So have you guys figured out about where you’ll be staying?”
“I mean, we have some room in the basement?” Talia offered lamely.
But Jackson shook his head. “No need. We bought a shit ton of tents and we have a few campers in tow with the trucks too. We’re all set.” He turns around to face the other hunters. “Guys, go ahead start setting up your tents and get some sleep. We’ll wake you up sometime in the morning to debrief you on any plans we’ve formed so far.”
“Alright, well, come on in then.” Derek gestured at them and they all headed back inside. Jackson’s eyes lingered around the interior of the house before his eyes landed on a picture hanging on the wall. He approached it with a light smile, recognizing Stiles’ face in the picture containing everyone in the pack.
“How’s the little idiot, by the way? Heard he’s off in some secret clan?”
Derek smiles a little as he organizes the table. “Yeah, he’s a Beatha. He’s been in a clan somewhere here in California for over a year.”
“Always knew the kid was born for greatness.”
— ✯ —
After they spent a healthy 2 hours forging a plan, they called it a night and climbed into their beds. When 8am rolled around, Derek and Talia had awoken before everyone else. While Talia woke up Cora, Laura, and Erica to help her out with making breakfast, Derek went around to wake up everyone else. When he went outside to wake Jackson up, he discovered all 450 people were already awake. Many were already eating breakfast, practicing sparring against each other, or just getting back from a morning jog around the preserve. Impressed, Derek invites Jackson in along with his pack members. They go over the plan just to make sure everyone knows their roles.
“Do you think this plan will work?” Boyd asks softly when Jackson leaves. They’ve all just finished breakfast and began cleaning up.
“Honestly? I hope so.” Derek sighs. “I’m not one for violence or death… but Monroe is really pushing her luck. And she’s testing my patience.”
“She’s testing everyone’s patience, Derek. It was just bound to happen when someone snapped.” Peter muttered as he put his dishes in the sink. “But make no mistake, we won’t let you kill any of them. Stunning them and knocking them okay is okay, but we don’t need you losing your True Alpha status by breaking someone’s neck.”
“Not even if they deserve it?” Noah pipes up suddenly and they all glance up before standing on alert. Derek’s eyes hardened as he marched over to Noah, snatching the photo out of his hands. It was a photo of Stiles with his eyes crossed out angrily with red marker. There was slash marks across his throat as well and DIE DIE DIE written in various sizes all over the photo.
Now they were really asking for it.
“We head out in 30 minutes.” Derek snarls, crumbling the photo in his hands and tossing it into the trash bin. “Better be ready.”
30 minutes rolls by quick and now they’re all standing in front of the Hale house, dressed up in their gear with weapons at their sides. Derek is the last to step out of the house to see 450+ faces staring up at him, including members of his pack.
“First of all, I wanted to personally thank Jackson, his pack, and all of you for coming here even though you didn’t have to.” Derek begins. “We probably wouldn’t stand a chance without you guys so, really—on behalf of me and my pack, we thank you and thoroughly welcome you all here in Beacon Hills and on my land. Recently, I had gotten word that Monroe doesn’t just plan on killing me and pack in revenge, but she will kill anyone who stands in her way and anyone involved in the supernatural. So you all are at just as much stake as I am… some of you may die today, and for that I sincerely apologize—I do not wish for any of you to die. I’m not asking for any of you to die for me.”
“If we die today, then that’s okay.” A hunter yells out. “We’ll die with the honor of Stiles Stilinski on our hands.”
At the hunter’s words, Derek smiles and bows his head a little. “Stiles. Yes, please do remember that this fight is also for Stiles. Monroe has been leaving sabotaged photos of him all around the outer edge of the preserve, since she can’t get in. She’s trying to provoke me and my pack—”
Noah cocks his shotgun. “—Well, it’s working, lemme tell ya—”
“—but we can’t let it get to us. It’ll cloud our heads up. We need to think clearly in order to get this over with.” Derek continues, sending Noah an amused look. “So let’s get this show on the road. Let’s make Stiles proud.”
There was a brief moment before a hunter stood, holding a cup up. “For Claudia.” Slowly, other hunters stood up and raised their glasses up as well, cheering out the same two words.
Clambering into vans and trucks, they all left the safety of the preserve to begin heading towards the institute. In a van with a few members of his own pack, Derek’s eyes flick up and he makes eye contact with Noah, who nods in reassurement at him just before the van stops.
“We’re here.” Parrish announces as he turns off the car. “Everyone out.” Scott immediately opened the doors and they all climbed out of the van. He pauses briefly to watch the other cars roll up before he turned to look up at the institute.
“Look at ‘em.” Cora smirks, eyes flashing a hue of golden as she watched the hunters inside begin scrambling around. “I can smell the fear from here.”
“Look. Up there.” Peter calls out, pointing up to the 7th floor balcony. Derek looks up and narrows his eyes. A woman was glaring down at them.
“Monroe.” Derek growls.
“It’s about time you dogs decided to show up. I was beginning to grow bored.” Monroe mocked. The large front doors slammed open and several hunters ran out to form a thick line in front of the institute, weapons drawn. “I see you brought your own army. Let’s see who will win this war. Once and for all.”
Then, all of the wolves immediately wolfed out as they took the first line. Derek shed himself of his clothes before letting himself shift into a werewolf. He looked to his side and saw his mother, Cora, Laura, and Theo all shift into their wolf forms as well and join him. Derek looked to his other side where Parrish was (engulfed in flames and eyes glowing burning yellow) along with Jackson, Liam, Allison, Noah, Chris, and his 3 betas. He turned his head back towards Monroe, who glared even harder when she saw Derek’s eyes flash pine green.
Then, it all broke loose. Gun shots, yelling, screaming, immediately began ringing through the air. It was easy to break through the line of hunters in front of the institute and soon, they all were barging into the institute where even more of the hunters were waiting for them.
“Derek!” Jackson yells out. “This way! Let’s get to Monroe!” Derek immediately follows Jackson as they bolt up the stairs. Jackson takes care of slicing at the hunters that charge at them while Derek swiftly dodges their bullets and arrows. Derek narrowly dodges a hunter’s axe, feeling the blade knick his fur a bit but before the hunter could swing, a loud shotgun blast went off. Derek swiftly turned and saw Noah standing there with the barrel smoking a bit.
“Get that son of a bitch.” Noah says through gritted teeth. The wolf nods a little and continues following Jackson up several flights before they reach the 7th floor.
“It looked like she was in Gerard’s office, since his office is the only one with a balcony that faces the front yard.” Jackson grunts as he swiftly knocks a hunter to the floor before whipping around to face the wolf. “Go there now! I’ll clear a path for you and meet you there!” Derek waits a couple of seconds as Jackson begins taking down some hunters before he bolts through the path that he created. His red eyes scan the bars on the doors before he spots one that says Gerard’s Headquarters . Without hesitance, he slams into the door and easily breaks it apart. The wolf lands swiftly and isn’t surprised to see 7 hunters standing in the room aiming their weapons at him as Monroe sits calmly at the desk, sipping a glass of wine it seemed.
“So,” she starts as she sets the glass down. “ you must be Derek Hale, am I right?” Her only response is a growl and it makes her chuckle. “You’re responsible for Gerard’s death, aren’t you? Shame we had to meet this way, but if you look at it this way, I guess one good thing will come of it.” Monroe stands up and grins darkly at the wolf. “ You’ll make a fine coat .” Derek barks angrily at her and quickly dodges the gunfire as the hunters in the room unleash on him. He could see the bullets whiz past him and they sting a little. Wolfsbane bullets. Jumping up, he knocks a hunter down harshly and slams him to the floor—knocking him out cold. He moves to another quickly and uses him as a shield, making the hunter take the bullets instead before he launches at a 3rd hunter. Each hunter drops down to the floor but before he could reach the final hunter, a sudden searing pain bursts into his shoulder. He cries out and is immediately forced to shift back into his human form. Looking down at his shoulder, he soon realized he’d been shot with a wolfsbane bullet. Another bullet hits his thigh, making him collapse to the floor with painful yelp.
“It really is too bad, though.” Monroe purrs, faking a pout as she takes slow strides over to his crumbled form. “You’re really a piece of eye candy. I mean, look at him.” She bends down and tilts his head up, ignoring the warning snarl. “He’s hot as hell. Are you sure you swing for the other team?”
“Come a little closer.” Derek answers in a small hiss. “And I’ll show you instead.”
Monroe laughs and pulls her hand away before standing up. “Such a feisty little one, isn’t he? I love it.” Derek looks up as more hunters swarm into the room and aim their weapons at him. “I guess I can now have the pride to say that I killed Derek Hale. True Alpha of Beacon Hills. Don’t worry, Derek. Your head will be used as a warning sign on our front lawn. Too bad your code is not to kill. That would’ve landed you a better cause to try to win over me.”
Derek growls a little in response, gritting his teeth angrily at himself. But before the hunters could lift their weapons or pull the trigger, a sudden figure rushed into the room and jumps over Derek, catching the alpha off-guard. Derek watched with alarmed eyes as the figure crouches before him as it lands, the large, silky red cape flowing gracefully behind him. Its hood was pulled up over its head. Judging by the look on Monroe’s face—the frightened and shocked expression—Derek knows just who it is.
“Sorry I’m late to the party.” Stiles says as he slowly stands up. “But I must say, this is such a lame party. There isn’t even any punch!”
“Don’t just stand there!!” Monroe yells desperately at her frozen hunters. Stiles turns to look back at Derek and—man, a year really did put his mate into shape but that’s an observation for later—his eyes flash pine green. Immediately, as if acting on instinct, Derek feels his own eyes flash back. Suddenly, the bullets in his body pop out of him and the wounds heal as he shifts back into his wolf; feeling a rush of power and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he lets out a ferocious roar. Stiles reaches into his pocket and grabs two pens, clicking them and suddenly having them turn into blades. He twirls the blades around his fingers and meets a hunter mid-charge. The hunters drop like flies, falling mercy to the quick and sharp movements of the Beatha and the True Alpha. The scent of terror grows stronger from Monroe, who takes a window of opportunity to try to scramble out of the room only to halt halfway down the hall at the sight of the rest of Derek’s pack, along with Jackson and his standing there.
“Going somewhere?” Liam taunts, lips stretching over his canines in a smirk. Monroe pants a little and turns around to run the way she came only to stop when Derek and Jackson block her way. She stays rooted in her place as her wide eyes watches Stiles, still with the red hood over his head, take slow strides out of the room with the blades in his hands.
“Holy shit.” Someone gasps from behind her. It was Scott, baffled at the sudden appearance of his best friend. Stiles smirks a little and reaches up to pull his hood down as he stands beside the large wolf.
“Oh, now you’re in for it.” Erica laughs wildly. “Stiles is here!” She screams out as she leans over the stair railing. “Stiles is here!!” Loud cheers emit from below.
“I heard you’ve been bothering my pack, Monroe.” Stiles speaks calmly, his voice smooth as his pine green eyes star the woman down. “I heard you’ve attacked my pack several times, and threatened the life of my mate.”
“I-I… I…” Monroe stuttered, taking a step back.
“Aww, what’s the matter?” Jackson cooed. “Werewolf got your tongue?”
Monroe swallows thickly and frantically shakes her head. “It—It won’t happen again!! I promise!!” She cries out. But Stiles tuts a little in disappointment, shaking his head a little.
“I don’t know about you guys, but… her promise doesn’t seem very sincere. Does it?”
“Hell no.” Parrish snarls.
“Definitely not.” Malia scoffs, her shimmering blue eyes glaring. “Can we kill her now?”
Stiles grins a little. “I have a better idea, actually.” He says instead. All eyes were now on him as he takes slow steps forward. “I’ll give you one last change, Monroe. Think you can fight me?” He nods over at Scott, who tosses him a sword that he was using. Stiles uses his magic to hover the blade mid-air and guide it towards Monroe, who timidly takes it with shaking hands. “Tell you what, if you can beat me, you can leave this place alive. If not, then well—” he nudges his heads in the direction behind her. Monroe turns to look behind her only to see Noah in front of the everyone else with an angry expression and a shotgun. “—I have an angry father looking to blow your head off.”
“We’ve gotten all of her hunters to surrender.” Isaac pants as he dashes up to join the pack members. “We’ve won, bitch.” At this, Monroe’s eyes harden. She lets out a deep breathe and takes a fighting stance.
“There we go!” Stiles cheers. “Now this is a party!” He twirls his swords around his fingers steadies himself. It was a stand-off for a moment before Monroe makes the first move. She charges with a battle cry and fast movements but Stiles is faster. He dodges her feeble attack easily and elbows her hard in the back, sending her flying face-first into the ground. She pants against the dirty floor before pushing herself up and turning to face her opponent. Stiles stood now in front of his father. He twirled the blades around in his hands before firmly grasping the handles, lifting the pair in front of himself and jointing them together by the butts of their handles to form one, long double-ended spear. His green eyes flash a couple of times as he chants out a spell, spinning the spear above his head and around his body.
“Brisingr!” He chants and suddenly, his spear catches fire. Monroe frowns a little and glances down at her dainty little sword before looking up at Stiles. She looks around and spots another sword on the floor, quickly dashing to it and snatching it off of the floor. As she charges Stiles, she twirls the swords in her hands before she takes swipes at the male. But Stiles is quick and cunning. Dodging, spinning, and bending back to avoid her jabs and swipes. With one quick movement, he knocks her down to the ground once more by using his lit spear to knock her feet out from underneath her. She could feel the tinge of heat against her pants and frantically tries patting out the fire with her hands. But it was quick to consume her pant leg and sear her flesh.
“Gëuloth du knifr.” He chants once more. Monroe gasps a little as she looks down at her blades. It took her a second to realize that he must’ve chanted a spell to dull her blades, rendering both of them useless. “Reisa.” She lets out a small yelp in alarm as she was levitated off of the ground and turned around to face Stiles. “Thrysta Vendrin.” The next second, she was flying across the hall and slamming into the concrete wall. She crumbles to the ground, knocked out cold. Letting out a breathe, Stiles raises the lit spear up in front of him and grabs the handles, pulling the blades apart and disengaging the fire spell around them. He ‘clicks’ the butts of the blades and they immediately turn back into innocent fountain pens.
“You’re a badass, holy shit.” Allison breathes in awe.
“You gotta teach us some of that!” Isaac shouts.
Stiles laughs quickly and looks over at the beta. “No can do, pup. Only a Spark can learn magic like this. But the enthusiasm is appreciated.” Peter steps forward and pats Stiles’ shoulder with a wide grin.
“Your time spent with the clan was wise. You’ve grown a lot, Stiles.” He compliments. The smile on Stiles’ lips grew and he quickly pulls his Godfather into a tight hug.
“What do we do with her now, though?” Mason asks as he approaches to check her pulse. “She’s still alive.” Corey emerges from against the wall, for he had been invisible as he helped Jackson take down hunters.
“Well, I have an idea.” Stiles turns his head to look over at his father and Parrish. “How about we put her in handcuffs and arrest her sorry ass? Along with the remaining hunters. There might not be room in Beacon Hill’s jailhouse but I’m sure there are other jailhouses in California that they can go to.” Parrish grins and lets his Hellhound dissipate before he approached Monroe, tugging his handcuffs out of his pockets—which surprisingly didn’t melt. Stiles turns and approaches his father hug him tightly, both wearing matching grins on their faces.
“You’ve grown into one hell of a man, Stilinski.” Jackson cackled as they embraced as well. “Look at you. You’re so built now. I remember when you were a scrawny little human.”
A laugh leaves Stiles’ lips. “Yeah, well. I’m not a scrawny little human anymore.” He looks up when he spots Derek, now shifted back into his human form, slipping on his clothes in a hurry.
“Stiles.”
“...Derek.”
The couple meet each other halfway for a tight embrace. Derek wraps his arms securely around Stiles’ figure and lifts him up off of the ground. His body feels firm, full of muscle and strength and Derek can’t help but be so proud of him.
“Welcome home.”
“It’s good to be home, mo grà.”
After escorting Monroe to the hospital for any injuries, Parrish shoo’s everyone away to return back home, saying that he’ll take care of the paperwork. The remaining 100 hunters are handcuffed securely in a couple vans from Jackson’s pack. They return to the Hale property to begin a very large feast in celebration—and it definitely helped with Stiles being able to literally conjure food and several picnic tables in their backyard. Derek was admiring his lover from his seat as Stiles stands with a couple hunters, reminiscing with them and laughing with them. A year ago, Stiles was quite different from the Stiles that’s right in front of him. Right now, he stands a bit taller. His shoulders taunt and head held high. He’s packed more muscle on himself and he could smell the admiration and lust towards him from pretty much everyone. He’s got a nose piercing, an eyebrow piercing, and his ears have at least 4 piercings each instead of one like last time. Derek could also see a seemingly innocent tattoo crawling up both of his arms. Starting from his wrists was what looked a solid black forest crawling up towards his elbows. But with his wolf vision, Derek could see hidden ink etched into the black ink. There were charms and wards, all different in their own ways. They must be used to help protect himself and mask his scent so that he appeared as a normal human to the blind eye.
As if sensing Derek’s admiration, Stiles turned his head to look over at him and smiled once they made eye contact. He sends a wink before returning back to his conversation with the hunters.
“You’re very lucky to have him.” Malia’s appearance startles Derek. “He seems like one hell of a guy. He’s admired by literally everyone here. I have no idea who he is honestly but for some reason I have the biggest respect for the guy since the second I laid eyes on him.”
“That’s because a Beatha is considered a God in the Spark social hierarchy.” Derek explains and takes a sip of his punch. “He has the aura of a pack leader even though he’s only a beta.”
“He carries himself with pride. I’m quite envious.” Theo joins in with a small huff. “I wish I was someone like him.”
Liam turns to shoot him a look. “You’re fine the way you are, Theo.” He grits out, smacking Theo on his bicep. “Now shut up and dance with me.” Derek watches the pair walk towards their designated dance floor with amusement before a figure stepping into his line of view. He looked up and saw Stiles standing in front of him with a small grin, a hand extending out towards with him. Derek didn’t even have to ask to already know what Stiles was requesting from him. He downed the rest of his drink, took Stiles’ hand, and let his lover guide him towards the dance floor.
“You grew up a lot.” Derek whispers once they find their spot on the floor. Stiles simply smiles up at him and pulls him close, slipping his arms around his neck as a slow dance began to play. “I feel like I’m holding a different person in my arms.”
“I may look a little different but I assure you, I’m still the same Stiles Stilinski you’ve grown to love.” teases Stiles, fingertips dancing against the back of Derek’s neck. “How has the training been with Deaton?”
“Good, actually. Turns out Familiar’s can cast some spells but there’s a limit. They can only cast some basic, common spells like wards and protection spells and such. I know a healing spell but it only works on someone else and not myself. I’ve used it on the pack when they got attacked by Monroe’s hunters.”
Stiles seems a little impressed. “Well, I’m glad training has been paying off for you then. I could write like a 150 page book on what I’ve learned at the clan but Ailfryd told me to keep pretty much everything a secret. The only thing I can tell you is about the spells I’ve been taught.”
“What about sparring lessons? I’m sure Isaac and the rest of ‘em are eager to fight like you.” Derek simpered.
The beta laughs and moves to nuzzle into Derek’s neck, scenting him for the first time in over a year. “I can do that, definitely. But I do offer certain private lessons.”
Derek raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Is that so?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of lessons?”
“Well, let’s just say that I know some spells that can… enhance a certain activity .”
Derek can tell that Stiles smells the twinge of desire wafting off of him. “And who gets the honor of experiencing such a special and private lesson?”
Stiles pulls back and grin wide at him, pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss that took Derek’s breathe away. “Only my mate can experience such a lesson. Once you see him, do you mind telling him to meet me in our room at midnight?”
With a quick glance at the time, Derek smiles. It’s 11:49pm.
“I’ll make sure to send the message.”
Later on that morning after a very heated night, Stiles reveals to Derek that he had casted a soundproof ward around their room. Which was definitely for the best.
|
The cop groaned as the ringing of a telephone interrupted his sleep. Who could be calling at such a late time? There was a reason why he took the night shifts. Nothing in this town happened. At least, not anymore.
The town, once a booming tourist trap during the producing days of Joey Drew Studio, had been reduced to a quiet, nothing town after the fall of the studio. Where there were once flashing cameras stood were now dandelions and grass, both seemingly as tall and thick as a grown man. The paint of the building had long since faded and crumbled away, marking the quiet studio as abandoned. And yet…. Yet there was something about the house. Something that made even the toughest veteran uneasy, something that even the local thugs and teenagers shy away from. The wood, though untouched and unvarnished, still stood proud, its colour as bright as the day they were first cut. Not to mention the smell.
God above, that smell…
Tt was enough to make your eyes water and you gag. If you were even in the vicinity of the studio the smell would cling to you for days after, no amount of soap and hot water able to lift it from your skin. It was something that he could never place. A strange mixture of wet cardboard, and the sweet smell of rotting flesh.
No one could place it. Joey Drew had long since locked up the building and everyone avoided going near it. And so the building continued to stand. A forever monument to the failure of what the arts brought to their little town.
The phone paused for a moment before beginning to ring again. The cop cursed, straightening up. Maybe one of those dumb ass teenagers had been caught selling some white powder again. He grabbed the phone. “Police Station.”
The voice hesitated. “Hi. I… I called 911 and the operator told me to call you instead.”
Of course. Those damn operators were always shirking their responsibilities and pushing it on others. If he went down there, he bet that they were probably sitting around and working on their knitting again. “What was your compliant?”
“See… my… my friend. Her name is Carma Stein. Her father went missing a few days ago and she went to see if she could find him. But she hasn’t returned home yet.”
The cop sighed, glancing at his notebook. Yes, he remembered the chief talking about Henry Stein going missing. He remembered the family… Carma was definitely the type to take matters into her own hands. “When did you last see her?”
“I saw her yesterday afternoon. She asked me to call the police if she wasn’t back by tonight. And… well. She’s not. So… I called.”
The cop took Henry’s case out of the pile and added a note to it, beginning to write up the file. Telling police to look for the girl as well. “Do you know where the girl was headed?”
“She said that her father was asked to return to the Drew Studios. She wanted to check out there first.”
If there was anything that he hated more than crime, it was pranksters. “Do you really take me for a fool?”
“I… excuse me?”
“You heard me. Was this one of those games that you stupid teenagers made up? Call the cops and make a false report? You know that this is against the law, right? I can have you booked and arrested so fast your head will spin.” He slammed his pen down. Now he would need to rewrite everything to prevent this screw up from getting further down the line of command.
“Please. Sir. I’m… I’m telling the truth! I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Is that why you called? So you can remain faceless and secure while you call from the comfort of your own home?” The cop continued, his voice getting louder, his cheeks turning red. “There ain’t nothing secure from calling from a home line, kid.”
The voice suddenly lost it’s quiet demeanor. “Do you really think that I would be wasting my time and yours if this wasn’t a real case? My grandfather served in war. Before that, he was a cop. He passed now but if it is one thing that was ground into me it was respect for the men in blue. No matter what.” There was a pause. “Listen. Check out their address. I’m sure you have it from the initial complainant from when Henry was reported missing. Carma and Henry lived in the same household while she was going to school. If she is missing, then I was right. If she’s there in her bed, then you can arrest me. But I am telling you. Carma has not yet come by to tell me she’s back, nor has she rung me. And that’s not like her. Especially when she told me to call.”
The cop pinched his nose and counted back from ten. He supposed that he could give the voice the benefit of the doubt. For now. But… “What was your name?”
“Bucky.” He rolled his eyes. These god damn parents and their fucking hippie names. He met a girl the other day named Windsuckle.
“Ok. Bucky. How long did you say that she was missing again?”
“Since yesterday afternoon.”
The cop looked up at the clock. “It hasn’t yet been forty-eight hours. I cannot open a missing case yet. Call back tomorrow afternoon if she hasn’t returned.”
“But…”
“We do things by the book here as your grandfather would have taught you. After the person is missing for forty-eight hours, then we open the case and get the detectives and other people on it. Before then, our hands are tied. Is there anything else that you can thing that needs to be included in the case or anything else that needs to be reported? Arson or armed robbery perhaps?”
The voice paused. “No.”
“Good. Call back tomorrow. In the meantime, keep your nose clean. If I find out you were lying to me, your ass is grass.” The phone slammed as he hung up on their protests. He leaned back in his chair, taking his hat off as he reclined. Perhaps he could go back to the dream he was having before he was so rudely awoken.
|
"Hello, David how is it going honey?" "Good as can be." David Williams replied to his young wife Kelly.
They had been married for 4 years now and David was 15 years older than the 29-year-old Kelly. They were the typical well to do WASP couple with no children yet. David was calling his wife to tell her that he was being called away to the hospital where one of his old friends had been admitted earlier that day. Kelly was annoyed at first since they were supposed to be going out to dinner later. It was rare they got a chance to do things anymore as David worked so often at the public defender's office.
"Sweetheart, I have some bad news." David told his wife when he got home at past 11pm. "You remember Chris, my old buddy from the Coast Guard? Well, he has been hit by cancer and things do not look good. I doubt that he is going to last more than a few days."
"Oh that is terrible!" said Kelly. She was trying to picture this friend, but she did not remember him from the wedding. The truth be known she was kind of drunk at the wedding and all the faces blurred together. Kelly was good at putting on a face to people that showed a lot of concern. In actuality however, she was pretty selfish and did not care about this news all too much. After all, why did she have to miss her dinner?
Less than a week later and David's friend from the service was gone. David was beside himself with grief as this was a great old friend from when David was young. That weekend David took Kelly to lunch and told her a bit of information that would soon change her life. "Kelly honey, you know how upset I am about Chris passing away like this? Well, there is a situation that I think I need to take care of. Chris really had no family to speak of, as he was a widower. And you remember his son Kevin, right?"
"Sure!" Kelly lied.
"Well, I am giving serious consideration to the idea of taking care of him out of respect for Chris. He has no other family and I think the boy needs a home. I know Chris would do the same for me and I just do not think I could live with myself knowing that Kevin was all alone." David told his silent wife.
"You mean you would want him to live with us? Like adopt him?" Kelly asked.
"I think that is the right thing to do Kelly." David answered.
This was a big shock to Kelly. "I am not sure if I am ready for that David." She said.
"I know dear, me too! But, put yourself in the other position. I mean this must be a really scared boy. Ya know?" Said David.
When he put it like that it was hard for Kelly to argue without sounding selfish and uncaring. She enjoyed a good life. Doing only a few charity functions a year while David paid all the bills. She wanted to keep him happy and never have to work again. Not that she really 'worked' aside from waiting tables in high school.
"Ok Dave, I guess you are right. It's the Christian thing to do; I mean we cannot leave the kid to fend for himself." Kelly told her husband.
"Thank you Kelly! I am sure you and Kevin will get along just fine. Over the last few days I have gone to see him a few times and he seems to be a charming young man."
"How old is he now?" Kelly asked.
"I think 18" came David's reply.
"It should also make us look really progressive to be in such an unbiased, modern family unit!" David explained.
"What do you mean?" said Kelly.
"Well, having an adopted African American son of course." David told her.
Then it hit her; Chris was David's black friend from the service. She showed no sign outwardly, but inside Kelly was cursing this news. She should have remembered! If she said anything now she would come off as a racist, so she would have to figure things out later. She was remembering her wedding night. She had drunkenly accepted a dance from Chris while some Jewish friends were lifting David on a chair. In a dark corner of the dance floor Chris had pulled the drunken bride close to his hard body, mashing her corset covered G cup breasts into his lower chest.
After a while she could feel his hard dick snaked down his leg pushing against her stomach. She thought to herself that there was no way a penis could get that big and hard. She was in a trance as his hands slid over her soft dress, once even reaching down to squeeze her ass while no one was looking. At the time Chris was just amazed by the 5'5" red-headed looker. Soft white skin, shoulder length wavy red hair that pointed down to her glass cutting 32G-22-28 figure. All of this on top of an ass that seemed to pop right out from the small of her back. Chris would have taken her up to his room that night if David had not come looking for her. He could tell from the blank look in her eyes that she wanted his cock to play with.
One week later on Saturday David came home with his SUV packed full of Kevin's belongings. Kelly waited at home and put the finishing touches on to one of the guest bedrooms. She was wearing a baby blue t-shirt and jeans with sandals.
"Honey, we're here!" yelled David from the door. Kelly came into the room and stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth was slightly open as she stared at Kevin. He was 6'4" with a lot of thick muscles. His skin was not terribly dark, but was very smooth. Kelly could not help but compare it to milk chocolate.
"Kevin, this is my wife Kelly." said David.
"H H Hi," stammered Kelly.
"Nice to meet you." said Kevin and he extended his hand to shake. Kelly, (her mouth still open) moved her eyes down to his outstretched hand. She then put her hand into his and made a choice to try and make this situation happen as best as possible.
Kevin was very happy when he saw this pretty bitch before him, so happy that his cock stirred in his pants. He was not sure why these people had asked him to come live here, but he knew they had money and was not about to pass up a good thing.
"Let me show you to your room Kevin." said Kelly. Kelly walked down the hallway and even though she felt a bit strange she could not see Kevin burning a hole in her swaying ass. Kevin was thinking to himself that this bitch was trying to tease him with the way she was moving her hips from side to side.
"How do you like the room?" Kelly asked.
"Oh, this will be just fine." Kevin responded.
"I hope it is big enough." Kelly said to him.
"Well, I am a large guy. In fact my nickname is 'Big,' so you can just call me that."
"Oh, uhhhh, why do they call you that...?" Kelly stammered as her eyes unconsciously shifted down to his crotch.
Kevin watched her do this and smiled as her eyes did not move from the bulge in his jeans. He also noticed that her hand was rubbing the doorknob in a twisting motion.
Right then David came in the room and had no idea that this young black kid had just made his wife think of black dick inside of 10 minutes. Kelly excused herself to the kitchen while David showed Kevin around the house.
Kevin enrolled at a local private school that had a good sports program. Kevin excelled at track, basketball and football. Over the next 2 weeks Kevin felt that Kelly was avoiding him a little bit. He enjoyed walking around the house with no shirt on and getting out of the shower with a towel around his waist. David was gone every morning at 6:30 so it was just the two of them in the morning before Kevin went to school and Kelly went about her errands. They had a house cleaner once a week so Kelly did little more than cook and run errands. Before Kevin moved in Kelly would often wear nothing but her pajamas in the morning. Two weeks ago David had mentioned that she probably will have to make a few adjustments in regard to things like that. Kelly had agreed of course but lately she had been catching herself staring at Kevin as he walked around with no shirt on. One morning he came into the kitchen wearing just a towel wrapped around his waist at he opened the fridge for some juice. Kelly was in some khaki shorts and a t-shirt. As Kelly was making some eggs Kevin came and sat at the table. They chitchatted and Kelly came to serve him at the table.
While she turned around Kevin pushed a plate off the table and it broke into three pieces on the floor. Kelly thought she had done it and said, "Excuse me Big," as she scooped out some eggs and bacon for Kevin. He grunted his response and added "git me some more toast," before Kelly had a chance to do anything else. She paused for a second at the way he barked at her but only briefly as she then quickly turned around to the toaster. A few seconds later and Kevin had some nice, fresh toast on his plate. Kelly thought about it for a second and dismissed his rudeness as a product of a rough childhood.
Kelly grabbed a dustpan and got on her knees in front of the table intent on picking up the plate she broke. As she sat there frozen under the table, drool actually started accumulating in her mouth and her pussy unconsciously started dripping and opening like a flower. The towel that was around Kevin's waist had half fallen off and a large part of his penis was exposed. Before she knew it Kelly's face had crept to within 5 inches of this thing and her flaring nostrils were filing with the musky cock smell. The head appeared to be three times the size of David's and it was not hard!
Kevin heard her gasp when she got under the table and could tell her breathing was picking up pace. A few seconds later and he could feel her short gaspy breaths on his cock. He was all smiles at this point and decided to reach down and adjust his package. With is right hand he reached under the table and scratched his balls. He felt Kelly's head hit the bottom of the table and pulled his hand back. He was very happy when she did not run away instantly. You see, now she could see his big balls and was equally fascinated with them. The combination of this big brown cock with its balls was too much for her and Kelly scampered out form under the table after staring for a few more seconds. At least it felt like a few seconds to her, but she was really there for about one minute. After making a bumbling excuse Kelly ran off to her bedroom and Kevin got ready for school with a big grin on his face.
If things went right he would be enjoying this little bitch in ways she can't even imagine. Kelly locked herself in the bathroom and had to sit on the toilet because her knees felt like wet noodles. She could not control her breathing and when she closed her eyes it was as if the image of Kevin's penis was burned onto her eyelids. 'How could it have come out like that?' She asked herself. Obviously it was not on purpose, right?
She did not realize her legs were locked together like a vice grip and her nails were lightly scraping along her legs. Her face was beat red and she had a small smile on her face. Kelly heard Kevin leave and decided to take a bath. While soaking in the tub Kelly was still having trouble not thinking about Kevin's big penis. Lying there with her eyes closed Kelly was not sure when she stopped soaping her skin and started playing with her body for pleasure. Her right hand squeezing her left breast and her left had violently frigging her clit. Kelly had always been bit ambidextrous and it helped her a lot in certain situations.
Kevin had a wonderful morning telling his friends about what he did to his new mom. There were a few kids at the school that like Kevin were of African ancestry. Shaun, Bo and Jared were all attending the school for sports and received athletic scholarships. There were a couple of white kids that Kevin liked also. These were rich white kids who were good at sports and seemed to like hanging out with the black guys. During the day Kevin talked with his black friends about his idea for them to turn this new big titty bitch out.
A few nights later and Kelly was on the couch watching Leno while David was already asleep. Kevin came home from a late night run and entered the room without his shirt on and sweating rather heavily. He was drying with a towel and he came up behind Kelly to start rubbing her shoulders. She knew he was in the room and was sitting staring at the TV pretending she did not hear him. As he touched her shoulders an electric spark flew through Kelly's body. She had never felt anything like it.
After a few minutes of firm massage Kevin stopped and asked Kelly a favor. "Can you rub my back with this towel? My arms can never stretch enough."
"Uh...ok Kevin." Kelly answered. Kevin sat on the floor in front of her and gave her the towel. "I have been lifting a lot of weights recently so I am not that flexible." Kevin said.
"Your muscles are so big on your shoulders so I can see why you can not reach your back." Kelly said and she gently wiped the sweat away from his back. As she did this Shaun took off his shoes and socks without Kelly noticing. She was very distracted by the fact that she was touching this big strong back.
"Oh, that feels good, scratch my back." Kevin told her. Without thinking Kelly obeyed and started scratching Kevin's back with both hands. She caught herself leaning forward to smell the sweat on the top of his head.
Kevin saw her reflection in a mirror and smiled as she did this. "Ah, lower!" Kevin instructed.
She started to scratch his lower back as he leaned forward. "Lower!" he barked. Startled, Kelly moved her hands down to the top of his ass and he barked again "faster!"
Soon Kelly's hands were shaking violently as she scratched the top of Big's ass. "Help me stretch." Kevin said. Push forward on my shoulders while I lean forward. Kelly hesitated and Kevin told her to hurry. He liked barking orders at this white girl.
"That's not hard enough, lean harder!" he told her. "Lean with your body weight, not your hands, put your body against my back." Kelly paused for a second; she was not wearing a bra and only had on a baby tee with pajama pants. She knew he would be able to tell if her chest pressed up against his back.
"Uh, Kevin, it's late." Kelly said.
"Call me Big!" he cut her off.
"Right, Big, it's getting late and I think I..." Kelly Stammered.
"Come on, help me out or I cannot sleep, just do it." Big said. She sighed out and then started to lean on his back with her torso. He could feel her giant G cup tits mashing into his back. He was grunting his approval. Not for the stretch, but for the feeling he was getting in his loins.
Kelly was also starting to stir as she let go of more and more of her weight onto Kevin's back. She was reacting to the noises he was making and in a few seconds her nipples were turning rock hard. Kevin could feel this right away and he started to lean further forward. Before she knew it she was practically horizontal and lying on top of Kevin. She was still reacting to his moans and started asking him if it felt good. He told her that it was great. Without realizing it Kelly started to quietly moan along with Kevin as he stretched. He would suddenly move a few inches to the right or left and this would cause Kelly's tits to rub around his back and get into different positions. After a few minutes of this her tits were in totally different positions. The left one was flattened to her left and the right was flattened up towards her face. Due to the fact that she was wearing such a small light brown cut off T-shirt her right tit was almost fully popped out of the top. Kevin leaned back toward the couch and with no effort at all Kelly's entire weight was lifted into the air and flung back to the couch.
As Kevin turned around he got to see what he wanted. Her right tit had popped out of the top of her shirt and her hard little nipple was there to look at. He could tell she was excited and he just stared at her for a second. He then reached out to the frozen girl and pulled at her shirt to cover her up. She was totally embarrassed as she folded her arms in from of her chest. Kevin then sat on the couch with her and talked about her day. What she did not realize was that due to the sweat from his back, Kelly's shirt was now mostly see thru. While they were talking Kevin wanted to thank her for helping him stretch so he reached out and grabbed one of her feet. Kelly froze as she waited for what he was going to do. Her freezing around him was getting to be a habit with her and no matter how much she told herself not to there was nothing she could do to stop it. Kevin started to rub her feet and it felt really good to Kelly. His hands were so strong that she thought he could get out any knot she had. First one foot then the other and Kelly started to get very relaxed and tired. She had consumed a few glasses of wine earlier and that definitely was soothing her nerves. Kevin had produced the rest of the bottle of wine and filled her glass again. He was taking swigs from the bottle. She was about to say something about his not being old enough, but then decided that he is safer drinking with her than some strange place.
About an hour later and they were both sitting close together on the large couch. Kevin had gotten her to play some stupid game called 'I never' and she had consumed another two glasses of wine. Kevin soon had his arm around her as they both watched some show she liked. A while later and the tiredness set in with her head resting up against his chest. He slowly started to move into a lying position and was soon spooning her from behind with one hand cupping her left boob. He was softly kissing her ear and neck and she was purring as he did so.
Then he had an idea that required his camera. He went and got the digital camera and came back to the room. Slowly her rolled Kelly on her back and started to peel her still damp shirt up so that her tits would be out in the open. She was very passed out and barely stirred. In a few seconds he had her T-shirt rolled up under her arms. He had already taken a few shots of her sleeping on the couch. Now he started to take as many shots of her tits as he could. He mashed them in different directions. Took shots of himself sucking on her nipples. He even got a peeled banana and put it between her tits for one shot. Then he took a few shots of his cock and balls resting on her face. Along with a few shots of his fingers in her mouth. By this point his cock was rock hard and he had to do something about it. He did not want to risk having her cry rape, so he knew he could not take things very far. He switched the camera to video mode and started to jerk off while he played with the tits of this sleeping bitch. Pretty soon he was shooting some streams of cum into her open mouth and getting a pretty good close-up on the camera. She coughed and stirred which made Kevin back up and try to put his dick away. Her instinct reaction was to swallow and soon all the cum in her mouth was in her flat belly. Kevin then rolled her shirt back down most of the way and went to bed.
When David woke Kelly up he had to finish pushing her shirt down for fear that Kevin might have seen. The bottoms of her big tits were out and one of her nipples was visible. David should not have worried, as Kevin had taken a few shots of her with her shirt in different positions before he went to sleep. As Kelly woke up to see David she started explained about how she must have dozed off. She had a funny taste in her mouth and kept swallowing and running her tongue around to get rid of it. It was strange to her, but something told her she liked it and to swallow it down. Kelly went and jumped in the shower. She had a bit of a headache and all the things she did started flashing back to her mind. Rubbing Kevin's back with my chest! Drinking alcohol with him! But most of all she was concerned with how good he made her feel. Kelly decided to go back to bed and sleep some more. As Kevin came down later he noticed he was alone in the bottom of the house. He knew that David was at work, but where was his nice new toy. He figured she was avoiding him so he decided to push the issue and go find her.
The bedroom door was unlocked and Kevin pushed the door open to see her light red hair sticking out from under the sheets. Kevin then went up to the sleeping beauty and crawled onto bed with her. He started to gently rub her shoulder and the pretty girl stirred and purred at his touch. This is when he moved the sheets down and realized she was sleeping naked. Kevin really started to appreciate her ass when he saw it for the first time and wished he had his camera. He smirked at himself that there would be plenty of time for that later. His hands traced all over her body as she lay there on her side. Kelly's legs started to rub together as he softly touched her ass. She then moaned out her husbands name and started kissing at the air. Her hand then reached behind her in search for her husband's dick. Kevin had taken his cock out when he saw this and soon the sleepy girls hand was grasping it. He was happy with the fact that she started jerking him right away. She then purred out that his touch felt good and asked him to rub her shoulders as she rolled onto her stomach. 'This David guy must be a real punk' he thought to himself. If this was my bitch there is no way she would start and stop rubbing my cock like that. He decided to play along and grabbed the lotion from the side of the bed. He then gave her a nice strong back rub that she loved. After about twenty minutes of this Kevin started to rub his cock on her ass and into her hand, which responded right away. He poured more lotion onto his meat and into her hand as she was rapidly sliding her hand up and down his shaft.
"Jerk me off!" he ordered. Kelly turned herself a bit and then really started slamming her hand on what her tired little mind thought was her husband's cock.
"Oh honey, it's so hard." she said behind closed eyes. As she became more alert her eyes started to open and as she was rapidly jerking Kevin off she was totally startled to see black skin next to her. "Oh my God!!!" Kelly screamed, "Big, what are you doing here?" "Get out!"
"You are just massaging me girl, that's all, just like last night. You asked me to come in and rub your back. Why are you telling me to leave now? What's wrong?" Kelly sat up and looked at Kevin with confused eyes. "I did?" she said. "Yes, you just called out and told me to come in here to rub your shoulders. Then you started grabbing me. Why did you do that Kelly?" Kevin asked with a sad look on his face.
"I am not sure, I must be confused!" Kelly said as she thought to herself about what was going on. The truth was that she could not for sure say she did not call out to Kevin because she was actually dreaming of him a few minutes ago.
Kevin then looked down to look at his cock, which was still being slowly but firmly stroked by Kelly. Kevin then took the opportunity to rub his lotion-covered hands over her hanging tits. Kelly backed away for a second and then Kevin told her to stop moving.
She had now unconsciously locked both fists onto his cock and was slowly stroking. Both Kevin's hands were mashing her tits together. "Get the lotion! We gotta finish the massage." Kevin said to her.
Kelly paused for a second not wanting to let go of the hard dick meat. "Now bitch!" Kevin yelled. She nervously grabbed the lotion and turned back around to lie down as she handed the lotion to Kevin. "No, you are gonna rub me Kelly." Kevin said to her.
She then noticed he was lying down with his hard cock sticking up towards his chest. "Start with my feet" he said. Kelly was not used to being ordered around like this and she seemed to really be turned on by the treatment. For the next ten minutes Kelly rubbed Kevin's feet and legs moving increasingly high up with Kevin's order. Most of the time she had her eyes locked on his hard cock that he would play with from time to time. "Rub here!" He said as he touched the base of his cock. For five minutes she rubbed the hairy area all around the base of his cock. His balls felt so wickedly wonderful and huge to her. A few times Kelly started to move her hands up to his cock and jerk him off but Kevin stopped her on every attempt. Her breathing was very fast and she kept leaning in to look more closely at his cock. Kevin could feel her breath on his cock and could tell from the look in her eyes that she was really into this and would be again. "Why do you keep trying to touch my cock Kelly?" Kevin asked her.
"I, I, thought that's what you wanted and I uh mistakenly." She stammered.
"You are just giving me a massage Kelly; touching my cock is too sexy I think. Don't you?" Kevin smirked.
"I, I uh, did not mean to...Big I." She peeped.
"Do you want to touch it Kelly?" Kevin asked.
"Uh huh" Kelly answered with an open mouth without thinking. This whole chat she was looking at his cock and not his face.
"Well, if you ask nicely maybe I will let you rub it." Kevin said.
"Uh, what do you mean?" asked Kelly.
"Well, if you want to rub me in a private area then why don't you ask me to Kelly? I mean you just touched me there without permission and that is not really ok now is it?" Kevin said.
"Is it ok if I do?" the married red head asked.
"Do what? Ask in a sentence Kelly." Kevin teased.
"Uh, mmm!" Kelly cooed as Kevin tweaked her left nipple. "Kevin, can I..."
"BITCH, call me Big!!" Kevin yelled.
The startled girl whimpered out as she grabbed his cock for protection. "Sorry, sorry, Big, Big, can I touch your penis please?"
"No!" replied Kevin as he stroked it teasing the entranced beauty.
"Uhnnnoo, whhhhyyy?" asked the spoiled girl as his other hand fondled her breasts.
"This is a cock, you can touch my black cock if you want?" Shaun told the wife.
Kelly got a really dirty look on her face and her eye's narrowed. "B,B,nnnnooo, Big, can I touch your cock?" asked the confused wife.
"Ok, bitch, but you remember that this is a black cock and you should show respect, got it?"
"Yes." she panted.
"Call me by my name girl!" Kevin replied.
"Yes, Big, I will respect your black cock." She said.
"Ok, give it a kiss first." Kevin said. Without thinking the girl leaned forward to kiss her new black cock toy. As she was about to, his other hand holding his cock smacked her face with it and sent shockwaves through her body.
"Kissing too close to sex girl, you only wanted to touch it." Kevin told her.
"Well, can I kiss your cock as well please?" The white wife begged.
"Ok bitch, but that is all you get ok?" He told her.
"Ye...Yes Big." came her meager reply. She was not thinking right but all this seemed to come naturally to her. Strange considering she had never wanted to put her mouth onto her husband's dick. She was even gushing at the fact that he was calling her 'bitch.' The dirtiness of it was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her hands were now locked onto his ten inch black cock and her tits were shaking wildly as her hands moved up and down so fast.
"Uh, that feels good Kelly, keep doing that...uhhhh yeahhhh shiiiiitttt white bitch!" Was all that came out of Kevin's mouth. Kelly liked the talk and was panting right along with him.
Even chiming in a bit with phrases that she did not mean to say. Like 'yeah you like that, hard, cock, black, Big.' This went on for about twenty minutes while Kevin called her names like 'slut, bitch, white ass ho,' all of which made her feel naughtier.
Kelly could not believe how long this was going on. Usually David would cum inside of five minutes and leave her horny. This was past the point where her arms really hurt! At one point she took her right hand off to rest but Kevin just grabbed it and put it back for her saying "two hands bitch!" She fought thru the pain as Kevin squeezed on more lotion.
"Uh, shiiitt bitch, when I tell you to, eeee put the cccccock in your mouth uhhhhh!" Kevin told her.
"Uh, yeah, uhh ahhhhh!" Kelly was yelling to fight thru the pain in her arms and only half heard what he told her. She was already very used to just agreeing with what he said. Kevin was planning on this bitch swallowing his load and figured she would not know what to do without his help. He was close and noticed all the pre-cum running down her hands.
"AHHH, YEAH BITCH NOW!!! AAAAHHH FUCKCCC CUMMMMINGGG!" As one large jet launched up and landed on his chest. 'Dumb white cunt' he thought as he saw her slowly start to open her mouth and stick her tongue out by his cock. Like a vice Kevin grabbed her hair and caused Kelly to squeal like a pig. Then a second later his cock shot a huge jet blinding her right eye for now. The next instant and the lotion-covered cock was shoved into the back of her throat as it continued to pump streams of cum in her mouth and down her throat. The gagging beauty did not know what to do. She felt totally helpless and she liked it.
What was not forced down her throat dribbled out of her mouth onto Kevin and herself and the tail end of his orgasm subsided. Kevin then wiped himself off on the sheets and got up to get ready for school. Kelly found herself rubbing the sperm into her skin and Kevin liked the sight. He really liked seeing her with a big glob of his cum covering her right eye and running down her cheek onto her right tit.
"I am gonna shower, you can join me if you want, but have breakfast ready by the time I am done!" Kevin told her in passing.
"Uh, uh, uh...ok." The still panting beauty managed to get out. She could not really get her head around what happened. She thought to herself, about the fact she just had a man's pe..cock in her mouth and in her marital bed!
"Oh my god what have I done?" Kelly said out load as Kevin got in the master shower. The worst thing was that she wanted to get in the shower with him and see him naked again! What was going on here? Kelly thought as she unconsciously started moving the cum from her face to her devouring mouth.
"Fuck!" She said out loud as she caught herself. Grabbing a towel to wipe herself Kelly then made her way downstairs and for some reason started making breakfast for Kevin.
A few minutes later and Kevin came down dressed in his school clothes. "Thanks for the massage Kelly, that was great!" said Kevin. Caught off guard, the girl in her sheer robe could only stammer out a "yer, yer, you're welcome Big." As she turned to put food on his plate and get him an orange juice.
As she turned she sighed a little when she realized he had dressed. He loved the way her robe fell around her tits and ass, Kevin had to remember to make her wear this again. After quickly eating he got up to leave and as he did he said "I might come back for lunch, so have something ready at 12:15, Bye Kelly."
As he hit the door Kelly called out "Bye Big, have a good day!" He did not come back for lunch; he just wanted to make her nervous. You can be sure though that at 12:15 she was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him with a lunch ready to eat. Kelly had even put on a nice little knee length jean skirt and blouse with some heels and a little bit of make up. She was not sure why, but she was upset when he did not show. At that moment Kevin was in the locker room showing his buddies the nice photos he had scored of his new mom.
They were even totally thrilled with the fact that she had jacked him off this morning. "So, that is why you were late to class!" Bo said.
"Yep." Kevin said, "and then the bitch made me breakfast." They laughed it up with high fives all around. "This bitch is hot yo! You guys are gonna love her!" During his computer class Kevin took his time uploading one of Kelly's titty shots to rateyourrack.com as he was really curious to see what the world thought of her.
When Kevin got home that night David and Kelly were there watching the TV. Kelly was feeling very guilty and hanging on David's arm in some form of clearing her conscious. "Hey Kevin, how was your day buddy?" Kevin did not answer right away thinking that maybe this nice girl spilled the beans. One look at her face, which was staring at the TV screen and Kevin knew that the secret was safe. She was going to be his.
"Oh, great morning, followed by a wonderful day Chris! How about you bro?" Kevin asked.
"Busy, can't complain though." David replied with a smile.
"Good, well, I got off to such a better start after Kelly's wonderful breakfast!" Kevin said as the nervous Kelly got up to excuse herself. As she got into the kitchen Kelly grabbed the counter and felt like she would faint!
"What the hell was he saying that for!" Kelly asked herself.
They ate dinner a little while later and talked about Kevin's school mostly. David asked him about the girls and Kevin responded with a grin. "Well there are a couple David, but there is this one! She is kind of shy, but I think I will get to know her a lot better. She has these great tits!"
"Whoa!" David said. "Lets watch the language in front of the lady."
"Of course, you are right, that is just how I would talk with my dad. Never had a lady around like Kelly here. David, you sure are lucky to have such a nice wife waiting patiently at home for you!" Kevin said as he looked over at Kelly. She was red and sweating a bit. Kelly then excused herself to go to the rest room.
After dinner Kelly was handling the dishes while David read in the study. Kevin came up behind Kelly and said hello to her. "Kevin, we need to talk later, what happened was a mistake and we can never talk about it again!" Kelly said almost breathless as if she had been practicing this all day long! "I am a married women and we cannot be that close! Do you know what I mean?"
"Of course I do Kelly. Tell you what, I am gonna go jogging so why don't you come with me and we can talk in private?" Kevin said.
"Uh, well, uh, David might, uh, eeeeee, ok, ok I guess so." replied Kelly.
"Great! I will tell David we are going to go." Kevin then invited David to come with them, knowing full well he would say no, David was a fat ass and had not worked out in years. Kevin went to his room and changed quickly. He then walked over to the master bedroom and peeked in the door.
Kelly was putting on her running suit when Kevin came in the room and touched her shoulder. She froze again. Wearing nothing but cotton panties and a sports bra with her track pants around her ankles. Kelly started to protest but was cut off by a quick "shut up" from Kevin.
"Wear shorts and a regular bra with a T-shirt, no pants or sweater, got that?" Kevin said coldly.
"But, but, what are you....g g g get outa...we are going to talk ab..."Kelly stamered.
"Shut up bitch! Do what I say and meet me down stairs." Kevin scolded.
"O O Ok fine, just get out, David is here!" Kelly pleaded.
"Ok, what bitch? What's my name ho!?" Kevin teased.
"Ok, Big! Ok, I will do it, just go downstairs!" Kelly whimpered. Shaun smiled as he smacked her ass and left the room. He hit her so hard that his palm print was totally visible. The reaction from Kelly was getting to be predicable, her knees knocked and she got wet. The slap on the ass sent her over the edge and she felt the need to cum right away.
David and Kevin chatted about sports until Kelly came downstairs. She was wearing very short running shorts with some tennis shoes and a black T-shirt, her bra was nothing sexy, but it was not a sports bra as she had been told. "Honey, will you be cold?" David asked after looking at Kevin who was wearing sweat pants and a windbreaker.
"Uh, no, no I will be fine." Kelly said after looking at Kevin for a second. "I get hot when I run ya know?" Kelly lied. She knew she would freeze, but something inside her wanted to please Kevin.
"Ok, let's go then." said Kevin. They were going to leave thru the side door, which meant passing thru the kitchen. There was a countertop that separated the kitchen from the den and one could see into the other room from the waist up. As the two passed this Kevin stopped and grabbed Kelly's hand while turning back to face David.
"Do not worry David, I will take good care of your wife for you." Kevin smiled at David.
"Oh, I know you will," replied David. The terrified Kelly looked into space with a blank smile as Kevin put his hand into her shorts to feel her ass.
"I just hope she can keep up with you," said David with a laugh.
"Oh, do not worry about that David, I will make her keep up!" answered Kevin while squeezing her right ass cheek hard. As he squeezed harder her mouth opened more, almost like a toy with some open button.
Kevin bounded down the street as Kelly tried her hardest to keep up. Her tits shaking wildly in the regular bra as she ran flat out. Kevin chuckled as he taunted her to catch up. "I thought you wanted to talk, how can we talk with you lagging behind?"
Kelly tried to respond, "slow...sss.sss...ssslooooww ddddowwwwnnn, pleaassseee, BBBBiiiigggg." Kevin got a chuckle out of that, 'good, she was learning' he thought to himself.
After he was happy that she was covered in sweat Kevin decided to slow down. Still panting Kelly struggled to keep up with his jog and jumbled out her little speech about them not touching each other in an
inappropriate way.
"Yeah, I hear you babe, but you are the one that asked me remember, I am fine with the situation. Just do not ask me if you can touch my cock again, ok?" Kevin told her.
"Uh, uh, uh, uh ooooo ok uhuh." Kelly mumbled between breaths.
After this went on for about two more minutes a van pulled up along side. "What up big nigga?" shouted Bo.
"Oh shit, what the fuck are you fools doing here?" Replied Kevin to Bo. Shaun and Jared were driving in Shaun's big Chevy van. Kelly stopped and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath. The door to the van slid open and Jared was in back. All the rear seats were gone except for a bench at the very back, the rest was all cushions and what looked like a futon pad. Kevin said what up and then turned around to introduce Kelly.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING BITCH?" Kevin yelled. "You will get a cramp! I thought you went jogging before. Don't bend over, you have to put your hands behind your head and take deep breaths!"
Kelly was totally shocked by what he said and unable to get a hold of her breathing. Kevin came around and grabbed her hands interlocking them behind her head. "Now, arch your back and breath deep!" Kevin said as his other hand pushed on the small of her back. "Arch it!" he yelled as the startled Kelly obeyed. "Elbows back!" Kevin said as he grabbed her elbows and moved them back as far as they would go. "Now breath deep!" said Kevin. Kelly tried but was still panting. "Ok, spread your legs then." Kevin told her as he kicked her legs apart to give he a wide stance. It looked like he was a cop about to arrest her. "Breath deep!" He yelled as he pulled back on her hair sticking her tits out again for his friends. The guys were salivating at every move. Her chest heaving back and forth as she tried to breathe in this awkward position.
"You guys better give us a ride, this bitch don't know what she is doing!" Kevin said.
"Ok, ho in... I mean hop in guys," said Shaun.
Kevin pushed Kelly into the van without any discussion. He actually threw her in and she ended up lying on the futon floor. Kevin then climbed in behind her and stood over her as he went to sit on the bench with Jared. He pulled Kelly up to his feet and told her to stay there. So, there was this nice and proper married white wife in the back of a grey van that had been turned into a bed. Not that this was bad enough, but she was riding with four Negro high school kids. One of which she had jerked off and had cum in her mouth that morning.
Still panting Kelly did not object as Kevin moved her around to his feet. "You guys have no idea how good a massage Kelly here gives. She rubbed my shoulders yesterday and got all the knots out. Ain't that right Kelly?" asked Kevin.
Before thinking the confused wife answered "Yes Big."
"That's right and she can rub a foot too! Actually Kelly, why don't you rub my feet now, they are hurting from that run." Kevin told her.
Before she knew it Kevin had his feet pressing into her stomach and chest. His right foot started to play with her tits and in order to stop it fast Kelly started to rub his feet. "Kiss 'em!" he barked. The nervous wife complied and gave a few little pecks to his feet.
"That's good, wait, that is not fair!" Kevin said. "Where are my manners? I cannot be the only one enjoying this wonderful massage. Kelly, rub J's shoulders!"
As she turned around J was already in front of her with his shirt off and he had thrown a bottle of baby oil in her lap. "Use that." he said coldly.
Kelly did not know what to do and she felt the others looking at her. Truth be told, all these guys had been staring at her since they saw they two of them running. Bo had gotten some video of the two running down the street and now had the camera hidden in a bag between the front two seats facing into the cab of the van. Kelly did not know what to do so she thought she had better try to make the kids happy and then started to rub some oil onto J's shoulders with both hands.
A few minutes later and Kevin started to rub her shoulders. This felt really good and was producing moans from Kelly's mouth. She had no idea where the van was going, but she assumed it was taking them home. One day she might learn to stop assuming. Kevin's hands felt so good on her that she did not notice him moving her shirt higher bit by bit. "Pass me the oil." said Kevin as J threw it back to him. "Raise your hands Kelly!" Kevin said as he lifted her arms above her head in one quick motion.
In a flash her wet shirt was thrown up to the front of the van where Bo caught it. Kevin had unfastened her bra a few minutes ago and that was soon resting on her arms that were back to rubbing J's shoulders Kevin had applied a lot of oil onto her back and the massage was really getting her going. Every few seconds she would blabber about getting her shirt back and being nice and appropriate.
The guys totally ignored her and they were all watching now as Shaun had pulled into an alley and parked the van. Soon Kevin's hands were reaching around kneading her big tits. Kevin ripped off her bra and threw it up to Bo. Kelly seemed too far-gone now to care and was obviously horny as fuck. Kevin and J kept taunting her, asking if she like giving massage and helping the athletes with their aches and pains. Kevin made her lick her own nipples and pretty soon had his cock in her hand being jerked off while she still rubbed J's neck. "Good girl!" exclaimed Bo from the front seat.
"We gotta hurry though guys, hubby is gonna be trippin' soon." Kevin told the others.
"Don't worry dude, we got this bitch now. We should have plenty of other nights with her." Bo said. J replied to Bo with an "Amen to that."
"Check this shit out." said Kevin. "J lie on your chest." J did as Kelly whined when the dick was taken from her hand.
"Now bitch, rub his back with your tits." Kevin said to Kelly as he moved her to a lying position on J's back. "Hold up." said Shaun as he climbed back. "Gimme the oil," he said as he got it from Kevin. "Now pull back on that bitches hair." Said Shaun.
Kevin knew what he was thinking and grabbed her by the hair arching her tits out again as Shaun sprayed oil all over her, on her tits, stomach and even her face. Kelly was gasping by the rough treatment she was getting and her cunt gushed from the way these guys treated her like a piece of meat. Kevin had tapped into something in her psyche that she never knew was there.
Kevin threw her back on J's back as they all laughed and enjoyed the show. This was like a perverted slip and slide. Within a minute Kevin had pulled down her shorts and panties and was wearing the panties on his head. They enjoyed making her tell them how much she like it being naked in this van wearing only her shoes and socks. The guys all busted up when Kevin grabbed her feet and Shaun grabbed her wrists. The two slid her up and down J's back like a saw. Her tits mashing in every direction and her nipples felt like they would burst.
"All right, we gotta get this bitch to bed soon. Kelly, do you want to go to bed or do you want to stay here and work out with us some more?" Asked Kevin.
"Uh, uh mmmmm, I I wanna stay for a bit." Kelly responded in a little girl voice.
She was going crazy because J had started playing with her tight pussy. The tiny furry mound made the guys laugh as she kept spreading her leg and trying to fuck his hand. Shaun than moved her so that she was facing the camera with her legs spread and thrashing about now that J had started eating her pussy.
Kevin started slapping her tits around and mashing them together around his cock while his balls and asshole were in her face. Kelly did not know what to do right now, but she could not help from having a screaming orgasm. Kevin had been jerking off and was ready to bust so he started shooting cum all over her huge tits. She was barely aware. After using her shorts to wipe up his dick Kevin said that it was time to get their new toy to bed.
"I would like her to sleep over!" Said J as the others grunted their agreement.
Kevin had her put on her shorts that were covered with his cum. She did this without thinking. Bo threw back her shirt and kept her bra while Kevin had her panties. They started the van and right away J was pissed he did not get to cum so he grabbed the blissful Kelly and put her on her knees in front of his exposed 8 inch cock. She was confused at first but then got the idea as he proceeded to shove it in her mouth making her gag. She tried to push away, but was unable after Kevin grabbed her hands and put them behind her back. J continued to fuck her mouth for the entire ride home while Kevin held her firm and played with her tits. She caught on quick and stopped gagging as much. The stimulation on her tits was making her associate pleasure with having her mouth stuffed. About a block from the house J told Shaun to keep driving a few minutes. After another two trips around the block J started to pump cum into this married white bitches mouth and down her throat. Her instinct remembered what to do and she swallowed all that she could. The rest dribbled onto her chest and when they let her go she was gasping for breath as she fell back onto the floor. Shaun threw her shirt at her and told her to get dressed.
The cum stain did not show thru her shirt due to all the sweat and oil mixing with the black shirt that now clung to her body. Shaun grabbed his bag with the camera and told his friends he would see them tomorrow and he was glad the plan had worked as well as it did.
"Yeah." said Bo, "I thought the bitch was gonna be tougher than that."
"Bye Mrs. Williams!" the guys all took turns saying as they each molested her body. As she walked to the side door Kevin was asking her if she had fun and wanted to do it again. With a glazed look in her eye Kelly responded that she did. All of this was caught well by the camera slung under Kevin's shoulder.
As they walked up to the door Kelly started to worry about David and if he would see her in whatever state she was in! Once inside they realized he was asleep and Kelly breathed a little easier. Kelly, having come to her senses started to realize what a bad situation this was. She had been naked in front of these kids! She even sucked one of their cocks! This was very bad! She thought to herself. As she was blabbering to Kevin he had his hand around her waist and started to rub the small of her back. He sat his hidden camera bag on the counter facing them and turned on the light. Kevin then went back to rubbing Mrs. William's shoulders again and right on cue she started to lean back into his touch.
"Oh, that feels good." She whispered.
"Should I stop?" He asked as he removed his hands.
"No, no, keep doing it." she said a little too loud.
Right then his hands dove to her tits and began rubbing them much to her delight. Her moans started to reverberate through the room and Kevin moved one hand over her mouth to shut her up. The hand on her tit then moved down to between her legs and started playing with her furry pussy. Her legs moved wide all by themselves and the tightness caused by her shorts forced his hand closer with her pussy. This nice white wife was now getting finger fucked with a hand clamped over her mouth while her loving husband was asleep right upstairs.
Kevin was jealous of the blowjob J got in the van so he turned this bitch around and forced her to her knees. As she moaned his cock was quickly shoved into her mouth and Kevin started to fuck his new mom's mouth. This prim and proper Christian wife was sucking her third cock of the day, none of which belonged to her husband. By this time she was getting better and better at it. One of her hands had pulled her shirt up over her tits to get at them and the other was alternating between playing with her pussy and stroking the cock in her mouth. Kevin just rested his hands on the counter behind him as his new bitch worked his cock. Every few minutes he would whisper insults at her. Calling her a 'white trash whore' and a 'slut for black cock' just to mention a few.
As he was about to cum Kevin put one hand behind her head and with the other he reached down and roughly squeezed her right tit. This caused her to pick up her effort and really get more aggressive with the black cock she was respecting. As he blew his load Kevin muttered every name under this sun at this bitch and forced as much of his cock down her throat as he could. She did not need to worry about swallowing at all as the whole load of semen was pumped right down her throat and into her stomach. He like this so much that he left a huge bruise and hand print on her right tit from squeezing so hard.
Kevin pushed her back onto the floor while he watched her holding her hurt tit and gasp for air. Picking her up after he put his cock away he told her to shower and go to bed. Before she left he asked if she had fun and the tired girl just started to hug him and say she did. He made her thank him and then make him a sandwich all for the camera which was still recording. Kelly then went in the shower and joined her husband in bed. He woke up when she got in and he welcomed her with a nice kiss and a hug.
"Night honey." He mumbled as he tried to hug her and go back to sleep. Kelly's pussy was still gushing wet because she had not had any relief in the last little event downstairs. This newly awakened dirty ho was actually gonna try and use her husband to get off after these black kids had made her so horny. As usual David was tired and not interested. As he rolled over he told her to get some rest and he would see her in the morning. Kelly was pissed now, as she lay there unsatisfied. For about 20 minutes she was very close to getting out of bed and going to find Kevin. The risk made her decide against this as she finally fell into a terrible sleep. She was completely unable to get the images and sensations of black cock out of her head.
TBC
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