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“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold…”
Shouta paused in pulling in his nets as a melodic, cooing song broke the stillness of the morning. He looked up, squinting over the gently lolling ocean to find its source. A slow ripple in the water to his left grew as it approached his boat. The top of a head broke the surface as the song continued.
“There’s nothing can console me…” Shouta’s boat tipped slightly as a pair of thin arms emerged and pulled the upper half of the merman up from the water. The merman crossed his arms and rested his head on them as he sang on. His voice wasn’t as sweet or clear as the legends would have insisted, but there was a nasal, raspy twang to it that gave it an alluring personality of its own. “But my jolly sailor bold…” The merman’s smile was all bashful flirtation, head cocked at a coquettish angle that made his golden hair tumble down the side of his face as he locked luminous green eyes on Shouta.
Shouta snorted. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, beastie,” he said, bracing his foot against the side of his boat and grunting as he pulled his nets in the rest of the way, “but I’m no one’s ‘jolly’ anything.”
The creature started, seeming taken aback at being addressed off-hand like that. His head tilt became more curious than inviting, smile fading into a pouting frown. There was an almost insistent tone to his voice as he began the odd shanty over again, as if protesting that he was a delight to be heard and Shouta was making a mistake dismissing him so readily.
Shouta ignored him, settling in to sort his catch into the waiting buckets instead. The waters hadn’t been overly kind today, he thought with a frown of his own, but it would be good enough for the time being. Near the bottom of the squirming mass Shouta just barely missed grabbing a puffer fish by its spiny tail, pulling his hand back just in time. He grimaced, pulling a rag out of his kit and using that to grab it instead. He made to throw it back, but as he raised his arm he noticed that the merman’s hungry eyes had snapped away from him and onto the twitching fish instead. Shouta raised an eyebrow.
“Do you want this?” Shouta asked. As he held it up the merman brightened, flickers of his true face showing under the glamour. The merman’s mouth stretched wide across his face, his unfettered grin revealing a sharklike double row of razor-sharp teeth. His eyes took on a sheen of oxblood red, matte bluish pupils widening delightedly as he saw the puffer. “Here.” Shouta flung the fish underhand, sending it through the air several feet away. The merman darted away in a flash, catching it in spindly sharp-nailed hands before it even had a chance to touch the water. “Enjoy!” Shouta called after it. He quickly sifted through the rest of his catch, using the merman’s distraction as his opening to slip away.
As Shouta was preparing his boat a few days later, he heard a hollow rattling sound as he moved one of the buckets he used to sort his catch. Looking in, he saw a small mottled brownish yellow and white drawstring pouch sitting at the bottom. Shouta picked it up and turned it over in his hands curiously. It took a moment for him to recognize it as the skin of a puffer fish, de-spined and sun-dried into a squishy, pliant leather. Shreds of the work rag he’d used to toss the puffer to the muerman had been braided together and punched through the skin as the tie. Shouta tugged it open to find the source of the rattling: the bones and spines of the puffer, picked completely clean of meat and scrubbed to a pristine white. Shouta snorted, smiling a little in spite of himself. He tied the bag to his belt, sure it would come in handy for something.
As he did, he heard a sharp delighted-sounding chirp and looked up just in time to see a flash of golden hair darting behind the rock wall of a nearby tide pool. A pair of wide-pupiled red eyes peeked back out moments later as if the merman was trying to gauge if he’d been seen or not. Shouta smirked but pretended not to notice, finishing his preparations and setting off onto the water instead.
The merman’s gift proved itself quite useful; the additional attention that followed along behind it was somewhat less so. The merman seemed to take Shouta’s acceptance of the gift as an invitation to keep him company while out on the water. Shouta didn’t mind the merman’s presence as such; he would have even ventured to say that music was a nice addition to long days. It would have been a tolerable if deeply strange new arrangement between them if it wasn’t for his increasingly empty nets. He supposed he should have expected the smaller fish to flee in the presence of a large predator, but hindsight, no matter how acute, wasn’t going to pay his bills.
“I don’t suppose you would want to take a break from scaring fish out of my nets to scare them
in
instead,” Shouta sighed, scraping a clump of kelp out of his net and pitching it back into the water. The merman gave him a crooked grin, taking the net and wrapping it around himself. He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully as he tossed the reel rope back into Shouta’s hands. Shouta snorted out a sharp chuckle. “Pretty sure you aren’t edible, beastie,” he said. “I suppose you might go for a good price in the market, but to be honest I don’t want to meet the kind of person who would buy you.”
The merman paused mid-pout at having his flirtation rejected yet again, blinking in surprise. He pulled the net from around himself as a thoughtful expression passed over his face. Then without warning the merman dove headfirst down into the water, dragging Shouta’s net with him. Shouta grabbed the side of his boat in one hand and the reel rope in the other, trying to prevent both it and himself from going overboard.
There was a long, almost ominous lull of stillness over the water. Then there came a kind of boiling ripple on the water’s surface, starting at a distance and coming closer at a breakneck speed. Shouta realized that it was a kind of fish stampede, all kinds schooled together and pushed to the surface under the weave of his net. The merman surfaced at the head of it, arms straining as he dragged the crammed-full net back to Shouta’s boat. In one fluid heave the merman swung the full net up into the boat at Shouta’s feet. More fish than he had caught in the last two weeks put together tumbled out for him to inspect. The merman barely paused for breath before snatching up Shouta’s spare net and diving back down again. Shouta scrambled to make room, throwing the sellable fish into his buckets and ditching the rest overboard. The second net full was just as impressive; put together the catch was enough to keep Shouta well paid and well fed for weeks. The merman hung on the side of the boat, panting, as he watched Shouta pick through the fish.
“We might make a fisherman of you yet, beastie,” Shouta teased. The merman seemed too tired to perk up the way he normally did, but he still flashed Shouta one of his too-wide grins. Despite his initial misgivings, there really was something sweet about the expression, Shouta thought musingly. The merman nodded to him, then reached an arm out to steal back a decent-sized sea bass before sinking back under the water to eat it.
The merman’s catch ended up being just as lucrative as Shouta had estimated it might be. With so much stock he was able to charge lower than his usual prices and still made more on the one market day than he usually did in the better part of a week. He couldn’t help feeling somewhat indebted to the merman for his unorthodox but highly effective assistance. He might have reclaimed a single dinner in recompense but that hardly seemed like enough. Shouta wondered what he could even have to offer a creature like the merman that would be both equal and desirable.
As he walked among the other market stalls, his attention was caught by Nemuri Kayama’s display of crafts and jewelry made from shells and other shore debris. As he looked the selection over, a bracelet made of thin cord woven around shark teeth sparked a sudden idea. Merfolk were notorious for their love of shiny items and ornamentation; it stood to reason that his merman was the same. And Shouta just happened to have a large amount of puffer spines lying around that would fit the bill for a flashy bit of jewelry quite nicely.
“Do you have time to make something like this for me?” Shouta asked, gesturing to the shark tooth bracelet. Nemuri looked up from the macrame hair band she was weaving in her lap, smiling slightly as she saw him.
“I’ve got time if you’ve got money,” Nemuri said. Her smile turned slightly smirky. “And from what I’ve been hearing, you’re doing pretty well these days, huh?” she added, nodding down the market row towards his now-closed stall.
Shouta shrugged, face heating slightly. “Not bad,” he agreed.
“Fair enough. The teeth for one like that will take some time to gather up, if that one isn’t up to your standards,” Nemuri said, setting her project aside as she got to business.
“I’ve got something else, actually,” Shouta said. He pulled out the small cloth bundle of spines he’d retrieved from home and set it down in front of her. She opened it and her eyes widened.
“Not teeth, but they
are
pretty,” Nemuri said, gingerly picking one up between two fingers.
“They’re puffer fish spines,” Shouta explained. “A, uh, friend gave them to me.”
Nemuri didn’t bring attention to his awkward stumble, though he was sure she had noticed it. Instead she just named a price and a time to pick up the finished piece before wishing him a good day and getting back to her work.
Shouta sat in his boat, tense with anticipation as he waited for the merman to come meet him. Usually it seemed like he barely had a moment alone on the waves before he heard the telltale musical murmuring that heralded his strange companion’s approach. Now that he was waiting for it, of course, it seemed to be taking ages.
After what felt like an interminably long time the merman finally emerged, humming merrily to himself. He curled up over the side of the boat and moved to take ahold of the net at Shouta’s side, but Shouta stopped him.
“I have something for you,” Shouta said. “Um. Close your eyes,” he added, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks as he said it.
The merman cocked his head, eyebrows knit in confusion, but did so. Shouta pulled out the bracelet and tied it around the merman’s wrist, securing it with multiple tight knots to keep it from coming loose. The merman peeked open one eye as he finished, and let out a sharp noise of surprise as he saw the gift. He pulled his arm in close to his face, marvelling at it, before turning wonderstruck eyes on Shouta.
“I wanted to thank you for your help the other day,” Shouta said. He could feel himself getting redder by the moment but there was a giddy lightness in his chest at seeing the merman’s delight. Before he had time to say anything else, the merman planted both hands on the side of the boat and surged upward to kiss him.
Shouta was too stunned to react at first beyond the involuntary shiver that went through him at the chill of the merman’s lips against his own. The merman’s kiss left an odd electric tingle on his lips, a pleasantly dangerous numbness like licking a battery. Shouta leaned in for another taste of it, his hand coming up to cup the merman’s jaw.
The merman pulled away first, his arms tiring faster than Shouta would have liked. The merman rested his chin against the side of the boat, fingers reaching out to idly tangle into the weave of Shouta’s net. He tugged at it, smiling and raising a questioning eyebrow. Shouta snorted, grinning back.
“So that’s the deal now, huh?” he teased, shaking his head. “Fine, go on. If you find something else down there that you want to wear, let me know.”
The merman let out a trilling noise that almost sounded like a cackle of triumph before diving back into the water, net in hand.
|
Dowoon was in a state of despair.
How the hell was he supposed to edit, sync, render and upload this god damn video in the space of a week? There was so much footage, despite Sungjin’s initial concerns of them not getting enough, but his mission was to narrow it down to under ten minutes. He also had to meet up with his mother and act like he was totally still enrolled on that apprenticeship she’d set up for him a year ago (that he’d quit three months in.)
This was exhausting. His hyungs were cruel sometimes. Just because this video had technically been his idea, as well as being his debut project at Buzzfeed.
(In reality, Sungjn and Wonpil wanted Dowoon to take the reigns for this video because they want him to show off his incredible producing abilities so that he can get recognition and hopefully their boss will realise that he is being wasted as a camera assistant. But they don't want to tell Dowoon this, it would inflate his ego and they enjoy having the rightful honourifics used for them.)
Dowoon had almost finished encoding the clips, there was just the last few files left.
Noticing a fairly large section of footage he didn’t recognise was a little odd, considering he’d been behind the camera for most of it and he'd already sorted the footage from the vlogging camera they'd given the pair. Looking at the clip data, he realised that it was the footage Brian had sent over from his own camera, with the side note ‘can’t leave this bit out, Dowoonie.’
It took his eyes a second to adjust to the shapes hidden in the dark room on his screen, an orange glow like an old lamp. He still couldn’t quite work out what it was so he cranked the volume up slightly to see if that gave anything away.
Within seconds Dowoon regrets everything.
Soft pants of breath, indistinguishable until the "Brian, please, Brian."
God, no!
Quickly scrolling through the rest of the playback thumbnails, his eye catches on several lewd shots, and that is very clearly Jae’s lips and Brian’s thumb stuck between them and Dowoon already thinks seen and heard too much, but suddenly a gut wrenching moan from Jae--undoubtably--ripples through his headphones and he feels his skin crawling.
Why? His eyes. His ears.
Will he ever recover.
He hits the space bar so hard to stop the playback, that he probably caused irreversible damage.
Dowoon had known. He’d known something had happened that night, he’d be more surprised if something hadn’t happened after the way they’d been acting at Jinyoung’s party. But he hadn’t expected to witness it first hand, he’d wished he’d stayed clueless and frustrated.
Ignorance is bliss, as they say.
Knowledge is apparently permanently scarring.
He quickly pulled out his mobile, his trembling hands scrolling through the short contacts list.
The phone dialled twice before Sungjin’s voice chimed in greeting from the other end.
“HYUUUUUNG!” Dowoon all but wailed. He was still innocent, he didn’t deserve that experience.
“What is it Dowoon?” Sungjin’s voice came through the speaker panicked, genuinely concerned for Dowoon’s overdramatic ass. The younger’s heart warmed softly.
“The-the hyungs,” Why was he sobbing? He was going to put it down to stress. “They sent me this thing, a-and I accidentally watched it, b-but I didn’t know what it was and am I supposed to put it in the video, but--” --he paused for a shaky inhale-- “--it’ll definitely get flagged by youtube and hyuunnngg, I think they tricked us, or at least they lied a-a-and--”
“--okay Dowoonie, just-just breathe.” Dowoon did. “Are you home now? Wonpil and I will head over now and help out. Make yourself a cup of tea and wait until we gt there.”
“Okay hyung, thank you. Love you.”
The abrupt silence on the other end of the phone struck Dowoon as odd, and as force of habit he quickly scanned through his last few words to see where about he’d fucked up--
Crap.
“--Wait, hyung, I just meant--”
Sungjin forced out a laugh, interrupting Dowoon’s feeble attempt at conjuring up an excuse.
“Don’t worry Woonie, I know what you mean--” --he almost definitely doesn’t-- “--see you in ten.”
Dowoon gulped and hung up quickly, not trusting himself to open his mouth again.
Jae’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he was writing a customers name onto their cup for their large soy latte order, he quickly sneaked a glance once he handed the cup to a tired looking Jimin to make the order.
Sungjin [18:03]
The video’s up.
Sungjin [18:04]
Also, I think you owe Dowoonie a drink!!
Sungjin [18:04]
And Wonpil and me too, whilst you’re at it!
Jae had no time to do anything but shrug - not sure what mishap he’d undergone to owe Dowoon, whom he’d not seen for two weeks now, anything - before the next customer was tutting at him impatiently. He quickly plastered on his best I-love-my-job-honest smiles.
He didn’t think about the video again until he arrived back an hour later, hanging his apron on the coat rack.
“Hey babe, the video is up.”
“Yeah, Sungjin texted me. Have you watched it yet?”
As Jae rounded the corner as his eyes landed on Brian, swamped in a wooly jumper, the long sleeves swallowing up his hands, grey joggers, with complimenting odd socks. A soft smile immediately spread onto his face. It’d been two weeks already but he’s not sure he’d ever become immune to this feeling.
“Not yet I was waiting for you--” Brian turns to look at him then, a warm grin of his own appearing-- “Are you just gonna stand there all night? Get your butt over here, I need cuddles.” The younger pats the cushion on the sofa next to him.
It’s alien to think that half a month ago they were sat in this exact position, hating each others guts, and wanting to be anywhere but there.
Now Jae couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
“How was work?”
“Same old, same old.” Jae shrugged as he curled into Brian’s side, the younger’s arm circling around his shoulders. “Are we watching it then?”
“Umhm, let see how they managed to play this without getting shit tonnes of homophobes yelling at us in the comments.”
“Sungjin said he’d sort it though, and like if Mark agreed to this entire thing he can't believe that it’ll damage your career too much.” He glanced up at Brian, eyes wide. “Right?”
“Right. Korea might be straight as a ruler but the States are another story, I swear even a minute long interaction with another male celebrity turns into a trending hashtag on twitter with our names combined into a ship. Americans are crazy.”
“D’ya think we’ll become a ship.”
“I ship us.” Brian shoots a gummy smile down to Jae, who in return makes exaggerated kiss noises.
The video loads quickly thanks to Brian’s super fast, unnecessarily expensive wifi, and they pause it before the first second can tick over.
“You ready?”
Jae nods and Brian clicks the mouse.
The video opens with the clip of Brian walking in to find Jae on the couch. Jae squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his head into the crook of Brian’s shoulder, not particularly wanting to relive the painful experience.
Brian rubs his thumb soothingly on Jae’s shoulder through his shirt.
The painfully awkward interview scene started up, Dowoon’s low voice rattling through the laptop’s puny speakers, Brain’s and Jae’s replies, curt and quiet in comparison. Brian was grateful to see that they’d cut out the moment that he’d accused Jae of cheating, the guilt still raw and red in his chest.
During the interview in the video, prior to them getting the handcuffs, a quick compilation of clips was shown where they were actually in the handcuffs, the gym, the diner, the music room, the club, the--
“Wait what the fuck?” Jae’s arm shot out to pause the screen on a particularly suggestive frame. Jae’s face screwed up in near ecstasy, Brian’s thumb between his lips, the orange glow of Brian’s bedside lamp. “Holy shit is that--"
“Woah, I didn’t expect him to actually put this in.” Brian’s laugher erupted out of his throat, Jae punched him meekly on the shoulder.
“So this is what Sungjin meant when he said I needed to buy Dowoon a drink.”
“Yeah, but maybe not,” Brian was still laughing, shoulders shaking slightly where Jae was tucked in. “I’m not sure Dowoon will ever want to look at you again.”
Jae couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at that.
He reached out to hit play again, but Brian grabbed his wrist gently, causing Jae to turn his head to look at him with big wide eyes.
“You don’t mind do you? That they included it?”
Jae smiled warmly, reassuringly. “No, Sungjin and Wonpil wouldn’t have done it if they knew I wouldn’t be okay with it.” He shrugged flippantly. “I don’t mind, I look hot.”
Brian smirks. “Damn right you do.” The warmth spread in his chest at Jae’s spurt of confidence.
The first section of the video is reassuring. Jae picking up on Brian’s guilt, the age-old grudge act becoming increasingly obvious that it is in fact an act. He wonders why he hadn’t noticed at the time, the adoration in Brian’s eyes, making him blush and squirm closer to Brian on the couch.
During the moment in the music room, Jae had flinched in real time, as well as on the screen when Brian performed his song for him. He hoped Brian couldn’t tell how fast his heart was beating right now.
“Oh god,” Brian groaned when the shots of them at the club appeared on screen. Dowoon, had made them look like horny teenagers who couldn’t get their hands off each other.
“Jesus,” Jae whispered, watching as the Brian on the screen sucked on the Jae on the screen’s earlobe, whilst groping his ass. He was in shock of how much they’ve kept in. Surely this broke like twelve Youtube rules or something? “Were we really that handsy?”
“Apparently so--" Brian was cut off when the screen suddenly turned dark,
“Uh, uh Brian.”
…
“Shit.”
“Oh Lord, no.”
The dark clip dissapeared as quickly as it arrived, moving on to the footage from the final handcuffed hour with the interview.
A silence fell between them both for a split second, before they both burst into a fit of giggles.
“What the fuck,” Jae managed, very out of breathe, flailing against Brian. “How have they been allowed to keep that in?”
“Jesus, I swear you’re gonna have people jacking off to that.”
Jae thumps him on the chest playfully, unable to stop the blush rising to his cheeks.
“Shut up, you.”
“That plus the shot from the beginning, you’re going to have hoards of admirers. I’m gonna have to keep my eye on you--”
Jae cut him off when he pressed their lips together in a soft kiss.
“I only want you.” There foreheads touching, noses brushing, matching grins on their faces, Jae hasn’t felt this content in a long while.
Brian, always Brian.
With their little distraction, the video had finished, the timer for the autoplay almost up. Jae quickly moves away from Brian to scroll through the comments of the video. He missed the playfully hurt expression Brian shot at him.
“Woah!”
“What is it?” Brian leaned in behind Jae, squinting so he could read the comments too.
Jae scrolled through them slowly, mouth hanging open, already over two thousand waiting for them.
they’re really cute oml
came for youngk but stayed for jae
AHIJFOWKEFNWK HOLY SHIT THEY FUCKED IN HANDCUFFS YOUNGK THE KINKY MF
I SHIP THESE TWO SO BAD THEY’D BETTER KEEP TALKNG TO EACHOTHR I NEED THIS BROMANCE
i don’t believe that they acted like that at the club and had full on sex and didn’t feel anything for each other again wtf, they deffo played us
lmao that woman in the gym was super jelly of Jae huhuhuhuh
akdfakjsdfkjksdo youngk looks fckin hot in all black
I CALL BULLSHIT THEUY’RE TOTALLY STILL FUCKING
theyre so chill man, if someone tricked me and my ex into this, they wouldn’t have lived to see the next day
I wanna know why they broke up in the first place wtf they're so cute why would they split???
IF I DONT SEE JAE STANDING BACKSTAGE AT A SHOW ON YOUNGK’S NEXT TOUR SOMEONE BOUTTA CATCH THESE HANDS
HABITS WAS 1000000% WRITTEN FOR JAE FUCK EMOTIONSSSDSNDOFAOKNDSOFKN
“--woah.”
“Wait, that song you sung--”
Brian coughed awkwardly, not meeting Jae's eye.
“--that was written for me?”
The younger seemed to be having some internal conflict as to whether to fess up or not. After a few moments he sighed dramatically.
“Less for you, more about you.”
Jae smiled gently, noticing Brian’s growing blush.
“I don’t know, I just missed you. I didn’t know what to write about, it was like I couldn’t write about anything but you, or how heartbroken I was--”
Jae’s heart stuttered in his chest.
“--and I just wished that nothing had happened, t-that we’d just stayed as we are.”
He lifted his hands up to cup Brian’s face, thumb running over his cheek softly. Brian finally met his eyes.
“I’m here now,” Jae whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere, okay.”
Brian nodded, grin spreading over his face. He quickly moved in for another kiss, a deeper kiss.
“Can you stay again tonight?”
Jae hummed in affirmation into Brian’s mouth and let himself be carefully pushed back onto the sofa.
“So what the fuck?”
“Huh?” Jae startled, not expecting anyone to be awake as he creeped through the front door at five in the morning. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, but he’d forgotten to grab his favourite hoodie off the dryer before he’d left last week, and there was only so long he could go without it. “What do you mean what the fuck?”
“I mean, what the fuck.” Sungjin let out an incredulous laugh. “Where have you been? You’ve not slept here once this week.”
Ah, here we go.
Jae glanced around, not surprised to see that the apartment was significantly cleaner than when he permanently resides on the couch. No soda cans or half eaten cup ramyeons, and his guitar is tucked safely away in it’s case rather than thrown limply across the coach.
Wonpil was sat on the couch, obviously having just woken up, stretching out the kinks in his neck carefully. Sungjin was standing beside where Wonpil was sitting, having woken up not much earlier. Had they stayed up the entire night just to catch him? Had they stayed up more than one night?
It takes him a moment to realise that Sungjin is still talking.
“--at first we thought Bernard, but when we texted him he said he hasn’t seen you in weeks.”
“Then I messaged Jimin - and you know how much she scares me - to ask if you’ve been doing extra shifts at the cafe.” Wonpil added, tugging on his shirt and making guilt bubble in Jae’s stomach.
“We even messaged your mum and asked if you’d gone home for the week. She got all panicked so we had to lie to her and say you were at a friend’s. I had to lie Jae. Me, Park Sungjin. And to your mother. If I end up in hell it’ll be on your conscious.”
Jae doesn’t look at them anymore, he’s looking at the patch of carpet in front of his feet.
“Where have you been, Jae?” Wonpil practically pleads with him. “You know we’re only asking because we’re worried right?”
Jae nodded. Like a child being scolded by his parents. Ironic really.
“Come on Jae--" Sungjin said, toning down the frustration, more calm. “After what happened last time, well, we just want to make sure you’re safe. When you’re out god knows where on your own, we can’t help but worry.”
“I’m not a child.” Jae pouted. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“Yes but you live here Jae, yet you’re barely here, we barely see you. Please just tell us.”
Jae understands, he really does. God, he’d be worried sick if one of those two didn’t come home for a week with no explanation. As he avoided their hurt stares a (fairly terrible but ah well) idea formed in his head.
“Tomorrow.” The word jumped out of his throat before he could fully think through his plan. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow, I promise.”
Sungjin looked disappointed that he had to wait another twenty four hours, but Wonpil’s eyes lit up, the prospect of knowing tomorrow obviously bringing some relief.
“Sure, yes, Jae that sounds great.”
“At that Italian place in Gangnam, seven thirty.”
“It’s a date.” Sungjin sighed, before Wonpil starts excitedly hitting his arm.
“Wait is it actually?” Wonpil gasps, smile covering his face and Jae couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Are we going on a double date, Hyung?”
“Well you’ll have to wait and see.” Jae teased.
Sungjin expression was mixture of being sceptic and proud. After a moment it softened, when he saw how genuinely happy Jae was, despite just having being caught and basically guilt tripped by his flatmates. “Cant wait to meet the lucky fella.”
At that, Jae could do nothing to stop the pink finding his cheeks.
He coughed awkwardly, ignoring the two proud parent smiles that were gleaming in his direction.
“I’ve gotta go now, I just came back to, um, grab my hoodie.” He pulled it off the dryer in the corner of the room and tried not to get goosebumps from the creepy way the smiles followed him around the room and out the door as he shot a slightly nervous wave towards his two roommates.
Yes it had been three weeks since his and Brian’s supposed farewell interview on the couch, and a week since the video went up. Yes Jae feels guilty, yes he’d meant to tell them, but he’d managed to keep finding excuses. ‘Ah I cant just drop the bombshell via text, Wonpil will kill me,’ or ‘They’re both super stressed out with work, they don’t need me putting anything else on their shoulders.’
And Jae knew they were crap excuses, he really did. But he wanted to get this just right. Brian had been pestering him to tell them, tired of hiding their relationship from their friends as well as the public, but Jae had reassured him with “Soon, I promise,” everytime and then distracted him with a kiss.
As he got in the elevator he pulled out his phone.
A few miles away Brian’s mobile buzzed to life.
Jae<3 [5:32am]
tomorrow,,
Jae<3 [5:33am]
lets do thisssss
Brian smiled fondly at his screen, before clicking at a few obnoxiously bright heart emojis, rolling over and falling back to sleep.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Jae blinked quickly, Brian coming back into focus beside him in the booth.
“Yeah, yeah sorry. Just zoned out a little.”
“Because you’re nervous.” Brian threaded his fingers through Jae’s and squeezed. Jae cringed slightly, all too aware of his own sweaty palms. “Don’t worry, they’re going to be over the moon, they made this happen remember. Everything will be fine.”
“I just,” Jae started, wondering how to phrase the tangle of worries swimming around in his brain. “This is our thing, a little bubble, no one else knows about us--”
“--well, some of my fans are creating pretty accurate theories--”
“Very funny,” despite his deadpanned tone, the remark did leave his shoulders feeling a little lighter. “It’s just that, once we tell them, that’s two more people involved. And you know Sungjin and Wonpil, they’re very… protective over me after what happened. They refused to let me move out, they claim it’s more ‘financially beneficial’, but I see the worried looks when I have a bad day at work, or when I don’t come home for the night.”
Brian’s thumb rubs soothingly over the back of his hand. “Don’t worry so much, baby. Sungjin and Wonpil love you, I love you. What could possibly go wrong with this equation?”
Jae looks at him through his eyelashes, his newly dyed dark hair falling over his eye slightly, but no fingerprint ridden fake glasses obstructing his view. Brian’s expression, falloff loving, full of sincerity made his stomach do a little dance.
“I love you too.”
“I know you do,” Brian leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jae’s head quickly. “Now, I really shouldn’t have drunk that water so quickly,” Jae chuckled, glancing at his boyfriend’s almost empty pint glass. “I’ll just head to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a second.”
Jae nodded, letting Brian release his hand, and once the younger was out of eyeshot he frantically rubbed them on his trousers, in an attempt to make them less sweaty.
The minute he glanced up though, he was almost ready to lose all his dignity and yell at the top of his lungs for Brian to come back. But it was almost definitely too late.
Sungjin and Wonpil were walking through the doors of the restaurant.
Why is it that anything Jae actually makes an attempt at organising, it goes to shit? Like, really, can the universe please cut him some slack?
“Hey hyung,” Wonpil bounds up to him beaming, but when he sees the empty space beside Jae his face falls. “Where’s your date?”
“He hasn’t bailed on you has he?” Sungjin looks decidedly pissed, “Who is he? I’ll kill him.”
An image of Sungjin pinning up Brian to the wall by his neck, Brian spluttering and wheezing for air, is enough to kick Jae back into action.
“--No, no, god, guys chill. He’s just in the bathroom, he’ll be out in a minute.”
“Hmm,” Sungjin still looked sceptical, but slid into the booth beside Wonpil anyway.
And then Wonpil’s questions started.
“Is he handsome hyung? How long have you been seeing him? Where did you meet? Does he like dogs--”
Jae zoned out as he saw the bathroom door open, Brian stepping out.
His eyes slipped down to his own fingers on his lap underneath the table, far too nervous about how this was going to play out.
“Hi guys.”
Wonpil’s blabbering stuttered to a halt as his eyes landed on Brian who was hovering in front of their table.
An awkward laugh escaped Sungjin’s throat, and Jae could feel the younger’s worried eyes landing on him from across the booth. “Brian, fancy seeing you here.”
Brian grinned back, slowly sinking into the seat beside Jae.
“Um, Brian, we’re actually waiting to meet someone, I don’t think--”
“Holy shit!” Wonpil interrupts his boyfriend’s confused warning as he watches Brian’s arm snake around Jae's shoulders.
Jae finally looks up, very guiltily, to see Sungjin glancing bewilderedly between his boyfriend and Brian, coupled with Wonpil’s scandalised expression.
“Surprise.” Brian’s tone gave away the fact that he was grinning ear to ear. Jae kept his eyes on his friend’s reactions.
“Wait, what?” Sungjing was still very much not understanding, Jae almost laughed. But then Wonpil butted in.
“I’ll tell you What, hyung. These two tricked us, or lied to us, or both.” Jae almost felt bad for him again, until his eyes landed on the smirk on Wonpil’s lips, realising he wasn't actually pissed.
But Sungjin, bless him, was still very slow.
“Wait… so you two are, dating?”
“Yes,” Brian answered quickly, obviously growing impatient with Sungjin’s cluelessness. “Yes we’re dating, yes I am who Jae’s been staying with all week.”
Jae could feel himself blushing furiously, and it definitely didn’t lighten up when Wonpil smirk turned into the biggest grin that could possibly fit on his face.
“Hyungs!” He squealed and threw his arms around Jae - very awkward from the other side of the booth.
“Wait, so the video, the interview?” Sungjin pointed between them, still looking like a lost puppy.
“Yeah we lied, sorry.” Jae finally spoke up having freed himself from Wonpil’s suffocating grip.
“Although,” Brian added, “Did you really expect us to come clean about the entire thing? Have people making all sorts of theories?”
“Well they still did that, have you not seen the comments, jeez your fans are a little insane.” Sungjin scoffed.
“True,” Brian wrapped his arm around Jae’s waist, pulling him closer, ignoring Wonpil’s THEY’RESOADORABLE squeaks. “But I was worried that what happened to Jae might come to light. I don’t want people making stuff up or typing bullshit from behind their computer screen.”
Sungjin nodded.
“Anyway,” Jae exhales once the atmosphere around the table had settled. He turned to Sungjin and Wonpil, “I hope you guys aren’t mad at me, at us, I hope we can forget about the past and move on together, happy and healthy.”
Sungjin looks somewhat flabbergasted, whilst Wonpil sniffs, wiping away a fake tear as he muttered “My little Jae, you’ve grown up so fast. You how mature you are now”
Brian’s chuckle vibrated through Jae’s back.
“Does this mean you’ll be moving out soon?”
“Wow, Sungjin, trying to get rid of me that quickly? You could at least pretend to be subtle about it.”
Wonpil laughs and ruffles his boyfriend’s hair.
“What Sungjinie means is, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, we just have another potential roommate in the line up.” When Jae scoffs and looks mock-offended, Wonpil elaborates. “Dowoonie’s contract on his flat is coming to an end, so we’ve said he could stay with us for a while, I mean, you’ve barely been at home the last few weeks so we’d assumed there’d be a spare bed, but if you’re moving out for good, then--”
Jae shifted uncomfortably. Brian hadn’t asked him to move in. Staying the night for consecutive night did by no means translate to ‘I want you to move in with me’. What if Brian didn’t want him there? Sure he’d invited him round not just for sex, they’d spent a solid twelve hours in the music room the other day, playing with the amp that he never had to buy, writing terrible songs about Pizza together. Jae had even befriended Jisung the butler. Brian’s apartment had become his second home, but the familiar fear of rejection was sitting in the bottom of his stomach again.
Brian noticed him tense, he rested a comforting hand on his thigh.
“If we can borrow your truck Sungjin, he can be out in a week. If that’s what you want?” Brian directed the last question at Jae, who’s eyes lit up.
He twists and plants a kiss on Brian’s lips, much to everyone’s surprise.
“I love you,” he says, barely a whisper.
Brian’s eyes have always been warm, always been the place Jae felt the most at home, but now they shone with something else, something Jae wanted to bathe in forever.
“I love you too, Jae.
So much.”
|
"Coffee time, Tweety."
Tweeny, whose online name definitely was not "Tweety", blinked blearily up at the Starbucks cup plopped in front of his face.
In the short time that he had known Tony Stark, Tweeny had decided that the man didn't actually sleep. No, he just spent all his time hovering over complex machine parts, talking nonsense to weird robots that he’d already put together. Cuz that's just what billionaires could do with their time, apparently.
Tweeny slowly sat up, dragging his gaze across the room. Tony Stark’s room. Tony Stark’s personal workshop. Full of crazy bajillionaire gadgets and crazy bajillionaire pillows that Tweeny had most likely drooled on when he dozed off. He’d been trying to fight off a headache, but apparently closing his eyes to block out the light had been a bad idea.
He nervously fluffed up the pillow beside him, sitting a little more properly on the small couch Stark had tucked away in his workshop. Why the workshop was fitted with a couch, topped with pillows and blankets, Tweeny wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t his place to question it.
He rubbed his temple before he spoke. Damn headache. “How’s the, uh, the research... ing. Going...?”
“Oscorp’s list of crimes is never ending,” replied Stark as he strutted back towards his work station. “And apparently, Bishop boy won an award for his choir performance in high school.”
...Was he still asleep? Lubby was in choir? Wait, then— “Did you find him?”
Stark’s mood visibly dropped. “Drink your coffee.”
No, then.
But the Starbucks cup was tempting, so Tweeny plucked it from the coffee table. Well, from the papers scattered on the coffee table. Again, coffee table? Workshop? Why? Nah, don’t question gazillionaires, it’s fine.
With sweaty hands (damn anxiety), he popped the lid off, peeking inside. "Do you have any uh... uhm..." Words came slowly in the morning, it seemed.
"Cream? Sugar?" Stark supplied. "No, just chug it. Don't taste. We need to be awake."
Tweeny squinted into his cup. “I haven’t even done anything...” he mumbled.
Cuz it was true, he hadn’t really done anything. What could he do? He had a bit of information, sure, and he had a phone that Spidey could contact if he chose to, but that was all. Tony Stark was the one with the research, the news articles, the phone tracing, the smarts to actually do something.
“J, how's the analysis on that chip going?”
“Nearly complete, Sir. And as requested, I have compiled documents pertaining to Oscorp's research into prosthetic attachments."
"Great, gimme them deets."
One of Stark's many holographic screens lit up with documents, and Tweeny resigned himself to sitting in silence with his bitter coffee.
Stark had spent all night researching, and he was still going strong.
The phone call from Spidey had been a deadend. All it told them was that Spidey was in the same building Tweeny had busted into. And, as Stark decided to point out, it meant that Spidey wasn’t in a hospital. That sounded good to Tweeny, but Stark wasn’t smiling.
But he didn’t really explain it to Tweeny, he just kept on going, jumping between research and making robots. Tweeny still wondered why he was even with the billionaire anymore.
He’d asked, with a grand amount of stuttering, why Stark was keeping him around.
The answer? “If Spidey gives you another call, or if Bishop boy sends you another cryptic message, I’m answering. “
So it was his phone that Stark needed, really. Tweeny figured he should be thankful that he was allowed to stick around so long.
So when Tweeny’s phone buzzed, his heart jumped at the chance to once again feel helpful.
The... the forum was back up... Someone had mentioned him. Not someone he knew.
Tweeny scrolled through the forum’s activity, heat rising in his throat. Why was the forum back? Who shut it off in the first place? Was it Oscorp? Snails? He had no idea— He never figured that part out.
The last contact he had with Snails, with anyone for that matter, was after his escapade in Oscorp facilities. That was— Was it really only a day or two ago? God, it felt like weeks.
When the forum was shut down, no one had any means of contacting one another. They’d never met in real life before, and hadn’t bothered to exchange any kind of outside contact information. So yeah, Tweeny was in the dark. He had no idea why the forum was shut down, or what happened to Snails or Ail or Bets.
Cuz odds were, Snails had gotten nabbed by some gang paid off by Oscorp, Ail had been captured trying to save him, and Bets was in trouble with her clients because Tweeny decided to blab to the whole world. So basically everyone was fucked, and it was kind of all his fault for going to Spidey’s home in the first place, and—
“What’s got you so riled up? Too much caffeine?”
Stark’s attention pulled Tweeny back into the present. He glanced up, then back at his phone, thumb tapping the side to expel some nervous energy.
He swiveled the phone around. "Forum's back."
A frown overtook Stark's face. He jogged over and swiped Tweeny's phone, ignoring any protests in favor of scrolling through the forum. "That's not what we wanted. Who even started this thing up?"
“Well— Snails?” Tweeny guessed. “Does that— Does that mean he’s okay?”
Stark seemed eager to ignore him and didn’t respond. That only managed to leave Tweeny in a slightly panicked state of mind.
“So, new problem!” Stark exclaimed, throwing Tweeny back into reality. “The world now knows Spidey’s address. So his secret identity is basically non-existent once someone finds the lease on that apartment, so that means....”
Stark trailed off. He dropped Tweeny’s phone down onto his desk and glared at one of his weird blue holographic computer screens. “J, I need you to scrub that address from the web. And any digital versions of that apartment’s lease.”
“That would be illegal, Sir.”
“Uh-huh.
“Right away, Sir. Shall I put your lawyers on notice?”
“Not yet, I want this quiet for now. Also make sure the NYPD knows. Spidey’s got friends there; they’ll keep people out of his nest. Web. Thing.”
Tweeny was reeling. Was that just something super rich people could do? Why did Stark have lawyers on stand-by? Was that normal? Probably, actually, given how much damage the Iron Man suit could do with no consequence, but still.
Stark was clearly reinvigorated by the turn of events. (Tweeny would have argued that it was a fairly negative turn of events, strangers knowing Spidey’s home address. But superheroes were strange.) He swept around the room, grabbed some papers, and hurried to the far side of his workshop.
Tweeny leaned to the side, trying to keep the other in his line of sight. His breath was shorter than normal, and Tweeny just prayed that he wasn’t about to have a panic attack in Tony Stark’s house. Tower. Whatever.
“What should—- I do...?”
As if answering, Tweeny’s phone buzzed.
|
The window creaked open and Stiles quickly hit save on his game. “What’s the emergency tonight?” he said, twirling his chair to face Derek. “Kelpies? Centaurs?”
Derek’s mouth dropped open. “You can see me?”
Stiles blinked. “Yes?” he ventured.
“You can hear me.”
"Is this a test?" Stiles said, blinking at him. “Because I better be acing it so far.”
Derek was frozen, his body awkwardly posed on the sill. "Oh," he said, and ducked out. There was a muffled thump as he hit the grass, and Stiles stood to watch him run into the trees.
"Okaaaaay," Stiles said slowly, and sat back down to computer.
He told Scott about the incident the next day, and Scott nearly choked on his tater tot. "Derek was at your house?"
"For like ten seconds," Stiles said. "I'd say it was weird, but is anything about Derek ever not weird?"
"No, it's just," Scott said, "Isaac said Derek's been missing for a week. No one's seen him."
"Why are you only telling me now?" Stiles said outraged.
"We're not his pack!" Scott said, as if that was an adequate answer. "He's probably out just sulking somewhere over how much he’s the worst."
"Point," Stiles said, and gave up the conversation.
But he wasn't really, because when Stiles got home, Derek was sitting on his bed, clearly waiting.
"I'd like to lodge a complaint that this doesn't even scare me any more," Stiles informed him, slinging his bag over his desk chair.
"Why can you see me?" Derek said, staring intently at him.
"Because I have eyeballs," Stiles said. "Why is everything about our interactions strange and off-putting? You should possibly consider calling your pack. I think they think you're dead."
"I would," Derek said, frustrated. "Except you're the only one who can hear or see me."
"Oh," Stiles said. "That's...unfortunate." Derek didn't dignify that with a response. Stiles's mind started working and he dropped to his chair. "Okay, so like, you're invisible? Are you dead? Fuck, are you, like, haunting me?"
"I don't think I'm dead," Derek said.
"I think ghosts don't always know they're dead," Stiles said. "I feel like that's a thing."
"I sleep," Derek said. "I was hungry earlier. I can still feel my heartbeat."
He ticks off the list like it's been something he'd been thinking about, like he had spent some serious time pondering whether he was dead. Stiles couldn't actually imagine that train of thought, and shivered a little. "Okay," he said. "So not dead. So what, you talk to people, and they can't hear you?"
"Yeah," Derek said. "I was in the car with Boyd and Isaac and I yelled, hit them, threw shit at them and got nothing."
"They didn't see the things in the air?" Stiles said, fascinated.
"No," Derek said. "Stop enjoying this."
"Can't," Stiles said. "Did you try talking to other people?"
"I went into town yesterday," Derek said. "I went into stores, but it was the same thing."
Stiles has to fight a smile thinking of Derek standing next to a stand of oranges, begging to be noticed. "Shut up," Derek said.
"So, what were you coming in my room at one o'clock in the morning for, then?" Stiles said. "Were you going to watch me sleep, Edward Cullen?"
"To use your laptop," Derek said. "Again, shut the fuck up."
"Okay," Stiles said, clapping his hands together. "Let's go see Deaton."
Derek scowled. He always fought off going to see Deaton until it was the last remaining option. Stiles sort of found Derek's capacity to hold grudges hilarious. "Come on, Casper," he said, and grabbed his keys.
"Who said you're driving?" Derek said, following.
"I did," Stiles said, "As the only one of us who is visible to other drivers." It must have been a compelling argument, because Derek got in on the passenger side with no further comment.
When they walked into Deaton's office, the vet murmured a distracted hello, then picked his head up, frowning. His eyes fixed straight on Derek, but he had a puzzled look on his face. "What's going on, Stiles?"
"What do you see?" Stiles pressed, fighting the urge to look back at Derek.
"I don't know," Deaton said. "There's something there, but I can't focus--" He stopped, frustrated.
"It's Derek," Stiles said, giving in. "Something's wrong. No one can see him or hear him. Except me, because someone out there hates me and wants me to be miserable." Derek socked him in the shoulder. "Ow," he said plaintively.
Deaton's eyes sharpened on him. "You can see him perfectly?"
"Yeah," Stiles said. "I didn't even know anything was up until he said something."
"Interesting," Deaton said, and he eyed Stiles speculatively. "We should take your magical education more seriously, I think. Derek," he called loudly. "Can you hear me?"
"I’m invisible, not deaf," Derek said snottily.
"Yes," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "He can hear you fine."
"I need to know everything about how this happened," Deaton said, pulling out a notepad.
Derek shrugged. "I was in the train car, woke up, said good morning to Boyd and he ignored me.”
“And that was abnormal?” Stiles said.
Derek flipped him off, but admitted, “I tried a few more times before I realized he wasn’t just being a dick.”
Stiles conveyed this to Deaton, whose brows furrowed farther. He fired off a few more questions, and looking less and less satisfied by the answers, promised to look into it and sent them on their way.
"Now let’s find your pack," Stiles said, when they got outside.
"Why?" Derek said. "They can't help."
Stiles stared at him. "Because they're worried and think you're dead?"
"They would know if I was dead," Derek said grumpily.
"Then they think you abandoned them to start a career on stage in Vegas," Stiles said, and immediately twisted to avoid the incoming blow. "I’m just saying, they deserve to know you're fine. I don't know why you're fighting me, it's not like being your spokesman is super fun for me."
"Fine," Derek said, and slammed the Jeep's passenger door shut. Stiles rolled his eyes and got in.
Before they had gotten more than a foot into the station, Boyd and Erica were there. "What do you want, Stiles?" Erica growled, stalking towards him.
"Aww, bad mood from missing your alpha?" Stiles said, making the fake tears gesture. Boyd's arm shot out to restrain her when she made a leap at him.
"Stiles," Derek said tightly. "Either help or let’s go."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine. Derek’s invisible."
Erica stopped fighting Boyd. "He's what?"
Stiles gestured to where Derek was standing. "He's right here. Whole, healthy, and with the charming personality we've all grown to love."
"Prove it," Erica said, disbelievingly.
"Your middle name is Ashley. I yelled at you yesterday for always leaving food wrappers in my car," Derek said. "Your dad hates me because you told him I was your meth addict boyfriend who just got out of jail. It pisses me off because sometimes I see him in the grocery store and I think he's going to call the police."
Stiles gaped for a second. "Okay Ashley, I just heard a meth story that's frankly pretty hilarious."
Boyd laughed, and the sound drew everyone's eyes. "Sorry," he said holding up his hands. "It's just that Derek and your dad make the same faces at each other. It is pretty good."
There isn't really much to say after that. The betas don't know how to help, and everyone's frustrated by using Stiles as a go-between. He leaves, after making them promise to tell Isaac. Derek follows, and it isn't until Derek slides back into the passenger seat before he realizes that Derek has no intention of leaving him alone.
"You don't want to stay here?" Stiles said.
Derek shrugged. "It feels weird."
"Do you want me to drive you somewhere?" Stiles said, "Your house, maybe?" Derek shrugged again and stared at him. "Fine, come home with me," Stiles said, starting the car. "But I'm not entertaining you."
True to his word, Stiles spent the rest of the night doing homework, resolutely ignoring Derek, who read quietly in the corner of the room. When his eyes began to cross at the computer screen, he sighed, stretched, and went to find a pillow and the air mattress.
"Smells like Scott," Derek grumbled when Stiles blew it up.
"That would be because he's the only one who ever uses it," Stiles said, with no sympathy. When the lights are off, and they're both settled in, Stiles said, "I would have thought this would be awesome for you. You hate people."
"No," Derek said, and for a moment, Stiles didn't think he was going to continue. "I don't hate everyone. I don't like this. Being completely cut off from everything."
Stiles thought about it, imagined it for himself and promptly felt nauseous. No wonder Derek was shadowing him. He actually couldn’t blame him.
The next morning, Stiles's dad woke him up to tell him he was going to work. Stiles stretched sleepily, and then before he could stop himself, his eyes slid guiltily to Derek. His dad's eyes followed his line of sight, then back, questioning. Stiles shrugged. "Have a good day," he said croakily. Stiles's dad gave him a weird look, and left.
Derek unfurled himself from the ball he was curled into, and Stiles had a moment of severe disorientation regarding the whole thing. Derek Hale was sleeping on an air mattress in his room, under a quilt his grandmother had made.
"Why does your dad wake you up if it’s summer?" Derek said, and his voice was scratchy with sleep.
"He sees too many juvenile delinquents and has an idea that it's connected to their sleep habits," Stiles said automatically. "Also, I think he thinks if I get up earlier, I'll go to bed earlier."
"Does it work?" Derek said, rising off the mattress. Stiles looked away from the expanse of bare skin interrupted only by Derek's boxer briefs.
"Not really." When Stiles turned back, Derek had his clothes on and was pulling the window open. "Dude, you just heard him leave. You can go out the front door," he said.
"See you later," is all Derek said, and he was gone.
Scott showed up around noon, and Stiles caught him up on recent events. "So you're just waiting for Deaton to call?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Stiles said. "I tried hunting around for stuff on the internet, but it's Harry Potter porn as far as the eye can see.”
"Well," Scott said philosophically. "At least no one's dying, dead, or in mortal pain."
"Yet," Stiles said darkly, and turned on the X-Box.
Three or so hours later, Scott tapped out. "Isaac," he said, waving his phone at Stiles. Stiles felt like commenting on the similarities to Allison, but he waved Scott out and settled back down with his controller.
Derek slid in moments later. "Were you waiting for Scott to leave?" Stiles said, amused. Derek glared at him, so Stiles tossed him a controller and they played several vicious rounds of Mario Kart until Stiles's stomach rumbled.
"C'mon," he said, throwing the controller down. "Let's see what's in the freezer."
“You don’t have to feed me,” Derek said stiffly.
Stiles shrugged. “If you’re not hungry, I won’t.”
“No, I mean,” Derek stopped, frustrated, and started again. “I can leave. We’re not--I know you don’t have to do this.”
Stiles paused at the door. “I don’t mind. I get it. Even Lurky McLurkenson has a line of what’s too much creepy watching.”
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, but there wasn’t any heat in it, this time.
After dinner, there was a knock on the front door. “It’s the betas,” Derek said quietly, rising from the table.
Stiles opened the door, and leaned on it. “Knocking, how novel.”
“We went to your window first, but you weren’t up there,” Erica said and made a face at him.
“Do you know where Derek is?” Isaac said, ignoring her. “Scott said you might.”
“Right here,” Stiles said, and swung the door open to let them in.
“Where?” Isaac said, stepping through. He looked around like maybe he could catch sight of Derek, if he looked hard enough.
Stiles gestured to where Derek was standing, fists clenched, behind Stiles’s father’s arm chair.
Isaac stepped forward, closer to the indicated spot. “Deaton said he’s still looking,” he said quietly. “He thinks someone did this to you. He seems worried.”
“Yeah, I guessed as much,” Derek said and he stepped forward, reaching out to clasp Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac’s face didn’t change, his eyes still on the spot Stiles had originally indicated. Derek dropped his hand quickly
Stiles cleared his throat. “He said he guessed that. This is, um,” and he reached out to touch Isaac, mirroring exactly what Derek had tried, “from him.”
“Thanks,” Isaac said, and sort of tensed under his hand.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Werewolves,” he said.
Erica knocked his shoulder as she brushed by him and flopped on the couch. “What are we watching?”
Derek seemed more content after that. He didn’t ask Stiles to convey messages, and the pack didn’t do more than direct vague statements in his direction, but they all seemed a little more at ease being around each other. Stiles, who had almost always dealt with them all adversarially or in forced alliances, was struck by the relaxed, almost family vibe they had. After the alphas, and Boyd and Erica’s near-deflection, he knew things had been rough. You almost couldn’t tell now, he reflected.
Having Derek breathing on the floor next to him when he woke the next morning seemed less strange than the morning before, but he was restless, tense with the annoyance of waiting for something to happen. He rose quietly, stripping off his sleep clothes right there, back to Derek, and when he turned, grabbing a towel, Derek was watching him. There was a look in his eyes Stiles couldn’t interpret, so he let it go.
“I’m going to take a shower. You can have next if you want.” Derek shrugged his consent, so Stiles headed to the bathroom, whistling. He jerked off in the shower, like he often did, running through his usual material when he thought, just for a second, about Derek rising from bed that first morning, his bare back rippling gracefully in the sunshine. He came about a second later, striping the shower wall. “Fuck,” he said to himself, and got the hell out of there.
He was downstairs cooking breakfast when Derek came downstairs. “Hope you like turkey bacon,” Stiles quipped, “because that’s all we have.”
“That’s fine,” Derek said. “Thank you.”
The words seemed hilariously foreign in his mouth, and Stiles hid his smile over the pan. He served them both, and they ate in silence until Derek said hesitantly, “I have to go to the post office.”
“A million monkeys with typewriters wouldn’t have predicted that statement,” Stiles said, dropping his fork. “Do you have a pen pal? Did you order something from a catalog and have to return it? Are you operating a mail order business? Is it based on wolf artifacts?”
Derek scoffed, but his lips turned up in an amused sort of way. “I have to send a letter. It has to be done today.”
“And it involves talking to people,” Stiles said, understanding. “So you’re requesting my assistance.”
“You don’t have to,” Derek said, grumpiness returning.
“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”
When they got there, Derek handed him the letter, along with some money. It was addressed to a lawyer, a name Stiles didn’t recognize.
“It’s for Laura’s estate,” Derek said quietly. “It’s still not settled completely.” All the ribbing that Stiles had been conjuring for this particular event goes out of him at that, as he remembered that Derek was a guy who had to bury his only sane living relative's upper body in a hole in the ground. Stiles thought privately that he’d be much more fucked up than Derek was, if it was possible.
When they get out of the post office, it’s a little past noon. “Got any more awesome errands involving you interacting with people?” Stiles said brightly.
Derek scowled at him. “I told you to stop enjoying this.”
“I believe I told you I can’t. Physically impossible. C’mon then, we’re going grocery shopping.”
Shopping with Derek was a uniquely hilarious experience. Stiles and his dad ate a lot of frozen foods, due to his dad’s schedule and Stiles being pretty inept at cooking.
“This looks disgusting,” Derek said, eyeing the bag of frozen nuggets Stiles was holding.
“Less sodium than the other kind,” Stiles said cheerfully.
“Because it has like fifty other ingredients,” Derek said, taking it from him. “None of them appearing to be chicken.”
“I don’t think I’m taking advice from the dude who eats freshly killed rabbits as a lifestyle.”
“I do not,” Derek said crossly. A beat. “All the time.”
“You don’t even have a kitchen,” Stiles said. “I can’t deal with you having opinions in this conversation.”
“I just buy fresh,” Derek muttered, and Stiles cracked up, tears coming to his eyes in the middle of the freezer aisles.
Derek scowled, but only because he wanted to laugh too, Stiles suspected.
They went back to Stiles’s house for lunch, with Stiles demanding Derek try one of the Hungry Man dinners. Derek’s pained face upon trying the ‘brownie’ felt like something Stiles was going to enjoy remembering the rest of his life. Then Derek picked up his head and said, “Scott’s coming.”
“Creepy yet useful,” Stiles said and got up to take out a third box.
Scott skidded into the house a moment later, happy hello bouncing off the walls. “Hey dude,” he said, and headed for the seat Derek was sitting in, clearly about to fling himself into it.
“Derek’s there,” Stiles shouted, as Derek slid sideways onto the floor in a move that would have been hilarious if Scott’s face hadn’t stormed up.
“What do you mean ‘Derek’s there’? What is Derek doing here? Are you feeding him?” Scott said staring at the frozen dinners accusingly, as if feeding Derek was the same level as building him an atomic bomb.
“I told you I was helping him,” Stiles said defensively.
“No,” Scott said indignantly. “You told me you helped him. You said you took him to Deaton.”
“I did,” Stiles said. “And then I kept him.”
“You didn’t keep me,” Derek muttered grumpily but Stiles disregarded him.
“It’s Derek!” Scott said. “He’s awful! I thought we agreed we were done with him!”
“I never said that,” Stiles said. He held up his hands when Scott’s face fell. “I’m your pack, you know I’m on your side. But dude, I’m the only one who can see and listen to him. I’m the only one he has who can even acknowledge he’s alive. You don’t get why he’d want to be around?”
“Every time,” Scott said, irritation coloring his words. “Every time lately, he finds some way to be around you, to rope you into his problems and you fall for it every time.”
“I’m not falling for anything,” Stiles yelled, getting pissed. “I don’t have to chose between you two! This is me being a fucking decent human being!”
“No, this is you being a sucker for anyone who pays attention to you,” Scott yelled back. Stiles reeled back like he’s been hit and Scott’s face crumpled with regret.
“Screw you,” Stiles said furiously. “You’re such an asshole.”
Scott shook his head. “Whatever, Stiles. Do what you want. You always do.” Then he was gone, and Stiles heard the front door slam shut with force.
“Stiles,” Derek said awkwardly, and fuck, Stiles had forgotten he was there.
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m going for a run. You can come with or not. I don’t care.”
There was silence for a minute, and then Derek said hesitantly, “I’d need to borrow shorts.”
There was a trail that started from his backyard that Stiles had been running for years. He wasn’t dedicated to running, didn’t do it regularly, but he liked the trail. He’d never seen anyone else in his jogs but he knew he couldn’t be the only one who knew it, as the forest never managed to encroach over the echo of footsteps in the grass.
He pounded the ground, letting the rhythm of his steps fill his ears and block out Scott’s angry words. He would take it back later, Stiles knew, Scott always did. The knowledge didn’t make it less of a sore spot. He sped up, pushing himself faster and faster.
Derek kept up with him easily enough and reached up once to lift a branch out of Stiles’s way before Stiles even noticed it. Stiles grunted his thanks and pushed on until he reached the crest of his favorite hill and had to stop, bent over and panting. Derek stopped with him, and dropped to the ground, and gazed out over the city. When Stiles got his breath back, he dropped down next to him.
“He’s right,” Derek said quietly.
“I know,” Stiles said. “I am sort of a whore for attention.”
“No,” Derek said impatiently. “Not about that. About me roping you into things.” Stiles turned to look at him, surprised. Derek shrugged. “Not that I think you don’t like the danger as much as I do, but,” and Stiles huffed indignantly, but let him finish, “I know I wouldn’t have lived through some of that stuff without you. So I get you into it. Sometimes, it’s my fault.”
“Wow,” Stiles said. “I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me.” Derek rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m not kidding, there were so many sentences there. The social isolation really did get to you, didn’t it?”
“Stiles,” Derek said impatiently.
“I like having you at my back too,” Stiles interrupted. “Scott, he’s my best friend and I’d take ten bullets for him, but he’s impossible about this.” He leaned back on his palms, the warm sun on his face. “These are our lives now, and it’s stupid not to--”
Derek kissed him. Stiles felt his warm hand come up to cup his jaw, and his lips pressed to Stiles, slowly, carefully, giving Stiles the option to back out, to stop it. Surprised, “Wait,” he said, pulling back with a jerk. “Is this a weird thing where you’re only kissing me because I might be the only person you can talk to for the rest of your life?”
“No,” Derek said slowly.
“Okay then,” Stiles said, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on Derek’s thighs to kiss him again.
Derek stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Are you letting me kiss you because you feel bad for me?” he said , and his voice was hard, like the Derek Hale Protective Shell had come out again.
“No,” Stiles said. “Why would I feel bad for you? This is everyone’s dream, because I’m a fantastic conversationalist.”
Derek rolled his eyes but a little bit of the tension seeped out of his spine and Stiles grinned and leaned back into his warmth. Derek wrapped an arm around him, and bent his head to kiss him again.
There was a noise behind them, and Stiles yelped as he flailed, elbowing Derek in the face. His neighbor from a few houses down came out of the trail, jogging cheerfully. “Hello there,” she said peacefully, as if there was nothing strange about the way Stiles was positioned on the ground.
She disappeared again through the trees and Stiles groaned in despair. “Come on,” he said, standing. “I’ve had just about enough of my imaginary friend.”
“Yeah,” Derek deadpanned. “This must be really hard for you.”
Deaton looked unsurprised to see Stiles, but held his hands up apologetically. “No news yet, I’m afraid. It’s difficult work.”
“Two eyes are better than one,” Stiles said, sliding onto a stool, and made grabby hands at the stack of books.
Deaton eyed him thoughtfully, and then slid him an old leather monstrosity, held together by an old ribbon. Stiles untied it and started flipping.
Derek slid down the wall near him, and relaxed with his back against the wall, knees against his chest. Stiles glanced at him every now and then, but he seemed content.
Deaton wasn’t kidding. It was slow going, poring over each page, looking for anything that even related to the situation. He kept getting distracted by what was actually there, like the page devoted to fairies. He itched once again to have all this digitized, something he could just have at his fingertips.
So many of the answers seemed to reference will. Every spell reiterated the point that if you didn’t will something to happen, it wouldn’t. He remembered the mountain ash, and making it multiply down the length of the parking garage. He was about to open his mouth to say this to Deaton when his phone rang.
Of all people, it was Isaac. “Hey,” Stiles said, confused. “What’s---”
“Scott’s been kidnapped by hunters,” Isaac interrupted. “We’re at the warehouse.”
Stiles was on his feet in a moment, the book forgotten. Derek was snarling in the corner, and without discussion, they were moving towards the door.
“Stiles,” Deaton called after them. “There are many ways to fight.”
“Helpful,” Stiles yelled back and swung himself into the Jeep.
When they got to the warehouse, there was nothing but quiet. “Can you hear anything?” he said, eyes sweeping the windows.
“Four of them,” he felt Derek breathe into the shell of his ear. Only force of will kept him from squawking in surprise. “You got a plan?”
“No,” Stiles hissed back. “It’s your turn.”
“You hate my plans,” Derek said.
“Because they’re always so stupid,” Stiles said, but their attention was drawn back to the yard as they heard Isaac roar, and a crash from inside.
“You’re really going to hate this one,” Derek said, and without another word, he ran forward, kicking the doors wide open.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Stupid,” he yelled, even as he moved forward to follow him.
Scott was strung up in chains, writhing as he tried to pull free. Isaac was shifted, snarling as he was surrounded by hunters, who were training guns on them. Derek launched himself at the group, sinking his claws into one’s neck and....nothing. They didn’t even seem to notice, like Derek wasn’t even there. Derek roared in frustration and tried again and again. One of the hunters cocked his gun and shot Isaac, hitting him right in the thigh. Isaac crumpled, hitting the ground and Scott cried out in anguish.
“Scott,” Derek yelled, as the hunters turned towards him. His voice was panicked, and Stiles watched in horror as Derek was powerless to help him.
“Fuck,” Stiles swore. It wasn’t fair. Derek wasn’t the nicest person to exist, but he tried harder than anyone, and even now, when it was pointless, he threw himself again and again, trying desperately to save Scott. Stiles thought of what Deaton said, that there was more than one way to fight. How was that helpful? What was he supposed to do with that? Derek needed to fight, and for that he needed to come out from the grip of this spell. “Fucking end it,” Stiles yelled, not even caring if anyone heard him anymore. “Let Derek fight!” He didn’t know who he was even yelling at any longer, he was just yelling in despair. “I don’t want to be the only one who sees him, fucking end it.” He stared desperately at Derek, and for a long moment, Derek met his eyes in helplessness. There was a weird, trembling feeling in his gut, but spreading, persistent, like it was winding up through his veins. He shoved at the feeling, mindlessly, furiously, there wasn’t time for--and then one of Derek’s pointless assaults connected.
The hunter he hit startled, slapping a hand over his neck in disbelief. “I thought you took care of the alpha?”
“I did,” the other said, a look of horror on his face. “He should have been down for the count!”
They turned their guns on Derek, but not quick enough. With a roar he attacked, swiping a long, vicious tear in one of the men. He was moving like a blur, and there was nothing but screams coming from the hunters. Stiles took full advantage of the distraction, and ran to Scott’s side, undoing the chains with relief.
“Hey,” Scott croaked as he smiled at Stiles. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Shut up,” Stiles said but he couldn’t help but grin back. When he freed Scott enough for him to yank the other chains loose, he turned his attention to the fray.
Derek had the last hunter cornered, and was snarling as the man cowered in the corner, gun tossed to the side. “Please,” he said to Stiles. “Help me.”
Stiles looked at him coldly, without pity. “You deserve to die with your friends,” he said, approaching Derek’s side. “You don’t deserve mercy.” The man let out a broken sob. “But,” Stiles said, addressing Derek. “It’s an option.”
“You want me to let him go?” Derek said, incredulously.
“I don’t want anything,” Stiles said, and his voice didn’t shake at all. “I just want you to know your options. You could kill him right now, and I’d never blame you. Not after what he did to Isaac, to Scott, to you.” He fixed the man with a dispassionate look. “Or you could call Chris Argent. Tell him to deal with it, take the problem off your hands.” Stiles shrugged. “Up to you.”
Derek snarled again, a sound made of frustration and anger, of betrayal and pain. His claws came down, arcing towards the last hunter, and at the last second, sunk into the wall next to the man’s head.
“Call him,” Derek said, and turned around and left.
Stiles waited until Allison’s father had arrived, and together, he and Scott made clear to him the events of the night. Chris was tight-lipped and angry, as he surveyed the other bodies, but he turned that fury on the remaining hunter, still huddled in fear.
Isaac was beginning to come around by then, the wolfsbane crushed in his wounds taking effect. Scott and Stiles both took an arm, and carried him to the Jeep. They brought him to Deaton’s, and sat shoulder to shoulder in the folding chairs outside the room.
“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Scott said.
“Yes you did,” Stiles said immediately. “Don’t front.”
Scott grinned and ducked his head. “Okay, I was hoping you would.”
“You got me, remember?” Stiles said, knocking his shoulder. “No matter what dick thing you’ve done.”
“You really like Derek?” Scott said, a little doubt still in his voice.
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I think I do.” He eyed Scott carefully. “I think I’m gonna date him. You got that part, right?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “I can read you, you know.” He was quiet for a minute, and then touched Stiles’s arm. “You deserve it, you know? Someone to pay attention to you. You’re not--you just, you deserve that.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Stiles said. “Are we going to hug now?”
“I think we have to,” Scott said and pulled him in with a tug.
When Stiles finally pulled into the driveway, he cast a baleful look at his window, sending wordless pleas that Derek would be waiting for him. But nothing was ever particularly easy, so he was greeted with an empty room and a shut-tight window. He flopped backwards on the bed and hated everything with a vengeance.
In the morning, as soon as his dad left for work, Stiles set off for Derek’s house. “You better be waiting for me on the porch,” Stiles yelled out the window as he approached. “If you run away, so help me god--” but he didn’t have to finish his sentence, as he caught sight of Derek leaning against against a porch rail.
“Morning,” Derek said, amused.
“Nice to see you,” Stiles said pointedly, and Derek rolled his eyes. “Where were you last night?”
“With Boyd and Erica,” Derek said, looking over Stiles’s shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Oh,” Stiles said, swallowing. “I was thinking I’d see you, after everything settled.”
“Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles just knew, knew from the tone in his voice that he wasn’t going to like whatever came next.
“Pretty shitty to break up with me before we go on our first date,” Stiles said lightly, taking a step closer.
Derek’s eyes flashed. “I can’t watch someone else get hurt for me. I won’t.”
“That’s what you got out of yesterday?” Stiles said incredulously. “I saved you, you dumbass.”
“I know,” Derek said. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
Stiles stepped right into Derek’s personal space. He poked one finger into the center of Derek’s chest and snapped. “I shouldn’t have to do anything, but I do. I wasn’t just there for you, your ego is out of control. Scott is my best friend, and Isaac is...” Stiles hesitated, “not unlikeable. I was there for them too, and there was something I could do that none of you could. Do you know how awesome that was? It was awesome. It was amazingly awesome. I want that again, and whether or not I’m dating you, I’ll still want it.”
“You’re infuriating,” Derek said flatly, but there was something in his voice that told Stiles that he had won.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, and skated his hand up Derek’s chest to curl around the back of his neck. “But you like it.” He pulled Derek down and kissed him, warm and sweet. Derek kissed him back, and it was a new feeling for Stiles, this chest bursting moment of total satisfaction with how something turned out, but he thought he could get used to it.
“You’re going to have to work for it,” he said, pulling back a little. “I’m not easy, you know.”
“That’s one thing I have never once accused you of,” Derek said, and pulled him inside.
|
Will wakes in the middle of the night, the air is warm and suffocating. He kicks limp sheets away from his sticky body, turning his head to look out the window. Outside, there is a numbing blanket of black.
He can’t stop shivering. In the dark, he finds Hannibal. The other man lays awake next to him, eyes dark and raw as the sea. For one moment, Will is embarrassed to be caught staring, caught vulnerable.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Hannibal’s voice is low, heavily accented from sleep.
Will shakes his head.
Hannibal reaches for him, one hand gliding out to rest on his heart. He murmurs soothing and foreign words into the blade of Will’s shoulder. It feels alien.
“Just stop,” he says, shrugging Hannibal’s hands away. “Not like that.”
“Then how?” Hannibal asks, frowning.
Will drags blunt nails hard down Hannibal’s sides.
“You know what I like,” he says. “What this whole thing is about.” His breath hitches as Hannibal wrenches his hands away, pinning the wrists down.
“Yes, I think I do,” Hannibal replies sharply.
Limbs and fingers stroke too roughly, then shove into alignment until Hannibal is behind him, fucking him into the mattress with slick fingers. A low, almost wounded, sound torn from Hannibal’s throat when he starts to really fuck Will. He’s already sore and it feels painfully good being stretched open again, though the pace is too slow. Hannibal is deliberately drawing it out.
In the end, there’s no urgency, no loss of self to cling to.
Will orgasms again, remembering everything, all the horrible truth about Hannibal.
Hannibal holds him again through the throes of his fever.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
The glow of the sun is the first thing he feels as he wakes up. He looks outside again and sees the day is deceptively beautiful. He’s also alone. Hannibal must have left already.
Blinking himself more fully awake, Will frowns and presses a pillow over his head for a moment. It turns out his body is also a liar, the muscles feel loose and comfortable, in a way they shouldn’t be. Not after what he let Hannibal do to him. He’s still sore but it’s a vague and nearly pleasant feeling. Hannibal had taken so much time in stretching him each time after all.
Hannibal is methodical in everything he does. All of his kills, whether’s he the Chesapeake Ripper or its Copy Cat. Or something entirely different-- Will thinks of the kill he saw the other day, the professor who had been mutilated. That one hits close to home. It had been meant for him alone, as if it were a gift. A naughty professor, served up and eviscerated, just for him.
Will knew it last night and he still let Hannibal inside of him, both, sexually and mentally. The sex was almost forgivable. It was their relationship that had rushed out of its D/s boundaries into something far more intimate, as devastating and tender as a mortal wound.
Will should call Jack. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he starts to get out of bed and hunt down his clothes.
There’s a note on his dresser from Hannibal.
Apologies for my untimely departure. I had an unavoidable errand. Would you care for dinner tonight at my place?
Will rummages around his unused bedroom room until he finds where his phone ended up, halfway under the bed. Fine, he texts back to Hannibal.
Then he gets in the shower, turning the water as hot as he can handle it.
*~*~*~*~
Will goes to Hannibal’s for dinner as promised. The time, he forgoes the bottle of wine, the small touch of etiquette beyond reach.
He lets himself in and follows the smell of rosemary and thyme to the kitchen. Hannibal is waiting for him, wearing a pristine white apron. He holds a knife.
“You know.”
Will nods. “I know,” he agrees, voice toneless.
“Are you going to tell Jack?”
A frown pulls at his lips. He goes for honesty. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.”
They both know that at this point, calling Jack isn’t one of them.
Hannibal considers him for a moment. Then, rather gently, he places the gleaming knife back down on a ceramic cutting slab.
“Before we begin our meal, I wish to give you a gift.”
Will follows Hannibal to the basement below the kitchen.
The narrow stairwell leading down is dark and he walks closely to Hannibal, matching his steps. The scent of amber and musk washes over him and almost reactively, the downy hairs on his arm and neck rise.
There’s a muffled sound several feet away, like an animal, or a person. An overhead light flicks on.
A bloodied man is tied to a chair. Behind him, are paintings.
It takes a moment for Will to even begin to realize the dozens of wine-colored lips and blue eyes match his own nearly as well as a photograph. The paint brush rendered faces, expressions of his imagined agony and pleasure, spin like a carousel in front of him. Everything is all lies and truth simultaneously.
Envy cuts through him, staggering and efficient. The paintings reflect the dark soul of him in a way he cannot, does not.
Pleading whines and muffled shouts draw Will’s attention from the canvases. The funhouse mirror effect of his self through Hannibal’s eyes skids to a halting stop.
The man in the chair. Will knows him.
The features are swollen--bloody and nonsensical as a Picasso. Slowly, the crooked nose, the blackened eyes, begin to straighten, enough to form something cohesive. Underneath it all, there’s still something handsome and charismatic. Professor Erik Andersen. “You like this, don’t you? Tell me.” Will’s stomach heaves.
“Hannibal,” he breathes.
Erik is the one tied to a chair. He sees Will and immediately begins to shout against his gag, rocking the chair back and forth.
Then his gaze drifts beyond Will, and Will feels Hannibal emerge from the side of the darkened room.
Erik goes silent, hazel eyes widening.
“What is this?” Will demands.
“An awakening.”
“Well, you’re a little late.” Will hears himself, biting and acidic, but he doesn’t stop. “I know. Hannibal, I know you’re the Chesapeake Ripper.”
Hannibal cocks his head in acknowledgement. “Awareness is the greatest instrument for metamorphosis,” he says. “May I ask, when did the scales fall?”
“After we were... intimate.”
Hannibal smiles as if Will’s use of a euphemism is charming, and not an avoidance of something far more conflicting and ugly. What Will knew and when. And how he did nothing other than roll on his belly to be fucked by Hannibal again because he didn’t want to even think about the alternatives.
“Was it the first or second time?”
Will scowls. “Does it really matter? Fine. The first time.”
Hannibal considers this.
“What revealed my nature?”
Will shakes his head. “Your nature is beyond me, Doctor Lecter. There are no sets of influence or behavior that could begin to define you. Happy, now?”
“You don’t think I’m evil?”
“No, that’s too easy. Destructive, yes,” Will replies. He laughs, the sound brittle. “And also, strangely generative. But that doesn’t begin to explain this.”
Hannibal follows Will’s gaze to the old criminology professor.
Again, the man whimpers at the cold focus of Hannibal’s attention. Will can imagine too well what Hannibal has done. He knows exactly how well the other can hurt or torture, choosing so specifically how to leave his scars.
“Oh, yes,” Hannibal says impassively. “I had not forgotten our Professor Andersen.”
Hannibal advances, moving closer to the bound man, who cries against his gag even louder. Despite what they went through during Will master’s program, Erik stares beseechingly at Will. Swallowing, Will looks away.
“Come here, Will.” Hannibal speaks cordially, as if he’s asking Will to set the table for dinner.
“I’m not playing your game. If you want to kill me-”
“Killing you has not been my plan for a long time. I prefer my world with you in it, breathing and feeling everything so beautifully.”
Will tenses, fingers jerking. “So you want me to kill Professor Andersen? That’s not going to happen.”
Hannibal’s face is blank, betraying no emotion -- not even the smallest sliver of disappointment. “Come now, Will,” he repeats. “Unless you want me to kill him in front of you?”
There’s a flash in Hannibal’s hand and Will follows it, sees the sharp mirror of a knife, his self captured within its gleam. Between that and the paintings, there’s too many reflections of him in this room.
He is close enough to touch Hannibal now, or his old professor. He wants neither.
“It can often feel good to confront those who have tormented us. It can be a valuable aspect of therapy.”
“That’s not how it works in the real world,” Will mutters, glaring at Hannibal. “I’m unlikely to get anything from him but denials and apologies that you forced and deep down, he’ll still think I was asking for it. We both know how this ends.”
Hannibal’s mouth quirks. “Let’s try it, shall we? For your benefit.”
Hannibal shifts his weight, so that he is facing and addressing Erik directly. “You will do well to remember Professor Anderson, I don’t take well to rudeness, to myself or to Will.”
Professor Anderson shakes his head rapidly in silent promise. There are tears in his eyes. Hannibal removes the blood-soaked gag, none too gently.
For a moment all the beaten man does is sob, great heaving breaths.
Will watches. He realizes then there’s nothing he wants to hear from the man. He’s not worth the air it would take to breathe out an apology, even an authentic one.
In a way, that’s how Will’s ready for it. Erik takes one last gulp of air and then he’s lunging, the ropes around his wrists falling to the side.
His hands extend, towards Hannibal’s neck. On instinct, Will whirls, grabbing the knife from Hannibal. The end of the blade catches his hand before it slashes deep across Erik’s chest.
Blood splatters in an arc, elegant as a dance. Erik screams and tries to grab Will and he stabs him again, deeper this time and into his abdomen. The force of it causes both of them to loose their balance. Erik slumps forward and Will falls back.
Everything happens in a matter of seconds.
Hannibal is waiting to pull Will to his chest, keeping him from hitting the cement floor the basement too hard. For a moment all he can do is breathe heavily. Gradually, in slow and shifting increments, he becomes aware of Hannibal tying something tight across his hand.
There’s crying. He’s not sure where it is coming from.
“Hannibal,” Will hears himself say. He can’t stop shaking.
Erik lays on the floor, head turned to its side.
“Will, Will,” he murmurs. His face is deathly pale, eyes already starting to glaze. Will must have cut a major artery, for him to bleed out so fast. Erik stares through Will, as if he is transparent as the thinning air around him. The entire front of his shirt to the top of his pants is soaked in red.
“Will, I’m so s-sorry.”
His lips curl. “No, you don’t get to. Say you’re sorry. What you did. I don’t- I don’t accept.
Erik’s rasping breath hitches and Will looks away.
Hannibal lifts him up, helping him step by step out of the basement. They leave Erik to the shadows.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Hannibal runs a sponge over him, gently guiding him under the spray of water.
The droplets fall thin-- like mist, already warmer than his body.
“This is a pre-set temperature. Does it suit you?”
“It’ll get the blood off,” Will says.
He gathers enough water in his cupped hands to pour over his face. He would prefer a downpour, thick enough to drown in.
He looks at Hannibal, his own personal tempest. He glides his soapy fingers down Will’s ribs like they’re piano keys.
Will steps back into the wall of the shower, shivering a little from the cold feel of it, as Hannibal’s fingers smooth down the base of his awakening cock, his balls, then further still.
His head falls back against the glass and the fog of the shower water fills his eyes like tears. Hannibal circle his hole briefly before he falls to his knees in front of Will.
“You wanted me to kill him,” Will says. “You planned the entire display like it was a performance at the Baltimore theater. You probably told Erik how to get free. You knew what I would do.”
“I thought it would be therapeutic. Was it?”
Will ignores the question. He slides his fingers over Hannibal’s pin straight wet hair before grabbing it tightly. Deja vu, he thinks. Hannibal did the same to him once, when this all started.
“I want to kill you for manipulating me like that.”
He doesn’t tell Hannibal how good the influence felt.
Muscles twitch around Hannibal’s lips as he tries to maintain a serious expression. Thumbs stroking lightly over Will’s hip bones, he ducks his head, mouthing at Will’s balls. Will gasps as Hannibal takes his time, tasting each one with the fullness of his mouth. Will’s pulse quickens, his cock harder with each roll of tongue over his flesh. Only then does Hannibal respond to Will’s threat.
“You are delectable,” Hannibal murmurs with a reverent breath. Will hears him wet the top of his mouth with his tongue. “Every inch of you, delicious.”
The words sound like a curse.
“You don’t believe I could kill you,” Will says, his voice choked. His fingers flex, unconsciously tightening in Hannibal’s hair.
“Or you don’t care if I-- Oh, if I do.”
Hannibal has shifted, his tongue now tracing Will’s cock. The assault sparks bliss in his belly, consumptive as poison.
“I love you, Will.”
The words are sincere. Will aches with it, gut twisting.
He wrenches Hannibal’s head back, thrusting his cock into his mouth. “Shut up. Just shut your mouth.”
His motion is abrupt in its violence, but Hannibal is ready, eager to please even. His lips stretch wide, cheeks hollowing as he bends forward to receive, even as Will drives his cock deeper each time, trying to hit the back of Hannibal’s throat. In his haste, he bottoms out fast. The tight, slick space feels so good, it feels like Hannibal is swallowing him.
Blinking water from his eyelashes, Will watches Hannibal’s mouth go impossibly low, fluttering against the base of his cock. There, Hannibal chokes, a dry rasping, desperate sound. Will groans, stroking Hannibal’s head as he comes. He stifles his cry as much as he can, biting his lip and tasting copper. He’s not sure if it’s his blood, or Erik’s.
It doesn’t matter. After a moment, the water washes it all away.
*~*~*~*~*~
“You can’t keep going on like this you know,” Will says to Hannibal, hours later. They’re in Hannibal room now.
There’s a temporary truce between them -- they ate a very late dinner meal together even, only after Hannibal assured Will that he would dispose of Professor Andersen, and leave Will completely out of it.
“Eventually you’re going to make a mistake.”
Granted, Professor Anderson probably isn’t one of the mistakes Will means. The man had two embittered ex-wives getting a slice of the pre-nup pie as well as a slew of students beyond Will that he probably assaulted at one point or another, many of them going into law enforcement, Will already knows.
“You can’t kill everyone that’s wronged me either,” he continues. “Nor will you get me to do it again. If you try, I will guarantee you won’t like the results.”
Will doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to.
“Even I sense that I am overdue for a change in pattern, Will,” Hannibal murmurs. “Old habits do not become us. No reason for there not to be a reinvention of sorts.” He presses a kiss to Will’s forehead, then his bandaged palm.
Will doesn’t respond in words, instead folding himself deeper into the warmth of the bed and Hannibal’s body. His headache has long since faded, his fever calmed. His traitorous body be damned.
“Why me?”
“There is no one like you. No one will ever see or know me better,” Hannibal says. “There’s no one who I see as much of an equal as I see you.”
Will’s shoulders melt into the bed.
“There is something I must tell you,” Hannibal says after a pause, breath stirring the crown of Will’s hair.
“What?”
“I believe you have encephalitis.”
Will rises half way up, looking at Hannibal.
“I have what?”
“It’s an inflammation of the brain, most often brought on by a viral infection. Only life threatening if left untreated. It hasn’t gotten that progressive, not anywhere near it.”
“I know what encephalitis is.” The words are quiet, settling into the lavish bedroom with a sort of surreal stillness. “You’re telling me my brain is on fire.”
He thinks of wandering in the woods at night, the lost and unaccounted for hours, the terrible fears, the nightmare stag, the whispered and tearful confessions to Alana, to Jack...
From the dark of his thoughts, he emerges and sees Hannibal, feels himself grow incredulous. “How long did you know I had it? When did those scales fall, Doctor?”
“I’ve had my suspicions for some time. I admit, I have done some things to worsen your condition, that of which I regret -- wholeheartedly.”
“You, what? You... Let me get this straight. You thought that because you controlled my body, and my mind, and my health, you could control my entire life.”
Will gets up without waiting for a response. He plucks up several items of clothing and begins dressing, violently shoving arms and legs into clothing as if it were armor.
“Will. Please.”
Once he’s decent, he grants Hannibal a look.
He wishes he didn’t.
Hannibal reminds him of the horrible moments following Tobias Budge’s attack. Weathered and tragic, maybe a part of Will had fallen then and there. Hannibal’s lips part in a frown that lines his face in deep furrows. He doesn’t speak again. Will feels the sharp sword in both of their guts.
"This is...not acceptable, Hannibal. I can't see you anymore. I can’t trust you.”
“Punish me then.”
Will quakes, the words instantly pulling him off balance, as intended.
Without encouragement, Hannibal continues. "Punish me for everything, Will. For all my transgressions against you."
Will laughs. It's hollow. "Even if I were to whip you to bloody, little strips, it wouldn’t begin to cover it.”
Hannibal wets his lips, contemplating this.
“No, Hannibal,” Will says more forcefully. “You need to learn how to discipline yourself."
Hannibal's lips twitch downward. "I am adaptable. I can learn. A teacup can be made whole again," he says, then with a deep breath, retrieves a word that sounds to Will as if it comes from the darkest recesses of his heart.
"Please."
Will pauses by the door, head cocked to the side. Considering.
He makes his choice.
|
“So you’re the wonderboy everyone keeps talking about.”
Zayn looked up to see a blonde dude sneering down at him. The guy, about Zayn’s age, had a look and a demeanour that screamed Draco Malfoy from the Harry Potter movies. In Zayn’s opinion, the only things missing from the boy’s impersonation was a splash of bleach in his hair and the mandatory green and silver necktie for House Slytherin.
It was the final session of the day, and Zayn had just saved two chairs at the front of the room while Harry wandered off to grab a couple of water bottles from the back. The workshops had all been fantastic, full of tips and ideas he couldn’t wait to try out in his classroom.
And then Draco Malfoy decided to show up.
Zayn cleared his throat nervously. “Not sure about that,” he returned lightly, reaching out his hand. “I’m Zayn Malik, Payne Academy.”
“Yeah, that would be you then,” the other man said, unimpressed. “Heard you’re the favourite.”
Zayn dropped his outstretched hand before he embarrassed himself any further. “Favourite?” he repeated, wondering what the guy was talking about and where Harry was.
“Yes, the favourite to win New Teacher of the Year, of course,” the guy answered, sizing him up. “Heard you had all the standards memorised or something. Heard you can quote them like a performing monkey,” he mocked, winking at a friend who was sat at the next table.
Zayn tried not to think too much into the offensive remark; otherwise, he’d surely do something that would jeopardise his chances for tomorrow (and most likely get him kicked out of the conference). “And you are?”
“The person who is going to be named ‘New Teacher of the Year’ tomorrow instead of you,” the blonde snarled. “The name’s Chadwick Hurston of Brixton Conservatory. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re the school that wiped your team’s asses across the floor at the Geography Bowl State Championships last weekend.”
Zayn hadn’t forgotten. However, he’d hardly agree with that assessment of the competition. The Brixton Conservatory team had only won by two points. It was hardly a landslide victory. “Well, there’s always next year,” Zayn said with forced politeness.
“Wish I could say the same about the award you’re going to lose tomorrow.” The other teacher placed his palms on the table and stared Zayn dead in the eye. “But we both know a teacher only gets one shot at New Teacher of the Year, don’t we?”
The other teacher sauntered back to his own table after that, and Zayn couldn’t help thinking that Chadwick Hurston made Louis Tomlinson look like a teddy bear.
“What was that all about?” Harry asked, finally sitting down in the seat Zayn had saved for him. He handed a water bottle to Zayn who grabbed it and immediately chugged down half the contents.
“One of the finalists. He was trying to psyche me out.”
Harry’s forehead creased with concern. “Did it work?”
Zayn didn’t answer, and luckily, Harry couldn’t press the issue because the presenter chose that moment to start the session.
***
“Nervous about tomorrow?” Harry asked, dotting gently at the corner of his lips with a cloth napkin before folding it back in his lap. “You’ve been awfully quiet all dinner—even for you.”
Zayn felt the familiar anxious grumble return to his stomach. “Yeah, it’s finally hitting me,” he confessed.
“Hope you’re not still thinking about whatever that Brixton Conservatory douche said,” Harry grunted.
Dr. Payne looked from Zayn to Harry and back again. “Is there something I should know, gentlemen?”
“No, it’s….” Zayn took a deep breath. “I met one of the other finalists, that’s all,” he shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal.”
And it wasn’t. In the scheme of things, it meant absolutely nothing. Still, it was like adding a pebble to the already unbearable weight Zayn felt like he’d been carrying on his shoulders lately.
It had finally hit him—not how much he wanted to be named New Teacher of the Year because he’d known that all along—but how much he’d let people down if he didn’t win. Dr. Payne and Harry. His family and friends. His students and the entire school community. If Zayn had merely been nominated that would have been a tremendous honour; however, making it all the way to the finalist stage, getting the invitation to attend the state educators conference…that lifted everyone’s expectations and placed an enormous pressure on him. And the thing was, Zayn didn’t want to disappoint anyone. He loathed disappointing people. Unfortunately, whether he won the award or not was completely out of his hands at this point. The decision had surely been made, and so all he could do was sit and wait and try not to chew his fingernails off, which was easier said than done.
Dr. Payne glanced at Zayn’s empty plate before cutting into his steak again. “One would never guess that you’re nervous, Mr. Malik, with the way you devoured your chicken piccata and half of Mr. Styles’ plate.” When Zayn blushed, he added, “for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to imply anything with that observation. I like to take care of my teachers—especially my top teachers—and nothing pleases me more than to be able to treat you to dinner to show my appreciation for all you do. And at least you appeared to enjoy the food. Mr. Styles, on the other hand, got hung up on the salad and breadbasket…as usual.”
Harry guffawed as he reached for the last dinner roll in the third breadbasket the waiter had brought to the table. “Can I help it if they have pumpernickel and sourdough, sir?”
Dr. Payne snorted almost fondly before turning back to Zayn. “I treat the department chairs to a monthly dinner, Mr. Malik,” he explained. “It’s a working dinner, of course, but it’s one of our little traditions.”
“It’s one of the many perks of becoming a department head at Payne Academy,” Harry said cheekily, tearing his bread apart, then slathering it with butter. “The other perks include longer work hours, inventorying and ordering supplies, and answering the same question over and over again with a smile at weekly departmental meetings.”
“Weekly departmental meetings?” Zayn asked, confused. His department hardly ever met. For anything. Ever.
Harry exchanged a look with Dr. Payne. “Sorry, Zayn. Sometimes I forget you’re in social sciences.”
It was no secret that Harry was referring to the lack of leadership in his department. Frank Franklin seemed to be the department chair of social sciences in name only sometimes. Zayn was just glad he had his weekly mentoring meetings with Harry to make up for the lack of direction and support from his department.
Dr. Payne appeared eager to change the topic. “Another round?” he asked Harry, gesturing towards the empty breadbasket. “Mr. Malik, would you care for an after-dinner coffee, perhaps?”
“Um….” Zayn chewed his lip, wondering if it would be impolite to ask for something else, what with his principal picking up the cheque and all.
“He wants dessert,” Harry translated for him, cracking a smile. “I caught him salivating at the triple chocolate torte as it passed by.”
“Well,” Dr. Payne began, “it did look good, Mr. Styles. You have to admit that.”
“If you’re a chocolate lover," Harry granted. "Speaking of which, you should order one as well, sir.”
“I might have a sliver of Mr. Malik’s—that is, if you’d like to try the torte, Mr. Malik,” the principal said casually, but Zayn could see the twinkle in his eye. “Or perhaps, you have something else in mind for dessert?”
It was all Zayn could do not to roll his eyes. “No, thank you, sir. I’ll just have the torte.” he stated adamantly, peering straight across at the other man so he wouldn’t miss the underlying meaning.
“Of course, Mr. Malik,” Dr. Payne replied smoothly, “if you’re sure that’s what you really want.”
***
Zayn was scraping the last bit of ganache off his plate when he looked up to see Dr. Payne regarding him with wonderment.
“Where on earth do you put it all, Mr. Malik?”
Harry snorted. “I reckon all the worryin’ he does burns off the extra calories.”
“That’s what Niall always says,” Zayn remarked before realising what he’d said. It wasn’t that bringing up his friend was necessarily taboo…except it sort of was. It wasn’t polite dinner conversation anyway, not when the man who held so much power over Niall’s future career was sitting right beside him. (Not when all it did was upset Zayn every time he even thought about his friend.)
Dr. Payne hummed, sipping his glass of wine—red to go with his steak from earlier, Zayn supposed. Red for Payne Academy. Red for warning, and danger, and desire.
Harry coughed. Even he couldn’t relieve the awkward break in the conversation. “Think I’ll, uh, go find the loo.” He stood up abruptly, then wandered off in the last direction Zayn would have chosen to search for the restrooms. A few seconds later, the English teacher was stopped by someone sitting at the bar, and the two struck up an animated conversation. Zayn hated small talk, but he almost wished he was there, wished he hadn’t been left alone with his principal. Already, he could feel something start to shift in the air.
That’s why he was grateful when he heard his phone buzz…until he saw who the text was from.
Daddy: I could help you forget. x
Zayn’s eyes darted to the man seated across the table from him. Dr. Payne seemed oblivious of his presence, though, as he took another sip of wine, eyes staring off into the distance. The man’s iPhone was placed face down on the table above his place setting where it had been throughout dinner.
Zayn shook his head, trying to figure out how Dr. Payne managed to return his phone to that same exact spot so quickly. Zayn hadn’t noticed the man move an inch in his peripheral vision. He would blame it on the wine if he’d had any.
Me: Forget about what?
Daddy: Everything
The reply came lightning-quick, and Zayn was certain this time that the principal’s phone hadn’t budged. He took a deep breath and tried to think. His brain scrabbled for answers. When his own phone buzzed with a new notification, Zayn was staring point-blank at his principal’s phone still lying untouched on the table.
Daddy: Different number, remember?
Zayn braved a glance over at his principal again, and this time, he saw the man was staring down at his lap, apparently texting with another device. And…yeah. Zayn probably should have figured that one out.
Still, this was the first time the principal had texted him when they were sitting in the same room together. Zayn couldn’t help but wonder why the man didn’t just speak to him when the next text answered that question.
Daddy: Can’t stop thinking about you, thinking about that last time xx
Me: a lot has happened since then
Daddy: I know…I tried to give you space.
Me: maybe I didn’t need space
Daddy: Yes , maybe you were just needing the company of a ginger.
Zayn sucked in a breath. He was already aggravated, and he wanted nothing more than to lash out at the man who was now back to innocently twirling his stupid wineglass in his fingers. But the last thing either of them needed was to make a scene in the nicest restaurant in the hotel.
Me: He’s just a friend.
Daddy: I don’t care. I believe I’ve made it clear that I don’t want you around him.
Zayn was about to type something about Niall, about how it seemed like Dr. Payne didn’t want any of Zayn’s friends around, but then he changed his mind. There was no need to bring in unsubstantiated suspicions and theories. He glanced at the principal, and this time the man was glowering down at the phone in his hands. (Zayn was glad.)
Me: You’re acting like a possessive jerk
Daddy: And you’re acting like you’re not mine when we both know you are.
Zayn made a sound between a scoff and a snort, then texted back a response.
Me: Yours???
Daddy: Don’t deny it. Deep down, you know I’m what you want, that this is what you want. I can give you what you need, right here, right now. I can make your deepest desires come true.
Me: my deepest desire is for you to leave me alone
Daddy: You’re sending mixed signals again, baby.
Me: How?
Daddy: Saying you resent the space I gave you one minute, then pushing me away the next.
Zayn bit his lip. He scrolled up to the beginning of the conversation, and yeah…maybe the man had a point. Still.
Me: It’s not a good time.
Daddy: You’re making excuses again.
*
Daddy: When will you be honest with yourself? When will you stop running and give in to what you know you need?
Zayn scowled at the audacity of the man. Then, he pocketed his phone, and the principal followed suit.
“Oh no,” Harry groaned, announcing his return. “Did you two get into an argument about whether Marvel or DC is better or summat?” he teased, reading the tension in the air as he slid into his chair.
“Marvel,” Zayn grumbled out the same time as—
“Marvel.”
Zayn looked up at his principal in surprise. The man had never said much about his interests in things like comic books. Zayn had assumed the principal would be ‘above’ such things. Even when Zayn happened to catch a glimpse of what had appeared to be a Batman screensaver on the man’s MacBook once, the principal quickly dismissed the whole thing.
Of course, that had been months ago.
And Zayn wanted to continue the conversation, wanted to ask why the principal hadn’t fessed up at the time. Then, there was the safe word. It had been a fictional word, one straight out of a Marvel comic, and Dr. Payne had barely blinked an eye at the strangeness of his choice. (And more than anything, Zayn wanted to know if the man would have reacted the same way now.)
Dr. Payne cleared his throat. “Batman’s always been my favourite, but overall, I’d have to go with Marvel.”
“Batman’s sick,” Zayn agreed, wondering not for the first time if the principal could read his mind. “And, uh, same, sir.”
Harry snorted. “I swear, if you two nerds start talking comics, I’m legging it.”
Dr. Payne smiled devilishly. “You’re the one who brought up the topic, Styles,” he reminded the English teacher as he motioned for the cheque. “But I would agree with you that we should probably call it a night. After all, Mr. Malik has a big day tomorrow.”
***
They rode up in the elevator together, the three of them. Once again, Harry said goodbye at the tenth floor. Once again, Zayn and his principal followed the same pattern as earlier. They didn’t speak as the elevator climbed to the eleventh floor. They didn’t utter a single word as they walked down the endless corridor to their rooms, Zayn trailing behind the other man.
“Goodnight, Mr. Malik,” the principal remarked once Zayn had swiped his room key. “Remember, if there is anything I can help you with, anything at all,” he stated for the second time that day, “please don’t hesitate to knock.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Payne,” Zayn returned sharply before slamming the door.
***
Zayn needed a smoke.
And so, five minutes after arriving at his room, he stole downstairs again. He found the designated area behind the hotel and sat down on one of the lawn chairs.
He checked his emails and found there was nothing pressing, only a few student questions to which he quickly responded anyway. Next, he checked his text messages from earlier in the afternoon. He replied to his parents, Ed, and Jo, letting each of them know he had arrived safely and thanking them for their well wishes. Then he read the very last message:
Niall: good luck tomorrow Zed. know that whatever happens I’m so fecking proud of you
Zayn stared at the message until his second cigarette burnt down to the filter, nearly singeing his fingers before putting it out in the ashtray. Then, he forced down the lump in his throat and replied with a couple of well-chosen emojis before returning to his room.
***
It wasn’t quite late enough to turn in for the night, and Zayn had too much nervous tension thrumming through his veins to even think about unpacking. He felt tired, and travel-weary, and restless at the same time.
He turned on the shower to its highest setting, stripped off his clothes, and stepped inside without testing the water first. The temperature shocked his system, but it soon became tolerable as he let the water cascade over his face and shoulders, then down his back. It burned off his restless energy, burned away much of what was pent-up inside of him. After that, he lowered the temperature a few degrees to shampoo and rinse his hair. When he was finished, he towelled off in the steamy mist that engulfed the small en-suite.
He threw on a t-shirt and joggers before climbing into bed. The linens were fresh, but they felt cool and stiff rather than comforting or inviting. He set his alarm and plugged his phone into the charger. He turned off the lamp. He tried to turn off his thoughts. Then, he waited for sleep to come.
(It didn’t.)
After a few minutes, he switched on the lamp. Without thinking, he reached for his cell phone.
Me: Wanna play?
Daddy: Thought you’d never ask ;) xx
Zayn wasn’t sure whether he should reply or wait for instructions. It had been a little while since they’d done this, the sexting thing, and besides, Zayn wasn’t usually the one who initiated contact. Dr. Payne usually texted first. Dr. Payne usually took the lead. So, Zayn waited as one minute passed, then two.
And then, there was a knock on the door.
When Zayn opened it, Dr. Payne was standing in the hall, wearing the suit and matching smirk from earlier. Zayn wondered if the principal had been working on something, doing whatever it was administrators did at these things. Or maybe he’d been unpacking, fastidiously organising every item he’d brought with him: everything in perfect order always; everything in its right place.
Or maybe it wasn’t any of those things. Maybe the principal hadn’t come from his own room at all. Dr. Payne could have gone back to the bar for a nightcap. Then again, maybe the man simply slept in a damn suit every night. (After all, he seemed to do everything else in it.)
There was a polite cough. “Well, are you going to invite me in, Mr. Malik?”
|
**************************
Odette rolled over onto her side, facing the door. Someone was taping on it, seeking entrance.
"Come in" She almost yelled.
In walked her best friend Lucky. Lucky, not including Claire was probably the closest with Odette. They knew everything about each other, and had clicked instantly the moment they met at the age of 7.
"I heard you got pretty banged up last night." She said, while coming around to Odette's side of the bed. She sat down and ran her fingers through her friend's hair, feeling the now very small bump.
"Yeah, well shit happens. I'm fine though, didn't help very much that Christian nearly took my head off when I came in. And Jesus Christ, you think Natalie would ever mind her own business." Odette ranted, the whole time intertwining her fingers behind Lucky's neck.
Lucky leaned forward and kissed her friends forehead. When she pulled back she said, "Don't worry about it, Natalie doesn't have the balls to actually stand up to you, and if she did try something, you know we could take her. Even without me you could probably hold your own, I guess." Lucky joked, smiling at her friend and blinking her eyes innocently. Odette laughed and gave her friend a hug, and a kiss on the lips.
Odette and Lucky have always enjoyed each other's company in more ways than one. They thought it as a different kind of relationship, one that they were both quite comfortable with, seeing as neither of them felt the need to make it public. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. Both women just need to release tensions once in a while, and they were both quite happy with how they did it. They were in love with each other's bodies.
Lucky stood up, and started walking toward the door. Then she said over her shoulder, "Careful when you leave your room, Christian is looking for you." Then she was out the door.
Damn, what does he want now, Odette thought. She got out of bed and walked to her closet. Time for some food. She grabbed her sponge bob boxers, which were bright yellow with various characters on them, and a black tank top. Closing the closet doors, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Definitely need a shower, she thought. She didn't do a thing with her hair, just slipped on some socks and started out the door.
She was walking down the staircase, when she saw two male pack members arguing over something. When Odette reached them she saw a fight was about to break out. Now's not a good time for violence, she thought as she stuck her hand out and caught the fist that would've easily broken something.
"Calm down guys. It's too early for this." She spoke loudly.
The man's fist she had caught, also known as Rick, looked at her in shock as she had easily caught his punch destined for Jake.
"Sorry Odette, but why don't you tell Jake here that he shouldn't eat what's not HIS!" He roared.
"Grow some balls Rick, its food, not diamonds. Let it go." She eyed Rick then looked over at the shaken Jake. Jake was fairly young, especially compared to Rick. And not used to Rick's temper tantrums, as he was new to the pack.
She let go of the fist she had caught so gracefully, and walked over to Jake. She patted his shoulder and whispered only loud enough for him to hear, "Be careful next time, and don't let him catch you!" She giggled, and he let out a nervous laugh and then she kept walking to the kitchen.
Leaning with his back against the cupboards Christian was reading the paper, and looked up when she came in.
Odette stopped briefly, and then kept walking to the fridge located right beside the cupboards which he was so casually leaning against.
"Hey" He said softly
"Hi" She said not looking at him at all, rummaging through the fridge.
"Nice shorts, very quirky" He winked when she looked up, she then laughed.
"I didn't know the sponge was your thing, but thank you." She left the fridge with some ham and cheese, then looked at him.
"I need the bread, can you grab it for me"
He turned around, grabbed the bread and threw it back at her.
"Gracias" She smiled, then frowned.
What's wrong with me? This is the same guy who taunts me endlessly and throws Natalie in my face every chance he gets, Fuck this! She didn't speak another word, after she made her sandwich she walked down to the gym on the 3rd floor.
Christian noted the scowl that was set on her face after their last words were shared, but he didn't want to press on about it. He'd rather not upset her sooner rather than later, because the news he had for her, was definitely going to be upsetting. Hell, even he was gonna be upset.
She had just finished her sandwich when Lucky came out of nowhere, skipping until she was right in front of Odette.
She then yelled the words, "Fight, right now!"
Everyone looked up from their equipment. This room was huge, taking up the entire third floor, and with a large pack to tend to, it was usually occupied by at least a couple men and women.
Odette smiled, and started to back away into a corner at the far end of the room. People around them stopping what they were doing and preparing to watch this. It was unusual for Odette to shift in front of others, there was really no need to, therefore not many know what she looks like when in full change.
Lucky started stretching, and began to take off her clothes. The entire male portion of the gym started doing cat calls, and whistles. Lucky just smiled and watched as Odette did the same. The second Odette's clothing hit the ground, it began.
Not a second was wasted before Odette was shifting into full snow leopard. In this form, she was absolutely breath taking. Her size was intimidating, at 8 feet long, and with an even more terrifying height, she caused quite a few pack members to look in awe.
Lucky was in full form as well, and as gorgeous as she was, Odette stood out like crazy. Lucky was Mountain lion, although her size did not equally match Odette's, which was near impossible, her speed and grace made up for it tenfold.
Every pack member is somewhat aware of what Odette is capable of. Few actually believe it, but every myth has some truth to it. Odette's mother was full blooded were, her father on the other hand was something quite complicated. He had demon ancestry, but was a more pronounced Were.
Odette loves her father, and is grateful for the gifts he had bestowed upon her. Her natural ability to fight with grace that is known throughout other packs, and the mysterious mind powers that can have the strongest of beings quaking in fear. The physical she inherited from both her mother & father. The abilities that have shaken the pack from its core, that's all dads.
The gift bestowed upon her is mind control. She has the unique ability to control ones actions with the blink of an eye. Although this is one serious ability, Odette is still exploring her limits, and doesn't often use it unless necessary.
Lucky & Odette are not exactly fighting equals, but they sure do make things interesting.
Odette charges towards Lucky, leaping halfway towards her, she spreads out her paws and unsheathes every claw. Lucky is not blind, and dodges the lazy attack with ease. Lucky then throws her body weight in the direction of Odette, and hits her at full force. Odette stumbles slightly, but can take the weight. Odette swipes her legs and manages to get a surprised Lucky on her back. With her on her back, neck bared, it's no longer a fair match. Size alone is a factor but if they were actually fighting Odette would've won while Lucky was still running towards her.
Shifting back into human form, Odette helps Lucky up then they both grab their clothes and start putting them on.
Then, one man approaches the two and places his hands dangerously close to Odette's backside. She whirls around and finally realizes that it's Jesse. With his arms now surrounding Odette's waist he's in close proximity to her body. The sweating and heavy breathing did not bode well for Odette.
"Hey O, that was some nice fighting. I bet you're a real wild one in-between the sheets. Why don't you come around to my room later and we'll find out." He winked, then started rubbing his hands up and down her sides.
Odette's hands started pushing uncomfortably against his chest, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
"Jesse get away from me please, before I nail your balls to the ceiling" She snapped.
More than once she's had a bad experience with jesse, and she would rather not have another in such a public place.
"Oh no, don't say that Odette, I know you don't mean it," he then leaned in closer and whispered for her ears only, "I know you'd really like me to fill that empty space between your legs sweetheart, and one day your gonna come to me begging ." He expressed each word by travelling his right hand closer and closer to the front of her shorts. So close the heat of her centre it was was making his fingers tingly.
At this, Odette pulled away from his grasp, and put enough distance between them that it was easy for her to take her right knee and slam it in between his legs. He let out aloud shout that the attention of every pack member in the room. He healed quickly though, because he then had her pinned up against the wall with her throat underneath his forearm.
"Try that shit again, and I will not hesitate to take you right where you stand." He hissed through clenched teeth.
Odette let out a bitter laugh and brought her knee up once again, but aimed it for his stomach. It was a lazy move and Jesse caught it with his arm. She was now pinned beneath this giant man and had nowhere to go and the arm over her throat was getting irritating.
She didn't want to do it, but she didn't really care about the consequences. She forced him off her with her mind gently. He pulled both his arms away, all the while looking at them in shock.
When he was completely off her, she turned and walked away, letting her control over him slip.
Jesse was pissed, really pissed. He stalked up towards her, and just before he reached out and grabbed her hair someone yelled, "ENOUGH!!"
All eyes were now on the man who belonged to that voice, Christian.
"Odette I want to see you in my corridors right now." He said. Then he turned and started off in the direction of his rooms.
Odette was a little relieved, now she had an actually reason to leave the gym instead o kicking the shit out of Jesse.
She started walking in the direction Christian had left, only to realize she needed a shower. She switched directions and hopped in one of the stalls. When she was done she towelled off and walked upstairs to meet her leader.
When she got to the top of the stairs, she heard voices, so instead of walking in she stood and listened at the doors.
"Natalie, I don't have time for this right now, so will you get yourself up and off my desk. Odette is on her way up here, and I've got to talk to her about something important, so it would be really nice if you leave." Christian was saying, rather frustrated.
"Fine, I really don't know what you see in her anyways. She's not exactly much to look at, if you know what I mean." As Natalie said this her voice was getting closer to the door, so Odette backed away and hid around the corner.
Just as she got out of view, Natalie bursted out the doors, wearing next to nothing, unless you count the skirt she was wearing, which wasn't much to begin with. Or the little halter top which left nothing to the imagination.
When she was gone, Odette could barely control her emotions. What did she mean by what he sees in me? I didn't even know he was looking close enough at me to notice I'm alive! Odette thought. Her anger was flaring too at what Natalie had said about Odette. "Bitch." She whispered.
Stepping through the doors Natalie had just exited out of, she saw Christian standing & running his hands through his hair. He looked like he was about to kill someone.
"Um, hi?" Odette said calmly.
He turned around, and if she wasn't mistaken he was taking in quite an eyeful. She was more casually dressed than Natalie. She wore faded jeans and a white tank top.
"You wanted to see me?" She asked, trying to ignore his gaze by looking around the room. It was filled with books, and papers neatly organized.
"Oh, yeah. Sit down." He said, gesturing to the couch to his left. It was facing another identical to it. As she sat down, he joined her and sat facing Odette.
"I brought you here to discuss something that has just recently been brought to my attention." He started.
"what does it have to do with me?" She asked, getting a little bit nervous.
"You remember last night obviously right? Well the were you had bumped into is actually an alpha of another neighbouring pack. . ." he trailed off.
"Does he want me to like apologize again for what happened or something?" She fronwed, and looked at Christian trying to decipher what he was going to say next.
"Well, this is kind of hard for me to say, and I'm having a hard time dealing with it myself." He was really struggling with this, he wasn't even looking at her now.
"Christian, spit it out before I beat it out of you" She said, really nervous now.
"He wants you as his mate. He's been searching for one for awhile now, and he thinks you are the perfect match. He told me pass the message on, and you will be expected tomorrow evening." Christian finished, and then exhaled a huge breath. He was waiting for an explosion, no, he was praying for one. He didn't want to give up one of his most trusted & strong pack members, a pack member who he has now realized he wants around.
To his surprise, Odette was quiet. She was looking down at her hands, but when she looked up into Christians eyes, he realized she was quite angry
"How could you just let him talk you into letting me go, does my place in this pack mean NOTHING to you, or the fact that he could not ask me himself. I am not just some object to be thrown around" She yelled.
What Odette did next was totally unexpected.
She stood up, walked over to Christian, and smacked him across the face so hard It made her hand sting. She stood there, and then turned around and walked out the door.
|
There are four desks in the Archives, outside of Jon’s private office. Back when… before the Not Them, Prentiss, all of it, Martin, Sasha, and Tim had each had their own, and the fourth spare desk seemed to be considered to be unclaimed territory that everyone was free to toss their extraneous mess onto to keep their own desks relatively clean. Books borrowed from the library for reference, statements that they’d get to in just a moment, a hoard of spare office supplies, anything really. He had disapproved of it, but he’d supposed that keeping their work stations orderly was more important, so long as no one was using the spare desk for anything anyways.
And then Sasha disappeared, and Melanie was there instead. She’d taken the fourth spare desk instead of Sasha’s, even though the fourth desk was cluttered. He can only assume that Martin had awkwardly tried to explain the situation to her and cleaned it up for her use. The extra mess did not migrate over to Sasha’s desk. It didn’t seem to matter so much any longer, to have a messy work station. Unimportant. Not on anyone’s list of priorities.
And then Basira came as well, and… there was only one spare desk left. Sasha’s desk became Basira’s desk. It seemed silly to be upset over something like that, so long after she’d died, with no memories to remember her by. Tim had still contrived to grow even angrier, Martin quieter. Jon went out on a lot of trips.
Tim’s gone, now. There’s been no new assistants to take over his desk, and he doesn’t know if it’s good or not. Tim certainly held no fondness for anything in this building, and it aches a little to see it gathering dust. Maybe it would feel better if he could stop thinking of it as Tim’s desk. Then again, he would do anything to make sure that no more people get trapped in the spider web that is the Magnus Archives.
Martin’s desk is gathering dust as well. Jon spends a lot of time inside of his office with the door shut, not looking at it. Which is just as well, because sometimes Basira and Melanie have to come in to satisfy the Archive’s unforgiving clutch on them, and he might as well help them avoid him. He’d rather not risk another… confrontation with Melanie, anyways.
He’s not hiding from Basira or Melanie now. They’re not in. They’re usually not in. He is. He always is. He lost his flat while he was in the coma, and he hasn’t tried to get it back. He’d barely spent any time in the place before he lost it anyways. Why bother? All he really needs is a place to sleep, shower, and change his clothes, and it turns out that the Magnus Institute has all of those things.
Jon is not hiding inside his office, because he’s alone. It feels like he’s always alone, nowadays. Not that he’d ever spent time with the Archival assistants before all of… all of this. He avoided them often, really. Trying to keep them safe. What a joke.
Tim’s desk is still Tim’s desk. He despised it when Jon went rifling through it. He got
so mad.
But he’s dead now, isn’t he? And Jon remembers the way he’d angrily, spitefully drink alcohol while in the office in the last few months of his life. It had been just another uncomfortable thing that he couldn’t fix to try and ignore at the time, but now he’s wondering if there’s any still left in one of his drawers (there is, he’s certain of it, and he’s not thinking about how he knows that).
He finds a half full bottle of something that tastes bitter and burns on the way down his throat. He grimaces and drinks it. It doesn’t take long to start working. He hasn’t eaten yet today (he keeps forgetting, he keeps going longer and longer without eating when he doesn’t notice and he’s not thinking about that either), and he’s a small man, and he’s never particularly liked drinking in excess. He’s mostly only ever done it to have something to do with his hands at parties, slowly sipping at one cup of beer (uni parties that Georgie dragged him to) or one flute of champagne (company parties that Elias insisted he attend) for the entire night.
Jon gets drunk. He doesn’t like being drunk, but he’s alone and Sasha’s desk is Basira’s desk and Tim’s desk is empty and so is Martin’s even though he isn’t dead. He’s alone and he’s tired and he’s hungry and he doesn’t want to think about how food doesn’t make him feel full any longer. And he’s
bored.
He has nothing to do. No one to talk to. He gets drunk.
The whole rest of the bottle goes down smoothly, and he tosses it away with an echoing clatter onto the stone floor. It doesn’t break. He’s not in the Archives any longer. He didn’t want to look at the empty desks. He… went on a walk. He’s in the tunnels now.
There’s a yellow door in the tunnels.
It’s incongruously cheerful, set against the dark cold stone walls of the tunnels but he knows that it's dangerous before he can even remember why. Walking into that door means death.
After a long moment of dizzy, directionless, sluggish thinking, he knocks on it instead.
(KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK did you bring a gift for Mr. Spider, Jon?)
Knocking isn’t safe either, but that’s fine. It’s fine for Jon to do dangerous things that are going to get him hurt. He feels confident and certain of this fact as he leans against the wall to keep his balance, doesn’t feel the need to justify or rationalize it. The door creaks open, and his stomach cramps a bit with anxiety anyways, but he doesn’t try to run. He just watches the door open slowly, slowly, like the person opening the door is savoring it like a delicacy.
Helen smiles at him. Helen Richardson had had a small, shaky, uncertain, tear stained smile when he’d known her. Helen smiles like Michael, instead.
Michael Shelley probably hadn’t smiled like Michael had, either. He didn’t seem like the type to smile like that, from the little he heard about him on the tapes, the story. Not so wide, with so many teeth, eyes so open.
But no one smiles at Jon nowadays, so he smiles back for just a moment, even if he still feels a bit like he’s looking at something wearing Helen’s corpse. A bit sickened, a bit horrified. It’s a familiar feeling by now. It’s okay.
(Is something wearing Jon’s corpse right now, and he just didn’t notice?)
“Archivist,” Helen says warmly. Helen Richardson had called him Mr. Sims, formal even in her fearful desperation. “So good to see you again.”
Jon snorts, darkly amused. Helen’s formal too. He slips a little where he’s leaning against the wall, topples abruptly onto one knee.
Helen laughs, and he’d never heard Helen Richardson laugh, but he
knows
that she hadn’t laughed like that. No human possibly could. It’s even more disorienting than normal, with the added echo of the tunnels.
“You’re
drunk,”
she says, delighted. “That’s very funny.”
“Is it?” he asks, and he’s a little bit proud of how sober his voice sounds. “I always thought drunk people were awkward and uncomfortable. Or sad.”
(Tim, swigging so angrily from his bottle that it was almost violent.)
“I like alcohol,” she says. “I like what it does to people. It’s like going for too long without sleep. It… loosens up the borders of the mind.”
He squints at her, struck by a sudden certainty. (He’s not thinking about it, he’s not thinking about where that certainty is coming from.)
“You kill people with it.”
She smiles and nods, friendly, like they’re talking about anything but murder. “Michael liked withholding sleep from people, watching as they slowly unraveled. I think I prefer the drinkers. They remember so little, lose track of their lives every single night, need next to no reasoning to do
anything
when they’ve had enough… you can convince them of so much. Easily tricked. It’s easy, good food.”
Jon should be horrified. He is, in a way. But mostly he’s just
fascinated.
He wants to hear more. He wants to know every single way that Helen is different from Michael, and
all
of the details of
all
of her kills--
“Ah ah,” she says, her voice just as friendly as it’s been all along (no one’s friendly to Jon these days) except that one of her hands is touching his face now. Sharp, heavy, threatening fingers resting against his mouth, shushing him. He realizes that he’d been opening it to ask a question. “Watch your questions, Jon.”
She’s still smiling just like before, but she seems colder now. All she’d have to do is apply some pressure, and--
He closes his mouth against her fingers. His lip slices open, blood trickling down his chin. It’s okay.
She removes her hand, and his heartbeat slows just a bit from its rabbit fast pace. It feels less like she’s an inch away from killing him, now.
“Sorry,” he says, not knowing what else to say.
“I know that you’re hungry,” she says, kind and understanding, his blood dripping from her fingers. “But you don’t eat
me.
Understand?”
“Yes,” he says. He doesn’t.
“Good,” she says, and she strokes her long, sharp fingers through his hair approvingly, fondly, the knife edge points just barely not piercing his scalp.
He shivers involuntarily, and the drink in him is just warm enough to make him not care how obvious it is. Not care about whether it’s from fear or the fact that he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.
“You’re starving,” she notes.
“I’m not,” he says, because he ate breakfast this morning. The day before that, he ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, just like the day before that. All full, large meals. He has never eaten so dutifully, so regularly in his life before, because if he doesn’t write it down now and set alarms and make rules and be very, very strict with himself then he doesn’t remember to do it when he eventually starts to feel faint. Because he always, always feels faint with hunger now, no matter how much he eats. He eats so much, and the hunger never leaves his bones. It just sinks in deeper and deeper and he’s
hungry
and food isn’t fixing it and what’s
wrong with him?
(Is he wearing Jon’s corpse? How can he tell?)
“I was like that at the start,” she sighs, almost wistfully, nostalgic.
Oh what a silly little girl I was,
that sigh says. “So hungry, and more and more so by the day. I knew from the start what I would have to do to fix it, because I’m not just Helen. I knew. I resisted, but…” She laughs, like it's funny. “It was inevitable.”
Jon doesn’t understand what she’s talking about. He refuses to understand.
“I tried to go to you for help,” she says, grinning. He remembers that. She’d looked more like Helen Richardson, then. A little scared, a little lost, a little plaintive.
Please, Jon, I need to talk to someone.
He left her to be swallowed up by the Spiral until she was near unrecognizable. The Spiral is so much larger than just one human. Like a drop of water in a sea of blood.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, and this time he really, really means it. His eyes burn with it. He’d thought he’d been shouting at the monster that had eaten Helen Richardson, and maybe he had, but it had been her as well. She’d been all alone, and scared, and she’d needed help. She’d asked for it from him. He said no. Shouted it.
(It’s so fitting, so deserving, that he’s in her position now. Scared and alone and not himself, and everyone so angry when he asks for help.)
“You did me a favor,” she says, as if it hadn’t been a horribly cruel thing to do. “It got me to give up a little bit quicker than I would have otherwise. Starving is so painful. I’ll help you with that.”
He blinks. He’s sitting on the floor, and the world is dizzy and doesn’t entirely make sense. He’s not sure that he’s fully following the conversation, but he clings to the last thing she said. “You’ll help me,” he repeats. “Even though I didn’t help you? I was so, so--” mean. Awful. Impatient and horrified and grieving and angry and she hadn’t deserved him throwing all of that at her, she’d just been scared, she hadn’t known what she was doing. She asked him for help, and he said no. Shouldn’t she do the same thing to him? Return the favor. Give him what he deserves.
She smiles, too wide, a smile that could never fit on a human face. She’s always smiling so much. Jon doesn’t see what cause she could possibly have. She had her own humanity stolen from her. She’d done nothing to deserve it. She was a
realtor.
She was just doing her job.
“I’m the Spiral, Archivist,” she says, deeply amused. “Making sense isn’t my department. I just do what I want to do.”
“Why would you want to help me?” he asks, because that doesn’t make sense either. People don’t want to help him. They want to hurt him. They want to get angry at him. He’s
wronged
Helen. She should want to--
“The Spiral hates the Archivist, because she irrevocably tainted it with humanity, personhood, limitations. Michael loves the Archivist because he trusted her and took care of her, and he hates her for what she did to him. Helen loves you, because you were kind to her during her weakest moment. She hates you, because you were cruel to her during her next weakest moment. But that was her fault for thinking that people are consistent, that they make sense. Just because someone does something once, doesn’t mean that they’re going to do the same thing the next time it happens.” She smiles. “And those are all the same person.”
She strokes his hair again, a touch possessive, dangerous, fond. She’s a monster. She kills people. She could hurt him. She probably will.
But she’s
friendly.
No one’s friendly to him, now. Because he’s just a thing wearing Jon’s corpse, and that makes everyone scared and angry and sad.
“I’m not Gertrude,” he says, like it’s a shield. “We’re different people.”
“I’m not Michael,” she says. “And yet I am. Things don’t have to make sense to be true, Archivist.” She sounds indulgent as she says this, like she’s explaining something as basic as
the sky is blue
to a young child.
She keeps stroking his hair, and he leans into it, so hungry. He thinks he can feels the strands twisting into spirals for a few moments as her fingers brush past his skin, just barely not cutting. Michael cut him once. The scar
twisted,
healed like a piece of dizzying artwork.
“You’re starving, and I want to help you because you’re important to me,” she says, like it’s all so simple. “Just do as I say, and you’ll finally get to eat properly.”
God, he’s so, so tired of being hungry. And he
misses
kindness, softness, friendliness. He misses it more keenly, more sharply than he’d ever thought possible.
“Okay,” he agrees. She laughs, that inhuman echoing sound, and then she tells him what he needs to do to make it all just
stop
for a while. He doesn’t stop to think if Helen’s help is a good thing. He’s drunk, and he’s lonely.
He’s just happy that anyone wants to help him at all.
|
It’s the first normal day at work after “the incident” (as they’re politely choosing to call it), and Arataka thinks he might be losing his mind. He scrubs at his eyes for the fourth time since this customer came in, but it doesn’t change what he’s seeing.
There’s something coming out of the guy’s head .
Initially, he thought maybe the dude had a weird samurai topknot (an odd choice, he thought, for an otherwise completely bald dude), but he quickly realizes that’s not the case. It looks just like a thick black cloud at first, but it shifts and changes the more he looks directly at it, so he’s trying not to. Ritsu was out on an errand and Shishou was giving a phone consultation to a client in the other room, so it’s just him and Weird Head in the office, and GOD is it awkward.
“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” The guy chuckles uncomfortably, and Reigen quickly averts his eyes, not even aware of the fact that he’d started staring again.
“Uh, no, I was just spacing out.” He lies, pretending to be very interested in his paperwork when he’s really just writing out ‘ what the heck what the heck what the heck’ in an increasingly frantic script.
When the office door opens and Ritsu comes back in, Reigen thinks it’s the happiest he has been or ever will be to see the younger Kageyama brother.
Ritsu approaches the customer and shakes his hand. “Hey there, sorry for the wait. Are you Shimizu-san?”
The man bobs his head twice, returning the handshake a bit lethargically. “Yes, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Of course,” Ritsu replies, gesturing for the customer to follow him to his desk where they both take their seats on either side. “So, what problems are you experiencing?”
Eagerly, the man dives into a long-winded explanation, which basically boils down to the fact that he heard his ex-wife had been experimenting with witchcraft, and he’s been having trouble sleeping and thinking straight since he saw her in the grocery store the month before.
Ritsu nods sagely as the man finishes, fingers steepled at his lips. “Well, rest assured, we’ll be able to clear it up right away. Reigen, could you grab one of the anti-curse boxes from the cabinet?”
Although not keen on getting too close to the customer, Reigen obediently hops up from his desk and gathers one of the boxes, placing it into Ritsu’s waiting hands.
“We’ll do an initial cleansing now, but take this home with you and follow the directions closely, it’ll help ward off the negative energy there just in case.” He instructs, handing the box over to the man, who bows gratefully.
Ritsu holds one hand to his temple and the other vertically, open palmed. He closes his eyes in an exaggerated gesture of focus, and the black shape on top of the man’s head fragments and vanishes like a plume of smoke, leaving nothing behind.
Arataka gasps, stifling it with his hand, but Ritsu notices, and gives him an odd look. Without being told, he runs back to his desk and starts pretending to work again, when in actuality he resumes his lines of ‘ WHAT THE HECK ’, but even shakier than before.
The customer pays and thanks Ritsu profusely, saying that he feels much better already. As soon as he’s gone, Reigen whips around, eyes blown wide.
“What the heck was that?!”
Ritsu quirks a brow at him, stowing the card scanner back in the desk. “What are you on about?”
“That-that thing !” He shouts in response, gesturing wildly at his head. “He had some kind of thing! On the top of his head!”
The room falls silent, and Ritsu looks at him with open surprise. “You saw something on his head?”
Reigen nods his head frantically, starting to pace back and forth. “At first, yeah! There was a black wispy thing coming out of his head, and it went away when you did your, your thing at it!” He explains, trying to emulate Ritsu’s open palmed gesture.
Shigeo emerges from the other room then, and gives the two of them a questioning look. “Is everything alright? I thought I heard yelling.”
“He’s saying he could see the attachment on the last customer.” Ritsu says bemusedly, running a hand through his hair. “Is that possible ? I mean, I started seeing spirits around his age, but that was because my esper powers were awakening.”
He tries not to get too carried away just in case, but Arataka’s heart is pounding in his chest with barely contained excitement--the thought of it alone makes him a little bit dizzy. “Do you think I’m becoming an esper?”
“I wouldn’t say that just yet…” Shigeo says, trying to let him down as gently as he can. “But this does mean that if you start practicing, you might at least be able to sense psychic signatures.”
Although disappointed at the rejection, he still feels a swell of anticipation at his boss’s suggestion. “Cool! What can I do with that?”
“You can tell when ghosts and other espers are around, but that’s basically it.” Ritsu answers simply. “But don’t get your hopes up, it’ll probably take a while to learn, and even then the only things you’ll be able to sense will be stuff that’s so powerful it’s basically smacking you in the face.”
He deflates a bit at that. “So I won’t be able to do that cool hand thing-y?”
“You mean the exorcism? God , no.” Ritsu huffs.
Reigen sticks his tongue to his cheek, thinking. “Not even if I used one of those curse boxes?”
“You’d have a better chance of getting rid of a curse with a bar of soap and an old sandwich.” Ritsu deadpans, plopping down in his desk chair.
Reigen gapes at him, incredulous. “So they don’t do anything?”
Shigeo shakes his head. “They’re full of pretty basic spiritual stuff, like candles and incense, sometimes holy water if they request it. But it’s more of a gesture than anything, so we don’t sell them for more than they cost to make.”
Arataka continues to stare at them blankly, and Ritsu picks up the explanation.
“People who can’t see the spirits think that it’s more legitimate if they’re actively doing something to ‘quell the curse’, even if we can just clear it up here without batting an eye. Then there are people who actually aren’t cursed but insist that they are, and it's easier to send them off with a box and rely on the good old placebo effect to keep them from calling us charlatans on FriendBook.” He explains, waving a dismissive hand when Reigen frowns at him. “Hey, brand reputation is important, brat.”
There’s a petulant indignation building itself up in the back of Reigen’s mind, but he quashes it, not wanting to give Ritsu any more ammo. “So my powers are basically useless?”
“Hey, just be grateful that you can see attachments now. That’s more than I ever thought you’d be able to do.” Ritsu says bluntly, ignoring the glare Arataka levels on him.
Shigeo smiles encouragingly. “Yeah, and I bet no one else in your class can see spirits.”
“Yeah, I guess…” The boy acquiesces, staring down at his shoes so he can avoid his Shishou’s pitying look. It’s little consolation, but he feels the tiniest bit closer to them knowing that he’s not completely oblivious to the supernatural anymore. Then, an idea strikes him. “So, if I can see ghosts now, then does that mean I can come on more exorcisms?”
Ritsu scoffs at him, rolling his eyes. “Absolutely not, are you crazy? It’s been two days and you’ve already forgotten what happened the last time!”
“But I can SEE the ghosts now, so I’ll know when to run!” Reigen argues, a smug look on his face.
“Seeing ghosts doesn’t stop them from possessing you. What do you think is going to happen? It’s not an anti-ghost forcefield.” Ritsu snaps. “They can still make themselves invisible, so unless you’re able to hone your ability to the point where you can sense them, then you’re not going anywhere .”
He understands, kind of. But it’s still unfair. They usually treat him like a helpless kid, but it especially sucks when he finally, finally has powers of his own. Ever since he got possessed, it’s been like--
Wait.
Ever since he got possessed!
“That’s it!” Reigen shouts, clapping his hands together and turning to his mentor. “When I got possessed, I bet it triggered the ability to see ghosts!”
Shigeo considers it for a moment. “I guess that’s not an implausible explanation.” He admits, rubbing at the back of his neck anxiously, a bit unsettled by the glint in Reigen’s eyes.
“So by that logic,” Arataka starts, waving a finger theatrically, putting on a show like he’s just solved the ultimate riddle. “If I get possessed again , then there’s a chance I might awaken even more latent psychic abilities!”
The two espers stare at him in stunned silence for a moment, but the trance is shattered as Ritsu slams his palms down on the desk with a resounding thud . “You are not coming with us just so you can purposefully get possessed , you little shit!”
“I’d like to see you stop me when I get possessed a hundred times and become twice as powerful as you!”
Ritsu uses his powers to dump a file over Reigen’s head, papers fluttering to the ground like a layer of thick white snow, and the boy looks shocked for a moment, before laughing ‘ no fair’ ! He grabs a pillow from the couch and tosses it back in retaliation, but it’s easily caught with Ritsu’s telepathy and hurled back, Arataka scarcely ducking out of the way as it grazes his head. He grins wickedly and rips a page out of his notebook, balling it up in a fist as he turns to his mentor, giddy, childish excitement glittering in his eyes.
“Shishou, let’s work together, he can’t beat both of us!”
Ritsu snorts derisively. “That might actually make it a fair fight, since you’ll be a burden on Nii-san.”
Shigeo can’t help but sigh, a small smile playing at his lips as Reigen hands him a makeshift paper snowball, the discussion from moments before already forgotten in the thrill of fun.
|
Bruce made an effort to keep his mask of an ineffectual playboy, firing off a grin to the last one in his party who spoke before taking half a step back to get a glance of whoever had been speaking.
It had been a woman's voice, and when he looked over his shoulder to the other side of the column, he recognized a young Maria Power walking away. She had been one of the members of the Court at his time – and evidently already was. But he couldn't see whom she had been talking to, and he didn't dare to be obvious about looking. He couldn't afford to rile the Court up, not yet.
He would have to consider his options later; first, he needed to find Dick and leave. It had been at least ten minutes since he last saw his ward and it was near impossible to spot a small boy in a room full of adults. He mumbled an excuse to the group of people he had been standing with and walked away.
For every step that he took without seeing Dick, he felt his stress level rising. But they haven't touched him, he told himself, Maria Power wouldn't have talked the way she did if the Court intended to go after the boy right now.
Could he protect Dick here and now? When the Court had attacked Gotham in his own time, he hadn't been alone, and he had to admit, on his own Batman would never have stood a chance against the small army of Talons. If the Court were to deploy their assassins to pick up their "Gray son" right now, they would take him.
The thought of Dick in the Owl's labyrinth, forced to drink the drugged water and destined for one of the red-brown coffins in the vast white hall, with laughing blue eyes transformed into expressionless gold, almost made him sick. He stopped to take a deep breath and chase away the disturbing thoughts; he didn't have time for nonsense.
Some people tried to drag him into a conversation, but he plastered an apologizing smile on his face and evaded everyone while he continued his search. One turn around the large room following the walls, another turn further in, and still no Dick in sight. He stopped and forced himself to think logically – Dick had probably eaten to his heart's content by now, he would be bored since had no company, except the occasional adult cooing over how cute he was… The boy would try to retreat somewhere where he felt comfortable…
His eyes flickered up; no, there was no balcony indoors. But there was a terrace outside, over the entrance of the building, Bruce recalled, and he turned on his heels to make his way towards the french windows.
His heart finally settled down when he spotted the boy, sitting on the marble parapet outside, reclining with his back against the wall and looking out over the city. He hurried out on the terrace, covering the distance to Dick in a few long strides.
The boy turned towards him and straightened, looking at him with eyes that were still blue, not flashing yellow. There was time – there had to be time, to thwart the Court.
"What's up, Bruce?"
"We're leaving."
"Oh, already?" Dick said, tilting his head.
"Now. Come."
The boy scrunched his nose a second, obviously wondering but knowing better than to ask in these surroundings, and jumped down from the parapet. Bruce put a hand lightly on his shoulder and started to steer his ward through the mass of people against the exit.
They passed close to Oliver Queen on their way; the man was looking at them with a slight frown and tried to catch Bruce's eyes. For all that he was confident that the archer did not know that he was Batman, he had probably picked up that something was off with Bruce's behaviour and wanted to see if he could help. But he made a point of not looking in Ollie's direction; at this stage, he wasn't prepared to make any move that might alert the Court. He pushed Dick lightly in front of him and made an effort to exchange a few last smiles and words on the way out to give the impression that nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
Dick, of course, was not fooled, but he waited until they were seated in the car until he turned to his guardian.
"Come on, Bruce, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"
"…"
"Are you okay? Please talk to me."
He didn't know what to say. He wasn't going to tell his boy about how his great grandfather was a nearly un-killable assassin and that Dick had been marked as a Talon himself; only the death of his parents and Bruce taking him in had saved him.
So far. In his own time, Dick had been grown up before the Court came out of the shadows to challenge Batman and his associates, and eventually tried to claim their "Gray son" with Damian as bait.
Adult Dick had been smart and skilled enough to defeat his Talon great grandfather, and connected enough to go up against the worldwide Parliament of Owls. And, most importantly, strong enough not to let the knowledge of his "destiny" affect him. Even the name he was so proud of signalled that he was a child of the Court; who knew what impact it might have on him at this age?
"Bruce! Whats wrong? I'll call Alfred…"
"… I'm all right. I just need to think."
"What happened in there?"
"Please, Dick. I can't talk right now."
Dick scowled at him, crossed his arms and turned to stare out of his side window. Not that he blamed the boy – he knew that he was unreasonable, but he didn't know what to say. Or what to do.
Thoughts kept racing through his head. I will ask Clark... The League...
Asking for help had never come easy for Bruce. Dick would have scoffed at him if he knew what he was thinking; he would say something along the line of "helping each other is what friends are for, or allies if you get an allergic reaction to the word friends…"
But no matter how many people he called upon, he couldn't help but doubt that they could shut the Court down. The future he had lived through had proved how difficult it would be.
Superman and Wonder Woman could be trusted to stand against armies, but the vast, underground movement that was the Parliament of Owls was another matter. You couldn't defeat it with a mighty strike; you couldn't yank it out into the open with superhuman strength. There were just too many rich and powerful people, in cities all over the world, convinced that it was their prerogative to make decisions for the world around them, even about life and death.
Regardless if he rallied the League to go up against them globally, there were no guarantees that they would find enough of the Owls to prevent them from coming back. After all, the Court worked from the shadows so deep that they had escaped Batman, who prided himself of being at home in the darkness, for years.
In his own time, the Parliament of Owls was at least gravely crippled. Dick had proven to be more than a match for them – and Batman himself had so many more trusted allies and better technology in the future he had been snapped from.
Bruce was no closer to a decision on how to act when he drove up in front of the Manor, and the car came to a stop. He pushed the button to open the door on the passenger side before he put both his hands back on the wheel, took a breath and turned to Dick.
"Go inside, Dick. And don't go out for anything."
"Why? What's happening?"
He didn't really think the Court would come, right at this moment, but he wouldn't feel calm enough to sort through his thoughts and feelings unless he knew his family was safe.
"I need to work undisturbed in the cave tonight."
"I can help…"
"No! You and Alfred will stay inside the Manor. Don't let anyone or anything in."
"Why? You can't just order us around without explaining anything, as if we were… a flock of sheep!"
"You swore to obey me. Now, go inside and tell Alfred."
"Are you kidding me? After everything you had to say about trust, a few hours ago?"
"Go. Inside. Stay," Bruce repeated in Batman's voice.
The boy stared at him with narrow eyes and clenched teeth. He was still fixing Bruce with his eyes when he unfastened the seat belt and jumped out of the passenger seat with quick, angry movements.
"Stay in that cave for all I care. At least you have your precious bats – perhaps you trust them enough to talk to them!" Dick growled before he turned on his heels and took the steps leading up to the manor entrance in a few leaps.
Bruce turned his eyes away from the figure of the upset boy and started the car again. If someone had asked him later how he drove into the garage and went down to the cave, he wouldn't have been able to answer; his muscle memory did everything practical, while his mind was filled with thoughts about the Court.
In his old time, the Court had ignored Batman and Bruce Wayne until he had announced his plans to rebuild Gotham. Just as they had ignored the boy that had slipped through their fingers until he was a grown man.
What was different in this time? Had Robin's recent fight with Cane piqued their interest? Had Batman or Bruce Wayne done something to make the Court perceive him as a threat that needed to be dealt with?
They had already taken another boy to serve as the Talon for this generation; one of Dick's friends from the circus. He knew that the boy had been rejected, in the end. Had it already happened? Had they decided that the substitute was insufficient and decided to go after their original target?
Or had he simply happened to witness a moment of annoyance in one of the members, an outburst that would never lead to anything? The Court might stay in the shadows and William Cobb not go after his great-grandchild in the foreseeable future – giving Batman time to prepare and hunt them down.
… Or perhaps they would, for some reason, decide that their precious Gray son should be a Talon, right now.
He stood before the Batcomputer; a technological marvel of this time, and right now utterly useless. He had spent so much time when he was a mere child, trying to uncover the truth behind the legend of the Court of Owls. But he had found nothing, and no matter what commands he typed into the computer, there was no useful information to access. The only thing he knew was what he could remember from his earlier life.
With a few clicks, a new folder was created, and Batman started filling it with everything he could remember – names, places, events – writing at a pace that strained his fingers. He hadn't missed his modern computer with voice command this much since he came back in time.
When he had no more scraps of memories to write out, he straightened and pushed the chair away from the computer with a frustrated noise. It was nowhere near enough information. For all he knew, most of the people who he remembered had made up the Court in his time weren't members yet – he would have to research each and every one of them, and he would have to infiltrate the places he knew they used in his time.
He was deep in thought when he suddenly thought he saw something move inside the shadows in the reflection from the computer screen. Batman flinched and whipped the chair around so fast it almost fell over.
His heartbeat sped up when unwanted images of Talons invading his home – from the roof, from windows, from the cave – flickered through his brain. But when he stared into the darkness, he saw nothing that moved, no signs of life.
He told himself that it had probably been one of the bats – unless he had imagined everything. But the fact was that darkness of the cave, that had given him a sense of safety and control as long as he could remember, suddenly felt threatening. There could be an army out there, biding their time.
Bruce shuddered and turned back to the computer, shoving his fear as far away as he could while he concentrated on the work at hand.
It was much later when he finally glanced at the time; he had been obsessing over the Court of Owls for hours, and the clock was well over midnight. Dick would have gone to bed, angry and disappointed. And Alfred would probably still be up, worrying and waiting for Bruce to come up.
He had to face them, eventually. With a grimace, he rose from the chair and headed upstairs.
Bruce was utterly unsurprised when Alfred met him, less than a minute after he emerged from the hidden entrance to the cave.
"Ah, Master Bruce."
"…Alfred."
"Young Master Richard went to bed an hour ago. Not in the best of mood, I'm sorry to say."
"Hmh."
"I trust you had a good reason to upset him. And, frankly, to scare us both."
He did have to tell his father-figure something. Enough to give a reasonable explanation.
"… I think we could both use a cup of tea, Alfred."
Ten minutes later, Bruce was sitting at the kitchen table, staring down in the dark ember of his favourite tea, struggling with exactly what he was going to tell his family. Not about the Talon's mark inside Dick's mouth; not as long as he could avoid it. It would hurt the boy too much. And Dick was far too likely to go looking for trouble, especially if it had something to do with Haly's circus or his parents.
He took a sip to fortify himself.
"Do you remember the Court of Owls, Alfred?"
"A nursery rhyme of local origin. It caused you considerable stress, as a child. I could hardly forget that, my boy."
"I have recently encountered evidence that there is… some truth behind the rhyme. A dangerous organization. With trained assassins at their disposal."
"You looked for them. Quite thoroughly."
"I did. I... I couldn't believe some random thug killed my parents, over small change."
It still hurt to talk about it; he could hear the strain in his own voice, and the way Alfred's mien changed into something softer showed that the older man heard it too.
"You found nothing. Still, it almost cost you your life, when you accidentally was locked in the Harbor house for days, and I couldn't find you."
"I gave up then. I thought I had proved they didn't exist. But they do, Alfred. And I don't know how to protect us against them."
Alfred fell silent for a while. Then, he spoke in a measured voice.
"I see. And do you have reason to believe that they pose an immediate threat to Gotham? Or to Batman and Robin?"
Good – Alfred had interpreted his words as if the Court was a threat to Gotham, not to them personally. For the time being, Bruce preferred that.
"Not that I know of, no."
He was half convinced he was right. The Court was not going to invade their home right now, not without provocation or until Maria Power had convinced the others.
"Then I suggest that you go to bed. You need to rest, and you need to have a clear head when you speak with the young Master tomorrow. I dare say Batman and Robin will fare better towards this Court if they present a united front."
He sighed and put down the teacup.
"Right as always, Alfred."
|
Alex groaned at the sound emanating from the table and was about to curse and get vey stroppy when she felt an arm snake over her body and reach for the phone. Alex's heart leapt forward at a million beats per minute, not only was Lena casually leaning over her to grab a phone like it was the most natural thing in the world, she had stayed the night in her arms and was now smiling softly, eyes still closed, hand searching for the phone. Alex smiled placing the phone into Lena’s hand and placed a small kiss on her nose. “it’s both a surprise and a pleasure to see that you are still here Lena, I almost expected to wake up without you in my arms, this is much more preferable”
Lena opened her eyes and when the amazing emerald orbs became transfixed on Alex’s eyes she knew that this was the only acceptable way to start her day. Smiling she leaned forward and kissed Alex softly then resting their foreheads together she spoke, somewhat raspy and lower than normal due to just waking up, which Alex found adorable. “Good morning agent Danvers, I can honestly say I have never slept better or woken up feeling safer, I may have to keep you ......” Lena literally couldn’t remember a night where she had shared a bed with someone let alone a couch and had any sleep, and sleeping in her bed alone had never been so restful as last night. She was truly comfortable and happy in the arms of Alex, and although it was scary, she wasn’t frightened, and although it was appeared quick she wasn’t nervous, she had known Alex for three years and all she could think was that she wished she had managed to get here sooner, because she was starting to think that there was no amount of time in this woman’s arms that would satisfy her. “.......indefinitely”
Alex smiled and looked annoyed a little as Lena’s phone stopped and hers almost immediately started ringing, she knew it was Kara that was Kara’s ring tone and she took a sharp intake of breath realising that if she didn’t answer Kara would most assuredly appear. She looked at Lena apologetically kissed her softly before clicking the phone. “yes kara, I am still coming........... I am just getting in the shower now............. not I don’t need you to come get me............. we do this every Saturday, I know................ yes, I will be there............ yes normal time.......... yes I know........ yes ok..... Kara calm down and take a breath................ I am coming to Noonans for our normal Saturday brunch you are more than welcome to bring Kate, I don’t need a lift but if you don’t let me get in the shower I will indeed be late........... love you too Kara, see you soon.” Alex looks up to see possibly the cutest thing she has ever seen, Lena Luthor hands over her mouth eyes wide, tears running down her face as she giggles uncontrollably on the couch. Alex’s heart falters and her breath hitches in her chest, she mutters “indefinitely”
Lena stopped laughing as she heard Alex speak and was in that moment so blissfully happy, she knew that there was no way that this was one sided and that Alex, was going to be the one, the first and the last of every day, the one that would always be there and protect her. Her phone pulled her from her revelry and demanded attention, it was Kara and she smiled nodding, as Alex mouthed the question. “Kara, no you didn’t wake me it is fine................all right Kara your rambling and adorable as I find it, how about I just meet you at Noonans and you can ramble there........ yes I saw the text that is how I knew what you wanted and I was about to reply...... yes see you there Kara” Alex stood looking at Lena mouth open a little, she had managed to get the entire call done in half the time and without half the effort. Oh in future she thought to herself, Lena is always taking Kara’s calls. “ do you need a lift to yours to get changed?” Lena smiled and walked forward, “I could just borrow something, of yours, if your happy with people knowing your dating a Luthor?”
Alex’s jaw went slack wasn’t it Lena who had suggested that there be a period where no one knew, that they didn’t tell Kara about it, I mean Alex had agreed and wanted to ensure that Lena was comfortable with it but it was definitely her idea. “Lena are you sure? Because if you are I can tell you that I have no issue with anyone knowing I am dating you, you are definitely not a Luthor, you are Lena. You are a so clever and intelligent that I fail to keep up with you, even you on a lazy Saturday afternoon, you are so quick and smart and sassy that I get whiplash from your snappy comebacks and changes of direction, you are so strong and courageous, stubborn and fierce, that I think nothing could break you, then I see you sitting on my couch crying with laughter and I see that you are soft, and loving and cute. You have a heart so pure that it shines so brightly I fail to look directly at it, you care so deeply and I am stunned by you. You help anyone who asks and put everyone before yourself, you do it all for no reward and you are just so beautiful Lena, inside and out, you’re no ordinary woman, and no ordinary Luthor”
When Alex finished speaking she looked up at Lena biting her lip, she wasn’t one for such an out pour of emotion or sharing that much of how she felt with anyone. When her eyes fixed on Lena are her heart felt like it was breaking and she rushed over to her. Taking her face in her hands, and begging the beautiful crying goddess on her couch to tell her what was wrong, peppering her face with small kisses and wiping away the tears. Alex was terrified her eyes wide, had she said something wrong, she began running over everything she said, was there something that she said wrong, like before was Lena going to leave? Lena could see Alex was panicking and placed her own hands either side of Alex’s face searching her eyes for a spark of Alex to call back to her. “Alex that was beautiful, no one has ever said things like that to me, I am not sad, I have never been this happy, you make me happier than I ever thought possible, I love you Alex”
It was Lena’s turn to panic, she had not planned on saying that, and she knew that it was way too soon, that she was already messing it up. In that moment there was nothing else that she could have said that would have been truer, she loved everything about Alex and had fallen for her deeply, it was just terrifying to have said it. The words registered with Alex and her whole body melted, her face softened all the worry gone in an instant. Leaning forward she claimed Lena’s soft lips and kissed her with all the love that Alex had for the raven goddess that had stolen her heart. “I love you too, Lena, for a while actually, in case that gushing ramble that even Kara would be proud of, wasn’t enough to confirm it” Lena melted right back into Alex and they held each other in that tender embrace soft lingering kiss, slow burning and passionate until they were forced to part to breath.
They both got dressed, Alex handing Lena a shirt of hers to wear, it looked a little odd with the tailored black trousers and heels but she thought Lena looked amazing. They walked into Noonans and headed up to the booth holding hands, and could see Kate looking at them. She had a small grin on her face and was clearly trying to get Kara to pay attention.
“I mean it Kate this is ridiculous, they are so perfect for each other, they are both so amazing and wonderful and deserve to be happy.....(Kate tried to interject and warn Kara) I mean since I found you and am just so happy I want that for them both you know, Lena has never really had anyone to love her, she is so amazing and wonderful she deserves the world.........(Kate tried again, looking a little uncomfortable and apologetically at Lena) you know that if there was chemistry between us I would have spent my life ensuring that she was loved and that no harm ever came to that beautiful soul of hers..........(Kate tried a third time) you know the only person in the world that I would trust with Lena’s heart is Alex, My amazing and protective beautiful sister, she has given up everything in her life to protect me, she never thinks she is good enough which is ludicrous because the only person in this world that I love more than my sister is you, and the only person that is good enough for my sister is the amazing Lena, they are perfect for each other and I will make them see it I cannot believe that the set up didn’t work..... “(Finally Kate just lent across the table and kissed Kara, it appeared that this was the only way to shut her up at the current time)
Being cut off this way was probably Kara’s favourite way to be cut off in all the world, in fact it was the only way Kara found it acceptable to be cut off especially mid rant. Alex let out a small cough once the kiss started to look more like foreplay and less like a tool to get Kara to shut up, Alex was not interested in seeing the show. Kara looked around at the two women who were stood there, Lena a little red and embarrassed and Alex a little disturbed by the display. “oh Rao, I am sorry how long have you been there, I mean it doesn’t matter I didn’t say anything bad it’s all true, every word I just want to know that your both happy and have someone, and well you would be perfect together if you were not so stubborn and would open your eyes and see what is right there in front of you.” Kate was shaking her head, she had tried to tell Kara that it was already a thing that she knew it from the night they had slipped out, but Kara wouldn’t listen, then the date Alex had planned that had Kara in a dither and caused the scavenger hunt, she was sure was meant for Lena and now Lena was in one of Alex’s shirts holding Alex’s hand and her crazy fiancé was rambling.
Kara took a breath and Alex went to interject but she started again, “look Alex, Lena I know you probably think that I am just interfering and that I should probably just shut up but I am going to be getting married and I didn’t want to be doing that and being so over the moon, when my two favourite people in the world who are perfect for each other are alone because they literally won’t open their damn eyes, and now you’re making me curse, and this is entirely unacceptable” Kara’s voice trailed off as her speech slowed and her mouth flopped open. Lena had literally just grabbed Alex and kissed her, not a little kiss either, for public that was definitely over stepping some major boundaries. Kara’s jaw slack and her eyes impossibly wide. At the cessation of the talking Lena pulled back and Alex was left with a massive goofy grin. “Congratulations Kara now can we sit down I am starving” Lena said very matter of fact and Kate slid in next to her closing her mouth.
Lena and Alex had arrived back a little early and were leaning on the wall outside the children’s room. The tale of Kara and her perfect set up had changed a little over the years, Kara being less annoying and troublesome and much more the hero. The children often asked for the story from her when she was babysitting, all five of the cousins loved the story, and little Keiran was now old enough that he was asking questions. They had been married nearly seven years Kara and Kate nearly nine, and they always made sure that they had one date night a week taking care of all the children so the other couple still had time. Alex and Lena listened.
“and that is how your genius aunty Kara managed to create the perfect set up and get your two mommy’s together.” Kara finished the story. Kieran looked at her confused, “so Mommy didn’t know she liked momma, and momma didn’t know she liked mommy? But you did?” Kieran looked confused “yes sweetie, because I am so clever I could see it and I knew they were perfect for each other and made a plan to get them together” Kara smiled brightly and Kieran just looked at her. “That can’t be right no one is cleverer than my mommy”. Kara scowled at the door she could hear Lena laughing softly, and then she softened. When she heard Alex say “Lena our boy loves you as much as I do, I told you never to worry, Kieran looks at you like you hung the stars”
|
With a flick of North’s wrist, and the mutter, he launched a snow globe into the air, a bright portal exploding into the sky, the sleigh racing towards it. Jack leaned over the side, watching the landscape blur past, as Bunnymund complained in the back seat, Sandy grinning from ear to ear. Jack laughed, as the jumped through the portal, twisting back into a much more warmer climate, making Jack to drop his smile. Once landed, Bunny raced out, praising the ground as Jack stared in awe at their surroundings. Tall, thick old trees wound their large roots into the soil, grass and moss grew on every inch of the ground, flowers and shrubs dusting the edges of the clearing. Green vines draped from the tree branches and birds and other wild animals chatted noisily about the new comers. Before Jack stood a massive tree, a woven grass curtain fit between two roots in the shape of a door, while small windows dotted its trunk.
Jack tightened his grip on his staff, the heat of the area starting to become too much. Hot sunlight poured in from overhead. Tooth was flittering about, looking at the flowers, while North approached the large old tree. Following the older man, Jack hoped into the shadows, avoiding the heat, watching silently as North rung a rusted bell, the sound silencing all of the animals within moments.
“What the-” Jack started before the grass curtain was pulled back, to see a Brazilian woman, tanned and tall, her curly, long dark hair trailing down her back, a long emerald dress barely covering her shoeless feet.
“Mother Nature.” Bunnymund greeted, his head nodding to her in respect.
Jack kept to the side, looking at his feet, as frost climbed the grass around him and the soil started to freeze. Jack could hear the other Guardians talking happily with Mother Nature, but kept out of it. Nature and ice didn’t mix well, and it usually made for the death a fragile flower without Jack’s consent.
Jerking Jack out of his thoughts, Mother Nature spoke to him, “Jack, would you like to come inside? Its much cooler than it is outside.” Mother Nature spoke with a strong and clear voice, making it hard to disobey.
Nodding, Jack followed the rest of the Guardians inside, his eyes widening at the sight that lay before him. A spiral staircase made of wood wound upwards to higher levels of the tree, while the current floor was cluttered with books and insects of different kinds and from different time periods climbed on the furniture and walls, some flying through the air. Jack batted a horsefly out of his way while he continued forward.
The Guardians were lead into another room by Mother Nature, but Jack strayed, climbing up the staircase to the next floor, exploring the rooms and their contents, leaving a small trail of frost in his wake. Flying up the third floor, was the library, thousands upon thousands of books in so many rows it made Jack’s head spin. A wicked grin set upon his features, Jack dashed down a row, tracing the tips of his fingers along the leather bound spines, the smell of parchment, ink, leather, and moss filled his senses. Stopping at a large stained glass window, Jack looked about, walking down another row of books, quickly getting lost in the maze.
“Look at this…” Jack muttered to no one but the wind, who kindly brushed through his hair. Jack brought up a thick leather bound book from the floor, the title smudged and ruined, by far the oldest book Jack had seen so far. Opening the first few pages, what Jack saw shocked him, as fantastical drawing and sketches filled its pages with notes in a language he strangely could read.
Before Jack could flip the page, the Wind shoved him hard, the urgency of the situation sweeping into Jack’s mind. “What’s wro-”
Something landed on the floor next to Jack’s feet, and while placing the tattered book back in its original place, Jack looked closer at the strange object. Tapping it with his staff, Jack’s eyes widened, knowing instantly what it was: nightmare sand. Jack looked up, his eyes straining above him as he tried to look for the source as more sand dropped from the fourth floor. Jack leapt to his feet using the Wind to rocket him to the next floor, staff already in his grasp, ready to fight whatever Pitch had up his sleeve.
A shadow flashed in the corner of his eye, and blindly charged after it, winding into the maze of rooms and hallways. Dashing into a final room, Jack shot without looking. Opening his eyes, a wall painted with black and light blue hues met his eyes, and a silly grin made its way to his face. Jack jumped in victory, relief flooding his system, as he couldn’t wait to tell the others of what he had done.
“Thank you, Wind.” Jack smiled, turning on his heel to exit the room.
The door clicked shut as a dark form stepped out of the shadows, his sickly yellow eyes trained on Jack. Stepping back, Jack raised his staff to Pitch’s chest, just inches away from firing. Grey skin appeared next, along with a malicious laugh which filled the room to the brim.
“Pitch. What the hell do you want?” Jack scowled, his eyes darkening.
Pitch stepped forward, “Language, Jack. You really should watch it. You are a Guardian, am I right? You’re supposed to be be setting a good example for the good little children.” Pitch mocked, before his voice lowered, causing the shadows to darken. “But, either way, you’re coming with me.”
Pitch lifted a dry hand towards the albino, which Jack responded with a bright flash from his staff, ice and frost exploding from the wooden staff. Pitch lurched back, the ice cascading up the wall to the ceiling, the glass window coated in thick ice. Pitch sank back into the shadows, his figure dancing along the walls, Jack twisting and turning, trying to get a clear shot of the Nightmare King.
“What now, Jack? Are you going to run to your pathetic Guardians? Or will you flee because of your selfish reasons? Ha, you did last time. You remember that, Easter Sunday, because you got your memories, they hated you. It’s almost like they didn’t care about the fact you had been on your own for over three hundred years. They never paid attention to you; even now. Do you see anyone wondering where you are? No. Because you are unwanted. They used you for your power, and after you helped with my downfall, things slowly turned back to normal. Face it, Jack, do you truly have someone to call your friend? Ja-”
“SHUT UP!”
Jack cradled his head in his hands, his palms over his ears, his eyes screwed tight, desperately trying to think of Jamie, of the happy things that Pitch could never bring down. Jack dropped to his knees, as Pitch’s voice carried on, ranting about things Jack already knew. Jack knew it was true, but unlike Pitch, at least he had a believer, who never left his side; who never stopped believing. Jack opened his eyes, and looked up, jumping back as the looming form of Pitch Black towered over him, yellow eyes inches from his own.
“Time’s up, Jack.” Pitch lunged forward, knocking Jack’s staff away, as he shoved his hand forward, something slipping in between Jack’s lips. Like an eel, Jack squirmed under Pitch’s grasp, as Pitch held his hand to Jack’s mouth, forcing Jack to either swallow or to have the object slowly melt into his throat. Struggling still, Jack summoned an icicle from the floor, which he snapped off. Holding firmly in his grasp, Jack dug deep into Pitch’s face, marking him from his temple to his jaw, causing Pitch to finally let go of his hold. Scrambling to his feet, Jack spit out what was left of the mysterious dissolving food, as grabbed his staff and forced the door open, stumbling down the hall.
Jack clung to the wall as his vision started to cloud and limbs went numb, not long until he collapsed in a crumpled heap, his head spinning. With the last of his effort, Jack clung to his staff like a lifeline, as Pitch approached, his grey hands trying to pry away the shepherd's crook.
“Fine, keep it. Either way, I win.”
|
"Danzo-sama." Danzo's eyes opened to reveal the darkness of his room. His head turned toward the voice to see someone kneeling beside his bed.
"What is it?"
"It's done, sir."
"A success?" He asked calmly before looking up to the ceiling.
"Yes and no," the man said quietly. Danzo turned to him again to see an animal mask staring back at him.
"What do you mean, yes and no?"
"The body count does not add up, sir. Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui and the pink haired woman are nowhere to be found. They have escaped." Danzo kept his face impassive but inside he was tense. That wasn't good to hear.
"I see," he answered. If either of them were still alive, what happened tonight could and probably would be reported to Hiruzen. Danzo sat up, he had work to do.
000
Sakura ran through the back alleys and on the rooftops through the village, keeping out of view. She could see that news of the massacre had spread through the village like wildfire and it was only early morning. She needed to get to Lord Third as soon as possible. She dashed out of the trees and up the stairs leading to where she knew the Hokage's office was located.
"Excuse me! You can't-" Sakura ignored the woman trying to stop her as she opened the door to the office and barged in. Everyone in the room froze and suddenly Kakashi was in front of her pinning her hands behind her back and holding her against him so tight she couldn't move. One hand held her wrists together and the other was clamped down on her throat, although not tight enough to restrict her air intake.
"Kakashi. Let her go." Came the calm order from Hiruzen who was seated at his desk "The poor girl has been through a lot." Sakura winced when Kakashi let her wrists go and she brought them in front of her to rub at them slightly. She couldn't blame Kakashi for reacting in such a way, she did barge into the office unannounced and she knew the man didn't exactly trust her.
"I apologize, Lord third but I must speak with you in private if you'll allow it."
"Who is this woman?" asked an older woman Sakura immediately recognized as one of the village elders. To her side was a man whom Sakura also recognized as an advisor. Sakura's eyes continued on and her skin immediately prickled with hate and anger when her eyes landed on none other than Danzo. Her fists clenched at her side and she tried so very hard not to cross the distance between them and punch her fist through his chest. He had killed so many people last night it made her sick. The faces of Shisui, Akarui, Mikoto and even Fugaku flashed through her mind and a dull ache shot through her chest, such a waste of precious life. All for what? Hiruzen watched the pinkette's eyes harden when she had looked at Danzo. He knew Danzo had definitely noticed but still kept his calm expression planted on his face.
"Very well, everyone out of the room." Everyone hesitated looking toward Sakura warily.
"Are you sure?" the older woman asked. Hiruzen nodded.
"Yes, I will keep Kakashi with me."
Eventually everyone trickled out of the room, Danzo being last. Sakura pierced him with a hard glare as he walked past her she almost felt like spitting at his feet as a show of disrespect but reigned in that urge and forced herself to look forward once the door clicked shut. Hiruzen quickly stood and cast a barrier jutsu around the room so no one would over hear their conversation. When he returned to his chair Sakura dropped softly to her knees and bowed her head in shame.
"I failed." She said her voice tense. "I couldn't stop it from happening. I never once thought he would do such a thing after the clan was no longer a threat. I'm so sorry."
"Sakura, stand up." Came the soft order and she looked up before rising slowly to her feet. "Who is he?"
"Danzo, sir," Sakura said honestly. "His foundation members came in the dead of night and murdered everyone." A look of slight pain and disappointment flashed through Hiruzen's eyes. Danzo had snuck under his radar and acted on his own. Hiruzen knew such an act was unforgivable. Seeing as he knew what the original outcome had been he understood why he more or less let Danzo off the hook for acting on his own. Now though, even though the clan was no threat he still took them out. This wasn't something he could let go and brush aside, Danzo would need to be punished.
"Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Itachi and Uchiha Sasuke are missing. Are they alive or dead," The third asked quietly. Kakashi was standing off to the side silently. However from years of being close with her sensei she could tell, under his black mask he was frowning. From what she understood Itachi and Kakashi had been close when Itachi had first joined ANBU, and he was awaiting confirmation on whether his friend and ally was dead or alive.
"Uchiha Itachi and Sasuke are alive sir. Shisui-" Sakura felt her throat close and tears prick her eyes. She stood up straighter and forced her feelings aside so she could speak properly. "Shisui was poisoned and brought to me. He died before I could help," she finished, her jaw clenched against the emotions raging inside her. Sakura saw Kakashi bow his head the slightest bit but whether it was in relief or sadness she wasn't sure.
"I see," was the response the hokage offered. His eyes stared straight ahead before closing slightly. "Shisui was a good ninja, one of my most trusted." With a sigh the man stood and walked around his desk. Sakura watched him pick up the pipe that was resting on the desk and put it in his mouth before lighting it. Smoke escaped through his nose as he levelled a glance at her. "What will you do now, Miss Haruno?" Sakura's eyes widened. That wasn't a question she had been expecting.
"I...I don't know," She admitted quietly. "What will you do about Danzo?"
"I'm not positive at the moment, you let me worry about what his fate will be." Sakura nodded before wracking her brain for a more suitable answer for him. Before she really knew what she was saying the words tumbled out of her mouth.
"I can't leave them sir, I can't leave behind Sasuke and Itachi," She said. Her own eyes widened, she could want to stay all she wants but it didn't mean it was possible. It would screw everything up. There would be two Sakura's in the same time period and that couldn't happen. Even so though, the ache that shot through her chest at the thought of abandoning the two most important people in her life at the moment for ten years made her stomach churn unpleasantly. After all they had been through, they needed her right now.
Hiruzen looked thoughtful for a moment. Silence stretched on and Sakura was about to speak again and tell him she knew it wasn't possible when he beat her too it.
"I understand why you don't want to leave them now," he said and Sakura waited for him to flat out tell her she had no choice in the matter. "I may have an idea that you will probably be interested in."
000
Sakura weaved the correct hand signs and the heavy rock groaned before admitting her entrance. She pulled the large bag of clothes over her shoulder more snuggly as she descended the stairs. She had gone to Itachi's home to collect what clothes she could for Itachi and Sasuke, as well as herself. She had also grabbed some food from a food stall on the way back from the Hokage tower seeing as none of them had eaten since early the night before. While getting the clothes she grabbed a small container for Shisui's eyes once she removed them. After Itachi got over the initial shock of losing his best friend he had told Sakura of Shisui's wish to have his eyes removed. She understood why, Danzo would never get them.
She immediately noticed Shisui's blanket covered body lying at the opposite side of the room and she dropped the bags lightly on the stone floor before making her way over to him. They had yet to figure out if they would hand him over to be buried by the village or bury him themselves. She knelt down next to him and pulled the blanket back from his face. Her lips turned down in a sad frown. She couldn't believe he was really gone, after everything that they had done to stop this all, it happened anyways. His face was peaceful looking and if Sakura had to guess she would say he had come to terms with his own death and accepted it before he passed on. The thought that he could now be with his little sister and his parents made him dying slightly less bitter. Without further hesitation she pushed back his eyelids and closed her own for a few seconds before opening them again and getting to work.
Once she finished she placed the blanket back over his face before placing her hand over his cold chest, which could be felt even through the blanket.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you." She said her breath hitching slightly. Tears once again stung her eyes and this time she let them fall. They silently ran down her cheeks and she fell forward, letting her forehead rest on his chest and she continued to silently cry, her breathing hiccupping slightly. This went on for a few minutes, she wasn't sure how long but she wasn't going to rush herself. She hadn't even gotten the chance to really cry. She had been too preoccupied with taking care of Itachi. Then they had to tell Sasuke. Sakura hadn't slept at all last night. Itachi had rested his head in her lap and had managed to fall asleep somehow. The calming way she was playing with his hair probably helped soothe him. Naturally he had nightmares. Something Sakura now knew about Itachi is that he was a lot more sensitive to death and destruction than he let on. The death and pain of others plagued his mind and wreaked havoc on him once he was asleep and no longer had control over his own thoughts. She wiped away her tears almost angrily. She was angry with herself. She should have seen this outcome and she should have done more to stop it! In her heart she knew this situation was kind of out of her control but she still felt horrible about it.
Sakura turned her attention to the two boys in the other corner of the room. Sasuke was curled up into a tight ball, his hands fisting Itachi's shirt tightly. Itachi had his arms around his little brother while the rest of his body was curled around him as well. Sakura frowned. Sasuke hadn't taken the news too well when he woke up earlier before Sakura left to go talk to the Hokage. He hadn't left Itachi's side and refused to let him go. Clingy was an understatement, Itachi however seemed to need the comfort of his brother as well and accepted Sasuke's clinginess for the time being. Both brothers were currently asleep, although Sakura knew if she had been anyone else Itachi would have woken up instantly.
She walked over to the boys' quietly and her heart ached when she saw the dried tear tracks down Sasuke's face. She knelt behind Itachi's back and reached forward to lightly brush his inky black bangs out of his face. He immediately stirred his eyes opening to reveal dark bottomless orbs. Sakura could still see the blatant pain there but he was hiding it better than he had last night.
"I need to speak with you." She whispered trying not to wake Sasuke. The poison was nearly out of his system but not completely so he was still pretty groggy and that paired with the emotional pain he was currently going through it wasn't exactly odd for him to be passed out again. Itachi nodded and carefully detangled himself from Sasuke, happy to see the boy was still fast asleep.
Itachi sat down a little ways away from Sasuke so their conversation wouldn't reach him easily. Sakura moved toward him and without warning crawled into his lap and sat down so she was sideways, her legs extended out at Itachi's side and her head rested on his chest. Itachi's arms instantly wrapped around her and his chin rested softly against the top of her head.
"What is it?" He asked quietly.
"Hiruzen and I spoke and I think we have come up with a plan." She paused and took a deep breath. "I know I haven't spoken to you about this since everything happen because quite frankly I feel like it happened only an hour ago." Itachi raised an eyebrow at her even though she couldn't see it.
"Talk to me." He said his voice still quiet. She nuzzled her face into his chest before speaking, her voice slightly muffled.
"I can't leave you, I can't leave you and Sasuke like this for ten years. I just couldn't bear the thought." Itachi tensed and held her closer. If he was being completely honest with himself he didn't want her to leave either. Especially after everything. He didn't like the idea of him and Sasuke going through this without Sakura with them. She had become a part of his family and thought of losing her for any amount of time caused his chest to ache. He stopped being surprised at the things that happened to him when Sakura was around. The emotions that were once foreign were now a normal occurrence. He loved her with everything he had and there was no denying that now.
"We have no choice," he admitted a frown marring his features.
"We might, The Third gave me a great idea that just might work." Sakura looked up to see Itachi raising a brow at her. "You and Sasuke," she glanced at the still sleeping boy as he seemed to squirm in his sleep. "Can come back to the future with me." Suddenly Sakura was being pushed back and Itachi was looking at her in mild shock and curiosity, his hands gripping her shoulders softly as he searched her eyes for any sign of uncertainty.
"That's possible?"
"I think so yes, think about it. There will be no double you or double Sasuke because you would literally be removed from the past and put into the future." She paused gauging his reaction carefully. He seemed intrigued but also wary about the idea.
"Are you sure, this will work? Wouldn't people wonder why we haven't aged? Especially Sasuke. We could blame my appearance on good genes but Sasuke would be too obvious. A seven year old who is supposed to be seventeen wouldn't work."
"We thought about that," Sakura explained and she looked down slightly. "Depending on what my own excuse for disappearing for six months is in this new future, I could say that I found you and brought you back to the village. You will have Sasuke with you but we might be able to convince people he is your…son." Itachi's eyes widened and after a moment of silence Sakura looked up.
"That's…genius," he admitted. "But, what about Sasuke? Everyone will wonder where he is."
"Hiruzen said he will claim that you were the only survivor and that Sasuke was counted among the dead." There was another moment of silence as Itachi sat and thought about everything. Sakura wasn't sure how many minutes past.
"This could work," he admitted with slight surprise in his voice.
"When we get there either Hiruzen will still be Hokage or he will have filled someone else in on the information so we will be accepted without question. You and Sasuke will live with me-" Sakura paused her eyes wide "I mean if you want to live with me that is…" she said trailing off. Itachi sighed and Sakura knew just by looking at him that if he wasn't in such a depressed mood he would be smiling at her. She felt his warm fingers brush against the side of her face softly and she leaned into the touch.
"As cheesy as it sounds…" he began his lips twitching slightly as if he almost wanted to smile "As long as I'm with you I don't care where I live." Sakura snorted a laugh.
"You're right that is cheesy," she said before going silent and pushing up to leave a soft kiss on Itachi's forehead. He sighed contently, wrapping his arms around her as she did the same, lowering herself so her face was against his neck and her legs were straddling him. She breathed in his calming scent before murmuring
"Is this something we can do?"
"Hn. I think it's definitely possible. I also think we should give it a try," he admitted hugging her closer. "But if we do this and Sasuke poses as my son, we will need to give him a new name."
"Good, tomorrow we will do it then. We will think more on that later, although I kind of like the name Daisuke. Right now though, let's wake Sasuke up and eat the food I brought." Itachi didn't let up on his grip on her and she glanced to the side to see him looking at something over her shoulder. She glanced back and saw Shisui's covered body again. She frowned.
"I'd like to bury him ourselves," Itachi said his voice almost a whisper. Sakura nodded and hugged him tightly.
"Okay, if that's what you want." She said.
|
[Private Chat]
[11:56 AM]
Meow:
Changbin
I need your help
pls
omg
I’m shaking rn
BabyBinnie:
woah
what’s happening???
are you alright???????
Meow:
thank god you’re here
I need your help
help me
BabyBinnie:
Minho you’re scaring me!!!
tell me what you need
I’ll help you!!!!
Meow:
Jisung’s coming over in 4 hours
and I’m panicking
BabyBinnie:
omg
fuck you
you hoe
bitch
I died!!!!
I was shaking you hoe
am gonna slap you as soon as I see you again
dumb bitch
ok
ok
I’m alright
uhm tell me why you’re scared?
Meow:
I’m sorry :(
BabyBinnie:
Felix just hit me for making you sad..
He’s reading over my shoulder
He can help you since he’s Sungie’s best friend
Meow:
Thank you, Felix
(つ﹏⊂)
BabyBinnie:
omg he’s swooning over you rn
wait
[Baby Binnie added LixiePixie to the chat)
LixiePixie:
hyung
you’re so cute!!!!!
What are you worrying about? I’ll help you
Meow:
I don’t even know?
Like I know it sounds stupid and I want to stop worrying
But I really don’t want to fuck up my second chance
emotions suck
Changbin you made me accept them
take responsibility for that
BabyBinnie:
Minho calm down
The fact that you think about what will happen
and that you show concern
tells us that you’ve changed
I’m sure that Jisung appreciates that fact and won’t hate you for being yourself
Meow:
But I suck :(
my personality sucks
omg he’s gonna hate meee
I should call him and cancel the date
LixiePixie:
stop right there hyung!
you don’t suck!
you’re great! Everybody loves and appreciates you
do you really think Jisung just fell for your looks?
If yes then I’m gonna smack you
he likes you for who you are
he doesn’t like us in the same way even tho we were nice to him from the beginning
what I’m trying to say is
that he likes you for who you are! for your smiles, your words, your whole being
I’m not in the place to tell you that
but just ask him when and why he started to like you
since there’s more into it than you think
Meow:
omg what
he likes me for my personality?????
but I’m the shittiest person ever?!?!?!?!
BabyBinnie:
Minho I’m going to punch you
boy do you think I’d be your friend if you’d be such an asshole?
You really need to know your worth
LixiePixie:
yes hyung
do you think Hyunjin and I would like you that much even tho you were mean to our best friend if you wouldn’t be the softest kitty ever?
I wish you could see yourself from our perspectives
you always care for us, you look out for us
even when you act indifferent we can still see that you care for us
you proved that in the past
so pls believe us and have faith in yourself
BabyBinnie:
yup he likes you for who you really are
so just show him what you’ve shown me for the last years
just be yourself and don’t try to look tough
Meow:
I don’t know what to say…
I just appreciate you two so much?
Binnie…I know I wasn’t the best friend to you but I’m really happy to have you in my life
and Lix I don’t know whether I deserve such a loving friend but I’m so thankful to you
I don’t know what I’d have done without you two :(
LixiePixie:
sounds like I’ve earned a 5 minute hug
( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)
no jokes aside
you’re more than just welcome
you’re also a great friend and I’m happy to be a part of your friends <3
Meow:
I promise you I’ll give you a hug for at least 10 minutes.
Really
BabyBinnie:
wait
NO
hello? I’m still here
LixiePixie:
YESSSSSSSSSSSS
ok hyung do you have other questions?
I can help you!
Meow:
Which movie should we watch?
BabyBinnie:
are you ignoring me?
hellooo?
LixiePixie:
good question!
don’t choose a horror movie he really hates them
maybe a funny one?
don’t try to pick an extreme movie to have an excuse of cuddling
I don’t know why some boys think that that’s the perfect way to get close???
like I am scared and uncomfortable and you only do this for your own benefits
wow
Meow:
ok no horror or extreme movie
noted
I also noticed yesterday that Sungie wasn’t enjoying the movie :(
thank you Lix
BabyBinnie:
he loves animations so just watch a Ghibli movie?
Meow:
we could do that! Thanks Bin
BabyBinnie:
oh, wow now he can hear me
LixiePixie:
good luck hyung and pls be yourself and just enjoy your day <3
Meow:
I’ll try
thank you guys…I owe you one
BabyBinnie:
that’s what friends are there for, you fool
ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ
Meow:
⊂(´・ω・｀⊂)
LixiePixie:
oh
just my two bois hugging virtually
*holding back tears*
great
Meow:
don’t worry Lixie you’ll get real hugs <3
LixiePixie:
*sobbing intensifies*
GReaT
BabyBinnie:
stop hitting on my boyfriend and prepare things for our boi
Meow:
I will
thank you again~
I’ll let you know how it went
LixiePixie:
not if Jisung tells me before
(・ω <)
***
“What are you doing?” Minho’s mom let out a loud shriek at her son’s voice. Don’t get her wrong, she wasn’t surprised about her son talking to her…well to be honest, she kind of was. Minho wasn’t really talkative and rather stayed silent if he didn’t have to talk. So, it was safe to say that she was beyond surprised when he came up to her yesterday, telling that he had invited Jisung over. She was happy! Really, but at the same time it scared her a bit since her son was acting out of character for some days now. Ok…not really out of character but how could she describe the feeling? It was more the kind of him stopping the act of being indifferent the whole time. Well…the whole act was anyway kind of her fault.
She had decided to get divorced when Minho was only eight years old. His dad was a good man, just too focused on his work, never being at their sides…She didn’t want Minho to have a dad who worked until midnight every day, even on his birthday. A dad who missed every family trips and school festivals causing the people to think that the poor boy didn’t have a father. Well, long story short, after the divorce she was having a hard time, although she had decided it. A young woman in her thirties who had the feeling of having failed not only as a woman but also as a mother. She had cried every night, feeling guilty of taking a boy’s dad away from him. It was needless to say that his dad never visited him, nor contacted him regularly since he was too occupied with his work. She knew that her son was a very sensitive boy who sensed her discomfort and tried to cheer her up in every way he could think of. As a result, he stopped putting pressure on her by telling her the hardships he had. He kept his problems, his sadness, every kind of negative emotion to himself and tried to ignore them if he couldn’t overcome them alone. This caused him to grow up as a cold and indifferent boy. He had never learnt to deal with his emotions, so he just stopped having them. At least stopped them from showing.
So, she didn’t know why his cold façade started to crack down but she was incredibly happy about it. As long as he would stop being a heartless living being, his mom would be at his side to support and encourage him.
“I’m preparing the chicken you like so much. I hope that Jisung will also like it.” A soft smile was plastered on her beautiful face as she looked at her son’s troubled mien. “Are you alright?”
“Uhm…yes. I try to. Just feeling a bit nervous.” Minho tried to choose his words carefully, not wanting to trouble his mom.
“There’s no need to, sweetheart. Jisung is a great guy and I’m sure that you’ll do the right things.”
“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.” He murmured, hoping that his mother didn’t catch that.
“Why? Has something happened for you to think like that?” Caught, Minho slightly widened his eyes before breaking the eye contact and watching his feet.
“Y-yes…there were some things going on…but I-I don’t want to tell you. You would be so disappointed with me…” A long sigh left the dancer’s mouth as he tried to stop the shame he was feeling. His mother always cared for him, told him to be nice and yet he acted the way he did.
“Minho, look at me. I don’t know what you did and maybe I would be sad and would scold you for your actions but I would never judge you or get disappointed only because you didn’t act the way I would want you to. You are my precious son and I love you with all my heart. Nothing you do can stop this love. Do you understand?” Her usual friendly face was overtaken by a serious expression, showing him how honest her words were.
“O-ok. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, mom.” He lightly leaned to her side, putting his head on her shoulder.
“Now go and take a shower and style your hair to impress your crush.” She shooed him away after leaving a kiss on his head.
“MOM!”
“Yeah, yeah I’ll not say this in front of him.”
***
Jisung took a deep breath after he convinced himself that he wouldn’t pass out and pressed the doorbell. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and Minho’s head peeked out of the crack.
“Hi Sungie. Come in!” Jisung blinked twice after nodding dumbly and followed the elder inside. His hyung was dressed in comfortable yet stylish clothes, showing him that he actually thought about his outfit. He had even styled his hair! Tousled curls were adorning his forehead, perfectly completing his soft look. Panicked, he looked at his own clothes and felt underdressed. What if Minho gets the wrong idea about him not caring about the date???
“I really like your sweater. You look cute…” Minho said quietly, trying to look at the squirrel-like’s face but failed miserably.
“Thank you. It’s actually my favorite sweater.” The poor boy felt how his cheeks flared up as he took his shoes off. Like a lost duckling, he followed the dancer into the kitchen, smiling instantly when he saw Minho’s mother.
“Oh, hello Jisung!” She said, grinning brightly and eased the boy’s nerves automatically.
“Hello. Thank you very much for the invitation.” His mother just rolled her eyes playfully and pointed at the dining table.
“Go on and sit down! I’ll be there in a second.” Quietly the boys did what they were told to and sat at the table awkwardly, waiting for Mrs. Lee to come. Some seconds passed without them speaking, until Minho let out a groan.
“This is bad, right? You can really leave if you want to. I won’t be mad at you.” Jisung tried to suppress the giggle that left his mouth but it escaped nevertheless. Minho tilted his head to the right, resembling a confused kitten.
“Hyung, I’m okay now. Sorry for being so awkward.” The dancer smiled softly and nodded as his mom entered the room.
“Jisung I hope that you’re hungry!”
“I am and thank you so much for preparing all these.” He gestured at the full table and felt how his stomach grumbled.
“Enjoy the meal!”
Many minutes and full stomachs later, Minho’s mom disappeared to the kitchen and left the boys alone.
“Do you want to go to my room?” Minho was trying to act cool as he led the cute squirrel to his room.
“YOU HAVE THREE CATS NOW?” Jisung was starring at the three fluff balls which were cuddling on the elder’s bed, not believing his eyes.
“Uhm, yeah. I found Dori on the streets a month ago.” Minho’s mouth fell open as he saw how his cats surrounded Jisung when the boy sat down on his bed.
“Aw, they’re so cuddly!” He was grinning so brightly that Minho caught himself starring. The slightly red puffed cheeks, the big gummy smile, the gleaming eyes…The dancer could feel how his heart swelled and had to stop himself from cuddling all of them.
“Usually they aren’t. I guess they just like you.” The smile Jisung gifted him was worth the jealousy he felt when the trio ignored him after he also sat down. “You have a dog, right?” He casually asked as he played with Soonie’s tail.
“I do! You actually met him few times.”
“I have?” Jisung stopped petting Dori and watched Minho with widened eyes. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to know! Well, he didn’t know how he could cover his mistake up; so, he decided to spill the truth.
“Yes, but don’t know that he’s mine. He’s the big Golden Retriever that you occasionally pet in the park. You pet him once and looked so happy and then you disappeared as soon as you saw me…Yeah…So, I just let him walk freely and that traitor always found you to ask for attention. I was always standing behind…you know so that you could pet him without having to leave…” Minho stared at him without blinking, what was unusual for him, and Jisung felt how his whole face lit up. The boy had always thought of him as a stalker and now he was confirming it!
“Really? Wow…that’s so nice of you…I always wanted to have a dog but since my mom is allergic to them, we decided to get cats. I usually walk around the park when I’m feeling down and meeting your dog was always the highlight of my bad days.”
“You don’t think that I’m weird?” Jisung asked although he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“No, if anything then you’re super considerate and so nice? Like oh my god who’s so nice to strangers?” Minho laughed cutely and blushed when their hands touched while petting the cats.
“Thank you, hyung.” The younger was also avoiding any eye contact. The cats seemed to sense the awkward aura since they decided to leave and join Minho’s mom in the living room.
“So, uhm do you want to listen to the songs first or watch a movie?” Jisung groaned loudly and face planted on the boy’s soft covers.
“I really don’t want you to listen to the songs! It’s so embarrassing.” A cute pout appeared on his lips and a pleading look was directed at the elder.
“I really want to listen to them but if you really don’t want, then I won’t do it.”
“No, wait. Now I’m feeling bad!” The boy sat up again, “I just feel shy since you’ll hear me for the first time, I guess? Like I’m usually very confident about my rapping and singing skills but right now I’m feeling so…so nervous?” Minho was nodding with a serious expression on his face.
“I know how you feel. Do you remember our dance competition? I was so nervous even though I knew how good we are. I just knew that you guys would watch us and I was scared of not reaching your expectations. So, yes I think I know how you feel.” Jisung stared at the wall for some seconds before he nodded cutely with determined eyes.
“Okay, we can listen to them but only two songs since I also only saw two dances.” Minho laughed lightly and stood up to take his phone.
“No, wait! Movies first!” Jisung couldn’t stop him from listening to the songs but he could push it back as far as he could.
“Oh, ok. We can do that. Let me grab the snacks first.” He quickly left the room and returned with many snacks and bowls.
“Hyung, there was no-“
“Shhhh, just move a bit over and enjoy the movie!”
***
Watching the movie went well and now they were sitting next to each other with their arms touching slightly. To be honest, Minho wasn’t able to concentrate on the movie since he wanted to touch Jisung so badly but he had to refrain himself from it. The other boy seemed to have the time of his life since the elder coincidentally had chosen his favorite movie. He had been giggling and cooing all the time, sometimes even reciting some lines.
So, now they were both sitting there, knowing what would follow.
“Ok, you take an earbud, I take the other one. And you’re not allowed to look at me! Lay down and face the ceiling. Hey! Stop laughing!” Minho felt bad for giggling, he really did but he couldn’t help it! Jisung was acting all flustered and cute urgh…he just wanted to hug him. “Oh, and only one rule. We’re not listening to ‘Wow’. I’d rather yeet myself out of the window than listening to it with you. Do that when I’m gone.” Minho was laughing loudly now causing Jisung to punch him lightly.
Two minutes later, both boys were laying down next to each other, scrolling through the playlist.
“We can listen to ‘Matryoshka’! It’s really cool and the most popular song.” Minho shook his head and kept scrolling until he found an interesting title.
“I want to listen to this one.” He showed Jisung his phone and cooed internally when the boy scrunched his nose up.
“It’s…okay, I guess. Yeah better than the others. Ok, let’s listen to ‘Broken Compass’. And remember to only look at the ceiling.” He pushed Minho’s face to the side when the boy turned to him.
“Ok, one, two, three.” He pushed play and caught himself how he stopped breathing. A dark beat filled his ears and he recognized the background voice as Chan’s. To his surprise, the first person rapping was Jisung. Minho tried to glance at his face but the rapper pushed it upwards again. His body relaxed on his own and he let the voice take all of his attention. Jisung was lying next to him, their bodies slightly touching and his sensual voice was everywhere. Minho closed his eyes and fell into a world of Jisung and Jisung only. He opened his eyes when Chan started to sing, disturbing his Sungie time. But his whole concentration was still on the song. A shiver ran through his body caused by the rather deep and dark lyrics which stood in contrast to the upbeat rhythm. The beat made him wanting to move along, he hardly could resist as a dancer but the lyrics kept his mind grounded like an anchor.
The song ended too quickly and Minho opened his eyes again, catching how Jisung was watching him.
“What do you think?” The boy started to gnaw on his lips, showing how nervous he actually was.
“I love it! Really. To be honest, I didn’t know what I should expect from you guys but you completely surprised me. I mean it’s so good???” Minho couldn’t describe what he felt in that moment. Somehow, he felt closer to Jisung than he ever was. It was like a little intimate moment between the two boys, linking them even more together.
“Thank you, hyung. I know we’re not bad but we also need to improve. Well, we’re better than before…like we were really BAD when we first started but now it’s ok, I guess.”
“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. But I’m sure that Hyunjin and Felix would love to work with you guys together. I mean I would love to work with you in the future. That would be great. Yeah. Haha.” Minho felt dumb but he couldn’t stop talking. Jisung making a song for him and him dancing to it? It sounded like something what…what boyfriends would do…
“That would be very cool.” Jisung smiled and pointed to the ceiling after Minho watched his happy face for some seconds.
“Ok, I want to listen to a solo from you now. You know, you also watched a solo stage of me.” Jisung groaned again and started to whine cutely but Minho shook his head. He really wanted to feel the same emotions he had felt earlier without the other two interfering.
“FINE. Chose one and prepare yourself to say goodbye to me since I’m going to kill myself afterwards. Just play it without showing me. I want to die in peace.” Minho giggled again and chose a song. The intro of ‘Close’ filled his ears and he felt how Jisung tensed. He wanted to look at him but the boy’s smooth voice stopped him from moving even a single muscle.
At first, he just listening to the lyrics but a weird feeling settled in his guts. Jisung was watching him, so he turned his head, facing him and let his mind be filled with the refreshing melody of the song.
Minho stopped breathing when the lyrics of the first verse reached his ears. Was…was he talking about…no, right?
But when second verse bagan, he was sure of one thing. Jisung was talking about him!
*
Name, age where do you live
I know too many questions
I wonder if it’s excitement
I'll cross the line a little bit now
I avoided this road I was walking in danger
I'll look at you for a moment and rest,
I know, that acting like this at the first time we met is a bother
Noisily I mumble a lot of words, this is also my first time feeling this way
*
Minho felt how his heart beat increased and hoped that he wouldn’t resemble a tomato too much. Jisung, the freakily talented, nice, most supportive and caring boy had written a song about him! He took all his courage and searched for the boy’s hand without breaking the eye contact. Jisung was still watching him with wide eyes, not calming down a bit.
*
I’m still not used to it, babe
What am I saying, why am I being like this
My heart is pounding, babe
Even though I try my best to stay composed
My trembling voice and my awkward gestures again,
Speaking loudly for no reason again, even when you speak to me,
But I can only speak like this, even when I pretend to be bold
When I look into your eyes, I still freeze
It’s all strange to me, even this feeling right now
They are all first time but I feel fluttered and looking forward to even the nervous moments
*
Minho intertwined his fingers with the smaller’s cold ones, squeezing his hand lightly. He knew that Jisung was freaking out internally and he wanted to tell him that it was okay. But he was scared of missing even only one second of the song, so he kept quiet and brushed his thumb over the boy’s knuckles. His heart was beating crazily at the lyrics, he had to stop his hands from trembling because comforting Jisung was his priority now.
*
The road I’m walking now
I’m walking on the heaven, this moment where I’m trembling,
feels like I’ve been comforted and saved by someone
I still don’t know anything about you but
I will get to know you slowly and steadily, no matter how long it takes
Wish we could get closer bit by bit
Words that come out are disguised as being bold but on the inside I’m a coward who’s shaking
In my empty heart, for the first time it’s spring
Found its way and bloomed right at the center
If you think I’m too much, I’m sorry but
I’m being like this because I’m afraid that I won’t be able to catch you ever again once today is over
*
Minho felt like crying, laughing, and smiling at the same time. He was feeling so many emotions that his head seemed to turn, making him dizzy. Slowly he turned to his side and cupped the boy’s soft cheek with his unoccupied hand, lovingly caressing it. Jisung took a needed breath and closed his eyes, beginning to relax his tense body.
*
I just wanna know you, oh
Can you tell me now, oh
I wanna get to know more about you
Will you tell me now?
*
“Thank you for not giving up.” The song had ended for some minutes but the boys were not moving an inch. Jisung opened his eyes at the sound of his hyung’s voice and smiled slightly.
“You had to choose this song, right?” Minho let his finger slip through the younger’s strands causing him to sigh contently.
“So, you wrote a song about me.” Jisung groaned and tried to move away but the boy held him in place. “I’m just teasing you. I like the song very, very, very much. Didn’t know that you could also sing.”
“I usually rap but Chan hyung had a cold and I had to fill his singing parts and somehow they loved it. Now, I’m also singing now but only on some songs.” Without noticing Jisung scooted closer while talking, loving the warmth that radiated off Minho’s body.
“You’re incredibly talented, Jisung.” Said boy smiled thankfully, pushing his head against the caressing hand, reminding the dancer of his cats. His heart was so full, it felt so heavy yet lively.
“I’ll tell you more, I promise.” Minho said, answering the last question Jisung had sung about. But before he could answer, somebody knocked on the door.
“Boys, it’s getting late and you still have school tomorrow!” Luckily Minho’s mom wasn’t coming in like his mother would. Jisung blushed a bit when he took their positions in. From outside they would look like a loving couple…
“Thank you, mom.” Minho sighed deeply and sat up, pulling the younger with him.
“Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
“Hyung, there’s no need to! I live around the corner, remember?” Minho just shrugged wordlessly and left the room first. Some things would never change…
Five minutes and hundred ‘thank you for the meal’s later the boys made their way to Jisung’s place. It was chillier than the younger had thought and was happy that they would be there in no time. His train of thoughts got interrupted as Minho took his hand again, intertwining their fingers as it was something naturally. Jisung cleared his throat but let his hand there where it was.
“Thank you for taking me home, even there was really no need to.” With his keys in his hand, he was standing there awkwardly again, rocking on his heels. How should they say goodbye? Just waving or a hug? Fortunately, Minho took over the decision and pulled the younger into a hug. Jisung quickly wound his arms around his hyung’s toned body and sighed at the warmth that engulfed him. But what happened next surprised both boys. Without really thinking about it, Minho planted a soft kiss on the boy’s plush cheek causing it to redden dramatically.
“I-“
“Uhm…”
“See you tomorrow, Sungie.” Minho said when he found his voice again, looking at his own feet.
“Y-yeah, see you tomorrow, hyung.” He hurriedly tried to open the door, letting the set of keys fall to the ground. After two more tries, he managed to open it and waved shortly before entering. Minho waited until Jisung was inside and turned around after that. He made his way home and put his hands in his pocket since they felt unusually empty. Thousands of questions were running through his mind but he only could think of one. The date was a success, right?
|
CORE Research Logs Entry #1605 (Final entry) Dated two days after the return of Voltron
There was an accident with the Ziva upon arrival. They broke free of containment and destroyed a large section of the laboratory structure. Two sentries were lost, but no personnel were within the radius of destruction at the time of incident. The Ziva have since been placed in the extended deprivation chambers.
The eleven remaining subjects from Generation Five have been transferred to Maorel for inclusion in Project Robeast. The staff here on Vel-17 will disperse to other research initiatives, primarily the newest project, christened Project Balmera. As of today, CORE is officially disbanded.
Lance sat back on his heels, studying his work with a critical eye.
“Okay, now spin?”
Azra, the youngest of the Galra refugees at just six years old, spun on her toes, her new dress flaring out around her. She giggled, smoothing the skirt, and fiddled with the hem as she risked a glance at Lance. She had short, fine fur in the palest shade of lavender he’d ever seen, and her eyes were impossibly big. She seemed to be waiting for Lance to pass judgment.
He beamed at her, clapping his hands over his heart. “Ah! You’re so pretty I think I just might faint.”
Azra’s ears pricked up, quivering in that way Lance was learning meant something like a flush of pride, and she planted her hands on her hips. “You can’t faint,” she said, pouting. “You said you’d give me a braid.”
She looked so offended that Lance would forget his promise of braids (not that Azra knew what a braid was), that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course, of course. How silly of me.” He stood and went to one of the benches lining the gathering hall the refugees had turned into a playroom. Sitting, he patted the space beside him, and Azra scampered over. “One braid for the pretty lady coming right up.”
She fidgeted as Lance brushed her hair, which was even softer than Lance would have expected. Like many of the refugees, Azra’s hair—the longer stuff on top of her head, which was several shades darker than the rest of her fur—had been long and matted when she’d first arrived. But a good shower and a ruthless trim by her big sister, Zuza, had worked wonders. It hadn’t even ended up as short as Azra had feared.
Still, a little bit of flair couldn’t hurt, and Lance was more than happy to provide.
Zuza, sitting on a pile of cushions across the room and reading to Maka and Bee, smiled at Lance. This interrupted the flow of her story, and Bee booed loudly, protesting that the grumpy adviser wouldn’t smile like that. “Reading,” with these kids, involved a lot more dramatic flair than usual. (Lance approved.) He and Zuza hadn’t had a lot of time to talk without kids scampering underfoot, but he already liked her. All the kids regarded her as a big sister, though Azra was always quick to point out that she’d been Zuza’s sister the longest. From the very first day she arrived on Revinor, which was only about four months ago.
Zuza, like all of the Galra over the age of thirteen, was dressed in spare clothes from the castle’s stores. Pidge was still holding their measurements hostage, like they thought Lance would actually try to make them all new clothes simultaneously.
He had managed to bribe the kids’ measurements out of them, though it had cost him a promise of a knitted scarf. (“Later, Lance. If I find out you’ve started before you’re done with the clothes for the refugees, I swear I’ll replace your shampoo with food goo.”)
Lance had sworn up and down until Pidge relented, then set to work on the first of what was sure to be a mountain of new clothes. He’d started small—a jacket or a dress for each of the eight kids, simple but undeniably theirs. Azra was the last, and only because she’d refused to tell him what she wanted until the other seven all had their clothes.
Lance had never figured out if that was suspicion of his abilities or pure selflessness.
Either way, Lance was happy to finally give Azra her dress, and he was grinning as he sectioned out her hair. She sat with her legs tucked up under her, tracing the starry patterns on the bright pink fabric of her dress (her favorite color, according to Zuza), and only fidgeted a little as Lance worked. Her hair came only to her shoulders, so Lance had to get a little creative with the braid.
Fortunately, his sister Luz was something of a braid snob. Lance’s mom was hands-down the braid champion of the Mendoza family, but Lance could more than hold his own. From French to Dutch to fishtail, Lance could do any basic braid in his sleep.
With Azra, he opted for a pair of lace braids starting at her hairline and curving around behind her ears, joining at the back of her skull in a tiny ponytail.
When he’d finished, Lance twisted to look for the mirror he’d grabbed with his combs and hairties.
Azra’s face lit up at the sight of her new hairdo, and she shrieked in delight, charging toward her sister and interrupting the story—something Lance had only half been paying attention to. It reminded him of Earth stories, with an exiled princess being guarded by a dragon… except he was pretty sure this princess was Voltron. (At least, he was pretty sure Zuza had said something about before her spirit was split into five… He figured that was what you got when you searched for storybooks in the castle-ship’s archives.)
Zuza smiled and complimented the braids, then enticed Azra into sitting down to finish the story with the others.
Lance stood to leave, only to be stopped by a cry of, “Halt, villain!”
Lance turned, arching an eyebrow, and found Zuza brandishing a spork like a sword. The kids were gathered behind her, wide-eyed in anticipation, and Zuza waggled her eyebrows in a silent plea to play along.
“Villain?” Lance asked, then spread his feet in his best parody of Keith and flipped one of his combs around so the slender handle pointed back at Zuza. “And who are you?”
Zuza grinned, tossing her hair. “I am Princess Altea, the Ancient One! And I am here to stop you, Wicked King Zeltor!”
Lance, honestly, had no clue which story this was. He hadn’t spend much (any) time in the archives, and it wasn’t like Allura went around telling bedtime stories to the paladins. But the story of a wicked king seemed pretty straight-forward, and the kids were all very clearly interested in this new evolution of story time.
Really, what was the harm in playing along?
The harm, he soon discovered, was a bruised knee and some pulled hair when three Galra kids answered Princess Altea’s call to arms and helped her topple the Wicked King. Literally.
It was worth it.
Pidge sat back in their chair, blowing out a long sigh. It had been a full month since they’d taken these research logs from Vel-17, but now they could officially say they were done. Every last entry, all sixteen hundred of them (most, thankfully, a curt nothing to report), translated, annotated, and summarized in a couple pages of notes.
For all the good it did.
Beside them, Keith rubbed his eyes and set the tablet down. “Did they even know what they were doing?” he asked. “Because it sounds like they were just growing crystals in him for the vrekking fun of it.”
“After everything else they did, I might actually buy that,” Pidge muttered, crossing their arms on the desk and dropping their head down onto them. Progress had slowed considerably since they’d reached the entries about Matt, and Pidge knew it was entirely their fault. Keith was pissy and irritable after each new translation, but he didn’t let it get inside his head. Not the way Pidge did.
They hadn’t been sleeping well. Not that their sleep schedule had been the most consistent to begin with, but there had been a definite down-swing these last two weeks. Talking with Matt had helped, but not a whole lot. Pidge still lay awake most nights, or stayed up with Green analyzing the code from Shiro’s arm until they passed out sometime near dawn.
Maybe if either of their major problems had been solvable, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But a month of translating research logs hadn’t given told them anything new about the crystals imbedded in Matt’s body except that they’d been implanted after the E-dep experiment. And Shiro’s arm remained as unintelligible as ever. The code was like nothing Pidge had ever seen, so figuring out even the simplest commands was next to impossible.
Finding the override? Yeah, maybe in a year or two, if they were lucky.
“So… now what?” Keith asked after a long moment of silence.
Now we throw these damn records in a black hole somewhere so no one else can use them, Pidge thought. Except that wouldn’t solve anything. The Galra already knew whatever it was they’d learned from CORE, and as much as Pidge wanted to set Keith’s tablet on fire, they resisted the urge.
Scrolling up through their own notes, Pidge looked for anything other threads that could be pulled to try to unravel this mess. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything else in these logs,” they said, then rolled their chair over to the terminal on the wall, where they could pull up the castle-ship’s systems. “We’re probably better off looking at one of those other labs they mentioned near the end. Or those other projects—Project Robeast and Project Balmera. Either of those sound familiar?”
“Project Robeast started out trying to give soldiers cybernetic enhancements,” Keith said, and Pidge listened as they searched the nav computers. “The recent reports were all classified, but given the sorts of cybernetically enhanced monsters we’ve been facing? I’m guessing Haggar got ambitious.”
Pidge nodded, frowning at the No Match message flashing on their screen. “And Project Balmera?”
“Never heard of it.”
Grunting, Pidge tapped a button to project their holomap into the air above the desk. “Okay, so I guess we’re looking into the robeasts next,” they said. “Seeing as the researchers apparently wanted to send Matt somewhere that doesn’t exist.”
Keith frowned, and Pidge fluttered a hand at the display.
“Hovent Sector, that’s what the logs said. Scheduled for transfer to Hovent Sector lab. Except there is no Hovent Sector. Not in our computers.”
“Could be a code,” Keith said.
Pidge groaned, then swiped the tablet screen. The notes disappeared, then reappeared on the wall behind the desk, almost lost in the tangle of photos, notes, miniature holomaps, and soundbytes Pidge and Keith had added to their board as they dug through the research. There had been times when Pidge felt as if they were on the edge of connecting the dots and making some grand discovery that would fix everything the researchers had done to Matt.
Now, though, it looked like a giant pile of nothing. Pidge tapped a button to create a new window near the notes—green for unanswered questions—and typed, Hovent Sector lab: code name?
“We’ll come back to that later,” they said. “I did at least manage to find the other planet, Maorel.”
“Where Project Robeast is being conducted?” Keith asked. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, like you care.”
Keith smiled at that, but he didn’t argue, and Pidge leaned back in their chair.
“Look, CORE and the robeasts are connected somehow. They’ve got prisoners being shuttled from one to the other, and now everyone from Vel-17 gets shipped off to Maorel?” Pidge shook their head. “There’s some connection there. I don’t know what, but somehow stuffing people in boxes and turning them into monsters are part of the same big picture.”
“And you want to know what it is.”
“Of course I do!” Pidge threw their hands in the air, feeling drained.
They didn’t know how to explain it, their visceral need to understand. It had always been a part of them, but it was stronger lately, like being denied answers on so many fronts made it that much more urgent that they learn something—anything. They’d even started taking Altean lessons on the training deck between bouts of translating research logs and picking apart Galra tech programming and heading down to the computer core to talk to Sa about how memory profiles worked.
“Information is important, Keith,” they said. “We don’t have a lot of advantages in this war, so we need to know everything we can—especially about the robeasts. We’re facing more and more of them, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re getting more dangerous. The thing we faced on Arus was physically tough, but it was basically just a warship with legs. And now? Now we’ve got imitation Lions and a cloud of nanobots that can drill through our shields.”
“They’re stronger,” Keith admitted. “And cleverer.”
“If not for this whole dual paladin thing, I don’t know if we would’ve all survived those fights. We have to find out what these things are, and how to stop them for good.” They looked up, expecting to find resistance on Keith’s face, but he only looked thoughtful.
“We should take this to Shiro and Allura.”
“Yeah?”
Keith nodded. “It is dangerous, but you’re right. We need every advantage we can get.”
Akira woke shortly after noon in a strange bed, his shoulder and ankle still sharp daggers of pain. Naomi had cleaned and bandaged his gunshot wound last night, hardly batting an eyelash when he refused to remove his shirt. Bad enough he’d been forced to flee without his binder; he really didn’t want to get naked in front of a near stranger.
Naomi had frowned slightly, then nodded and cut away enough of his collar to get at the bullet hole. When she’d finished cleaning his wound and bandaging his ankle—sprained, she said, but not broken—she’d left him to rest. By the time he woke she’d deposited a change of clothes on the desk chair, including a sports bra, which was better than nothing, though it left him feeling more exposed than a real binder would have. The clothes (graphic tee, hoodie, and sweats) fit surprisingly well for something that had probably come straight out of Naomi’s closet, though they were probably looser on her. They weren’t bloody, though, which was reason enough to go through the trouble of changing.
Naomi had found crutches at some point while Akira was sleeping, and he grabbed them now, experimenting a bit near the safety of the bed to find what worked best. It hurt to put pressure on his right leg, but the hole through his left shoulder screamed enough just moving his arm around. Trying to support himself with that arm wasn’t happening.
Eventually he settled for one crutch and hobbled out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, where he smelled soup. He slowed at the sound of voices, but not for long.
“...going to be just fine, Karen, I swear,” said Naomi, then paused. “Actually, I think that’s him now.”
Karen and Eli were both in the kitchen with Naomi, Eli at the stove tasting the soup, Karen restless at the table opposite Naomi. Both spun toward the door as Akira hobbled in, and Akira went a little weak-kneed at the sight of them. Naomi may have saved his life, but he didn’t know her, didn’t know if she was working for Iverson.
It might have been silly of him, but having friends here made Naomi that much more trustworthy.
“Akira!” Karen cried, stopping just short of hugging him, like she wasn’t sure where to touch him that wouldn’t aggravate his wounds.
Eli wasn’t quite so cautious. He stepped up beside Akira on the bullet wound side and wrapped his arm carefully around Akira’s waist. Akira leaned on him, grateful for the support, and let himself be led to a nearby chair. He was hardly settled before Eli disappeared, returning with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a glass of water.
Akira stared at the soup and laughed.
“What?” Karen asked, alarmed. She sat beside him, one hand on his arm, her face deeply lined with worry. “Are you okay? Naomi said you were shot.”
“I’m fine,” Akira said, and downed half the water in a single drink. Maybe he was just being overly sentimental after his brush with death, but the chicken noodle soup and its reminder of his childhood—miserable days spent in bed with the flu, Takashi fretting over him so much that he ended up sick a day or two later—made him want to cry.
It was nice, though. Like getting shot was no worse than a stomach bug.
The story came out slowly, told mostly by Naomi, who actually had some idea what was going on. All Akira could offer was the story of his own escape. Being woken by Naomi’s calls, hearing the special ops soldiers outside his door, trading fire with them, jumping out the window.
Fatigue had hit him hard just inside city limits, so he hadn’t had a chance to ask Naomi many questions about what she knew or why she was helping him.
Now she had three sets of eyes watching her, and she stared down into her empty coffee mug in silence for several long moments. She closed her eyes, sighed, and pushed her cup away. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything, but this could get long, and Akira should keep that leg up. Living room?”
Akira moved—let himself be moved, really—without protest, though he kept his eyes on Naomi. Everything, she said. Akira was skeptical. Naomi had had plenty of time to come up with a lie, if she wanted to. Akira knew there was no reason not to trust this woman, but if Iverson was willing to kill Akira in his sleep, he was certainly capable of sending a spy to gain his trust.
Apparently bullets spread paranoia like the plague.
Once they were settled, Eli and Karen flanking Akira on the couch, Naomi across from them in an armchair with her legs curled beneath her, she started talking.
“Something strange is going on with the Garrison,” Naomi said without preamble. “I’ve worked for them as a cargo pilot for the last ten years, but lately my shipments have gotten… weird.”
“Weird how?” Akira asked, frowning at her. At first glance, he’d assumed she was close to his own age, but she looked older now without makeup, her hair hanging limp around her face. She might easily have been in her early thirties, he supposed. “I haven’t noticed anything unusual.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You graduated, what? Four years ago?”
“Five,” Akira said.
Naomi gestured as if to say, Well there you go. “It started about five years ago, though it only got bad the last couple months. The Garrison’s moving something they don’t want anyone to know about. Top secret flights to the middle of nowhere. You ask too many questions, you get reassigned. Then my contract ends, and I find you folks out here accusing Iverson of murder.”
“It’s true,” Karen said coldly. “He might not have done it personally, but I guarantee he had a hand in it.”
“Oh, I’m not denying he had a hand in it.” Naomi leaned back, her hands held up to ward off Karen’s frosty glare. “Iverson’s a slippery old…” She pressed her lips together. “He’s a bastard, and if we assume your kid’s text was right, I’ll bet Iverson was the one holding Matt somewhere instead of telling the world he’d survived.”
Karen went rigid, her hand gripping Akira’s so hard he was afraid she was going to break his fingers. “Then you think the crew of the Persephone survived?”
“I can’t say for sure, but… it wouldn’t surprise me.” Naomi’s voice was earnest, but she wouldn’t look Karen in the eyes, and that made Akira’s hackles rise. “But for what it’s worth? I’d bet my life that those three cadets are still alive.”
It was Eli’s turn to stiffen, and Akira struggled not to curl his lip at Naomi. Something about this stunk. The way she was playing right to their weaknesses, winning Eli and Karen over with assurances about their family members. It felt like a lie, no matter how bright and innocent Naomi’s eyes were, and it was all Akira could do not to pounce.
“What makes you say that?” he asked instead, struggling for civility. It was one thing for Iverson to try to kill him, but to torment his friends like this, to get their hopes up just to win their trust so he could—what? So he could kill them all in one blow? So he could pay them back for all the headaches they’d caused? Whatever the reason, it was something Akira couldn’t forgive. “If they aren’t dead, then where are they? Why haven’t they contacted us?”
“They can’t,” Naomi said. “They can’t reach you any more than Iverson can reach them. They found out he was hiding Matt, and he probably tried to kill them, but they got away.”
Akira frowned. “Into the desert? I wouldn’t exactly bet my life on their survival if they’ve been living in the wilderness for the last seven weeks.”
Now Naomi was definitely squirming. Karen had picked up on it, her wide eyes narrowing to slits, her shoulders hunching like a cat about to pounce. Even Eli seemed more wary than he’d been a moment earlier.
Seeing this, Naomi held up her hands. “Okay, okay, listen. This is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.” She paused, breathed deep. “The Persephone lost contact with ground control while on Kerberos, right? So how did Matt even get back here? Not like Iverson could just send a rescue mission out there. Persephone was the first ship ever built on Earth that could make that trip.”
“On Earth?”
Eli’s question punctuated a sudden silence, and Naomi curled in on herself, face flushing. “I told you it was going to sound crazy,” she muttered.
Karen was on her feet in a heartbeat. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that my children were abducted by aliens, Miss—what was it? Smith?”
“No.” Naomi hesitated a moment, then lifted her chin, meeting Karen’s eyes coolly. “I don’t expect you to believe it. I have proof.” She stood, hesitating a moment like she expected Karen to physically attack her, then grabbed her laptop from the kitchen table.
She returned to the armchair and clicked around, and Akira tugged Karen back down beside him.
“She’s insane,” Karen hissed. “Do you hear this? Aliens!”
Eli leaned over, his eyes watching Naomi with interest. “You have to admit it fits.” Akira and Karen both turned to look at him, and Eli flushed. “What? It does. Not like she’s the first one to suggest it.”
Groaning, Akira rubbed his face. He was tired, sore, and wired all to hell, and now this. Aliens. He supposed he should be grateful that his suspicions could all be attributed to Naomi’s fringe theories and not any malicious intent, but even so…
Nodding to herself, Naomi turned her computer around and set it on the coffee table in front of Akira and the others. “This was uploaded the day after the supposed training accident, and it was filmed out in the desert near the Garrison.” She’d brought up a YouTube video, amateur footage that looked like it had been shot on a cell phone. It was shaky and out of focus, and Akira had no idea what he was looking at. A lot of sky, a lot of stone.
The kid behind the camera swore suddenly, and the camera whipped up. Something flashed past, big and metallic.
Then it was gone, and the teen turned his phone around to babble about UFOs and how amazing it was that he’d caught it on camera.
When the video ended, Akira looked up at Naomi, thoroughly unimpressed. “A UFO,” he said flatly. “Seriously. The kid was probably skipping class to get high and got freaked out by a Garrison test flight.”
Naomi scowled at him, yanked the computer back onto her lap, and restarted the video. She paused it several seconds in, then turned the computer again so Akira could see the image she’d frozen it on.
Okay, so it wasn’t a Garrison ship. Not one Akira knew, anyway—it was too big for that, flying too low to the ground. Maybe an experimental craft, a stealth bomber or something, but something like that wouldn’t have been painted that garish shade of blue.
Naomi leaned forward, smiling grimly. “You’re not convinced. That’s fine. I’ve got more proof.”
Karen slumped back in her seat, rubbing her eyes, and Akira nearly did the same. This was going to be a very long day.
If the last week had taught Dez anything, it was that she hated irony.
Thace was a traitor to Zarkon’s empire, yes, but not in the way Prorok thought. He’d been hacking Galra computers to find information to pass along to the Accords, yes, but not through any relay service they knew about.
Dez, a traitor herself, was trying to prove another traitor innocent of treason he, for once, had not actually committed.
And she was really vrekking tired of it.
It had been seven solar cycles since Thace’s arrest, and although she was making progress, it was slow going. Prorok insisted on near-constant updates, which meant Dez had had to improvise more than once, then deal with what she’d said under pressure.
She was a good liar (she’d better be, after twenty years as a spy), but it was exhausting.
“Commander Prorok wishes to speak with you, sir.”
Dez stiffened as her lieutenant spoke, and bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault.
(It wasn’t Thace’s fault, either, no matter how much she wanted to sock him in the jaw for putting her in this position. Someone had framed him, and Dez herself had made the choice to tie her fate to his by defending him. She could have had him executed and been done with it.)
But no, she had to go and be the noble one. Damn Keena for making her like this.
Sighing, Dez switched off her display and followed her lieutenant out into the corridor to answer Prorok’s summons. She smoothed her fur and gathered her thoughts, trying to get back into the lie she’d been building over the last few days. (Lies atop lies, and damn the universe for making her life so complicated.)
“Commander Prorok,” she said as soon as she’d reached the bridge. She bowed low and waited for him to acknowledge her. “You sent for me?”
“Yes.” Prorok glanced around, muttered a last few orders to one of his officers, then gestured for Dez to follow him to a private meeting room nearby. “What’s the word?”
Same as twelve hours ago, Keena thought bitterly, but she regulated her expression to something far more bland. “Little to report, sir, I’m afraid. I remain convinced of Lieutenant Commander Thace’s innocence in the matter.”
“And have you found the identity of the real traitor?”
Dez’s jaw tightened. “Not yet, sir.” Though, frankly, she was about two days away from naming the next person to piss her off and letting them shoulder the consequences of Prorok’s wrath. All that had held her back thus far was knowing that someone had found Thace out. They may have had to forge the evidence, but it was no coincidence they’d chosen Thace as their target.
Had Jost named Thace under torture? How much else had Jost spilled?
Dez didn’t know, and that was pushing her to the edge of her composure. “I have access to Thace’s personal keys now, sir, and I’ve located the anomalies that the real traitor left behind. It shouldn’t be long now.”
Hopefully it wouldn’t be long. She didn’t have any real proof, but she’d taken the circumstantial evidence and tried to work backwards. Whoever had framed Thace was high enough in the chain of command to have heard the recordings of Jost’s interrogation or noticed when certain restricted files were accessed, or whatever else they'd done to figure him out—but they weren’t so high that they could simply take their suspicions to Commander Prorok. They knew Thace was a traitor, but they’d acted on it only indirectly.
Dez had been trying hard to find alternative explanations, but she kept coming back to one in particular: whoever had framed Thace knew he wasn’t working alone. They hadn’t tipped their hand because they were trying to catch her.
Which might mean Dez’s only option was to use herself as bait in a trap that would simultaneously satisfy Prorok’s paranoia and give her a legitimate reason to silence the framer before he could get both her and Thace killed.
“Actually, sir,” Dez said, risking a glance at Prorok’s face (frustrated, confused, twitching with nerves… Good, maybe he’d be willing to bend a few rules for the sake of finding answers.) “Regardless of who it was who accessed those files, the fact remains that someone did. It may help my investigation if I know what the traitor was after.”
Prorok stiffened, frowning at her. “The restricted files?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “You don’t need to release them to the entire department, but I need to look at the whole picture here.”
She held her breath, praying Prorok would give her this much. She couldn’t talk to Thace, but seeing what he’d seen might at least help her figure out how to draw out the person who’d framed him.
Finally, Prorok relented. “Fine. But remember those files are for your eyes only.”
Dez smiled to herself. “Of course, sir.” My eyes, and those of the Accords.
A headache was building behind Hunk’s eyes that might have been frustration or anxiety or pure exhaustion. What time was it? He thought it very likely that he’d worked straight through at least one meal. Possibly straight through last night, for that matter.
“You need a break?” Matt asked from across the table. They’d set up shop in the same room on the eighth floor way back when they’d first arrived at the Castle of Lions, mostly in the interest of sharing tools. They’d kept on sharing the workspace because both found it useful to have someone nearby to bounce ideas off of—now more than ever.
“I’m fine,” said Hunk, rubbing his eyes. It was probably better that he not know how long he’d been trying to figure out the tech behind Shiro’s Galra tech arm. This room consumed every waking minute not already spoken for by training, missions, and other minor necessities like food and sleep. (And in all honesty, he’d slept and eaten in here more often than not this last week.)
And still they weren’t making progress.
Matt, of course, saw straight through Hunk’s lie. He’d probably have spent just as much time in here as Hunk, except for the fact that Shiro showed up each night and refused to leave until Matt went with him. They shared a room now, which Hunk thought was adorable. Matt was happier for it, too, even if he did grumble about suddenly having a bed-time again.
The point was Matt was sleeping, and Shiro was sleeping, and once they were gone, Hunk took his work down to the Green Lion’s hangar or Pidge came up here. They kept each other company through the long nights, working in silence until their brains ached, then curled up in a nest of blankets for a power nap before they dove back into the fight.
When was the last time Hunk had seen his own bed?
Didn’t matter. Hunk blinked a few times to clear the weariness away, then met Matt’s eyes. “Need to stop staring at the hologram for five minutes, maybe,” he said, “but I’m not turning in just yet.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Matt yawned, stretching. “Any new insights?”
Hunk grimaced. “The Galra are really freaking advanced?”
“I said new insights,” Matt grumbled, but there was no venom in his words.
The words prickled anyway, mostly because they were true. The work had been slow going, even with four of them all working on it nonstop. Hunk waved a hand at the hologram, which was stripped down to the solid metal core. “I mean, I’m pretty sure this thing is at least fifty percent magic, so good luck figuring out how that works. But even just looking at the mechanics of it, it’s so far beyond anything I’ve ever seen?”
He reached out, swiping through components he’d picked apart in his working file and annotated with questions and observations.
“I mean, there’s the carbon-fiber skeleton, which isn’t really carbon-fiber, it’s vello-fiber, but whatever. It’s a bone. Cool. Except it’s got conductive properties that seem to have something to do with the weird glowy vroom thing. And it’s got a rod of pure quintessence at its core, which Coran said isn’t possible, but hell if I know why.
“And then there’s these whackadoodle things.” He zoomed out to what would have been muscles in a human arm. In Shiro’s arm, it was instead filled with little hollow pockets and parallel sheets of something and little metal balls in the palm that never seemed to do anything even when Shiro was using his arm. “There’s no pistons, and there’s not really any kind of synthetic muscle, and, god, even Coran doesn’t have a clue what this stuff is. I keep telling you, this arm shouldn’t be able to move, not with what it’s got stuffed inside it.”
Another swipe, and now it was the exoskeleton he was looking at.
“And, hey look, it’s skin. Metal skin that’s way too flexible to be pure metal, whatever the scanners say. Oh, and its specific heat is, like, ridiculously low. Honestly, I’m surprised Shiro doesn’t burst into flame every time he gets dressed just from the friction. But wait! That’s not enough! There’s a billion tiny little pores that don’t seem to do anything, and the metal is weirdly insulated—but only in the arm part, the hand part is basically a five-fingered lightning rod.”
He realized he’d stopped breathing somewhere in the middle of his rant, and fell silent, bending over in a belated attempt to get oxygen into his lungs.
It was no use. He was an engineer—that was the whole reason he’d gone to the Garrison, the one thing he really wanted to do with his life, and, god, he felt like a toddler whacking at a spaceship with a sledgehammer. And he knew he was missing things, he knew it. This arm was so damn advanced there was no way there were only five distinct systems inside it—three if you didn’t count the bone and the skin—but Hunk couldn’t hardly tell what was self-contained and what was interconnected and what just happened to be touching and--
“Hunk. Hunk.” Matt turned off both their holograms, then rounded the table to lay a hand on Hunk’s arm, watching him with pained eyes. “It’s okay—no, stop. Just listen for a second.”
Hunk lifted his head, trying to focus on Matt’s voice and the soothing motion of his hand, rubbing up and down the length of Hunk’s arm—and not the way Hunk’s whole body had tensed up, waves of cold washing over him. Anxiety clawed at his throat, making it hard to breathe, and the rush of embarrassment that followed only made it all worse. Matt had already witnessed one panic attack this week; the last thing Hunk wanted was a repeat performance.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. It seemed like any little thing could set him off these days, and even the Ativan waiting in his pocket no longer had the power to reassure him. One little pill—what difference could it possibly make? After his last panic attack, Matt had gone with Hunk to see Coran and ask whether the castle had any way to synthesize more Ativan. It didn't. Sure, Altea had had that kind of tech, but apparently it had been new even back when Voltron was a household name, and the castle-ship wasn't on the short list for early access. So here Hunk was, stuck with his last life saver burning a hole in his pocket waiting for the day things finally reached the breaking point.
“Shiro--” he began, though his thoughts were in too much of a jumble to know where he meant to take the sentence. He just knew that Shiro was counting on him, and Hunk couldn’t let him down.
“Shiro’s fine,” Matt said, forcefully, calmly, his voice at odds with the shadows under his eyes that said maybe he hadn’t been sleeping as well as Hunk had assumed. Were any of them? Were they all slowly working themselves to death, too high-strung to admit they needed to step back, too tied up in the problems of the universe to let themselves relax?
And Shiro—Shiro was the least fine of any of them. Oh, sure, he was holding himself together, mostly. He was managing that where the others could see him. But he had a tracking device in his arm and a chip that gave Haggar free access to his mind, and no amount of staring at the schematics had brought Hunk any closer to identifying either.
“I know, Hunk,” Matt said, because apparently Hunk had been babbling. “I’m frustrated too, but pushing yourself past your limits isn’t going to help anyone.” He paused, the motion of his hand slowing. “I’m doing it, too, Hunk. I know I am, and I know it’s not healthy, but I’ve at least got Shiro trying to keep me from overdoing it. When was the last time you took a break?”
Hunk hesitated. “I was going to take one after dinner,” he lied.
Matt frowned, and Hunk felt the anxiety close tighter around his throat. There had to be a way to figure this out before Haggar tracked them down, took control of Shiro, turned him against his friends…
“Okay, nope.” Matt stood, tugging on Hunk’s arm. “Come on. We’re taking a break.”
“Matt, I can’t--”
“One hour,” Matt said, staring hard at Hunk. “You can pick what we do, but we are spending at least one hour away from those schematics. Cook something, watch a movie, let me teach you some Altean card games, take a nap, Hunk, I don’t care.”
Hunk hesitated. An hour wouldn’t really hurt anything, would it? He’d put in plenty of hours already, and made no progress. And his head was feeling muddy today. Maybe it would do him some good to come at the problem with fresh eyes.
But before he could agree to Matt’s terms, the intercom chimed, the signal for a standard all-call to the bridge. Not an emergency, but not optional. Hunk squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the band of pressure that had only just begun to loosen from around his chest.
Well, if they ended up going on a mission, that would at least give him time with Yellow, and she always found a way to siphon off the anxiety that dogged Hunk’s steps. Hell, maybe Pidge knew what they were doing, setting up shop in their hangar. Hunk might have to give that a try.
Later, though. Right now, he had a job to do.
Hunk and Matt were the last ones to the bridge. Allura took one glance at them and her mood—already hovering in the nervous expanse between pessimistic and downright dismal—took a nosedive. Both looked half asleep on their feet, dark circles under their eyes, steps dragging as they joined the other paladins. Keith was already on his feet, and Matt dropped gratefully into the red paladin’s station. Shay took one look at Hunk and quickly vacated her spot in the other chair.
Allura frowned. “What’s wrong with you two? You look like you haven’t slept in a week!”
Matt looked up guiltily, and Hunk froze halfway down onto his chair, avoiding Allura’s gaze. “Sorry,” Matt said. “We’ve got a lot of projects going on. We… might have overdone it.”
There was nothing in his voice to say his words were anything less than simple truth, but Allura saw the way his eyes darted briefly toward Shiro.
Of course. The whole team had been understandably shaken by the revelation of the override in Shiro’s arm, even more so after the mysterious Hythan’s claims that Shiro was being tracked. It had been bad enough for those of them who could do nothing except take on more of the chores so that Hunk, Matt, Pidge, and Coran had more time to address the real problem.
But those four had worked with a feverish urgency to try to unravel the secrets of Shiro’s arm. The amount of pressure they were all under was more than a trained soldier could be expected to bear, let alone three humans still adapting to their role as paladins.
It seemed Allura had waited too long to step in.
She turned her gaze toward Pidge, who seemed more alert than their brother and Hunk, if only marginally. They seemed to hold a personal interest in the information that might be found on Maorel, a desperation that bordered on obsession, and Allura doubted they would consent to stay behind, even if she suggested it.
But perhaps she could get the other two to stay here and rest. Maorel would likely be too heavily guarded for a full assault, anyway, so Allura could justify sending a smaller team. Hunk and Matt never needed to know she was keeping them back for their own good.
“Right.” Shiro straightened, frowning at Allura as though trying to pick apart the reason for her prolonged silence. Whether or not he found an answer, Allura didn’t know, but he turned to the other paladins, then nodded at Pidge. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started. Pidge, why don’t you tell everyone what you found?”
Pidge typed a series of commands on their gauntlet’s keyboard, and the holomap powered up, showing the planet Maorel. It was the only intact planet in a system otherwise swarming with asteroids, and the castle’s systems had very little to say about it. Average gravity, breathable atmosphere, but no vegetation. The long-range scanners showed no signs of civilization, but Pidge remained adamant that a base existed somewhere on the planet. Cloaked, perhaps, or buried so deep the castle couldn’t detect it from this distance.
“Keith and I were going through the records from Vel-17,” Pidge said, staring up at the hologram with an unnervingly intense stare. “They mentioned a lab here, on Maorel. I think its where they make robeasts.”
Suddenly everyone was paying very close attention to what Pidge had to say.
“Wait,” Hunk said. “If this is where they make robeasts, doesn’t that mean there are going to be robeasts? Here? Like a lot of them?”
Pidge blinked at him. “Most likely, yes.”
“Which is why this won’t be an ordinary mission,” Allura said. She stepped forward, drawing the paladins’ eyes to her. “We cannot risk a battle here. One robeast is challenge enough; if there are half a dozen here, or more, we don’t stand a chance.”
“So we go in quiet,” Shiro said, and somehow he made it sound as if they’d discussed this beforehand. Allura met his eyes, and he glanced at Matt and Hunk so quickly Allura doubted anyone else saw.
Allura smiled, pleased that he'd picked up on her thoughts. “Yes,” she said. “Pidge, Coran, have you figured out how the Galra are tracking Shiro?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Coran said. “None of our scanners detect any sort of signal coming from his arm. Nothing that Zarkon should be able to detect from more than a system away, at any rate.”
Allura grimaced. “Very well. Then we’ll just have to be quick about this. It took nearly thirty minutes for the fleet to show up last time, so that gives us some wiggle room.”
“Quick about what, exactly?” Matt asked. “If they’re making robeasts there, doesn’t that mean there are prisoners down there? People like Simsil and Aurel?”
“This is not a rescue mission,” Allura said, before Matt could get there. “We don’t have the resources for anything like that. It’s too loud, and it takes too long. We’re here for information only—with luck, that information will enable us to stop Project Robeast in its tracks.”
Matt looked mutinous, and Allura turned away. He was stubborn at the best of times, and she doubted sleep deprivation was helping matters any.
“We’ll have two teams on the ground for this one,” she said. “Shiro and I will come in from one side. Pidge and Lance, you’ll take the Green Lion down to our second entry point.”
“What about me?” Keith demanded. “I’m the Galra here—if anyone can move around in there undetected, it’s me.”
“In full paladin armor?” Allura asked, shaking her head. “Too many people know you. Besides, I need you and Matt to stay back. If things go wrong, we’ll need the Red Lion ready to cover our escape.”
“You too, Hunk, Shay.” Shiro fixed them both with a solemn look. “If this goes bad, it’s going to go bad. Who knows,” he added, lightening his voice a little. “It might be just the chance you need to sync up.”
Hunk laughed feebly, though he looked uncomfortable at the thought of staying behind. Shay, on the other hand, seemed relieved. She’d gone rigid when Matt brought up the prisoners, and Allura knew the young Balmeran wouldn’t have been able to stomach a walk through an enemy prison knowing she was going to have to leave the victims behind.
Truth be told, Allura wasn’t certain Lance would be able to stomach it, either, but she wasn’t about to send Pidge in alone.
“We go in, we get whatever information we can, and we get out,” Allura said, watching Lance especially as she spoke. He caught her gaze and held it, tensing at her implication. “Fifteen minutes, and we’re gone.”
Val’s steps slowed as she entered the hangar. It was massive, bigger than a football stadium, with dozens of ships lined up inside. She didn’t get much of a chance to look around, of course; the guards escorting her prodded her with their guns until she got moving again.
She didn’t care. She was here. The hangar. Her way out.
Now if she could just find her way back here without the guards and with someone who knew how to fly one of these things… then she might be in business.
First she had to survive her own bluff. She’d been thrilled at first when she realized that not only had Vanda taken the bait, but she wasn’t even bothering to blindfold Val for the walk to the metaphorical front door. That was before Val realized that the indifference might not be mere overconfidence.
It didn’t matter what Val saw if she wound up dead before the day was out.
No. She couldn’t afford to think like that. She was going to take Vanda down to Earth, show her around some caves and try to convince the woman Val had just forgotten how to get to the Altean cache where all the writings were, then hope to God Vanda didn’t kill her on the spot.
Six guards had accompanied Val and Vanda to the hangar—two Galra and four robots, all with guns, all at least a foot taller than her—and more were waiting on the ship Vanda led them to. Val shouldn’t have been surprised at the choice. This ship was several times larger than the other ships in the hangar, built for something closer to twenty people than two, and decked out with glowing purple crystals and magenta symbols painted across the hull.
Honestly, the whole thing just screamed ‘insecure yuppie egomaniac probably overcompensating for her tiny fangs.’
Two of the robots kept tight hold of Val’s arms (like she’d actually try something trapped on a tiny ship with more than a dozen armed guards) and positioned her at the back of the cockpit. Vanda stepped up behind the pilot and spoke in low tones as the ship powered up. Val would have expected a roar of engines, but all she got was a quiet whine, a rumbling in her toes, and a queasy sensation as the ship began to move.
Vanda rounded on Val. “All right, human, where are we going?”
“The canyons,” Val said, licking her lips. “Out in the desert near where that ship crashed. It’s… technically it’s on Garrison property, I guess, but--”
Vanda waved her hand. She was smiling—smiling! And maybe it was Val’s imagination, but she seemed more relaxed now. It could have been simply that Val had given a destination, that this hadn’t all been a poorly thought out escape attempt (which, excuse you, this was a very well thought out escape attempt). But Val couldn’t help thinking that Vanda was soothed by the destination itself.
Had she expected the Altean cache to be on Garrison property?
Hell, Val thought. She knew Vanda and Iverson were working together, but somehow she’d assumed it was a recent thing. Like Lance and the others had gotten caught up in the initial chaos. If Vanda’s goal was right underneath the Garrison, though… There was no way that was a coincidence.
What, then? Had Vanda struck up this alliance because she needed to dig under Iverson’s nose? Or was the Garrison itself stationed out there in the desert to dig for Vanda?
Impossible—the Garrison was decades old. Or… the academy was. They’d only turned it into a full-fledged base five years ago, and seized all the land for miles around to give them room for training exercises and weapons testing and… And to give them privacy as they hunted for ancient alien artifacts? God, Val was turning into a genuine conspiracy theorist.
Suddenly they were in space, the Earth impossibly big. Val felt like she’d just been punched in the gut, her blood rushing in her ears as she realized just how close to home she’d been all this time. So close—close enough that her family might have seen the prison ship in orbit and mistaken it for just another star, just another satellite, just another nothing worth thinking about.
She tried to focus on her breathing as the pilot brought them in. Oceans expanded beneath her, the atmosphere burned red against the windshield, and clouds swallowed them then thinned to nothing.
It was night in Carlsbad, and Val could see the city as a cluster of lights in the distance, a bright spot in the middle of the wide, dark desert, with other clusters visible in the distance. The ship came down over the mountains, swift and silent, and Val did her best to guide them to the canyons.
Not that it mattered where, exactly, they set down, but she had to make a show of it. She thanked whatever fate had made the Galra wary of watching eyes, as the darkness would make her disorientation that much more believable. She’d wondered, idly, over the course of her imprisonment whether the Galra’s glowing yellow eyes were a sign of night vision. If so, maybe they assumed she could see in the dark as well as they did.
Val scuffed her feet along the ground as they disembarked, arms spread wide in search of rock walls she might run into unawares. She could see well enough, she supposed; the night was clear and the moon was near full. But Vanda didn’t need to know that.
“I can’t see anything,” she complained, stumbling along as one of the robots nudged her with its gun. “Why the hell did we have to come at night?”
Vanda growled, but didn’t grace her with a reply.
Fine. Val could play passive-aggressive as well as anyone. “You know, if I break my leg out here, you’re not gonna have anyone to show you where the writings are.”
Luminous eyes turned toward her, and Val couldn’t help her flinch. It was like catching a mountain lion with your flashlight, that glint of predatory awareness, that instant of primal terror where your head wanted to run but your body didn’t remember how.
Eventually, practicality won out, and one of the Galra tossed Val over his shoulder to carry her into the canyons. Not the most dignified way to travel, but it was better than fumbling along over loose rocks and cracks the perfect size for a sprained ankle.
Of course, now that she didn’t have her feet to worry about, there was nothing to distract her from the insistent tug at her gut. Home was so close. Her parents, her brother. Lance’s family, and Karen and Eli and Akira. Less than an hour away by car.
On foot, surrounded by her enemies, it might as well have been the full length of the universe.
It took the better part of an hour for Val to spot any cavern entrance in the darkness. There would have been no way to identify it from any other hole in the rock, so it was lucky Val wasn’t looking for any one in particular. She’d been leading the Galra around as best she could, trying to sound like she was just a little confused, and not like she was pointing at the paths that looked like they would give the Galra the most trouble.
“Are you sure this thing knows where it’s going?” one of the guards muttered, and Val would have protested being called an it if Vanda hadn’t been faster.
“If not, this will all have been a waste of my time,” Vanda growled, her eyes steady on Val’s face. “And I think she knows how very bad for her that would be.”
Val huffed, crossing her arms as her guard set her down. It was cold in the desert at night, especially this late into the fall. It had to be October by now, and Val was dressed only in the thin prison jumpsuit. She’d thought her cell on the prison ship was cold, but at least there she’d had Yir to keep her warm.
“It’s not my fault you brought me here at night,” Val muttered, but she trudged deeper into the cavern, glad when the Galra sent drones floating ahead of them with glowing crystals dangling beneath them. Val supposed down here there was no chance of being spotted, so they were willing to risk the light.
Hey, whatever kept Val from falling down a hole. The thought of starving to death in a cave twenty miles from home was even more depressing than the notion of getting shot trying to escape to find a giant, all-powerful space juggernaut with robot lions for building blocks. (Lions! Like Voltron was some bad crossover between The Lion King and Transformers. God, she really was losing it.)
“How much longer?” Vanda demanded after twenty minutes, pushing her way to the front of the group.
Val hunched her shoulders, trying to hide her unease. “It’s just up here. I’m sure of it.” She paused, measuring the silence. “Mostly sure.”
“Mostly?”
Val allowed herself one fleeting scowl at Vanda’s boot. “Well, excuse me, Commander. I’m tired and hungry and confused, and I’ve spent the last month in a metal box, and then you drag me out here in the middle of the night? You’re lucky I haven’t walked right off a cliff!”
Vanda let her lead them in circles for a few more hours. Val spotted some weird cave paintings at one point and latched onto it as a landmark.
But the caves were big—big enough that Vanda couldn’t be certain that Val was lying through her teeth. Val was pretty sure the Galra had gotten turned around during the hike; one of them kept checking their position on a map that displayed on a holographic screen above his arm, and the rest groaned at every intersection and squinted at the branching tunnels like they couldn’t be sure whether or not they’d been there before.
As near as Val could figure, that was all that saved her life. Some paintings of saber-tooth tigers that Vanda was more than willing to believe were connected to the Alteans. A maze of tunnels that even had the robots marching a little slower than usual.
And a growing fatigue that seemed to be affecting them all. None of the guards were as bad off as Val, who’d been dead on her feet for the last hour, but they were tiring, and Val knew Vanda was going to have to pack it in eventually.
“Vrekt,” Vanda finally muttered, stopping at a fork in the tunnel.
Val plodded onward, her breath ragged, her feet aching, probably bleeding. “We’re almost there,” she panted. “I swear—I swear. Just—five more minutes. I know we’re close--”
She didn’t see the fist coming, and she hit the ground hard, too exhausted to catch herself. Her hip took the brunt of the landing, and her head cracked against a stone, and she curled in on herself, air hissing between her teeth as she willed the tears away. She would not cry where Vanda could see her. She wouldn’t. The vile woman didn’t deserve the satisfaction.
When she was certain her eyes would remain dry, she lifted her head and glared at Vanda. “I’m not lying to you. I saw the writing down here. I just--”
“We’ve been down here for hours,” Vanda said. “And you’ve found nothing.”
The moment of truth was upon her, and Val found she wasn’t prepared in the slightest. Now was when Vanda decided whether the chance of finding this cache was worth keeping Val alive. She prayed it was. There were dozens of Galra here—hundreds, maybe—but they were paranoid of discovery. Val had to hope that the labyrinthine caverns were daunting enough that Vanda would hang onto her guide, at least for a few more days. At least for one more day.
Finally, Vanda scoffed and turned her back on Val, who remained sprawled on the ground, her hip and head aching, her feet sore and singing their relief at finally being given a moment’s rest.
“We will return tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that,” Vanda said. “You will find this cache. For each night you fail, the punishment will grow more severe.” She turned her head, eyes cold and bright. “You would do well not to try my patience.”
Val bowed her head and muttered that of course she wouldn’t, she would find the cache, she would prove herself. Inside, she felt ready to melt. One more day of life. One more day, and she’d seen the way to the hangar.
She would escape yet. Somehow she would.
The Black and Green Lions launched as soon as the castle exited the wormhole. From her place behind Shiro in Black’s cockpit, Allura could sense her team—Lance and Pidge tense in Green’s cockpit, Lance whispering jokes into Pidge’s ear to make them laugh and loosen their death grip on the controls; Hunk and Matt half asleep on the bridge and struggling not to show it; Keith restlessly pacing behind Zelka and Tev and unaware of their uneasy gazes; Shay quiet beside Coran, watching the mission unfold in tense anticipation.
Shiro reached out for her through their bond, trying to soothe her nerves. And her guilt over leaving Hunk and Matt behind. Shiro knew why she’d done it, and he agreed. They’d been working themselves too hard lately.
His reassurances might have been more convincing if he hadn’t been drowning in his own guilt and anxiety. He blamed himself for Matt and Hunk’s exhaustion, which was like a prisoner blaming himself for the wounds his rescuers sustained while freeing him: true only in the most technical of senses. Any of the other paladins knew that the blame really lay with Zarkon’s empire.
Shiro’s mood soured at the unspoken comparison, and Allura extended an apology.
“It’s fine,” Shiro said, muting the comms. “It’s not your fault.”
With a sigh, Allura resisted the urge to physically reach out for him. “It’s not yours, either. And stop worrying about the tracking device.”
Shiro stiffened momentarily, then let out a weak chuckle. “I keep forgetting we kind of share a brain.”
“We do,” Allura said, “so you know what I think of the matter.”
“You think it’s a minor inconvenience at worst,” Shiro said, grimacing. “And I keep telling you, you’re wrong. Zarkon knows where I am. One of these days he’s going to send more than a single warship to stop us.”
“And when he does, Voltron will meet him.” How long had it been since they’d last formed Voltron in battle? Weeks. The paladins were holding up just fine on their own—especially with the new paladins joining the ranks. Keith and Matt had unlocked a drastic increase in speed and agility, and even Allura could feel the Black Lion moving just a little quicker, drawing just a little more strength than she’d had access to before.
They were all growing stronger.
“We’ve always proceeded cautiously before,” Allura said. “When we enter a system, we hold back to observe the defenses. Even then, Zarkon has never managed to mobilize his forces until we’re well into a mission. If we move quickly, we’ll be out before Zarkon has a chance to do anything at all.”
Shiro shook his head, unconvinced, but Maorel loomed large in their viewscreen. There was no more time for argument. “I hope you’re right,” he said, and took them in.
The laboratory took only a few minutes to find. It was the only structure on the planet, but it was built on the scale of giants. The whole complex seemed to comprise a single story, but that one story was ten times Allura’s height. Two dozen round buildings, each large enough around for the castle-ship to land within its walls, dotted the bottom of a massive canyon, a chain stretched out like the long-dry river. Impossibly small hallways connected the buildings.
As they drew nearer, Allura realized these hallways were average in size, but they were dwarfed by the surrounding buildings.
“It looks like the roofs of these buildings open,” Shiro said, heading for one near the southern end of the chain.
Lance whistled, long and low. “Take a look at the BLIP-tech.”
Shiro switched the display, and Allura’s heart leaped into her throat. There were, of course, the usual Galra and sentries patrolling the complex. But there were other signatures, as well. These Black highlighted in blue so her pilots could easily distinguish between the Galra and their prisoners.
The color coding, in this case, was hardly necessary.
In each of the two dozen buildings was a single, massive life signature, part organic, part inorganic. The vitals were weak for creatures that size, and the scanner flagged each with a tiny Unknown species marker.
“Looks like we found the robeasts,” Pidge muttered.
Shiro set the Black Lion down behind the building he’d chosen, checked the cloaking device—twenty-five minutes left—and sealed his helmet. “It looks like it. And this just reinforces what we already know. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t want to try fighting twenty-four robeasts at once.”
The others were all, to one extent or another, unhappy with the situation, but they all agreed with Shiro. And they knew the information they could gather here would do more good, and help more people, than one rushed rescue attempt.
Allura sealed her own helmet, checked to be sure the drone Pidge called Roswell was following, then headed out with Shiro. As soon as her hands left the twin pedestals in Black’s cockpit, her connection with Shiro, and with the other paladins, faded. She stepped out into the shadows of the canyon feeling oddly empty.
But Allura watched in silence as Shiro cut their way in. They hadn’t seen any doors on the outside of the building; indeed the only way in or out appeared to be the hangar doors on the roofs.
“We’re in,” Allura said as she and Shiro headed deeper into the complex.
“Us, too.” Lance’s voice was low and serious. Allura knew he’d been among the most reluctant to leave the prisoners behind, second only to Matt himself. But Lance made no arguments as the mission proceeded.
Shiro paused to glance around a corner. “Remember, we want to be out of this system entirely within fifteen minutes. Find a computer, hack in, and get out.”
“We know,” said Pidge. They’d headed to one of the outlying buildings. It was smaller than the building Shiro and Allura were in, and Pidge suspected it might be a kind of command center. Allura resisted the urge to remind them that it was likely to be more heavily guarded if that was true, reminding herself that Pidge and Lance were as much paladins as her. They could handle themselves.
Allura and Shiro moved quickly, but with no clear destination in mind, their progress was slow. The corridor they’d entered into spiraled around the outside of the building, lined with storage rooms, guard stations, labs, and other such rooms. They saw no computers.
Seven minutes into their allotted fifteen, they stumbled upon an observation deck, and Allura promptly forgot how to breathe.
A robeast lay in the middle of a massive cylinder of a room, sprawled on its back. Its head on the end of its long neck was small and sharp-angled, and two pairs of beady eyes flickered back and forth as Galra drones buzzed around it. It let out a whine like a kicked yupper, only many times larger.
Networks of scaffolding surrounded the beast’s torso, which appeared to be only half finished. The creature had no limbs, no weapons. It seemed unable to move anything but its eyes.
“Oh, quiznak,” Allura breathed.
“What?” Matt demanded. “What is it?”
Shiro licked his lips, his eyes wide and white. He took one trembling step back from the observation window. “It’s a robeast,” he said. “Still under construction, from the look of it. It’s… It seems to be aware of what’s happening.”
Allura hadn’t thought it possible to feel sorry for a robeast, but she felt so now. She felt sick to her stomach, though she forced her distress down. “It can’t be helped,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “We’re here for information.”
Shiro nodded, and they moved on, heading higher into the building.
On the comms, Pidge gave a soft cry of triumph. “Finally! Found the computers. I’m plugging in now.”
“Good,” said Allura. “Get what you can and--”
Before Allura could finish her sentence, an alarm pierced the silence, red lights flashing along the corridor.
They’d been discovered.
|
The interactions between Oliver and Felicity quickly returned to the same way it had been before he left. Even Thea noticed that she finally started behaving like he had never really left, but Felicity assured her that it only stemmed from the fact that Oliver had started noticing her again, and not behaving weird like he did when he returned from his trip.
Much to her displeasure, Dan had tried to approach her at school a few times. Felicity had hoped he would just ignore her and let her be, but thanks to Thea, Dan never got the chance to get too close to her or even finish any of the stupid speeches he had prepared for her.The first few texts that he’d sent her, trying to apologize for his behavior, she had still read, some of them even showed to Oliver, since he demanded to read them when he spotted Dan’s name lighting up on her phone one afternoon. But after almost one week and more than a dozen texts from him, she just kept deleting them unread. Oliver offered to roughen him up a bit if she’d wanted him to, but Felicity waved him off, assuring him that a guy like Dan wouldn’t be worth the trouble.
Despite the way Dan had treated her and made her feel, Felicity was glad that it had happened the way it did. It helped her immensely to make a clean cut and just go on with her life without having to wonder how she’d feel if things got weird after a breakup. Now, she didn’t feel weird. She just despised Dan for the things he’d said and that he’d had her fooled with his ‘I can do patient’ ruse for so long.After a while, he apparently got the hint and avoided her altogether. Felicity still had classes with him and even though she could feel his gaze on her more often than not, she never looked over or acknowledged him.
The weeks passed by and with Oliver’s 23rd birthday around the corner, a fresh breeze of activity waved into the Mansion. Even Tommy had been a more regular guest lately, something Thea very much appreciated. And even though both men had a ton of stuff to work out for their new jobs at their father’s companies, Thea still managed to drag them into the movie room for another one of their chick-flick nights with the men.
“It has been too long since we’ve done a silly movie night with popcorn ice cream.” Thea announced when she pulled a sighing Tommy and her brother into the movie room, followed by a chuckling Felicity who carried the popcorn bowls.
The men both were about to bolt when Thea announced they’d be watching ‘Legally Blonde’, so Thea very reluctantly agreed to let the men pick a movie that night.So instead of Legally Blonde, they got to watch, big surprise, ‘Die Hard’.
Since Oliver and Felicity occupied one of the lounge beds together, Thea instantly plopped into the free space next to Tommy. He didn’t seem to mind much, but kept sending nervous glances towards his best friend, who, luckily for him, seemed completely engrossed with the movie and the giggling blonde next to him.
One might say Thea timed the grabs into the popcorn bowl with Tommy’s, not that she would ever admit that. But casually brushing his hand every now and then quickly turned into a favourite game of hers. She could feel Tommy’s hand freeze for a second every time they touched, and it made her proud that she was able to pull such reactions out of him.
Halfway into the movie, Felicity had fallen asleep in Oliver’s arm while he kept stuffing popcorn in his mouth and watched the movie with rapt attention. Sending her brother another quick glance to make sure he wouldn’t be looking over, Thea waited for another action scene before she leaned over to Tommy, snuggling her nose into his chest, inhaling slightly before she whispered into his ear.“You smell so good I can’t focus on that damn movie.”Tommy’s whole body went completely frozen at that. Thea hadn’t made any move at him at all ever since they returned back from their trip, and he wasn’t sure if he should like it or not. But then again, it wasn’t that he spent much time at the Queen Mansion lately anyway, or got the chance to interact with Thea much. He couldn’t say he didn’t miss it, especially now that she sat so close to him and purred like a cat while she sniffled at his collar.“But I still smell way better than you.” she suddenly whispered and almost sent the popcorn bowl in his lap flying when her fingernails lightly scratched along his thigh.
Tommy sent a panicked glance over to the couch next to them and luckily Oliver didn’t seem to have noticed what was going on on the other lounge bed.
“You need to stop that.” Tommy whisper-hissed into her ear and stilled her hand before it could drive him insane.
“Or what?” she chuckled slightly. “It’s not that you can do anything without making my brother notice.” Thea almost purred at him and kept drawing circles with her fingernails on his thigh, even though Tommy kept her hand in a death grip.
The close proximity that the two suddenly were in made him realize Thea hadn’t lied minutes ago.“God damn, you smell like fucking cherry pie.” he growled into her ear and grazed her neck lightly with his lips, making her body go rigid.
’Two could play that game.’ he thought to himself with a triumphant grin when he leaned back into the lounge bed, watching Thea take a few deep breaths, keeping her eyes solely on the screen in front of them, even though he knew she wasn’t watching at all. When he let go of her hand he expected her to pull it back and rest it in her lap, with the way she was breathing heavily, trying to calm her racing heart.What he didn’t expect, though, was Thea moving her hand farther up his leg and giving his inner thigh a tight squeeze before she removed her hand with a smirk on her lips, knowing she’d shocked him with her movement.
The rest of the film went by without another incident between them, but Tommy suddenly found himself a lot closer to her on the couch than in the beginning. As soon as the credits rolled through, Oliver set the popcorn bowl aside and went to gently pick a very dead asleep Felicity up into his arms.“I’ll get her to bed.” Oliver whispered to the other two. “Lunch tomorrow at 12?” he asked Tommy, earning a short nod from him.
Without another word, Oliver left the movie room and headed for the bedrooms, leaving Thea and Tommy alone.
Thea immediately got up and started cleaning up the room, emptying the popcorn bowls when Tommy stepped up behind her, so close she could feel his hard body pressed into her back and his breath on her neck.“What the hell was that earlier?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Thea replied with an innocent grin when she turned, facing him.
“Oh you don’t? Well then let me enlighten you.” Tommy half growled, half whispered into her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin making her shiver.“You smell like fucking pie and cherries and the moment I smelled it, I wanted to lick the taste right off your neck.”Thea had to close her eyes and take a deep breath to calm herself at Tommy’s words, coupled with the low timbre that his voice had taken.“But being the little minx you are, you had to play nasty with me while your brother was still in the room. Now that he’s gone and it’s just you and me,” he whispered in a seductive tone, keeping his eyes focused on hers, “tell me one thing that should hold me back from doing exactly that.”
For a moment, Thea felt like she’d lose the upper hand in this little game, but quickly regained her foot again. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she leaned even closer to Tommy, played with the open buttons of his shirt and sent him her most seductive look she could muster.“Well maybe that’s just what I want, Tommy Merlyn.” she purred before scratching her nails lightly over his exposed chest.
She stared at him as he stared at her lips, and Thea could see he was trying to find a clear thought, or maybe a way to escape. She wouldn’t give him that.“Will you kiss me already?” she whispered when Tommy stood there, unmoving, for longer than she was going to accept. Then softly she added, “Please.”
She barely had the chance to finish the sentence when Tommy’s lips crashed on hers. He wasn’t tentative or careful, he was practically devouring her with everything he had. And Thea loved it. She wrapped herself around him, the popcorn bowls in her hand crashing to the ground.
They kept kissing like that, practically making out against the wall of the movie room, until sounds coming from the hallway made Tommy jerk away from her within a second. He just got the chance to put a little distance between them when Raisa entered the room, surprise written all over her face.
“Oh I’m sorry Miss Thea, I saw Mister Oliver in the hallway and came to clean up the room. I didn’t know you were still here. Should I come back later?”
“No it’s alright, Raisa, thank you. I was just going to help Thea to her room and then leave.” Tommy quickly replied and sent Thea a quick glance, letting her know to not say another word. With a slight eyeroll, she left the room, wishing Raisa a good night, closely followed by Tommy.
They only made it to the bedroom hallway when Thea started another attack on him.“Thea,” he growled with a low voice when she pushed him into the wall and was about to attack his lips again, “I’m not going to play any games with you.”
“Funny,” she laughed annoyingly and took a step back from him, crossing her arms over her chest, “because it felt like you did exactly that before you left.”
“That’s what you think of me? That I’m playing with you? That this is some kind of funny distraction for me?” Tommy did a quick look around the hallway before he dragged her into her room, not giving her time to answer. As soon as he had the door closed behind them, he took a step back from her, trying to keep a little distance so he could keep his head clear.“Thea, I never meant to make you feel like that. Everything that happened before that trip... what we did, I have no idea what this is, but I don’t think you’re just some funny, no strings attached distraction every now and then. I like you, I really do, more than appropriate, considering you’re my best friends’ little sister, I might add.”
Thea only rolled her eyes at his words and kept her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for Tommy to finish his speech.
“But let me get this straight, Thea... I don’t care you’re my best friend’s sister, I don’t care you’re a Queen and that I’ve practically seen you running around in diapers. Hell, even if you were the President’s daughter, I’d still want you. But as long as you’re not over the age consent, I’m not going to risk your or my future. It’s just a few more months until your 18th birthday... and then we can figure out whatever that little cat - and - mouse game we’re playing here really means. And how I’m going to tell your brother without getting my nose broken. But until then, I can’t let you jump me like that again in public, especially not in your house’s hallway, where anyone could see us!”
Thea eyed him for a moment before she spoke up again.“Fine. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. Promising I won’t make a move in public doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it when we’re alone.” she smirked and turned around, pulling off her hoodie when she walked over to her dresser.
Tommy watched her and gulped.“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed, you silly.” she grinned over her shoulder and kicked off her sweatpants, revealing a very lacy pair of underwear. “Why? Want to join me?” The low growl that followed her comment made her chuckle. She knew exactly what she was doing to him and as long as he didn’t leave the room, she made sure to keep her game up.
“I swear to god, if you aren’t going to be the death of me, then your brother sure will take care of that.” Tommy mumbled and watched Thea undress and slip on her sleep shorts.When she emerged from the bathroom a minute later and passed him a little closer than needed, he suddenly grabbed her arm and stopped her.“Good night, my little minx.” he whispered before he gave her backside a quick slap and turned on his heel, leaving the room without another glance back.That night, Thea fell asleep with a proud smile on her face.
A few days later, Felicity took the first chance she got talking to Oliver alone and made her way over to his room. It had been 3 days since they had their movie night and after that, Oliver had been so engrossed with work and exams that he usually came home late in the evening when everyone else was asleep.
But when she saw his car pull up late that evening, she took her chance and went over to his room.
After softly knocking on his door, she peeked her head inside and saw him sitting at his desk. He seemed to be knee deep in work, but still found a warm smile for her as soon as he spotted her at the door.
“Hey there.”
He waved her inside and watched her walk over and take a seat opposite of him at his desk. She was already dressed in her sleep clothes and Oliver couldn’t stop himself, thinking about the last time she’d been in his room dressed like that. The night before he left for one whole year, the night he slept with her wrapped in his arms. Quickly pushing the thoughts aside, he focused on the present, and the blonde beauty sitting in front of him.“What’s up?”
“Look,” she began and nervously fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, “I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?” he asked her, his brows furrowed. He couldn’t remember Felicity having done anything that required an apology to him.
“For a few things, actually.”
“I really don’t know what you should be apologizing for.” he replied, motioning for her to have a seat.
“Well, for one, I’m sorry for not telling you about Dan sooner. I should have been the one to tell you and I’m sorry I did not.”When Oliver was about to say something, she interrupted him with a raised hand. “Just... let me finish this, please, before you say something. I have laid it out in my head all day and I’m afraid I might forget half of it once you start talking.” she laughed nervously.
With a small chuckle, Oliver motioned for her to go on.“And I’m sorry for acting like a bitch, half of the time you’ve been away. I was so caught up in my own sorrow and pain that I almost ruined the friendship between us. I’m sorry I ignored you every time you wanted to get in touch with me, I shouldn’t have done that.”
With a small sigh, she continued. “Actually, I shouldn’t have done a lot of things in the last few weeks, mainly treating you like that. It wasn’t right of me to expect you to to like and just accept everything that was going on when you came back and I’m sorry I was so closed off all the time. That wasn’t really... mature of me.”
Oliver looked at her for a few moments, wondering if she still had more to say. When nothing else came out of her though, he gave her a small smile.“Can I speak now?”
With a nervous smile into her lap, she nodded.“Okay, first of all... you don’t have to apologize for anything, Felicity. Sure, it didn’t sit right with me, seeing you with that guy just days after I got back here. And it sure bombarded the plans I had for us when I saw you with him. But that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t owe me an explanation, or even an apology. We weren’t in a relationship when I left, and you’re a free person.”
Felicity didn’t smile at his words, she just sat in her chair and listened to what he had to say, unable to even think of a reply.
“But I appreciate that you feel the need to come here and tell me now, I really do. So of course, apologies accepted.” he smiled at her and could see the weight lift off Felicity’s shoulders at his words.
“So... what happened between Dan and you?”
She really hadn’t thought Oliver would still spare Dan any thought, given it had been almost 2 weeks since she’d received the last text message from him. Oliver had never pressured her to talk about it, and honestly, she was glad about that. Thea didn’t ask any more questions either, but then again, she already knew what had happened. Oliver didn’t know, and most of the time Felicity thought he didn’t care about it either, only that Dan was finally out of the picture again. At least he was a lot more the Oliver she knew and liked before he went on his trip, not the grumpy, angry one she got to meet once he found out about her boyfriend.So hearing him ask about Dan really surprised her.
“Uhm,” she began, struggling to find the right words, “let’s just say his thought of ‘relationship progress’ differed a little from mine.” she shrugged.
“Wait, does that mean he tried to talk you into something you didn’t want? Did he force you into anything?”
Felicity didn’t miss the way his back straightened at his words or how his hands gripped the handles of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.She didn’t want to see him so upset, especially not over something so stupid like Dan Brockman.“He just tried to convince me to move things a little faster than I wanted to. I kicked him out right after. It’s just that his words at me stung quite a bit, and I was mad at myself for not seeing things clearer, sooner.” she shrugged. “It really is no big deal, Oliver. Not anymore.” she smiled at him.
“I still want to roughen him up.” Oliver mumbled, more to himself, but it still made Felicity laugh slightly.
“He’s not worth the effort. And to be honest, I don’t want to drive to the police office and pick you up after you got arrested.” Felicity chuckled.
“And since we’re dropping the truth bombs right now,” she spoke up, her voice suddenly sounding nervous, her eyes cast downwards. Oliver watched her closely while she spoke, curious what she might be up to. “I know it’s not my right to expect you to answer this, but the truth is, this question has been on my mind for weeks now, months, maybe.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt while she spoke, clearly nervous to continue.
“What is it?”
“Have you been with someone while you were on your trip?” she suddenly blurted out so fast, for a moment Oliver wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right.“I just - I just want to know. Not that I would judge you, or could. I just want to be able to finally answer that question in my head. I hate mysteries. They bug me.” she laughed shyly, too nervous to look him in the eye and wait for an answer.
For a long moment, Oliver had no idea what to say. Did she really expected him to hook up with a few women on that trip? Part of him wanted to scream at her for how dumb that question was, that he couldn’t even think of being with anyone because she was on his mind more often than not. But he knew he couldn’t tell her that, at least not so bluntly. She had asked him for a little distance, and freaking her out was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t answer her question honestly.
“I haven’t been with anyone.” he smiled. “And for the future, if something is bothering you, don’t wait so long to ask me, okay?”
With a shy smile and a nod, Felicity got up from the couch and motioned for the door.“I better get going. It’s movie night with Thea and since she gets to pick tonight, I need to hide a few DVDs first.”
“Alright.” he laughed. When Felicity was about to open the door, his voice stopped her, though. “Tomorrow morning at 7? I wanted to break in my new running shoes. Well... unless you have somewhere else to be.” he quickly added.
“Tomorrow at 7 sounds great. Goodnight, Oliver.” she smiled and before he could blink, she was gone, softly closing the door behind her.
The next morning, Oliver was up even earlier than usual. The fact that Felicity had agreed to go on a morning run with him, for the first time in over a year, made him wake up so full of energy he had to stop himself from rushing over to her room and pull her out of bed.
At 7am sharp, the door to Felicity’s room opened and a blonde dressed in compression pants and a tank top stepped out, tying her hair in a high ponytail while she sent him a smile. She smelled like pineapples and coconut and Oliver realized that being so close to her, so early in the morning, dressed in tight running gear, might not be the smartest idea he’d had in a while.
“Ready?” he whispered.
Felicity nodded and motioned for him to lead the way.
They warmed up in silence, but neither felt uncomfortable. It had been a while since both were able to spend some time together alone, just the two of them and Oliver loved that Felicity didn’t seem to feel nervous or awkward around him.
“Lead the way, Mr. Queen.” Felicity smiled and waved down the path leading away from the mansion, along the stables and into the woods. Oliver started jogging and Felicity quickly fell in pace with him.
It didn’t take him long to realize she had gotten faster than before and had a much better condition than the first time they’d tried running together, when Felicity felt like she’d die after only 3 miles.“Wow, you’ve gotten fast, young lady.” he breathed out
“Yep,” she smiled proudly, “I’ve been working out.”
“Oh, I noticed.” Oliver mumbled and fell two steps back behind her so he could admire the view for a moment. Not that he never checked her out at the mansion or whenever she passed him, but seeing her body in motion now, in tight running pants, at that... yeah, he definitely shamelessly checked her out for as long as he could.
“We should do that more often.” she told him between breaths when they arrived back at the mansion. “I haven’t had much time to work out lately. It’s refreshing.”
Of course Oliver was on board with that. He wasn’t one to argue with her if it meant being able to spend some time with her alone.
After agreeing to try and find time to run together at least once a week, they parted ways as soon as they reached the hallway. With a smile on her lips, even after one hour of running around the outskirts of the Queen property, Felicity hopped under the shower and got ready to start her day. Unsurprisingly, Oliver sported the same smile throughout most of the day, something that didn't go unnoticed by his best friend during lunch.
“Based on the grin plastered on your face I take it you saw Felicity this morning? Or did your father already gave you a raise?” Tommy grinned when both men grabbed a table and dived into their food.
“We went running this morning. Plan to do that together at least once a week now.” Oliver nodded with a content smile on his lips. The fact that he got to spend an hour with Felicity that morning, just with her, and the fact that they already agreed to do that regularly, gave him an energy boost that even helped him through his first dispute with his father that morning. Nothing could ruin his mood that day, and Oliver already made a mental note to thank Felicity for it later.
“And you think that’ll help you with your... ‘problem’?” Tommy replied with a slightly cocked eyebrow, earning a hard stare from Oliver.
“I try not to think about that and it’d help a lot if you did so, too. The less I talk about it, the less I think about it.” Oliver replied matter of factly.
“That’s bullshit, buddy, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but it’s the only way it’s going to be because for once I’m going to respect Felicity’s wishes and won’t fuck this up.”
Tommy didn’t have anything to add to that. Of course he still called it bullshit, but to some extend, he could understand Oliver’s motivations. Over the course of two years he had seen his best friend pass various stages of happiness, anger and hurt in the friendship with Felicity. Coupled with the things he knew about Oliver’s feelings, and the fact that he didn’t even look at other women for more than 12 months now, Tommy could only imagine how deeply his friend cared for Felicity. He had hurt her in the past - and regretted it deeply, so of course Oliver wouldn’t want to make this mistake again.But that still didn’t change the fact that ‘staying friends’ definitely wasn’t the way to go for these two. And he knew Oliver knew that, too.
---------------------------------
Oliver’s 23rd birthday was on a friday. Not that Felicity knew that for months already. She didn’t. Well, she did, but only because it made planning for his surprise so easy. Having a birthday on the weekend somehow always made things easier, at least when it came to planning things.
After having spent all day and afternoon out in the city, the house seemed almost deserted when Felicity returned. Only Thea could be heard upstairs and Raisa seemed to be working her magic somewhere in the kitchen. Felicity didn’t have time for chit-chats, though. She quickly made her way upstairs and slipped into her room.
“Thea?” Felicity practically yelled into the adjoining room, waiting for a reply from her friend while she rummaged through her closet like the devil himself had taken possession of her.
“What is it?” Thea shot back and walked over to the open door, seeing Felicity digging through a pile of clothes in her closet. “And what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m looking for the purple dress I bought after christmas.” Felicity announced with a sigh, puffing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “And before you ask any more questions, I expect you to be dressed up and ready to wow by 8.30, sharp. I got something planned and no, I won’t tell you because you’re the world’s biggest chatterbox and would ruin my surprise.” she told her friend with a pointed finger. “Dress formally.”
Thea raised an eyebrow. “Alright, no questions, except this... You mean like Gala - formally? What have you planned? Dragging me to some pop art gala of some new super hyped artist because you found a sudden interest in abstract art?”
“No, smartass,” Felicity replied and threw a shirt in her direction. “I hate art, and you know that. Let’s just say you should dress up... dinner - formally, if that makes any sense.”
“I can work with that.” Thea grinned with a nod and quickly checked her watch. “8.30? That leaves me with 2 hours... hm, too less to buy anything new, but I’m sure one of our closets will hold something I could wear.” With a newfound determination on her face, Thea slipped back into her room and went looking for a nice dress herself.
“Found your purple dress, Fee!” Thea’s voice yelled after 5 minutes of silence.
“How the hell did it end up in YOUR closet?” Felicity shot back and dashed over to Thea’s room.
“I kind of... borrowed it a while ago?” she grinned shyly with a shrug and handed her friend the hanger. Ducking away making a beeline for the bathroom, Thea fled the growls and glares that Felicity was about to shoot her.
Since Felicity still had some things to manage before 8.30, she showered in record time, threw in the heat rollers into her hair and covered herself with a bathrobe before making her way over to Oliver’s room.
She didn’t hear a sound coming from his room, not even after two soft knocks on his door. She knew he was still home, though, since she’d heard him and Tommy in the foyer minutes ago, talking to Raisa. Deciding to just slip inside and leave him a note, letting him know to wait, formally dressed, at the front door, accompanied by Tommy, please, Felicity quickly ducked back into her room to finish hair and makeup. It was only 7.45, leaving the men enough time to get ready. She always hated how little time it took Oliver to look so over the top handsome whereas she needed at least two hours to look equally good.
Minutes before the clock turned 8.30, Thea came down the stairs, dressed in a floor length navy blue dress, her brown locks loosely pinned back.
“Are you going to tell me what you have planned now, Fee? I’ve never seen you so... secretive before.” Thea asked when she joined her friend in the foyer, spotting one of their drivers outside waiting for them next to their car.
Felicity quickly checked the clock on her phone before stuffing it in her clutch again.8.31. The note she had left for Oliver explicitly stated 8.30pm sharp, and not a minute later. So the men could really show up any time soon please, thank you very much.
“I made reservations at Giacomo’s for Oliver’s birthday. Just him, Tommy, you and me. It’s a surprise and he has no idea, so please -” she spoke silently and made a locking motion around her lips, throwing the invisible key over her shoulders, earning a pair of wide green eyes from her best friend.
“How the hell did you get a reservation at Giacomo’s? On a friday, at that? Not even Mom’s PA was able to get a table there within the next 3 months...“ Thea whispered back in total awe.
“Well let’s just say it took me a while.” Felicity winked and checked her phone again, “and if they don’t hurry up I’m afraid the reservation will be the only thing I managed to grab there.” she sighed.
“Oh my, you beautiful Ladies,” Raisa suddenly announced when she rounded the living room and saw the girls standing there. “you both look so fantastic. What is the occasion?” she smiled and took appreciative glances over the girls’ dresses.
“Felicity made a surprise reservation at Starling’s hottest restaurant for Oliver’s birthday.” Thea proudly announced with a grin, winking at her friend before seeing Raisa’s smile fall into a frown.
“Oh my, Mister Tommy picked up Mister Oliver a while ago. I believe Mister Tommy said something about a birthday celebration in town.”
Thea sent Felicity a shocked look, seeing her friend’s face fall at Raisa’s announcement.That clearly wasn’t what Felicity wanted to hear. Raisa sent her an apologetic smile, offering to try and call Tommy and Oliver to make them come back, but Felicity waved her off, masking her frown with a fake smile.
“No, it’s okay. Of course I should have expected him to be out on his birthday, at a friday, at that.” she shrugged with a forced smile, bending to take her heels off already. “Let’s just cancel the night and all is good. It’s really no big deal.”
“To hell it isn’t.” Thea almost snapped back, stopping Felicity dead in her tracks. “You know what? The table’s booked, the driver’s waiting and we both look killer gorgeous... we’re going to Giacomo’s now and we’re going to have a hell of a night, men or no men accompanying us.” she firmly announced, looped an arm around Felicity and practically dragged her out the door. “Besides, I didn’t spend one hour getting my hair curled and pinned up to sit on a couch all night. And if I tell mom we let a reservation at Starling City’s most sought after Italian Restaurant slip, she’ll probably strangle us both. So... girls night it is. Formal edition.” Thea grinned and took a seat next to Felicity while the driver steered the car away from the mansion.
Deciding to have dinner alone, just the two of them, the girls tried to make the best out of it and much to Felicity’s surprise, the evening went not only smoothly but downright funny. The moment they entered the restaurant, several pairs of eyes lingered on them. Felicity felt a little out of place, dressed so formally but not being accompanied by a man, but Thea quickly looped her arm around hers and gave her no time to overthink anything when she dragged her through the crowded restaurant, following the maitre’d.
All evening, the waiter kept flirting with both women, telling them their men were just blinded by their beauty and couldn’t join them because they couldn’t find their sunshades, while the chef himself came out of the kitchen several times, serving the girls little creations of food he had prepared just for them. Both women kept laughing and giggling over the fun and attention they received from the restaurant staff, lifting the mood for both girls in an instant.
When Thea excused herself to the bathroom right after dessert, Felicity took the moment to head out to the panorama deck, overlooking the harbor and downtown of Starling City.
Maybe she really read too much into it, maybe Oliver still didn’t want more than the friendly, sometimes even a little intimately-friendly banter between them, but nothing beyond that. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have spent the evening of his birthday with her instead of some college friends he rarely ever saw these days? Sure, she should have told him sooner and she couldn’t expect him to sit at home alone all evening, especially not on his birthday. But still it hurt that yet another chance of spending time with Oliver, away from prying eyes and watchful parents, went down the drain. But then again, it had been her telling him to stay friends only after that situation with Dan, so who could she blame other than herself?With a small sigh, Felicity closed her eyes, gripped the metal railing tighter and let the wind blow through her hair and dress for a moment, taking away all heavy thoughts.
When Thea returned from the bathroom and found the table empty, she panicked for a moment, thinking Felicity had decided to make a run for it and hide in her room, like she had originally planned to do after Raisa told them Tommy had picked Oliver up already and went to a party with him. As soon as she spotted her friend on the outer deck though, her shoulders relaxed again. Felicity seemed to watch the night lights of Starling, but Thea could see that her friend wasn’t paying much attention to the scenery but seemed deep in thoughts instead.
Yet again it had been her brother hurting her best friend, this time maybe unintentionally, but the outcome was still the same. Deciding to feed her brother some of his own medicine, and hopefully shake him awake a little, she quickly pulled out her phone and took a few pics of Felicity on the outer deck. The way the wind blew off her floor length gown and the loose curls of her hair, coupled with her lost stare over the city and the colorful city lights in the background, almost made her look like a supermodel in front of the perfect scenery.
‘What you’re missing out on 2nite. But worry not mate, she found the perfect replacement-company since you’re too busy partying with McMagician. ;)’ Thea quickly typed down, added the photo that captured Felicity’s beauty the best but still showed it was clearly her, and sent the message off to her brother before stuffing the phone back in her purse and joining Felicity outside on the deck.
It took Oliver all of 2 minutes to reply. At least he had the decency to answer her instead of calling Felicity directly, something Thea would have totally expected from him.
‘What the hell are you talking about?? And why is Felicity dressed up like that? Where are you?’
Thea rolled her eyes at his snappy tone, even through text message. Typical Oliver.
Even though she kept Felicity in a light conversation about summer break and possible vacation plans, her friend was still staring over the skyline of the city and didn’t seem to notice Thea texting her brother. Deciding to send Oliver one final message before shutting her phone off, Thea typed a quick response.
‘Fee and I are at Giacomo’s. The beautiful angel in the purple dress made a reservation to surprise you with a sweet birthday dinner; just you, her, Tommy and me. But since you seem to prefer bottle service and questionable chicks in inappropriate dresses for your birthday, we spend the evening here alone. The Tagliatelle was fantastic, btw. Doubt you can say the same about the cheap booze they’re serving in whatever rat hole you’re partying right now.’
Even though Felicity was about to protest and tell they weren’t old enough to drink yet, Thea convinced her to empty the bottle of wine the restaurant chef had insisted they receive on the house. They were on their second glass, the waiter bringing them yet another ‘creation d’chef’, when suddenly the restaurant doors opened and a slightly distressed looking Oliver walked inside. Felicity froze on the spot, but not before sending Thea an evil glare. Oliver couldn’t know they were here, unless Thea told him. Which she obviously had done.
Thea looked equally surprised as Felicity when Oliver stopped right in front of the table and took in the scene in front of him. Up until that moment he wasn’t sure what to think of his sister’s text messages, even though the photo of Felicity showed her dressed to the nines and clearly somewhere out in the city. And even though he was very thankful for Tommy throwing him a birthday party at Verdant, he couldn’t deny that he would have loved to spend the evening just with his family and closest friends just as much. So when he received the second text from his sister, telling him they were at Giacomo’s, while Tommy was about to order bottle service for the nth time, Oliver took him aside and announced the change of plans. He needed to go to Giacomo’s and see if he could still catch them, if they were really there. And since the restaurant wasn’t too far away from the club, Tommy agreed to let him go, but not before promising to come back later, no matter what.
So that’s why he found himself at Giacomo’s, right in front of a large round table, currently occupied by two beautiful looking young ladies that stared at him with wide eyes.
“Oliver,” Felicity rasped out after the clink of Thea’s fork hitting the plate pulled her out of her stares. “Wha - what are you doing here?”
“Missing a great evening, it seems.” he replied, the distress on his face vanishing instantly the moment Felicity got up from her chair and took a step closer to him.
“Happy birthday.” she told him with a shy smile before wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. It took him a second to realize what was happening but as soon as it did, Oliver returned the hug and pulled her closer into his chest, inhaling the fruity scent of her perfume. He could feel her heart beating like a drum through the thin barriers of his shirt and her dress, and the fact that she made no move to loosen the hug made him smile.He loved that they’d gone back to being such close friends again, but it had been a while since he had her in his arms like that, so he made sure to make the best of every second.“Thank you.” he mumbled into her neck, not willing to let go of her just yet. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
With a shy smile and a blush on her cheeks Felicity loosened her grip on his shoulders and took a step back. Oliver instantly missed the warmth of her body on his chest.“I’m sorry I ruined your surprise. If -”
“You didn’t ruin it, Oliver.” Felicity quickly cut him off. “I should have told you earlier, that’s all. Or maybe coordinate things with Tommy, I don’t know. But you clearly don’t have anything to feel sorry for.” she told him with a firm voice, but Oliver could see she had trouble keeping the sadness out of her face.
“Except missing a great night with two gorgeous looking women.” Oliver replied and did a quick look over the table. “Which is why you’ll come with me now. Just give me a minute and I’ll take care of the bill and we can head out.” Oliver announced, making both women’s heads snap up in surprise.
“Oh the hell you will, Queen!” Felicity told him so fiercely, even Thea had to look at her best friend for a moment. “This is your birthday, what kind of friend would I be if I’d let you take care of the bill? For a meal you didn’t even eat? For a surprise dinner that I’ve had planned, at that?”
Oliver and Thea watched her down the half filled wine glass in one long gulp before she grabbed her clutch from the chair. “I’ll be back in a minute.” And with that, she was gone, leaving him alone with his sister.
“Thank you for texting me.” Oliver told his sister when he helped her into the coat.
“You’re welcome. I didn’t think you’d really show up here, though.”
“There’s no way in hell I’d have missed seeing her in that dress, Speedy. You look lovely, too, by the way.” Oliver smiled and grabbed Felicity’s coat from the hanger.
“My my,” Thea grinned back, “did my brother finally turn into a charming sap on his 23rd birthday?”
“Oh shut up!” he laughed.
When Felicity returned from the bar a minute later, Oliver helped her into her coat and led both women to the waiting car in front of the restaurant.
“So, where are we going?” Thea asked when everyone was seated and the limo started moving.
“Well, since Tommy had this party - thing planned for my birthday and it’s barely 11pm, we’re going to head there now. I’ll be the talk of the party entering the club with not only one, but two drop dead gorgeous looking women at my arms.” Oliver grinned and leaned back into the seat.
“Aren’t we a little overdressed for a club?” Felicity piped in, gesturing down her long dress.
“You look perfect just the way you are.” Oliver smiled, making her blush once again.
The moment they pulled up at Verdant and Oliver hopped out of the car to round it and help both women out, Felicity took the few seconds to grab Thea’s arm.“Do you think this is a good idea? I mean, look at us. It’s like wearing a tux to a heavy metal concert!”
“Relax, Fee.” Thea assured her with a laugh. “Ollie said we’re looking good and besides... we both get to spend some time with our men. I won’t complain one bit.” she grinned and patted her best friends leg just the moment Oliver opened the door and offered them both a hand.
Felicity felt a little out of place in her very formal looking floor length gown the moment she saw the first club-goers enter Verdant, but when Oliver grabbed her hand and hooped it through his arm, she willed herself to relax a bit. Of course there would be no dancing tonight, and she’d have to be careful no one would step on her dress, but other than that, she should be fine.
Oliver guided them to a large lounge area on the VIP floor, shaking hands and being pulled in hugs from tons of people on their way there. Felicity always wanted to politely step away and give him space to accept his birthday wishes, but Oliver never let go of her arm, always keeping her as close to him as he could.Thea followed close by, greeting a few people herself on the way. The moment they stepped up to the lounge area though, her breath stocked when she saw Tommy sitting there, dressed in a suit, the top buttons open, drink in hand. He seemed to be engaged in a conversation with some guy Thea had never seen before, but when Oliver took a few steps closer and Tommy turned his head, his eyes lit up.
“Damn, Ladies!” he loudly announced with a whistle and was up on his feet within a second. “I suddenly feel completely under-dressed!” he laughed and pulled first Thea, then Felicity into a hug. “Where did the birthday boy find you two, dressed like you’re ready to hit the stage for the Miss Universe contest?” Tommy asked and took in both girls’ dresses once more.
“At Giacomo’s,” Thea replied and grinned proudly when she saw Tommy’s eyes go wide. “where our lovely Felicity here,” she added, turning and waving a hand in Felicity’s direction, “managed to snag a table for an incredible birthday dinner tonight. But then a certain someone decided to drag the birthday boy away before she could tell him.” she told him with a cocked eyebrow, making it very clear she was talking about him.
“Did I hear that right? Did you just say Felicity reserved a table at Giacomo’s?” he replied, clearly impressed.
“Yes, you did.” Thea shot back before taking a seat on the large couch. “And you’re the one who ruined it.”
“Oh shut up,” Felicity smacked her arm, “no one did ruin anything.”
“Wow,” Tommy mumbled and slid in next to Thea, making space for Oliver and Felicity to sit as well, “I really need to up my game if that’s what you come up with as if it’s no big deal.”
Oliver laughed out loud before he grabbed a glass for Felicity, pouring her a drink from the bottles on the table.
“Well, if you hadn’t dragged Oliver away from the mansion so early he would have read the note that I left him, saying I expected you - both of you, I might add - ready to leave at 8.30pm.” Felicity shrugged, but made sure to send Tommy at least a half accusing look.
Tommy quickly took in Thea’s and then Felicity’s dress situation when something dawned upon him.“Is that why you two are dressed up so fancy? Was that a birthday dinner for just the 4 of us or something?” he asked, motioning at everyone while he spoke.
“Yeah it was, and it’s a damn shame you missed the ahhh-mazing food.” Thea grinned and patted him on the knee. “The chef himself even served us some amuse-gueules. I think he kind of had a crush on us.”
“Or he pitied us because we looked so over the top but didn’t have anyone accompany us.” Felicity shot in, instantly regretting her words when she saw the frowns on Oliver’s and Tommy’s faces.
“Nonsense, no one pities us. That’s all envy.” Thea told her with a firm nod, making it clear that she didn’t want to hear any more doubts from her best friend.
For the rest of the night, more friends came and left the large table they were sitting at, but Oliver always stayed close to Felicity’s sight. Only the occasional rounds to shake hands and have a shot here and there made him leave her for a few minutes. Thea even managed to dance in her long dress, not-so-gracefully balling the flowy skirt of her dress in one hand so no one would step on it, while the other hand grabbed Tommy’s arm - purely for support, of course. Thea didn’t seem to care that Oliver could spot them and even though Tommy seemed a bit nervous about the whole public closeness, Oliver didn’t seem to notice.
At some point during the night, even Felicity found herself on the dancefloor, albeit in a lot less crowded area. She had no idea how he did it, but somehow Oliver managed to drag her onto the dancefloor, wrapping her in his arms, swaying to the music. If it hadn’t been for the dance music filling the club, the situation between them could have been almost too intimate, and much to Felicity’s relief, no one seemed to notice or even spare them a second glance.
“Thank you.” Oliver suddenly whispered in her ear, and the moment his lips grazed her neck, her entire body froze for a moment.It took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts again and remember where they were and that Oliver had just said something.
“For what?” she asked him with a slightly shaky voice.
“For what you did tonight. I’m sorry it didn’t exactly go as planned, though.”
He was right, the evening sure didn’t go as planned, but given their current proximity, Felicity wasn’t one to complain. Plus, she had a great dinner with her best friend at Starling City’s hottest restaurant.“Well, we’re here together, dancing right now. I think it’s safe to say my night could have ended worse.” she laughed slightly.
The night ended around 3am, when Thea fell asleep on the couch in the VIP area, snuggling into Tommy’s thigh in the process. As soon as Oliver saw his sister half lying on the couch, her head resting on Tommy’s leg, her heels long kicked off on the couch behind her, he decided to call it a night. He expected Tommy to protest and ask him to stay a little longer since it as his birthday, but much to his surprise, his friend immediately agreed and went to pick up the sleepy brunette from the couch. Oliver said his last goodbyes while Felicity took care of Thea’s heels and purse and followed them out of the club and into the waiting limo.
As soon as everyone was seated and the limo started to head home, Felicity also kicked off her heels, letting out a sigh in the process. She loved her black peeptoes, she really did, but after walking around and dancing in them for well over 6 hours, she felt the desire to just throw them out of the window.Much to her surprise, Oliver instantly pulled her feet into his lap and started kneading and massaging the balls of her feet, making her sigh even more.Seconds before she closed her eyes and let Oliver work his magic on her sore feet, she did a quick look through the limo. To an outsider, it would have looked like the perfect ending of two very - in - love couples having a great night together. Tommy still had the sleeping Thea cradled in his lap and some time between leaving the club and getting into the limo Thea must had wrapped her arms around his neck, not that he seemed to mind. Surprisingly, neither did Oliver, but then again he seemed so engrossed with her feet and the reactions he could pull out of her when he kneaded certain areas of her sole, that he didn’t even seem to notice his little sister and his best friend being so close together.With a content smile on her lips, Felicity rested her head into the seat and closed her eyes. As it turned out, the evening couldn’t have ended any better than this and she definitely had to thank Thea later. Not only for dragging her to the restaurant but for telling Oliver they were there, too.
The moment Oliver pulled her in his arms and carried her up the steps to the mansion, Felicity stirred awake. Through half closed eyes she could spot Tommy carry Thea up the stairs in front of them. Looking up, she saw Oliver smile down at her.“Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We’re home.”
With a smile on her lips, Felicity did just that. She didn’t even care where he carried her; she just enjoyed the closeness and warmth radiating from Oliver, her Oliver, before she let sleep overtake her again.
|
When my brothers died, when I learned about it, I thought that that was the worst day. That had to be the worst day. Because nothing would ever be worse than finding out that the people you judged every decision for were gone. There was no more of Imori’s soft smiles or Amori’s sighed exasperation at my antics or Umori’s hands to lift me up. I was alone. Nothing could be worse than that.
But grief has a way of pulling you back under. Grief felt more like an ocean than a simple wave. It didn’t knock you down and then release you, spluttering and half-dead, to the shore. No. It dragged you down. It was a swirl of so many conflicting emotions - all that love bubbling up, suddenly without an outlet, all that rage and despair, and bewilderment. It tugged you down, slammed you agaisnt rocks, and dragged you under before releasing you just enough to allow you to breathe.
But you were always in the water.
I didn’t know when I had last eaten.
I didn’t know when I had last showered or gotten out of this bed.
I couldn’t remember who I had last spoken to, what words had left my mouth.
I was drowning, and I didn’t know how to save myself, didn’t know if I could pull myself forward anymore. Or if I even wanted to.
I thought a lot about my brothers in the days after I killed Ichihiro. I wanted to torture myself, I think. Sometimes the only way to get all of it out was to twist the knife, make it hurt so much that you feel like you might pass out. So that’s what I did.
I thought about the day that Imori read a full book and tried to get all of us to do the same to no avail. He wanted to be a teacher, I think, not that he ever had the guts to say it. He used to try and coerce us into learning things.
Then I thought about Ichihiro catching him in the little net that he had used on me. Then I thought about how loud he would have had to scream to get my brothers to run to him.
I thought about Umori, how big and stumbling he was. I thought about when he tried to pickpocket a coupe with too many guards and then tripped and fell in the harbor while he was trying to escape. I thought about how, when we had fished him out, lips blue, ears purple, how he had said he was too heavy and tried to crawl home.
Then I thought about Ichihiro making him cry. I thought about his last moments in that stinking fucking net and how I wanted to die with him.
I thought about Amori, fearless, headstrong Amori. Sometimes I forgot that he was the only one that knew where his dad was, that he was alive and living good in the upper side. I had caught him once under a lamppost just outside a gate that sectioned off a pretty little house with a yellow door and a garden in the front. He didn’t see me, and I didn’t ask. Either too afraid to remind him or too afraid that by reminding him it might make him try and go and live with him instead of us.
Then I thought about him dying last. How much that would kill him. How much seeing our brothers hurt and screaming would tear him apart. I thought about how he said I was their only hope. I thought about how he had said he trusted me.
I thought about that a lot - different orders, different memories but all the same outcome. All the same pain. Those were the facts. I could change the memories before, but it always remained the same.
The truth was that I knew exactly what I had been doing when I had gone after Ichihiro. I knew that killing him would do nothing, but somehow I had built it up inside my head. I had made it this grand thing that would renew my brothers, make their ending happy. But that was foolish. That wasn’t how life or death worked.
“How is she?” Hisoka. Again. I heard him shuffle closer, Minoru just beside him. His swirls had begun to fade, the shimmering crystal-like complexity of those patterns flickering like a bulb about to go out. I think I might have been about to go out too.
I shut my eyes. The sheets were sweaty, too wrinkled, and used to be called anything other than garbage. I was living in my own filth at this point, barely able to force myself to get up and go to the bathroom. I felt him shift behind me, moving closer, a cool hand pressing to my fevered skin. I wasn’t going to die. Every time the world had begun to blur, the dehydration and hunger getting to be so much that I felt physically sick, Minoru would shove crackers and peanut butter at me with a glass of water or a frothy broth. My body didn’t want to die, I gathered, shoving the food into my mouth mindlessly before rolling over and going back to sleep.
All that work. Now I couldn’t even stomach the sight of a sandwich.
“Your next fight is coming up soon,” Hisoka murmured, and I couldn’t even muster the energy to be mad at the soft quality his voice had taken. I didn’t move as he pushed my hair back; the silver strand snared and tangled. I would need to cut it all off again, it had gotten so bad.
Mori?
Minoru’s tired, hesitant voice sounded. If I was the pulsing, battered nerves within then, he was the bruise, raw. I could feel his pain like a mirror showing me my very soul. In battle, we fed off of each other, but here, in this room, we were two twins mimicking each other’s screams.
Hisoka’s here. He brought food.
I knew. I could smell the roasted meat and kimchi. It made my stomach turn. I didn’t say anything.
Clothes shifted, fabric rubbing together, Hisoka’s hand pulling away from my face. Here is where he decided I was trash. I didn’t blame him. I was pathetic. I had gotten what I wanted, what I had been craving and begging for, and still, I was useless. So much fanfare for so little payoff.
“I won’t tell you to get up.” His voice was low, rough like tires against gravel. For once, there was no teasing only bleak reality. “I won’t tell you that you need to or that people are waiting for you or even that you should. But I will tell you that I won’t be here if you decide to wither away. I won’t sit by and watch you kill yourself in such a pathetic, useless manner.” Was that what I was waiting for? How heartless he was, I wanted to laugh. “I can’t tell you to get up because I’ve been exactly where you are, and I know that picking you up will only give you a farther distance to fall. When you get out of this bed - and you will - you’ll need to have the strength to stand on your own two feet.”
The bed creaked, his body heat leaving abruptly. I could feel his rage, the angry lash of his aura against mine.
His voice was distant when he spoke again. “Your brothers wouldn’t want this for you.”
Oh, how heartless. I let out a strangled laugh, the sound like a noose that tightened around my throat until I eventually fell unconscious. What a heartless, brutal man.
“Mori Amori to stage J.”
I hadn’t gotten out of bed since Hisoka had come by. I didn’t quite know if that was my body giving up on me or my soul. But his words kept playing in my head, sharp and merciless. For all of his bluster, Hisoka kept sending food. And I kept staring at walls.
I could feel Minoru just at the edge of the room, his body curled into a corner. He hadn’t moved from that spot for over a day now. If I didn’t know that his life span was my own, I would have thought that he was dead.
“Mori Amori,” the pleasant voice repeated.
Right. Fighting. I was supposed to fight.
My body revolted at the thought. That’s why it was so odd when my muscles worked without me. I stiffly sat up, fumbling with the sheets, my limbs weak little noodles that had to be braced by walls and lampshades and any passing furniture. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t address it - not mentally. I just moved, putting one foot in front of the other. One after the other until I was out the door and then down the hallway.
Years later, I still wouldn't be sure what got me out of that bed.
Maybe it was something as simple as disappointing my brothers one more time. Maybe it was something selfish like not wanting to disgrace myself by not showing up to a fight. Or maybe it was complex. Maybe it was that I didn’t want to drown anymore. I wanted to try and swim. And this was the only way I knew how. Get up. Fight. Fight so hard that you have a reason to stay in bed tomorrow. Then do it all over again.
So for that day it was good enough to simply put one foot in front of the other.
I got the shit beat out of me. My ribs had been stomped on, my face had gotten so many hits that a blood vessel in my eye popped, and my left ear still had a slight ringing to it. She should have won if I was being honest, and it was only a slip that had gotten the better of her. One slip. Because I had made sure that every time I slid across that ring after she rung my bell one more time, I never slid all the way off. I clung to the edge of that concrete pad like a safety blanket. And in the end, I had been fortunate enough that I had been able to trip her.
The crowd wasn’t nearly as enthused if the boos were any indication. Even the ref looked like he wanted to take my ticket back, his fingers pinching it so hard that the top corner had torn when I had taken it.
I stared down at it for a moment, my left leg shot to the point that I had to lean all the way to the right. The arena lights made a trickle of sweat roll down my back. God, if only my brothers could see me now. They would have loved this place.
Liquid dripped onto the ticket, smudging the ink in small little ponds. Jesus, I was crying. The tears burned up into my throat. I was lost again. I had cried so much, but somehow, this felt different. This felt like I was crying for what they could have been, the beauty of all that they wanted and didn’t get. Was this what it felt like to cry for a whole being and not just the parts that had been taken for you. What was my loss to theirs? I cried for the teachers that Imori wanted to be and the silly kindness that Umori possessed. He should have been a father. If he had lived a bit longer he would have been able to find someone nice to share pastries within the morning. And Amori. I cried for his pain. I cried for the agony I had seen when he had looked in that window and seen his father tucking another set of kids in like he hadn’t discarded one. I cried for all the things that they wanted and would never get, and I cried because the ache in my heart felt like a bed of flowers that had been ripped away by the roots.
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Klaus’ world is silent. He moves through a world that he knows has sound but he cannot hear anything. It wasn’t always that way. At one point in his life there had been sound. Then an accident at a rave where there had been a fire and he had fallen in the stampede to get out. People had kicked him and stepped on him and when he had woken in the hospital three days later the world was soundless. Ben had picked up sign language quickly. Klaus had been faster though, his hands moving through the movements a pace similar to those who had been deaf for a long time with the help of many YouTube videos and books. He had become a familiar face at the libraries of the city, the librarians usually found him sitting outside when they arrived and had to chase him out at night.
There was a positive to being deaf. The lack of sound had made dealing with the ghosts easier, the no longer realized he could see them since he didn’t react to their voices. Instead of shooting up to get rid of the ghosts Klaus found himself getting clean finally and trying to stay that way. He lived on the streets still, didn’t see the point of trying to find one of his siblings who would see this as another reason why he was useless.
Klaus was sitting in his usual corner of the library, behind the dusty shelves of encyclopedias that no one read because they were out of date. The librarian had come to like him, making a little nest for him out of an old set of couch cushions, blankets, and three large pillows. Klaus didn’t notice his brother’s approach until Ben brushed his hand over Klaus’ shoulder to catch his attention
>Mrs. Ambers on her way over with a newspaper.<
Ben signed and Klaus gently tucked a well worn paper bookmark into his book as the young librarian rounded the corner. She seemed upset and Klaus wondered if the city had cut budgets again.
“Your father died.” She said slowly so he could read her lips. He frowned and took the paper, scanning the front-page article on Reginald Hargreeves and the Umbrella Academy. Klaus looked up at Mrs. Ambers
“Can I have a lift?” He slurred and she nodded, a weak smile on her lips
“Of course, Honey.” She said. Klaus packed up his backpack and tucked his book away on the shelf he kept whatever he was reading on. Mrs. Ambers drove him to the Academy and dropped him off in front of the overbearing doors with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. Klaus slowly walked up the few steps leading to the door and stepped inside the halls of his childhood. It hadn’t changed much; the place was formal and unwelcoming. A hand touching his arm made him jump and he turned to see Allison standing behind him
“-aus?” Allison said and Klaus stumbled a few paces back.
“Sorry.” He slurred. Her eyebrows knit and her lips pursed. He knew she thought he was high, it was easier to think he was high. On unsteady legs he stumbled away from her towards the stairs, knowing she was probably calling his name and attracting the attention he didn’t want. He shut the door to his bedroom and looked around at everything. There were no doubt pills stashed around the place but Klaus was more interested in the clothes. He’d not had a new outfit in some time, wearing the same loose jeans and grimy black tee shirt under his thick coat for several weeks now. He shucked his clothes and fingered a pair of skinny jeans in a deep burgundy color. He slid them on and pulled out a black tank top that would match. He probably should have showered before changing but knew he wouldn’t stick around long enough to bother anyone with his smell. Ben tapped him on the arm and pointed to the door.
“Come in!” Klaus called and the door opened to reveal Diego who was scowling at him. Klaus pattered over to the window and shoved it open to let fresh air into the room. He knew Diego was waiting for something, some sarcastic witty comment but Klaus was no longer that person so instead he settled on cleaning up the room while he waited for his brother to make the first move. Diego grabbed his arm as he passed the other man for the fifth time
>R U deaf?<
Diego asked, his ASL rusty but functionable. Klaus had forgotten that Diego knew ASL, there had been a year long period where Diego had refused to speak because of his stutter. Mom had taught him ASL and translated for the rest of them as no one else had bothered to learn. Klaus reached up and nervously yanked on his sole earring, a black hoop in his left ear.
>Three years in April.<
He finally signed back. Diego frowned, his fingers twitching like he wanted to say something but didn’t remember or know the signs. Finally, Klaus took pity on him
“I read lips pretty well.” He said and Diego nodded
“Are you clean?” He asked and Klaus nodded. A look of relief flashed over Diego’s face and he pulled Klaus into a hug. When he pulled back Klaus returned to straightening up his room. Diego helped, taking anything that Klaus passed him and putting it where he thought it went. Klaus hadn’t had much in the way of organization so it was mostly making things up as they went. Diego would take the baggies of pills or powder as soon as they found them, tucking them away into a mesh bag that had a broken zipper. Once the room was in some semblance of order Klaus collapsed onto the bed. Diego sat at the foot
“You good?” He asked and Klaus gave him a lazy thumbs up. He was tired and a nap in an actual bed the wasn’t a cot sounded really good. He drifted off, unaware of the music that Luther put on or the freaky wormhole that appeared in the back courtyard. He woke several hours later and wandered out of his room to find something to eat. Dinner was probably going to be soon, Klaus was looking forward to Mom’s cooking. He missed Allison calling his name until she grabbed his arm. She was speaking quickly, too quickly and to upset for him to understand her. He watched her shout and wave her arms around until all their siblings were watching. Diego laid a hand on Klaus, forcing Allison back away from him and saying something low and hissing at their sister. She didn’t seem pleased but stepped back and allowed Diego to guide Klaus toward the kitchen
“I don’t understand.” Klaus said and Diego gently patted him on the arm as he sat him down. Klaus waited until Diego had made him an impressive ham and turkey sandwich with mayo, pickles, and onion before pressing the subject further
“What’s going on Dee?” He asked as Diego slid the sandwich over and sat down.
“Five is back.” Diego said and Klaus raised an eyebrow. He took a bite of his sandwich, waiting for Diego to elaborate. Diego sighed
“He time traveled to the future. Saw something shitty. Not sure what because he won’t say.” Diego said and Klaus nodded. He finished his sandwich slowly, enjoying the taste.
“Where is he now?” Klaus asked and Diego rolled his eyes
“Scribbling out formula’s all over his walls again.” Diego said and Klaus could almost sense the exasperation in his voice. Klaus smiled. Diego was playing with the butter knife, an old habit that he apparently hadn’t lost.
“Why was Allison upset?” Klaus asked and Diego frowned
“They don’t know your deaf. She thought you were purposely ignoring everyone.” Diego said with a shrug. Klaus blinked before going back to his sandwich. If the others wanted to ignore what was right in front of them they could. Ben brushed along Klaus’ arm and Klaus turned to him.
>I want a book.<
Ben signed and Klaus groaned
>We have to do that here?<
He signed back. Ben nodded
>It was a journal Father kept. I want to read it.<
Ben said and Klaus cocked his head.
>Fine. It’s probably in the study. We’ll get it after I finish my sandwich.<
Klaus signed before picking his sandwich back up and taking another bite. Diego was watching him with confused eyes.
“Ben.” Klaus said with an exaggerated eye roll. Diego’s eyebrow rose and Klaus grinned. He set his sandwich back down and concentrated on making Ben corprial. Ben appeared, less blue and see through beside Klaus for two second before Klaus ran out of energy and Ben was back to being a ghost. Diego looked floored.
“That’s great!” He said with a smile. Klaus shrugged and inhaled the rest of his sandwich. Someone must have entered the room because Diego’s attention turned to someone behind Klaus. Klaus turned to see Five standing in the doorway, a annoyed look on his face. His lips moved rapidly but Klaus only caught his own name and the word ‘fuck’. Turning to Ben for a translation he found his brother glaring at the thirteen year old version of their time traveling brother
>What did he say?<
Klaus asked Ben who glare turned into a glower. Diego was even standing, looking like he was about to punch Five so Klaus rose to his feet as well
“I cannot hear you Five.” He said because he knew it needed to be said before someone punched someone else. Ben turned to him
>He implied that you were a junkie whore who is high and that’s why you’re out of it.<
Ben signed and Klaus shrugged
>At one point I was a junkie whore.<
Klaus signed back. Ben gave the equivalent of a shove, his hands passing through Klaus’ shoulder leaving a chill
>Don’t call yourself that. You are a good person. You try so hard to keep clean.<
Ben said and Klaus nodded
>I know but they don’t. I haven’t seen anyone since I left at eighteen. Five was long gone before that. They only have the information that was true then.<
Klaus signed. Diego put a hand on his shoulder breaking Klaus’ conversation
“You okay?” Diego asked and Klaus shrugged
“Ben is a bit agressive today.” Klaus said. Five had come further into the kitchen at this point, watching Klaus with eyes that were full of intelligent curiosity and cunning planning. Klaus padded over to the fridge and peered inside. There was a bowl of pudding so he grabbed it and three spoons from the drawer. He hopped up onto the table and looked at his brothers expectantly. Diego got the hint first and grabbed a spoon. Five took several more seconds to take the last spoon. Klaus took the first bite of pudding and Diego followed, dipping his own spoon into the pudding. Five stared at them as they ate the pudding. Klaus chose to ignore his brother, knowing that Five was probably processing some sort of bump in his ever growing calculations
“So you’re deaf?” Five said finally and Klaus nodded
“Yup.” He said sliding off the table and putting the bowl in the sink. He returned to the table and sat back down on the middle
“How?” Five asked and Klaus shrugged
“There was a fire at a rave. I fell and got smashed. When I woke there was nothing to save.” He said. Five looked slightly disturbed at how blaise Klaus was about this. Klaus saw it as a blessing in disguise. Without his hearing he lived a saner life. No one spoke for a few minutes before Diego opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted by Allison and Luther entering the kitchen, obviously not expecting anyone to be in there by the looks on their faces. Luther looked like he was swallowing a lemon or something slimy and Allison scowled
“What are you doing on the table?” She snapped, Klaus raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. He also didn’t move. Vanya slipped into the room and moved along the edges until she was at the freezer. She must have said something when she was facing away from Klaus because Diego tapped Klaus on the arm and smiled
>Ice cream?<
He signed. Klaus shook his head
>No thanks. I’m full on the pudding.<
Klaus signed back. Diego had to think about the signs and didn’t seem to quite get what Klaus was saying so Klaus slipped off the table and held up the empty pudding bowl. Diego got it then and nodded. Klaus turned to Vanya
“May I have the milk?” He asked and winced when he knew he let out a lisp on the first word. Vanya nodded, clearly nervous about the fact that Klaus had never had a lisp before. She passed him the half gallon of milk and Klaus turned to grab a glass. Ben was right behind him, his cold hand rubbing Klaus’ back and Klaus took his time to pour his milk knowing there was probably at least two people raising their voices behind him. He turned and passed the milk back to Vanya who put it back in the fridge. Allison looked like she wanted to rumor someone, Klaus vaguely wondered if her power would even work on him still. Diego had the butter knife in his hand again, his knuckles white with how tight his grip was and Luther was red in the face. Klaus downed the milk like a shot and set the cup on the counter. He carefully approached Diego and set a hand on his arm
“Let’s go get donuts.” He said in what he thought was a soft voice. Diego nodded tensely, carefully setting the knife down and letting Klaus gently lead him out of the room. Diego remained tense until they were in the car and they both realized Klaus wasn’t wearing any shoes.
“Sorry.” Klaus said wiggling his toes. Diego didn’t say anything, simply pulled into the parking lot of Gritty’s Diner and shutting the car off.
“What do you want?” Diego asked and Klaus realized he had purposely parked under a streetlight so Klaus could read his lips.
“As many jelly filled as you will buy.” Klaus said and Diego nodded and slid out of the car. He was gone for maybe five minutes before Klaus saw him exit the diner with a large paper bag and two large to go cups. Klaus felt his mouth water when Diego slid back into the car and passed him one of the coffees and the bag of donuts.
>Thank you.<
Klaus signed and pulled the first donut out of the bag. He had missed donuts. Hadn’t had one in a long time. The closest he got was the dry bundt cake that was served as a Christmas dessert at the shelter. Diego sipped his coffee as Klaus slowly savored his second donut
“Can you teach me?” Diego asked and Klaus cocked his head. Diego blushed
“Sign language. I don’t remember much anymore.” Diego said and Klaus frowned
“Okay.” He said before making the sign for bitch. Diego copied it and Klaus laughed
“What?” Diego asked and Klaus fought to speak
“That means bitch.” He slurred. Diego gave him a small shove and tried to stifle his own laughter. Klaus grinned and started to think about things Diego might actually need.
>What is your name?<
Klaus signed
“What is your name.” He said and as Diego fumbled over the signs he helped correct the finger placements. It took Diego several tries but he finally got the movements correct and Klaus beamed
“Good.” He said before diving into how to tell someone Diego’s name
>My name is D-I-E-G-O.<
Klaus signed and Diego’s eyes lit up
“You just spelt my name.” He said quickly. Klaus nodded.
“My name is Diego.” He said and Diego copied the movements, this time much more confident in the movements. Klaus yawned and Diego frowned
“Tired?” He asked and Klaus nodded. Diego got a soft look on his face and started the car. Klaus wasn’t sure where they were going, not back to the Academy. Diego pulled behind a boxing gym and shut the car off. He motioned for Klaus to get out and led them to a back door that he unlocked with a key. Klaus followed him down a small hallway and then down a set of stairs. Diego shoved a door open and motioned for Klaus to enter ahead of him. It was a little living space in the boiler room Klaus realized. Diego must have been staying here. Diego motioned for Klaus to sit on the bed
“Why are we here?” Klaus asked, sitting on the bed and setting his bag of donuts on the floor beside it
“Do you want to deal with Allison and Luther?” Diego asked and Klaus shook his head. Diego grabbed a blanket and sat down on the recliner
“I thought we could spend the night here and let the two of them calm down. We’ll go back tomorrow.” Diego said and Klaus nodded
“Okay.” He said. Diego smiled fondly at him
“Get some sleep.” He said and Klaus laid back onto the bed. He could sense Diego’s presence not five feet away and fell asleep easily.
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Waiting was the bane of her life. Or at least the current bane of her life, for now.
She would count herself lucky to have few things that weighed heavily on her shoulders, as she straightens her dark blue trenchcoat and fixes her hair for at least the fifth time, that perfectionist raising its head again and wanting to look beautiful for Dan the moment he saw her.
She had texted him about an hour ago to give him plenty of time to reach the Spire, and her nerves were jumping from high to low, becoming indecisive about wearing lipstick or not, wearing high heels or not, pacing up and down the hotel room space from the window to the door, unable to even sit still.
The one thing she was absolutely one hundred per cent certain that she would be wearing was his necklace that he had kindly given her as a token at the airport, which she had been treating like a talisman ever since, keeping it on for as long as she could each day and placing it on her bedside table each night.
In the end, she chose a honey-flavoured lip-balm that she had picked up in the duty-free makeup kiosk in Philadelphia and comfortable laced boots trimmed with faux fur would ensure she could stroll around this new city with ease.
It had been a note of anxiety in the past that when she was over the moon to see someone, they were considerably less so. It had happened with friends who turned out to be false and even with her first serious relationship.
Now as she looked in the mirror, turned to one side with her hands on her waist, moving to press against her stomach, deliberately lifting her chin up to a more flattering angle, just wanting to be his perfect princess.
But this time it would be different. It had to be...
The cheery text alert makes her glance at her phone laying on the bed, which reads, 'I'm here, princess. Can't wait to see you! :D :D :D :D xxxoooXXXOOOxoxo'
Those words make her spring into action immediately, not wasting a second as she picks up her bag, checking that her room-key was safely slotted in the side pocket, fussed with her hair one last time and headed out the door, picking up her pace so as not to keep him waiting for long.
Riding the elevator down from the third floor, the shivers of excitement causing her to be unable to stay very still, moving from one side to the other of the tiny square compartment, willing the carriage to move faster, for the doors to open faster.
By the time the ground floor is reached, it takes all of her restraint not to burst out and sprint across the lobby, either resembling a hundred-metre dash participant or someone possessed with caffeine-induced energy.
Thankfully, she does the most leisurely stroll possible, giving a casual nod and smile to the kind receptionist who had helped her earlier that morning, and heads out the door to greet the city once more, turning to the right towards O'Connell Street.
With every step she took bringing her closer and closer to reuniting with him, her heart was beating faster and faster, unable to stop smiling.
She crosses the road to the middle island that intersected the street, with the tramline on her right and the rest of the traffic on her left, the gleaming metal structure of the Spire monument stretching up far into the sky.
The island is dotted with small trees that provide little canopies for pedestrians, and she manages to weave between commuters waiting for the tram and tourists taking photographs, looking straight ahead to try and catch sight of him.
A tall, handsome man with a crown of curls surely wasn't that hard to miss.
It was only when she had stepped to the side of one tree and got a clear view of the space around the base of the Spire did she catch first sight of him, wearing the black duffle coat with the fluffy hood, hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning left and right, searching for her, even standing on tiptoe to get a better view, if that were possible from his already towering height.
Her heart drops and her entire body floods with sensation, wondering if he had become even more handsome in the time they had been apart or else it was her neediness playing tricks on her.
Immediately, she starts to blush to see him in person after so many weeks and she almost turns away, overcome with shyness, but something in her heart coaxed her forward, towards him, step by step closer.
As she steps out from under the lightly shaded canopy, peeking to one side of a large marble monument statute, the sun beginning to gleam from behind the clouds, she waits for him to see her, not wanting to creep up or give him a fright.
In the space of a few seconds, he turns around and catches sight of her, freezing in place, his eyes widening, mouthing her name immediately and all she can do is nod several times, clasping her hands on her heart.
Over the noise of traffic and the sounds of seagulls, she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it was definitely her name. He boyishly runs a hand through his hair, rocking back on his heels, and just as she is about to approach him first, he is beginning to amble towards her, breaking into a light jog, which was possibly the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.
Before she knew it, she began to run as well, not caring how she appeared, wanting nothing more than to reach him, the short distance covered in milliseconds.
He comes to a halt just a few feet away, skidding and bending his knees, opening his arms wide and she flies right into them, colliding into his chest and his middle, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling his entire body rocking back at the force of motion and praying that she hadn't knocked him over, but he stands firm, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing so tight.
Breaths shuddering, both from the exertion and the overwhelming happiness, she can only say his name or sob wordlessly with joy, nuzzling as close as she can while stretching up on tiptoe.
In an instant, her feet have left the ground and he is spinning her around in a full circle, her squeak of surprise loud and joyful as his laughter bubbles up, setting her back down, still holding her tightly.
And there they stood in each other's arms, in the middle of Dublin, together again, and it felt better than heaven.
"Danny..."
His hand is at the back of her head, cradling her close and resting his cheek on top of her head, huffing hitched breaths and whispering her name, swaying with her on the spot, "Oh, baby. Oh my God, it’s so good to see you."
Her reply is just a whimper, a part of her afraid to let go for even a second in case he vanished forever, clinging to his hood in case she pulled his hair too tight, which was a distinct possibility given her being a real-life koala bear.
He gently exhales, overcome with that familiar tender fondness, soothing her immediately, "It's alright, princess... it's alright, it's alright... ssshhh... ssshh, sshhh..."
Slowly, he draws back and cups her face in his hands, letting them have steady eye contact, his face crumpling as he sees the tears brimming in her eyes, "Oh, my darling girl... don't cry, don’t cry. Are you alright?"
She nods, a lump in her throat, "I'm just... I'm so happy and I've just missed you so much..."
He laughs tearfully in turn, "I've missed you so much... but you're here now. We're together and everything is okay, sugar sprinkles.”
As he strokes her cheeks with his thumbs, the gesture makes her knees almost buckle, holding his arms to steady herself.
With his head still leaning down towards her, he asks in a low purr, "Do you want to know what I've been thinking about for the past week? Or the past month? Ever since you sent me that sexy video?"
Blinking up at him, innocently biting her lip and blushing, she murmurs softly, "I can imagine, but I'd love for you to tell me, starman."
At the sound of that familiar nickname, his pupils dilate and his breath exhales sharply, "Come here and I'll show you..."
As he closes the precious distance between their lips, her entire body reacts and it's all she could do to not melt.
Dan holds her strongly against him, letting out a needy growl at their first kiss in so long which she eagerly responds to, drinking him in and leaning as close as she could without wrapping a leg around him, re-learning the tastes and textures that made his kiss so addictive.
Reality comes knocking moments later as she opens her eyes, making a tiny hum against his lips, cupping his face and gently breaking the kiss, saying in an amused voice, "Woah there, ladykiller... there are a lot of people around."
Huffing a sigh, Dan leans in to nuzzle her neck, his hands moving up and down her back, palms pressing in a gentle massage, "Don't care... I want my sugar sprinkles and all your sweetness."
Sighing dreamily, she brushes back his hair to find his ear, leaning in close and whispering in a low, sultry murmur, "You'll have me all to yourself soon. Just not in public when we are getting carried away."
His response is a slow, languid kiss to her neck, running a hand through her hair before he brings himself to draw back, taking her hands in his and kissing her knuckles, "You're still so sensible."
"Or dull, whichever you prefer," she says with a shy smile.
"Never, ever dull, baby girl. And don't you be saying a bad thing about yourself, because I'm only going to tell you how precious and beautiful and smart and incredible you are."
Her cheeks feel warm and she draws out his name, "Da-an..."
Chuckling, he squeezes her hands and then looks up towards the sky and the massive metal spire stretching up and up into the bright blue yonder.
"Woah... that's a tall needle"
Looking up at the massive Spire, still with her arms around Dan's waist, she feels a wave of dizziness wash over her at the expanse of the sky above and the sheer height of the sculpture.
Luckily, as she sways back slightly, Dan instantly reacts, bending down to wrap his warms around her and hugs her close, chuckling, "Woah, woah, princess. You're looking up too high."
She refocuses on his face, blinking a few times, before she smiles shyly, "You'd think I'd be used to looking up at tall things... or people... because I'm short."
Dan immediately starts giggling, "Are you saying I'm /tall/?"
"Yes!" she chirps, hugging him again, "So, so, so tall."
"Don't tell anyone," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head.
She squeezes his waist a bit more, "Squeeze... squeeze..."
He pretends to be out of breath, "Too... much... squeezing..."
Her sigh is contented, feeling that familiar teasing flow so naturally, knowing that he could make her laugh like no one else.
"So what would you like to do?" she asks, stepping back a short distance, holding his hands and swinging them side to side.
Dan ponders for a moment, "Well... it depends on how tired you are. There's a neat little cafe a few minutes away where I left Brian drinking extra strong espresso like some pretentious PhD person..."
She lights up once again, "Brian's here? Well... I mean, of course he's in Dublin, but he's around?"
He nods, pouting, "And you're way more excited to see him, aren't you?"
It was only a teasing act, and she affectionately reaches up to ruffle his hair, "You know I love him to pieces, but you're my starman and I'm over the moon and stars to see you."
He immediately smiles, "I know, I know. This joshing habit is becoming too strong after having tour time with the walking sarcasm machine."
He glances behind them, "So it's back that way across that bridge, so not too far. But if you're tired after all your travelling, I can just message him and say we're having a chillout sesh."
She squeezes his hands, already feeling much more energised, "To be honest, I was a bit tired earlier, but I'll sleep tonight. I'd love to sit in a cafe with you both and catch up."
"Alrighty then, it's a plan."
He pauses and looks back at the Spire, "But first... I want to take our first of many photos. Go ahead and stand in front of that massive thing and I'll take your picture."
Making a little curtsey, she obliges, moving with her back to the steel, putting her right foot up at an angle, her hands in her pockets and gazing towards Dan with a soft smile.
He takes a few photos, turning his camera left and right, pretending to be a cliched photographer, saying in a French accent, "Beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, baby. Now give me some pizzazz, give me sultry, give me 'I am the most precious thing in the entire world'."
All she can do is start laughing, flipping her hair like a model with a hand on her hip, before striking a pose like a ballerina, with one arm stretching up to the sky, her other arm stretched by her side, balancing while she could on one leg.
"Yes, yes, oui, oui, baby! You got it, yes, yes!"
After a solid few moments of her almost bending double with laughter, she beckons him over, "Come on, now you and I want some selfies, too."
He bows gallantly and ambles over, handing her his phone and channelling his own inner model, does a convincing smoulder towards her before a more genuine smile, then as they check the photos, she takes out her own phone and takes a quick selfie of them together, with the final one having her kiss his cheek and his expression is one of surprised delight.
They soon begin to make their way down O'Connell Street, walking hand in hand, navigating the busy street with ease. She felt like a balloon at times, each step feeling light and bouncy, and if he let go of her for an instant, she would more than likely float off into the yonder.
Crossing the bridge, there is a cool gust of wind that makes a shiver run up her spine and she moves closer to Dan instinctively, "It's cold!"
Dan gives her a smile, making his teeth chatter deliberately, "It is, but trust me, this is only the North compared to the Super North that is New Jersey after Winter has come."
The Game of Thrones reference is not lost on her, but she hugs his waist anyway, "Warmth... I need warmth."
"We'll get you a hot drink to pick you up soon, sugar sprinkles," he coos, playing it up as much as he could without getting a nudge to the ribs.
Reaching the cafe, Dan steps ahead to open the door for her, "My lady..."
"Why, thank you, kind sir," she says, blushing all over again.
The inviting cosiness of the cafe is soothing to her briefly frazzled senses, and Dan has already taken her hand again, leading her to the back of the cafe, past the cashier and food displays, humming to himself.
Upon turning a small corner, she lays eyes on Brian for the first time in weeks, reading a book with a tiny cup in front of him, presumably the espresso that Dan had mentioned.
As they approach the table, he looks up and his eyes widen with happiness, "Oh, wow! Honey, it's you!"
Just as she is about to greet him, Dan has lifted her arm almost in a victory pose, pointing to her like a referee at the end of a wrestling match, "The one... the only... sugar sprinkles in all her glory!"
The cafe is somewhat deserted and they are not bothering anyone, so she does not mind this presentation in the least, choosing to relish being the centre of attention, for once, waving to Brian, "Hello, Mr. Wecht. It's lovely to see you."
He immediately gets up and approaches her, giving her a warm, tight hug, almost lifting her off her feet in turn as she squeaks, "You're a sight for sore eyes, how are you?"
"All the better for seeing a friend," she giggles as he releases his hug and steps back to admire her.
"You're looking lovely, " he says with genuine fondness and she blushes, "Thank you."
Dan taps Brian's shoulder, making a loud clearing of his throat, "Are you making compliments to the lady, Bri?"
"Yes," Brian replies without any compunction, "Because she deserves them."
Dan puts his hands on her shoulders and begins to steer her towards the table where Brian had been sitting, "Peasant... we have no time for peasants."
She sits down, putting her hands over his, leaning back and looking up at him, "I make time for everyone, Sir Daniel."
Brian returns to his seat, picking up his book and lifting it in front of his face, "Well, can't blame a guy for being nice."
She smiles, "You're very nice, Brian, of course, you are."
"When he wants to be..." Dan whispers, giving her shoulders a quick rub, "So what are we having? Another shot of over-caffeinated black stuff, Bri?"
All Brian does is offer a thumbs up from behind the book, which morphs into a middle finger straight away, the Ninja Brian character making an appearance.
Dan lets out a long-suffering sigh, "Green tea for me, and for you, sweetheart?"
He looks down at her, his face very comical from the upside-down angle, and she has a moment to think, "A latte, please. And if there are any sweeteners, that would be lovely."
"Sure thing, won't be a second."
And with one more glance at Brian, he leans down and gently kisses her lips, "Can I tempt you with a doughnut?"
Still a few centimetres away, she murmurs, "Oh... maybe a granola square?"
"Coming right up... and might I just say that your lips are really, really soft?"
He gives her one more gentle peck, before he straightens up, caressing the back of her neck before going to the counter to order, leaving her sitting there with a red face and dreamy eyes, looking back over her shoulder and trying not to visibly squirm in her seat.
Turning back to Brian, she sees him looking at her with those piercing blue eyes over the top of his book, quirking one eyebrow than the other in a wave motion which makes her immediately start laughing.
"Well, that was the sweetest display I ever did see. And I've been around the block and read hundreds of Harlequin romances," Brian opines in a monotone.
She waves a hand, "I hope we're not being too... you know... overt?"
Brian sets his book down, giving her a gentle smile, "Of course not. I have a wife and I know what that feeling is, and besides, you haven't been together in a long time. You can indulge as much as you want."
She dips her head, nodding, "Thank you. I just have never had the chance to be affectionate in public, and the world tends to vanish when he looks at me..."
She puts her hand to her mouth at this utterance, but Brian just chuckles, "It's the eyes, isn't it? Or the hair? Go on, you can tell me."
"Is this going to be fodder for teasing later on?" she asks, being only slightly serious.
Brian gives her his best poker face, before shrugging, "Maybe..."
She leans forward on the table, resting her chin on her hands, giving an over the top sigh, "Yes... all of the above... you know how handsome he is."
Brian grins, leaning forward and mirroring her, putting on an exaggerated Valley Girl accent, "Oh my God, like, I know, right? He is so, so dreamy, I just want him to carry me off to Camelot on his noble steed."
She leans into it as well, "Like, oh my gosh, how does he do it? How does he get to be so dreamy and gorgeous? It's totally not fair, and I just can't, girl, I just can't..."
Brian then proceeds to make a girly giggle that makes her bend double, shaking her head and waving a hand, "Please... please, have mercy... we are in a cafe in Dublin and I can't be laughing this much."
Brian eventually relents, sitting back and adopting a scowl, looking over her shoulder and huffs, "Took you long enough."
Sure enough, Dan has returned with two cups, one white ceramic mug filled with creamy white and caramel coloured foam and a heart drawn in it, three packets of sweetener on the saucer, and a tiny mug of espresso, setting each down in front of them, giving Brian a side-eye, "Next time, you can get your own, Mr. Genius and I'll just shower my baby with treats."
He gives a nod to her, "How do you like those apples?"
She pats his arm, "Thank you, Danny."
"Well, at least someone appreciates me," he says with a whine, flouncing off back to retrieve his own drink.
"Such a diva," Brian whispers loudly, putting a bookmark in place and blowing the steam from the espresso drink.
A few moments later, Dan returns with a mug of green tea and a small plate with a golden square treat of granola and mixed fruit, to her great surprise.
Dan takes a seat beside her, wrinkling his nose in a smile, "Did you think I forgot, baby?"
"Not for a second, thank you, Dan," she says, leaning forward and giving him a quick kiss, sitting back and stirring in the sweetener after taking a quick photo of her drink, always being a fan of artisanal coffee with shapes drawn in.
As they enjoy their drinks, she listens as they regale her with the happenings on tour so far, and she felt her inner excitement grow more and more to be able to be on the road with them.
"The TWRP guys are awesome, you're going to love them," Brian proclaims, and she nods, believing him straight away, "They are so talented, I think I'll be in awe of them at first."
"Trust me, they are the most humble, down to earth guys you'll ever meet," Dan says gently, giving her shoulder a light rub, his arm leaning along the back of her chair.
Unconsciously while they had been sitting for the last twenty or so minutes, she had shifted as close as she could to the edge of her chair to be as close to him as possible, and wondered if she was giving Dan secret signals and if he was picking up on them yet.
"They're Canadian, what do you expect?" Brian quips without breaking eye contact, and she gives into giggling, leaning into Dan's side to hide her face.
Letting out a mock growl, Dan says, almost half-laughing, "Brian, you're going to break the poor girl before we've even started on the European leg, what is wrong with you?"
Brian shrugs, "It's the caffeine, what can I say? She's had it too, so she is much more receptive to my sense of humour. And you say I'm not funny."
Dan sighs, bringing his arm down from the back of the chair and squeezing her in a hug, murmuring, "Are you doing good, princess?"
She nods, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes, "This coffee is delicious, and so is the snack, and the company is the absolute best. I'm doing more than good."
Dan nuzzles the top of her head, "Good. But I don't know about you... but I can't wait until we're alone and can do some more catching up... if you catch my drift?"
The hopeful tone is so endearing, and she holds back on crawling into his lap, taking in a deep breath, "Well... I'm fine to go back to the hotel if you are. We can talk a bit more... and I can tell you how much I've missed you..."
Dan swallows thickly, clearing his throat, "Sounds good to me... ready when you are..."
As she sits up, leaning her right hand on his chest in an entirely perfunctory manner to use him as balance, she feels his chest contract and expand quite deeply, his eyes gazing at her with such intensity that made her feel light-headed.
She glances at Brian, who was scrolling on his phone and had not caught that moment, or if he had, he did not point it out.
Feeling quite daring, she gently bites her lower lip, clearing her throat and saying in a breezy voice, "I'm just going to freshen up. Back in a few..."
As she says that final word, she lightly touches Dan's knee, gently rubbing her thumb back and forth, moving her palm up a few inches and back down again, lifting her hand away as she rises from her seat, not even looking at him as she retrieves her bag and goes to find the bathroom.
Dan is left with his mouth half-open, staring after her with his body almost fully turned around on his chair, cheeks beginning to turn red.
"You've got it so bad, my dude," Brian pipes up from across the table.
Dan turns back slowly towards his friend, his face arranged in a somewhat innocent expression, "I beg your pardon, my dude?"
Brian gives him a syrupy sweet smile, "Well, Dan... when a man and a woman love each other very, very much, they go all gooey and mushy and imagine harp music playing when their significant other walks by, so just giving you a heads up."
Dan's eye twitches, and he manages to grit out, "Thank you kindly for those amazing words, Brian, but I'm sure I can manage without your sage wisdom. And besides... I'm totally fine right now."
Brian's eyes narrow as he smirks, doing an incredible impression of the Chesire Cat, "Sure, sure, sure. I'll presume that once those hot drinks are finished along with her granola square, you're going to excuse yourselves?"
A beat.
"None of your business, shut up," Dan replies childishly, folding his arms and pouting.
"Kids these days," Brian sighs, picking up his small cup with his pinky finger lifted and taking the tiniest sip possible.
"You're a kid," Dan mutters under his breath, though gives Brian a thumbs up to show there truly were no hard feelings.
Meanwhile in the bathroom, with her heart thumping and cheeks still rosey, she uses the toilet and reapplies her lipbalm, taking time to readjust her jeans and her bra straps, fluffing her hair up and putting on the best face she could muster while being completely in love and wanting her partner all to herself.
'Not long now... just a short walk to the hotel... not long now...'
She leaves the bathroom and walks back to the table, waving with her fingers at Brian who in turn waves back.
Taking her seat next Dan, she very discretely asks, "Ready, handsome?"
He gives her a slow look up and down, before meeting her eyes and nodding without saying a word, extending his hand, palm up, which she takes without hesitation and he lightly kisses her knuckles, still not taking his eyes off her.
Perhaps her signals were being picked up on, after all.
She manages to retrieve her handbag and after reluctantly letting go of his hand, she gets her jacket on, still feeling Dan watching her.
"Brian..."
She clears her throat, her voice sounding breathless, and he looks up with a smile, "Yes, honey?"
"We're going to head away, I think I'm in need of a rest."
He waves a hand, "Of course, of course, you deserve it. Come here and give me a hug."
She willingly complies, chuckling as he gives her the same squeeze from before, as he whispers, "Have all the time you want, okay? You're on vacation."
She manages to nod, "Thank you... can't wait to see you as Ninja Brian soon."
As they draw back and she looks back at Dan, she sees that he is almost vibrating with impatience, which was adorable to witness.
"See you soon, Brian," she says, waving again before stepping up beside Dan, tilting her head innocently.
Brian gives her a sendoff salute, before giving Dan a knowing smile, "Catch you on the flip side, brother."
Dan nods a few times, "See you soon, Bri. Message me in a few hours... actually, I'll text you, we might be busy..."
And with that floundering sentence, Dan ducks his head, takes her hand and leaves, practically bouncing out of the cafe as she manages to keep up, knowing his quick pace without fail.
Brian observes them leaving, smiles to himself before returning to his book. He had some time to himself before the evening, and being the intellectual that he was, the IMMA museum looked like his next destination.
Walking back across the bridge, taking the relatively short route back down the main O'Connell Street, she can't help but sneak glances at Dan, swinging their hands, fingers now interlaced together, as they slow the pace to a leisurely stroll, taking in all the shops and points of interest with some attention, knowing that her hotel was the fixed focal point on the horizon.
Or rather, more specifically, her hotel room, with the door locked and the curtains drawn.
|
June 1968
Exams creeped forward with the kind of surety that they did every year, but for once, Hermione did not find herself looking forward to them. Instead of being thrilled to confirm that she had gone above and beyond in her studies the year prior, Hermione could only see them as a somewhat concrete marker that her relationship with Rodolphus would be dwindling to a close.
Sixth year exams were held prior to the NEWTs and the OWLS, with the other classes end of year exams, and everyone was too stressed to spend much time socializing. Hermione decided that she wanted to make the best possible life here for herself, especially considering she would be left in this time at least for the length of the summer. On the off chance that Dumbledore was not able to sort things out for her with the aid of the Ministry, Hermione was not going to short changed herself by pretending to be less intelligent than she really was.
Her visits with Rodolphus were few and far between, seeing as she'd barely had time to even talk to her own roommates, let alone find time to sneak away with the seventh year Slytherin. Then, once her exams were completed, it was time for Rodolphus to take his NEWTs and Hermione found him to be unreachable during that time. Not that she blamed him. He obviously had a lot to focus on, but she was confident that he had done his best with his recitation, so she was hopeful that he would have a good exam.
Before she even realized it, her sixth year at Hogwarts had come to a close and she found herself desperately trying to pack up her trunk for the trip back on the Hogwarts Express. It was hard to remember that it would not be her two parents waiting to collect her at Kings Cross station, but instead Cedrella Weasley. It hurt, but she knew that it was something she would have to face.
What hurt even more, she was embarrassed to admit, was that Rodolphus had not made time to come and wish her goodbye for the summer, to sneak one last snog in, and at least promise that he would keep in touch, even if he didn't end up following through. There would be no more study sessions peppered with kisses in the library, or lazy afternoons by the Black Lake now that Rodolphus would be leaving school for good.
Her stomach sunk when she remembered their meeting just two weeks prior, after the Quidditch cup game and when he'd confessed how much he would miss her. She still remembered the taste of firewhiskey on his lips and the way that he'd touched her, pressing her to want him much more than she ever had. What if that had been his way of saying goodbye? Of trying to sever the ties between them? Had he been trying to make one last memory for her to linger on? To give her that much?
Knowing that there was still a chance that she might see him on the train, she skipped down towards Hogsmeade with the stream of other students, promising Elna, Lottie and Fawn that she would secure an empty compartment for them on the train.
There were not many people on board yet, so she was able to find one of the nicer carriages to leave her trunk in, before leaving to wander up and down the halls. It felt a little embarrassing to admit that she was looking for Rodolphus, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to let him go so easily. She smiled a little at the change in her attitude, thinking of the way that she had done her best to avoid him at the beginning of the school year.
Just as she was about to make it to the end of the train, thinking that she might as well give up, she spied Rodolphus inside a compartment, laughing away with Flint and Pucey. The three boys looked to be having an amazing time with one another, probably all thrilled to be done with their NEWTs after seven years of preparation.
Hermione stood there, biting her lip and wondering if she should knock on the door. Had Rodolphus told his friends anything about her, she wondered? Just as she was about to chicken out, she watched as Rodolphus's eyes flickered to her form, lingering on her for a moment, before returning to his conversation, making no effort to get up and speak with her. Feeling a bit crushed, Hermione turned at headed back towards her compartment, determined not to cry on the train.
Wanting nothing more than to hide away in her compartment for a few minutes to herself, Hermione practically wrenched the sliding door open in her haste to get inside, and she didn't notice the other occupant of the compartment until she'd sat down.
"Hello, Hermione," Bellatrix said with a grin, looking up from inspecting her finger nails in disdain.
Too upset to worry about offending the other witch, Hermione made a small noise of frustration, too annoyed to worry about walking on eggshells around the volatile witch. "What do you want, Bellatrix?" she demanded, sitting down in the seat across from her.
"Can't I just want to say goodbye to my friend for the summer?" Bellatrix asked in a mocking voice, teasing her.
"We aren't friends," Hermione said with a bit more vitriol than necessary, but wanting to make it clear to her for once.
Bellatrix gave her a hurt look. "Oh, don't be like that," she sneered. "I just wanted to check on you, because, well, I thought that we had all decided that you and Rodolphus were going to go for each other and have a wonderful relationship, making each other very happy, but it seems to me that the two of you are still sneaking around for snogs in corridors and broom closets when you should be shouting from the rooftops that you will accept no other. So...what gives?"
The Slytherin girl had picked just about the worst possible time to have this conversation with Hermione, who was feeling rather like she'd just had her heart crushed by the other witch's fiance. "I think you might have the wrong impression of what's going on between me and Rodolphus, Bellatrix," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice as devoid of emotion as possible, not wanting to do something embarrassing like break down and cry in front of Bellatrix Black! "Perhaps Rodolphus just saw me as one last fling before doing what your families both want - marrying you."
"Oh, nonsense," Bellatrix said, completely dismissing Hermione's words out of hand. "Anyone with eyes can see how Rodolphus obviously feels about you." Her dark, calculating eyes run up and down the length of Hermione's seated form once or twice while she thought about her next words. "You'll just have to try harder, this summer."
An involuntary whine left Hermione's throat at the suggestion of summer. "I don't know if he will have time for me, Bellatrix," she insisted, not seeing any point in getting her hopes up.
"Of course you will. Rodolphus won't be able to keep away, not now that he can have you all to himself, away from the prying eyes of professors," Bellatrix countered, smirking at the way Hermione squirmed in her seat. "But you mustn't give in too easily, Hermione. You are a prize to be won, and you shouldn't let Rodolphus hide you away to grow dusty on a shelf. You should insist that he take you out and show you off. You've certainly got the looks to make a splash in society."
"He would never do that," Hermione insisted feeling a hard lump grow in her throat while she tried not to cry, remembering their conversation about his father. "He wouldn't want to disappoint his father."
Bellatrix did not seem to realize how much the conversation was upsetting Hermione and stood up happily. "I have faith in you, Hermione," she said with one last smirk. "By the end of summer, you will have Rodolphus eating out of your palm, and even Edmund Lestrange won't be able to convince him to give you up. See you next term," she bid Hermione, before leaving her alone once again.
She was barely able to compose herself before her solitude was broken by her roommates spilling in. If they noticed that Hermione seemed a bit more down than usual, they did not comment on it, perhaps too excited with their own plans to ask about why a poor orphan girl was sad to be returning to someone who was decidedly not her family.
When they arrived at the station, she gave each of the three witches tight, warm hugs with the promise to write one another over the summer. Grabbing her trunk, she found Georgie and Arthur easily enough, and made her way to the platform with them, where Cedrella was waiting.
Arthur was pulled off to one side, giving his girlfriend, Molly Prewett a very intense kiss that had Hermione blushing to the roots of her hair. Even though she was glad that they were together, finally, she did not need to see evidence of their relationship, especially when she remembered them as their older counterparts.
Cedrella seemed to be thoroughly disappointed with her son's behavior as well, huffing and tapping her foot while she waited for them to finish their goodbyes. Rolling her eyes, she turned to look at Hermione, noticing her sad demeanor immediately. "Bunny, what's wrong?" she asked, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders, giving her a little side hug. "You look like you could just burst into tears at any moment."
Hermione swallowed, blinking back the tears that were prickling at the back of her eyes again. "It's nothing..." Hermione said, trailing off with a frown. "Just the realization that it's nearly been a whole year since..."
She did not need to add any more and let Cedrella's mind fill in the blanks on her tragic past. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it, Bunny, you know that I am here for you," she promised, before turning her attention to Georgie to interrogate him about how his OWLs had gone.
Feeling as much as an outsider as she had the whole time that she had been living in the past, Hermione let her eyes wander over the crowd to see her classmates reuniting with family. The three Black sisters had been collected by a stern looking blond man, who alternated between scowling at Bellatrix and smiling indulgently at the ever perfect princess Narcissa. Andromeda stood to the side, largely forgotten and ignored as she made bedroom eyes at Ted Tonks across the way, who was chattering away to his smiling parents.
Then, unwillingly, she found Rodolphus, grinning down at Rabastan, who had survived his first year at Hogwarts, stopping to ruffle his hair every now and again, an action that the younger boy found thoroughly objectionable. Rabastan slipped out from under his older brother's shoulder, running over to a handsome man, who could be none other than their father - Edmund, as Bellatrix had called him.
It was painful to see the way that he dismissed Rabastan's eager recounting of his year, listening with disinterest. Instead, his eyes fell to Rodolphus instead, giving him a pleased look, welcoming him now that he would be useful. Hermione felt a stab of pain in her heart when she realized that this was the man, this was the family, that had been chosen in favor of her.
Perhaps feeling her eyes on him, Rodolphus turned at saw her, his blue eyes once again lingering on her, filled with a promise that Hermione wasn't sure he could keep.
"Ready to go, Bunny?" Cedrella asked with an overdone cheerful voice, perhaps trying to inject some happiness into Hermione's summer. "We better get back...I've had the house elves organize quite the feast for the return of you three, and I am sure that Septimus is just dying to know how your exams went."
Rodolphus was still watching her when they apparated away.
|
It is Christmas Time.
The big holiday is a mere fortnight away, and for tonight's tea Madame Giry has procured a number of themed sweets, including spiced wine. Knowing that they will be busy with the upcoming shows, they have decided to hold their celebrations tonight.
Giry has some envelopes that arrived for them recently. She sits in her chair and holds them out to each of them, Christine easily reaching across from the couch and eagerly plucking hers out of Giry's hand. Erik, however, realizing that Giry is not in fact about to get up to give him his, is forced to rise from his chair in the far corner to receive it.
Once he does have it, he pauses before deciding to sit on the couch out of mere convenience. He is as far away as possible from Christine, but her heart skips a beat in joy at this development. She tears her letter open and scans over it quickly at first, then reads it again more slowly - it's from Meg, and several pages long, detailing the current gossip of those around her and situations she found amusing. Christine is certain she'll be writing a reply to her old friend that's just as long in the very near future.
She glances over at Erik, wondering who on earth would have sent him a letter. She holds Meg's letter up in front of her face, pretending to still be reading, but slyly looks over at the discarded envelope he's left on the couch cushion. It's addressed to Madame Giry, and the name above the return address is list as Nadir Khan, a name which sounds slightly familiar but she can't be certain. Of course this Nadir person could not have addressed the envelope to Erik, she thinks to herself. She uses the pretense of going over to place her letter on the desk to walk behind the couch and steal a look at the contents of Nadir's letter.
Erik can tell that Christine is hoping to steal a glance at what his friend has written. The poor girl is being terribly obvious, he thinks to himself - no one requires that amount of time to walk behind a couch. He presses the papers to his chest, hiding the words from her prying eyes, and twists slightly to look back at her. His blank face and his unblinking stare make Christine bite her lip in embarrassment at being caught. She puts her letter on the desk and stalks back to the couch, purposely avoiding Erik's eyes as she sits down again and crosses her legs. He turns to face her for a moment before slowly extending his arm and allowing her a look at the letter.
Her eyes light up in expectation as she leans across to see...
And he chuckles at her huff of confusion and disappointment- she can't read the strange print of flowing script in a foreign tongue.
She watches him with wonder as he goes back to reading it, still curious about who sent it and what it says.
Madame Giry has been absorbed in her own letter from Meg, and dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. She misses her daughter, but is pleased with the woman she's grown into.
They eat their snacks and treats and Christine and Giry talk about the various topics in her letters to them. Giry asks Erik how Nadir is doing, and Christine turns to listen eagerly. He keeps the subject brief, however, by saying that he was doing well and sent his regards to Giry.
How disappointing, Christine thought. She would have liked to hear more about this man who thought enough of Erik to send him a letter at Christmas time, but to actually ask seemed to verge on prying.
The spiced wine is delicious, and they all have more than one glass. Christine drinks hers a little too fast, the sweetness of it belying its strength. Her head feels as thought it's slightly spinning, so she eats another slice of cake in the hopes that it eases soon. As long as she does not stand she should be fine, she thinks.
Luckily, no one is in a hurry to go anywhere as they have found a topic all three of them are well versed in and revel in discussing - gossip about various Opera employees. Madame Giry is giving an impression of one of the new stage hands that's frighteningly good, and Erik produces a sound that may or may not actually qualify as a giggle and Christine is laughing until her sides ache from both of these things. It all feels so awful to sit there and talk about the annoying habits of their coworkers, but as each story and complaint comes to light they each find they have noticed the exact same thing and they feel a little better about it all. It might be slightly wicked, but it is all terribly funny so they keep going. Even Erik, who still spends time lurking around the place, brings up comments about people and knows just what the two women are talking about.
Feeling just a little guilty but not regretful, they turn the conversation to other matters. Future plans for operas and plays that Erik gives casting notes on, the predictions for the coming weather, and various and sundry topics that bubble up from their minds. Topic moves on to topic, the mood is light and the stories flow easily in part due to the wine. Christine hopes that the drink will have loosened Erik's tongue - he's always so awfully guarded, and while he is certainly more talkative tonight, she does not manage to get much from him in the way of personal information except to find that he's terribly fond of both cashews and strawberries. She has, however, used many moments during the night to scoot ever so slightly closer to him, and by now she's managed to cover most of the distance between them - she sits a mere dozen inches away from him. She's knows that there is no way he has not noticed, yet still he has not made to move away from her all night or mentioned the matter, which makes her inexplicably happy.
Eventually the conversation reaches a sleepy lull, and Madame Giry looks at the clock and winces. The hour is much later than they realized. She sighs as she stands, stretching her back.
"This has been so wonderful tonight, my dears, but I must be taking my leave now if I hope to get any sleep in before work."
She hugs Christine, who's feeling more stable on her feet by now (despite a few extra sips of spiced wine after her first two glasses) and even pats an affectionate hand on Erik's shoulder, a gesture he doesn't seem to mind as he smiles up at her. They say their goodnights and she exits the room, locking the door behind her with only minor difficulty.
They are alone together.
She looks at him where he sits across from her, so much closer than he's ever sat here in this room. He's staring down at his wine glass in his hands, apparently lost in thought. The firelight, still going strong, glints off of his mask.
The evening has been perfect, and she finally lets those words fall from her lips - not because she thinks the timing is right, not because she feels it's wise to do so, but simply because they are true and she can no longer contain them.
"Erik, I love you." her voice floats out softly.
He looks up at her, frozen where he sits, eyes wide.
And because she's finally said it, finally admitted it out loud, she feels emboldened to try something else, too.
She leans forward tentatively, closing the small gap between them, with the intent to kiss him.
She feels his hand on shoulder and for one glorious moment she thinks it's to pull her closer but then he's pushing her away from him, gently but firmly until she's leaning against the back of the couch once again.
When he's put some space between them he stands up.
"I think all that wine has gone to your head, you silly thing." his tone is teasing but his eyes are sad.
She bites her lip to hold back the tears. He doesn't believe her.
He's straightening his jacket as he heads towards the secret door.
"Don't worry about your lesson tomorrow - I want you to take the day off. You should have the entire holiday off, in fact. Perhaps we will begin again after the new year - but you're doing so well that you might not need my help anymore."
He's gone before she can say anything, but she wouldn't know what to say to that anyway.
|
-Sasha
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I took a step back. I really didn't know what to do, I wasn't sure rather to run or what. But, I trusted his control too much. Collin just stepped forward mimicking my stride perfectly. He didn't look menacing or the 'monster' he brought himself to be especially in that suit. I felt the coolness radiating off him, but still he just stood there. I took another step back and another, until my butt hit the edge of the sink but he kept on stepping forward. I pressed my body to his wantonly testing my limits he just wrapped his arms around me pressing back. I looked up at him and on my tip-toes pressed my lips to his just setting them there. What I got back was unexpected, he devoured my mouth unlike one of his safe kisses. He grabbed me by the hips roughly and set me on the sink not breaking our kiss and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist.
A high pitched howl erupted from the nearby woods making me jump in his grasp and his eyes seemingly to change back to grey as if a switch was flipped. He put his hands on my hips to lift me off the edge of the sink, but I cringed stopping him instantly.
"I'm sorry." He murmured while stepping away.
"Don't be, we will talk about that later. I think I know that howl." I said jumping off the edge and pulling Collin by the hand toward the back door. He tensed stopping me in my tracks while pulling me backward.
"You think you know that howl?"
"Yep." I said attempting to pull him with me.
"You sure it's not a trick?"
"Trust me."
He stopped his struggle and let me lead him, I swung the door open and took a nice whiff of the air and smiled.
"Katie!" I shouted into the night taking long strides forward pulling Collin. He pulled me back again.
"Annabeth." He said grinding his teeth.
"What?"
"This-." His sentence was cut off as two figures appeared at the edge of the forest. One was limping being assisted by the other. As my eyes adjusted my breath caught in my throat and I ran toward them releasing Collins hand, he instantly caught up with me and grabbed my hand again. I didn't care I just wanted to get to them faster.
"Kadence, Katie?" I whispered.
"Annabeth?" One answered.
"Oh my god, it is you." I ran forward releasing Collin and wrapped my arms around both of them.
"I thought you would have been caught and killed by now." Katie said.
"Me? I thought you were killed months ago." I said un-wrapping my arms from them.
"But, what happened to you?" I said facing Kadence.
"He was kind of angry when you escaped and I was the closest to you he could get." She said hoarsely.
"Don't believe her. Kind of angry doesn't explain anything until you see her in some light." Katie butted in.
Collin cleared his throat reminding me he had been standing there the whole time. Kadence and Katie jumped as if they hadn't notice him there.
"Collin, this is my sister Kadence and my best friend Katie. Kadence and Katie this is Collin."
"In the few days you were gone you managed to find the biggest Headquarters of vampires and North America. " Katie laughed.
"Hey, I have a knack to find trouble." I defended.
"We all knew that." Kadence added.
"How did you manage to find me?"
"Not your smell." Katie laughed. "We got out last night and we apparently used the same way you did, I saw you outside but I wasn't sure. I had just fazed back for a double check when I heard you call me and then ran back to get Kadence."
I turned to Collin who was standing there hands in pockets just listening. "Does she smell as good as me?" I asked nodding toward Kadence. He inhaled deeply then nodded his head.
"Could maybe, Eli?"
"He's the only one who could."
"What's going on?" Kadence butted in.
"Um, in that house there are maybe over one hundred vampires that would like to kill you. There are only a few that can handle the smell. So, I am trying to find on that can be your body guard."
"I really don't need a bodyguard."Collin and I both busted into laughing at her statement, while she gave us questionable look.
"I said almost exactly that early today. But let's get inside for now." I suggested. I walked over to Kadence so she could lean on me and we made our way back to the house. Collin opened the back door and when the first streams of light hit Kadence and Katie I gasped shocked at their appearance. Kadence had a black eye and a busted lip, her long wavy black hair was matted with twigs and leafs, and her slender figure was covered in mud like her black shorts and white T-shirt. Finger shaped bruises covered her tanned arms and legs. Katie's long golden brown hair was like Kadence's twigs and leafs and all, only a few bruises speckled her pale arms but she was also covered in mud along with her jean shorts and black tank top.
"Now I know what you meant Katie." I said mouth agape.
"I will go grab Eli." Collin said walking away.
"Are you sleeping with him?" Katie said quickly as soon as the door closed.
"No! But I am sleeping in his bed in that sense; it's just to mask my scent."
"Oh, mask your scent." Katie mocked. "Well I'm out, my wolf wants out and I'm tired."
"You would rather sleep in wolf then a bed."
"Yep." She said pulling off her clothing and setting them on the table and walked toward the door naked.
"Not even a shower?"
"Nope, but I should be back by dark tomorrow."
"Better be, or there will be a search party." She opened the door and ran out.
"How do you feel?" I said turning toward Kadence.
"Okay, just tired."
At that moment Eli and Collin walked through the door. Eli's eyes almost popped out of his head as he studied Kadence he was still wearing his grey cargo shorts and blue button-up shirt from earlier.
I'm Eli." He said.
"Kadence, you're my 'body guard' I assume."
"Apparently." He laughed. "Can you walk?"
"Limp."
He walked over to the chair she was sitting in and offered his hand. But, didn't help her up as she expected, he swung her up into his arms squeezing a squeak from her as he walked away.
I walked over to Collin and wrapped my arms around his waist, tears in my eyes. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me. "I don't want to think about whom else, he has done that to."
"Is she like you?" He whispered into her hair.
"Yeah, just not as fast when it comes to healing but her senses are sharper. She should be healed in a day or two. But, it still hurts to see my little sister like that and my best friend is all bruised up." My last words a sniffle.
"I'm sorry. I will make sure nothing like that happens to you or your family again." He said with a slight snarl.
"Don't be sorry or angry." I said rubbing my nose against his chest.
"It's kind of hard to be angry right now."
"My point." I said smiling.
"Why do you have this effect on me?" He said shaking his head.
"I know why for me, but for you I really don't know. "
"You do?"
"I don't want to say." I said attempting to hide my face in his button up shirt.
"Oh come on, tell me."
"It's just a silly Werewolf thing."
"Oh, that explains the bite." He said nodding his head smiling.
"Why are you smiling?" I said with a gruff tone.
"I'm happy, that's why." All of a sudden he swung me up into his arms and started walking toward his room.
"This is what you do when you're happy?"
"Mhm." He set me on the bed and began taking his clothes off I just enjoyed watching. He stripped off his jacket and shirt revealing arms wrapped in thick muscles, then down to his pants to just stand there in boxers. He yawned and crawled on all fours to the top of the bed then under the covers, I just liked watching his butt wiggle on his crawl up there. He noticed me just looking at him smiling.
"What?"
"Oh sorry I was just checking out your butt."
"That it." He laughed.
I jumped up and went to his dresser to pull out a black shirt and stripped out of my jeans and t-shirt and threw it on and mimicked his action of crawling up the bed and under the covers. I wrapped a leg around his and tracing his full bottom lip with my thumb.
"What was that meeting about today?"
"It was about you."
"Me?"
"They get kind of suspicious when the clan leader hasn't been seen for days."
"You're the 'clan' leader?" She said unbelieving. "I guess I really don't know much about you."
"Me? Hmm, I'm the clan leader, I'm twenty-two, I love the beach, oh and I'm a Leo."
"That's better."
"What exactly does the 'clan leader' do?"
"I pretty much run the defenses and make decisions for the clan, kind of like an alpha."
"But, you haven't worked since I've been here."
"I made it that way, James has been doing it."
"Okay, I see." I laughed
"I might need to get away from you, after my little incident in the kitchen." He said running his fingers lightly over my hip.
"Collin, you didn't exactly attack me in the kitchen." I growled. "I made the first move. I wanted you to do everything you did."
"So you wanted me rape you." He said calmly.
"Ha, I would have raped you first!" I yelled. "I would have enjoyed every minute of it too!"
"You wouldn't of had to." He said almost to calm.
"Then rape is just an out of the question thing, because both of us would have wanted it. God, you make me want to punch you in the face and kiss you at the same time!"
"Okay, punch me in the face."
He expected me to punch him but instead I leaned my head down to his collar bone and traced the scar from my bite with my tongue then lightly nipped at it again.
"You make it hard to keep control." He hissed through closed teeth, clenching his fists.
"I don't see why you want to keep control." I said climbing on to his lap and sitting up, grinding against him.
"You're too good." He half moaned half growled. He grabbing me by the hips and laid me back down next to him then climbed on top of me pinning me to the bed." I want to be in control of my body when I make love to you." I wrapped my legs around his waist. "And, you're doing anything to make sure I'm not and it turns me on and pisses me off."
I put on a pouty face."But, I like your other side."
"Once we do have sex, you will probably do everything you can to not turn me on and see that other side."
"I don't think anything you did could make me not want you."
He just let out a breath and rolled off of me, and I laid my head on his chest wrapping an arm around him.
"I'm sorry." I said nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.
"No you're not." He growled scaring me.
"Don't be angry at me." I said scooting away from him tell we weren't touching. "I'm sorry." He simply scooted over to where I was and wrapped a reassuring arm around my waist.
"I will never in my right mind hurt you." He whispered into my ear."Don't ever be afraid of me." I rolled over to face him and buried my face in his neck again taking deep breaths his sweet but musky scent relaxed me by itself. Collin began running his fingers up and down my spine soothing me even more until I fell asleep.
___________________________________________
"Is this necessary?" I asked Eli as he carried back to his room.
"Not really." He set be on his huge bed covered in a black comforter. He walked away toward his bathroom tell I heard water running then came walking back. "I thought you would want a bath."
"Yeah." I slowly lifted myself onto my good ankle and started hopping on it toward the bathroom I didn't make much progress. Eli came up behind me and lifted me by the waist.
"Shit." I grunted. He set me down. "Watch out, bruises."
"I'm sorry Kadence, but you don't need to be hopping around here hurting yourself more." He said irritated.
"No, I'm sorry for being such a burden." I said hopping back to the bathroom. "What a jerk." I thought. While trying to jump out of my shorts, the button wasn't giving. I didn't want help from that jerk to get out of my own pants. So I decided to slip off my sneakers and then just try to wiggle out of them that didn't work out very well either. I got them half way down my hips when I fell backward on my butt, my socks not giving me much traction as I wiggled. In a second Eli had the door opened and was leaning against the frame arms crossed.
"I think you should be nicer to me." He said walking forward and lifting me under my arms and setting me on the edge of the tub.
"Well, I think you should be nicer to me." I said as he got down on his knees and pulled off my socks and reached up to my button and struggled not getting it either. "Now you see my issue."
"Did you super glue this together?"
"Please don't rip-." He ripped them off.
"Oops." He said unapologetic.
"Just leave." He gave a half smile and walked off. It took me a good hour in there to wash off the mud and other random items, but of course Eli popped in, in the middle of my bath and I did my best to cover myself.
"Hey!" I shouted.
"Hey, just knock on the wall when you're done so I can get you out and grab you some of my clothes."
"Fine, just go away!"The whole helping me out part didn't sound to inviting to me. After a few changes of bath water I drained it and I attempted to get out. That didn't work so well, to my demise of course Eli heard my crash back into the bathtub and was standing there watching me struggle.
"I thought I told you to knock." He said throwing me a towel, I caught it wrapping it around me the best I could while sitting in the tub.
"I really don't want your help."
"Well to bad." He said hooking his arms under my knees and back and lifting me steadily with inhuman strength and bringing be back to the bed and setting me down. He went to his closet and threw a pair of blue boxers at me and a white T-shirt.
"Get dressed."
"Well, turn around pushy." He did. "Okay you can turn around now."
He turned around and undid his shorts revealing a pair of silk grey stripped boxers. Then unbuttoned his shirt showing a hard hair-less chest and tight abs. He turned around and asked. "Have you seen enough?"
"Plenty."
"Good." He said walking to the light switch and switching it off and crawling into the opposite side of the bed climbing in. I hopped to the other one and climb in finding silk sheets. I stole a pillow and cuddled into it finding restless sleep.
I was back in the makeshift prison Gustavo's army had thrown all the women and children in, then a guard had came to get me and had handcuffed me bringing me into Gustavo's lavish study. I was pushed down into a chair sitting on my hands painfully.
"Where is my Annabeth?" The short and stocky black haired man had said walked toward her from behind his desk.
"I haven't seen her, in two months."
"Don't lie to me, it's not smart." He growled.
"I swear." That set him off he grabbed me roughly by the hair, pulling me out of the chair, then banging my head against the coffee table busting my lip open.
"You probably helped her escape, didn't you!?" He yelled repeatedly kicking me in the ribs.
I shot straight up in bed sweat drenching my body and breathing heavily.
"Kadence, Kadence are you okay?" I looked to my side to see Eli's bright baby blue eyes staring at me in concern. I slid back down onto my back just staring at the ceiling.
"Kadence?" He said with a caring tone I hadn't heard before. I just took uneven shaky breaths just staring.
"Kadence?" He said rolling over to his side to face her. I couldn't take it anymore I burst into tears rolling over, back to him hiding my face in a pillow.
"Kadence?" He said more sternly.
"What?" I said hoarsely.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"A dream."
"Oh." I rolled into the fetal position and cried.
"Want to talk about it?" Eli interrupted.
"Want to talk about it?" I mocked. "Right now, no!"
"Damn, I was just asking."
"Aren't you so sensitive all of a sudden?!" I snapped.
Instead of yelling back at me like I expected he scooted toward me and wrapped his arms around me. I tried to struggle out of his grasp but I really didn't want to. I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face into his neck and cried tell I fell asleep. The dream didn't come back as it usually did.
|
The first time is in Diagon Alley. July’s heat beats down. Sweat beads on his neck. Draco cradles Scorpius, careful not to jostle him in the rush of the crowd. He can feel the tiny wisps of breath into his neck, the small hands splayed out on his chest. Six months ago he couldn’t have imagined this protectiveness, this love and wonder and terror bundled in his arms.
Astoria is energetic today, a rarity with her postpartum. It’s been a long time since she wore a dress and heels. The peach offsets her bronzed skin; she looks gorgeous, even if he’s not the best admirer. She pulls them into Fortescue’s. “Morgana, how long has it been since we went out for a day? And without your parents hovering like vultures.”
He frowns. “You’re the one who said you couldn’t do it yourself. They’re helping.”
She rolls her eyes. “What, so I can’t vent? Shouldn’t you be taking my side? I’m your wife.”
“Yes, thank you for the reminder. What if I said that about your parents?”
“You wouldn’t, because they have better things to do than obsess over Scorpius.”
“I’m aware. In fact, they don’t do much to help at all, and neither does Daphne. Where are they now, Venice? While you’re fighting depression?”
Behind the counter, Florean arches an eyebrow at them. With a frustrated sigh, Astoria gestures to the list of flavors. “Fine. Sorry. What do you want?”
“Vanilla.”
“Boring.” There’s something complicated in how she teases him, affection laced with a sneer, but isn’t he the same? They’re both too clever by half. He hopes they settle out before Scorpius is old enough to pick up their habits.
He picks a table. She returns with two cones, one vanilla and one passionfruit. It’s a jostling act to balance Scorpius and lick his ice cream, but Draco’s practiced at it now. A couple whispering women in the corner give Astoria appreciative looks. She acts like she doesn’t notice, but he detects the faint smile on her sly mouth. “You’ll scare them off if you look too smug.”
She scrunches her nose at him but looks pleased. “I have more charm than you ever will.” She sighs. “Remember when we were going to have side flings?”
“Before you ballooned, I spent three months in Thailand, and then you popped out a baby who has to be balanced with our jobs?”
“Let’s enjoy this while it lasts. You’ve got a little…” A dribble of ice cream trickles down his chin, but he lacks the free hand to stop it. She reaches out to wipe it off, then licks her well-manicured thumb.
Draco glances up to see Neville frozen in the doorway, looking Stupefied as he stares at their family tableau.
Then Neville’s pushed inside by two more familiar faces. It’s the Weasley-Grangers, their daughter nestled in the crook of Weasley’s arm. She must be around Scorpius’s age. Both parents follow the line of Neville’s gaze; it’s Weasley who says, “Bloody hell! Is that your baby, Malfoy?”
Granger gives him a sharp elbow to the ribs, making him wince. “Hello Astoria, Draco.”
Neville trails behind her. A year and a half has passed since their split. He looks unchanged, wearing a faded Celestina Warbeck t-shirt that shows off the heft in his arms and the padding on his stomach. The feeling of loss overwhelms Draco, and he struggles to keep his expression neutral.
Astoria is unaffected. She hardly knew any of them during school, and she doesn’t know that Neville is his ex. Draco isn’t sure if that makes it worse or better. She says with a friendly smile, “Hello, Hermione. Your daughter is very cute.”
Granger beams. “Rose is starting to sleep for more than two hours, which makes her much cuter. This must be Scorpius.”
Draco summons back his thoughts. He needs to stay cordial. “Yes. We’re taking the sleep we can get with him.” He looks past her into a familiar pair of brown eyes. “Hello, Neville.”
Neville nods at him. “How’s the research?”
“Good. We’re having some early successes with the moonflower tests. I’m sure you’ll see some reports soon. How’s Hogwarts?”
“Same as always.” Neville turns to Granger. “I’ll get our orders. Two rocky road, one strawberry?” Weasley seems like he’s going to protest, but Neville walks to the counter without waiting for a reply. Draco forces his eyes not to linger there.
Astoria shoots Draco a quizzical look, and he acts puzzled, hoping she doesn’t pick up the hints. She forges on. “How are things at the Ministry?”
Weasley shrugs. “A mess, but what’s new?”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “You hardly spend any time there, dear. I’m not sure the input of an Auror is necessary.” She shrugs. “It is hectic, though.”
Weasley adjusts his hold on squirming Rose and says, “Heard your lawsuit went well. Got your wand back?”
Draco nods, pulling it out of his pocket and giving it a twirl.
Hermione smiles, looking oddly pleased. “I’m so glad. You know, I’ve been advocating for more leniency in the Department. It’s been eight years already. It’s time for us to move forward.”
Everything she says sounds like an election speech. He wonders if the rumors that she’ll run for Minister of Magic after Shacklebolt retires are true. Astoria looks amused but smartly changes the topic. “How was your shopping?”
Weasley motions to their pile of bags. “Last stop, thankfully.”
There’s a beat of silence, everyone unsure what to say, when Neville returns. There’s a round of goodbyes, but Neville avoids meeting Draco’s eyes and hurries his friends out the door. Rose makes a few gurgling noises as they depart.
Astoria cradles her chin in her hand. “Why does Granger like you?”
He shrugs. “She punched me in the face once. Maybe it was therapeutic.”
“Huh. You know, I thought Longbottom would be nicer, since you’re colleagues.”
Draco’s jaw clenches. “Yes, well, I’m not a man with many fans.” Draco lifts Scorpius to pass him across the table. “I’m going to the toilet.” She looks surprised, but smiles as the baby blinks awake and rustles in her arms. Draco clenches his fists as he walks by them, willing his hands not to shake.
*
The second time is at the London conference in November. It was inevitable that they’d be presenting their findings together. It manifests as a panel to unveil Lumonium astridae and its beneficial properties to the potions-producing world.
He walks backstage into a green room. Neville is in a blue suit, reading over some notes. Draco feels the instinctive urge to fix his tie; instead, he clears his throat. “Nervous?”
Neville looks up and returns a weak grin. “Never been good with public speaking.”
“That’s rot. A classroom is public speaking. You’ll be fine. And nobody knows the subject better than you, so who’ll know if you flub?” Draco sits next to him on the thin wooden bench.
“That’s true.” He turns to Draco. “I know I sent an owl, but I have to congratulate you in person. Never dreamed that the results for memory loss would be so effective. I wish I could have used them on my dad.”
“You…” Draco pauses, scrambling for words. “I’m sorry about his passing.” He hadn’t gone to the funeral; he was abroad and found out too late. Instead he sent a large bouquet of lilies and a note.
Neville’s expression gives meaning to the word heartbroken, pulling a responding twinge of sorrow in Draco. “Thank you. We knew it was coming, at least.”
“And your mother?”
“Fine.” He clears his throat, eyes still watery. “How’s your son?”
Draco’s soft smile is inevitable when he thinks about Scorpius. “He’ll be a year in December. Babbles a lot. He’s got us all wrapped around his finger, especially me.”
“Never thought you’d be such a doting dad.” Neville says it lightly, but Draco isn’t sure how to take the statement.
“I’m as surprised as you.” Draco adjusts his cufflink. “How about you? A relationship?”
Neville shrugs. “Early days. We’ll see if it works out.”
“Ah. Best of luck.”
“Thank you.”
A pause lingers until Maxine pops her head in the door. “Draco! Scorpius tells me Aunt Maxine is his favorite.”
Draco turns in relief. “Feeding him chocolate doesn’t count.”
Maxine returns a sly grin. “They said we are on in two.” They follow her, walking onstage along with a couple other women from the team.
The presentation is detailed and technical; Astoria nods off in the front row. Mother bounces Scorpius in her lap, keeping him busy with a stuffed toy. Father pays rapt attention. He looks stern, but Draco can tell that he’s bursting with pride. He hasn’t been this excited since Draco’s wedding day.
When it ends, Neville offers a brief handshake, then departs. Draco catches a glimpse of a woman on his arm as they exit. His heart sinks, but it’s a foolish pang, and he chases it away with one of Scorpius’s tinkling laughs.
*
The third time is a wedding. He wouldn’t have come if Pansy wasn’t the bride. After all, he’s miserable, exhausted, and has a two-year-old in tow. His suit’s too loose. But he rallies for her.
The hall is enormous. It’s March, but enchanted snowflakes rain down above them, dissolving before they can touch the guests. Floating lights hover in the air. Vines wrap around the walls, and huge bouquets of white gladioli sprout from each corner. A live band plays festive violin as the guests find their seats. Draco picks one in the middle with a decent view. Blaise is sitting next to him, but so far he hasn’t actually sat down, too busy flirting with a gorgeous lawyer on the groom’s side.
A finger taps his shoulder. He turns to see Neville, looking dapper in a tux. There’s a furrow in his brow that Draco registers as concern. It’s a jolt to the heart; he blanches. “Neville.”
“Hello, Draco. I can’t believe how much Scorpius has grown.”
Scorpius peers up at Neville suspiciously. “I want cake.”
Draco sighs. “Not yet, Scor. After the ceremony.”
Neville grins and takes Blaise’s seat. “I, too, am interested in the cake.”
“Here.” Draco enchants a coloring book and crayons, then deposits Scorpius with them in the next chair. His son gets to work on the pictures, mumbling to himself, and Draco turns back to Neville. His tuxedo is sleek and his haircut suits him. “You clean up well.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” There’s something rakish in Neville’s grin that gives Draco goosebumps. “Gran likes the tux.”
“How is Augusta?”
“Healthy as ever. She’d put a tortoise to shame.”
Draco allows himself a wry grin at that one. “I don’t doubt it.” It’s strange that Neville is acting so friendly, and he self-consciously tucks a loose hair behind his ear.
Neville glances around the room. “Where’s Astoria?”
There’s no polite way to say, She left a week before our son’s birthday to join her lover in Spain because she couldn’t handle our sham marriage. I’ve been coping by myself for almost a month, which is why I look like a natural disaster. Draco opts for, “She’s abroad. Couldn’t make it.”
“Shame. This looks like a hell of a wedding.”
“Did Pansy invite you?”
“No, I’m a plus one.”
Oh. Of course. “Who?”
“Do you remember Hannah Abbott? She’s landlady of the Leaky Cauldron now. I’m still at Hogwarts, but we make it work.”
He remembers her as loud and tactless, but Draco says with a tight smile, “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I should go find her. Or champagne first and her second.” He puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”
Draco nods stiffly, the imprint of Neville’s warmth burning into his skin. For a moment, he wishes Scorpius wasn’t there so he could drown himself in Firewhisky. Then he banishes the thought, scooping Scorpius into his lap and kissing his cheek. “Ready to see Aunt Pansy get married?”
Scorpius pauses to consider this. “Okay.”
With a huffed laugh, Draco conjures up a book to distract Scorpius until the ceremony starts. Blaise finally sits, but continues to make eyes at the lawyer, who throws flirty glances back.
It’s a grand and lavish wedding, more than even his was. There’s one key difference, though: the way Pansy lights up around Victor. He thought her handsome Kenyan millionaire was a money match, but she seems enraptured. If only he could have had that. A nasty, venomous feeling seeps in as he watches the happy couple. His applause is half-hearted.
Scorpius skips dinner to stuff himself with chocolate cake, and Draco lets him. He’s always been the indulgent parent; Astoria is the disciplinarian. They spend a brief time on the dance floor, Scorpius bouncing in place. Pansy, who hates children, even scoops him up for a photo op. Scorpius sneezes into her shoulder. The face she makes is priceless, so Draco focuses on ragging her and pretends not to see Neville snogging Hannah at one of the tables. If he makes a vomiting noise, it’s only to himself.
It’s only when they’re leaving that Neville catches them again. “Going already?”
Draco tilts his head towards Scorpius, who is yawning in his arms. “Putting him to bed.”
“Right. Look, I was thinking that we could get coffee soon. Catch up.”
It’s nice that Neville is in a good place, but he doesn’t want to hear about it. In fact, it’s not nice, because Draco is bitter. Nor is he interested in revealing how his marriage is falling apart. The affair will hit the papers any day; Neville can get his update there. “I’m rather busy." “Oh.” Neville rubs the back of his neck. “Some other time.”
“Yes.”
Hannah materializes behind Neville, her hand brushing his elbow. Draco recalls the nickname Pansy gave her in third year: Hannah Horsetooth. And now she’s at Pansy’s wedding. How times change. “You coming, Nev? Oh, am I disturbing you?”
Draco clears his throat. “No, we were leaving.” Before Neville can say anything else, he leaves for the coat rack.
That night, Scorpius sleeps with his grandparents. Draco lies down in his king bed, alone in a sea of sheets and pillows, and thinks back to the scrape of stubble on his chin, the brush of lips along his neck. Hands caressing his lower back, working their way between his thighs. He falls into a dream of Neville, smiling down at him in bed, laughing into Draco’s ribs, running a broad finger down his spine until he shivers.
It’s the worst dream he’s ever had.
|
The Frostling had been watching him for a while now. It was rare for her— this sudden interest in one of them. Humans, as a rule, were dull creatures with nothing to offer her kind. They abhorred the bracing cold and huddled by the fire when the first snowflakes fell. They cursed when they slipped and skidded on the ice. Most of them didn’t even seem to notice the perfect, delicate frost patterns she left on their windows. There was no romance in their hearts. The magic of her season eluded them thoroughly. They just didn’t see it.
By the North Wind, they were an odd lot! What self respecting spirit of winter would wish to associate with such a strange people?
And yet, she watched this one. He came to her little nook in the woods every other day, meandering from his human settlement and into the wilderness of her natural home. The first time she saw him, she assumed he was lost. Out of the goodness of her heart, she sent a winter chill to drive him back to the town— back to their strange, warm houses and the meticulously swept, snow free streets. But he ignored all her efforts and trudged on anyway.
Perhaps that was when she realised he was different.
She watched him closely after that. He was always alone. The Frostling thought this strange. Over the centuries, she had observed his kind from a distance. They didn’t like being alone any more than they liked the cold. She knew this was true. Humans always changed, it was in their nature. They changed the world around them and shaped it by their hands and will— but this one thing had remained the same for as long as she could remember.
Every human had another human. Unfathomable as it was, this made them happy. Younglings made them even happier. When a human pair had younglings of their own, they became a...what was the word? A family. Yes, that was it. She didn’t understand most of it but she did know that this ‘family’ was very important to them.
So, why was her human always alone? Did he not have a family?
Today, she decided, she would find out. The questions had been bothering her for a while and she didn’t have time for such distraction. Winter was well upon them, and she had to do her part. There was fresh snow to sprinkle, frost patterns to make, winds to direct...she couldn’t very well do it with a maudlin human moping about, could she?
And also...maybe if she helped him, he wouldn’t look so sad.
It was easy enough to shift her form. Her hair grew long and golden, her eyes turned blue, her cheeks filled with colour. She looked just like a human youngling now. Wrinkling her nose at the distasteful notion, the Frostling set out to solve the mystery of the lingering human.
“Why are you alone?”
He froze immediately, then sprung up and whipped around to face her. She had startled him. Those eyes— green like the firs in the forest— widened in surprise. For a moment, she was intrigued. Who knew humans had such vivid eyes?
“Hey, little girl,” he said, and she could hear concern colouring his voice. “What are you doing here?”
A question for a question? How strange. Perhaps, he didn’t understand her.
“Why are you alone?” she repeated, speaking slowly for his benefit.
He just looked flummoxed. He ran a hand through his messy, black hair and straightened his winter clothing. “I’m just walking,” he explained hesitantly. “But we can talk about that later. Are you lost? Where are your parents?”
Parents? Lost? Would she never understand anything that came out of this boy’s mouth? “I am fine,” the Frostling explained, a touch impatiently. “And I see that you’re walking. I was simply enquiring as to why you are alone in the forest. Where is your...family?”
He blinked. “You have a pretty solid vocabulary for someone so little.” He started walking towards her then, slowly and carefully. She suspected he was trying not to scare her. The thought was amusing— and a touch endearing. So, she didn’t protest when he knelt down in front of her and put a cautious hand on her tiny shoulder.
He hissed in concern. “You’re so cold. Look, don’t be scared, yeah? What’s your name? My name’s Harry.”
“Harry?” The name sounded strange and foreign on her tongue.
Harry smiled. It was a warm smile that brought thoughts of summer to her mind. Despite that, she found she liked it. “That’s right,” Harry said. “Did you wander off or something? I can help you find your mother.”
By the North Wind, not this again. Were all humans such worrisome creatures? The Frostling hastened to interrupt him before he decided she was completely incapable of looking after herself. “I’m not lost. My...mother is nearby. She is my family?”
It wasn’t supposed to sound like a question. For a moment, she thought she had blown her cover. But Harry laughed, clearly amused. “That’s usually how it works, yeah.”
Oh, good. She was finally getting somewhere. “Where is your mother?”
The smile faded. His eyes clouded over. There was a private, personal grief in them she couldn’t understand. “She’s not here,” Harry said quietly. “She...died a long time ago.”
“Oh. How unfortunate.” So, she was right. He didn’t have a family. He had no one. “Are you all alone then?”
He shrugged, and the smile returned. But it was tinged with pain and lingering sadness. “I do alright. I have my friends. They’re sort of like family.”
“It is not the same.” She didn’t know that for sure, but she could tell. Harry had other humans, but he needed one of his very own. A mate, perhaps? Yes, that made sense. She was sure of this now. And with a little touch of magic, she could help him. Then he wouldn’t be so sad any more.
“You’re a strange kid,” Harry commented. His eyes were still bright and kind, but there was touch of speculation in those green depths. He wanted to ask her questions. Questions, she could not and would not answer. It was time to go.
“I must leave,” she told him firmly. “My mother will worry.”
Harry looked hesitant, but finally he nodded. “You’re sure you know your way?”
“I am certain. Do not worry about me.”
“Well, alright then.” He didn’t sound very certain, but he made no move to stop her. “If you’re sure. But before you go, will you take this? Just to keep warm.”
She watched in surprise as he took off the red scarf from his neck and wrapped it around her. The fabric felt strange against her skin, scratchy and soft at the same time. The warmth was unpleasant but she didn’t want to hurt Harry’s feelings by taking it off. Humans were so sensitive.
“Thank you,” she said politely. “You are a very kind man.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “And you’re a very strange little girl. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
It seemed as good a farewell as any. She tightened her hold on the scarf and left, treading through the snow on fast, sure feet. She could sense Harry’s eyes on her back, making sure she was safe for as long as he could. It was...sweet, in an odd way.
When she heard the fading crunch of his boots in the snow, she knew he was leaving. Perhaps forever. If her magic worked, she would never see the curious, kind human again. That was alright. She was a winter being, after all. It was not in her nature to get attached to anything or anyone.
Still, she didn’t throw the scarf anyway. It would make a nice memento.
****
Harry woke the next morning, feeling groggy and blissfully warm. He couldn’t remember ever having been so comfortable in his life. Apparently, there was something to be said for the new covers Hermione had foisted on him after all. He smiled in his sleep addled state, just enjoying the sensation. Of course, he would have to get out of bed sometime. He had to get to work soon and he still had to get that new quill from Flourish and Blotts. Maybe he could stop by after getting take-out from that new Chinese place and…
“Stop thinking so loud. I can hear you all the way over here.”
Harry froze. His pleasant train of thought screeched to a standstill as a scratchy, sleepy voice that was most certainly not his own, broke into the silence. He was not alone. There was someone else here. There was someone else in his bed.
“You’re still doing it,” the voice grumbled. “And by the way? You have your own side, you know. There’s no law that says you have to sleep on top of me every...”
At that, Harry sprang up like he’d been burned. Reality was seeping in and the gravity of the situation slammed into him with the force of a freight train. What he had assumed was just the warmth of his bed was actually the warmth of another person in his bed. A person he couldn’t remember having invited there in the first place. Oh, this could not be good. Harry scrambled up in sheer panic and whirled around to face his companion.
Bewildered, grey eyes met his frantic gaze.
“What’s wrong?” Malfoy demanded, sounding worried. He sat up and the sheet slipped, falling off one pale shoulder. Harry very nearly dropped into a dead faint. Malfoy was nude under the sheet. Malfoy was in his bed without any clothes on and damn it, what the hell had Harry done last night?! Oh, he was going to faint. He was so going to...
Malfoy must have noticed his hyperventilating because he shifted, clearly intending to get up and approach Harry. Approach Harry without any clothes on.
“No!” Harry yelped in completely justifiable alarm. “Stay where you are! I mean it!”
“Harry, calm down,” Malfoy soothed. His voice was calm but his eyes were large and grey and full of concern. “It’s okay. Just a bad dream, yeah? It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”
That, in Harry’s humble opinion, was the whole problem. He took a deep breath and tried his damndest to quell his frantic heartbeat. He had to make sense of this situation, damn it! Panicking wasn’t the answer. “How...how did you...get in here? In my bed?”
Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “As I recall, you invited me into your bed five years ago. Rather enthusiastically, I might add.”
“What?! I think I would rem…”
Malfoy held a pale hand up. Something glistened on his finger. Harry’s words froze in his throat as he stared at the slim, elegant platinum ring. A glance down at his own hand confirmed the worst. Harry stared blankly at the band on his own finger— a platinum ring, the exact mirror image of Malfoy’s. And that wasn’t all. Now that he wasn’t descending into hysterics, he could see framed pictures on the walls. Malfoy and him in suits, smiling and waving with a glass of champagne each. Hermione and Ron joined them in another picture, smiling and laughing. Ron thumped Malfoy on the back and gave Harry a hug. In yet another picture, Narcissa Malfoy smiled and kissed Harry’s cheek. Malfoy joined them and wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist. A banner with ‘Congratulations Newlyweds!’ emblazoned on it, hung in the background.
Oh, Merlin.
Harry swallowed and sat down shakily in a chair. This...didn’t seem like a joke anymore.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered. He couldn’t...he didn’t...this was impossible. But the pictures on the walls couldn’t lie to him. The ring on his finger wasn’t a lie. And Malfoy was out of bed now— wearing pyjama bottoms, thank goodness— and hovering over Harry, looking for all the world like a concerned husband. And that wasn’t a lie either. Malfoy was a git and a prat and a liar, but even he couldn’t pull such an elaborate stunt.
Oh Godric, what had happened?!
“I don’t understand,” Harry mumbled again. It was all he was capable of saying at the moment. He was entirely overwhelmed and more than a little frightened. The whole world had turned upside down and he didn’t even know what was going on and…
Suddenly, two, slim arms circled around him. Harry yelped and started to struggle but Malfoy shushed him, carding an uncharacteristically gentle hand through his hair.
“It’s alright,” he whispered. “You’re home, Harry. It was just a bad dream. You’re here with me and I love you.”
A part of him rebelled at the sheer outlandishness of such a claim. He wanted to shove Malfoy off, yell at him and demand an explanation. But he was being held. Malfoy’s touch was calming to his frayed senses, reassuring him almost effortlessly. It was too nice to let go of just yet. So Harry relaxed into the embrace, taking the offered comfort as he struggled to figure this out.
“There are always days like this,” Malfoy said, still holding him close. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
The nightmares. Malfoy was talking about his terror attacks. Harry had been struggling with them since the war. Even Ron and Hermione didn’t know that he woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, wide eyed and gasping for breath. But Malfoy knew. There was no way he could have known something so personal about Harry. Not unless...not unless he had been here and seen the attacks, not unless he had held Harry through them and calmed him down. The way Malfoy was acting now, it was clear he had done this several times.
That, more than anything, confirmed it for Harry.
This was real.
This was happening.
He took a deep gulp of air and wrapped his arms around Malfoy, burrowing into his neck. Later, he would sit down and think long and hard about why that was a terrible course of action. But right now, in the face of this inversion of his entire reality, he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Malfoy was here and offering comfort and he would be a fool not to take it.
Later. He would fix this later.
Malfoy let go and disentangled himself. He smiled slightly and brushed a hand down Harry’s cheek. “I’ll fix breakfast today, yeah? You just take your time,” he said softly. “The kids are probably up anyway. It is Christmas, after all.”
He gave Harry a kiss on the cheek and left. Harry sat there, Malfoy’s last words ringing through his head with screaming clarity.
Kids.
What kids?!
****
It took him twenty minutes to get dressed, and another twenty to bolster up the courage to leave the relative safety of his— well, his and Malfoy’s— room. Whatever was on the other side of that door, it wasn’t going away, and he was going to have to deal with it sooner or later.
That was what Harry told himself over and over again as he slipped into the hallway.
“Daddy!”
The attack cry and the telltale patter of footsteps was all the warning Harry got before a pint sized person flew out of nowhere and attached himself to his leg. Harry gaped uncomprehendingly as green eyes blinked up at him, accompanied by a bright, toothy grin.
“Daddy! Up!” the toddler demanded, holding his chubby little arms out.
Harry just stared, frozen into inaction. There was a little person stuck to his leg. The child had his dark hair and green eyes, but the sharp features and pointed chin had Malfoy written all over them. There was no doubt about it. This...this was his son. His and Malfoy’s. A son he didn’t remember. He didn’t even know the boy’s name. The boy definitely knew him though. He was still hanging on to Harry like a particularly persistent barnacle.
Just what was Harry supposed to do with him?
“Up, Daddy!”
The imperious demand and resulting pout hastened Harry into action. He swallowed down the impending panic and bent to pick the kid up. He giggled as he was hoisted, latching onto Harry with practiced ease. “Hi, Daddy,” he greeted happily.
“Um, hi,” Harry replied, trying not to sound too bewildered. “How are you?”
“Fine,” the toddler replied seriously. “Pwesent day.”
Harry’s lips twitched in reluctant amusement. Apparently, he had a cute kid. “I think you meant Christmas.”
“Pwesent day,” the toddler agreed.
Right.
“So, um…” Harry struggled to come up with an appropriate question here. “How old are you?”
A little hand flew up, smacking him in the face. “Fow,” the child chirped. “An’ half.”
Despite himself, Harry chuckled at the serious, sombre expression on that little face. He couldn’t help himself, the kid was adorable. “Such a big boy,” he said, bouncing him a little. The boy giggled in delight. It was the most wonderful sound Harry had ever heard. “What do you want for Present Day then, hm?”
This was the wrong question to ask. The kid perked up and commenced chattering nineteen to the dozen, reciting a list that had been clearly been planned months in advance. Still, Harry couldn’t help but smile fondly and listen as that list grew longer and more enthusiastic by the second.
“An’ a bwoom, an’ a wand an’ a Pygmy Puff,” the toddler finally finished. “For Cowy.”
Cory?
“Cory?” Harry echoed. “Who...uh, I mean where is Cory?”
There was a bit of urgent shuffling and squirming. Harry finally caught on enough to put his...son down. A small hand wrapped around his finger and led him to a bedroom on the left. Two bunk beds stood proudly in the corner and toys of all shapes and sizes were strewn all over the floor. Harry’s eyes widened. Well, at least he was rich. He had to be to afford all this. Still, it was nice to know his son was happy and clearly loved. Certainly not the way he remembered his own childhood…
“Cowy!” said son yelled suddenly, making a beeline for the beds. He poked and prodded at a little lump on the bottom bunk. “Wake up! It’s pwesent day!”
“Al, stop,” a small, sleepy voice demanded.
Harry watched in stunned silence as a small blond head poked out of the covers. Another little boy. His second son. Cory had blond hair and wide, grey eyes. He was the spitting image of Malfoy— save for the chubby cheeks and the tousled, scruffy look only little boys ever seem to manage. He stared at Harry for a second before yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Hi Daddy,” he mumbled.
Harry fell in love instantly.
“Hey mate,” he whispered, approaching slowly and brushing a careful hand over the little, blond head. Soft hair sifted through his fingers. The little boy blinked at him and held his arms out, just like his brother. Harry lifted him up without a second thought and in that moment, he knew he had fallen and fallen hard.
Al and Cory.
He didn’t even know their full names yet, but he loved them so much. They were perfect. Just perfect.
“Were you sleeping?” he asked, cradling the little boy carefully. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“S’okay,” Cory mumbled. He slumped back on Harry’s shoulder and stuck his thumb in his mouth. Al watched the heart-warming scene for all of two seconds before deciding he wanted in as well. It took a few tries but Harry was soon carting both of them around, one in each arm.
His boys. His sons.
He had sons.
He was a father.
“My boys,” he whispered, holding them close. He could hardly believe it. All his life, he had wondered if he would ever have this. Somehow, he had it now and Merlin help him, it was better than he had ever imagined. It was everything he had ever dreamed of. It was so much more than that...
“So there you are. I was wondering where everyone was.”
Harry turned around as Malfoy walked in, grinning with evident amusement.
“Morning, Father,” Al chirped brightly.
Malfoy ruffled his hair. “Good morning, Albus.”
“Morning, Fadder,” Cory added sleepily.
Malfoy’s smile turned to a chuckle and he reached out to take the child from Harry. Harry wasn’t all that keen to let go of his baby but Malfoy was obviously their father too. If anyone had a right to cuddle and coo over his boys, it was probably the man who had raised them with him. Cory went willingly, tumbling into Malfoy’s arms with a contented sigh. Malfoy bussed a kiss to his head. “Good morning, Scorpius,” he murmured affectionately. “Merry Christmas.”
“Happy pwesent day!” Al insisted adamantly.
Harry chuckled and Malfoy sighed wearily. They shared a fond look over the boy’s heads, the kind only parents can. Parents. The thought came to him suddenly, catching him off guard. He was a parent. And a husband to Draco Malfoy. It...wasn’t as disconcerting as it had been a few minutes ago. Of course, it was still disorienting and frankly terrifying to learn he had ended up with his school rival of all people. It was even scarier when he thought of what he and Malfoy had put each other through, all those years ago. He was married to this man now, and he didn’t even know how they had fallen in love, how they had ended up with this perfect family, how any of this had happened.
But the fact was, this had happened. Malfoy may have been a git and a prat a long time ago, but Harry had been one too. Malfoy was here now, and he had given Harry so much. He had given him comfort and love and two wonderful, little boys. He had given Harry a home. It was hard to understand and even harder to come to terms with but...well, he had time to get there.
He would get there.
“So how about that breakfast then?” he asked Mal—Draco. It was Draco now. It had to be.
Draco grinned and bounced Cory in his arms. “We’re ready when you are.”
Harry tried very hard not to read too much into that statement.
****
Breakfast was a cheerful, chaotic affair. The boys were particularly eager to dispense with the formalities so they could head for the presents. It resulted in a few...incidents.
“Daddy!” Cory whined, turning sad, grey eyes on Harry. “Al got butteh in my hair!”
“Did not!” Al protested, turning to Draco. “Father, did not!”
“Daddy!”
“Father!”
“Boys,” Draco broke in sternly. “We don’t argue at the table. Scorpius, you’ll be fine. Albus, refrain from buttering your brother please.”
Harry bit back a chuckle as the children turned to him for back up. They were so cute. He just wanted to gather them up and coo over them for hours. But Draco was clearly angling for discipline here and in Harry’s limited experience, parents had to keep a united front. So he just shook his head at those sad, pleading eyes. “Listen to your father.”
Draco favoured him with an approving smile and squeezed his hand gently. For the first time since that harrowing morning, Harry didn’t act on the urge to pull back. He just let his wrist dangle in Draco’s grasp, trying not to think about how comfortable it all felt. Those long, slim fingers brushed against his wrist and Harry tightened his grip on them.
In that moment, he thought he could get used to this. He really could.
“This is nice,” he murmured, half to himself.
Draco hummed in agreement and leaned against him, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry startled in surprise before deciding to just go with it. He brushed a hesitant hand through Draco’s hair, carding it with his fingers. Soft, blond and silky smooth. So much like Cory’s hair. The thought made him smile.
“Really, really nice,” he amended.
Draco chuckled. “You keep saying that. It’s almost like our first date.”
“Our first…”
Oh.
He hadn’t even thought about that yet. He should have expected it. Of course, he must have dated Draco. Dated him, fallen in love with him, moved in with him, had children with him...how else would they have ended up here? But then, how could he know? He didn’t remember any of it. Not a damn thing. Where had he taken Draco on their first date? When was their first kiss? Their anniversary? Hell, how long had they been together at all?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know anything.
Draco didn’t seem to have noticed his muddled musings. “You remember. It was snowing. I wanted to see the big Christmas tree at the Hogsmeade town square. We stood there for hours, looking at the lights and listening to the carollers. It was just...it took my breath away. I asked you what you thought about it and you just said it’s nice.” He nudged Harry playfully. “Always good with the words, you were.”
“Hey, I was good enough to land you, wasn’t I?” Harry contested, getting caught up in the spirit of the banter.
Draco wrapped an arm around his waist. “Yes, you were,” he whispered. “It was the most amazing night of my life. I’ll never forget it.”
Something inside Harry twanged painfully at the words. It did sound like a wonderful night. Draco obviously had some very fond memories of their time together. A sense of despair welled up in Harry’s chest. He wanted those memories too. He wanted to remember. He still didn’t understand just how he had skipped to his Happily Ever After but the more he thought about it, the more he wished he could have been there for the journey. It sounded amazing. And that was just their first date. What about when he and Draco first moved in? Or when Al and Cory were born? All those times that could and should have been the most special moments of his life were just...gone. He’d skimmed over them in his desperation to get to the end and now...now he felt more bereft than anything. But he couldn’t say that aloud, could he? Draco would think him mad. How could he even begin to explain this to his husband?
“I remember,” he said instead. The lie felt cold and bitter on his tongue.
Draco pulled away and leaned in for a kiss. It was a chaste kiss— just an innocent, affectionate brush of the lips— but it pulled Harry in like nothing before. He gripped Draco’s arm, drawing him closer to deepen the contact, to feel more of those soft, full lips and…
“Harry,” Draco murmured, pulling away gently. “The kids.”
Oh. Right.
Harry snuck a glance at them. Al and Cory had yet to notice anything amiss. They were still busy chattering about presents. Al was demonstrating the best way to wind up the clockwork Pygmy Puff and Cory was watching with rapt, unwavering attention.
“They’re not looking,” Harry argued, leaning in again. He wanted another kiss. He needed to feel those lips on his again. And damn it, the kids weren’t even looking!
Draco rolled his eyes and pushed him off. “Stop it. You know how they get.”
“But…”
Draco cut him off with a quick peck on the lips. “Tonight,” he promised softly. “When they’re asleep.”
Harry swallowed audibly. Draco’s eyes were alight with mischief and his sultry smile promised a whole lot more than a kiss. Merlin, when did Draco Malfoy get this attractive? One kiss and Harry couldn’t get enough of him. But for the promises those grey eyes held, he could hold out. Tonight would come soon enough.
“Fine,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to Draco’s neck and resisting the urge to bite down on the tantalising flesh. “But you owe me.”
“Don’t I always?” Draco countered with a grin. “Now, come on. It’s present time. And Ron and Hermione are coming over for dinner tonight. Apparently, it’s our turn to host.”
The kids whooped in delight at the announcement and raced to the tree. Harry allowed himself to be dragged off into the fray again.
But he couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that sooner or later, he would have to deal with this. He just didn’t know how.
****
By the time dinner rolled around, Harry’s resolve had weakened considerably.
He couldn’t help it. The stirrings of guilt were still there— nicking at the back of his head like persistent gnats— but the more he lived this life, the more he loved every second of it. The more he got to know this family of his, the more it tore him to think he could ever let them go.
His sons were perfect in every way. Bright and innocent, sweet and wholesome...they lit up his life. Al was smart and friendly— an energetic little bundle who brought life everywhere he went. Cory was just the opposite, but in a very good way. He was shy and quiet and those big, grey eyes saw wonder in everything. Although they were both four and a half, Scorpius was clearly the baby of the family. Even Al was rather protective of him— something that amused Harry to no end. They were so different in every way but they did everything together. Despite all his excitement, Al refused to open a single present without Cory right there beside him. And once Cory figured out that Al liked the toy broomstick he’d got, he handed it over to his brother without a word. Not that it mattered, because what was Al’s was clearly Cory’s as well.
It was brilliant to watch and he had to wonder at what a good job he and Draco had done, raising such generous, thoughtful, sweet little boys.
And then there was Draco.
Draco who was such a revelation that Harry didn’t know what to do. He was kind and generous, thoughtful and considerate— the more time Harry spent with him, the more convinced he was that Draco was the perfect partner. The few kisses they had stolen when the children weren’t looking had done nothing to change his mind. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy would turn out to be everything he had ever wanted in a husband? And who would have thought someone like Draco Malfoy would choose him of all people?
But there it was. They were together, and they were pretty damn perfect if he did say so himself.
It almost seemed wrong to mess with such a wonderful state of affairs. It was hardly hurting anyone, was it? Draco was happy, the kids were happy, and Harry had probably never been happier in his life...so why mess with perfection? Didn’t he deserve this? Didn’t they all deserve this?
That’s what he constantly told the nagging voice in his head, willing it away with everything he had. It took a while but sooner or later, Harry managed to silence that annoying voice. Yes, this would work out just fine. He realised it was...unconventional, but this was clearly where he was meant to be and in time, he would get used to it.
And so, by the time Ron and Mione showed up for dinner his spirits had lifted considerably.
“We’re here,” Ron called cheerfully as he stepped out of the Floo. “Merry Christmas, you lot!”
Harry grinned. At least his best friends were still the same. Ron’s wide grin was just as welcome a sight as ever and Hermione’s warm brown eyes brought thoughts of home to his mind. He practically ran over to greet them.
“I’m so glad you two are here,” he mumbled in Ron’s shoulder.
“Mate, you saw us yesterday,” Ron chuckled, returning the hug. “So, where’s the old ball and chain? He owes me a Firewhisky.”
“Call me that again and I’ll set you on fire,” Draco drawled, coming to a halt alongside Harry. He smiled and nodded at Hermione. “Always a pleasure, Granger. Thank you for coming.”
Hermione laughed and gave him a hug. “I wouldn’t subject you to these two alone,” she teased. “Besides, we still have that report due at the Ministry and I was hoping we could...”
“Mione, no! It’s Christmas, for Merlin’s sake!” Ron groaned. He sighed and gave Harry a long suffering look. “I told you nothing good would come of them working together.”
Oh. So, that was it. Draco and Hermione were co-workers. Well, at least the bizarrely friendly scene made sense now. Harry nodded along as best as he could, valiantly trying not to feel too out of his depth here.
Fortunately for him, the kids spotted their favourite aunt and uncle and ran over with shrieks of delight. There was little opportunity for conversation or deep thinking after that. He soon found himself swept along for the ride, watching in contentment as Ron and Hermione indulged his children.
He only started when an arm wrapped around him. Draco grinned and rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder, watching as Al used Ron as a climbing pole and Cory engaged Hermione in a very serious conversation about otters.
“Every year,” he murmured in amusement. “Never changes, does it?”
In that moment, Harry fervently wished he was in a position to agree.
****
“Okay, what is it?”
Harry started, jerking out of his musings and back to reality. Draco was up putting the kids to bed and Ron was tuning in to the WWN’s Christmas special. Naturally, Hermione— observant as ever— had sensed something amiss with him. Harry sighed. He should have known better than to think he could ever slip something past her.
Still, he could try. “Nothing,” he told her. “I’m fine, really.”
Hermione smiled and took a seat next to him. “Really, Harry?”
Harry chuckled weakly and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “No,” he admitted. “I’m a mess, Mione.”
Her brow creased and concern flashed in her eyes. “Talking about it might help. You know I’ll listen.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Harry replied. “It’s just...Merlin, Mione. You’ll think I’m mad.”
“Honestly, Harry,” she admonished with a light laugh. “I’ve known you fifteen years, give or take. There’s nothing you can say that would surprise me.”
Harry raised a challenging eyebrow. “Well, if it’s all the same to you I’ll give it a shot. I woke up this morning to find that my life had changed completely. And I don’t mean any of that metaphorical shite. Until yesterday, I was single and alone. Today, I woke up married to Draco Malfoy, I have two kids and this perfect life and I don’t know how any of that happened. I was just here all of a sudden and I don’t know why in Merlin’s name it happened but it did. So yeah...that’s about it.”
She was silent for a few seconds. “Okay, you win,” she replied finally.
Harry’s smile turned to a grimace. “Told you so.”
“So, you don’t...remember anything?” she confirmed. “Draco or your kids or your wedding or...”
“No,” Harry groaned. He felt so helpless all of a sudden. “It’s not that I don’t remember, Hermione. It’s just...I just know none of that happened. Not to me.”
She looked justifiably alarmed now. “Harry, I was there. Ron was your Best Man at the wedding. I’m Godmother to your children. I assure you...”
“I know. I know you were there. But I wasn’t. I...I dropped into this life. I can’t understand it but...” He chanced a look at her. “You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you?”
She pursed her lips. Her eyes flashed with determination and no small amount of anger. “I’m honestly offended that you would ask me that after all these years,” she scolded. “Harry, I know you. Better than you know yourself. If you say it’s the truth, then it is. I’ll admit it’s implausible— impossible, actually— but I believe it. I’ll always believe you. Never doubt that.”
She believed him. Relief coursed through him in waves. She believed him. He finally had someone to help him figure this out. Now that he knew for sure, he couldn’t stop himself. The story poured out of him. He told her everything— how miserable he had been yesterday, how tired and weary and bereft, how he had woken up to a new, perfect life that he knew nothing of, how torn he was between wanting it all and wanting to keep the precious little he had...just everything. She listened carefully, patiently and with rapt attention.
“I can’t say I’m not surprised,” she admitted once he had winded down. “It’s just...I’ve always seen this happen one way. You and Draco met when I started working with him at the Department of International Affairs. You hit it off and practically moved in after the first date.” She smiled softly. “We didn’t all jump on board at once— Ron had his reservations, of course— but after a while, we had to admit you were perfect together. And then of course, you had a storybook wedding and the kids came. You were an absolute mess when he was due, by the way. Ron had to half-carry you to St Mungo’s. Draco was not amused.”
Harry laughed out loud at that, but his mirth disappeared completely as the implications of that story set in. “I don’t remember,” he whispered. “Hermione, I don’t even remember the day my sons came into the world. I don’t remember meeting Draco or falling in love with him or...”
“Are you?” Hermione cut in gently. “In love with him, I mean?”
“I...” Harry trailed off. That was a good point, really. He had barely known Draco— this Draco— a day, hadn’t he? Could he really say he was in love with him? Did people fall in love in a day? Was such a thing even possible?
“Yes,” he heard himself saying. “I do. He’s...he’s perfect.”
Hermione smiled softly. “That’s exactly what you said to me after your first date with him. Even back then, you just knew.”
“Then why can’t I have this?” Harry demanded desperately. “I love him. I love the kids so much it scares me. I love our family and what we have and... does it really have to end? Why can’t things just go on the way they are?”
“I never said they couldn’t, Harry,” Hermione pointed out gently. “You came up with that one on your own.”
She reached out and took his hand before he could stage a protest. “Don’t you see? You have to fix this. You can’t go on like this, it’s tearing you apart. You love Draco, and you love what you have now. But you’ll never truly have it unless you know how you got here. You need that, Harry and you know it.”
“But...but what if it goes away?” he asked. “What if I let it go and it fades away into nothing?”
Hermione squeezed his hand again. “You’ve taken bigger risks for a lot less,” she said firmly. “Harry, this is your choice. But it sounds to me like you’ve already made it. The question isn’t if and when you’re going to fix this. The question is how this happened to you in the first place and how you’re going to fix it.”
She was right. She was. There was nothing he could do but put things back the way they were. The right way. Anything else would be unfair—to him, to Draco and to the kids. They deserved someone who had been there every step of the way. Not someone who had slipped in when no one was looking, someone who had accidentally magicked his way into their lives without even...
And that’s when it hit him.
Harry slumped back in his chair. “The girl in the forest,” he whispered.
“Who?” Hermione asked.
He shook his head dazedly. His mind was racing, clawing through the faded memories. The girl...he had known, he had sensed something strange but...could it be? She was just a child, right? But in that brief meeting he had felt something different—almost unworldly— about her.
This was her doing. It had to be.
And if he could find her...
“I know how,” he managed. “I can...I think I can fix this.”
Hermione’s eyes widened but she didn’t ask questions. “Alright,” she replied softly. “I trust you, Harry. You’ll do the right thing.”
Harry went with impulse and drew her into a hug. “Say bye to Ron for me,” he whispered, his voice tight in his throat. “I need to...I should...”
“I know. Good luck.”
He left her without another word, not trusting himself to look back. Hermione and Ron would be there when he returned to his old life. At least he still had that. But there were others who wouldn’t be, not like this. He had to say goodbye before he left. If he never saw them again...
Honestly, Harry didn’t even want to think about that.
He crept up the stairs, making his way to the boys’ room. It was dark, but he managed to make it without stumbling. Draco was talking to Albus, speaking in low, reassuring tones. After a while, he pressed a kiss to the little boy’s head. Al turned over with a contented snuffle, hugging a plush dragon. Draco smiled softly, keeping a close watch until he was certain his son was asleep.
Harry took in the scene with a tight throat and stinging eyes. He was saying goodbye to all of this. How could he ever go back to his old life now that he knew what it could be like? In a way, it was almost cruel.
But he couldn’t think like that. It had to be this way. It was just the way things were.
Draco turned around and caught sight of him. “He’s fine,” he promised. “He’s still convinced there’s a vampire in his closet but he’s being very brave about it.”
Harry chuckled fondly and approached the beds. In the dim light, he could just see the sleeping faces of his boys. He could hear soft mumbles as they dreamt. They looked so sweet. So perfect and peaceful and safe. He had done that— him and Draco. They had made this together.
He bent to press a kiss to Cory’s head. He ran a gentle hand through Al’s messy hair. They didn’t even stir.
“I’ll come back to you,” Harry whispered, too soft for anyone to hear. “When it’s time. I promise I will.”
He meant it too. They would have to say goodbye for now, but looking down at the faces of his children, he knew he could never truly be apart from them. One way or another, he would have this again. Even if he had to tear reality itself apart, he would have this.
That was a promise, as much to himself as to his family.
“Alright?”
Draco’s soft question brought him back to reality. Harry turned to him. Draco’s brow was creased and he looked faintly concerned. His grey eyes roved Harry’s face as if searching for a cue. Harry hastened to reassure him by slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer.
“I’m fine,” he replied, pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple.
“You were thinking,” Draco mumbled, pressing into his chest. “In my experience, that’s never good.”
Harry chuckled and jostled him playfully. “If you must know, I was thinking about how lucky I am. To have you and the kids. I just... I don’t know what I did to deserve it. To deserve you.”
Draco shook his head fondly and leaned in. “You were you,” he whispered, against Harry’s lips. “That’s all you ever had to do.”
The kiss they shared was nothing like Draco had promised. There was no needless heat or passion clouding the moment. Instead, there was just a soft intimacy born of years of love and commitment. Harry pressed into the kiss, determined to say everything he couldn’t voice out loud. If this was goodbye, he wanted Draco to know how he felt, how he would always feel after this.
Nothing could change that.
“I love you,” Harry whispered. The words slipped from his lips so easily, so effortlessly. And now that he was saying them out loud, he desperately wished that he could have just a little more time. Just a little more time to say those words to Draco again and again. He was out of time now, but he promised himself that if he ever got this lucky ever again, he would never let a day go by without saying them to Draco.
Never.
“I love you too,” Draco murmured, leaning into him. “So much, Harry. More than I ever thought possible.”
Harry stole another kiss and broke away. His fingers lingered on Draco’s jaw line, tracing the pale skin. This was it. It was time. If he didn’t summon his courage and do this now, he would never find it in himself to leave Draco’s side.
“Hey, I’m just going to step out for a bit, okay?”
The words came unwillingly, forcing themselves from inside him.
Draco’s brow furrowed. “Now?” he asked, sounding understandably perplexed. “At this time of night? It’s freezing outside.”
Harry’s throat tightened. “There’s just something I need to do.”
“Oh.” Draco still looked sceptical, but he offered a slow nod. “Alright. If you’re certain it can’t wait.”
“I wish it could,” Harry replied softly.
Draco detached himself and slipped out of Harry’s arms. Harry resisted the urge to pull him back in the embrace. This was it. This was goodbye. He pressed a light kiss to Draco’s forehead— a final farewell— and turned to head for the door.
“I’ll see you soon, yes?”
Harry stilled and turned around. Draco smiled softly, uncertainly. There was a question in his grey eyes, a fleeting wish for reassurance. Harry couldn’t deny him that. Not now.
“You will,” he replied. “Very soon.”
And with that parting promise, he left— preparing to give up his happiness and set things to right yet again.
****
Harry stumbled through the icy woods, rubbing his numb, cold hands. In his haste, he had forgotten his gloves. The frost crunched under his boots and the wind stung his cheeks. Still, he tore on.
This was his one chance to fix things. It was the only way. He had to find her, he just had to.
And there she was.
Harry stopped in his tracks. Crystal blue eyes met his. His very breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. How could he have ever mistaken those for the eyes of a child? No, she was something else— something both ancient and young, innocent and wise, thoughtless and strangely kind.
A creature of Winter.
“You’re here,” Harry whispered.
She cocked her head. Still in the guise of a child, her far too pale cheeks contrasted with the bright red of the scarf wrapped around her neck. The scarf he had given her just yesterday.
“Yes,” she agreed. Her voice felt foreign to Harry’s ears— like the brittle tinkle of ice and the soft flutter of a winter breeze— but he understood every word. She raised her eyes to his and a slight smile pulled at her lips. “You see me now.”
Harry nodded. “I see you.”
“You are alone again.” She sounded unhappy. The smile gave way to a displeased frown. “That was not supposed to happen.”
Harry took a step towards her. “You have to take me back,” he implored, a touch desperately. “Whatever you did, you have to undo it. Please. You’ve got to make this right again.”
“Are you still unhappy?” She sounded surprised. “But I gave you what you wanted.”
“You did,” Harry agreed softly. “You gave me this...this wonderful life with two beautiful children and a husband I love so much it scares me. It’s perfect and I’ve never been happier. That’s why you have to take it back.”
“I don’t understand.”
Harry managed a choked little laugh. “Honestly? Neither do I. But there it is. There’s only one way to do these things and this isn’t it.”
“But you are happy, are you not? Surely that is all that matters?”
“It’s not just about me,” Harry replied softly. “If I’m going to have a family, I want to be with them every step of the way. I want to live every single day with them and I want to give them everything I have to give. I’ll never truly be happy if you took that chance away from me.”
And there it was. It really was that simple. Now that he was saying it out loud— to a strange magical being, of all things— he understood. This was how it had to be.
She didn’t understand him. Perhaps she couldn’t, Harry thought. These things were foreign to her, no more a part of her nature as the frost was his. But he had to make her understand. She was his only hope. He could only pray that she’d be willing to take his word for it.
After a moment or so, she sighed. “Your kind is strange,” she informed him.
Harry chuckled. “No arguments there.”
“It will be difficult,” she warned. “You have lived your dream. Letting it go will hurt.”
“I’m not letting it go,” Harry countered. “I’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way, that’s all.” Despite the inflection of confidence, his heart clenched a bit in his chest.
“You are sure then?”
For a second, Draco’s face flashed before his eyes. Silver eyes full of warmth and fondness, those full lips curved in a mischievous smirk...Harry’s determination nearly wavered. Then he took a deep breath and nodded firmly. “I am.”
“Very well then,” she relented. “Close your eyes. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Harry obliged and squeezed his eyes shut. The next second, the world tilted violently off its axis. The air compressed, squeezing its way out of his lungs. Harry gasped and fell to his knees, only vaguely aware of reality shifting and sliding before his very eyes.
Then he felt a deep chill seep right down to his bones and the world went dark.
****
Contrary to his expectations, Harry woke up warm and dry. The soft covers around him bunched as he groaned and stirred, still half asleep. His head was still throbbing and his throat was dry as a bone, but he was still here.
Wait. Where was here?
“Ugh,” Harry managed, prying his eyes open. The light streaming through the elegant bay windows stung and he hissed in pain. Morning then. Where was he? How had he ended up here? The last thing he remembered was...
“Potter. Can you hear me?”
That soft, exceedingly familiar voice broke into his frayed thoughts. Harry’s eyes snapped open on instinct. Pretty silver eyes met his gaze— also extremely familiar.
For a moment, all Harry could do was stare in dumb shock.
Then Draco spoke. “Who is the Minister of Magic?”
Harry blinked. “Huh?”
Draco’s frown deepened and he pressed a cool hand to Harry’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he muttered. “You were face down in the snow for hours. How can you not have a fever?”
“Huh?”
Draco huffed in exasperation and shook his head. “And you’re obviously addled. I’m calling a Healer.”
“Wait!” Harry yelped, grabbing his wrist to keep him from leaving. “Dra—Malfoy, just hold on a second.” The name slipped unwillingly from his lips, but he forced it out. If this was the Draco from his old life, then they probably weren’t on a first name basis. Not yet, at least.
Then again, this Draco didn’t seem too interested in picking a fight or insulting him either. He just looked worried. It was a heartening thought and the flutter of hope in Harry’s chest returned with a vengeance. “How did I...why am I here?” Harry asked. “In your house, that is.”
Draco pursed his lips in annoyance. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you out in the cold,” he snapped defensively. “What were you even doing in the woods?”
Harry swallowed. “You were in the woods?”
Bloody hell, what were the odds?
“I go there to think sometimes,” Draco replied. He still sounded a little defensive. Evidently, revealing something personal to Harry rankled him. But then, this Draco didn’t really know him, did he? He had no idea what they had shared in another life. How could he? But Harry knew. Harry knew everything. Without giving himself a moment to reconsider, he tightened his grip on Draco’s wrist.
“Me too,” he said softly. “It’s just that kind of place, isn’t it?”
“You were lucky I was out tonight,” Draco told him. He sounded uncharacteristically sober. “Merlin, Potter. How long were you out there? When I found you, you were practically buried in the snow— not to mention, half frozen. Can’t you even take a walk without risking your life in the process?”
Harry chuckled. Draco’s scolding was bordering on mother-hennish. It was rather endearing. “I’ve done worse,” he countered lightly.
Draco’s lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “I suppose you have.”
Harry smiled and settled back in the covers, taking a moment to actually look at Draco. He looked exactly the same— a dash younger maybe, but then Harry did too. But this Draco didn’t wear Harry’s ring on his finger. There was none of that shared history between them now, and Draco wasn’t looking at him with affection and just a hint of fond exasperation. No, he looked wary and somewhat bewildered which to be fair, was a normal state of affairs for this version of reality.
And yet, Harry saw him differently. Now that he was really looking— and he couldn’t stop looking— he had to wonder why he had never approached Draco in the first place, before any of this happened. He was smart and charming and unspeakably attractive. Honestly, what had been holding him back?
Me, Harry thought to himself. I was holding me back.
Well, not anymore. If this bizarre experience had taught him anything, it was that life was what you made of it. No shortcuts. If he wanted his happiness, he was going to have to reach out and take it. Of course, Draco had never made things simple for him but since when had that stopped him?
It was time to take charge.
“Potter?”
Harry snapped out of his thoughts as Draco frowned and cocked his head. “You zoned out for a while there,” he said. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Maybe I should call the Healer just in...”
“Have dinner with me.”
Draco trailed off and his eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
Harry swallowed audibly, then reached out for the pale, slim hand resting on his covers. As he did, he imagined, he was reaching for his future.
“I said,” he repeated softly, “have dinner with me.”
And when Draco’s startled expression melted into a tentative smile, Harry felt a faint flush of exhilaration deep down inside. He knew this feeling. He recognized it from a happier, less complicated time.
It felt exactly like catching the Snitch.
****
Five years later:
Harry yelped as something cold and wet collided with the back of his head, sending him face first in the snow.
“Alright, who threw that?” he demanded, picking himself up and brushing his jacket clean. Two of his suspects— the tinier ones— giggled and dashed off. Harry immediately centred on the remaining perpetrator, giving chase at once and tackling him before he got too far.
They both went down, tumbling and rolling in the snow. When they eventually came to a stop, Harry was on top (something he would undoubtedly make a tasteless joke about later), straddling Draco as the latter laughed and squirmed under him.
“Cory did it,” Draco protested. Unfortunately for him, Harry had become way too good at reading him and the hint of mischief in those grey eyes was clear as day.
“Liar,” he admonished, brushing their lips together. Draco tasted warm and sweet and faintly of chocolate. Harry absently wondered if they had any hot chocolate left. If not, it only made sense to prolong the kiss. “Cory wouldn’t lob a snowball at me,” he said, once he broke away. “He’s my little angel. You, on the other hand…”
“You spoil them,” Draco purred, curling against him like a contented. The ring on his finger glinted in the weak sunlight. Harry smiled and pressed an affectionate kiss to his husband’s forehead. It had taken a whole lot longer doing things the old fashioned way, but he had loved every second of it.
He had been there for every second of it.
He wouldn’t change a thing. Not now, not ever.
“What’s that?”
Harry blinked as Draco sat up suddenly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I…” Draco frowned and shook his head. “I thought I saw...someone out there.” His brow furrowed again as he scanned the little grove of trees. “A little girl.” He shrugged and settled back in Harry’s arms. “A trick of the light, probably.”
Harry’s lips pulled in a tentative smile. For a second, he considered asking Draco if the girl had blond hair and blue eyes. If there was an old, red scarf wrapped around her neck. If she looked both old and young, child like and wise beyond her years.
But perhaps some things were best left unsaid. After all, she had kept his secrets. He would be remiss not to return the favour.
So instead, he smiled and pressed another kiss to Draco’s head, wrapping him securely in his arms.
“Probably.”
|
Yamaguchi stared at his hands. Pale and lanky and stiff and failed. They had been supposed to do this today, to nail that jump float with him. He had been supposed to nail this today. The one thing he was entrusted with and he had failed. Failed so miserably. Maybe he really was just a weak unproper Omega. Maybe he should have never tried after all. He wasn’t meant for greatness. Today had just proven that. He should have stayed at the sidelines and supported the actual stars, the ones that had earned their place. He had failed. He always did.
Yamaguchi stared at his hands.
Trembling. Shaking. Numb.
Not his own. Not part of his body. Not his to control. Why would they be? The one time he had actually needed to take initiative and use them, the one time he had been supposed to use them for something important, he had messed up. He should have expected it really. His hands didn’t feel like his own anyway. Never did. Although attached to his body they were so far away. So distanced. All he could do was stare at them and wonder whose hands he was wearing. Whose hands were shaking. Was this his body at all? It shouldn’t be. It didn’t feel like it was. His eyebrows twitched. He was so tired. He was too tired to be the one trembling.
For a second his body swayed. Stumbled. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Daichi-san’s booming voice commenting on the team’s performance today. He didn’t want to hear it. He knew already. He should have done better. He knew already. He should have been braver. For all of them. For himself. Faintly he saw the tremble of his hands grow worse. They took up his whole field of vision. They were so blurry. He wanted it to stop. Everything to stop. He should have done better. He knew already. He let them down.
They deserve better than a coward.
“Yamaguchi?” It took a second for the voice to seep through the cloud making its home in Yamaguchi’s mind, blocking out everything and anything that was not inherently Yamaguchi’s own buzzing thoughts and feelings. He shook it lightly as he let his shacky hands drop, looking up at the source of the voice. His head felt too heavy. His eyes needed a second to adjust. Had the world always been this monotone? This grey?
A couple meters away Suga stood, eyebrows pulled together tightly. Worried. Though still standing with the captain, his body and attention was fully turned to the younger Omega. Yamaguchi just blinked at him once. Worry. The expression seemed wrong. It shouldn’t be directed at him. He didn’t deserve concern. It had no room in his regret. Yamaguchi mimicked the expression of the other.
They deserve better.
Suga seemed so far away, distorted and blurry as if he was barely even in Yamaguchi’s line of sight. Weird. His skin seemed too bright too. Too shiny and too unreal. Unmoving Yamaguchi watched as Suga’s worried expression dissipated in front of his eyes and turned into a blurry skin toned blob with silver hair. He almost laughed with how silly it looked. The rest of the hall faded to grey. Such a monochrome colour… It reminded him of gravel, the cold hard ground. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like that at all.
Suga was still staring at him. He felt the gaze and although he couldn’t make out the others face anymore, he was sure he knew what it looked like. It had to be angry. Disappointed. Pitiful. It was all anyone ever had left for Yamaguchi. He was weak. That was right. He was weak. He let them down.
They deserve better.
He felt his body sway again, just that somehow that felt far away too. Like it wasn’t his body. All he could do was try to stay upright. Hold himself up on legs that didn’t feel like his own. Observe how the world was slowly getting covered in a layer of black and white. Distant and unreal. His sight kept growing more and more out of focus. Suga was slowly turning into grey too. His skin ashy. The orange on his uniform seemed duller too. Weird.
A little voice within his mind screamed “Stop!” but Yamaguchi wasn’t sure what it meant. Stop the swaying? But he wasn’t swaying. He was upright, he was sure he was upright. Someone else was swaying. Who was swaying? He had seen Suga before. Maybe Suga was swaying. Right. Suga had called for him.
Yamaguchi lifted his head a bit more, gaze steady trying to make sense of the blurry mess in front of him. For a second he thought he met Suga’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure. It was all so blurry. So far away. The only thing close was the weird buzzing filling his ears. It was nice. Lulling him to sleep. Steady and reliable. Consistent. Hmm…. Maybe he should just comply….
They deserve better.
Yamaguchi caught his body as his knee buckled. “Stop!” the voice screeched again, and the buzzing grew terribly loud. Yamaguchi nearly groaned with it. It had never been this loud before. Always there but never this loud. This ever consuming. His mind was still cloudy. His vision blurry. He frowned. Something was wrong. But as he stood upright and watched Suga’s worried expression come closer, all he could do was whimper. He shouldn’t make them worry more about him. He’d deal, he just… he needed a minute to breathe. Yeah, that must be it, he just needed fresh air. He was just tired. He just needed to get away from all the sounds.
He didn’t turn around as he took a hesitant step backwards, eyes firmly fixated on the silver haired boy making his way through their teammates and towards the distant looking omega. Suga looked too worried. Something was wrong. He felt his own hands shake as they tensed and let go over and over again. Stiff. Distant. Were they his own hands? Was he really the one moving them? They were grabbing for nothing.
“Yamaguchi?” the other Omega tried again, as the mentioned took another step back, confused frown firm on his face. Yamaguchi had to get out. He shouldn’t worry anyone any more than he already had that day. He couldn’t.
You don’t deserve them.
Yamaguchi sucked in a breath as the thought finally hit. It was right. He didn’t deserve this. Not the worry Suga had to spare, not the excitement Hinata tended to share with everyone, not a pack that he had only ever managed to drag down. Yamaguchi gulped as the buzzing got louder again. He had to get out. He had to leave. Now. He needed to breathe.
“Sorry, Suga-san…” his eyebrows twitched, his face too tense and completely relaxed all the same. He took another step back, forcing a smile on his face. Don’t worry them more. “I just…I’ll get some fresh air.”
And before the realization could even settle on the older Omegas face, Yamaguchi turned around and was dashing out of the hall like he was being chased by a pack of furious Alphas. He missed the way the whole team turned around watching him run away, the way Suga whimpered as a faint whisp of Yamaguchi’s scent hit his nose, he missed the way a certain blonde Alpha masked deep worry with an annoyed expression only one Omega could ever see through.
All Yamaguchi knew was that:
They deserve better.
And:
You don’t deserve them.
And that was all he needed to know as his vision became blurry again and his lungs heaved with repressed sobs and the buzzing grew so overwhelmingly loud it was all Yamaguchi could hear. All he could register. He wanted to scream but his voice wasn’t his own anymore and his lungs burned and everything hurt. And the buzzing was so loud. So all consuming. Consistent and steady and filling everything Yamaguchi tried to come up with. He couldn’t even tell where he had run, couldn’t say how far away he truly was. The moment he tried to think about it, to look around and assess where he had ended up in, the buzzing hit again. Louder, insistent, taking up all his attention. His lungs heaved. Why did the air feel so thick? Had it always felt so hard to breathe?
Bile rose up his throat when the panic came and suddenly it all shifted.
The buzzing was steady, consistent . All-consuming. It muddled his thoughts, made him forget about the heaving lungs and his burning muscles and the fact that he had failed once again. All he knew was that the buzzing in his ears was nice. It was comforting. It blocked out the thoughts. It blocked out the weird voice that was telling him to turn back, to get help. He was okay. He didn’t need help. Distinctly he felt his own back – was it his own back? – hit a wall as he leaned against it. It was cool. Nice. No scents, no sounds, only this periodical buzzing sound and this heavy cloud weighing on his mind slowly. Reality seemed a bit numb, his cheeks tingled and Yamaguchi knew he should be worried. This wasn’t normal.
But he couldn’t get himself to care.
Not when the buzzing was lulling him into a daze.
Not when his hands finally stopped shaking. He thought they stopped shaking.
His head swayed unsteadily on his shoulders as he raised it to the sky. It was late, the sun was about to set, and the sky was coloured in these rosy but still relatively white clouds. A couple early risen stars peaked through the clouds.
Satisfied Yamaguchi hummed. Clouds were nice. They didn’t feel anything. Stars were nice too. They were eternal and distant and always bright. They reminded him of everyone on his team. Unreachable. Beautiful. He liked the sky. It was pretty. It always seemed so perfect. Always moving and changing but always right there. Safe. He wanted to be up there. He felt up there. So far away.
The buzzing was still there, his eyes still unfocused, his body numb.
It was… nice.
Almost like he was on a cloud himself. Maybe even a star or the sun. A distinct dream he knew he’d never achieve. But the thought was nice. So nice. So far away. Yamaguchi liked it here. If he could, he’d like to stay here forever.
He hummed again, without really knowing he did. His voice didn’t seep through the buzzing stuffing his ears. It was comforting, protracted. It was nice. He felt like he was floating. Nothing could touch him here. There was no one to be let down by him. Here he could never fall.
He hummed again.
Yeah…
Maybe he really could stay here forever.
Tsukishima would take the confession to his grave but if he was honest: he was panicking. Like full on panicking. Yamaguchi was gone, had run out in such a frenzy no one in the team even had the slightest chance to catch him. All they could do was watch as the youngest Omega in their pack bolted. Ran. Left.
The moment it had happened, Tsukishima had felt the familiar feeling of a growl edging its way forward. He always had to hold it back when Yamaguchi left his side. Ridiculously that was the truth. But he always managed to keep his Alpha under control, this time no different. He had no right to be upset about Yamaguchi leaving, they weren’t mated, not even dating. He had no right, and yet he was left with that sinking feeling in his chest. Every time.
This time it was even worse.
Not because he was still riled up about their last game, or because his Alpha was stronger with his upcoming rut, no. This time was worse because the one thing keeping his instincts in check was for once agreeing with them. His mind was running a mile a minute and every possible scenario that filled the blank memory between the game ending and Yamaguchi bolting was leading him to one conclusion. He should be worried. Something was wrong. Tsukishima was seldomly wrong with his assumptions.
The fact that around him the air had filled with his packs worried scent, had only increased his assurance. There was a problem clearly and Tsukishima didn’t like problems where he didn’t know the answer. They were like love. Too hard to handle without doing everything wrong. Without getting hurt. Luckily, he had never yet encountered a problem he couldn’t fix. He trusted this time wouldn’t be different and he knew exactly where to start searching.
Although his Alpha was screaming at him to run after the Omega, make sure his best friend is safe, Tsukishima forced himself to simply stay standing in his place and stare intently at Suga. If his gaze was a bit more threatening than usual, that was no one’s business but his.
It took mere seconds, in which Tsukishima grew more annoyed if not anxious about the silence and the confusion, until Suga finally whipped around to the whole team. His whole body screamed tense.“We have to find him. Right now!” And before anyone could ask any sort of question Suga was already rushing to the entrance too. Daichi was close behind, stern expression and his air of authority pulled with it the other pack members. Not that Tsukishima would have needed anything to make him start running. His instincts had told him to do so right from the beginning after all.
“Find Yamaguchi!” had been the only shouted command before everyone ran in different directions, worry on their heels and determination sticking to everyone’s shoulders. Tsukishima had for once shut off his brain as to follow his instincts. Sometimes they were useful. Sometimes they somehow knew exactly what to do or in this case where to run. Or so he had hoped.
He wasn’t so sure anymore.
He had been running around the unknown campus for roughly three minutes now and with every second the panic had crept up his throat where it was now lodged, blocking his airways. Yamaguchi was gone and Tsukishima had no idea how to find him. A growl threatened to spill any moment. However, something else made his chest tighten even more than the image of Yamaguchi’s back toward him, running, something that he was almost too scared to admit being the truth. It seemed too wrong, too painful. It made his stomach churn and his heart twist. He didn’t want to think about what it meant but:
Around Tsukishima there was not a hint of Yamaguchi.
Ever since leaving the gym there had not been even the slightest hint of Yamaguchi at all. None.
And he didn’t mean the physical form, he meant everything. He couldn’t smell him at all and Tsukishima’s heart broke right at the realization that around him there was not even the tiniest amount of fresh grass and underlined strawberry in the air. He wanted to vomit. It was impossible that a scent was completely gone. It was impossible especially in places a person had been before and Tsukishima knew for a fact as he ran past the building that housed their sleeping quarters, that Yamaguchi had been here before. But there was nothing. The air was completely void of Yamaguchi’s scent and Tsukishima threatened to choke on the intensity of his own scent as his panic rose higher and higher.
In Tsukishima’s world everything always smelled like Yamaguchi. Ever since both of them had presented, everything had always smelled of Yamaguchi around Tsukishima. The other scent right from the beginning had never been anything but pleasant to the Alpha and with the time passing it had evolved into something familiar, something comforting, an ever-present blanket keeping Tsukishima from falling. He loved that scent. More than he should. He knew that.
And now that scent was gone, and his panic flared again as he realized not even his jersey smelled of the other anymore. It was impossible for a scent to disappear entirely. That was a scientific fact. Scents could be dulled even hidden but never gone, not from places they had been before. And Yamaguchi’s scent had always been in Tsukishima’s world. Always.
With every second of running more and more invasive unfamiliar scents met Tsukishima’s nose, scents that weren’t fresh grass and strawberries, scents that made him want to vomit. His hands curled into fist as his pace increased. He needed Yamaguchi to come back. Now. He wasn’t sure he could stand the voidance for much longer.
Fate seemed to hear his silent prayer as he caught a whiff of something. It wasn’t fresh grass, not Yamaguchi but somehow it also was. He allowed his heart a spark of hope as his own lingering scent caught his attention. It wasn’t his distressed scent from the past couple minutes but the faint calm remnants of citrus flowers and rosemary. It was barely noticeable in the air and Tsukishima doubted anyone but him would have picked up on it but with his every fibre on edge, he had no choice but bask in the discovery.
Because in Tsukishima’s world everything always smelled of Yamaguchi, but Yamaguchi also always smelled of him. Not mates, but inseparable nonetheless.
Without wasting another second Tsukishima followed the scent to its origin nearly tripping over his own feet when the scent grew more intense as he turned one last corner.
He felt like a weight was lifted of his chest when his eyes landed on the popped-up figure of Yamaguchi, casually leaning against the back of a building, gaze firmly directed at the slowly darkening sky. His panic was not gone yet; couldn’t be until his senses were filled with Yamaguchi again, and yet he felt like his lungs were filling with air again. Yamaguchi was safe.
For a second he allowed himself to catch his breath, wiping some sweat of his forehead. He forced his Alpha to calm down because of course it was yelling at him to scoop the Omega up and never let go again. He couldn’t do that. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t do that. After all they weren’t mates. Even if that was all Tsukishima had ever wanted.
He had to take a couple more steps closer to the Omega before the scent hit him full-force and he stopped dead in his track.
The scent of a distressed Omega was nearly overwhelming. He swallowed down a pathetic whimper. Distressed Omega. But not distressed Yamaguchi. Not fresh grass and strawberries.
Because of the sheer intensity of the scent, it took the young Alpha a second to even recognize it. Of course, he knew this scent. After all no one smelled as intensely of wildflowers and honey as one Hinata Shoyo. It was already uncomfortable to Tsukishima in its normal state like nearly all Omega scents were to him, but with the insane number of distressed pheromones in the air he felt like he was choking on it. As he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to regather his thoughts, he heard a whimper from the rough direction he knew the two Omegas to be. He knew it wasn’t Yamaguchi. He could always tell.
He blinked his eyes open and stared directly at Hinata who was now positioned right in front of Yamaguchi fussing over the other boy and Tsukishima was still too overwhelmed by everything to even start piecing the scene together. He knew something was wrong. Clearly, with the scent Hinata was emitting that was no question, he just couldn’t tell what yet. There were too many things attacking his senses at once.
“Hinata…” when his voice sounded more like a growl, he cleared his throat. “Hinata, stop fucking suffocating me. I can barely stand being this close to you.”
Hinata’s head whipped around immediately. Shocked. Surprised. Scared again. He didn’t even seem to register Tsukishima’s words at all. He just looked at the Alpha with furrowed brows and eyes that looked like they were filled with tears. Tsukishima told himself to focus on Hinata for now. Ignore the other attacks on his observance. It wasn’t easy. Yamaguchi was right there after all and if Yamaguchi was close Tsukishima always had a hard time focusing on anything else but him. But for now, he had to. With Hinata’s scent heavy in the air he physically couldn’t step closer.
He had to literally force himself another step further into the suffocating cloud that was Hinata’s scent. “Hinata!” A snarl. Barely. More like a verbal slap in the face. Exactly right.
Hinata flinched at the call and blinked, and his pheromones died down the slightest little bit. Tsukishima still felt like he was suffocating but at least stepping closer seemed like a survivable option now. He contemplated ignoring the energetic Omega and simply stepping around him to Yamaguchi, but something told him not to do that. If he wanted answers fast, he shouldn’t do that.
Not surprising he didn’t have to wait long for Hinata to start spitting words. Too fast and overeager and panicked and Tsukishima wasn’t quite sure the other was even speaking Japanese with the number of words he fit in a second. It was rambling, panicked rambling. And if Tsukishima didn’t have the nerve for something right now, it was that. Besides, the scent was coming back, and he really couldn’t stand that.
“Hinata for fucks sake! For once I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, and you waste that on fucking rambling. Stop and breathe and speak clearly for once will you.” He didn’t want to be mean; he knew the Omega in front of him was probably just trying to help, but every second he wasted was one second more of Yamaguchi being right there and Tsukishima being completely unable to step closer. Not with that god forsaken smell. He noted that even his own scent on Yamaguchi was overpowered by distressed Omega pheromones. Great. Now truly everything that always was fact in Tsukishima’s world was not anymore. For some reason that upset him even more.
Thankfully after his snarky comment Hinata seemed to calm down at least a little bit. He still looked anxious and close to tears but as he looked at the ground and bit his lip, the pheromones around him calmed. Definitely better. Not perfect though. Not until Yamaguchi’s scent was around him again.
“He…” Hinata started but interrupted himself to throw an anxious glance towards Yamaguchi and take the other Omega’s wrist in his. As he started rubbing their wrists together, he continued. “I found him like this. I don’t…” Another whimper. More rubbing. When he looked up at Tsukishima again his eyes were filled with so much regret and panic Tsukishima didn’t know what to do but take a step forward, one step closer to the truth.
“I’m sorry. I found him like this. I don’t know what happened. He…” Hinata gulped with quivering lips as tears started pouring. “He isn’t responding.” He sobbed. “He isn’t responding at all and I... I don’t know what to do.” Another sob cut through the air. Tsukishima felt his heart drop. The realization was slowly dawning on him. He didn’t want it to. He wanted to wail in sweet ignorance.“He isn’t responding to anything.” Hinata said again. And something finally caught in Tsukishima’s brain. Something broke in his chest too. “I think he…”
“He dropped.”
It was barely a breath. No energy behind the words but Hinata nodded. Tsukishima barely noticed. Around him the world was shattering and all he could see was the slowly darkening night-sky reflected in dead eyes belonging to the boy he had loved for his whole life.
It had barely taken Hinata and Tsukishima two minutes to get Yamaguchi arranged in the Alpha’s arms. After Hinata’s desperate whine had pulled Tsukishima from his trance, he had immediately rushed forward and cradled Yamaguchi against his chest, hoping and praying for some kind of reaction. There had been none. Nothing. The Omega sacked into his arms like a ragdoll and the scream building in Tsukishima’s chest died in his throat with a choked sob.
When he had picked up Yamaguchi with Hinata’s help he was working on autopilot alone. His mind was twisting and turning on its own and he barely registered Hinata’s words or actions. All he could really take in was that Yamaguchi was gone. Gone. And he had no idea how to deal with that. He couldn’t deal with that. Because Yamaguchi was gone, and without Yamaguchi Tsukishima’s world was empty, nothing. Entirely and completely worthless. If Yamaguchi was gone for real, Tsukishima knew, he wouldn’t last much longer.
He pressed the Omega tighter to his chest desperately rubbing his scent into the limp body in his arms. The only scent answering was Hinata’s, and Tsukishima felt like his lungs gave out on him. He didn’t even look the way he was following his rushing steps over; all he could see was the now closed eyes of Yamaguchi in the face that seemed too relaxed for someone who still radiated warmth.
Someone who still radiated life.
When they reached their sleeping quarter where the whole team had assembled, Tsukishima only noticed because his nose that was so desperately trying to catch even the slightest hint of Yamaguchi registered the intrusion of other scents. It didn’t calm Tsukishima, not like it should. Instead, he clung to the Omega in his arms tighter. A quiet whimper escaped his lips. His pack didn’t smell right. Not without fresh grass and strawberries. It made him want to throw up. He just wanted Yamaguchi back. He needed him.
When Sugawara stepped into his very limited field of vision, stroking through Yamaguchi’s hair, their eyes met. The older Omega’s lips were pressed into a tight line.
“He dropped.” Tsukishima deadpanned. It was obvious. He didn’t need to point it out. He knew that. But his chest was clenching like his heart was trying to strangle itself and he was desperately trying to stop his hands from shaking. He couldn’t exactly come up with anything else.
Suga nodded shortly, pity and worry carved onto his face. “Yeah…”
Tsukishima didn’t feel anything. “I need him.”
When he felt Daichi’s hand on his shoulder he couldn’t care less. He lost. This was the ultimate defeat, and the one person who always managed to give him back his strength was laying limp in his arms.
The team led him to the middle of the room, making him lay down with Yamaguchi still in his arms and started gathering together all their clothing that held scent, but all Tsukishima noticed was that the shirt right by his head smelled nothing like Yamaguchi. Nothing smelled anything like Yamaguchi. Because Yamaguchi was gone, and Tsukishima only now realized what it really meant when an Omega dropped. It meant they dropped completely from reality, stopped existing for a little bit or forever. He couldn’t have it be a forever. Not with Yamaguchi. Not when he really needed his best friend.
Still on autopilot he started scenting Yamaguchi’s back with his wrists and nuzzled into the others neck somewhere deep within his heart still hoping to catch a hint of what he had come to love so much. Around him the others started settling down too, the three Omega’s of the pack each laying close enough to actively be able to reach Yamaguchi. The others were right behind them, creating this weird pile of a pack with Yamaguchi in Tsukishima’s arms right in the middle. It was as if the universe suddenly revolved around Yamaguchi and Tsukishima couldn’t help but think that that was how it was supposed to be. That was what he deserved. Except: Yamaguchi wasn’t really there. And that was not supposed to be.
A couple pack member started purring, some others started whispering reassurances into the strangely empty room and suddenly the silent words were too loud to Tsukishima. The whispers and sounds were closing in on him and he only wanted there to be one sound cutting through it all, one sound that always saved him from getting overloaded. But Yamaguchi’s laugh didn’t come.
Tsukishima closed his eyes to hide the tears. It felt like he as being abandoned again, and this time Yamaguchi couldn’t save him from drowning.
A sob ripped through the air. He didn’t care that it was his, didn’t care that the rest of the room had fallen completely silent, didn’t care that everyone was staring, all he cared about was Yamaguchi and Yamaguchi was gone and Tsukishima was sure his heart had left with him. He just needed him back. He really needed his best friend back. His partner in crime. Without Yamaguchi he was nothing.
“Please…” His voice didn’t sound like his own. “Please…. please, Tadashi...”
No reaction. An unmoving body, so warm, so alive, yet somehow dead. All Tsukishima could do was break. Behind him he heard Hinata do the same and soon the whole team was breaking too. Silent pleas were all they had. All they could do was hope it was enough, that they were enough of a reason for Yamaguchi to come back.
Their pack might have been young and only newly formed, still rough around the edges and anything but perfect, but in that moment, no one could deny that the boys were family. They were family and they were love and care. They were everything that an Omega needed to come back and stay. Possibly forever.
Warmth. All Yamaguchi registered was comforting warmth. Strong arms around him, pressing him into a firm chest and the consoling scent of his pack all around him. His body relaxed instantly, as he took in a deep breath of the familiar scent. Home. It smelled like home.
There was a light melody in the buzzing of his ears now and Yamaguchi marvelled in the comfort of a periodical repetition slowly growing more and more familiar with every second passing. All there was, was warmth and comfort and home.
Until slowly all the content he was feeling dissipated.
The scent around that was so familiar slowly turned sour and bitter. Too heavy. Too distressed. Home, still home, but crushed and warped and different. Worrying. Yamaguchi wanted to jump up, assess the situation, find out what was wrong, what happened that made his pack feel like it was suffocating itself in its own misery. He wanted to help.
He couldn’t.
He was still so tired, so foggy, nothing seemed quite real yet, everything so far away and dulled and tuned down to its most basic aspects. Unreal. Yamaguchi wasn’t sure he was real either.
And then the sounds slowly seemed through the melody still stuffing his ears. Comfortable buzzing was soon overridden with voices he knew all too well, and yet had never heard like this before. Crying. Sobbing. Heart-breaking and broken.
Dizzily Yamaguchi’s eyes fluttered open, immediately met with the dark fabric of one of their training jerseys. It took him a second to even recognize the fabric. He forced himself to stay awake. Stay alert. The scent around him was so hopeless, so scared, he felt like he was choking on it. Around him, the strength and safety and warmth slowly turned into his best friend, shaken over and over again by sobs coming deep from within his chest. Yamaguchi felt like he should sob with him. His body didn’t comply with his request.
Instead, his own scent pheromones took charge of showing his distress. His tongue tasted sour with the addition to the already acidic mixture. He wanted to gulp it down but when he swallowed his own saliva, his throat burned with it. His jaw twitched. Around him the chaos, the sounds, the shaking continued.
Yamaguchi couldn’t help but whimper.
And as sudden as the chaos had invaded his every sense, it was gone. Frozen.
The room was eerily silent.
If he didn’t know better, Yamaguchi would have thought time was standing still, but it wasn’t. The warmth was still around him. Tsukishima was still there. Always there.
Unwillingly he let out another whimper.
He heard, felt it more, a breath being released right above him. Shallow and shaky and scared. A breath that almost sounded like a broken “Tadashi.” Almost. Yamaguchi was sure it was just his still hazy mind playing tricks on him.
But then strong arms were pushing him away ever so slightly and Yamaguchi craned his head back to meet Tsukishima’s eyes. Golden orbs heavy with emotion. He had always been good at reading them, learned to recognize every emotion on Tsukishima’s face with no problem. Right now though, he was seeing something he had never seen before. A mix of emotions. Worse now than even when Tsukki had found out about Akiteru. He wanted to reach up, wanted to say something anything to have the hurt, the confusion, the guilt and regret pass from his best friends features. He couldn’t.
Before he even had the chance to do anything but whine quietly, he was pulled against Tsukishima’s chest again. Tighter than before. Closer. Yamaguchi could feel every single tremble passing through the other boy. His heart ached with it and instinctively he started releasing his own calming pheromones in the air around them. He hoped it would help. With his mind still not fully there it was all he could offer. He would always offer all he got to Tsukki.
His own scent slowly started mixing with the smell of home and Yamaguchi basked in the fact that it almost seemed more complete now, more like the pack he had always hoped to be a worthy part of. Tsukki’s scent was the most prominent. Of course, with the closeness they shared. Yamaguchi liked that fact too. If he was allowed, he would love to stay like this a little longer.
Around him Tsukishima’s arms tightened again. Yamaguchi couldn’t help but think it felt like Tsukki was holding on for dear life. It was worrying, yet he didn’t have the energy to push back. He didn’t really want to either. While not foggy anymore, he now felt drained and tired and just about ready to let himself fall into a relaxed sleep in the nest of his teammates.
He shouldn’t though. His home still smelled distressed if less devastated now and although he still couldn’t remember, he felt like it was his fault. His responsibility. He had done something wrong again.
He released a little hum grabbing lightly onto Tsukki’s shirt before working up the energy to push back a little. Just a little. It wasn’t often he got to enjoy closeness like this with his best friend and he surely wasn’t about to end it sooner than he had to. To his surprise Tsukki’s arms tightened more allowing the Omega little to no moving room. All he could do was move his head to the side a little. Tsukki’s hair tickled his cheek.
“What happened?” he asked into the still silent room. His voice was breathy and weak.
Almost immediately a wail resonated through the room. Before Yamaguchi could even react, Hinata was already laying half atop of him, a sobbing mess, rambling incomprehensibly. It was as if the sudden loud sound and movement so typical of the young Omega switched a trigger in the room and sound erupted all around them. Everyone was talking, Hinata still sobbing, somewhere Yamaguchi was sure he heard Suga fussing over them. It was loud. Chaotic. And oh, so familiar.
This was his family. Overeager and emotional and too much. And Yamaguchi wasn’t sure what happened, wasn’t sure what was going on but being surrounded by his family was so fitting, so comfortable that he couldn’t help but let out a little giggle. He sneaked his arm from under Tsukki’s grasp and started patting Hinata on the head.
“There, there.” He murmured a little smile playing at his lips. The other Omega was always so expressive and while the sobbing was heart-wrecking, it was also proof that Hinata cared deeply. In the past couple of months, Yamaguchi had warmed up to that. Sometimes it was tiring but it was never too much. He was thankful to have gained a good friend like Hinata.
He carded his fingers through the soft orange hair until the other finally looked up at him, snotty nose and tears streaking down his face. When Yamaguchi gave him a little smile Hinata burst out in sobs again.
“You were gone.” He repeated over and over again. And as the little Omega sobbed out his worry the memories rushed back to Yamaguchi. His heart dropped.
He had failed his serve. He had disappointed his team. He didn’t deserve them…
Right…
He didn’t deserve them…
They deserved better…
A low growl ripped Yamaguchi back into reality. Tsukki’s grip on his back was painfully tight and the growl vibrated through the others chest so harshly that Yamaguchi could feel it in his own. All he could do was blink in surprise.
Tsukishima didn’t do growls; in fact he didn’t do animalistic sounds at all. Yamaguchi had heard the other purr exactly once in their yearlong friendship and that had been incredibly short-lived and never repeated again. A growl from Tsukishima was unheard of. And yet here he was, growling deeply and all Yamaguchi could do was bare his neck when the Alpha started nuzzling into it. Yamaguchi could feel the other breathe in right by his scent glands. He shivered. The action was so intimate. It was very unusual for his best friend.
He wanted to ask him what was happening. What was going on. But Hinata pulled his attention away with another wail.
“You aren’t allowed to do that again, Yamaguchi, Baka!” with the last word he punched Yamaguchi lightly in the ribs. His sweet personal scent was screaming relief. Yamaguchi couldn’t help but laugh at the childish insult. At least Hinata seemed fine. The rest of the pack was getting better too, solely judging by the scent that was growing increasingly less worried.
Yamaguchi was glad. His pack didn’t deserve any distress they got. They deserved wins and happiness and celebration. When they were all happy, that was when the pack truly smelled heavenly. At least to Yamaguchi. Honestly, he didn’t even want to say anything and accidently ruin the mood. It’s what he usually ended up doing. Even if he didn’t mean to. So, he didn’t. Instead, he went back to patting the sniffling Omega’s head who was still laying half atop him.
Hinata kept rambling, childish insults thrown around occasionally and from time to time incredibly serious requests. Yamaguchi would laugh at the first and frown at the second. Every time though, without fail, when he felt himself growing increasingly worried or upset, Tsukki’s arms would tighten around him, nearly crushing him and the Alpha would emit low growls again. Except for that however there was no word from Tsukki. No reaction. No words. Nothing. Yamaguchi tried not to think about it too much.
Hinata thankfully was a good distraction, an anchor to hold onto. With time passing others linked themselves into the conversation with Yamaguchi too. Nishinoya was laying somewhere by his head judging by the direction he could pinpoint the voice to be coming from. Suga was somewhere behind him, always close by. Daichi too was somewhere behind him. Similarly, the rest of the pack was close too, all laying in one big nest. It was comfortable. Nice and domestic. And Yamaguchi keened with the knowledge. Even if it did include a lot of scolding from a seemingly never exhausted Nishinoya, everlastingly supported by Hinata, and some worried questions about his well-being from both Suga and Daichi. Even with all that Yamaguchi’s heart was swelling. He was surrounded by his team, his pack and all of them cared. He wasn’t alone. He hadn’t been abandoned. He didn’t know what to do with the amount of fondness washing over him, the relief that was so unreasonably large that it felt like it was taking over the whole room. This was home. He belonged right here.
Without meaning to he let out a little purr. He tried to stop himself immediately when he felt Tsukki freeze around him, nose still buried in Yamaguchi’s neck, but to no avail. He was just too content, and the noise slipped out before he could stop it further. He didn’t regret it though. Not when soon after he perceived an equally as soothing sound from right behind him. And like it was every time, the moment Suga started something, the rest of the team followed. Soon the room was filled with the hums of the whole pack. Even Hinata had stopped his sobbing in favour of joining in. Everything was calm now. Everything was right again.
He wasn’t even surprised when he felt the redhead fall off him and nuzzle into his back. Suga’s hand was soothingly rubbing over Yamaguchi’s shoulder. It was all so typical Omega. Yamaguchi had never experienced anything like this before; it made warmth spread through his chest as he kept purring.
It didn’t take long for the whole team to fall asleep after. The day had been anything but easy, stressful and tiring and emotionally draining for everyone involved. It was only natural. Yamaguchi didn’t mind postponing the talking to tomorrow. He still had to figure out what had happened, it all was a little blurry and for some reason a large portion of the blank in his mind was filled with stars shining down on him. But all that could wait, he was sure. His team was content. He was content.
When the whole team was already asleep and his mind was slowly drifting off to sleep too, he could have sworn he heard a low purr come from his Alpha too. The Omega nuzzled closer to the sound. Yeah, staying like this for a little while longer, really didn’t seem that bad.
It was easy for him to fall into calm dreamless sleep.
If Tsukishima stayed up all night only to check up on Yamaguchi’s scent every five minutes, no one needed to know.
Stuff was different now and Yamaguchi wasn’t exactly sure he knew how to deal with it.
Ever since dropping he had been on edge constantly. His usually bubbling anxiety was overflowing and sizzling his insides and he found himself being reminded to breathe by Tsukki more often than even back in middle school when his anxiety disorder had first developed. It was bothersome; especially the first couple of days after. Suga said it was normal. Something about his Omega being too scared to revert back into normalcy right away. Something about giving it time.
It made sense somehow.
Didn’t make it less stressful though.
But what was way more significant to Yamaguchi was another change. One that seemed weirdly right and rightfully wrong at the same time.
Because after dropping Tsukki’s behaviour toward him changed. Yamaguchi told himself it was simply because the other was being careful. It made sense. Had it somehow been the Alpha to disappear into a nearly dead state, Yamaguchi would have been worried too. Of course, they were best friends after all. And if Tsukki was behaving touchier now, than that was simply attributed to worry and his upcoming rut. Yes, Yamaguchi was sure that was all. No biggie.
After all it wasn’t hurting anyone either.
In fact, if he was entirely honest, Yamaguchi enjoyed it.
When he awoke that first morning, still cradled in Tsukki’s arms and the Alpha’s face nuzzled into his neck, close enough to brush his scent glands, he had allowed himself to sigh, allowed himself to think that it meant something. When during the following day, Tsukki stood closer than he usually did, constantly somehow touching Yamaguchi if only subtly, Yamaguchi didn’t mention it, even leaned into the touch. When Tsukki not only pulled him with him on the bus for their bus ride home but also placed him in the window seat instead of his usually spot by the walkthrough, Yamaguchi settled on watching the sky change until he got sleepy. When Tsukki pulled the Omega against his shoulder as he was falling asleep, Yamaguchi purred. Just a tiny bit. Just for the two of them.
It was unusual to have Tsukki be this physically affectionate and caring, but Yamaguchi really couldn’t complain. It was nice to actually see for once how much he mattered to the Alpha. Not that he had doubted it before. If there was one thing he had never doubted in his life, it was Tsukki. He trusted him. If Tsukki didn’t want to be his best friend, Yamaguchi wouldn’t have become exactly that. He knew that. Tsukki didn’t have to prove that to him. Never. His quiet reassurances, the little gifts he had always given to Yamaguchi, it was all more than enough.
And yet,
His Omega keened with the attention he was getting, and he really couldn’t blame it. It was nice to be the centre of someone’s attention for once. It wasn’t exactly something Yamaguchi had experienced in his life a lot. He had always merely been placed on the side-lines. It was nice to for once be physically assured that he was wanted, appreciated, that it was okay for him to step out of the shadows if only for a little while.
It wasn’t until Hinata literally spelled it out to him, that he noticed that the extent of attention was concerning at least. A bit too odd, even for a pair like Tsukishima and Yamaguchi.
Afternoon practice was slow that day and Yamaguchi was more than grateful. With his anxiety so on edge even after three days had passed, his sleeping schedule was all over the place. He was constantly tired but once he was supposed to go to bed his brain wouldn’t shut up. Frankly, he was exhausted. He couldn’t wait for practice to be over so he could head to his or Tsukki’s home with the Alpha and finally take a nap. Tsukki never minded when he napped in his presence. He knew of Yamaguchi’s sleeping problems. Of course, he did. Yamaguchi was thankful that he was so understanding.
So when Hinata pulled him aside and he had the chance to catch a spontaneous break by talking to the redhead, Yamaguchi’s first reaction was relief. Not for long. All his happiness morphed into confusion when he saw Hinata’s expression. Scrunched nose and a deep frown.
“What’s up with you?” Hinata stared at him and Yamaguchi was almost taken aback with the disgust the other directed at him. All Hinata had ever been towards him had been friendly. Not always happy sometimes not even nice, but never this hostile. Even his scent seemed less sweet.
He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “What are you on about?”
Hinata’s eyebrow raised. “It’s pretty obvious if you ask me! Everyone has noticed. And I know you have noticed too.” He looked Yamaguchi up and down once. The other Omega didn’t like the atmosphere at all. It was too tense. It made his anxiety flare up the tiniest amount. Immediately Hinata’s gaze flickered behind him. Yamaguchi wasn’t sure what he was staring at but with the way the other Omega squinted in suspicion, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. His anxiety was supplying him with the worst case scenarios already. The reality seemed too big of an opponent to face right now.
“Hinata, I seriously don’t know what you are talking about.” For a second he simply looked at the other Omega, trying to catch his gaze. “Did Kageyama hit you with a volleyball in the head again? Do you need to go to the infirmary?” the possibility only now occurred to Yamaguchi. It wasn’t too far off honestly. Kageyama had a knack of somehow always hitting Hinata during practice. Apparently all on accident. Not quite believable when usually he was very good at aiming. Yamaguchi and Tsukki had their own theory as to why. They only ever gossiped to each other about it though. The two had to figure it out themselves. Yamaguchi and Tsukki would still have endless opportunities to tease them, when Hinata finally figured it out. The bets were out on that too.
“Oh my god, no!” Hinata sputtered. “he tried but I dodged! Stupid Bakayama underestimated my speed.” Yamaguchi couldn’t help but chuckle at the way the Omega puffed out his chest. Proud of his achievement. It reminded him of Nishinoya too. It was honestly amusing how much Hinata was taking after the older Omega.
For a minute Hinata was distracted. He proceeded trying to explain to Yamaguchi how exactly he had dodged, adding his signature sound effects in his speech and Yamaguchi chuckled every once and again at the antics. His anxiety calmed. Of course, it did. Hinata had some kind of magical effect on everyone with his sunshine smile and his wildflower scent. He lit up a room with his mere presence. Yamaguchi understood why Kageyama always struggled to pull his eyes away from the other Omega. He was radiant after all, the sun impersonated. Everyone longed for the warmth of the sun. Sometimes Yamaguchi was almost envious of the boisterous Omega.
The loud explanation of Hinata pulled the attention of the other pack members toward them and it wasn’t long until Coach Ukai scolded them for slacking off. Both of them apologized to their coach and Yamaguchi thought that was it. He would go back to training, use up the last of his energy, go home with Tsukki and finally fall into any bed he could find and simply sleep. But of course his life couldn’t be that simple.
Because as Hinata rushed past him to go spike a couple balls, his eyes met Yamaguchi’s once more.
“You should tell him to back off with the marking.”
And that was it with the normal day for Yamaguchi. Now he was simply confused. All throughout the rest of training the words turned in his head. There was really only one thing Hinata could be referring to, it was pretty obvious after all, but Yamaguchi still didn’t understand why. Yes okay, Tsukki was being a bit clingy, and of course he had noticed that their scents clung to each other more nowadays, but it wasn’t excessive. Maybe most of his clothes smelled more of Tsukki when he took them off after a full day of hanging out, but that was just because they were constantly with each other now. It wasn’t like Tsukki was trying to mark him. He was just being careful. He was just worried for Yamaguchi and trying to reassure him with his scent too. It wasn’t Tsukki’s fault that he was close to his rut and his scent was a bit more intense.
And yet every time Yamaguchi even had one second to pause during practice, he had to stop himself from sniffing his jersey. He managed except for two times. Both just revealed to him what he already knew: he smelled himself and he smelled Tsukki and he smelt the musty pack scent that always clung to their practice hours. But none of it was excessive. None of it felt too much.
Still, by the end of practice he was so anxious about the situation, that he opted to keep his own scent to a minimum. Maybe he could change fast enough to get to wait for Tsukki outside and catch a break. Just a minute of distance. Maybe Tsukki’s scent would faint then and he could finally be reassured.
Yamaguchi was so deep in thought that he nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He clutched the volleyball he was still grasping against his chest as his eyes met Suga’s. The setter raised an eyebrow.
“Everything okay, Yamaguchi?” Suga’s nostrils flared for just a second. He was trying to catch Yamaguchi’s scent, the young Omega knew, but even in his anxiety he knew to keep it down. It had been one of the first things he had learned after presenting. He didn’t like the thought that his emotions would constantly be out in the open with his scent. It felt too vulnerable. He told himself he was in control.
Releasing the grip on the volleyball just slightly, he gave Suga a small nod and a smile. The older Omega didn’t need to worry unnecessarily. “Yeah, thanks for asking Suga-san. I’m just tired is all.”
For a second the other Omega just looked him up and down before giving him a small smile too and patting him on the shoulder. Three times, the last time was a bit harder. Not firm but still an order. All ala Suga-style. Yamaguchi without fail every time nearly dropped his ball.
“Back to cleaning up then!”
Yamaguchi nodded and went about the task. He didn’t want to keep contemplating but his mind just wasn’t wired that way. Overthinking was his speciality. It was ridiculous really how creative his mind got in that aspect. It happened so much that sometimes Yamaguchi didn’t even notice anymore. Sometimes he’d just accept all the worst case scenarios and go about his day. It was how he survived. Well that, and Tsukki’s presence.
And yet when he was joined by Tsukki in the storage room, he was barely able to take a look at the other before scrambling off to help somewhere else. Anywhere else.
His mind was turning over every interaction he had had with Tsukki since the incident, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of what Hinata had pointed out, in the wake only finding a million feign mistakes he had made. So many mistakes. So embarrassing.
In his desperate attempt to simply stay busy, Yamaguchi ended up helping Yachi with some of her chores all the while chatting with her. And it helped. For a couple minutes Yamaguchi forgot all about his reeling thoughts and the new anxiety added to his endless list, and simply lost himself in the conversation with the blond Omega all about the newest chapter of a manga they both enjoyed. It was casual and unimportant and comfortable. And although Yamaguchi really was tired and couldn’t wait for his nap, when his conversation with Yachi drew a close with the finished tasks, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad about it. He enjoyed talking with Yachi, but they were both always so busy that it more of often than not was cut rather short.
As if they were just waiting to attack, the thoughts were back the instant Yamaguchi was alone again, making his way to the changing room. He came away blank, even after the short walk. The original problem multiplied into a thousand smaller ones. His list of mistakes and embarrassment seemingly endless by now.
Once in the changing room, he realized that he was one of the last ones. Hinata and Kageyama were so busy bickering that they had barely started changing and Nishinoya was animatedly telling Tanaka a story, apparently too busy gesturing to put on the shirt he was clutching in his hands. Except for them though, everyone else was close to ready to leave. He was late again. Ducking his head Yamaguchi made his way to the back of the locker room, the space he and Tsukki had claimed for themselves almost right after the first practice. Everyone had their little spot. This was theirs.
The blond Alpha glanced at Yamaguchi when he started changing beside him, hurriedly taking of his jersey and stuffing it away. Tsukishima was nearly done changing too and Yamaguchi didn’t want to keep him waiting for long. He knew Tsukki didn’t like spending too much time in the locker room. It was too stuffy. Yamaguchi sometimes thought so too.
In the end they were still one of the first ones to leave the school grounds. Suga and Daichi stayed behind for some further strategizing with the Coach, Hinata and Kageyama were still bickering and the others were comfortably chatting while making their way to wherever they needed to be.
Yamaguchi and Tsukishima walked in silence. As usual Tsukishima was wearing his headphones. Yamaguchi didn’t mind today. Never actually did. Sometimes it gave him the opportunity to ramble about all his anxieties without actually feeling like he was rambling. Tsukishima always listened in a bit, Yamaguchi knew, but he never commented. Not unless he picked up on something important. He had learned in their time together to distinguish between important and not so important rambling from Yamaguchi. If something truly was bothering the Omega, Tsukki never hesitated to take his headphones off and listen. Yamaguchi liked that. It made him feel like maybe he wasn’t talking off the others ear. Maybe it was okay that most days all he did was ramble.
Other times, like today it meant that he was left to his own devices. Left to his own thoughts and the familiar buzzing of the surrounding. It was a routine and it was comfortable and Yamaguchi wouldn’t change a thing about it, even if on days like these, the thoughts he was left with were not exactly positive.
He glanced at Tsukishima walking beside him. Closer than usual. Closer than two weeks ago. Closer but not too close. It was comfortable. And suddenly Hinata’s words from earlier didn’t seem as pressing as he had made them out to be. He smiled to himself before tilting his head back to let the sun shine down on his face, eyes closed. He didn’t notice when Tsukishima stared at him for just a second.
With the sun on Yamaguchi’s face and his best friend right beside him it wasn’t hard to tune out his thoughts for a moment. To enjoy the moment to the fullest. Be here and not in his head. Tsukki always helped him with that. Yamaguchi would forever be grateful to him.
The rest of the walk passed in silence too, Tsukki silently deciding they’d be going to his place and Yamaguchi merely following when they got to the crossroad that separated their paths to school and back. It was all mutual understanding. Both were fine with whatever option honestly, most of the time they just decided on a whim.
Tsukki unlocked the door and as they entered, Yamaguchi took up the duty of yelling that they were home. The only thing that greeted him was silence.
He turned to Tsukki with a questioning look. The alpha only shrugged as he took of his headphones.
“She got work today.”
And that was it.
They kept quiet as they took of their shoes and their uniform jackets. As always, Yamaguchi hung his on the hook right beside Tsukki’s. Ever since Akiteru had moved out, the family had fallen into silent agreement that the older Tsukishima’s hook was Yamaguchi’s now. When he had been told at first Yamaguchi had nearly cried. He adored the Tsukishima family, and the hook was just proof how important he was to them too. He liked the thought of being part of this family. It was a lot less lonely than his. Not that he didn’t love his mom, but she was at work a lot and their house was empty more often than not. When Tsukki wasn’t there, Yamaguchi was all alone. He liked the silence usually but loneliness was not on his list of go to emotions. He felt it a lot when Tsukki wasn’t there.
“Food?” he threw a look back at Tsukki, giving the Alpha the chance to answer with just his expression. They never needed many words anyway.
He nodded when all he got was a shrug.
Slinging his bag at the bottom of the stairwell, fully aware that Tsukki would take it up for him, he made his way into the kitchen. He marvelled when he smelled a hint of fresh grass and strawberries in the mixture of scent in the room. It wasn’t prominent, but it was there and that was enough to remind him how much he belonged. Tsukki’s room smelled of it even more. Especially now that the other barely left him out of his grasp.
Yamaguchi made quick work of grabbing snacks for himself and Tsukki before he rushed up the stairs, arms full of everything unhealthy, one strawberry flavoured pocky stick already between his lips.
Tsukki snorted when he entered the room.
“You couldn’t even wait to get up here?” he raised an eyebrow. Pouting Yamaguchi nibbled on his pocky before dropping all the other snacks on the table Tsukki was seated in front of and sitting beside the Alpha on the floor.
“Not my fault that your mom buys my favourite snacks.” He grumbled. The whiny response only got him another snort. Yamaguchi grumbled again. Tsukki always teased him about his sweet tooth but Yamaguchi couldn’t help it. He was just bad at resisting temptations. But honestly who could blame him?
In the end it didn’t matter, because the moment Tsukki’s amused pheromones reached him, he couldn’t help but relax anyway. He leaned back onto one arm. There was just something about rosemary and citrus flowers that made him swoon. An unusual mix and he knew from Hinata that it wasn’t explicitly pleasant to Omega’s, but for Yamaguchi it was. It had been since he first presented. He had never once met someone who smelled even remotely similar to Tsukki. Not even his brother. And now with his upcoming rut close, Tsukki smelled even more intensely. Yamaguchi took a deep breath.
He didn’t even realize that he was releasing satisfied pheromones of his own until rosemary and citrus responded in kind. A familiar mixture settled over the pair.
The comfortable atmosphere brought back his sleepiness, so after finishing his pocky, Yamaguchi closed his eyes and let out a little hum. He didn’t expect anything. Just wanted to sit and enjoy for a second before he would scramble off to Tsukki’s bed for his nap, but this day apparently couldn’t give him even a little normalcy.
Without warning Tsukki’s arm sneaked around his waist pulling him flush to the Alpha’s side. Yamaguchi let out an involuntary yelp as his eyes flew open. Tsukki’s arm felt warm on his waist, staying there as if it never belonged anywhere else. Confident. Assured. Even for the weird behaviour Tsukki had presented the last days, this was a lot. This was a lot more.
But as he glanced up at the other from where Yamaguchi’s head had fallen against his shoulder, the Alpha didn’t show an ounce of emotion. He was completely engrossed in the homework in front of him. Neutral and concentrated. If it hadn’t been for the content pheromones now so close to Yamaguchi’s face, he would have thought Tsukki was not feeling anything at all. That he was just doing his homework without much thought. But no, Tsukishima smelled happy. He was happy.
And although Yamaguchi was still surprised about the sudden show of affection, he couldn’t deny that this position was comfortable. Tsukki’s scent was right by his nose, his body was warm against Yamaguchi’s side and his head comfortably rested on the others shoulder again. It felt safe. Steady. With the thought that he would love to stay like this a little longer, he nuzzled closer into the others side. Not that there was much room to wiggle closer anyway. Tsukki held him impossibly close already. His arm was locked around the Omega’s waist like he was scared he’d run away.
With his head comfortably situated on Tsukki’s shoulder, Yamaguchi yawned. His sleepy mind was all fuzzy already and when another wave of comforting pheromones washed over him, he felt his eyelids flutter closed.
He felt a pang of disappointment, knowing that the pressure on the top of his head was not really Tsukki pressing a kiss against it, but simply his tired mind playing tricks on him.
How cruel.
He forgot about it the moment dreamland caught up to him.
Awakening Yamaguchi expected a lot. Waking up in his bed, in Tsukishima’s bed, dropped on the floor or nuzzled into a blanket burrito. Cold or comfortably warm or too hot. He expected exactly what his experience told him he would wake up to.
Waking up seated in Tsukishima’s lap with his own legs hooked around the others waist was not one of those. Even in his wildest dreams he wouldn’t have imagined that.
He was awake in mere seconds, all the sleepiness leaving his mind faster than Hinata and Kageyama’s quick. He didn’t dare move, all his senses heightened, searching for something, anything that could pose a threat. Because this wasn’t normal and all that his mind could supply was that somehow this was his fault. His mistake. That his best call was to run and hide.
Oh god, what if he had snuggled up into Tsukishima in his sleep and the Alpha had been too polite to push him off? He made Tsukki uncomfortable for sure, he knew his best friend, and this was definitely stepping wide over the line. Now that he was awake, the Alpha would push him away, tell him he was pathetic and make him leave and Yamaguchi would be all alone. No one to run towards. To hide with when the world got too much again.
Oh god…. How could he fuck up so bad? He was so stupid.
If the world opened up and swallowed him whole, Yamaguchi would more than welcome it.
He wanted to be gone. Now.
In an instant Tsukki’s arms were rubbing up and down his back. Warm and steady and everything they had always been. Yamaguchi froze. He didn’t know what to do as his thoughts ran a mile a minute only anticipating the moment Tsukki would push him away. The moment warm and steady would turn hard and hurtful. It did so with everyone. Deep down he had always known this thing with Tsukki was too good to last forever. His Omega crumbled at the thought. Rejected by an Alpha after being so comfortable. After years of friendship and love and understanding. Everything destroyed with one stupid sleepy mistake. It was worse than a punch in the gut.
“Breathe.” He heard and Yamaguchi tried. He really did, but his hands clung onto the fabric of Tsukki’s shirt anyway and the spiral he was trapped in clutched tighter around his mind.
He couldn’t help the whimper when Tsukishima’s arms tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, nose buried right by the scent glands that were continuously releasing the calming scent of citrus flowers around him. It always helped. Familiar and calm and concentrated. A constant in his crumbling unsteady life. His crumbling unsteady mind.
Against his own neck glands Tsukishima muttered another “Breathe.” And Yamaguchi shuddered with it.
Slowly his lungs filled with citrus flowers and rosemary and his body relaxed involuntarily. Tsukki was still here. He was okay. Somehow this was okay. He wasn’t being left behind. His hands still clutched the fabric of Tsukki’s shirt. Holding on for dear life even now.
When his breathing was calmer again he released a shaky breath.
“Sorry Tsukki…” he muttered as he buried his nose deeper into the others neck. Tsukki allowed it without complaints. Yamaguchi however didn’t allow his mind to take the action and twist it into something else than what it was. Tsukki was just comforting him. He was being a good best friend, like he had always been to Yamaguchi. There was nothing else to it.
Yamaguchi scrunched his nose at the knowledge that Tsukki had been forced to comfort him a lot more than usual this past week. Even before now, Tsukki had stooped to hugging him against his shoulder on that bus ride back, to hugging him after another failed float serve, to comforting him after another stupid comment from some classmate he didn’t even think to separate from the mass of bullies in most of his classes. It reminded him that he was a burden more often than not. A nuisance. Too dependant on his friends. It reminded him that they deserved better. Tsukki more than anyone else.
“Hey.” The growl in Tsukki’s voice sent another shiver down his back. “None of that.”
Yamaguchi whimpered. Of course Tsukki knew what he was thinking. He always had and ever since they both presented and Yamaguchi didn’t bother masking his scent when he was alone with his best friend, it was even easier for the Alpha to read him. Of course he knew. His Omega keened at the knowledge, the rational part of his brain busied itself in hating himself for it.
He didn’t say anything and Tsukki allowed him to simply exist in silence for a while. He breathed in citrus and rosemary. His heartbeat slowed. So did his raging mind. Slowed but never stopped, never entirely silent.
Carefully he unclenched his hands from Tsukki’s shirt, instead opting to loosely hang them over the Alpha’s shoulders. The room felt cold around them, so different to the heat of Tsukki’s body.
“Okay again?” Tsukki asked and Yamaguchi swallowed readying himself for the conversation to follow. He knew it would. Tsukki still had to push him away.
Even to his own ears his “yes” sounded pathetic. Unconvinced. He watched his fingers flex as he waited for Tsukki to continue, mentally preparing himself for the cold that would hit him the moment he was rejected. He was ready. He was waiting.
“Yes.” He said more firmly now.
And then,
Nothing came.
Completely baffled Yamaguchi sat still as Tsukki hummed shortly before his right arm released from Yamaguchi’s waist and he adjusted his chin on the Omega’s shoulder. When Tsukki went back to his homework entirely unbothered by the Omega still in his lap, Yamaguchi nearly fainted.
Screw it. No matter how much Tsukki wanted to comfort him, or how careful he was, this was different. Even in his touchiest states, the most Tsukishima had ever gone for was hugs and occasional hand holding. Even within his own family, he rarely asked for scent marking that was beyond the casual wrist rubbing at the dinner table. Allowing Yamaguchi into his lap like it was nothing was entirely new. Completely out of character. Yet it was what he was currently doing, even going as far as still holding Yamaguchi close with the arm that wasn’t busy with writing. They were close, of course they were, they were childhood best friends, but none of that warranted for the weird behaviour now. Tsukki had never been this cuddly. Not once. Not in years and years of friendship and not in the past few days. Never.
And Yamaguchi understood that Tsukki was worried about him, of course he understood, but even so, letting an Omega sit in his lap, allowing him to nuzzle his neck glands even this close to his rut, it was all a little overboard. It all screamed “mates” a bit too loud.
Cringing he remembered Hinata’s words from early.
“Everyone has noticed. And I know you have noticed too.”
And he had. Of course he had, but it was only now that he realized the true extent, the actual image this whole thing must have given the rest of the world. Tsukishima and him must have looked like mates. Mates that weren’t bonded yet, but mates nonetheless.
Mates.
With horror he realized that the thought made his Omega keen, made him supress a happy purr and choke down what he was sure would have been an embarrassing chirp.
He nuzzled closer to Tsukki’s scent again, searching for anything that would help calm his beating heart and quiet down the Omega in him that wanted to whine and submit right this instant at the realization that an Alpha and him had seemed like mates. And not just any Alpha, no specifically Tsukishima, the safest Alpha Yamaguchi knew, had if involuntarily made the both of them seem like mates. Yamaguchi felt like he was floating. At the same time guilt weight heavy on his chest.
They had seemed like mates and yet he was sure Tsukki never could have meant it that way. It was essentially all Yamaguchi’s fault. He had dropped and because he was so on edge now, Tsukishima had been forced to behave differently, most likely not even realizing how they looked to everyone else. Involuntarily and unintentionally. Briefly Yamaguchi wondered if he had taken Tsukki’s chance to meet a suitable mate in this one week, if he had scared away Tsukki’s destined partner with the closeness he shared with the Alpha. But the thought made his heart hurt and he chose not to think about it anymore, instead focusing on the intense smell Tsukki was releasing. He wanted Tsukki to have meant to look like mates. He really did. But he knew that could never be the truth. They were best friends and he had always been supposed to stand on the side-lines while Tsukishima reached for the stars. It had always been that way. It would always stay that way. No matter how much he tried.
And Yamaguchi was okay with that. Had been. Until now. Until Tsukki had pulled him closer, until he was seated in the Alpha’s lap and realized that he fit perfectly. That they fit perfectly and that he wanted to be allowed to cuddle like this again. That he wanted to be the only one to sit like this with Tsukki.
There was a force clutching his heart and he didn’t know what to do.
Tsukki’s hand moving soothingly over his back was not helping at all. It made him want to stay longer. Indulge his foolish little heart just for a little while more.
He should get away from the Alpha, put distance between them now, before this went on for too much longer and Yamaguchi really did end up ruining Tsukki’s chances at finding a suitable mate. He could never forgive himself for that. If his heart broke in the process then that was a casualty he’d gladly accept for the happiness of his best friend.
And so, Yamaguchi reluctantly pressed against Tsukishima’s chest, attempting to remove himself from the Alpha’s personal space. Better now than never. Maybe he could spare them both some pain if he did.
He didn’t get far.
The moment he shifted his legs to scoot back, strong hands were on his waist pulling him right back to where he was before, knocking the air right out of him when his chest collided with the Alpha’s. He felt the growl before he heard it, but once it reached his ears he gulped. It was deep. Throaty. And so so much closer than ever before. Right by his neck glands. Subconsciously he bared his neck just a little.
Yamaguchi gulped. He tried to ignore the shiver racing down his spine and the Alpha so close. He shouldn’t feel this way.
“Tsukki, what are you-“ he jolted in the Alpha’s lap when he felt the wet tongue right where Tsukki’s nose had been just a second ago. The intensity of it on his scent glands was overwhelming. Weirly intimate. He had never realized that something could feel that good there.
He wanted to finish his sentence.
But, Tsukki was nosing his neck now, breathing in his scent like he was a suffocating man and still growling, the vibration right against Yamaguchi’s own chest. He felt his head spin. Tsukki’s hands felt smouldering hot on his back, roaming and gripping and pressing him against all the sensations Yamaguchi shouldn’t enjoy, but god he did. He did too much.
He heard himself whimper despite all his best efforts. It was high pitched and weak and embarrassing, but Tsukki growled even deeper, pressed him even closer and all Yamaguchi could do was hide his face against the others neck.
He only realized his mistake when the scent of Alpha invaded all his senses. Citrus flower and rosemary and Alpha. Intense and overwhelming and addicting. Heavy in the air already.
He pressed against it, let it consume him whole with every breath, shifted against Tsukki so he was closer, closer, completely enveloped by Alpha. His Alpha. He wanted him to touch him everywhere, keep growling against his neck, he wanted to fall apart for him. Now. Completely.
“Tsukki.” The whine escaped him without his control. He didn’t regret it. Tsukki growled again and mouthed at Yamaguchi’s neck and the Omega wanted him to bite, to mark, to claim what was his anyway, and Yamaguchi bared his neck. His fingers tangled into soft blond strands, tugging just slightly.
And suddenly there was a light grazing of teeth right where Yamguchi wanted them, where he needed them and Tsukki growled again and his breath felt so hot. Burning up and turning Yamaguchi into mush right in the Alpha’s arms. Pliant and willing and so so desperate. Yamaguchi felt a familiar flame lighting in his gut.
And then Tsukki’s hand was on his thigh, deliciously close to where Yamaguchi wanted them. Squeezing and gripping and Yamaguchi wanted to feel it right against his skin. Cursed out his own pants for existing, for separating him from the heat Tsukki gave off. From getting a mark there too with how tightly he was being held. There was not a single inch left between their bodies. Yet, Tsukki nuzzled his neck, pressed against him, like he wanted to get closer. Like he wanted to crawl under Yamaguchi’s skin. If Yamaguchi could, he would allow it. He wanted to forget where one of them ended and the other began. He wanted Tsukki. He needed him.
And Tsukki was still growling so deep and throaty and pushing his hips against Yamaguchi’s deliciously, coaxing the Omega from where he was still hiding his face urging him on to reincorporate, grip onto Tsukki’s back tighter, push himself closer, whimper again, or whine his name like he had before. Sounds so sweet he wanted to drown in them.
Yamaguchi gripped at his hair again, effectively pulling the Alpha away from the sickly sweet scent mingling with his own. Tsukki marvelled in that fact. They smelled bewildering mixed like this.
And then suddenly their eyes met and Yamaguchi felt like the whole universe was expanding with the force of the Alpha’s gaze.
Hot.
Scorching.
More…
The sound of his own long whine pulled him out of his haze.
In a frenzy he pushed against Tsukki, the surprise giving him enough time to wiggle out of the Alpha’s strong grip and jump a safe distance away. What had he been thinking? He wasn`t supposed to react to his best friend like this!
Yamaguchi’s mind was racing a mile a minute again as he took a couple seconds to simply breathe, panting and dishevelled and feeling so so wrong. The room was entirely silent; freezingly cold on his hot skin. His Omega wanted to go back. Made him want to call for the Alpha to push him against the nearest wall and take him, claim him, mark him so everyone knew he was taken. It wanted the delicious smelling Alpha. All of him. It wanted Tsukki. Yamaguchi trembled with the effort not to fall to his knees and submit. Not to ruin the one good thing in his life.
His eyes focused on Tsukki’s form; his breath hitched.
“I should leave.” He pressed out and without even giving Tsukishima the chance to say anything else, he grabbed for his bag and rushed out of the house he called his second home.
The image of Tsukishima’s wide blown pupils, hungry gaze burning into his own, made his knees weak even when he was safely leaning against his locked door. His own pheromones mixed with the heavy scent of Alpha in rut. Citrus flower and rosemary and everything Yamaguchi had never realized he wanted.
Yamaguchi groaned.
God, he was so so screwed.
“Hey Yamaguchi, come here for a second!”
Yamaguchi froze. That really didn’t sound too good. As if his life couldn’t get any worse than it already was. Hesitantly he turned to the coach, his hands unconsciously gripping onto the bottom of his jersey, fiddling nervously. It was all crumbled there already; He had been doing a lot of fiddling since this morning.
He stood awaiting in front of his coach and was instantly relieved when instead of angry alpha pheromones the only thing he could smell was the calming scent of their Sensei. The small man was standing beside his partner and smiled encouragingly up at Yamaguchi.
“Nothing bad is going to happen, Yamaguchi, no need to be so nervous.” He spoke so softly and although it always made Yamaguchi feel a little weak, the knowledge that he spoke like this to everyone from the team, made him appreciate the comfort a little. “Ukai and me just realized that you seemed a little distracted this practice and in the morning as well. Is everything alright?”
Internally Yamaguchi groaned. Ughhh, that question again. Day four since dropping and he was still too anxious not to get that question nearly every practice. It was annoying. Mentally he slapped himself for seeming so weak still.
Just that this time he wasn’t really sure what he should answer. He could lie and say he was fine, say that he was just tired again, because he was, he had barely gotten any sleep with the memory of warm hands all over his body haunting his every dream. He could just say the truth and say that he was worried for his friend, that something had happened and they hadn’t talked yet. Or he could just smile and say nothing.
Yamaguchi would always go for the easiest option when it came to talking about his anxiety.
He smiled at the sensei and made a point of releasing his jersey and casually hanging his hands to his side. There was no need to pull his coach and sensei into the mess that was his life right now. Besides he couldn’t exactly tell them that he was anxious because he couldn’t forget the burning gaze of his best friend.
“I’m fine, Sensei. Sorry for worrying you. I promise I’ll do better from now on.”
For a second both the coach and the sensei looked at him like they were trying to get him to continue, or maybe like they wanted to insist on a proper answer. They didn’t. Yamaguchi was thankful that fate at least gave him that. He already had enough to deal with as it was.
Trying not to get too anxious again, keeping his itching hands firmly away from his jersey, Yamaguchi waited for the two partners to conclude their silent judgment of him. Their eyes flickered behind Yamaguchi for a second and the Omega resisted the urge to turn and check what they could be looking at. When they shared brief eye-contact though, his suffering was finally over.
The coach gave a short nod. “Alright. Back to training then.”
And so, Yamaguchi went back to what he had been doing before: avoiding Tsukki at all cost.
At the ball basket he used the chance to subtly glance around the gym and search for the Alpha. When he found him, he allowed himself to stare for just a second. He couldn’t afford memories of yesterday coming up now. Not even when they pressed against the inside of his head constantly today.
Thankfully, Tsukki was practicing his middle block with Asahi and Daichi and Tanaka right by the net. Essentially ideal for Yamaguchi. He could just go to the back and train his serve. He could even ask Yachi to come help him out a little; she had picked up on his form by now and was actually really good with giving advice on possible improvements, not to mention that she could hand him the balls which would make getting a continuous flow for his spikes a lot easier too. And they could share a little conversation. He smiled. The plan sounded perfect.
He was just about to call for her finding her standing with Kiyoko across the gym, when his thoughts were interrupted.
“Yamaguchi!”
Maybe the shiver that ran down his spine wasn’t just because of the sudden call. Maybe it also stemmed from the memory of that voice growling against his neck, rumbling right against his chest. But that was a secret for himself to keep.
Hesitantly he turned to the four figures by the net, previously in motion now all standing huddled together and looking in his direction. His eyes met Tsukki’s immediately and he couldn’t help but gulp. Yup, he definitely wasn’t ready to face this problem yet.
He didn’t dare speak as their eyes stayed locked to each other, clutching the volleyball in his hands tighter. It was probably painfully obvious to Tsukki how tense he was, but Yamaguchi couldn’t help it. He had always been a little weak when it came to Tsukki after all. He couldn’t hide a thing from him.
For a second he lost himself in the moment, in honey coloured eyes, like he had seen them a thousand times before, and yet they seemed impossibly far away. He wondered how they had gotten here. Why he hadn’t been more insistent to talk when the chance had arisen in the morning, when he had found Tsukki waiting for him at their corner, even when Yamaguchi was sure that what he had experienced yesterday in Tsukki’s presence was the beginning of a rut. He should have insisted that Tsukki stayed home, when he had seemed all but entirely normal, when he didn’t even mention what had happened and Yamaguchi had been too much of a coward to start the conversation on his own. He should have done a lot of things since the day before, and yet here he was, in the middle of afternoon practice and he had done absolutely nothing to move this problem ahead. He was stuck in a loop of fear. Lose his best friend because they couldn’t even get themselves to talk to each other, or well losing his best friend because they would talk and Tsukki would finally realize what Yamaguchi had known all along: that they could never work. That their friendship had finally reached its expiration date.
Claiming Yamaguchi was lost in this new situation was a severe understatement. Mostly he just wanted to run and hide. It was all too new, too different. But there was no one he could talk to. Not when he hadn’t even comprehended the whole situation himself. He didn’t have anyone to run towards or hide with this time.
Daichi’s voice ripped him out of his thoughts, but even as he turned his attention towards the older Alpha, he could feel Tsukki’s gaze on him.
“Wanna join our blocking practice for a bit?”
It wasn’t too unusual. Yamaguchi was supposed to become a blocker too at some point. And he wanted to become a good one, become a regular until his third year even if that goal seemed terribly far away at the moment. But somehow this felt different too. Everything did somehow. Even his jersey felt more itchy and he couldn’t tell why.
He gripped onto the ball tighter, to ground himself, letting his eyes wander over the small group once. If he had told his younger self that he’d be asked to train with scary big guys like the four Alpha’s at the net, he probably wouldn’t have believed himself. But he did now. Because when you knew all of them, none were scary. And even if everything felt a little weird right now, being with his team was never something that could feel completely uncomfortable for Yamaguchi. Not when he was constantly surrounded by the pheromones of the people he was slowly starting to call his pack.
The answer had been clear from the moment the question had been asked.
“Sure!” he beamed.
He missed the way the coach and their sensei sighed in relief when he joined the group.
“Alright, nice! Now we have enough people to do proper three person blocks!” Daichi said excitedly and there was no way to miss the competitive twinkle in his eyes.
He was just about to give their teams and explain the practice in mind, when Suga showed up beside him, mischievous smile on his face.
“Need a setter?” he asked and his mate didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around his shoulder.
“You know me too well, babe.” He said, nuzzling Suga’s check affectionately. Immediately Noya was behind them pretending to throw up at which Tanaka burst out laughing. Suga didn’t even look when he hit Noya smack in the face, making the libero stop his shenanigans. The self-satisfied smirk on his face told everyone he knew what he had done and Yamaguchi couldn’t help but snicker at that. When Noya pouted up at Suga and kept whining how “that hurts worse than you think, Suga-san” to which Suga simply replied with “I know exactly how much it hurts, and how much force I need to use to make idiots shut up.” Yamaguchi hid his snickers behind his hand. It didn’t help much of course, but it didn’t matter. Everyone’s attention was on Noya and Tanaka anyway who started dramatically complaining about the mean treatment and how they needed nursing from Kiyoko for their poor broken hearts. It was stupid and silly and familiar. Yamaguchi knew everyone enjoyed it. Even Tsukki.
Speaking of, somehow during the little ordeal, their group had shifted enough, so that the Alpha was standing beside him again. And as much as Yamaguchi had done this to himself, he couldn’t help but admit that it was nice to share the close proximity again. He had avoided it like the plague since morning but now that he had it, he kind of wanted to be enveloped in the others scent again. Just a little more than he was right now. His freshly washed jersey just smelled a little off without citrus flowers and rosemary.
He chanced a glance toward Tsukki only to find the Alpha already looking at him. Golden. Honey. Not burning but warm for sure. He didn’t even noticed as he leaned slightly more towards that homely warmth. Citrus and rosemary. Warmth and comfort. Just a little closer.
“Alright then!” Yamaguchi jumped as Coach Ukai’s voice boomed through the gym. “Seems like we got ourselves a little practice match for today, what do you all say?”
Barely a second and Hinata was already jumping up excitedly repeating “yes, yes ,yes.” Over and over again. Noya and Tanaka weren’t much better, cheering loudly. And the way Suga and Daichi smirked at each other made Yamaguchi shiver in fear. He would never get over the competitiveness the mates shared. Always out to challenge each other. Always heated. He could only imagine what that ended in, and he’d honestly rather not think about that.
Besides he had much more pressing matters to think of. A practice match in their team for one.
The coach grinned with the same fire in his eyes as the rest of the team. Everyone was more than hyped for a good practice match. Even Takeda-sensei looked like he was pumped. But then again the small Sensei was surprisingly fiery in his reactions all the time.
Yamaguchi felt his own excitement get the better of him, nervous jitters turning into excited ones. Tsukki’s shoulder bumped lightly against his and brought about an own scent of excitement. The coach grinned at the whole team, and Yamaguchi couldn’t help but grin back. The excitement around him was just too contagious.
But just as fast his heart dropped.
“Yamaguchi will be on my team.” He heard but his brain buffered and it took him several moments of pure silence from the whole team to connect the dots.
His head whipped around to Tsukki. The Alpha was staring at their coach with a look of finality that fit the tone of his voice. Yamaguchi felt like he was dreaming.
Tsukki didn’t make demands in team choosing. No one did. They always allowed the coach to experiment with them and their positions how he wanted during fun games like these. But here Tsukki was, once again breaking a silent rule of his own. Yamaguchi wasn’t sure he could handle much more of that.
A shocked “eh?” slipped out before he could stop it. The only response he got was the split second of eye-contact with Tsukki, before the Alpha went back to his weird staring contest with the coach. The team was frozen in shock, and Yamaguchi really couldn’t blame them; he didn’t know what to say either.
It took Takeda to weakly elbow Coach Ukai into his side, for him to wipe his surprised expression from his face and stand up straight again, clearing his throat.
“Uhm, yeah sure, why not.” He said, sounding as confused as everyone felt.
Tsukki exhaled but kept all the tension in his body when he gave the coach a nod. Coach Ukai nodded back curtly before clearing his throat again and turning his attention back to the whole team and spontaneously sorting everyone into teams. The confusion was still clear with everyone, some still staring at Tsukki. Yamaguchi himself couldn’t help but do the same. He was doing a lot of confused staring at Tsukki today, but as the coach kept giving instructions, everyone slowly went back to their usual selves. It wasn’t until the last of their stares had left Tsukki though, that the Alpha finally relaxed into his usual slump. Yamaguchi noticed. He was barely listening to their coach anyway, too distracted by the loop in his brain that kept replaying the demand the Alpha had given just seconds prior. Final and confident. Not a question.
Understandable, since Yamaguchi felt like all the questions of the world were stuck in his mind right now. What and why and how and huh? It felt like he was looking at a puzzle that was made up of three broken ones. Nothing fit and every time he thought two pieces did, he tried and they turned out to be entirely different colours.
He stared at Tsukki. Years and years of friendship, the certainty that if he knew someone truly, it was Tsukishima Kei, and yet when he stared at him now, only a total enigma stared back.
It didn’t help that when he passed Hinata just before the start of their game the Omega grinned at him before whispering: “Glad you took my advice. You smell way less of him today.” As if he needed to be reminded of the fact that all he had done today, was worsen the distance between himself and the only person he had ever trusted.
Yamaguchi sighed.
He wanted just a second to breathe.
There was no second to breathe.
The practice game through some odd turn of events that honestly wasn’t really that surprising, suddenly turned into one of the most intense games Yamaguchi had ever participated in. Of course, Hinata and Kageyama played seriously right away. It was their thing after all. Tanaka was just as pumped and it was easy to spot that his energy level that day was especially high. He was practically buzzing on the spot at the opportunity to show his potential as an ace. Especially with Asahi on the other side. The perfect comparison. The perfect learning opportunity.
Their team lines were wonky at best considering there was only one Nishinoya Yuu and as much as Daichi tried to even that out in their team, he didn’t quite hold up. Simultaneously though having Asahi on their team gave them a slight advantage over the other team. A strong spike could after all break even the second year blockers and Kageyama.
Soon however the ace an libero fell into one of their weird challenges, constantly trying to one up each other, constantly keeping the other on the tips of their toes. Nishinoya kept receiving and saving the most impossible balls. Asahi changed his angle and hit spot so often, it was hard to follow. Anyone not in total sync with the ball and each other would have lost it by now. Too many changes, too many spontaneous rash decisions, too many unexpected turns. But not this team, not Karasuno.
Being different was their specialty after all.
It was terrifying and absolutely captivating at once to witness. A game like it wasn’t just real but like it actually would have some kind of reward. And maybe in the back of their minds everyone knew that it would. Knew that at least one person in their team needed this. A game to prove themselves in. A game to lose themselves in.
And,
Yamaguchi was exhausted. Playing a whole game, especially one he was actually hoping to be good in, was straining even the best of them and Yamaguchi was far from that anyway. He didn’t get enough sleep, his breakfast consisted of half an apple, the school day had drained even the last of his motivation and will for any kind of action. If he was to lay down he’d fall asleep for sure right then and there, on the dirty gym floor with the game still full out.
But he couldn’t lay down, not when his team was still standing, still fighting.
No matter how bad he was, how utterly exhausted and tired, he still wanted to be there for them. Even if his blocks were mediocre at best and that mainly because Tsukki was the other blocker, even if his receives were wonky and his best were still miles worse than Daichi’s worst, even when all he was good for was his float serve which was still not perfected or efficient enough, even then, Yamaguchi wanted to give it his all. His team only deserved the best of the best, and if he couldn’t give them that then he had to at least try to give them the best he could give. Maybe that would be enough. He hoped it was enough this time.
So,
Yamaguchi was exhausted, tired and thirsty and close to collapsing, but that didn’t mean that he was about to give up. The fact that Tsukki was still staring at him every opportunity he got, was just an additional push factor. Even confused by Tsukki, Yamaguchi still craved his approval.
That's why, when their eyes locked across their side of the court, Yamaguchi clutching the ball in his trembling hands too tightly, he made sure to keep the stare for a second before giving his entire attention to his upcoming serve. He felt the weird urge to tell the Alpha that he got this. That he could do this.
He thought he caught a warm little smile wash over Tsukki’s features, the one that made his knees weak every time, but before he could be sure, the Alpha turned away staring across the net separating the court again, and Yamaguchi was left with the weight of the world washing over him.
This was his chance, his one opportunity to prove himself worthy of being on the team. Not because the others had told him so, but because he had to manage this for himself. He had to know for himself that he wasn’t entirely useless, not just a burden better to keep away from the court or the pack.
He wasn’t sure if he could handle another failure, not after what happened last time, but he had to try. He had to at least try. For himself and for them.
Yamaguchi took a deep breath and tried to ignore half his team doing the same, watching him in anticipation, worried and ready to spring into action if need be. At least that meant they had his back. Yamaguchi supposed that counted for something.
Another deep breath and a leap of faith. Not the easy option, not the easy way out. He had to do this properly, like it was real, and so he did.
His hand hit the ball, quiet and calculated and it felt nearly perfect, but Yamaguchi couldn’t help but hold his breath anyway as he watched the ball wobble through the air, do exactly what it was supposed to do. He stared at it relentlessly even when it flew past the net, past Hinata at the front, watched in anticipation as Nishinoya adjusted his stance, a couple steps to the side, lower in the knees, licked his lips hungrily and then observed in shock together with everyone else when the ball seemingly wobbled to one side randomly and stopped mid-air to unceremoniously flop to the ground. Nishinoya barely had enough time to turn into the right direction.
The sound of the ball hitting the ground echoed throughout the quiet gym.
“Holy shit.” Someone muttered, but through the ringing in his ears, Yamaguchi couldn’t even pinpoint the direction it had come from.
He stood completely frozen.
Nishinoya had been right there, right there and completely ready to receive what Yamaguchi had given, and yet he had missed. Nishinoya Yuu, arguably the best libero to play in high school volleyball had missed Yamaguchi’s serve. It felt unreal. It was unreal.
Nishinoya’s gaze whipped away from the ball and focused on Yamaguchi. Wide eyed and just as shocked as the young Omega.
“Dude.” He muttered. A second later his face was split in a wide grin. “That was so cool!”
The praise shook away whatever shock the others in the gym had been in and everyone started expressing their wonder and pride loudly as Yamaguchi just stood there.
The approval of everyone washed over him, happy scents and wide grins and so many “told you so”’s from Hinata, Yamaguchi immediately lost count. He felt his heart swell in his chest. This was good. He was good.
When his eyes found Tsukki still in his position right by the net, the Alpha was already looking at him. Yamaguchi had to fight the blush creeping up his cheeks, when their eyes met. To anyone else Tsukki would have probably looked unproportionally neutral, but to Yamaguchi the barely noticeable smile and the proudly twinkling eyes meant everything. Especially when there was something else beneath the pride too; Yamaguchi liked to think it was some kind of adoration something he knew the Alpha held for him in some way. Maybe if he allowed his heart to hope just a little bit, there was something even beneath that. Something that was dangerously close to what he had gotten to experience the day before.
Too soon their eye contact was broken as Yamaguchi was forced to catch the ball thrown towards him.
He looked down at it and then up at the older Omega.
“Another one.” Suga grinned at him. “Show them how dangerous even us bench warmers can be.” Yamaguchi couldn’t help but grin back when Suga winked in his direction. Both of their grins so wide their canines were showing and Yamaguchi had no doubt in mind that the dangerous glint in Suga’s eyes had infected his own.
He didn’t have the chance to get overconfident though, not with Nishinoya shouting a quick “This one I’m getting!” at him. A little pride wheeled up in him when he heard Tsukki tsk at the libero after his comment. He had the best support system he could imagine.
Yamaguchi took a deep breath again. Grounded himself, reminded himself that this was just practice, that he had nailed one serve, achieved already what he had wanted for today. He was doing good. He wanted to keep doing good. If not for himself then at least for them.
Once again he held his breath, took a step forward and put all the attention where he knew it needed to be. Admittedly it was much easier without a gigantic audience or an unknown opposing team, but still it wasn’t an easy thing. The pressure was crushing but Yamaguchi pushed through anyway. He always did. Giving up should never be an option in his book anymore.
The ball floated over the net again and true to his word, Nishinoya did get this one. Not smoothly but he managed to keep it off the ground. The ball bounced of his right hand in a low arch barely high enough for Kageyama to reach it before it hit the ground again. Nonetheless Kageyama passed it over towards Hinata. Hinata spiked, Daichi received and their side won the round again when Asahi went for the chance ball.
Yamaguchi couldn’t help the happy jitters running through his body at the realization that he had contributed to his teams excited shouting. This was on him too.
The ball went back to him and when they lost the next point after a slightly improved receive by Nishinoya, he didn’t even have it in him to be disappointed. Not when he had helped score two points. Not when Suga gave him a fist bump and a proud grin. Not when even the coach and sensei were smiling towards him. Not when in the corner of his sight, Yamaguchi could see Tsukki smile at him too.
The game continued on with close to no new incidents afterwards. The times that Yamaguchi was positioned beside Tsukki as a blocker at the front turned out to be of less difficulty than the Omega had previously thought they would be. Sure having a slightly red-faced panting and softly smiling Tsukishima right beside him, was distracting to say the least, but somehow Yamaguchi managed to get used to it. Maybe because Tsukki had been acting weirdly before and this was a little moment of familiarity, maybe just because he was distracted enough by the game, but nonetheless they worked as team and it was safe to assume that even with Yamaguchi’s average blocking skills, they still managed to rile the other team up properly.
They even managed to divert one of Hinata’s spikes and although they ended up jumping into each other sightly neither was mad. Yamaguchi stumbled at the impact with the floor, but Tsukki’s arm was around his waist in an instant, keeping him from falling over completely. He didn’t have the time to overthink the lingering touch or the brief eye contact though as the game went on without remorse. His skin tingled.
It was weird to admit but Yamaguchi was having fun. Everything else seemed far away; the anxiety of the whole day, the memories of the day before, the memories of dropping and disappearing; everything but his team and their excited scents and even happier smiles.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the way the tension finally seeped out of his body. It had held him captive for the past few days and threatened to suffocate him, reached into his brain and made his world fall apart at the seams. But now he was playing volleyball with his pack, he was succeeding at being their pinch server and not just that he was decent at the rest too. Yamaguchi felt elated. With every passing second he felt so more and more.
Being scared of the court right then and there in that very moment seemed absolutely ridiculous. Being so terrified and disappointed that he dropped was an impossibility. He was safe. He was happy. It felt absolutely amazing.
He grinned and Tsukki grinned right back at him, as if he had sensed the Omega’s happiness. Maybe he had. Maybe all of them had, but Yamaguchi found, he really didn’t mind. Not when they all cheered with him. Not when all he could smell was the warm scent of home.
He found, if his everyday smelled somewhat like this, looked somewhat how Tsukki’s rare grin felt, he really wouldn’t mind it becoming a regular occurrence.
This time, there was no ringing in his ears.
This time, he was here.
This time, he was staying.
“One more!” Hinata yelled. Again.
But unlike the first three times, this time all he got was exasperated groans by his whole team, except Kageyama of course, who although not wearing a friendly expression didn’t hesitate even for a second to pass the ball on to the sunshine of the team.
Yamaguchi stared at them in disbelief from the sidelines just like everyone else, each of them in a different stage of exhaustion. Suga and Daichi were leaning against each other by the wall, water bottles not leaving their lips as they gulped water down relentlessly. Asahi was crouched on the floor with a still excited yet less energized Nishinoya jumping up and down behind him, hands on Asahi’s shoulders and happily recapping the coolest moments he could remember from the game. The soft smile on Asahi’s face wasn’t to be missed and by the way Nishinoya’s grin widened every time he laid eyes upon his boyfriends face, he noticed the love radiating from it as much as everyone else. Tanaka and Ennoshita were the perfect addition for the couple as they snickered at Nishinoya’s chatter and commented occasionally. Whenever another quiet snarky comment left Ennoshita’s lips, Tanaka burst into laughter echoing all of their moods through the whole gym. Although not able to actually hear the comments, Yamaguchi could still imagine the extent. Being benched together had given him the luxury of Ennoshita’s presence more than once.
Tsukki sat slumped against the wall beside Yamaguchi slightly away from the team as they always sat, their knees touching. Both of them preferred the slight distance between themselves and the pheromones of the team when everyone was still agitated. Just a couple seconds to calm down by themselves. To fall in sync again.
The blonde Alpha narrowed his eyes at the two players still on the court.
“Where do they store all their energy?” he groaned and Yamaguchi stopped his eager drinking to giggle quietly.
Tsukki’s eyes fell on him, but Yamaguchi didn’t even notice when they followed his hand wiping at his mouth, too absorbed in Hinata and Kageyama pulling off another perfect quick attack. No matter how often he saw it, he was amazed every time.
“It’s crazy.” He muttered more to himself than as a real answer. He knew Tsukki understood that anyway.
“Freaks.” Tsukki grumbled and finally Yamaguchi turned his attention to him with a snicker.
“Well, Tsukki,” He grinned. “they do say birds of a feather flock together.”
Tsukki grinned back.
“Until the cat comes.”
They leaned a little more towards each other with their mutual amusement.
“You think Kuroo-san is the cat that will get one of them?” Yamaguchi giggled some more at the ridiculous imagery his mind was providing him. A little crow with orange feathers on his head and another entirely black one and of course a black cat with only one eye lurking behind the bushes. Adorable somehow but also simply hilarious.
Tsukki beside him shook his head. “Nah, he isn’t.” Yamaguchi looked up at him confused. It was unusual for them to really disagree on much.
“But,” Tsukki’s lips turned into a smirk. “the grand king should be careful or a poorly dyed blonde will steal his lovebird away.”
In Yamaguchi’s mind a calico cat sprung out over the Kuroo-cat and pounced at the little orange crow. He snorted. It seemed oddly fitting.
He opened his mouth to add another idea to their scenario when they were ripped from the picture of their two teammates by coach Ukai’s booming voice.
“Enough now!” he yelled in the direction of the freak duo. “Stop underestimating the power of breaks.”
Hinata and Kageyama both frowned in his direction, obviously disappointed but unwilling to refuse their coach. Getting coach Ukai too mad was never anyone’s goal. Lightly annoying him was much more fun anyway.
“Kicked puppies.” Tsukki commented and Yamaguchi snickered again.
“More like disappointed toddlers.” Now it was Tsukki’s turn to snort. Yamaguchi grinned at him. “Am I wrong?”
Tsukki shook his head with a smile but before he had the chance to verbalize his agreement, the coach continued. Everyone’s attention was entirely on him right away. No surprise with the authority the coach embodied. Even less so with the respect he had earned.
“I think all of you can agree that today’s game was intense.” Several nods amongst the team. “However it was also messier than usual. There is several things we’ll have to go over and improve, we are far from soaring to the full potential.” A long look aimed at all of them, almost strict, then a sigh. Beside him Takeda-sensei smiled warmly.
“But; it’s already late, I’m tired and I certainly have dealt with enough screaming for one day.” When Takeda-sensei elbowed him in the side weakly, Coach Ukai rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…” Sensei send him a warning look, coach Ukai rolled his eyes again but all of them saw the loving smile underneath it. He turned towards the team again and although his voice was entirely neutral, his next words elated all of them.
“Good game, team.”
Blinding smiles beamed back at him, and for a second the words simply rested over them all, familiar and never unwelcome. Meant for their little pack only.
“Now, all of you: Out. We’re done and anything else can wait till the morning. You all better be on time!” with that he turned away with Sensei quick to follow after shooting the team a thumbs up and a smile. A couple people reciprocated the gesture.
The satisfaction at the short speech was clear in the whole team, happy and saturated pheromones heavy in the air around them. Yamaguchi leaned against Tsukki’s shoulder to detect the smallest hint of happiness in his scent too. He loved when Tsukki was satisfied like this too, and maybe he also enjoyed it a little, that he was the only one that knew just how much Tsukki truly cared. That could get close enough to detect it in the first place.
He didn’t really expect Tsukki’s arm to snake around his waist hesitantly, but the contact was warm and reassuring and Yamaguchi was just too tired to really care about it much. He released a couple of his own satisfied pheromones and closed his eyes just to relax for a second. The light hum coming from Tsukki lulled him in even more. It smelled like home again.
He thought he heard the Alpha mutter something but it was too quiet to understand and when Yamaguchi thought of asking him to repeat himself, he found he was even too tired for that. Anxiety was draining and avoiding his very own comfort person had taken more of a tool on him than he would have originally thought. If it was anything important he was sure Tsukki would come back to him with it. At least with Tsukki he knew, he wouldn’t be mad.
So instead, he nuzzled just a little closer, just a little more towards the warmth that he knew and loved. Tsukki’s arm tensed around his waist.
For a couple of seconds they just sat there basking in each others presence, words entirely unnecessary. Yamaguchi didn’t even really hear the others packing up, just Tsukki’s breathing slowly going from agitated to even. More relaxed. Comfortable.
When the Alpha took one last deep breath, Yamaguchi already knew what was about to come.
“We should go change.” Tsukki murmured and Yamaguchi’s hair tickled his ear when the others breath washed over it. “You know, before all the others barge in.”
Yamaguchi gave a quick nod. Still, for another second he kept his head on Tsukki’s shoulder, lingering. There was no sense to it, but it felt right. And for once his mind was too tired to keep him trapped inside.
Too soon though, Tsukki nudged him with his shoulder and Yamaguchi if reluctantly removed his head from its comfortable resting place and went to grab his bottle form where he had placed it back on the floor.
Behind him Tsukki shifted to a standing position and Yamaguchi registered it as exactly that, but still he couldn’t help but blink confused when he looked back.
Tsukki was standing with his back to him, fists balled at his side and clearly trying to make himself look bigger than he was. An Alpha stance. Threatening to anyone in front; Protective to anyone behind. It didn’t make sense. Like so many things with Tsukki lately, it didn’t make sense.
Yamaguchi had hoped today wouldn’t add another thing to that list.
“Tsukki?”
The Alpha just threw a short glance back at him before staring up front again. Yamaguchi made quick work of standing up himself and stepping up to his best friend.
“Tsukki?”
Only when the Alpha gave absolutely no response did Yamaguchi look to the front too.
He didn’t even try to conceal the confusion in his scent or in his expression when he was faced with his whole team turning their heads away in unison as if caught in an act.
It was bizarre.
Tsukki was tensed up entirely beside him.
Fists clenched, teeth bared just the tiniest bit. It was too animalistic for the usually so composed Alpha. It was too scared for the presence of their team.Yamaguchi couldn’t stand for that.
With two firm steps he stood directly in front of Tsukki, effectively taking up his entire line of sight. For good measure he placed one of his charming big grins on his face, the ones Tsukki always said looked annoying in that certain tone of voice that Yamaguchi had found to be loving more than anything else. He didn’t let the angry glimmer intimidate him.
“Let’s go, Tsukki.” Charming, cheerful, distracting. Yamaguchi knew what to do to get Tsukki to follow too.
And true to his plan, Tsukki’s gaze focused on him and after less than a second of eye-contact, his shoulders dropped a little and his face turned a little softer. The Tsukki he knew. Yeah, this Tsukki he preferred.
He didn’t get a verbal response but that was fine too. A short nod and Tsukki turned around to grab his own water bottle. Yamaguchi used the second of distraction to stare at his team in question. None of them caught his gaze though all trapped in conversations Yamaguchi knew nothing about but couldn’t help but think seemed forced. Tense.
Yamaguchi smiled back at Tsukki when the Alpha had gathered his stuff and they walked over to the locker rooms in silence. When Tsukki’s slightly heavier scent reached his nose distinctively, something scratched at the back of his mind, a reminder or a thought or a question but Yamaguchi couldn’t grasp it entirely, so he attributed it to the situation mere seconds ago instead of falling into a massive spiral once again.
“That was a fun game.” He babbled about halfway to the locker rooms, getting antsy with the heavy silence settling over them. “I got a little nervous for my serve but it all turned out well.” Tsukki glanced at him at the word nervous but nonetheless only let out a hum. “And that attack you pulled of with Suga? The one where you spiked over Tanaka even? That was so cool, Tsukki!”
Tsukki let out a snort at the all too familiar praising from the other. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”
“Sorry, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi grinned. Maybe Tsukki even smiled back a little bit. Something else laid over the already pressing feeling in his mind, a question he could pinpoint exactly. It made him nervous. It made him fidget.
But Yamaguchi wanted to ask anyway.
“Hey Tsukki?” and his voice definitely sounded too small. With the next step Tsukki’s arm pressed against his own and Yamaguchi took a deep breath of encouraging citrus flower scented pheromones. It helped. Not a lot but enough to make him speak again.
He stretched his fingers before grabbing the bottom of his jersey again. Tsukki’s gaze zeroed in on the action and yet he said nothing. Waited for Yamaguchi to continue at his own pace. When it came to his best friend he had an endless amount of patience. He never regretted it.
Yamaguchi took a deep breath. Then breathed out again.
“Why did you want to have me on your team?”
Yamaguchi nearly tripped when Tsukishima pulled back right away, stopping in the middle of the hallway. He stumbled confused to turn back to the alpha. When their eyes finally met, he sucked in a breath. There was a significant distance between them but the hallway felt much smaller. The space between them was loaded.
“I always want you on my team.”
And Tsukki did take a step closer at that; Yamaguchi wasn’t sure if he could handle that. Not with the way their eyes were still locked together. Not with the way he was burning under the gaze.
“Any team would be lucky to have you.” Barely a whisper and yet it felt like the whole world was turning.
Yamaguchi blinked up at Tsukki. Surprised, a little breathless but most of all mesmerized by his best friend. Mesmerized by the honesty and directness. He didn’t know what to say, but he was sure that his flushed face said enough for Tsukki to know exactly what he had achieved with his words. And by the looks of Tsukki’s own slightly tinted cheeks, it meant a lot for him too.
For a second they just stood. Staring and unmoving. Unrelentless. Restless. Yamaguchi wasn’t sure if they actually moved towards each other but he found himself standing nose to nose with the Alpha soon enough, no idea how he got there but none the less thrilled about it. He watched Tsukki gulp, watched his nostrils flare and he hoped, god, he really hoped it meant what he thought it did.
“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Tsukki’s gaze left his for just a second. Down his face to his lips. It was Yamaguchi’s turn to gulp. This close he could smell everything Tsukki was ready to share, this close he could basically taste the affection and yet he wanted closer, wanted more. With the way Tsukki’s hands twitched it was evident he felt the same.
But neither of them moved. Neither of them dared to disturb the heavy silence settling over them. Neither was ready to break the yearlong tension.
Yamaguchi’s gaze fell back to Tsukki’s lips. Soft and perfect. Just an inch and he would really taste them.
Just one inch…
Nishinoya barelled down the hallway, Tsukki barely fast enough to pull Yamaguchi to the side with him, to avoid a collision that for sure would have hurt the first years more than the indestructible libero.
They blinked after him, confusion worn openly, but there was no time to ask questions as Tanaka slipped around the corner nearly falling with how sharp he took the turn. He saw the two confused first years but nonetheless didn’t stop for an explanation. Instead he simply shouted a short: “We got Daichi and Ennoshita mad.” Before running after Nishinoya into the changing room.
Yamaguchi blinked at the door confused.
“How do you upset both Daichi and Ennoshita at once?”
Tsukki shook his head. “Only true idiots would do that.” Both of them shivered at the thought of making the two captains mad. Scary.
When their gazes met again, they couldn’t help but start laughing. There was never a silent day with their team.
Ignoring the obvious tension still there, they made their way to the changing rooms.
Tsukishima was running again; panicked and agitated and desperate. Again like that one stupid night when he had truly failed as a friend and as an alpha. Running and chasing after the ghost of a memory, an image that burned itself deep into his mind and festered there like a parasite. It haunted him, the memory, no matter how hard he tried to forget it, to tell himself that all was fine again, that Yamaguchi was safe. Nothing helped. He was trapped. Trapped in the fear of being left again, this time by the only person he didn’t know to live without. Nothing mattered except getting to Yamaguchi. Reaching the blurry figure that only seemed to grow more and more distant the faster he ran. Faster always faster. Nothing mattered but putting one foot in front of the other.
His legs hurt.
His lungs ached.
But he couldn’t stop running. Not now. Not when he still hadn’t reached Yamaguchi. Not when he still couldn’t smell him, couldn’t know with absolute certainty that he was safe. He needed Yamaguchi to be safe. He needed Yamaguchi.
He reached out his hand but what had just been the blurry outline of his best friend was gone now. He reached into nothingness. Yamaguchi was gone. Gone forever.
Tsukishima’s upper body surged up with a gasp. His panting echoed back in the quiet room, bouncing back from pale blue walls shimmering lightly in the light of the rising sun. His bedsheets laid crumbled on the edge of his bed, away from his sweaty body, like they had somehow been a threat too. Or maybe they had jumped away from him. Maybe he was the threat.
A solid minute and his breathing was barely calmed, barely contained panic surging up and down his spine making it close to impossible to hear anything but his rapidly beating heart. He wasn’t running anymore but his lungs still ached. He wasn’t trapped anymore, but the walls felt too close, too solid.
A glance at the alarm clock, like he did every morning after Yamaguchi’s drop, revealed what he had hoped it wouldn’t today and like every morning he didn’t even try to supress the groan tearing from his throat. 5:50 – the numbers blinked at him in a steady rhythm, so very different from his heartbeat, so very different from his breathing too. Rapid. Unsteady. He couldn’t afford to be unsteady. If he kept losing sleep over silly nightmares, he wouldn’t be strong enough to be there for Yamaguchi when he needed it. He had to be strong for Yamaguchi. He had to protect him.
If only he wasn’t this close to his rut. Slowly but surely it was invading his mind and he knew avoidance and suppression was a strategy that was reaching its expiration date all too fast. Two days ago he had been sure it had started, had lost control with the divine creature that was Yamaguchi seated in his lap. Oh, how much he had wanted him to stay, to continue making those adorable noises and press against him. His fingers itched still with the desire to hold. To hold and keep safe.
But Yamaguchi ran. Left. And after one unsatisfactory hour of sniffing clothes that shouldn’t have smelled that sweetly of strawberries and fresh grass, his sanity had come back to him. Embarrassment and shame came with it too. A little hurt, but mainly worry.
His rut stayed away.
Well not entirely, he felt the edge of it under his skin, flaring up every time he just thought of Yamaguchi. It was so close. So very very close.
It was the last thing Tsukishima needed. It was torture.
His mind was a mess whether he was with the Omega of his affection or not. When he was with Yamaguchi he craved to have him closer, to have him to himself all alone. If Yamaguchi laughed he wanted to be there to witness it, if he cried or got anxious again he wanted to hug him and tell him it will be alright. He wanted to hold and to protect. Simple.
But the moment Yamaguchi was out of his reach it became anything but simple. His focus lacked everywhere, his mind was filled with only one thing: get back to Yamaguchi; make sure he is safe. Safe in Tsukishima’s arms preferably. It seemed awfully impossible. It was all Tsukishima wanted.
And the longer the heat boiled in his stomach, the sweat ran over his skin, his pheromones went crazy, the worse the urges grew. He had not been able to hold back before, and the more time passed the more he understood why.
His nostrils flared and nearly immediately picked up a hint of strawberries and fresh grass. Oh, what torture it was that his room always smelled like it; oh, what paradise.
With silent steps, mindful of the early hours, Tsukishima got out of bed and made his way over to his closed closet door, his club jacket neatly hanging off the front. It was where the scent was strongest, making Tsukishima’s fingers itch again with the flood of memories of yesterday’s training. Yamaguchi had been so close then. By his side constantly. Indulging Tsukki’s stupid scenting and even stupider acts that sometimes even he himself couldn’t stand.
He knew he was being silly, knew that the way he was behaving was only confusing Yamaguchi, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t help himself. When coach had announced the practice game, the thought of having a whole court and a net separating him from the Omega had made his inside boil, the knowledge that if something happened to Yamaguchi he’d be even that small distance too far away made his blood freeze. It was an irrational fear. He knew that. He knew it with everything he did, but that didn’t stop him from challenging everything reality hit him with. For Yamaguchi he would defy every stupid norm, every ridiculous rule, even the ones he had made for himself.
Like avoiding being alone with the Omega when he was in pre-rut.
Like avoiding nearly kissing Yamaguchi in the middle of the hallway to their club room.
He was certain, he was going absolutely crazy.
Without thinking much about it he buried his nose in that sweet calming scent. The fabric was rough against his face but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when it smelled of fresh grass and strawberries, not when that scent smelled heavenly mixed with his own. Low purrs erupted form his chest, another behaviour he was struggling more and more to hold back. It stripped him off his dignity, reduced him to an emotional uncontrolled mess. He would forever blame it on his rut.
The jacket rumpled in Tsukishima’s hands as he dragged it over to his bed, immediately burying his nose back into the fabric and nuzzling against it. If he closed his eyes and ignored all and every rational part of his brain, he could nearly pretend Yamaguchi was really there with him.
He nuzzled into the jacket imagining it was the Omega’s neck; gripped onto it while imagining what it would feel to run his fingers over tanned and freckled skin; breathed in fresh grass and strawberries wondering if he would get to smell it sweeten again. Sweeten just for him. Have Yamaguchi writhing in his lap. Hear him whine and whimper and Tsukishima groaned when he thought of the moans he could pull from Yamaguchi if only he was allowed. He could make Yamaguchi feel good. Could make him forget all of his anxieties. He would only be able to think of Tsukishima. Only of his Alpha and how good he felt. God, Yamaguchi would look absolutely divine. Wrecked. Only for Tsukishima.
Tsukishima’s jaw snapped shut. With a deep groan he supressed the howl stuck in his throat, that would have for sure woken his parents.
Shame slowly crept up in his chest as he spit out pieces of fabric with a frown on his face. There was no sweetness in his pathetic instinct to claim, no nobility in the throbbing between his legs. Nothing to be proud of.
The scent still invaded his senses and his mind and his Alpha was still howling to claim. To find and claim, but Tsukki shook his head, tried his damned best to shake the fogginess from his mind. His whole body was hot, his hands were still clutching onto lifeless fabric as if just the thoughts could make the scent into something more than a memory, into something real. If only his blood could stop boiling. If only his Alpha could stop howling.
He just needed to stay composed until the weekend, just needed to keep his rut at bay for two more days, just needed to protect Yamaguchi for a while longer. Just a little. Just in training. Just in school. Just on the way home. He had to keep control. He had to be strong. Just a little while longer.
He pressed the jacket against his face one more time before reluctantly tearing it away. God how much he wanted to be buried in that sweet scent. How much he wanted to drown in it.
The hole from his bite was larger than he had hoped, but thankfully on the low part of the side; It wouldn’t be easily noticed. If he was lucky no one would. For a second he contemplated leaving the jacket at home, trashing the thought as fast as it came, when he realized it meant having even less fresh grass and strawberries in his morning. He wanted to leave the jacket at least while he got changed but his hand wouldn’t let go, so he dragged it back over to the closet again and hung it over the door as he opened it, keeping it as close as possible, even as he made quick work of getting his school uniform on. At least there was no morning training that day, so he’d have less of a struggle to hide the jacket and the issue connected to it. He threw it over his uniform shirt and allowed himself to sniff at the collar for one last time. He lingered. He let go.
A look towards his alarm clock revealed he still had to somehow get through half an hour until he would finally be allowed to see Yamaguchi again. Until he would be greeted by that unarming smile like every morning. The one that made his heartbeat fasten. The one he wanted to be the reason for.
He grabbed his headphones from his nightstand and his bag from the corner of the room and headed downstairs, entirely ignoring the mess that was his bed, small pieces of dark fabric still strewn about, his blankets still crumbled. He’d have to lock his bedroom door anyway. It smelled too much like rut. If his mother was to notice, she’d surely not allow him to go to school. Not with Yamaguchi or at all. He’d be stuck at home and that wouldn’t do. He’d be trapped away from his best friend. His Alpha wouldn’t stop howling.
It was irresponsible, irrational, his mother would say. His father would agree and Tsukishima wouldn’t be able to disagree. They were right after all. It was entirely stupid. But Yamaguchi was still so anxious, still so shaken up and Tsukishima couldn’t leave him like this. He had to take care of him this time. He couldn’t fail again. He couldn’t risk losing Yamaguchi again, not if again, could also mean forever. His own needs would have to wait, he would make them wait, all and everything to keep Yamaguchi safe.
The kitchen was entirely empty and quiet, just like Tsukishima had expected it to be. Just how he needed it right now.
He didn’t bother with breakfast, never did really, only grabbed a cup of black tea, sat down at the kitchen counter and started scrolling through social media. The posts and videos flicked past his perception and anyone watching would believe he was focused on the phone. The reality was different. The tiniest bit of his brain was paying attention to what his fingers were rapidly clicking through, the rest was occupied with plotting. When would he get to be close to Yamaguchi? How could he reduce the time apart? Was there anything he could stir up in the short timespan still left, to bring Yamaguchi as gift this morning? Was Yamaguchi safe?
Before he even realized what he had done, the sound of amused giggling echoed back from his headphones. Not loud, but with enough volume to fill up the air of a quiet morning’s tranquillity. The video was barely five seconds long, a stupid snapshot Hinata had gotten during their last training camp, but Tsukishima was captivated immediately no matter how often he watched it. Yamaguchi looked gorgeous even in the low light of that evening. He played it again watching how the Omega giggled quietly first and covered his mouth with his hand only to giggle a little louder. There was no context. Tsukishima didn’t need any. All he needed was Yamaguchi’s giggle. Free and a shy and absolutely perfect. He would never grow tired of hearing it. He played the video again.
If only he could keep Yamaguchi as happy as in this video, this carefree. Yamaguchi deserved to let go like that, if only given the opportunity Tsukishima would take over every responsibility the Omega could have and take care of everything that could in any way bother him. He would do it without a second thought. If it meant hearing Yamaguchi giggle this freely again, he would do it. Over and over again if he must. Forever.
He had to force himself to swipe the video away after watching it for the sixth time else he’d be stuck in an endless loop. The giggle still echoed in his mind. Tsukishima couldn’t claim to mind it much. Not even when the memory turned out to be more prominent than the music blaring through his headphones.
With another glance at the clock on the kitchen wall, he sighed and put his empty cup away. He’d be early at their meeting spot today too.
As some of you have probably noticed, this fic hasn't update in a long while. I am very sorry about that. Stuff came up and my life changed drastically. I honestly don't want to get into it too much but all you need to know is that I have been insanely busy and its hard to find time to write lately. I mostly manage to get in short scenes, but my longer projects - like this one- have had to suffer severely. Its sad but its not something I can change at the moment. Not to mention that this fic in particular is what I would actually consider my problem child in a way. When I started writing it, all that I had in mind was the first three chapters. I didn't know where it was going in its entirety and to be honest I still don't know. I have an idea of how I want it to end, but I frankly don't know how to get there. At the beginning there was no plot outline, then I tried to create one, and now I've rewritten it countless times, so many times in fact that I'm starting to blur the lines between the ideas. There is about three different versions maybe even four of the next chapter, and I like none of them. They all seem odd and wrong in the context of the story. At this point I haven't figured out how to fix it either. Maybe I shouldn't have relied on the plot developing as I go, at the beginning of writing this. I admit, that was my mistake. I'm sorry. However that is not to say, that I'm giving up on this project. I want to finish it. The first chapters especially I hold very dear and I do feel I owe it to some of you to give it a nice conclusion. You've all been patient and kind after all. I'm not sure I'll be able to repay that properly with what I come up with, but I do ask you to be patient just a tad longer. I'll try my best to get some writing for this project down. Do a couple more rewrites maybe for the plot outline or for the next chapters. I'll figure something out. Or maybe, if I'm lucky, it figures itself out somehow. Thank you for sticking with this story <3 It really does mean a lot to me. Hope all of you lovelies have a nice day, week and life. And I promise I'll be back with a new chapter as soon as I can.
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Alec leaned back against the couch watching as Helen’s mother rushed around making sure she had everything packed. Helen was perched on the coffee table next to her backpack for the week. His own bag rested by his feet.
“Your mom dose this every time?”
“Yep”
“Even though she knows that she left your cave fully furnished and with a full wardrobe the last time she went?”
“Yep”
“Why?”
“She’s convinced she will not have everything she needs because my dad never brings anything. So we are forced to have an excess of clothing and back up presents cluttering the cave. What about you?”
“I only leave some basic clothing there along with stuff that I don’t mind being borrowed. The stronghold is practically a community center.”
“So nothing personal?”
“No, nothing personal or sentimental in at the public caves, that all stays within my personal cave, I bring requested items to lend out every time but I don’t leave much at the stronghold.”
“Honey," Helen's mom called out, "have you seen my…”
“Right here dear” Helen’s dad said offering up a note book.
“and my….”
“Yes.” Placing a necklace on top of the book with a smile.
Taking on a teasing pose at her husband’s ability to find things. “My yellow hat?”
“You left it on my aunt's couch the last time we visited, my flower.”
“Oh yes.” Turning to the pair waiting in the living room. “Come along dears it’s time to go!”
Rising, the two began to follow the couple out to meet up with the warlock who would portal them to the stronghold. The only reason this warlock knew that the place even existed was because they were married to the Stronghold’s Head of Records.
Entering the private lobby Alec caught sight of a figure checking a pocket watch and glancing about for them.
“Oh good you’re here.” The warlock was much more subdued than his Magnus, muted colors and heavy fabrics. But, they also lived full time in the Stronghold with their partner and the climate there was much more frigid.
A smooth movement had a portal forming for their group. “Hurry through, I have two more groups to pick up today.”
Stepping through the group was deposited in the center of enormous space. They were in the middle of a hollowed mountain, the roof stretching high above them, lanterns and magic runes creating the illusion of stars far overhead. The walls were lined with spiraling paths carved out along to make ledges, dotted with caves. Some were marked as passages to other areas like the library or meeting halls. Other caves had family or clan symbols marking out a meeting place or home. Others were blocked off as storage for those passing through.
Despite the high ceilings no one flew in the stronghold, except for during emergencies. There was high a risk of someone trying to fly in a space to small for them and hurting themselves or others. The paths were inconsistent in size and style some being only wide enough for one person, others wide enough for a large car to drive down. Some had elaborately carved patterns and others barely looked intentionally placed. These variations prevented any kind of transportation system from being implemented. Therefore walking was the only way to get around.
Alec began to split off from the group to head to his own cave to settle in.
“Oh Alec,” Helen’s mother slipped away from her husband to catch him before he could get far, “come find us tomorrow and we’ll break fast. We’ll be at our usual cave. If you're not there by sun up we’ll send Helen to find you.” She mothered him despite knowing he was older than her and her husband.
“Sure I’ll be round after dawn.” Alec assured her before making his way to his own cave.
His cave wasn’t like Helen’s family’s, their's was only one or two tiers up the cavern and was mostly a large family space, with little private room once Helen’s whole family arrived. Her dad's parents, siblings, and their children would also be in attendance. But then, Helen’s family was rather young. Helen was only 300. Her father’s sibling clutch was just over 700.
Compared to them Alec knew he was ancient, only 4 other dragons attending this meeting were in the same age range as him. Due to their seniority they had had first selection of the cave when they helped founded the Stronghold almost a millennium ago.
Alec’s cavern was strategically high, placed with access to a vent shaft that allowed for a quick escape, while still providing a vantage point of the two main tunnel entrances and the center, which was the only place one could portal to. His cave was marked not with a name but with a brilliant blue paint surrounding the entire entryway to frame dark heavy curtains that covered the opening. The fabric was woven with protective markings and large swirling symbols.
The main cave was spacious enough inside that he could fully shift and sleep comfortably should he choose. Yet, he chose to use the front of his cave to make a small library of sorts. He had no shelves or tables but the floor and walls were covered in carpets and tapestries, with pillows and beanbag chairs littering the floor.
Books of varying subjects were piled high around the room. There was no single method of sorting the books and most assumed it was completely random. Books for children or on general subjects were nearer the front or left side of the cave. The back and right side held more sensitive topics like politics, social issues, and morality. All the books were tied to the protections he had laid on the space so no one could remove or damage the books. A spell from a friend in the 15th century on the bottom layer of carpet that covered the whole floor allowed for some insurance that no one was given a book outside their maturity. If a someone, like a child, got a hold of a dangerous book beyond their understanding the pages would appear blank.
The rare books he brought were in the back room, which was separated by a counter and an another curtain. This was his sleeping area and where he kept specially requested books or items for during his stay. He had dragged a memory foam mattress up here as soon as he could get one. His small cupboard of dried and canned foods and camp stove made up the cooking space. That along with an enchanted set of bathroom appliances that allowed for the pleasure of indoor plumbing without piping. All considering his small cave was more habitable than some mundane places he had lived. Yet, like most other dragons he had his own secret cave where he kept his hoard and personal things that he wanted to keep safe.
Once he set down his bags Alec removed his glamor bracelets and put them away. He wouldn't need them until he returned home. Rolling out his shoulder he began to unwind knowing that for the rest of the week his dragon marks would be visible and he wouldn't have to worry about any visitors learning his secret.
After unpacking his bag he checked his phone, it was just past 3 in the afternoon here meaning it was around 9 AM back in New York. Sending a short text to Magnus to let him know he had safely arrived and already missed him.
He took stock of his food and made note of what he had brought. The bag he used was expanded on the inside so he was able to fully restock his cupboard and set out some fresh fruit and vegetables for the week. Making a simple salad and heating some soup he decided to eat perched on the edge of the path overlooking the cavern. His cave was on the end of a path up so he wouldn’t have to worry about too many visitors till tomorrow when word got around that he had brought more books.
Part of the appeal of his reading space was that he would often bring a range of mundane fictions that the library rarely stocked. The families that live here full time rarely left and he always ended up with requests for sequels and series. He finished his meal watching the flow of people move through the cavern as more people arrived, mingled, and made their way to their lodgings before finally retiring.
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The next morning he made his way down to Helen’s family cave and had breakfast with them as promised.
After that they joined the flow of dragon families headed down below the main space to the meeting hall. This hall was another larger circular cave. The cave sloped down to a center platform like an amphitheater, where a large table and book had been set out for today. The slope was lined with seats some carved in, others were wood benches set out. Everyone slowly filed in, taking seats as family groups, vaguely divided by regions. Alec split from Helen and made his way up to the top of the slope where he had carved wide chair into the back wall one year. The acoustics were good enough that anyone standing in the center could be heard into the tunnels. Settling down he waited for the longest and only second most dull aspect of these gatherings to begin.
Family claims. Every clan and family had to go down in person and state any new births, deaths, marriages, bonds, adoptions, or migrations. The book it was recorded in was sealed and only taken out for this event or legal reasons. He had only ever had to change his address at this event, yet they all had to attend and confirm their status at the meeting. If someone could not attend one could send an official form in with a friend or family member to turn in, but it was often more of a hassle than it was worth. It also gave them a way to track if anyone was missing. After the gathering someone would either volunteer, or be volunteered, to go check on those who failed to attended at their last know whereabouts. Usually someone had just miss timed a hibernation or missed their portal, but every now and again someone would be found dead or listed as missing long term.
In theory it should only take half as long as it did, with the order randomized with in location it should only take maybe 1-2 minutes per family, but inevitably someone would drag their family drama into the recording process. A child moved out too soon or not soon enough. A parent disapproved of their child’s marriage or divorce. Fights over custody of a child. Disputes over land claims or clan locations. The fights were matters that should be brought up tomorrow, during the conflict debates but the organizers had decided it was better to let these matters get aired now even if they wouldn’t be officially settled till later. Claiming it gave both parties a change to cool down.
Alec however, thought that was stupid decision, it just gave both sides a chance to gather sympathy and social backing to their claims with our explaining anything.
These matters dragged this out into an all-day event with an hour break for lunch. Most people just brought picnics now to eat while listening to the fighting. He had brought a lunch and novel.
Maybe in a few years he could bring Magnus along to listen and complain with, but despite his rather hasty public claiming of his boyfriend in the club he didn’t want to rush into a more formal courting until Magnus was more comfortable. He had definitely pushed the boundary of what was socially acceptable to the warlock by butting into the conversation with Meliorn, but he as seen what the Seelie Queen could do to manipulate a person and he wanted to make it clear to her understanding that even if he and Magnus didn’t last romantically he wouldn’t let anyone harm the warlock who was becoming his whole world.
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They had talked about it after leaving the club. Stumbling back to Magnus place to crash on the couch, they had woken up around noon to coffee and a soft chat.
Magnus appreciated Alec’s concern but wanted to be clear that he wasn’t some damsel to be rescued and hidden away behind his partner. He was capable of protecting himself and was experienced in dealing with the Seelie Queen and her manipulation with out Alec's interference.
Alec expressed his understanding of Magnus’ need to be respected for his independence, personal power, and abilities. He never wanted to overstep and try to control Magnus, his spontaneous and determined nature is part of what he loved about the warlock and Alec was well aware that Magnus could take care of himself, but at the same time didn’t want Magnus to have to face those fights alone. Alec would back his corner and offer him support in whatever way Magnus felt comfortable with. But he also couldn’t stand back and let anyone take advantage of his kindness.
Magnus was touched and accepted Alec’s backing but only when Alec promised that it went both ways. That Alec would also accept Magnus' help and support.
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Drawing out of his memory Alec realized that it was nearly his turn. The family before him was one of the larger ones, they lived on the US Canadian border. The family had the constant problem of people moving in and out of their eldest member’s home, they also often forgot who way staying where. Finally, they finished and he was called.
“ALEXANDER SILVA,”
He calmly made his way down the opposite pathway so he wouldn’t get caught by the family moving back up to their seats.
“Any new family or change in location to list?”
“I’m still situated in New York, And I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the next meeting to possibly add anyone besides my cat.”
“How is that furball? Didn’t bring him did you?”
“No I have a friend watching him.”
“Lovely to see you again Alec.”
“You too Martha”
Signing the form off he made his way back to his seat and decided to watch the commotion as the next family appeared to have a fight to pick.
“SOLEABEL CLAN. Anything to add to your register?”
“Yes I’d like to state my marriage.” A woman holding hands with a man stated.
“NO YOU ARE NOT!” A furious women screamed interrupting her.
“We are married mother and that is final.”
“I refuse to let you throw your life away on this Vampire!”
“Do you have a marriage certificate and forms?” the registrar asked.
“Yes,” the daughter handed over the forms while clutching her husband’s hand in the other. Based on his expression he was older that his 19 year old appeared or this marriage had happened far earlier in the year and he had had several months to become immune to his new mother-in-law’s rants.
As Martha read over the form he could see the woman's mother start to boil over.
“I see no problem with this form or your wedding union claim. Congratulations!” Martha said handing the papers back after transcribing it over to the official records.
“Ugh. I cannot believe you’ve done this Annabella!”
“We’ve been married for over a year mum and dating for seven, get over it or leave us be.” Turning away she lead her husband back to their seats. The rest of the family slowly filed the rest of their information and moved on.
By the end of the first half Alec had been visited by some acquaintances and had settled down with his book for the second half. Finally, they finished all registrations around dusk. Some of the problems raised were solved, others he knew would carry over throughout the week and possibly for several more years. Some people could hold grudges for decades, until everyone else forgot why they were fighting in the first place.
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That night he pulled back the curtain and enjoyed a light dinner as people drifted in and out of the reading space, picking up or returning books. He saw two teens huddle into a corner with a book on LBGTQA+. Making a mental note of them, he would see if they came back when it was less busy and offer to lend them some other more specific material with some book covers in case their secretiveness was due to family tensions, or he would silently offer up more books and a safe space to read them if they weren’t ready to talk.
A young girl had thrown herself down on a bean bag with an up-side down book clearly not able to read yet but enjoying it none the less. The women she had come in with was seated with a thick tomb on plants related mythology resting open on her lap.
The peaceful atmosphere was broken by a grumpy older looking man storming in. Alec already knew who this man was. The man had been demanding he hand over a book from his private vault for months despite Alec refusing him multiple times.
The first time he was contacted, Alec wasn’t sure how the man had even found out he had the book. He made the mistake of confirming he had an original edition, but despite his continual refusal to share a book from his personal library the man had been harassing him for it. His cave of books was not an official library like the lager one in the lower tunnels, this was a personal service he provided and had the right to refuse to supply a book if he felt so. He never made a promise to anyone about the books and he had never given a book from his own hoard out.
“Now, I’ve requested this book several times. Where is it!”
“This isn’t the main library and these books are not pubic property. They are mine and I am not obligated to give you anything, Rottman.” Alec cut the man's rant off.
“Well I’ve never! I’m paying you good money for this book you see!”
“You haven’t paid me anything! Anything you’ve sent me has been returned and I’m not negotiating this." Squaring his shoulders to stare the man head on Alec knew even in his sweat pants and sweater he cut an imposing figure. "The book is not for sale, rent, or loan. Now get out!” He growled.
The man left is a huff, knocking over a book stack on his way out.
Rolling his eyes and the man’s immaturity he returned to his own book. It was a journal about a Japanese Buddhist monk who had hosted a Catholic priest for a brief time before the Catholic religion was outlawed in Japan. The two had debated faith and morality for the duration of the visit and the journal was a transcription of their conversations through a translator.
After a while the main lights began to fade into what equaled late night time. The woman left with her child and the teens left after poorly hiding the book under a bean bag.
Smiling at their actions he dropped the outer curtain muffling the noise from outside and moved over to look at the book the teens had hidden. He could tell where they had read from the dust covers flaps. Referencing the book he moved over and pulled out two related books from a pile next to the counter that separated his living quarters from the reading space and slipped a pre-made pamphlet for supportive sources in both the mundane and the Downworld if they needed to talk to someone. He place them all back under the bean bag and headed off to bed.
|
It’s 3:54 pm, and Shigeo is worried. Well, he’s usually a little bit worried at any given moment, but this is worse. For the half a year that Arataka had been working at the office, he had been late 4 times: once for a parent teacher conference, and then
three times
in the last week. Although he’d never been able to sense anything overtly wrong with him when Reigen finally did arrive, it still set off his anxiety.
“Maybe he’s getting put in detention for mouthing off.” Ritsu suggests indifferently, not even looking up from the expense report he’s filling out. “God knows it would be justified.”
“That’s not it, they would call his house if that happened, and his mother told me that she wouldn’t let him come here if his school performance started to slip.” Shigeo replies from his place at the window. He’d been looking up and down the streets for close to half an hour, hoping to see his student.
Ritsu sighs, clicking his pen absently as he tries to reign in his concentration. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Nii-san. He’s 13 now, right? Maybe he just made some friends and is spending time with them after school.”
That, at least, gives Shigeo pause. It’s plausible, but would Arataka really not tell them, if that were the case? He usually spends some time talking about his day and the stuff that happened at school, but he never mentions any of the other kids. Well...not in a positive light, he doesn’t. And Shigeo finds it hard to believe that Reigen would
choose
to hang out with the kid who, quote “has no eyebrows and talks to plants”, or the other one who, quote, “ has weird eyebrows and god complex”.
As he turns that thought over in his mind, he catches sight of a little head of red hair jogging up the street, and quickly moves back to his own desk before he can be spotted. The door swings open a minute later and Reigen hops in, red-faced and sweaty.
“Sorry I’m late again, Shishou!” He breathes, tossing his bag down next to his desk before plopping himself onto the couch in an exhausted heap.
“It’s no problem, but is everything alright?” Shigeo asks, cutting off Ritsu’s teasing shout of ‘
if we were paying you to be here, you’d be fired!
’
One thing about Reigen that Shigeo had quickly come to realize is that, when he wanted to lie, he could fool the best of them. But when he
needed
to lie, every little thing would show on his face.
The teen looks at him with wide eyes for a moment before shooting up to a sitting position, a crooked smile stretched unnaturally across his face. He had been cooling down for a minute, but there’s the sheen of fresh nervous sweat across his forehead, and his voice is a pitch higher than usual when he says “Y-yeah! Of course!! Why wouldn’t it be? Oh! Also, you’ll never believe what my math teacher did today--”
Shigeo swallows thickly, watching the kid ramble endlessly about nothing, hands darting around like a hummingbird and a panicked note in his voice. It’s all the proof he needs that something is
very
wrong. He glances back at Ritsu, and the look on his brother’s face tells him he feels the same way.
That night as he fights for sleep, a thousand scenarios flit through Shigeo’s head, each more upsetting than the last.
If Arataka was getting bullied, would he tell us
? He asks himself, hoping against anything that yes, he would.
He trusts us. He trusts us, but...
But that’s not all there is to it. You can trust someone fully and still keep something serious from them.
After all,
he
never told his parents.
That thought makes his breath stutter. Even when the bullying was worse than ever--no,
especially
then--he’d been too scared and embarrassed to tell his parents. The things they did to him, the things they made him do...He remembers vividly, too vividly, going home at night when it was at its worst, washing the stench of dried milk off of his hair and clothes and changing into the pajamas that covered as much of his bruised skin as possible.Those evenings, his mom would sit across from him at dinner, and she’d always ask ‘
So honey, how was school?
’, and he would want to tell her everything. It was like drowning and having a lifeline thrown just beyond arm’s reach; he
knew
what needed to be done, could visualize it 100 ways, but he still couldn’t bring himself to move at all. The things he wanted to say would tighten his throat like a vice, and he’d meet her caring gaze, know that all it would take was a word, just one paddle to safety, but he’d avert his gaze, say
‘Fine’
, and drown.
They didn’t even find out anything was wrong until he almost killed those kids.
It froze him to the core, and he set his resolve.
I’m not going to let him suffer alone
.
“You said that I could come to you, if I ever wanted to talk about Arataka.”
To her credit, the woman doesn’t bat an eye at him, but Shigeo knows he must look insane, with dark circles under his eyes and unkempt hair at 11 in the morning on a work day.
“Come in, I’ll make us some tea.”
Shigeo ducks his head in a bow as he follows Reigen’s mother into their sunny living room, not quite sure what to do with himself as he waits, listening to the clatter of dishes behind the partition. He’s been rehearsing what he plans to say for the better part of the last 12 hours, but as he sits on the soft couch, surrounded by pictures of a tiny, red headed baby that slowly morphs into a full-sized Arataka as he glances around the room, he feels kind of at a loss for words.
There are logo drafts and other proofs that she must have been working on spread across the coffee table, but she merely sweeps them aside to make room for the tea tray. Kaoruko sits across from him and takes one of the mugs, holding in her hands as if testing its warmth, before she clears her throat.
“So, what brings you here today?”
Shigeo stutters out. “A-Arataka?” And he feels a hot flush of embarrassment spread over his cheeks.
Kaoruko laughs, not unkindly, and her eyes turn up at the corners in a way that immediately makes him think ‘
Arataka’s smile’
, which sets him at ease a bit. “Yeah, I got that. What about him, though?”
He takes a slow sip from his own mug, measuring his words before replying. “I’m worried about him.”
She tilts her head a bit, as if encouraging him to elaborate.
“Since last week, he’s been coming in to the shop late. It isn’t a big deal, but he can never give me a straight answer when I ask why.” He explains, looking down at his socked feet on the plush carpet. “Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions, but I would hate to do nothing if something really
is
wrong.”
It’s silent for a moment, and Kaoruko takes another sip of tea, as if digesting his words. Shigeo fidgets a bit, already feeling kind of silly for coming all the way here and interrupting her work. It had only been a few days after all, and the teen was allowed to have a life outside of work--in fact, the only reason why they expected him right after school was because it’s what he usually did.
He stands quickly, accidentally bumping the table and causing the tea set to rattle, which causes Kaoruko to look up at him in surprise. As if he couldn’t feel any more foolish. “I’m sure it’s just me being hyperaware, though. I don’t even have any solid proof. I’m sorry for taking up your time, and thank you for the tea.” He says it all in a breath and a half, long strides carrying him to the entryway before she can even respond. He hurriedly shoves his feet back into his shoes and grabs his coat, almost out the door when he hears the floorboards shift behind him.
“Kageyama-san.” Kaoruko calls, eyes a bit sad as he turns to face her. “I wasn’t sure if I was just being overprotective, but I think you’re right, he has been acting differently. I’m worried that he’s keeping things from me, and I’m relieved that you feel the same.”
Oh.
Oh.
He thinks, a bit ashamed of the way he acted. “So you noticed it, too?”
She nods her head. “It’s hard not to.” A brief pause, and then. “That’s why I have a favor to ask of you.”
He doesn’t tell Ritsu where he’s going when he leaves the next afternoon, because he’s never had an easy time lying to his brother. Despite doing it with Reigen’s mother’s approval, he feels kind of disgusting, sitting in the cafe across the street and watching the middle school gate. The barista seems to share the same sentiment, if the way she’s glaring says anything. Luckily, it doesn’t take long before he sees a head of distinctive red hair cut through the crowd of kids leaving school, so he downs the last sip of his drink, throws his coat around himself and starts following.
Although his dark clothes make him somewhat inconspicuous, it’s still hard to pretend he’s not up to something when he’s hiding behind walls and telephone poles, afraid that Arataka will see him.
If I don’t get taken in for police questioning by the end of this, it’ll be a miracle.
He thinks bitterly, jumping into an alley as Reigen turns to watch a stray cat running his direction.
About 10 minutes up the road, the teen suddenly stops outside a house, the metal plate on the fence reading
Serizawa
. He rings the doorbell twice, and a woman with short dark hair comes out a moment later, smiling as she opens the gate for him.
Shigeo steps out of his hiding place as Arataka disappears behind the house’s door, confused. He pulls out his phone and texts Kaoruko the address and a picture of the nameplate.
[
He went into this house, a woman let him in. Do you know these people?
]
He gets a response about a minute later.
[
I don’t. Maybe a friend from school? I’ll check the school contact sheet and see if I can find anyone with that surname
.]
Waiting outside makes him anxious. It’s a small neighborhood he’s loitering in, and the excuse ‘
I’m watching that house and waiting for a middle schooler to leave.
’ will land him in a cell, for sure. A few more minutes pass, and his phone buzzes.
[
There’s a Serizawa Katsuya in the 2nd year! Arataka doesn’t have a lot of friends his age, so maybe he’s just shy about it.
]
Shigeo isn’t quite sure he believes it, but it’s a relief nonetheless. He’d been prepared for the absolute worst, but he can’t think of any reason why such a kind looking woman would be letting in some middle school boy so her son can hurt him, or why Reigen would voluntarily go if the older boy wasn’t even in school that day.
There’s still a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, but he chooses to stow it for the time being. He would continue keeping an eye out for Arataka, but he wasn’t going to let his protectiveness for the boy smother him.
When Reigen comes into work the next tuesday, almost two hours late and with a blossoming bruise on his left eye, Shigeo goes to 90% so fast that it gives him whiplash, the taste of blood on his tongue. He only manages to not lose his cool by reminding himself that the teen had obviously been through enough, and this should be a safe place for him to come to.
“What happened?” Shigeo asks tightly, hands balled into shaking fists under the cover of his desk.
This time, Reigen has an answer ready. “I got hit in the eye with a softball in gym.” He replies quickly, in a way that’s so obviously rehearsed that Shigeo feels his own fear and anger rearing back up. He’s about to call the kid out, but he’s beaten to it.
Ritsu quirks a brow, arms folded across his chest. “I thought you had gym on thursdays?”
This catches Reigen off guard, and sweat beads up across his hairline, looking like a deer in the headlights. “Yeah, I meant in
the
gym. I was playing softball after school...In the gym.”
“You hate softball.” Shigeo reminds him, eyes boring into the teen’s, even as he attempts to avert his own.
“Maybe I’m coming to like it?” Reigen says tentatively, covering up the uncertain tone with a frantic laugh. “Jeez, guys, what’s with the third degree? You’d think I was the first kid who ever got hurt. I’m fine!” He reassures them, opening his bag and laying out his homework on the desk.
The words die on Shigeo’s tongue. He wants to say
obviously you aren’t fine
, but he doesn’t want to make Arataka feel cornered, either. Instead, he texts Kaoruko about the situation, and muddles through his own work as best as he can, too distracted by his own worry to get anything done for the rest of the afternoon.
It all comes to a head that night, as they’re getting ready to leave.
They’re going out the front door of the office, Ritsu and Reigen arguing about what they want for dinner, when a hoarse voice calls out from beside them.
“A-Arataka-kun?”
The boy freezes, turning to the speaker with a look of open-mouthed surprise. “Katsuya-senpai?”
Shigeo sees red.
He whips his head over to look at the new arrival, a tall boy with curly, unkempt hair and dressed in an ill-fitting coat over sweatpants, an umbrella held carefully above his head. The boy hardly looks like a threat, but the thing that boils his blood is the strong psychic signature coming off of him.
An esper. An esper who could easily hurt defenseless Arataka.
“Is he the one who hurt you, Arataka?” Shigeo demands, feeling his own aura make itself known, dragged to the surface by his fury.
Serizawa gives him a look somewhere between terror and shock, and reels back. “Wh-what?”
“What?! Shishou, no!” Reigen shouts, pulling at his arm, but he refuses to break the glower he’s holding on the young esper. “It’s not--well, he didn’t mean to!”
“But he did, didn’t he?” Shigeo says coldly, anger welling up in his chest.
Ritsu pulls him back. “Nii-san, quit it! What are you gonna do, fight a 14 year old kid?”
“Like he wouldn’t deserve it, for hitting Arataka?”
That makes him talk. “I d-didn’t h-hit him!” The older kid squeaks, trembling from head to toe.
“
Then what
happened
.” He growls, hardly having time to react as Reigen runs out in front of him, waving his hands.
“I fell asleep in the hallway and he hit me with the doorknob because he didn’t know I was there!”
What
? Shigeo thinks.
“What?” Ritsu asks, incredulous. “What kind of idiot gets a black eye from a
doorknob
? Were you sitting right behind it?”
Reigen flushes red to his ears, hands flitting anxiously as he explains. “He’s shy, so I usually talk to him through the door, but I was really tired from staying up to study last night, and I fell asleep. I was quiet for a while, so Senpai thought I left. He was going to go to the bathroom, and when he opened the door, the doorknob hit me in the face.”
The older boy nods frantically from over Reigen’s shoulder. “I-it’s true...I was just coming by to make su-sure he wasn’t too hurt!”
The deep shame and embarrassment at his actions hits him right away, and Shigeo feels himself going pale as the reality of the situation sets in.
“Oh.” He breathes through his teeth. “Oh, I’m very sorry. I just thought. Well, I guess you know what I thought.” He says, clearing his throat.
“It’s, uh, it’s okay.” Serizawa smiles anxiously, brows furrowed. “I’ve heard a lot about you, f-from Arataka-kun. It’s nice to see that you care about him so much.”
Shigeo can only nod his head silently, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Seriously, Shishou, being worried is one thing, but why would you think that senpai would beat me up? He wouldn’t hurt a fly--look at him!” Reigen insists, gesturing at Serizawa while the kid sheepishly ducks his head behind his umbrella.
Shigeo flounders for words, worrying his lip. “Well, you’ve just been acting so strangely recently, showing up late and lying about why. I was worried and I jumped to conclusions.” He explains, flicking his eyes to the older boy. “I’m sorry for blaming you, Serizawa-kun.”
The two teenagers look at him for a moment, shocked, and Shigeo realizes what he’s just said.
“How do you know his name?”
A week later, Reigen won’t stop teasing his mentor about the whole thing, and it embarasses Shigeo to no end. After his humiliating slip-up, he’d been forced to explain everything leading up to it, and although Arataka was a bit indignant at the fact that Shigeo had gone so far as to have a formal meeting with his
mom
, he really got a kick out of having been stalked to Serizawa’s house.
“Alright, I’m going to the store, do you wanna come, Shishou?” He asks, and without waiting for a reply, he laughs and says “Oh, nevermind, you’ll probably be following me from 10 steps behind anyways.” Before heading out of the office.
Shigeo sighs, leaning his head into his hands. “What have I done to deserve this?”
“Recently, or long term?” Ritsu deadpans, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Because stalking the kid was a bad idea, but letting him work here in the first place is the root of all of this, so.”
He can’t help but groan, making a mental note to look up how long the memory span of an average 13 year old is.
|
"When should you hear from Ashlyn?"
Ali smiled at the mention of her wife as she passed Leighton off to her mother-in-law. It had been a week and a half since she missed her phone call and she knew the time was approaching for her to hear from her. She grabbed Leighton's diaper bag and helped her walk everything to the car as she informed her of an estimated time. They both let out sighs at missing her and gave each other sad and knowing smiles.
"Only 6 more months, sweetheart," she reminded and hugged her goodbye.
"That's what we keep telling ourselves. I'll see you guys later. Take care and I love you both," Ali smiled, waving at Leighton through the window.
"You do the same. I'll call you later," she smiled back as she opened the door to get in.
Ali blew kisses at Leighton and the little girl gave a mostly gummy grin. It made Ali laugh and she stepped back to give them room to leave. Just as she crossed her arms to watch them go and Mrs. Harris cranked up her car, a black sedan pulled up. Ali looked to it and her face fell in confusion at the unknown visitor. The driver and passenger doors opened, and out stepped 2 men in military clothes.
Omar's face came to view, looking sad and remorseful, and Ali took a step back.
Ashlyn's mom watched as her daughter-in-law's face fell dramatically and she brought her hands up to cover her mouth. She turned her head to what she was looking at and slowly opened the door. She stepped out, eyes never leaving the men in uniform, and went to stand by Ali. Her daughter's wife shook as the men approached and opened their mouths with somber looks.
"No," Ali wailed and her legs buckled. "No, no, no. Nooooo! Where is she?! Where's my wife, Omar?! Where's Ashlyn?!"
Mrs. Harris felt like she was going to throw up and grabbed Ali to hold. Her daughter-in-law was about to fall to her knees, but she kept her up and helped her stand. Ali turned into her chest, fisting it tightly with white knuckles, and sobbed there as she felt her world go dark and crumble. Ashlyn's mom stared at the ground in a daze, running her hand through Ali's hair unconsciously as the men told them the horrible news.
Ashlyn was dead.
Omar told them how Ashlyn had saved 2 men's lives and brought home 2 fallen ones back to their families. He told them how she became her squad's leader at the death of their sergeant, and took control to lead them to safety until help came. He told them how she knew that classified information was still in the Humvee and she took the initiative to run back to destroy it. He told them that she was shot and an explosion occurred, blinding her squad from seeing anything else.
Everything was from Johnson's account and it broke him into tiny pieces at not being able to assist his corporal. All he saw through his binoculars was Ashlyn set fire to the inside of the Humvee, crawl back out, then make her way to hide in the ditch. He saw the rebels arrive and moved his lips to his radio to tell her when he remembered his was broken and he still had hers. He let out a curse and stood to run to her, but faltered when he saw Wells' passed out body.
Just as he went back and forth on whether or not to back her up, a gunshot rang through the air. He immediately hit the ground and pulled his binoculars back to his eyes, frantically searching for Ashlyn. He saw her on the ground and lifting her hand to the air. His grip tightened on his binoculars and he pulled his gun close. He decided to go after her and hope to make it back, but an explosion happened and he ducked in fear.
He had hit his leg and cursed as he reached for it to subside the pain. He looked to Wells and saw him grunt in pain and move the slightest. He looked back to where Ashlyn was, but all he could see was a cloud of dirt everywhere. He cursed for the hundredth time that day and brought his binoculars back up in a frantic search. To his surprise and panic, he was met with nothing and a blazing Humvee. He thought the worse and felt tears at a missing Ashlyn.
Johnson waited with eyes on the town for a sign of Ashlyn for the next 20 minutes as help arrived. After being shaken by the shoulders and a quick slap to the face, he was able to inform everyone of what happened. He watched as their lieutenant gave a swirling hand motion in the air and another squad loaded up. They took of into the town and everyone else headed back to base. Without a word from Ashlyn or anything to suggest her whereabouts, they had to call off the search days later.
Omar fought the hardest to keep it going after spending most of his time physically going out on search missions. Their lieutenant thought for sure they were just extending the inevitable and wanted to save everyone the pain. He called it off, after a pretty heated argument with Omar, and went into work to give his condolences to his fallen soldiers families. Omar stormed out and grieved as he sat on Ashlyn's bed. He knew what this would do to her family, most of all to Ali.
It was why he insisted on giving her the news.
"Mrs. Harris," he said quietly, but kept his eyes on his friend's grieving wife. "She's been declared 'Killed In Action' by the army. We've spent almost the last few weeks looking for her, but we've found nothing. She saved 2 of her men and brought back 2 of her fallen men. She's a hero and will be awarded as such-"
"A HERO," Ali yelled, turning to him and breathing hard. "She's dead, Omar! She had literally 1 fucking month left before she would be back home for a short stay! She had half a year left before she would be leaving the army! Now she's gone! My wife, your friend, is dead and gone. That's what you're telling me, right??"
"Ali," he whispered and squared his shoulders.
"No! Fuck you and fuck whatever stupid conclusions the 'army' has come up with," she continued and pushed him. "Until you give me a body then she's still out there. She could still be alive! Did you even look good?! Did you even try?! A fucking week is all it took for you to decide she's dead?? Ashlyn gave 6 years of her life to serve her country. That's 6 fucking years of missed birthdays, missed holidays, missed weddings, missed births, and other things she always regretted missing out on. It took you assholes less than 2 weeks to give up on her!"
"Mrs. Harris, no one is giving up on her. This is the statistics and things we base on past similar situations. There's nothing out there that suggests she could still be alive. We thoroughly check out every single lead we get," the other man provided, stepping forward to assist Omar.
"Statistics and things," she asked with an incredulous and sarcastic smile. "Wow! So that's all my wife is to you?? A fucking expendable asset?! Fuck you! Who the hell are you, anyways?!"
Ashlyn's mom had been silent the whole time staring at the ground. She felt her world spinning except for what she was looking at. She heard her daughter-in-law in the background yelling at the men, but she was too at a loss to calm her. Hearing that her daughter had died saving her friends made her stomach twist. It wasn't until she looked up to the curious and scared eyes of her granddaughter that she snapped out of it.
"Ali," she cracked and cringed at her voice, but still grabbed her arm.
"No! It's not fair. I can't be a widow. Not like this," Ali whimpered and weakly tried to shrug her off.
"Ali, please," she cried quietly and hugged her. "Think about Leighton, sweetheart. Ashlyn wouldn't want you hurting yourself like this. We have to be strong for her. You have to be strong for her."
Ali buried her face into her chest to cry her pain and loss, fisting her shirt. "She can't be dead. We have so much to do. What about everything we promised each other? What about our daughter," she sobbed harder and closed her eyes tightly.
She didn't know what to say because she thought similar things. "I don't know, honey, but I do know she would want you to be strong for both you and Leighton. She would want you to take care of yourself and y'alls daughter. She would want you to be strong, Ali," she urged, pulling back to hold her face and look at her.
Ali roamed her eyes over her face before dropping them in more tears. "I don't know how. She was always the strong one for us. What am I going to do without her," she cried and shook.
"Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, pulling her back in to hold and kiss her head. "You won't go through any of this alone. You have me, your father-in-law, your brother-in-law, and your parents and brother. You have family from your side and Ashlyn's that will be with you every step of the way. You have loving friends that will be there to support you. You have so much, Ali. You'll never be alone. The biggest reason why is sitting in the car," she reminded her, squeezing her close for both their sakes.
Omar watched with a broken heart as his friend's wife pain filled the atmosphere. He turned his head to the ground and whispered something to the man beside him. He nodded and headed back to the car, started it up, then drove off. Omar picked his head back up to Ali and Ashlyn's mom, who was looking at him as she still held her daughter's wife. Omar gave a nod, and she didn't need to ask if he was staying to be with them.
Ali turned her head slightly to see her daughter's bright blue eyes staring back at her. It made her cry harder knowing she would never get to know the woman that loved her unconditionally. It made her legs give out that she would never hear her voice again, be held by her again, tell her she loved her again, or know the heart that beat inside her. Omar grabbed Ali and took her from Ashlyn's mom to keep her up.
Ashlyn's mom took Leighton out of the car, holding her close and kissing her head, as she watched Ali be taken inside. The longer she held her granddaughter, the more her own pain bubbled to the top and poured over. She held her and cried into her little neck at the loss of her daughter, the state her daughter-in-law was in, and the pain everyone was surely about to suffer.
What looked like a for sure promising and honorable career for Ashlyn to get out alive of turned into the darkest moment in her loved ones lives.
|
Johnny's laugh is muffled by the hectic mess of black hair smothering him in its scent of green tea. "That tickles," he hums, moving his arm to accommodate Ten shifting in his arms. Despite saying it, Ten doesn't move his hand from resting on Johnny's thigh, pretty fingers still tracing circles in the gaping rips that exposed the milky white of his skin.
It's quiet in the dorm for late-evening - usually, the time when all members return from long practices and suffocating schedules, there's an uproar while during deciding what to eat, who to cook or where to order from, but it's quiet. They're not alone, they know. Just across the room, Jaehyun lays on his bed, not asleep, they don't think, but with his earphones plugged in, attention focused on the foreign movie across his tablet screen. But still, the quiet's nice, especially when they spend it together.
"You have nice thighs," Ten mumbles. He sounds sleepy and it's hard for Johnny to stop the smile spreading across his cheeks while visioning Ten's droopy eyelids and that adorable face he makes when he yawns.
"Thank you," Johnny replies, "made them myself."
Ten snorts, body juddering in Johnny's hold. "Lame."
"Made you laugh, though," he grins, reaching one hand up to stroke the strands of hair at the nape of Ten's neck.
"Touche."
There's silence between them, settling like the way the bedsheets do after they're kicked about. All they can hear is the incoherent fuzz of Jaehyun's earphones and their own calm, rhythmic breathing.
"It's quiet," Ten comments, tucking his fingers into the widest rip and running them around the loose threads.
"I was thinking that," Johnny hums, adding: "Don't ruin it."
"Bit rude."
"You called my joke lame."
Ten turns his head and looks up at Johnny as he rests his head on his shoulder. "You have a vengeance problem. Just last week you felt it necessary to hide all of Hansol's shoes 'cause he kept standing on the back of yours."
Johnny laughs. "You have a point." He smiles down at Ten and presses a soft kiss to his lips. "At least now we're even."
The rustle and creak of the bed across the room startles the both of them as Jaehyun walks towards the door, tablet in hand. "Doyoung!" He calls, the conversation fading as exits, leaving Johnny and Ten in their comfortable silence again.
Ten's fingers remain fiddling, periodically switching between tracing shapes and words into Johnny's thigh and pulling at the torn material of the faded jeans. He sighs before saying: "I was hoping Jaehyun would leave."
Johnny smiles and wets his lips subconsciously. "I mean, it is his room too."
"Yeah..." Ten wriggles, moving so he sat on his knees facing Johnny, the mattress shifting with his weight. The dressing gown that he wore (with only his underwear) hung off his shoulder, expose the soft, sun-kissed skin of his neck, collarbones, and half of his chest. Johnny feels turbulence in the pit of his of his stomach looking at him - so cute, innocent looking and dangerously vulnerable. He continues: "But you'd think he'd guess when a couple wants to be alone."
Johnny laughs dryly as Ten shuffles nearer on his knees, supporting himself with his hands against Johnny's shoulders. "Cheesy."
Ten shrugs and swings one leg over Johnny's lap, tipping the latter's head with his finger. "Made you laugh, though."
They press their lips together in a slow yet messy connection, Ten moving his head to accommodate the way Johnny moves his; sighing and humming muffled pleases as Johnny's hands routinely reach round and rest against the curve of Ten's ass. He holds Johnny's face, one hand sprawled across his cheek, while the other tangled into his soft caramel hair. They kiss, even when the creak of the floorboards outside panic them - it's like Johnny was life-support to Ten; if he broke away for long enough, he'd die.
Johnny looks down when Ten moves his hips, rubbing himself subtly against the material of his jeans, the less subtle curve at the front of his pants enough indication he needs. He stops kissing the latter, smiling with their mouths millimeters apart as Ten fumbles with the belt holding his white dressing gown closed. "You know, some inconsiderate people could walk in at any time..." he drawls, watching as the clothing opens and falls loosely at Ten's sides, examining the stretch and veins of his neck as Ten glances behind them at the closed door.
He slides of Johnny's lap and nudges his legs apart. "I don't think I'll take long..." He re-seats himself on only one leg, straddling Johnny's thigh as he brings the latter's hands and holds them against his hips.
Slowly, Ten rolls his hips, dragging them back and forth, rubbing his crotch against the thick thigh. He bites his lip, hands finding purchase to control himself on Johnny's shoulders as he tries to contain his moans of bliss.
Johnny tightens his hold on Ten's waist, catching his lip between his teeth and feeling the breath physically leaving him as Ten rides him like a natural. He'd like to dwell on the idea of how God-givenly spellbound and beautiful Ten is, but the worry of missing a single second of the scene unfolding before him was too great.
Ten lets out a simple whine and screws his eyes shut, adding a pace and a small bounce to his movements, his fingers digging into Johnny's skin. "Oh, f...fuck," he whispers, breath quickening to match the back and fourth, back and fourth of his hips. "Fuck, Johnny..."
Johnny tries not to giggle. He's not actually doing anything and Ten's moaning for him (quite and ego boost - it makes him think of all the time he's heard or walked in on the former with Johnny's on his lips amongst the chorus of moans and groans, whines and whimpers). He can feel the heat pool to his own crotch the more times Ten says his name.
"You look so pretty," Johnny says, for lack of anything else to say, rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles along Ten's hip bones. His eyes are glued to Ten's body, the beautiful, tan skin, toned nicely and lined thinly with sweat as he works himself, grinding right down against Johnny's thigh it almost hurt.
"Shush," Ten demands, leaning in and surprising Johnny with a rough, sloppy kiss. "Don't ruin it."
Johnny chuckles into his lips, biting Ten's gently. "You're a dick.
"Fuck," Ten hisses, throwing his arms around Johnny's neck and gasping with his hip rolls. "J-just a little more."
He was wrong, it was no more, for the minute those words left his lips, he groans and loses his pace, hiding his face in Johnny's neck as his release soaks through his underwear and onto Johnny's jeans. He whines and nuzzles Johnny's neck cutely, whispering a small 'thank you' before slipping off onto the mattress next to him.
"Wow, you were right," Johnny comments, using a random shirt from the floor to wipe the dampness off him. "You really didn't take long."
Ten snorts and takes the same shirt, wiping his now underwear-less legs and member before tossing both items of clothing into the wash pile in the far corner of the room and re-fastening the dressing gown around him. He smiles at Johnny, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing a cute, chaste kiss to his lips.
Johnny pauses as Ten snuggles down next to him, granted, cute, but there was still his own little-not-so-little problem between his own legs. "Baby?"
Ten hums.
"Uh..." Johnny runs his hands over Ten's shoulder, hoping the seduction will be more convincing. "Do you think you could... like... help me?"
Ten pulls an exaggerated yawn and stretches next to Johnny. "God, I'm tired."
"Oh, wow. Thanks, Ten, you're such a caring boyfriend."
Ten giggles, wrapping himself up in Johnny's blanket, switching fluidly to a different language. "Love you, Youngho-hyung."
"You're lucky you're cute," Johnny grumbles, getting up off the bed and finding his probably-not-clean towel from the floor. "Or I would've left you years ago."
"Where are you going?" Ten whines. "I'm cold now."
"I'm going to shower. To relieve myself." He goes to retreat.
"Wait!" Ten demands, sitting up, his voice and face fatigued again. "Tell me you love me too."
Johnny snorts and rolls his eyes. "Love you too, baby."
|
The next seven years passed in a bit of a blur for the Noir family, though not an unpleasant one. The Tonks family did, in fact, join them in Blackwell; changing their names beforehand. That little adventure was mostly due to Nymphadora, now Izzy, wanting to be close to her favorite cousins. Theodore became Timothy, Andromeda became Andrea, and Nymphadora became Elizabeth 'Izzy' Ebony.
Izzy was definitely the oldest of the group, but she took the leadership role well and was an excellent big sister figure to all her younger cousins. The seven-year-old was quite excited when she heard she would be able to practice the family magics before going off to Hogwarts, as per family tradition on the Wizarding side, and was often found teaching her younger cousins what she learned as a result.
She studied the Wiccan magics with great fervor and practiced her unique bloodline ability often. It was not so much a surprise to learn Izzy was a Metamorphagus as it was to learn young Evan had a limited version of the ability as well. In response she would often 'tutor' Evan in the ways of changing one's appearance and mannerisms, the second one she learned from Aunt Chrissy.
The young girl was quite close with each member of her mismatched family, being as extroverted as she was, but she grew especially close with her uncle Sam. She began to see the man as the big brother she could never have, and a fellow prankster as well. Of course, this only led to jealousy among the 'siblings', each competing for the children's affections in one way or another.
This became even more evident when Izzy finally got her Hogwarts letter and was asked who she would prefer to go shopping with. The eleven-year-old, of course, chose her father and uncle since she wasn't into all that 'girly stuff' like her cousin Bonnie. It had been a blow to Andy's pride, but she had taken it rather well in the end; with a bottle of malt liquor and the company of Miranda and Liz.
Izzy was sorted into Hufflepuff, of course, just like her father. The fact drove Andy up the wall, but she fully supported her daughter despite that. What probably annoyed the mother the most was when, for Izzy's thirteenth birthday, the girl was offered the chance to become an Animagus, as per tradition. Now, normally this wouldn't have been an issue, but the brat had to go and be a canine just like her uncle!
Andy could still be found licking her wounds in a bottle of Amaretto.
Bonnie was another story. Rudy apparently jumped at the opportunity for his little girl to have more female role models in her life, that excitement also extending to the new fathers he could also bond with without worry due to familial ties.
The youngest Bennett spent a lot of time between Blackwell and sleepovers with her two best friends, Caroline Forbes and Elena Gilbert. The girls were fairly nice, but often treated Bonnie weird for hanging out with 'icky boys'. Of course, this was made up for by the fact all three girls idolized Izzy. The young Wiccan was crushed when she found out her surrogate big sister was going to be attending a private school and forced to do 'Muggle Studies' during the summers. Apparently the school she would be attending didn't teach math or the like, and Izzy was already behind in the system by two years, so she had a lot of work ahead of her. Thank the Ancestors the girl knew her priorities and taught Bonnie the same.
Bonnie was exceedingly surprised, as were they all when she too received a letter from Hogwarts four years later. Alphard, Rudy, and Sheila made an outing of it and showed the young witch England's version of magic. Little Bonnie was so excited to be further included in her new family. Rudy was happy for his baby girl though he did feel a bit left out being the only Muggle in the group.
Bets were taken and all blown out the water when Bonnie was sorted into Hufflepuff, following her idol all the way.
Danny and Evan grew exceedingly close throughout their years in Mystic Falls. The two were as close as brothers, surrounded by girls they had to be. They did invite a third into their fold in the form of Jeremy Gilbert, Elena's younger brother by one year. He was the same age as the pair, and together the trio often got into many examples of mischief making. He was also the only one outside of the family who was aware of magic; Daniel had a burst of accidental magic in front of the child that warranted an explanation and a promise of secrecy.
It was barely a year later that both Danny and Evan received their own letters to Hogwarts; sparking an even greater chapter in their not quite boring lives.
Black Diaries
Diagon Alley had its own charm. It was quaint and lively all at the same time; the cobblestoned streets bustling with shoppers and vendors. It was very nearly a hassle for Christine and Samuel to navigate through the crowded streets without losing sight of their charges.
First were wands! Every wizard's best friend! Ollivander was a bit of a creep; reciting all the wands he had sold to the family thus far. Danny managed to escape rather quickly, though, with a 10 inch-hawthorn- unicorn hair wand. Evan's turn took forever; he managed to blow out the windows of the shop, create a small hurricane, and set Ollivander's pants on fire before the ancient wand crafter finally pulled a dusty box out of the back. The wand in question ended up being 11 inches and made of holly with a phoenix feather core.
The moment the wand entered Evan's grasp something unheard of happened; the core burned the wood into ash until the only thing remaining in the child's hand was a feather and a black smudge. Ollivander let out a strangled sound before gaping between the boy and what was left of the wand.
"It appears the core has chosen you, but the wood was a weak match. Thankfully holly is not difficult to come by, but we'll still need to find a suitable wood for you. Wait here." The wand crafter quickly disappeared behind several shelves before he reemerged with a medium-sized wooden crate. He quickly unloaded what appeared to be several blocks of differing woods. "Come here," he instructed the young heir, "close your eyes and hover your hand over the blocks. Your chosen wood will call to your blood, just as the core calls to your magic."
The emerald-eyed eleven-year-old cautiously did as he was bid, allowing his hands to just barely brush each unique block. Some woods would heat up at his touch, some would cool further, and some did nothing at all. Curious still was the block that sent a jolt of electrical power through his hands, pulling him closer rather than sending him away. Evan quickly grasped the block in his hand and opened his eyes to see what exactly shocked him.
"Ah, dogwood. An odd choice for one so young as I find myself using the wood more in replacement wands for Auroras or duelists. It's a wood closely associated with the afterlife, though not in the same way as yew is with death. A way to describe it: dogwood symbolizes wishes, protection, charm, and finesse. Well-fitting of the heir of the Houses of Black and Potter, wouldn't you say young master Noir?"
Evan gave a tight nod as his dad ordered the old man to get on with it. Ollivander rolled his glassy eyes at the impatient lord but shuffled towards the back of his shop to finish the order in record time. Sam and Krissy quickly paid for both wands and ushered the children out the front door of the shop.
Shortly after that the quartet split up; Christine to collect potions ingredients, Samuel to collect all the miscellaneous supplies (such as quills, ink, telescopes, ect.), which left the boys with the task of selecting their robes and books. They were all to meet at the Fire-cream parlor afterward for a snack, granted the shopping itself didn't take forever.
"Come on Danny, we might as well get this over with." Evan led the slightly larger boy down the twisting alley only to stop before a bustling little shop named 'Madam Malkin's Robes for Every Occasion'. The young raven gave a small smirk as the bell chimed overhead signaling their entrance to the shop. Almost immediately afterward a small plump woman appeared and ushered the pair over to a set of stools.
Evan was the first to climb up onto a stool, testing its sturdiness with a slight wiggle. Shortly after the larger eleven-year-old followed suit and claimed his own stool to stand on. Madam Malkin rushed over, inquiring of fabrics and designs all the way. Both boys settled on customs robes made from acrumantula silk and woven with many overlapping protective enchantments as well.
Danny, though secretly pleased with his cousin's decision, was a bit wary of the younger boy's choice of standing out the way they were sure too. Evan reasoned they would get enough questions when they admitted to being from American, so they should make the most of the extra attention. The platinum blond was happy to go along with his emerald-eyed cousin, though he still felt the other was withholding something; a scheme of some sort.
Said emerald-eyed raven found his cousin's musings to be amusing; he always loved to play games that made you think, and Hogwarts would be no different. Evan knew he was, in fact, Harry James Potter-Black, as Dad would never hide anything from him. He also knew the media in England would hound him like there's no tomorrow if they found out. He had decided it was best for everyone involved if he simply remained Evan James Noir. By doing this he would also need to keep interest off of himself in the public eye.
By coming across as a young foreign heir, less stress would be put on him and it would be easier to blend in; a misdirection of sorts. Besides, the robes made him look good.
Danny sighed, shaking out his mid-length silver locks as he caught the look in his cousin's eye. The elder male could always tell when the notorious Noir Vanity snuck up on the younger by the gleam that would appear in his emerald orbs and the half smirk that would adorn his face. It was quite amusing, really. Even though the two were raised together, and given the almost exact same upbringing, they somehow managed to be near complete opposites.
Danny had his light hair and silver-gray eyes (just like his uncle's), fair skin, and a slightly larger build that was apparently genetic in Noir males. Evan was gifted with the Noir color, unlike the fairer side of Christine and himself. The younger male had shoulder length raven waves he often kept pulled back in a short ponytail at the base of his neck. He said the look was meant to emulate the way Samuel used to keep his hair before he cut it all off. Uncle Sam said he'd grow out of it.
Evan also had the lighter skin coloring common among their family, which was quite odd all things considered. The Bennetts were traced back and found to be related to the Blacks before anyone even cared about all that pureblood propaganda. Danny didn't buy into it, honestly, how could he? He was raised in a town full of Muggles, and both members of his family that managed to unlock an age-old ability had recent Muggle blood in their bloodline. It was a rather idiotic notion anyway.
"Danny, Danny!" The younger snapped, literally, in the elder's face to drag his attentions away from his musings. It was actually a rather common occurrence.
"Yes, yes. I hear you." The blond groaned out and rolled his eyes at his companion. Evan let out a big cheeky grin in response and dragged his cousin over to a counter so they could pay for their purchases. Madam Malkin was even kind enough to shrink the bags for them so they wouldn't have to carry them around the bookstore.
In truth, the bookstore was the last stop on their list since it was there they would spend most of their time. Danny may not look it, but he was a big reader; he'd read every American classic and all the Grimm's Tales backward and forwards. It was rather entertaining, at least to his cousins. Still, Evan was notorious for studying and researching new spells, saying he planned to create a Grimoire of his own someday.
The two boys spent the remaining hours in the afternoon inside the shop and later had to be dragged out, their purchases shrunk down and put away along with the rest of their supplies. The quartet made their way over to the Fire-cream shop for a snack before heading back home to begin their summer studies so they could better manage their double schooling (i.e. Hogwarts of course and Muggle Home-schooling so they wouldn't be behind in their Muggle educations when they graduated).
All in all, it was a rather successful day.
Black Diaries
The rest of the summer passed the boys in a blur as they attempted to balance their first year of middle school work with fun. Though neither would admit it, both were terrified at the prospect of leaving home. Mystic Falls was their safe haven. Nothing ever changed and it was a peaceful if mundane life. The idea of going to Hogwarts was scary, but at the same time, it was also incredibly exciting.
The scarlet train was a bit gaudy in Evan's not so humble opinion, but he supposed it was meant to garner attention. It certainly accomplished that much. Evan sighed and ran a hand through the wavy locks of his dark hair, too lazy to have pulled it back. The eleven-year-old knew he too was garnering attention, but that was okay. The attention was, after all, in regards to his attire. The young heir found himself smirking at the thought that no one would suspect that he was 'Harry Potter'. The 'Boy-Who-Lived' was advertised to be an exact replica of James Potter except with Lily's eyes. Evan may have had his father's coloring, but his eyes were darker in shade than Lily's had been, and the blood adoption rearranged his facial features to resemble the Blacks more. Not to mention he was missing the famous scar, his aunt Christine had healed that years ago after purging some lingering darkness from his body. What it all boiled down to was that Evan was unrecognizable as 'Harry Potter', and he planned to use his American upbringing as yet another shield from the public.
To help in this endeavor, Evan had allowed Jeremy and Aunt Bella to dress him, both of which seemed to be on a bit of rocker kick. Admittedly, he sort of liked his not quite new look. It was a bit stereotypical but it was worth it to see the faces of the magicals as if he was an atrocity. The outfit he was wearing wasn't even all that bad: a pair of black, straight leg jeans; a black, v-neck, t-shirt with 'Metallica' in metallic purple ink; leather, combat boots only halfway laced up; a popped-collar, black leather jacket. Maybe it was the spiked belt, or even the chain hanging from his belt loops that bothered them.
Either way, Evan was not only drawing attention to himself, but he was drawing attention away from his more easily recognized cousin. Everyone had heard of the missing Malfoy heir, and as such knew an in-depth description of the silver-haired eleven-year-old. It probably helped he was dressed simply in his typical style consisting of a pair of coal gray dress slacks and a black button-up with only a lighter gray blazer to keep warm. Easily dismissed when compared to his cousin. That was a good thing, however.
Danny and Evan also, in an attempt to avoid suspicion, were escorted to the platform by their Great Aunt Sheila (whom everyone simply called Grams) and Aunt Andy. They had already said their goodbyes to the remainder of the family at home while Izzy and Bonnie were riding with them. The students quickly said their goodbyes again and boarded the train long before anyone else, wanting the best of compartments for themselves.
Izzy showed her younger cousins her favorite compartment in the very back. She said it was right across from a set of twins that always knew how to entertain. The boys exchanged a confused glance before shrugging and excepting the secret metamorphagus's weirdness.
Evan quickly claimed a window seat for himself and pulled out his CD player and sketch pad from his leather satchel. The CD player was a gift from Dad for his eighth birthday (the batteries designed by the Duracell company oddly enough were magic repellent and so could function where others could not, meaning simple electronics could work around magic with only basic rune modification) while his aunts all banded together to get him the makings of an art studio. Somehow the art supplies managed to take over his room while still leaving him a relatively clean place to sleep. Danny always joked that one of these days Evan was going to wake up covered in paint or pastels.
With a small smile, Evan popped his Metallica CD into the player and pulled on his headphones, allowing the music to blast in his ears. Danny, of course, rolled his eyes at the display before pulling out his latest novel and delving deep into the thrilling tale of Count Dracula. Bonnie and Izzy giggled at the boys' antics, knowing the pair well enough that it wouldn't do them any good to bother them.
"So, who do you think will be teaching DADA this year? I heard a curse was placed on the position so every year a new teacher has to be chosen. Is it true, Izzy?" Bonnie bounced around in her seat, excited to get to return to sharing a dorm-duplex with her cousin, but also extremely nervous about the upcoming year since she was going to be skipping the second-year curriculum altogether. Due to this, she was technically a third year even though she was only twelve.
"We've had a different professor every year for the past five that I know of," Izzy shrugged, not really concerned. Bonnie sighed and offered her favorite cousin a nod before sitting in the only other window seat. She understood that next year was going to be Izzy's last year going to the magical academy and was a little bit disappointed. Apparently, Izzy had decided to begin her Auror training directly after Hogwarts, something about wanting to go into the same profession as Aunt Liz (Caroline's mother). Where Bonnie idolized Izzy, Izzy idolized Elizabeth Forbes.
Over the years, Bonnie's admiration had dimmed to more of a deep fondness while Izzy's only grew. The older girl viewed the blonde woman as truly strong to do what she did and raise a child of her own while still having to pick up the pieces of the broken heart her ex-husband left behind. Bonnie couldn't understand why Mr. Forbes left Ms. Liz for another man but didn't question it. Her not questioning it was probably why she and Caroline had grown so close. She and Elena were the only kids, besides the Noir cousins, who didn't pick on Caroline.
Bonnie was going to miss Caroline and Elena, yet again, just as Danny and Evan were going to miss Jeremy. Luckily for the Noir cousins, their parents had pulled a few strings with the Board of Governors. While they would initially miss their freshman year of high school, made up for by their collective home-schooling, the three were scheduled to take both their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s early unless otherwise stated. It was a pretty good set up that both the children and parents agreed on. Izzy had chosen to remain in Hogwarts for her last few years so she could help the others adjust and because it would've been too difficult to keep up with all the exams she would need to face and having to begin her high school exams as well.
"Oi, lookie here Gred!" A head full of flaming red hair popped into their compartment just as the train began moving.
"What do we have here Forge?" A matching head bumped the other out of the way in order to get a peek himself.
"Looks like ickle firsties!" The first one exclaimed pleasantly, claiming a spot between Danny and Evan.
"And who else do we have here?" The second one plopped down between the girls, squishing Izzy up against the door with his antics.
"Why Gred, I do believe it's none other than our very own Badger Ladies!" The first one bemoaned, flailing his arms about in a manner that caught Evan's attention, causing the youngest member of the compartment to pull off his headphones.
"Oh my Forge, how could we ignore such lovely beauties!" The second put an arm around each 'lady' and pulled the girls close to his chest as crocodile tears rolled down his cheeks in fake apologies. Danny glanced up from his reading to take one look at the scene before him, raise a pale aristocratic eyebrow, and then turn his mercury gaze back on the gothic letters of his book. Evan, on the other hand, let out a chuckle as Izzy tried in vain to escape the freckle-faced, gangly, thirteen-year-olds while Bonnie simply submitted to the gesture with amusement.
It looked like the train ride wouldn't be so boring after all.
|
In the alternate universe where Noctyx and Luxiem are all females while Ethyria, Obsydia, and Lazulight are all males, Misty, Mysta's alternate female version, who has passed out on the floor. Her body suddenly shined in white light as her body disperse into light particles in the air.
“Misty, baby! Sorry we're late! Lucy asked us to buy some things and we just happened to be in front of a convenience store when she texted us” Voxanne said as she remove her heels, with Ivy and Shuzan behind her also taking their shoes and sandals off.
Voxanne seize all movement when she saw the light particles scattered in the air. Immediately running inside their home while looking for Misty, but alas, she couldn't find her.
In another alternate universe, where every members of the nijisanji group are all guys, Luc Kanishiro went inside of their mansion. The maids and butlers that he passed by, gladly greeted him and he delightfully greeted them back. He took the path towards his boyfriend's room in the mansion.
“Mys! I'm home!” Luc happily said as he opened the door to Mys's room. The usual routine of him barging in, his boyfriend's fox tail would happily wagged as he pounce on him welcomed him back home, suddenly couldn't happen when he saw nothing but light particles in the air of his room.
He suddenly felt nervous because of the light particles he saw and Mys wasn't the type in this alternate universe to leave without telling him first where he's going. He ran outside and search every crook and cranny of the mansion but hasn't even saw a single trace of hair from his fox boyfriend.
Just like what's happening to these two alternate universe, every alternate that has been created by Mysta Rias started disappearing one by one. The remains of their body are just scattered light floating in the air but also fading one by one.
Back to the current situation, where Box and his other friends from their alternate world are in the original world with Vox and the others. Box was kneeling on the ground, tears still falling down even though his eyes are already red and puffy from all the crying that he has done.
A portal suddenly opened beside Hikarino and Eki immediately run at Vox with a knife as soon as he got out.
“EKI!” Kuro screamed as he tried to stop Eki.
“ITS FUCKING BECAUSE OF YOU!!!” Eki screamed as he attacked Vox with a knife.
Eki was still a human compared to Vox who was still a demon, but it seems to not matter at this point. Eki's emotion boosted his abilities 5x than before. Making his speed and reflexes incredibly inhumane. Vox didn't want to hurt him so he just avoided the knife but Eki's anger just grew even more, making Vox's his skin get caught by the blade of the knife.
Vox accidentally fell backwards and Eki didn't hesitate to stab him but he was paralyzed by Box's magic. The tip of Eki's knife was barely a centimeter away from his chest.
“Box! Let me fucking go! I'm gonna kill him and every one of them one by one! Rias is gone because of them! I'll kill them all!” Eki said as he struggled to move his body while Vox stood still because Eki's body was restraining him from moving. Yet, he was thankful Box paralyzed his body.
“Eki, none of us wanted this. They're still Mysta's friends and I promised him that we won't hurt them” Box said through sobs and hics as he rubbed his eyes.
“I don't give a damn about your promise to Mysta! They took away someone from me so I'm gonna get my revenge by taking their lives! Let go of me!” Eki screamed as he struggled even more. Thrashing around until he couldn't keep his emotions inside anymore.
“RIAS IS FUCKING DEAD BECAUSE OF THEM!!! THEY ALL DESERVE TO DIE!!!” Eki screamed and Box couldn't hold back his anger anymore.
“YOU AREN'T THE ONLY ONE WHO LOST SOMEONE THEY LOVED!!! I LOST MYSTA BECAUSE OF THEM!!! I WANNA EXECUTE THEM IMMEDIATELY!!! BUT I CAN'T BECAUSE I PROMISED MYSTA!!! AND RIAS WOULD TOO IF HE WAS STILL WITH US!!!” Box screamed at the top of his lungs, making Eki's shoulder trembled as he held back the tears.
“Rias wouldn't be happy with what you're gonna do. You and I both know that too well. And I know he understands that none of us wanted this to happen. Don't do something that Rias would hate see you doing” Box said and unfroze his body. He trust that his words got through Eki and it did, thankfully.
Eki immediately stood up and stabbed his knife on the ground as he gripped the dirt using his fist. Tears trickled down his eyes and he bit his lips. He couldn't take the pain anymore so he screamed at the top of his lungs as loud as he can. He grabbed the knife and repeatedly stabbed the ground, thinking that it should've been him instead of Rias.
Kuro immediate took the knife and threw it away when Eki stood still while staring at the knife in his hands that was slowly approaching his wrist. Eki took out another knife that was hiding under his shoes and started slitting his wrist. He aimed at his neck and was about to stab his self when Shu Yamino controlled his body.
“Eki! Calm the fuck down!” Kuro screamed frustrated while trying to pry away the knife from his hands that he held onto so tightly.
“RIAS IS GONE!!! I WOULD RATHER DIE THAN TO LIVE WITHOUT HIM!!! JUST LET ME DO THIS!!!” Eki screamed but Kuro snatched the knife away before punching him hard in the face, before he grabbed him by the collar.
“YOU AREN'T THE ONLY ONE WHO'S HURT BECAUSE RIAS IS GONE!!! HIKARINO LOST HIS BROTHER!!! BOX LOST HIS LOVER!!! WE LOST A MEMBER AND A FRIEND!!! STOP FUCKING TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF!!! WE DON'T WANT TO LOSE SOMEONE ELSE WHO'S DEAR TO US!!! FUCKING STOP IT!!!” Kuro screamed, also releasing tears of frustration, pain and agony as he shaked Eki who just listened to his words while tears are still falling down his face.
Kuro hugged him before Eki started screaming and thrashing around. Kuro held a tight grip on him as he cried on his shoulders, hurting even more as he mourns for the lost of their member and sympathy for Eki and Box in losing their lovers. Eki stopped fighting his hug and started crying in his chest.
✿ ~ ✿ ~ ✿ // 30 minutes later // ✿ ~ ✿ ~ ✿
Everyone were gathered inside the Luxiem household and awkward silence ruled everyone until Aki decided to speak.
“We'll have to stay here for 2 weeks. Too many alternates went to another alternate world and if we dare go back, we might lose someone again and I'm not gonna afford it” Aki said in a cold tone while giving everyone a death glare.
“The guys can stay here while the girls can come with us” Nina said and everyone agreed without a bit of hesitation.
“What about Mysta and Rias?” Albun asked that made everyone froze and turned to look at him.
“Yeah. Is there really no way to bring back Mysta senpai and Rias senpai?” Yugo asked and Box and Eki tried not to shed a tear after hearing their names.
“You can only save them if there's enough core inside the disappearing person's soul left to accept the magic that is gonna be given to him” Shu said.
“And every soul that's been recorded to have fade in the history of magic, has never came back after the full shattering of their soul” Aki said calmly, making everyone's eyes well up in tears that are threatening to fall off their cheeks.
“A-alright! L-let's all head our own way! See you all guys tomorrow” Mika said with obvious stuttering in her voice. She and the other girls left while all the males were left with an awkward silence, who were all in the living room.
“How about we all call it a day—” Alban was cut off when Box finally spoke after staying silent for 30 minutes
“That day . . . Aki, Hikarino and I just wanted to play a prank on you guys . . . I didn't really intend to kidnap Ike, nor take Mysta . . . Everything happened too fast, even for me. We shared the same pain . . . Mysta liked you Vox” Box said which shook the 4 members of Luxiem because they didn't notice at all.
“But he couldn't bear to see you and Ike fall apart, so he beared the pain no matter how much it hurt him. He just wanted you two to be happy, even if it meant hurting his self to see the both of you” Box said and Ike couldn't hold back his tears that were now rolling down his face.
“Mysta, you fool. Why bear the pain alone?” Vox mumbled as Box continued his speech.
“I, in turn, also liked Rias, but he properly rejected me . . . Not just a week has passed, they announced that they were lovers . . . It hurt so much. So, like the broken fools we are, we used each other to forget our feelings for the both of you . . . Who knew that something would bloom from it” Box said with a smile on hid face before it turn to a frown after remembering Mysta's happy face.
“And who knew that we wouldn't even pass a whole day of being lovers . . . You took him away from me and now he's gone” Box said as he clenched his fist on his pants.
“I'm sorr—” “Don't” Box cut off Ike's sentence.
“But even though this happened, Mysta wouldn't like it if we held grudges against each other. So, lets all put it all behind us and just wish that they're peaceful, wherever they may be” Box said and held out his hands towards Vox. Vox accepted it and they all smiled before looking at Eki.
“I can't forgive you all that easily” Eki said and stood up, heading towards the stairs.
“But I'll also try my best to forgive you all for Rias” Eki mumbled before heading upstairs to an empty guest room. Everyone headed to their perspective rooms while the alternate stayed in the guest room. Well, almost everyone.
“Box!” Luca called out and Box turned his head towards the mafia boss. Luca gave him a duplicate key to Mysta's bedroom before heading towards his and Shu's room.
Box looked at the key in his hands before heading towards the orange door, that was fixed earlier by Shu Yamino after Luca destroyed the lock before using his shotgun. He went inside and immediately chuckled when he saw almost every stuff in the room is all orange, except for the furnitures and something that caught his eyes. He walked towards the side table located at Mysta's right side of the bed, his bed sticking to the wall.
He sat at the edge of the bed before taking the blue and white flower crown that he created on their date earlier. Box looked at the white box that was slightly open. He took off the top part of the box, tears immediately falling down once more when he saw the silver necklace with his name printed on the dog tag plate.
He took it before wearing it around his neck, admiring his name printed on it when he also saw the back that made him sob even more. The words "No matter what happens, I'll always love you, as corny as it may be” were written on the other side of the dog tag pendant.
“You're so unfair Mysta” Box said as he gripped the dog tag pendant in his hands gently before kissing it.
“I love you too, much more than you think and we'll always love you no matter what happens” Box said as he sobbed and cried once more, falling asleep after he tired his self from crying too much.
|
The sickness came on abruptly and brutally. Will awoke to an all too familiar situation – nausea, a pounding headache, and sweat-soaked sheets beneath his back. When he tried to move, every joint in his body ached down to the bone. He’d managed to get on his side, and he clutched the pillow, his body curled up against the terrible agony.
The pain itself exacerbated the nausea, and he sensed the unavoidable certainty of vomiting boiling inexorably in his stomach. With a mangled groan, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, unwilling to make a further mess of the sheets. He felt as though he could barely see beyond the intense throb of the headache behind his eyes, and he almost didn’t make it to the toilet before bile and the remnants of last night’s dinner came up. He clung to the seat as his stomach rebelled on him several vicious times in a row until he was panting, shaking, and desperate for the bout of illness to end.
Finally, when it seemed there was nothing left for his body to reject, he sank to his ass on the cold tile. Cradling his aching head in his hands, he tried to think of where he might’ve picked up a bug, but the headache was too severe to conjecture logically.
He heard footsteps and carefully opened his eyes to peer up at Hannibal. He’d likely awoken him with his violent regurgitation. Hannibal was fresh from bed, wearing his boxers, his hair mussed, and lids still heavy from sleep. It was still strange to see him like that – his awareness not so keen, his veil a little less impenetrable. Despite his half-roused state, however, his eyes still held the clear glint of curiosity and interest that he no longer cared to disguise in front of Will.
“Like what you see?” Will quipped, his voice rough and unsteady.
A flicker of amusement passed beneath Hannibal’s expression, and he left the doorway to crouch beside him. Will closed his eyes as Hannibal pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and then gently felt his throat for swelling with warm, firm fingers. Will leaned back against the cool side of the tub behind him, swallowing jaggedly. A wave of heat inundated him with the sensation of his esophagus thrusting between Hannibal’s fingers.
Hannibal moved to a less vulnerable part of his body, taking him by the wrist to press two fingers into his pulse, and Will relaxed again. Hannibal concentrated in silence for a moment before his hands left Will’s body entirely.
“Your heart rate is acceptable, but you certainly have a fever,” Hannibal said. “When did you first notice the symptoms?”
“About two seconds before I was tossing my stomach in the toilet.” Will opened his eyes to look at him again despite the way the light made the headache sharpen. Hannibal’s face was close to his own, placid yet keenly focused on every aspect of Will’s suffering body. He looked almost hungry. Will knew that look.
“And what else besides the nausea and fever?” Hannibal asked, his voice appropriately clinical.
“Head hurts,” Will murmured, “everything hurts.”
“Body aches.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Are you experiencing any congestion or coughing?”
“No.”
Hannibal allowed the examination to lapse for a moment. He stared at him then reached up to smooth Will’s sweat-stained curls away from his forehead in a touch that was less than professional. The gesture dangled a memory in the back of Will’s hazy mind – sitting at Hannibal’s dining table, leaning into the only source of stability that he could’ve hoped for, unaware that he was seeking comfort from the one who had caused the agony.
Hannibal was still inspecting him all over, and he felt goosebumps on his flesh. Like Hannibal, he was dressed only in his boxers. It was too hot and humid to wear much else to bed, but a shiver crept up on him now.
Hannibal caught his gaze. A mere blink of his lids marked his only reaction before he settled his hand at Will’s nape and leaned in. He inclined his nose to Will’s neck – not touching, only hovering close enough to smell. There were memories in everything when Hannibal touched him like this. Will listened to him inhale, unresisting.
When Hannibal withdrew, his eyes were closed as he mulled the scent. Judging from his expression, it could’ve been a fine wine. He savored it. His lids rose, and they looked at each other.
“You’re a sick bastard,” Will said, pulling a tiny smile from Hannibal’s lips.
“It is not I who is sick at the moment,” Hannibal bantered lightly. It wasn’t a denial or a deflection. There was no longer a need to lie about such things, and Will knew that. He knew that it was to make him smile.
Will scoffed and rubbed his fingers into his aching eyes. “So, what’s the diagnosis, doctor?”
“A viral disease likely from a mosquito bite,” Hannibal said, sitting back on his heels. “There are several types of viruses that are common in this region. Which one it is will become more apparent as the illness worsens.”
“Just my luck.”
“Your being a foreigner and a person who has been immunocompromised in the past likely contributed to your susceptibility to the virus.”
“So this is your fault?” Will asked with a raised brow.
Hannibal smiled again. “I would speculate that this is a consequence of your insistence on wandering out at night when you are not properly covered.”
Will grimaced and reached over to flush the toilet. Some habits died hard. Wandering for instance. Enjoying each other’s pain for another.
He began to push himself up, but immediately sank back down with a groan of pain as his screaming joints incapacitated him once more.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes closed, his head going dizzy again. Although his stomach was empty, he still felt the tickle of nausea in his throat, and he would rather not dry heave with Hannibal hovering over him.
“Allow me to assist you,” Hannibal said, standing with an ease that Will resented. He glared up at him, but took his proffered hands. Hannibal hoisted him up, his strength accounting for a majority of the effort.
Once Will was on his feet, Hannibal’s arm circled his waist, and he held Will’s elbow closest to him. Hannibal’s warm skin, slightly tacky with the lingering sweat of sleep, pressed against Will’s back that had become chilled against the tub and tile as Hannibal walked him out of the bathroom and back towards his bedroom. The contrast was all Will could focus on to distract himself from the pain as he put one foot in front of the other. Exertion made the headache resurge with vehemence, forcing his eyes to screw shut, and he let Hannibal lead him blindly.
When they reached the bedroom, Will regarded the tangled, damp sheets through squinted eyes. “Bed’s a mess.”
“Would you like me to change the sheets?”
Will snorted, feeling a bit delirious. “What’s the point? Don’t you remember how much I sweat when I’m sick, Dr. Lecter?”
He felt Hannibal’s arm tighten around him, and he couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain. He wondered if he would be more pained by Hannibal’s pleasure or more pleasured by Hannibal’s pain, or perhaps both in equal measure. But did he really have to wonder?
“Just… get me some towels,” Will said, weakly pulling away to sit at the edge of the bed.
“Very well. I will return shortly,” Hannibal conceded.
Will listened to Hannibal’s footsteps retreat, swaying at the edge of the bed. He felt exhausted as though he could sleep for days if the pain would allow it. A rare luxury.
When Hannibal returned, he came bearing more than just the towels. Will was barely upright, leaning heavily on the edge of the mattress. He looked at Hannibal through a grimace. Aside from towels, he had brought water and a few soft ice packs.
“I’m hesitant to give you any sort of medication until I’m certain of which virus you’ve contracted. Some viruses react poorly to even the most common pain relievers,” Hannibal said, setting the towels down.
Will managed a rough, cynical laugh. “Imagine, after all this time… you end up killing me with an NSAID.”
Hannibal’s mild smile remained in place. “I may not be able to medicate you, but we can combat the dehydration and the fever with more basic methods.”
“How terrible for you.”
“You’ve proven yourself to be very resilient,” Hannibal said, suavely side-stepping the accusations hidden under Will’s sarcasm as he handed him the cup of water. “I have faith that you can manage until I am confident in prescribing the correct medication.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst pain I’ve ever endured,” Will muttered as he took the glass and pressed it to his lips. Hannibal’s smile widened incrementally, and Will chafed with irritation. “What?”
Hannibal shook his head with a soft laugh. “I’d forgotten how rude illness makes you.”
“Yeah, well…” Will looked down at the cup. He felt sick again just looking at the water and imagining it going down his throat, but he sipped it anyway and gritted his teeth against the nausea. “Guess you better send me to bed then.”
Hannibal didn’t reply, and his silence felt heavier than before. Will raised his head to find Hannibal looking at him still but with that intense, blank darkness that Will recognized from hunting, the look of a creature prepared to pounce upon the neck of its prey. The expression remained for only a second once their eyes locked again. Hannibal turned away, his motions precise as he unfolded the towels, but it wasn’t composed enough for Will’s perception. They knew each other too well and too deeply for that. Will watched him lay the towels out neatly, one over top of the pillow and two more on the mattress, a strange, queasy thrill clutching his stomach. It wasn’t from the illness. He wondered if Hannibal checked his pulse again if he would still find it
acceptable.
“Perhaps you should remove the rest of your clothing,” Hannibal said as he smoothed out a wrinkle from the towel, his voice perfectly even and unsuspecting.
Will looked at him critically. “Why?”
“You were quite right about your perspiration. Any garments would likely join the state of the bedsheets very soon.” Hannibal turned his gaze on him again, unabashed, though he’d hidden the gleam of desire in eyes. Will wished he hadn’t. He didn’t like dilutions of the truth any more than he had four or five years ago, especially when Hannibal made himself sound so damn convincing that anyone else but Will would think him above suspicion. With Will, Hannibal wasn’t above anything.
“I know what you’re doing,” Will said at last, unwilling to let Hannibal slink beneath the guise of medicine. He should have felt vulnerable considering what Hannibal had done to him the last time he’d been sick, but he wasn’t naive to Hannibal’s ways any longer. He’d walked into the face of them and come out alive. Beating death — beating Hannibal — came with a certain arrogance.
“What am I doing?” Hannibal cocked his head, and Will almost wanted to laugh for a brief moment because he looked like an inquisitive dog, and Will thought he could train him like one to respond with Pavlovian salivation to the slightest hint of illness.
“You’re not half as clever as you think you are. Do you
really
believe you’re going to fool me now?” He scrutinized him through a squint of pain in a silent impasse for a moment.
Hannibal held his gaze long enough for Will to think that he simply would not answer, but then he said so quietly that his lips barely moved, “No. Not at all.”
Will looked at him only a moment longer, sizing him up for honesty before he laid back. “Then don’t look at me like that.”
“How would you like me to look at you?” Hannibal asked, and Will could feel his eyes heavy on him. He cracked his throbbing eyes open and looked up at his looming figure. Hannibal’s sockets looked like black, deep pits. Will swallowed, and his throat felt raw and repulsive from vomiting. A layer of sweat clung to his flesh, and he must not have smelled pleasant either, yet he knew that Hannibal would still put his tongue and teeth to his neck. He might even enjoy the reeking taste of illness. Will might enjoy shoving it down his throat.
“How do you want to look at me?” he challenged, his lungs tight with a pinch of exhilaration.
Hannibal didn’t answer, but Will could see the animalistic glint beginning to reflect in the darkness of his pupils again. He put the glass of water on the side table and sat down at the edge of the bed, coming closer with his hunger and his sharp teeth that Will had once recoiled from. Watching him now, he felt… smug. Hannibal thought himself so mysterious, so well put together, above scrutiny, above God — yet it took so little to undo him. To reveal him.
Will’s heart thundered, and he wanted to laugh again – laugh until he cried – as Hannibal touched his bare thigh. His fingers just barely skimmed over the flesh before his palm settled fully, heated skin against heated skin. Spreading his hand upward, Hannibal employed his other set of fingers to catch the waistband of his boxers. He paused there, looking Will impassively in the eye, waiting for him to protest. Instead, Will lifted his hips up as much as his aching joints could manage to let Hannibal disrobe him. Hannibal’s blink slowed to almost a flutter of lashes, and he lowered his gaze to watch his gradual stripping of Will’s lower half.
Seeing each other’s bodies wasn’t new — it had practically been a necessity when they’d been recovering from their injuries — but this was different. Will could feel the desire behind it, the way he knew that Hannibal would touch him intimately given the smallest excuse. His boxers slipped below his hips, and his pulse quickened because he felt no inclination to cover himself even as he knew what lay behind Hannibal’s eyes. Some part of him felt proud, as though he’d won a private battle.
Hannibal slid his boxers all the way off, and Will did not assist him any longer, just laid still and watched Hannibal from beneath half-closed lids. Hannibal folded the underwear, an unnecessary step given that they’d end up in the hamper, but he wasn’t looking at what his hands were doing any longer. He was gazing at Will’s soft penis and pale thighs. For a moment, a moment longer than he could comfortably bear, Will let him look.
“Very professional, Dr. Lecter,” Will murmured, at last. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Hannibal’s gaze flicked towards him. His pupils were inky, pulsing pools. He seemed as though he would not admit to it for a moment, but then he only said matter-of-factly, “Yes,” before he turned and picked up the ice packs, shattering the tension with less finesse than he normally wielded in conversation. Will was reeling a bit from the sudden, brutal honesty, and Hannibal continued before he could respond. “The neck, underarms, and groin area all contain large blood vessels. Placing the ice packs on these regions will help to cool you down.”
It was basic first aid knowledge, something Will already knew, and the useless facts barely registered. He was staring at Hannibal’s face, feeling a distant stir of excitement in his belly, presently unreachable due to the illness, yet there all the same. That Hannibal had so readily affirmed Will’s accusation stole a bit of Will’s victory — he would’ve liked to see him squirm — but knowing it was true dulled any sensation of disappointment. Knowing Hannibal wanted anything was an advantage. Or, at least, it put Hannibal at a lower degree of disadvantage.
Shifting towards the upper part of Will’s body, Hannibal slipped his hand beneath Will’s head to wedge the ice pack beneath his neck. At this proximity, Will could see that Hannibal’s prominent cheekbones bore the slightest tinge of pink, almost imperceptible if one did not know him better. But Will did know him. Their eyes met again as Hannibal gently laid his head down again, and the stinging cold of the ice came into contact with Will’s neck. The hunger that Will had glimpsed in the bathroom had doubled, emboldened by Will’s half-hidden invitations to look, and Will inhaled softly but sharply against the ice, against the heat of Hannibal’s gaze.
“I’d like to do some further examinations.” Hannibal touched Will’s face again, stroking very gently in contrast to the voracious appetite gaping in his eyes. “Take your temperature. We’ll monitor the progression very closely.”
“Gonna take notes on my
condition
, doctor?” Will jabbed, his voice trembling slightly.
“Some sketches as well,” Hannibal said without blinking or returning the teasing tone.
Will swallowed roughly. Hannibal had drawn him before — Will had caught him more than once when Hannibal thought he was unaware, turning him into Marcus Aurelius or Polykleitos’s
Spear Bearer
,
The Dying Gaul
, and Patroclus; sometimes Saint Sebastian or Saint Christopher and Christ Himself – and it was too easy to imagine the lines of pencil etching his agony into a picture of erotic suffering. It was too easy to watch Hannibal linger over that image in his mind’s eye, tortured in his own way as though Will was both a conduit and the object of alluring pain.
Will closed his eyes to readily accept the exhaustion as a cover for the way he was trembling with a twisted arousal and grimaced through the application of the ice packs to his armpits and groin. Then Hannibal’s hands were slipping away, and Will felt Hannibal’s body heat retreat as he stood to pull the sheet over him. Despite the ice packs, the offering of modesty dragged over his hot, aching flesh like a torment, but he didn’t protest. He drifted not long after, and he wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed when he felt Hannibal’s hands on him again.
He came slowly to consciousness with a groan. The pain in his body was worse if that was possible. Every tiny flinch of muscles incited a white-hot agony through him, and the headache throbbed so severely that he felt as though his retinas would tear from their moorings.
Hannibal had removed the ice packs and was examining his glands again, pressing his fingers into his neck. Will panted a strained sound of pain as Hannibal gently maneuvered his arms upwards and began the process again at his underarms. The motion made his shoulder joints ache sharply, and he struggled to silence himself. He gripped the bedsheets weakly, his breath halting as Hannibal moved downwards and folded back the sheet from Will’s hips again.
It was here as Will became more conscious that he realized that Hannibal was not giving him skin to skin contact. The rubbery texture of nitrile pulled at his flesh, warm from Hannibal’s flesh beneath, yet sterile all the same.
He tried to open his eyes as Hannibal massaged the lymph nodes around his groin. Tears that had been roused by the pain clung to his lashes, and he could only see the blurry image of Hannibal bent over him. Without protest, he watched the distorted sight of Hannibal moving his legs apart to continue the exploration. He wished that he could see Hannibal’s expression more clearly as Hannibal’s fingers prodded close to his testicles on either side. Vaguely, he imagined what it would feel like if Hannibal touched his genitals with his gloved hands, what his body might do, how Hannibal’s face might look then, how Will might murmur,
Not so professional, Dr. Lecter.
Apparently satisfied, however, Hannibal arranged his legs straight and closed again. Will caught his gaze through a haze of fever and smiled, half-giddy. Hannibal returned the smile softly.
“No major swelling yet,” he murmured.
“Not yet,” Will repeated in a mumble.
Hannibal moved closer, hovering, the smile still on his mouth. He looked Will over and then gently brushed his knuckles at the corner of Will’s eye to dash away the tear that had gathered there. Will blinked languidly, chasing another drop towards Hannibal’s fingers which he caught with as much care as the first. Stroking his forehead one last time, Hannibal reached towards the side table and produced a small flashlight.
“I’d like to look at your throat as well.” He grasped Will’s chin and clicked the flashlight on. “Open, please.”
Will complied, regretful of the taste of bile lingering on his tongue as Hannibal leaned in closer. He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the brightness of the flashlight, and opening his mouth made the hinge of his jaw ache. He struggled not to pull away or make a sound.
“Wider,” Hannibal murmured, “with your tongue out.”
Beyond his control, a low whimper escaped from Will’s throat as he stretched his mouth open further and extended his tongue. His chin trembled in Hannibal’s grasp with the effort.
“Good,” Hannibal said softly, and Will’s lids cracked open. He breathed haltingly, the muscles of his jaw and tongue shivering. Hannibal glanced towards him briefly, and they stared at each other for an inscrutable moment before Hannibal observed his throat again for longer than Will thought necessary. When Hannibal finally let go of his chin, he lapsed in relief.
“No swelling or redness in your throat either,” Hannibal told him as he turned the flashlight off.
Will nodded, closing his eyes again and swallowing. His mouth was dry from being held open, and his heart was palpitating in his chest, but his limbs were heavy. He felt Hannibal rise from the edge of the bed but little else.
His consciousness wavered, and after a momentary lapse, he felt Hannibal moving him again. His gloved hands were firm and purposeful but gentle still as he folded Will’s left arm and leg over and rolled him onto his side. Will groaned quietly only because it caused his body a great deal of pain, and he heard Hannibal hush him, felt him petting his hip and backside. When he quieted, Hannibal continued to position him, bending his right leg and situating both of his knees up towards Will’s chest.
Will was breathing heavily from the pain when Hannibal was done, and he felt weaker than before. The fever made it difficult to think, but when Hannibal stroked his temple, he hazily turned his head into his hand. His lashes fluttered, and he found Hannibal over his shoulder.
“Try to relax. I’m simply going to take your temperature,” Hannibal murmured, his expression intent, appreciative. Anticipatory.
Will nodded, his eyes sliding shut again.
Hannibal’s body heat came closer, his chest pressing against Will’s shoulder. He was no longer shirtless, and smooth fabric caressed Will’s skin rather than the scratch of hair and the warmth of bare flesh. Hannibal hovered for a moment, and then Will felt the heat of his breath, the scent of his perfume, and finally, the softness of his lips against his forehead. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a tasting, half open-mouthed and slightly wet. When Hannibal rose, Will’s sweat and pain would gleam on his lips, waiting only for the curl of his curious tongue to ferry the flavor to his palate – the only palate that could appreciate such things. Will shivered. Against the logic of the fever, the patch of skin felt cold when Hannibal’s mouth withdrew.
Will’s body was vacant of contact for only a moment. Hannibal sat at the edge of the bed and stroked his hip again, then moved lower, taking his buttock in his hand. The touch was clinical, spreading him open. Will’s lids fluttered, his breath hitching.
“Rectal temperature is considered to be the most accurate,” Hannibal told him. “Other means tend to vary by .5 degrees, more or less.”
A high, weak, rasping laugh rattled Will’s ribs, then quickly ceased when the pain it incited stole his oxygen. “Accuracy?” he managed to wheeze. “That's the line you’re going with?”
He could almost feel Hannibal’s smile. “You’re going to feel the thermometer inside you for approximately a minute.”
The cold, slick tip of the thermometer prodded at his asshole, and Will thought that if he’d been healthy, he wouldn’t have allowed it simply on the principle of pride, but there was something so terribly pleasurable about being ill under Hannibal’s watch again, of being fully aware this time and yet choosing to submit to his particular brand of care anyways because he knew what lay beneath it. Because he knew he could control it.
The thermometer slipped in painlessly. Hannibal was incongruously gentle. He’d always been, Will recalled. That was part of the reason why it had been so easy to go back to him time and again when the confusion of living became too great. The pain that Hannibal inflicted on him between the bouts of kindness gave him the clarity of fire-blown glass, Hannibal’s soft, molding hands the reward for enduring it to become something greater.
Hannibal smoothed his palm in a slow circle over his buttock as they waited, and it was more soothing than Will had anticipated. He almost drifted again beneath the hypnotic touch. His lashes only fluttered when the thermometer gave a shrill beep.
Hannibal spread him again to remove it, and Will felt himself quiver around the tiny, departing implement. With great care, Hannibal patted away the lingering lubricant with a cloth, and the drag of the cotton over the clenching orifice only exacerbated the feeling brought on by the removal of the thermometer. Will weakly grasped the pillow next to his head, barely succeeding in holding back a groan.
“You are lovely,” Hannibal murmured very quietly. The cloth slipped away though his hand remained.
Will huffed, unable to procure another full-bodied laugh or barb about professionalism. He felt too dizzy again, and he wasn’t certain if it was only the illness’s doing. The notion of his loveliness seemed preposterous coming from Hannibal, the connoisseur of all things beautiful, when he was drenched in sweat and the lingering scent of vomit, yet Hannibal’s voice was nothing if not entirely sincere. Will felt hot and unsteady at the compliment, the thought of Hannibal tasting him there as well. The thought of shoving him down there, suffocating him until he was all that Hannibal could taste, all that he could smell, the sickness simmering in his blood for Hannibal’s hungry mouth.
“What’s my temp, doc?” Will rasped instead.
“102.7.” Despite the alarming number, Hannibal’s voice held the hesitation of distraction. He was still looking at him. Will felt his thumb stroke inwards, and a flush washed over him. This time, he knew it was unassociated with the fever. His empty stomach rolled. He could only feel the glove, that thin, fragile barrier that allowed them to remain patient and doctor in the moment, but his body reacted to the sensation all the same with an internal squeeze.
“You-” Will began through gritted teeth. “You gonna check my prostate too?” The rest of the joke came out high and strained. It was the best he could do.
“Perhaps another time,” Hannibal said blithely, but his hand slipped away, allowing Will to relax against the sheets. He heard him peeling off the gloves with a snap. “Do you think you are able to eat? I have a batch of miso soup on hand. It’s very light but nutritious.”
Will nodded against the sheets. The nausea in his stomach did not agree, but he knew he needed to eat — or at least try. He needed Hannibal to perform a task that did not involve any part of his body below the hips until he could breathe again.
“Good. Let’s get you on your back again,” Hannibal said, patting his hip. He rose from the bed and assisted Will in turning. Will was panting, gritting his teeth in pain, and he felt breathless all over again by the time Hannibal had him on his back with two pillows tucked under him. He glimpsed Hannibal’s face through a squint of pain as he sank against the sheets. Hannibal’s gaze was purposefully preoccupied with situating the pillows and the sheets just so.
“That’s a pretty good bedside manner, Dr. Lecter,” Will murmured.
“I’ve never received a complaint,” Hannibal replied without flinching as he smoothed the sheets over Will’s stomach. “Though I am a bit out of practice.”
“It’s like riding a bike.”
Hannibal smiled mildly. “And being my patient? Is that like riding a bike, Will?”
Their eyes finally met again, and Will felt the tickle of danger on his flesh once more that made his breath quicken. He should have been ashamed of himself, but shame — that burden that he had carried for so long — felt far away, a rotting carcass at the bottom of an ocean.
“Something like that,” he said.
Hannibal’s expression was carefully controlled. To the untrained eye, he might’ve had no expression at all, but Will had learned to read those blank looks. Often, Hannibal’s face was the most serene when he had something to hide.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Hannibal said, straightening. Without another word, he turned and left the room to prepare the soup.
Will laid his head back and closed his eyes, trying to breathe in and out at a regular pace. He could feel the towel already clinging to his back again, and his head was spinning. Some delirious urge to put his hand under the sheets and touch himself like a waking fever dream cut through his mind, a sudden, burning comet streaking along its path of destruction, bright and intense for an instant before receding into the distance.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Just an inch or so away from the trim of an adjacent wall, there was a small seam where a tiny crack had begun to form. He stared at it until he could close his eyes and see the enduring black fissure on the back of his lids, the afterimage of the beginning of collapse.
|
As she made the right hand turn that took her down the road with "No Trespassing" and "Private Property" signs posted among the many trees and thick underbrush her heart thumped just a bit harder than it already was. In her right hand, clutched tightly along with the steering wheel, she had the pendant which she hoped gave her the right to ignore the signs.
If her mother had been wrong, if it was just a story . . . No she couldn't think that way. She had to hope that the tale that had been in her family for three generations was true. If it was not and they rejected her . . . Again she pulled herself back from those type of thoughts. She had to remain positive.
After several yards down the road she felt eyes watching her between the trees. She wanted to believe it was her imagination but she knew in heart that she was being watched. She kept going down the winding road and anxiously looked at her gas gauge mentally hoping that there was enough gas in the car to get down this road, make her request, and then get to town. She tried to coast along the dips when she could, but the winding road that led her deeper into the woods seemed to go on forever. Finally the light of a clearing with a massive wooden house appeared at the top of a hill. It was not a mansion, in looks, but certainly in size, but it looked like a massive log cabin or hunting lodge. It was at least three stories and out from it were several outbuildings as well. There was a circular drive in the front that came to a set of double front doors. She was not surprised to see a "welcoming party" at the door of four men and one woman, all dressed in dark clothing and looking rather tense.
"Always be a lady," her mother's voice echoed in her head so she pasted on a smile despite her fear and parked the car and got out. She could feel everyone's eyes on her, and maybe even a few extra sets. A particularly tall man with sandy blond hair and an air of authority came down the steps and said in a calm but firm voice, "Miss, this is private property, and you need to leave." A part of her wanted to do just that, but she knew she could not. There was, after all, no where else to go. She took a breath and said the words her mother had taught her, "I'm here to speak with the Alpha." She held up the pendant still clutched in her fist so that he could see. "I'm here to request a favor in repayment." She watched the man who paused in watching her as she showed the pendant and he looked from it to her and back, the only indication of what she suspected was his surprise. In fact, where before there was tension, there was now something else as seemingly everyone recognized what she was holding.
His tone was much softer when he spoke again, "May I have the honor of your name?"
"Amelia Calhoun Sloan," she replied, then continued because talking was her nervous habit and she was certainly nervous. "I am actually married, so Mrs. not Miss. Calhoun is my maiden name and my mother was a Beckett before she became a Calhoun which is probably the name you associate with this," she said as she waved the pendant in the air a little.
"I see," responded the man. "I am Jeremiah, and the Alpha is not here right now. I am his Senior Beta."
She watched him watch her and reevaluate her as he spoke but his words, that the fact that the Alpha was not here made her stomach drop and her mind scatter. In all her planning the fact that he might not be here had not occurred to her. Her mind raced and she found herself asking, "Do you know when the Alpha will return?"
"He should be back late tonight or tomorrow. He is on his way back from a business meeting," Jeremiah replied and watched the face that had originally been smiling and then anxious fall completely into a frown. Jeremiah wondered what in the world had happened to this young woman, who would be an honored guest in their den, come here and claim the repayment of the favor so long overdue her family. He had noticed that her call was older and packed full of personal belongings and clothes. He wondered what favor she could need and. Jeremiah had always been blessed with instincts that almost bordered on pre-cognitive ability, and at the moment his instincts were telling him that it was imperative that he keep her at the den. "Please," he said gently, "Let's go inside and talk some more. Though the Alpha is not here, it is truly an honor to have one of the Beckett family here."
Her mind was frantically wondering what she could do. She knew that the rules of southern hospitality required her to accept the invitation, but if she was going to need to get to town and see if any of the items with her could be pawned, then she needed to be getting on her way. "I, um, thank you, but I can't stay long" she said, the last part in a slight rush.
He reached to take her take her arm to guide her inside, the gesture an old one, but much ingrained and he wondered if she would hesitate to allow him to touch her; he wondered if she knew the truth about what he and his family were. She knew to ask for the Alpha, as the head of the family, and did not seem confused about his title of Beta, so he had to assume that she knew something of his nature. As he touched her though, it was not fear that made her flinch, but pain, and her heard a gasp fly out of her mouth. "You are injured?" he said, but a part of him knew this was not the case.
"I'm fine," she said, almost automatically, but still pulling back from him. Then she saw him look her over more carefully and sniff the air, and she wanted to sink into the ground. She watched a fierce look pass over his features as he said, "Are you really 'fine? Or do you really need medical attention?"
Amelia knew in that instant that he knew the truth and as tears started to pool in her eyes she thought to herself "what a cliché I am. Poor little woman who gets herself beaten up by her husband and runs to others who could be just as dangerous for help." Then fierce pride came to the forefront and she pulled herself straighter, despite the pain, dried her impending tears and said, "Yes, I am fine." She took his arm and allowed him to lead her inside, telling herself that maybe if she explained to him, he could go ahead and help her in place of the Alpha.
He led her into a foyer, past a large staircase, and then down a hall to an office. A young woman was following them and Jeremiah turned and asked her to have Reyna join them. The young woman nodded and said, "Yes Sir" and scurried down the hallway. Amelia noticed that Jeremiah left the door to the office open, which surprised her. What also surprised her was how normal his office, and what she had seen of the house looked. He asked her to sit before his desk and no sooner had she sat than a beautiful woman of medium height with honey-brown hair that reminded her of her own hair coloring walked into the room wearing a floral broom skirt, white shirt, and smile.
"I heard we had a visitor," she said, "and they are so rare I am glad I get the chance to meet you. I am Reyna." She extended a hand to Amelia, which Amelia shook gently, as she said, "I'm Amelia" and then Reyna walked behind the desk and gave Jeremiah a kiss full on the lips and they rubbed noses. Amelia smiled at the affection. Jeremiah straightened, smiled, and said, "Amelia, Reyna, my mate, err, wife."
"Pleased to meet you," Amelia said and smiled at the open affection, thinking of the affection her parents had always shared during their lifetime. Then the dark thought of how she had never known that crossed over her mind, but she pushed it away and continued smiling at the pair. Reyna perched on the arm of Jeremiah's chair and they both looked at her as if she was an interesting puzzle.
"If you do not mind Amelia, I have a couple of questions," Jeremiah stated. Amelia knew that as the Beta he was probably far more used to asking questions that answering them.
"Sure," Amelia replied.
"Do you know how your family came have that pendant?" he asked as he nodded toward the pendant still clutched her hand.
"Yes". She replied and continued, "About fifty years ago some people were hunting you and burned your house down. Since my mother's family lived across the highway they saw the flames and came and helped your family. Your family asked what they could do to repay my family for their help and my family said nothing. The new alpha carved the wolf that is this pendant and gave it to my grandfather than told him that if he or his family ever needed help, to come here and ask for the Alpha and present the pendant and the help would be given."
As she told the story Jeremiah thought that she made it all sound so simple. He had not been alive at the time, but he had heard the stories and these stories prompted his next question. "Do you know why they were hunting my family?"
"Yes," Amelia replied, "Because you are werewolves."
|
Hinata’s Pov
When I woke up I quickly learned that I had a very stiff neck and that it was dark out. Komaeda was still in my lap, but in a slightly different position then he had been when I fell asleep. He was now laying on his back, his arms were both cradled around my right arm one in a cute, hugging type manner. His face was still peaceful and for a moment I contemplated going back to bed so I wouldn’t wake him. Suddenly, his eyes slowly opened, immediately locking with mine. He smiled faintly and sat up, putting his body weight against me. I wrapped an arm around his waist and hummed in a quiet voice as I took out my phone to look at my notifications. A couple were from the group chat.
Mioda: Awww, you guys are cuteee!! Owo
Owari: Good you guys are alright! I was about to tackle the dude who did it and beat him up!
Nanami: Glad to know you ended up okay.Nanami: So, I found out some intel about who slipped the drug in Komaeda-kun’s drink.
My eyes widened as I responded, asking who did it.
Nanami: Apparently, someone thought it would be funny to put pills in random people’s drinks while they were at the party. No real reason behind it, they just thought it would be funny to see some people drugged and loopy. I believe Nidai-kun found them.
Hinata: That’s slightly relieving to hear they didn’t have any plans for what they would do to those they drugged. Still a bit upsetting though..
I put my phone down and explained the situation to Komaeda, since he hadn’t gone on his phone all day.
“That’s… good to hear I suppose, I was really terrified at the idea of them following me home. That’s a bit silly now, isn’t it? Heh..” he chuckled lightly, probably not to make any tension.
I shook my head, “It wasn’t silly, Ko. I think anyone would have been rightfully scared if they were in the same position as you”
He nodded and sighed, “So.. do you still plan on cleaning your room or..?”
I looked around with a slight look of disgust. “Nah, we should go for a walk or something. I’m pretty wide awake now that we slept all day.”
“Hah, alright Hinata-kun.. Where would you like to go? I haven’t been around too much so I think it would be cool to see somewhere new”
I thought for a second, “You haven’t been to the beach yet, right?”
He shook his head, “Nope”
I smiled wide, “What do you say to some night swimming?”
Komaeda chuckled, fiddling with the holes in his jeans, “I didn’t bring a swimsuit, Hinata-kun..”
“You can borrow one of mine!” I said, a bit too excited.
“S-sure then. Sounds nice”
And that was all it took to get me to my feet. I scrambled around in my dresser, finding that I indeed did have some clothes put away in there. I took out two pairs of swimming trunks and tossed them onto the bed beside Komaeda.
“Um, Hinata-kun? Do you happen to have any long sleeves I could borrow to swim in? I’m uh, sure it will be cold because it is night” Komaeda said softly, wrapping up the trunks in his arms.
“Uh, yeah! Right here.” I said, tossing an old long sleeve to him. “C’mon, the towel closet is downstairs”
He followed as I went downstairs. “You can set the clothes down on the counter, it might take me a minute to find actual beach towels.” I told him. He sat down the clothes and nodded, sitting on a stool himself. I went to the towel closet and after a few minutes of searching, I found two clean beach towels and a nice bag to put it all in. “And we are on our way!” I said to Komaeda, putting our things hurriedly into the bag, not really bothering to double check.
We walked out the door and I led Komaeda in the direction of the beach, our walking speed was brisk yet also relaxed into each other's paces.
“So.. are you okay now? Y’know from last night?” I asked him, genuinely curious about how the drugs had affected him. He hadn't said anything about his state all day, making me kinda worried.
He gave me a pained smile, “I’ve been kinda dealing with a headache all day to be honest with you. Obviously nothing troubling or that you need to worry about but.. It has been a small nuisance.”
“Oh, sorry! If you had told me earlier I could have offered you some pain relievers” I told him, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“No. It’s quite alright, pain relievers can conflict with my medications..” he said in a whispery tone, looking down at the pavement as we walked.
I cocked my head to the side, looking over at him, “What stuff do you take?”
His eyes went wide and he suddenly looked scared, like he had released some private information that I wasn’t supposed to hear. “Ah! Nothing serious that you have to worry about Hinata-kun”
I sensed that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore and I nodded, “Oh..”
Silence filled the space between us as we walked down the empty sidewalk. The silence separated us and I so longingly looked up at the boy that had just been sleeping in my lap only a little bit ago. I looked down at his left hand and slowly brought my own hand to touch it. He seemed surprised for just a moment before softly smiling and letting me take his hand in mine. His hand was cold as ice and I squeezed it a few times in an attempt to warm him up.
He squeezed back.
<>
We arrived at the beach around 9pm, the wind was stopped and the night was slightly warm. Sadly, the sun had gone down most likely hours ago, but swimming in the dark seemed like a fun time too. Komaeda and I looked into the bag and I fished out my swim trunks before heading into a stall to change. Komaeda waited outside as I did.
“Jeez Hinata-kun, what’s taking you so long?” he jokingly asked when I hadn’t come out.
“Oh shut up you, I have jeans on and they suck to take off.” I told him, making him shortly chuckle.
I stepped out after getting my trunks on. “Ok. Your turn, try to go faster” I said. He smirked and took the bag in with him.
After a few moments of silence I heard his soft voice come through the stall door “Um, Hinata-kun? We forgot the shirt…” he said, his voice quivering. The mood seemed to instantly change but I tried my best to keep him from panicking.
“That’s alright, it’s pretty warm out here to be honest.” I told him, wanting to go and swim.
A few more moments of silence played out before I got worried, “Uh, Ko? You okay?” I asked.
I heard a hiccup through the door and a soft sob, he seemed like he was trying to be as quiet as possible. My eyes widened, “Hey! Nagito? You alright in there?” I called to him.
“H-Hinata-kun… I can’t go out without a shirt on.. Is it okay if I just watch you swim?” he asked in a whisper, his voice cracking a couple times, giving me a tell-tale sign that he was crying.
“Nagito.. Is this about something to do with your body? I literally don’t care about that kind of stu-”
“No, it isn’t that..” he whispered. “It’s something that I think may… make you angry or.. Disgust you in some way. This.. hah.. this may make you actually hate me..”
“I’ve told you so many times Nagito.. I could never hate you, okay? There’s nothing you could do to make me legitimately hate you.” I told him sternly, hoping he would come to his senses and see that.
“You’re sure…? You won’t hate me?”
“Yes, I’m sure Ko”
“Okay..” he said before opening the stall door. I didn’t see anything that would offput me immediately but then after looking for a second in the bright light, I realized something was very wrong.
His arms were completely covered in self harm cuts. From the tip of his wrist to elbow was full. Some new red scars overlapping healed white ones in an angry, vicious manner. I saw on his waist and near his hips there were a few older ones as well. Without even using my brain I picked up one of his arms and carefully ran my thumb across some.
He hissed a bit, probably at the pain, and attempted at withdrawing his arm from my grasp but he couldn’t quite do it. I grabbed his other one too and gazed at the angry marks. “Nagito… why? Why do you do this to yourself?” I asked him, afraid to look him in the eyes and see the hurt that I knew was lying there.
He shuddered, “I.. Hinata-kun…" he trailed off, not able to get the words out.
I figured actions spoke louder than words at this point. I softly put my hands around his waist and used my thumb to brush against any of the scars that laid there. I couldn't stop staring. While I knew that may make Komaeda a bit self conscious, at the moment, I couldn't take my eyes off him. While the scars did cover a lot of him, his body at the same time was.. beautiful.
Everything about him was amazing.
I wrapped my whole arms around him, my left hand resting on his left hip and my right was resting on the small of his back. He was shaking like a leaf and I tried to use my body to smother the shaking. I felt his hands brush against my neck, and suddenly his arms were wrapped around my neck as well. He held his head down and I felt him sob once.
"I'm sorry Hinata-kun…I'm so sorry… sorry…" he murmured, trembling as he spoke.
"You're okay Ko.. I've got you" I said "I know that you may not be able to quit all together.. And I can't make you promise to me that you'll stop but.." I put my head closer to his ear, resting my chin in his soft locks. "Can you maybe cut back on it for a bit? I'll help you through this. I promise"
I heard him half-heartedly laugh, a laugh devoid of any emotions besides sadness, “hah.. I suppose I can try.. Anything for you, Hinata-kun” he said and I felt him tense up as he did. “Uh, I just have one question though.. Why would someone as great as you, Hinata-kun.. Want to help someone like me? Why do you even care for someone like me?” he whispered quietly, “I just don’t… understand..” he trailed off.
I used my hand to rub his back a little bit, the smoothness of his skin ever present against my rough hands. “Ko.. I know you don’t understand it.. And y’know.. That’s okay. I’ll try my best to help you understand. You need to understand” I felt my words falling out of my mouth, I was more or less starting to act desperate as my hands tightened their grip around him. I felt like if I let go the smallest bit he would disappear.
“Uhn.. Hinata-kun.. Your grip is a little.. Tight.” I cleared my head and nodded, blinking a few times before resorting to stepping back and just resting my hands against his waist. “Don’t worry about me so much please.. I’m not going to leave you” he said, a faint outline of a smile on his lips. I acted without thinking and used one of my hands to cup his cheek.
Then I leaned forward and.. Kissed him.
He tasted like mint and salty ocean air, I used my hand cupping his cheek to slowly run my fingers through his hair. It was… relaxing, almost therapeutic. The kiss was long but when Komaeda pulled away I felt the urge to do it again. He panted for a second then regained his composure. “H-Hinata-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“Please.. Do that again.. If you would want-”
I pulled him into another kiss, his arms were both linked around my neck as I kissed him as long as my breath would allow. I wondered what I tasted like to him, I hoped that it was good. He pulled away once again, out of breath far before myself. I questioned to myself why he always was out of breath so easily but didn’t dare ruin the moment by saying that. Even I can read the room sometimes, you know.
I noticed a small bit of saliva running down his chin, he seemed too out of it to notice. I carefully brushed it away and kissed his nose. He smiled, coming back to reality. I proceeded to kiss his neck and down to his collarbone. I heard him make small gasps and such along the way but I wasn’t done yet. I made my way down to his arm and planted the smallest, most gentle kisses I could, trying to land one on every scar. He noticed what I was doing and I felt Komaeda tremble a little.
I lifted my head up and noticed that there were tears in his eyes once again, “Oh no, Komaeda I’m sorry if I just-”
“No, it’s fine… I really liked it, in fact. It’s just.. Haha.. these are happy tears.. No one has ever treated me.. This gentle before, thank you, Hinata-kun” he said with a sad smile, an expression I didn’t ever plan to see on his face now seemed like the only way I envisioned him. A melancholy boy who I was truly head over heels for.
I resorted to keeping my feelings inside and smiled back at him, “Would you like to swim now?” I asked. Komaeda nodded and we made our way to the beach with the bag in hand. That small event was now permanently etched into my mind, Komaeda was now permanently etched into my mind as well.
Komada set the bag down so it was out of reach by the waves and we walked over to where the water was gently lapping onto the shore. The water was foamy and white where we were standing, but the farther you looked out, the white ombred into a crystal blue. The moon shined off the surface of the water, small ripples of light crashing towards us. I looked at Komaeda briefly before grabbing his hand and starting to run through the water.
“Ah! It’s so cold!” he yelped and I chuckled at his quick reaction.
“Well, it is night, probably would be warmer if we had come during the day.” I replied, letting go of his hand once the water was around waist high.
He shook his head, “Well, why did we have to sleep all day then, Hinata-kun?”
I shrugged, “Hey, maybe we can invite the rest of the class out here tomorrow or something.. Then we could enjoy the water while it’s warm”
He nodded, looking off into the distance. I stared at him for only a second before a devilish thought came to mind. I smirked, then proceeded to lightly shove the white haired boy into the water. He yelped again and crashed down under. I felt bad for a second but then I felt a hand grasp my leg, pulling me under as well. I went under and briefly had to hold my breath before I stood up again to see where Komaeda had gone. When I came up, I saw him hunched over a bit, his hand over his mouth and his eyes closed as he laughed at what he had done. “Very funny, Ko”
“You did do it to me first, Hinata-kun”
I chuckled, “Yeah, I suppose that’s right”
His white hair clung to him and he looked a bit like a fluffy dog after you have gotten its fur wet. Somehow.. Skinnier. Without his fluffy hair, he looked even smaller, and it didn’t help he was shaking like a leaf.
“Maybe night swimming wasn’t the best idea, it’s pretty cold” I told him, rubbing my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm myself up.
“Y-yeah. My teeth are chattering eheh” he laughed as we slowly made our way to the shore. We got towels and dried ourselves off before sitting down in the sand. I sat behind Komaeda and took his towel from him. “What are you doing?” he asked, an eyebrow up and a small smile on his face. I only laughed and started to use the towel to dry his hair off.
“I like when your hair is all fluffy, I’m drying it off”
I saw Komaeda’s face turn a bit red and he turned back around, hiding his blushing cheeks from me. “Hah. I also like when you blush” I said without even realizing. “I-I mean!-..” Now my face was hot.
I heard Komaeda chuckle and he brought his knees up to his chest. “I know I’ve said it already tonight but.. Thank you for caring so much, no one has ever really.. Cared like you” he said, still staring off into the water.
“I appreciate it Ko.. Um, but, what about your parents? I was also wondering if they were worried about you getting home tonight” I told him, almost getting done with drying his hair.
“My parents?... Hah, well… I don’t have them anymore, Hinata-kun.. I haven’t told anybody this but.. I live with my aunt, actually.” He said, his voice low and sad.
“Then your aunt? Or.. your other relatives? Do they not care?” I asked him, my voice starting to take on a sort of desperate tone. I couldn’t imagine not having someone to support me like my dad has. I mean, my mom isn’t in the picture but I can’t imagine not having either of them..
“My aunt and my other relatives have been.. Well.. let’s just say that they aren’t very good people, especially to someone like me”
“Komaeda.. Have any of them ever… y’know? Like.. hit you or something?” I asked, scooting around to face him.
He looked up at me with a sad expression and nodded, “Mhm…”
I opened my mouth then closed it, not knowing what to say. “Wh-... Komaeda? Are you… ok? Were your parents also like that?” I was confused at this point, not understanding how anyone would ever want to hurt someone like Komaeda, I sat up on my knees and cupped his cheek. “Ko..?”
He shut his eyes, “My parents were pretty neglectful. Where other children may have been loved.. I was offered money and told to go away..” he opened his eyes again, “Hinata-kun.. I have to tell you something.. When my parents died, they died in a plane crash. I was… the only one out of the whole plane to survive.” he said, a look of shame in his eyes. I could already tell he blamed himself for living.. Survivors guilt. “I inherited a lot of money.. I don’t know if that’s one of the reasons my relatives don’t like me.. Y’know me getting the money over them but.. I wish that would change..” he trailed off.
“I’m so sorry Nagito. I didn’t know that something like that happened to you-”
“Please quit it with the sympathy, Hinata-kun.. I don’t think I can take much more of it” he said, cutting me off. I just backed off and nodded, giving him space. “I’m sorry, that was rude, wasn’t it? Here I am, bashing you for having basic emotions. Hah, why am I so useless..?”
I frowned, shaking my head. Then, I hugged the frail boy, trying my best to let him know he wasn’t useless without using words. Words never seemed to get through to him, but actions did.
“Nagito.. Thank you..”
“Huh? Why?” he asked, gripping onto the back of my shirt, I could feel him starting to tremble again.
“For being here today. I feel so happy when I’m with you. And, I’m always gonna be here, okay? Through the good and the ugly” I told him. I felt him shake a bit more as he brought his arms up to hug me back.
“Y-Your.. welcome”
|
Katsuki’s breath was coming in soft pants. He was completely overwhelmed. The room spun when Eijirou leaned away, like even the ceiling was trying to free itself from his pull. Katsuki closed his eyes, taking a moment to come back to himself. The carpet was soft beneath his fingers. The air cool on his skin. The air smelled faintly of patchouli, and he could hear something… wet-sounding. He opened his eyes and looked over to where Izuku was standing over Shoto. Instantly, a flush poured from the tips of Katsuki’s ears down to his shoulders.
Shoto was debased. Every line of his body was greedy. His hands were hovering a bare inch above the skin of Izuku’s thighs, suspended in the air by sheer will. His mouth was a messy bruise on Izuku’s skin, trailing kissing and bites from his thighs to his hips and back again. Izuku held a shaky hand in Shoto’s hair. His eyes were fluttering closed, mouth opening in a small gasp. Clumsily, Shoto tried to suck Izuku’s cock through his underwear, nose pressing hard against Izuku’s hip as he tried to keep his balance. Izuku jolted, the barest whimper tumbling past his lips. He turned his gaze to look down at Shoto, finding Katsuki’s on the way. His smile dripped like chocolate.
“Jealous, Katsuki?” Izuku asked.
Katsuki choked on air, sputtering as he tried to find an answer. Izuku answered before he could.
“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” He turned his attention back to Shoto, petting gently through his hair. “Who wouldn’t be?” He pressed his hips harder against Shoto’s mouth, earning a needy whimper from the man on his knees. “He’s very good with his mouth.”
A dark flush spread down Shoto’s shoulders and chest at the praise, his hands trembling where they floated in the air. Izuku kept talking.
“In fact, he seems to be earning his keep quite well this evening,” Izuku’s gaze came back up to Katsuki’s. The dark green of his eyes recalled forest depths, howling with wolves. “What are you doing, Katsuki?”
Katsuki was transfixed by the movement of Shoto’s mouth on Izuku. It was such an obscene gesture, and one so familiar to him. The kiss had already knocked him off balance, and now his head was clouding with memories of Eijirou sighing in just the same way. Of his hand fisting in his hair… But, of course, Izuku’s voice had to ruin it.
Katsuki’s hand curled into a fist in the carpet, his hackles bristling. Like hell Shoto could blow someone better than he could. His name was Katsuki fucking Bakugou and he was a god with his mouth. He had had enough with being the butt of the joke in this room. It was time for someone else to lose their composure.
Besides, in terms of punishment, blowing Izuku really wasn’t that bad. Even as he crawled across the carpet, he could feel his cock jumping against his stomach at the prospect of hearing Izuku hiccup in surprise. At feeling Izuku heavy on his tongue. His stomach churned in heated knots. As embarrassed as he was, this was undoubtedly one of the hottest situations he’d ever been in. The feeling of Eijirou’s eyes smoothing over his form, the challenge and excitement of learning how to take Izuku apart. Hell, even seeing the unflappable Shoto shivering on his knees was its own treat. Katsuki was lucky.
But he was still going to win.
Katsuki hip-checked Shoto out of the way. He fell like a dry tree, already off-balance from holding his hands in the air. Katsuki grinned up at Izuku, reaching to run his hands up his thighs to his hips. His fingers were just brushing Izuku’s waistband when a sharp slap! echoed unwelcome on his thigh.
“Fuck!” Katsuki yelped, dropping his hands to his thigh, more in surprise than pain. There was an angry welt on his upper thigh where Izuku had hit him with the crop. He turned to scowl up into angry eyes.
“Down, dog,” Izuku growled. Shoto looked none the happier from his place on the floor. Katsuki’s fingers itched for murder, he wasn’t used to being punished this way. He had half a mind to stand up and fight when Eijirou spoke.
“Bakugou.” It was just his name, but it held so much more. Eijirou’s voice was like an undertow threatening to pull him down again, and instantly Katsuki filled with frustrated shame. He wanted to be good, but Izuku was making it so fucking difficult. Gritting his teeth, he sank back down onto his heels, shoulders stiff bars of displeasure.
“All the way down,” Izuku pressed, tapping the carpet with his crop.
Katsuki turned to look at Eijirou, who just raised his eyebrows. There would be no negotiation, here.
Slowly, slowly, Katsuki bent forward until his cheek touched the floor. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as shame and arousal and frustration roiled in his stomach. This punishment hurt. He was weak and exposed for all the see, kneeling to Izuku of all people. His face was in the goddamn carpet, and the welt on his thigh was still angry and red. He couldn’t even speak.
Katsuki felt like a bad dog, and he hated how much he loved it.
At least, no one could see his dick drool where it was pressed into his stomach.
Izuku stepped forward until his heel was filling up Katsuki’s vision.
“That’s better, Katsuki. Now, kiss them.”
Katsuki’s breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. He wasn’t going to kiss Izuku’s shoe and completely debase himself right here in this apartment living room, but he was already moving. His lips brushed against the shiny leather of the heels. Images of Shoto, wrecked and obedient flashed through his mind. Katsuki wondered if he looked the same.
“Good boy, Katsuki,” Izuku’s voice was warm, pleased. “There’s hope for you yet.”
Katsuki’s skin was too tight, too hot. After so long without approval, the praise hit him like a brick. His heart was rocketing between shame and joy, humiliated that he had sunk so low, but so so hungry for more of those words. He felt like he had just crested a wave after holding his breath for far too long. He wanted to be good. He would do almost anything to be good.
“Would you like a treat?” Izuku’s voice snapped him back to reality. Katsuki nodded from his place on the floor.
Izuku smiled warmly, handing his crop to Eijirou. Sinuously, he slipped his long fingers into his underwear, tracing the swell of his hips and ass under the tight fabric. He moved like water, sliding the fabric down his thighs, now marked purple and red by Shoto’s mouth. His dick bobbed when it was finally released. It was long and smooth, the head pink and rosy and clearly begging for more attention. Izuku stepped out of his panties like some long-legged deer, all grace poise. Against his better judgment, Katsuki pushed himself back up to kneeling. Maybe he would get to taste—
“Here.” Izuku tossed the underwear to Katsuki, where it hit him in the chest.
Katsuki bit his tongue until it bled. The only thing he was interested in tasting now was revenge.
Oblivious to Katsuki’s murderous intent, Izuku took his crop back and hurried back to Shoto, calling him up to his knees.
“Oh, sweetheart! Did you miss me?” He roughly pet Shoto’s hair, pulling him to rest on Izuku’s thigh. “You can answer.”
“Always, Izuku.” Even with his cheek squished against his boyfriend’s leg, Shoto still managed to look smug.
“You’ve been so good over here on your own all night. I’m so proud of you, Shoto,” Izuku smiled, his voice dropping into a purr. He turned Shoto’s face upwards so he could look into his eyes. “Do you want a treat?”
Izuku’s cock was the only thing in Shoto’s field of view, and he shivered at its closeness. His voice came out in a dry rasp.
“Yes,” He swiped his tongue over his lips. “Yes, Izuku, please.”
Izuku’s heart swelled until he thought it would burst through his chest. How did he get so lucky? He grasped his cock, tilting it towards Shoto’s mouth, so warm and soft.
“Be good, Shoto,” he whispered, brushing the tip along Shoto’s lips.
Not even Shoto could resist such a temptation. Immediately, he opened his mouth to roll his tongue over the head. He moaned harshly as the taste of Izuku’s precum hit his tongue. He’d been so good, so patient, surely Izuku would forgive him for taking before he’d been given permission.
The harsh slap! of the crop on his thigh begged to differ.
The grip on Shoto’s hair tightened until tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, roughly pulling him off Izuku’s cock.
“No, Shoto,” Izuku huffs, a blush high on his cheeks. Shoto flinches under the force of Izuku’s disappointed look. “You were doing so well. It’s a shame, really.”
Izuku looked over to where Katsuki was sitting, scowling but gratified that not even Shoto was perfect. Izuku snapped his fingers, still keeping a hold in Shoto’s hair.
“You. Come here.” He pointed to the ground at his feet, waiting for Katsuki to comply. Cautiously, Katsuki crawled over to him.
“Katsuki. Think you can show this dog,” he tugged on Shoto’s hair hard enough to make him whimper, “how to wait until he’s told?”
Shoto winced at the pull, but Katsuki grinned, shoulders rolling back with pride. The prospect of not just earning more praise, but earning praise because Shoto couldn’t have it was too delicious to pass up. Shoto was tempted to bite that smile off his face, but he was in enough trouble already.
“You can answer,” Izuku added.
“Of course,” Katsuki purred, sweetly — too sweetly — sitting back on his heels.
Izuku was skeptical, but he recognized the look in Katsuki’s eyes. For the next few moments, they were on the same team. It shouldn’t have surprised Izuku that Kacchan wanted to rub Shoto’s face in his victory more than he wanted to get back at him, but he still had to fight against rolling his eyes. Katsuki was an open book.
“Watch and learn,” Izuku growled softly to Shoto. His poor pup’s eyes were watery with remorse. Izuku’s heart squeezed as he looked away. He released his hold on those soft, white locks, trading for a fistful of ashen blonde.
Gripping his cock, Izuku slowly tilted his hips forward until the head was just barely resting against Katsuki’s lips. Katsuki’s eyes never left Izuku’s, piercing and hot. It was like looking into the heart of a volcano, all the power just shivering below the surface. Yet, Katsuki kept his cool. He only moved to press into Izuku’s grip on his hair, eyelids fluttering with the change in pressure. Looking down at him, Izuku thought he could get used to this. When he wasn’t snarling, Katsuki was actually… beautiful. All smooth planes and soft curves. His lips were so perfectly pink. Izuku felt his mouth go dry.
“Good boy,” He said roughly, “You can have it now.”
Izuku’s hands released the hold he had on Katsuki’s locks, threading through them gently, now. He wasn’t sure how good Katsuki actually was with his mouth, but he was admittedly excited to find out. Katsuki grinned like the devil.
Without even a thank-you, Katsuki took Izuku into his mouth. He wet the head thoroughly, letting Izuku feels every smooth drag of his lips before releasing it to bob back up against his stomach. Katsuki could feel Shoto’s eyes burning into him, so he decided to put on a show. He leaned forward to nuzzle against Izuku’s thighs, leaving fresh bites there to cover Shoto’s. Gently, he nosed towards Izuku’s balls, fresh and soft as a peach. He sucked them into his mouth, one after the other, and gave them the attention they so rightfully deserved. Izuku’s surprised gasp only egged him on. With all the liquid grace of a snake, Katsuki moved up Izuku’s cock to the head again, giving it a sweet kiss before swallowing it to the hilt. Once his nose was resting against Izuku’s stomach, he swallowed roughly around the thick cock. Fuck, Izuku was bigger than he wanted to admit. He didn’t have a gag reflex, so it wasn’t much of a difference to him, but he suddenly felt himself having a little sympathy for Shoto.
Oh, right. Shoto.
Katsuki pulled slowly back to the tip of Izuku’s dick, laving his tongue along the underside and moaning appreciatively.
He hadn’t made Shoto miserable enough, yet.
Katsuki let his hands skate up Izuku’s thighs, digging into his bruises harsh enough to make Izuku squeak. Izuku swatted weakly at Katsuki’s hands, something about ‘no touching’, but Katsuki couldn’t quite hear him. He was humming, bobbing his head and enjoying the filthy-slick noises coming from his mouth around Izuku’s cock. Of all the places he had been today, here, on his knees, with Shoto burning a glare into the back of his head, was the most pleasant. He even sank down again for good measure, enjoying the way Izuku stretched his throat.
Izuku bit his tongue to keep from crying out, his knees unpleasantly weak. He didn’t want to pull Katsuki off of him — in fact, he was really enjoying Katsuki’s mouth — but he’d disobeyed a direct order. He couldn’t let that slide. Izuku’s fingers tightened in Katsuki’s hair, pulling him off with an obscene pop! His dick twitched in the cold air, slick and needy, as Izuku tried to glare down at Katsuki.
“You need to learn to fucking listen,” Izuku huffed, face glowing with a blush, “Maybe this will help get the point across.”
Still a little scrambled, Izuku turned to Shoto. He cupped his cheek to bring his attention away from his dick and up to his face.
“Lie down for me, yeah?” Izuku asked, voice husky. “Show me you can be good.”
Shoto nodded dumbly, readjusting so he was leaning on his elbows, flat on the carpeted floor. Izuku knelt to straddle Shoto, the dark lines of his boots sharp against the pale skin. He caught Shoto’s gaze and smiled tenderly, pulling a small, flat packet of lubricant from the front of his corset. Izuku squeezed it onto his fingers and reached below his hips, dipping his fingers in to start stretching.
“You want to make me scream, right, Shoto?” He asked, voice breathy. “You can answer.”
Shoto’s voice was hoarse. “Yes. More than anything.” He looked like he was starving.
Katsuki was staring transfixed at the way Izuku moved. It was almost like he was made of water, cool and slippery. He couldn’t be grabbed or coerced, he just flowed where he wanted, and it wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted right now.
“That’s good- ah!” Izuku gasped, pressing his fingers deeper. He’d done light prep before getting dressed, but it didn’t take away from the delicious anticipation he was feeling now. He huffed out a laugh. “Do you want to show Katsuki how easy it is to listen to me? Especially when I’m being loud?”
Izuku’s face was warm and lush, eyes glittering with want as he withdrew his fingers to slick up Shoto’s cock. Shoto groaned involuntarily, every nerve alive with the contact.
“Y-yes,” He whispered, shivering as he tried to keep still in his master’s grip. Izuku looked like some hellish angel above him, all that bliss hovering just out of reach. He swore he could feel Izuku’s laugh in his own chest.
“Good, that’s good.” Izuku held Shoto’s cock firmly as he rubbed the head against him, lazily rocking his hips without ever taking him in. His voice was breathier than he wanted, but honestly, Izuku needed to be fucked like five minutes ago, and he wasn’t about to wait much longer. “Say please, Shoto.”
“Please. Please let me fuck you, Izuku. Please.” Shoto’s nails dug into the carpet, his voice nearly breaking with need. Izuku’s gaze caught him again, verdant and soft like a new garden, well tended and sparkling with joy, melting to sea-glass melting on the beach, softened by an impossibly hot sun, beating down, unyielding, burning-
“Good dog,” Izuku growled, and sank down completely.
|
They had decided to meet at a new inn tonight to avoid creating a pattern others could detect. Penelope arrived before Colin, but waited to undress since she knew he enjoyed assisting her. It almost frightened her how quickly she had learned what pleased him. How natural it was to listen for his quiet groans or the way he would respond in a husky voice when she sighed. She knew that if she met his eyes when she reached her peak, he would hold her more tightly in his arms afterwards, and she never failed to take advantage of that.
A bottle of wine had been set out for them on the table by the fireplace, and she decided to partake in a glass to calm her nerves. She always anticipated their encounters, Colin greeting her with a tender kiss and whispering, “Hello again, darling,” into her ear. She adored his ritual of removing her clothing piece by piece, dropping kisses on each smooth expanse of skin he exposed. By the time he asked what questions she had and began his instructions, her body tingled with need for him.
But tonight, she was nervous rather than filled with excitement. How would she face him after the scene at the bridge today? His actions had exposed them and she didn’t understand why he had been so careless. Penelope prided herself on taking calculated risks, never acting from impulse or emotion. Looking at the situation rationally, she could see that there were an increasing number of weak spots that could expose her affair with Colin. Eloise knew their secret, her courtship was growing serious, and her mother was watching her movements more closely than ever.
And then her shameless flirting with Lord Kenworthy, executed purely to draw Colin’s attention– she was furious with herself for complicating an already precarious situation.
She heard him enter and prepared herself for his disapproval. Instead, he smiled warmly at her and strode quickly across the room to reach her. He pulled her into his arms, lifting her so her feet dangled in the air.
“Colin,” Penelope giggled. “Set me down, do not hurt yourself.”
“Nonsense, you fit so easily here.” He carried her to the bed and set her down gently, then moved to sit beside her. “I have not been able to stop thinking of you. I thought I would go mad with worry.” He began gently pulling out the pins that held her hairstyle in place and setting them on a bedside table. He stroked her hair with such a soft look on his face that Penelope’s eyes filled with tears.
“Aren’t you angry with me?” she asked, unable to hide her anxiety from him.
“About your scandalous behaviour with Lord Kenworthy? I should take you over my knee for such brazen teasing, but all I can think of is how troubled you looked as you walked away with Eloise. I hate seeing you so upset.All will be well, darling. You know she will never expose us.”
“I know. It is quite humiliating however. She asked if I was your mistress. I do not think she understood our arrangement,” Penelope said quietly, her heart beating faster as she admitted her true concerns to Colin.
“Oh, Pen.” Colin watched her hair fall around her shoulders as he removed the final pin. He ran his hands through her glossy curls, allowing her to relax after being coiffed and styled into a perfect doll in anticipation of seeing her suitor earlier. “Eloise respects you just as I do. And when she and I spoke, she seemed to understand that we have a unique attachment. She does not judge you– if anything, she blames me for seducing you.”
Penelope felt the need to defend him, even though Eloise was nowhere in sight. “Nothing could be further from the truth– after all, it was my plotting that led us here.”
Colin laughed, and Penelope felt reassured by how at ease he seemed. “Yes, it was quite brilliant of you. I am honoured that you trusted me to teach you.”
Penelope felt a lump rise in her throat at how heartfelt Colin’s words were and how tender his smile was as he looked at her. “I am honoured to have you. No one has ever taken such care of me.”
“How could I resist doing so? I cannot bear to see your sweet mouth wearing anything but a smile.” He pulled her into his lap, running his fingers through her hair, and kissing her until she thought her heart would burst. Her questions about what he had said and done earlier that day began to blur into the corners of her mind as her thoughts were taken up with where he would kiss her next and how quickly he could undress her.
A few minutes later, Penelope sat astride his lap in her thin shift, her mouth passionately exploring Colin’s neck as he groaned. She tugged his cravat off so that she could move her mouth down to his chest. He gently grasped her wrists to stop her from going further.
“Pen, that’s far enough.”
Colin was always careful that they not be undressed at the same time. Penelope did not fully understand but she trusted his guidance since he was more experienced in these matters than she. Today however, she felt impatient with his rules. Admitting her love for Colin to Eloise had not lightened her burden, but instead had reminded her of how limited her time with him would be before he left for another journey. The emotional intensity felt heightened between her jealousy at the garden party and their tender conversation earlier.
“I want more of you, Colin. Please. I wish to give you pleasure.”
Colin stroked the sides of her breasts and shook his head. “I can find enjoyment in other ways. Let me attend to you tonight.”
Penelope got a fierce look in her eyes that surprised him. She moved her arms slowly up his shoulders until her hands were framing his face and he couldn’t look away. “I don’t want any other women warming your bed. Your mistresses are not allowed to touch you.” With that, she began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Penelope!” Colin could not remember a time he had seen her so forceful. “How could you speak to me of mistresses when I cannot think of anyone but you?”
She pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor. “Very easily, you’ll find,” she smirked and began kissing his chest, holding tightly to his arms as she did so. “You are not the only one who gets jealous and I won’t allow you to go to one of them for satisfaction.”
The feeling of her soft lips exploring him and her movement in his lap teased him until he could hardly bear it. “Is that what your little performance with the rosebud was about? I had no idea you could be so vindictive.”
Penelope arched her brow. “Remember not to flirt with other ladies and you will not have to concern yourself with my vengeful side.” She bit lightly on that tempting spot between his neck and his shoulder and the way his hands tightened around her waist told her that he was enjoying her possessiveness.
“I was merely being polite.” It aroused her to hear the penitent tone in his voice and his desperation to please her. “Penelope, I only desire you. You enthrall me and all I can imagine is your warm mouth on me whenever I take myself in hand.”
“You need not only imagine it,” Penelope smiled coyly as she stood to unfasten his breeches and push him back onto the bed.
Colin enjoyed looking up at her, a halo of flaming tresses framing her face and her shift hugging her body. “You’re feeling bold tonight I see. I find myself unable to resist you.”
“Then do not resist. Lie back and let me practise my lessons like a good pupil.”
Colin felt as though he was dreaming. Other women had taken control of his pleasure before, but never one so innocent and sweet as Penelope. It was not the practised seduction of a lady of the night trying to squeeze more coin from him by pretending enthusiasm. Penelope wanted him as much as he wanted her, and while she had not said it exactly, he knew that she was claiming him now.
She traced around the tip of his manhood as he had taught her and he almost lost himself seeing her pink tongue caress him. When she surrounded him with her warm mouth and began to rock on her knees, he felt the danger of being undressed with nothing between them but her shift. All he wished to do was to pull her forward and settle her on his hard length. He could imagine the long moan she would make as he filled her for the first time and it took all his years of gentlemanly practice to resist.
“Penelope, turn around,” he said with some effort, as her firm strokes were making it difficult to concentrate.
She looked up in confusion, releasing him with a pop. “Is something wrong?”
“I must find a way to distract myself from my fantasies. Face the foot of the bed and put one knee on either side so your legs are open to me. Then take me in your mouth again.”
Penelope obediently followed his instructions and resumed her efforts. Colin caressed her thighs and pushed her shift up until it pooled around her waist and her sex was exposed to him. Guiding her hips closer to him, she gasped when he placed a slow kiss on her bud and began exploring between her thighs with his mouth.
“Colin, what are you doing?”
“Is it not obvious?” he asked in a mischievous tone. “Consider it your next lesson in all the possible ways we can enjoy one another.” She moaned as he placed tender kisses everywhere he could reach. Lowering her head, she savoured the way her tongue rubbed against the silkiness of his erection as she pleasured him.
Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that she would be here, allowing Colin to kiss her in a most intimate place while she did the same for him. She closed her eyes and tried to memorise everything. The sigh he made when she teased him by moving more slowly. His loud groan when she took him in as deeply as she could. The pure bliss of his tongue working against her in careful strokes. Her pride in causing him to lose control and feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of him doing the same to her.
When they had finished, Penelope allowed Colin to pull her beside him on the bed. Curling on her side and nestling her head on his shoulder, she draped her leg over his thigh. She loved being tangled up with him like this, erasing any divisions between them as his arms wrapped tightly around her. They lay together without speaking, enjoying the flickering of the fire and the relative quiet of the inn.
“That was rather eye opening,” Penelope observed after a time.
She felt the rumble of laughter in Colin’s chest. “I imagine it would be. Did you enjoy it?”
She smiled up at him. “Very much. I enjoy everything you teach me.”
Colin kissed her forehead. “There is still much you have to learn, but you are brilliant at everything you try.”
Penelope bit her lip, a flash of pain passing over her face. “Yes, but I imagine our time together is nearing an end.” She gathered her courage and braced herself for the hurt soon to come. “When are you leaving?”
Colin looked puzzled. “I imagine at the same time you are. Mother said you had been invited to stay at Aubrey Hall this summer and suggested I join the house party. I wish to be near you so we can continue your lessons.”
A warm feeling began to build in Penelope but she did her best to tamp it down before her hopes got too high. “Then you have no plans to return to the Continent?” Penelope asked.
“Not at present. Why? Do you not wish to be together in Kent?” It was uncharacteristic of him to be anything but confident, but there was something about Penelope recently that made him eager for her reassurance.
“I can think of nothing better,” she said with a warm smile.
“Then why do I see sadness in your eyes?” he asked, tracing her cheek.
She hesitated to bring it up, but knew he would learn eventually. “I do not wish to spoil our time together by speaking of something unpleasant.”
“I insist that you tell me,” he said firmly. “Nothing must be allowed to make my darling Pen unhappy.”
Penelope wrapped her arm tighter around Colin’s waist to anchor herself. “Mother has already mentioned that if Charles maintains his interest, I will not be allowed to go.”
Colin stiffened and Penelope tried to calm him by rubbing slow circles over his chest. “I thought we had addressed this earlier, but I can see I was mistaken. I do not approve of you continuing to accept Kenworthy’s suit.” The hurt in his eyes pierced Penelope to her core. The impossible had happened– she had fallen even deeper in love with Colin. She knew that it was only jealousy and pride spurring his reaction, yet it wounded her as if she had broken his heart.
“Colin, please. Try to be reasonable.”
He pulled out of her embrace and turned away. “You are the one who is being unreasonable. I cannot believe you would even consider spending your summer allowing that man to court you rather than being surrounded by your loving friends.”
Penelope’s heart raced knowing that he was angry with her. Colin was generally so good natured and his approval meant everything to her. When he caught her with Theo he did not seem to blame her, but this time she knew she had offended him greatly. She rubbed his back soothingly. “Colin, you know I prefer your company. But I must be practical.”
“Practical?” Colin sat up and stormed across the room. He poured himself a healthy measure of wine and drank it quickly. “Practical? Marrying a man you barely know, who will never make you happy? Abandoning all your friends? No, Penelope, I cannot allow it!”
Her lips trembled and her eyes blurred with tears. “Please Colin, I do not wish to quarrel with you. This courtship is already difficult enough.” She looked away so he would not see her cry.
Colin’s eyes softened as Penelope fought to regain her composure. He set down his glass and returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “Darling, I’m sorry for causing you pain. I hate being at odds with you.”
Penelope looked at him imploringly. “So do I. Can you not try to see my situation? When you tire of your mother’s scrutiny, you can board a ship and disappear for months. If I do not marry, you can see how lonely my life will be. Always living under my mother’s authority and never having a family of my own. Please do not wish that for me.”
Colin pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You will never be alone, for you will always have me.”
“Colin, you know that is not true. You will marry and then your wife will need you.”
His arms tightened around her. “Penelope, there is no danger of me marrying. Please, we need more time. Your lessons are not nearly finished. Delay agreeing to a formal courtship. Or better yet, discourage him entirely.”
She did not want to break their fragile harmony but his argument was nonsensical. If her lessons were so important, who better to teach her than a husband?
And yet, she loved Colin. Their lessons were not what she yearned for most - to be his wife and love him openly. But at least she had glimmers of affection from him. When they were alone, he spoke so tenderly to her. His touches were so affectionate. Even if she could not speak of her love, she could show him by how she tried to please him. She did not wish to be separated from him any sooner than she had to be.
Trying to find harmony with him, she snuggled deeper into his chest and said, “I will consider it.”
His arms stiffened before releasing her so he could stand. “Perhaps it is best if we return you home,” he said formally. He began to retrieve his clothing and lay hers out on the bed.
Penelope felt a heaviness in her chest at his expression, cold and distant, as though they were strangers. But the painful truth was that when she married, she would need to put distance between them. No self-respecting husband would allow his wife to be so close with a bachelor. Colin had made it clear that he did not see her as a prospective bride, and she saw no other choice than to make her own happiness.
“As you wish, Colin,” Penelope said as she rose from bed and began to dress. For the first time in weeks, she felt shy being naked in front of him. She dressed quickly, grateful that she had chosen a gown she could manage mostly on her own. His fingers burned her as he buttoned the back of her dress and escorted her to the carriage.
When she had climbed inside, he shut the door behind her. She looked out the window in confusion at him as he always escorted her home and saw that she made it safely inside.
“I believe I will walk home from here as I am in need of fresh air. My staff will ensure you arrive home without incident. Good night.” With that, he turned and walked into the inky darkness. Penelope watched him go with little expression on her face, before speaking to the footman and requesting that a stop be made at Theo’s print shop on her way back to Berkeley Square.
|
Ranboo, like the sociopath they are, puts spaghetti in everything. Tommy could not handle any more noodles. The mere sight of them made him sick. That was why the trio was eating take-out on the couch while discussing the events of the last patrol.
“Right. So let’s get this straight: for some reason, neither of you could use your powers. Meaning there had to have been something that negated them nearby.” Tubbo tapped his fork against his box thoughtfully. “It was a random street in East, so chances of it being a physical power block of any sort is low to none.”
“Then what was it?” Tommy asked at the same moment Ranboo blurted, “So you think this was purposeful?”
Tubbo frowned. “I don’t know what I think. But I do want to investigate who has power reduction.”
“All I can think of is Dream. He’s got power reduction.”
Tommy turned to scoff at Ranboo, “You think Dream is out there trying to get us killed?”
“It’s an option!” They defended, hands held out to their sides in a wide shrug.
“Ranboob, you think one of the original members of the fucking Syndicate before it was shut down, is interested in us? There’s no way.”
“Calm down; we still have other stuff to talk about.” Tubbo tried to placate them both and turned his laptop, which was sitting on the coffee table, towards them. “This is the list of patrols for the heroes from yesterday. Time Warp was not scheduled for east. Only Blade. Makes you wonder why he was so conveniently there.”
“He wasn’t?”
“No. Time Warp had today off.”
“That seems…bad.”
“It is. He wasn’t scheduled so there’s a chance he could have done some sort of time travel or something to be there at that moment. The question is why?”
In the end, no one had a clue what the fuck happened. Tubbo elected to do some digging on Dream, and the Syndicate, because even if it wasn’t him, anything the internet had on them was helpful. Really, anything at all was helpful. Not that there was all that much. The Syndicate was some sort of big villain league, but although it had a lot of members, most of them were unknown or had disappeared. Dream was one of the few confirmed people. Then the Syndicate had some sort of case of infighting and shut down.
To make matters worse, Dream was more of the villain that appeared on major headlines every few months and then vanished again, so it was unlikely they would learn much.
If he was somehow working against them, well, Tommy was pretty sure they were fucked.
But Tubbo didn’t hack for nothing.
*+*+*+*+*+*
Patrols resumed to normal. Nothing too exciting. In fact, Tommy was really avoiding exciting things now. He spent a lot more time crouched on building watching fights than winning fights. Because he only won fights, obviously. Big Man Tommy was incapable of losing. But anyway, it was helpful. Not only was he learning the styles of potential opponents, he was learning their voices.
Tubbo had completed Mimic and Ender’s suits and Tommy had never been prouder to wear something. They had perfect movement without being too tight or too loose, and were burn, wear, and tear resistant. Not only that, but they looked badass. Tommy had a black hoodie with red accents and then cargo pants with all the pockets Tommy would ever need. Then he had his bandana around his wrist and a simple mask with goggles. It worked well.
With the audio recorder and the notebook Tommy was set to learn and retain anything he needed.
With watching and not participating–most of the time–comes hard realizations. The hero league was so fucked up. They cared more about policy than the lives around them, and it showed with every new vigilante/hero clash. Even the villains didn’t mess with the vigilantes. Kind of a “you leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone” situation. But heroes didn’t work like that, and Tommy didn’t understand why.
On a different note, Tommy’s so-called family had only contacted him twice in the time since he left.
Both times were Wilbur.
Wilbur asked if he was alright.
Tommy, a little curious to how he would react, left him on read.
Nothing happened.
Tommy didn’t know what he expected, but he was disappointed anyway.
*+*+*+*+*+*
New Years came and went, with a little party and the cheapest bottle of sparkling juice they could find.
School started back up.
Tommy would be graduating in three months. He knew for a fact his family would not be in attendance.
A while ago, when graduation was first a topic, Tommy had gone to Phil with the dates, asking if he would come.
Phil had checked the day and then shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t think so mate. Hero League has a trip that week. Something about a meeting with some important leaders. Sorry Toms. You’ll be fine, right? It’s just a ceremony, nothing too special.”
Tommy pushed down his hurt to zone back in on Tubbo, who was rambling about some new technology idea he’d thought of.
“...So I figured, why not analysis? If I get a glimpse of something I can analyze it to see if it matches others of the same type!”
“That sounds cool, Tubso.” Tommy did not have a clue what Tubbo was talking about.
“You think so? Maybe I’ll add it to your goggles?”
Tommy still did not know what was going on. “Sure, that sounds great.”
Tubbo seemed delighted and Tommy suddenly wondered if he had made a mistake. “Okay, I’ll add it to your camera. I should have it ready by patrol tonight then.”
When patrol rolled around, Tommy had managed to figure out that Tubbo had added some sort of scanner that took details from handwriting, fingerprints, etcetera, and ran it through a bootleg hero database. It was similar to detective work, and Tommy had no idea when he would use it, but Tubbo seemed to think it was important.
Now Tommy was wandering around the east district, looking for stuff Haywire could analyze to test the new tech.
So far, he hadn’t found much, except some graffiti that was apparently by the same artist. One was this explosion with pieces of debris in odd shapes, and the other was a conference room with some of the most awful shaped chairs Mimic had ever seen in his life. Both had a similar style and a rose petal hidden in the art.
That wasn’t the most interesting part of patrol though.
The most interesting part was the note.
“Mimic, meet me behind Las Nevadas at 9 PM sharp tomorrow. - :)”
Dream.
This was a nightmare.
|
[I ain’t ever seen 8 hot best friends ][Lovely]GUYS!GUESS WHAT![Satan]What now[Lovely]I JUST MET THE CUTEST BOY![Satan]Doubt it[Lovely]LOOK AT HIM!JUST LOOK AT THIS ANGEL![Sexy]You are both*chef’s kiss*[Lovely]Thanks baby[Looks good in tight jeans]WAH!I WANT TO MEET FELIX![Lovely]We’re getting food after his afternoon class[Looks good in tight jeans]I’M COMING![Regret]Me too![Lovely]2nd years hangout!Lets go![Sexy]Only 2nd years?[Lovely]Well if you want to join us[Looks good in tight jeans]I’m not being stuck with Seungmin whilst you three flirt![Regret]Stuck with me?![Lovely]We’re not going to flirt![Looks good in tight jeans]You know I don’t mean it like that!Bullshit you’re not going to flirt!You’ve been thirsting over him since you saw his picture![Lovely]Look[Looks good in tight jeans]You keep nagging me for pictures of him![Lovely]Stop exposing me![Sexy]You ask Jisung for pictures of me?[Lovely]No[Looks good in tight jeans]All the fucking time![Sexy]Just ask me personallyI’ll happily provide[Regret]I’m with JisungChangbin-hyung isn’t joining us for dinner[Lovely]WHY?![Butt Hunter]I really like the look of disgust on Jisung’s faceAlso when were you blonde?![Looks good in tight jeans]That’s just my face whenever I’m around hyungI was blonde last semester[Butt hunter]Pics please![Looks good in tight jeans]UmHere?Or in private?[Lovely]Blonde Jisung is the best Jisung![Butt hunter]Here!Be confident!You’re gorgeous![Lovely]Agreed![Butt hunter]Thank you for your service Hyunjin[Looks good in tight jeans]I’ll send the rest to you in privateI don’t want to flood the chat[Butt hunter]Thanks babe[Regret]Thanks for not flooding the chat with your face[Cutie]You look so cute Jisung!I look forward to meeting you later![Looks good in tight jeans]Thanks Felix![Regret]Aren’t you in class?[Cutie]We have a 10 minute breakWho am I meeting later?[Looks good in tight jeans]Just me!Changbin hyung is banned for being gross[Cutie]Aw :([Lovely]You can meet him another timePreferably when I meet him for the first time too[Cutie]We could go out the three of us[Lovely]YES!IT’S A DATE![Butt hunter]GrossCuteBut also gross
[ Private chat -- MH+CB][Minnie]So a date with Hyunjin AND Felix?[Binnie]I’m freaking out[Minnie]What for[Binnie]LookI never have one attractive man want to date meLet alone 2![Minnie]It was bound to happen one day![Binnie]But 2 at once?!Who do I choose?![Minnie] Why choose?[Binnie]This isn’t ice cream![Minnie]ListenYou haven’t even known them a weekYou’re not jumping into a relationship with themYou’re not even jumping into bed with themAnd as much as Hyunjin acts like a thot in the chat, he’s super mushy in real lifeAnd Felix seems really sweetSoThis is just a dateA friend date with potentialWill you guys hold hands? MaybeWill it mean anything? Not necessarilySoJust have a gay old time with 2 hot guys[Binnie]DamnThat was a lot of words but they were all so powerful[Minnie]I’m wise beyond my years[Binnie]DefinitelyYou deserve a reward[Minnie]I’m crying in the club
[ 3racha ][CB97]Do you know when you’ll be done Jisung?I managed to fix that wording problem you were havingI think we could hash out most of the recording tonight[JOne]It’s just dinner unfortunatelySeungmin has morning classes and is a real party pooperSo I can come over for 7?[CB97]Cool!I’ll try to record as much of mine and Bin’s before you get here then[SpearB]Take pictures of my boys please and thank you[JOne]What do I get in exchange?[SpearB]Pictures of Minho?[JOne]PassHe spams me with them himself[SpearB]I’ll send you ones which don’t have some shitty filter on them[JOne]I like his shitty filters[SpearB]That’s a fucking lieNo one likes his shitty filters[CB97]I still can’t get over the fact you never introduced them ChangbinAnd I also can’t get over how quickly they bonded [JOne]YOU can’t get over it?I feel like I’ve been possessed[CB97]It’s sweetYou seem to really get each other[SpearB]I didn’t think they’d get on tbhMinho can be a lotAnd Jisungie takes a long time to warm to people[JOne]Is Minho hyung the choreographer friend you talked about?[SpearB]YeahWhyAre you changing your mind about me getting him to choreograph a dance to one of our songs?[JOne]MaybeBut not yetI don’t want his first time hearing me to be from some soundcloud song we recorded with Channie’s second-hand equipment he got from his tryst with Minhyuk-hyung[SpearB] LOL[CB97]That was sweet until you threw me under the busCan’t you just call it MY recording equipment?[SpearB]No recording equipment will be considered yours until you paid for it with money and not blow jobs[CB97]IT WAS A GIFT FROM THE GOODNESS OF HIS HEART!HE WAS UPGRADING AND DIDN’T NEED IT ANY MORE!I DIDN’T GET IT BECAUSE WE WERE SLEEPING TOGETHER![JOne]I meanYou kinda did[CB97]I did not suck dick to get recording equipmentI did it because I wanted to[SpearB]Anyway…Moving on from Channie hyung selling his body for electrics[JOne]Yes[CB97]I DIDN’T SELL MY BODY!WE WERE IN A RELATIONSHIP![JOne]I know I’m thinking really far into the futureBut would Minho hyung even want to be with some loser soundcloud rapper?[SpearB]Hang on
[ Private chat -- MH+CB][Binnie]What do you think about dating a soundcloud rapper?[Minnie]HotSign me up
[ 3racha ][SpearB]He’s into it[JOne]Secretly banging your TA is not a relationship, Channie hyung[CB97]I’m kicking you out of the group[ CB97 has changed the chat’s name to 2racha ][JOne]NO!
[ Private chat -- JS+CB][Chubby Cheeks]Tell Channie to let me back in the group please[Pig Rabbit]OofLook at themSo cuddlyI want to be in the middle[Chubby Cheeks]Hey!Our deal![Pig Rabbit]Calm downHe’s not serious[Chubby Cheeks]But can you make sure?[Pig Rabbit]They got really close quicklyDo you think they’ll hug me too?[Chubby Cheeks]Felix hugged everyoneHe’s just very touchy apparently[Pig Rabbit]Really?[Chubby Cheeks]YeahYou promise Channie hyung isn’t mad at me?[Pig Rabbit]FfsHe can take a jokeI make fun of his thing with Minhyuk hyung all the timeTell your anxiety to calm down[Chubby Cheeks]ThanksWhy didn’t I think of thatSeems so simple
[ I ain’t ever seen 8 hot best friends ][Satan]As much as I think you guys are losers I don’t like being left outI’ll let it slide this timeBut next time there will be consequencesI’m a babyPay attention to me [Choke me out]You confuse me, Jeongin[Satan]Good[Regret]He’s the textbook definition of a tsundere[Satan]Don’t you dare expose me[Regret]His outer shell is almost impossible to breakBut he has the gooiest, mushiest insides[Satan]OkSay goodbye to Seungmin[Butt hunter]You knowI didn’t expect you to have braces[Satan]WhyCan’t a man want straight teeth?What’s your problem?[Butt hunter]They just make you look really young[Satan]It’s all strategic![Choke me out]You look so cute in that picture![Butt hunter]Back off Chan hyungYou’re old enough to be his dad[Choke me out]WTFThere’s only 4 years between usI was just complimenting him![Satan]Thanks daddy[Choke me out] I’m leaving[Sexy]Chan hyung just slammed his phone down on the deskI can’t say I’m disappointed to find out the reason for it[Regret]I’m just glad it’s not me on the receiving end
[ I ain’t ever seen 8 hot best friends ][Butt Hunter]I found a baby[Regret]Be carefulIt bites[Choke me out]So cute[Looks good in tight jeans]Hey!Stop taking my kisses![Satan]Please take themI don’t want them[Butt hunter]Don’t worry babyThey’re all yours[Lovely]How are you two flirting like you’ve been dating for monthsYet you haven’t even met each other[Looks good in tight jeans]We’re soulmates[Lovely]I’m worried what you’ll be like when you do finally meet[Sexy]Insufferable[Butt hunter]I’ll make sure of itIf you’re left in a room with us then that’s your problem[Sexy]Well I’m going to need a new roommate![Lovely]You can move in with me[Regret]No he can’t![Sexy]Do you live with Seungmin?[Lovely]YeahBut I can kick him out for you[Regret]NO YOU CAN’T![Sexy]You can live with Channie hyungHe doesn’t have a roommateBut he does sometimes organise booty calls with his sugar daddy[Regret]We’re not playing musical dorms just so you guys can get your dicks wet[Lovely]Please[Regret]No[Looks good in tight jeans]Why’s Channie hyung not shouting about not having a sugar daddy?[Choke me out]I decided not to dignify it with a responseThe more I fuss about it the more attention it draws[Regret]How much of Changbin hyung’s statement was true?[Choke me out]About 70% true[Regret] Which bit isn’t true?[Choke me out]I don’t have a sugar daddy[Regret]And the hookups?[Choke me out]Few and far betweenButNot non-existent[Regret]Maybe I should move in with you then[Choke me out]Jisung and Changbin are around most evenings[Regret]Nevermind
[ Private chat -- MH+JS][Jagiya]Hey BabyHappy 1 week[Baby]OMGYou’re so cuteWaitHappy 1 week! <3[Jagiya]I want to put you in my pocket[Baby]I’ll definitely fit[Jagiya]I can’t wait to squish you[Baby]I can’t believe it’s already been a week[Jagiya]I can’t believe my fake ass roommate never introduced usI could have known you for 2 years by nowI’ve missed out on squishing you for 2 years![Baby]I’m kind of glad we didn’t meet last yearYou wouldn’t have liked me last year[Jagiya]I would have[Baby]No you wouldn’tHan Jisung has been a work in progress for yearsIt’s only after meeting Channie hyung and Changbin hyung that I’ve really found myselfI was a total loser in high schoolAnd not a cute loserA legit loserAnd last yearUghLet’s not talk about it[Jagiya]Baby[Baby]Music really helpedAnd I think Channie hyung should go into music therapyBecause he really helped me sort out my brain[Jagiya]I can see you keep typing and deletingI know it might be too soonButDo you want to call?[Baby]You want me to call you?[Jagiya]Only if you want[Baby]YeahI think I do
[ Private chat -- BC+JS][Little Brother]CHANNIE HYUNG![Big Brother]Hey SungieWondered where you’d gotten toHyunjin and Changbin were basically sexting in the group chatYou’re usually all over that[Little Brother]I just got off a call with Minho hyung!We spoke for hours!Actual hours!4 whole hours!It’s a good job I have free calls![Big Brother]Wow!Congrats!He made you comfortable then?[Little Brother]Yeah!At first we were kinda talking about my anxiety and perceived sense of selfBut hyung noticed I was getting into my head and started talking about his catsThen we started talking about 3racha and dancing and stuffAnd then suddenly Changbin hyung was home and we’d spoken for 4 hours![Big Brother]Wasn’t that a bit of a heavy topic for opening conversation?[Little Brother]ProbablyBut we were messaging before about me being a mess in first yearHe insisted he’d still have like meBut I know he’d have thought I was a loser[Big Brother]You weren’t a mess OR a loserYou were struggling with mental healthI’m sure if he’d met you he’d have appreciated that and not judged you[Little Brother]The little voice in my head says that tooBut it’s the big voice telling me he thinks I’m a loser even now[Big Brother]You’re not a loser[Little Brother]I knowI’m cool as fuckBut hey!Mental illness![Big Brother]FFS I forgot about that evening!But I’m glad you’re starting to believe in yourself more[Little Brother]How could you forget?!I made you cry!I’m sad Changbin had a potato phone and all the pictures are blurry[Big Brother]We should plan another drinking recording session[Little Brother]Yes please![Big Brother]I’ll check our schedulesBy the wayI’m happy for youYour thing with Minho[Little Brother]Thanks hyungieI really like him[Big Brother]I’m pretty sure he feels the same
[ I ain’t ever seen 8 hot best friends ][Lovely]Thinking of you[Satan]Please don’t[Lovely]OopsWrong chat[Cutie] You’re so pretty Hyunjin[Lovely] Don’t say such nice things or I’m going to kiss you[Cutie]Is that a promise?[Regret]Jeongin’s actually in pain right now[Sexy] Take it the other chat boys[Satan]Somehow you calling them boys was the worst part of this whole exchange[Regret]This is why god left the human race to rot
[ Sexy, Free, and Single ][Big Titties]You look so cute in that picture Jinnie[Big Hair]I can’t look too cuteThat’s Lixie’s thing[Big Heart]You can be cute too Jinnie <3[Big Titties]My boys are the cutest[Big Hair]So are you hyungie!Minho hyung told me about cutie Changbin![Big Titties]NOWHY[Big Heart]Please share with the class[Big Hair][Big Heart]Oh noI think I’m having a heart attack[Big Hair]I’m calling an ambulance[Big Heart]Please do[Big Titties]You guys are too much[Big Heart]Seo ChangbinThe only man ever
[ I ain’t ever seen 8 hot best friends ][Butt Hunter]Having met 6 out of 7 of youI think I’m well within my rights to share my rankings for you all[Regret]This can only be bad[Choke me out]When did you meet Seungmin?Also what kind of ranking is this going to be?[Regret]I had the misfortune of meeting him when he met JeonginAlso do you even have to ask what this ranking is going to be based on?[Satan]Seungmin hyung was supposed to be rescuing meBut then I needed to rescue him[Sexy]Sounds like Minho[Lovely]How’s he going to fairly rank us if he’s not met Jisung yet?[Sexy]It’s called favouritism[Cutie]Jisung does have a nice butt though![Sexy]YeahBut half of the true quality of a butt is in the feel[Regret]Not that I want to involve myself in this at allBut by this point I think Minho hyung is actually an expertAnd doesn’t need to feel Jisung’s butt to know it’s quality[Looks good in tight jeans]Thanks Minnie!And you’re right!My ass is high quality[Lovely]I still think this is rigged[Regret]Of course it’s rigged![Butt Hunter]8. Hyunjin -- no ass. 0/107. Seungmin -- Standard ass, nothing special. 3/106. Felix -- Sorry Lix but your ass is also very standard. 4/105. Minho -- My thighs are too thick, it detracts from the power of my ass. 6.5/104. Jeongin -- Baby got back! 8/103. Chan -- His ass is as big as his brain. 9/102. Jisung -- Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular. 11/101. Changbin -- 80% ass. THICC KING -- 100/10[Lovely]I HAVE AN ASS![Looks good in tight jeans]No you don’t!Your back just becomes your legs![Butt hunter]Don’t question meI have ultimate authority here![Satan]I approve of these rankingsShut up Hyunjin[Lovely]You only agree because he ranked you 4th! [Satan]Cry about it
|
Tommy woke up.
He didn't exactly remember going to sleep, but that probably wasn't all that important. He could've just been really tired.Come to think of it, Tommy couldn't exactly remember a time recently where he hadn't felt exhausted; that... probably wasn't a great sign.
His eyes blearily adjusted to the dim light of the room he now found himself in, there were a few torches scattered around what seemed to be polished stone walls. His basement then, he hadn't really used his basement for a while now though. Damn, how tired had he been? Sitting up to get a better look around the smallish space, it really did seem to be in better condition to how it'd been left, not only better but just... different. He wandered through the space in relative silence, a rare state for him.
Okay, his base hadn't looked like this in god knows how long, but surely there had to be some explanation for this. Had someone been messing with his shit again? Badboyhalo probably, bitch.
Nah, this... this didn't really seem like him, Bad usually went big but this was just... weird.Had he hit his head on something? Maybe he was just finally loosing his mind, Tommy tried not to dwell too deeply on the incessant thought that he had long since lost that.
Tommy found himself in a small bathroom just off from the main area he'd been in a few minutes ago. He peered into a modestly sized, slightly grimy mirror. God, when had he last even given himself a proper look? In all honesty he'd kinda been avoiding it as of late; for a while if he was being completely honest with himself, which thankfully he wasn't. All things considered he looked better than he'd been expecting, a lot better actually. From the few looks he had gotten of himself in the recent past, it hadn't looked like any of his scars would be fading anytime soon, including the rather prominent few he'd picked up during his stay at the prison. But here he was, skin clear; concerningly so...Yeah that was fucking weird.
As he leaned over the sink he caught sight of his arms, almost as blemish free as his face had been. Okay the burn scars should definitely still be there, scars didn't just magically disappear over night. That would rather nullify the point. He brought his head back up to the mirror and pinched his hair between his fingers. Blonde. All blonde, complete blonde.
That couldn't be good. Well, maybe it wasn't a terrible thing, it's not as if he particularly enjoyed the blemishes. But first his base, now this? Something was happening, something was wrong.
He turned on the tap, abrasively splashing cold water into his face. Get a grip. Figure out whatever the fuck is going on and go from there.Easy.
Tommy made his way back over to the room he'd woken up in. Finding a familiar shirt on the floor beside his bed, he quickly changed. What was the last thing he remembered?
Lime green, running.
Red. Purple.
T
hat look he knew was in his eyes, was always in his eyes, even when he couldn't see them...
He winced at the thought. Shaking the memory from his head; pressing a palm firmly to his closed eyes as if to dislodge it.
It was over though, everything was okay now.But then what the hell was going on?
He needed some fresh air.
Tommy made his way up the ladder and out into the thankfully less claustrophobic, non-subterranean level of his base.
Ranboo. Was Ranboo okay? Surely Dream was lying, he had to have been lying... but he'd seen the message.
He'd seen more than that.
Tommy pulled out his communicator, Ranboo's name stood boldly at the top of the screen. A big 'Ranboo joined' in mocking bold. That was weird... surely it should just say re-spawned. His eyes scanned through the rest of his contact list, adrenaline rising as he took note of contacts that were just decidedly not there, Techno, Foolish, Puffy. Hell even Philza.
He really needed some fresh air.
*
The rising sun was uncomfortably sharp, an almost piercing quality to it. The air was thick with condensation; the kind of damp you only got on dreary autumn mornings.It wasn't just his base. The familiar landscape was definitely missing distinctive features; feeling rather empty for lack of the usual clutter. Tommy's eyes were drawn to the left but just then his communicator buzzed in his hand, alerting him to a message.
<wilbur soot> childwhere are your ?you were supposed to be here by now remember?did u seriously sleep in today??
The sun was low, but not very low. It was roughly mid morning.He was late... for something...?
<tommyinnit> where we meetinf again?
He just needed to focus on figuring out what was going on, everything else could fall into place from there.
<wilbur soot> seriously?
did u hit ur head or something?
remember that massive fucking stage we built?
i don't get why you couldn't just stay here, I know u have ur little dirt hole or whatever but things would be so much easier if u just made a little house or something in L,manberg, or just use one of the ones Fundy was supposed to make. Just for some of the time anyway.
L'manberg? No.No, L'manberg was gone.And that stage had long since been destroyed, not that he was too unhappy about that in particular, bad memories and all.L'manberg was gone though, fully gone. Dream, Techno, and Phil had made sure of that. Wilbur had made sure of that long before they could desecrate the carcass.He shuddered at the thought, stony faces stood apathetically atop the grave of everything they had worked so hard to protect, twice.
<wilbur soot> are you coming or not?
Once again his eyes were drawn to the left. It was nothing but a crater. Wilbur was probably just fucking with him. Maybe he'd just finally cracked, prime know Tommy could understand the feeling. If he walked over to look he'd only see a crater, that gaping wound of steadily growing greenery and rubble. That was all it was now, rubble. A testimony to how much they seemed to enjoy hurting eachother.
*
Tommy had cracked. He must have. He and Wil really were a matching set now.But there it stood, like a mirage in the desert.Walls and all, not a crater in sight (par the one or two creeper holes dotted around the surrounding area). Tommy looked out from the top of his walkway, the one he built. To connect them, to feel closer. It stood.
*
Wilbur looked different. Tommy noted that his eyes seemed clearer, younger, holding a glint of something still innocent in them. Something yet to be fully broken. He was loud and passionate; Tommy was not.
The world felt like it was passing him in a kind of daze, almost as if he were watching it happen to someone else. His absence was noted, Wilbur asking him what was wrong. He brushed him off, feigning a headache. Not the most creative lie but it seemed to work well enough.
What was even happening? Had he completely lost his mind, was he really that broken? People don't exactly just time travel, that's not something that happens.
But it had happened. It had to have.
Tommy stood on the stage looking out at the small crowd of his friends, people who he barely recognised. Wilbur was giving a speech he'd heard before.
Fundy was on the stage.
Quackity was talking.
Tubbo was there. Tommy was hit with a disorienting wave of nostalgia as he took in the unmarred skin of his face, the absence what had been a painful reminder of his time working under Schlatt.He noted his eyes too, like Wilbur he looked younger. He looked lighter, free from the lingering weight of a burden he should never have had forced on him in the first place.
Wilbur was saying something about an endorsement.
Oh.
Tommy felt reality hit him rather violently as Wilbur lead the horned man over to the microphone. No, nono no he couldn't, he couldn't do it again, not again.
Tommy glanced frantically over to Wilbur, who stood staring at the scene with an almost smug look on his face. Oblivious to the damnation he had just welcomed warmly to the stage.
He approached the microphone.Tommy stood helplessly.
"Democracy is overrated."
Wilbur's face fell.Everything outside of that small wooden platform suddenly felt very, very far away.
"Yeah, yeah, that's right!"
And maybe the slightly intoxicated man was was right, what had democracy ever done for them? Tommy recalled the countless times he'd heard hushed sobbing coming from behind closed doors as the stakes only grew. If Wilbur struggled to cope with the responsibility Tommy tries not to think about how it had effected Tubbo, yeah he probably hadn't helped with that.
"You think you need a president?"
Tommy wasn't sure anymore.
"I'll- I'll be my own president!"
Tommy could see the panic now evident in Wilbur's eyes, overwhelming the initial surprise, as he futilely made his way over to Schlatt.
"I'LL RUN- I'LL RUN MYSELF!"
Wilbur was raising his voice now, as he tried to usher their 'endorcement' off stage. He could hear Quackity as well, somewhere within the chaos of the unfolding scene.
Once upon a time Tommy would've been right in the middle of it, yelling and shoving along with the rest of them, laughing nervously in disbelief, but all he could seem to do was watch as it happened without him.
"SCHLATT2020!"
Wow. Now that was a name he hadn't heard in a while. It devolved from that point. Quackity and Wilbur managed to get the man off stage in the end, despite his protest. Fundy cut in with a snide remark somewhere along the way. The last thing Tommy heard was a threatening,"You haven't seen the end of me!"
A statement that, from experience, Tommy knew to be true. His mind was racing, falling over itself. It felt almost as if he was watching in slow motion, as some surreal kind of play was acted out in front of him. Everything was too loud, too bright. Yet it all felt so far away at the same time...
Next thing he knew Wilbur was back on stage, plastering on a fake smile as he thanked everyone for attending. The strain in the expression was clear as day, he wouldn't be fooling anyone with his false confidence and he probably knew it.
He could've stopped this.Why didn't he stop this? He knew it was coming so why hadn't he done something for fucks sake?
Tommy suddenly remembered to breath.
As he looked up he made eye contact with Tubbo, evident worry plastered across his weird, young face. He realised he was now stood alone on the stage. Shit, he hadn't meant to freeze up like that. Luckily it seemed as if most of the others had been too busy dealing with Schlatt to notice. He shakily made his way down from the stage, catching up to Wilbur. Maybe this was salvageable. Just because Schlatt was running didn't necessarily mean he had to win. He could still fix this.He could fix this.This time would be different.Tommy would make it different.
He saw Wilbur gesturing him to follow as he and Quackity hurried into the Whitehouse.
Tommy was going to fix this.
Okay, so this was far from how Wilbur had hoped today would turn out.
This morning things seemed to be going well, despite Tommy's strange behaviour that is.
They had their endorsement and Wilbur was confident in the speech he'd prepared. Overall, Wilbur was optimistic, if not a little overconfident when he realised they were the only ones with an endorsement at all.
Boy had he been wrong.
In the space of a few hours their competition had tripled. COCONUT2020 he'd figured wouldn't be too hard to deal with; Schlatt on the other hand...
Not only that but Schlatt was supposed to be their endorsement, there was no way this didn't look bad for them.
Luckily, Wilbur was nothing if not resourceful.
Quackity wouldn't exactly have been Wilbur's first choice to share the presidency, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Anything to avoid losing to Schlatt. At least Quackity had shown up to the election sober.
Sure, he was a little naive but at least he seemed to genuinely take it somewhat seriously when he needed to.
The three men stood around in the backroom of the Whitehouse.
Quackity was the first to speak out.
"So what's with this Schlatt bullshit ?"
"I know-"
"I mean wasn't he supposed to be your guys's sponsor or whatever ?"
"Look Quackity, I have a proposition."
"Hey uhh, Wil. Can I actually maybe just like, talk to you abo-"
Tommy was cut off by a sudden loud banging at the door.
Schlatt.
God, Wilbur really didn't want to deal with the guy right now. Lucky for them he'd remembered to lock the door.
He eyed the fire exit in the corner of the room, made quick eye contact with Quackity, and gestured over to it with a tilt of his head.
They made their way out of the building avoiding confrontation. A blessing if ever Wilbur had seen one. They had lost Quackity somewhere in the hasty escape (him heading off in another direction) but that wasn't too much of an issue, Wilbur could just message him once they found a more secure location.
Where were they gonna go now though, Wilbur didn't really like the idea of having this conversation out in the open.
"What the fuck are we gonna do now ?" He half muttered to himself.
...
"The bunker."
Oh, he hadn't really been expecting an answer. Especially not from Tommy, as he'd been so uncharacteristically quiet up until this point. That was actually getting pretty concerning in all honesty.
When things calmed down Wilbur would have to make sure to check in with him.
"What bunker ?"
"Oh uhh, Tubbo- he made this fucking bunker thing it's, come with me."
Tommy began to walk ahead, Wilbur followed.
////
"Holy shit."
"Yeah, I know."
Tommy showed him through the entrance to the bunker and Wilbur found himself almost speechless.
Tubbo had built this ?
Honestly, he shouldn't be too surprised, Tubbo was a good builder. Tubbo was good at a lot of things.
Wilbur messaged Quackity the coordinates and instructions on how to get in, hopefully he wasn't too far away.
Hmm, maybe he should make Tubbo secretary of defence or something if they won- when they won that was.
Wilbur was not going to lose this, he refused.
"We're not going to win this."
God the statement sounded so final, what was going on with him ? His behaviour today had been very un-Tommy-like. Maybe he was just maturing or something, finally taking things seriously. Wilbur didn't think he'd like that all that much anymore.
Wilbur opened his mouth to say something. A reassurance, just an expression of his concern maybe.
He was cut off as Quackity burst through the entrance though.
"Oh my god, what the fuck is going on ?!"
The man looked slightly dishevelled as he made his way over to them, he was sure he didn't look too much better though.
Right, this was it. Time to focus.
"Quackity, Quackity I have a proposition for you."
"Yeah ?"
"I have a proposition, and it's gonna be unorthodox-"
"Okay ?"
"Wait, Wilbur-"
Wilbur ignored the interruption.
"-but in the event that either one of us doesn't win this election should, should we pool votes and just run as our own party ? Like, President Quackity and President Wilbur and Vice President Tommy."
"Ooh, I like that- I like that."
"Wilbur-"
Tommy seemed to be growing increasingly agitated.
"But, but that's only in the in the event-
"Wilbur stop-"
"-if, if we're beaten by Schlatt and whatever."
There was a beat of silence.
Tommy seemed to freeze up at this, glancing between the two nervously.
"Wait wait- wait up wait up. Fuck man. Wait so this is conditional ?"
"No wait-"
"Well yeah, if we win your out- you've lost-"
"Wilbur shut up !"
"Oh my god Tommy can you just shut the fuck up ! The adults are talking !"
The two politicians had turned to both face the boy at this point. There was shock in his eyes as he took a step back before his resolve seemed to harden.
"No Wil you don't understand, you don't unders-"
"What, what don't I understand Tommy ?!"
Wilbur was growing frustrated by the continuous interruptions.
"You- you just don't understand Wil ! I- I-"
"Exactly, Tommy I know what I'm fucking doing here! God can you just stop being annoying for like, five minutes !!?"
Tommy seemed taken aback at this, but Wilbur's patience had been worn thin by the stressful day. He just needed to sort out this alliance, he could talk to Tommy later.
"I uhh, I gotta think about this."
Quackity had begun making his way towards the exit.
"Wait, Quackity !"
Wilbur called out as the door shut behind him.
Fuck.
Well this was just fucking great.
////
There went their one chance at winning this election.
Tommy had thought he could fix this, how had he only managed to make things worse ?
Why did he always have to just fuck everything up ?
Wilbur seemed angry, which was fair enough. From his perspective it'd all been Tommy's fault that the deal had fallen through...
"What the fuck Tommy."
Oh. Wow, okay so he was like angry angry. God Tommy had really fucked this one up.
Wilbur ran his hand through his hair in frustration as Tommy shifted uncomfortably.
"I- Wil-"
"We'd have been in such a better position with that alliance Tommy ! God, I can't believe you just blew that for us !"
Tommy felt anger bubble up in his stomach, this wasn't all his fucking fault. Maybe if Wilbur had just fucking listened for a change he wouldn't have had to interrupt, interrupt Quackity about to turn him down anyway that is.
"I blew it ?!? You- your such a fucking idiot Wilbur !!"
"I'm the idiot ?!??"
"Yeah bitch ! Maybe if you'd just fucking listen to me- like, like ever we wouldn't be fucking in this mess-"
"Oh my god can you stop talking shit for like-"
"I'm talking shit ?!?! What the fuck was that then, he was going to refuse anyway you moron-"
"Well now we'll never know will we !!"
"Ughh, your just- fuck- FUCK YOU MAN ! I WAS ONLY TRYING TO FUCKING HELP ! ITS NOT MY FAULT YOUR JUST SHIT AT POLITICS AND-"
"TOMMY !!"
He jolted at the yell, eyes still wild and stance angry. Wilbur didn't look much better. Wil let out a shaky breath.
"Just- just go."
...
"What ?"
"I said I don't wanna see you right now !"
Tommy was taken aback.
"Just,, go away Tommy."
They both stood there in silence for a minute, neither willing to meet the others eyes.
"Fine, I fucking will then." Tommy muttered to himself as he turned to leave, slamming the door behind him as he went.
////
God Wilbur was such a dickhead.
Tommy stomped through L'manburg as he made his way to the path that would lead him to his base.
He just needed to cool off, then maybe he could figure out his next move.
From what had happened last time Tommy figured Quackity had already spoken to Schlatt, they would be pooling their votes now. They would win, again.
Tommy had really wanted to avoid this.
If Schlatt won again that meant exile; Pogtopia. He really didn't miss Pogtopia.
"Tommy !"
Tommy was climbing the stairs on his way back home when he heard his name called out from behind.
He turned to face Tubbo, stood just a little further down from where he was.
"Holy shit man, that was crazy."
Tommy huffed in amusement.
"Yeah, yeah it really was."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The remaining traces of his anger seemed to melt away at this, replaced with a deep seeded exhaustion.
Tubbo caught up to him and they walked together.
"What was that whole Schlatt thing anyway ?"
Tommy suddenly felt too tired to have this conversation, as the emotions of the day he had been managing to ignore started to feel as if they were all piling on top of him.
"Hey, you doing alright boss-man ?"
His face must've given him away, Tubbo had always been able to read him pretty well anyway though.
In the end it was that very Tubbo-like expression of concern that got to him, he walked ahead and averted his gaze as to hide the traitorous tear that managed to escape his right eye. He hadn't cried in such a long time, it would be pathetic to now.
"...Tommy ?"
Oh yeah, he should probably say something.
"Yeah-" He sniffed and coughed, cringing at the waver in his voice and swiping almost aggressively at his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine Tubbo, just tired. Wil had me up at stupid-o'clock and all."
"Well... try and get some rest okay. Take care of yourself dude. See you soon, alright ?"
They had made it back to his base at this point. Tubbo took one more concerned glance at him, as Tommy continued to avert his gaze, before turning to head off. Tommy went inside.
////
Tommy flopped onto his bed at the first possible opportunity, exhaustion permeating his body almost like an ache.
Sleep remained shy though, leaving him to stare listlessly as his shabby ceiling.
The cold didn't help much either, and the stone and dirt surrounding him did little to combat the cold September night.
And his blanket was scratchy and he just wanted...
…he wasn't sure anymore.
If you'd have asked him a day ago his response would have been at least a little clearer. It would have been the rose-tinted memory of what L'manburg used to be, that he'd managed yp persistently cling to over the dragging months.
But this was pretty much it wasn't it, or close enough anyway.
Maybe he should be happy. Wilbur was still Wilbur, Tubbo his best friend, he and Jack were still on decent terms, and Dream was...
had Dream ever really been his friend though ? Could have he really changed that much, or had he always been like that deep down ?
Everything else seemed to have changed, so he supposed it wasn't completely impossible he had too.
He wasn't sure which would be worse actually.
Maybe it'd be easier if he'd just always been evil, he'd certainly always been an ass.
Everything really had been different though. There was just so much missing, so much empty space. There were people missing too.
The election had been catalyst to a multitude of things. Techno had only come because they had called on him to help during their exile, and Philza's arrival had been a result of Wilbur's deterioration in Pogtopia.
If Tommy was successful in preventing that this time, which he really really hoped would be the case, then maybe they would never come. Once again, Tommy wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Annoying, that was starting to become a trend.
Ranboo's eyes snapped open as he sat up jerkily, light streaming through the canopy above him. His mind felt cloudy as he propped himself up on his hands.
For some reason he found himself outside, passed out on the ground. However, since 'outside' was a rather large place, his first priority was narrowing down where exactly he'd gotten himself this time.
There wasn't much to go off of, trees... more trees. In all honesty he probably wasn't going to get much of a handle on the situation sitting on the ground all day. So he stood up, using his height to his advantage.
That's when he saw the wall surrounding him, enclosing the area it would seem. Civilization !!
He'd been here before, which luckily for him meant he knew the way back.
He barely had any items on him, he didn't know what he'd have done if he'd woken up in the middle of nowhere... again.
Oh god, what if he'd be lost forever. What would happen to Michael, and Tubbo and–
no.
Now wasn't the time for that kind of thinking. He knew where he was, he was at spawn. See ? Not lost, everything was fine. All he had to do is make his way back to the community nether portal. Then he could go home and everything would be fine. Easy.
////
His first obstacle, however, was actually getting out of spawn. The jump seemed easy enough at first glance... he had been sorely mistaken. Well, more like he had been mistaken and then sore. It only took him a few more attempts at the jump (12) before he pillared over with dirt in resignation.
While maybe not as easy as he had at first hoped, he did manage to make his way back rather quickly all things considered. This however, brought arise to an entirely new obstacle.
Something was very wrong with the community house.
No, it was more than that.
Just how long had he been gone ? Things couldn't have changed this much, surely.
He should just go home, he didn't want to worry Techno and Phil right ? Techno would pretend not to care but in all honesty, he wasn't exactly the best of liars.
But he couldn't move.
Maybe he should message someone.
Yeah.
Yeah, that might help clear things up...
there had to be some weird explanation for all this.
Techno and Phil were too out of the loop usually, he could message Tubbo though.
...he could if his Com wasn't broken that was.
Awesome.
"Oh hey. Are you new ?"
Sam ?
"You look new."
"I- umm..." He had no idea what to say, speechless. Sam knew him. Sam definitely knew him. He'd spoken to Sam just yesterday.
... he thinks ? A faint memory of Sam's voice tugged at his awareness before dissipating almost as quickly as it came.
"... right, well that's weird I don't think I got a welcome message." The green haired man had pulled out his Com and was already scrolling, "When time did you say you got here ?"
When did he get here ? November right ? Yeah, November 27th. He remembers, he spoke to Dream and... Niki ?
Why did his head feel so foggy ?!
He felt foggy like this after doomsday, quite often during his time in New L'manburg too if he was being honest. It'd been a while though, he was starting to get used to the pleasant clarity that came with his life these days.
But everything was wrong now, he felt unsure and nervous. He wanted to go home; to Tubbo and Michael, hot chocolate and telling bedtime stories, long conversations on sleepless nights.
to his cabin with Techno and Phil, his pets that almost definitely needed feeding.
This whole thing was ridiculous. He knew Sam, Sam knew him.
Sam eyed the broken Com still clutched tightly in his hand.
"Oh, is it broken or something ?”
Ranboo still felt like his brain was short circuiting, he gave a curt and unceremonious nod (much resembling a deer caught in the headlights as he was drawn back into the outside world).
"I could fix it if you wanted ?" Sam held his hand out gently and expectantly.
Ranboo didn't understand, he sounded genuine. The patient smile on his face didn't look like the expression of a man playing out any kind of elaborate scheme.
What did that mean though ? Why didn't Sam recognise him ?
Still feeling kind of floaty, Ranboo handed over the wrecked device. He distantly noted the blood pooling in the creases of his palm from where the broken glass must have cut him.
He probably shouldn't have gripped it so hard.
"Oh wow, you really did a number on this kid. Still- it shouldn't take me too long to fix it up." Sam didn't seem to notice Ranboo's hand as he looked over the mess of wires and dented metal he had been handed.
"What should I call you by the way ?"
God, this was all so surreal still. But he should probably at least say something before Sam just assumed he couldn't.
"R-Ranboo." His voice felt strained from disuse, it wavered awkwardly. He cringed at the sound. Sam on the other hand, didn't seem to notice.
"Alright Ranboo, how about you meet me again at the community house tomorrow then ? I should be able to sort it by then, that sound good ?" His voice was placating and sympathetic, almost as if he we're talking to a little kid.
No matter how strange that was, Ranboo couldn't really deny how much he honestly felt like one at that moment.
People never really treated Ranboo like that though, most often going pretty far in the opposite direction actually. He guessed it had to do with his height or something.
He gives another nod.
"Alright then, I'll see you around Ranboo." Sam smiled pleasantly as he gave a little wave.
Just as he turned to leave something dawned on Ranboo.
Something ridiculous, and terrifying.
Something that would explain a lot.
Something that was impossible.
... Something that made a scary amount of sense all things considered.
"H-hey Sam ?!" He called out, sounding out a lot quieter than he'd intended in his hesitation.
Maybe Sam hadn't heard him, should he try again ?
Sam turned to look back at him, he had heard after all.
"Yeah ?"
Oh God, how was he going to ask this and not sound like a crazy person ?
"W-what, umm, what day is it ? Today I-I mean." God why did he have to be so awkward.
"Oh ?" Sam seemed a little surprised by the question. Then he smiled again, that same kind and patient look on his face. It'd been a while since Ranboo had seen Sam with that look, before he'd been all stony and cold, "September 22nd."
Ranboo felt something heavy pool in his stomach.
"Have a nice day Ranboo." Sam turned to walk away, oblivious to the world shattering blow he had just dealt.
He felt sick.
This wasn't real.
Sam was wrong.
He had to be wrong.
Suddenly, Ranboo found the weather to be unbearably hot.
////
Where was he supposed to go now ?
Ranboo once again found himself on the move, the only difference being that now he had no clear goal in mind directionally.
He just knew he needed out, to move, to do something.
He hadn't even been here September 20th, he got here late November.
Impossible, that's what it was. Time travel was just a fun science fiction trope, nothing more. Sam was just confused, the stress of the job getting to him.
Well, getting to him more so than it already had been.
But Sam didn't seem stressed, or exhausted, or particularly cold. He was eerily genuine.
That might have been worse.
Faintly, distant memories of sweltering heat and echoed yelling dance evasively around his consciousness.
He comes out of autopilot to note the expansive stretch of water lain out before him.
He'd been headed to Snowchester.
The rout there so deeply engrained into him from the frequency with which he took it.
But there was no fast travel tunnel...
...and there was no Snowchester.
The consequences of his displacement hit him full force as he dropped to his knees, the water distantly burning his shins falling so far off his radar he didn't even recoil from the sharp pain.
If before he had been floating, now he was falling.
September 20th.
Once again, Ranboo was alone.
Once again, he had lost everything.
Tommy had a plan. And in his opinion, not too bad a plan at that.In all fairness he'd had a pretty long time last night to work on it.
So what if he didn't sleep ? He had bigger fucking shit to do !
Also,,, the stone walls surrounding him last night felt achingly familiar in the dark. It reminded him of a place he really- really didn't want to think about, especially not with its presence looming ever closer as the election approached.
He wouldn't admit it, but there were reasons beyond just wanting a change of scenery to why he moved upstairs after Wilbur's death.
Sleeping underground had reminded him too much of the still open wound.
But Tommy wasn't going to just lie there and feel sorry for himself, if he wanted things to be different this time then he was the only person who was going to make that happen. No one was going to save him except himself.
Besides, he was a big man, he didn't need anyone's help anyway.
So he'd gotten up, and gotten to work.
Now, Tommy may not have been the best mathematician in the world, but he wasn't stupid.Plus, he had access to knowledge no one else did. That had to count for something.
When Schlatt and Quackity won last time, it was barely by a hair. 1% if he remembered correctly.
It wouldn't take much to turn the tables, to come out on top. The question was how ?
The coalition with Quackity would've been perfect, not only would they have an overwhelming majority but Schlatt wouldn't even be a problem without SWAG votes.
However... there were more than three parties in the running, and everyone seemed to keep forgetting that.Just because Quackity turned them down, didn't mean a coalition was off the tables just yet.
Fundy knew he wasn't going to win, and he was right. They came out fourth during the election.
He already knew they didn't stand a chance, that's why he'd cheated.Fundy didn't really want to be president anyway. No, what Fundy wanted was recognition. Tommy could work with that.
And so yeah, Tommy had been planning alright. Wilbur would've be proud.
Speaking of Wilbur, after some deliberation Tommy had decided to inform him of his plan after it had been successfully put into motion.After all, Tommy could handle this and Wilbur was under enough stress.
It'd be better to tell him when everything was already sorted anyway, by then it'd also be too late for him to veto it.
Wilbur was arrogant, he still thought they were going to win. Maybe this time they would, but not unless Tommy took action.
He didn't want to loose Wilbur again...
That's why, at the first signs of dawn, Tommy had messaged both Fundy and Niki to meet him somewhere he knew wouldn't as of yet be on anyone's radar. A coast far enough away that it hadn't been messed with yet, but still within walking distance.
And so here he was, currently stood facing out towards the ocean (he'd have sat down but it had been pissing it down last night and the grass was all gross and shit).
It'd been ages since he'd seen either of them, much more since he'd seen a version of them lacking notable resentment towards him.It would be strange to meet them again like this, all in the same uniform and everything. As friends kinda.
It was stupid, but maybe he was a little nervous.
Out the corner of his eye he swore he saw the flicker of a torch before his attention was caught by the arrival of his, well his political rivals he supposed.
"Tommy !" Niki called out to him, walking just ahead of Fundy. She seemed open and warm. Fundy on the other hand, whilst not looking necessarily cold, did seem a bit more cautious.
"What's up ?" She smiled at him pleasantly. They all stood facing each other now, Fundy and Niki one side and Tommy on the other, alone.
Tommy glanced back to where he'd been looking just before, he must've been imaging things. That's what he gets for not sleeping he supposed.
He'd be fine, he'd gone longer without sleep before.
"Yeah, what's this about Tommy ?" Fundy seemed calm enough on the outside, however Tommy could tell he was nervous, or maybe cautious would be a better word.
Being alone with Dream in exile for so long had taught him to pick up on the subtleties.
"It's about the election, tomorrow." Tommy tried to sound confident. He knew what he was doing, he was doing the right thing.
And maybe he was trying to sound like Wilbur a little too.
"O-oh yeah ?" Fundy laughed nervously.He must've struck a chord.
"Your not going to win."
Niki looked a little taken aback by the abrasiveness of his statement, Fundy looked annoyed.
"Hey man, I mean the votes aren-" He was cut off.
"Your not going to win and you already know that." This time Tommy tried sounding less cold. He didn't want to be too much of an asshole, he also didn't want to push them too far or else they might not hear him out.
Niki looked away at this, Fundy just smirked a little."Oh do we Tommy ?"
Oh, so he still had confidence in his little stunt.
"Hey, Tommy, I get that we're not the biggest party running or-" Niki started.
"You know you don't really stand a chance, that's why Fundy's going to try and rig the vote tomorrow."
Fundy's eyes went wide at this, his breath caught in his throat.
"Tommy you can't just, just throw round accusations like that. No, Fundy- that's..." She trailed off at this, all eyes were now on the man in question.
"...how ?" Fundy met his eyes now, confusion and panic evident on his face.Niki just looked appalled.
"Does it matter ?" He couldn't exactly explain how he knew, all that mattered was that he did.
"Fundy, and- and you just weren't going to tell me ? or say anything at all ?" Niki seemed both pissed off and upset.
"I-I, Niki I was- "
This was it, his window.
"Look, guys, I'm not here to turn you against each other or anything."
They both turned to him now
"I, I actually had a proposition for you."
"Oh yeah ?" Fundy still seemed on edge, meanwhile Niki was still busy glaring daggers at him.
"I've looked over your policies, and they aren't all that bad. Better than SWAG or Schlatt anyway.You guys get it, they don't. If they get into power they're just going to ruin everything we fought for. But me and Wilbur trust you both."
"He, he does ?" Fundy looked hopeful at this, Niki seemed to have briefly forgotten her anger.
"Yeah, he does." Tommy tried his best at a reassuring smile, it felt awkward but he tried.
"So what I'm thinking is we pool our votes, and combine our parties." He looked to Niki, who still seemed a little unsure of all this, "That way you and Fundy can still both have positions in the cabinet and we can implement your policies into our own since they're already like, compatible and shit. I mean, it's not like you have anything to loose by accepting." He laughed nervously.
After that Fundy pulled Niki aside to talk. The grass had dried now, so Tommy sat staring out into the water. All he could do was hope he'd gotten through to them.
It'd be kinda stupid of them to refuse though, it's not like they had any better options. Maybe he felt kinda bad for using what he knew to make them do what he wanted, but this was for their good too.
He was doing what he needed to do. Whatever it took.
That concept weighed heavy on his mind.
"We're in, we'll do it." Tommy jumped as Niki, now besides him, spoke up. He scrambled to his feet, pulling himself out of his thought.
"You will ?" *-No idiot don't sound so unsure of yourself, your not a child-* "I-I mean, good. That's good, Wilbur will be glad to hear it."
Niki smiled at him now, Fundy looked up hopefully from where he was stood a little behind.
"Come on Niki, let's head back." Fundy said."Oh... would you mind heading back without me ? I just need a minute, it's nice here I might take the scenic route."
"Oh, yeah sure whatever. Tommy your heading back right ?" Fundy now turned his attention to Tommy.
////
They walked in silence for the most part, with Fundy's occasional attempts at initiating conversation largely unsuccessful. Tommy felt the dread build the closer they got. Maybe in retrospect his decision to inform Wilbur only now of his decision had been more avoidance than a smart move on his part.
Tommy really didn't want to see him. All of his once simple feelings towards the man felt all jumbled up in his head. The idealised image he held of him before pogtopia felt somehow tainted by the recent argument. Maybe Wilbur had never been perfect.
Realistically Tommy had already known this, but maybe a small part of him (the child he had once been in more than just name alone) had stubbornly refused to let go of that bright-eyed optimism.
He and Fundy parted ways once they reached the outskirts of the nation. Tommy eyed the camar van, where he knew Wilbur would be, took a deep breath and made a begrudging beeline for the door.
////
Ranboo was, in all honesty, not having too great of a time. He was hungry, cold, and his pant legs still hadn't fully dried. To make things even better it had started to rain. Luckily he'd managed to find a cave quick enough that nothing too bad had happened. However, now he was stuck there.
There was a tree just at the entrance of the cave he'd managed to break without getting too rained on and there was some coal in the cave too, so at least he had light. The torches weren't exactly doing much to warm him up though.
Usually rain wasn't too much of an issue, not with his armour on. But he didn't have his armour, he didn't really have much of anything.
His skin felt raw underneath the now uncomfortably rough fabric. He'd probably need a health pot for his shins at this point, but it didn't exactly look like he'd have access to one any time soon. At least his hand wasn't bleeding anymore, it still stung like hell but small victories.
God, he felt like a mess. He probably looked like one too. Exhaustion finally caught up to him as he felt himself slump against the wall. It wasn't like he had anything else to do, seen as how he was stuck anyway. He could worry about everything in the morning.
Niki was conflicted... she really had trusted Fundy. Second to Wilbur, Fundy had probably been the person she trusted most.
..But Tommy really did seem awfully serious about winning this election.
Maybe her trust really had been misplaced after all. Fundy lied to her.
How many times ?
How many times did he just lie to her face ?
He said he believed in them, that he genuinely believed they could win. Did he really even think that Tommy was corrupt at all, or was that just another lie to get her on his side ?
Wilbur trusted Tommy.
Fundy was Wilbur's son as well as being older and yet Wilbur repeatedly gave Tommy more responsibility. Maybe she should have paid that more merit.
Or maybe she was just angry, and sore with betrayal. She wasn't sure.
She looked out over the water. It had been early when they had arrived here, the sun just barely peaking over the horizon as they talked. Now though the sun was comfortably seated in his usual spot, watching apathetically from above, and Niki was alone.
She hadn't walked very far, she wasn't particularly motivated to get back home just yet, when something caught her attention.
It wasn't a loud sound, more so that the morning had been quiet and the weather rather mild where it had been stormy the night before.
It sounded kind of like an enderman. Which honestly wouldn't be too surprising as they were pretty common. However, there was something about the noise that Niki thought was strange, maybe it was how emotive it had sounded. Whatever it was it drove Niki to investigate a little, subsequently leading her over to a small cave.
What she found hadn't quite been what she was expecting. It wasn't an enderman, well, it wasn't quite an enderman. He ?
Whatever they were they looked young (despite their considerable height).
Had he spent the night here ? The cave didn't have much in it to suggest they'd been here too long. Just a few torches.
They were still asleep, it couldn't be comfortable just sleeping on the floor like that Niki figured.
Another warble escaped their lips, this one distinctly more distressed. He looked like he was having some sort of nightmare, brow distinctly furrowed at closer inspection.
Tentatively Niki reached out a hand and took a hold of his shoulder. Almost instantly there was a reaction.
Eyes opening wide with surprise as well as a full body jolt.
Niki moved her hand away.
They sat up slowly, eyes fixed just below her own. Confusion evident.
He reached for his face, he seemed almost surprised when his fingers came away slightly sizzling with salt water. He quickly swiped the rest away, then wiped his hand on his rather battered suit.
She noticed just how torn and dirty his clothes were now that he was sitting up, he didn't look to be in much better condition himself. Niki hadn't had much first aid training but from what she did know it was evident he probably needed some kind of medical attention.
"...what were you dreaming about ?" The words came out weak, and almost without her permission.
She wasn't even sure he could answer her at this point. All she knew was that the scene before her, the sullen pain etched into every detail compelled her to say something.
At this he turned to her, eyes flitting to hers briefly. A look of recognition, relief quickly replaced with one of an aching resignation.
"I-I don't remember." The boy said, his voice deep and scratchy.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, sitting quietly. Neither one knowing quite what to say to the other.
Niki was the one to break the silence in the end.
"What's your name ?" She asked.
"Oh, umm, its- it's Ranboo." He replied, fiddling with the hem of his trousers leg as he curled in on himself.
Niki picked herself up off the ground. "I'm Niki." Smiling patiently she reached out a hand. "You look injured, come on, I can help if you want."
Ranboo looked at the hand extended towards him with visible hesitation before taking a deep breath. Building his resolve he took her hand, giving a quick nod as he was pulled to his feet.
"Thank you," was all he said. But it was genuine and Niki appreciated that.
On the way back Niki spoke to him in a way that she hoped was comforting. She talked about L'manburg, about her friends and whatever other things crossed her mind. She talked about her bakery for a while.
Ranboo was mostly quiet, but he spoke up a bit when they got onto the topic of the bakery. Asking questions and such, taking an interest. After that they settled into an amicable silence.
They would be okay, both of them. It would be okay.
////
Okay so maybe he was a little nervous... he had kinda just made quite a big decision behind Wilbur's back. A big political decision at that.
All in all it was quite out of character now that he thought about it, especially back then (well technically back now but that was too confusing to dwell on). For all his talk Tommy was more of a follower than he'd like to admit and that trait was doubled when it came to Wilbur. Now he wasn't saying he was a very good follower, he was too brash and impulsive and he knew that, it's just that big calculated decisions like this usually weren't his style.
Maybe Wilbur would be too caught up in his surprise at Tommy actually using his head to get mad at him. A man could dream at least.
He stood face to face with the iron door of the camar van and- oh god, he really was in the past wasn't he. Looking around at the Blackstone walls around him the bizarre reality of the situation he was in really began to sink in.
But he didn't have time for existentialism right now. That crisis could wait until after he dealt with this one thank you very much.
He pressed down resolutely on the stone button- *he could do this*- took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
Wilbur stood over a brewing stand, the midday sunlight streaking through the window and lighting up his warm brown hair. It hung low, covering his eyes as he stooped over his work.
Still, Tommy could picture his expression clear as day. The way his brow would furrow as blaze powder and anticipation would light up his eyes.
It was like looking at an old photograph. The nostalgia, worn thin by years of hardship and violence, now reaching deep into his chest with a firm grip on his heart. The surrealism of it all made itself known to him in a way he still didn't have time for...
…but Wilbur hadn't held that expression in a long time. No matter how many potions he brewed now that sparkle never did return to his eyes, not that he ever brewed potions anymore.
The worry lines were there even now, no doubt the stress of running a nation already a weight enough on his shoulders, but he was still Wilbur.
There was still time.
The door shut behind him, startling both of them, Wilbur shooting up to his full height.
A cold, "Tommy," was the only acknowledgement he received that Wilbur had seen him.
He returned his focus to his work, looking conflicted now. Tommy was unsure if he was going to say something or if he would have to be the one to break the silence. He came here to talk though, so in the end that's what he did.
"Look, Wilbur, there's um- there's actually something I should-"
"Wait I- Look, Tommy," Wilbur interrupted, turning to face him.
"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I know you were just trying to help, even if you did have a very... Tommy way of going about it." Wilbur looked him in the eyes now, showing Tommy he had the full extent of his attention.
"Oh.." Tommy hadn't been expecting that. "Yeah, uhh, it's- it's fine I guess." What was he supposed to say ? Was he supposed to apologize back or something ? He didn't really want to apologize to be honest.
"Sorry, what was it you were saying ?" Wilbur asked, as if just noticing he'd interrupted him.
Oh fuck, that's what he was here for wasn't it. Through his initial surprise he'd almost forgotten.
He had to tell Wilbur he'd gone behind his back. He had to wipe that warm look off his face, the one that had been missing for so long.
Why did he always have to ruin everything ?
"I- umm, I spoke to Fundy and Niki earlier." Maybe if he just said it right, explained himself, Wilbur wouldn't be mad.
"Oh ?" Wilbur tilted his head slightly as he continued to look at Tommy.
Shit, why wouldn't he just turn back to what he was doing before or something ? This would be a lot fucking easier if he wasn't being stared at the whole time.
"Yeah... I was, I was thinking maybe- you know since the whole Quackity thing didn't work out- we could, with Coconut, well we could..."
"Oh yeah, they're running too aren't they ? Honestly, I kinda think Fundy's just trying to imitate his old man you know." Wilbur chucked lightly at that thought, and turned back to his tinkering with the brewing stand.
"Still, it's quite sweet really. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery after all. What were you thinking then ?"
Oh prime, he was just gonna have to rip the band aid off wasn't he. He could stall forever if he really wanted to, Wilbur wasn't exactly hard to get talking, but Tommy just wanted to get this over with.
"I asked them to form a coalition and pool there votes with ours."
A clang of metal hitting hard wood rang out as the small metal spatula Wilbur had been in the process of using slipped from his grasp, landing on the counter top.
"I-"
"Tommy-" Wilbur started, sounding more taken aback than anything really.
"I wasn't being impulsive Wil. I- it's the only chance we have to win, Quackity and Schlatt are- Wil you don't understand this is the only thing we could- it's our only move left Wil ! Schlatt he-" Tommy's words felt almost like they were falling out of him. The anxiety he felt driving him forwards; to keep talking.
"Tommy, calm down !"
The words caught him off guard, not that he really knew why, his head shooting up from where it had previously been aiming at Wilbur's shoes and his mouth snapping closed. Wild blue eyes slightly brimming with tears now staring into a much more worried set.
"Tommy, I- I get we fought and all but you still need to tell me about shit like this." Wilbur's words were firm, but they weren't as angry as he'd been expecting.
Tommy was still reeling from his outburst though, his lips firmly pressed together (he refused to cry now).
"I know. I'm sorry, I should have." Tommy's eyes shifted away from Wilbur's ever intense gaze.
"Now, can you tell me calmly why you did that ?" Tommy hated it when he felt like Wilbur was treating him like a kid, but honestly, now wasn't really the time to complain. Wilbur had every right to yell at him (or worse) right now and he wasn't, Tommy should be grateful.
"They have- they have similar ideas to us and it puts us in a stronger position against SWAG and Schlatt. Fundy and Niki know they're a weak candidate so they're willing to compromise."
Tommy needed to be strong, he knew what he was doing. He wasn't a stupid little kid anymore, he couldn't afford to be.
"Hmm-" Wilbur turned, looking out of the window, expression a muddle of too many emotions for Tommy to unravel. Anticipation and anxiety bubbled just beneath his skin as the seconds elapsed.
"Tommy-"
"-Trust me Wilbur." He cut in as the other turned back to him, Wil's mouth a thin line as they looked at each other once again.
Tommy had to look up more than he remembered. He must've grown, not that he really noticed at the time.
Last he'd checked he'd been around 6' foot, but right now he was probably closer to 5'9 or 5'10.
Finally, Wilbur gave him a curt but serious nod.
"Okay... I'll trust you."
Tommy heaved a sigh of relief.
"Just, don't go pulling this shit again okay ?"
Now was Tommy's turn to nod.
"The election's tomorrow.. I should probably start working on some kind of speech or something." Wilbur began moving across the van to grab a notebook sat on the opposing counter to the one with the brewing stands he had been using.
"Yeah.." Making his way towards the doorway and preparing to leave Tommy spun back around suddenly with a burst of courage.
"Hey, Wil ?"
Wilbur turned his attention back over to the boy.
"Were gonna win tomorrow." He spoke with a particularly sober expression, a rare weight behind his words.
He received another nod in response, this time accompanied by a determined smile. Satisfied, he made his way out of the van.
////
What the fuck...
The dream was quickly fading from his conscious mind-
but still,
he felt uneasy
…and kinda sick to be honest.
He got out of bed and made his way over to the window, he didn't really think he'd be getting much more sleep.
That election thing was supposed to be today wasn't it ? He should probably check that out later.
The clock read 4:26 am.
Maybe he could go for a walk or something ?
He probably wouldn't though. He'd probably just read or something.
He walked through the day in his head, which was harder than usual with there being so many variables.
He tried not to worry too much over the election results, he could make it work whatever way it turned out.
…
he still felt sick.
hello! <3
really appreciate the comments on the last update, decided to continue and rework this after all :) changed the fic tl up a bit to now be a little closer to the current dsmp tl (well... the time travel is still the same but ykwim lol) also changed a few of my plans on where the fics going and I'm a lot happier w it ^^
that does mean Im gonna have to go through old chapters thought to fix them to fit now with the fic. posting the first fixed chap now (will add to notes so u can tell what chaps are new and improved™)
shouldn't take me too long to get through the rest of the chaps, I've already finished chap 2 and started 3. then there will be more chapters! hope ur as exited as I am lol, really happy with my plans now. it's summer so I have hella free time to work on this too. see u soon hopefully <3
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I know, You came to talk I listen now we walk together alone, I'm trying hard to understand Will you lend me your hand? To hold, to hold, to hold Just for a little while longer, Until I'm stronger
Yuuri lets the melody wash over him, the words written during the night falling from his lips as he reads from the worn notebook. He hasn’t slept since yesterday morning, not with this melody, these lyrics haunting him. The piano keys feel known under his skin, and the melody flows through his mind and body, out into his inked fingers as they move. 'Cause I know, Alone isn't lonely Alone isn't lonely
He can’t remember when he last ate - maybe last night, before Phichit left? He knows he’s hungry but the melody in his mind takes priority. It always has. The song demands to be played, and Yuuri complies. It feels like his mind eases as he sings, as the keys fall under the weight of his fingers. He’s not sure he’ll ever play this song again. Maybe he’ll record it. It doesn’t really matter.
Maybe if I start over again, I can find any place in my own case You say you can't breathe this air, But you can have mine Take mine, take mine, take mine, I'll do anything for you to shine
The small studio feels as much like home as the small apartment he has just a few blocks north. Maybe even more. His guitar is here, and the piano he and Phichit hauled across town and paid far too much to have tuned. They painted the walls, they carried in the mixing table. It’s theirs in every way. Yuuri’s broken down in here, laughed, danced, created. It’s truly where he feels like he belongs.
'Cause I know Alone isn't lonely Alone isn't lonely
Yuuri’s startled out of his singing by Phichit tapping the window by the mixing desk, holding up two brown bags and a large cup of what Yuuri knows is green tea, even if he can’t see through the white container. Phichit wiggles the breakfast as well as his eyebrows, and Yuuri lets his fingers slide off the piano, leaving his notebook open on the music rack as he stands. The carpeted floor feels soft as he walks across it, and Yuuri opens the door to the soundbox and continues out into the small lounge. It’s not much, just a small grey-painted room with a couple of couches and a coffee table, walls covered with posters of artists and bands. Yuuri’s eaten most of his meals at this table the last two years, back bent uncomfortably as he leans over, Phichit and who ever might join them doing the same. There’s a small kitchenette along one wall with a sink, stove and a fridge, meaning they have everything they could need to basically live in the studio.
Phichit has made himself comfortable on one of the couches, the lime green one they got from the old woman who lives down the street, who felt bad they only had wooden chairs to sit on. She said she had planned to get rid of it and was just happy that someone wanted to carry it out for her. Yuuri’s not sure that was the entire truth, but she was too sweet to challenge on it.
“Working on something new?” Phichit asks as Yuuri sits down on the other couch, the one Phichit’s sister bought for them when she came to visit. It’s a deep blue color, in stark contrast to the green one. They’re both perfect for sleeping on, even if they are mismatched in color.
“Yeah, something that just wouldn't let me rest last night,” Yuuri answers, accepting the sandwich Phichit hands him from the bag. It’s from the cart outside of the community college a few blocks down; the bread is slightly soggy but the cheese tastes alright.
“I guessed you didn’t go home,” Phichit laughs, sipping his latte that without a doubt has some sort of grossly sweet topping. Yuuri shudders at the mere thought and sips his bitter matcha. It’s not the same as home, but it’s an okay substitute. “Something good?”
“Not sure,” Yuuri admits. He rarely feels confident in his works, having no idea what might work or not. Most of the time he’s surprised anyone likes to listen to his music at all, and yet a few of his songs have over twenty million hits on Spotify. It’s a mystery. “It just... felt like it needed to be played.”
“Okay, cool,” Phichit says and then falls quiet. Yuuri looks at him suspiciously. His best friend, producer and manager is rarely quiet unless Yuuri has specifically asked him to be. He glances over at him, seeing Phichit fiddle with his cup nervously. Yuuri puts his own down, feeling nerves spark in his system. Something is definitely up.
“What is it?” he asks, and Phichit looks at him with big eyes. Yuuri can see him pull on a mask of innocence.
“What is what?” he asks, and Yuuri gives him a knowing look. They’ve known each other long enough to notice things like this, having roomed together in college and then set out on this crazy escapade together. Phichit can smell a mile away when Yuuri’s panic is rising, and when he’s getting hungry enough to turn into a monster. Yuuri can always tell when Phichit is hiding something. They look at each other for a while, a staring contest Yuuri know he's going to win, since he’s right. Phichit glares back for a moment, and then falls back against the couch with a sigh, pulling out his phone. “Fine, fine,” he relents. “There is something.”
“Is it ‘I signed you up for pole dancing classes for your birthday’ bad or ‘I booked you for five gigs without telling you’ bad?” Yuuri asks, raising one eyebrow. He’s not truly worried, he knows Phichit wouldn’t do anything to actually hurt him, but he sometimes has some strange ideas of what Yuuri ‘needs’ .
“It’s actually something good,” Phichit protests, which is a very Phichit thing to say and it only makes Yuuri’s frown deepen. “Stop looking at me like that!” he laughs, and it causes Yuuri to drop his frown and laugh too. Phichit takes a sip of his coffee when his laugh dies down, and when he looks back at Yuuri he seems less frazzled. “They called me this morning from Channel Four, about you being on So Much Better .”
Yuuri blinks and looks over at Phichit in shock. Of everything he thought Phichit might say, being invited to the award winning music tv-show was never one of them. “What?” he asks, putting his cup down to look straight at Phichit, who smiles warmly.
“Yeah, they were really cool. One of the producers, Morooka, he was really excited about you joining,” Phichit answers, but Yuuri’s still having trouble processing what his best friend just said to take it in.
So Much Better is a musical TV-show named after the artist Cao Bin’s song So Much Better , referring to the lyrics - so much better when we are together. Cao Bin died tragically and far too young, and as an homage to his legacy of collaboration and making covers of other artists’ songs and turning them into his own, Channel 4 started the show.
Every summer, a group of seven artists are invited to a mansion on a small island off the east coast. They will live together there for a little over a week, performing covers of each other's songs, remaking them in their own style. It’s done as a means to celebrate each other and music, and only the most esteemed and famous singers are asked to join. Something Yuuri most definitely isn't. “What?” Yuuri repeats, and Phichit rolls his eyes.
“Yuuri! Can we have this conversation without you thinking you don’t deserve to be there? Like, can we try?” Phichit says, eyes pleading. Yuuri lets out a long sigh. He really, really can’t see why they would want Yuuri to go. Yuuri, who only has two albums which have had minor success. It’s not like he’s Victor Nikiforov, most streamed artist of the decade, but he can try to put that aside. If they’ve asked Phichit for him to join, it’s not really Yuuri’s thing to judge, whatever he thinks.
“Okay, I’ll try,” Yuuri agrees, reaching for his cup of tea again. He’ll need something to calm his racing mind.
“Good,” Phichit says, picking his phone up from the table. “I asked them to send me the specifics so I can read it to you.” Yuuri nods, trying not to let his mind run away with him. He can hear them out at least.
“ Hi Phichit, here’s the information you requested ,” Phichit mumble reads, continuing for a few sentences before he finds what he’s looking for. “Here! ‘ We would love for Yuuri to come join the show. It will air this fall but will be recorded during the summer. There are 10 days of shooting, including the days the artists come and leave, which will span between the 19th and the 28th of June. The artists will be provided with their own room and bathroom and an open kitchen will be accessible at the mansion. Meals will be provided for lunch and dinner, which is when the artist will perform their chosen cover’ , well this we know,” Phichit says and Yuuri nods. Most of the information sent is known to anyone who’s seen the show.
Seven artists with one day each, where the artist chooses the food, the activity and the others perform a cover each of their songs. There’s been five seasons since it’s started, and the idea is for the artist to share some personal stories during the day designated to them. Yuuri’s stomach turns. If he decides to do it, he'll be expected to reveal things about himself, much more than he usually does in interviews or on the social media account Phichit runs for him.
“‘ The songs will be picked on a first come, first served basis as soon as the final list of artists has been set. This means that the artists all need to give consent to all of their songs being sung and recorded by another artist’, ” Phichit continues and then looks up from his phone, placing it on the table. “There’s more legal stuff after that, but it seems like the jist of it. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Yuuri says, leaning back to look up at the ceiling. He’s asked the white panels many questions over the two and a half years they’ve had this studio. They never really give any answers. “I just- Do I even have enough material for that?”
“Apparently they think so, if they invited you? I think Leo only had two albums when he was on it,” Phichit says, and Yuuri nods. That might be the case. Their friend Leo de la Iglesia was on the show two seasons ago, and Yuuri knows he said it was an amazing experience. “I think the question is, would you be okay with someone else using the words you’ve written and turn it into something else?”
Yuuri lets out a sigh and continues to look up at the ceiling. How would he feel about that? Music and lyrics can be interpreted in so many ways, and another artist would probably make something very different out of Yuuri’s works than he did. Still, music is meant to touch people and be enjoyed. If his music can do that in another version, what’s the harm in that?
“I might be,” Yuuri says slowly. “I’ll have to think about it some more.”
“Okay, that’s valid,” Phichit agrees. “The second question is, how do you feel about singing someone else's songs? Since it’s been an issue before.”
“I think it might be okay if I can choose,” Yuuri muses. “The problem then was they wanted me to do very specific things with no choice in the matter.”
“I know, but this will still not be your words,” Phichit argues. “You might not even get the song you want if someone else picks it first.”
“I do sing two songs regularly written by someone else,” Yuuri points out with a smile, and Phichit rolls his eyes but smiles back too. Yuuri can see him rub his neck sheepishly, where the tattoo they both have sits.
“That’s different!” he argues, and now it’s Yuuri’s turn to roll his eyes. “One is written by the great platonic love of your life,” he points to himself then, which Yuuri can agree with. “And the other by the only man you’ve ever truly loved.”
Yuuri can feel a blush creep up on his face, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “Shut up,” he says, causing Phichit to laugh even more. “It’s not like that.”
“Mhm,” Phichit answers knowingly, looking pointedly at the three Victor Nikiforov posters decorating the walls of the small space. “Are you going to tell the posters of the love of your life that? Or all the ink on your skin?”
“I just admire his lyrics and musicality,” Yuuri shoots back, wishing the blood rushing to his cheeks would stop giving his obvious crush away. He doesn’t know why he keeps feeding these excuses to his best friend. He’s already admitted how attractive he finds Victor, how much he admires him and after far too many drinks one night, disclosed how much he would love for him to bang him, or the other way around, Yuuri’s not picky. Phichit knows far too much to ever be fooled.
“Sure Yuuri, whatever helps you sleep at night,” his best friend teases.
“Shut up I said, you’re supposed to help me make sense out of this,” Yuuri points out. “Can I even go? Don’t I have any shows?” The summer is usually the most booked period for shows domestically. Yuuri’s just spent three months touring Europe with his second album, playing at minor venues and being the opening act for some of the bigger names in the countries he’s visited.
“Nope,” Phichit says, having picked up his phone again, probably to check the gig schedule. “You have the Way Out West festival on the 30th, and then the next gig is ‘Music for Love’ on the 5th that Leo hosts, as well as the Avene Amusement Park on the 6th.”
“So it’s before the summer schedule really picks up?” Yuuri confirms. “Yeah, so timewise it would work. You can work on your covers from now till mid June, and then you have to hand in the music for their band to learn it,” Phichit says, probably having switched back to the email. “That would give you four months to create six pieces.”
“That’s manageable, as long as I find something that inspires me I suppose,” Yuuri muses. “It all depends on who will be joining too.”
“Do you want to know who’s been confirmed so far?” Phichit asks teasingly.
“They gave you that? I thought they revealed all of the artists during the same week?” Yuuri asks, taking another bite of his sandwich. His nervous stomach has settled a bit as they’ve talked about it, and the hunger he was feeling before makes itself known in the absence of his nerves. “To the public and press, yes, but I might have managed to convince Morooka to give us the names of the artists that have agreed now, to help convince you. He seemed very accomodating in terms of getting you to join,” Phichit says with a smile. “You want to hear who they are? We are of course sworn to secrecy.” “Yeah okay, shoot,” Yuuri agrees, taking another sip of his tea. He has a vague understanding of who’s been on the show before and therefore wouldn't be going now. Still, there are so many talented artists, it could be any of them. Phichit beams and scrolls down to find the list.
“Oh!” He says immediately smile even brighter. “Minako Okukawa is the first one.”
“Oh really?” Yuuri laughs. Minako is known for her soulful jazz songs that have been played in countless piano bars and weddings. She’s also Yuuri’s godmother and the one who bought him his first keyboard. “That’s a coincidence.”
“Right?” Phichit agrees. “So that’s someone we know.”
“Yeah, and I think I could make something out of her music,” Yuuri says, mind already spinning with melodies he grew up with, song lyrics she sang to him when she visited. Yeah, he could probably do something from her repertoire without it being too forced.
“Okay, so the next person is Chris Giacometti- oh Yuuri he’s so hot!” Phichit exclaims and Yuuri groans. Jazz he can do, the sex on stage that Chris offers, not so much.
“I could never pull off one of his songs,” Yuuri argues. He can’t even imagine himself singing half of Chris’ lyrics, filled with insinuations and in some cases out right descriptions of the act. Yuuri is no virgin, but that doesn’t mean he can pull off that type of expression. “Aaaw come on Yuuri, I’d love to hear you sing Joystick ,” Phichit teases, and if he wasn’t holding a cup of coffee Yuuri would chuck one of the throw pillows at him. “ Baby, grab a hold of the joystick, take control of the motion, I can feel it when you ahh ahh, ” Phichit sings and moans, off key and horribly low, wicked grin on his face. Yuuri does pick up the pillow then, and Phichit shrieks, covering his face with his hands. Yuuri puts it down with a huff, but he can’t help but laugh.
“See, I could never!” Yuuri points out again, laughter still clinging to his voice. Chris is known for sexual performances, videos and songs. Yuuri can’t even imagine stepping up to sing something like that in front of the artist who’s been dubbed the music world's hottest bachelor several years in a row.
“I don’t know, you’re pretty good at losing clothes and grinding on things after a few glasses of champagne,” Phichit says.
“I’m never drinking again.” It’s true. Yuuri is such a slutty drunk. He always seems to lose his pants after four cocktails or five glasses of wine. Luckily he hasn't ended up in any unknown men’s beds, Phichit is always there to make sure he gets home in one piece. He stopped drinking publicly when people started recognizing him, and now he only drinks at the studio or with friends.
“I think you could pull some of Chris’ songs off though. How about Love ? Or Siren Song ?” Phichit suggests, pulling up Spotify to start the first of the songs. It’s a more electronic beat than Yuuri works with, but that’s the point of the show, to challenge yourself and to turn the song into something new. Yuuri tries to imagine it, what he could do with the musical arrangement, how it might sound on a simple piano, or with some saxophones. He closes his eyes, fingers soon starting to tap in time with the beat. He lets the song play out, and opens his eyes to look at Phichit again. His friend has a knowing look on his face. Yuuri says nothing about it. He still hasn't decided, even if he’s feeling inspiration course through his veins.
“Who else?” he asks and Phichit turns off the new song that’s started playing to go back to the email.
“The other two confirmed are Ji - oh that’s cool- and Sara&Mila. I haven’t met them, have you?” Phichit asks.
“No I’ve never met them. Ji? Really?” Yuuri asks. Ji is one of the few artist friends Yuuri has. He’s more of Phichit’s friend, but he’s guest-starred at a show that Ji’s boyfriend Leo de la Iglesia organizes every summer. Leo is a rapper, while Ji makes pop. They met a few years ago when Leo needed back up singers for his new album, before Ji had a career of his own. Sara&Mila is a duo who make electro pop, and Yuuri knows their second single went platinum. He’s never met them personally, but has heard their music several times. Yuuko usually plays it when he visits her at the café.
“Yeah!” Phichit exclaims. “That a very solid gang so far. With you that would make five, so two are missing.” Yuuri nods in agreement. That is a very good set up, and as far as rumours go in the artist world Sara and Mila, as well as Chris, are good people. Yuuri’s never heard anything too vicious about them, except the general gossip that floats around about all of them.
“It would be great to have some people I know there too, so it wouldn’t all be big shots I’ve never talked to,” Yuuri agrees. He’s not someone who usually enjoys living in cramped spaces with people, friends or not, but ten days with Ji and Minako is something he could actually enjoy. He only hopes Chris isn’t as handsy as Leo says he is.
“I think so too!” Phichit agrees. “As far as having people you might be comfortable with there I think you can’t do much better. There is of course going to be two more, probably someone older, and the last one could be anyone. You’ll just have to hope for someone who makes good music you can get inspired by.”
“I think you’re right,” Yuuri says. He leans back against the couch again, looking over at his friend with a thoughtful expression. “So, there's only the big question left.”
“It doesn’t have to be-,” Phichit starts, but Yuuri shakes his head.
“You know it does,” He says, and Phichit frowns and purses his lips slightly. Yuuri matches his expression.
“You can still choose though, you don’t have to share something about yourself or the songs that you’re not comfortable with,” Phichit points out.
“Is that fair? For everyone else to come in there and be open, and for me not to be?” Yuuri asks. He doesn’t want to be rude or ungrateful, but there are certain things he’d rather not let the entire world know. He knows he chose to work with music and that some of his privacy will be compromised, but that doesn’t mean Yuuri’s comfortable sharing everything with everyone. It’s not so much that he wants to hide anything or is ashamed of something either. He’d just like to keep some of himself just to the people closest to him.
“I’m sure everyone comes with some limitations in front of the cameras,” Phichit says. “These are all professionals who have worked several years in the industry. I’m sure they all have things they don’t share with the public.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Yuuri agrees, tapping his fingers restlessly. Being chosen to participate in So Much Better is a great honour, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to go. Still, he’s not sure how much he’ll be able to contribute to the group, both as a performer and a person. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good!” Phichit says, seeming surprised. Maybe that went better than he expected. “Are you going to play me your new song now?”
________________________________________________________________________
The decision gnaws at Yuuri’s mind for the coming days. He weighs the options back and forth, worrying about the prospect of being filmed almost 24/7 for ten days. Yuuri doesn't think he’s particularly interesting, so maybe the cameras would stay away from him anyway. He considers reaching out to Ji to discuss it, but he doesn’t really want to push his own worries onto the other singer. Phichit has to listen to his ramblings and anxiety driven ideas, he’s proclaimed himself Yuuri’s best friend and manager, but that doesn’t mean Yuuri can do so with someone else.
After spending a good fourteen hours at the studio working on Alone isn’t lonely, Yuuri comes home to a bare and empty apartment. He sets down the bag of food on the counter but decides to eat it later. His hands are aching after spending so long playing, and he’s longing to sink into a hot bath and try to clear his mind. He starts his favorite playlist on his phone, and it instantly connects to the bluetooth speakers he got from Mari for Chrismas.
He sinks into the hot water, leaning his head back against the edge. It stings his skin in a familiar way, and Yuuri enjoys how the warmth seeps into his muscles and joints. The well-known melody echoes from the tile walls and Yuuri closes his eyes and tries to focus on the lyrics.
And I'll hold on to the words you spoke of
Anchored down in the throat, love
And I'm captain of this sinking boat now
With just one armband to carry me home
Victor’s voice is soothing, and Yuuri loves how it washes over him, calms his nerves in a way few other things do. His music has been his constant companion for a decade now. Yuuri can still remember the first time he heard one of Victor’s songs from the radio in his sister’s room, how time seemed to slow, and then Yuuri was sinking into it. Afterwards he scrambled to write down the name of the song and artist. He used to take his bicycle to the record store and stand for hours with the headphones over his ears and just listen. The next time he had a birthday he only wished for Victor’s record, and when he got it he played it until the entire Katsuki family could sing every song.
“I’ve heard this so many times I could sing it backwards by now,” Mari groaned, but Yuuri didn’t care. He simply sat down at the keyboard Minako had gotten him three years earlier, and played.
Yuuri smiles at the memory, and absentmindedly he touches his right side across his ribs, where Victor’s lyrics are branded into Yuuri’s skin.
Your eyes, your lips, your mouth
Your thighs, your back, you drive me wild
Tonight, the fact is I…
Yuuri has over fifteen tattoos, and all but one was inspired by Victor’s lyrics and songs. They’ve made such an impact on him that he felt the need to wear them, have them etched into his skin. He had just turned eighteen when he stepped into the tattoo parlour and asked for the first set of lyrics to be imprinted on the skin under his left chest muscles. It just escalated from there.
Winding English roses from the knuckles of his right hand up to his shoulder, meeting the starry sky across his shoulders and down his back. The black birds taking flight across his right hip up to meet the lyrics from shirtsleeve . The three polaroids running down the outer side of his left arm, portraying his childhood home, his family, his childhood dog Vicchan. The ‘give me love ’ on the inside of his bicep. The kiss mark right above his left collarbone, the lego pieces on his inner left arm. It’s all Victor’s songs, his lyrics, his words. Yuuri’s proud to wear them, to have the music that’s gotten him out of his own head so many times displayed on him. Words that have comforted him, brought him out of panic attacks, made him dance, made him sing, made him feel when nothing else does.
Yuuri sighs and looks up at the ceiling as the song changes to the next one, mouthing along.
Another day another life
Passes by just like mine
It's not complicated
Victor’s never been on So Much Better . Yuuri’s not sure why, but he assumes he’s been asked. He’s one of the country’s most famous performers, and for the production to have never approached him seems unlikely. Victor is a very busy artist of course, and with the summer being tour season maybe he’s just never had the time? Yuuri knows he has a full concert schedule most summers. He’s been to most of the tours after all.
Do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you?
Float down
Like autumn leaves
Hush now
Close your eyes before the sleep
And you're miles away
And yesterday you were here with me
The starry sky on Yuuri’s back is an homage to this chorus. He wonders if he should get another tattoo soon- maybe on his outer left arm where it’s still blank. Victor hasn’t released a full studio album in a few years. There’s been two collaborative EPs, and Yuuri’s enjoyed them, but it’s not the same. Not that the other artists aren’t talented, there’s just been something missing from them that Yuuri found in Victor’s other songs. He lets out a breath and sinks down into the tub, soaking his hair and face. The music becomes muffled, and Yuuri takes a moment to enjoy the warmth before he pushes up again, pushing his wet hair back from his face. As he emerges, another song starts.
Tell me that you'll turn down the man
Who asks for your hand
'Cause you're waiting for me
________________________________________________________________________
Phichit said Morooka had given him a week to decide, and on the fifth day Yuuri decides to visit Yuuko at the café. It’s on the other side of town, and Yuuri takes the bus, hoodie pulled over his head, glasses on his nose. Like this he could be anyone. He doesn’t get recognized a lot, but it happens. He never knows what to say when it does, which means it mostly gets awkward. He keeps his headphones on, and just for fun he starts Minako’s first album.
I waited 'til I saw the sun
I don't know why I didn't come
I left you by the house of fun
I don't know why I didn't come
I don't know why I didn't come
Yuuri lets the jazzy tones wash over him as his commute takes him to The Ice Castle, and he lets his phone continue to play the rest of the songs on the album. It’s not his favorite from her, but it’s a good one. Could Yuuri do it justice? How would he change it if he were to try? Maybe something more dancy? Or put more emphasis on the lyrics, push out the meaning, tweak it a bit? He hasn’t made up his mind when he reaches his stop, but he realises either way he should probably call Minako so she can yell at him for never calling.
The café is warm and smells like coffee and sweets. It’s mid morning and the office workers and college students have long since left, but it’s not yet time for the lunch rush. There’s just a few guests sitting around the tables, some curled up with textbooks, others chatting. Yuuko’s behind the counter, and she lights up as soon as he sees him. Yuuri pushes the hood off his head and arranges his headphones around his neck before he fixes his glasses that have slipped down on his nose.
“Yuuri!” she exclaims and he smiles and walks over, sitting down on a high chair by the counter. “I’m so glad to see you. What do you want?”
“Hi Yuuko,” Yurui says, pulling out his wallet. “Tea? Whichever blend you recommend.”
“Sure, on the house,” she says, like she always does, and Yuuri stuffs the tip jar with more bills than ten teas could cost when she turns her back to make it for him.
“Thank you,” he says, settling down as he watches her work. They’ve known each other ever since they were kids; neighbours who used to walk to school together every day. Yuuri helped carry the furniture in here when she started it three years ago, just when he had gotten out of his contract with the record company. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she says as she hands over the cup, pulling up her own stool to sit opposite him. “It’s been busy. I’m considering hiring another employee.”
“That might be good. You’ll be able to maybe take a vacation then,” Yuuri points out. He can’t remember the last time she had a day off.
“Yeah that would be nice! Go to the beach during the day, or maybe just sleep in. Don’t get me wrong, Hikaru and Ketty are both great, but with both of them doing part time studying, I feel like I’m here every day anyway.”
“You deserve a day off,” Yuuri says . Yuuko gives him a soft smile and nods.
“So sweet to me,” she says and leans over to pinch his cheek. Yuuri shrieks and swats her away, causing her to laugh. Another customer comes in, so Yuuri gets a moment to rub his cheek as she tends to them. There's a song playing over the speakers, and as Yuuko’s wrapping up scones to-go Yuuri’s mind strays to it. The beat is electric, but the pace slower than it usually is in songs like this. He recognizes the voice of the singers, but he’s not sure who it is.
I wear a smile, you ride the frown Always do my best to get you upside down When you're throwing shade, I rearrange the clouds Got my head up but we're going south
A smile spreads on Yuuri’s face without him even thinking about it. He’s pulled into a memory of a song sent to his email, the melody his, the lyrics someone else's. The vocals had been terrible, but Yuuri had always known that Phichit’s skills were not in his voice. The lyrics had nested itself into his chest, and for the first time in months he felt like he wanted to sing again, to create, to perform.
Let me be the rose to tint your glass Spray-paint the lawn to get a greener grass
Yuuri finds himself nodding along as the song grows, the lyrics feeling more and more fitting. Yuuri never wrote a response to the song Phichit made for him. The song that pulled him out of the darkest places he’s ever been in. A song that turned into a gold selling single.
I'll be your brightsider, 'cause all I wanna do is make you feel a little better I'll be your cheerleader, with no allowance, baby, I'll be on the bleachers Get up, get up tonight I will be the one to show you your brightside
“What's new with you?” Yuuko asks as she comes back with a smile on her face, picking up the conversation from before. Yuuri tries to shift his focus back to her, but the song continues and he can’t help but to continue listening to it.
“Not much I- Yuuko who is this?” he asks, gesturing to the speakers. Yuuko quirks an eyebrow in question before realisations hit her.
“Oh the song? It’s Sara&Mila. It’s their new single Brightside ,” Yuuko says with a smile. “Isn’t it great? I don’t think it’s as good as On Your Side but I’ve been listening to it all morning.”
Yuuri lets out a slow breath, a new idea forming. The song is good, but with another slower beat, bringing it down a little, maybe more bass? His mind starts racing, an answer to the song his best friend wrote so many years ago.
“I-” he starts, standing up as he feels the rushing feeling of having to create burn in his veins. Yuuko looks at him in surprise.
“Yuuri?” she says with a worried expression. He shakes his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times.
“I have to go,” he finally manages. “I’ll be back another day. I just…”
Yuurko’s frown exchanges for a smile. It’s not the first time Yuuri’s dropped everything in front of her, the burning need to create overwhelming his senses and his focus.
“Go!” she laughs. “Make something great.”
Yuuri smiles gratefully and shrugs on the hood. He’s barely made it out of the café before his phone is in his hand, the second contact in his favourite list on his phone already dialed.
“I’m sexyyyy and I knooow iiitt, ” Phichit sings, just like he does every time Yuuri calls. It’s been like this ever since that dreadful night Yuuri chugged down an entire bottle of champagne and changed his personal ringtone on Phichit’s phone to Chris’ huge hit. Yuuri’s still not sure if it’s a gag-song or if Chris was serious when making it, since it’s so different from his others. He guesses he’ll have the chance to ask now.
“Tell Morooka I’ll do it,” Yuuri says in a rush as he hurries to the bus stop. “Tell them I’ll do it if I can have Sara&Mila’s Brightside .”
“Really?” Phichit squeals in excitement, and Yuuri can barely hold back his smile. “Okay. Okay. Yuuri that’s great. Okay, I’ll call now!” The line goes dead and Yuuri lets out a slow breath. No turning back now.
________________________________________________________________________
It’s been almost three weeks since Yuuri signed all the papers to participate when the final list comes. Yuuri’s done two performances since, and all his other time has been spent in the studio trying to work out his versions of the other artists’ songs. He’s almost done with Brightside , and for now he’s letting it rest as he listens though Chris’ entire body of work. He’s spent three days just doing that, narrowing the selection down each time. He’s currently trying to decide between two, when Phichit comes storming into the studio and jumps up to sit on the piano. Yuuri stays in his position on the ground, laying like a starfish on the carpeted floor.
“It’s here!” Phichit exclaims, and Yuuri reaches for his phone to lower the sound, before he looks up at his best friend who's basically bouncing on the piano. Yuuri really hopes he doesn’t fall off and break something. He can still feel the muscle he pulled when he had to carry Phichit to the ER after he broke his foot go-karting.
“What’s here?” Yuuri asks. He never really knows with Phichit. It could be anything from dinner to the information that they’ve confirmed celestial life.
“The final list for So Much Better ,” Phichit says, and that does get Yuuri’s attention. He turns off the music completely but stays laying down.
“Did you read it?” Yuuri asks but Phichit shakes his head, holding up his phone, probably containing the email with the information. “I wanted us to check it out together. Ready?” Phichit asks with a grin. Yuuri nods. He feels oddly nervous, which is strange. It doesn’t matter that much, unless it’s someone he knows to be horrible, which he doubts. With Yuuri being fairly unknown it should be two bigger names, probably known in the music industry for years.
“As I’ll ever be,” Yuuri confirms.
“Okay, so the first is Celestino Cialdini,” Phichit reads. “That might be a challenge with all the 80’s influences but you could probably find something of his. I mean he’s done both bands and duets, as well as some solo things right?”
“I haven’t listened to him much, except what was played on the radio as I grew up,” Yuuri confesses. ”I’ll have to look into it. Nothing comes to mind immediately.”
“Yeah I’m sure-,” Phichit starts but cuts himself off. “OH MY GOD,” he gasps loudly, and Yuuri looks up at him, heart racing in his chest.
“What?” he asks, feeling nerves prickle under his skin, anxiety pooling in his gut. Has something happened? Phichit looks at him with wide eyes, blinking once.
“It’s Victor,” he says. Yuuri’s world seems to slow down, heart pounding hard against his ribcage. “The last artist is Victor Nikiforov.”
|
SOULS, LOVE AND MARKS
PART 1
Stiles cursed Scott for not answering his phone again, if he’d answered they’d already be on there way and he wouldn’t be failing at trying to climb the stupid trellis to Scott’s room. Which wasn’t exactly accurate. Stiles loved climbing this trellis, it was always worth it to see Scott’s shocked puppy face. He could easily have rung the doorbell, Mrs McCall was working a night shift and not there to question what he was doing here so late at night.
He couldn’t wait to surprise Scott, already picturing Scott’s freaked out face and high pitched scream. He didn't notice that he was about to miss his next handhold and gasped as he fell back. His leg caught the trellis and he scrambled with his other leg for a hold while his body swung back. Luckily he hadn't gotten very far and so swung underneath the porch instead of hitting the side of the house.
And there was Scott’s high pitched scream. What was he doing out already? Damn, Stiles wouldn’t have been able to surprise him in his room.
‘Stiles? What the hell are you doing?’ Scott demanded brandishing a… bat? Really?
‘You weren’t answering your phone.’ Stiles retorted, gently swinging upside down, it was kinda peaceful and a lot more effective at organising his thoughts than hanging upside down off the sofa. ‘I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even state police.’
‘For what?’ Scott frowned at him but Stiles was so glad he’d asked, it made it all that more exciting.
‘Two joggers found a body in the woods.’ Stiles explained, already there in his mind as they both crept through the foliage, avoiding his dad and the officers as they tracked down the body themselves.
‘A dead body?’
Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body.’ He reached up and untangled his legs, pulling himself free and jumped down.
‘You mean like murdered?’
‘Nobody knows yet, just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.’
‘Hold on, if they found a body, what are they looking for?’ Scott asked, looking confused.
‘That’s the best bit, they only found half.’ Stiles beamed at him. This was going to be so cool. They were going to be the kings of school when they returned tomorrow after having found half a dead body. Sure, his dad was going to be pissed but it was so going to be worth it.
Scott huffed but didn't protest and followed him out to his jeep. That was the thing about best friends, they always went with you, no matter what it was you were doing. They were always by your side, and he and Scott had been best friends for years. Neither of them were really popular, but they didn't care.
‘I was trying to get a good night’s sleep for practice tomorrow.’ Scott said as Stiles drove down the empty road.
Stiles scoffed. He wasn’t all that bothered about it. ‘Right because sitting on the bench is such a gruelling effort.’
‘No, because I’m... shit! What was that?’ Scott asked, spinning around in his seat.
‘What was what? Scotty, talk to me? What did you see?’ Stiles demanded, craning his head around before something darkened the road in front of him. ‘Shit!’
Stiles spun the wheel and stamped down on the brakes as he tried to avoid it but he knew it was too late. Whatever it was was massive and Stiles felt the jeep smack side into it. He winced and threw his hands over Scott to get him to cover his face, Scott was probably still looking behind them. Only the jeep didn't stop, it hit the creature side on and at speed so that it flipped over it.
Stiles heard Scott scream and he looked up, no down, to see a massive deformed black thing with bright red eyes stare up at him as the jeep flew over it.
‘What?’ Stiles managed to say before he was jolted forward as the jeep landed and his face smashed into his steering wheel.
The jeep still didn't stop, although it was thankfully no longer airborne but it kept rolling, the windscreen shattering and glass flying everywhere. Stiles could feel it in his arms which were now somehow protecting his head. There was a loud ear-piercing screech as the jeep slid along the road, before edging towards the embankment.
It wobbled there, threatening to careen over and down into the gulley. Stiles could feel something thick dripping down his face and groaning coming from his side. ‘Scott? Scott? Scotty?’
‘Yeah?’
Thank god. Scott was still alive and talking. That was a good sign. ‘Can you move?’
‘Yeah, yeah I think so?’
‘Can you get out? We need help.’
Scott coughed and Stiles prayed that his asthma didn’t act up. Not now. He could feel his seat belt pinning him in place and he wasn't sure he would be much help to Scott if he had an asthma attack now.
‘Yeah, yeah I think I can.’
‘Just be careful. And make sure that thing we hit is gone.’
He heard Scott mumble an agreement and the sound of crushed glass being moved as the jeep jerked. He automatically turned his head to see what had happened, a sharp pain shooting through his neck making him gasp as he saw Scott’s arse and feet crawl away just as the jeep lurched again and with horrifying slowness, slid down the embankment.
‘Scott!’ Stiles screamed as he threw his arms out trying to grab hold of something, anything, to save himself but all he heard was Scott’s echoing scream and a loud banging as the jeep tumbled down the incline, lurching every which way as it hit trees.
He finally came to a stop upside down again. Stiles looked around but all he could see was darkness and trees and a worrying groaning. He moaned and coughed, feeling something splutter out of his mouth. ‘That’s not good.’
His voice sounded funny and he blinked a dark red substance out of his eyes, frowning at his lightheadedness. He blinked again and looked up and saw the ground staring back at him from several feet away, obscured by very thin looking branches. The groaning increased and the jeep slid forward an inch.
‘This is going to hurt.’ Stiles whimpered as the groaning turned into a cracking and the jeep plummeted to earth.
God, Stiles just wanted that piercing beeping to stop. It had been going on for hours now and no one was doing anything about it. And why the hell couldn't he open his eyes? Or move at all? Was he dead and in hell? Because this was torture. He couldn’t even speak and everyone knew that was what he was best at. Talking. Wait, was that his dad? His dad would know what was going on, his dad would get him out of here.
‘What are you saying doctor?’ His dad’s voice said, sounding strained and tired.
‘Physically, he’ll recover, but there was a lot of damage done to his brain.’ A voice he didn't recognise replied.
‘That’s why you induced the coma. The MRI’s weren’t good.’ His dad said. MRI? Coma? What the hell?
‘Yes, they’re better now, that’s why we tried to reverse the coma.’
‘Tried? You said he should have woken up two days ago?!’
‘It seems your son’s brain injuries were worse than we thought. This isn’t a medically induced coma anymore.’
‘What are you saying?’ His dad asked.
Yes, what was this doctor saying? He couldn’t be in a coma. Who was going to look after his dad? Who was going to make sure he ate healthy and didn't cheat on his diet? Stiles couldn’t be in a coma, he was only sixteen. He’d barely lived. His soulmark hadn’t even come in. He had so much to live for, there was no way he could be in a coma. He could hear them! Why didn't they know he could hear them!
‘Try speaking to him. Some studies say they can hear, or feel touch. I’m afraid that this is an area that we just don’t really know much about.’ The strange voice was saying. The doctor's voice. Did that mean that Stiles was in a hospital? That the beeping was actually his heart monitor? What about Scott? Was Scott okay? Did he make it out alright? Where was his best friend?!
PART 2
Derek was cursed. Staring up at the burnt-out ruins of his old house he knew this to be a fact. Why else would he be back in this God-forsaken town that had taken everything from him?
He’d grown up here, it was supposed to be his home. His safe place. Where he’d taken his first steps, shifted for the first time, cried for the first time, laughed for the first time. Where he’d spent his first fifteen birthdays and Christmases. It was his family’s home and it was also their grave.
Proof he thought, proof that he should have died too, that he should have burnt with them, in place of them. Instead, they were dead and he was alive. They were dead and he was standing here. Laura had returned before him and now she was dead too.
She hadn’t known why he was so scared of this place, of coming home but she had known how the thought of home made him feel. The guilt, the shame, the nausea. She’d loved him and wanted what was best for him. And now she was dead too.
He needed to know why. If it was her, if she’d come back and somehow lured his sister back. To finish off what she’d started. To kill the last of the surviving Hales. His uncle Peter was as good as dead. Lost to them in a coma, unhealing, his wolf gone.
No one knew that it was his fault, that he was the reason his family was dead, that he had killed them all. And he needed to keep it that way. He never told Laura, wouldn’t have been able to handle the way she would look at him. He couldn’t have Laura stare at him accusingly and he doubted she would ever forgive him if she knew. He hadn’t told her because he didn't think he would survive as an omega. And now he was. He couldn’t live without his sister, without his alpha, but now he had to. What he didn’t know and couldn’t figure out was, where did the alpha spark go?
He knew what it meant though, that another werewolf must have killed her. It ruled out Kate, but there was still that small part of him that whispered ‘ what if’, what if Kate has used another wolf to do her bidding, do her work. It wouldn’t be the first time.
So here he was. Laura had been here too. He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent while he still could. It would fade soon, he was surprised he could still smell her to be honest, but it meant that she had been here just before she died, just before their pack bond had broken, just before she was murdered.
He followed the scent, her scent, walking in her footsteps, wondering what it was she had seen that had made her walk this way or if she’d just felt like it. What had drawn her here or had she just wanted to say goodbye, to pay her respects.
He gave one last look at the house, feeling suffocated by the silence, the lingering echoes of their screams ringing in his ears. His breath shuddered out of him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about that, to remember what had happened.
It hurt to remember the good times too, to hear the echo of his family's laughter and running footsteps. To remember the way his mom used to smile at him, the way his dad would ruffle his hair no matter how many times he protested. That warm feeling he always got in his chest when his parent's scent marked him.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Derek deliberately turned his back on his burnt-out family home and continued following Laura’s scent. He mimicked her last steps, walked the path that she had last walked. He knew he’d found the place she’d died, not just because of the overwhelming smell of her blood, but by the strong scent of another werewolf. Confusingly, there was something both wrong and familiar with the scent.
What he couldn’t understand though, was why did Laura’s scent leave in two directions when she had died here? Was Derek right in that Kate was back? Had she cut Laura in two like hunters were known to do to enrage the remaining members of her pack? It was an old hunters trick, but one they used when they needed to prove they were following the code. Kate didn't need to prove she followed the code. She refused to follow the code. That’s why she massacred his entire family. His peaceful family who had never hurt anyone.
Kate’s scent wasn't in the clearing though. Just this other wolf’s. But a wolf wouldn’t cut another wolf in half, not deliberately anyway. He frowned and followed one of Laura’s scents. He never reached the end of it but did reach police tape. Part of her had been found then. He backtracked and followed the other scent. It ended at a lump in a little gulley with a stream running through it. He didn’t need to look to know it was Laura. Or half of her anyway.
He picked her up gently, biting his lip as he felt tears pushing at his eyes. He couldn’t look at her, but cradled her to him, thankful that the half he had was her upper half. It meant more to him to have her head cradled against him as he took her body back to their family home to bury her with the rest of their loved ones. She hadn’t deserved to die like this, but she did deserve to be put to rest with their family,
Burying her was automatic and he didn't really remember any of it. He didn't want to remember any of it. He stared at his hands afterwards, cut and bleeding from the wolfsbane plant he had dug into the ground around her, protecting her.
He swallowed, allowing a tear to fall before he took in a breath and went back to where she had been killed. He needed to find the wolf who had done this. He needed to know why, he needed to know if it was an accident or if the wolf was feral and a danger to all. And if it was, then he needed to kill it.
He stood in the area Laura had died and stared around it, he followed her footsteps, trying to mimic her moves before he did the same with the other wolf’s.
He swallowed shakily as he realised, Laura didn't fight back. That was why she died, she didn't fight back. He followed the trail the other wolf had left, only it didn't make sense. It zigzagged everywhere and along the road for a while, it was strongest at the sight of tire marks and the scent of human blood. Then it left again.
It took him all over the preserve until it finally led him back to the town, to civilisation. He stared at the building it led to in horror. No wonder Laura hadn’t fought back. How could she? He wouldn’t have been able to either. Their uncle Peter was supposed to be unresponsive in a coma, so how was he the wolf that had killed Laura?
Derek stood there, staring at his handiwork before he dropped to his knees and threw up. He’d just killed his uncle, his last remaining relative. He was alone, not an omega but an alpha. The power sang through his veins and his eyes flashed red. Anger burned through him. Kate had burnt his family, leaving only himself, Laura and Peter alive. Peter killed Laura and he had killed Peter. He was the last Hale. He had done this to his family.
He caught sight of his soulmark on his wrist and shuddered. The delicate outline of a howling wolf. It felt wrong, nothing about him was delicate. He didn’t want to think about what they were like. He never wanted to meet them, he wasn’t deserving of them. He would only bring them pain and death.
Derek coughed and gasped as he felt his bones shifting. It didn’t feel like his normal shift, his mouth felt funny, his fangs different. The claws on his hands weren’t the same, not as long but still just as sharp and dangerous. His legs were shorter, his centre of gravity lower and more balanced. He threw his head back and howled.
The howl wasn't anything like his normal howl, it was more guttural and animalistic, it sang of sorrow and horror and pain.
He kicked off, leaving the remains of his uncle behind along with the remains of his previous life. He didn’t notice that he was on four legs, that fur covered his entire body. He didn’t notice that he wasn't in his beta shift but was a full wolf. He ran as fast and far as he could and he didn’t stop. If he stopped then he would remember and he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to be Derek Hale any more. Derek Hale meant pain and heartache and he couldn’t stand anymore.
PART 3
The wolf sniffed the air, there was something different but he didn’t know what. Something in the air. He was needed somewhere. He glanced around, his ears flat to his head as he gingerly stepped forward. He knew the direction he was meant to go in. The wolf didn’t question it and the human part of him wasn't around to question it.
Once he was sure the coast was clear, he took off at a steady trot, his ears pricked forward. It was only when he neared the edge of the preserve that he started paying more attention.
He trotted along the road, hiding whenever a car came. He darted across and stuck to the shadows when he neared the town. He was still needed but it was daylight and he felt too vulnerable. He whined lowly but found a safe spot to hide out in until darkness fell.
He couldn’t wait until full darkness but did wait until there was no one around, ducking out of sight whenever a human appeared. He made his way to the hospital, glaring at the sliding doors in full view of the reception desk. He couldn’t get in that way. Too many people around.
He skirted around the edge, feeling the wrongness of the direction he was taking until he found a side door wedged open and quickly shot through it. Pausing, he sniffed the air, no one was around so he slunk down the corridor carefully.
Somehow he knew he was on the wrong floor, he needed to go up and not just one floor but at least two. He’d know when he was close. Hearing voices, he paused, seeing a door open he went just inside, there was a strange looking room with things all over the place and something floating off the floor, but it was empty. He waited for the voices to pass and carried on. He paused when he passed a door that had a funny zigzagged sign. Something, a part of him he hadn’t listened to for a long time, told him it would take him up.
He scrabbled at the handle until the door swung open and he was faced with stairs, going both up and down. He headed up, glancing around when the stairs took him up but in a circle. Shaking his head he continued, going past several doors and lots of signs that meant nothing to him. He paused, one paw on a step and cocked his head to one side. He was going too high, he looked around and saw a door close by, he went to it, the rightness within him telling him he was getting closer.
He pushed the door open with his nose and quickly scrambled back as someone walked past. He didn’t want to be caught, his instincts telling him it would be bad. He waited, till the sound of footsteps had faded away. He’d gotten complacent knowing that he was close to his destination. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He carefully poked his head around the doorway, checking both ways before silently padding out, answering the call he felt in his bones.
He slowly walked past door after door, hearing heartbeats in each. It was just as he passed one that the feeling came back again, he’d gone too far. He backtracked. This room here. He paused outside, only hearing one heartbeat in it. He checked the corridor again but it was still empty. Ever so slowly he pushed the door open with his muzzle, ready to run out the second the owner of that heartbeat moved or spoke.
Nothing happened. There was a loud beeping coming from the room too, almost in time with the heartbeat, maybe half a second or so out of sync from the person’s heartbeat. He sniffed around but there was only the person lying in the bed, the window was hidden by cloth and the room stank of cleaning agents but the scent of the person didn’t leave any trails. The person and their scent was contained to the bed. He cocked his head to one side, it looked like they were sleeping.
Finally satisfying his curiosity, he sniffed at the person. They smelt male and they smelt right. He was being pulled here. He rested his head on the bed, near his hand and breathed out noisily, huffing his breath over the hand. It made the hand smell like him a little and he found he liked it.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but he heard footsteps come and go all around but none entered the room. The night slowly progressed but he didn't leave the sleeping man’s side. It lulled him into a sense of security, a false one it seemed as the door opened unexpectedly.
He jumped back from the bed at the sound of a shout and growled at the person who entered. The person continued shouting, bringing more and more footsteps, coming fast to his room.
His hackles rose and he backed away. He didn’t know how to escape, they were blocking the only exit. There was a high pitched scream, quickly followed by a shout before they all fell silent.
He kept growling, the first person to enter was still there and was now pointing something at him. Something that smelt bad and wrong, something that was familiar at the same time. Something he knew to be dangerous.
He didn’t hesitate, he lunged for the closed window, his strength making it break as he made contact but the cloth covering got tangled in his legs and he couldn’t right himself before he hit the ground and felt and heard numerous bones break.
He whined, staying still for a moment, hearing the shouts coming from the room he had been in as his bones started to knit back together. He knew he didn’t have long, they would come, it was what humans did. He staggered to his feet, desperately trying to get the covering off of him, feeling the pain of putting weight on his broken limbs.
The covering got stuck under one of his paws and slid off his face. Suddenly able to see, he made a break for the cover of the trees. There weren’t many but there were enough, just as doors were slammed open and more shouts filled the night air. He escaped down side streets, sticking to shadows and kept running, until he was back in the preserve. He found a den, an old hole that smelt like fox and settled down in it to lick his wounds and heal.
He found himself returning that night. Unable to refuse the pull. But this time he was led to a different room. There were two heartbeats inside so he waited.
Footsteps approached so he hid in the room opposite, waiting and watching. But the second heartbeat never left. It moved around the room, spoke occasionally, but never left.
When he felt the sun rising, the wolf left instead. It was too dangerous in daylight.
He returned every night until five days later there was only one heartbeat in the room. He made his way inside, this time only glancing around to ensure it was clear. He didn’t need to check everything this time, he just needed to be near that heartbeat.
He rested his head on the bed again. This time on the man’s other side but once again near his hand. The smell of him calmed him. He nosed at the hand, mainly the wrist, breathing in where the scent was strongest.
Opening his eyes, he saw funny squiggles. There were lines drawn on the wrist, lines in a familiar pattern but his wolf brain couldn’t decipher them, just knew that those lines meant something to him. That they were important, but he didn’t know what it was that was so important.
He huffed, it was human stuff but he was no longer human. He settled in again, resting his head on the hand, his nose breathing over the squiggles on the wrist and breathing in the man’s scent with each inhale.
Only once did he freeze, when the man’s head lolled to the side, facing him and he could see the mole dotted face, the pale lips and brown hair. He looked peaceful.
It was calming, watching him and breathing him in, but all too soon the sun started to rise.
He needed to go but a strong part of him resisted. He wanted to stay too, he needed to stay, but he could come back. He heard footsteps, which wasn't new, but he recognised these footsteps. They were from the first night. From the man who alerted everyone to his presence.
He quickly ran from the room, hunkering low to the ground to avoid detection. He heard a shout and the footsteps started pounding loudly after him but he was already skidding around the corner. He knew his way out and made quick work of it, throwing himself down the stairs and out of the hospital, darting across the road and hiding in the tree line and shadows. Watching and waiting. It took a few minutes but the man came huffing into view, clearly angry. He muttered something, peering around before he turned back into the hospital.
The wolf waited until he’d gone before he headed back to his den.
That night there were two heartbeats again and the wolf huffed and waited in an empty room all night. The same happened the next night, but the third, his heartbeat was alone again.
He crept in again and had just relaxed, getting used to the footsteps coming and going but never entering, when the door opened. It quickly closed again, blocking his exit. The man threw his hands up but the wolf didn’t like the motion. He growled, flattening his ears against his head and back away, going for the window again.
It was the voice that stopped him. It was low and pleading. The wolf didn’t know what it was saying but there was something desperate in it. He stopped, his ear flickering back and forth. He continued growling but stopped when the man turned his head sharply to stare at the man on his bed, his scent turning surprised.
The wolf stopped growling, was there something wrong with him? His heartbeat hadn’t changed. He sniffed but he still smelt the same. He approached the bed, nosing at the hand. A finger moved and the man behind him stepped forward. The wolf spun around, growling, his hackles raised but the man spoke again, his hands shooting into the air again.
This time around, something in the wolf recognised it as a sign of peace. He stopped growling but kept his hackles up. The man still smelt of badness, of bad metal and gunpowder. The man went around the other side where his one lay. He picked up the hand and sat down.
The wolf watched, waiting for something else to happen. Nothing did.
After a long time, the wolf finally gave in and pushed his nose into the hand near him but he kept his eyes open, watching the other man.
He left again when he felt the sun rise, skirting wide around the intruder before leaving silently.
There were two heartbeats the next night as well and the wolf debated on hiding out until the other one left, but he never had before. After a while, he hesitantly entered the room. The intruder was already where he had been the night before, sat down on one side. But this time, there was another chair pulled up on his side. The wolf stared at it, before sniffing carefully and ever so slowly crept up to it, inspecting it carefully before deeming it acceptable. He stood next to it, resting his head on the bed, watching the intruder as he breathed over the squiggles on the wrist, the sleeping man’s scent calming him but he stayed on alert.
The following night, it was the same, only the empty chair was even closer to the bed. The wolf jumped into it. While it brought him closer to the sleeping man, it was harder to rest his head in the hand with the squiggles. Glancing around, he jumped onto the bed and padded around in a circle, flopped over the man's legs and huffed his nose into the hand, keeping a close eye on the intruder. The other man seemed surprised but didn’t move.
This continued every night, the only thing different was the sleeping man. Every so often, he would move but not much. Just his head flopping in the direction of the wolf, his hand curling, usually when the wolf moved his head out of it and his feet moving, jerking and disrupting the wolf’s rest. Every time it happened, the other man got excited. The wolf didn’t understand it.
But then one night it all changed.
The sleeping man opened his eyes.
The other man started talking excitedly. The wolf backed away, his ears flat against his head.
The man on the bed caught his gaze and suddenly he was in agony. His bones shifted, but he didn't know why. He fell off the bed with a yelp, scuttling backwards as his eyesight changed. Colours he hadn’t seen before appearing and his sense of smell becoming duller. He gasped, but his mouth and teeth were different, shorter, rounder, blunter.
He stared around and shakily got to his feet. He wasn’t a wolf anymore. He was a man.
‘It’s true.’
A voice made him raise his head and he stared at the man with the bad smell, the dangerous smell, blunter to this nose but still present.
‘You’re his soulmate.’
Stiles blinked, staring at the white ceiling in front of him. That was not his bedroom ceiling. He could hear his fathers voice but he had to concentrate to understand the words. Soulmate? He was too young to find his soulmate so his father couldn’t be talking about him.
He screwed his face up and glanced around, moving his arms to help shift him around but they felt weak. He’d never been very coordinated but he felt as if he had even less control over his limbs than he usually did.
‘Ugh?’ He garbled as he watched a hot naked man make a run for it past his dad. Was he hallucinating? Was this why he was in hospital? Had he imagined how toned that arse was? Although why he’d imagine a tattoo that he’d never seen before, he couldn’t fathom. ‘Dad?’
His voice sounded funny and his throat was raspy.
‘Stiles! God, Stiles!’ His dad said before throwing himself on top of him.
Stiles patted his dad’s shoulder as he was aggressively hugged while not having a clue what the hell was going on. He was quite clearly in a hospital but he couldn’t figure out why. He didn't feel in any pain and nor was he in any casts but he was definitely in a hospital bed, in a hospital room, with a drip attached to his hand.
‘Dad? Was goin on?’ He glanced towards the door, maybe the hot naked man would come back and explain a few things.
The last thing Stiles remembered was that the school year was about to start. He had one more night of freedom but that didn't explain why he was now in a hospital.
He felt his dad’s chest heave before he pulled back. Stiles blinked at him and stared. When the hell had his dad gotten old? ‘Dad?’
‘You’re awake.’ His dad ran a hand over his face and Stiles suddenly realised he was crying. ‘I need to call a doctor.’
‘What’s going on?’ Stiles asked as his heart began to beat faster. Something was very definitely wrong. His breath started to come in gasps and his mind frantically tried to fit all the pieces together. He was in a hospital, his limbs felt funny and his dad was older and crying. Something very bad had happened.
‘Stiles! Stiles! It’s okay, you’re okay, listen to me son, you’re fine.’
His father’s voice began to filter through his panic and he blinked, suddenly realising that his dad’s face was right in front of him and he’d been trying to get his attention.
‘D-dad.’
‘That’s it, Stiles, breathe with me.’
‘What-what happened?’
‘You were in a car accident, you remember?’
Stiles shook his head.
‘You got hurt, mainly your head, but you’re better now.’
‘H-how, how long?’
‘Two years.’
‘Sc-Scott?’
‘He’s fine. He wasn’t hurt.’
Stiles nodded, trying to get his breathing under control. Numerous panic attacks had taught him that his heart rate would follow if he could sort out his breathing. But he would be feeling jittery and like shit for a long time. He wanted his room, his bed and pillow and blanket. He didn't want to be here, in a strange room, surrounded by strange people with none of his stuff. He wanted to go home.
The doctors finally released him the next day, but only after a barrage full of tests. He hadn’t gotten any rest, even though he had been in a coma for two years. He was exhausted, but the doctors had insisted on test after test to make sure he was okay. One of which his dad had returned after seeing the results looking both stressed and relieved but refused to say anything more on the matter apart from “let's go home”. Stiles was all for that. It didn't mean he was going to drop it. He’d just wait until he’d gotten what he wanted, which was to go home, before bugging his dad about it.
‘Sofa or bed?’ Noah asked him as they entered his house later that day.
Getting discharged had been a nightmare and Stiles had been ready to throw a full-on wobbly at all the delays but had refrained. It made it worth it when a bunch of doctors and nurses had come to bid him goodbye. He didn't know a single one of them. His dad had taken it all in stride and it made Stiles think about how long he’d been there and how many of them had befriended him. He’d called more than a few by their first names.
‘Sofa.’ Stiles replied. ‘Oh god please the sofa. And TV. And snacks, and hey what’s for lunch?’
‘No snacks, and you’re getting a light lunch. Sandwich only.’
‘But daaad!’ Stiles whined as his dad helped settle him on the sofa, hovering just enough to be helpful but not get in the way.
After two years of lying in a bed, his limbs were working fine thanks to the physiotherapist his dad had insisted on, just really uncoordinated. More than he ever had been before and sometimes his body just didn't listen to what he was trying to tell it to do. But he knew it could have been a lot worse.
‘Stiles, you haven’t eaten solids in two years. And I’m not cleaning up your vomit.’ Noah frowned at him but was still smiling.
He’d been smiling all day. No matter what obstacles had been thrown at them, every time he had glanced at Stiles or Stiles had complained, his dad had smiled.
‘But foooood!’ Stiles whined just to see his dad smile and shake his head as he headed into the kitchen.
Stiles flopped himself lengthways along the sofa, wriggling to get comfy, only smacking himself in the face once when he’d tried to reach the cushion and completely missed. Okay, maybe four times.
‘So where’s Isaac?’ Stiles called. His dad had explained to him that after Mr Lahey’s murder, by a fellow student no less, evidence had been found that Mr Lahey had been physically abusing his son for years.
Noah had taken him home until social services and Isaac came to a decision. That decision has been for Isaac to stay with Noah.
‘He didn’t want to overwhelm you so is staying with friends.’ Noah called back.
Stiles stared at the door sceptically. From what his dad had told him, Isaac didn’t really have any friends.
His dad returned with the tiniest looking ham sandwich Stiles had ever seen. He threw his dad a glare, not just for the pathetic looking sandwich but for having ham in the house before he tried to gobble half of it down. And promptly had to stop.
He winced and pulled his finger out of his mouth, glaring at his hand. He’d wanted to shove the sandwich in his mouth, not his fingers. He examined his dented finger. ‘Did someone file my teeth into weapons while I was sleeping? Because they are dangerous!’
Noah snorted and settled himself with a much larger and better looking ham sandwich in the chair opposite. Stiles eyed it up but his one mouthful was already sitting heavily in his stomach. He refused to be bested by a mere pitiful looking sandwich.
He picked it up again and carefully took another bite, munching happily and groaning at the taste. Had he missed ham? He had no idea but it tasted wonderful. He slowly ate half of the sandwich, not wanting to become an actual cannibal and eat any more of his own fingers.
He leant back against the sofa, feeling stupidly full and as if he’d just polished off a ten course meal not half a tiny sandwich. He eyed up the other half, glaring at it sullenly while he rested his head and felt his eyes drift closed.
He sighed contentedly a moment later when he felt a blanket cover him and his dad kiss his forehead.
‘I love you, Stiles.’
‘Love you, dad.’ He mumbled before snuggling into the blanket and security of sleep.
Derek stood at the driveway to the house. The pull had led him here this time, not to the hospital where he had found himself earlier. He’d been standing here a while, unable to move. He wanted to leave, to go, to run, but found that he couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t bring himself to go up to the house where his soulmate was.
He wasn't stupid enough to ignore the reason behind the pull. He knew what it was and what it meant. Although he didn't know why his soulmate had been in a hospital. He couldn’t remember all of his time as a wolf, but remembered flashes of things that had happened.
He remembered visiting someone in a hospital bed, but they were always asleep. It stood to reason that his soulmate had been in a coma. Which seemed par for the course for him. Except that now, his soulmate was awake. Maybe things were changing. Why else would he be here, at this house?
‘You coming in son?’ A voice called and Derek startled. He blinked, suddenly realising the man from the hospital was stood in the doorway, framed by the light from inside the house.
Before Derek knew what was happening he was in the house and the door was being closed behind him.
‘You hungry? Thirsty?’ The man asked, giving one quick glance over the ill fitting clothes Derek had grabbed off of someone’s clothesline.
Derek shook his head.
‘You got a name?’
Derek stared at him, the man raised an eyebrow and he realised he was familiar, he’d met him before. He was a deputy with Beacon Hills Police Department. ‘Derek Hale.’
The man sighed. ‘Well, that explains your lost look. I’m Noah Stilinski, and your soulmate is my son, Stiles. Come on in.’
Derek followed and found himself in a lived in looking lounge where a stranger was splayed watching TV.
‘Isaac feet off the table.’ Deputy Stilinski reprimanded casually as he headed into another room.
Isaac flinched and pulled his feet off the coffee table, all without even looking at either of them. He didn’t smell afraid and the flinch looked more automatic than anything else.
Derek found himself in a kitchen where Deputy Stilinski was opening a beer and offering him one.
He shook his head. Alcohol didn’t do anything for him and he wasn’t keen on the taste of it.
Deputy Stilinski leant against the counter. ‘I don’t know if you remember me.’
‘I do.’ Derek cut in hoarsely. He didn’t want to think about the only other time they’d met. It hadn’t been under good circumstances and he could still smell the ash that had covered them.
Deputy Stilinski nodded. ‘Do you know about Laura and Peter?’
Derek nodded.
‘We couldn’t get hold of you. But I’m now assuming that was because you were in the preserve?’
Derek closed his eyes, feeling his body shudder.
‘I get the feeling you know more about their deaths than I do.’
Derek nodded again, just the once.
‘Okay then. Care to explain why you were a wolf when you visited my son?’
‘W-werewolf.’
Deputy Stilinski stared at him, as if waiting for more. He didn’t smell surprised. Eventually he nodded. Derek wondered if it explained some other things he’d seen on the job. ‘Your family?’
Derek nodded.
‘Is that why?’
He nodded again.
‘I’m going to need a name.’
Derek swallowed. ‘K-Kate A-Argent.’
Deputy Stilinski took a long drag of his beer. ‘I’ll reopen the investigation. You sticking around?’
Derek blinked at him.
‘For my sons sake I hope you are.’
‘Okay.’
‘You got anywhere to stay?’
Derek swallowed. ‘Preserve.’
Deputy Stilinski shook his head. ‘I don’t have a spare room, it’s now Isaac’s, but the couch is comfy. You’re welcome to stay.’
‘I-’ Derek’s throat worked as a lump formed in it. ‘Thank you Deputy Stilinski.’
Deputy Stilinski chuckled. ‘It’s Noah or Sheriff. I’d prefer you call me Noah but either is fine.’
Derek hunched his shoulders. He hadn’t realised he was the Sheriff now, he should have though. The man was in uniform with the Sheriff star clipped to his chest. Derek had been so overwhelmed with being back in civilisation he hadn’t even noticed. It didn’t surprise him that the deputy was now Sheriff, he’d been good at his job.
The Sheriff nodded and headed towards him. ‘Come on, Stiles is upstairs sleeping.’
Derek eagerly followed him this time. Something in him needed to be reassured that his soulmate was okay, that he was healing. He just wanted to see him, reassure himself that he was okay then he could leave.
He blinked in surprise when the Sheriff ushered him into the room ahead of him.
The boy he remembered from the hospital was lying in bed sleeping. He somehow looked completely different. Before he’d been lying straight in bed with the covers tucked in around him and his arms down beside him. Now he was lying with his limbs sprawled everywhere and a pillow half underneath him with his mouth wide open and a small trail of drool leading down his face.
He twitched and mumbled something in his sleep, one arm jerking up and smacking his head.
‘Wha?’ The boy, Stiles, started. Blinking blearily as he sat up, overshooting and almost falling out the bed.
‘Stiles.’ The Sheriff smiled, his scent almost overpoweringly happy. It made Derek realise that Stiles could have been in the hospital longer than he’d thought. And he still didn’t know why Stiles had been in a coma.
‘Dad?’ Stiles yawned, showing off a long pale neck. ‘Was going on?’
‘Have you seen your wrist yet?’ The Sheriff asked.
Derek turned to him, wondering what was going on. What was wrong with his soulmates wrist?
‘Holy hell!’ Stiles exclaimed, staring at his wrist in amazement. Derek could see the edge of some black lines on it but he couldn’t stop staring at the moles covering his face, the pale pink lips and the hazel eyes that seemed to light up in excitement. ‘When did it come in? Shit, my eighteenth birthday. Fuck I missed it. I have a soulmate. This is amazing!’
‘When, how long were you in a coma for?’ Derek asked, feeling taken aback. He’d never felt this strongly about anyone before. And while he knew he found the guy beautiful, he mainly wanted to protect him, to wrap him up in bubble wrap and make sure he couldn’t get hurt again.
‘About two years. I was sixteen a couple days ago.’ Stiles grumbled.
‘No, you really weren’t.’ The Sheriff grumbled, a flood of negative feelings wrapping around him.
‘Now I’m eighteen and am two years behind all my friends.’ Stiles continued with a scowl. ‘Scott will have moved on without me. He’ll be going to college while I’m still stuck at school.’
‘What happened?’ Derek asked quietly, so quietly he wasn't sure if anyone heard or if he just hoped they wouldn’t hear.
Stiles scrunched his face up and Derek couldn’t help but stare. ‘Dad said it was a car accident.’
‘You don’t remember?’
Stiles shook his head, a grin crossing his face again as he peered at his wrist. ‘This is so cool! And it’s so lovely. Although I wonder why it’s a wolf. And look how delicate it is!’
‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence that your soulmate showed up and then you woke up after almost two years.’ The Sheriff said, startling Derek.
‘Wait, what? My soulmate showed up?’ Stiles gaped at his father.
‘One of the tests the doctors ran, an x-ray, confirmed something I suspected.’ The Sheriff said as he pulled out his phone and pulled up his pictures. He showed it to Stiles.
Stiles grabbed it, staring at it, his scent dumbfounded. ‘Wait, is this real? How? I have butterflies in my stomach? What the hell?’
Stiles looked up, glancing at Derek before he stared at his dad for an explanation.
Derek frowned. Butterflies in his stomach? Butterflies showed up on an X-ray?
‘It means that you've been around your soulmate. That the connection between the two of you, while tentative, is being accepted and that your soulmate is the reason you woke up. The connection woke you up.’ The Sheriff explained.
Derek felt weird. That was possible? It was an actual thing? He’d heard incredible stories about soulmates, who hadn’t? The movies were full of these sorts of storylines where the connection between them saved the life of one soulmate. He’d thought it was all bullshit.
But there was no way this could be happening to Derek. He was cursed. Nothing good ever happened to him and anyone who got close to him died. Horrifically. There was no way that Derek could have had anything to do with Stiles waking up. It was impossible for Derek to be responsible for something good happening.
Stiles’ head shot round to Derek. ‘Y-you? You’re my soulmate? Holy shit I won the jackpot! Oh yeah dad, there’s now a really strong chance I’m bisexual.’ Stiles grinned at Derek and nodded. ‘Oh yeah totally bisexual.’
The Sheriff groaned.
Derek blinked. Stiles hadn’t known it was him? Of course he hadn’t, he’d only just found out he had a soulmate. He opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say so closed it again.
‘Did I break him?’ Stiles asked aloud, staring at him in concern.
‘I think he’s just a little overwhelmed with everything that’s happened recently.’
Derek could hear the sheriff speaking, but it sounded far away.
He breathed in, blinked and breathed out. The weirdness he’d started to feel had only gotten worse, stronger. He didnt understand, none of this made sense.
‘What? My waking up? That’s overwhelmed him?’ Stiles’s voice sounded hurt.
‘No, but he’s been living in the preserve for the past couple of years.’
‘Where? I thought only the Hales lived out in the preserve.’
‘Did I forget to introduce you? This is Derek Hale.’
The Sheriff’s face swam into view and Derek stared at him helplessly. He felt as the sheriff gently manhandled him over to the bed. He wanted to growl at the man to stay away from him, to stop touching him. Instead he sat down on the bed when he felt pressure pushing him that way.
‘Hey, Derek? You okay?’ Stiles asked, his voice was concerned and very close. ‘It doesn't look like he’s having a panic attack.’
There was a warm hand placed on his shoulder and Derek heard himself whine and felt himself lean into the touch.
‘Dude, did you just whine?’
Derek closed his eyes. It was all too much, he was surrounded by his soulmates scent, in his soulmates bedroom, with his soulmate talking to him and touching him. After he’d spent the last two years as a wolf in the preserve with no one but himself for company. He couldn’t remember his last meal that wasn’t a wild animal or the last time he’d washed or shaved. This was his first time wearing clothes in two years and they chaffed.
The Sheriff sighed. ‘Really Stiles?’
‘Why are you looking at me like that? He’s the one who whined!’
Was this really happening? His soulmate didn't even know about werewolves. How was he meant to explain that? And why was he even thinking of explaining it? He’d meant to only watch from a distance, to make sure his soulmate was alright before returning to being a wolf. And yet, he found he couldn’t leave, not when he was here and so close.
‘And he should be the one telling you why.’ The Sheriff replied, sounding far away. ‘But I don’t think he’s had any company in a long time.’
‘Hey dad, help me get him on the bed?’
Distantly, Derek felt someone touching him, moving him, pulling him into position, then a blanket covering him and an arm wrapped around him. He drifted off to sleep with the scent of his soulmate strong in his nostrils.
Stiles woke up absolutely roasting, he tried to shift away from the source of the heat but it followed him. He groaned and tried to push it away but it pulled him closer. He sighed and sunk into the secure feeling being held so close gave him. Before he suddenly wondered why he was being held so securely. He opened one eye and recognised his bedroom, but even if Scott was sharing his bed with him, and had gotten handsy, he wasn’t usually this much of an octopus. Or so hot.
He wriggled around, freezing when a face was pushed into his neck. He slowly inched back and stared at the gorgeous man with immense eyebrows sleeping in his bed with him.
Derek Hale.
His soulmate.
And there was something important about him that Stiles was missing. Something that his dad seemed to know about even though he didn’t know much about Derek Hale. There was some big secret that Stiles hadn’t unearthed yet. Hadnt had a chance to unearth yet.
Why was Derek so touch starved? Why had he whined and practically blacked out last night. And his dad had left Derek Hale, alone with him, in his bed. His sixteen year old son.
Well, eighteen, technically, Stiles kept forgetting about that. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, he was eighteen, and two years behind all of his friends. Scott would be off at college now and he didn’t even know where or what his best friend was studying.
Isaac, who he knew of but didn't know, was now living with him and his dad and how strange was that? Mr Lahey, the swim coach, turned out to be an abusive father and had been murdered by one of his schoolmates, Matt Daehler. Stiles had never liked him, always felt something off about him. But Mr Lahey? Never pinged his radar. Not that he’d ever had anything to do with him having not been on the swim team.
Lydia, his goddess Lydia, obviously not his soulmate and he had completely forgotten to ask anything about her. She was probably soulmates with douchebag Jackson.
What else had he missed while he’d been sleeping. And what had taken Derek so long to get to him? He’d turned eighteen months ago.
He had a lot of questions but Stiles was reluctant to think the man sleeping in bed with him would be happy to give him the answers even though he held them all. He hadn’t seemed very talkative when his dad had introduced them, which Stiles also couldn’t get his head around.
He understood that he was now eighteen even though he certainly didn’t feel like it, and that Derek was his soulmate, but his dad had just let them sleep in the same bed together? After Stiles had only met him, consciously, once? What was he missing?
Something had happened to Derek Hale to make his father trust him. And Stiles wasn’t naive enough to think it was Derek being a Good Samaritan or neighbour. Especially as his dad seemed to not know much about Derek as a person.
The forehead in front of him scrunched up and the eyes slowly opened to reveal a myriad of colours that Stiles couldn’t describe with a simple colour. Light hazels and browns clustered near the pupil leading to maybe greens or blues until they hit a dark circle around the outside. They were mesmerising and after a moment, Stiles realised he was staring at him.
‘Morning.’ Stiles grinned to cover the fact that he’d been caught watching him sleep.
‘Morning.’ Derek replied, his voice sleep ridden and husky.
The noise went straight to Stiles’ groin.
‘So, Derek Hale, soulmate and enigma.’ Stiles grinned when Derek frowned at him. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
Derek’s frown deepened. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Anything. Everything. Where do you live? Where do you work? Do you work? Or are you still at school? How old are you? What’s your favourite colour? Favourite food? Which is an important one because we’re gonna be eating breakfast soon.’
‘Do you ever breathe?’ Derek asked, staring at him in mild horror.
‘Yeah I taught myself to breathe when speaking a long time ago, saves on time and allows me to talk more. It’s pretty basic stuff, when did you learn to control your breathing? Or are you naturally gifted in everything you do, you look as if you are, I mean these muscles…’’ Stiles broke off to squeeze the arm that his hand had been trailing down without his knowledge. ‘What do you bench press? In fact don’t tell me, I won’t know what your answer means but I’m guessing you like working out. I don’t. I mean I play lacrosse so of course I’m a sucker for painful and humiliating physical exertion seeing as I suck at it and I really didn’t mean to make any references to BDSM. Are you into that? I have no experience apart from what I’ve found online, which you know is a lot and I like knowing things. So I have no experience to know if I’d be into it or not but I wouldn’t rule it out and I’m gonna shut up now because you’ve turned a really attractive shade of red and haven’t said anything although you kinda look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon without the tequila after shot and your ears are so cute with just the tips red. Huh, do you think that’s a kink?’
Derek blinked.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, I ramble a lot. You usually have to shut me up, again didn’t mean kinky references but seeing as we’re soulmates I figure at some time we’ll be trying that out, unless you’re ace? Are you ace? I figure you’re at least bi, seeing as we’re both men but there’s still a lot of sexualities that you could be, that is if you in fact use labels.’
‘Stiles.’ His dad sighed from the doorway.
‘Dad, didn’t know you were up, how long have you been there?’
‘Long enough to know that Derek probably needs a coffee before answering any questions of which he doesn’t have to.’ Noah gave Stiles a look.
Stiles winced. ‘Sorry, got carried away but they are important questions that eventually we’ll need to talk about.’
‘Exactly.’ Noah cut in before Stiles could carry on. ‘Talk about, not just one person talking but both of you.’
‘He really doesn't say much.’ Stiles defended himself.
‘Then give him a chance to.’ Noah replied, as he left, calling back. ‘Coffee’s on and once you’re both downstairs, I’ll start on breakfast. And Stiles? Be gentle.’
Stiles bounced into the kitchen, his hand clamped in Derek’s. He’d taken his dad’s advice to heart and had treated Derek with kid gloves. Metaphorical ones anyone, and for some reason Derek had allowed him.
He eyed the space where the fridge had been and noticed Isaac shrink into himself at Stiles' questioning look. There was a story there and obviously a bad one.
‘Those eggs had better be heart healthy and that better not be real bacon.’ Stiles said in greeting to his dad. ‘Morning Isaac.’
Isaac nodded at him and Stiles decided to ignore how he drew into himself. After hearing about Mr Lahey, Stiles wasn’t surprised, but he needed to find out how long ago that had been and how Isaac was dealing with it. By the looks of it, not very well. He knew his dad well enough that he’d have insisted that Isaac get therapy, but Stiles would see how Isaac was responding to it and look into the therapist. Isaac was family now, even if they weren’t friends yet.
‘Really Stiles?’ His dad sighed at him. ‘This is a celebratory breakfast.’
‘What are we celebrating?’
‘You being awake.’ Noah said sardonically.
Stiles winced. ‘Yeah okay, you get a pass today. But just for today! And don’t think I’m not questioning everyone at the station on your diet.’
His dad rolled his eyes but continued with setting up breakfast. ‘They’ll be pleased to see you. Derek, anything you don’t like?’
Derek shook his head.
Stiles definitely had his work cut out.
‘What’s everyone’s plans for the day?’ Noah asked as he set the bacon in the pan and cracked the eggs into a bowl.
‘I was gonna call Scott, see what he’s up to, let him know I’m awake. Surprised I haven’t already heard from him.’ Stiles frowned. ‘Hey where’s my phone?’
Noah turned around to face him, wincing. ‘Yeah, about that. Scott moved away.’
‘What?’ Stiles gaped at his father. ‘When?’
‘Not long ago. His girlfriend moved back to France after falling out with her family, Scott followed the second his soul mark came in and it matched hers. Nothing Melissa could do to stop him, she’s still here though.’
‘Scott has a girlfriend?’ Stiles asked, utterly stunned. What the hell had happened while he’d been in a coma? Scott was older than him by a couple months so he’d have moved to France before Stiles’ mark had come in. Did Scott even know he’d gotten his mark?
His dad nodded, glancing at Derek quickly. ‘Her family moved here shortly after your accident. She and Scott became an item pretty quickly and they’ve been hot and heavy ever since.’
Stiles narrowed his eyes. ‘What aren’t you saying?’
Noah sighed. ‘Stiles leave it for now.’
Stiles shook his head. This wasn’t adding up, had he entered an alternate reality? Was he hallucinating? Had he even woken up? Was this all a dream? ‘No. No. No. No. This is wrong. Too much doesn't make sense. You’re lying to me!’
Noah dropped the fork he was using to stir the bacon with and was by his side in an instant. ‘No. Stiles I’m not. I’m sorry but I’m not lying.’
‘None of this makes sense.’ Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, shaking as he felt his breath come in gasps. ‘If you’re not lying then you’re hiding something from me. I don’t want to be eighteen. I want to be sixteen again, when this isn’t happening and my best friend hasn’t left me!’
‘We can get Scott on the phone, video time or face call or whatever it is you kids call it.’ Noah said, keeping Stiles’ eyes on him.
Stiles snorted, trying to calm his breaths as he listened to his dad’s voice. His hands were clenched tight around another hand and it took him a moment to trace the hand back to Derek, who was also apparently drawing circles on the back on his hand. Stiles followed Derek’s finger with his eyes, his heart rate slowly down slightly and his breaths coming in time with the movement of Derek’s finger.
‘Thanks.’ Stiles gulped, leaning into Derek with a sigh. ‘Neat trick.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Derek said, hesitantly placing an arm around Stiles’ side.
Stiles wriggled himself further into Derek’s embrace, he felt safe and secure, and manhandled Derek’s arms so that he was wrapped around him. He looked up to his dad. ‘So what weren’t you telling me then?’
‘Shit.’ Noah sighed and looked at Derek. ‘Scott’s girlfriend. Her name is Allison Argent.’
Derek growled and Stiles blinked. He twisted his head around and stared sideways at Derek’s glowering red eyes. ‘Dude! What the fuck!’
‘Language.’ His dad said.
‘You knew about this?’ Stiles turned back to his dad, then looked down as he felt something sharp digging into his hands. He gaped at the claws sprouting from Derek’s fingers and raised his hands up to get a better look. ‘Dude! What are you?’
Derek didn’t respond so he twisted to look at him but Derek was looking a mixture of angry and embarrassed.
Noah sighed. ‘He’s a werewolf and Stiles, Isaac, this doesn’t leave this room.’
‘Yessir.’ Issac nodded his head frantically but was looking as interested as Stiles.
‘This is so cool!’
‘Stiles.’ His dad reprimanded.
‘Course, doesn’t leave this room. Can I tell Scotty though? He’s gonna freak!’
‘No!’ His dad said sternly just as Derek growled again.
‘Why not? Who’s Scotty gonna tell?’ Stiles asked before remembering that Scott now had a girlfriend and probably more friends than he had two years ago when it had just been the two of them.
‘Derek reacted to his girlfriends name.’ Noah said, pulling Stiles out of his internal slump.
‘Allison something?’ Stiles frowned. ‘Why? Who is she?’
Noah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I’ll find out if she’s related to her.’
Derek nodded stiffly.
‘To who?’ Stiles demanded. He knew he was being left out and did not appreciate it, he felt as if he’d been left out of the last two years of his life.
‘To the woman who murdered Derek’s family. Are you happy now, Stiles?’ Noah said sharply.
Stiles flinched. ‘Shit. Sorry. I, I didn’t know.’
‘Nor were you taking any hints.’ His dad said in his disappointed voice.
‘Alright, alright I get it. Stop pushing.’ Stiles grumbled and glanced at Derek again. ‘Hey, where did your eyebrows go?’
Derek turned to face him and flashed red eyes at him.
‘That is so cool!’ Stiles said excitedly, reaching out excitedly and running his fingers all over the angles of Derek’s face. ‘How does it work, do you howl at the moon, turn into a rabid animal once a month, were all your family werewolves? Do you get any perks, do the red eyes mean better eyesight? Wait! Is that what dad meant when he said you’d been living in the preserve? As a werewolf?! Dude!’
‘Stiles, pause, breathe.’ His dad ordered before turning to Derek. ‘I know he’s a lot but he doesn't mean to be rude.’
‘I’m not being rude!’ Stiles retorted affronted, then stared at Derek in worry. ‘Am I being rude? I’m so sorry. I’m prying aren’t I? But you’re the first werewolf that I’ve ever met and wow that is a sentence I never thought I would say and would I even know if I’ve met a werewolf before? And I can see dad’s face, I’m shutting up.’
‘No.’ Derek said around his fangs. ‘It’s fine.’
Stiles peered in closely, running his fingers over the sharp edges gently, jumping when they disappeared.
‘You’re not scared.’
Stiles cocked his head to one side. ‘Why would I be scared? You’re my soulmate.’
Derek blinked. Looking as if he was processing it then glanced at Noah and Isaac.
‘You’re my son’s soulmate and brought him out of that coma.’ Noah said simply.
Isaac shrugged. ‘Mr Stilinski and Stiles trust you. I trust them. And it is cool.’
‘Right?!’ Stiles enthused, raising his hand for a high five that Isaac dubiously stared at.
‘My family... were werewolves. We have advanced strength, healing, and hearing. The red eyes mean I’m the alpha.’ Derek told them stiltedly.
‘Like alpha, beta and omega?’ Stiles asked. ‘You’re the one in charge?’
Derek nodded. ‘Beta’s are pack members, omega’s are werewolves without packs, they usually go feral.’
‘Are omega’s common?’ Stiles asked.
Derek shook his head.
‘And you can turn into a full wolf?’ Stiles asked. ‘What about what you just did?’
‘Werewolves have a beta shift, which is what you just saw. Only certain werewolves can fully shift into a wolf. It’s a genetic thing.’
‘And it runs in your family?’
Derek nodded.
‘What about the full moon? Silver? Hey, can you eat chocolate?’ Stiles wondered aloud.
Derek stared at him sardonically. ‘We feel the pull of the moon. Silver is a myth, it derives from the french word and yes I can eat chocolate.’
‘Wait, the french word for silver is argent…’ Stiles trailed off and stared up at his dad.
Derek hunched in on himself. ‘They’re a hunting family.’
Stiles stared at him, feeling sick. ‘They hunt you for sport?’
Derek looked away from them. ‘They’re meant to have a code, hunt those who have hurt innocents, but they don’t stick to it. My family never hurt anyone. We were peaceful.’
‘How did they know you were werewolves?’ Noah asked.
‘Me.’ Derek shrugged uncomfortably. Stiles pushed himself further into Derek’s space, unsurprised when Derek breathed in deeply beside his face. ‘She was a substitute teacher. She was nice, friendly. I thought she loved me. I trusted her.’
‘It wasn’t your fault son.’ Noah said, grasping Derek’s shoulder. ‘I trust my gut, and it’s saying that you're a good man.’
Stiles swallowed, feeling suddenly nauseous. ‘How old were- I mean, this happened ye- a while ago.’
Derek nodded, curling in on himself and hiding his face behind Stiles’ shoulder. ‘I was fifteen.’
Stiles looked over to his dad in horror.
‘Son, Derek.’ Noah said gently, gaining Derek’s attention. ‘You know what she did was wrong. You were not in the wrong. She was. What she did was illegal. Even if you consented. It’s called statuatory rape. The age of consent in California is eighteen. Not sixteen.’
Derek nodded but Stiles could feel him shaking behind him. He shuffled around so that he could pull Derek into a side hug.
Stiles looked at dad in alarm when Derek went willingly, his entire body pliable.
‘Derek I promise you son, I will find evidence against her, and I will put her away.’
Stiles felt something wet on his neck and heard Derek sniff.
Stiles rubbed his hands along Derek’s back and arms as Noah ushered Isaac awkwardly from the room.
What a great first day home, his dad had prepared a special breakfast and he’d ruined it by bringing up all his soulmates' trauma. He was really killing this.
‘I’m sorry.’ Stiles said, feeling helpless and useless.
‘Why are you sorry? I got my family killed.’ Derek shrugged, pulling away from him but avoiding eye contact.
‘That wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry for being a shit soulmate. Our first morning together and I ruin everything.’
‘You haven’t ruined anything.’
Stiles looked around and realised that Derek was right. He could still salvage breakfast and they could move forward from this. He nodded. ‘You’re right. Let’s finish breakfast and you can tell me to shut up when I put my foot in things again.’
Derek raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re awfully sure you’re going to.’
Stiles shrugged and grinned at him. ‘It’s part of my charm.’
‘Aww, come on dad, please?’ Stiles whined. What he wouldn’t do for a diner burger and curly fries, but his dad was refusing to take him out and had hidden the keys for his jeep so he couldn’t even drive himself there either.
He doubted Derek would be any help, after living in the preserve for God knew how long, Stiles doubted he had a car or transport.
‘No. Not yet.’ Noah groaned. ‘We’ll be there all day.’
Stiles glared at him. ‘No we won’t. I just want a burger from the diner, we’ll be quick I promise.’
‘No, we won’t. Because everyone knows you’re awake and they’ll want to stop and chat and I just want to spend one full day with you before I have to go back to work.’
Stiles froze, blinking rapidly, a lump forming in his throat. He was being a shitty son. He nodded. ‘Yeah, that sounds... yeah. We’ll stay in.’
‘We could order the food to go?’ Isaac offered in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘Erica and Boyd could pick it up and bring it over? Or, or we could, collect it I mean.’
Noah smiled at Isaac who had paled and was looking down at his feet fearfully. Noah gently touched his shoulder. ‘That’s a great idea Isaac. I’m sure Lorraine wouldn’t mind packing it up for us just this once. I’ll give her a call, what does everyone want?’
‘The house special burger with curly fries and a chocolate milkshake, large. Can I have two chocolate milkshakes? With extra cream. Ooh and their triple chocolate brownie for dessert.’ Stiles immediately asked, his mouth watering from just the thought of diner food.
‘Derek?’ Noah asked.
Derek blinked, looking startled.
‘I’m assuming you like your meat.’ Stiles grinned, feeling proud of himself.
‘Stiles.’ His dad groaned. ‘I’m right here.’
Startled, his arms flew out and he managed to hit both himself and Derek and possibly Isaac who flinched and almost hit the ground. ‘Daaaad! I meant him being a werewolf! Jeez, get your head out the gutter.’
‘Sure, you did.’ Noah replies dryly, giving him a disbelieving look. ‘The lasagna’s good, which is what I’m going for. I can recommend all the burgers and the ribs are fantastic. Only I doubt my son will ever let me eat them again. They also do a meat platter which I’m told is out of this world.’
Derek nodded.
‘Ribs or platter?’
‘Do they do barbecue ribs?’ Derek sounded hopeful.
‘Barbecue ribs it is. Isaac?’
‘Tex Mex burger please.’
‘What’ll Erica and Boyd have?’
‘Really?’ Isaac straightened up, looking pleased.
Noah chuckled. ‘Course, get their order and call it in, they can pick it up on they’re way over. Here’s my card, you call in the order but make sure they know it’s for Stiles being home.’
‘Hey!’ Stiles glared at his dad. ‘You’ve never given me your card before.’
Noah raised an eyebrow. ‘Isaac I trust.’
Stiles poured. ‘Rude.’
Isaac preened as he took Stiles’ dad’s card and pulled his phone out, wrist on display as he left the room to speak to his friends. Stiles leaned forward as he caught sight of the soulmark there, an ocean wave. Well, they were in California.
‘Erica?’ Stiles frowned, his mind jumping topics. ‘You mean Erica Reyes?’
His dad nodded.
‘Whose Boyd?’
‘Really Stiles? He was in your class.’ His dad sounded disappointed.
‘You mean Vernon Boyd? Big bloke, doesn’t like words?’ Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘You know Scott was the only one willing to put up with me.’
‘Not anymore.’ His dad said with a pointed look towards Derek.
‘True, I now get Derek.’
Derek blinked. ‘You-you want me to stay?’
‘Course.’ Stiles turned to him, wondering why he looked so surprised at that. Did Derek not want to stay with him?
‘Okay.’ Derek said simply before Stiles could get himself worked up. The instant acceptance took all the wind out of his sails and Stiles realised it had been Derek’s own insecurities that had made him question him wanting him.
Stiles was going to have to work on that. Along with Isaac. They were both family now, and Stiles looked after his own.
‘Hey dad, I know you think I can’t read any cues, but while Isaac’s not in the room, what happened to the fridge?’
‘At least you picked up on that cue.’ His dad mumbled.
Stiles glared.
‘Isaac's father used to lock him in the freezer, among other things. He never stopped staring at it when he forced himself into the kitchen. It’s out in the utility room now and Isaac doesn’t go in there.’
Stiles nodded, taking a moment to digest that. ‘How did none of us know?’
Noah sighed and dragged a hand down his face. ‘He hid it but I ask myself that question every day. But this is a conversation for when he’s not around.’
Stiles nodded. It really was, he had so many questions and none of them were ones he wanted Isaac around for. He had plenty more for Isaac, but those were more about getting Isaac better. Although if this was Isaac better, then Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Isaac was like before.
‘His father abused him?’ Derek asked quietly. Noah nodded. ‘That explains a lot.’
‘Like what?’ Stiles wanted to know what Derek has picked up.
‘His scent. He’s just ending his phone call.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Werewolf hearing.’
‘How far can you hear?’
‘A lot more than you.’ Derek smiled and if Stiles didn’t know him and how insecure he was, he’d say it was smug.
‘You said earlier, you have better hearing, healing and strength.’ Noah added.
Derek nodded. ‘Your neighbours have very questionable taste in music and a car two roads over needs a new exhaust. We don’t get diseases, but wolfsbane is highly poisonous to us.’
‘You can hear all that!’ Stiles asked, astonished as Isaac walked back into the room. ‘That’s so cool! What kinda music are they playing? What about wounds? I thought when you said better healing, you meant like, physical injury, not diseases.’
‘Bad music.’ Derek said flatly. ‘I used to be able to filter it out better but I’ve been in the preserve for two years.’
‘Two years!’ Stiles exclaimed but quietened at a look from his dad. But that meant that Derek has been in the preserve for as long as he’d been in his coma.
‘You were talking about healing?’ Noah asked, staring at Derek intently. Stiles frowned wondering what he was thinking.
Derek nodded. ‘Knife wounds, gunshots, arrows, unless the weapons are laced with wolfsbane.’
‘Arrows? How would anyone know to put wolfsbane on their weapons?’
‘Hunters.’ Derek said darkly.
Stiles winced.
‘You mentioned diseases.’ Noah pushed. ‘You don’t get any?’
Derek shook his head. ‘Our advanced healing means our body wouldn’t allow the disease to take hold. But it’s not infallible, we still get old, just at a slower rate.’
Noah nodded thoughtfully.
‘You said your strong, how strong?’ Stiles asked.
Derek gave him a sardonic look. ‘When you asked what I bench press, I could easily bench press your car and not break a sweat.’
‘Dude!’ Stiles waved his arms excitedly. ‘That is so cool!’
‘It comes with its drawbacks.’ Derek sighed.
‘Like what?!’
‘Hunters. We can’t have our picture taken with our eyes open because of the flare, it makes our eyes flash.’
‘Do you need packs?’ Noah asked.
‘Sort of.’ Derek pulled a face. ‘If I wasn’t an alpha, then yes, otherwise I’d go omega.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘An omega is a beta without a pack. They go feral and chances are, start killing people. Technically, they’re what hunters go after.’
‘Okay, but because you're the alpha you don’t need a pack?’
‘I won’t turn omega without one.’
‘But you’d like one?’
‘It’s preferable.’ Derek admitted, rubbing his chest. ‘It’s an urge that I’ll constantly have, to create a pack, but I don’t need one.’
‘Create?’ Noah asked quickly. ‘You don’t have to be born a werewolf?’
Derek shook his head. ‘An alpha bite can turn someone but I wouldn’t do that. And only the bite of an alpha can turn someone. Betas and omegas can’t turn people with their bite, but an alpha bite doesn’t necessarily mean the person bitten will turn.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A body will accept the bite or reject it. If the body rejects it, they die.’
‘So an alpha bites someone and they either turn into a werewolf or die?’ Stiles summarised.
Derek nodded.
‘Why don’t you need a pack?’ Stiles asked.
‘I already have one. You, Noah and Isaac. You don’t have to be a werewolf to be pack.’
‘Me?’ Isaac asked, startled.
Derek nodded. ‘You’re all family. My bond with Stiles was the quickest and is the strongest, but you’re Stiles’ family.’
Isaac turned to Stiles, looking dumbfounded. ‘You consider me family?’
‘Course.’ Stiles shrugged, not understanding what Isaac was upset about. ‘Dad adopted you.’
‘He didn’t, he’s my guardian and we weren’t friends before your coma.’ Isaac shook his head.
Stiles shrugged. ‘So? Family doesn’t mean we have to be best friends. We don’t know each other but we now get to find out if we do get on. Family means we’re there for each other even if we don’t like each other. And if we fall out, it still won’t change that you’re family now.’
Isaac bit his lips, his eyes suspiciously moist.
‘Dude, do we need to hug it out?’ Stiles grinned, stretching out his arms.
Isaac glared.
Stiles laughed. ‘Come on, don't leave me hanging!’ He pouted when Isaac crossed his arms, still glaring. He turned to Derek.
Derek rolled his eyes and yanked at the back of his shirt.
He yelled and fell into Derek’s lap where Derek’s arms instantly wrapped around him, anchoring him in place. ‘Dude! A little warning next time?’
‘Don’t call me dude.’ Derek grumped but Stiles could see the corner of his lips were turned upwards.
‘Erica!’ Stiles exclaimed as she entered with Boyd right behind her. ‘You look wonderful! And Boyd, still as stoic as ever.’
Boyd nodded to him while Erica beamed and flipped her hair and slipped her hand into Boyd’s. ‘Thanks, finding my soulmate suits me.’
‘Boyd’s your soulmate? Congrats guys! This here,’ He shoved his thumb over his shoulder, indicating Derek. ‘Is mine.’
Erica’s eyes widened. ‘Dude you hit the jackpot!’
‘Right!’ Stiles exclaimed excitedly raising his hand for a high five.
‘I- I didn’t know you guys knew each other?’ Isaac asked, glancing between them looking subdued.
Stiles shrugged. ‘Yeah, of course. Not well but we knew each other.’
Erica nodded. ‘Stiles always stuck up for me when he was there.’
‘Hey Isaac, who’s your soulmate?’ Stiles suddenly realised he’d never even asked. Some friend he was turning out to be.
Isaac blinked and looked away, hunching his shoulders up. ‘Don’t know.’
Stiles scrunched his nose up, wondering why Derek narrowed his eyes at that, Isaac clearly didn't want to talk about it. He turned back to Erica. ‘How’ve the last two years been? Apart from glorious because you found your soulmate, how’d you figure it out anyway?’
Erica smiled shyly. ‘Boyd saw my mark during a seizure. He came with me to the hospital and showed me his once I was conscious.’
‘I bet he did.’ Stiles grinned and held up his hand.
Noah and Derek groaned.
Erica high fived him, beaming.
‘So then, catwoman, catch me up on the last two years, what movies have I missed?’
Ericas eyes lit up. ‘What was the last marvel movie you saw?’
‘Captain America, and Thor had come out a couple months before that.’ Stiles said, leaning forward. Finally he had someone to geek out over marvel with. How had he never known she was into them as well? Scott always went with him to see them at the cinema but wasn't really all that bothered about them.
‘Okay so you’ve only missed two really. The Avengers and Iron man 3. Thor: The Dark World is still at cinemas now.’
‘I can’t believe I missed seeing The Avengers at the cinema, that sucks! But you know what this means? Total rewatch!’
Noah groaned.
Derek looked perplexed but Isaac looked reluctantly pleased and Stiles was still to see any kind reaction on Boyd’s face.
Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand. ‘You won’t have seen them either will you? This is going to be brilliant!’
‘I don’t think I’ve seen any of them.’ Derek admitted.
Stiles stared at him. ‘Are you kidding? Why the hell not?’
Derek shifted, looking uncomfortable. ‘Well, apart from the Dolby sound being too loud on my hearing, most of my family died in 2005. Watching movies never really appealed to me and Laura wasn’t really into marvel.’
‘Fine, that’s a damn good reason. You get a pass. Until now. We’re watching all of them. I can’t have my soulmate not having seen marvel, hold on! Please tell me, you have at least seen Stars Wars?’
Derek nodded.
‘Oh good, you can still be my soulmate.’ Stiles grinned.
Derek threw him a dark look.
‘You two are so cute together.’ Erica exclaimed.
Derek threw her a dirty look.
Stiles kept his face tucked into Derek’s neck as the credits started playing on Captain America: The First Avenger. They’d just watched four films back to back. And he’d spent them all curled up next to his soulmate on the sofa. It was the best day of his life. He had friends over, his soulmate here, his dad here, delicious food. The only thing to make it better would have been Scott, but he’d texted him and emailed him. He hadn’t heard back yet.
His dad hadn’t lasted for all four movies but had still surprised Stiles by managing all of Iron Man, most of Iron Man 2, all of Thor and only the beginning of Captain America. Not that he’d left, he stayed in his office and pottered around after them. It seemed he still wasn't quite ready to leave Stiles for too long.
‘I’ll bring over The Avengers and Iron Man 3 tomorrow.’ Erica yawned. ‘I haven't seen Thor as I don’t visit cinema’s.’
Stiles frowned. ‘Why not? I love seeing films on the big screen!’
Erica shrugged. ‘They can’t promise that there aren’t any flashing lights which will cause a seizure.’
‘That sucks!’ Stiles exclaimed. He’d never thought of that before. Did that mean that Erica had never been to the cinema then? ‘Second it comes out on DVD, we’re watching it. Movie night!’
‘Yeah?’ Erica grinned, looking overjoyed.
‘We could make it like a weekly thing?’ Stiles offered. He may not have Scott here with him, but it seemed he still had friends. ‘You can catch me up on everything I’ve missed.’
‘I’d really like that.’ Erica admitted. ‘I’m glad you’re awake Stiles.’
‘Me too!’ Stiles grinned at her.
‘Come on, we’d better get you home.’ Boyd said, nodding at Stiles.
Erica huffed. ‘Next time we’ll bring my meds with me. Thanks for dinner Sheriff!’
‘You’re welcome Erica, Boyd. And you know you’re both welcome anytime.’ Noah yawned as he cleared up.
Erica hugged Isaac, pulling him close. Stiles watched as Isaac melted into it.
Boyd nudged Isaac’s arm as Stiles got taken completely off guard when Erica enveloped him in a hug too. It wasn’t as tight or as long as Isaac’s had been, but Stiles still returned it.
Yeah he’d miss Scott, but he was already making new friends. He’d emailed Scott, the time difference between them was an obstacle but not an insurmountable one. They would deal and as soon as Scott checked his email, they’d arrange a way to skype each other.
Isaac saw Erica and Boyd out while Noah carted all the empty snack packets to the bin. It seemed that with Derek around, they would never have left overs. Another perk of being a werewolf it seemed, they ate tons.
‘Derek you mind if I ask you some questions about being a werewolf?’ Noah asked.
‘Sure.’ Derek turned to him.
‘I’m going to head to bed.’ Isaac said, his head going between them.
Noah shook his head. ‘I think you should be here for this. I want everyone’s opinion.’
Isaac nodded and sat down on the seat nearest the stairs. Stiles wondered if that was a conscious decision or not.
‘You said your healing stops diseases from taking a hold in the body.’ Noah started. Derek nodded. ‘What if you bit someone who had a pre existing condition? Would that have any effect?’
Derek frowned. ‘Sheriff, you’re fully healthy, so is Stiles and Isaac, what are you asking?’
‘That girl who just left, Erica, she has epilepsy and it’s getting worse the older she gets. The doctors don’t think she’ll live past twenty-five and that she’ll be lucky to get to that age. Any seizure could be her last.’ Noah sighed. ‘I know you said you won’t bite anyone, but would you consider it?’
‘You-you want me to turn her?’ Derek asked, blinking rapidly.
‘She’s out of options. And from everything you’ve said and done, I think you’d be good for each other.’ Noah admitted. ‘But you would have to get her consent first.’
‘Of course.’ Derek said, startled. ‘I would never bite anyone without their full knowledge and consent. And even then, only if I believe it’s the right thing to do. But..’
Derek trailed off, frowning intently.
‘What is it Derek?’ Noah asked.
Derek drew into himself, still not speaking, his frown turning into a glower.
‘You know you can tell us anything, you’re family, we’ll support you. Even if you’re being an idiot.’ Stiles told him bluntly, then wondered if he should have used more tact.
‘Stiles.’ His dad sighed.
‘I wasn’t trained to be an alpha. Laura was meant to take over. I don’t know how to be a good alpha.
Noah smiled and clasped his shoulder. ‘We’ll be here to help you, and that right there, admitting that you don’t know and need help? That is a sign of a good leader.’
Stiles nodded. ‘We can all help, I’ll research and it’s not like any of us can compare you to other alphas we know.’
Noah groaned again, placing his whole face in his hands.
‘Thanks.’ Derek said dryly.
Stiles grinned.
‘Isaac, what do you think?’ Noah asked, turning to him.
‘M-me?’ Isaac virtually squeaked.
‘You know her best.’ Noah shrugged.
‘She’d jump at the chance. She worries about what will happen to Boyd when she dies.’ Isaac admitted, hunching in on himself.
‘So tomorrow, when she and Boyd come over, we break the news and see what she says.’ Stiles cut in.
Noah raised an eyebrow at him.
‘What? Boyd’s her soulmate, she won’t keep this from him and you said you’d want her to make an informed decision.’ Stiles shrugged.
Derek nodded. ‘I’d need her to think about it as well, really think about it and know the pro’s and con’s of it all.’
‘I agree. If she agrees, we won’t let her run into it blind.’ Noah agreed. ‘You said if the body rejects the bite, the person dies?’
Derek nodded. ‘There aren’t any statistics, but the younger the person is, the higher the chance they have of surviving it.’
‘Do you have any objections to any of this?’ Noah asked Derek. ‘You can say no, I need you to feel comfortable with this. If you’re not, you have to say so.’
Derek shrugged. ‘I got on with her today, she seems nice, genuine, she’s part of Isaac’s pack so even if she doesn't take the bite and become a wolf, I’m pretty sure she’ll still end up pack. And like Stiles said, where Erica goes, Boyd follows. You aren’t going to get one without the other.’
Noah nodded thoughtfully. ‘How do you think Boyd will take it?’
Derek shrugged. ‘If Erica goes for it and turns, then I think he’ll ask for the bite too.’
‘Really?’ Noah looked surprised. ‘How would you feel about that?’
‘I’d want your opinion before I agreed.’
Noah smiled. ‘But you’d agree?’
Derek nodded. ‘I would. He adores Erica and is settled with her, but underneath it, he’s lonely. What was he like before him and Erica got together?’
Isaac shrugged. ‘We became friends because we were all social pariahs, I was never really sure if he even really liked us but then it turned out him and Erica were soulmates.’
‘He cares.’ Derek told him.
‘You’re closer to Erica right?’ Stiles asked. As an outsider, he probably had a better perspective on things, and as his dad liked to point out, Stiles could be observant when he wanted to be. ‘He’s probably worried that when he loses Erica, he loses you too.’
‘Well then, we’d better disabuse him of that notion.’ Noah said looking between both Stiles and Isaac.
‘Yessir.’ Isaac nodded instantly.
Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘Gee and I was gonna reinforce it instead. Oww.’ He winced and rubbed the back of his head. ‘Recently brain damaged remember?’
‘Wish I could forget.’ His dad said pointedly.
Stiles grimaced.
‘When can you bite me?’ Erica asked, her eyes shining brightly as if all her Christmas’s had come at once.
Stiles grinned broadly at her, pleased that he’d correctly anticipated her response.
‘Not yet. You need to think about this, weigh up the pro’s and con’s. If I don’t think you have, then I won’t bite you.’ Derek told her seriously. ‘The bite is a gift but it isn’t a get out of jail free card.’
‘I understand.’ Erica sighed. ‘Hunters are evil, they are what they sound like, they hunt werewolves. But I won’t have a ticking time bomb in my head.’
‘Only if your body accepts the bite.’ Derek reminded her.
She pulled a face. ‘I know. If my body doesnt, I die, painfully. But I’m not going to change my mind.’
Derek smiled at her and Stiles lost his breath. His soulmate was beautiful when he smiled. Why hadn’t Stiles seen it before? Derek needed to smile all the time.
‘I don’t expect you to, but I need you to really think about it.’ Derek told her.
Erica nodded. ‘I will. I promise.’ She threw her arms around him. ‘Thank you.’
Stiles watched as Derek stiffened and then slowly relaxed into her embrace.
‘I want the bite too.’ Boyd said.
Derek nodded. ‘You’ve heard everything I’ve said, but as you don’t have a medical reason..’
‘Ticking time bomb in your head.’ Stiles interrupted helpfully.
Derek shot him a glare. ‘I’m going to need you to think about it for longer.’
‘How long?’ Boyd asked.
‘A month. At least. Same deal, if I don’t think you’ve made an informed decision, then I will refuse.’
Boyd nodded. ‘That’s fine.’
‘I want the same deal too.’ Isaac said, looking shocked.
Stiles got the impression that he’d surprised himself by speaking up.
Derek looked surprised as well. ‘You do?’
Isaac nodded resolutely. ‘I don’t like who I am. I hate being weak.’
‘Being a werewolf will only give you physical strength Isaac, not mental.’ Derek said softly. ‘Are you in therapy?’
Isaac nodded glumly.
‘It not going well?’ Stiles asked.
Isaac shrugged unhappily. ‘I can’t relax and I still get nightmares.’
‘Being a werewolf won’t change them, but it might make them worse with all the added senses.’
‘You’re saying no.’ Isaac hunched in on himself.
Derek shook his head. ‘No, I’m not saying no, but I’m also not saying yes. We need to talk more about this.’
‘Really?’ Isaac asked, looking hopeful.
Stiles’ heart broke for him.
‘What’s it like?’ Stiles asked for something to distract Isaac. ‘Changing from human to a werewolf? I’m assuming dealing with the advanced hearing isn’t easy?’
Derek shook his head, throwing Stiles an appreciative look. ‘It isn’t, and on top of that, your emotions are all over the place. Lots of things will set you off and any emotion, extreme or not, can cause you to shift until you get a hold on it. Anger is a very common problem.’
‘How do you get a hold on it?’ Stiles wondered.
‘Find an anchor. A lot of werewolves use their soulmates but it’s best to have several anchors and to not have them as people. People argue which can have an effect on your control. The more anchors you have the better. It can be a memory, a place, a smell.’
‘So if I can get over my issues, you’ll consider biting me too?’ Isaac asked, looking fearful.
Stiles didn't like Isaac’s phrasing, but he didn’t comment yet. He didn't want to interrupt when he seemed so hopeful and this might give him the encouragement he needed to make a difference in his therapy.
‘If I think it’s in your best interests, and if Noah agrees, then yes.’ Derek agreed.
Isaac beamed.
Stiles grinned and glanced at his dad. He was smiling too, looking at Derek proudly.
They would figure this out, as a family. As a pack.
‘Are you really going to make Erica wait a week?’ Stiles asked Derek, pulling a face.
Derek stared at Stiles. ‘A week isn’t forever.’
‘When you have a bomb in your head that can go off any second it might as well be an eternity.’ Stiles pointed out.
‘Only for you youngsters.’ Derek glared at him.
‘Hey, you’re not that much older than me, are you?’ Stiles asked, suddenly realising that he didn’t even know how old his soulmate was. ‘Wait, are you?’
Derek sighed. ‘No, Stiles, I’m not, I’m twenty two.’
‘Sweet! You can legally drink!’
‘Alcohol doesn't affect werewolves.’
‘But you can legally buy alcohol.’
‘I am not buying my soulmate, underage son of the sheriff, alcohol.’
‘Spoilsport.’
‘Law abiding.’
Stiles grinned. ‘But I’m yours and your mine.’
Derek smiled.
‘You should do that more, it suits you. I like it.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Smile.’ Stiles slid onto Derek’s lap, delicately tracing his mouth with his finger tips before exploring the rest of Derek’s face that way. ‘Did you know, this is how blind people see people, by tracing the physical contours of a face. I couldn’t imagine being blind and not being able to see my soulmate’s face.’
‘Would it matter?’ Derek asked quietly.
Stiles shook his head. ‘No, we’re not soulmates because of how we look, thank God, but because of who we are, our personalities, what makes us up, how we click.’
Derek smiled again. ‘How you look is just a bonus.’
‘You-you like how I look?’ Stiles paused in his explorations. He’d never really given much thought to Derek liking his looks, thinking that Derek didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter seeing as the universe had put them together. Although, there had to be a reason why they were soulmates.
‘I do.’ Derek leant forward and gently pressed their lips together in a soft chaste kiss before pulling away. ‘Very much.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. And your scent makes me feel like I’ve finally found my home.’
‘My scent? You mean I have a smell? Dude, is that good?’ Stiles asked desperately trying to remember when he’d last showered and how thoroughly. He’d definitely washed his hair and he was ninety percent positive he’s used shower gel. He just wasn’t convinced at how thoroughly he’d used it.
‘Don’t call me dude. And everyone has a scent or a smell that is specifically them. It’s hard to describe what an individual smells like, you can't compare it to other things.’
‘Can you try?’
Derek shrugged. ‘In your case, the closest thing I can think of is fresh and cotton. Probably all the plaid you wear.’
‘Hey, plaid is comfy!’ Stiles defended. Why did everyone get on his case about his plaid shirts?
Derek shrugged. ‘I’m not complaining.’
‘What else do you like?’
‘How distinctive your heart rate is, I could pick it out of a crowd of a thousand or more.’ Derek admitted.
Stiles blinked. ‘Really? Your hearing is that good?’
Derek nodded. ‘We can pick up nuisances in its beating as well, so if you lie, we can tell.’
‘So, what you’re saying is, don’t lie to you?’ He grinned, already thinking of ways to test it. Would Derek pick up on omissions? What if you thought you were lying but were actually telling the truth? And vice versa.
‘Not unless you want me to know you’re lying.’
‘Good to know, so who was the last person who lied to you?’
‘Who lied to me or who I last heard lying?’ Derek hedged.
Stiles narrowed his eyes. Derek had only been around him and four other people since he’d been living in the preserve. ‘Last heard lying.’
Derek winced. ‘Isaac.’
‘What about?’
Derek stared at him.
Stiles sighed. He knew he could run his mouth off, but he also knew how to keep secrets. ‘I won’t call him out on it. I promise.’
‘His soulmate.’
Stiles thought back. All Isaac had said was that he didn't know who it was. ‘He knows who it is? Why would he lie about that?’
Derek shrugged. ‘There are plenty of reasons he could have. And ultimately it’s his decision.’
Stiles nodded thoughtfully. ‘How did you feel when your soulmark came in?’
Derek winced and looked away. ‘I wasn’t in a good place then.’
‘No shit, you spent the last two years as a wolf.’ Stiles rolled his eyes.
Derek glared at him.
‘I won’t take it personally, I know you had other shit going on in your life that wouldn’t have helped things. I just thought it might help our relationship if I know where you’re coming from and it might help Isaac who is obviously having issues as well.’
Derek sighed. ‘I didn’t want to meet you. I thought I was cursed and that I would only bring you bad luck.’
Stiles kissed him, now that Derek had opened those floodgates, Stiles would definitely be taking advantage of kissing him whenever he could. ‘But you didn’t. You brought me good luck, you woke me up.’
Derek stared at him as if he was the most amazing thing in the world. ‘I didn’t even know that was possible.’
‘Even with all the movies made about it?’
‘That’s why I didn’t think it could happen. And when I was a wolf, I didn’t recognise that you were in a coma, I just felt the pull and answered it.’
‘Pull?’ Stiles frowned. ‘What pull?’
‘Werewolves feel their soulmates differently. We feel the bond between us when the younger one turns eighteen and it pulls us towards them. That’s why werewolves always find their soulmates quickly, my great grandma was Austrian, my great grandfather was Mexican. She was older by three months, the pull guided her to him and she found him two months after he turned eighteen.’
‘That’s so cool! Really makes you wonder how the hell regular people are so successful with finding their soulmates.’
Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Well, they do have the soulmark to help them.’
Stiles punched his shoulder. ‘Shut up. We don’t have a pull guiding us like you do.’
‘I don’t know if I would have found you without it.’ Derek admitted. ‘I was completely feral, the wolf had taken over and my human mind was gone.’
‘How did your human mind come back?’
‘You.’
Stile stared at Derek a moment. He was serious. Stiles had brought Derek’s mind back and Derek had woken Stiles up.
He pushed himself closer. ‘So, what you’re saying is, we saved each other?’
Derek smiled and Stiles felt his heart trip over itself at the sight. ‘Yeah, we should be in a hallmark movie.’
Taken by surprise, Stiles threw his head back as he laughed but it turned into a moan pretty quickly when Derek placed a gentle kiss to his neck, followed by another and another.
‘I’ve been looking into the fire.’ Noah began that night when he finally got home. Stiles had been surprised that it was Isaac who had insisted they wait and all have a sit down meal together. Although he had to admit, it was nice.
Derek went still beside.
Stiles slid his hand over and entwined their fingers together.
‘There’s several discrepancies that were either overlooked or hidden at the time.’
‘Like what?’ Stiles asked.
Noah sighed. ‘I can’t go into the particulars, not in an ongoing investigation that I’m too close to, to start with.’
‘Ongoing?’ Stiles instantly noted. ‘Wait, what do you mean you’re too close to it?’
‘I’ve had the case reopened and have put my new deputy in charge of it. Seeing as Derek is my son’s soulmate, I can’t be seen to be any part of the investigation.’
‘That makes sense I suppose.’ Stiles grumbled.
‘What I can tell you is how I got the case reopened, as it will soon be public knowledge. The fire Marshall who ruled it an accident was wrong and was dismissed from the job several years later.’
‘But I already told you who set the fire.’ Derek frowned, looking lost and Stiles squeezed his hand.
‘I know son, but I’m going to need more than that to get Kate Argent put behind bars.’ Noah sighed. ‘Have you got any evidence that the two of you were in a relationship?’
Derek frowned. ‘My old phone would have her texts. I don’t know where it is though.’
‘That’s a start. If you can find that phone, the actual messages would go a lot further than just the record of messages and calls between you two.’
Derek nodded. ‘I’ll have a look. It might be in the old Hale vault. Laura stashed most of our stuff there before we left for New York.’
‘Err, Hale vault?’ Stiles repeated. ‘Like, vault as in bank vault? How rich are you?’
Derek shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We lived off the insurance money when it finally came through but growing up I don’t remember my parents ever having money concerns.’
‘So where is this vault then?’
‘Underneath the school.’
‘You, you have a family vault underneath the school?’ Stiles repeated, incredulously. ‘Whose bright idea was that?’
‘The vault has been there longer than the school.’
‘Oh. Okay then. So what’s in this vault?’
Derek shrugged. ‘Whatever my family thought was valuable. Works pretty much the same way as a bank vault, only it can't be broken into it. Laura stashed all the stuff we had on us in there before we left. She didn't want anyone following us.’
‘What do you mean it can’t be broken into? How?’ Stiles asked, noticing that his dad looked interested at that one as well.
‘It can only be opened by a Hale’s claws.’ Derek said, holding his hand up and extending a claw. ‘All the adults kept things in there, not just mom and dad.’
‘Well, we can do that while we go discuss getting Stiles schooling sorted.’
‘Wait, what?’ Stiles stared at his dad in horror. ‘I have to go back? Without any of my friends there? Are you serious?’
‘Yes Stiles. I am serious in that I want you to get an education.’
Stiles huffed. ‘That is so totally unfair.’
‘What about homeschooling?’ Derek asked.
‘Can’t afford the tutors, and I work too many hours to do it myself.’ Noah sighed.
Derek shrugged. ‘I’ll cover it. I still have the insurance money from the fire and I’m sure there’s more in the vault.’
‘That’s a very generous offer, but you don’t have to do that.’ Noah clasped Derek on the shoulder. ‘Stiles will be fine returning to school for two years.’
‘But daaad!’ Stiles complained. Here was his soulmate offering to make his life easier and his dad was just turning him down. What was wrong with him?
Derek smiled. ‘I know, but Stiles is my soulmate and if we get full time tutors and Stiles continues through the holiday periods, it’ll cut the time down significantly. Maybe to only a year so he won’t be as far behind as his friends.’
‘It’ll be like I only took a year out!’ Stiles exclaimed, bouncing excitedly. ‘That would be so cool! Come on dad, that would make things so much easier and I’ll study and pay attention. You know I will, I was second in my class and only because Lydia’s a genius, hey has she owned up to how intelligent she is yet?’
Isaac blinked as the attention turned to him. ‘Err, no? But she was valedictorian.’
‘See?’ Stiles looked pointedly at his dad.
Noah sighed. ‘Fine, we’ll look into it. But we’re still going to the school, I don’t want reports from people seeing a man in a leather jacket prowling around the school.’
Derek blushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. ‘It’s underneath the school and I wouldn’t be seen. I’d go in the middle of the night.’
Noah closed his eyes and breathed deeply. ‘No. Just no.’
Stiles laughed. It was great seeing someone else on the receiving end of that look.
‘So what happened to everyone else? Lydia? Jackson? Let me guess they’re soulmates?’ He rolled his eyes.
Isaac shook his head. ‘No, they have different marks and only Jackson has found his soulmate.’
Stiles stared at him. ‘Run that past me one more time?’
Isaac frowned. ‘What? That Lydia and Jackson aren’t soulmates?’
‘Holy shit!’ Stiles exclaimed. ‘I did not see that coming, but good on Lydia, she deserves someone better than Jackass douchbag Whittemore.’
Isaac snorted before looking around worried.
‘I wonder who Lydia’s soulmate is, gonna be someone amazing.’
Derek looked unimpressed. ‘I take it this Lydia is someone you admire?’
‘Oh God, I thought I was in love with her but she is so out of my league.’ Stiles sighed before staring at Derek. ‘Kinda how if I’d met you before we found out we were soulmates, I would have been sure you would have been out my league and yet here we are.’
‘Yippee.’ Derek muttered.
‘Aww, boo, are you jealous?’ Stiles crowed.
‘Don’t call me boo.’
Stiles cackled. ‘We should meet up with them! I can show you off, I bet you’re hotter than Jackson’s soulmate. It’s a shame he found his, but I can still totally rub it in their faces how hot my soulmate is.’
‘Stiles.’ Noah sighed.
‘Or you know, just catch up, see what’s what with them now. Hey, who is Jackson’s soulmate anyway?’
Isaac nodded to Noah. ‘He’s applied to be a deputy.’
Noah nodded. ‘Ethan Steiner.’
‘Sweet!’ Stiles cackled. ‘I can so totally lord it over Jackson that my dad holds his soulmates fate in his hands!’ Stiles beamed then coughed as he caught sight of his dad’s expression. ‘Err, I mean, what about Danny? How’s he doing?’
Isaac shrugged, staring at the ground intently as his body tensed.
Stiles raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly at his dad who shrugged.
‘Sheriff Stilinski.’ Noah answered the phone.
Stiles watched him frown and wondered what had happened now, if it was anything as exciting as half a dead body. He blinked, shocked.
‘Who is this?’ His dad asked.
Stiles ignored it. He remembered half a dead body? Well, he remembered listening to the police scanners about it and going to get Scott anyway. He turned to Derek excited but Derek was tense and staring at his dad intently.
‘You got a last name to go with Cora?’ Noah listened for barely a second before he passed the phone to Derek.
‘Cora?’ Derek’s voice was hoarse when it had been fine a moment ago.
Stiles looked to his dad questioningly.
Noah smiles. ‘It seems Derek isn’t the only Hale after all, that was his sister Cora.’
‘She made it out alive?’
Noah shrugged.
Derek gave out their address before he hung up the phone and stared at them looking shell shocked. ‘She’ll be here in under half an hour.’
‘That.’ Stiles glanced surely at his dad. ‘That’s quick.’
Derek nodded. ‘Her soulmates in Beacon Hills but she hasn’t been able to bring herself to enter town. She’s been scouring newspaper pictures for a matching mark when she found a story on the sheriff's son being woken up from a coma by his soulmate.’
Stiles beamed. ‘You.’
Derek nodded, breathing out and grinning. ‘Me.’ He turned to the Sheriff. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I gave her your address?’
Noah shook his head. ‘Of course not. The whole town knows where I live.’
Stiles thought back, he vaguely remembered a Cora Hale. ‘She was in my year wasn’t she?’
Derek nodded. ‘Her birthday was a couple months after yours.’
‘So she’ll have felt the soulmate pull that you did?’
Derek nodded. ‘She said she felt the pull and went all around Beacon Hills, hoping that it hadn’t come from here. When she realised it did, she holed up outside, hoping her soulmate would leave and checking pictures for a mark that matched hers.’
‘And found a story about my soulmate, a certain Derek Hale, waking me up.’ Stiles grinned.
‘Yeah, she sounded disbelieving but recognised my voice.’ Derek sighed happily, picking up Stiles’ hand.
Stiles felt his heart stutter, it was the first time that Derek had initiated holding his hand. He hoped Derek hadn't heard it, then realised it didn't matter if he had.
‘So has she been living as a wolf these past few months too then?’
Derek shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but she won’t have been here longer than a couple weeks. I couldn’t full shift before I found myself living in the preserve. My mom could, but it’s rare. I know previous Hale’s have been able to, but I don’t know if it’s an alpha thing or something else.’
‘So you’re like werewolf royalty or something?’ Stiles asked excitedly. ‘Awesome!’
Derek’s head whipped round to face the front of the house and his head cocked to the side. ‘She’s here.’
Stiles smiled encouragingly and squeezed Derek’s hand. ‘Come on then, let's go let her in.’
He tugged on Derek’s hand and let him through. Derek froze when they got to the front door and Stiles had to reach forward and open it.
A pretty brunette stood there, her face pale as she stared straight past Stiles, at Derek. ‘It is you.’
Her voice seemed to trigger something in Derek and he jerked forward, opening his arms and she rushed over the threshold into his arms.
She gasped and jerked backwards, staring up at her brother. ‘You’re an alpha!’
Derek nodded. ‘It-it’s a long story.’
She nodded and gently placed a hand on his check.
Derek leant into it.
She smiled. ‘Alpha.’
Derek closed his eyes as he breathed in deeply, holding it a moment before slowly letting his breath out and opened his eyes, flashing them red.
Cora’s flashed yellow in response.
Stiles would never get over that. Derek’s red eyes sent shivers of the awesome variety down his spine. Although he did wonder what yellow meant. Was that how werewolves distinguished between alpha and beta?
Cora smiled. ‘Seems I’m moving back to Beacon Hills then.’
‘You are?’ Stiles asked automatically before wincing as his brain caught up with his mouth.
She grinned at him. ‘Yeah, my alpha is here, my pack is here and my soulmate is too. I just need to find them.’
‘Your part of Derek’s pack now? How? Wait, was that it? The eye flashing thing? It’s that easy? Seriously?’ Stiles stared at them feeling both awed and worried. Firstly, that was so cool, secondly, how did werewolves not manage to accidentally swap pack’s all the time if it was that easy?
Derek chuckled and Stiles felt his jaw drop slightly. He had never heard that sound come out of his soulmate and he loved it. He vowed there and then to make it happen as often as possible as it was a sound sent from the Gods above.
‘No, it’s not that easy, but Cora’s family.’ Derek grinned, keeping an arm wrapped around her.
‘I hate to miss the reunion, but I’ve been called into work.’ Noah said from behind, shrugging into his sheriff jacket. ‘You guys be good. And Stiles, sleep in my room tonight and give Cora yours.’
He brushed past them, giving Derek a gentle clasp on the shoulder, Cora a smile and Stiles a hair ruffle.
Stiles nodded. ‘Sure dad, thought you weren’t due in til tomorrow? What’s happened?’
‘Old habits die hard huh?’ Noah sighed but still smiled. ‘Something’s come up that I have to deal with as sheriff. Derek, keep him home and out of trouble please.’
Derek nodded looking as if he was taking the order seriously. ‘Will do, Noah.’
Stiles’ heart sank. How was he supposed to find out what had happened? He’d work on Derek. ‘Bye Dad!’
He waved as his dad climbed into his cruiser, wondering how easy it would be to get Derek around to his way of thinking. They had to be soulmates for a reason right? Now he just has to remember where he had put his police scanner, he’d had it the night he went looking for that half body in the woods with Scott.
He turned round to Derek, his brow furrowed. ‘What happened to that half body in the woods? Did Scott and I find it?’
Derek blinked at him, his body turning tense.
‘Derek?’ Cora asked hesitantly.
‘It was Laura.’ Derek whispered.
‘What was Laura?’ Stiles frowned. ‘Who’s Laura?’
‘Our older sister.’ Cora said slowly. ‘Laura was cut in half?’
Derek nodded and Stiles felt himself sway. He’d gone looking for his soulmates half body in the woods? Oh God, he was going to hell, how had they even managed to find each other?
Derek closed his eyes, his body tense and rigid. ‘I don’t know who cut her in half, but it was Peter who killed her.’
‘Uncle Peter?’ Cora sounded horrified.
‘W-wasn’t he in a coma?’ Stiles asked slowly as he thought back. He must have missed something only Derek nodded.
‘She didn’t fight back. I don’t think he recognised her. He didn’t recognise me.’ Derek’s chest jerked as he tried to take in a breath.
Stiles pushed himself into Derek’s space, sliding one hand up round his neck and into his hair and the other into his hand.
‘You fought Peter? And became the alpha.’ Cora sounded faint as she answered her own question.
‘Come on Derek, let’s go sit down.’ Stiles tugged at Derek’s hand, unsurprised when he just followed Stiles lead and let him manhandle him into sitting down on the sofa where Stiles plonked himself in his lap.
‘What’s going on?’ Isaac asked, looking worried as he appeared in the doorway.
‘Hey Isaac, this is Cora, Derek’s sister, who we all thought had died in the fire.’ Stiles said, letting Derek be behind him. ‘Cora, this is Isaac and as you’ve probably guessed, I’m Stiles.’
Cora nodded, looking between them suspiciously. ‘Yeah, we were in the same class.’
‘Cora’s pack now, apparently all they had to do was flash their werewolf eyes at each and hey presto, instant packmate.’
Cora narrowed her eyes. ‘He knows? He’s not a wolf.’
‘Isaac’s family. He’s my brother, not quite adopted but my dad’s his guardian so that makes us brothers as far as I’m concerned. And hey, you're basically my sister now seeing that my soulmate’s your brother.’ Stiles laughed. ‘I fall into a coma for two years, wake up, have a soulmate, a brother and sister. This is so weird, not even counting the fact that my soulmate and sister are werewolves.’
Cora sighed. ‘You still talk a lot.’
Stiles nodded. ‘ADHD, not one of the lucky ones who grow out of it, or at least not yet I haven’t. Do werewolves get ADHD or is that something being a werewolf would cure? Not that I want to become a werewolf, I’m quite happy being human, not that I have anything against being a werewolf, if it was a matter of life or death, bite me. Seriously Derek, if I’m dying turn me. Derek, are you listening to me?’
Derek nodded. ‘If you’re dying, bite you.’
Cora snorted with a sly smile. ‘Seeing as your soulmates I’m sure they’ll be plenty of biting going on. Us werewolves like to mark our territory.’
Stiles looked at Derek wide eyed. ‘Would that turn me? I mean if we get carried away and you bite me, would I turn?’
Derek rolled his eyes. ‘No, Stiles. There has to be intent and it has to be deep enough.’
Stiles did not feel impressed or reassured. ‘Deep enough? What does that mean? And what do you mean intent? Do you want me to be a werewolf? Would you prefer it if I was?’
A small smile appeared on Derek’s face and he leant forward and placed a quick kiss to his lips. ‘I like you the way you are and the bite has to be deep, break the skin deep and bite down.’
Stiles sighed, instantly feeling better. ‘You say the sweetest things.’
‘You two are so weird.’ Cora said, staring at them.
‘I’m so confused.’ Isaac said, staring suspiciously at Cora. ‘No one’s spoken of you before, how did you know to come here?’
Cora stared at him, huffed and sigh and turned her to back to him.
Isaac flinched.
‘Hey!’ Stiles glared at her.
‘Cora.’ Derek growled warningly.
Cora blinked, looking at Derek startled before she huffed again. ‘Fine. My soulmate is in Beacon Hills, I was looking for who they might be when I found a story mentioning Derek was alive.’
‘Yeah.’ Stiles grinned. ‘My story. Apparently my soulmate waking me up from a coma is newsworthy. Which, now that I think on it, I gotta see. I need my laptop.’
Stiles scrambled off Derek’s lap and tripped his way up the stairs, grabbing his laptop, booting it up and only just managing not to drop it on his way back down.
He unceremoniously plonked himself back in Derek’s lap, ignoring the “mph” Derek let out but curled up as he waited for it to load. He clicked on the local newspaper website.
‘Holy shit!’ He crowed, fist pumping the air. Derek kept him and the laptop in the same place. ‘We made the front page! We’re the bomb!’
Stiles pulled a face. ‘Oh no, they mentioned a wild animal snuck into my room and broke out smashing through the window. Well, at least they didn’t say anything about it being a… oh no, here it is, a wolf. Well that was several months before I woke up and you weren’t mentioned again until by name.’
‘It’s like watching a train wreck.’ Cora said watching him.
Stiles ignored her.
‘You hungry?’ Isaac asked.
‘Starved.’ Stiles said absently, clicking further through the article.
‘I wasn’t…’ Isaac sighed and stood up. ‘Never mind.’
Cora eyed Stiles and Derek before standing up and following. ‘I’ll help.’
‘I’m going to have to find somewhere for us all to live.’ Derek mumbled.
‘I want an on-suite!’ Cora called through.
‘What?’ Stiles yelped, dropping his laptop. ‘You’re moving out? Why? Don’t you want to be with me anymore? What did I do?’
Derek huffed a smile and wrapped his arms tighter around Stiles. ‘We need a bigger house with more rooms. Ours, you can have your own room until you’re ready to share with me.’
‘I’m ready!’ Stiles exclaimed loudly.
‘Until your dad’s ready for us to share.’ Derek continued smoothly. Stiles grumbled. ‘One for Cora, Erica and Boyd, Isaac, and your dad if he wants. Even if its just to stay over the odd night.’
Stiles smiled, relaxing in Derek. ‘Look at you, providing for us all.’
Cora reappeared. ‘Who’re Erica and Boyd?’
‘Soon to be werewolves once Derek’s bitten them.’ Stiles grinned.
Cora gave him a bitchface.
‘They’re pack. Erica will get the bite in a few days.’ Derek explained, hooking his chin over Stiles shoulder. ‘Boyd will when he’s had a least a month to think about it.’
‘They soulmates?’ Cora asked suspiciously.
Derek hummed in agreement. ‘Erica has epilepsy, could die at any minute.’
‘Why are you making her wait?’ Cora frowned.
‘That’s what I asked!’ Stiles exclaimed, accidentally hitting Derek’s chin.
He huffed. ‘Fine, we’ll call her over and do it tomorrow.’
Stiles grinned triumphantly, catching Cora’s eye and saw her smile begrudgingly.
‘Dad?’ Stiles yawned. ‘Everything alright? You’ve been gone a long time.’
Noah sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘Yeah son. I think we all are now. Can you put a coffee on?’
Stiles froze. ‘Don’t you want to sleep? What do you mean we all are now?’
‘Derek?’ Noah asked softly, not bothering to raise his voice as he slipped his shoes off and padded through to the kitchen.
‘Noah?’ Derek asked worriedly, then frozen and deliberately sniffed the air.
Noah nodded. ‘Thought you might be able to smell what happened.’
‘What did happen?’ Stiles demanded.
‘I can smell Kate. And another werewolf.’ Derek said, his tone detached.
‘Yeah, I think she might have read the same article Cora did, coz she knew you were back in town. What she didn’t know about was all the BOLO’s I had out on her.’
‘You got a call when she got into town?’ Stiles asked, putting the coffee on and pushing Derek into a chair. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Cora hovering in the doorway. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the room and into a chair.
‘Yeah. She wasn’t expecting us, or the warrant that we had out on her.’ Noah yawned.
‘What happened?’
‘She pulled a gun on the deputy.’
‘Shit, is he okay?’
‘Yeah, because apparently, Deputy Steiner is a werewolf.’ Noah gave Derek a look.
‘Who?’
Noah sighed. ‘The deputy who’s wanting to transfer to Beacon Hills to be with his soulmate, Jackson Whittemore.’
‘Wait, Jackson’s soulmate is a werewolf?!’ Stiles dropped the mug he’d just gotten out of the cupboard and turned to stare at his dad.
Noah nodded. ‘Not that anyone else knows that. I had to help him hide the shirt covered in his blood that showed he’d been shot even though he had no wounds.’
‘I don’t know of any werewolf called Steiner.’ Derek frowned.
Stiles placed a glass of water in front of his dad while the coffee brewed.
‘Ethan Steiner, well, you owe him a thank you. After she had shot him and had him and his partner pinned down, backup arrived. I’ve got four officers in the hospital, thankfully with nothing serious.’ Noah sipped at the glass. ‘They should all be discharged shortly. She was not coming quietly or at all. I made the call to take any shot they could. Deputy Steiner killed her with his next shot.’
‘She-she’s dead?’ Derek blinked, going still again.
‘Yeah, she’s dead. He nailed her right between the eyes.’
‘Damn.’ Stiles whistled. ‘We really do owe this Deputy Steiner.’
‘Well, I’ll be accepting his transfer for one thing.’ Noah sighed. ‘But is that going to be a problem? Having another werewolf in Beacon Hills?’
Derek blinked. ‘I- I don’t know, I wouldn’t think so. Is he an alpha or beta?’
‘Assuming he’s not an omega?’ Cora cut in bluntly.
Noah shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I just know he was surprised that I knew about werewolves and probably to smell one on me. At least I’m assuming that’s what all the not so subtle sniffing was about and not because I really need to shower.’
Stiles bit his lip but couldn’t help laughing. ‘Y-you had a deputy sniffing you?’
His dad yawned in reply.
‘Okay dad.’ Stiles grinned at him. ‘Shower and then bed, we’ll meet up with this deputy later on after you’ve decontaminated and slept.’
‘I don’t smell.’ Noah grunted but did get up from the table, forgoing his coffee.
He clapped Derek on the shoulder, before he left.
Stiles watched Derek’s struggle to breathe as he heard his dad clamber up the stairs and the shower switch on.
‘I have no idea who this woman is who’s dead and why her death is important.’ Cora huffed, crossing her arms.
‘She’s the woman who seduced your brother and killed your family.’ Stiles said quietly.
‘And she’s dead.’ Derek breathed in, knocking his head back and closing his eyes. ‘She’s actually dead.’
‘Yeah sweetums, she is.’ Stiles smiled.
‘Don’t call me sweetums.’
‘Pumpkin then? Sweetheart? Sweetie? Babe? Stud? Krull the Warrior King?’
Derek glared. ‘No. Just no.’
‘Baby cakes? Baby daddy? Treacle? Sour patch?’ Stiles’ eyes widened as he had an epiphany. ‘Sour wolf? Sold, too late to change, you are now and forever will be my sour wolf.’
Derek sighed and smacked his head against the table.
‘Coffee?’ Stiles asked Cora innocently, soothingly rubbing his hand along Derek’s back on his way to the coffee.
Cora eyed him worriedly. ‘Have you ever been tested?’
‘Yep, for many things. IQ genius level, ADHD, autism, blood tests, the normal school curriculum tests, rabies after I was bitten by a fox which turned out to be a rabbit, BDSM test, multiple marvel and stars wars fan tests, ooh guess the Disney theme songs. I rock at them.’
Cora huffed. ‘I regret asking.’
‘Not that I like cliches or anything, but I brought DOUGHNUTS!’ Stiles yelled, making Derek wince and he held the five boxes high in victory. ‘But none for my dad!’
Derek paused and gave Noah a look at Stiles’ yell. Noah just shook his head, his scent a mixture of resignation and pride.
‘Stiles!’ A cheer went up and for the first time Derek saw that people were pleased to see his soulmate.
The only friend Stiles spoke about with any frequency was Scott, and then Lydia and Danny on occasion but that seemed to be more hero worship. He knew that Stiles got on well with Isaac, Erica and Boyd, in fact he was developing a strong bond with Erica, Derek could feel it. But it was nice to see that his soulmate had had more people in his life.
He followed them into the bullpen but it was easy to tell which deputy was the werewolf, his scent alone gave him away. So probably not an alpha, or an alpha who didn't care about hiding his scent.
It was strange walking into a place so crowded after being a wolf for almost two years and then spending all his time at the Stilinski house. He hadn’t even realised until Stiles had made an offhand comment that Derek hadn’t actually left their house since he had arrived.
It had been daunting at first, leaving their house, but it had also felt right. He had the sheriff and his soulmate beside him. And stopping off at the bakery on the way and following them in had made him remember going in as a kid with his family. Excitedly picking which treat he wanted and squabbling over it with his siblings, none of them wanting to have the same as each other but each of them wanting to have the best and biggest one.
He’d felt nostalgic and sad, but Stiles had been there to distract him and cheer him up with his running commentary and over the top greetings he’d gotten from everyone there, including the clients.
He left Stiles, Noah and the doughnuts and made his way over to the deputy. ‘I hear I owe you a thanks.’
Deputy Steiner squared his shoulder and nodded, giving Derek a not so subtle sniff. ‘You Derek Hale then? The Sheriff’s son’s soulmate?’
Derek nodded.
Deputy Steiner shrugged. ‘It was all legal but you know these hunters, we’ll probably get some coming here to check it all out.’
Derek paused, he hadn’t thought about that, but he was now in a much stronger position than he was before and found it didn't worry him as it might once have. He smiled. ‘Let them.’
Deputy Steiner grinned, showing a lot of teeth.
‘Noah said you’re going to be a new deputy here?’
He grimaced. ‘The second I turned eighteen I followed the pull to my soulmate, he’s in college, going to become a lawyer but lives here. So I put in for a transfer, the next county over was the closest I could get.’
‘What about your pack?’
The deputy shrugged. ‘It’s just me and my brother and he’s happy to follow. He hasn’t felt his pull yet.’
Derek nodded. It wasn’t rare, it usually meant the soulmate wasn’t yet eighteen. ‘Either of you alphas?’
He shook his head.
‘Well Deputy Steiner, the sheriff has some news for you, but if you want to see about joining my pack, come over to his house tonight with your soulmate and brother. I’m assuming your soulmate knows?’
The deputy broke out into a grin. ‘He does, as do his two best friends, okay if I bring them too? And it’s Ethan.’
‘Derek.’ Derek held out his hand and as Ethan grasped it, flashed his red eyes. Ethan’s flashed back blue but Derek didn’t outwardly react. He himself once had blue eyes. ‘I have humans in my pack too, and one human has chosen to take the bite tonight. We’ll see how you all get on.’
Ethan stared at him intently. ‘Y-you don’t mind that my eyes are blue?’
‘We all have our stories but you’re a deputy and Noah trusts you. I’m willing to give you a chance.’
Ethan beamed at him.
‘Are you biting me tonight?’ Erica demanded the instant Derek opened the door to her. ‘Is that why you wanted us to stay the night?’
Derek rolled his eyes. ‘Hello Erica, how are you today?’
‘Cut the bullshit, I’m going out of my mind waiting!’
‘I want you to meet my sister and two other werewolves who want to join the pack, and afterwards, yes, I will bite you.’
‘Yes!’ Erica threw her arms around him and Derek blinked. His arms slowly wrapping around her as he stared in surprise at Boyd.
Boyd just shrugged as Erica tried to squeeze the breath out of him. He was sure if he wasnt a werewolf, she would have actually done some damage and reminded himself to make sure she didn’t try that with any other humans, especially once she turned.
‘I can’t believe I missed meeting the werewolf deputy!’ Stiles moaned loudly. ‘Dad, why did you have to send him away!’
Derek felt the corners of his mouth turn up in affection, mainly because of why Stiles had missed meeting the other werewolf, and it hadn’t been because he’d been sent out on a call. ‘I seem to recall you having plenty of time to meet him but you were too busy.’
Stiles spluttered, his arms waving around causing Cora to duck as she meandered past with chips and dip to go on the table. ‘I’ll have you know that doughnut eating competitions are a time honoured tradition at a police station!’
Stiles waggled his finger at Derek.
Derek stared at him unimpressed. ‘Umm hmm. And shoving three in your mouth at once was also necessary was it?’
‘I was not going to let Haigh win! Haigh! No way!’
Erica narrowed her eyes. ‘What other werewolves that might be joining the pack?’
Derek smelt her anxiety and fear. ‘One’s done us a favour, he followed his soulmate here who is also coming over tonight. If they join, it will be a group decision and if someone, anyone, is against it, then they don’t join.’
‘Will they turn omega if they don’t have a pack?’ Noah asked, looking interested but smelling worried.
‘Yes.’ Cora said instantly.
‘I don’t think so.’ Derek disagreed. ‘From what Ethan said, he’s been here a few months and they already have their own pack with humans. They just don’t have an alpha.’
‘So it’s not just the werewolf deputy and his soulmate?’ Isaac asked carefully, his scent belying how nervous he was.
Derek shook his head. ‘The deputy has a brother who is also a werewolf, the deputy’s soulmate and his two best friends.’
‘Who are they?’ Stiles asked, sounding and smelling interested.
Derek shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask.’
‘What? Why not?’ Stiles asked, dismayed. ‘How am I meant to look them up and check them out when you didn’t even get their names!’
‘Next time I’ll ask for their social security numbers too.’
‘It would save time.’ Stiles agreed.
Derek huffed quietly and rolled his eyes but he was pleased that his soulmate was looking out not just for him, but for their pack.
‘But we’re still pack right?’ Erica asked nervously. ‘You’re still going to turn me right?’
Derek nodded and smiled as he went over to her. ‘Of course. And in a months time, if Boyd still wants the bite and both you and Noah agree, then I’ll turn him as well.’
‘Good.’ She nodded, trying to appear unaffected but he could smell the relief coming off of her.
He grinned and pulled her close, unsurprised when she willingly flopped into his arms and he scent marked Boyd as well. Boyd’s facial expression didn’t change but he smelt satisfied and more settled.
‘They’ve just driven up.’ Cora said, ferrying more food through.
Derek nodded, he could hear and smell the scents of five people in the car idling outside.
‘Shit.’ Cora whispered, before glancing over to a picture frame and smoothing her hair down in its reflection.
Derek raised an eyebrow but she glared at him. He grinned smugly. It seemed her soulmate was in that car. Well, this was going to be exciting.
‘What are we waiting for?’ One of them asked petulantly and oh boy, Derek was wondering if he’d done the right thing in inviting them. He really hoped that wasn’t Cora’s soulmate.
‘Oh for God’s sake, we’re at the sheriff’s house, what exactly could they do to us in Stiles’s dad’s house?’ A female voice demanded, followed by the opening and closing of a car door and then three other car doors as her heels made their way up the front path.
It seemed the humans knew of his soulmate at least. Derek wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not though. If they were friends, wouldn’t they have already been around when Stiles had woken up to see him? Which meant they either weren’t friends or were acquaintances.
He glanced at Cora but she had her head tilted to one side listening. He wondered if she understood but knew that if anyone could handle having their soulmate in a rift with their pack, it would be her.
Noah stood up and headed to the door, waiting for the bell to ring before answering it. ‘Miss Martin, Mr Mahaleani, Mr Whittemore. Deputy, and you must be Aiden.’
It was confirmed. The three humans knew Stiles. Derek’s heart sank and he glanced at his soulmate who was excitedly bouncing in his seat in anticipation.
‘Danny!’ Stiles exclaimed surprised, his scent turned elated and then worried. ‘And Lydia! Oh. Jackson.’
Derek winced at the annoyed sound coming out of his soulmates mouth combined with the disappointment in his scent. He glanced at Ethan and blinked when he realised that Ethans brother was in fact an identical twin. It was only the fact that Ethan still smelt of his deputy uniform that Derek could tell them apart.
Both Ethan and Aiden looked nervous, their scents resigned as they both glanced to Jackson and glared at him.
‘What, like it was a surprise we were going to see Stilinski here when we’re at his house.’ The blond man who Stiles had called Jackson rolled his eyes.
Lydia elbowed him and he winced. ‘Christ Lyds.’
Cora bounced up to her. ‘Hi, I’m Cora.’
Derek rolled his eyes, of course his sister would ignore the elephant in the room. He hid his frown as he realised that the longing he had been smelling wasn't just coming from her though. Derek sniffed the air and glanced surreptitiously behind him to find the source of the scent of longing.
Isaac was staring at Danny in dismay but his scent conveyed heartbreak. Derek turned back around but Danny seemed oblivious. He checked the bare wrists on the Hawaiian man and there for all to see, was the soulmark that matched Isaac’s. Derek smiled, and saw both Ethan and Aiden sigh in relief, probably thinking it a sigh of acceptance.
Which it was.
Derek wasn’t exactly about to refuse to let both Cora’s and Isaac’s soulmates into his pack. Cora would be fine, he had no doubt about that. He just had to figure out a way of getting Isaac to drop his defences and accept his soulmate.
He’d get Stiles to help with that, his soulmate was good at those things and would love the challenge. Not that Derek was about to tell him. Oh no. He knew his soulmate and it was up to Stiles to figure it out himself and then help him.
He grinned and felt Stiles lean into him.
‘I love it when you smile.’ Stiles whispered into his ear and Derek pulled him close. Something inside of him settling.
They still had a lot to do and get through, turning Erica for one thing, and then probably Boyd too, Derek couldn’t see him changing his mind about that. Maybe Isaac but Derek wanted him to accept himself first. And adding two blue eyed beta’s to his pack with two more humans and his sisters soulmate who smelt of something else, like shadow and thunder.
He didn’t think Cora had smelt it, not yet. He wasn’t sure if he would have even picked up on it a couple years ago, but after living in the preserve as a wolf, he had a better nose than he had before. But it didn’t matter, they had the time to figure it all out. Together. As a pack.
|
CHAPTER ONE
John took in Gregory's words, they were equally terrifying as they were comforting. He resigned himself to the knowledge that while he still had his love, he was not a monster, so he stood, and closed the door. Gregory led him downstairs, into the war room, where he found everyone watching him with different amounts of respect, awe and even fear. But they weren't his concern, his was the one look of pure love, coming from the beaming smile of his Queen. She was standing in the centre of the room, so he approached, wrapping his arms around her. Taking in the very essence of her scent, he tried desperately to remember every detail from the silkiness of her hair, to the smoothness of her skin and finally the taste of her lips. He wasn't quite sure who melted into whom, but when they finally separated, he felt like a new man.
"John, the others have had a discussion, and I would like your input," Brittany said softly, "You need to heal, and Maree isn't getting better either-"
"There's no store of blood here is there?" John grumbled.
"No John, this wasn't a planned visit," Janet sighed, "Council headquarters were designed to be impenetrable in normal circumstances, we never suspected an all out attack, this facility here is Maree's personal bunker."
John sighed, "Let me feed Maree, then let me be with my Queen."
Brittany smiled, nodding sadly, she knew John would understand. Maree had been injured saving Brittany, something even John had failed at that point... He owed her everything, and this was the least he could do. Brittany lead John over the medical wing, where Maree was sitting propped up on a bed. John's assessment was that she was unconscious, but the moment they walked in, Maree turned her head towards them.
"Thank you... John." she gasped.
"No Maree, thank you," John walked up to her and took her hand, "I've been told you aren't healing."
Maree grimaced, somewhere between a smile and a scowl, "there's no blood here... I can't... Regenerate... I have no... Regrets."
"Maree, I would like you to take my blood."
Maree looked momentarily stunned, before scowling. "No... You belong to the Queen-"
"The Queen who watched you sacrifice your life for hers, the Queen who gives her blessing to feed on my beloved, the Queen who wishes for your continued loyalty," Brittany choked on her words.
Maree lay there for a moment, clearly lost in thought, "I... " Maree coughed up a wad of blood, clutching her chest, "I will honour you... Forever."
John turned back to Brittany, seeing her slight nod, John sat himself on the edge of the bed, beckoning over Brittany. He gently bent over Maree, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he sat her up, cradling her gently. He manipulated her so her head rested against his neck. He couldn't help flinching, feeling her fangs touch his skin and she tried to pull away slightly. John just held her firm, reaching out for Brittany's hand. Maree got the message, this time she quickly found the spot, and bit down, causing John to groan. This time feeding was different, there wasn't a rush of pleasure, no emotional attachment, he found it comforting that he felt no desire, but the act itself was devoid of any real discomfort.
A few minuted later Maree detached herself, John helped her to lie down, watching her drift off to sleep, a content smile on her face. Standing quietly he faced Brittany, who quickly leaned forwards and licked the wet blood from his neck, that made him moan, for a different reason.
"It's your turn to feed," Brittany whispered into his ear.
Brittany lead John back to their private quarters, just two rooms, one with a bed, and the other with a large shower. Brittany had already made arrangements, and soon Grace knocked on the door. John decided to remain silent, but he could see her expression. Losing her friend obviously hurt her deeply... Ten minutes later, Grace handed John a blood bag and left without another word.
"You need to drink that, John." Brittany said softly, wiping away the small trickle of blood that wept from the puncture mark on her arm.
"Will she be OK?" John asked, ignoring her comment.
"... I don't know... But I need you well enough to do your duties, please drink."
John felt that familiar pressure in his head, and with a sigh, he punctured the corner of the bag with a pen. Taking a small gulp, his initial reaction was of distaste. Warm and coppery, it didn't go down easy, but under Brittany's insistence, he slowly worked his way through the bag. It was almost gone when John realised he was feeling different, he felt warm, energised, powerful. He quickly sucked down the last of the blood, now he felt hot... Too hot, his shoulder wound panged uncomfortably, and his skin began to crawl. Brittany could see something now, her concerned expression lead to words, words that John couldn't hear. Emotions rushed through him, happiness, fear, anger, loneliness, anxiety all flooded him at once.
Ripping his sword from its scabbard, John ignored Brittany's terrified expression, before he tossed the blade lightly to the floor at her feet.
"Get... Help..."
Brittany picked up his blade and rushed from the room, John lost his short term memory at this point, the rush of emotions sending him spiralling into psychosis, hearing noises that didn't exist, voices that didn't make sense, visions that flashed and faded. The feeling of a hand gripping his shoulder caused him to lash out. Grabbing the hand, he ripped it free, pulling it over his body, he felt someone tumble over him onto the floor, before realising in panic he was staring at a vampire. John lost control, spinning, he ran for the door, straight into the open arms of Brittany, she was vaguely familiar, but she too was a vampire, snapping his arm back to punch her, pain exploded behind his eyes, he fell to the floor, screaming, clutching his head, gentle hands quickly took his head, stroking his hair. The pain subsided enough he opened his eyes, he found himself face to face with that vaguely familiar vampire. Tearing himself free from her arms, he scrambled to his feet, turning about, his last sight was a long silver rod coming into view.
This was a familiar sensation... Even without opening his eyes, John knew he was in a hospital bed. He also knew the cool body wrapped around him was Brittany. What he didn't know, was why he seemed to be strapped down.
"What's going on?" he asked softly. Immediately feeling bad as he felt Brittany flinch.
"You're awake?"
John frowned... He didn't like that her words were phrased like a question. "Did something happen?" John said softly, opening his eyes, he turned and looked at Brittany... He couldn't rationalise how beautiful she truly was.
"Oh thank god..." Brittany sighed, burying her head into the crook of John's shoulder.
It took a moment for John to realise she was crying. "Brittany... Please tell me what happened?"
"You had a reaction... Grace thinks it's part of the change." She lifted her head, staring into his eyes for a moment. "You had some kind of psychotic break... Forgot who you were... You tried to punch me."
John stiffened at her words, "did I hurt you?"
"No... The compulsion must have stopped you..." Brittany started fiddling with his manacles. "Gregory knocked you out, and we brought you here."
John sat still while Brittany leaned over him to release his other hand. When he had both free, he pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry."
Brittany melted into his arms, she was so relieved he was back to normal. She didn't know what to do if he didn't come back to her. John was just happy that she wasn't frightened of him. Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he was about to apologise again when the door opened.
"Damn it Brittany, you should have told someone he was awake." Grace growled.
"I wanted him to myself for a bit," Brittany replied without sitting up, keeping herself pressed as closely to John as she could.
"What if he were still dangerous? You've undone his manacles, he could have hurt you!"
"He couldn't hurt me when he didn't know me, he wasn't about to hurt me now." Brittany pulled her arms tighter around John.
"Do you know what happened to me?" John asked, trying to placate both women.
Grace gave a half shrug, "We think it's part of the changes you'll go through. We have a working theory that your body adapted to Brittany's blood last time she fed you. When she gave it to you this time, you had a sort of 'overdose' that spiralled out of control after your body healed up."
"Healed up? I thought it would still take some time?"
Grace smiled, "check for yourself, you've only been unconscious since yesterday."
John slipped the top of his shirt down. Right where he was expecting to see a partially healed stab wound, was bare flesh... Not even a scar.
"Well that's new..." John sighed.
"Give me a hand Grace," Brittany called softly, moving to unshackle John's legs.
A minute later, John was walking with Brittany back to their room. John was very aware of the eyes that followed him everywhere. He couldn't be sure that he wasn't being watched as a threat to Brittany... Not that he could expect much after his episode... Brittany quickly led him into the bathroom. There wasn't a permanently heated waterfall and pool, but the oversized bath looked just as welcoming. Even more so as he watched Brittany slip out of her clothing and climb in. It took John only a moment to slip out of his own clothes. Slipping into the bath himself was glorious, the hot water washing away the ache in his neck from the hospital pillows. The gorgeous woman wrapping herself around him, washing away the knowledge that everything had gone to shit. The soft lips pressing against his own, washing away the regret for his actions.
"I love you," she whispered.
John pulled her in tight against himself. "I love you too."
They were left alone for the remainder of the day. Only interrupted with having meals delivered, and a quick update on Maree, letting them know she had been released from medical.
There wasn't a lot of sleep that evening. Brittany could sense John's discomfort in the darkness. She knew he wasn't good at sitting still for long, he was a 'doing' man after all. It was a good thing that the changes made to her, made her very good at 'doing' as well.
John frowned in the dark, as Brittany slowly extracted herself from his arms. Before he could say a word however, she placed a finger over his lips. That didn't stop the low moan as he felt her own lips press around the head of his cock. He tried to speak again, only for Brittany's entire hand to replace her finger, covering his mouth. She wanted this to be about him... To settle his nerves... To show him that he needn't fear that she felt differently after his episode. The only problem she hadn't rectified, is while she was a fabulous distraction... John still wasn't 'doing' anything. Quickly reaching out, he grasped Brittany by the ankle and in a flash, pulled her lower half over his head.
Brittany tried to move away, adamant that she was to act selflessly for the time being. But John's arms wrapped around her waist, allowing his hands to grip her ass. It was Brittany's turn to be kept speechless as she felt his tongue probe and swirl around her entrance. She was already aroused and ready, and the feeling of his tongue slipping inside her was divine. She had to concentrate just long enough to take John's cock in her mouth again. Not to be outdone, John slipped lower, running his tongue over Brittany's clitoris. He felt he shudder, a split second before she moaned, sending vibrations over his cock. Spurred on by her reaction, John sucked her clitoris into his mouth. Keeping up the pressure, he rolled his tongue over the sensitive nub. Brittany lost all semblance of control at this point. She couldn't coordinate her tongue the way she wanted, so she leaned down, determined to take as much length as she could.
John's first clue for Brittany's orgasm was a sudden rush was a warm fluid seeping out of her. The second was the subtle contractions he could see clearly from this angle. The third was the overwhelming feeling of his cock being forced to the hilt, down Brittany's throat. That, coupled with her muffled squeals, brought him over the edge. He was surprised when Brittany didn't let up for a second, choosing instead to moan between swallowing, milking him dry. John, not to be outdone, released her clitoris, lapping away at the fluids, he reached around, running his fingers around her sensitive nub, milking her pleasure the same way she milked his.
Finally, Brittany decided that she couldn't take any more. Throwing her leg back over, she pulled herself into the fetal position, trying to control her breathing while her body still twitched. John gently, turned her around, pulling her back up into his arms. There was no need for words now, and they both soon fell asleep.
Gentle knocking woke John with a start. His immediate reaction was to jump out of bed, but Brittany's cool form wrapped around him prevented his immediate impulse. Slowly extracting himself from her arms, he smiled at her deathly gaze as he disturbed her. Pulling on a pair of pants, he double checked Brittany was covered, before heading over to the door. Only now did it occur to him, that he didn't have his sword... With a sigh, he admitted to himself that if an assassin got this far, they wouldn't be knocking, and opened the door.
Janet stood in the doorway with a smile and two mugs of coffee. "Good morning John, is Brittany awake?"
"I'll be out in a moment, Janet," Brittany called from the bedroom.
John just smiled, offering Janet a seat. "What can we do for you Janet?"
"Please, I'd rather wait for Brittany to be present before we start talking. She needs to know what's going on as much as you do." Janet spoke in a firm, but not unkind tone.
John was not one for small talk. So the few minutes it took for Brittany to get dressed felt like they dragged. He however was not disappointed as he watched the gorgeous creature walk out before him, wearing a flowing gown. He couldn't be sure, but he suspected that Janet would have agreed with him. Janet hid her appreciation of Brittany by offering her a mug of coffee.
"Thank you Janet," Brittany sighed, taking her cup.
John seemed to snap back to reality as Brittany took her seat. "So what's going on then?"
"The Australian council is under attack," Janet said softly. "We don't know who is still loyal, we don't know how many are actively working against us and we don't know how long until reinforcements will arrive."
"Where are the reinforcements?" Brittany asked.
"Brunhilde has sent for her dragoons, it's a twenty-two hour flight... But that's after she musters them..."
John shifted uncomfortably, "how long can we realistically expect help to take?"
Janet glanced down slightly, "Three days... We have laws against massing armies. Everyone's forces are scattered except for personal escorts. The largest force in Melbourne currently are the Clanless. I can't trust my own forces until they are dealt with... Well, except Gregory."
"So why is this a problem, if nobody knows where we are?" John flinched, not wanting to know the answer.
"A guard was murdered last night." Janet looked crestfallen, "we have a traitor in our midst, our location isn't secure."
Brittany reached out and took John's hand, "I never wanted this..."
John's heart broke seeing Brittany's expression. She was right... After everything that happened, both of them just wanted to be left alone... The urge to go back to John's apartment and live quiet lives was their driving force... And now they were being driven to fight for something they didn't know existed... All because a madman labelled them a threat...
"I suppose I'll need my sword then," John said firmly, "I need to protect my Queen."
"Gregory!" Janet called, a moment later the door opened.
"It's good to have you back, John." Gregory bowed, offering John back his sword.
John thanked him as Gregory left, and John quickly stood, moving to get dressed. Walking back out to Brittany and Janet, John was wearing what he would describe as his battle regalia. Military style leather jacket, half cape and cargo pants. What completed his setup was the scabbard he was now attaching to his hip.
"What time is it?" Asked John.
Janet looked uncertain for a moment, "about seven at night, why?"
"Are there safe houses in the city? Small ones, for just a few people?"
"Dozens... Why?"
John just smiled.
CHAPTER TWO.
Janet stormed into the meeting room. She had called an emergency meeting to discuss John's plan. Everyone including the guards were in attendance. John was hoping the traitor might expose themself if everything went to plan. The only two people not in attendance were Maree and Grace, Maree as she was still recovering, Grace because she was attempting to autopsy the dead guards remains and couldn't be disturbed.
Taking her seat, she held up her hand, belaying any questions. "John asked for this meeting, we need to wait for him."
The room fell silent... Everyone had it in the back of their minds. They had again failed in securing the Queen... Was John going to take retribution? Was this an execution?
The door opened behind them. Standing in the doorway was John, a grave expression across his face. Behind him was Brittany, dressed in a hooded cloak, the hood pulled up. It looked like they were preparing to move by daylight.
"You have failed us again." John said quietly, taking in the panicked expressions of everyone in the room. Even Gregory looked nervous. "I cannot afford to continue taking chances with you people."
With that, the pair turned and walked down the hall and out of sight, in the direction of the exit. Gregory was the first to move, rushing to catch up. He made it just outside the door when an explosion rang out. Moments later Gregory stormed back into the meeting room, covered in dust.
"He set off a mine in the corridor, it's collapsed the ceiling." He said, before coughing to clear his lungs. "We can clear it, but it will take time. I need everyone to help, it's not safe out there for them."
Janet watched his agitation increase. She watched his haunted expression roll across his features... This man she could trust... It took a little over half an hour to clear enough rubble to get outside. Only to find that all the vehicles now had a flat tyre.
Janet sprang into action. "Alright everyone, split into small groups. I know we all have bolt holes, so that's where I suggest you go. Take only your people, and don't tell anyone else your location. If one of us is found, you won't be able to betray the location of others."
She watched in grim satisfaction as each council member paired off with their people. She watched as the guards all changed a tyre on each vehicle as their various charges huddled inside. It wasn't long before everyone started leaving. Soon it was just Janet, George, Gregory and two more guards. Grace was however still inside with Maree. Janet doubted they even knew what was happening right now.
"Alright everyone, it looks like it's just us." Janet smiled weakly, "unfortunately, I'm going to have to leave the two of you behind."
Janet watched their expressions. The guard standing on her right looked like he was half way between wanting to vomit, and protest her decision. The other however, she was sure just flinched towards his weapon.
"Gregory..." Janet called softly.
As Gregory turned his attention towards Janet, her suspicions turned true. The guard suddenly pulled a knife and lunged at Gregory. He obviously thought Gregory would be the greatest threat... He didn't take into account that Janet might have a few skills of her own... After all... Learning to fight in the Colosseum as a teenager, gave her a rare set of skills... Skills that had only been sharpened over the millennia. Before the guard knew what was happening, Janet slipped past his guard. Knocking his strike off target, she pulled her own hidden blade from her belt.
Before she could gut the traitor however, the second guard was already in motion. A brutal elbow strike knocked the traitor to the ground. There was a brief pause as Janet and the guard made eye contact. She looked surprised, but he just looked mad. Gregory on the other hand... Was furious. Storming towards the traitor, he systematically stomped on the mans joints. Janet turned away from the scene, while she had no doubt as to whether the traitor deserved this treatment. It still made her uneasy to watch. It wasn't long before the screams were cut short, signalling for Janet to turn around. Gregory stood, huffing and puffing, clutching a long curved dagger above a clothed pile of dust.
"That looks like our murder weapon then." Janet said softly.
Gregory nodded without speaking, and slipped the blade into his own belt.
Janet turned to the surviving guard, "what's your name?"
"Lucas, ma'am. I've done Mauy Thai for decades." Lucas grinned, "and don't worry about me ma'am, I won't need to feed for another week or so, I'm just happy you're safe."
Janet watched him take several steps back, she was impressed. The slight nod from Gregory was the final straw. "Change of plans Lucas," Janet smiled, "welcome aboard."
The man merely nodded in thanks, but Janet spotted a slight shift in his demeanour, it was only natural to be relieved after all. "Thank you ma'am."
"Now... Gregory, could you be so kind as to retrieve my daughter, while Lucas here changes the tyre?" Janet smiled sweetly... Hopefully this plan would go without a hitch.
Gregory immediately stormed back through the entrance, heading to the medical wing. Lucas took it upon himself to get started on the tyre. Ten minutes later, Lucas was in the drivers seat, when the rear door opened. It was quite a surprise when the Queen climbed into the back seat, followed by Maree.
"We had to know who to trust." Janet said, climbing in after the pair, "after how you handled yourself earlier, I am happy to vouch for you."
Lucas couldn't help the small grin that escaped, "thank you ma'am, I'm in your debt."
"It's Janet, Lucas," she smiled, "we're all friends here."
"Thank you Lucas," chimed in Brittany, "I appreciate what you've done, but please... Take me to John..."
...John...
Blowing the hallway and getting out only took a matter of seconds. Slashing the tyres on all the cars took several minutes. But driving home took hours... Hours he hated with his very soul... Hours he ached to have back with Brittany... Hours where Grace spent her time nervously wondering if she should speak, or just leave him to his mood.
"It was necessary," John said softly, pulling the car into the underground car park. "I wanted to be sure if anyone was followed, it would be me."
Grace nodded, she'd figured as much, "were we followed?"
"I certainly hope not," John grinned. "You'll have to put the cloak back on, just in case. At least until we get back to the apartment."
Grace nodded, pulling the cloak around her shoulders again. John quickly stepped out of the vehicle, and opened the door for her. He spent a few moments scanning the car park before helping Grace stand. A few minutes later, that god awful
let John know he was on the right floor. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime since he had been back to his home. It was a risk coming here, there was no guarantee that Jonah hadn't found it. But he didn't think it would be guarded, and they wouldn't be here long regardless.
John was pleasantly surprised however when he found his home in the same condition as it was when he left. Either it was cleaned after it was searched, or it hadn't been found... John could only hope. A little over an hour later, John got an urge to put on a pot of tea. He mentioned in passing to Grace what he was doing. She merely nodded, still unsure of how to deal with the grumpy sentinel. John however, had an inkling of his mood... She was close...
Filling the pot with hot water, John gave it a quick stir before replacing the lid.
KNOCK KNOCK
John's breath caught. As instructed, Grace was the one to open the door. John waited in the kitchen until he heard the click of the lock, and faded into the plane of time.
He walked calmly towards the door, it was only open a fraction. If it were him that opened the door, he wouldn't have time to shift after coming face to face with a potential threat. Opening the door himself while in the plane of time could have catastrophic consequences for the door. But with it already partially open, he could simply move Grace, and do what needed to be done.
Stepping forwards, he gently lifted Grace from where she stood, and positioned her to fall onto the couch. Turning back, he slowly opened the door, smiling as he found himself face to face with Brittany. John wrapped his arms gently around her shoulders, and while placing a kiss firmly on her lips, faded back into the normal flow of time.
Multiple things happened all at once, Grace screamed after seemingly being teleport ed to another spot, Janet and the others jumped back in shock from the sudden movement. But stranger still, was the knowledge, that he and Brittany were inexplicably linked. So much so, she must have already felt him coming, and her only reaction to his sudden appearance was to kiss back. There was not a moments hesitation, and John loved her all the more for it.
John held her firmly in his arms until a polite cough caught his attention.
"We better get inside, John" Janet chuckled, "George here has heard great things about your tea, would you care to indulge him?"
John tried his best to keep a solid frown on his face, but Janet's blank expression, mixed with George's horrified one, had John biting his own tongue trying not to laugh. Ushering everyone inside, John smiled apologetically at Grace as he made his way to the kitchen. A few minutes later, John carried back a tray laden with cups of tea.
"My apologies Janet, it seems Brittany hasn't seen fit to bake any more cookies lately." John said with mock sincerity.
"My John... Was that a joke?" Janet asked softly.
"Leave him be dear," George huffed.
John just sat for a moment...
He reflected on his past life. There were seldom smiles in the last few years, fewer still any reason to laugh. Did Brittany really have this great an impact on his life... Or was it something else? Deciding to ignore her comment for the moment, John just decided to sip his tea.
Janet took the time to bring John back up to speed. Describing the solitary incident after he had left. The first stop they had made was to the safe house. This is where Lucas was waiting with Maree while she fed and recovered. Gregory himself was waiting in the car, ever watchful for danger.
John took a moment to refill his cup. "We should move tonight, get to a safe house... And let me do my job."
Brittany tensed up, "John-"
"I need to do this Brittany... Please don't stop me." John whispered.
"Why you though?" Brittany was visibly shaking now.
John reached out, taking her hand, he gently pulled her onto his lap. "Jonah is looking for us... If we keep moving daily, we won't be likely to be found. But with me on the streets, he's more likely to come find me himself... "
"What if we just wait for backup?" John's heart was breaking as tears rolled down her cheeks, "please John, I don't want you getting hurt."
John squeezed her tightly, "my love... I'm the only one in four-hundred years to face Jonah and live... If I'm this capable now... Imaging what I would be like as a monster like him..."
Bursting into loud sobs, she collapsed against John's shoulder. His heart broke for her all over again, he knew better than most that going out on the streets was most likely a death sentence. But Brunhilde's dragoons may as well be a week away. At the very least, if Jonah wouldn't meet him in person, John would start to cull the numbers of clanless. Eventually he may find someone who could point him in the right direction.
The five of them finished their tea, before Brittany dressed in the cloak. John insisted on taking two vehicles. This time he would indeed be taking his Queen, it killed him to part with her the first time. They separated in the elevator, Grace getting out with her parents on the ground floor. After a quick word to wait, John and Brittany made their way down to the underground car park. Trying to play the gentleman, John opened the rear door for his Queen, only to chuckle as she walked past him and climbed into the front passenger seat.
A lap around the building and they had met with Gregory's vehicle, and they were off. It was an odd sensation for John as they drove down familiar roads. It surprised him greatly that there was a safe house within easy walking distance of his apartment. Following Gregory down an alleyway, a section of wall opened in front of a derelict building. Driving in behind Gregory, John was pleasantly surprised at the modern facility they were parking inside.
Pulling into a parking space, John was beaten to Brittany's door, buy her climbing out on her own. Her amused smile shook him a little, and he had to reflect on his behaviour...
Ignoring it for the moment, he took Brittany's hand, and followed Janet and the others towards an elevator, while Gregory secured the entrance.
A quick tour of the facility showed a small meeting room, several bedrooms with en suites and kitchen. As John lead Brittany into one of the bedrooms, a door opened behind him.
"Maree, you're looking better," called Janet.
Brittany quickly pulled away from John. Turning, she ran to Maree, crushing the woman in a firm hug. "Thank you!" She cried.
Maree had a look of shock on her face. Clearly the access to blood had healed her considerably, but she wasn't expecting to be hugged by the new Queen. "I'm not quite sure how to respond to this your majesty," Maree said with an odd smile.
"Enough with the 'your majesties'. That goes for everyone!" Brittany growled, "Unless we're doing something important, please just call me Brittany. Everyone, and I mean everyone, in this building has had a direct hand in saving my life. We're all family, so please... Treat me like family..."
The room fell silent for a few moments. Nobody quite knew what to say, until Maree broke the ice. Wrapping her arms around Brittany, she nuzzled her head into her shoulder. "Thank you Brittany, I'd be dead without you and John. I'm honoured to call you family."
Without releasing their hug, Janet quickly joined them, followed quickly by George. What followed was an impromptu group hug. Grace, Lucas and even Gregory all joined in, expressing gratitude and thanks for one another and their efforts to keep everyone safe. The only person missing was John, who stood frozen in the doorway. It was a strange feeling for him, just days ago, he was hunting their kind. Now he was watching a group of them in a group hug... His sworn enemies, showing love and compassion, to the woman he loved... And he had sworn to Gaia to destroy them...
Brittany was the first to realise John was gone. When the others finally let her free, she had a few tears to wipe away, but when she looked for her love... It was obvious he was no longer here...
"Be safe..." She whispered.
CHAPTER THREE
It was a few hours until dawn, the streets were empty of life, save a few cats. John stalked the streets, not caring to hide his movements. If he was given any trouble, he was more than capable of leaving quickly. So it was an odd sensation when the small tickle in the back of his mind stopped. John kept walking, appearing not to notice his power had been invalidated. Straining his hearing and watching his peripherals, he couldn't detect anyone around him. Glimpsing towards car mirrors and shop windows, even the reflections didn't show anything. But he was definitely being hunted.
Turning down an alleyway, that familiar tickle reappeared. Surging into the plane of time, John turned on the spot, and ran back across the road, hiding on the opposite side. Slipping back into the normal flow, John stood silently and waited. It wasn't long before he spotted them. It was so obvious, as they leapt across the rooftops. There was three of them, probably a fourth holding back somewhere. They were clumped together...
John watched as the three climbed down to the street, before lining up at the end of the alleyway. If they had been trained fighters, one of them would have turned around and spotted him. It was almost as if these were new recruits...
And that's when John realised... This was a trap, whomever it was leading them, is probably at the other end of that alleyway. The three youngsters would be the distraction, while a more experienced member would sneak in behind...
Crouching down, John leaned against the wall, obscuring his position in shadows. It was time to start sending messages. He watched as the three pulled knives and darted into the alleyway, it gave him a grim sense of satisfaction as they came to a stop, obviously confused. They spread out, and slowly stalked down the alleyway, looking for hidden entrances and open doors. A small spec of movement caught John's eye however, someone just leaned into the alleyway...
Fading again into the plane of time, John rushed back across the street. Falling on the first young vampire, John pulled the knife from their hand, walking around, he could see under the hood, it was a young red haired woman...
"He's not who you think he is," John said in her ear.
He disarmed and spoke to the others, another young brunette woman, and an even younger looking man. It disgusted him that Jonah would sacrifice the young and helpless, in a poor attempt to surprise him. Running to the end of the alleyway, he found the superior. A middle aged man with a shaved head, holding a hunting rifle. It was obvious now...
Grabbing the man, John ripped the gun free from his hands. Pulling the man into the alleyway, John forced him to his knees before fading back into the normal flow of time.
Several things happened, the man on his knees cried out in pain, the speed he was thrown into the ground would have been extremely painful. The youngsters however cried out and cowered as if John was cut them.
"I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY!" John roared, grabbing their attention, "This man was using you as bait. You would have easily died tonight, but the Queen has asked I show mercy. Go home, all of you, when the fighting stops, join a clan. If not, I'll be coming back."
John watched for a moment as the youngsters slowly calmed down. They still watched him with a mix of fear and awe... That was until John plunged his sword through the older vampires chest. Now they just looked terrified.
"Go home," he growled.
He was expecting panic and fleeing... But what happened was unexpected... All three just dropped to their knees. One woman was crying, the other refused to look up. The young man was trying to hold a brave face, but even he was barely holding himself together.
"What did I say? LEAVE!" John yelled.
"We can't..." Said the young man, "He'll kill us... We don't have homes any more."
"Who will kill you?"
The young man shook his head, but the woman staring at the ground, said "Jonah... Please mister... We're runaways, we don't have family... He took us in, made us strong... But failure means death... If you won't kill us, and we escape the sun... He will kill us anyway..."
John sighed, "and I suppose you're hoping death by my hand will at least be quick and painless?"
The crying woman collapsed on the ground, curling into a ball. The young man dropped his eyes to the ground, and the woman just started nodding.
"Do you really want to die?" asked John.
"No," they all said in unison.
John just sighed... Brittany had asked him to show mercy when he could. These kids had death sentences. There was only one thing for it...
"We don't have long until sunrise, come with me." John said quietly, before heading back to the safe house.
As they walked, he tried to ply them for information. They were kept in multiple locations. Jonah moved between groups, giving orders, sorting disputes and carrying out torture and executions to keep people in line. None of them knew how large the forces were, they just knew they were from a group of a dozen strong. They were all homeless youth, banding together when Jonah found them. When he did, he offered them work, and turned them... By force if necessary... And some of them didn't survive. Lori, one of the women had lost her cousin. James, the man, had lost his best friend. The crying woman had refused to speak as they walked.
It was to John's great relief as they walked down the alleyway that contained the entrance to the safe house. The sun was yet to rise, but he could see the discomfort in the youngsters. As expected, the door opened as he approached, behind was Gregory and Lucas, both armed and pointing handguns.
"I don't think that's necessary," John called.
"Who are they?" Gregory called back.
"Youngsters, I evaded an ambush, they were supposed to distract me long enough for their senior to kill me." John grumbled, "I doubt they were expected to live this long."
Gregory nodded. "You three, hands on your heads, no sudden moves, a single shot probably won't kill you, but it will hurt until I put a second in you." Motioning for Lucas to move aside, he walked around the group, watching their faces contort with fear. "Alright, head inside, then put your hands on the wall."
It took barely a minute for all three of them to line up on the wall. Lucas quickly moved to each of them, zip tying their hands behind their backs. The three of them moved into the meeting room, where John spotted Janet and Brittany.
"Ah, John, I see you have brought guests," Janet called. "Would you care to explain to me why you have compromised the safety of the Queen by bringing enemy soldiers into this facility?"
John hid a smirk, Janet wouldn't dare to speak to him like that. It was all a show for the three youngsters. He could see them shaking with anxiety, all were crying silently while staring at the floor.
The young woman spoke, "we didn't know who you were, we didn't know you were the royals." She took a shaking breath in, "please... Just kill us quickly, if Jonah catches us, he'll probably torture us first... Before he kills us... He makes the others watch... I'm sorry... "
John watched as she dropped to her knees and placed her head on the floor. The other two got down beside her and copied her. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they expected to happen. Jonah was a true monster... Using fear tactics like this to keep his thrall in line. John made eye contact with Janet... Even he could see her heart break... These youngsters weren't a threat...
Brittany walked towards John, taking him in her arms. She leaned into his shoulder and whispered, "thank you for sparing the innocent." Turning back to the youngsters, "do you know who I am?"
The three crouching figures shook their heads slightly.
"I am Queen Hay, you have already met my Vassal, John." She said firmly. The effect was almost immediate, all three shuddered, only now realising the depth of their situation. "You were sent to kill my beloved, in defiance of the council and aiding in a coup to denounce my throne."
"We didn't know!" Cried the silent woman, "please... They killed our friends, our family, and anyone who refused to fight... We didn't have a ch-"
The young woman was cut off as Brittany hauled her to her feet. But before the young woman could scream, Brittany threw her arms around her. Embracing the scared young woman.
"You're safe now," Brittany said softly, "all three of you are safe, I promise." She gestured for Gregory to remove their bindings. "We will have to keep an eye on you for now, but we have a room for you to all share. Please follow me."
John watched in silent amusement, as the three youngsters had stunned expressions on their faces. They quickly stumbled in the same direction as Brittany, as she lead them to the last empty bedroom. It wasn't until they had actually entered the room, when it dawned on them that they weren't about to die. Soft gasps escaped their lips as they saw the inside of the room. Brittany handed them each a blood pack, and showed them where they could find towels and spare clothes, before informing them dinner would be delivered. John caught several tearful glances just before Brittany closed and locked the door.
"I'll check on them later," she said softly, with a smile.
Without another word, she turned and walked into the main bedroom. John followed without a word. Closing the door behind him, John only made a single step into the room before being slammed into the wall. Hoisted off his feet, he was pinned in place by Brittany. Red faced and puffy, he could see tears rolling down her cheeks. She held him for a few seconds, opening and closing her mouth like she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. She relaxed her grip, letting John back down onto his feet, before collapsing to her knees and pressing herself against his legs.
Brittany was sobbing softly, "please John... Don't do that to me again. I didn't know if you were coming back... Please don't leave me alone..."
John had no words... All he felt was a deep sense of shame... While he had accomplished some good, he had also hurt his beloved in ways he couldn't comprehend. Crouching down in front of her, without a word, John scooped her up into his arms. He carried Brittany to the bed, lowering her gently. John took a few minutes gently removing all her clothing, making sure to run his hands over her skin. He massaged her legs, before running his hands up and over her stomach, briefly brushing her breasts and finally massaged her shoulders.
He kept up his ministrations until he could see Brittany visibly relax. Undressing himself, John slipped into the bed beside her. Brittany immediately wrapped her limbs around him, pressing as much of her body to his as she could.
"I'm sorry," said John, "I was stupid... I walked right into an ambush... I could have been injured or killed... I'll do better... I promise."
Brittany shuddered again, pulling John tighter against herself. He could feel wet tears drip onto his cheek, but as he moved to comfort her, she swatted away his hands and pressed her body even harder. John didn't know how long he laid there, but soon after Brittany finally fell asleep, he joined her.
It was an odd sensation as John woke. He was expecting his usual assortment of limbs holding him in place. What he found instead, was weight on his shoulders and a sudden silken, wet tunnel wrapping around his morning wood. Opening his eyes, he could make out the bleary image of Brittany. Her face, twisted with pleasure as she gently rolled her hips back and forth, rubbing her clitoris on his pubic bone. John watched for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation of this gorgeous woman, pleasuring herself with his body. He wasn't sure if Brittany knew he was awake, or just didn't care, but he honestly wasn't complaining.
John waited for Brittany to reach her first climax, the moment her eyes would roll back and she would lose herself. It didn't take long, as her breath quickened, he got ready. The moment her body broke out in gentle shudders, she ground herself down as hard as she could, exploding with ecstasy. The moment her eyes closed, John grabbed her shoulders, pulling her down atop him. He wasted no time wrapping his arms around her, pinning her so she couldn't move. Now he began thrusting upwards, sliding his entire length into her sopping wet tunnel. Withdrawing himself until just the head remained inside her, he thrust back in, grinning as Brittany cried out into his shoulder.
Brittany was helpless as John brought her through yet another climax, this one more powerful than the first. He didn't stop thrusting for a moment, gritting his teeth as her powerful muscles clamped over him, trying to milk out his orgasm. He knew that he was getting close however, but that only served to spur John to increase his speed. Thrusting as hard and as fast as he could, Brittany merely convulsed in his grip. But at the last second, he felt the gentle pressure of sharp fangs drag across his neck. This was all it took to push him over the edge. Brittany gasped as she felt white hot blasts of semen fill her. Biting into John's neck, she could taste his pleasure seeping through his very essence. The contrast from John's hot semen leaking out of her cool body and dripping down her engorged clitoris, sent her to her final climax.
John stayed buried inside his love, revelling in the mutual satisfaction of their pleasure. He waited until Brittany had finished feeding and as she gently lifted away from his neck, John flipped her over so he was on top. Pressing his lips to hers, he could taste the coppery flavour of his own blood. But this wasn't about him, he wanted to pour all his love into this moment. John spent several minutes just kissing her, while running his hands over all her exposed skin. The whole time, enjoying the sensation of the gentle twitches of her vaginal muscles, contracting over his semi-erect cock, still buried inside her.
A quick glimpse of the clock told John it was just after noon. Pressing his lips to Brittany's a final time, he sat up, extracting himself from her still wet tunnel. Gently taking her hand, John lead the way to the shower. Running the water until it went hot, he ushered Brittany inside. Wrapping his arms around her, they stayed and cuddled in the water stream.
CHAPTER FOUR
"I love you," John whispered.
Brittany beamed, pulling his arms tighter around her body. There was no need for her to respond, they were inseparable, their very souls intertwining. John finally released her, ignoring her mock frown, at least until he had a handful of soap. Rubbing it into her shoulders, she melted into the wall of the shower. John continued scrubbing her body, down her arms, across her breasts and finally down her legs. He waited a moment, collecting another small handful of soap, before running his hands between Brittany's legs. While he had every intention of getting her clean, it didn't stop John from running his fingers though every crease and fold of her womanhood. John spent time admiring it's smoothness, and the odd textures with equal affection. Brittany started twitching and shuddering as he continuously ran his fingers firmly over her clitoris.
"John... Please... Either fuck me again, or stop torturing me," Brittany groaned, biting her lip.
Removing his hands, he watched Brittany's face drop into a small pout. But only for a moment, before John grabbed her thigh. Lifting her leg, he helped her wrap it around his waist, before pushing her hard against the wall. John slipped his now throbbing erection between her legs again, resting it on the cleft of her mound. Gently thrusting his hips, John pulled Brittany into a firm kiss, before staring into her eyes, with a cheeky grin.
"Please..." She whispered.
"Hmm? What was that?" John asked, pressing his erection slightly harder on her mound.
Brittany groaned, almost like she was in pain. "Please... John please... Don't make me beg..."
"Beg for what?" John smiled, "what is it you want?" John lengthened his thrusting slightly, driving her ever closer, without the possibility of release.
"Fuck!" she snarled, "just fuck me! Please, just fuck me already! I can't take this-" Brittany's eye's rolled back into her head, as she lost her trail of thought.
John had slipped his hand under her raised leg, and by pressing the head of his cock upwards, he had finally allowed himself to slip back inside her. If it weren't for John holding her upright, Brittany would have collapsed in that instant. John quickly set up a rhythm. It wasn't the hard, powerful strokes from earlier, but shorter, more insistent thrusts that ensured his length ground directly over her clitoris with every movement. He watched as Brittany's head fell against his chest. He grinned as her hands balled into fists and she gently beat his chest with them. John outright beamed as Brittany let out a series of long, soft squeals.
"Are you my little fuck toy?" John asked.
Brittany nodded, without looking up.
"I want to hear you say it," John said firmly.
Brittany raised her face, twisted almost as if in pain. John tried to ignore the rush of emotion coursing through him as he stared into her glowing emerald eyes.
"I..." She gasped, biting her lip for a moment, a small smile breaking out across her face. "I'm your little fuck toy."
John pushed himself a little harder, trying to up her pleasure. "Is that any way for a Queen to behave?"
Brittany groaned, shuddering slightly as a small orgasm wracked her body. "No... A queen shouldn't be a fuck toy."
"Then why would you allow one such as I to use you like a fuck toy?" John grinned.
Brittany struggled for a moment, before reaching up and cupping John's chin. "Because I'm, YOUR, fuck toy!" She snarled, before climaxing hard.
John was speechless, hearing those words, followed by her massive orgasm. He barely caught her before she collapsed. John's immediate concern was for her safety. But as he tried to pull away, he quickly found Brittany digging her fingernail's into his back, refusing to let him go. His next reaction then, was only natural. Grabbing her other leg, he wrapped them both around his waist. Picking her up, John didn't bother turning off the shower. Instead, he carried her out, placing her on the sink. Gripping her hips, John started thrusting as quickly as he could. Brittany's eyes shot open wide, arching her back, her hands shot out to grasp at both the tap, and the towel rail. John could see the white's of her knuckles as Brittany started crying out "fuckfuckfuckfuck!" during his relentless assault on her dripping wet pussy.
"Are you ready, my little fuck toy?" John groaned.
"Fill me... Please John fill me... I want to feel it-"
Brittany didn't get to finish her sentence again, the feeling of John's hot seed filling her, through her into a mind shattering orgasm. Pulling the towel rail clean out of the wall, Brittany screamed her pleasure and collapsed into John's arms.
Gently lifting his comatose lover, John carefully walked back to the bedroom. He could hear shouting and arguing in the main room outside. So he quickly laid Brittany in the bed and pulled up the covers. Dragging on his pants from yesterday, John made sure his scabbard was secure. There was too much noise from the other side of the door to make out words, but he assumed they weren't under attack, so he opened the door.
"I'm completely serious I swear-" Grace was standing with her back to John, blocking the doorway with her body.
Janet, Gregory and Lucas were all armed and appeared to be trying to convince Grace to move.
"John!" Janet cried, "is everything okay, we heard noises!"
John quickly stepped forward, closing the door behind him. "Shh... Everything's fine, Brittany is asleep."
"What was that noise then?" Janet demanded.
John quickly considered his options. "Look... Umm... I don't ah... Brittany slipped over in the bathroom... And... Accidentally broke the towel rail." John stood for a moment, unable to meet Janet's eyes. "She didn't get hurt, but I put her to bed to rest."
Janet's expression slowly changed. First she looked ready to fight, then outright angry as John gave his excuse. But after a quick glimpse towards Grace, a small look of horror crossed her face, and her cheeks reddened. The silence of the room was broken by George, bursting into laughter from the doorway on the other side of the room. He was laughing so hard he gripped the door frame for support.
"Come on dear," George managed, between bouts of laughter."
Gregory and Lucas immediately left for whatever they were doing previously. Janet quickly moved to her husband. Grace refused to make eye contact and muttered something.
"Sorry Grace, I didn't catch that?" John asked softly.
"I... I recognised the scream," she said softly, before walking towards her parents.
Janet quickly turned back, still red in the face, "breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes."
John smiled his thanks, and went back to his room. Climbing into bed beside the Queen, John pulled her close, grinning at her subconscious reflex to wrap her arms around him. But after stroking his fingers through her blonde hair, she stirred and opened her eyes.
"That's never happened to me before," Brittany sighed, stretching her arms over her head.
"Which part?" John grinned, placing a kiss on her cheek.
"The part where I'm fucked so hard I pass out," she grinned.
"Oh... " Said John, "I thought it was the part where you said you were my fucktoy?"
Brittany seemed to frown a moment, "I guess that explains how I ended up with that bastard, Bill." John's face dropped, he was about to say something when Brittany cut him off. "Don't you dare apologise... You aren't Bill... You've shown me respect, you've shown me love, you've shown me my worth. So yes... I'm YOUR fucktoy and I don't regret it for a moment."
"I just don't want to hurt you... I love you," sighed John, pulling her closer into his embrace.
"And I love you too..." Brittany smiled, "even more so when you're thrashing me unconscious. And don't worry, I don't want to always have that. Slow and sensual is good too. But as these changes keep coming along, I've seen you have needs too... And I really like fulfilling them."
John just stared at her a moment, waiting for the ball to drop. But none did, she was deadly serious...
John smiled then, deciding even if it were something like that, he honestly didn't care. He'd spent so many years on a hate filled rampage. Finding Brittany was like a beacon of hope... Being with her was a dream come true... Sleeping with her was otherworldly... There were no doubt about his feelings for her any more...
John pressed his lips against his heavenly bed-mates. Watching the smile reach her eyes, he gently pulled away, "breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, we should get up."
He couldn't help but chuckle, seeing her cute little pout. But like usual, she got up anyway. It wasn't lost on John that in private, she deferred to him, but in all appearances, he always presented her as the Authority in public. A few minutes later, the pair of them walked arm in arm into the dining room, where a couple of coffee's were already waiting. It wasn't long before Janet came in with a tray of bacon and scrambled eggs. Behind her was Lucas, carrying a tray of toast and fresh fruit.
Brittany waited until the seats started filling. It was good to see Maree take a seat opposite Brittany, but it became quickly obvious they were missing people.
"Janet, it seems we're missing people," Brittany said softly.
Janet stopped for a moment, before nodding. "Gregory, can you see if our guests are hungry?"
Gregory nodded, and moved to open their door. It only took him a moment to unlock the door. As he opened it, he stopped short for a moment. John and Brittany were the only two others who could see what caused Gregory to stumble. It seemed the young man, was laying on his back, with the brunette riding him, and the other sitting over his face. The brunette was already bright red in the face, and the other was slapping the young man's chest, softly calling out "stop!" All the while panting furiously.
"Breakfast is ready," Gregory said quickly and closed the door.
It only took a few minutes, before the door opened again, and three sheepish vampires walked out. John tactfully kept his face blank and Brittany gestured for them to sit. The meal started a little awkwardly, but when nobody mentioned the events of a few minutes ago, everyone started to relax. It was a fairly basic, yet satisfying meal. Brittany decided to probe for more information.
"So, now you have a taste of our hospitality, would you mind answering some of our questions?" Brittany started, trying to sound kind, but firm.
The young man nodded, and the two women did a second later.
"Names and I should probably double check how old you all are? We can't just call you youngsters." Brittany smiled.
"Lori, I'm nineteen" said the red haired woman.
"Jane, I'm just turned twenty" said the brunette.
"I'm James, I'm only eighteen" said the man.
"And how did you come to this war?" John asked, he already knew the basics, but he wanted the whole story.
Lori spoke first, "We are runaways, we don't talk about our past. But we hid in groups inside the subway, y'know... Safety in numbers, trying to keep warm."
"He found us a few weeks ago," James continued, "he told us he would look after us, give us work. But needed to run interviews first."
Jane started crying at this point. Lori immediately pulled her into a hug, trying to comfort her. It took a few minutes, but she finally calmed down enough to speak. "I'm sorry... I won't talk about my past... But my little sister failed... I held her as she screamed... She was only twelve."
Lori took that as her queue to pull Jane to her feet, and with an apologetic smile, lead Jane back to the bedroom. James remained seated, looking uncomfortable, but he took a deep breath to settle his nerves. The sound of the shower running, broke the silence.
"Most of us survived... Lori lost her cousin too, they didn't get along though. I doubt she's too cut up about it." James shifted uncomfortably, "after that, the training started... Showed us how to feed, how to hunt and how to fight. We were split into groups, and put under an older vampire, the one you killed, "James nodded towards John. "His name was Bruce. He liked hurting the girls... But we couldn't run, so I used to piss him off on purpose. Gave the girls a break when he took it out on me."
The room sat silent for a few minutes, while everyone digested what he had said. "So what happens now? I don't care if you throw us in prison... Can't be worse than what Jonah will do if he catches us... Just... Keep us all together... Please... Be nice to have someone to talk too, we... Ah... Got kinda close..."
"Janet?" Brittany called, getting her attention, "what is the proper protocol for this kind of thing?"
"By my account, we execute traitors by chaining them out in the sunlight," Janet replied in monotone. "But this is hardly a regular normal situation... I think it would be prudent to show compassion in this case."
Brittany smiled, "go back to your ladies James, I have a few things to discuss... I assume they ARE your ladies?"
James grinned self consciously, "I don't know about that, your majesty, but thank you."
"I'll let you know our decision shortly," Brittany smiled.
John watched as the young man slowly walked back into the room, and closed the door. The moment he did, Brittany quickly got up, and re-seated herself on John's lap. Pulling him into a fierce kiss, she held him tightly. "Thank you for saving them John," she smiled up at him. "Now... Could we use some extra hands? I don't like the idea of locking them in some dark cell."
CHAPTER FIVE
Maree was the first to speak, "we could use them to keep the place tidy. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. After this all settles down, I'm sure we can find something more useful for them."
"Agreed," said Janet, "if they're willing to swear loyalty, I'll take them into the clan."
Brittany nodded in agreement, "Gregory, can you ask them to come out when they're ready... Just... Maybe knock first."
Gregory chuckled, before rapping his knuckles on the door. He waited a moment until he heard someone call out, and he opened the door. The three of them walked back into the dining room, the women both had wet hair, and James was wearing a different shirt. John hid a smirk...
"We've come to a decision," Brittany started, "currently you are clanless. Not only are you clanless, but you are traitors against the council and the royal family." She watched carefully as the three of them huddled together, they had already accepted they probably weren't getting out of this alive. "If you are willing to swear loyalty to me, you would be invited into our clan. As a rightful member of the clan, you will be provided protection. You will also be given work, rudimentary work to begin with, but when the fighting stops, we can work out something more permanent."
Brittany watched in amusement, as the three stood there with their mouths open. They expected imprisonment or worse, and now the Queen had just offered them jobs.
Jane spoke first, "I have one question... What will you do with Jonah if you catch him?"
The room fell silent again, Lori and James both put an arm over her shoulders. It may not have been obvious to James, but they obviously had some deep feelings towards one another.
"Jonah must die," John said softly. "He cannot be allowed to live."
"Then I swear my loyalty to the Queen," Jane said firmly.
James and Lori quickly said the same, before hugging one another passionately. "So what do you need us to do?"
"You can rest for this evening, we need to change safe houses, so we'll be moving in a few hours. We'll put you all to work tomorrow." Janet said with a soft smile. "Now... Would you all like separate rooms? Or are you happy with your current sleeping arrangements?"
The three young vampires all turned bright red. Turning amongst themselves, they had a quick murmured conversation before Lori quietly muttered, "the one room is fine, thank you."
A few hours later, John found himself watching the sunset. He'd made his way down the alleyway acting as the entrance to the safe house, and was double checking the way was clear. Satisfied, he made his way back to the unassuming black sedan he was to drive. Climbing into the drivers seat, he wasn't surprised at all to find Brittany smiling at him from the passenger seat. Twisting around, Gregory and Maree were sitting in the rear.
There wasn't anything to say, so John started the engine and pulled out onto the street. Gregory gave instructions from the rear, but otherwise the drive was silent and uneventful. It took less than half an hour until John found himself turning off under an overpass. It didn't look like there was a road, but Gregory assured him it was the correct direction. Again to John's surprise, a hidden wall opened up, directly in one of the foundations of the overpass.
This one seemed more military in nature. The car park was well lit, with large parking spaces. There was several vehicles already parked inside, including what looked like an armoured personnel carrier.
"John," said Brittany softly, as the car pulled to a stop.
"Yes my queen?"
"Remember your promise," she said firmly.
John blinked, before wrapping Brittany into a tight hug. "I'm compelled, remember?"
They held one another for a few moments, before realising they were the only ones still in the car. With a grin, both of them exited the vehicle. Only for John to be immediately accosted by James.
"John! We're near our old home!" He called, jogging up to him.
John immediately faced James, "is this near where Jonah kept you?"
"He didn't really move us, he called it a cell and left people in charge. There's a manhole across the street that will take you to an abandoned subway. It's a bit of a walk from there, we couldn't stay near the surface in case of cops. But that's the main entrance."
John stared hard, he wasn't sure if these kids could have been of any use. But this information could possibly be vital for their survival. Making eye contact with Gregory, John nodded towards the entrance to the facility. It was time to discuss their options. The group was mostly silent as they descended into the facility. John was correct in his assertion that this was a military facility. Starting at the front entrance, the door was six inches of steel plating. Beyond that was metal detectors and a small armoury. John had never fired a gun before, but from the looks of this place, it was probably a good idea to start.
Even Janet didn't seem like she knew this facility very well, so everyone took Gregory's queue and followed him through several sets of doors. Finally they entered into a large meeting room. John gestured for everyone to take a seat.
"Alright, did everyone hear what James told me?" John asked quickly.
Everyone nodded their agreement, it was after all hard to keep conversations private in such tight and silent buildings.
"Gregory," John started again, "you're our security expert, are we in danger if we stay here?"
Gregory sat silently for a few minutes. "Council headquarters was designed to be easily defended. It relied on manpower and narrow corridors to create choke points. It wasn't designed to withstand an attack from within. That combined with high numbers of enemy soldiers and explosives, I'm only surprised that we got out with as many as we did. This facility however was designed specifically in mind to withstand a siege. Picture this entire facility as a series of bank vaults. It's not impossible to break in, but you'll have to break into every room individually. Once manual locks are engaged, there's no option but to cut or blast your way in. Meanwhile, There's enough firepower stored in this facility to arm a small country. If all else fails, there's a hidden escape passage and enough explosives to level the building, wired to a self destruct sequence on the way out.
"Even IF Jonah was to discover us here, it would take weeks if not months to dig us out. By then, Brunhilde's dragoons will have arrived. I know the original plan was to keep moving, but realistically, this is out best option if we want to dig in."
"I think we should stay," Lori piped up. Everyone turned to look at her, and she dropped her eyes, realising too late that nobody had asked.
John hid his smile, "does anyone have a better option?"
Nobody said anything.
"Gregory, how are we for supplies?" Janet asked softly.
"I personally stocked this facility a month ago. We have enough blood that it will expire before we could use it all ourselves. There's also enough non perishable food here to last us a few years. This facility was designed to house a small army." Gregory grinned.
"Actually, about that," John frowned, "how do you collect those blood bags?"
"Donations," Janet said quickly, "blood type doesn't matter for nutrition, and our physiologies make us immune to almost all human diseases. Any time donated blood is rejected, it comes to us. In times of need, we skim a small percentage from each donation, and we take the leftovers from anyone who receives a blood test of any kind." Janet smiled reassuringly at John, "rest assured, no innocent blood is spilled to feed us. Though there is a surprising amount of volunteers who will offer fresh from the source, for... Rewards."
John was about to ask her to elaborate, when Grace put in, "drugs, sex or offers to turn them. Brittany should be able to explain how she feels when she feeds during sex. Just trust us when we say it's consensual."
John was surprised, he wasn't sure how old Grace was, but he had the feeling she was older than he thought. Turning to face Brittany, he was amused to see she was several shade's pinker than he was expecting. But when she couldn't meet his eye, he decided to drop it, for better or worse, consent meant consent. It didn't escape him though, what Jonah was doing to boost his number of followers though... The wrongness of it made him angry... It was already apparent that not everyone took to the change... Forcing it on teenagers and forcing them to fight in a war they had nothing to do with... Jonah had to be stopped.
"So we're in agreement then?" John continued. "We stay here, bed down for the time being, wait for the dragoons and maybe do some scouting?"
"Define scouting, John?" Brittany growled.
John turned to face her, taking her hand in his. He pulled her across her seat and up onto his lap, so he could wrap his arms around her. She couldn't help but melt into his embrace, the feeling of his arms around her middle made her feel so safe.
"This changes nothing, you realise?" Brittany murmured into John's ear.
"We need to secure the area. I can go out during the day, set up cameras and scope out the area. It's not safe to do this at night-"
"Fine... Ok... I get it," Brittany cut him off, "just... Please be careful..."
John pulled her down into a firm kiss, "I promise."
With the discussions over and done with, Brittany had Gregory lead everyone to their rooms. He lead the group down a series of corridors until cold concrete gave way to carpet. The three youngsters moved as one into the first available room, much to everyone's amusement. Maree took the second room. The next three rooms were for Janet and George, followed by Lucas and Gregory, the latter postponing his rest until he showed Brittany and John to their room. It was only as she thanked Gregory for information on their meal, she realised that Grace hadn't been assigned a room.
"Grace... Ah... I believe she's staying with Lucas for now." Gregory said, staring at his feet.
"Thank you Gregory," Brittany said quickly and closed the door.
Their first impression of the room was that of royal chambers you see in medieval castles on TV. There was a large four-poster bed in the centre of the room, with thick drapes tied to each corner. A large wardrobe on the far wall was probably already stocked with clothes their size. To the right was a large bookshelf, filled to the brim with novels. To the left was a large TV and a love seat. Immediately beside the door, John noticed a scanning device that looked like it was for a whole hand. Placing his hand on it, there was a slight pause before a section of wall opened up, revealing a small armoury.
"I don't think Gregory was kidding," John chuckled, placing his hand on the panel again, to close it. "I don't even know how they got my hand-print, let alone my sizes for the suits."
Brittany just giggled, taking John by the hand and leading him further into the room. Behind the bed was the object of her attention. A huge claw footed bath stood inside a small alcove. The alcove itself was covered in candles. John had a quick look around, and realised that there wasn't any other doors. He was torn between annoyance at having to take baths ever day, and the thought of Brittany's breasts floating on the surface of the water... They really hadn't bathed separately since they had met the council. Brittany caught his smile, and started filling the bath.
The remainder of the evening was spent settling in. The exception to this was Janet, who decided to touch base with the other council members. Using secure channels, she was able to get them all in private conference rooms. It was quickly apparent that not everyone was present. Nobody was able to determine if this was due to secrecy, or if Jonah had found them. After informing the council members that the royal couple were safe, she cut the line, not wanting to give away any more information than necessary. She still wasn't quite sure who she could trust.
Everyone met up for a late meal as the sun rose. Brittany had decided to forgo her chair from the start and had taken a perch on John's lap. This was the morning's entertainment as she had to cut up John's meal and feed it to him, as he couldn't see his plate.
"I know you'll be safe... Just... Please be careful..." Brittany whispered.
John smiled, leaning against her shoulder, "it'll be fine, I'm sure of it."
CHAPTER SIX
After leading Brittany back to their room, he put her to bed, before meeting back with Gregory in the garage.
"Take this," Gregory said, handing John a radio, "and this," handing john a large bag.
John grunted at the weight, "what is this lead?"
Gregory chuckled, "Wireless cameras, the weight is the batteries, should last a couple weeks before we have to change them."
John frowned, not liking the idea of having to repeat this. "Ok, I'll head out, take a look and place cameras where I think will work, you let me know if I should shift the angles."
He didn't wait for a reply, and honestly didn't expect one, as he strolled out of the half open door into the light.
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was bright, the sky was a gorgeous blue. John realised that since being with Brittany, he rarely saw the sun, let alone a sunrise. But that was a thought for the future, right now, he had a job to do. First order of business was to skirt the building and determine the best placement for the cameras. It wasn't hard to decide where to place them as the buildings and nearby roads created natural choke points. A quick discussion with Gregory, and the first two cameras were set, looking down either side of the road that passed the entrance. A third camera was directed at the entrance to the underground that James had mentioned. twenty minutes later, another four cameras were set. It was now impossible to approach the area without passing a camera and John was satisfied that there wasn't any immediate threats to Brittany.
With the knowledge of the immediate area locked away safely in his mind, John made his way back to the facility. Brittany was either already asleep, or specifically waiting up for him to come back. Slipping silently into their room however, he grinned at the adorable mix of both options. Brittany was laying horizontally across the bed, just below the pillows. Still fully dressed, it was clear what her intentions were, but the quiet of the room must have lulled her to sleep regardless. John silently crept up onto the bed beside her. Grabbing a pillow, he laid beside her and gently pulled her so she rolled up onto his shoulder... Her usual spot. With a firm tug, John pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and threw it over the top of them. It wasn't long before the gentle sigh's of Brittany's content sleep, lulled him to sleep himself.
The sound of loud knocking woke them. Brittany quickly pulled herself away from John, allowing him to quickly get to the door. Pulling it open John found himself staring at furious Gregory.
"You need to see this," he growled, turning and storming off.
John glanced at Brittany, smiling at her concerned expression, he picked up his sword and followed after Gregory. He was lead into a side room, where he quickly recognised screens filled with pictures from the cameras he installed earlier.
"What's going on?" John asked, still a little groggy.
"There!" Gregory snarled, pointing at a particular screen.
John took a moment to realise what he was seeing. There was a woman sitting in the shade beside the entrance to the underground station. John was about to ask what she was doing when he spotted the chain around her leg...
"Gregory..."
"She's already been burnt once, they opened the manhole, pushed her out into the light and she ran for the shade. The chain won't let her escape, and the shade will only cover her for a few more minutes."
John heard a sniffle, turning he found himself face to face with Brittany. She was red eyed and puffy, silent tears rolling down her cheeks... There wasn't any need for her to speak.
"Gregory, get me a spare blanket, soaked with water, and some bolt cutters."
John took Brittany by the hand and lead her into the garage. They didn't speak for the few minutes it took for Gregory to collect what John needed. Though he was apprehensive to accept the battery operated angle grinder instead of bolt cutters. Throwing the blanket over his shoulder, he turned, kissing Brittany and gestured for Gregory to open the door.
"Gregory." John called.
"Yes my lord?"
"If this is a trap... Stop Brittany from coming to get me."
He barely heard the sharp intake of her breath before he ran out into the sunlight. His comments about how lovely the day was were long gone. The first obstacle was the road, there wasn't a lot of traffic, but he wasn't going to be getting across unseen, let alone getting back.
Darting between cars, it only took a few seconds before he hurdled over the divider on the median strip. A quick pause to let a truck pass, before he darted across the final few lanes and leapt over a hedge. Running towards the figure on the ground, he could hear her cries for help. Getting closer, he could see the desperate claw marks in the ground and her leg, a final struggle for survival. As he got close, she must have heard him, twisting around she shrieked and tried to pull away.
John immediately realised she recognised him. But she must have been in agony, all the exposed skin of her body was red and blistered. He thought back on Brittany, when he burned her...
He shook his head, even the reminder of that day hurt him... This poor woman must have been in agony...
"Do you want to live?" John asked quickly.
The woman paused for a few moments, before swallowing hard. "Please don't hurt me."
John took that as an affirmative and threw the blanket over her. Bending down, he started the angle grinder, and started cutting a section less than a foot from the woman's leg. The chain itself must have been hardened steel, the angle grinder was taking a while to cut the link. As he cut through the first half and began on the second, the chain suddenly yanked hard. John barely got the angle grinder out of the way before the woman's leg was dragged into it. Unfortunately for her, that also pulled her leg out and exposed it to direct sunlight again. Listening to her shrieks of agony, John dropped the grinder, gripping the chain with one hand, and pulling the blanket back over her leg with the other.
"You have to make the last cut!" John yelled.
The chain made another yank, this time John could see the gap in the modified manhole cover, where the chain dropped in.
"Fucking coward!" spat John, "leaving her out to burn, I'll kill every fucking one of you!"
The rest of his words were drowned out as the sound of the angle grinder cutting through steel again. Now it was a game of tug-o-war, John desperately trying to give the woman enough time to cut the chain, and the unseen opponent in the manhole. Unfortunately for John, his opponent was stronger. He was slowly losing skin from his hands, as he and the woman were being dragged through the light and towards the hole. Glancing back towards the woman, she was completely obscured by the blanket, even cutting the chain underneath it's precious shade. A moment later the woman threw out the cut end of the chain.
John leapt into action, dropping the chain, he dived for the manhole. Pulling his sword free, the moment the chain cleared the gap, he plunged his sword in after it. The shriek that followed let him know he hit his target. The sound of a gunshot made him change his mind about continuing however and he quickly extracted his arm from the hole. A quick glimpse of his blade to check the dust, let John know it was a solid kill. Sheathing his blade, John turned back to the woman. He could see her crouched where he left her, the blanket opened slightly so she could see. All John could make out was the slight glow of her eyes, a soft gold colour.
"This is going to hurt," John said quickly, walking towards her. He watched her flinch and tense up as he bent down. "I need you to relax, I'm going to put you over my shoulder and carry you, I can't do that if you tense up."
John waited until he saw what looked like a nod, before pulling her upright and throwing her over his shoulder. He ignored her muffled cries, the burns rubbing where he was touching her and the blanket rubbed. John took a deep breath and made back for the road. It took him a little longer to get back, although some old lady stopped to let him across the far side, staring at him in shock. A quick jog down the driveway, and John watched as the door opened, allowing him entry to the facility. Immediately inside was a hospital gurney, Brittany and Grace holding some blood bags. John unceremoniously dumped the woman straight on the gurney. Pulling the blanket open, he cringed at the sight of her burned skin.
"Oh please... Don't hurt me," she begged, pulling her arms up to cover herself.
Grace immediately stepped forwards, pressing a pierced blood bag into the woman's hands.
"Drink, quickly now," Grace said firmly, "you need to heal."
The woman groaned for the briefest moment before grabbing the bag. It only took a few seconds until the bag was empty, only to be replaced by a second. By now, John could see the horrible blisters had reduced to some red marks and slight swelling. He smiled slightly as Brittany slipped a hand into his. Grace whispered to Gregory and he quickly ducked away.
As the woman finished the second bag, she started looking around. Realising she was in the presence of other vampires, she looked around with wide eyes. Settling them on John, she started quaking.
John frowned slightly, "do you know who I am?"
The woman nodded.
Brittany stepped forward, taking the woman's hand. "What have you been told?"
The woman kept switching her view from John back to Brittany before finally mustering the courage to speak. "I've seen photos of you," she nodded at John, "you're the false king. The one Jonah is fighting against... "
John didn't respond, he barely blinked. It wasn't a surprise that information like this would be spread, it was an obvious tactical move.
Brittany tightened her grip on the woman's hand. "Why did they throw you out in the sunlight?"
"I... I couldn't fight... I was useless with knives and couldn't hit targets with guns. One of the masters gave me a special mission. He made me swallow a pill and dragged me outside." The woman's eyes started to water again. "It hurt so much... I still don't know what I'm supposed to do... Please... That's all I know... I don't want to die..."
A feeling of dread settled into John's stomach. "Grace... Is there a proper medical facility here?"
Grace looked up, confused, "She's fine John, the blood worked-"
"She needs an X-ray, I think they fed her a tracking device," John cut her off.
The woman's eyes went wide as she clawed at her own stomach. "I... No... Please... I didn't know."
"Nobody is blaming you," Brittany interjected, "we just need to know for sure. I promise we won't hurt you."
The woman trembled, but managed to spit "and who are you to make promises?"
Brittany released her hand, standing upright she looked down at the woman. "I'm the rightful Queen, and you will show me respect, or John here will put you back outside."
The woman collapsed back against the gurney at her words. Her eyes were wide with fear again, not knowing if her words had just doomed her or not. John made eye contact with Grace, and she started pushing the gurney. John followed silently, holding Brittany's hand as they walked. The medical centre in this facility was far larger than the one in Maree's hidden facility. It seemed to have one of everything, including a full operating theatre. It really was built to sustain an army...
John watched as Grace took the woman through the X-ray machine, before joining her to check the results. The pit in his stomach was back... It was obviously a tracking device... John didn't waste any time, running from the room. He knew it wasn't the woman's fault, but that didn't change the fact that Jonah knew where they were. Bursting into the meeting room, John found Janet and Gregory in a deep discussion. They both stood up at John's arrival.
"Gregory, lock down the facility, Jonah knows we're here," John said quickly. He watched as Gregory immediately dropped the conversation with Janet and ran from the room. "Janet, I need you to call for reinforcements. There's no use pretending to hide any more and we need help."
Running back to the medical centre, John grabbed Brittany and practically dragged her back into the meeting room. They took their seats, and waited for Gregory and Janet to return. It wasn't long before Gregory came back. Following behind him was Lucas and Maree. Both had expressions of dread.
"The facility is in pre-lockdown," Gregory started, "It's four hours till sunset, if they attack, we should have a few minutes warning. The lockdown only takes thirty seconds to start. Manual locking of the doors should be done in stages."
By now, Janet had returned, bringing George with her.
"Why not lock everything now?" Janet asked quickly.
"We won't be able to move freely if we do. If we make a tactical retreat through the facility, we can fight them back." Gregory replied, "I suggest everyone comes down to the firing range, we need to get everyone comfortable with a weapon."
CHAPTER SEVEN
John found his hand being crushed by Brittany. It seemed the only thing she hated more than John putting himself in danger, was John placing a loaded weapon in her hand. It was an odd sight, Brittany herself was a small woman. Proportioned well, but small, so holding what she could describe as a 'hand cannon' made her very nervous. Gregory was aware of her level of experience with a weapon. But he assured everyone that her newfound strength would make handling a smaller firearm a waste. He sat with Brittany for a few minutes, taking her over loading and unloading the large revolver. John wasn't educated in guns, but if he had to guess, the rounds Gregory were currently loading into Brittany's weapon were .50 calibre.
A few minutes later, John had to suppress a smirk as Brittany completely obliterated the target dummies. It seemed her eyesight was damn near perfect, and her instructions to line up the target with the sights only served to make her deadly accurate... If not a little slow. As John continued to watch, he had to do a double take, spotting Maree at the opposite end of the range. She was holding some type of sub-machine gun, and was in the process of destroying a target from the head down. He briefly remembered a comment she made once about not needing eyes to see...
His silent observation was broken as Gregory jabbed him in the chest with the grip of a smaller pistol. Now it was John's turn, learning quickly how to disassemble and reassemble the weapon. After showing John how to reload the magazine, it was John's turn. It wasn't any surprise to him that he wasn't the best shot. Most rounds sailed a little wide of each target, only hitting the closest ones with any success. But John didn't fret, with his sword even Jonah wasn't an equal. It was far more likely if he had to fight, it would be up close.
A few hours later, everyone broke for a meal. Gregory insisted that everyone take their weapons with them. Holding Brittany back, he passed her a box of ammunition.
"These are armour piercing, explosive rounds. I hope you never have to use them, but if you do. There won't be a second chance if you pull the trigger with one of these." Gregory tried to smile, but it came out more of a grimace.
"Thank you Gregory... Please... Just keep my John safe..."
The meal was eaten in silence, even the youngsters kept quiet. Gregory had told them they would be locked in a secure room within the armoury at the rear of the facility. It would keep them as safe as possible, while keeping the option of switching sides impossible. Not that John expected they would, but people do stupid things when they're scared. They would also be joined by the new woman, who was eating alone in a locked room. As John finished his meal, he found himself being dragged from the dining room by Brittany.
She didn't say a single word the entire walk. Even as she dragged John into the room and started filling the bath, there was nothing she wanted to say. John however took the hint and undressed. After quickly testing the temperature of the water, he climbed in, making himself comfortable, only to be joined by Brittany. She curled up on his lap, wrapping her arms around his torso while she rested her chin on his shoulder. John just held her back, and before long, he could feel the slight shudder as she silently cried against him.
"Brittany?..." John whispered.
"No... Don't speak, just let me hold you."
John sighed quietly, but tightened his grip. He would hold her as long as she needed. It was obvious that this was probably going to be a luxury that would be denied for a while. A soft knocking came from the door, quickly followed by Lucas's voice.
"Sunset in one hour!"
Brittany shuddered against John's chest. "John?"
"Yes, my love?"
"I'm not going to bite you, you need your strength... But... If this is the last time... Please make love to me?" The last words were almost a whisper.
John's immediate reaction was to tighten his grip and stand up. He carried Brittany effortlessly to the bed, placing her still wet body atop the sheets. She was right, and they were unlikely to be using the bed any time soon, so it didn't matter they were wet. John gently kissed Brittany, gently probing her lips with his tongue. He loved the gentle moan she let out in response. Reaching out with both hands, John gently massaged each breast, grinning as she crooned when he pinched her nipples lightly. Before he could make his way lower, Brittany tightly wrapped her legs around John's waist, preventing him from pulling away.
It occurred to John that Brittany understood there wasn't enough time for foreplay. Gently rolling his hips back, he brought his erection in line with Brittany's surprisingly wet vagina. John gently pulled Brittany into a tight hug, pressing their bodies together, trying to maximise contact. Then he pushed in... The feeling was magical... Brittany moaned into his mouth, twitching slightly as John finally bottomed out inside her. Now it was his time to moan as Brittany flexed her muscles, reminding John how exceptionally strong she was now. The only reason he was on top, was because she was letting him. Sliding back out, Brittany quickly gripped his hips with her legs, preventing him from pulling too far away. He decided that gentle thrusts while grinding his pubic bone into her, was the best option.
It was obviously the action that Brittany wanted, as soon as he started, she gasped and pulled John tighter against himself. They stayed coupled like this for as long as they could, riding the highs, and slowing to rest until neither of them could stand it any more. The expression on Brittany's face was almost a mask of pain as John again bottomed out inside her. He took one last look into her emerald eyes and ground himself into her soft flesh as hard as he could. The effect was immediate, as Brittany's eyes rolled back into her head. Cool fluid gushed out from between her legs, soaking John's partially dry legs. But it was the contraction of her powerful muscles that pushed John overboard. Pumping his seed deep into her womb, the sudden explosion of heat within her made Brittany scream out a long jagged cry, as she came a second time.
They held one another for a few minutes, kissing and petting one another's bodies until another soft knock on the door. This time it was Gregory's voice that called out.
"We need both of you out here, please come quickly."
John didn't waste any time, scrambling out of bed, he through open the wardrobe. Inside was a healthy mix of dressy outfits, and what looked like combat gear. He quickly dressed in what he usually wore. Leather combat jacket, pants, boots and is signature, Kevlar half cape. As he clipped his sword into place, he spotted Brittany, buttoning up a similar looking jacket. They quickly left the room and bounded down the hall. Spotting Janet waving, they quickly approached and were lead into the security room.
Gregory sighed, "here, listen."
John looked at the screen, where a lone figure stood a few metres from the front entrance. Gregory hit a few keys on a nearby computer, and the sound activated.
"-emand immediate surrender. The false king John will be put to death quickly and painlessly. The Queen will be allowed to abdicate her rule, and will live her days in exile. Failure to accept the terms of your surrender will result in the slow torturous death of everyone you know and-"
John gave Gregory a look, and he quickly shut off the sound. That's when he noticed Brittany was no longer with him. It was just Janet, Gregory and himself in the room. A sudden nudge in the back of John's mind let him know Brittany was heading towards the entrance...
John took off into a sprint, tearing down the halls, desperate to catch up. Bursting into the garage, John watched in horror as Brittany opened the entrance. Before her stood the man, grinning evilly at her.
"So... You've come to-"
BOOM!
John wasn't sure what happened for a second. One moment, the vampire was standing there, the next he was simply a pair of legs attached at the hip. John didn't waste any time, running towards Brittany. As he came around her, he saw the look in her eye. It was an expression he had never seen before... Hatred... Even speaking of Bill, she never looked like this, but something about this situation had awoken the monster within her. John gently reached out and stroked her shoulder, only to find the barrel of her revolver shoved in his face. The barrel pressed against his forehead for the briefest moment, before she realised who he was. John saw her expression shift from hatred to horror, and quickly batted aside the gun. Pulling Brittany into a hug, she burst into tears, crying and apologising repeatedly. John just held her for a moment, before firmly pulling away. He took Brittany by the hand and closed the entrance again. Spotting the manual locking mechanism, he shifted it into position and slowly lead Brittany back inside.
John lead her back to the meeting room, where it seemed everyone was already waiting. Nobody said a word, but John could see from their expressions, that Gregory and Janet had told everyone what Brittany had just done.
"Gregory... How many more of those shots do you have?" Brittany asked softly, without looking up.
"Just the box I gave you, my Queen."
She nodded stiffly, before taking a seat. John stood behind her, gently rubbing her shoulders in an effort to keep her calm and distracted.
John looked up, "do we have reinforcements?"
Janet met his eyes for the briefest moment, before she slowly shook her head. "Either the remaining members of the council are dead, or they're hiding. I haven't been able to reach anyone other than Brunhilde, and she is a little hazy on the details of her dragoons herself..." Janet dropped her head into her hands. "We're alone for now."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, until James chimed in. "We've got the beds ready, Dana is already in the safe room, we may as well get out from under your feet."
The three wished everyone good luck, before Lori came and hugged Brittany. Lucas lead them off, he was to lock the door from the outside. The next hour or so was punctuated with small talk and descriptions of battle scenarios. The conversation only broken by Grace leaving and returning with blood packs for everyone. It wasn't long before an alarm chimed. Brittany reached out and took John's hand.
The alarm that was activated, was a motion sensor. The security room became the new meeting room, and they watched as groups of armed vampires piled up in front of the main door. Gregory was about to activate the sound, when the camera feed was cut. That's when John heard it... The telltale sound of a plasma torch. While the manual locks on the doors made them impossible to open from outside, the doors themselves were the obvious weak points in the walls. The thickness of the metal however meant that even cutting as they are, will take a while.
It was decided that a strategic retreat would be the best option. Let the enemy cut through the door, then shoot everything that comes through it. When they start shooting back, retreat to the second door and lock it. Rinse and repeat, Gregory estimated it would give them several days, if not a week. Hopefully the dragoons would arrive by then. The group sat and watched the door, it was important to find out how long it would take to cut through. Once they had an estimate for the first one, they could set watches for the rest of the doors and let everyone take rest breaks. An hour in, Janet had decided to make sandwiches for everyone, much to John's amusement. Another hour, and they could see faint reddening of the metal caused by heat. It was only another half hour until the first sparks started popping out. Everyone moved back towards the second door, drawing weapons.
"Let me take the first shots," Brittany said quietly. John was about to object when she cut a glare at him. "They're likely packed tight outside the door. I take my five shots, you protect me as I head back inside."
John still didn't like it, but there wasn't enough time to argue. Brittany seemed to have made up her mind anyway. Besides, as Queen, not to mention his bond, it wouldn't be in his best interests to start disobeying her. Huddling up beside her, John decided that he would stay as close to her as he could. Keeping her on his left, to cover her with his cape if needed. A few minutes later, the sparks and sound stopped. There was a splash as water was thrown on the metal to cool it, followed by silence.
Gregory coughed to catch everyone's attention. "They're using a breaching charge, everyone get ready to fire the moment the door comes down."
Less than a minute later, Gregory's words came true. The boom wasn't as loud as John expected, at least not compared to what it sounded like as Brittany started firing. The first vampire that reared it's head caught the shot between his eyes... Well... That's where the shot landed... There wasn't much left above the nipple to compare it with however. The second shot hit someone outside the door, the white flash of the explosive round going off was the hint. Brittany managed to fire twice more before John dragged her to the ground. Rounds were flying back in the door now and everyone else returned fire. The sight, sound and smell of utter carnage began driving up memories of John's mother. The fear... The pain... The endless blood before it turned to ash. It wasn't long before John had Brittany beyond the second door. Turning back, he watched as Gregory emptied his assault rifle before slamming the second door shut and locking it. They sat and listened for a few minutes, as the enemy wasted bullets into the empty room beyond.
With their lack of ability to return fire, silence soon came about. They could hear the sounds of boots on the other side of the door.
"It took them two and a half hours to get through the first door. I'm taking Brittany to rest." John called, before scooping his Queen into his arms and walking back to their room.
He didn't put her down until they reached the bed. John placed her on the dryer side, only to have Brittany cling to him like he was going to leave her. Without a second thought, John climbed into bed beside her. Brittany curled in, and John wrapped his arms around her. They sat in silence for a while, John staring at the ceiling as he stroked Brittany's back with his fingers.
"How many have I killed, John?" Brittany whimpered.
"Stop!" John growled, "they started this, we're defending ourselves. You don't deserve to think like that. You did what you did to survive and for no other reason!"
"I could have surrendered..."
"And where would that have left you?" John pulled her tight. "Best case scenario, you'd be left in some cage on a mountain somewhere after I was shot. Worst case scenario, is we're both tortured to death by that psychopath, that started this war to begin with."
Brittany snuggled in against John's shoulder and took a few deep breaths. "Thank you."
John didn't respond, he just held her. He still remembered the first time he killed a vampire. At the time, it was all righteous fury... Afterwards was the thoughts on life and it's meanings... He could only hope that with Brittany surrounded by people that loved her, that she wouldn't fall to hard...
The enemy managed to cut through two more doors before sunrise. John and Gregory both agreed that it was most likely that the enemy had retreated to their tunnels for the day time. But it was still too risky to check, just in case there was a guard or traps set up. After a quick meal, George designated a watch on the doors. It didn't escape John's notice that he and Brittany weren't included, and the slight nod from Gregory only confirmed that it was on purpose. A few minutes later, he and Brittany were cuddled in bed. John again wrapped in the cool arms of his gorgeous Queen.
"If we get out of this, I'm going to ask you to marry me." John said softly.
"Is that a proposal?" Brittany tried to sound put out, but she could help but slip the smile into her voice.
John grinned outright, "no, I'll do the proposal properly, I was just making my intentions clear."
Brittany leaned up, gently pressing her lips to his for a few moments. Pulling away, she looked into his eyes. "I love you John... I'll marry you as soon as we can... Just... Get us out of this."
It wasn't long until they both fell asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The fighting had been fierce. John had no idea how this incident hadn't attracted the police, let alone the human military. Though he had a horrible suspicion that they were either bought out, or Jonah had his own people inside... Hell... He had his own people inside the council... It had been four days. The enemy was half way through the facility. They had been lucky so far, no serious injuries. Gregory had been shot in the arm, Janet was hit in the hand, John had a ricochet send shrapnel into his ribs. But it was after Brittany had a round graze her cheek, that John had put his foot down. The pain damn near made him pass out as Brittany demanded he let her pass. But a combination of knowing how much pain he was dealing with, and her common sense kicking in, she finally relented.
She now spent her time practising on the gun range, loading magazines for the others and chatting with the four youngsters locked in the armoury. The newest arrival was rather cold at first, but after she had calmed down enough to talk to the others, Brittany found her rather pleasant. Her name was Cara and she had been found in another group of young homeless people. Like them she had been turned without consent, and like them she had lost loved ones in the process. The only problem that seemed to be occurring, was her embarrassment at being locked in a cell with a polyamorous relationship. It wasn't the relationship itself that bothered her, it was their piss poor efforts to keep it down on one of their boredom educed sexual rampages. Though she did get go bright red when Brittany told her to join them.
It wasn't all bad for them however, Lucas took them in pairs to one of the nearby rooms to bathe and stretch their legs. The others had even made it a point to join them in meal times. Keeping them informed with what was going on and the progress. When Brittany saw the fear in their eyes as John described them cutting past the half way point, she knew they had no loyalty to Jonah... But as John said... Scared people do stupid things... Brittany had quietly asked Lucas to watch himself, in case of the possibility that someone would do something dumb.
It was the middle of the fourth evening, when their communications were cut. Janet had been in the process of calling Brunhilde for an update, when the line dropped out. It was immediately clear that the enemy forces weren't just focusing on the main doors, but trying to cut through somewhere else. Janet waited until the next door fell and the fighting stopped, before pulling everyone into a quick meeting. It didn't take long to explain the situation, but it was clear that they were in trouble.
"So how do we find out where they're coming from?" Brittany asked
"I'm sorry Brittany..." Gregory sighed. "We won't until they blast through. The walls are lined with concrete, they'll chisel out their side, cut through the steel and blast the rest. We won't know where they're coming from until they break through."
John took a moment to reflect on his thoughts. There really wasn't any good options at this point. "We wait for sunrise, when they leave, I'll go out and take a look."
"NO!" Brittany yelled... John cringed... Her one word, so powerful, it caused him pain. A moment later, she pulled herself onto his lap, stroking his face. The pain began to ease.
"Please Brittany... It will only take a few seconds," John added. "I can't keep you safe if we don't know where they're coming from."
"If I may?" Janet interrupted. "If John can take a look around, he can take a wireless receiver with him. If he can hide it outside, we can re-establish communications."
Brittany looking like she was about to throw up. Not able to say the words, she merely nodded, before pressing herself firmly against John's chest. John for the millionth time, wondered how he had ever deserved such a beautiful and loving woman.
Jonah's forces managed to cut through one more door that day. They started on a second, but didn't get very far before they retreated for the sunrise. Everyone waited half an hour after sunup, before John nodded his head towards Gregory. Just like back in John's apartment, somebody had to open the door, before John could pull himself into the plane of time. He turned, placing a gentle kiss on Brittany's lips. He ignored the taste of her tears, just as he was forced to ignore the gun she held, pointing towards the door. If he was going out there, she wasn't going to wait for him in the back...
"The moment you release the catch, I need you all to close your eyes for a second." John said firmly.
The moment the door released, John felt that all familiar tickle. Stepping into the plane of time was always a bit of a rush. It felt like he was running, but without the heat and sweat. John turned and whispered the words, "I love you," to Brittany. He calmly strolled to the door, and pulled it open the rest of the way, careful to avoid hitting Gregory, the lightest taps could be considered a heavy hit in the normal flow of time. John paused, examining the area immediately outside the doorway. Here at least was clear, no sign of Jonah's forces, no sign of hazards or trip wires.
Setting out on a quick jog, it didn't take long for John to confirm that he was indeed alone. John started taking a look in all the nearby corridors, darting into rooms in an attempt to find the one they had been digging through. It didn't take him long to make two important discoveries. The first, was a large crate of breaching charges. The second was a man sized hole carved into a wall that John believed, backed into the meeting room. That gave him an idea...
Pulling breaching charges out of the box, John began laying traps. The amount of rubble throughout the facility made them easy to hide. The charges themselves consisted of thin, tubular devices, arranged in a square, and attached by wires to a pressure sensitive detonator. It made it very east then to set these charges up in the battered hallways, with the detonators hidden behind rocks. A few he even dug into walls behind doors, with the intention that pushing them open quickly would set off the explosive. By the time John was satisfied that Jonah's forces were about to have a bad evening, he finally made his way to the exit. Outside, it seemed that everything fell into place. There was a large marquee covering the entrance, inside was two guards watching the front entrance. But what caught his attention, were the cameras. There were dozens, the area was made up to look like a movie set...
After quickly scoping out the area, John found a place to hide. Slipping back into the normal flow of time, John reached into his pocket for the wireless transceiver. It was a tennis ball sized, metal device. Janet had told him to keep it near the entrance, but somewhere it wouldn't be spotted. After a quick look around, John decided that throwing it onto the ledge above the entrance was probably the best idea. With a deep breath, John flicked his arm over, and watched as the device landed just off centre to where he was aiming...
Taking a few moments to rest, John again, slipped into the plane of time. It took longer getting back inside. He was sure the guards wouldn't notice the flash as he passed through, but he didn't want to accidentally set off one of his own traps in the process.
Walking back into the corridor with everyone still waiting, John could see their expressions. It felt like he had been gone over an hour, so he had been at least a few minutes. Stepping inside the door, John immediately moved to wrap Brittany in his arms, and flowed back into the normal plane. Brittany's reaction was the same as back at the apartment. There was no shock or hesitation, it seemed she knew immediately what was happening and crushed him into a fierce hug.
"What took so long?" She quietly demanded.
With grim satisfaction, John gave everyone his account of what happened. He tried not to gloat about the traps he had set, but he could feel approval coming from everyone for his actions, regardless. But with that, John needed to rest. He had never used his power for so long and he felt like his arms were made of lead. Brittany was the one looking after him now. She could sense his fatigue and made sure to have a meal sent to their room while she ran John a bath. As John slipped into the hot water, he was surprised when Brittany climbed in behind him. The surprise was short lived however, as he felt her soft hands slowly dig into the tight muscles around his shoulders.
The next sensation he had was of Brittany kissing him. He smiled up at her, before realising he had fallen asleep in the bath. As John climbed out and dressed in comfortable clothing, he spotted Brittany bringing him food.
"When did you feed last?" John asked her.
Brittany smiled, "I had a blood bag yesterday. I thought it best to keep your strength up."
John nodded and tucked into his meal. It was good, but simple, some steamed vegetables and a marinated piece of pork. John didn't care however, he was ravenous after the use of his powers. But he couldn't help but feel a different kind of need... John helped deposit their dirty dishes outside their room, before making his way to the bed. Stripping off, John climbed under the sheets, and waited for Brittany to join him. It was as her cool body pressed against his, that John realised what his itch was...
Reaching down, John grabbed Brittany by the hip and rolled her atop himself. He watched as her expression flicked from mild shock, to arousal and finally to worry. John pulled her down into a firm kiss. Pressing his tongue into her mouth, his heart fluttered hearing that all familiar moan of passion from his gorgeous bedmate.
Pulling away from the kiss, "I want you to bite me," John whispered.
Brittany just stared at him, her emerald eyes glowing in the faint light of the room. She reached down between them, grasping John's now erect cock and with a rocking motion, she slowly impaled herself on it. John however just lay there, admiring the beauty of the woman perched atop him. His cock twitched inside her as Brittany straightened up, giving him a perfect view of her breasts. Reaching out, John gently pawed at them, as Brittany began rocking her hips. It was a slow and gentle way to make love, and they revelled in one another's passion.
It didn't last long however, the emotional release, drove them both to orgasm with rapid certainty. A few more twitches of John's cock, and Brittany leaned forward. She gently kissed him, before moving and dragging her teeth across the nape of his neck. John's response was to grab her tightly, silently begging for the release, her fangs in his neck would provide. He came the moment he felt them pierce his skin, shooting white hot ropes of cum into Brittany's cool body. The sudden change of temperature within her, combined with the intoxicating rush of his blood, dragged Brittany into her own personal bliss. They came together, John's seed leaking out of her, as her muscles tried desperately to drag him deeper inside. But as Brittany started coming down, she quickly released John's neck. Before they both fell asleep.
Gentle knocking woke the pair of them. Gregory's voice called out that they would meet in the dining room. John took a moment to admire the gorgeous blanket still draped over his body. He wasn't inside her any more, and he was sure he could feel a sticky mess collected between his legs. But he didn't care, all that was important, was the faint smile on her face just before he kissed her.
CHAPTER NINE
John noticed the faint explosion first. There wasn't any sound, just a faint tremble through the earth. A second explosion shortly after was felt by Brittany.
"It's started then?" She asked.
John just nodded, before turning and heading towards the newly sealed doors. The meeting room was sealed up as well. All unneeded side rooms were closed off. The only rooms left available were the occupied bedrooms, the kitchen, and the dining room. The security which doubled as the communication room was now located in the armoury. Unfortunately, Janet had been so far, unsuccessful in contacting Brunhilde.
John had positioned himself by the door, waiting for the cutting to start. He wondered how many would be killed by his traps, before they would get smart and start checking their feet. But from the dozens of explosions he could hear, it was likely Jonah was just sending people to die... After all... Once the charge blew, the area would be safe again...
But something caught his attention. He could hear gunshots... Not just the occasional shot, but a chorus. John's eyes went wide...
John ran back to Janet to share his news.
"What do you think we should do?" Janet asked, "if it is the Dragoons, they'll have to get past all your traps before they can ask us to open the door."
"Jonah's forces haven't reached the door yet, we can open it for a moment," John started. "I can cut my way through to them. Then I can lead them back."
John felt Brittany's hand tighten around his own, but she didn't speak... Even she understood what was at stake here and as much as she hated it, she had to admit their options were slim. It was decided then that John would try. Like before, everyone stood guard around the doorway, as Gregory released the lock. John followed the feeling of that all familiar tickle, and stepped up to the door. Pulling it open, he was amused to see the room beyond was empty. It took him what felt like a few minutes, to remember where his traps were located. But he moved as quickly as he could towards the exit. The first vampire John came across was a middle aged man. He looked important, so John plunged his sword through the man's chest. Moving on, he gave similar treatment to all the vampires he came across. In this place, there would be no mercy, he couldn't afford it. Stepping into a larger open space, John groaned, looking at the several dozen vampires throughout the room. Some were pushing further into the facility, some were shooting back the way they had came. John could see the shapes of military styled figures at the far end. John picked his way through the group, careful to step around the slowly moving bullets as he made his way closer to the new forces.
Getting closer, he could see the insignia of a twisted dragon, stitched into the shoulders of their armour. It would be too big a coincidence for them to be anyone other than Brunhilde's dragoons. But as he turned away, he spotted one of them about to set off one of his traps. Rushing forwards, John gave the man a gentle nudge. It would hurt, but the man would fall away from the trigger. John then carefully dug it out from under him. Carrying it down to Jonah's forces, he found the most senior looking vampire. Placing the charges around the man's neck, he pried the gun from the vampires fingers, and placed the trigger in it's place.
Heading back towards the dragoons, John found himself a spot to fade back to the normal flow, without being seen. It only took a moment, as the normal flow set in, John only counted to one and a half before a large explosion rang out. He waited a few seconds, and pushed back into the plane of time. John admired his work, the man he threw off balance was already climbing to his feet. The corridor was full of dust, but this time, no bullets. John made his way back to Jonah's vampires to inspect the damage.
The explosion had done a good job, when the man detonated by mistake, he had taken quite a few with him. The one's still alive were either knocked over and injured, or staring in shock. John had an idea then, and drawing his pistol, he fired a shot. It seemed anything he brought into this plane, followed his rules, and the bullet flew out as normal. He then continued the grim work, and put a bulled between the eyes of every living vampire in the room. Stepping aside from the entrance to the corridor, John faded back into the normal flow. He watched in horror as dozens of vampires immediately died and started turning to dust. He struggled to keep hold of his lunch...
Remembering the dragoons behind him, John started calling out, "FRIENDLY!"
He could hear the dragoons stop for a moment, before a richly accented voice called out, "Who are you!?"
"I'm John, Vassal to Queen Hay, I'm coming out, don't shoot me."
John slowly stepped around the corner, keeping his sword and gun pointed straight up. It only took the briefest moment for the dragoons to recognise what he was wearing and lower their weapons.
"I'm here to escort you back, I've lined the passage with traps and I didn't want you to get caught up in them." John said quickly. "There may be more, I only killed the ones I came across."
A silent agreement passed through the soldiers before one, their leader said, "lead on then."
John made an effort to point out each of his traps, he was rewarded with thanks. John didn't realise he had hidden them that well, but apparently they didn't have sweep gear with them and wouldn't have suspected traps. They were engaged three more times in the tunnels. All three times were over in seconds. And finally the open doorway came into view. John could see Brittany staring wide eyed at him as he walked through the open door. But as he moved to hug her, he saw her expression fall to one of horror, before a heavy impact slammed into the back of his head... And everything went dark...
John woke in an uncomfortable position, laying on his front, with his arms twisted behind himself. It was quickly apparent his wrists were chained together and he was laying on a stone floor. Someone had stripped him of his clothes, and all he wore were his underwear.
"John?" Called a sweet voice.
Craning his neck up, he could see Brittany standing a few metres away. But she wasn't moving... No... She was chained to a large post... Her hair was a mess, but her emerald eyes shone brightly in the darkness of the room. John groaned, sliding his knees under himself and pushed up to stand.
"What happened?" John asked, trying to ignore the thumping headache.
"The dragoons were loyal to Brunhilde," Brittany said softly, "she was captured by Jonah, and he used her as a hostage to make them capture us."
"I'm sorry Brittany... I've failed..." John groaned, dropping to his knees.
Before she could respond, a door opened up between them, and in strolled Jonah and several of his followers. They went around the room lighting torches and as John looked around, he could see they were in some kind of pit. Above them were windows and ledges, where hundreds of vampires were watching with keen interest.
"MY CHILDREN!" Jonah called, "Today is a glorious day. The so called 'Council' is gone. The threat to our way of life has been extinguished. The royal pretenders have been captured, and I am about to lead out great people into the new age of vampires!"
The room erupted in cheers, and John hung his head. He couldn't look up any more, he couldn't bare the look on Brittany's terrified face. He had to save her... Somehow...
"You're wrong Jonah!" John growled. "You lost your rule when your Queen died, that's how it works. You are no true sentinel without her, just a weapon."
With John's head drooped low, he didn't see the fist coming, but he felt it's impact.
"Pathetic worm!" Jonah screamed, "If you are a true sentinel, like the stories say, then strike me down. I'll give you a chance, prove me wrong and KILL ME!"
John was aware that Jonah had no intentions of releasing him. But he had to try regardless. Climbing to his feet, John took a few steps back, before running at a dead sprint and throwing his shoulder forwards as the chain pulled tight. John rolled around in agony for a few moments, listening to the room erupt into jeers and laughter. He could barely make out the sound of Brittany's screams, but he couldn't stop now... His shoulder was dislocated... Pulling his good arm around, John was able to pull his arms to his front now. The room finally fell quiet as everyone watched John stand on the chain and reset his arm. He smiled grimly, at the realisation that even Jonah was staring in shock. Crouching down, John took a deep breath, and punched the stone floor with all his might. he made sure to roll his hand out to put the force onto the smaller bones. The first hit was agony, searing pain tore through him, almost making him black out. The second punch was no better, but the screams coming again from Brittany made his head throb. Climbing to his feet, John turned to face Jonah as he slipped the manacle off his wrist, freeing one arm completely.
John rushed forwards now, watching the shock spread across Jonah's features. John just needed to grab him, once he had Jonah in his arms, he could strangle him with the chain and it would be over. But he underestimated Jonah, as John reached to grab him, Jonah spun away, sweeping John's legs out from under him in the same motion. John fell heavily to the ground at Jonah's feet, only to feel the wind knocked from his lungs as Jonah drove his foot into John's ribs.
"A true sentinel would have struck me down where I stood." Jonah called out, his followers nodding in agreement, "this pathetic creature is not worthy to be King, so his dearly beloved bride is not worthy to be Queen."
John listened to the room erupt in small cheers. Twisting around, he could see Jonah draw a short sword. He could see Brittany's terrified expression, but she wasn't watching Jonah... She was watching him... Watching the man she loved, fail her so spectacularly... And yet love him regardless... Pushing out with all his strength, John heard the sound of shattering glass, and found himself standing above his prone form. Striding towards Jonah, John pushed his corporeal form outside him. A last ditch effort to save the woman he loved.
... Brittany...
She could see John go limp on the floor, his eye's were the worst... She could see all the love he had for her, poured into his defeated stare. The look in his eyes was the only thing she could see any more, as she ignored her impending death approaching. She could only hope that John would be put to death... If there was an afterlife... It would be hell without him...
Then she saw his eyes roll back... She tried to keep the hope from her expression, but she finally turned to face Jonah. She watched his step falter... She watched him grimace... She watched him twist violently. She knew immediately that John was fighting him in his corporeal form. She didn't really understand what is was that John was actually doing, but by Jonah's reaction, he was doing well. Then she watched in fascination as Jonah turned back. Stepping away from her, she wondered if John was really winning this fight. Then she stopped... Jonah wasn't leaving, he was heading for John's prone form. She struggled against her chains as Jonah shuffled closer. She cried out as Jonah's blade rose up... She screamed as she felt John's soul tugging at her own... A last ditch effort never to leave her...
... John...
Soft hands were stroking his cheek, the feeling was so very familiar... But somehow wrong... John snapped awake, not recognising where he was. He was laying on a large bed, in a well lit room with no doors or windows. Beside him was a woman... Naked as he was...
"Who the fuck are you?" John jumped back.
The woman smiled... A sad smile... "That's not important, right now..." She said in a rich Spanish accent.
"Where's Brittany?" John demanded.
"She's still alive... For now..."
John frowned, "what do you mean for now? I have to save her, that bastard-"
"Shhh," the woman interrupted him. "John, I have watched you for a long time now."
John climbed out of the bed, stalking around looking for something to wear. "I don't have time for this, I need to save her!"
"Well that makes my next question a little easier," the woman smiled.
John realised very quickly that he was trapped here with her. There wasn't any obvious way to leave, nor really... Anything... Just the bed, four walls and the woman.
"Please... Just tell me what's going on..." John demanded, sitting down on the bed, facing the woman.
The woman regarded him for a moment, before smiling sadly. "You're dead John, now you have a decision to make."
If it weren't for the circumstances of where he was, John wouldn't have believed her. Be that as it may, "what decision?"
"Well... As a bonded sentinel, you have a spare option. What I am, what you are, are souls. When Jonah stabbed you, your life force leaked out, separating the two. Now you're here, and your body back there. Your options are simple. If you stay here and wait, Brittany will eventually join you and you can move on. If you go back, Brittany's life force will share between the two of you. Jonah always kills the Queen first, so there's never been a sentinel to make this choice until now. All have moved on."
John immediately had his answer, but there was one doubt. "Why haven't you moved on?"
The woman smiled sadly... Wiping a tear from her eye. "I'm still waiting for my sentinel..."
"Esmeralda?" John asked softly.
She couldn't stop her lip quivering. John instinctively leaned towards her, pulling the woman into a hug. He held her as she cried, her grief exacerbated by centuries of loneliness.
"Please John," she said between sobs, "bring my Jonah back to me... When I died I took a piece of his soul with me... I want to give it back... I want his pain to end..."
John felt suddenly cold, the feeling of Esmeralda's lithe frame slipped from his arms. He was dressed again, there was pain radiating from his entire body... But he was alive... As the sound of the room came into focus, the first thing he could hear was the cheering of the vampires. The second thing he could hear was Brittany's terrified sobbing. John forced his arms underneath him. Rolling onto all fours, he listened as the room fell silent again. The only sound was the chains dragging as John slowly climbed to his feet.
Standing tall and proud was agony, but John did it anyway. He had to show Jonah that he was still a threat, to make him back away from Brittany. They made eye contact, Jonah clearly shocked that John was still alive, let alone standing. With a cry, Jonah spun around, storming towards Brittany with murder in his eyes. Brittany however was again staring at John, a faint smile on her lips. A familiar voice filtered through John's psyche...
Only then did John feel that all familiar tickle, despite the fact that he was being watched. Plunging into the plane of time, John couldn't help but be shocked by what he could see. It was almost as if the world had been shrouded under a transparent cloak... And the cloak had now been lifted. All around him there were points of light, floating in the air. Every life form glowed brightly, and with a quick scan of the room, John could see they were surrounded by exactly two-hundred and seventeen vampires. But the one that caught his attention, was the one raising his sword, to plunge it into the heart of the woman he loved. It was that observation, when John spotted a near perfect line of bright points of light, leading from John, to Jonah. Without thinking, John reached out with his injured hand, lightly brushing his fingers across the point of light... John felt white hot lines flow around his body and down his arm, before a bright flash of light leapt from his fingers. The flash followed the points of light perfectly as it made it's way. The moment the flash touched Jonah, a huge rush of energy passed from John's body into his, followed by a huge bang. John felt himself slip back into the normal flow of time. He remained standing long enough to see Jonah's smoking corpse leaning against the far wall... Then everything went dark.
A familiar beeping woke John from his sleep. He felt paralysed on one side, his whole body hurt and he could barely move. Cracking his eye's open, the brightness of everything made him wince...
John pushed the thought away, he wasn't in pain last time he died. Reaching up with the hand that still worked, he could see what appeared to be lichtenberg scars running down his arm ending at his fingers. Only these were glowing slightly with pale blue light. After a few minutes, John realised the room was getting darker again, and it occurred to him that whatever sight he had been using, was now going away.
Turning to look around the room, it was obvious he was in hospital. But as he looked to his side, he couldn't help but smile. He wasn't paralysed, it was just Brittany asleep on his side again. He frowned however, seeing tears rolling down her cheeks, even as she slept. John reached over, gently wiping the fresh tear from her cheek. Smiling as she moaned and shifted slightly, pulling herself closer against him. Now he reached up, gently stroking her hair. It wasn't long before she started shifting around, a faint smile on her lips. John held her gently as she stretched and opened her eyes, blinking a few times to clear sleep... Those gorgeous Emerald eyes finally settled on his.
"I love you," John said softly, leaning in for a kiss.
Brittany just sat, stunned for a moment, feeling the warmth of John's lips press to hers... Then the dam broke. Grasping John as tightly as she dared, she cried into his shoulder as John held her firmly back. It wasn't long before all the noise attracted attention, and the door opened.
Grace closed the door behind her before saying, "you have to be strong Brittany, he'll wake... Up..."
John had barely made eye contact with her when Grace screamed out loud. Slamming her hand on a button mounted to a wall, John could hear an alarm sound. In moments the room was filled with people. This time they simply worked around Brittany, nobody had the balls to ask her to move away, so they just did everything from the side she left free. After numerous tests had been conducted, everyone except Grace simply left.
"It's a good thing you're awake John," Grace smiled, "thanks to you, the prophesy has been completed, and if it's to believe, you and Brittany will usher in a new age for our kind."
John rolled his eyes, "I don't know about that..."
"I do," interrupted Brittany, she sat up slightly, smiling as she wiped the tears from her face. "...I'm pregnant..."
|
19 year old Miranda sat in the chair while her mother stood behind her brushing out her long blondish brown hair. The white dress she wore, settled perfectly around her plump body. Her 36C tits, pressed tightly against the bodice. Her virgin pussy ached for something that it would never have.
See, today is Miranda's birthday, unfortunately it is also the day she is going to die.
Once every 50 years, the dragon that lives around the cliffs above the village where Miranda grew up, demands a virgin sacrifice. She must be an adult and she must come of her own free will.
She is to be taken to the cliffs at sundown, chained to the pole there, gagged then left alone. No man or woman was allowed to see what happened after the sacrifice was left. If any one was found there by the dragon, they would be killed and the village would be destroyed.
It had come down between Miranda and another girl on who would be the sacrifice, when they heard the dragons roar and knew that the time had come once again.
Miranda agreed when she realized the other girl had just turned 18 two days before and was engaged to be married.
Her parents had begged her to reconsider but she had been adamant. Now she sat at her window, while her mother pulled up her hair as she waited for sundown.
Miranda walked silently beside her father as she walked with the men from the village towards the cliffs. "You don't have to do this Miranda." He said quietly as they neared their destination.
She turned to him with a smile, her steel gray eyes sparkling in the suns fading light. "Yes I do daddy. I'm not willing to have the village destroyed and Nick took Victoria's virginity last night." Her father looked at her in surprise. "They told me today. Nick isn't willing to lose the woman he loves just to save the village."
Her father's eyes darkened with anger. "They will be driven from the village for this." He swore with vehemence in his voice.
Miranda touched his cheek. "Perhaps, but it is done. I am the only virgin over 18 left in the village. So I must do this. I would rather give up my life then see the home where I was born and raised destroyed." She kissed him softly then moved towards the pole with the shackles waiting for her.
She turned her back to them then leaned back against the pole and the mountain wall. Her arms rose above her head, her ankles spread apart. A leather gag was placed over her mouth to smother any screams she may make.
She closed her eyes while she felt the cold metal clamp around her wrists and ankles. When she felt the man pull away, she opened them to look into her father's watery eyes. He kissed her on the cheek, and then stepped away.
The men watched her for a minute, and then slowly one by one they all turned away. As far as they were concerned she was already dead. The village would mourn for her and a gravestone would be placed in the cemetery with her name. Her name would never again be spoken; she was no longer in this world. It was as if she had died of natural causes or a disease, she just ceased to exist for them.
Her father was the last to turn away. He gave her a watery smile and told her he loved her. She nodded, and then watched him follow the others back down the hill.
Miranda stood there, bound and gagged while she waited. She watched the sun make its last attempt then slowly lower over the mountains. She looked down over the water as she waited for some sign, then she heard the sounds of powerful wings beating against the sky. She lifted her eyes and gasped.
The dragon was at least 30 feet long from the tip of his head to the end of his tail. Green scales covered his body; his mouth was open showing razor sharp teeth, as smoke furled from its nose. Sharp claws came out of its body as it landed lightly before her.
She watched in fear, as its green eyes moved over her body. She closed her eyes when she felt smoke flow over her. When she opened them again, she gasped against the gag. He had turned her dress to ash. She stood naked before him.
She flinched as a long scale with a sharp claw attached touched her stomach then lowered to between her spread legs. "My name is Xavier." The dragon said as he touched the top of her pussy. "If you please me, I will let you live. If you do not, I will kill you. Do you understand?"
Miranda tried to speak through the gag but all that came out was a low moan. Since that didn't work, she nodded vigorously. She had figured on being his dinner, but if she had a chance to live, she was going to take it, whatever it entailed.
Xavier lifted his eyes back to hers even as he lowered his scaled claw down between her legs. He spread her pussy lips open then lightly touched her clit with a sharp claw.
Miranda gasped when he first touched her, and then moaned as it moved around her clit, stimulating it. Her eyes darkened with passion as he turned her body on. She had played with herself many times over the past year, but her fingers didn't feel near as good as his claw did.
She watched as he lowered his huge head. She cringed at first but when all he did was stick out a long tongue, she relaxed.
She watched his tongue as it moved between her legs, sliding into her virgin hole. "Mmmmm..." She moaned against her gag as he slowly tonguefucked her.
Xavier kept his claw moving over her clit as he slowly slid his tongue in and out of her virgin body. When his tongue brushed against her barrier, he moaned low in his throat. He kept expecting the villagers to send a maiden that wasn't pure to him but so far they had actually done as he demanded.
Miranda was moaning around the gag as he pleasured her with his muzzle. When she felt his other claw, wrap around her breast, she gasped again but all he did was caress it.
Xavier lifted his eyes to hers, watching as he slid his tongue deep inside her and pushed her closer to release. Her body was moving against his snout and claws, as cries escaped her lips through the gag. He felt his cock rising out of his sheath and smiled.
He slid his tongue faster and deeper inside her and heard her cry out against the gag as she pressed her body hard against him. He could hear the shackles clinging against the metal as she humped against his tongue.
"Mmmmmmmph, mmmmmmm, Agh, ugh..." Miranda moaned against her gag as she was pushed quickly towards orgasm. She felt him lift her body a bit as he slammed his tongue deep inside her and screamed against the gag as her body suddenly stiffened in release.
Xavier kept tonguing her through her orgasm until she hung limply against the chains binding her. He finally pulled out of her body and smiled at her. "You will do. Let's see how well you pass the second test."
Miranda lifted tired eyes to his wondering what the second task could be. She found out quickly when she felt the shackles around her wrists and ankles give way. She dropped to her knees exhausted then gasped as she saw his huge cock rising in front of her face.
It had to be at least 12-15 inches long and at least 3 or 4 inches in diameter. She tore the gag from her mouth and looked up at him. "What am I supposed to do with that?"
Xavier grinned as he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her towards him. "You are going to take me in your mouth my dear."
"I..." Miranda's protest was cut off as he suddenly shoved his cock deep into her mouth. She managed to somehow get about 4 or 5 inches of him inside her but that was it.
He seemed satisfied though because he gripped her head and started pulling her back and forth over him. "Suck me little virgin." he purred as he pulled her down over his hard shaft.
Miranda had never seen a real cock let alone had one in her mouth before and didn't have the slightest idea how to suck on one. Especially not one as big as his. She slowly moved her tongue over him and heard him purr in pleasure.
He seemed to like that so she did it again while she let him move her head back and forth over him. When his claws stopped moving, she got the idea and started bobbing her head up and down over his hard shaft while she worked her tongue all over him.
"Yes, that is it; oh you are good at this. Is this your first time?" He asked lowering his eyes to hers.
She lifted her eyes up to his over his body as she nodded her head. "That is good, now suck me good girl." He shoved his hips forward and she almost gagged as he tried to slide into her throat. She lifted tear filled eyes to his and he smiled his dragon smile.
"Swallow my sweet." He shoved his hips forward once again.
Miranda didn't understand why he wanted her to swallow. When he slammed forward again, she did as he asked and looked at him wide eyed as at least 2 or 3 inches of him slid into her throat. She breathed heavily through her nose as she tried to figure out what to do next.
Xavier however wasn't complaining. She had a tight throat that was caressing him. "Yes, that feels good." he pulled out letting her breath quickly before he slammed into her throat again. By the third time he did this, she got the idea and was able to take him on her own.
Smoke started unfurling quickly out of Xavier's nostril's as he forcefully fucked her face. "Oh fuck, yes, so good." he cried pumping hard with his hips as she sucked on him. She grabbed the base of his cock and began to stroke it.
"Yes, oh yes, take It." he purred as he fucked her face faster. Suddenly he pulled forcefully out of her mouth. Miranda was surprised until she watched a huge load of white stuff come shooting out of the head of his cock and hit her in the face.
She pulled her face away as he shot again and his cum landed on her chest and stomach. By the time he finished cumming, her body was coated.
Xavier was breathing hard as he dropped to all fours and his cock slithered back into his sheath. "I knew you would never be able to swallow it all." he said to her confused look. "I didn't want you to drown in my cum before I have a chance to have you."
Miranda had been wiping up his cum with her fingers and putting it in her mouth when he said this. At his words, she looked at him in surprise. "Have me?"
Xavier smiled as he lifted a claw and rubbed some of his cum into her hair. "Did you believe that was all there was to it? Did you expect me to kill you or eat you now?"
She looked at him curiously. "Well, yea. I mean I never expected what happened. I assumed I was going to die today."
When Xavier laughed, it came out as a loud roar and the cliff shook with the power of it. Miranda wrapped her arms around her body in fear as she watched him.
"Oh my dear, you humans are so silly at times." He lowered his muzzle down until it was nearly in front of her face. "I don't want a virgin sacrifice for a meal my dear."
Looking at him curiously, she placed a hand on his stomach. "Why then?"
He leaned closer as if divulging a great secret. "I am the last of my kind. At least I have never seen any. Even dragons have needs."
Miranda may have been ignorant about men but she wasn't stupid. She smiled as she pulled herself to her feet then wrapped her arms around his body as she lifted her eyes to his. "You don't want a meal, you want a lover."
He nodded, "But why the virgin? Why threaten the village?"
He moved slowly away from her and sat back on his paws. "Do you think they would willingly give me a lover? I prefer to be the first to sample the goods of my lover. Do you really think they are willing to hand over a virgin for me to take to my bed?" he laughed again although the cliff didn't shake this time.
"Oh no my dear, the first woman I took from them lasted three days before she died of fright. She was rigid and cold under me. Her heart finally gave out the minute I moved my snout towards her.
After that, they were more willing, but you are the most willing of the women I have been with. That is why I demand that she come willingly, if she does not, there isn't much point."
Miranda watched him as she thought about what he had said. She had heard the legend growing up but now it made sense. "Every 50 years, you come down to the cliffs and demand a virgin sacrifice. She must be over 18 and come of her own free will." She tilted her head to the side. "Why every 50 years?"
He actually smiled at this. "Human's don't live as long as dragons do my sweet." He held a paw out to her; she noticed that the claw had been retracted. "Most of the girls I get are usually in their early to mid 20's. I don't understand why humans would wait so long but since it takes care of my needs, it really doesn't matter. Usually after 50 years, she is too old to please me anymore. I settle her in a cave and let her die in peace."
She took his paw and gasped as he pulled her against him. "I guess that makes sense." She looked up at him. "So what happens now?"
He smiled as he lowered his muzzle once again towards her face. She watched him, then closed her eyes as she felt his tongue slither against her closed lips. She wrapped her arms around his body, and then slowly opened her lips.
Xavier didn't try to strangle her with the kiss. He let his tongue duel lightly with her own as he lowered his paw back between her legs.
This time he didn't slide his tongue inside her but one of his claws. He was careful not to cut her and moaned as he felt her hump against him.
He fingered her for a minute or so while he kissed her then slowly pulled away. "Now we go home my sweet and I make you mine. Turn away from me."
She smiled at him seductively then turned so her back was to him.
He wrapped one arm around her and lifted her body against his powerful one even as his wings pushed out. He kicked off from the ground, gliding into the night sky.
He was in flight, with her pressed intimately against him, when he snaked his long cock into her virgin snatch.
She screamed out in pain as he penetrated her, but before long she was moaning like crazy as he slid his cock in and out of her with long, slow thrusts. His claws were wrapped around her body, holding her close to him as he fucked her while they flew to his home.
Xavier's hips pushed forward and back as he slithered deep inside her tight hole, his eyes closed even as he flew over the mountain to his cave.
When they landed, he released her body and Miranda dropped to her hands and knees as she pushed herself back against him, feeling him slide deeper into her body. "Oh...It feels so good." She moaned as he slowly thrust into her.
Xavier lifted his upper body, watching as he penetrated her with his large cock. He moaned around his snout, sending smoke through his nose as her body caressed him. "You are very good. I think I will keep you." He groaned as he thrust into her harder and faster driving deeper with each penetration.
"Fuck me...Oh fuck me." Miranda cried as she felt her orgasm rising in her body. Her body was shaking with her thrusts against the dragon who was buried deep inside her. "It feels so good. Please make me cum." She begged.
Xavier licked at her back with his tongue as he wrapped one claw tightly around her body, pulling her more intimately against him as he continued to slide into her. "Ohhhhhh...Oh yes..." Miranda mewled when he ran his claw over her clit again. "I'm gonna cum." She screamed suddenly as her body convulsed.
Xavier felt her body clench around him. He closed his eyes relishing the feeling of her tightening around him but didn't stop his thrusts into her body. He just fucked her faster and harder while she screamed out in pleasure.
He lowered his snout down over her back until he could reach her breast with his tongue. He wrapped it around her breast and felt her shiver. "Oh yes...I love this. Don't stop." She cried as she pushed herself back against him ferociously.
Xavier was surprised at how hard she was fucking him back. Most of his sacrifices were leery about having a dragon fuck them, but this one was welcoming him deeply into her body. She was begging him to fuck her.
He wondered if what he had told her had any impact on how she was reacting or if it was just that she was as hot as he was. Her juices were coating his shaft and he had a hard time not just letting go.
He held her close as he rammed his cock in and out of her pussy while she begged for more. He pushed her into 3 more orgasms before he let himself find his own release deep inside her body.
After it was over, he covered her sleeping body with a blanket, and then lay down beside her with his wings tucked close to his body. He wouldn't need another sacrifice for a long time. She was younger then the others. He knew that she was an adult but he had overheard the villagers saying that she was only 19. It would be many years before she was too old to satisfy him anymore.
As he rested a claw across her stomach, he knew that he would spend the next 50 years in sexual bliss with his virgin sacrifice.
The End
|
(unless you like that sort of thing ;)
________________________________________________
The Donna is lean, sharp maybe, but not worn out as many older women can be. The lines at the corners of her eyes, the corners of her mouth seem as though they were always part of her.
The smooth lines of her tear drop breasts are the only soft part of her body. Ramona nuzzles against them now, looking up into her lady's face as she suckles.
The ache in Ramona's belly has dulled to a painless but still noticeable hollow sensation. The Donna's tail helps her remain lucid, and the milky semen oozing from those soft tits tames the hunger.
The girl's own firm little tits are at the mercy of her Donna. The lady caresses them lightly, teasing the pebbled little pink teats. When Ramona's concentration fails, and her lust pushes forth the deadly fangs that throb in her gums, the fingers become talons until she regains control. Her beautiful breasts are riddled with pin prick holes and scratches from the last few hours of lessons.
"This trick is called 'the devil's tongue'," the Donna says, "it is the first and most important lesson. If you bite and suckle you will draw directly from the soul of your prey. You would murder them in minutes my dear. If you want to play without heartbreak, you must learn control."
A firm hand in Ramona's hair eases her away from the breast.
"Please, Donna," she begs breathlessly, "I've done my very best..."
"That's so much better than before but it's still too early to give you any freedom at all, Piccola. Trust your Donna."
"Why is this happening to me?" Ramona whimpers as the lethal tail inside her burrows and fidgets against the walls of her soaking cunt.
"You've done nothing wrong." the Donna says firmly. "You mustn't ever worry that you could have somehow prevented this, my hungry little darling."
The sharp tail gently withdraws and the wave of lust briefly steals Ramona's breath. Her heart sinks as she feels her teeth extend but this time her tits are spared punishment.
"You see? There you are, worried that I will punish you. That needs to change. None of this is a punishment. You need to be in absolute control of your body, little one."
Her wings really hurt. It's much more noticeable now that she is empty. She means to beg and plead for mercy, beg to at least be unshackled, but her tongue swells into a strange shape and the teeth, god! They feel enormous, monstrous. She sounds like an animal.
The Donna's eyes narrow, her pupils become vertical slits and the white darkens. Cold, predatory, like a demon lizard.
"Use your tail and calm yourself, must I repeat every lesson unto tedious infinity?"
Tears spill down Ramona's cheeks as she slips her own soft tail into her cunt. The shame of fucking herself makes her skin crawl.
"Stupid girl." The Donna's own tail curls around Ramona's weaker appendage and snatches it out of her cunt. Immediately, the sinuous helix of both tails thrusts up into her unprepared arse.
The teeth immediately retract into her gums and Ramona squeals and writhes. The metal cuffs cut into her wrists and ankles but the hogtie holds.
There is a sadistic smirk on the Donna's face as she buggers Ramona thoroughly into submission.
"Never speak to me with your teeth out like that again. Are you challenging me?"
"Oh no, it's too big, Nonna! Please!"
"What have I told you?" Anger and irritation colour those words and Ramona quakes in fear. After a final merciless thrust he Donna pulls out leaving the abused ring loose around Ramona's smaller tail.
"I didn't mean it, I was afraid..."
"I am not your Nonna. That feeble creature never existed, it is a disguise that suits our purpose, nothing more."
"Please, Donna, my wings hurt so much... my... my... oh..." she snivels, "it won't close. It's ruined."
"That's better. A little humility goes a long way." The rough tail with its wicked barbed end burrows back into Ramona's cunt and the poor girl gasps. "We fuck, Piccola Ramona. That is what these bodies of ours are made for. Fucking can never hurt you, little one. All our sweet lessons are to help you fuck whoever you like, whenever you like until the stars burn out. On this wretched earth, in the seven heavens, in every hell below."
"I'm tired of fucking, Donna Valentino. I need to rest." Ramona says miserably. Even as she shafts her own arse with her sensitive tail she knows that's not true.
"You have been fed enough for now, cara mia, and I grow tired of your ingratitude. We shall move on to another lesson."
"As though I have any choice."
"Stimulating your holes to keep the beast at bay is a nice easy way to maintain control. But the very best way is to come to terms with your beast. Know and accept that it is not some creature to control, but that it is intrinsic to yourself. And that self awareness, together with acceptance is the key to true self control. Deep down, you know why this is necessary."
"How can you say that?" Ramona says bitterly. "All my life my parents kept me pure, now you're defiling me, torturing me, how dare you say this is for a reason you monster!" Of course lying to herself has always been second nature to the girl. Lying to the Donna, mistress of this true form, hurts somehow. She feels it acutely now; her parents kept from getting close to others because they knew. They must have known innocent Ramona was really a demonic hungry cunt.
"Self inflicted pain can also help if you have no opportunity to penetrate yourself." The Donna smiles broadly. "Why, I do believe you've got it, Piccola. You anger, yes? And yet you remain in control."
"You don't have to treat me like this! I will learn, I will listen, if you explain..."
"You're right, of course. There are many ways to educate a newly awakened hungry girl." The Donna's eyes become more human, wistful even. "Traditional teachers stalk their students. They wait until the young ones succumb to lust, then they help the Piccola come to terms with her nature, help her hide the bodies and flee the authorities. Perhaps even bind the student's soul to enforce self control."
Ramona is so uncomfortable, it's difficult to allow herself to take in the Donna's words. Could it be worse, the girl baulks? What if...
"Donna Valentino, I would have killed Salvatore, wouldn't I?"
"Now now little one. That could still happen, so I make no promises. Not all girls would have the sense to take my lessons to heart. And you may yet be swayed by the arguments of others. Those who believe men are fit only for meat." The Donna strokes Ramona's hair gently off her face. "I doubt that though. You're a good girl, aren't you cara mia?"
She doesn't feel like a good girl. Already a hunger niggles, and now she knows what it is, everything else that ever seemed important is not.
"I wanted him to be my first." Ramona says miserably. "He wouldn't want me now, he's a good boy. My body is inhuman and you've whored me to a hundred men."
"He needs you, sweetest, your whole self, whore included. Our bloodlines and our fates are entwined."
With that, the thick tail inside Ramona's poor cunt begins to move with more purpose and her little clitoris, a scrap of flesh she has tried to ignore for years is relentlessly petted and stroked. Her little tits jiggle in circles as Ramona's body lurches back and forth at the Donna's whim.
"Fucking my hungry little darling is the least I can do to ease her suffering." The wicked lady croons.
"Ow, my wiiings!" Ramona wails as their folds are ragged and crushed between her ravished body and the Donna's thighs. Her hands hurt, her thighs burn, but her wings are as sensitive as her tits.
"You must get used to that suffering pet. I cannot resist, you weep so beautifully."
Ramona grunts and sobs as her body shudders, claimed once again by her cruel mistress. The hand leaves her sensitive clit but the tail keeps idly fucking her during and after the climax and Ramona suffers, staring up at the Donna's face, wordlessly begging for reprieve.
"This place has been my home for many centuries, I do more than just survive here, I have crafted a dynasty. It is built on absolute authority. Obedient servants that know their place, horny nobles that lust for power, and commoners that keep their mouths shut and their legs open. In return, they live a peaceful and prosperous existence and I am somewhat satisfied. But nothing beats this, Piccola mia."
At last Ramona is shoved onto the soft carpet belly down and the relief as her poor wing buds unfold a little almost makes her come again.
"Oh thank you..." she whimpers, "Ah!" A talloned first closes tight around both buds, lifting her up just enough that her tits dangle free. Then the Donna drags her along on her knees over to the french doors and out onto the patio.
"We will make sure your wings will never carry you away from me." The Donna says with a gently mocking tone.
Casa Valentino clings to the side of a mountain. The patio ends with a wide stone guard rail about waist height. Beyond it is a panoramic view of the bay spread out far beneath. Ramona is placed over that stone balcony, still hogtied, tits dangling over a two hundred foot drop. She stares up at the horizon and the blue sky, not daring to look down as her bonds are adjusted. Now bound wrist to ankle only, she is bent over, her arse more easily open to abuse. If she struggles with the added freedom of movement she may well fall.
"I'm so afraid," she whispers.
"I know darling, it gives you the rarest scent. Put your tail in my cunt, do not move or thrust. Just enjoy the view. And do your very best to stay close to your human form, it will hurt less that way."
The Donna's tail settles into Ramona's cunt in turn. The girl winces as her ravished nether flesh is parted, but it is a gentle insertion.
"Those people down there are mine, but most of them don't know it. They have not the smallest superstition of who keeps them safe. All that come in your body, that's the source of our power, but very few human males can really set their seed in us. You are rare indeed my darling."
Ramona sighs as her tiny wings are smoothed out unbound, hands lightly brushing across them.
"You will bear Salvatore's children until you produce a male, then you will serve me until I tire of you. But I will never tire of this. I've waited thirteen generations for you, blood of my blood. Soft sexy little fuck pet, fertile ground for the Grimaldi to plant their strongest seed. I would like to bugger you again little lamb, if it pleases you. Now your legs are open, would you like me to stretch out your little hole properly?"
It had felt so intense before, so out of control. The Donna will take all, whether Ramona assents or not.
"T... together please," Ramona says meekly. She curls her lusty tail around the Donna's in submission. "Can you please be gentle with your hands?"
"Unfortunately that would defeat the object, Ramona dear. I must destroy your wings for good."
Ramona stares open mouthed, imagining the terrifying reality of such a fate. Forever maimed and helpless, she will truly be a cur, a mere neutered pet to the Donna. The young demon's budding desire for her mistress could never survive such a betrayal.
"And if I beg you not too?"
"Go ahead. It is unbelievably sexy to hear you beg."
"Your hands feel so good on them, just like my tits, and I'm yours Donna Valentino, my wings are yours, I swear I won't run or fight, please give me a chance, I swear I won't."
"They are mine, aren't they." The Donna frets. "And as beautiful as the rest of you, but I cannot allow you freedom to fly."
Ramona tries to calm her panicked thoughts. "Fold them away and tie them up instead? I swear I'll never complain."
"But they will grow bigger, Piccola, you won't be able to hide them away. You want to pass as human sometime soon, don't you?"
In that surreal pause, birds are singing, the sound of cars carries from the road below.
"But... but I don't." Ramona says, surprising herself. "There are things I hate about what you've done to me, but you love my body. Why break your long awaited lover just to please other people?"
"Quite so. But if I please myself? Before you were born, I always imagined you would be a high society girl, harvesting come from powerful men for me. These are in the way." A wistful taloned hand strokes the skin on Ramona's back between the buds. "And they would taste so good."
"That's not how I want to feed you." Ramona says timidly. "I want to do what we did yesterday. With all those commoners. You can tie me up on my back, easily hide my wings beneath while they use me. Please my Donna? Only you can love all of me. Salvatore would only ever love the lie. Do my desires mean nothing? Have you waited all this time just for another slave?"
The Donna doesn't answer in words. The coiled length of the two tails begins to open Ramona's slick rim, sharp tip folded skilfully away, so that only the sliding pleasure of flesh on flesh remains. It is a measured ascent, deep into the core of her.
Hands rest on her shoulders to balance the thrust, and Ramona feels the girth at her anus expand as the length impales her, curling around her soft anatomy within, bulging her belly against the stone beneath. The Donna uses one hand to release the bonds and Ramona gasps as her knees unbend for the first time in days. Her legs cannot support her as the Donna pulls her upright, her weight sinks the tails deeper still, her arse split wider than her cunt has ever been. An eager tongue, rough like a cat's, laves the much abused wing buds on Ramona's back and the girl keens softly as she comes.
"Oh Donna!" she cries, reaching her hands back at last to grasp the woman's hips. "You're killing me, please! Please! Fuck meee!"
Sweet surrender has the girl's body loose as rubber, bent over the stone and buggered slow and hard, limbs flailing and jerking in time as her song of approval carries over the bay below.
The caress on her back and down her wings is heaven, the cruel lover laying over her writhing in lust possesses her entirely, hands all over her skin.
Only time will tell, but for now, the buds are spared. Donna Valentino gives the wings her finest attention, stroking them like a pair of cocks, splaying them out and kneading them into her back, kissing and mauling them for her own sadistic pleasure at will, all while buggering the girl to climax after climax.
Ramona's ass still gapes after her ravishment. Her arms are bound behind her, wrist to wrist elbow to elbow, and the Donna allows her to limp unsteadily back inside.
|
For the past couple hours Leonardo has done the impossible by keeping his mouth shut around his family. He stays silent like the dead as they anxiously wait for any update on Casey from where they've gathered in the lab; their eyes glued to the screen displaying his current location. It's killing him inside to not share what he knows to quell their concern, and it's gotta be killing Donnie too for how he continuously collects data on April's movements closing in on the flower shop. Leo would've kept his secret to himself, but his twin's genius brain he previously praised had come back to bite him in the shell -- not like it was hard putting two and two together.
At the time neither of them knew where Casey had gone, but the unbearable agony in Leon's heart and soul knew what the kid thought he heard. In a flash the leader in blue had launched himself off the bed, lunged for the door before his twin caught him, before his weak legs could give out beneath him. Donnie just said they needed to talk and Leo had every intention to have that conversation right then and there -- he had to make sure Casey understood he didn't hate him, he did the best he could, none of this was his fault, he had to --, but his brother refused to let him leave.
Despite how weak Leo still was, Donnie had found that he’d had to apply a concerning amount of strength to keep him from leaving the medbay. “Leon, stop.” The way his voice had cracked as he’d held Leo back - Donnie hated it. The whole thing reminded him far too much of having to restrain his twin from going for Casey’s throat after they’d escaped with the key, and Leo had accused Casey of knowing Raph’s fate but refusing to tell him. He gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms around Leo’s upper plastron, trying to dig in his heels to prevent them both from moving. “You can’t go out there. You’re still injured.” He could feel Leo still straining in his arms, weakly trying to push him off, and Donnie held on as tightly as he dared. “If you go up there alone and your body gives out, I - ”
He trailed off with a little choke of emotion in his throat. “I don’t want to have to see you like that.”
Leon's desperation was snuffed out by his twin's, Donatello's rare emotional outburst having vanquished the fight left in him as his body gave out in his brother's arms.
"I have to fix this. I need to fix this." Leo had hoarsely whispered, his voice pained in equal amounts to his weeping heart and body screaming in silent agony. "He thinks I hate him, Donnie."
Donnie had just continued to hold his brother up, especially now that Leo no longer had the strength to support his own body. It was all the more evidence that he was right; Leo could not go out there alone. Not just from the injury perspective - though that was a large part of it - but there were still so many people above ground that they didn’t know if they could trust. The last thing he needed was someone seeing Leo and trying to call someone to take him away. Leo couldn’t escape right now if something like that happened.
“...I can take you to my lab,” he’d finally said slowly. “I need to go there to look at where the tracker is anyway, and I can keep an eye on you there.” That was his line in the sand, the compromise he’d offered. Leon accepted it and without a word they left the medbay, their family soon filing into the lab once word got around and Cass demanded they take action while taking matters into her own hands.
Literally, as in around Donnie's neck before Raph had pulled her back and April filled them all in on why the kid had gone to a random flower shop of all places. Out of respect for Casey's privacy they decided to wait it out, trusting that he would (hopefully) return of his own free volition.
That had been two hours ago and, well, then they'd really started to worry if maybe Casey wasn't okay after all. Which brings them to now: Donnie in his chair, observing the screen and watching the trackers move; Raph, behind Donnie’s chair and gripping it with all of the nervous energy he can’t let out any other way; Mikey, sitting cross legged on the floor; Leo, seated in a beanbag chair and kept company by Mikey right next to him; and Splinter, standing back but close enough that all of his sons know that he’s there.
After what feels like hours, Donnie sees two trackers moving away from the flower shop and breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. (He’d feel better if he saw a third, but Cassandra unfortunately has yet to receive one of his trackers. The last time he’d tried to get one on her, she’d bitten him. He’s still not 100% convinced she didn’t have rabies.) It looks like, after a long time of simple and minute movements within the shop, Casey is ready to come back.
“He’s on his way back,” he says to the others gathered.
Raph finally relaxes his grip on the back of Donnie’s chair, heedless of the dents that he’s left from how tightly he’d been digging his fingers into it. “He’s okay,” he sighs, his shoulders dropping the tension he’s been holding for the last hour or so. Can’t ever turn off the mother hen, and it was only April and Cass promising they’d go fetch Casey that kept him here.
Unclear on ‘okay’, Donnie thinks but doesn’t say aloud. If Casey ran off for the reason that he thinks - for the reason Leo thinks - then they’re pretty far removed from okay right now. But that’s something to be dealt with when Casey is home.
"I hope so." Michelangelo whispers softly from where he sits cross-legged on the floor next to Leonardo, his big brother sitting on the beanbag chair he had offered to Mikey but had politely refused. He wanted Leon comfortable as could be not just because of his injuries, but because he looked genuinely distraught. They all were once Donnie texted April back that Casey had left unannounced, but this feels...different.
Leon's never this quiet.
Ever.
It worries Angelo as much as what could've caused Casey to run away from home -- if that's what the teenager torn from the post-apocalyptic future even considers it as.
"It's not like we're holding Casey captive -- er, besides the one time before we knew who he was, but he's free to see the world and do whatever he wants now. I know he can take care of himself, it's just. Casey didn't even say goodbye."
Splinter places a gentle paw on Michelangelo’s shell. “He is able to take care of himself,” he agrees, “but it does seem unusual that he would leave without so much as a word. To any of us.”
Angelo bites his bottom lip hard.
"Why would he leave?" The youngest turtle hates how close he sounds to crying. "Does he think we hate him?"
No sooner do those words leave his baby brother's mouth does Leonardo leap into action to throw his arms around him.
"NO!" The volume in his voice surprises even himself as it echoes in the silence that's fallen. He swallows hard over the sudden eyes on his person, their attention always like a boon yet in this moment feels like a bane eating him alive from the inside.
Leo’s shout makes Donnie jump and he turns back in a rush. He finds Leo hugging Mikey tight against him, and he knows what Leo is thinking. He knows that his twin is blaming himself, and that a part of him is dying to explain - to take that heartbreak out of Mikey’s voice - but that Leo can’t bring himself to do it.
"No." Leo says again, quieter but no less firm as he hugs Miguel close, the guilt unbearable that his big ol' heart thinks for a second that Casey thinks he hates him. That any of them could've done something to make the traumatized kid believe he wasn't welcome in their loving home. "No, he doesn't think you hate him. Not any of you. How could he?"
"I don't know." The untold hurt in Mikey's wobbly voice breaks him as he returns the hug. "We've tried so hard to be Casey's ohana, Leon. I...I thought we were finally starting to get through."
Donnie’s teeth clench and he swallows. He’s not going to tell anyone what Leo is thinking, but the longer everyone just sits there and waits, the harder it will be for Leo not to pop. “For now,” he says, “we need to make sure Casey is okay. You lot will have to clear out, because I’m taking him and you - ” He turns back to point firmly at Leo. “ - to medbay. You’ve been away too long, Leon, and I need to make sure that Casey hasn’t picked anything up during this little excursion.”
What he really needs is to give his twin a chance to talk to Casey, but he can’t let the others know.
Leo sees the chance Donnie is subtly throwing his way and nods, secretly grateful. Despite his constant dry sarcasm and feigned disinterest over their family activities and shenanigans in general, Donatello is a damn good brother always looking out for them even if he pretends otherwise.
"Don't worry your big heart, little hermano. You just leave everything to Neon Leon, yeah?" Leonardo murmurs while pulling back enough to look his youngest sibling in the face. Mikey's eyes shine with unshed tears, yet are oh so very trusting towards his older brother he'd do anything for. "You didn't give up on me, and I won't give up on Casey. I'll make things right, you'll see."
Angelo sniffles while nodding and Leo affectionately pats the top of his head.
Raph watches Leo and Mikey, and he softens at just how Leo cares for his brother. He can’t think of a single thing that the youngest could’ve done to make Casey think he was unwanted, but Leo - Leo always knows how to say just the right thing to draw Mike back.
That outburst makes him wonder if there’s more to the story that he doesn’t know, but the thought is forgotten when Donnie stands and begins urging him towards the door.
“Alright, I am taking Leo back to medbay, and the rest of you are going to go be elsewhere until Casey gets back and I’ve had a chance to look him over,” Dee says. “I cannot trust a single one of you in here by yourselves, so out, please.”
“Aight, aight,” Raph says, lifting his hands and finding himself unable to stop an incredulous little laugh from barking out as he feels Donnie’s feet scrabble against the floor from trying so hard to push him out of the lab. “We’re going, Dee. Mike, c’mon.”
He offers a hand to the box turtle, knowing he has time to do so because Donnie certainly isn’t moving him any kind of fast.
Taking one last glance over at the screen to reaffirm April, Casey, and presumably Cassandra are on their way back, Angelo then takes the large hand his big brother offers him. He goes a step further by using it to help hoist himself atop Raphie's shoulders and onto his favorite perch. Not that Mikey wants to make things harder for Dee's noodle arms, just that he needs the comfort.
(He has a feeling Raphael could use some too.)
With Mikey on his shoulders, Raph finally takes pity on Donnie and leaves the lab, casting one last quick glance back to his brothers before leaving and letting the door close behind him.
Splinter does not yet turn to leave, instead taking a step closer and placing a hand on Leonardo’s shell. “My son…” he begins softly. He does not know the circumstances that led to Casey running out on them - but he suspects that Leonardo, at least, does. Donatello may know as well, though that is much harder to prove. “Whatever has happened…I know that it will be made right.”
Leo meets his father's eyes over the paw on his shell and can't help the way his bottom lip trembles. He's always hated disappointing their dad, is fully aware Leonardo is his least favorite although Pops has never said so himself. It's true their father wasn't exactly present in their early childhood (while inexcusable, Leo has somewhat matured enough to understand), but his insomniac disaster of an offspring didn't exactly make his life any easier, either while echoing those exact same words. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, Leon wonders if he's still at the bottom of his list in spite of everything.
Like always it doesn't take all that much to convince himself.
How could Splinter feel pride over his son's accomplishments when it had come at the cost of immeasurable grief believing his second eldest to be dead -- the loss of a child so inexplicably painful that no parent should ever have to experience it.
It wasn't just his Blue he almost lost that day.
April, Mikey, Donnie, Raph, even their newest member hailing from a future where they failed -- all of them nearly died. Leonardo was just the one who got closest to a heavenly family reunion with Gram Gram and the rest of their deceased Clan until his brothers grabbed him before he could slip into his angel attire.
Ha. Yeah, right. More like they yanked him straight out from the deepest depths of hell in every sense of the word.
Swallowing down the residual fear he's yet to shake, Leon places a hand atop his father's.
"'Course I will, Dad." He forces out much like the smile he definitely does not feel. "That's what we leaders do."
Splinter’s brow creases with worry at how Leo tries to smile up at him. He knows his son, and that smile isn’t reaching his eyes. His talk of what leaders do sounds like the right thing - should be the right thing. But something about it isn’t sitting right with him - something that he can’t identify simmering beneath the surface.He lets Leonardo’s hand linger on his own for a long moment before nodding silently and slowly pulling his hand away. He nods, then turns and walks out of the lab.
Like many times throughout his young life, Leon watches their father turn his back before departing, his gaze lingering well after he's gone. Just like then his absence hurts.
Donnie waits a moment for the door to shut and then sighs. “He knows something’s up, Leon.” He darts his tongue out briefly as he thinks before turning back to his twin. “I’m going to go ahead to the medbay, but I think the two of you should talk before you join me. Just…call me if you have trouble getting there. Okay?”
That obvious, huh? Leo shouldn't be all that surprised his twin's got a read on his inner torment. Despite his 'emotionally unavailable bad boy' facade, Donatello is a lot more empathetic than Leon thinks he gives himself credit for.
Although it's a struggle to free himself from the beanbag chair he's sunk down into, the red slider can't help a small soft smile over how lucky he is to have a brother like him.
"I gotta be honest, Doctor Dee. Lately you've been sounding an awful lot like our good pal Dr. Feelings." Leo teases, that smile shifting into a playful smirk. "Don't think I haven't noticed you building up that resumé, not that I can blame a guy. S'not every day you get to treat a star patient like moi."
This should sound like one of Leon’s jokes. It almost does, but Donnie can hear the things behind it that Leo’s not saying. Donnie pushes down the guilt he feels about jabbing at him, telling Leo that he’s a terrible patient. …it’s true, but he didn’t have to say it with everything else going on, everything that Leo’s struggling with and hiding from them.
He grunts as he puts his computer screens to sleep. “Scoff. You’re implying that I would relish taking the job of emotional support from Mikey, or team medic from you. I - and I cannot emphasize this enough - ” Donnie turns and makes a sharp little movement with his hands, briefly chopping down through the air. “ - do not want either of those. Mikey is good at what he does. And you are good at what you do.” He looks away as he heads for the door now, then pauses in the doorway and glances back at Leo. “I’ll feel a lot better once it’s back in your hands.”
And with that, he’s reached the quota of softness he can give without tainting his ‘emotionally unavailable bad boy’ persona, and Donnie exits the lab before Leo can try and stop him.
The red slider doesn't need to rely on their totally legit twin telepathy to explain the softshell's sudden turnaround as he swiftly makes his escape. In all fairness he wouldn't have been able to stop him since his heart's softness quota has also just about reached its limit over Dee's rare praise. Leo knows he's good at what he does -- not out of arrogance, but out of the boundless compassion he holds towards his family. If ever his leadership on the battlefield falters, he can still be there for them, medical supplies at the ready to do all in his power to take away their pain and make his family smile and laugh over his bedside manner.
Not being able to do so this time around has hurt more than the pain in his plastron. Donnie isn't the only one who'll feel a lot better once Leonardo's back doing what he does best.
With a fond expression overtaking his visage, Leo smiles even though there's no one around to see in the lab where Donatello is damn good at what he does.
"I'll see you there." He whispers quietly whether or not Dee is listening in before taking his leave at last.
Splinter sits alone in the projector room, fingers twined and resting against his chin as he stares at the blank screen. He still can’t shake the feeling of concern he has from listening to Leonardo back in the lab - his son clearly knows something about this situation that the others do not, but he continues to shut them out and refuse to talk about it.
How can I even attempt to be a decent father if he cannot come to me with his fears?
He sighs and closes his eyes. All he can do is trust that his Baby Blue will eventually find it within himself to open up to him, to trust him with whatever weighs so heavily on his mind.
Deciding to give Donnie some credit, Leonardo follows his twin's advice that's provided him with the motivational push needed to sit down and have an honest conversation with their father. The screen in the projector room is blank; the unusual silence disquieting. He'd think the place void of life were it not evident Splinter sits in his chair as if waiting for his son to come find him. Leo can't decide if what he's feeling is reassurance or dread, but enters regardless.
It crosses his mind then that the two of them haven't had the chance to really talk since...since before the invasion. Before Blue broke his father's heart by shutting off comms so he wouldn't have to listen to his son die.
"H-Hey, Dad." He waves awkwardly like some friendly ghost. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting long."
Splinter turns at the sound of his son’s voice. He had heard Leonardo coming - what sort of ninja would he be if he could not? - but he stayed facing away until he was addressed. That’s the least he can do to respect his son’s privacy and wait for him to be ready to speak.It seems as if he’s ready to do so, now.“Leonardo,” he murmurs. He can’t keep the relief off of his face that he feels every time he sees his son - every time he has the chance to speak to him. Knowing what could have been - and what almost was. “What can I do for you, my son?”
Despite what's all but guaranteed to be a serious conversation, Leo can't help the faint smile weakly tugging at the corners of his lips. No matter how much he's grown or gotten on his father's nerves, he'll always be a daddy's boy at heart.
"I just wanted to check and see how my favorite dad's doing." It's not entirely untrue on either account. Leon's been just as worried about Splinter as he has been over the rest of his family. That, and there's no competition between him and Dad Number Two. "Haven't really had the opportunity since Wardentello insists on keeping me locked up in medbay like he doesn't trust me to not break my way out -- which for the record I didn't. I'm a free man, so don't go ratting me out."
A tired little smile crosses Splinter’s face at the silly puns. “It feels as if it has been too long since I have heard one of your jokes,” he says. “And do not worry. I trust that you will return to the medbay. If that is where Donatello says you should be, then he will have you there.”
He suspects that the younger twin has granted his brother a bit of freedom, though does not know exactly why.
“...it is good to see you up and about, Leonardo.” His eyes soften as he looks up at his blue son.
Leonardo doesn't necessarily feel good being up and about, what with his aching everything and emotional baggage weighing him down, but his smile grows a little softer. A little fonder. His dad is relieved to see him standing on his own two feet again, how can he not feel happy about that?
"Donnie said I should be here. He also said I should talk to Casey, but I. I didn't listen when I should have." Like the kid listened when he shouldn't have. "But I'm listening now. I...I'm here because I want to talk to you, Dad. I want you to know I'm okay."
His voice trembles a little on that last part, but maybe by reassuring their father he can trick himself into believing it.
Splinter says nothing as he looks at his son. He says nothing, because he knows that it’s not true. And it hurts that Leonardo would try to lie to him.
Does he believe he must be strong for me? He really has failed his children if they feel that they have to hide their wounds - mental and physical - from him. Please, Leonardo…do not lie to me.
The hurt in his dad's eyes isn't an unfamiliar sight, but Leo hates himself for inflicting pain when all he wanted was to ease it. Some medic he is. Some son he is. At least he's wise to the ways of their father that he understands the look on his face silently pleading not to lie a second time.
After everything Leonardo's put him through, he at least owes Splinter this much despite how much the truth hurts.
"I...I'm not okay, Dad." Just admitting that much aloud makes his heart sink and stomach twist. Rather than throw up, a pathetic little laugh chokes its way out of him that sounds more like a cry for help.
Splinter knows. He knows his Leonardo isn’t doing well. He would have to be blind, or completely negligent to think otherwise. But hearing his son admit that he’s not okay is enough to have him leaping from the chair and dashing to Leonardo’s side.
His children have all been taller than him for many years now. It’s never felt so frustrating as right now, when Splinter can only reach Leo’s waist to hug him.
“I know,” he manages. “I know you are not okay. But I…am here for you.”
Leon's breath hitches in his throat as his father's nimble limbs embrace him as best they're able. It's nowhere near enough to fill the touch starved void in his heart and he drops down onto his knees none-too-gracefully and chomps down on his bottom lip to keep from screaming as he wraps his arms around his dad and all but shoves his face into his neck.
How can he pretend everything is fine when his Papa is here and giving a hug he'd once do anything to earn?
"I'm not okay." Leo whimpers into rat fur growing damp beneath his tears. "No one's okay, and it's my fault. It's all my fault, Dad. I hurt you. I hurt all of you."
Because I was impulsive. Arrogant. I made everything about myself and didn't take leadership seriously like Raph did. I thought by sacrificing my life to stop the Krang that I could be forgiven.
Instead it killed you, and I'm sorry.
"I'm so, so sorry, Papa."
“Do not be sorry.” The words are instantaneous as he hugs Leonardo, the angle better as his son drops down to his height. There’s so much he could say - tell Leo that he needs not apologize because he had saved the world - but he knows that his son has heard that many times and does not yet believe it. But there is one thing he can tell Leonardo that he hopes will bring him peace.
“Do not be sorry, because I was spared mourning your death.”
Leo tries to force a smile although his father won't see it.
He fails.
"I wouldn't have left, you know. I'd still be with you. Like Gram Gram and the rest of our family."
Splinter’s arms tighten around Leonardo, forgetting himself and his fear of hurting him for a moment. Because yes, what Leonardo says is true, but there’s an important piece - one that he can’t see that he’s missing.
“Those who came before us are still with us. This is true,” he begins, voice low and a little shaky. “But you would not be here in my arms.”
"No, I wouldn't." Leo agrees quietly, too overwhelmed by the sea of emotion threatening to sweep him away as he clings to his dad. "I was lost, but Mikey didn't give up. He found me, Papa, and together my brothers, they. They brought me back."
Splinter shakes his head. “They brought you home,” he corrects gently, pulling back just enough to touch his forehead to his son’s. “You are safe. You are home.”
He knows his family is not okay. Not yet. But he knows, once Casey returns, they are together. They’re complete.
Leon sniffles as their foreheads touch and he closes his eyes to let his father's reassurances wash over him. Insomnia aside, he hasn't had a single dream that didn't take a steep dive into his literal worst nightmare where he wasn't safe, wasn't home. There was only so much he could do on his own to try and convince himself that he was fine. His family was fine. He didn't need to call upon them over his stupid subconscious playing the top hits feat. his face and upper plastron.
Reflexively squeezing his dad a little tighter, he swallows shakily before pulling back to look at Splinter in the face. The leader in blue is safe with his family, same as he's always been, but not their newest member.
"Not Casey." He confesses weakly as the morning's circumstances that led to this moment replay through his mind. The teenage scavenger finally had a home again. For the first time in his whole life, Case was finally safe and sound with his entire family until Leo just had to fuck that up, too. Sure it was a simple misunderstanding, but that won't stop Leon from taking full responsibility. That's what real leaders do. "I...He thinks I hate him, Dad."
Splinter frowns in concern. “Hate him?” he repeats incredulously. “Leonardo, how could he think that you hate him?”
There’s no mistaking how much everyone in this family cares for Casey. What could have made him think otherwise?
"Donnie and I were talking and I said something I shouldn't have." Really shouldn't have. He thinks grimly, the details of which he'll take to his grave. Dad's got enough to worry about. "Neither of us knew Casey overheard until...until he was already gone."
That does not sound good. “Something you shouldn’t have,” Splinter repeats slowly. He’s non-judgmental, but definitely concerned, as he asks for more information.
“Leonardo. What did you say?”
Taking a deep meditative breath like Splinter first taught his young sons all those years ago before the world was less of a miserable hellscape, Leo tries focusing past the pain flaring in his plastron he hopes to never grow accustomed to. He's already used to the self-hatred festering within like an infected wound; its poison acidic and foul and broiling his insides like a fever that won't break. The unyielding concern in his father's eyes should be the antidote he needs. In any other instance it would be, but the venomous voice in his head claims otherwise.
What good is telling the truth when his dad's heart will be broken either way?
"You'll hate me if I tell. More than you already do." Leo whispers weakly in his arms, his voice small like when he could fit in the palm of his hand. "It's okay. You don't need to lie to me. I...I've always known I'm your least favorite."
Splinter’s heart stops.
Hate? How - how could Leonardo ever think that Splinter hates him? Or even that he’s his least favorite?
Splinter tightens his grip. Has he ever said such things, even in jest or anger? The thought that he could have tossed out such a callous comment...it's both chilling and frightening that he has to think about it. He's made mistakes - many, many mistakes over the years. But letting his boys think he didn't care for them, that they needed to overachieve for any scrap of affection, is his biggest. Especially considering it appears to have led at least one of his children to think he hates him.
He withdraws from Leonardo’s arms, but just enough to put the space between them to do the absolute least that he can do. He takes a deep breath before slowly lowering himself into a bow, his forehead touching the ground beneath them in the oldest method of apology that he knows - the one that Casey Jones had tried to give him not so long ago. And even this feels inadequate - he must speak as well.
"...if I have ever implied that I hate you - or even that I have a least favorite child - then I have truly failed you. And I am sorry."
When his father released him from his hold, Leonardo had genuinely feared he was being cast aside like his nightmares always foretold. The last he expected was for Splinter to bow deeply in their ancestors' method to seek forgiveness. Rattled to his core, the red slider bites his lip to keep from crying as the voice in his head falls silent over the strength of his father's sincere apology.
"N-No, Papa, no. I'm the one that failed you. I-I lie. I d-don't li-listen." Leo squeezes his eyes shut over Casey's accusations that still haunt him. He listens to Raph beg him not to do this. Listens to the orphan pulled from his now nonexistent timeline where the leader in blue had failed him and his family plead for his Sensei not to abandon him again. He listens to his father's soul shattering without uttering a single word.
"I broke your heart."
Hearing his son break is the catalyst, and Splinter sits back up to pull his son tight against him once more. It hits him how long it has been since he last hugged Leonardo - how long it has been since they last talked.
Perhaps this has been a long time coming, and very needed.
"You are my Baby Blue,” he murmurs past a lump in his throat. “And you always will be, no matter how much bigger you become. You will never be too old to come to me like this.” His paw starts to do gentle little circles on Leo’s shell, like he used to do when the boy was small and fussy. “And no matter what you do - no matter if you lie, if you do not listen, or even if you break my heart - you will still always be my son. And I will still love you."
There's nothing the little blue turtle can counter with other than clutching onto his father's robes when he was small and fussy while sobbing for all he's worth. Held safe in his father's arms, Leonardo confesses everything he's kept hidden in the darkness of his heart. Splinter says nothing as Leo reveals the conversation that he and Donatello suspect that Casey overheard, and how the teen may have interpreted it. He continues to hold Leonardo close, gently rubbing his shell and just listening silently, without judgment.
"I-I didn't mean it. I don't hate him. Casey's Sensei. I don't." Leon shakes his head between tears and holds on tighter like his future self never had the chance to. "He lost everything so we wouldn't."
“I know you did not mean it,” Splinter soothes, letting Leonardo continue to hold onto him. It breaks his heart to think of his son in the future, knowing that that Leonardo had likely hated himself just as much as his son claimed to in anger.
He tightens his own grip. After everything that he’s heard, he thinks he’ll never be able to deny his children hugs ever again - however inadvertently he’s been doing it. But best to focus on the present for now.
“My son. I believe that you can fix this.” And he truly does. But something must be done in order to push that forward. “You must talk to Casey. …but I suspect that you know this already.”
Leo nods in the crook of his neck and swallows.
"I just want to make them proud."
Splinter smiles, soft as he pats Leonardo once more. “You will,” he agrees. “…you make me proud as well.”
You have given so much at such a young age. I attempted to shield you all from your fate as martyrs…but you constantly defy. I may never be able to stop it - but I will also never stop being proud.
The feeling that rises from his Papa gently patting his shell and telling his son that he makes him proud is bright and warm like the smile forming on his lips as he lifts his head. Like basking in the warmth of the sun after a storm.
"I love you, Dad."
Splinter smiles back when Leonardo lifts his head, and he moves to touch his forehead to Leo’s a second time. A part of him regrets that their mutations are different enough that he can’t provide the same kind of chirping comfort that his brothers can. But there’s no small relief behind seeing Leonardo smile - genuine and true for the first time in who knows how long.
“And I love you, my son.”
Leon's smile shines as bright as his eyes. After spending most of the recovery period stranded in the medbay no different than the prison dimension -- cold, lonely, and just out of his family's reach -- he'd almost forgotten what sheer joy and happiness felt like. It's difficult to believe they were once part of who he used to be; silly smiles and obnoxious laughter practically second nature.
"I told you before that I'm not okay, and I'm still not." Leo confesses truthfully in spite of how things may appear now. "But...I am doing better. I want to be better. For all of you, and for Casey."
Splinter nods seriously. He’s thankful that Leonardo is no longer trying to lie and say he’s okay when he’s very obviously not - and he’s even more thankful to hear that he’s doing better, if not okay. “Be better for yourself as well,” he says gently. “You are just as important. And remember that you cannot pour from an empty vessel. You must take care of yourself first, before you can help others.”
Leo nods slowly in an honest attempt to heed his father's words that aren't all that new to him. The self-proclaimed medic knows this from all the times he's had to remind his mother hen of a big brother, but Leonardo wouldn't be the hypocrite he is if he followed his own advice. The love held towards his family is his greatest strength, as well as his biggest weakness.
To sit on his shell unable to treat their injuries caused by his personal failings has been nothing short of torture. It's part of the reason why he's been pushing himself as hard as he has to speedrun the recovery process much to his twin's well-deserved aggravation.
Splinter places his hands on Leonardo’s cheeks. “You will continue to heal. Progress and recovery are not always on a straight line. But we are all here for you at each step of that journey.”
Nodding once more, his son leans into the physical contact as if to absorb the warmth and comfort of Dad's tender actions speaking louder than words. He idly thinks how much Casey needs to hear this if he hasn't yet already. Leo really, truly owes the kid an apology.
"I should start heading back before Wardentello notices I've gone over visiting hours." He mumbles after a moment. "Think you could help me up?"
This time, the nickname for his twin sounds more like a joke and not a hollow facsimile of one, and Splinter smiles. “Of course.” He supports Leonardo and allows him to use his father to slowly stand back up. Unbidden, he thinks that the last time Leonardo was so fragile and needed him like this was when he was just a tiny tot. The thought makes his hand linger on his son’s shell a moment longer than he intends.
Just like before, Leo places his hand atop his dad's paw and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze knowing his father to be picturing him back when he was a fragile tiny tot. It isn't that far from how he really feels, both physically and mentally, and the fact that the latter has the face man hesitating is a little pathetic.
Leonardo hasn't had the opportunity to spend quality time with the teenage time traveler like everyone else has, but if there's one thing he can put full confidence in, it's that Casey Jones deserves the world. Leon doesn't want -- can't mess things up further than he already has.
He can't.
Splinter feels and hears the hesitation that Leo does not - cannot - voice, and gives his son a comforting smile. “Casey is a forgiving boy,” he murmurs. “You will need to speak with him…but there is no doubt in my mind that he will forgive you. Because that is how our family would have raised him to be.”
They aren't the same Hamatos who raised Casey -- that much has been made clear already --, but it's obvious the kid is the best of them. Leo can't help the soft, bittersweet smile knowing how much they loved him and still do regardless of branched timelines. That will never change.
His father's expression goes flat for just a moment. “If we have forgiven Draxum for his many offenses over the years, then I have no doubt Casey would have been taught to be just as forgiving.” The warm smile is back by the end of it; it’s difficult to even pretend to muster hard feelings for the former baron. The goat-man yokai has been part of their family for some time, whether or not he’s openly admitting it on any given day.
Now at that, the petty teenager rolls his eyes because he can't not.
"Honestly it isn't Casey I'm most worried about."
Splinter pauses as he considers that. If not Casey, then who else could Leonardo be - ?
Ah. Ah. He understands now. And Cassandra is…perhaps not an unreasonable person to be afraid of.
“I cannot help you with her,” he says gravely. “Though I suspect she will forgive you as well. …Casey is alive because of you, after all.”
Splinter may have a point there, but he did (albeit unintentionally) upset her future son so strongly that he ran away without saying a word to his own mother (god that's gotta be so weird for them, even by her standards).
"Yeah, maybe after she kills me."
A nervous sweat starts beneath Splinter’s fur as he looks away from Leonardo. “No,” he says, the lie falling out as easily as trying to convince the boys as children that they would glow if they ever tried to lie to him. (It was an attempt to get them to tell him the truth about some shenanigans or another that they’d gotten into. The irony was not lost on him.) “She would not do that. Cassandra will be willing to listen; she has changed.” And in many ways, this is true. Cassandra Jones has done remarkable personal growth since he’s met her, and Splinter is proud of who she has become.
At heart though, when something threatens to send her into a burst of exuberance and/or rage? She has not.
Although he isn't glowing, the red slider can see past his father's merciful attempt to spare him the truth.
Leonardo Hamato is a dead man.
“I am going to kill Leonardo Hamato!” Cassandra is fuming and practically foaming at the mouth now, and it’s taking her everything to not snap the umbrella she holds in two after what she’s heard.
April sighs and drops an arm around Cass’s shoulder in one part comfort, one part preemptive restraint. “Let’ssss maybe not jump right to that, Cass.”
"It was a misunderstanding, Mo--Cassandra! I shouldn't have been eavesdropping on their conversation to begin with." Casey pleads from her other side while trying desperately to not lose his Sensei for the third time in a row. All he had wanted was to alleviate their worry by providing answers, but in typical fashion he's only made matters worse. "You said so yourself that Leo isn't that kind of person and would be a fool to hate me."
“That was before you heard him say the words ‘I hate him’,” Cass seethes and applies pressure to both ends of the umbrella.
“Cass, I swear to god if you break my umbrella you’re gonna have to deal with me before you deal with Leo,” April says, voice teetering dangerously close to a snap. “Look, I know it sounds bad, but I also know Leo. There has to be more to this.”
Her younger brother can be petty as hell sometimes, but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a hateful bone in his body, with the sole exception being his feelings on the Krang. Even Draxum - who had thrown him off a roof - he never really hated. Just made petty snark at him for a long time after that occasionally still comes out.
Still…with how bad Casey had been hurt by what he’d overheard Leo talking about, she knows they need to get more information first.
“Leo runs his mouth, but I think we oughta hear him out.”
Cassandra takes a slow, deep breath in and lets it back out just as slowly. She tries to apply the anger management breathing that Raphael has been working with her on for months now, and it helps lower her boiling rage to a threatening simmer. It never cools completely, not with how hurt Casey had been, but she does manage to stop imagining herself strangling the life out of Leonardo.
“I will give him five minutes,” she grits out through clenched teeth. “After that…I make no promises.”
Casey swallows. They aren't wrong about Sensei -- about Leo, that is --, but it's unfair to him to be portrayed as the villain when the teenage time traveler is far from innocent. He hasn't exactly treated Leonardo with kindness either, too consumed by his own self-hatred to realize that he was likely suffering just as much if not more. Of course he was after all the horrible (albeit truthful) things Casey had thrown in his face when he was only trying to be the greatest ninja the world had ever seen.
Biting his lip, Casey crosses his arms and holds the bouquet close to his chest as if it truly possesses the power to vanquish his heart's sorrowful remorse.
April gives Cass an unsubtle nudge and jerks her head in Casey’s direction, frowning a little as if to point out the stress this is causing Casey. Cass takes another long breath in, holds it briefly, and exhales it back out slowly and quietly. “...I can give him the time he needs to explain,” she says, and though it sounds like it’s more painfully drawn out, she does mean it. “We can listen.”
"No." Casey shakes his head before realizing how unintentionally rude that may have come off as. "No, this is something I need to fix on my own. Please understand."
Both women exchange a brief look of surprise, but once it passes they nod. “I get it,” April says first. “You got this, future boy.” She gives him a smile and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Leo is her brother, but Casey is also family. She’s gonna be in his corner, too.
Cassandra finds her voice just as quickly. “You’re right,” she says. “I do understand.” She remembers her first solo mission, and how her superiors had sabotaged her by refusing to believe in her. She won’t do that to Casey, and gives him a firm nod. “Then you take the lead. And whatever you need from us after…we’re here.”
Casey looks to April's hand on his shoulder and then at Cassandra's eyes trusting him to do what needs done. To have them not only understand, but willing to stay by his side to support the time-displaced teenager regardless of how things with Leo turn out -- it means more to him than they'll ever know.
Not enough to show his gratitude with a hug, though, as much as he could use and want one. He doesn't need to push his luck more than he already has.
As they stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the walk signal, April shifts to draw Casey into the hug she doesn't know he was just hankering for. She’s mindful not to crush his flowers, but she can’t help herself - the boy scared her. And she’s just so glad he’s safe, and that he and Leo are gonna work this whole thing out. Because she’s got no doubt that they will.
Casey doesn't know why the sudden embrace surprises him given that April had informed him of her love to concern herself with her family -- himself included. It was that concern which drove her and Cassandra to come check on him when he hadn't yet returned. No matter how nice the hug is (and it is), the reasoning behind it makes the wasteland warrior feel awful. Casey knows all too well the heartache over losing those closest to you without warning, and he'd unwittingly put them through that very same pain although with a much less somber ending.
"I'm sorry. I never meant to worry either of you."
“S’all good, Casey. I’m just glad you’re okay,” she sighs over his shoulder and firmly pats his back before finally releasing him after a long moment. Just in time for the walk signal to appear so they can safely cross.
Being kicked out of Donnie’s lab has had one unfortunate side effect, and it’s that Raph can’t sit still. He’s pacing his floor and fretting, wanting to go out there and wait for Casey in the main room. It’s only his youngest brother who’s been able to stop him from doing so.
“I just - ” Raph sighs and scratches the back of his head in a mixture of frustration and worry. Frustration at his inability to do anything, and worry over the newest member of their blended family. “I wanna go out there after him so bad, Mike.” He grips his own arms, never truly crossing them but holding them to anchor himself. There’s one dark thought he has, one he’s almost afraid to give voice to. “...what if it’s Raph’s fault? I thought I was givin’ him space he needed, but what if he thought I wasn’t there for him?”
Mad Dogs stick together for life, but his words ring hollow if what he’s actually done has driven Casey away.
Angelo was right there with his big brother in agreement that he too wished he could go with the others to find Casey, but what Raphael says after makes his blood run cold -- er, colder.
"No!" He cries out almost identical to Leonardo while hopping off the boss-sized bed to fling his arms to their full span across Raph's wide plastron. "No way! It can't be you. It could never be you, Raphie. You're the best big brother anyone could ever ask for. I'm the one who started it."
The embrace is as sudden as Mikey’s outburst, and Raph starts as he instinctively wraps his arms around Mikey and holds him close. What in the shell could Mikey possibly have done to make him think that it’s him who was the problem? Angelo, their emotionally in-tune little brother, Dr. Feelings?
“What?” he blurts, tightening his arms around Mikey. “What are you talkin’ about? You didn’t do anything, Angelo. It can’t be you!”
Hearing the heartbreak in his little brother’s voice tugs something in Raph’s soul, and he hugs Mikey as close as he dares.
"The-The day after the invasion, I told Casey I wasn't mad about what he had to do to Leo. That none of us were. I-I didn't want him to go this whole time believing it was all his fault, because it's not. I told him to think about it." Michelangelo weakly explains while feebly shaking his head against the unyielding carapace. "I just wanted to help."
“You did help,” Raph says soothingly, shifting one hand to rub Mikey’s shell. “Wouldn’t surprise me if it was somethin’ he was worried about. You did good.”
But even as he tries to comfort his younger brother, it slowly dawns on Raphael that looking out for the family is his responsibility. Something he’d failed at - now, and in the future Casey’s from. His brothers had all died - his entire family had all died - and he hadn’t been able to protect any of them.
And even now, with the threat of the Krang gone, he still can’t keep his family together. He hugs Mikey a little tighter, unsure if he’s trying to anchor his brother or himself to the moment.
"He knows we love him, right? Like ohana?" Mikey whispers almost too quietly to be heard. "Maybe not the same as his Hamatos, but Casey has to know, right? Why else would he have stayed? Come back?"
Raph sighs out a shaky breath. “He knows, Mike. He knows.”
He has to. Because Raph can’t bear to think about the alternative - that Casey is gone and out there alone with nobody in his corner.
Angelo sniffles with a nod, once again choosing to believe his big brothers over all else.
"Dee and Leon said they'd take care of things first, but I wanna see Casey home before they do. Will you come with?"
Raph hesitates. Dee had said that Casey needs to go right to medbay, and if there’s one thing he’s not a fan of doing, it’s aggravating his scientifically-minded younger brother. But on the other hand…Raph needs to know that Case is okay after all that. After running out, possibly thinking that they don’t care about him.
He swallows and nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “‘Course I will. We’ll make sure he’s good before we send ‘im up to Dee. Sound good?” He pulls back enough to look down at his youngest brother for confirmation.
Angelo meets his gaze and nods. If Donnie finds out what took Casey so long, he'll just say this was his idea. It's near impossible for the softshell to be irritated with his baby brother for so much as a minute, if that.
No sooner do they step out of Raphael's room and into the main atrium do Casey and the others finally return. April and Cass flank him on either side, but not like they're forcibly escorting him into the room. Rather they walk closely beside him as though providing both physical and moral support -- or so Angelo presumes. It's impossible to get a read on the kid's face from where he is, but he seems...fine considering he just bounced back from a cold before dashing out in the rain. A little tired, but that's nothing new. The only thing really different about him is the flower bouquet he clutches close to his chest. Simple yet no less beautiful.
"Are you okay?" Is the first thing out of his mouth while quickly making his way over, Raphael right behind him.
“We’re so glad you’re back!” It’s taking everything in Raph not to scoop Casey up into a giant bear hug, and it’s only knowing that Casey might not welcome that kind of attention after just leaving them that helps him hold back.
It's all the runaway teen can do to bite his lower lip and stare as the youngest and eldest brothers express their concern identical to April and Cassandra had back at the flower shop. Just like then, Casey wonders what in the hell he'd been thinking.
Easy.
He hadn't been thinking.
Casey Jones hadn't been thinking anything beyond believing Leonardo's venomous hatred to be pointed his way, and ran from it like a coward. Ran from this warm, loving family who welcomed him into the safety of their home despite the heartbreak he caused them, no questions asked. Ran from their comfort, their care, their patience so effortlessly given to help him adjust to the peaceful present after a lifetime spent surviving an apocalyptic hellscape.
Running away from all that had hurt more than anything, he just...never thought how much it would hurt them in turn, Leonardo included if the Commander told the truth -- the tired way in which she looked toward him and spoke leaving no room for doubt.
Overwhelmed by guilt on all sides, the boy swiftly averts his gaze to the ground.
"I'm--" Sorry. Sorry. So sorry. It's okay if you hate me now, I understand. "I need to go to medbay."
Casey doesn't wait for the response he doesn't deserve before abruptly turning and running away once again.
Like a coward.
“Casey - !” Raph reaches out a hand as the teen turns and runs, but is stopped by Cassandra’s hand laying on top of his and gently pressing down.
“I understand,” she says, “but we have to let him do this.” As much as it hurts to watch him look away and flee from them once again.
Michelangelo knows all too well where she's coming from, but that doesn't make it any easier.
April goes to her littlest brother and wraps her arms around him in a comforting hug. “I know, Angelo,” she whispers. “We just gotta trust that this’ll all work out.”
The baby of the family leans into his big sister's embrace for all he's worth.
"I really hope so."
Donatello tries to look like he’s keeping busy by checking and rechecking Leo’s chart, but no matter how many times he stares at it, he can’t stop seeing the numerous injuries that his twin has been recovering from. Leo had thankfully finally managed to limp his way into medbay without Donnie’s help, after what Donnie presumes was a fruitful conversation with their father.
There’s a long silence while they wait - Leo likely gathering his thoughts, Donnie trying not to lose his damn mind from the sheer amount of variables in play with this whole situation, but after what feels like an eternity, the medbay doors open and Donnie turns back to face it. He’s more than a little relieved to see Casey coming through the doorway.
“Welcome back,” he says, his tone even. But despite his attempt to remain completely and utterly neutral, he can feel the tension bleed out of his shoulders. They drop, just a fraction, at the same time that his brows unpinch just a bit.
Casey glances up from the tile floor leading into the room. Although the softshell's reaction to his return is played off as neutral, the keen-eyed teenager raised in the wastelands can read the minute changes in his body language subtly expressing the concern held towards him. Despite the trouble Casey has once again created for him, Donatello Hamato continues to care for the boy just as he always has.
He isn't sure whether or not that's meant to make him feel any better, but he gives a small, appreciative nod of acknowledgement regardless before slowly pressing forward. The feeling of eyes watching his every move is a familiar one, and the time-displaced teen's gaze wanders over to the specific part of the room he's tried for weeks to ignore.
Unlike all those times before, Leo sits on the edge of the patient bed under his own power. Nothing in his expression reveals the hatred Casey went all this time fearing. Instead the leader just looks tired.
That makes two of them.
Donnie looks between Leo and Casey and gives a firm nod. He knows that now he has to leave it up to the two of them to figure things out. Leo has talked to Dad…Casey has presumably talked to at least April and Cass…and now they just need to figure things out together.
“Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll leave the two of you to it.” He heads to the door, and then pauses in the frame before turning back to the two of them. “...I’m going to trust that I don’t need to lock the door.” It’s meant as a joke, but it falls pretty flat and he coughs awkwardly. “...welp.” He leaves and lets the door shut behind them.
In spite of the dead seriousness weighing heavily in the air, Leo can appreciate the unintended levity from his twin with a weary smile. He then returns his gaze back over to the kid standing awkwardly in the middle of the medbay, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the bouquet wrapping. According to April, Casey apparently has an affinity for flowers (a bit surprising yet understanding considering his origins), and although it distressed the hell out of Leo wondering where he could've gone, he's relieved he was at a safe location which brought him peace.
Shifting a bit more to the side to free up space, Leonardo pats the empty spot next to him. Casey seems to understand and tiredly sits down.
That makes two of them.
"So. Let's talk."
|
*****
Beware! Lesbian bondage and butt sex! (Unless you like that sort of thing).
___________________________________
The tears of anger and frustration dry, but their salt leaves her eyes aching. Kneeling in bondage, naked, helpless, was not how she envisioned spending her holiday. Her face is uncomfortably hot, encased in a barely breathable fabric covering. Her jaw aches, her mouth is wedged open and stuffed with rubber. Her spit has run under her chin, leaving filthy trails on her pristine breasts. Those neat mounds are pulled taught by her posture, nipples erect and sensitive to the persistent draft.
The rest of her naked body is so cold and uncomfortable. Hands bound firmly overhead, thighs spread embarrassingly wide below by some kind of metal rod. Her soft knees suffer on a hard tiled surface whenever she moves. Her sex and underarms still smart from the attention they got last time she woke, hairless for the first time in her adult life.
She whimpers with bitter self loathing as her bladder finally loses the battle for containment.
Who would dare do such a thing to her, and why?
The irony is that someone else always took care of Ramona's needs. The youngest child of four and the only daughter, a casual observer might assume she was somewhat spoiled. From her earliest memories there was a nanny or nurse or guard not only to protect and provide for her but to control her of course. A tutor, and a carefully curated set of friends and acquaintances shaped her social experiences and limited her education. While the rest of the world was opening up, letting their hair down in the summer of love, Ramona felt like an exhibit from a bygone era.
Her needs grew. But every attempt to meet new people or try new things was met with tightened restrictions and a fuller schedule. Last year, just after her nineteenth birthday Ramona began to feel very low. There just didn't seem to be an end in sight for her childhood. She had mentioned marriage to mother and father, but they were very tight lipped about it and she was very subtly punished. No riding lesson that week and no swimming, instead; extra latin.
This can't have anything to do with that, can it? She shifts her shoulders and immediately regrets it as pins and needles set into her hands and her calf cramps. Her stomach immediately follows; a wave of hunger wracks her body and her sobs redouble. She's eaten nothing for what feels like days.
The family had flown out to Monaco together for the annual pilgrimage to see Nonna Valentino, mother's grandmother. Among cousins and old friends Ramona's time was always less regimented. Down by the pool and at dinner, the conversation was very proper. That only amplified the significance of cousin Salvatore's actions. A subtle brush against her hand as he reached across the table. A less subtle foot rubbing up against her ankle. And his beautiful eyes, lingering on her. They were perfect for each other. So why stifle her interests? That night was the last she slept in a bed.
Movement in the room and a stronger draft chills her wet thigh. Two feminine voices giggling together in italian, neither of them familiar. Ramona stays perfectly still as a hot hands cup her damp breasts and one whispers to the other what a disgusting pig this english girl is, pissing herself, drooling all over her tits. Ramona weeps angry tears but doesn't make any protest.
They soap her down with hot water, scrubbing her helpless body with vigor especially between her legs. Ramona bucks and writhes at how uncomfortable it makes her wrists. The two tormentors unhook her arms and allow her to rest on her hands and knees.
"We will have to clean her face, no?"
"No. Only the Donna may see her face. Come help me with her tight ass."
Ramona whimpers in shame as they ply open her backside with their slender fingers just enough to admit something long and narrow that they thread up into her. Then that small but embarrassing discomfort pales as the blood returns to her tortured hands.
"Aw, poor little thing." One of them notices and comes to rub the life back into them. "Give her a minute to relax?"
"A little massage? A facial?" The other laughs.
"Don't you be cruel. A little rub. A little comfort. Relax english girl. We have to clean inside and out. Lift up your bottom put your head down."
A delicious warm feeling pools in her belly, and the kind woman strokes the skin between Ramona's shoulder blades. The feeling of warmth and fullness grows and Ramona can't help taking comfort after all. The other girl rubs firmly against Ramona's sex and her body responds. However degrading this is it beats the agony and loneliness of hanging in the dark.
Ramona soon changes her mind when all that fluid demands to come out. The pair of them hold her over a holes in the floor, and rub her belly as sweet smelling liquid pours out of her in torrents, followed at last by the stinking remains of that distant dinner.
"One more, english girl. Come on."
This time her whole body is shaking as they fill her belly. The liquid is cooler now, barely warmer than the air, but this time her bowels run clean. Another merciless scrub of her thighs and they unfasten her hands completely. Ramona doesn't fight, that would be futile. Instead she grasps the kind girl's hands and brings them to her stuffed mouth in a pathetic gesture of thanks.
"Aw, how sweet," the girl says sadly, fondling Ramona's tits again.
Freedom is fleeting. They bind her hands behind her this time and unshackle her feet from the horrid spreader only to bind her wrist and ankles together. Then they roll her off the cold tiles onto some kind of fabric sling and her stomach lurches as they lift her off the ground.
It's highly disorienting, the sounds, the temperature, the light levels, together with the irregular movement of the girls carrying her. Nothing offers much clue as to where she is, but in her heart she knows. She's not been kidnapped. She's not been taken anywhere. This is a progression of what has gone before, that's all.
She's crying again when the movement stops. There is a knock and a door opens. The calm, somewhat familiar voice of Nonna's butler bids them leave 'it' on the couch.
She lands breasts down as they tip her out onto the plush silk velvet. Days ago she took coffee here with her parents and Nonna Valentino. This really is a nightmare. The animal brain wants to scream and struggle, but the greater part of her accepts that such behaviour will be discouraged by the harshest means. Harsher than this? Her body shudders with deep sobs.
Strong hands turn her bound body over, Ramona forces her knees together despite the extra pull on her wrists and shoulders.
"Oh, I am very proud of you." That voice could be Nonna's perhaps? But it sounds so vital, so primal, so... "Look how much you've grown."
Ramona freezes as her erect nipple is gently rolled between fingers, patiently stroked and fondled, teased until her shoulders relax and her knees inevitably fall open. The girl moans and shakes her head in despair.
"It's just us now. I'm not going to untie you, however much you beg, and if you're rude to me I promise you will regret it. Now. Let's see your face, perfect little maiden of mine."
The bag is yanked roughly off her head. The light is too bright and Ramona yelps as a lock of hair catches in the strings. As her eyes adjust, she screams bloody murder.
Black eyes without centre, without reflection, peer down at her. Nonna Valentino's heart shaped face is twisted in a leer of amusement. Between her soft pink lips is an array of neat little blood stained fangs.
"Oh my dear heart," she laughs, "I wish you could see your face!"
Ramona presses her eyes shut tight and hyperventilates for a handful of seconds before daring to look again. It's only Nonna, just as she should be, only that teasing hand returns to her peaked nipple, and now her smile is a little sad.
"We'll keep the glamour for now then, Piccola." She leans across and pulls something out of Ramona's mouth. The girl coughs as the rubber gag slips free leaving her teeth propped open by a sturdy metal ring.
"I trust you remember what I said before?" Nonna says sternly.
Ramona nods, her head barely moves.
"Listen. Your parents are at the ball. That lovely young man, Salvatore, he's asking after you, and they are telling him that you're not feeling yourself. They are getting to know him, they like him, they very much approve of your choice. There are just a few things we need to sort out before you can be trusted alone with a man. Close your eyes."
Ramona gasps as the woman's hands run over her sensitive skin. She lights up under the woman's skill, heat blossoms, though her skin crawls. She pushes away all thoughts of who the roving hands belong to. She imagines that they are lovers' hands, and tries to ignore the discomfort of this strict bondage.
"You're hungry, Piccola. Here."
Something enters her virgin hole for the first time, and Ramona lies there moaning in horror as heat floods her core. The gnawing hunger in her belly pulses in time with the squeezing hand on her breast and the invading finger below. The moans deepen to soft little grunts and her hips nudge upward to meet that growing need.
"Is that enough?" Nonna teases.
A growl erupts deep in Ramona's throat and the old woman laughs. Both hands pull away leaving her cold and empty and the growl becomes a full throated snarl.
"Imagine." Nonna says wistfully. "You will never hunger for food and drink again. I will make sure you have all you need tonight, Piccola."
Ramona is plunged back into musty darkness as the older woman mounts her face. Her wail of protest mutates into a slobbering cry of triumph.
This. The smell, the taste, the silky feel of it, creamy, earthy ribbons of it, she pushes her tongue desperately through the ring lapping deep into the meaty lips of the chalice. This is life, hunger and lust. Her mouth becomes a filthy cunt as semen fills it.
Rough hands grasp her breasts as Nonna rides, slipping her cunt up and down Ramona's wailing face, she roars her own pleasure, talons sinking into the young girl's flesh like the claws of a jungle cat. The girl screams in terror as from behind the folds of Nonna's sex, a barbed tail emerges, rubbing sinuously across her face and curling around her throat.
"Oh yes, my sweet innocent girl. I will have you ridden hard tonight. You will earn your daily bread," the woman says breathlessly as her orgasm subsides.
Come bubbles up out of Ramona's open mouth as Nonna pulls her briefly upright on the sofa, and her throat spasms. She licks desperately at it not wanting to lose a drop.
"There's a good girl." Nonna coos, scooping the pearly cream off Ramona's chin and into her mouth with a taloned finger. Gently, the buckle is unfastened behind Ramona's head and the ring is removed, but still her mouth must remain open. The wicked teeth feel enormous.
"Moma..." she moans, her jaw aching.
"No, Piccola. You call me Donna. Don't speak now, you sound ridiculous."
Ramona forces her lips closed indignantly. The Donna forces her onto her belly, and she squeals pathetically as possessive hands run over her tail. Her fucking tail! Hands that will never take no for an answer rub up and down the length of it, and her cunt floods in readiness.
"Do you think that I am going to be doing all the work? Let's see now. Control yourself. Control your tail. Make it strong and stiff!"
Ramona moans at the alien sensation of her tail throbbing in arousal, but somehow forces it to be still and submit to the Donna. The older woman purrs deep in her throat.
"That is so arousing. So very stimulating. The angels can smell your cunt in heaven, Piccola."
Ramona arches her back as fingers tipped with loving knives trace the outline of tiny wings budding between her shoulder blades.
"Your tail is so soft and sensitive. Fuck me. Do it to me now."
It's like learning to walk. She fumbles the thick organ between the Donna's legs, sliding around in the milky heat of her until the lady's hand guides her in.
"Oh! OW! Yes!" the Donna squeals.
Ramona sobs again but doesn't dare protest as her sensitive wing buds are clasped in a ruthless lusty grip.
"Fuck me harder, stupid girl, deeper! More!" the mad woman wails. Ramona thrusts, the lust in her own poor cunt burning so hard her vision blurs.
"Donna! Please!" she begs.
Nonna's tail is barbed and hard like her talons, but it hurts so good as it thrusts inside.
"Yes! Cut meee!" she screams.
They come hard together, but it only deepens their true hunger.
While inside Casa Valentino, wealthy and influential people wine and dine, dance around each other, filled with lust but barely touching. Out in the garage things are very different.
The scent of the horny pair of demonettes draws the common men from a mile around. Nonna Valentino props poor Ramona up on a hoist in the vehicle inspection pit, so that all her holes are readily available. She cruelly binds her poor student's tail and winglets out of sight, and rams the metal ring back between the girl's teeth. Then sits back to enjoy the obscene spectacle, as one by one and three by three, Ramona collects the sweet semen of a hundred men.
From time to time the Donna takes her own pleasure, but for the most part, she is happy to suck the leaking come from Piccola Ramona's lustful cunt.
Dawn comes at last, and the last few sperm donors head back home to their mundane mortal lives.
Ramona hangs helpless, head lolling back, every hole slick with the translucent remains of other people's pleasure. The Donna slaps her ass and the girl moans weakly. The woman's touch is like electricity. Ramona imagines herself free. She imagines taking a shower, dressing in her modest clothes and meekly kissing her father's cheek. It's such an absurd fantasy, entirely at odds with the needs of her flesh. Was there ever a time when her cunt hadn't throbbed and ached in longing for more. More cock, more come, more...
"Awww... Ungh!"
Her mind clears and her thoughts fall back into place as the Donna's thick tail stuffs her hungry hole, sinuous and sharp. It sits there without thrusting like a comforting thumb in the mouth.
"There you are, Cara mia."
Ramona wriggles and squeals as her sensitive new tail is pulled roughly from its twisted confinement. The Donna feeds the softer tip into the well used rim of Ramona's ass.
"I often stuff myself when I need to focus and think clearly. Is that better?"
It is better, it feels so right. Conflicted emotions have her sobbing, but her cries fade to sighs as the Donna rakes her claws across the sensitive flesh of Ramona's belly.
"I have so much to teach you, sweet daughter of night. It seems incredible now, but you will find a way to control the beast in you. And the power, ravenous girl. You will come to know the true meaning of that word."
|
Tooru was sitting in the back of a small high school gymnasium, trying his hardest to listen to a man who was droning on and on with a bunch of names. Specifically, the names of the third year students that were graduating today. Hajime was one of those students. And if it weren’t for his stupid little brother, Tooru wouldn’t have had to skip his morning class to be in a cramped little gym, sitting too close to his parents for comfort.
He expected himself to be crying, or at least feeling something besides irritation and sweat running down the back of his neck. After all, today was the last day he’d see his younger brother for over a year—he was due to leave the country tomorrow.
With his chin resting in his hand, Tooru let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, blocking out the monotonous voice of the man reading off the names. Tomorrow...Hajime-chan is leaving for America tomorrow... he mused idly. Tooru felt his chest ache dully at the thought. He bit his lip, trying to repress the burning tears that suddenly stung at his eyes.
Why? he wondered, Why so early? Even if Hajime had already told him the reason countless times, each time he thought of it, it hurt.
Tooru suddenly thought of a memory. It was the most recent time he’d asked Hajime why he was leaving, just a few days ago. Their parents had left early for work, and Hajime was about to cook breakfast…..
“Hajime-chan, why are you leaving so early?” Tooru had asked for the millionth time.
Hajime rolled his eyes, shooting his big brother an annoyed look. “Didn’t I already tell you? I want to get acclimated as quickly as possible. The sooner I get there, the better my English gets, and then I’ll be more likely to succeed in my classes. You know I want to get used to being in a completely different country, where I’ll be living for four years….” He paused, turning briefly to give Tooru a completely different look—something sadder and containing none of the indignance his expression usually had. “But also...the longer I stay, the more reluctant I’ll be to leave home...the more reluctant I’ll be to leave you….”
Tooru furrowed his brows, lip quivering. “Hajime-chan...you’re so mean. Stop saying stuff like that, or else you’ll make me cry again….”
Hajime frowned sympathetically, walking over to his brother. He looked around, making sure that their parents weren’t nearby. Once he was sure they weren’t around, he held Tooru’s face in his hands, caressing his cheeks softly. Closing his eyes, he planted a soft, chaste kiss on his brother’s lips.
When he opened his eyes again, Tooru was crying. Hajime wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, still holding Tooru’s cheek with his other hand. “I’m sorry, Tooru. You know I don’t want to leave you,” he whispered. “I’ll come back, though. I’ll come home for summer, and once I graduate, I’ll move back to Japan.”
Tooru sniffled, trying to hold back the rest of his tears. He took one of Hajime’s hands in his own, clutching it like a child would his bear. “It’s not enough...I want to see you everyday. How do I go four years without you?” he murmured, as if he were talking to himself. “Do I sound like I’m in love with you? I feel like a girlfriend who’s watching her boyfriend leave….” He laughed mirthlessly, forcing a sad smile.
Hajime shook his head vigorously. “No, no. Tooru, we’re...we’re close. Maybe closer than two brothers should be, but it’s normal. Not our, our relationship— but I mean how you’re feeling. I get it. You think it’s easy for me? I almost feel like it’d be cheating if slept with someone else. And I know we’re not like that-”
Tooru interrupted, suddenly looking determined. “What if I wanted us to be like that?” he asked boldly. It was on a whim, just to see what Hajime would say, but deep down, it was something he’d consider. Something he’d want.
Hajime looked taken aback. He blinked, then furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “I thought you said you weren’t in love with me.”
Tooru tried his hardest to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t quite sure how Hajime so easily appeared so stoic. “I know,” he said with a curt nod.
Hajime sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Tooru….we can’t be in a relationship like that. Fucking your brother with no strings attached is one thing. But...dating your brother? That’s different. Fucking doesn’t have to have feelings involved, it can just be boning someone hot. It’s not as bad, not as hard as committing. If we dated...that seals the deal. It’s admitting everything that I don’t want to admit, doing everything that two people aren’t supposed to do. I’m not saying I wouldn’t date you, I’m saying I can’t date you.”
Tooru felt a lump form in his throat. For some reason, hearing that hurt. For some reason, that rejection hurt more than any other rejection he’d ever gotten. And he didn’t even want to date Hajime—not consciously, at least. “So if I weren’t your brother, you’d date me?” he asked. “And also, stupid Hajime-chan, I don’t want us to be like that anyway. I asked in theory. Why would I want to date my own brother…?” Tooru laughed weakly, scratching the back of his head. “I’m saying all sorts of crazy things because I’m feeling all sorts of crazy things….”
Hajime looked at him with suspicion in his eyes, but went with his brother’s weak explanation anyway. “Yeah, if you weren’t my brother, I would date you. But I mean, good. This thing we’d have would be so much more complicated if either one of us had feelings...not to say that what we have isn’t already complicated.”
Tooru nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He kept nodding, searching for words. How did it go from “I’ll miss you” to “What if I said I’m in love with you?” He swallowed hard, deciding to change the subject. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about what I’ll do without you, I guess. I’ll miss you, Hajime. And it hurts to think about you leaving...so will you kiss me? I’m tired of thinking about you leaving.”
Tooru sighed as his brother pulled him into a gentle kiss, feeling his lips lock with his own. Hajime, why do you have to leave me…? he thought mindlessly as he let himself become victim to Hajime’s warm touch.
Tooru felt his lips tingle at the vivid memory of kissing Hajime. As he felt the tingle vanish, he realized that the man spewing names was done, and instead, a student was giving a speech. The girl looked confidently into the crowd, stumbling over not even one word. She talked about the memories she’d made, but now it was time to move on, for everyone to go their separate ways….
As she finished her speech and the audience began to politely applaud, Tooru wondered if the same was for him and Hajime. Were they just supposed to move on from what they had? But how do two brothers in a sexual relationship just suddenly become two normal brothers? Could they even go back to how they were? There would be no telling how they would change over the course of four years. Would everything they’d had just stop? Once Hajime returned to Japan for good, would they just be brothers who couldn’t talk anymore without being reminded of what they once did?
Tooru shook his head. The gymnasium broke out in song, and Tooru mumbled along, even though his mind was plagued with thoughts of the future.
The song ended, and Tooru’s father nudged him gently. “Tooru, it’s over. Let’s go find Hajime.”
His mom laughed. “Were you paying any attention?”
Tooru looked up at her and laughed with her, distant as he felt. “I tried. That man reading off the names was so boring!”
The family stood and left the warm gymnasium, venturing out into the rain. Tooru immediately replaced his jacket, putting the hood up and shielding himself from the rain. He squinted into the distance, looking for his brother in the mass of people congregated in the courtyard.
He found Hajime near a cherry blossom tree, also scanning the distance. “Oh, I found him,” he said, pointing in the direction of his brother.
His mother and father looked where he was pointing. His mother immediately starting waving and walking over; his father smiled pleasantly and followed his wife. Tooru trailed behind them, unsure if he would be able to talk to Hajime without crying.
Hajime was all smiles once he spotted his family, quickly walking over to greet his mother with a hug.
“Hajime, we’re so proud of you!” their mother chirped, beaming as she trapped her youngest son in a tight embrace.
Once she let go, the boys’ father approached Hajime, patting him on the shoulder. “Very proud,” he said with a firm nod.
Tooru figured he was also expected to greet his brother and congratulate him in some way, so he forced a cheeky grin and pulled his brother in for a quick hug. Though unbeknownst to their parents, he quickly pressed a soft kiss in the crook of Hajime’s neck. When he pulled away, his little brother was beat-red. “Congratulations,” Tooru said with a smirk. This time, it wasn’t forced.
Hajime grimaced, though tried to hide it with a friendly smile. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at each of his family members.
“Hajime, how would you like to go out for lunch to celebrate?” their mother offered, still beaming.
Hajime politely shook his head. “I think I’d rather stay home, Okaasan. Home cooking sounds good right now.”
“Okay!” she agreed eagerly. “How about I just make some curry rice, then?”
Hajime nodded. “Sounds good.”
The rest of the day was spent at home, spending as much time as possible with Hajime before he left the next morning. Tooru couldn’t get much alone time with him, except for when they all retired.
“Good night,” their parents said to them, retreating to their room.
Tooru watched them walk into the bedroom, waiting for them to close the door. Once they did, he immediately whipped around to face Hajime. “I have a special request,” he said intently.
“Okay...what is it?” Hajime asked carefully.
Tooru lowered his voice, smiling mischievously at him. “Let me sleep with you tonight, Hajime-chan. Please?”
Hajime didn’t immediately reject him, which Tooru figured was a good start. But just as he figured that, Hajime said, “How are we both going to fit on a twin sized bed? It’s too small for two grown men.”
Tooru pouted at this, but almost immediately, a smirk replaced his pout. “Well, if you hold me close we’ll both fit for sure.”
Hajime eyed him warily. “Is this your way of asking me to cuddle with you? Because if you were going for subtlety, just know you’re not subtle at all.”
“Come on, Hajime-chan!” Tooru whined, drawing out each syllable of his brother’s name. “We can have a little fun before you leave, too….And you know how much I’m going to miss you. So please? Before you leave me for over a year? Mom and dad don’t have to know!”
Hajime rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say no in the first place, idiot,” he mumbled. “Well, let’s go to bed.”
Tooru beamed, taking the stairs two at a time and throwing the door to Hajime’s room open. He quickly removed his shirt and threw it on the floor, laying down on the mattress. “Hajime-chan, so slow! Hurry up!” he called out, waiting eagerly for his little brother.
Hajime appeared at the doorway within a few seconds, chuckling. “You that excited just to sleep with me?”
Tooru smirked up at him. “I hope you mean that in two ways, Hajime-chan,” he said cheekily, sticking his tongue out. “I’ll always be excited to sleep with my little brother. Though I must admit, one way is just a little bit more exciting than the other.”
Hajime rolled his eyes, stripping his shirt as he walked toward his bed. “Idiot,” he said as he crawled under the covers, pressing his body close to Tooru and slinging his arm over his torso. “Also, we’re not going for later than midnight. I have to wake up early tomorrow.”
Tooru playfully ground his ass against Hajime’s dick. “Deal.”
The whole family woke up at eight to help Hajime get ready to leave. Well, their parents helped. Tooru sat around, touching his brother as often as possible.
Every time Hajime walked upstairs to get something he forgot, or to looking for something, Tooru would whine to him. “Hajime-chan, I don’t want you to leave!” or “Hajime-chan, can’t you leave a different day?” or “Hajime-chan, don’t leave me here all alone! I’m going to miss you so much.”
And each time Hajime would reply with, “Shut up, Tooru.”
The last time though, just 20 minutes before the taxi would come pick him up, he looked around to make sure their parents weren’t in the vicinity, and pushed his older brother against the wall, kissing him roughly. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much, you asshole. Text me and call me as often as you can, okay?”
Tooru smiled. “Only if you do the same.”
When it was finally time for Hajime to leave, they all gave him hugs and their well wishes. His mother was crying profusely, and his father, though stoic, was clearly upset. Hajime consoled his mother as best he could, but if anything, it made it worse.
He opened the front door, suitcase in one hand, before he turned around and gave one final goodbye. “See you all in a year.”
Then, looking at Tooru, he said with a small, sad smile, “I hope you won’t miss me too much this year.”
|
"Every revolution was first a thought in one man’s mind."
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
With a flick of his wrist, Tommy lit up the last Redstone torch to power up the rail before stretching his aching shoulders and back with a sigh of satisfaction. It took a good half month of meticulous and careful work but he had done it. He had finally connected the embassy to his current ‘Holiday house’ through a network of railroads fueled by Redstone, determination and sheer perseverance on his part.
Sure Tubbo, Fundy, Jack and occasionally Wilbur himself came by to lend a helping hand but hey, Tommy was sure he had done at least 65% of the work if he could say so himself.
Shoving a freshly welded minecart onto the start of the track from storage, Tommy grinned as he gazed at his hard work which meandered far into the evening setting sun; twisting and weaving into the nature below his new house before disappearing behind a corner to cut into the far hills leading up towards the back of the embassy. Tommy had yet to take the cart on a test drive but judging by the darkening clouds and ominous rumbling of the skies, the boy knew it was probably going to start pouring buckets sooner or later. Riding on rain-slicked rails might be asking for a little bit of trouble. But alas, trouble was his middle name no?
Besides, he had promised that he would go on his first test ride with Tubbo-
Familiar footsteps thudded against wooden planks as Tommy’s door was wrenched open. Ah, speak of the devil.
“Hey you were supposed to tell me when you were done- Oh my God! You finished it already haven’t you Tommy! Wow!” A hurricane of words came tumbling in faster than the looming elements as Tubbo bundled into his home lunging a bag filled with ores behind him excitedly. Smirking, Tommy directed his friend to a spare chest where he could temporarily store his freshly mined iron before shifting forward to allow Tubbo to come into the minecart behind himself.
“Just in time as usual. Quick lets beat the rain!”
“You sure?” Tubbo’s smile evaporated into a slight frown. “It sounds a little dangerous. What if we slip off?”
“Slip off? Pleeeeease Tubbo.” Pulling on the word and with a scoff of resolve, Tommy dragged his reluctant friend into the cart with him as he felt the first drops of rain fall onto his jacket. “Wilbur and Jack triple-checked the quality of each of the rails and the placement arrangement. We’ll be fine.”
“But-”
“If anything goes wrong we can just jump into the water surrounding the tracks!”
“TOMMY! That’s not a good contingency planaAA-”
The smaller boy’s shriek of abolishment was cut off as Tommy slammed a lever down, activating a Redstone beneath the activator rail which released their minecart in a single fluid movement.
With the rain behind them, the wind in their faces and the steady thundering of the cart on the tracks, Tommy hollered in victory. He could hear his friend’s fearful screaming turn into a burst of laugher as the pair weaved and turned through the path of the railway. Nature swirled around them, leaving their surroundings whirling in a canopy of color. Judging by the unexpectedly fast speed the minecart was going, Tommy figured they would reach the embassy in another 5 minutes. Closing his eyes for a moment, Tommy breathed in lung-full of fresh petrichor and allowed himself to relax in the companionable silence, if only for a moment.
For if he had opened his eyes, he would have seen the gaping ocean of freedom on their left - stretching far as the eye could see into the blue open horizon; which was bitter in contrast with the ghost of betrayal in the sea of strife on their right- a line of smothering ash left behind in the midst of fire and panic.
The juxtaposition mocked them, a reminder of the storm that had ravaged L’manberg only months prior.
It took the efforts of both Wilbur’s torn initiative, and Skeppy and Bad’s determination (neutrals who had just seen enough violence and wrath), to propose a temporary cease-fire. Too much blood has been spilled on the soil and the overwhelming taste of hate was thick and arcid in the air so much so that people had forgotten when they were even fighting for in the first place. Negotiations were bitter but in the end, the lands had been split into thirds; the neutral grounds separating the two warring states like a trembling pillar of glass.
(Tommy curled his lip as he remembered a man who once stood by their side, who had worn their uniform and who had shed blood for their land for...no against the revolution. He went by King Eret nowadays. Too far in the heart of the enemy lands for them to do anything about it. It made Tommy’s blood boil just thinking about it.)
But Tommy wasn’t scared of the traitorous scumbag. No, he could take down the bastard single-handled and all of L’manberg knew it. On a good day perhaps Tommy could take down George as well. The man was a follower, not a fighter. With his fellow brother’s help and plenty of fire resistance, Punz and especially Sapnap could be fallen as well. They were brute fighters. Alone, these three stood no chance. But bonded under a leadership, a mission and a thirst for blood, they thrived.
Because their leader was a terrible force of nature, a twisted psychopath and a nightmare incarnate. The face behind the war - the man behind the mask.
Dream who started this bloody war just because L’manberg chose to have independence. Dream who tore apart the lands savagely with his pack of wolves just because he could. Dream who outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered and out-planned them over and over and over.
Dream who gave them no mercy, no mercy at all.
(Tommy tried not to think of the prize possessions he had lost to guarantee his friends’ safety and their independence, nor did he reach under his shirt to feel the healing scar of the single arrow that struck and presented his downfall.)
Oh how he hated the man. Oh how much he hated his very existence. If Tommy had the power, he would smite the green-hooded bastard on the spot. He would send down hellfire onto him and everyone he loved. He would stick a knife into his back when the little weasel least expected it. Tommy’s fingernails scraped roughly onto the cold rumbling steel as a hot wave of anger surged over him replacing the serenity that once was.
Oh how he wished he could just run Dream over with the very minecart he was sitting in right now.
Hah, wouldn’t that be such fine poetic justice? Wilbur would probably be so, so proud of him.
Said minecart turned abruptly across a rather sharp bend shoving Tommy out of his violent thoughts. A warm hand settled on his damp shoulder, steadying the boy and grounding him back into reality. Blinking his eyes against the rapidly falling rain in which he had been unaware of, Tommy turned around to steal a grateful look at Tubbo. The brunet, ever so observant, just smiled wordlessly, his brown eyes clouding knowingly.
A pang of gratefulness welled up in his chest. Tommy would never know what to do without his best friend. Tubbo was his anchor and emotional support. If Wilbur was the brains, Fundy and Jack the arms and legs, Tubbo was the heart of the team. Tommy might tease, poke fun and bully his friend a little on occasion but at the end of the day, Tommy trusted Tubbo with everything he had and knew the boy had his back- always.
So when Tubbo’s face dropped into one of shock and impending trepidation as they turned around another tight bend in the last third of a mile, Tommy felt the red flags in his leger rise all at once. Instinctively, he twisted his body forward once more
-only to see, there on his newly refurbished rails, slick with rain, in the blindspot of the incoming minecart-
A very familiar figure standing just 10 feet away from them.
No, it couldn’t be.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the crying skies and purple netherite armor glittered against a splash of green.
Dream?
A flash of blond hair from where the man had spun around, only to face a minecart hurtling towards him at a speed of close to 50 miles per hour.
5 feet.
“Dream!” Tommy heard Tubbo screech in horror, his tinny voice carried away by the howling of the winds. Somewhere in his soul screamed at Tommy to do something, anything. But his hands were stuck and remained like led by his sides, unmoving and rigid and frozen-
3 feet.
In the very last second, everything slowed and the passage of time seemingly came to a sickening halt.
Tommy was close enough to see the white ceramic plate of his mask. That horrific, emotionless, godforsaken mask the man wore to cover his face each time he went into battle.
Dream raised his shield vainly, his body curled like a spring, preparing to jump into the safety of the waters below.
But as their heartbeat pumped in terrified tandem, both faces of the war knew there would not be enough reaction time to prevent what was going to happen. In the last millisecond, Tommy swore he saw Dream’s life flash across his eyes behind the vintage of the dead smile.
“DREAM WATCH OUT!! -”
____
The last of the sun’s rays died into the horizon as night approached the lands. Darkness crept out of the cracks in the earth and the shadows grew long and wide. But still, the storm persisted.
Another crack of lightning split the skies and the rumbling of the elements shook the earth as George looked up for the umpteen time towards the covered entrance of their base.
Watching.
Waiting.
Worrying-
A hiss of frustration sounded on his left as Sapnap threw down the enchantment books in his arm and swiped his satchel of the table.
“That’s it, I’m going to look for him.”
Shoving away the ominous feeling of dread pooling in his gut, George quickly sidestepped and blocked the younger man from dashing headfirst into the storm. A growl left his friend’s throat and George watched as Sapnap curled his fingers into a tight fist.
“He’d never leave to hunt without me, nor go mining without Punz or exploring without you-”
“Look I’m worried too,” The older man cut in. “But there’s no point getting worked up over something that we have no control over.” Knowing how fiery Sap could get, George had to put a stop to his impromptu mission and quick. In the heat of his frustration that reflected his worry, everyone knew that the hunter would probably do something stupid and dangerous.
Like running blindly across their lands in the growing darkness of the setting sun and in the pouring rain.
Sapnap would probably catch pneumonia or get attacked by mobs before achieving his wayward goal.
“He’s decked out in netherite gear and armed to the teeth.” George spoke softly, the tremor in his words betraying his calm and collected nature.
“For all we know, he probably holed himself somewhere safe to wait out the night and the rain.”
“I’m sure Dream’s just fine.”
“Teach me to feel another’s woe. To hide the fault I see: That the mercy I show to others; that mercy also show to me.”
― Alexander Pope
“We... Are at war!”
Two sides of the battle faced their parallel foe. Their faces grim. Their weapons sheathed.
Two figures stood at the end of the line. Twenty feet separated them; Though it felt like they were worlds apart.
Two arrows whizzed through the air.
Tommy missed.
But the enemy didn’t.
A cry of pain, a scream of horror, a shout of victory-
____
A sickening crunch of metal against flesh.
Almost as if it were a terrible slow-motioned movie, Tommy could do nothing but watch as the man of his nightmares was savagely thrown forward against the cobblestone ledge by the force of 500 pounds of steel and sent plunging towards the ocean below.
Blood splattered against the metal, warm and visceral and real against Tommy’s frozen fingertips as the last evidence of the accident was immediately washed away by the rain.
Mercilessly fleeing the scene of the crime, the minecart did not even lose its speed.
____
“And we have NO MERCY! NO MERCY FOR YOU!”
Explosions rang about their lands, tearing up the soil and turning stone to dust.
The earth disappeared from under them, threatening to swallow the entire revolution whole.
His friends fell around him as the walls of L’manberg came crumbling down.
And the rivers ran red.
____
The ocean below ran red.
It spread through the waves, beating against the storm, diluting the waters into a dark shade of scarlet.
For all the chaos the storm around them had created, nothing was louder than the sound of silent horror that gripped the hearts of those who still remained standing.
The minecart came to a screeching halt, pulled to a stop unconsciously in the midst of sheer panic
“T-Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice was no louder than a squeak, trembling like the wind.
A wave of ice spread through his chest, engulfing the boy’s very thoughts as Tommy stared aghast at the splattered crimson on his hand that was not his.
“Tommy what have we done?”
____
In the days that came after the ceasefire, Tommy swore that he would do everything in his power to take down the people responsible for L’manberg’s devastation. Tommy spent hours envisioning the demise of the opposing side; The triumph that would ripple through their people when they emerged victorious, the thrill of adrenaline coursing through the nation’s veins and the warmful pride he would feel after he had slain each and everyone who stood in the way of their independence.
But now, without even raising a single weapon, they had just slaughtered the leader of the opposition in a single-handed swoop.
There was no mistake about it. No one could survive such a brutal crash or the fatal uncontrollable fall into the freezing depths of the seas.
Just like that, the battle lines were now drawn completely in their favour.
L’manberg had essentially turned the tides of the war without any bloodshed on their side.
This… This was just, sweet sweet poetic justice.
Wasn’t it?
So why did Tommy feel nothing but pure and icy horror towards the consequences he had so personally delivered?
For the first time, as the right-hand man of L’manberg stood victorious against the setting sun, watching as the storm clouds dissipated like heralds of triumph, Tommy never felt so irrevocably confused and small and gui-
Then all at once, two things happened simultaneously.
Something flashed on the edge of his peripheral vision.
And Tubbo started shrieking like a dying banshee.
“Oh MY GOD. T-Tommy look!”
The younger boy latched onto his trembling wrist (wait when did it start to shake?), pulling Tommy to the edge of the broken cobblestone barrier. Gesturing wildly at a dark spot in the choppy ocean, Tubbo squinted as he temporarily lost his earlier discovery.
Straining his eyes against the drizzle of rain, Tommy complied anyway; gazing down into the waters as an emotion he couldn’t place rose up his throat.
There was no fucking way-
“There! THERE!”
Two sets of eyes watched incredulously as a glimpse of purple against green could be seen struggling above the waves for a second before disappearing once more under a pool of red.
Gobsmacked, Tommy felt his jaw drop in disbelief because-
Lord above. The green bastard was still alive.
____
Located just behind the forehead, the frontal lobe is the largest of four lobes in a human brain. That portion of the brain is arguably responsible for carrying out judgement, being the voice of reason and executing decisions in an individual. Most importantly, this rational part of the brain would not be fully developed till the age of twenty-five.
Tommy was sixteen.
____
There was no conscious motivation, reason or meaning behind his course of action. It was just a sheer instinctual reaction that forced his body into movement.
Tommy didn’t even know that he had made the leap of faith and physically dove over the edge until he was completely submerged. The frigid waters seeped into his bones, shocking him to the core. The sea salt stung his eyes, blurring his vision. The waves shoved at him carelessly, almost like a lost floating buoy.
Yet he pushed on.
Against the light of the setting sun, smothered by the rainclouds, the ocean was a sea of black. Tommy could barely see five feet in front of him. Alas, as the final rays of light glimmered against the water, it struck gold.
The purple glow of enchanted armor shimmered like a decaying beacon, sinking silently into the depths of the sea.
With blood roaring in his ears and adrenaline fueling his veins, Tommy dove after it.
After him.
In the darkness, the boy groped the water, jerking in surprise when fingertips brushed across strands of dirty blond hair. Scrambling for purchase, Tommy circled around and tried to hook his arms behind the drowning man, with intentions to kick and heave them both to the surface.
See, despite his age, Tommy did his fair share of open-water diving. In fact he was considered quite a powerful swimmer amongst his friends and fellow brothers. He could hold his breath when necessary. And contrary to his seemingly scrawny nature, he was not weak by any standards. Tommy did take into consideration the 175 pounds of muscle he might have to drag out of the water.
What he failed to regard was the weight of saturated netherite armor which held unrelentingly onto the dying man.
The very thing that had probably saved him from the first impact of the minecart was now going to be the cause of his demise.
All at once, luck finally ran out as his chest started to burn and Tommy realized with a jolt of panic that he was running out of air.
He had two options; To let go and save himself, or stay and drown with the enemy.
A hysterical bubble of air left him as Tommy realized the unbelievable state he was in. Never in his life did he ever imagine himself caught in a scenario like this.
Perhaps it was never meant to be-
A familiar set of arms came rushing into view.
In a flash, Tommy’s hands were disentangled from his grasp on the deadweight and was bodily shoved aside. Hastily, the boy kicked and swam himself to the surface, lungs bursting for air; But not before stealing a single glance at the newcomer.
Tommy almost sucked in a breath of water in surprise.
With dexterous fingers, Wilbur made haste to locate the multiple clasps and leather straps trapping the man inside. As the tattered remains of netherite sank to the bottom of the ocean, the president of L’manberg twisted his body and mirrored his right-hand man's earlier pose. With the help of his newly enchanted depth striders, Wilbur kicked his way to the surface with ease.
Tommy spluttered as his head broke the surface, seconds before his friend did. His cheeks flushed as a gust of wind blew across the water. The boy could really feel the cold now. Wilbur shot him a look of concern, both his arms cradling his newly found baggage.
Who was so, so very still.
Ah fuck.
If that green scumbag died now all their efforts would be for naught.
“I-I’m ok!” The boy raised his voice over the gale.
“Go help him instead!”
Wilbur nodded and without sparing Tommy a second glance started swimming towards the direction of land at breakneck speed.
Frowning, Tommy would be lying if he didn’t feel a little disregarded. Wilbur really was not known to have a messiah complex, even less so for the enemy. Luckily, the boy was near enough to land that the tips of his shoes could touch the shallow sand on the seabed. Well barely. He still had to tread water. But he was definitely out of harm's way.
Land came quicker than he expected and almost on command, his knees buckled with exhaustion the moment he reached the darkened shoreline. Wet clothes clung to his shivering frame and Tommy winced as the sand stuck to his skin.
God, once this was all over Tommy was going to personally light up every single corner of L’manberg himself. He was so fucking tired of pawing about in the dark. Perhaps he might also add glowstone or something to the ocean too while he was at it.
The boy arrived just in time to vaguely make out Wilbur turning their rescuee to his side as the latter started painfully retching and heaving up lungful after lungful of seawater onto the sand. The shadows of the trees swayed in the almost pitch-black surroundings as Will proceeded to firmly thump the man’s back, hands rubbing against the green-soaked hoodie with startlingly gentle ministrations.
What the fuck?
“Don’t just stand there!” His leader snapped at Tommy’s general direction, “Go get the regen potion from my dry pack. I stashed over beside the tree. Quick!”
What the fuck?
Regeneration and health potions were frighteningly scarce and now even so after the first war. Was Wilbur really going to use their meager resources on D-
A horrible choking sound filled the clearing jerking Tommy back into attention.
“He’s throwing up blood! Fuck, I think he punctured a lung-”
The winds howled, the clouds shifted and the darkness shattered.
Moonlight streamed freely through the leaves.
“Wait, this... you aren’t Tubbo-”
Tommy finally saw Wilbur’s face clearly for the first time. So he also saw the moment where Wilbur’s face flashed from concern to surprise and then to disbelief and utter denial before settling on a devastatingly blank slate.
“Tommy,” The low baritone of L’manberg’s president rumbled dangerously, cutting through the air like an arrow.
“Grab a torch, the potion and my sword from the pack… Now.”
Just like that, the entire events of the hour came rushing back to Tommy like a vivid wave of alarm; Fear at what he had done and horror at what was to come.
So, on trembling legs, what else could Tommy do but obey?
And at last, realization dawned onto Wilbur like a fist to the gut as a pair of unfocused green eyes met dark brown in the light of the dancing flame.
____
Fire raged in the forest, the flames licking at the wood like the tongues of serpents. The enemy smiled down at them, dark and striking and cruel, silhouetted by the inferno he had created.
The man behind the mask, flanked by his ever-loyal second-in-command, watched as the world fell around him. He didn’t even lift a finger to assist in the devastation.
He didn’t need to.
“I want to see WHITE FLAGS! WHITE FLAGS outside your base, by tomorrow, at dawn-”
Emotionless green eyes scorched the soul of L’manberg.
“Or you are DEAD!”
____
The shimmering pink potion laid cruelly out of reach from behind a deadly diamond sword.
The L’manbergians stood by emotionlessly and watched. Ready to act as judge, jury and executioner.
Dream looked on as a pool of crimson grew steadily around his broken form, staining the sands red. Each breath came out as a rattling wheeze as blood filled his throat. Waves of agony pulsated from his head, his chest, leg and shoulder. This was it. Miles away from help, there was truly no getting out of this one. Too weak to run but too prideful to beg; He would be defiant to his last breath.
No mercy he had given his enemies. And no mercy he would expect to receive.
A warped sense of resignation and acceptance settled over himself. Darkness crept over his mind and the last thing he saw were two sets of cold, dead eyes as Dream was plunged back into the mute of blackness.
“One person can stop a great injustice. One person can be a voice for truth. One person’s kindness can save a life.”
― Nicky Gumbel
The first rays of light danced onto the skyline, chasing away the dotting of the stars and washing away the storm of yesterday. At the crack of dawn, the house at the end of the neutral zone sizzled with frantic energy. The two lone occupants of the home rushed to and fro, chests opening and closing in tandem, hands rummaging through resources and shoving them onto rows of crafting tables. Glass bottles layered the table which was surrounded by golden nuggets, freshly harvested melon slices and a single ghast tear.
From the other side of the room, the older man grabbed a handful of the remaining nether warts they had left. Balancing three water bottles with his other free hand, he turned to his companion, urgency bubbling alight in his words.
“You craft, I brew. Quick, we don’t have much time.”
Wordlessly, the younger man swiped the materials off the counter and immediately got to work. As the sun finally made its appearance from the edge of the horizon, three potions shimmered into existence: Two pink and one red.
Securing the possessions into a bag, the older man rushed up the stairs to grab his jacket while his companion gathered food and water from storage to ensure that his friend had all he needed for his solo emergency journey.
From the corner of his eye, his iron sword glittered forebodingly on their weapons rack and for a moment, the younger was sorely tempted to grab it and force it into his friend’s hands. But he knew where his companion would be going, and charging into foreign lands armed and alone would be suicidal.
The stakes were too high and one wrong move would rain chaos onto the earth once more.
But this could very well be a trap. A trap planted by either side. He would not put it past the revolutionaries nor their neighboring nation’s people to pull something like this off. Treachery and lies wracked throughout the lands. Not even the neutral territories were spared.
No one could be trusted anymore.
A shuffle of feet alerted him to his friend’s return. Donned in his signature black coat, the older man nodded a brief word of thanks as he deposited his daily rations safely with his package of three and nodded. This was it. As the duo walked towards the entrance, the younger knew it was now or never.
Spinning around so he was blocking the door, he blurted out rather abruptly, concern lining his voice.
“Look, do you know what you’re doing?”
“I was told to get the potions and meet them at The Embassy as soon as possible.” An impatient huff escaped the man. “Someone would probably escort me into their lands-”
“Let me rephrase that.” Pulling the sleeves of his blue jacket to his elbows, the younger held firm onto his friend’s shoulders and looked him in the eye.
“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
At once, the fight left the older man. Trembling hands held onto his own, rough fingers digging into his sleeves as if he was trying to summon up comfort. Silence filled the house as fear gripped the hearts of two at the world of uncertainties looming ahead of them.
“When his people find out, and they will,” A shaky voice quivered weakly in the air between them.
“L’manberg would be but a crater in the ground.”
“And this time, I wouldn’t be able to play mediator between the two nations. Because there would be nothing left to save.”
Emotions curled tightly in his chest and slowly, the tight grip on his blue jacket was loosened. The younger watched helplessly as his friend visibly straightened and set his face firmly into a mask of determination.
“I just know that I’m not letting anyone die while we stand around with the very resources to help.”
Without a second glance back, the older man pulled his black hood over his head and scampered out of the house and headed north; where his only two witnesses were his best friend’s worried gaze and the dying shadows of the night.
____
He was in hell. He had to be. A place specially designed for him in the afterlife where he’ll burn for eternity; damned for his sins against his people and for the war that he had personally set alight onto the earth around him.
His body ached and trembled as if it was being consumed by lava, eyes glued shut by the vicious heated liquid. In the darkness, he struggled to find a water source as fire roared in his veins. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that he could not remember tasting before. Maybe it was seawater. Maybe it was blood. Maybe it was-
Rough hands grabbed his face as someone tried to force something down his throat again for the second time.
Panic scorched a path through his heat-riddled mind as fingers pried open his mouth and a heavy foreign weight was pressed against his collarbone. With a surge of adrenaline, he struck out with his left arm and trashed about desperately; trying with all his dwindling strength to get away, getawaygetaway
“Fuck! Someone hold him down!”
“-bleeding all over the place, how is he still so strong?!”
“We’re out of our element here. Where is Ba-”
“S-Stop! St-” His plea was left unheard as his voice gave out into a raspy cough that sent tendrils of pain twisting up his chest. Warm liquid spilled from his lips as he retched again; his throat refusing to keep anything down. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe!
They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him again-
“Oh my God.” A new voice rang out in the panic of the chaos as his body was wracked by violent convulsions.
“Hands off! He’s throwing them up! Let go! Stop! STOP! ”
At once, pressure on his limbs and face were released. He barely registered himself being shoved to his side before he could suffocate on bile, blood and bitterness. The unexpected movement jarred his already weakened body and awoke fresh wounds and
Agony.
It shredded the edges of his soul and engulfed his very sanity. Every bone, every nerve, every cell was ignited with the force of a thousand suns. A scream tore itself out of his abused and bloody throat as his heart struggled vainly against the battle he was destined to lose.
“-unpowder now!”
“-eed splash potions…”
"-et the fuck OUT-"
It was too much. It was too much for him to take-
____
Glass shattered thunderously against the ground as pink merged with red and swirled up into the air like a cloud. The hum of magic howled above broken keening like the echo of a crying spirit; seeping slowly into marred and broken skin.
The body on the bed jerked once, twice and then went frighteningly still.
Silence hung in the air; heavy, cruel and uncertain.
The only thing Wilbur could feel was the treacherous pounding of his heart and the paralyzing shock that rippled through his body as he bore witness to the events that had unfolded in front of his very eyes.
The blood staining his hands had not even dried yet.
“If you believe in any God, Soot," A soft, dangerous voice broke the silence abruptly. "You better start praying to Him now.”
Knelt on the ground with one hand resting on the pulse-point of Dream’s lifeless form, Bad spat out from between his clenched teeth in an uncharismatic show of frustration and helplessness; The last hour of worry, stress and pressure threatening to push the neutral over the edge.
“Because the future of everyone under this very roof depends on it.”
And as the dust settled onto the fragments of shards that littered the ground and the air stilled with the lingering scent of death, all of L’manberg waited with bated breaths as their lives hung in the balance with the fate of their greatest enemy.
“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves”
- Confucius
The late afternoon sun shimmered through the trees and reflected off the single purple glow of netherite armor as a lone figure dashed into the trees for cover, ducking under a shower of arrows. Five seconds later, two shadows prowled the undergrowth, weapons unsheathed and eyes sharp on the lookout. Across the thick foliage of the forest, leaves rustled and twigs crackled, snapping the pair of hunters back into red alert.
“He couldn’t have gone far.” The first hunter hissed venomously, picking up their paces with urgent haste.
“Faster George!”
The man in question winced as a low-hanging branch sliced his cheek open but did not falter in his impromptu manhunt. Keeping pace with his raven-haired friend, George pulled out his crossbow strapped onto his back and loaded an arrow in preparation for what was about to come again.
Alas, in mid-movement, both of them heard the ominous tell-tale sounds of multiple potions being chugged down in rapid progression in the general direction of their chase.
“Shit, he has potions!” Skidding to an abrupt halt, George barely managed to grab his companion’s arm and dragged him to a stop, sensing the new danger they were going to run into.
“He’s going to get away!” Snarling, the younger man twisted in his grip violently as he heard the footsteps of their prey ebbing away. “Fucking hell! Let go of me!”
“Sapnap, stop. We have to rethink this.” Refusing to relinquish his hold on his friend, George struggled to keep his mind clear and calm. The unknown variables were increasing by the second and lacking any sort of strategy, they could not afford to go on a fatal wild-goose chase. Far from the safety of their own territory and off on their own, their team was split far too thin already.
To make matters worse, though they had brought their own enchanted weapons, both of them had just run out of speed pots and were only clad in a mixture of unenchanted diamond and iron armor. George was not able to get a good look at their fleeing hunt but the brunet knew that the enemy was in full enchanted netherite accompanied with a matching sword.
Netherite was a sure-proof way of securing complete bodily protection and heavy on the defense. Nevertheless, its downsides came with it being insanely heavy and ironically cumbersome. The first time George had put on his primary set, he had almost keeled over with the weight; underestimating the sheer bulk of the protective armoring. Realistically, even with swiftness in their system, patrolling half their lands in them, under the blazing hot sun, would have been a recipe for disaster.
But right now, George was sorely regretting not securing himself up with it instead. He did not need to ask his friend to know that Sapnap was too sharing similar thoughts.
Who knew that they would stumble upon a lone L’manbergian so far from the path looking over the ocean which blocked off most of his available routes? Who knew that said L’manbergian had suddenly managed to obtain such powerful resources? Who knew that they would rashly give blind chase to obtain any little information they could - even from the enemy?
Who knew that they all gotten so fucking desperate for answers they had yet to obtain?
“We don’t know what we are up against.” Shaking himself out of his stupor, George reiterated with every ounce of authority he could muster; He had been doing that quite a lot recently - with various degrees of success. “For all you know he might have swiftness and ultimately outrun us, invisibility, or even worse, strength pots.”
“So? ” Snatching his arm free, Sapnap hissed dangerously between clenched teeth, breaths coming in fast, heated pants. His fingers twitched sporadically, almost maniacally around the hilt of his weapon, voice lowering into an animalistic growl.
“I could take down the little weak bastard where he stood. Strength or no strength.”
For a moment, George was almost afraid that Sapnap would whip out his sword and take him down in a fit of his rage instead. But he refused to stand down against the insanity, fear and chaos that had consumed his entire faction in the span of the last 50 hours.
Just thinking about it made George sick with worry for both the future of his friends and their reigning kingdom.
“We have no proof of anything. Starting a battle we might lose would not help anyone.” His voice of reason was the only thing that they could fall back on now.
(George would not be able to keep up this facade of calm if another one of his closest friends failed to return home that night again.)
“He’s probably halfway across L’manberg by now. Engaging him by ourselves on his own home turf would be suicidal and you know it.”
It must have then dawned on Sapnap that they had been running for some time because the younger man jerked in realization much to the brunet’s relief. Fifteen yards ahead of them stood the edge of the neutral zone in the opening of the emerging treeline bordered by a single impartial house. The older man considered walking up to it and knocking to see if the homeowner had seen any suspicious activity. However, George had never actually wandered too far into this part of the lands before. Thus, he was not sure who actually owned said house. But by the looks of the pulled blinds and the darkened interior, he thought against it. There was probably no one home anyway.
If anything, George was more concerned about the knowledge getting out to the public. The neutral’s grapevine whispered quickly and he would be damned if they found out.
Silently, the second watched with a heavy heart as his friend visibly deflated. Defeat clouding his eyes, the raven-haired man gazed bitterly into the lands beyond them. The elephant in the room hung like a fog, consuming their minds and freezing their hearts in sync.
“D-Do you think…” Sapnap’s voice trembled, barely a whisper in the wind; All his previous unhinged fury and anger melting away like ice thawing in the first heat of spring.
“George- Do you think they have him?”
It was as if a jolt of lightning had hit him square in the heart as George flinched violently at the sheer, absurd possibility of that ever happening.
“No.” He blurted out sharply, firmly- instinctually. He was unable to even bring himself to entertain the mere thought.
“We haven’t checked the nether yet.” The image of his closest friend, his leader- Dream bleeding, lost and alone in enemy territory terrified George to the very core. No, no he had to believe that Dream was somewhere else. Somewhere safe.
Anywhere but there.
“Who knows?” A tired but determined sigh left him. “Maybe our industrious leader had decided to go AWOL and make base in the middle of that soul-sand valley we discovered last week.”
That got a half-hearted smile from his friend. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes though.
George closed his eyes for a second, pulling himself together and purging all insidious thoughts from his brain. He had to pull himself together. He couldn’t fail now. Not when they were so close. Turning to Sapnap who had grown uncharacteristically quiet and unfocused, deep in thought himself, the brunet decided to take charge again for a change.
“Let’s regroup with the rest of the search party.” He muttered, patting his dear friend’s shoulder with stifled reassurance. “I think we left Punz and the rest behind at the edge of the shoreline where we first spotted Tu-.”
In the distance, without warning, a striking beam of light shot up into the sky. A second later, the light sheen of blue was overlapped with glaring crimson.
An emergency beacon had been lit - one by their very faction. Judging by the location, it was from the rough direction of the coast.
Exchanging knowing glances at the glaring signal, the pair broke into a run without exchanging a single word; back the way they first came.
Punz and the rest had found something.
____
Safely behind locked doors, he watched in the darkness of his home as the two figures grew further and further before disappearing behind the edge of the forest. The house was silent, the air still, the only ambient noise was the soft whirling of his brewing stands working by the double as they had for the last two or so consecutive days.
Skeppy waited for another five minutes in passing before daring to break the silence and lighting up a single torch. A sigh of pure relief escaped him as the interior glowed back to life, illuminated by the flame.
“The coast is clear.” He whispered into the darkness despite the danger that had just passed.
“They’re gone, you can come out now.”
And from the darkest corner of the house, young Tubbo peered out warily from behind the largest cabinet. The L’manbergian’s fearful brown eyes darted towards the door almost in anticipation for it being blown off its hinges or something drastic like that - and honestly, after that entire bloody debacle, Skeppy could not possibly blame the poor kid at all.
Because fuck, that was way too close for comfort.
“It’s safe I swear.” The older man repeated slowly, inching towards the terrified boy who had yet to shed his stifling armor or release his white-knuckled grip on the weapon.
“George did look at the direction of the house but he didn’t make a single move towards it at all.” Another pause. “They have no idea that you’re here at all.”
Still, Tubbo remained trapped in the same moment of terror - stuck in the same defensive position he had maintained for the last minute. It was like the neutral wasn’t even there.
By the looks of the thin particles flicking off Tubbo’s clammy skin, whatever potions that were still circulating in his veins had not run out yet. Skeppy wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t about to rush up to an individual who wasn’t in the right frame of mind and risk getting impaled by a netherite sword. But as cruel as it was, Skeppy needed the boy to snap out of it- and fast.
Reaching behind him without taking his eye off the L’manbergian, the older man palmed around his workbench till his fingers closed around the neck of several glass bottles shimmering with outworldly liquid.
“Look, I have three more bottles of invisibility, swiftness and strength II pots.” The gentle clinking that emitted from the aforementioned potions brought out the first visible reaction from his guest as Tubbo flinched, jerking himself back into awareness. Encouraged, Skeppy pushed on.
“I will stand by to defend you if needed.” He took a bold step forward, non-threatening and calm. “Come back to me, pleas-”
The sound of a sword clattering onto the wooden flooring resounded through the clearing, cutting off his words and at once, a flash of purple surged forward, throwing himself desperately at Skeppy like a touch-starved animal. A soft breath of surprise left the older man as Tubbo started to tremble and sob in his arms; the stress and uncertainty of the last day proved too much for him to handle.
Skeppy’s chest clenched painfully as he held the boy close to his chest and tried to channel as much support and strength he could through touch alone. A myriad of bitter emotions rushed through his heart - helplessness for the shit that the L’manbergians had gotten themselves into, pure frustration towards the other warring faction who had clearly shown today that they would shoot first and talk later, and unadulterated rage at how fucking pointless and miscommunicated this entire situation had become.
After Bad’s departure more than 48 hours ago, L’manbergians had been suddenly making their appearances unexpectedly at their shared home. The first time Fundy appeared unannounced, decked out in maximum armor and sizzling with chaotic energy, Skeppy had almost taken his head off in fright. Then Jack and Niki arrived slinking in later in the day. Each came with instructions from Bad and left the same way they came with splash potions of healing, regeneration and a potion of invisibility for safe travels. And it was then where Skeppy had finally gotten to know the long and short of the story.
Describing it as a clusterfuck would be a miserable understatement.
Sure Dream was a crazed warlord who blew up half of L’manberg and Sapnap threatened to reduce their lands to ashes but both Wilbur and Tommy were by no means innocent by a long-shot as well. They did their fair share of griefing, instigating border skirmishes and unprovoked attacks against their opposing side; They could only play the ‘victim’ card because of their younger and greener members. The neutral had long lost track of what they were fighting for (Independence? Freedom? A bunch of discs?) and he was almost positive that the warning nations had forgotten as well. But the sunk-cost fallacy has been delivered as such. Too much has been invested in this war that has lost all meaning for any side to give up now.
The sides of the war were now blurring into greying lines of uncertainty and Skeppy hated every moment of it.
But now, the longer Dream remained -unbeknownst to his faction, in the heart of L’manberg territory, the more deadly the consequences would be for Wilbur and his people. From the number of pots he was distributing out, Skeppy could roughly estimate the state of the opposing faction’s leader; It was probably pretty fucking bad.
If Dream succumbed to his wounds under Wilbur’s care and the message got out to his people, Skeppy would have to relocate into his underground bunker because the land above would become completely uninhabitable, ravaged with a second war in the name of vengeance for their dead leader.
On the other hand, If Dream lived, he would most likely break free or send a message of some sort back to his people - Skeppy once underestimated Dream’s capacity to survive, he would not make the same mistake again - And under their leader’s command, George and Sapnap would blindly reduce the nation to bedrock in his wake of revenge for withholding the situation from them in the first place.
Either way, L’manberg was truly, utterly fucked.
And judging by Tubbo’s current state, as he narrowly escaped death by two enemies on the hunt for answers, Skeppy knew the boy knew it too.
(There was a third option though: It involved hostage situations and leverage over the enemy using said leader but they would never stoop so low to do such a desperate, ruthless act of immorality- not when they have burnt through that many resources already. There was no way Wilbur would go through with that.
Right?)
Gently, the older man grasped onto armored-clad wrists, unwrapping the distraught teen from where he was attached to his waist and forcing Tubbo to look at him in the eye. If it were up to him, Skeppy would have wrapped the sixteen-year-old in a burrito of blankets and tucked him safely into the softest bed he could find. Perhaps if it was up to him, he would too drag George and Wilbur up by the ear to make them just fucking communicate for crying out loud! But he could not find it in himself to sugarcoat the severity of the bitter situation. At the end of the day, there was really nothing Skeppy could do, short of a damn miracle, that would change the outcome of what was going to inevitably happen.
A tear-streaked face blinked back at him and Skeppy almost regretted the next words he blurted out as a cruel greeting.
Alas, if the ominous beacon painting in the sky red meant anything, it was clear that time was of the very essence. A matter of life or death if he would.
“Tubbo... Is he alive?”
The boy’s breath hitched sharply, eyes pooling with a fresh set of tears.
Skeppy’s heart plummeted to the ground.
____
The broken piece of white porcelain smiled back at him like a grotesque work of art. Covered with a thin sheen of dried blood, it was a cruel mockery of its former owner.
Another wave lapped over it gently, washing the mask further against the shoreline. It came to a stop at the base of his foot; its final destination.
Falling to his knees, he cradled it between trembling palms- barely registering the way the seawater soaked into his clothes. Surrounded by his remaining faction, he held the singular piece of evidence that sealed their enemy’s fate. A gift from the ocean’s last witness.
An enraged scream sounded from his back, Sapnap’s cry of anguish echoing into the vastness of the open waters. Punz gathered up the broken pieces of netherite and other familiar items scattered onto the beach on muscle memory alone, eyes blank in disbelief. Karl and Eret exchanged defeated glances- both gazing hopelessly at their new de facto leader who had gone eerily silent and still.
There was a name to this unexpected feeling threatening to consume him. It swam in the rush of time as all went slow and blood roared in his ears. It emerged deep from the depths of his core and clawed itself to the surface. It screeched, loud and alive through the rush of pure adrenaline surging, bubbling and churning through George’s veins.
Wrath.
____
A gentle breeze kissed his cheeks, jolting him back into consciousness that he was not aware he lost. Vaguely, he could feel the dampness of sand soaking through his waterlogged jeans as another wave of seawater lapped at his shoes-
Wait what?
Dream opened his eyes, jerking himself abruptly into full awareness.
The dark sky greeted him above, stars twinkling in open welcome. The ocean spanned towards the horizon on his left and the familiar walls of his kingdom laid on his right; Further up behind the bed of the hill, laid the badlands hidden from view.
He was alone in the dead of night.
Frowning, Dream struggled to recall the events that had led up to this point and where he was. He prided himself on excelling in both navigational and spatial awareness. His memory too was unparalleled to many- it was literally the very thing that had saved him a plenty from many tight spots in his life.
So when he came up empty, his mind frighteningly blank as the day he was born, Dream felt his heart tremble to a sickening stop.
What happened? What the fuck happened?
Giving himself a hasty look-over in the midst of his spiraling panic, Dream realized the startling absence of any physical injuries on his form. His vision was clear, his mind lucid and his skin untouched.
Huh, somehow he had gotten out of his unexpected excursion into the ocean unscathed.
But then his gut clenched forebodingly as he realized with a rush of concern that, not only was he armourless and weaponless but that he was maskless as well.
Ever since an uneasy truce held the two nations at a stalemate, Dream never left his base without donning a protective cover of iron and stashing a dagger into his boot at minimum. His mask was now almost a part of his face now, seeing how often he wore it the moment he stepped foot out of the base. Without it, he felt ironically exposed and bare to the world. Now add that to his questionable amnesia and the unknown situation he found himself in, red flags and flashing alarms were shooting up crimson by the double in his brain.
Something was missing. Something was very, very wrong.
Pulling himself together, Dream hissed out a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding in and squashed down the impending rise of terror and fear that started to crawl up his throat. Calm. He had to remain calm. Freaking out and running around aimlessly in the dark would only make matters worse for himself.
He needed answers. And he needed them now.
George. George and Sapnap and the rest of his people would know what had happened. Perhaps they had answers on how he had ended up alone on a deserted beach, defenseless and frighteningly near L’manberg’s territory- with absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten there.
With determination surging through his veins, Dream started jogging in the general direction where he knew the wooden pathway of the main roads would be. His consistent pace turned into a steady run. Before he knew it, Dream was sprinting over the fields, leaping over stones and flying across the undergrowth. He only had one aim in mind: To go back home.
Behind him, the shoreline grew smaller and smaller. Until it disappeared behind him into a fog of darkness.
Left in his wake, however, the sand left no footprints, the dirt remained untrampled on and the grass swayed undisturbed in the gentle night breeze; The earth left no evidence of his awakening.
And in the distance, with the echoes of shattered glass, the first sounds of war erupted onto the battlefield.
“We want our leaders to save the day
But we don't get a say in what they trade away
We dream of a brand new start
But we dream in the dark for the most part.”
―Hamilton | The Room Where It Happens
The first story of insurrection that was ever told to him went something like this:
Once there ruled a just and righteous king. He served his people well and in turn, they respected him with fervent glory. In the lands of the free, the king believed that his nation would progress if the people worked hard for their reward and were rewarded for their hard work. After all, generations ago his family had started off as lowly farmers and peasants themselves, working their way up the ladder of succession. Thus, he had taken it upon himself to bring his kingdom to greater heights through blood, sweat and tears.
Under the king’s leadership, his people thrived. They took to the skies and seas; flying on wings of elytras and swimming in waters of molten gold. Mastercrafters scaled castles and built walls to keep their citizens safe, warriors patrolled under the night skies and hunters kept the nation fed. Under the reign of this king- this God - they were flourishing, they were unstoppable.
They were invincible.
Or so they thought.
No one knew what had happened or how it had happened. There were just no words or clever quotes to neatly summarize what had happened that day. One moment, the people were united; laughing and playing in the fields, and in the next, the lands had transformed into a battlefield by the uprising of the rebellion. The revolutionaries mercilessly overthrew the king in a single-handed swoop and banished him to the underworld; where he was to remain burning for eternity. His swine and bastards scattered, exiled by the very people who they used to serve.
“Well.” The leader of the rebellion had smiled; fierce and dark and cruel.
“That was pretty easy.”
Standing high atop the hillock, flanked by a pair of his most loyal followers against the glare of the setting sun, the new king looked down towards his conquered land and upon the fearful citizens who trembled under his fiery gaze.
“You listen to me!” His voice rang above the chaos, beckoning his nation to listen, to conform, to bow.
“This place will be a lot different tomorrow.”
“Let’s start making it happen.”
The sun wakes, the sun sets. People come, people go. Oceans rise, empire falls. It was the catalyst that started the circle of life, death, oppression, tyranny, freedom and liberty.
Folding his arms a little tighter around his chest, diligent in his watchful vigil, Tommy liked to think he was currently experiencing a sick, twisted parody of the fable Wilbur had shared with him; except he wasn’t sure which role he was currently playing. These days, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
The shadows grew long and dark; stretching out onto the windowless walls of the large bunker lighted by a single Redstone torch. Bad laid slummed at the base of the lone bed set in the middle of the empty clearing- exhausted after close to three full days of sleepless nights. And there, the fallen king laid. Still and silent and unmoving. The only proof of life was the spasic twitches of his eyes moving behind close lids and the slow rise and fall of his bandaged chest.
Up and down. Slow and steady. Alive.
For L’manberg, however, it was but a cursed miracle.
____
“I need splash potions of healing and regend. Now!”
No one moved. No one dared to breathe.
“What are you waiting for? Get the fuck OUT!”
The sound of a door slamming against the barricade of obsidian after the surprising profanity echoed through the corridor, finally shaking the faction out of their stupor. In the darkness, three people scattered with haste, each with their own mission to support a dying cause. Nevertheless, two figures remained left behind, stunned and speechless; their clothes stained with rainwater, dirt and blood- blood that was not of their own.
“I-I thought-” L’manberg’s president whispered to the shadows of the night, frozen in a daze of adrenaline and uncertainty, “I thought he was Tubbo-”
“Well, you were very, very wrong.” It came out emotionlessly and deadpan, his right-hand man's shaken gaze still pinned almost catatonically onto the entrance of the room where a neutral remained in the secured bunker in his last desperate act to save a life.
“But...You-you knew!” His leader spluttered aghast, his face flashing from rage to frustration and then to utter confusion.
“Tommy, why the fuck then did you jump in after him?”
“Oh, you’re two for two Wilbur.” Distantly in the fog of suspended animation, Tommy heard himself yelling back hysterically, unwilling to let himself be washed over by guilt and to shoulder the sole consequence of their impossible act of mercy.
“Why the fuck did you decide to both spare him and bring him back here -”
____
The minute cracks in the amethyst walls and the scorch marks against the bark of redwood trees might be the only evidence of the great war that had passed, but the very fact remained: L’manberg indeed had felt the wrath of their opposition. Tommy would know oh too well; For he too bore the scars of its consequence- the reminder tattooed permanently against his skin. Thus, he was well and truly mindful of the fact that Dream was not a force to be reckoned with. The man was always two-steps in front of them and two-plans ahead of them. He was a God among men, invincible and untouchable.
But now… look how the mighty have fallen.
The storm raging in him screamed at Tommy mercilessly. It was a fierce reckoning for attention, for vengeance, for justice. How easy would it be to just whip a sword from the weapon’s rack, stick the weapon into the man’s gut and watch him bleed out in a flash? How easy would it be to just toss a potion of weakness onto the bed and watch as he went silently the same way he came in? How easy would it be to put down the enemy as he laid, vulnerable, hurt and open- just like a rat in a mousetrap?
For the moment they brought the broken and bleeding form of Dream back to their heartland, Tommy knew that his people all knew: L’manberg was going to enter another face of war. It was only a matter of time. Time that was not on their side.
So what was the point of keeping prisoners?
Unconsciously, Tommy allowed his eyes to trail over the body of his nemesis.
Funnily enough, the man of his nightmares wasn’t covered with gruesome scars nor did he have devilish horns like Tubbo once expected him to have on the top of his skull. In fact, without the protection of his armor and mask, lying silently on the large bed, the leader of the opposition actually looked comically small, truly defenseless and strangely… ordinary.
Dream just looked like another one of them; His face bruised and bloody- open for the world to see.
The right-hand man of L’manberg was looking at the sheer proof that confirmed that he was failable, he could be brought down and that Dream was very much human.
(Tommy would also die before admitting that he had felt deeply uncomfortable by the mere act of looking at the man’s exposed face as he lay in deep slumber. It was as if he was committing a crime that did not exist)
Clenching his fingers into tight fists that had not stopped trembling for the past three days, Tommy, however, refused to feel sorry for Dream- shoving throbbing and unacknowledged emotions back into the deepest, darkest corners of his consciousness.
It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. Dream was just there at the worst place and at the worst time. That was all. That was all.
The purposeful reminder circled his brain like a mantra as Tommy refused to allow himself to feel.
He would not. He could not.
Because L’manberg finally had the high ground against their foes. They had a prime bargaining chip lying at their feet for the last three days. They had full-proof leverage. For fucks sake, they literally had Dream as their bloody hostage. And by looking at the extent of his injuries, the man wouldn’t be getting up to escape anytime soon.
Tommy knew that if they played his cards right, he could bring the enemy’s faction to his knees; Because they all knew that George would do anything for his leader. Anything.
But then again, a desperate man with nothing to lose was a dangerous man.
History had taught them a lesson and ignited them alight with fire. As they crawled from the ashes of failure, they swore on their lives that L’manberg would not be caught off-guard and unprepared like that ever again. This time...this time, they would be ready.
Thus, Wilbur was currently with Niki re-enchanting and reinforcing their newly acquired gear sets and netherite weapons while Fundy and Jack Manifold left to gather last-minute resources to build up their fortifications for what was to come indefinitely. Tubbo was due to return with new potions from Skeppy and they were to rendezvous back within the walls before dusk to bring everyone up to date and to finalize their defense strategies. This left Tommy to hold down their base and monitor their guest as the boy was left stewing with a single taunting, unanswered question:
Why weren’t they utilizing their advantage?
(Deep down, though, they all knew the reason why. It remained unspoken in their heart; refusing to be spilled like the blood that stained their floors)
Nevertheless, Bad’s medical implementations must have been starting to take effect because the superficial bruises and cuts that had dotted broken skin had begun to scab over. Even the deepest laceration that spanned from Dream’s right collarbone towards his sternum - torn open by a broken piece of netherite during the fall, had closed; the tightly bound bandages across the man’s chest remaining white and clean.
The presence of what had been several fractured ribs and a suspected punctured lung had been worrying at first- not to mention the large gash trailing across his temple and disappearing into his hairline. Fortunately, with the number of splash potions of healing and regeneration they had been dosing the man with, his wounds had not gotten infected and were actually healing pretty well. In fact, if Tommy could be honest with himself for the first time in a long time, looking past the stitches and unending bandages he was wrapped in, Dream just looked like he was sleeping peacefully. He didn’t look as dead as he had looked days prior.
But that was where the crux of their problem persisted.
How could they do any negotiations of any sort if Dream wasn’t waking up?
___
“Why isn’t he regaining consciousness?” Wilbur’s voice hissed from the side of the clearing. Footsteps sounded from behind, silent and forebodingly. Someone started to pace the ground impatiently. From his corner of the room, Tommy blocked it out. He has been doing quite a good job of living in denial these few days- trapped in his own bubble of safety and simulated ignorance.
He focused on the cool tap water running through his fingertips.
He focused on getting rid of the stains on his palm- wait no he got them out days ago didn’t he?
He focused on scrubbing away the crimson from the underside of his nails that just blatantly refused to go-
“It has almost been two days.” Wilbur continued, undeterred by the sickening silence. “Are the potions not working?”
Tommy’s skin was turning red from the force of his valiant efforts.
“Bad, just tell me what I must do.” A tinge of desperation leaked out of his leader’s voice unexpectedly. “I can get my men to get more medical supplies from your place again. I’ll send Tubbo out in the morning. He’s the fastest runner among us-”
Tommy’s hands were clean. They were clean. They were clean.
“Wilbur I- Listen.” Bad spoke out for the first time, cutting the president short; his voice rough, body weary.
“I’ve made a... calculated risk. One of which I thought would allow us to reap a better outcome.”
Tommy stopped breathing.
His leader made a non-committed sound, urging Bad to continue.
“I stitched up whatever physical wounds I could and used potions to counter internal injuries left unaccounted for.” The neutral smiled bitterly, his eyes clouding and unreadable. “Because I knew without the pots, his heart would have given out from either shock, blood-loss or p-pain.”
And it was at that very breaking point where Tommy abruptly remembered the twisted position that Bad was in. Dream might be their sworn enemy but he was still… an ally - a friend to the neutral.
Suddenly the thought of Tubbo, bleeding out on the ground and Tommy having to shoulder the weight of saving his best friend, alone, manifested in the darkest part of his mind.
The bitter irony made Tommy physically sick to his stomach.
As he looked away to glance into the mirror, Tommy made direct eye-contact with Wilbur. For a split second, he swore he could still feel tangible warmth oozing through his fingers.
“Thus, in spite of his head wound, I made the decision to dose him in as many potions as humanly possible to keep him unconscious...to heal-” The horrible crack of emotion was sharp and visceral as Bad’s voice shattered like the fragments on the ground; his surprising confession shaking the room to the core.
“S-So if he did slip away in the night, he wouldn’t go i-in... agony-”
___
Pain erupted from his right hand, shocking Tommy back into reality. The obsidian walls that his fists had just been acquainted with were barely scuffed- but that could not be said the same for his knuckles. The stinging discomfort ratted him from the inside out, shaking the boy into sharp awareness. Raising his hand to his face, Tommy watched, almost in a twisted mesmerized way as blood oozed out from torn skin, mirroring the violent bubble of emotions spilling out deep from within him-
Ragefrustration angerhopelessnessworryfearguilt-
And In that very instance, Tommy stared in horror as his hands were once again painted crimson with Dream’s blood.
Red red redredead
___
The bloody beacon carrying his faction’s sign glowed into the night sky, illuminating Dream’s vision with a deadly scarlet hue that brought the man to an abrupt stop.
Huh, that wasn’t lit a second ago.
And especially not with that alarming color.
Frowning, Dream shielded his eyes away from the light, trying to reorientate himself again. Facing south down the wooden path he took a good look at his surroundings for the first time since he had started his midnight marathon back to base. Dream could roughly gauge the location of where he currently was; above the hills in front of him would be The Embassy and the market area which would span all the way towards Punz’s place, the community house and their base of operations. Behind him laid Skeppy and Bad’s place, neutral territory, and the edge of L’manberg’s uncharted lands.
But somehow his surroundings seemed… foreign. There was just something about it that Dream couldn’t wrap his finger around. If he looked hard enough, the man would notice that there were small changes and minute alterations to the landscape around him; An extra tree that had not been there before, new structures that had sprung up overnight, empty crops fields that were once filled-
No. There was no way. Bathed in a wash of red, everything just looked extra different at night. With his, hopefully, short-term amnesia still in play, perhaps Dream was just overlooking and overthinking it all. Besides, he couldn’t afford to lose track of his aim now. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Dream doubled-back to his first point of notice.
There were different colors that they used on beacons in the case where the faction was separated and needed the means to communicate. George and Sapnap had personally spent half a day organizing the signal lights themselves. Dream himself had officialized it by instructing them to utilize and head it respectively when necessary.
Blue and white were used for generic location marking for future references. Pink was for a special find, be it an undiscovered cave system, an unlooted chest with too much gear to carry back, or a new animal mob for farming. Amber symbolized the presence of injuries and would signal for the base to prep medical supplies or send someone out for retrieval. Red needed no explanation- it was all hands on deck and for all to rendezvous to the location immediately.
If Dream’s directional sense was accurate - which it was 80% of the time- the signal was coming from the coast, the very place he had been mere minutes ago. The coincidence was uncanny.
A foreboding shadow of dread wrapped itself around his heart. How long had he been out for?
Torn between falling back on his own emergency instructions and his gut instinct to continue putting distance between enemy lands and himself, Dream caught himself uncharismatically freezing for a second.
What was wrong with him?
Alas, almost like it was scripted, a decision was made for him as a familiar group of people came into view.
Sapnap, Punz, Karl (and huh was that Ponk? What was the neutral doing with his team?) came running over the path right to where Dream stood; each bristling with full netherite and armed to the teeth- And leading the terrifying fray was-
“George!”
A blatant sense of true relief spread through his chest at the sight. It was like a literal weight had been lifted off Dream’s shoulders that he didn’t even know he was carrying. His people were here! At long last, he would finally receive answers responsible for this maddening night.
“Thank God you’re all here.” Curling his lips into a smile, the leader started towards his faction members, all his earlier tension oozing away. “Can someone please explain to me what the actual fuck is going on?”
However, George did not react to his exclamation at all. His best friend didn’t even turn to look at him. In fact… No one did.
Something strange twisted low in his stomach as Dream faulted, stopping dead in his tracks.
“Guys?”
Headless to his repeated calls, Karl and Punz started pulling out bottles of potions from their satchel. Sapnap adjusted his grip on his netherite axe and turned towards Ponk who nodded grimly. The four men then began to distribute the resources among them. All this time, George remained silent and still, looking away towards the uncharted enemy territory that laid before them.
“We each got three sets of strength 2 pots and splash potions of harming.” Sapnap announced, walking up to the older man with a pouch filled with his share of the potions.
“Skeppy and Bad will be meeting us at The Embassy with more resources at hand.” Punz added, slinging his quiver across his back.
“We’re ready. It’s your call, George.”
Almost as if he was having an out-of-body experience, Dream watched on, confused and bewildered like never before. What was happening? Did they not see him? What the fuck was happening-
“Raze their lands to bedrock.” George’s voice broke against the dark clearing abruptly. It was cold and calculating and dead- sending a full shiver down Dream’s spine; Never had he ever heard his friend speak like that before.
“Leave nothing standing.”
In the fog of uncertainty and confusion, Dream followed the direction of his friend’s sudden unhinged fixation and rapidly-growing bloodthirst-
It led him to the direction of the great amethyst walls and the foliage of redwood trees.
A twisted smile graced Geroge’s face as the man spun around to face the faction that he led with fire in his eyes and death on his mind.
“We attack at dawn.”
"Oceans rise, empires fall
We have seen each other through it all
And when push comes to shove
I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!"
- Hamilton | You’ll be back
“Look, George. Everything the light touches is our kingdom.”
Standing high atop the hillock and against the glare of the setting sun, two men stood side by side as they faced the world together.
“King’s time as a ruler rises and falls like the sun.”
“One day, George, the sun will set on my time here and rise with you,”
His green eyes glowed, reflecting against white glasses in front of him, the intensity of his friend’s gaze searing and powerful and bright as he turned towards his leader.
“As the new king.”
____
The neutrals saw him as a pacifist, the only one who could keep his faction in line when they went on murder sprees. The enemy saw him as a man who was afraid of combat, the weakest link of Dream’s band of comrades.
Indeed, the man himself would be the first to admit that he might not be the strongest fighter on the battlefield. Alas, it did not mean he had no experience with close-quarter combat, it was just that he often left the brute frontline attacks to Punz and Sapnap and opted to stand on the high-ground as their faction’s snipper (long-ranged weaponry was his forte). Nevertheless, his personal choice of weapon was but his mind, his analytical genius and battle strategies; which were unparalleled only to Dream’s own.
Contrary to popular belief, he was actually the one who brought up the idea of having a spy within the enemy faction. With Dream’s nod of approval, he then personally decided to take himself out of the border skirmishes to observe their enemies from afar; Trying to pick out the cracks in the revolutionist's young members. Tubbo was ignorant enough but much too loyal to Tommy, Niki and Fundy were constantly shadowed under Wilbur’s protection and Jack was too new to combat and the realities of war.
Which left Eret. The wild-card who bowed down to no man and who was at constant logger-heads with his leader.
It was almost too perfect.
With the spine of his plan in play, Dream executed it readily. His leader commanded Punz to start digging the underground tunnels leading from Ponk’s neutral area to L’manberg’s base. He sent Sapnap to sabotage their enemy’s resources (Their youngest member came back with a chest filled with emeralds). And when the time was right, the two of them went to pay Eret a visit on that very fateful night; With promises of land, wealth and prestige decorating their proposition.
He was not weak. Oh, no he wasn’t - Not by a fucking longshot.
Because, when push came to shove, behind his pretty face, calm facade and false pretenses, George could prove to be the most dangerous one among them all.
There was a reason why Dream chose him to be his successor.
Distantly, the brunet heard his faction shift around him soundlessly, each clad and armed to the teeth as they distributed their resources among themselves. The air sizzled with visceral emotion and the tension thick enough to be sliced in half by an axe.
But as George stood atop the hillock under the glow of moonlight, staring down at the flag of L’manberg blankly, he had never felt so alone.
He couldn’t imagine fighting without heeding the call of their leader. He couldn’t imagine being a ruler to his people. Physical pain gripped his chest, throbbing like a ragged wound; an emptiness that could never be replaced.
Because George could not imagine a life without Dream by his side.
“We each got three sets of strength 2 pots and splash potions of harming.” Sapnap announced, his words sharp and determined. Walking up to George with a pouch filled with his share of the potions, his friend placed an armored-clad hand onto his stiffened shoulders in an act of silent reassurance. With fire dancing alight in his dark eyes, Sapnap smiled; a myriad of emotions flashing across his face.
Grief. Anger. Rage. Bloodlust.
Wordlessly, George nodded and pocketed his prize, the intensity of his friend’s gaze igniting a familiar wave of passion in his heart.
“Eret and Karl will be meeting us at The Embassy with more resources at hand.” Punz added, slinging his quiver across his back, fastening his shield snuggly next to it.
“We’re ready. It’s your call, George.”
We’ll follow your lead. We’ll fight by your side.
The words remained unspoken by his people. It was left to swirl in the still air of dusk.
We’ll bring this empire to their knees today.
“Raze their lands to the bedrock.”
The words that left his mouth tasted foreign and unfamiliar. But change had to start today. It was a proclamation of strength, a sign of unity and a true show of power.
“Leave nothing standing.”
He would not be emotionally compromised. He would lead his faction to victory. He would avenge his fallen leader - By any means necessary.
“We attack at midnight.”
____
“Onwards!”
Lights flashed across his vision, voices murmured nothingness from behind bristling trees, his footsteps thudded against the ground in sync with the thrum of his heartbeat; faster and fasterfasterfaster-
A volley of battle cries thundered into the night.
One moment Dream was running through the path chasing after his friends- the wind in his face and the dark sky clear above his head and in the next, he found himself in the middle of a raging battlefield at the dawn of a new beginning.
“Down with the revolution! Take them all out!”
He recognized George’s cry. But the sheer fury and rage underlining his words were unfamiliar and haunting. Clambering into the heart of enemy territory, Dream’s eyes traced the fight and landed onto his friends in the heat of the fray.
Sapnap screamed and barrelled straight into Fundy, slamming him hard onto the ground. The L’manbergian barely managed to duck away from a fatal blow to his chest as a netherite axe struck the earth where he laid seconds ago.
Punz and Eret were battling side by side, shoving Niki, Jack and Tubbo back towards the walls of their lands easily without resistance; Their combined strength proving too much even for the three people against them.
Karl tossed potion after potion onto the battlefield; his aim squarely onto the president and his right-hand man. Snarling in frustration, Tommy brought up his shield as another potion of weakness splashed onto the edge of the wooden surface. Nodding a wordless signal at his leader, the boy shifted quickly.
“Now Wilbur!”
In a flash, the leader of the rebellion whipped out his crossbow and quickly reloaded a tripled-charged shot. Before Karl could blink, his gaze falling onto a small green orb that was unceremoniously tossed into the air, Wilbur appeared behind him and released his weapon at point-blank range-
But not before L’manberg’s leader was viciously shoved away and sent tumbling gracelessly onto the dirt by a single swing of an enemy’s sword.
In the glow of the rising sun, George stood tall, guarding his teammate protectively behind the cover of his shield.
“Fight me L’manbergian.” A terrifying sneer curled itself across the brunet’s face.
“Fight me if you dare.”
Refusing to stand down, Wilbur released his crossbow vainly as his arrows went wide in three sporadic directions. Two shots were blocked immediately by George and Karl.
Abruptly, as the last arrow flew towards… his way, Dream realized the real danger he suddenly was in. Too caught up in the action and watchful for his faction’s safety, he had forgotten to look out for himself.
Fuck.
Dream raised his hands to shield his face and braced for the pain that would follow. Weaponless and armorless, there was really nothing else he could do. He knew all too well that there would not be enough reaction time to prevent the arrowhead from embedding itself into his flesh.
There was a dull thunk as the final arrow hit its mark dead on.
Time slowed as Dream felt the phantom touch of something sharp pierce his skin. But as quickly as he perceived it, the strange sensation dissipated. At once, his body was consumed with an odd all encapsulating bubble of coldness. It was as if someone had dunked his entire body into cold water, numbing his body and mind with vivid realization.
Because the arrow didn’t hit him.
It went through him.
A strange glassy calm of delirium overtook him, freezing his thoughts and rooting him on the spot in the single moment of impossibility. Everything around him felt like it was going in slow, animated movements as Dream stood in the center of the hurricane.
Everything made sense now. The viciousness of his faction. The bloodlust that glowed in their eyes. The violence in their movements. The way he had gotten out of it all unscathed. The way no one responded to his calls. The way George fought like he had nothing to lose.
He was dead. He had to be.
There was no other explanation. It was the only explanation.
Staring down at his trembling hands, frozen in shock and utter confusion, Dream allowed the rush of time to speed past him. The world around him thudded against the ground in sync with the thrum of his terrified heartbeat; faster and fasterfasterfaster-
A piercing cry rang out, shoving Dream back into the timeline of events just in time to see his best friend viciously strike L’manberg’s leader down against the rough gravel of the earth. Thrusting his netherite sword dangerously under the enemy’s chin, George spat out the final words that sealed their combined fates.
“This is for Dream, you bastard.”
____
The sword sliced across the air and hit home fatally.
Blood splattered against the grass.
Wilbur slummed to the ground soundlessly.
And all of L’manberg screamed.
____
“Well.”
George smiled; fierce and dark and cruel, wiping the red of his weapon onto the still body at his feet. His voice was...deeper, darker, different-
“That was pretty easy.”
Suddenly, as the shockwave of the enemy leader’s fate rippled through the crowd around him, the terrains surrounding L’manberg swirled and spun dizzily right before Dream’s disbelieving eyes. In a flash, a huge stage sprung up in front of where he stood. Hugging the outer circle of the enemy’s heartlands, it towered above the earth, decorated with polished wood, frosted glass and a stream of flowing waterfalls.
Standing high atop the platform and against the glare of the setting sun, two vague figures stood came forward, flanking George side by side as they looked over the devastation of L’manberg together. They were not clad in a single piece of armor, nor did they bear weapons. But their suits were as sharp as swords and their eyes glowed with power, hidden behind inky shaders of their own.
The new rulers looked down towards their conquered land and upon the fearful citizens who trembled under their fiery gazes.
“You listen to me!” One voice merged into three as it rang above the chaos, beckoning L’manberg to listen, to conform, to bow.
“This place will be a lot different tomorrow.”
“Let’s start making it happen-”
A sharp gasp of surprise sounded from somewhere in the crowd as the fallen president shifted weakly, propping himself weakly up onto the grass. Shoving Tommy- who had ran towards his leader at once- away with his dwindling strength, Wilbur struggled to pull something metal and black from his coat; clutching it tightly in his trembling palm as if his very life depended on it.
“If w-we can’t,” A harsh, ragged cough ripped from his throat as clots of blood splattered onto the dirt. “h-have L-L’manberg-”
The lands around dipped and morphed, seemingly terraforming at the will of the man bleeding out on the grass. Festivities and grandstands grew parallel from the earth, tied together with colors of the rainbow- a cruel juxtaposition to the setting at hand. The two strangers backed away, disappearing behind the shadows of a throne that had taken over the stage. No one seemed to notice though, the people’s focus remained dead set on the final bloody face-off between the two leaders as time came to a screeching halt.
George hissed in twisted dismay, raising his weapon to finish the job once more.
But not before Wilbur slammed the flint and steel deep into the crimson soil beneath him-
and the ominous sound of multiple pistons shifting, redstone repeaters activating and the sizzle of dynamite rang out clearly through the open clearing.
In the steadily growing sea of people, Dream distantly made out Bad’s cry of shock, Sapnap’s gasp of horror, Punz slowly backing away, Fundy and Niki climbing back onto their feet...
But it was too late.
The ground rumbled it’s final warning before everything went still for a single beat of silent, suspended animation.
In the last moments of what was to come, Dream could only watch in helpless devastation as George stared, aghast, his sword slipping from his fingers as the earth shattered from beneath his feet.
“Then no one can.”
___
And in the wake of a burning flag, as the claws of madness gript the hearts and minds of their leaders, the walls of L' Manberg finally came crumbling down; exploding in a flash of gunpowder and echoing with the dying screams of blood and fire.
___
A terrible cry rocked the room, jerking the neutral into full abrupt awareness at the foot of the mattress he was slummed on. It was brimming with anguish and piercing torment, the very sound itself ripping throughout the four walls of the area; broken and animalistic. In a flash, the door crashed open, slamming against the walls of obsidian with the sheer brute force of the single, fluid action.
The president of L’manberg came barreling into the underground bunker as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.
Body tense like a spring, weapon at the ready and breaths coming in short, sharp pants, Wilbur swept his eyes across to the occupants of the isolated room with an urgency he never felt before.
“Bad? I heard-”
Alas, his words trailed off into a stifled, gobsmacked silence of pure disbelief as his gaze landed on the single bed in the middle of the darken clearing.
And at last, for the second time in four days, realization dawned onto Wilbur like a fist to the gut as a pair of fearful, clear green eyes once again met dark brown in the shadows of the midnight flame.
“Dream?”
Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man.
- Henry Adams
At the highest point in the night sky, the moon illuminated the undergrowth as two figures emerged from the darkness. Together, they dashed into the lands of L’manberg without a beat of warning, rhyme or reason. From the bastion watchtowers and on red high alert, Fundy hollered a shout of warning as Jack and Niki raised their flamed bows into the air-
“Stop!” A painfully familiar scream rang out onto their lands, shaking Tommy out of his rigid battle stance.
“Stop, we’re friendly!”
He recognized that voice anywhere.
Alas, with the shadows of war emerging on the horizon, L’manberg could trust nothing but hardened and foolproof visual confirmation. Shoving his friends aside, Tommy almost threw himself off the edge of the walls in desperation to prove that he was right. The foreboding feeling of dread rising in his gut simmered down slightly as he was greeted by a pair of familiar brown eyes from under a flash of diamond and netherite as a shield was raised defensively.
“It’s Tubbo!” He screamed, hasty to diffuse the situation.
“Tubbo and Skeppy! Stand down!”
The rumbling of heavy gates opened in an apologetic acknowledgment - The last of their people had finally come home.
Scrambling down from the tower, the faction wasted no time to greet their fellow L’manbergian and the neutral he had surprisingly brought into their lands at midnight.
“Are you good? You were due to return hours ago!” Grabbing his best friend in a death-gripped embrace, Tommy searched Tubbo’s face critically, noting the flash of apprehension and terror that had yet to leave his gaze.
“What happened?”
Unprompted, Fundy butted in abruptly before the boy could respond.
“I-I’m really sorry Tubs,” his voice trembled with regret at the near friendly-fire he had almost allowed.
“Wilbur's last orders before he left to gather the last of our supplies underground were to stand our ground and shoot anything that moved in the forest.”
In an instant, the clearing exploded with voices, overlapped with worry and interrupted with uncertainty.
“We’ve been on high alert ever since that red beacon had been lighted-”
“I saw-”
“Did you bring more potions? Jack and I didn’t manage to get enough blaze rods in the nether-”
“Not exac-”
“When Wilbur comes back he’ll bring us all back to speed. He said that he had a plan-”
“G-Guys-”
“You’ll be stationed on the top of the bastion I think. You’re best with the crossbow-“
“I-”
A ear-piercing whistle silenced the overwhelming chatter bluntly - catching the L’manbergians by sharp surprise.
“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Boldly shoving himself between the internal chaos and a trembling Tubbo, Skeppy barrelled into the fray, irritation and urgency alight in his tone.
“We don’t have time for this!”
The blistering glower Tommy sent towards the neutral was enough to melt molten steel. How dare this man who held no alliance enter their lands unannounced and order them around? How did he end up on their soil anyway? Why did his best friend bring him here-
“They know.”
The two words shattered the stunned silence, hitting the mark of the hearts of the people who had unconsciously formed an overprotective semicircle around the trembling, ominous voice of alarm that was Tubbo.
“A-And... They’re c-comi-”
He never got to finish. Atop the watchtower, there was a violent wave of movement that sliced through the ragged band of men on the grounds like the blunt side of a knife.
It was the first call of the herald; announcing the beginning of the end.
“Enemy line spotted along the western hillock! G-” Jack’s cry of warning was sharply cut off as a single flaming arrow struck the wood above him, forcing him to duck for cover.
Time seemed to stall as Tommy jerked his head to the left, struggling to locate the source of danger that was encircling their borders. And at last, the reality of the inevitable settled into his bones like a death warrant.
Because this time he needed no visual confirmation, it was crystal clear.
They were already here.
Ignoring the slight flare of pain that throbbed from his previously busted knuckles, Tommy tightened his grip around the netherite sword at his hip before turning to his people expecting them to rise up-
However, each L’manbergian stood rooted to the spot, unmoving - frozen in their own headspace of uncertainty and fear.
With the heavy absence of their president weighing down on all of them, the lack of directive and instruction was stark in comparison to their past battles. Because, over-reliant on both Wilbur’s leadership and command, no one actually knew what to do next.
Unconsciously, their blank, uncertain gazes settled on the next chain of command.
The seconds ticked by in beat and harmony with his heightened pulse as Tommy’s world sharpened with rapid-fueled adrenaline. With the feeling of five sets of eyes on him, his brain then went into a stress-filled overdrive.
He could do this.
Facing his shaken faction, Tommy sucked in a sharp breath of air and set his shoulders back with all the confidence he could muster. There was no better time to step up than now.
He would lead his people.
“We have to stall for time until our president arrives.”
He would do Wilbur proud.
Turning to Niki first, Tommy gestured to the main bastion that had received the first warning shot.
“Niki.” The girl in question straightened immediately at the sound of her name, her eyes flicking towards Tommy as he continued. “Get to the north tower and relieve Jack’s station.”
“I want you to focus on aerial attacks and to overlook the battlegrounds. Wilbur left a tripled charged infinity bow on the first chest next to the ladders.” He saw the very moment where Niki took a deep breath and visibly pulled herself together.
“I can do that!” She said with fierce determination. Tommy then watched as their ambassador descended the ladder before Niki swiftly took his place in a second. Without a beat of hesitation, Tommy pushed on in the heat of the moment.
“Fundy, stick with Jack and target your heavy hits on Sapnap and Punz.” Two sets of nods were tossed his way as the pair began tightening their netherite armor. “Don’t let them push forward into our lands.”
“Take the enchanted shields!” He added, pointing to the shimmering enchantments decorating the protective surfaces. “It might help in defending against the frontliners who would be using axes.”
“Keep a lookout for Eret.” The traitor’s name tasted vile in Tommy’s throat. “We are not sure if he might be in this fight.”
Fundy made a sound of acknowledgment as he started towards his assigned partner, Tommy’s unexpected command sparking new battle tactics that were beginning to spring up into the older man’s mind. Jack brushed off the soot from his face, eyes dark and solely prepared to fight on the ground properly this time. Above, Niki held the quiver in her steady hand and placed herself safely behind a solid wall of nether brick, alert and ready to engage.
A body brushed against Tommy as Tubbo wordlessly came up to stand hesitantly by his side. Although the second-in-command had yet to put a finger on what had shaken up his best friend to such a drastic extent, he did not need to ask. Dream’s faction was well known for their manhunts. One did not have to be a genius to put two and two together at the sight of a L’manbergian and a neutral dashing across their lands like their lives depended on them in the wake of their enemy’s arrival.
Tubbo was jittery, unfocused and on knife's edge. And judging by his knuckled-white grip on his sword that had yet to cease in its trembling intensity even long after he had entered his supposed safe haven, there was no way in hell that Tommy was letting Tubbo man the watchtowers and be their designated sniper as per usual.
There was no way in hell that Tommy was letting Tubbo out of his sight. Not anymore.
“Focus on finding and distracting Karl. He’s the weakest out of them all.” Gently, the teen held his shaken friend by the shoulders, trying to transfer as much stability and feelings of calm to the shorter boy through touch alone. “Remember: You have an advantage over him in terms of battlefield experience.”
“Wilbur said that he has a plan. We will just have to hold on till he gets here-”
“You all put too much trust in that man you call president.”
Tubbo stiffened under his grip as the pair spun around to meet the owner of the grating words. Unfazed by the brazenness of his words, Skeppy stared them down boldly, his eyes darkening and unreadable.
An unconscious growl left his throat as Tommy sprang up with his instinctual need to defend the man who he considered his leader, his friend and his brother. But Tubbo beat him to it, his words bitter with hurt.
“Skeppy? Wha- You told me you’ll stand by to defend us!”
“I told you that I’ll defend you.” The neutral corrected bluntly. “Under my own turf. In my own house.”
“The only reason why I’m here now, in L’manberg, is to get Bad out.” He paused, undeterred by the stricken silence left in his wake, before gesturing to the satchel slung across his armored back. “And I’m willing to bet all the potions in this bag that your leader is with him as we speak.”
In a flash, his voice dropped dangerously, like a fierce strike of lightning.
“Because I’m sure every citizen in L’manberg knows very well why my best friend was dragged into your business in the first place.”
Spreading his arms wide towards the four amethyst walls bordering them, Skeppy studied him with a strange sort of intensity.
“Look around you, Tommy. Who exactly are you fighting for?”
The first tendrils of uncertainty crept its way onto Tommy’s chest and curled around his heart as the boy stared into the cold mocking eyes of a man who chose to side with no one.
“I’m fighting for L’manberg!” It was blurted from his lips automatically. It was an unconscious thought - an immediate response. A rightfully obvious answer.
At his side, however, Tubbo’s remained silent. His response dying painfully in his throat.
And Skeppy gave a small, knowing, mirthless smile; striking L’manberg’s second with an abrupt, crippling revelation - The final wavering nail in the coffin of loyalty.
“Are you really?”
Alas, there wasn’t an open window of opportunity to retort or elaborate or think as the clearing was immediately struck alive by a voice of alarm.
“Eyes up!” Niki’s battle-cry rang out from the watchtower.
“They’re approaching the gates!”
As if it was his given cue to go, Skeppy turned his heel without another word and disappeared deep into the heart of their lands - His own personal mission at the forefront of his own mind.
But Tommy didn’t even see him go.
Distantly, he heard his faction scramble around him urgently in the wake of Niki’s warning; Each running to their battle stations and unsheathing their weapons as they distributed their resources among themselves. The air sizzled with visceral emotion and the tension was thick enough to be sliced in half by an ax.
But as Tommy stood at the gates of L’manberg under the glow of the moon at midnight, plagued by the new seeds of doubt, and now with the additional lack of support from his best friend, he had never felt so alone.
I’m fighting for L’manberg. The boy tried to all but fall back on the last line of defenses he knew and that had stowed away in the depths of his very soul.
I’m fighting to protect L’manberg - To defend it from the flames of the foes who just kept taking and taking and taking-
“Tommy... What have we done?”
“He’s throwing up blood! Fuck, I think he punctured a lung-”
“Wait, this... you aren’t Tubbo-”
“Tommy, why the fuck then did you jump in after him?”
“S-So if he did slip away in the night, he wouldn’t go i-in... agony-”
But wasn’t L’manberg the one who started the fire this time?
Pulling himself together, Tommy struggled to narrow his focus onto the rising threats on the moonlit horizon - vaguely he could make out the flash of purple in the dark and shimmering blades of steel. Straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders, he forced a veil of calm to wash over himself in a last desperate attempt to drown out the red on his ledger.
And as his eyes fell onto a familiar brunet emerging from the darkness of the forest, bristling with the rage of a thousand men, Tommy felt his mouth moving over the same phrase - over and over and over again-
For L’manberg
For L’manberg
...
For L’manberg?
____
The single, powerful designation rang through the bunker in the echoes of a devastating cry - brought forth in the haze of sheer disbelief.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Bad sprang up from where he was kneeling on the ground for the past two days. Ignoring the twinge of discomfort in his limbs, the neutral focused on the sole thing that mattered.
Ever since he had been personally summoned to L’manberg and thrown into a battle that he was never supposed to fight in, Bad had come to a conclusion that he would just risk everything and take all that he was offered just so as to pull his friend from the brink of certain death.
Oh, he was going to have words with a certain president when it was all over - that was beyond a doubt. This… mindless war between these two nations had gone too far and at last, had finally reached a tipping point and now Bad would be damned if he stood around like a stick in the mud. Fueled with sheer determination and frustration alone, Bad had once slammed an accord of a cease-fire right in the very faces of the two leaders.
He could very much do it again.
But in the meantime, there was no time to be emotionally compromised, there was no time to play the blame game; Not when the consequences of this one man’s life proved to be fatal for the rest of the lands.
So Bad did what he did best: Compartmentalize.
It was frankly easier said than done.
The next few days were a terrible blur of anxiety, tension and an inhumane amount of pressure that Bad would never wish even onto his worst enemy. The youngest boy, Tommy, had entered the room once in a while to check in on him silently before leaving him to his own medical expertise. Once, however, the boy had pushed a bottle of water in his bloodied hands with a reminder to hydrate. Niki came in twice a day to offer fresh bread, her kind smile never quite reaching her eyes. Wilbur had gone straight to the point of getting a health report, his voice grating and apathetic.
Nevertheless, each time a L’manbergian would enter the stifling obsidian bunker, their gaze would flutter onto the slack face of Dream with a strange look of open curiosity before retreating back where they came. It clawed at Bad’s nerves and made the neutral madly uncomfortable beyond measure. How dare they gawk at the vulnerability of his friend at the expense of their mercy? But there was truly nothing else he could do. Because Bad’s stress-riddled mind had only enough strength to focus on three things.
Administer splash potions of regeneration or health three times a day.
Bandage and rebandage his wounds.
Check for infection.
Keep Dream alive.
And in the wake of his friend’s split blood, broken skin and delirious screams, on the third night, all his efforts proved to not be in vain when Bad was jerked awake by a very familiar cry.
Tears of pure, unadulterated relief pricked at the edge of his eyes, blurring his vision. It was like the very world itself that he was literally carrying on his shoulders had been lifted in a single, handsome swoop. Bad had done it. He did it.
Dream was awake.
He stifled a sob of happiness threatening to rise in his throat. There were so many things Bad wanted to ask, to say, to know.
God, where could he start?
But before he could open his mouth to speak, Bad felt a cold, shaking hand clamp down onto his own as a pair of frightened green eyes searched his own with a strange type of frantic urgency. The unsettling sight instinctively reactivated all the defenses in Bad’s form; Because - looking past the fact that Dream was waking from his three-day-comatose-like state in the middle of enemy territory - there was something intrinsically wrong with the entire picture unfolding in front of him.
See, contrary to what people thought, Dream was a man of raw emotion. It was the very reason why he chose to conceal them behind a mask. Over the many years Bad had gotten to know his friend, the neutral had the liberty to recognize the many emotional spectrums to him; Happiness that split his face into a smile when they had found the first netherite scrap - Disgust as he watched from the dawn of the day where a new revolution sprang forth from nothing - Rage when his faction, his friends and his brothers had been threatened needlessly - Icy calm as he stood alone on the wooden pathway armorless, surrounded by his foe and with a single arrow in his quiver - Contempt as he watched L’manberg fall under his might...
But never fear. Never the open, stricken terror that was currently painting his friend’s face like a discolored canvas.
It was disconcerting. It was unnerving. It was frightening. Bad never wanted to see it again.
“Dream, it’s me!” He tried, placing a firm hand on a trembling bandaged chest, desperate to quell the unsettling feeling in his soul.
“It’s Bad! Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”
The neutral fully expected the blatant panic in his eyes to dissolve immediately at the sight of a familiar face but Dream only shook his head wildly and squeezed his eyes closed, seemingly refusing to believe the truth of Bad’s words. But then the grip on his arm tightened by a fraction and a broken hiss of obvious pain left his patient.
At once, without disentangling his hold on Dream (or Dream’s hold on him), Bad scrambled to snag his day pack from under the bed. The last potion of health stared back at him, the bottle shimmered an outworldly crimson. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a splash potion.
(A nauseating vision of Fundy and Jack physically restraining Dream’s convulsing body onto the bed, Tommy screaming for help and Wilbur violently forcing a potion down his bloody throat flashed across Bad’s mind once more. It made him sick to his very core. He could not- no, would not make his friend go through that again, not if he could help it)
Swallowing a curse, the neutral realized what he had to do.
“We gotta sit you up bud. I’m sorry but this is going to hurt.”
With surprisingly little resistance, Dream allowed himself to be shifted into an upright position from where he had remained prone for the last seventy-odd hours. Bad tried to make the process as painless as possible but they both knew that it would be a losing battle. Under his careful ministrations, sharp fingernails dug deep into his forearm and Bad heard the audible sound of gritted teeth as Dream stubbornly trapped his silent cries of pain in; making not a sound at all.
Bad almost wondered if that was worse than hearing his friend scream instead.
Ignoring the new crescent marks forming on the surface of his skin and the tearing pain in his heart, Bad slid his free hand behind Dream’s neck and brought the precious bottle to his lips.
“Drink. Slow-Slowly. There we go...”
Gradually, the discomfort on Dream’s face drained away together with the contents of the potion and at last, Bad finally allowed himself to breathe. There was only so much of this that he could physically and mentally take. It wasn’t that Bad could not work under traumatic conditions or that he was so far from the safety of his home. It was that he had to constantly rely on others to get supplies; It was the constant unpredictability of the situation. And it was the very fact that he was all alone while doing so.
But as Dream continued to cling onto Bad (with surprising strength he didn’t think his friend had) as if the sheer skin contact was confirmation that the neutral was indeed present in the room, Bad swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to get his friend out.
A half-empty bottle was slowly pressed into his palm, shoving Bad from his thoughts. Snapping his eyes up, Bad watched through blurred vision (wait when did he start crying?) as clear, pain-free green eyes searched his own carefully.
“Y-You’re… not d-” Dream’s voice broke off, raspy from disuse as he took the opportunity of Bad gaping at him like a fish out of water to try again.
“B-Bad...You’re o-okay?”
Jerking backwards unconsciously at the unexpected greeting, Bad swiftly concealed his confusion with a watery smile as he placed his palm gently on a freckled cheek.
“Of course!” The words left him immediately but not before his brain struggled to comprehend why Dream was questioning him instead.
“But… I-I should be asking you that instead… you muffinhead.”
The transparent confusion on his friend’s face matched his own. Something was not adding up. Did Dream remember what had happened? Nevertheless, in an attempt to preserve his friend’s vocal cords, Bad decided to oblige. Frankly, it was the least he could do.
“No one dared to lay a hand on me while I was here.” Bad sighed, feeling the steady thump of Dream’s carotid pulse under his fingertips as his friend drained the rest of the potion steadily with his help.
“I’m… I’m tired.” Bad continued, hating how his voice shook like a leaf in fall. “But I’m very much unhurt and alive.”
His blatant honesty must have seemed to kickstart some sort of reaction in his friend because the neutral could see the very moment where the cogs of stark realization finally started turning in Dream’s head as the familiar spark of fire returned in his eyes.
“‘M not. Not dead...”
“Well.” A deadpanned voice interrupted from somewhere in the room.
“You sure gave it your best shot.”
Bad almost got whiplash from how quickly he turned around. Immediately, he felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. Because in the wake of the organized chaos, he had forgotten about the very existence of which he could consider to be the most dangerous man in the room.
Donned in full netherite and armed with a sword by his side, President Wilbur Soot stood with his back to the door, looking for all in the world like he was the cat who had somehow managed to get both the cream and the canary without even unsheathing his claws.
Bad was a man of optimism. But Bad was also a realistic man. On a good day, on equal footing, maybe, just maybe, Bad might have been able to juke his way out of a 1V1 with Soot. But he was exhausted - Both body and soul; And after pulling two all-nighters in a row, armed with nothing but his two fists - not to mention he had to protect his heavily injured friend as well - there was no way Bad would even come close to winning.
Sure Dream was a terrifying force on the battlefield but in his current state, he would be as helpful as a newborn kit.
“Y-You…” Dream chortled suddenly from the other side of the room, cutting the neutral’s train of thought in an explosive spontaneous outburst. Before Bad could sport a reply, a sharp, hysterical laugh broke forth from Dream’s throat.
Never in Bad’s twenty-five years of existence would he had managed to predict the pure insanity that would emerge from his friend’s mouth in the heat of the moment.
“You blew up L’manberg.”
It was as if the man had suddenly been possessed seeing how Dream promptly reeled over, injuries seemingly forgotten, and dissolved into a fit of pure mania as if he had told the world’s funniest joke.
It simply wasn’t anything that Bad had anticipated Dream would say in retaliation. Not even close.
Bad found himself at a complete and utter loss for words, torn between dashing to his friend in hysterics and calming him down in fear of Dream reopening his sutures, and facing the upcoming wrath from a certain president that was sure to come inevitably...
Only Dream could manage to royally piss-off the leader of L’manberg in his strange state of deranged delirium, five minutes after regaining consciousness.
Wilbur’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, his face twisting with a comedic sort of startling intensity. His earlier look of contempt dropped off the face of the earth as it flashed from a look of pure incredulousness and disbelief before turning dangerously stormy. It was as if the president simply couldn’t fathom the unknown storm of madness that he was currently unraveling in front of his own two eyes.
“I would rather die,” his tongue finally found the right words to respond with perfect finality as they rose with deadly rage - a direct echo to a similar proclamation of the truth that he had uttered all those months ago to the very same man, “than destroy a nation that I built with my own two hands.”
“If anything,” Wilbur spat acidly, striking Dream with a blistering glare right from the depths of hell, taking a dangerous step forward towards the bed.
“You’re the very bastard who introduced the first TNT onto our lands.”
Bad vaguely made out Dream muttering something about explosions and his own name, struggling to compose himself in spite of the literal physical danger screaming at him in red, bold letters.
Gods, give him the strength… When this was all over, Bad was going to dig himself an underground bunker, hook himself up to an IV drip and hibernate till the next Spring. He was simply not paid enough to deal with not one - but two, feral leaders who were now a sword length away from taking the other out.
So, with the resolve of a thousand men, Bad moved and stood in the eye of the storm; placing himself firmly between an immovable object and an unstoppable force.
“Don’t take another step closer, Soot.”
“Your services are no longer required in L’manberg, neutral.” Wilbur snarled without breaking eye-contact with his paralleled enemy.
“Close the door on your way out.” The dismissal in his tone was final, he didn’t even bother to look at Bad’s general direction. “My men will escort you back to the neutral zone on the surface.”
“I’m not a fool.” Standing his ground boldly, Bad curled his lip in an uncharacteristic snarl of disdain, shielding Dream’s vulnerable state from Wilbur’s scalding gaze. “I know what you’ll do to him the moment my back is turned.”
For a terrifying moment, Bad thought the president of L’manberg would snatch the sword from his belt and stick it in his gut in a single fluid slash of movement. But then, for the second time in mere minutes, Dream spoke up again. It spoke volumes towards the authority he held in spite of his pitiful condition because the deadly staring competition between L’manberg’s leader and the neutral ceased immediately; both heads swiveling to face the man on the bed in perfect tandem.
This time in contrast, however, Dream’s voice was rock steady and layered with an icy calm that Bad was very familiar with; there wasn’t a shred of hysteria to be found.
“Oh, he’s not going to kill me, Bad.”
The healing potion must have finally taken its full and steadying effect. Bad didn’t know that a side effect of the potion was ironically an insane amount of confidence and fearlessness even at the sight of death. If they all managed to get out of this one alive, Dream owed him - oh that… muffinhead owed him so freaking much-
“If he wanted to. He’d have just left me on the shoreline to bleed out.” Shrugging as if they were merely discussing the weather, Dream continued on impassively.
“I’d have been long dead before dawn.”
The rapid change of tonation, the blatantly contrasting words and the continuous spiraling situation was giving Bad a huge migraine. Tactical intimidation and strategic interrogation were so far from his area of expertise that it physically hurt him to think about it.
Wilbur must have finally managed to find his bearings after the battle of wits because he brought himself to his full height and towered over the two people who did not belong in his lands like a furious raincloud.
“So you do remember.” He started, tone hard and cynical.
“I’m pleased to see that you’re back to your old self again. It makes matters of import easier to discuss doesn’t it?”
With years of experience in his belt, Dream ignored the barbed comment that was flung his way and continued on easily. “Oh, I do remember." A beat of startled silence pricked the clearing. "Someone carried me back from the beach, brought me to a secure location and sought help on my behalf.” His green eyes were bright and watchful, studying the way Wilbur had suddenly shifted defensively.
“My wounds reek of medication and potions and are healing well. But your faction could never afford to use your own resources on me.” Gesturing to the side weakly where Bad stood, Dream barreled on like a freight train.
“And Bad here would never willingly break his neutral status and enter external territory unless personally beckoned under special circumstances.” The aforementioned neutral found himself nodding in agreement.
“...Last I remembered, there is only one person with that sort of calling power.”
It was all falling in place in Bad’s mind. Initially, the neutral had thought that it was the two boys at the scene who had dragged Dream’s deadweight to L’manberg and then hollered for him. Tubbo was the one who had escorted him into their lands after all. But now in hindsight, it was easy to see that the pair both lack the physical capabilities and the authority to actually bring Dream back here...
Which meant that he was sprouting nothing but the truth.
“You saved me.” A terrifying, knowing grin split Dream's face. It made the smile on his signature mask (or lack thereof) pale in stark comparison. The act of conviction single-handedly turned the tides to his favor. “Now, the question is: Why?”
Bad had never been both so proud, and oh so blatantly afraid of the might of his friend’s sheer control, wit and intelligence even in the wake of the events that had just taken place.
But Wilbur definitely did not share the same sentiments.
“Get to the point, Dream.” The president gritted out, between clenched teeth as Bad winced away from the force the six-foot-five leader of the rebellion carried in all of his frightening and enraging glory.
“Before I choose to rectify my mistake -”
But the threat was lost onto deaf ears.
Without warning, the earth above them rumbled ominously, snapping the leaders of the two warring nations back into attention. In the far distance, the sounds of multiple explosions shattered across the battlefield beyond their sights, sending shockwaves through the bunker - shaking the resolve of the hearts in the room where it happened.
The air was thin and still and silent. The tension in the room tightening like a noose.
Because they all knew what had happened - what had started; What had just begun.
____
Wilbur’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, his face twisting with an unreadable emotion as he took a menacing step forward.
Bad lowered himself into a battle stance despite his weaponless form; loyal to his friend till the end.
Dream raised his chin unwaveringly, defiance dancing alight in his posture as he stared at his angel of death right in the eye to provide his reply.
(But in a single moment of weakness, at the echoing sounds of igniting TNT, the full-bodied flinch that rippled through his body and the flash of naked fear shimmering in his eyes that betrayed his broken mask of confidence was not missed by a single soul who remained standing)
“What exactly do you want from me, Wilbur?”
|
Lance doesn't think that the paladins need any more treaties with strange Galra. He thinks this privately of course, because he doesn't want Keith to actually fucking stab him. But just because they haven't been betrayed yet doesn't mean that this strange space prince from Allura's childhood can be trusted. Like seriously it's Zarkons son, the dude is going to be evil just from proximity to his father.
They're meeting up on an empty planet in a tiny galaxy tucked away in the far reaches of the universe. It's suppoused to be neutral ground, something to put them all at ease, but the closer they get the thicker the tension in the castle gets. Shiro is pacing the far wall of the control center while Keith tracks his every movement with laser focused eyes. Pidge and Hunk are currently locked in an intense game of 'who can take it apart and put it back together the fastest: special gun edition' (so far Hunk is winning, but Pidge is close behind). And Lance? Well he's having a staring contest with a mouse. A truly riveting way to pass the time.
Allura hasn't stopped nervously twitching in his peripheral for like 10 minuites, and it's becoming detrimental to winning. When the game ends (the mouse beats him what even is space) he turns to her and asks very nonchalantly, "So what's this Lotor guy like anyways?"
Allura takes a deep yet slightly shaky breath. "Well Lance I'm not quite sure what he's like now, but I know as a child and an early teen he was........quite ostentatious."
The way she says it does not inspire confidence. "Ostentatious like he's going to sell us out in a fit of excitement or like he's just crazy enough to help us?"
Allura seems to think about this for a minute. "I don't think he'd aid Zarkon is he could help it. From what I remember he was closer to his mother than anyone else and held a grudge against his father nobody quite understood. Up until now he hasn't actively rebelled, but he hasn't helped either. I think our only chance of getting him on our side is luck and persuasion."
So Lotor was a neutral party. Weird, but Lance could get it. Not wanting to hinder his father because he was worried about the repercussions but not wanting to help out of spite. "So what was he like as a kid?" Lance asked.
This made Allura crack a smile. "He was quite sweet. A terrible flirt as well, always bringing me flowers and little gifts. By the time he was in his teens he had a gaggle of suitors following him everywhere. Now that I think about it, you two are very much alike in personality."
That drew a long groan from the back of the control room. "Wait a minuite," Hunk said, dropping his half assembled gun, "are you telling me that we're on our way to meet the powerful space prince Galra version of Lance? Because if so we're screwed"
"Well he can't be worse than the original." Keith deadpanned, talking right over Lances indignant splutters. Before he could think of a quick retort there was a loud beeping coming from the castle controls. Coran swallowed hard and looked at Allura.
"Were entering the atmosphere. Our radars are picking up another ship already on planet, looks like Prince Lotor beat us here."
The joking atmosphere evaporated like mist in the summer sun. Allura's mouth was set in a grim line. "Alright Paladins, here's the plan. Hunk, Pidge, and Keith are staying on ship with Coran. Pidge I'm counting on you to work defenses along with Hunk. Coran will keep the ship ready to go if we need a quick exit. Keith is going to be our emergency back up, just in case the ship is invaded."
She turned to look at Lance and Shiro with hard eyes. "You two are with me. You're both good in a battle and decent enough diplomats. Remember, we want to woo Prince Lotor, so be on your best behavior." That last part was directed at Lance and he gave a little shrug. "Hey no promises, but I'll try my best."
Allura rolled her eyes, like that was the best she could hope for, and it was true. Lance could hold his tongue when he needed to, but if this guy disrespected Voltron or the princess? Well Lance couldn't just let it slide.
Before he knows it he's stepping onto the unfamiliar grassy terrain of the unnamed planet. It's very pretty, softly curved hills and sparse trees on the horizon line. The ground is a little spongy beneath his feet, and the sky is dark with huge clouds overhead. It's still light and open enough that Lance can see the sleek black ship parked about 300 meters away. It's alone, which is a good sign at least.
Standing halfway between them and the ship are three figures. As Lance, Shiro, and Allura approach he can start to make out vague features, there are two nondescript guard and what must be the prince, but it isn't until he's within a few feet of the figures that he gets the full scope of it.
And the full scope of it is this: Prince Lotor is freaking hot.
He has long lavender colored hair and the same deep purple skin and yellow eyes as the rest of the Galra. He was pretty in a dangerous sort of way, like he might cut you if you got too close. With a soft breeze ruffling his robes he looked perfectly serene, none of the tension in his limbs that team Voltron seemed to always carry.
Prince Lotor bowed shallowly in acknowledgment, "Princess Allura of Altea, it's been quite a long time but you look just as radiant as ever."
"Prince Lotor, you've grown into your heritage well." Allura responded, equally polite.
The air was still and silent around them for a moment. Suddenly Prince Lotor let out a sharp laugh, "Perhaps we ought to drop ceremony for today, I've never enjoyed politics very much."
Allura seemed to slouch as all of the tension drained from her body, "Perhaps that is for the best."
Lotor shot her a dazzling smile, Lance didn't even know you could have teeth that were attractive too. "Wonderful. Introduce me to your friends?"
"This is Shiro, the black paladin." Shiro bowed politely. "And this is Lance, our blue paladin." Lance struggled to do the same, not wanting to take his eyes off the man in front of him.
Lotor took a few steps closer to their little group, and everyone tensed in response as he came to stand mere inches away from Lance.
"What a gorgeous specimen, tell me little one, with eyes like that do you dazzle your way through Zarkon's ranks?"
Lance choked, looking around in bewilderment, this guy had to be talking to someone else.
But he wasn't, in fact he seemed to be waiting for an answer. "Uhhhhh no I usually use a gun." He stammered.
Lotor laughed loudly, making all of team Voltron twitch. "Beautiful as well as funny? Voltron is lucky to have you. I don't suppose you'd want a position in my court instead?" Lance jerked like someone had just told him that mullets were all the rage, was Lotor trying to seduce him over to the other side?
It was Shiro that cut in, stepping sharply between Lance and Prince Lotor. "I'm sorry but Lance is very happy as part of our team, and that's where he'll be staying."
Lotor grinned, but this time it held no humor. "A trade then? My help against my father for some time alone with your blue paladin?"
Shiro all but growled, "Lance isn't for sale."
"Oh I know that of course. If he were for sale he would be a part of my harem quicker than you could blink. But alas, perhaps I'll settle for a trade."
Shiro and Allura both opened their mouths to say something probably offensive, but Lance cut them off.
"I can't stay with you all the time, the team needs me to form Voltron. But maybe we can work something out?"
Lotor beamed at him, "That sounds wonderful to me my dear, let's-"
"No." Shiro cut him off. "Lance isn't going anywhere with you." His hand was starting to creep towards his bayard.
"Shiro that's enough." Allura commanded , "Lance isn't going with anyone tonight. Give us some time to consider your offer and we'll bring you an answer."
Lotor still had an insincere smile on his face. "Of course. But make sure not to try and leave planet before I have an answer, or I might be tempted to follow."
Allura didn't reply and instead started stalking back to the ship, Shiro hot on her tail. Lance awkwardly waved at Lotor who's look softened.
"Don't fret my darling, I will see you again, one way or another, but until then, something to remember me by." Then Lotor leaned forward and ever so softly placed a kiss on Lance's cheek.
Lance blushed a color similar to the red lion and maybe stammered out a thank you before turning on his heel and half running, half stumbling back towards the ship.
Once they were far enough away from Lotor and his guards, Allura turned to look at him with an expression Lance couldn't place. "Lance, I know I said to woo him but I didn't mean literally."
|
Taehyung has been staring at his computer for a long time -a Puma online store to be exact- deciding on which item should he ask for himself, because BTS signed an exclusive deal with PUMA and Taehyung may or may not be taking an advantage on that. Because why not, he doesn't have a clue on what he wanted from this season’s fashion anyway. He has always loved Gucci but his mind was having a fashionista mode today, and he’s hoping to be creative.
Taehyung wondered what item that Seokjin would get from this season, a fancy designer sportswear or another warm sweater? Or hoodies and a new pair of sport shoes, perhaps? But whatever their stylist assigned his lover to wear, he was always killing it.
Speaking of certain a lover, he was in a middle of extra vocal lessons. Seokjin never skipped his lessons even though they’re in a committed relationship, nevertheless, Taehyung’s completely fine with his lover’s passion in music. He thought letting Seokjin enjoy the time of his life and and working harder could make him as Seokjin’s anchor; a place to cling to when he’s feeling his insecurities eating him alive and Taehyung would forever adore him and protect Seokjin from the harsh words that he did not deserve. Taehyung understood that Seokjin’s a capable grown man, not in need of his partner’s protection, but Taehyung has always kept in his mind that that the person who laughs the most, cries the most. Every person has their vulnerable side and Taehyung swore down to the marrow of his bones that he will be one of the people that protects Seokjin from feeling so.
Taehyung couldn’t deny the proudness that settled in his chest, admiring Seokjin’s progress, vocals improved a lot and the most thrilling part was that his voice has great harmony with Seokjin. Taehyung believed that his existence was to complete Seokjin’s, that Seokjin was his significant other. He wanted Seokjin to be happy, he’d give Seokjin wings to fly if he could.
Taehyung snapped out of his thoughts when his phone’s Line notification chimed. Bangtan manager messaged him.
Have you decided on which item do you want from Puma?
He stared back at his computer, calculating the possibilities of getting the items shipped before they fly to Bangkok for their world tour. Contemplating again, he decided to ask his manager for a detailed explanation.
Emailed, Taehyung typed back and a few minutes later his phone’s LED flashed again.
But that item is already signed for Seokjin, haven’t you read this month’s notice? His manager replied.
Then what about me? Taehyung typed back with a huff.
Suede shoes, street style, choose whatever you want, but keep it to two items.
But I want that hoodie :( He responded along with a few stickers; Taehyung is Sulking™ indicating that he’s not happy with their manager’s reply.
Okay... Okay, how about you get the hoodie and Seokjin gets the suede? I’m sure he’ll agree to that, his manager wrote back.
Still not okay. I want the hoodie for the both of us.
Tell me again why did I let you date Seokjin?
Taehyung was sure his manager was already done with his antics especially when he brought up that sort of question.
Because you love us too much, adding a Bangtan sticker in the chat... His sticker to be exact with a finger drawing heart gesture.
No I don’t because remember that one time you locked your fellow members outside the dorm for 12 hours in the middle of fucking winter, only letting Seokjin in to woo his ass for your first anniversary?
And forget not that you literally grilled me, threatened to kidnap Seokjin, taking along Bangtan’s new album material to destroy the soft copy of it when I refused to help you pick flowers for Seokjin? But yes I completely agree with you that the company loves you beyond your imagination, you little shit. His manager replied.
But hyung, I'm getting a good pay from the dramas I’m casted and also helped in the soundtracks! Taehyung defended.
Yes I am aware of that Tae, but still, Seokjin’s gaining a huge amount of spotlight too, his fandom is expanding. His latest appearance on the Law of the Jungle made a huge hit. Also the company’s giving more attention to Seokjin now-
But I'm gaining more, I'm working hard too! Taehyung whined.
That’s supposed to be my line, young boy. And what are you planning to do with your money? I don’t know why, but your insistence on having that hoodie for both you and Seokjin is giving me chills.
Are you planning something Kim Taehyung? Last time you were this adamant about your plans you traumatized the whole Bangtan family with your sextape for God’s sake! I knew it WASN’T an accident. How could you even mistook that file for the materials of the new album?!
Goodness Kim Taehyung I don't want to know what is Seokjin capable of in bed through your dirty mouth. Do you know I needed to cleanse myself in holy water after listening to your sextape? You’re lucky that Namjoon decided to keep that incident a secret from Seokjin. At times like this I wish Seokjin knew about it so he could strangle you in your sleep Taehyungie. Yes that was typed in uppercase and Taehyung was well aware that he gets lectured often since the mixtape-turned out-sextape incident.
Hyung, do you think if our sextape leaked, would it be as booming as the Kardashians? Taehyung replied.
KIM TAEHYUNG-
Taehyung was sure if his manager’s right in front of him now he’ll get his ass spanked.
But still hyung, it's not my fault that the audio file was in the same folder... And I was kinda busy.
And could you imagine TaeJin rising more??? It’s lowkey fans’ favorite ship. And you know those fashion blogs run by armys will be crazy once they notice our matching hoodies! They’ll probably post it with cute captions like ‘Taejin cute fluffy hoodie’. Hyung, it’s clearly a good advertising strategy! I could bet my life on this because Seokjin hyung’s going to look so cute in it. Come on, I’ll help you out with the PR works, Taehyung tried persuading his manager hyung.
Busy? Busy sticking your.... in Seokjin’s ass I bet... I can't argue much with that, but I'll try to notify the PR staffs. If they accept the proposal, I’ll get you and Seokjin the couple hoodie. But if it’s the latter then you'll have no choice but to wear anything the stylist have prepared for you.
Once again Taehyung, please don’t make a scene forcing Seokjin to cover his exposed thigh if the stylist asked him to wear those ripped jeans, okay?
Cross my heart and hope to die, Taehyung smiled and replied.
Taehyung arrived at the dorm first today, along with Jungkook and Yoongi. Hoseok and Jimin were left behind at the studio to give Jin extra lessons on dancing. He knew how uncomfortable Seokjin would get if he was in the dance studio as well. Apparently his lover has not reached the comfort zone where he could show his flaws to Taehyung yet. So Taehyung decided to stick around for a few more minutes and left first to get his parcel first.
After the constant argument he got with his manager, Taehyung finally succeeded in convincing him for the couple hoodie. It was in his second nature, to feel excitement course through his veins every time he could surprise Seokjin with his creativity.
He had came to love the twinkle in Seokjin’s eyes whenever Taehyung swept him off his feet. Taehyung has planted in his heart, making it a mission to be the one igniting the sparks in those doe eyes amidst of their chaotic idol lives. To be completely honest, Taehyung was fucking whipped. He even regretted being born three years younger than Seokjin. If he could turn back time, Taehyung wished to be out sooner from his mother’s womb just so he could be by Seokjin’s side from the start. That’s how totally in love the young man was.
Taehyung eyed the Puma shopping bag in his room, and sent Seokjin a private message to his personal Line account, hoping that his lover noticed that Taehyung was waiting for him. While waiting, Taehyung decided to warm up his throat and practiced on his vocals.
About three hours later, just a few minutes before the clock struck midnight, Taehyung received a notification from their intercom that someone’s coming into their dorm. Taehyung quickly ran to the living room to greet that certain someone, which happened to be his beloved Jinnie. Their dorm’s keylock chirped and the door opened, revealing a dead tired Seokjin with Jimin trailing past him. Taehyung quickly greeted Seokjin with a peck and circled his arms around his lover’s waist.
"Tired?" Taehyung asked with a gentle voice, then proceeded to peck Seokjin’s slightly damp forehead.
"Mhmm, dead tired," Seokjin muttered weakly, arms instinctively wrapped around his boyfriend’s neck and buried his face there. Taehyung then ushered Seokjin further into their dorm, going past the common room where Hoseok was sprawled on their sofa bed with his phone.
"Have you had your dinner, love?"
Jin nodded and Taehyung quirked his eyebrow at Hoseok in a questioning manner to confirm if it was true. For the past few weeks, Jin has began a strict diet. He believed that losing weight would stop the hate he’s receiving from their ‘fans’. Some of them even went to the extent of calling him dwaeji, making his heart shatter at being labeled as a pig. Hoseok nodded at Taehyung, confirming that yes, Jin ate a healthy portion of dinner. Taehyung then sat down on the couch, pulling Jin on his lap and Jin curled at the warmth he’s getting from his lovely human-bear.
Jin craned his neck slowly to look up at Taehyung, and gave his boyfriend a peck on the lips but only to get a whine from Jimin. "You love birds are so kissy-kissy everywhere, spare us who are single, could you?"
"Get a live Chim... or a partner." Taehyung replied. Seokjin chuckled and mouthed a 'sorry' to Jimin under Taehyung’s jaw. Jimin scoffed and walked away into his room.
Taehyung brushed Jin’s hair gently, humming a slow tune.
"Hey baby, do you want me to prepare a bath for you?” “And I could massage you afterwards, would you want that?" Taehyung offered.
Jin hummed in reply and curled even deeper on Taehyung’s lap. Five minutes later, Jin got up and moved to his bedroom -much to Yoongi’s dismay, he had to walk out from the room and grumbled about what traitor of a roommate and fellow member they were-
"Wait here," Taehyung ran into the adjacent bathroom, filling the tub with warm water and threw in a bath bomb. He raked through the cabinets, mumbling Fragipani under his breath and grasped the massage oil. He then went back into Seokjin and Yoongi’s shared room and saw him getting rid of his sweaty clothes, leaving him only with his boxers on.
"May I?" Taehyung asked Jin that was lying on the carpeted floor.
"Yes please, but just a massage okay? No funny business." Jin pleaded with a weak voice, left cheek on the ground and eyelids closed.
"Pinky promise," Taehyung laughed and sat beside Seokjin.
He started with spreading the massage oil on the whole of Seokjin’s back and his broad shoulder. Three of his fingertips pressed firmly on the upper of the man’s shoulder, slowly trailing down and repeating them again. He worked every of stringing knots in Seokjin’s muscle, and received a hum in appreciation.
After a few minutes, Seokjin started to feel squirmy and moaned from the discomfort.
"Do you want to bathe now?" Taehyung asked.
"Yes, carry me please?"
"Anything for my Prince," Taehyung turned Seokjin over and slipped his hands under his lover’s knees, carrying him into the bathroom. Seokjin entered the shower first while Taehyung sat on the counter with his phone. Seokjin cleaned himself and moved to bath with a towel on his waist, dipping one leg in and hummed in satisfaction. He then continued soaking his whole body under the water, leaving his head on the surface facing Taehyung that moved to sit beside the dry spot near the tub.
"Feeling better?" Taehyung asked.
"Yeah, come and join me," Seokjin folded his hands and rested his chin on the bathtub’s rim, looking intently at his boyfriend.
"I already took my shower earlier." Taehyung chuckled but Seokjin kept on staring Taehyung without much emotion on his face.
They continued gazing at each other with silence until Taehyung decided to ask what’s bothering the older.
“Is something wrong, love?”
"Um..not really? It’s silly…. Just forget it," Jin blushed and moved his head from his hands.
"Sweetheart... you can talk to me, you know," Taehyung gently patted his lover’s head and Jin just blushed darker, hiding more of his face from Taehyung. Seokjin moved deeper into the water and rested his head on the back of the bathtub’s rim.
"I can't guess what’s in your heart unless you say it in words, Jinnie."
"Um... you know... after all the dancing..." Seokjin turned his face to the left, facing the wall and fiddled with his fingers under the water.
"Yeah?”
"The adrenaline rush was... overwhelming you know... without-... you know.. down there," Seokjin folds his body trying to hide-
"Oh,” it all clicked in Taehyung’s head. "Yeah, yeah the adrenaline and hormone rush... I know, what do you want then baby?"
"I-I want you to join me in here... but I'm too tired to... you know," Jin gestured vaguely, looking everywhere but his boyfriend’s face.
"I know," Taehyung stood and looked for a lube. He then began undressing himself and joined Jin in the bathtub, making the water rumble in a pattern, some spilling over.
"Come here, baby. Just lay back and relax, let me take care of you."
Taehyung sat across Seokjin and pulled him into his lap, Seokjin’s back against his chest and kissed the droplets of water from the older’s broad shoulders. His lips trails the neck of his lover with open-mouthed kisses in a lazy manner, whilst his hands spreads Jin’s thigh and teased his lover’s tight entrance.
"The water...." Jin complained.
"It’ll be okay."
Jin sat on Taehyung’s lap, his back on Taehyung’s chest and legs spread open with his lover’s hand on his dick, pumping them slowly. Three of Taehyung’s fingers were deep inside him, brushing at his prostate without warning and that itself was coaxing his release.
"T-tae... enough," Jin moaned breathily, signaling that he’s close and Taehyung ungrasped Jin’s member under the water.
"How do you want it, Jinnie?"
"Inside me Tae, please make love to me..." Jin bit his lips, making him look so innocent but at the same time he clenched at Taehyung’s fingers inside him.
"As you wish, sweetheart." Jin blushed and his heart fluttered listening to Taehyung’s nickname for him.
Taehyung switched their positions, pushing Seokjin to the end of the tub and rested his lover’s head on the rim. He kissed him gently, trying to distract Seokjin from the uncomfortable penetration in the water. He lined his cock to Seokjin’s hole and Jin whined when Taehyung’s member breached his entrance. It was uncomfortable but Taehyung did a good job distracting him with soft kisses. Taehyung adjusted himself with caution and inserts fully into Jin.
"Tae... I'm too tired,” His lover pouted with a moan.
"Shush... what did I say? Just relax and let me do all the work.” Taehyung replied between kisses and ghosts down Seokjin’s neck and starts to move his hip in a slow circular motion. He pressed his cock’s head into Seokjin’s walls, trying to find his prostate. After several lazy humps, Taehyung got what he wanted. Jin mewled at the pleasure and clenched harder on Taehyung’s cock.
"M-more... Tae more.." Seokjin cried. Taehyung let out a sexual groan, gripping at the bathtub’s rim firmly and started to thrust his hips upward into Jin’s tight heat. The squelching sound of their slow intercourse resonated throughout the bathroom. The water rippled and greeted both of their reddened ears and Jin sobbed. His hole clenched harder, reminding Taehyung that Seokjin was close.
Taehyung was determined to give Seokjin the best orgasm ever despite their sluggish love-making.
Taehyung slowly pushed Jin backwards to the tub again, grabbing a small towel beside them and used it as a makeshift pillow under Jin’s head. He then planted his heel firmly by Seokjin’s waist and gripped the behind of the older’s knees and started to increase his pace. He began thrusting harder and deeper into his lover.
"Ah! Ah! Taehyung-t-the water... the water are inside!" Jin wailed, trying to wiggle away from the water that penetrated his passage along with Taehyung's member.
"Bear with it a little more, babe." Taehyung growled, thrusting harder making Jin cry more. His eyes were rolled back and hands gripped the bathtub’s rim until the knuckles of his hands went white. After several harder thrusts, Seokjin came screaming his lover’s name with tears in his eyes.
"I’m so sorry, baby.” Taehyung whispered to Seokjin’s ears, biting the lobe and gripped his boyfriend’s waist. One last pound and Taehyung came inside Seokjin, groaning and his breath labored.
He rested his member in Seokjin for a minute, not pulling it out. Taehyung gently cradles his lover’s face and gazed into Jin’s teary eyes and smiled sweetly, mouth turning into a boxy twinkle.
"I’m sorry again."
" ‘S okay. Help me clean up?"
"Sure, love."
Jin dressed himself in a comfy cotton pajama, crawled onto the bed and bundled his body in layers of blanket. He stared at Taehyung’s form squatting on the floor, rummaging through a shopping bag and then Taehyung reached him with one of the shopping bags in his hand.
"I have a present for you," Taehyung sat beside Jin and kissed his forehead.
"What is it?" Jin slowly untangled himself from his cocoon.
"Open it.”
Jin craned his neck to see the inside of the shopping bag, pulling out a milky brown oversized hoodie. He grabbed the cloth, eyes gleaming and his full lips turned into a smile... and Taehyung... Poor guy felt like he was on the verge of death but alive at the same time. His heart melted, like thousands of butterflies fluttering in his stomach. That’s how whipped the younger was.
These kind of moments were the ones that Taehyung craved for. His brain had been reprogrammed, overridden. It was as if all his exhaustion over dancing practice he had earlier had been deleted and replaced with the image of his lover’s smile and the shine of those doe eyes. It was just a few seconds but he’s already a sappy bastard.
"Taetae this is so cute.... I like it," Seokjin’s voice pulled Taehyung out of his trance.
"Wait there’s another,” Taehyung quickly stood up and grabbed another shopping bag, pulling out the same hoodie that Seokjin held and "Tada..." Taehyung presented with a huge grin.
Seokjin blinked, eyeing Taehyung with a puzzled expression.
"... Yeah, you know I managed to get this hoodie for the two of us... like a couple hoodie... I know you’ve been wanting this since last month and I just got the chance to own them,” Taehyung explained.
Seokjin nodded, finally able to grasp what was Taehyung trying to say. His heart too, fluttered, and decided to tackle his sweet boyfriend for a bear hug. Seokjin peppered Taehyung’s face with kisses and rested his face on the crook of his boyfriend’s neck and whispered a bunch of thank yous.
Taehyung swore to God if he were to die right now, he’d breathe his last breath with so much happiness. He felt content, seeing the love of his life glowing and radiant from happiness.
"We can wear it right?" Seokjin asked eagerly, reminding Taehyung of his puppy.
"Of course, love."
Jin’s smile faltered a bit after a few seconds, he was reminded of something. "But... The stylist-noona has already decided on my outfit for tomorrow’s airport fashion, Taehyungie.”
"Babe.... hey, it’s okay," Taehyung cupped Seokjin cheeks. “We can wear them when we're going to fly back to Seoul from Bangkok."
A week later, a fan taken photo of them wearing the hoodies went viral in the fandom and everyone got their wigs snatched.
|
There’s probably a lot to be said about the fact that, on the night of Senior Prom, Jake Peralta finds himself standing on his date’s front porch in what might possibly be the rattiest Spiderman pajama pants in existence. He swallows down a wave of self-consciousness that rises in response to the muffled voices on the other side of the door upon which he’s just knocked, focusing more on standing as straight as he can and clutching the little plastic bag from the supermarket by his mom’s house where he’d stopped before heading over here.
The lock clicks, and then the door opens, and then Jake finds himself face-to-face with one of Amy’s understandably confused-looking older brothers. Luis, he thinks, but he can’t be sure - he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak at all.
“Jake,” Luis says, gaze drifting down over Jake’s entire body before flicking back up, amused. “What, uh - what’re you doing here? Amy’s sick -”
“I know,” Jake says, wincing a little at belatedly realizing he’d cut Luis off. “She texted me yesterday. Flu, right?” Luis nods, looking faintly grim. “Well, I…I, um…I didn’t think she should be alone tonight.”
Luis’ chin lifts a few degrees, eyeing the bag in Jake’s hand. “Isn’t prom tonight?”
“Yeah. And I know she’s bummed that she can’t go, so…” he trails off, hoping that half-phrase is enough of an explanation to buy him a ticket inside.
Luis smirks. “So you came to hang out with her,” he says, nodding slowly, and Jake’s whole face is about to burst into flames. “Well that’s…that’s pretty awesome, dude, not gonna lie. Wanna come inside?”
“Please. Your neighbors laughed at my pants.”
Luis snorts as he steps to the side. “Yeah, they’re not the only ones,” he tells Jake as Jake trots inside. “Here, wait here - she’s been quarantined in her room all week. Mama!” He turns away as he shouts into the house.
“Si?”
“Jake’s here!”
“Jake? Jake who?” Jake hears footsteps approaching from the kitchen and then Camila Santiago appears in the doorway, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her curious gaze immediately lights up upon spotting Jake in the entry way, the dish towel falling from her hands as she hurries to hug him in greeting. “Jake! What on earth are you doing here?”
“Hi, Mrs. Santiago,” he mumbles over her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as her arms nearly squeeze the life out of his lungs. “I figured Amy might want a little company tonight.”
“Oh, mijo,” she pulls back, cupping either side of his face, before pulling the bag apart and peering at the contents. “You are a very, very good friend. You know she’s sick, don’t you?”
“I do.” He says, nodding very seriously. “I brought surgical masks.”
She laughs, big and long and loud, and Jake can’t help but to laugh along a little.
“Jake?” A hoarse voice calls from the top of the staircase to his left.
Amy’s pale, almost frighteningly so, practically buried beneath what he recognizes as the comforter from her bed draped over her shoulders. She appears to be trembling a little, brow faintly glistening with sweat, hair tied back in a messy, frizzy bun near the top of her head. Luis appears at her elbow, leaning away from her, looking ready to steady her down the stairs but also to jump away from her at a moment’s notice.
Jake feels his breath catch in his chest. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t actually seen her in over a week, but she’s absolutely breathtaking.
“What’re you doing here?” She rasps, snapping him out of his daydream.
“It’s prom night.” He grins up at her.
“I - yeah, I know. I called you three days ago and told you I couldn’t - are you wearing pajamas?”
He casts a glance down at his pants and does his best to ignore Luis’ snort. “Yeah,” he confirms, “I am.”
Her brow his furrowed as she takes one step down, left hand emerging from the comforter to grip the railing. “Why?”
“’Cause you’re wearing pajamas and I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to match. That’s what Gina kept saying, I dunno.”
She pauses on the fourth step, shaking her head, clearly trying to comprehend what he’s telling her. “Wait, wait - what?”
“Mimi,” Luis says sharply, impatience soaking his tone. “He came to hang out with you so you wouldn’t be alone on prom night.”
Amy inhales sharply. “You - you did?”
Jake shrugs. “No one should be alone on prom night.” He mumbles.
She totters slowly down the rest of the stairs and then slowly draws toward him, oblivious to her brother and mother quietly retreating to the kitchen. “But - but you’ve been talking about prom for months now. You asked me to go with you in November.”
“I know.”
“Jake, don’t waste this night - you should be up there having fun, don’t miss your senior prom because of me -”
“Hey,” he steps closer to her, gripping the edges of her comforter and gently rearranging the garment to cover her more. “It wasn’t about prom. Not really. That would’ve been fun, but…I was more excited about going with you.”
Her eyes are big and wide and bloodshot, and her lower lip is quivering just a little bit. “If I didn’t feel like I’ve been dead for three months I’d kiss you right now.” She whispers.
“Me too.” He smiles, and then pulls her forward by the comforter to lay a kiss to her feverish forehead.
They end up in the Santiago’s living room, Who’s Line Is It Anyways providing the only source of light where it plays on the television, Monopoly board unfolded and laden with plastic houses and hotels and gamepieces alike. They’ve been at this for four hours, seemingly no closer to the end of the game than they were when they started (although Jake has stolen at least five of her property cards and her get out of jail free card and she hasn’t noticed yet - he blames the flu) but Jake can feel the deep-seated ache in his abdomen from too much laughter and Amy’s been wiping her laughing tears away for twenty minutes. The contents of his supermarket plundering lay strewn across the floor beneath the television - junk food, mostly, though the bag of cough drops has been ripped open and the little things have spilled across the floor in a traitorous trail leading straight to Amy - and Jake buries his arm elbow-deep in a bag of Cheetos as Amy rolls the dice.
“I don’t even like this game,” she mutters as the dice spill from her palm and dance across the board. She takes two of her own hotels out, and they both promptly dissolve in hysterical laughter again.
“I mean, we could play something else,” Jake suggests after setting one of her hotels back in its’ place (and stealthily tucking the other into the folds of the blanket Camila had draped over his back earlier). “I’m pretty killer at Chutes and Ladders.”
She snorts, and then groans - apparently snorting is not good for her raw throat. “I don’t have a preference, you pick.”
She sighs, reaching up absently to try to tame some of the fly-away hairs sticking up off of her forehead, and a tingling warmth he’s become all too familiar with begins expanding somewhere down below his lungs. “Hey, Ames?”
“Hm?”
“I’m glad we skipped prom.”
A slow, genuine smile blooms across her face. “Me, too.” She murmurs.
(He’ll mean it tenfold in the morning, when Gina and Rosa and Charles all show up, disgruntled and oblivious to Amy’s indignant sounds of protest muffled beneath her comforter, to inform the two of them that prom was shut down just one hour in when someone got caught trying to spike the punch bowl.)
They’re on the couch after that, Amy leaning heavily into him, her head fitting warmly just below his chin, and as Jake drops off into sleep he’s enveloped in pure, unadulterated contentment.
|
“One soda water and a ‘Last Laugh’ for booth three,” the waitress ordered to the barkeep which caused Oswald Cobblepott, the proud owner of the Iceberg lounge, to look up from the inventory list.
He made a hasty gesture to one of his men and whispered: “Wait outside for that young fellow Carlos to show up. Don’t let him in, and give him a fair warning that he can’t sell his cut roses to the couples at the tables here tonight. Also, tell him that he owes me a favor for that warning.”
That potential murder averted, the Penguin decided to take a break from the admittedly tedious procedure of stock-taking he had been busy with since the afternoon, to take a closer look at the rest of the orders-list, maybe it would pay to know who else was gracing his establishment with their presence tonight.
Right the very first item on the list was a ‘Black and Tan’ plus four normal beer. That wouldn’t have been that unusual an order, if it hadn’t come from booth ‘two’ Penguin sighed, Two-Face and at least four members of his gang.
Maxi Zeus likely had brought a few of his thugs as well, at least Oswald couldn’t imagine who else would have ordered ‘Nectar and Ambrosia’.
A bit further down on the list was the next unusual item - a can of green tea. Penguin remembered very well how that annoying man had waltzed in and requested it the first time, years back, and had explained his order with: ‘alcohol is not the solution’. That pun hadn’t been funny then and it still wasn’t funny now.
But a lot of the villains in Gotham seemed to think they were funny, why else would Solomon Grundy order a ‘Corpse Reviver #2’ every time he dragged himself through these doors? Penguin doubted the man still could even so much as taste what he was tossing back, not even talking about a zombie possibly getting drunk.
Going by that, Scarecrow was even worse. He at least could still taste but decided for suffering through drinking a ‘Nightmare Cocktail’ every time he walked into a bar, just for the name. That was outright crazy.
Oswald wouldn’t ever sink to that level! Was he supposed to drink nothing but tequilas? Because of the early bird gets the worm? Haha, how funny - not! It wasn’t even really fitting but if there was any drink with a raw herring as an ingredient, then Oswald really didn’t want to know about it.
That said – who had ordered egg nog? It wasn’t even close to x-mas yet. Was professor Egg-Head back in town or did Mad Hatter hire a new Humpty Dumpty?
Normally Penguin didn’t mind one or two of the villains and former Arkham inmates showing up in the lounge, but tonight it seemed about everyone needed a stiff drink. It left the feeling of sitting on a damn powder-keg and just a little disturbance being enough for it to blow up in his very face.
And to cement that feeling, over there at the bar sat that seedy Malone fellow, as always chewing on a god-damn match. That was a guy who always seemed to show up shortly before hell broke loose. And usually, he disappeared in the chaos just for something to go up in flames while the police force was distracted with dodging bullets and turning on the bat-signal.
He was about to return to the orders-list when he realized that Malone wasn’t alone and hurried over to the two occupied barstools.
“Please, tell me that isn’t a ‘Malibu shake’ in the kid’s glass,” he demanded, looking accusingly between the barkeep, Malone, and the obviously underage boy who was sporting a similar set of sunglasses and was chewing on a match of his own.
Matches just shrugged. “It has milk in it so it’s gotta be healthy, right? Missus said I should spend some time with him, be a father figure and a role model, you know? Right, 'lil Matches?” He ruffled the boy’s hair, which actually evoked a growl from the kid. Nasty little fellow, apparently.
“So, you drag your kid into a bar and order him alcohol. Some role model you are,” Penguin chided. “This establishment is not supposed to serve alcoholic beverages to minors!” He cast the barkeep a deathglare. If the Iceberg lounge lost their license over this, the barkeep’s head would roll.
“Naw, it’s all cool, he may seem young but if you look at his drivers’ license, you can see Junior is 21 already.” Matches senior grinned winningly.
“Hell no! I am not buying that,” Penguin ground out. “Barkeep give the kid a cola on the house instead.”
“But there is caffeine in that!” Malone senior protested. “Do you want him to stay up all night?”
“Not my problem,” Penguin declared. Maybe he should find out who that ‘missus’ was and tattle on Malone to her. That might keep that damn arsonist out of his lounge for a while.
Speaking of keeping out, was that Carlos? What the hell was he doing in here? Seemed like he hadn’t come willingly or alone. A thug was basically dragging him by the arm and the other six thugs in his company were clearly looking for trouble, they were coming straight for Cobblepot.
“Are you the owner of this hole?” Their leader demanded – really did that idiot not know who he was talking with? Still, Oswald decided to at least try and solve this like civilized beings, new furniture was expensive.
“Yes, the lounge belongs to me, you must be new to Gotham? What would be the problem?”
“The problem is: I work for Mr. Ibanescu and that Carlos here is under Mr. Ibanescu’s protection. Mr. Ibanescu won’t be happy that you denied dear Carlos entry into your third rate bar. Mr. Ibanescu doesn’t take kindly to men who get in the way of business.” The taller man sneered down on him.
Ah, that explained a few things. The Ibanescu family often hired new ‘talent’ from outside town but apparently, they had skipped over giving their new muscle a tutorial for basic Gotham survival this time.
Oswald peered over to the bar – yes, Matches senior and junior both had disappeared.
“This is a misunderstanding, I merely meant to warn…” he tried again.
“NO! I WARN YOU, YOU WILL LET CARLOS SELL HIS CUT FLOWERS AND GET THE F*** OUT OF HIS WAY OR…”
A curtain opened behind Penguin.
“Did I just hear the words ‘cut flowers’?” A treacherously calm female voice inquired - which prompted several more curtains in front of several other booths to be drawn back hastily.
A part of the guests hurried towards the kitchen exit. A far bigger part reached for their guns.
Penguin grabbed a bottle from the bar and smashed it over the new mobster’s face.
Taking that slim chance at survival, Carlos darted for the exit tossing his basket as far away as possible, with a furious Poison Ivy hot on his heels.
It was raining cut roses everywhere. ‘Someone’ found that apparently very funny and giggled maniacally.
With a tingle, a coin was tossed into the air: “Scratched.”
The first trigger-happy goon opened fire.
Then, everyone started shooting.
“Welcome to Gotham, newbies!” Penguin shouted over the din, as he jumped for cover behind the giant block of ice that gave the lounge its name.
All that was missing now to make this evening perfect was Batman showing up.
|
A hand brushing through his hair brought Harry into awareness and he shifted, automatically leaning into the touch despite its coldness.
"Hey, it's time for your potion."
"Do I have to?" He was aware that he was whining, but he couldn't find it in him to truly care.
"You do, unless you want to remain sick?"
"Where's Siri?"Blindly accepting the potion given to him he swallowed it with a grimace.
"Are you still delirious, pup?"
The thinly veiled worry behind the light chuckle was enough to make Harry open his eyes so that he could see the blurry shape of his godfather sitting on the bed beside him.
"Sirius?" Sirius helped him as he tried to struggle into a sitting position, propping a pillow behind him so that he could sit up a little on his own.
"Easy kiddo, here's your glasses."
"Thanks."
"Hmm, now open your mouth so that I can feed you."
As his glasses were carefully placed on his nose Harry became aware of the cup of soup Sirius picked up from the night-stand.
"You don't need to..."
"Shush and let me feed you," Sirius raised a spoonful of soup to his lips and obediently Harry opened his mouth to let his godfather hand-feed him.
"Atta boy."
Snorting at the soft pat on top of his head, Harry leaned back to let his godfather feed him spoonfuls of soup, grumbling once the bowl was empty.
"I hate that git, it's all his fault."
And he truly meant that. The morning after they had found Snape's remains he had woken up with a sore throat and tired.
He hadn't thought much about it as he had stayed up late the night before, discussing his death with the other Gryffindors.
McGonagall hadn't wasted time, after the Aurors had arrived and indeed confirmed Madam Pomfrey's belief that his heart had simply stopped, she had cancelled classes for the rest of the day and had called the staff together to inform them before she shared the news with the students.
No one had been very shocked to learn he had been found dead, the news of what had happened to other Death Eaters had already made them suspect what had happened to their ex-Potions Professor, so no one was surprised at the confirmation.
And truthfully, no one was sad to learn of his death, though they had spent the rest of the day discussing recent events among each other.
By the time Harry had gone to bed it had already been very late so he blamed his tiredness on that and had ignored it until he'd begun coughing later that morning in History of Magic, badly enough that Ted had alerted Sirius immediately.
His godfather had taken one look at him before he whiskered him off, fed him several potions and forced him into bed.
He didn't remember much of what had happened after he'd been tucked in, but Sirius had been there every time he was aware of, taking care of him.
"What time is it?"
"A little before eleven in the morning," Sirius spoke softly, pulling the comforter a bit more securely around him.
"What day is it?" trying to suppress a yawn Harry settled back into the pillows.
"Monday. You've been out of it for quite some time but your fever finally broke during the night and you've been sleeping peacefully since then."
"No wonder I feel so clammy," Harry chuckled.
"I gave you a sponge bath every time I changed your soaked pyjamas but there is only so much a washing cloth can do. If you feel well enough later I'll help you take a bath," Sirius promised, brushing the fringe out of Harry's tired eyes.
"I'd like that," smiling he tried to suppress a yawn again.
"You should get some more sleep."
"I know, but I don't want you to go yet," admitting that he wanted his godfather near wasn't something he was ashamed about as he knew the man wouldn't think less of him and he wasn't let down as Sirius smiled.
"I'm not going anywhere, pup. In fact, I might even crawl in beside you as it is rather cold out here."
"Room enough," grinning at the clear invitation to cuddle with his godfather Harry shifted to the side.
"I can see you are eager to steal what little body heat I have, but I first want you to drink some water."
Accepting the straw when it was held before his mouth he swallowed several mouthfuls gratefully, the cold liquid soothing his slightly raw throat.
Once he'd had enough Sirius returned the glass to the night-stand before he walked around the bed to slip underneath the comforter on the other side.
Immediately Harry edged over to his godfather and curled up against him, letting Sirius pull him close and remove his glasses for him.
Sighing contently he rested his cheek on Sirius' shoulder and as a thumb began to brush lightly over his eyebrow, it, combined with the even heartbeat underneath him, lulled him back to sleep.
When he woke up again it was to Remus tucking the comforter around him more securely and he peered at him with one eye.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" the whispered words alerted Harry to the semi-warm body he was curled up against and knowing his godfather had fallen asleep, too, he answered in the same whisper.
"Better, what time is it?"
"Almost eight. I was going to wake you but you both looked so comfortable I decided against it," letting Remus measure his temperature he smiled.
"Fever truly gone then?"
"Has been since last night, but it doesn't hurt to be sure. Looks like you are on the mend, which is good as you smell horrible and really need a shower. You both do."
"He hasn't left my side at all?"
"Twice for a shower."
"But what about classes? Surely he left to go teach?" Harry asked as he slipped out of Sirius' arms and sat up, accepting the glasses Remus handed to him.
"No. He told McGonagall that you are and always will be his first priority."
"What did she say to that?" feeling his heart swell like it always did whenever his godfather put him before anything else, even if at the same time he also felt guilty he'd caused trouble for the man once more.
"She told him he had made it clear from the beginning that he was a parent before he was a teacher and that she thought it was the way it should be. "
Remus smiled.
"He'd have stayed the entire time if you hadn't thrown up over him. Then he left to take a quick shower and let me sit with you."
"I threw up on him?" horrified Harry groaned, stirring the sleeping form beside him but as they held their breath Sirius only shifted onto his side.
"Twice," Remus finally answered after a few moments had passed in silence to ensure the man didn't wake up.
"Twice what?" distractedly Harry turned back to him.
"You threw up over him twice. Though I admit the second time was my fault."
"How so?"
"He was sitting on the chair, leaning over you so that he could hold you up as you threw up. I sneezed and stumbled against his chair..."
"And I missed the bucket because his chair was shifted," Harry finished with a wince. "Poor Sirius."
"I don't think he really cared. And it were my socks you threw up over," Remus teased, making Harry laugh, knowing it was probably true as his godfather had a tendency to unconsciously pick the other man´s clothes to wear.
"What's so funny?"
Turning to Sirius as the man sat up, the light from the doorway allowed Harry to get a good glimpse of his godfather in the otherwise dark room.
"Have you slept at all?"
"I just woke up."
"I mean before, while I was sick."
"Here and there. Don't look at me like that; it's my job to take care of you, especially when you are sick."
"But..."
"No buts. And I did sleep a little whenever Remus sat with you. And I rested a lot whenever your fever spiked because the coldness of my body helped you cool down."
Ruffling a hand through Harry's hair Sirius smiled as he automatically leaned into his godfather's touch.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Pretty good. I'm eager for that bath."
"If you are up for it then we could visit the teacher's bathroom after we've had dinner?" Remus suggested.
"We can go there?" Harry asked surprised. He wouldn't have even known about the bathroom if it hadn't been on the Marauder's Map.
"Why not?" Remus shrugged as Sirius stretched before moving to sit on the edge.
"I'm just a student."
"That may be, but you are with two teachers."
"Who are my guardians so no one will complain," Harry nodded before pushing the covers off him and shuffling over to sit on the edge beside his godfather. "So what's for dinner?"
"I think it's wise to stick to soup for now, unless you'd like to try some porridge?"
"Soup is fine. What will you two eat?"
"The same. Dobby made a huge pot yesterday that has enough left for the three of us," Sirius smiled, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders as he leaned against him.
"Dobby went through that trouble for me?"
"Oh yes, you should have seen him. I got kicked out of the kitchen when I tried to get something to eat for Sirius. I wasn't even going to try and help with the soup but he kicked me out anyway."
Laughing at Remus' pout Harry straightened again as Sirius rose to his feet.
"The kitchen is his domain when one of us is sick, that's the agreement he told me Sirius and he settled on when he was hired."
"You mean he demanded to be responsible for that task," Sirius snorted as he helped Harry up, handing him a bathrobe to wear.
"Oh, a few of your classmates said to get well soon again, they miss you. And for reasons they said you'd understand Fred and George attempted to send you a toilet seat yesterday."
Snickering at the resigned look on the man's face at the twin´s antics and the smile Sirius was attempting to hide, Harry slipped into his robe.
"Did you send them away?"
"No, Sirius enchanted it and had Dobby relocate it to the Gryffindors seventh year's boy's dorm."
"What did you do with it?"
"I didn't enchant it," Sirius protested and upon seeing their disbelieving gazes added. "Really, I didn't."
"Then why was I called to Gryffindor tower this morning because a toilet seat suddenly developed arms to pull anyone entering the bathroom into a hug?"
"I just asked Dobby to relocate it, it is not my fault if there was an enchantment upon it," Sirius shrugged innocently and Harry burst out in laughter.
"You're such a sly dog. But it's not very hygienic is it? To pull a prank with a toilet seat?"
"It wasn't actually on the toilet; I had Dobby hanging it on the wall beside the door. And it was a completely new seat, the sealing still around it. The boys aren't ones to pull unhygienic pranks like that," Sirius shrugged as he and Harry sat down at the small table.
"How did they react?"
"They seemed to be enjoying themselves and asked me to tell you they owe you a bow for your brilliance."
"They must have known we would check the seat before letting it anywhere near Harry," Sirius chuckled as Remus served the soup.
"They admitted that they counted on you to test it, it should have activated upon your magical signature," Remus explained.
"Why didn't it activate then?" Harry asked between two bites.
"Because he tested it, not me. And because they pre-set it upon my specific signature, it didn't activate when Remus tested it. When I asked Dobby to relocate it I only changed the pre-set target into a more general one," Sirius explained, tucking into the meal as well and they fell quiet as they ate in comfortable silence before Sirius and Remus did the dishes, making Harry remain seated to not upset his stomach so soon after dinner.
"Can I have that bath now?" Harry asked hopeful once the last cutlery was put away.
The two Marauders shared a glance, and as Harry had become used to, an entire conversation took place in that one glance and Sirius sighed.
"Are you sure you are up for it? You could have a quick bath here, too, and we could go to the teacher's bathroom another time."
Hesitating Harry bit his lip. Did he truly feel well enough to go out already? He looked forward to seeing the teacher's bathroom, but if he was completely honest with himself then he had to admit the simple meal had already tired him out.
"It might be wiser to take a quick one here for now, I am pretty tired," he eventually admitted.
"You can visit the teacher's bathroom another time," Remus promised and Harry nodded, letting Sirius help him to the bathroom. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of a ready bath.
His godfather knew him better than anyone, so he would have known Harry hadn't truly been feeling well enough to go anywhere. And yet he had let him make that choice for himself despite that knowledge.
It was one of the things that had taken him a long time to get used to, that both men let him make his own decisions. If he made a mistake they believed he'd learn from it and Sirius only intervened if he felt Harry was going to make a choice that would hurt him in the long run.
"Thank you," wrapping his arms around his godfather he leaned against him, resting his forehead on Sirius' collarbone.
A kiss pressed against his temple was his only answer, and Harry smiled as he let Sirius help him undress so he could step into the warm water.
"Do you need help washing your hair?"
"Would you mind?"
"I'll come back in fifteen minutes then, but do make some sound so that I know you haven't fallen asleep."
"Want me to squeeze a duck?" grinning Harry held up one of the rubber ducks that Sirius had given Remus last Christmas.
He was often very sore after transformations and long warm baths helped a lot. But it quickly became boring when he couldn't read so the younger Marauder had gotten him a variety of Muggle bath creatures and enchanted them to swim around in the water.
And although Harry had roared in laughter upon learning of their existence, he secretly had a lot of fun playing with them whenever he took a bath and he and Sirius occasionally held races with the ducks in the bath.
"Just let it quack, no need to squeeze the poor thing," Sirius teased, ruffling his hair and activating the ducks before leaving the bathroom and Harry leaned back contentedly, chuckling as a couple of rubber fish tried to swim through his toes.
All too soon Sirius returned and helped him wash his hair before helping him back to bed.
As he settled, Remus came in with a cup of warm milk, placing it on the night-stand.
"Why don't you take a shower while I keep Harry company?"
"That bad, huh?" Sirius chuckled, ruffling Harry's hair before leaving the room.
Remus took a seat on the chair beside the bed without a word and Harry waited quietly as the man seemed to be listening to something for several moments.
"Okay the shower is running, can I ask your opinion?"
"On what?" Harry kept his voice down too, aware that Remus had waited until the shower was running so that Sirius wouldn't hear them.
"A way to get rid of Sirius' scars."
"What? How?" sitting up straighter he leaned in curiously. He knew his godfather always hid them, both ashamed of them and hating them.
"I came across a half finished research in one of your dad's many notebooks a few weeks ago. It was about Phoenix tears and their uses. From his notes I discovered he was trying to discover if they were capable of healing scars."
"You think he was looking for a way to remove Siri's scars?" Harry breathed out, touched by the realisation of how much the three Marauders had tried to do to help each other.
"Yes. At first I was sceptical but then I remembered what you told Sirius in your fourth year, about Fawkes healing your arm after you'd been bitten by the Basilisk and I realised it might just be possible."
"What were Fawkes' thoughts on it?" he knew it wouldn't have been difficult for the man to ask the Phoenix as Fawkes occasionally visited, sometimes staying at Sirius' side for hours before returning to who knew where he'd left to after Dumbledore was arrested.
"He gave me a phial full of tears when I explained why I was asking."
"I assume you tested it on yourself so you know if it works and won't get his hopes up for nothing?"
"I did, but I would like to get a second test subject before I even discuss the option with him."
"Right," pulling the comforter aside Harry pulled his pyjama pant up to reveal a scar just below his knee that had been left by his fight at the Graveyard, aware it would need to be a scar Sirius wouldn't immediately notice missing.
Smiling Remus quickly pulled a small cloth from his pocket and pressed it against the scar for a moment, rubbing lightly before pulling it away.
Taking a deep breath Harry took a closer look as the scar had completely vanished.
"That's amazing. I never would have thought to use Phoenix tears like that."
"Neither did I or Sirius. If I hadn't come across your dad's research we might never have thought of it."
"It's a good thing you did then. But what did you want my opinion about?" As Remus tucked the cloth back into his pocket, Harry shuffled back underneath the comforter again.
"Do you think he will want to remove them? They are a part of him and I don't want him to become even more uncertain of himself than he already is by making him believe I take offence at their sight."
Biting his lip Harry thought for a moment.
Would he want the scars removed in the first place?
He knew he himself would jump at the chance to remove the scar on his forehead for good, if only to stop people from staring at him all the time.
But would Sirius feel the same way even if he was ashamed of them. Even if the scars were erased, the pain and memories of his past wouldn't be and they'd been part of him for so long.
If he didn't it would indeed make his godfather even more self-conscious than he already was, always hiding his bare skin underneath long sleeves and buttoned up shirts no matter how hot it was.
But if he did want them removed it might actually stop him from always trying to cover himself up and it might even give him some peace of mind to not always be confronted by evidence of the pain he went through whenever he saw his own body.
"If it were me I'd jump at the chance. But I'm not Sirius. What would you want?"
"I'd want them removed. It wouldn't have made a difference for me fourteen years ago as I'd just get new ones every upcoming full moon. But now, with Wolfsbane I'd take the chance with both hands," Remus admitted completely honestly.
"Then you should talk with Sirius. You could just bring up Dad's research and ask what he'd do if he'd be given the opportunity," Harry suggested.
"I'll do that, thank you. Oh, now that he's occupied... "Remus trailed off as he left his seat to retrieve something from the closet. "I tried to follow your wishes to the smallest details so I hope it's like you imagined."
Opening the box Remus handed him, Harry smiled as he took the collar out of the box to inspect the tag more properly.
Taking in the simple silver star they'd settled on before carefully opening it, his smile widened as he looked at the two photos they'd chosen.
Upon telling Remus of their idea the man had immediately showed them the perfect photo; one that had been taken shortly after Harry's birth and showed his grandparents and parents as they surrounded the two Marauders seated on a large chair, he himself in his godfather's arms.
For the other picture Remus had approached Colin in secrecy, asking him to make a photo of the four of them with Luna and Neville without Sirius finding out. The boy had been ecstatic and had immediately taken and developed several photos for them. They'd chosen one where they were all standing before Hogwarts and Remus had written down their wishes for the tag so that he could order it for them, keeping the engravings the same.
Brushing a thumb over the simple black band Remus had picked Harry smiled. "It's absolutely perfect."
"I thought you'd approve. I've added the usual charms to it and some additional protective charms."
Nodding Harry returned the collar back to the box, handing it back to Remus so he could put it away again as they heard the shower stop.
"It seems like such a small gift though," he whispered.
"Trust me; he'll love this more than anything we could think of. Besides, we're taking him out to the zoo and dinner Saturday," Remus smiled as he took his seat again, tapping Harry's now cold milk with his wand to heat it up again.
"Better finish this off before he worries why you haven't finished your drink."
Chuckling at that truth Harry quickly finished the milk before shuffling down into a lying position, laughing as Remus tucked him in.
"Honestly, you are just as much of a mother hen as Sirius is."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Remus stuck out his tongue as he ruffled his hair.
"You two seem pretty cosy," Sirius entered the room with a potion in his hand and a towel over his shoulders to catch the drops falling from his still damp locks.
"Looks like it's potion time," Remus grinned as Harry groaned, standing up so that Sirius could take a seat, and pulled the towel back over Sirius' hair as he handed Harry the potion.
"You do realise I'm quite capable of doing that myself, right?" Sirius laughed as he leaned back to let Remus dry his hair properly.
"Hush, just read our boy his bedtime story to make up for the horrible potion you just gave him," his eyes were twinkling at the two tongues being stuck out to him simultaneously before he placed the towel over the heater.
Harry grinned, his heart skipping at Remus' words as he turned onto his side and squealed out in a little boy's voice; "Story time, Siri!"
Both men shot him an amused glance before Sirius' eyes glinted mischievously and he rose to pick the stuffed dog from the shelf and wiggle it beside Harry underneath the blanket.
Laughing Harry let his godfather tuck the dog beside him and childishly wrapped his arms around it, pulling it close.
"Am I not a little bit too old to be sleeping with a teddy?"
"Why? We sleep with a teddy, too, and we are much older than you are," Remus chuckled, pulling Sirius into a hug before he could sit back down, and laughing Sirius patted him on the head.
"That's right; I have a very tall teddy bear in bed with me."
"You're both insane," Harry chuckled as the two sat down again and the younger of the two picked up the book Harry had been reading from.
"Seriously?"
"What? Remus said it was a good trilogy," Harry defended his reading material.
"It is, but it's a terror to read out loud from. I can't pronounce half of the names and places in here," Sirius complained.
"How about we all get into the bed and I read then?" Remus suggested, Harry immediately sitting up to return the stuffed dog on the shelf and move over.
"I think he agrees with your plan, Moony," laughing Sirius slipped into the bed beside Harry, shuffling over so that Remus could get in, too.
"All right, get settled you two so that I won't have to rearrange you once you have fallen asleep."
Waiting just long enough for his godfather to slide down and get comfortable, Harry curled up against him again. A wave from Remus' wand dimmed the lights enough so that there was only a night-light on at his side and with a chuckle at the two expectant faces he began to read.
"Next day Frodo woke early, feeling refreshed and well. He walked...¹" as he read a smile spread over his lips as from the corner of his eyes he saw Harry's eyes already beginning to drop, tucked warmly and relaxed against his godfather's side.
Catching his friend's eye they shared a warm smile before Sirius pressed a kiss into Harry's hair and Remus continued reading.
|
Although his touch initially startled her, when Alpha brushed his knuckle across her cheek, Jenna held still while her heart pounded a new rhythm. When the blindfold pushed from her face a few seconds later, she had to blink hard against the spots clouding her vision. She squinted at first, but then slowly opened her eyes again.
A mesmerizing set of dark eyes stared back at her.
She studied Alpha's face, noting the deep cuts of his face, making it angular and not altogether attractive. The strong jaw, the broad nose and the prominence of his brow and cheekbones gave his look a uniqueness that kept her mesmerized. She couldn't place her finger on just why his features intrigued her, but at the heart of the matter, she knew she liked his look.
Alpha, in return, didn't try to appease her with a gentle smile or a soft touch. He waited, giving her a moment to pass judgment. His gaze dropped to her lips, his tongue swiping over his own bottom lip. There was desire there.
A compulsion to tilt her face toward his and wait for the kiss he obviously wanted to give her rifled through Jenna. Somehow she knew that when and if they did kiss, it would be more than just the meeting of skin on skin. Alpha would plunder her mouth, taking and abusing it at his whim.
Her nipples tightened, the damned machine doing more to stimulate her arousal. She broke her perusal of Alpha to glance down and what she saw made her heart drop into her stomach.
She'd been connected to a milking machine. True to his damned words, Alpha indeed planned on milking her. God, how she wished her pussy didn't pulse at the thought of that, but her breasts were swelling, her insides twisting as she accepted her fate. The shackles held her in place and Alpha's expression brooked no disobedience. He was determined to have his way and she knew there'd be no way out of it until he was done. Maybe later she could escape, but for now...She would do as he said willingly. Based on her body's dripping response, she'd probably enjoy it.
"What happens now?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"I give you the protein and with a little time, you'll begin to produce. Your offering will be given to members of the Pack and our sickness will gradually fade away."
"Do what you need to, I guess." Get this whole thing over with.
Alpha's gaze dropped to her lips again. "Good," he said. Then his mouth lowered to hers.
There was a brief moment when Jenna feared he might bite her. Hell, maybe even wanted it, but then she crushed that fear and fell into the heat of the kiss. As she'd suspected he would, Alpha took from her. She moaned into his mouth, breathing a thing of distant importance. He stole it with the demanding movement of his lips against hers. And when his tongue thrust into her mouth, she whimpered from the force of it.
At once, a bitter taste flooded her and she tried to back away. Alpha's hands shot up, gripped her head, and held her in place. She realized then that he was the cause, that he inundated her with this foul-tasting protein through a kiss. Despite herself, she found herself rocking her hips because despite the bitterness, this gorgeous man, full of power and dominance, incited something primal in her.
She didn't want just to be kissed by him. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to see his cock. To taste the pre-cum beaded at the tip of it. She wanted to stroke her tongue over the veiny bulges along his length. To smell the musk of his skin. Taste the brine of his balls. She wanted it all.
When he pulled away from their heated exchange, Alpha cupped her breasts and to her surprise, she realized they were tingling. They felt full, ready to burst. He gave each a gentle squeeze, his brow furrowing when nothing seemed to happen. He continued to massage them, his sight intent on the cups still rhythmically pulling at her skin. "More," he muttered.
Dawning horror blanketed Jenna when she realized that the tips of her nipples grew moist. "Oh my God," she cried. "What did you do to me?"
She watched with him as a droplet of white liquid formed at the ends of her breasts.
"It's a start, but not enough. You're not ready for more protein yet, but I can't wait for you to get there." He tore his gaze away from the cups and looked her in the eyes. She didn't like what she saw there. "If we had more time, I would wait. I'd let you get accustomed to the idea and could slowly introduce the protein. But we're dying and I have to hasten the timetable. I'll have to raise your hormone levels to get this to work faster. Do you understand? We're desperate."
Surprisingly, she did understand. And on some level, she wanted to help him. "Untie me, please."
"I can't do that."
"You don't have to let me go, but can you please untie me? My arms are going numb."
That's all it took. Alpha reached into a back pocket, withdrew a small key and removed the shackle from the bolt holding it. Instead of letting her go though, he had her place her hands together in front of her. While he hadn't released her, at least her arms didn't feel like pins and needles anymore. "Better?" he asked as he engaged the lock once again.
"Yes, thank you." She was afraid to ask, but said it anyway. "Now what?"
"Hold still." Alpha reached behind him, picking up a large pair of scissors from the nearby cart. It must have been what he'd used earlier to cut through her shirt. Implement in hand, he bent down next to her, his face level with her crotch. His proximity would have allowed him to smell how intense the past half hour had been.
Just as she expected, his nostrils flared, and Alpha looked up at her. Jenna's face heated through, the blush extending down her neck and chest. He said, "I'm glad you're enjoying this. I hope you enjoy what we do next as well."
"I'm not enjoying this at all," Jenna lied.
Alpha's lips curved into a sexy grin. "Okay," he said in a tone that suggested he didn't believe her one iota.
Her breath caught when the cold metal brushed against her thigh. Alpha had slid the scissors between her skin and her panties and Jenna knew what would happen next. Without ceremony or speech, Alpha snipped the fabric holding her panties in place and within seconds, she stood bared before him. The sodden panties floated to the ground, displaying her level of arousal and further making a liar of her.
"You're going to rape me?" she asked, a lump forming in her throat.
Alpha stood. "Not rape. I will never rape you. When I put my cock inside you, it will only be after you've asked me to. And when it's all over, after my cum is coating your insides, I'm going to knot you."
|
A faulty street light pinged in the darkness above as Ariel pounded down the wide sidewalk. The array of lights lining the nearly empty street cast an angry orange glow in the faint tendrils of smoke from a distant wildfire. She slowed, huffing loudly with her hands at her slim hips. Her fingers massaged her aching side while she slowed her pace.
"Morning," a young man said as he passed her effortlessly on the left in the gloomy haze. She nodded at the man, too out-of-breath to reply and then sighed while leaning her upper body back.
Sweat lined the woman's body. She brushed a few strands of long, black hair away from her eyes and kept walking forward. The silent radiance of the raging fire seemed to consume the darkness surrounding it. She eyed it and knew she'd have to start using the treadmills again. At least until it was put out and the smoke had cleared.
Another pair of joggers, a man and woman that appeared to be near her age, passed her. They chatted occasionally and she frowned at their backs. Her 30th birthday approached and she felt like she was in good shape - perhaps not as good as her college years - but she was finding it harder and harder to keep the pace she'd grown used to over the years.
Ariel tsked as a muscle twinged in her lower back. She reached behind to massage the already-fading pain as early morning commuters zipped past in expensive convertibles. Blue light glowed from her wrist when she checked her fitness tracker. It was an expensive model but she wasn't wearing the separate specialized heart rate monitor. Despite that, she could feel her heart pounding and didn't doubt the depressingly high figure that blinked at her.
With another sigh, she turned around and began jogging back to her house. Her ears buzzed, her side ached and she could feel the arch of her feet beginning to throb but she pushed through it with a mental note to order a new pair of shoes. She forced a smile at every passing jogger that quickly turned to a determined grimace when they passed.
The first angry welts of sunlight appeared on the horizon behind her as she began a series of mental encouragements.
she thought to herself while focusing on the uneven sidewalk before her.
Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose. She flicked it away and repeated her mantra as the sun rose behind her.
--
Ariel's black BMW pulled smoothly into her reserved parking lot. Sparse clouds filled the gray sky and she glanced up at them as she stepped out of her car. She inhaled and then gagged slightly while wrinkling her nose against the acrid scent hanging in the air. Her reserved spot was close to the entrance of her work so she held her breath as she made her way to the front of the building. As she opened the door to step into the lobby, a gentle voice rang out from the overhead speakers.
"Welcome to FutureGen," the cultured female voice announced. "The future begins here, today."
The young woman rolled her eyes as she did nearly every time she came to work. A web of cameras watched the entrance to the building and she knew they were running facial recognition in order to catalogue visitors and potentially flag any unwanted guests. She had begged and pleaded with network security to turn the announcement off when an employee entered the building but they swore it was nearly impossible to configure.
"Good morning, Dr. Hollister," the receptionist chirped. The young girl was, as always, impeccably dressed and well put-together. Ariel smiled while giving her an appreciative glance. She'd had a slight crush on the girl since she'd started working at the company but she never let it get beyond the occasional private fantasy. Caitlin would tease her
if she knew about it.
"Good morning," Ariel replied as she walked past. Thinking of Caitlin brought a shy smile to her face as she made her way through the maze of offices.
Her girlfriend had come home while she was out jogging and they'd been able to spend time together this morning before Caitlin had gone to sleep. Ariel had sat on the floor between the other woman's legs and they'd talked about life and work while her girlfriend braided her hair in a tight french braid. For a brief, happy moment, the stress of her adulthood had melted away and she'd relaxed with her eyes closed while pretending she was at a sleepover. It was an indulgence she didn't often allow herself but it helped to center her when life weighed heavily upon her.
Various early morning workers nodded at her with a respectful "Doctor" as they went about their tasks. Although she didn't know all of them, she acknowledged each of them just the same. At twenty-nine years old, she was the youngest director in the company's history and everyone knew who she was. FutureGen had fought six other corporations in contract negotiations before she'd even finished her first phD six years ago.
Cubicle walls vanished behind her when she approached a single white door. She pulled her lanyard to tap it against the grey block beside the door and it pinged as her access was granted. Pulling the heavy door open, she stepped into her lab.
Although the office and foyer occupied the front of the building, her laboratory consumed nearly seventy percent of the first floor. She walked swiftly through the brightly lit hallway, pausing at intervals to pull clipboards from their hooks. Certain experiments were at a critical stage and, despite the incredibly expensive computer network and top-of-the-line tablets, her researchers jotted down quick notes on paper for their teams. She scribbled notes and answers on a few of the clipboards before making her way to her office.
At times, her ludicrously large office made her feel embarrassed. But now, as she slowly eased her sore body into her office chair, she appreciated it greatly. A single button press caused the glass walls to darken as her overhead lights brightened to compensate. She kicked her heels off and spun in her chair while her feet decompressed. Various awards lined her office, mixed in with framed photos of celebrities and Nobel Laureates.
The pain from her jog frustrated her more now than it had this morning. It gnawed at her and made her wonder if it was time to visit her physician.
She asked herself.
Both of her parents were alive and healthy. In fact, they were both hiking in Japan at this very moment.
she thought.
She laughed out loud, bitterly, as she remembered Tom's side project. She was experimenting with a version of Google's "20% time" and allowed her employees free time - ten percent of their day - to chase down personal projects as long as it fit snugly within the goals of FutureGen. His side project was in hair regrowth and he was currently investigating a lead or two using gorillas. She wasn't certain what he was planning since side projects had nearly zero oversight but maybe she could convince him to look into something for her feet.
? she mused.
Frowning, Dr. Hollister tapped at the arms of her chair while staring into the distance.
She wondered. The young woman turned to her computer, logged in and pulled up an Internet browser.
Lights flickered on in the lab outside her office but she barely noticed the faint movement beyond her dark, frosted windows. Her staff knew better than to bother her when the glass wasn't clear.
An hour later, Ariel stared at the website for St. Petersburg State University's Theodosius Dobzhansky Center for Genome Bioinformatics. She glanced at the clock on her desk, did a quick mental arithmetic check and then picked up her phone. The line chirped after she dialed the long series of numbers to reach the university. Just as she was about to hang up, a rough voice answered.
"Здравствуйте, чем я могу помочь?" the man said.
"Вы говорите по-английски?" Ariel asked in halting, accent-less Russian. There was a long pause on the static-filled line but she could hear the other man breathing.
"Yes," the man finally answered. "Who is this, please?"
"This is Dr. Ariel Hollister from FutureGen," she answered. "In Los Angeles, California. I'm sorry for calling so late but I've been doing some research and I was wondering if you had a moment or two, Doctor-?"
"Doctor Brukhin," the man answered. His voice changed subtly. Even over the bad connection, she could hear a warmth. "We've met before, Dr. Hollister. Five years ago at the conference in Nürnberg. You gave a very informative lecture on molecular genetic analysis in diseases. I congratulated you afterwards. A group of us had drinks together but I don't remember much of that evening, I'm afraid."
"Well," Ariel said, blushing slightly. Now that he'd mentioned it, she vaguely remembered a night of drinking. She'd left before it became too chaotic but she was amazed at how rowdy the various scientists had been. She'd been somewhat sheltered at that point in her life. "I'm honored that you'd remember me, sir."
"And?" he asked. "What can I do for the famous Dr. Hollister?"
"It's the sequencing on Chewbaaka, sir," she told him. "The cheetah?"
"Of course I know," he chastised her gently. "I wasn't involved but it was a big accomplishment for us and our friends in China. But what could FutureGen possibly want with the data?"
"It's for a personal project," she told him. "I'm not even certain it will yield anything useful but I have an idea or two I'd like to test. I was hoping I could get access to the completed sequence. I could have someone bring the appropriate amount of drives or I could set up a repository for remote transfer?"
"And could we not have you personally visit?" the man asked hopefully. "It would be quite the coup to have someone as distinguished as yourself tour our facility. And I would promise not so much drinking."
"That sounds lovely but I'm afraid not," Ariel chuckled. "I have a few too many projects I'm overseeing and I can't step away for any length of time."
"Ah, such is life," Dr. Brukhin agreed with her. "But, please, send me the information to a secured repository and I'll have my technicians transfer the data. Only, one request?"
"Of course," she answered.
"Share with us if the information is useful," he told her. "I would be saddened to learn of a FutureGen breakthrough based upon our works without proper attribution."
"You have my word, doctor," she replied. "But, really, I think I'm chasing a pipe dream here. And, thank you."
"It's been a pleasure," Dr. Brukhin said.
Ariel lay the handset down on her phone's base station and leaned back in her chair. She could feel the idea she'd formed earlier begin to take hold. There were several live projects her team were working on that could potentially form the basis of what she was planning. She oversaw all of them and was directly involved in two of the projects in question. With the data and notes on Chewbaaka as well as her own research and the work of her team, she saw the end result moving from hypothetical to viable.
As the hushed murmurs of her employees filled the offices beyond her door, Ariel went to the side of her room where she kept a few pieces of equipment. She drew a vial of her own blood with a wince and then paused, staring at the door to the lab.
It was a long shot but she'd lived her life with one simple rule: always push forward. If the science didn't exist, she'd invent it.
--
Four small vials sat before Dr. Hollister on a table in her darkened lab.
She stared at them - at the results of eight months of driven research and development. Long nights punctuated by apologetic texts and phone calls to her girlfriend for not coming home yet again. She told Caitlin it was important to her but not why. It was impossible to explain. At least not until she could verify the results. There'd been a few heated moments over those months but Caitlin was ultimately understanding.
And now she was done.
Machinery hummed around her, accompanied by the stuttered clicking of mechanical equipment. Her face was aglow with their various lights - red and green and yellow, flashing or solid to signify different statuses.
She stared at the vials with her hands folded in her lap but her thoughts were a mile away. Every time her brain tried to focus, she felt the thought melt away into nothingness and the void within calmed her.
Seconds turned to minutes, interrupted only but the occasional blinking of her eyes.
Death was an option. She was fairly certain of her work but so much of gene editing was still a mystery, even to FutureGen. It took years to test what impact each small change had on a larger scale and sometimes the errors cascaded to a horrifying degree after being seemingly stable for a period of time.
Her knuckles turned white as her fingers clenched against each other and her heartbeat sounded unnaturally loud in her ears. It was late Friday night, an evening she specifically picked due to the weekend and her schedule being relatively light. She'd have the weekend to deal with the effects and could take extra time if needed.
Three of the vials were her own work while the fourth was built heavily on existing research. The fourth one was to stabilize the changes the other three should enact while repairing damaged cells. She was sure of her research. Certain of it. She'd poured countless hours into the areas she was targeting. It should work.
She reached for the first vial. Her fingers brushed the clear glass before she made a fist. The liquid inside was as clear as the glass was viscous with thick, white streaks. She touched the glass, nearly stroking it before making her final decision. Once settled, she gripped the small tube, uncorked it and downed the contents in an unthinking rush.
she thought, grimacing at the bitter taste of the mixture suspending the heavily modified bacteria.
The second vial followed the first and then the third. Ariel gagged and stomped her feet with her head bowed. Sweat beaded on her temples but she took the fourth glass tube and swallowed before she changed her mind. She lay her head down on the table and ran through a series of calculations to distract herself from the tumultuous, angry grumbling within her stomach.
When she was sure she wouldn't vomit, she stood to collect the vials as carefully as possible. The young scientist picked up her laptop and bag along with the vials. With a final glance around the room, she walked to the nearest autoclave, inserted the vials and started the machine. It beeped as she turned around to leave.
The building was eerily silent but Dr. Hollister gave a miniature salute to the security cameras while winding through the maze of cubicles. The same cameras identified her as she left the building and the large security doors slid open as she neared them.
Ariel exhaled in the warm evening air. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath and she felt the tension leave as she breathed out. And then she laughed. She blushed as she realized how extraordinarily strange she must have looked but she couldn't hold back. Collapsing against the side of the building, she laughed until she felt hot tears stream down her cheeks.
So many things could go wrong but she'd done it and she felt drunk off the thrill of it. Her stomach muscles burned as she devolved into chuckles while clutching her bag against her chest. She wiped tears away while leaning her head back against the brushed aluminum that covered the building.
Her step was spry as she made her way to her lonely car. It's cabin light glowed when she neared and it unlocked as her hand brushed the door handle. She tossed her bag into the passenger seat and started her car before buckling in. It rumbled to life and she shifted, backing out of the parking lot.
She felt wired, as if every nerve was humming within her body. Her car surged forward when she stomped the gas pedal and she bit back a loud 'woop' as it turned sharply and grabbed the road like a animal chasing prey. Her eyes widened with unnatural focus as she sped. A car appeared and she gave the slightest touch to her wheel, passing it at the last moment with the least amount of space possible. It honked at her but it was already far behind her when she glanced at it in her rearview mirror.
As she drove, she day-dreamed of the potential changes she had in store for herself. She'd researched quite a few creatures before settling on the cheetah. Its flexibility intrigued her, as did its enlarged heart and lungs and arteries. But, more importantly, they were genetically monotonous and that was critical for ensuring she had the proper markers for the changes she wanted.
The city opened up to her as she prowled the streets without a care for the marked speed limits.
Flexibility. Her girlfriend was the gymnast and would benefit the most from the potential flexibility the changes could offer but it was the entire package that enticed her. Increased speed, heightened cardiovascular endurance as well as an encouragement to growth of her fast-twitch muscles for explosive speed. However, she'd also added a few of FutureGen's tweaks for cell and gene repair and those were even more exciting to her. With her own additions, they should help her body stay younger longer while keeping her body in peak condition.
As she approached the suburbs where her house was tucked quietly away against acres of trees, she slowed. Caitlin was at work and the house was dark. Ariel parked in front of the garage and a cold bead of sweat rolled down her back as her high wore off. She grabbed her bag, left her car and unlocked her front door while the reality of the situation began to settle over her shoulders.
Once inside, she dropped her things, kicked off her shoes and grabbed a bottle from the wine rack in her kitchen. Unsettling thoughts kept trying to pierce the veil of fear beginning to surround her. She swatted them away as she found a glass for the wine.
Dark red liquid sloshed around the glass and then over the edge to spatter the counter as she carelessly filled it with trembling fingers. Dr. Hollister downed the entire glass, thankful for something to wash away the disgusting taste that still coated her throat. She filled the glass again and immediately drained it and her shaking hands finally calmed while a warmth filled her body.
With a shrug nobody else was around to see, she abandoned the glass to drink straight from the bottle.
A second bottle joined the first and she began to contemplate writing a note to Caitlin just in case everything went wrong. Ariel cried when she finished the bottle as, in her mind, she saw her girlfriend coming home from work to see her corpse lying cold on the kitchen floor.
The third bottle eased her melancholy thoughts and, in fact, she thought of nothing else when she lay her head down to rest for just a moment.
--
Dr. Hollister woke to pain and nausea and a cold puddle of drool against her cheek. She moved slightly, raising her head while wiping her cheek and wincing at the lancing pain in her head. Every joint and muscle throbbed and she found herself taking short breaths against a numbing pressure in her chest. Worse, the tips of her toes and fingers felt cold and they tingled when she touched them.
She turned and stumbled and then fell to her knees to vomit on the floor. She heaved but, miraculously, nothing came out and she was left feeling even worse. Instead, she sat back and gasped, trying to catch her breath. Black sparks exploded in her vision and she felt like someone was squeezing her temples in a vise.
It took an incredible amount of effort to pull herself into a standing position but she pushed until she was leaning against the counter. She fell forward but caught herself and, in this manner, slowly made her way to her bedroom until she could crawl under the covers. Shivering, she pulled the sweat soaked blanket tight against her body. Her eyes flicked open every time she came close to falling asleep.
"-you hear me"" Caitlin asked. "How many bottles- oh. Oh, babe."
Ariel turned to see her girlfriend leaning down over her with a worried frown.
"H- how l- l- long," Ariel wheezed, her teeth chattering. She writhed beneath as the blankets to try and put out the fire burning deep within her bones. "Been home?"
"I've been talking to you for the last few minutes, babe," Caitlin said. "Oh gosh, you're burning up. Wait here, I'll get a wet cloth."
"I'm f- f- f-" Ariel tried to say before a spasm tore the word away from her.
Caitlin returned and lay a cold, wet hand towel against Ariel's forehead. She gasped and her vocal chords separated and vibrated into a rasping, halting purr.
"Let me get you undressed," Caitlin said, pulling back the blanket. "Ugh, and I'll get a new blanket. Hold still."
"Noooo," Ariel said quietly. She pushed weakly at her girlfriend's hand but found herself easily rebuffed. She tossed and turned her head while trying to swallow past the lump at the back of her throat. Her girlfriend's hands were cool against her hot skin as the girl carefully undid buttons and pulled on clothes.
"There, you're-"
Ariel screamed. The nerves in her lower back exploded and her muscles contracted, pulling her immediately into a sitting position. With a loud 'pop', she lost sensation in her entire lower body. The room spun and Caitlin's voice echoed down a darkening tunnel as the young scientist passed out.
--
"- temperature's just over one hundred," Caitlin said. She toyed anxiously with curls of her thick, red hair. "No, nothing else. No vomit. I don't know how to check that, no. Well, she was screaming earlier. It freaked me out. Just sat up, screamed and fainted. Okay, but-"
"No," Ariel whispered, slowly reaching a hand out to touch her girlfriend's arm.
A single bar of light peeked from the edge of the bedroom's curtain. It lay against her face and she blinked as she turned to face her lover. Her mouth hung open while she hyperventilated. It felt like hands were pushing and squeezing the inside of her chest but her panting seemed to help against the fever and the pressure.
Black flecks appeared beneath the skin around her eyes.
"T- trust- trust me," Ariel begged, grabbing Caitlin's arm in a trembling grip. "N-n- no h- hospital. Trust. Trust me. Please."
More coal-like specks appeared in the sweat-slick skin surrounding her eyes. They multiplied until her eyes were ringed by black. A faint line appeared along her cheeks from the corner of her eyes, nearly invisible in the darkened room. The line grew down her face like an old scar until it reached the edges of her lips.
"Trust," Ariel said as the room began to darken once again. She opened her mouth and hissed quietly through the pain wracking her body. As her fingers dug into the bed sheets, the flesh beneath her fingernails bulged. Her nails bent at the center and tented as a fine slit appeared at the tips of her fingers.
"Trust. Me. Truuuussss-" she groaned. The young woman flexed her hands as her girlfriend fixed the towel on her forehead. Eight clear claws pushed through the clefts in her fingertips to tear ragged little holes in the sheet while she dragged her hands along the bed.
Ariel twisted once and sighed when sleep finally took her. As her body relaxed, her claws pulled back into her fingertips.
|
Dr. Hollister woke to the weight of her girlfriend's arm against her stomach and a gentle quiet that was interrupted by Caitlin's soft snores. She lay still for a few minutes while trying to remember everything that happened the night before but it was all a jumbled mess in her mind.
There was pain, yes, she remembered that. And the concern in her lover's eyes. But not much beyond that.
Slowly, and as carefully as possible, Ariel wiggled sideways out of bed while holding Caitlin's arm above her. She stood and stretched, purring lightly for a brief moment as she raised her arms as high as they could go while on her tiptoes. Joints popped along her back and shoulders and she smiled in pleasurable satisfaction from the release.
Whether it was imagined or not, she felt light on her feet and full of energy. And incredibly hungry. With a backward glance at her exhausted partner, Ariel made her way to the kitchen. She smacked her lips and yawned wide. Her jaw cracked and the faint lines connecting her lips to her eyes spread over her cheeks.
Obsidian filled the tiny cracks in her pale pink lips. She brought the back of her hand up to her mouth to hide a second, even wider yawn. Her lungs expanded to their new capacity with her first full breath and she danced with a swirling two-step at the sudden urge to move. Her deep chest swelled, forcing the sides of her breasts through the arms of the plain white tank top she was wearing.
As she passed into the hallway, the young scientist hummed a happy tune. Her fingernails tapped the top of the cotton shorts Caitlin had wrestled onto her while she'd slept. The concave white nails brushed faint black hairs that began to emerge in a scattered line from her sparse pubic hair to her belly button. Interspersed within the black hairs were groups of light orange hairs. They caressed her fingers as they lengthened and she pulled at them and teased them while her black-ringed eyes scanned the kitchen for food left out.
Her eyes flicked past the smart screen on the fridge door and then snapped back.
she thought to herself incredulously. She'd lay down Friday night but the clock showed just after 1 pm on Sunday.
A bunch of bananas sat upon a stand and she snagged one, peeling it as she opened the fridge. Her eyes darted between shelves while her stomach rumbled and her fingers slipped beneath the band of her shorts to follow the trail of fur down her lean stomach.
Ariel tossed the banana peel into the open trash can and then reached in with long, limber arms to grab bread, low calorie mayonnaise, vegetables and deli sliced turkey. She hummed and tapped her feet and stepped side-to-side while making her sandwich with fast, efficient movements. The top slice of bread was barely slapped on over a generous helping of lettuce before she brought it to her mouth. Her hand flexed, triggering new muscles that pushed the tips of her claws into the soft bread.
Unable to keep herself still, Dr. Hollister paced around the kitchen as she ate. She felt heat wash over her from her scalp to her toes and she shivered from it. Her body struggled with the changes being forced upon it and another wave of heat brought a cold sweat with it.
A single black hair emerged from the marble skin of her back. It pushed forth to disturb a drop of sweat that fell to trace an erratic path down her spine. More coal-colored hairs followed with a mixture of orange as her body grew an adolescent hybrid version of a mane. The hairs were wispy and short and tapered off as soon as they reached the bulge of skin at the base of her spine. She reached around to scratch the smooth lump and the loose bones within shifted at her touch.
As soon as the first sandwich was gone, she made a second sandwich and chased it down with two large glasses of water. Finished eating, she dumped her plate into the dishwasher and dashed down the hallway to the bedroom. She paused at the doorway to stare at Caitlin. Her brown eyes grew unfocused as the wave of heat pulsed through her again. This time, she felt it as if it were a deft hand strumming the nerves along her body and she stretched and chirped quietly at her mate. Her throat jumped and her mouth opened as another chirp escaped her lips.
The dark lines on her lips branched out and the coloring spread as if draining the pink surrounding them. At the same time, her dark brown eyes lightened to mahogany and she blinked rapidly to clear the fog from her head.
She crept into the room on the balls of her feet while her ears twitched to catch her lover's steady breathing. Caitlin snorted and Ariel froze before stepping over to the dresser. She lifted the drawer to retrieve her gym clothes as her girlfriend turned and began snoring again.
On silent, raised feet, she fled the room with a quick backward glance.
---
Birds sang to each other, drawing Ariel's attention. She glanced sharply towards the trees and then continued to her car. Her yoga pants stretched tighter than usual against her body and her muscles flexed beneath the black material as it cradled every inch of her. The banded cuff of the pants sat below her calf on legs lengthened by the changes over the past two days.
The soft leather seats in her car molded themselves to her as she pressed herself back into them before closing the door. She slung her bag into the passenger seat before starting her car. Her boundless, scattered energy seemed focused now that she had a goal in mind. She glanced at the side mirrors, the rearview and then over her shoulder as she reversed and then shifted into drive fluidly.
Other cars annoyed her as they followed the speed limit. She mapped them, tracked their speed mentally and gunned it, growling quietly as she slipped from her lane to the incoming lane and back, skipping past cars in an adrenaline-fueled push to get the the gym as quickly as possible.
It was only when her burnished eyes caught flashing lights far in front of her that she realized she was heavily speeding. She checked herself, looking down at her speedometer with some surprise while slowing down to what felt like a crawl. It was in her nature to drive conservatively yet even while forcing herself to follow the speed limit, she caught herself glancing around and plotting the path she'd need to force her way through the other cars.
she mused as her foot pressed the gas once she passed police officer parked on the side of the road. She focused briefly on the woman the officer had pulled over and then accelerated while overtaking a van driving just over the speed limit.
---
Scattered pairs and individuals made their way towards the gym's entrance and Ariel followed. She quickly found herself impatiently stepping around and between the meandering people until the automatic doors hissed open for her. The young receptionist greeted her with a wide smile.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Hollister!" the girl beamed. She was always polite and cheerful and seemed to know all the patrons. Ariel had been pleasantly surprised, and slightly ashamed, to find her initial knee-jerk reaction to disliking the attractive young girl was wrong. And another in a long line of reminders to try and stop judging people by their appearances. "Wow! You're looking amazing today. Have you been using a new scrub? And your eye shadow is on point. It really brings out your eyes!"
"Oh," the young scientist said, blushing fiercely. She touched her cheek and smiled back before swiping her gym card. "It must just be the lighting messing with you. I haven't done anything. I was actually sick in bed the past two days. Maybe I finally caught up on sleep?"
"Well, you're looking fantastic," the girl told her. "Have a good workout and I hope you're feeling better! It's a pretty light crowd today."
"Thanks," Ariel said, holding her bag tight against her shoulder. She stepped aside to let the other patrons check in and made her way through the back.
Televisions blared the news from various networks in a ring around the gigantic cardio room. She glanced at a few and sighed while passing ellipticals and treadmills and other highly specialized pieces of exercise machinery. The machines had a few runners and she stopped to consider joining them, itching to give her body a test drive to see if she felt different. But, the more she looked at the machines, the less interested she became. The idea of being constrained on a short path didn't feel right to her
Further she walked past mirrored walls that led to the free weights and strength training machines. As she walked, the gasping, huffing and grunting faded until she pushed the bar on the double doors.
The often unused gymnastics area lay open before her. Unlike the rest of the gym, it was colder and darker with a faint smell of mold. Monthly classes were always offered and then nearly always cancelled due to lack of participation but she eyed the oval track running the perimeter of the room. The need to
filled her and she bounced from one foot to the other before stepping into the room.
Foam blocks of various shapes and sizes littered the huge area alongside gymnastic bars and rings suspended from the ceiling. As she walked across the floor towards the small set of lockers, the arches of her feet began to ache. She stamped her feet lightly and then stopped to untie her shoes. Aside from the track, the floor was covered with foam padding and she realized she wouldn't need her shoes anyway.
The relief from freeing her feet was immediate and she felt a sudden burst of vigor that made her laugh and spin as she held her shoes by their laces. She wanted to run and jump and swing and
but first, she lay her gear on the benches beside the lock and settled on the mats.
Ariel held her breath and then exhaled leaning forward with her hands straight and her legs spread to the sides. Her fingers reached her toes and she readied herself for the little twinge she'd always felt in her back but it never came. She continued to reach and her changed body flexed freely. Her palms touched the mat and she slid forward, waiting every second for an ache or a pain or
yet her hands slid forward and her sacrum opened.
"Holy shit," Ariel whispered as her chest and nose touched the mat. She lay, completely bent with her upper body flat against the ground and not a single joint or muscle complained. "Holy shit!"
The young scientist pushed her body forward while closing her legs until she lay in a straight line. She anchored her body and pressed up to raise her chest. Bones popped in her spine as she flexed and the skin above her ass bulged. Muscles and nerves began to form beneath the bump. Cartilage developed beneath the new muscle and calcium joined to form her first caudal vertebrae.
Black and orange hairs emerged from the shifting lump of skin. They spread down beneath her pants and around her labia before mixing in with her pubic hairs and up slightly in a fanned peak over her mound. She shivered as the hairs caressed her pussy lips and they grew thick and wild between her thighs.
Down, her chest went as she raised her hips to the air. She growled quietly and her vocal chords vibrated into a rumbling purr as she raised her chest just above the matt while pushing herself up by her toes.
More dark hairs emerged along her nape to join the ones already dotting her skin. Her miniature version of a cheetah's mane crept down to the middle of her back.
Unused muscles lengthened as she continued her stretching. Sparked by the activity, her body began to change further. The yellow ligaments within regenerated as cartilage and membranes regrew over her joints.
With a gasping, breathless laugh, Ariel planted her hands and raised her legs slowly. Nerves and muscles connected her coccyx to the vertebrae in her tail and the single, hidden bone flexed, desperately trying to maintain her balance as she brought herself to a handstand.
Strong muscles, built while the gene editing altered her body, stood out along her forearms and biceps and back. She swayed and then steadied herself until she was a perfect line from her hands to her extended toes. A drop of sweat formed above her vestigial tail and rolled down until her mane trapped it.
She leaned forward, dropping her feet and then raising herself into a standing position. Her larger heart pounded, pumping her blood to every part of her body and her powerful lungs drew in deep breaths as more sweat gathered at her brow.
"Hah!" she laughed, raising her arms. "Haha! I did it! I fucking did it!"
Not a single muscle ached within her body. Rather, she felt even more hyper. Her mouth lay open as she began to pant to aide her sweating body in cooling her down. The subtle lines from her eyes to her mouth stood out on her flushed cheeks. She pulled her tank top off and tossed it to the bench, leaving her clothed in a sports bra and yoga pants.
Her bright eyes traced the track and she chirped as she walked to the edge of the room on the balls of her feet. Her shoes forgotten, she reached back to scratch the itchy tail and then bounced on her toes.
"Okay," she told herself. "Okay. Let's see how it goes."
She jogged, keeping her pace short as she built a baseline. However, an annoyed growl escaped her lips and she stretched her legs. The woman's already tight yoga pants pulled close to her body, outlining every inch of the muscle developing beneath her smooth, hardened flesh.
Despite her growing speed, her steps were light and she barely felt the challenge of it. She pushed herself further and the mound of her tail extended into a small stubby, hairless tail that curled up just over the band of her pants. Black hairs dotted the surface of it and it shifted slightly as she rounded a corner.
The scientist's calf muscles and thighs strained against her pants and it clung to her, outlining her mound and sex until it clearly showed her moistened lips.
And still she ran faster. She could feel the air moving against her now and her eyes darted along the track. She felt anxious. Constrained. Eager to move and angry that the track was so short.
Her toenails bent as she practically leapt with every kick of her foot. The joints and bones thickened as her toes swelled and new claws developed within. The jabbing pain of their development was lost to her as she pushed harder.
Ariel's long, powerful strides ate up the track while her heart kept a steady rhythm. Coal-dark hairs slid forth from her shoulders, swaying in the air with her speed as they grew up the swell of her neck to join her mane.
The room spun past in an almost dizzying sight but her eyes kept focus until she began to take a turn. Her tiny tail jerked to counter-balance her sudden change in direction as her claws ripped through the tips of her toes to dig into flooring beneath her.
Unable to turn in time, she slammed against her wall but her enhanced reflexes caught her and she pushed away to drop into a rolling tumble, aimed toward the center of the room.
She leapt and her tail arched and twitched side-to-side until she leaned on all fours beside a huge foam block.
Despite her speed and the sweat lining her hardened body, her breathing was as steady as her heartbeat. Alone in the room, she knelt and raised her hands silently in triumph. She smiled so hard she thought her face would burst from it. And, finally, she lowered her arms and licked the palms of her hands before running her fingers through her sweaty hair.
Her smile faltered when she felt the thick mane of hair at the back of her neck. Frowning now, she explored, flexing her arms down while tugging at the hair.
Ariel hissed when she flexed her hand and her claws slid forth to scratch her back. She snatched her hands away to look at them and her eyes widened at the sight of four claws tipping each finger. She screamed and then covered her mouth while falling on her ass.
The young woman's eyes locked onto her feet. She could see her dented nails and the thick, bent claws lining all ten of her toes.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" she stuttered. More fur, as black as the hairs lining her back and shoulders, emerged from the back of her feet. She watched, horrified, as it marched up to disappear within the straining band of her pants. Intermixed with the black were groups of dark orange hairs.
Spots, she realized. Like a cheetah.
She focused and her rational mind took over as she began to hyperventilate.
she thought, licking her blackened lips. The faint lines on her cheeks darkened until they nearly matched the onyx surrounding her eyes.
Feeling herself calming slightly, she pushed herself effortlessly into a standing position. She glanced at the door and made her way to the bench where she grabbed her shirt and pulled it on. The fabric brushed against her fur and she shivered at its touch.
she wondered, looking around the large room for any mirror. Finding none, she bit her lip and then cursed as she felt the pointed tips of her canines dig into her skin.
Ariel searched through her bag to find her phone. The single blinking message notification light seemed ominous under the current circumstances. She woke it and hissed as a claw slipped from her thumb to scratch the display. Taking her hand away, she stared at it in concentration, flexing and unflexing it.
There was
new there. Some new muscle that she'd felt briefly. She twisted and turned her hand while making a fist until she felt it. The more she moved her hand, the more she could feel it within until, suddenly, something clicked in her brain and the tendon flexed. She smiled briefly before growling at the realization that she was happy over a freakish mutation. Still, she couldn't help but play with the new ability to retract the claws of her hands back into her fingertips. And then out. And back in again, painlessly.
The sound of voices made her look up from her experimentation and her ears spasmed against her head. A loud hiss blotted out all other sounds and she slammed her palms against the sharp stab of pain deep within her ears. But, as quickly as it appeared, the pain and the static vanished and she pulled her hands away.
"... see... looked.... him?" the faraway voice asked. Her ears swiveled as the voice moved and she felt stray hairs shift against them.
"Ooooh hell," she whispered. The changes were still happening. Faster now, it seemed.
Pulling her claws back, she woke her phone and scanned the message with a sigh of relief. Caitlin was awake and out shopping before her shift at the bar.
the text asked.
Replying, in between accidentally unleashing her claws several times, that she was good and she loved her, Ariel put away her phone and breathed deeply.
There was no continuous pain and the changes seemed localized. Her mind raced to worry whether there'd be a cascade of genetic errors but she knew she'd have no time to deal with them if there were. Until then, she
amazing and cognizant of her surroundings and situation.
She still wanted to run. In fact, she yearned for it. To let loose in an open field and feel the wind against her fur while-
Ariel shook her head and mane in angry annoyance. She shoved her toes into her shoes and her forefeet strained against the opening in her shoes and refused to move. She bit her lip with her little fangs and shoved, her quiet growling growing into an inhuman yowl as she bent down, released her claws to tear into the laces and tongue of her shoes.
The fur along her shoulders and back stood at end while her eyes narrowed and she panted in frustration. Her hands relaxed and her claws pulled back, allowing her to grab her shoes and stalk to the nearest trash can.
Her calves flared as she found herself raising instinctively onto the balls of her feet. At the same time, her claws dug into the mat with each step and the tip of her tail lashed ineffectively behind her. The young woman dumped her ruined shoes into the trash and then paused as her ears flexed back and forth. She could hear the indistinctive yet loud hum and chatter of people at the front of the building and outside in the parking lot from where she stood. Yet nobody was nearby so she held her bag tight against the fur still showing over her shirt and then slipped out into the hallway.
As she crept along the hallway, her sensitive ears kept her alert. She couldn't hear the showers running or anyone in the locker room so curiosity won out and she pushed the door open to step inside.
With a glance at the door behind her, she licked her lips and her tongue dragged against her soft skin. She ignored it and stepped over to the mirrors.
The difference was immediately visible to her.
Her eyes were no longer mud brown but the color of burnt sand. Dark mirrored lines ran from the her eyes to her lips in the distinctive pattern of a cheetah's marking. She stepped in close and realized what the receptionist had seen: the skin around her eyes was obsidian - a natural anti-glare coating. She pulled her eyelid down and her fingers brushed black peach fuzz hairs surrounding her eyes.
Still watching closely, she ran her fingers along the bridge of her nose. Her nostrils were more gray than the surrounding skin and her top lip curved up slightly in the center. Unlike her nose, her lips were almost as dark as her eyes.
She glanced up at movement in time to see hairs sprouting from the backs of her ears. She brushed her hair back and flexed her ears to watch the hairs cover the skin and then continue to grow down until it merged with her mane.
"Fuck," she whispered as she finally caught a look at the thick ruff of fur on her nape. It was dark as a raven's feathers but seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. Orange spots littered the thick fur and she pushed the back of her shirt down to see how far it grew.
A scream nearly escaped her lips as she bit down hard enough to drop blood. Her tail curled out of the back of her shirt and she felt it brush the rough hem of the tank top.
Her head snapped up to the door as she heard voices coming down the hall. As quickly as she could, she grabbed her bag and left the bathroom. She left through the back entrance and darted in between cars while eyeing people as they entered the building. As she had while driving, she found herself naturally plotting a path through the vehicles in order to provide cover for herself until she jumped into her own car.
Once inside, buckled and hidden, she took a deep, shuddering breath.
"One step at a time," she told herself as she started her car and pulled out of the parking lot.
---
Ariel stopped in at her home to steal a pair of Caitlin's shoes as well as a full shirt and hoodie to hide her changes. She left before her girlfriend could come home and raced to her work to find the parking lot completely empty. A few people worked on Saturday but she'd forbade her employees from working Sunday in order to force them to take a break. And now, on a Sunday afternoon, she was grateful for that.
Despite her girlfriend's larger feet, the stolen shoes felt cramped and wrong and she kept raising up to walk on her toes.
The security team had finally overhauled their system recently and the doors opened as she approached. Even better, they'd fixed the announcement system and it no longer gave the company's tagline when she walked into the foyer.
As she walked through the cubicles, she could feel her tail struggling against the copious amounts of surgical tape she'd used to hold it down. Yet she also wished she hadn't as it had grown down to brush against her labia. She refused to admit that the sensation of it grinding against her ass and pussy was turning her on and distracting her. Still, it was hard to ignore the slowly building ache within her guts.
Being surrounded by the familiar equipment in the laboratory granted her a fraction of calm. With quick, concise movements, she drew her blood and inserted the tray into a nearby, unused machine.
And then she waited.
The machine clicked and hummed and she stared at it intently, flexing and unflexing her hands. She found the movement of her claws soothing in a strange way. The smooth, dense keratin moving against the little sheaths while pressing against the opening in her skin was unnatural yet calming. The tendon within her hand relaxed and she touched the tip of her fingers, unable to feel the slit. Her fingers would then roam over her bent fingernails. They were no long rounded but rather dented to allow room for the claws. And then she returned to flexing and exercising the tendon. All in a looping pattern as she eyed the machine.
The buzz of her phone startled her and she hissed while feeling the hairs raise on the nape of her neck. She grabbed it, automatically releasing her claws so they hooked to the edge of her phone case. As she swiped to answer the call, she felt the smooth screen against what felt like wrinkly skin.
"Hey babe," she said into the phone while staring at her hand. The bottoms of her fingers looked like she'd spent hours in the bathtub. She kicked her feet and the rolling chair she sat in glided across the floor until she stopped at one of the desks. "Are you already at work?"
She felt goosebumps rise on her arm as she watched the skin on her palm begin to protrude. At the base of her thumb and along her palm beneath her fingers, the skin pushed away from her hand while turning gray.
"I'm- I'm sorry, what?" Ariel asked as she stared at her developing paw pads. She swallowed and licked her lips, wincing as her tongue rasped against her skin. "No, I can't. I'm at work. Yeah. Running a test. I thought, uhh, since I wasn't feeling well recently I could use that to check a new test we're developing."
The young scientist flexed her hand and then closed it into a loose fist. The pads pushed together, preventing her from completely closing her hand yet forming a tight grip where the pads touched. She traced a fingernail along the skin and opened her mouth in a silent gasp at how sensitive it felt. The sensation traced a lazy line along her arm down to her thighs where she twisted her legs together.
"I'm sorry, babe," she said. She felt the phone begin to slip from her hand until she gripped it tighter with her claws. It moved against her as the pads on her right palm developed. "Can I drop by your work in a couple hours? I shouldn't be long."
A bead of sweat slid down to the tip of her nose - not entirely from the warmth of the hoodie she wore. She felt empty deep within and entirely too sensitive. Her heartbeat was an exquisite throbbing ache that reminded her of how turned on she was with every beat. As she realized the issue, she felt her ass cheeks being pushed aside. Ariel gripped the table and grinded her teeth as her tail grew thick. It lengthened and the head slipped between her pussy lips
"Yes!" she gasped into the phone. "Yes, I mean! I'll- I'll, uhhh, I'll be there tonight. Love you!"
The tips of her claws clacked against the phone as she ended the call. Reaching back, she kept her claws extended and sliced through the tape holding her tail in place. She groaned as it slipped free to press against her jeans. The soaked tip filled her little area with the scent of her arousal.
Looking back, she could see how thick it was and she felt strange looking at it. With a timid, gentle movement, she gripped it within her paw. WIspy black and orange fur covered it in patches but it was mostly skin. It felt warm and firm in her hand and it flexed back and forth as if it had its own mind. She pulled it free from her pants and sighed at the release. Her happiness caused the tip to lash around, tugging at her lower back.
The machine chimed and she released her tail. It drooped below her but she could still feel its weight and its presence.
"Alright," she told the room. Her left hand dipped down to drag through the light patch of fur on her belly. She scratched herself lightly without paying attention and began to prepare the next test. "One down."
|
Music and conversation assaulted Ariel as she entered the lively bar. She pressed a hand against her lower back to try and settle her struggling tail. She'd taped it against the back of her thigh this time and it hated being constrained.
hated the feeling of it being trapped as well as the feel of the tape on her but she had no choice. Even with the baggy pants she wore, she worried everyone would see.
The young woman scanned the room, churring instinctively as she searched the bar for her girlfriend. The curvy redhead was at the end of the bar, filling a glass from tap so she made her way through the crowd.
As she moved around tables and people standing in groups, she found her eyes darting around the room. She growled at sudden movement and eyed a slim woman as she separated from her mate to walk alone to the bathroom. Her hackles rose and she went to the balls of her feet while her tail frantically twisted against her.
But then the music crashed into her and she shook her head and continued walking. She was on edge. Anxious. Antsy.
. The tests had shown nothing wrong.
. While she'd need much more time for more complete testing, her DNA still matched 99% with her original sample and appeared entirely human. It made no sense at all. She'd even taken pictures of herself (and promptly deleted them) to ensure she wasn't imagining things. But then she'd worried she was imagining herself changed in the picture until her brain had clamped down and asserted control to keep her out of the endless abyss of 'what if'.
"Caitlin!" Ariel called out.
The redhead stopped, looked up with a smile at the voice and then frowned in confusion. She leaned forward quizzically.
"Ariel?" she said, uncertainly. Her eyes explored her lover's face. "You look different. Are you okay? I knew I should've stayed home with you today."
The scientist leaned in for a kiss but Caitlin turned her cheek.
"Not in front of the customers!" she reminded her. "You'll kill my tips."
"Or give you more," Ariel purred. Her throat vibrated as she licked the side of Caitlin's neck. Her tongue lashed against the girl's skin and hair and Ariel's claws dug into the girl's back, holding her in place while Ariel groomed her. She could feel her girlfriend struggling and giggling.
"Stop! Oh my god, stoooop!" Caitlin gasped. She pulled herself free while laughing with red cheeks and tears leaking from her eyes. "Holy crap, that tickled!"
Ariel's mouth hung open as she tasted the air and her tongue for the scent of her girlfriend. She churred again, quietly while her claws scored the bar and her left hand raked down her sensitive side.
A prickling sensation added to her arousal as the fur mixed in with her pubic hair began to expand beyond her mound. The light gray hairs crept along her belly until she thought she'd go mad from the feeling of it, pulling against her skin like a lover's rough touch.
"Sit!" Caitlin called out over her shoulder as she brought the waiting customer their drinks. "I'll get you your stout."
The stools at the bar were half full but, as she tried to sit, her tail flexed painfully so Ariel remained standing while following her lover with her eyes. The door opened, pulling her attention away as a huge group of students from the local college, her alma mater, walked in.
Caitlin sighed and dropped a coaster on the bar before setting a large glass of foamy, dark beer on it.
"Well," the redhead sighed again as she eyed the group. "I was hoping to get time to talk but it looks like tonight's not the night."
Ariel patted her girlfriend's hand and then stepped aside to make room for others. She ducked her face down in her hoodie while keeping her eyes up to try and keep everyone in view. Her hand flexed as a cocky looking boy with a goatee chatted with Caitlin. He smiled and reached for her but Caitlin moved her hand away to grab another glass. Ariel's claws dug into the wooden bar and she pulled, tearing strips out of the surface while growling. Her back hunched as she showed her fangs behind her trembling, blackened lips. Suddenly, her jaw flexed and she spat out a loud hiss that caused a few people to glance in her direction.
Just before she stepped over to him, one of the boy's friends pulled him away and they left to a nearby table. She could feel her fur settling against her back as the man left.
she thought to herself.
A second bartender joined Caitlin as drink and food orders began to pour in. She watched her beautiful girlfriend work. Her eyes traced the swell of her hips and the way her curly hair bounced as she moved. She scented the air and her claws slid free, unnoticed as she stared at the girl's breasts and down to her midriff and lower.
As she explored her lover's body with her amber eyes, she felt waves of heat course through her. It washed over her and she moaned, ducking her head while her nails sunk into the bar and her knuckles turned white. The torrent dragged at every nerve, hooking their own little claws into them. She hugged herself and bent deeper as she shook from the sudden waves of stimulation. Her muscular legs pressed together as a miniature orgasm tore through her. Her mouth opened wide in shock and her eyes fluttered. Lost in her own pleasure, she sighed and her voice rose with it into a distinctive yowl.
"-alright?" Caitlin asked near her.
Ariel arched upward to kiss her lover suddenly and ferociously.
"I need you," she panted. Her tongue dragged against the girl's freckled neck. "I need to fuck you so bad. I need to taste you and grind against you and-"
"Jesus!" her girlfriend said, stepping away with wide eyes as Ariel's teeth nipped her skin. "I'd love to but I have to work. Look, it's getting too busy. Go home and rest because you still don't look good. I'll wake you up and if you still want it, I'm all yours. You can pay me back with another back massage because mine is killing me again."
"Tell them you're sick," Ariel pouted. Her hands flexed against her sides. "Come home with me. I
you so bad."
"Just go!" Caitlin said as she walked over to a waiting customer. "Love you!"
The young scientist growled. Her jaw muscles flexed out and she hissed as another woman brushed past her. For a fraction of a second, her hands moved as the urge to slice through her exposed neck stormed through her brain but she stepped back and shoved her hands into her hoodie's pockets as the woman mouthed a 'sorry!' before disappearing into the crowd.
"I have to get some air," she told herself as she zig-zagged through the room. "Too many people. Too hard to concentrate on everyone. Too many smells."
The cool night air enveloped the black-haired scientist as she stepped out of the bar. Her shoes crunched on gravel while she walked to her car but she paused as she placed a hand on the door. With a quick look around, she lowered her hood and raised her head to the moon. She breathed deeply and tiny black and orange hairs pushed through her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. They spread to cover her cheeks and jaw before fading to dark gray under her chin.
Beyond the parking lot lay a dirt road and the wide main road it connected to. Beneath the nearly overpowering arousal was the bone-aching need to run. To stretch her legs to the limits and let her feet eat up the concrete until she couldn't take another step.
She grabbed her phone and keys from her purse before hiding the bag in the back seat of her car. After a moment's thought, she slipped out of her shoes and set them on the floorboards. She immediately stood on the balls of feet and then went to the tips of her toes to stretch. Her calf muscles strained as the ever present claws on her feet scraped the dirt and gravel covering the lot.
And then she walked away from all of it. Her furred ears swiveled to monitor for voices and cars but she ignored them as she placed her phone and keys in the zippered pocket of her hoodie. She walked down the dark unpaved road and began to lightly bounce. Her powerful muscles coiled and released and she thrill of the impending run mounted.
Yet it didn't feel right. Not yet. Not quite.
Ariel glanced around the empty road and the bar hidden behind trees and bushes behind her. She slid her jogging pants down to expose firm thighs and a wrist-thick tail bound to them. It twitched in anticipation as she sliced through the tape holding it and immediately sprung free, breaking the last line of tape before she could do it herself. She purred in pleasure as she finally felt complete.
Pulling up her pants, she breathed deeply and exhaled. And then she kicked off, scattering rocks. She touched down, barely wincing as her smooth skin hit the road. Her foot rolled forward to her toes and they splayed as the knuckles bent and her claws tore into the dirt. She kicked as her legs flexed and she leapt forward in a compact, fluid line of motion.
Dirt turned to concrete as it merged into main road. Sparks flew from her claws and her tail twisted as she turned in a wide circle until she reached the sidewalk.
Her scored, scratched feet began to swell and the throbbing pain she'd felt while running vanished as thick padding grew along the soles of her feet. She laughed and the wind whipped past, stealing the air from her lungs while she raced down the sidewalk with her tail streaming past.
The first car she passed flicked its lights at her but she barely noticed. Only when she began gaining on a second car did she grin fiercely and take it as a challenge. Her breath burst from her in a controlled rhythm as she pushed herself harder. She could feel herself sweating and an ache began to form at the edges of her muscles but she pushed past the car and then a third just beyond it.
Dark fur swept down her pumping legs to become quickly matted with the sweat pouring down her body. A fourth car honked at her as she flew passed. She recognized the area and realized she was close to home. A part of her wished she'd timed herself just to see how fast she'd run but the thrill of it was all that mattered. And the time would come for testing.
The small road that led to her house appeared on her right and she slowed. Her long legs ached and her throat burned as she opened her mouth to pant but she felt more alive now than she ever had. Rather than shout in victory, she smiled and ducked her head with her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the air against the fur covering her face.
she told herself.
The thought of it made her shiver. Made her remember how she'd felt in the bar while stripping her lover bare with her eyes. She swallowed, shivered again and then shrugged out of her shirt and hoodie.
she thought while puffing her bare chest up. The thick gray fur lining her stomach nearly hid her small breasts. She shook herself and then stopped.
Ariel reached down, hooking her thumbs into the thick pants. She pushed and they slid over her silky fur and bare skin. As she bent, her engorged pussy spread and she grinded her sharp teeth together at the scent of her need. The young woman stepped out of her pants and held them with her other clothes.
The absolute freedom of her nakedness was intoxicating.
She slipped from the road with alert eyes and ears, a dark shadow watching for other predators (neighbors, she reminded her brain) as she stalked home. Occasionally she crouched in tall grass as a car passed or someone stepped out of their house. Her tail flicked in annoyance until she could move again.
Once home, she threw her clothes aside and crashed into bed. She was asleep nearly instantly and her quiet snores vibrated into deep purrs.
---
A single snort woke the young scientist. Gray, pre-dawn light filtered through their thick curtains as she roused herself to see Caitlin asleep next to her.
Her mate was home.
She slid beneath the covers until she lay between the girl's legs. A quick flex of her hands brought out her claws and she lifted her lover's panties with one hand while slicing through them with the other. As carefully as she could, she pull them aside and moaned at the sight of the other woman's pussy.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Ariel reached her arms under Caitlin's thighs to hold her in place while she ran her tongue along the other girl's lips. Her lover jerked above her but she held her tight and licked again.
"Too rough!" Caitlin cried out as she reached down to grip her girlfriend's black hair. "Too hard on the clit!"
Ariel chirped and spread the other woman's legs further. Her arms slid down the girl's smooth, bare thighs until they lay against her hips. Ariel pressed forward, breathing deeply of her lover's scent before dipping her tongue between the girl's pussy lips. The redhead gasped above her and twisted her legs as her body began to respond in kind and Ariel tasted her sweetness.
"Oh. Oh, love," Caitlin groaned. "God! God, it feels so different. So fucking good, love!"
The skin along Ariel's lips opened, shifting the short black and tan hairs covering her face. The tips of her whiskers pushed forth from the openings and her ears flicked back as she worked her head up and down while forcing her tongue deeper into Caitlin's soaked pussy.
A single laugh escaped the redhead's mouth. She bit her finger and raised her head with a gasp and then laughed again as Ariel's lengthening whiskers tickled her sensitive thighs.
"What are you-" Caitlin asked, pulling the blanket away. "Oh shit! Who the fuck-?! Ariel?!"
The curvy redheaded girl shoved herself back while pulling the blanket up to cover her chest. Ariel ran her tongue along her black lips and then against the sparse fur on the back of her hand. She rubbed her hand against her furred cheek and then stopped as she realized what she'd done.
"I- I- I-" Ariel stammered. Her voice cracked and rumbled in a stuttering purr to show her anxiety. "I made a mistake."
"Wh- wh-" Caitlin tried to say.
The young scientist sat on the bed with her legs crossed. She grabbed her thrashing tail and curled it around her slim hips.
"A tail!" Caitlin yelled as her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "That's a fucking tail! And fur! You're covered in it! You're a- You're a-"
"I'm still me," Ariel said, reaching a tentative paw (hand! she reminded herself) out to place against her lover's knee. Yet she felt the thick padding against the blanket and she knew that wasn't exactly true any longer. She sighed and looked down at her lap. "I went for a morning run a while ago..."
---
"And so here I am," Ariel finished. She ran her palm against her shin before curling her fingers to lightly scratch her nails against her own thighs.
"Does it hurt?" Caitlin asked. "It's freaking me out. You sound like Ariel but you look... you look like... it's just so weird, you know?"
"I know!" Ariel said, flexing her claws to dig into her leg. She could feel the strength in her legs as she squeezed. The unrestrained power within that she'd barely had time to test. "And, no. No, it doesn't. It feels good. Really good, actually. I ran last night! I passed cars and I tumbled at the gym and I feel so strong. I-"
"I want it," Caitlin said. She dropped the blanket to grab her girlfriend's arm.
"You-?" Ariel started to ask. "Caitlin, I can't- I don't even know what the long term-"
"Please!" her girlfriend begged as her eyes watered with unshed tears. "My back hurts all the damn time. I have to crouch to even pick things up. You know- you remember how I've talked about the nationals and how close I came to qualifying for the Olympics. The car accident- Ariel, please. Please."
"But," Ariel said, gently pulling her hand away. "Look at me, Caitlin."
"I know," the redhead said quietly. She gripped her own fingers while a tear rolled down her cheek. "I know! But you'll fix it. You're brilliant. I know you will. We have money. I have a little saved up. I can take time off while you work on it and we can- you- I just don't want to hurt anymore. I want to dance with you. I want to move again. I miss who I was. Who I could've been. I just- I just-"
"Okay," Ariel said. "Okay, babe. I'll do it."
"When?" Caitlin sniffed, wiping at a tear.
"Now," the black-haired cheetah girl said. "The sooner it starts, the more time I'll have to take everything apart to analyze after you've changed."
Caitlin squealed and threw herself on her lover. They tumbled, breathlessly until the curvy redhead lay atop her girlfriend.
"God, you're so warm and soft," she mused, gently rubbing her hands through the other woman's black fur.
"Oh," Ariel sighed. "Oh, wow. Don't stop. That's. That's amazing. Wow."
"You're purring!" Caitlin exclaimed. "Oh my god that's the most adorable amazing thing ever! How are you doing it?! Can I do it?! Oh god!"
"I- no, don't stop, just, yes - right there, yesssss," Ariel purred, squirming beneath the other woman's touch. She yowled as Caitlin bent her mouth to her chest but the woman giggled and spread fur aside until Ariel's nipple was exposed. Her wet, warm mouth encircled the stiff nipple while her tongue flicked it back and forth.
'What's-" Caitlin asked as her fingers explored the gray fur lining Ariel's belly. The black-haired woman jerked at the girl's touch.
"Fuck!" Ariel yelled, bucking her hips. She grabbed her lovers hand to hold it in place on her belly.
"Uh, babe?" the redhead said. "You've- you've got yourself a nipple situation here. Ooohhhholy shit, you've got multiple nipple issues here. Literally. You've- mmmph!"
Caitlin's eyes widened as Ariel pushed her down to the teats hidden in her thick fur. She hesitated and then opened her mouth to suck at the smaller nipples. Ariel thrashed beneath her. Her claws tore into the sheets and mattress as she tired to stay still under her lover's ministrations. Warm fingers slipped through thick black and orange fur until they pressed against Ariel's swollen, soaked lips. She yowled loudly, raising her hips as Caitlin's fingers slipped inside her tight sex.
"I think," Caitlin gasped in between switching to a different teat. "I think I'm going to love this."
---
The BMW's engine ticked as it cooled. They'd taken Caitlin's old Taurus back to the bar to retrieve Ariel's car and then gone together to her lab. The pair sat together inside the luxurious car, holding hands while staring at the entrance of the building. Caitlin mindlessly caressed the padding on the palm of Ariel's hand.
"I'm- I'm nervous," Caitlin said. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"
"I never said that," Ariel replied. She liked the feel of her lover's soft fingers against her. "Remember how I was sick? There's that but I only remember bits and pieces. And then some of it hurts afterwards when you start to change. It's not terrible but it's not all pleasant. It passes quickly, though."
They'd spent time in bed together with the redhead passing out while snuggled little-spoon against her girlfriend's fur. When they woke in the afternoon, they'd talked before Ariel had sequestered herself to take notes on the data she'd taken from the lab after her own change. She'd come up with a few threads to chase after but, overall, she was still stumped. And distracted. Ever since the bar she'd found herself entirely too sensitive and easily aroused. The house was filled with her lover's scent and old, nearly faded smells of past lovemaking. Masturbating had helped a little and she'd had to take several breaks to calm herself.
Ariel flexed her shoulders and back. She'd woken up with a sore spot just above her tail but the ache vanished nearly as soon as she recognized it. Something to keep an eye on.
An office light on the second floor blinked out as they continued to wait. Eventually, an older woman exited the building. She paused when she noticed the BMW but its windows were too tinted to allow her to see inside. The woman pulled her bag tighter against her body and walked to her silver Mercedes.
Two pairs of eyes, one the color of dark honey and the other faded blue, watched her leave. They waited together in the empty parking lot until Caitlin spoke up.
"I'm ready," she whispered.
Ariel squeezed her girlfriend's hand and then kissed her lightly.
"Still tickles," the redhead said shyly.
They exited the car and Ariel made sure her hood was down before shoving her hands in the front pocket. Caitlin came around to link arms and they walked together until they reached the front.
The young scientist tapped her badge against the card reader and the doors slid open. She kept her head down while walking nonchalantly through the offices. The cheetah girl's claws clicked on the hard floor in the foyer until they reached the carpeted offices. She'd considered shoes but found herself enjoying walking barefooted.
"I'm nervous, love," Caitlin whispered. "I know I've been here before but it's dark and quiet and-"
"And we're about to try some untested mad scientist DNA editing on you," Ariel finished.
"It hasn't killed you," the redhead said.
"No, not yet it hasn't," came the reply.
"And you're still you," Caitlin prompted. "Right? Do you, umm, do you get cat thoughts?"
"I'm sorry, 'cat thoughts'?" Ariel asked as she pushed the door open to her laboratory. "What are 'cat thoughts'?"
"You know," the girl said. "Like. Uhh. You know what, nevermind."
"No, no," Ariel teased as she began to set up the equipment she needed. Her ears flicked as she grinned. The dark black line of fur on her cheeks widened as she flashed her teeth. "I need to know what you mean here. I want to hear you say it."
"Like," her girlfriend started to say. "Like. Chasing. Mice? They- I don't know, you jerk! I was just thinking out loud."
The cheetah girl churred in laughter.
"Like that!" Caitlin accused, pointing her finger. "And the purring! Are you doing that on purpose?"
"Well," Ariel paused. "No. I don't even notice it. Just kind of happens. Now to business. I need some blood and some quiet time. Just a finger prick, don't worry. I know what you think of needles."
"Oh god," the other woman asked while holding out her index finger. "Do you have to inject the stuff when it's done?"
"No," she reassured her as the tiny plastic instrument clicked. She squeezed a drop of blood and then wiped it away. After the third time, she soaked up the drop of blood and "Just something you drink."
The ache appeared above her tail but vanished once again when she reached back to massage it.
she wondered as she placed the plastic tray in a small machine.
Caitlin excused herself to her girlfriend's office. She sat at the computer, browsing online to keep herself occupied while Ariel worked. Minutes turned to hours and she wandered over to the leather couch. She tossed and turned, kept awake by the anxiety and excitement of what was coming until sleep finally took her.
---
"Babe," a gentle voice said.
"Whattimeizzit," Caitlin groaned.
"Just after 3 in the morning," Ariel replied. "Took longer than I thought but I'm ready. Wake up."
The redhead yawned and stretched and sat up while rubbing at her eyes. "Are we going home?"
"No, we have to take it here so I can clean everything afterwards."
The young woman nodded and then glanced toward the four jars on the coffee table in front of her.
"I'm a little scared," she admitted. "What if it goes wrong?"
"Hey," Ariel said, rubbing her girlfriend's back. "That hurts. You remember all those nights I didn't come home? And the fights we had? I was here, working on this. Have some confidence in your 'brilliant' girlfriend's work."
"I do," she replied. "I'm sorry. How does it work?"
"Take them in order," her girlfriend said. "Left to right. Finish all of them that you can."
"And then?"
"And then we go home and I take care of you while you get violently ill."
Despite her fear, Caitlin reached forward, uncapped the first vial and downed the entire contents.
---
"Uhh," the redhead groaned in the car. "I, uhh, I don't feel so great."
"I know, babe," Ariel replied. She reached out to place a hand on her girlfriend's knee, squeezing it as she sped home. "Just hold on until we're home."
"'Kay," the other woman replied, turning her head toward the window.
---
"You s- s- s- said it w- wouldn't hu- hurt," Caitlin stuttered. She lay as her girlfriend had, soaked with sweat and twisting on the bed. Her body spasmed as she gripped the sheets tightly.
"Hush," Ariel said gently, wiping the sweat from her face until the other woman lay quietly.
The curvy young woman whimpered as she passed out and Ariel yawned. She checked her watch and then stood on long legs while massaging her lower back. The coffee machine dinged from the kitchen and she walked over to it to retrieve another cup. She prayed she'd have time to rest before her girlfriend woke again.
Returning to the bedroom, Ariel leaned over her girlfriend after another quiet whimper escaped the girl's lips. She held her down gently to clean the girl with her tongue. It was the third time she'd done it over the past two days and seemed to calm her. Even better, she enjoyed the act although she couldn't put a finger on why. It just seemed to scratch some emotional itch within her core.
she laughed to herself. With a cup held awkwardly in her paw, she curled up on the recliner next to the bed, pulling her tail around her waist before grabbing a book from the night stand. She was jittery from the coffee and the seemingly boundless energy brought on by the change but didn't want to leave Caitlin's side.
With a sigh, she found her spot in the book and continued reading.
---
The redhead's fever broke in the middle of the night and she slept peacefully until morning. She woke with a smile to see Ariel sleeping in the chair next to her.
"Wake up!" Caitlin whispered loudly. "I'm still alive!"
"Heeeey, babe," Ariel grinned. She laughed as her girlfriend went to her toes and spun in a slow circle.
"I feel pretty good actually"! she said. "When will it start to work?"
The cheetah girl stood and pushed her lover gently over the bed. She raised the girl's shirt and ran her fingers along her spine. Her claws teased red fur surrounding the girl's lower back.
"It already has," Ariel purred, feeling her arousal suddenly surge forth as she eyed her prone lover. She loved forward to kiss the mound of fur and it tickled her whiskers as it began to slowly creep along her back. Her sharp ears twitched as a bone clicked somewhere in the girl's body.
"Ohhhh," Caitlin gasped. "Wow. Woooow. Let me up for a minute. I- I have to see something."
Ariel stepped back while watching the girl with hungry, intense eyes. The redhead took a deep breath and leaned forward. She hesitated halfway and then continued to bend until she was touching the floor. After a short pause, she grabbed her ankles and pulled her upper body against her thighs. When she raised herself back up into a standing position, tears streamed down her face. The skin already her watery eyes was already darkening as it had for Ariel.
"It doesn't huuuurt," Caitlin sobbed. She reached her arms out and Ariel took them to enfold her in a warm, tight hug. They stood together as years of pain and frustration worked their way out of the girl's system.
Finally, after a few hiccuping cries and nearly an entire box of tissues, Caitlin smiled tremulously. She stood before a mirror to see the dark red fur covering her lower back. Small black spots stood out on her thin coat and, as she watched a few red hairs began to slowly creep down her neck.
"I want to try it," the girl said. She bounced on her toes and heels and grabbed her girlfriend's hand.
"Isn't it crazy?" Ariel asked. "Feeling all that pent up energy?"
"God, yes!" the redhead replied. "It's like I've had twenty cups of coffee and there's no crash in sight. Can we go to the gym? Can we??"
"I've already got our gear together, babe," the black-haired cheetah girl smiled. She winced and scratched her back before picking up her gym bag. "Get changed, grab your bag and we'll go. Through the back, though. I don't think I look too much like my picture any more."
---
After waiting for a young mother to haul her children into the gym, the two young women snuck through the rows of cars until they reached the rear entrance. Caitlin slid her card through the reader three times before her trembling fingers worked properly. She paused as Ariel put a hand in front of her chest but then she hissed as pain shot through her head.
"It'll pass," Ariel whispered. She reached her hand out to massage the other girl's ears and her leather pads rasped against the silky fur beginning to grow there. Her tail struggled against the tape holding it down as it tried to thrash in sympathy for her lover. "Just give it a minute."
"I can hear them!" her girlfriend said. "Wow! It's not too loud but I can still hear them inside. I think they're gone now."
They opened the door and crept inside before running toward the gymnastics room with Caitlin giggling the entire way.
"I locked it," Ariel said as Caitlin ran and jumped around the room. "I think that'll give us time to sneak out or hide if someone tries to get in."
"What should I do first?" the redhead asked. She leapt up to a balance beam, landed and then tumbled off the side, laughing as her girlfriend cringed.
"Take off your shoes," the dark-haired woman replied. "Just in case."
"That's a good idea," she said, bending to her light pink trainers. "I think- Ariel! Oh shit, oh shit!"
"What is it?" the woman said, leaping and running to stand next to her girlfriend.
The redhead held up a hand, holding it by the wrist. She groaned and they both watched as the flesh beneath her fingernails swelled. The nails strained and dented on both hands.
"What's- ahh!" the girl cried out. A single drop of blood escaped the tip of her finger as the skin separated. "Oh fuck, oh fuck! Is it- Are they-"
"Claws, babe," Ariel said soothingly. "Just give it a minute. Like with your ears, okay? Just breathe and relax. It'll be fine, trust me."
"Ahhh, it feels weird!" Caitlin said as she turned both hands back and forth. "Wait, I think. Yeah, I think it's done. Wow. Do they go away?"
"Yeah, there's a, uh, thing," she told her. "It's, wow, I haven't thought about how to describe it, really. Like a muscle or something in the back of your hand? You just move it. Try tensing and relaxing your hand until you-"
As she explained the process, Ariel felt the the twinge in her back suddenly release. She cried out and dropped to her hands and knees Caitlin was beside her immediately with her clawed hands tearing at the mat in concern.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" the redhead asked as her eyes searched her girlfriend's face.
The dark-haired woman growled in pain with her head straining forward. Her body shook and she panted from sudden exertion. Fur receded along her body with the sensation of a million ants crawling just beneath her skin. She fell to her side and trembled until she focused internally.
she wondered frantically. She reached back to feel patches of bare skin but as she touched her tail, she found what she sought. Whether real or a physical manifestation of a mental process, she
the hidden tendon using newly formed muscles and the pain changed. The young woman gasped and stretched as, once again, fur emerged from her body.
"What happened?" Caitlin asked. She reached a hand out and her claws slid back into her fingertips. Red wisps of fur lined the back of her hands and arms. "Oh! There it is! I figured it out."
Sweat dripped from the tip of Ariel's nose before it cracked, shifted and flattened against her short muzzle.
"It's reversible," she panted. She lay on her side and rolled to her back, wincing as her tail stuck beneath her. "It's reversible! It's like your hands. For your claws! There's something in your back that does it. I didn't feel it until I took you to the lab but it's right there. Oh my god, this changes everything! I don't have to fix anything and we can go out in public and, and-"
"Babe?" Ariel asked, lifting her chin as she took a deep breath. Her amber eyes focused on her lover to see the redhead's cheeks flushed and her eyes unfocused.
"Uh," came the reply. "I. Uh. I'm fucking horny. It just. It just came out of, ohhhhhhh shit. I'm so wet, love. I'm. I-"
Caitlin dropped to her hands and knees and raised her ass. Veins stood out on her reddened neck but she raised her lightly furred jaw and yowled loudly. She raised her wide hips high and lowered her forehead to the ground with her mouth open. Red fur marched along her arms and over her shoulders as the bright pink of her yoga pants darkened over her sex. She cried out and the wet patch widened.
"I ju- just ca- caaaame," Caitlin said. "It's not stooooowwwwlllll!"
The redhead yowled as the bones in her face reshaped. They cracked and shifted and her canines slid down while her jaw lengthened into a short muzzle that matched her lover.
Ariel's pupils dilated and she lost herself in the pheromone-laden scent of her girlfriend. Her claws shot out and she sliced through the band of Caitlin's pants. Thin lines of blood trailed behind her claws as she ripped into the other woman's clothing to leave her bare. The redhead's pussy was slick and swollen and she flexed down further, flattening her chest on the ground while looking back with pleading eyes.
The thick path of fur above Caitlin's ass bulged into the start of her tail but Ariel ignored it and shoved her face forward to greedily suck at her girlfriend's sex. The other woman shrieked as the papillae lining Ariel's tongue dragged against her engorged lips and clit. The black-haired cheetah girl's claws roamed the other woman's back, kneading and slicing at her lover's sports bra until it popped apart to free Caitlin's large breasts. She gasped as they popped free as she reached her own hand up to massage and pull at her stiff nipple.
A line of sweat soaked white fur emerged from the curvy woman's stomach. It sprouted from her collarbone down to her belly button and further to surround her bulging lips. Ariel's tongue pulled at the hairs growing around her lover's pussy and she reached back to dig her claws into Caitlin's ass, spreading her open as more red and black fur emerged around her fingers.
"YES!" Caitlin screamed as orgasmed. Her leg shot back and claws pierced her toes to tear a long line in the tough fabric beneath them. The girl's hips dropped but Ariel held her in place. The raven-haired girl purred as she ate her lover out. She shoved her tongue as deep as she could, carefully pulling the girl's labia open with her claws to expose the slick, pink opening.
Gasping and panting, Ariel sat back. She cleaned the backs of her hand and rubbed her face while her girlfriend fell to her side. The other woman's short tail flailed at the ground next to her while it expanded and lengthened.
The young scientist, still purring, grabbed her lover's ankle. She kissed the wispy fur beginning to grow there as she slipped between the other woman's legs to press their clits together. Caitlin hissed and clawed the ground as she furred breasts shook but she shoved herself against her girlfriend.
The dark-haired woman began slowly. She slid herself in a tight circle, flexing rock-hard muscles as she found the perfect spot and her lover gasped in return. She leaned forward and Caitlin's flexibility helped raise her leg straight. It wasn't a position they used often due to the awkwardness of it when toys and fingers and mouths worked better but claws and the current lack of their 'secret chest' forced them to improvise.
Ariel pressed her cheeks against her girlfriend's leg. She moaned as her hips rocked back and forth. The young woman found herself licking the other woman's bare skin in an uncontrollable urge to show her affection. She stroked the girl's thigh and leg with her claws, panting as she suddenly tasted fur. Her purr rose in volume and she began licking more intensely as if dragging the fur forth from her lover's body.
With a jerk of her hips and a hitch in her breath, the scientist orgasmed. She yowled in a lustful, nearly piteous whine as she rubbed her long white whiskers against Caitlin's leg. Black fur tangled with red as her cheek worked in wide circles. She closed her eyes while letting the rush surge through her, calming the intense heat driving them both.
The pair untangled themselves and the black-haired girl opened her eyes to see her lover completely changed. Unlike her, the other girl's body was red with a scattering of black spots and she was larger. For Ariel, her breasts were nearly hidden beneath her fur but Caitlin's chest showed the obvious swell that had turned so many heads. Rather than the gray of the smaller girl's body, the curvy redhead's belly was lined with shockingly bright white fur that did little to hide her swollen pink nipples. A wet part of fur above her mound showed two of her teats and Ariel had to bite her lip hard to keep the heat from overriding her again.
Temporarily satisfied, the tip of Caitlin's thick tail tapped against the shredded mat.
"That's weird," the larger girl panted. "I can feel it moving but I can't stop it."
The red and black tail rose, twisted and slapped the ground and then lay still for a moment before the tip once again tapped a continuous beat on the floor.
"Fucking weird but incredible," she said. "All of this. I lost myself there. Like that time I had too much of those brownies at Jenna's party and you had to take me home. I saw it happening from far away. I was just really warm and I started moving and, shit, it's still there. Am I going into heat? Is that what this is? Is that what it's like? Just gets hotter and hotter and harder to think until you just fuck while blasted out of your mind? Hell. I mean, okay wow but, hell."
Rather than answer, Ariel raised herself off the mat with her hands planted on the ground. Her tail bent left and up and she picked her right hand up, raising it above her body. She felt her back muscles and abdominals shift and clench and she turned her legs to the side. Her girlfriend watched with wide eyes as the smaller woman lifted her legs in a graceful arc while her black tail rotated to provide extra balance. Hidden beneath her thick coat, her arms bulged and flared to keep her position until she held herself in a perfect line from hand to toes.
"Ho. Lee. Shit," Caitlin whispered. "Do you think I can do that?"
Again without answering beyond a sharp exhale, the young scientist reversed the maneuver to slowly lower herself back to the mat. She looked up and the dark lines along her cheeks widened into a toothy smile.
"One way to find out, babe," she told girlfriend.
---
The silent building echoed with sudden laughter and excited conversations as the large double-doors were slammed open. Ten young women of various shapes and sizes, but nearly all slim, filed through the doors to escape the cold February snow falling behind them.
Posters for the 2020 Olympics lined the walls around them with motivational messages handwritten below their various slogans.
A lone black-haired woman stood in the entryway, eyeing the group as they filtered in.
Caitlin broke away from the group, screaming in joy as she ran to hug Ariel. She plastered her girlfriend's face with kisses until the smaller woman's hand pressed against her to gently push her away. Still, she smiled warmly and whispered 'I love you' before addressing the small crowd.
"Good morning everyone!" Ariel said loudly.
"Good morning, coach!" the girls answered in unison.
"Ariel and I will lead you to your individual rooms," she told them. She wore tight knee-high spandex with a black sports bra that showed her hardened stomach and clearly defined arms. A faint line of black 'happy trail' hair lay against her flat belly. Her finger toyed with a silver band on her ring finger. "I know you just got in but we have an eventful day already planned."
Despite their smiles, the women listened carefully.
"Your captain will distribute the schedules as well as your tailored diets," she continued. Ariel pulled a stack of folders and then followed her fiancée as she turned to walk down the hallway. "You have an hour to stow your gear and get familiar with the layout of the building. We'll meet back in the common room before we begin."
They passed through an open room. A large table lay centered in the room and nine glasses lay on the table. The liquid within was clear with white strands floating in a chaotic pattern. Caitlin shared a knowing glance with Ariel before the other woman continued.
"I have great expectations of all of you," she told them. She gestured to her future wife and Caitlin before shepherding the girls down to their dorm rooms.
Black hairs emerged from Ariel's skin. She worked her neck slowly back and forth with a hissing sigh and the hairs stopped, leaving a swath of her lower back covered in fine hairs. Her lips trembled to show sharp, tiny points on her canines as an always imperceptible bulge of skin above her ass writhed.
"I'm sure you'll surpass all of them," she told their retreating backs as her brown eyes brightened to the color of burnished wood. Her toothy smile widened to show two faint lines between her eyes and lips. "And I very much look forward to it."
|
p.s. I'm just sayin', but the last chapter was from the point of Darley (Darley is Mencal's real name, the police just call her Mencal) and hopefully character changes will be a bit more obvious in this one. O_o
Thanks!
k_k
-------------------------
Caleb
I couldn't believe my eyes. A person, obviously a prisoner, had escaped from questioning and was right here trying to steal a bike! And whoever it was, had just shouted in... French? I reined my wolf in at the outrage of someone trying to underestimate the police. I stepped out of the shadows and drew my gun. 'Stop right there and tell me who you are!' I shouted and squinted hard. Even with my advanced vision it was hard to tell if the prisoner was a man or a woman from this angle. I stepped sideways so the sun wasn't in my eyes. "That's better." I thought. It was definitely a girl. She froze immediately.
I lowered my gun slowly and edged towards her. Her hair glinted against the sun for a moment, flashing my eyes. I looked down and blinked hard, trying to get rid of the imprint on my eyes. 'Damn.' I looked up again and the woman had got on the bike and was fumbling with the key. 'Hey!' I shouted. 'Stop now and get off the bike!' She looked round and smiled shaking her head. Then she managed to turn the key and revved the engine, still smiling to herself. I had enough of this girl, whoever she was. Not only was she stealing a bike and escaping from prison, but she had the audacity to try and speed off with no helmet and with a police officer 15 feet away!
I ran towards her as she revved the engine again. She turned round, ready to say something. Then she froze a look of horror on her face. I was taken aback, though I kept running. "Am I really that ugly?" I thought, smiling to myself. Maybe in my hybrid form, but I was full human at the moment. But when I got closer to her, I saw that her gaze wasn't focused on me, but on something past me. I was about to turn round to see what she was so frightened of, but faster than I would have thought possible from a human, she had revved the engine one more time and sped off down the road. I cursed. Looking round I spotted three police cars not too far away. Running towards one, I clambered in the front seat and used my set of keys that every officer gets to start the car. I drove out of the gates that she used and spotted her steaming off down the road. "At least she can drive." I thought to myself. Then I drove after her.
*
Darley
"Got to get away." I thought as I raced down the street. I looked back at the police car chasing me, then back further at what had terrified me in the first place. It was gaining. The van. It had been chasing her for seven years now. I looked back. "Nine years too long." Then I remembered I was also being chased by police, but I could deal with that. I looked in my wing mirror at the guy in the police car. He had felt feral, and I knew what that was. I laughed. A Were in the police. Not unheard of. I checked again. They were both closer. I felt my beast curl up and unconsciously I sped up. I shook my head and tried to concentrate on driving.
Veering quickly to avoid an idiot in a fancy car, I cut down a side street. I stopped the bike and turned round to see the police car swerve down the street, nearly hitting numerous things. I jumped of the bike, killing the engine at the same time, and started to push it into the shadows. I heard a car door open and my beast rose up and into a defensive posture. I tried calmed her slightly, not wanting a confrontation, but it didn't work very much.
After the bike was covered in the shadows, I turned and was surprised to see that the Were hadn't moved. He called out to me. 'Are you finished yet?' I cursed him in French. God he got on my nerves, and we had known each other for literally five minutes. Then I remembered the van and shivered. Where was it? I saw the guy's eyes narrow and knew he had seen my shiver. Undaunted, I walked straight past him and to the corner of the street. I looked left and right and couldn't see the van anywhere. "But it'll be back." I thought and shivered again. I stood up straight and turned, and then jumped back and let out a small shriek, because standing about a foot from my face was the cocky werewolf. I was sure that he was a wolf now. I glared at him. 'Are you trying to give me a heart attack?' I asked. He smiled and it made me hate him more. 'No. Just arrested. Which reminds me...' He held up a pair of handcuffs. I stared at them. They were the same make as they had used. I shuddered and he smiled even wider. 'Don't worry! If you come quietly I won't put them on.'
My eyes widened at that phrase and cursed again in French, out loud this time. He had said something like that. I screwed my eyes shut for a second, trying to forget what they had done. I looked at the Were's face. Was he one of them? I decided I might try to test him, even though those handcuffs made me remember... I stroked the deep scar on my stomach absentmindedly, and opened my eyes to find the Were looking at my belly. He cocked his head to one side and reached out to my top, but I sprang backwards, terrified.
'Get away from me, Were!' I hissed at him and he stopped in surprise. Then his face turned wary and he looked me up and down. I didn't like that and I started to back away. He ran forward and faster than a human could ever move, he had grabbed hold of both my wrists in one hand and with the other he put the handcuffs away. I started in surprise. He then grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and that surprise turned to terror. I started thrashing about, desperate to get away, not wanting history to repeat it's self. He ignored my frantic attempts for freedom and lifted up my top. That was it.
With one strong move, I ripped my hands free of his grasp and pelted away. There was a high wall in front of me but walls couldn't stop me. They never had. I ran up the wall and latched onto the top with my hands. Swinging my legs to the side, I pushed up with my hands and spun in the air, landing on top of the wall, panting with fear. My beast paced inside me. Wanting to get out. 'What the...?' I heard him say.
*
Caleb
'Stay back! Stay away!' She cried.
'Hey, I wasn't going to fuckin' kill you!' I said, slightly apprehensively. 'I just wanted to know...well...I wanted to know if you were pregnant.' She blinked and nearly took a step back, but at the last moment seemed to remember she was a 10 foot wall that was about as thick as a TV remote. 'Pregnant? Me? No way! Why would you even think that-' She stopped. I wasn't sure if she was going to run or not.
'I saw you rubbing your stomach, and lifted your top up to see if you had a baby bump...'
'Oh.' 'Sorry. I take it, then, that you aren't?' She shook her head. 'Now are you going to come down?' Instantly, She looked wary again.
'No. Keep away.' I sighed and raised my hands in a surrendering gesture. She frowned and cocked her head to one side. 'Are you really not going to hurt me?' I was really confused then, and shook my head slowly. Why was she obsessed with the idea that I would hurt her?
'No. Why would I try and hurt you?'
'Because you're police.'
'Oh. Are police really that bad?'
'Yeah.'
'Umm...well, I swear that I won't harm you unless you force my hand or in self defence. Deal?'
'Umm...Ok then. Deal.' She stretched out her legs in front of her, then pushed off from her right foot and leaped over my head. As she neared the ground, she stretched out her legs and caught the impact with her feet. She folded quickly into a forward roll and stood up, swivelling on her right foot as she did so, to face me. 'Cool.' I said, looking at her with approval, but she must have taken it the wrong way, as she narrowed her eyes and started to step backwards.
'Hey! I said I wouldn't hurt you!' I said with confusion in my voice. She stopped, but still looked slightly guarded.
'I don't trust people like you.' I felt hurt and slightly reproachful. Wait, hurt? Where did that come from?
'You don't trust me?' Or police?' I thought for a second. 'Or Weres?' She paused and looked down.
'I defiantly don't trust police. Weres...aren't so bad. But considering you're both, I-' She stopped abruptly and looked down the alley to the end, where it joined the main road. 'Oh no.' I was surprised to hear a terrified tone in her voice.
'What's wrong?' I asked, alarmed. She didn't answer, only pointed to a spot off my left shoulder. I turned and looked at where she was pointing. A silver and red van had pulled into the end of the alley. A van? I thought, confused. But I saw the look on her face. She was terrified of something, no...wait...she was terrified of the van? What had happened to her to make her scared of a VAN? I growled low and my wolf took advantage of my low defence levels to come out. I tried to stay human, but he was having none of it. So I compromised at the last minute, deciding to go hybrid instead.
'Fuck.' I heard her say.
Exactly right.
|
The clock screen embedded in the wall blinked its blue block numbers at Eren. 7:43PM.
Soon, Eren told himself eagerly.
He hurried about his apartment, ignoring the tempting view 180 storeys up in order to focus on tidying up the place. It had to be in decent order. Otherwise Eren would find himself with a cleaning bot rather than a boyfriend as company for the evening.
Eren Jaeger was dating a robot. Well, they didn’t always like to be called that. Machines was an acceptable title, as even humans could be classified as a kind of machine. It made them equals.
Levi was a rare case of android. In the first stages of his design, the company in charge of his creation had been building various sex bots. When the company went bust, it was bought out by a new name – Smith Enterprises was more focused on providing military protection to nearby Earth-governed planets than catering to the population’s sex lives. And so Levi, designation #6321, had been brought back into the factory and recommission as an enforcer. A military class of bot. By the time he was brought online, he was one of the most unique bots of his kind.
Smaller than most enforcers, but fast because of it. Levi had lost the slim frame of the sex bots and was fitted with the tougher frame of military grade units. Lightweight and all but indestructible. He’d risen quickly through the ranks, on skill and his startling personality combined. Levi was a force to be reckoned with.
Both in and out of the bedroom, and Eren was giddy knowing that he could confirm such a thing.
They’d met during a bit of a scuffle outside one of the smothering city’s various nightclubs. Under the pulsing LED lighting of yet another nameless venue, Eren had been dragged from the very same fight he’d just picked by a snarky enforcer bot.
“Take it easy, squirt.” Levi had drawled, amused at Eren’s cussing and struggling. “We’re doing you a favour.”
“C’mon, man!” Eren had whined as he was hoisted over the bot’s shoulder. “It was just a little harmless brawling.”
“A little harmless brawling.” Levi had repeated dryly. “Do you hear how stupid you sound, kid?”
Eren struggled until he tumbled from the bot’s shoulder. He landed on his ass and it was far from comfortable, but it was better than being carted around like a bratty child.
“I’m not a kid.” Eren had huffed, already brushing dirt from his jeans.
Light washed over him briefly and when Eren looked up, confused, he found himself being scanned.
“Eren Jaeger. 26. Male. K-Block resident.” Levi read out from whatever file he’d managed to pull up and the droid managed a smirk. Eren gawked at the shifting features. So lifelike. “I stand corrected, Mr. Jaeger. Turns out you’re not a kid, you’re just acting like one.”
Eren made to argue, but really the bot had him there.
“Alright,” Eren had sniffed, dusting himself off and getting to his feet, “so you know my name. What’s yours?”
Not every machine had a name. Some just had designations, production numbers. Serial codes. Not all of them wanted names.
“Levi.” The droid answered and Eren was stunned.
It was so…normal.
“Heh.” He chuckled. “It suits you.”
Levi’s optics narrowed like he thought Eren might be giving him sass. Another brief scan ensued.
“Tonal register: normal. Sarcasm detected: minimal.” Levi read, then his features morphed into something…surprised. He looked at Eren like the brunet was puzzling. “Thanks.” He said.
Eren smiled. “Well, you cost me my fight.” He sighed dramatically, prowling in Levi’s direction. “Guess you’ll have to make it up to me.”
Levi didn’t need to scan Eren to read the kind of interest that had taken over him. Little had Eren known back then, but the bot was built to recognise even the smallest signals of seduction, of interest.
Falling into something he knew, Levi seemed much less thrown.
“I suppose you expect me to buy you a drink?” Levi drawled, though his eyes tracked over Eren’s form with a new appreciation.
There was something guarded there, too. Something that made Eren sure that Levi did not get much of this sort of attention, but maybe all the others were just smarter than Eren was because he didn’t leave time for second thoughts.
Eren paused in front of Levi, not trying to crowd him or send the wrong signals.
“Actually I was kind of hoping we could just, you know, take off. Get to know each other a little more personally.”
Levi’s eyes lit up. “Your place, or mine?”
It had been an entirely unromantic affair, in both of their opinions. Thinking about it now, Eren wouldn’t have changed a single detail. He remained adamant that that first night with Levi had been the single best lay of his life out of any of his previous partners.
Levi had just seemed stunned that something with a beating heart and made of real flesh rather than something synthetic could want him. And so fiercely.
After that first encounter, they had gone their separate ways. Only to bump into one another a couple of weeks later. Eren remembered how he’d laughed and declared that it was fate – the universe clearly wanted them to see more of each other. And so, somewhat tentatively, they had started dating. Eren had learned why Levi was so good with sex, being designed for it and all, and Levi had learned why Eren was so at home around machines.
The twerp only designed and built them for a living.
And so Levi had found himself dating his own personal handyman.
Life was good.
Crap, crap. Eren scrambled through the apartment, scooping up items of clothing and bolting to throw them in the washer. At least then they would be out of sight. And if Levi asked, like he often did, Eren could gain a few respective brownie points for doing some cleaning.
Even if it had been absolutely last minute.
The clock read 8:12PM now and Levi was bound to arrive at any moment. He’d already called Eren on the comm. to let the brunet know that he had landed and was back on-planet. That had been about half an hour after six. Transportation was a son of a bitch and Eren thanked his lucky stars for that fact, because it was providing him with necessary cleaning time.
He did a few laps of all the rooms, emptying a can or two of air freshener because Levi liked to complain about the stuffy air indoors. The windows up this high didn’t open on account of the blustering wind.
Eren set the air to filter in from outside to at least bring in some kind of refreshment.
The chirp of the doorbell almost scared Eren right out of his skin and he answered the door with a hand still rubbing at his chest from the fright.
He still smiled, wide and content, at the figure that awaited him.
“I do believe you’re late.” Eren grinned, letting Levi step past him and into the flat.
The bot was immediately scanning the place and Eren rolled his eyes, fond and unsurprised.
“Lucky for you, too.” Levi muttered as he stalked about. “You’ve actually done a halfway decent job this time.”
Eren beamed at the comment, probably the nicest thing Levi had ever said to him where cleaning was concerned. He all but skipped over to where Levi had paused by the window. Mischievous arms wound around Levi’s frame and Eren hugged him tight so that Levi’s sensory receptors would have no chance to misinterpret the contact.
“Missed you.” Eren hummed, nuzzling Levi’s nape.
He pressed his ear against the plating that covered Levi’s shoulders, armour rather than synthetic flesh, and listened to the whirring of various mechanisms inside. Sometimes, if he listened carefully enough, Eren could hear the equivalent of Levi’s heart. It tended to tick a little faster whenever Eren was close.
“Parasite detected.” Levi said suddenly and Eren found himself swept up and off his feet before he could blink. “Captured. Well, well, well, what should I do with this little specimen?”
Eren kicked and laughed, flailing half-heartedly while his impromptu captor peppered his face with kisses.
Levi backed off with a smirk, bouncing the brat in his arms. “I suppose I missed you too.”
Levi’s irises were different, Eren noted when the raven let him catch his breath. The brunet brought a hand up to cup one side of Levi’s face, and here he was made out of artificial flesh and skin, the contact slightly plush under the pressure of Eren’s fingers.
“New upgrade?” Eren questioned.
The droid hummed an affirmative sound, unperturbed when Eren got right in Levi’s face to better take in the new addition to his boyfriend.
These irises were grey, where all previous ones had been some variation of pallid blue.
“You know what?” Eren said, leaning back with a little smile. “I think I like it. Quite a lot, actually. Grey is a good look on you.”
Levi snorted, setting Eren on his own two feet again. “They could have been pink and you still would have liked them.”
Eren scoffed, though he didn’t disagree. The brunet took a hold of Levi’s wrists, tugging him through the apartment in the direction of the bedroom.
“Any colour is a good colour,” Eren smiled, leaning in close, “so long as it’s on you.”
The droid hummed indulgently, but rolled his eyes.
Eren let him go when he was sure that Levi would follow him, all but bounding into his room. Levi found the brunet shuffling about on the mattress, making himself comfortable and reaching for Levi with outstretched hands. He wiggled his fingers, beckoning. That stupid grin was plastered all over the twerp’s face.
He didn’t want sex, not immediately Levi knew. He was almost always monitoring Eren whenever the brunet was around, instantly aware of any fluttering arousal.
Levi joined Eren on the mattress, pulled immediately into a hug. Not as crushing as the first, but still tight. Eren really had missed him and that always brought a mix of fondness and confusion to Levi’s circuits. He’d ensnared this youthful human somehow. With non-existent charm and skills built into his very systems. And Eren, for some reason, continued to be smitten regardless of the fact that Levi believed himself to be an unworthy match for the lively brunet.
The choice wasn’t up to him. If Eren wanted to leave, nothing would stop him from doing so.
And yet here they were.
“You really do like to latch on, huh?” Levi noted aloud. “Maybe you are some kind of parasite?”
Eren huffed at the teasing jibe, biting at Levi’s shoulder. If he was trying to prove Levi’s joking theory wrong, it was a poor effort.
“The good kind, I hope?” Eren mumbled anyway, nuzzling.
Utterly incorrigible.
“There’s a good kind of parasite?” Levi asked, a smirk in his voice.
Eren hummed, the kind of sound Levi knew was meant as an affirmative. “What about babies? Aren’t they like the least awful kind of leech?”
Levi narrowed his optics, sceptical of the whole conversation. “So you’re saying…you’re a gigantic baby?” He asked.
The silence that lingered after the comment was decidedly embarrassed on Eren’s part. He thumped a loose fist against Levi’s shoulder in protest, mumbling his indignation.
“You can never let me leave these kinds of conversations with my dignity intact, can you?” Eren whined, but it was a half-hearted complaint. “You big metal meanie.”
He snuggled closer.
Levi held Eren in turn, registering various alerts from pressure systems that mapped each of Eren’s touches. Wherever their bodies met. Wherever Eren’s fingers wandered. It was a different kind of feeling than humans were used to, Levi was certain. But it was still nice to be aware of such things.
It was the same with any kind of physical response or sensation – Levi’s were all programmed. Things that he could feel, technically. But not in the same ways as a human. He did not have nerves, but various receptors that processed various pressures and textures. Eren had asked about it. Curious as he was, Levi had been anticipating some kind of questions in that area. Could he feel? What was it like when he came? Because that he could do, though it was often a self-triggered sort of thing.
It was a release in its own right, but more code than sensation. Strings of numbers that told him he’d done well, similar to the kind of approval that was triggered when mission objectives were completed only much stronger.
“What are you asking me for?” Levi remembered asking, full of dubious amusement. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one with the answers, Mr. Designer?”
Eren had just blown a raspberry at him.
“I’ve always wanted to know…you know, from the source. What feeling is really like for you, because all we can do is imagine it. Even if I know exactly what’s going on in your systems…I can’t ever experience that, and so I don’t know. It makes me curious.” Eren hummed, thoughtful. Then he sighed. “But the bots I work with are all biased, whereas you don’t have any reason to lie to me or try and give me an answer I want. You just talk, even if it’s not the nicest thing you could say. Faulty code, maybe, but I like to think that it’s all you.”
“I should have known you’d try chatting to your homework projects.” Levi rolled his optics, dodging past the almost-compliment. “Dumbass.”
So yes, Levi could appreciate sex.
It was probably the closest he ever felt to being human, because another creature wanted him close. Wanted him at all. Like Levi was something that could be desired. And that was a gift in and of itself. But he did wonder from time to time what it would be like to experience physical pleasure.
Brought back into the present, Levi cycled through the various alerts that scrolled past his eyes.
Nothing troubling, far from it.
Sensors informed Levi of the path Eren’s mouth was wandering along his neck. He tipped his head at the right moment, catching Eren’s mouth with his and smirking against the needy little pout he found.
“Oh no. The puppy eyes,” Levi’s smirk grew, “do you want something?”
Eren huffed, pressing forward into another kiss. He bit at Levi’s mouth, the pressure sensors there lighting up with response. Levi hummed, hands dropping down to Eren’s hips. He squeezed, feeling Eren squirm and reposition himself in response, a happy hum thrumming in his throat. Levi felt the wet slide of a tongue pressing into his mouth. Eager, hopeful.
Like he dreamed Levi would ever turn him down. Soft, pliant, delectable as he was. Levi knew it wasn’t his coding that made him like Eren, or else he wouldn’t bother trying to argue with him or play at all.
Levi recalled Eren’s surprise at the personality he found behind the circuits and armoured plating.
“Are you sure you’re not a prototype reject?” Eren had asked somewhat sceptically one night, an unexpected break from what had been a perfectly pleasant making out session.
Levi had snorted at him. “What’s that? You don’t want me to pound you into next week?” He’d leaned away. “What a shame.”
“Nooo!” Eren had all but wailed after him.
More than just your average AI indeed.
Levi tipped Eren back, rolling atop him and settling the brunet in the blankets. He peeled Eren out of his clothes, just the soft kind the brunet wore around the house and therefore not in urgent need of folding. In a rare moment of ignoring his own protocols, Levi let the garments fall wherever he tossed them. He had Eren bare in no time. And then it was Levi’s personal pleasure of making Eren’s body his playground.
That was always a special kind of privilege.
Eren was always so concerned with touching Levi in turn, his hands always wandering, reaching, wanting to hold on. He squirmed under Levi’s tongue, hands roaming until Levi pinned him. And Eren loved that.
Something about the effortless strength that Levi possessed just got Eren going. The droid’s day job involved him beating other, more menacing droids to bolt and hydraulic-infused pulps. But when Levi got home, he was so…controlled. All that power and yet he never left any bruises that Eren didn’t ask for. Eren was endlessly entertained by piggyback rides and being carried around his tiny apartment just because it was nothing at all, not even an effort, to Levi.
So when Levi tugged Eren’s wrists away, Eren moaned and writhed, tugging experimentally at Levi’s hold even though he knew full well that there was no escape.
Eren had a cheeky look on his face, something almost sultry but too twisted with mischief.
He looked like he might say something cheesy like “what are you going to do with me?” and Levi might just have bitten him for it. Thankfully Eren just smiled at him. Low-lidded and waiting, humming his pleasure at each kiss and dip of tongue delving into his mouth.
Levi let Eren have his hands back as he worked lower, unhurried and determined to refamiliarize himself with every last inch of flesh he came across. The soft skin directly beneath Eren’s ear that had the brunet gasping every time Levi sought it out for a kiss, wet and lavishing. Over the Adam’s apple where Levi could feel Eren’s voice, a dull buzzing that triggered an interesting response in the sensors in Levi’s mouth, and then the hollow of Eren’s throat a little lower. It didn’t take much of anything to get Eren panting. Levi worked him up bit by bit, taking his time mapping out Eren’s shoulders and chest with kisses.
A little of the right lubricant left wet trails over nipples, pinked and pebbled with interest.
Eren gave another appreciative hum, arching up at the slick contact.
Lower still, Levi mouthed a rather direct trail down over Eren’s navel, moving with the imploring roll of Eren’s hips until he was poised over the brunet’s waiting arousal. Flushed and shining at the tip, Levi placed a kiss beneath the head. Not what Eren wanted. More of a tease than anything else, just to watch the member twitch and release another glistening bead of precum.
Before Eren could start to whine and complain, Levi took him in hand. Lips poised over the tip, Levi watched Eren the whole time it took for him to slide down from head to base, feeling areas in his throat wetting up in response to his actions. Easing the passage of Eren’s cock.
After a moment Eren gasped, giving an appreciative moan. “That feels different…” he squirmed, hips bucking up on their own, “did it always tingle like that?”
Levi peeled his mouth back to answer. “It’s new.”
“New.” Eren hummed.
Levi smirked at the curiosity in his tone. “I picked it up on the way here.”
“So that’s why you took so long.” Eren accused, but there was amusement in his tone.
He yelped when Levi pinched his thigh.
“I can always take it back.” Levi knew the threat held barely any weight when Eren knew he had the droid wrapped around his little finger. “Or if you’re good, we can see just how much this ass can take from the main tank? Hm? Would you like that, little whore? Bet you would.”
Eren’s responding groan sounded almost pained, his imagination running away with Levi’s words.
There were several stores of lubrication within Levi’s frame, each with varying purposes. One to keep his mouth wet, for ease of convenience for things like kissing or fellatio or eating out (Eren’s personal favourite), then there was the spare tank which Levi had just recently filled with tingling lubricant as a special surprise for their reunion. And the main tank was for the mimicking of ejaculation, because Eren loved nothing more than the feeling of Levi cumming inside of him. The stuff was white and usually kept warm, all for the purpose of seeming more natural. Life-like. The main tank was the biggest and Levi had teased Eren frequently in the past with vague non-threats to empty it all into him.
He had learned quickly that Eren was more than eager to find out how much he could take, too. Though they hadn’t actually gotten around to trying it.
First time for everything, Levi thought.
“Fuck yes.” Eren groaned, turning pleading, glassy eyes on Levi. “Yes, for real this time. Don’t just tease me with it, I want it.”
With the blatant consent, Levi knelt in place between Eren’s legs, his own legs tucked underneath him. Levi scooped his hands under Eren’s knees and heaved the brunet along the mattress, tossing tanned legs over his shoulder and chuckling at Eren’s ‘eep’ of surprise. With new and easy access to Eren’s rim, Levi got to work. He lapped at the little pucker, dragging his tongue over the twitching skin over and over again until Eren was pleading with him. Only when the little mouth was soft and beginning to blink open on its own did Levi begin to press his tongue inside. He felt Eren shiver at the tingling sensations that built in the wake of the wet contact. A little distraction for him.
Levi could not taste, so he had no cheeky comments for Eren on that front.
But he could feel the little shifts and changes in pressure as Eren tensed around his intruding tongue, twitching and relaxing only to tense again. Happy little sounds fell almost constantly from Eren’s mouth. Levi did not for a moment worry that he was causing the brunet any sort of discomfort. He’d know in an instant if he did. Levi was sure Eren would kick him right out of the window if he ever caused any pain that was not explicitly asked for.
One hundred and eighty storeys made for a long way to fall, even for a droid.
When Levi reached to close a hand around Eren’s cock, the brunet made a garbled sound of complaint. He jerked at the twin sensations assaulting him. Eren huffed, whining as Levi stroked him, fingers gathering leaking precum and using it to his advantage.
Levi loved to overload Eren with too many sensations, pleasure from multiple places so that the brunet was reduced to a panting, twitching mess. Of course Eren enjoyed that, too. But he had expressed his opinion that it was deeply unfair. Levi was always so composed, while Eren was teased out of his mind, and really that was half the fun for the bot.
Eren outright yelped at the sudden vibration of Levi’s tongue, brushing cleverly against the hidden sweet spot.
“Mm n-nope, uh-uh,” Eren started shaking his head, breathless and pleading, “gonna cum if you don’t stop. Levi. Levi, c’mon now b-be fair.”
A long sigh fell heavily from Eren’s lips when Levi eased up, releasing the brunet’s cock and pulling away to leave him empty. The brunet glared up the curve of his body at Levi, who only smirked.
“Too much already, sweetheart?” Levi purred, turning his head to leave wet kisses across one shaking thigh. “What happened to all that stamina?”
Eren stuck his tongue out in petulant display.
Levi scoffed. “Very mature. Maybe you had a point, calling yourself a big baby?”
Eren flushed, glowering weakly. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Levi chuckled as he set Eren back on the mattress properly, helping the brunet scoot back to reach the pillows.
“Why would I?” Levi smirked. “It was priceless.”
“Only to you.” Eren prodded Levi’s nose.
“Well excuse me for having a sense of humour.” Levi drawled. “No doubt another fuck up in my code somewhere, lucky you.”
He rearranged Eren’s legs, settling them over his hips as Levi once again manoeuvred between them. Eren grumbled unintelligibly, but Levi was more focused on cycling through the options for their activities.
“What do you want this time?” Levi questioned, pawing idly at Eren’s leg to get his attention while he pulled up a menu, scanning through their options. “Metal or silicone?”
Eren wrinkled his nose in thought. “The silicone was easier to clean, wasn’t it?”
Levi nodded, making his selection.
Parts shifted, a panel shifting out of the way near Levi’s groin to allow the chosen member to slide out, ready for use.
Eren squinted, something cheeky in his gaze. “That looks bigger than usual.”
“Well aren’t you observant.” Levi smirked. “We’ll pretend this is an early birthday present or something.”
Eren cooed. “How thoughtful.”
The twerp dissolved into giggles after that and Levi focused on checking his tanks. The main slid out of shifting compartments in his abdomen, the level of sticky white fluid resting right at the maximum line. Levi nodded, satisfied, and dipped his fingers in the stuff. Eren was still giggling like an idiot as the now-slicked digits pressed into him, twisting to coat him deeper than Levi’s tongue had been able to reach. The tanks returned within Levi’s frame, everything settled.
Eren was beginning to squirm again, hips rising off the mattress to try and work a rhythm against Levi’s fingers. Insatiable little thing.
When Levi deemed Eren ready, he withdrew his fingers.
And paused.
“What’s up?” Eren asked, sensing Levi’s distraction.
“Do you want to do this here?” Levi gestured to the bed. “It’s going to be unbelievably messy by the end.”
Eren made a face. “We could put a tarp down?”
“You have a tarp?”
“Yeah?”
“What reason could you possibly have for needing a tarp? I’m honestly curious.”
Eren flushed a little. “Oh, you know, in case my biotic boyfriend ever decided to dump half a tank of fake cum inside me. That sort of thing. You know, just casual use.”
Levi almost laughed. He managed to hide it behind the back of one hand, shaking his head.
“Little pervert. I knew you were waiting but I had no idea you’d prepared for something like this. Clever boy.”
Eren all but purred at the praise, eyes dreamy at the thought of what was to come. Ha.
Levi, being the most capable of walking out of the two, went to retrieve the tarp with Eren’s helpful instructions being called from the bedroom. He returned, scooping up a languid Eren and draping him over one shoulder to be able to throw the tarp over the mattress. Success. It would still be messy, but Levi felt a lot better about tarnishing a tarp than potentially spoiling Eren’s bed.
He was honestly a little proud of Eren for thinking ahead.
Eren hummed happily as he was set back down, reaching for pillows while Levi got himself back into position.
Levi checked the connection to the tank, spilling a little lubricant onto his hand from the tip of his false dick. The tubing was fine, and the temperature was nothing that Eren would find uncomfortable. Good, everything was working. Levi positioned himself at Eren’s hole, rubbing the smooth tip of himself there just to hear the boy moan before he pushed inside. It was slow going, as it always was. Especially with the new addition of a plus-size member. Levi knew Eren could take it, would take it eagerly, but he would make sure that every moment was as enjoyable as possible.
With each gentle press of his hips Levi could feel Eren opening up for him. He spurted a little lubricant along the way, easing the slide inside. And finally he was in to the hilt.
Eren gave a long, low moan. He sounded thoroughly satisfied with the new addition. The same length as Levi had always had, but thicker. It pressed him open, stretched him just a little wider than usual, and feeling the new stretch had Eren sighing.
“Fuck if that doesn’t hit the spot.” Eren said dreamily, reaching for Levi. “Come on then, fuck me. I’m good, you can go for it.”
Levi was dubious about that, but he leaned down so that Eren could hold onto him. Or attempt to suffocate him, more like. Eren wrapped himself around Levi like a python. He held on so tightly that, had Eren not been passionately kissing every part of Levi that he could reach, the droid might have suspected foul play.
Levi started a slow rhythm, shallow thrusts, just rocking into the mewling boy beneath him.
Eren adjusted, panting and working his hips back against Levi’s rhythm. When he wanted more, he asked for it. Moaned the words by Levi’s ears, begging without a hint of shame. It was in these moments that Levi knew he was completely and utterly needed by this boy. This hopeless human who had fallen for a machine. Levi knew whenever Eren held him this tightly that he really wouldn’t ever let him go, and Eren had promised it so many times. His need proved it to Levi. Over and over again.
Shifting the rhythm, Levi worked for something a little faster. He paid careful attention to the changes in Eren’s responses, looking for what made him moan the loudest and the most frequently. Eren gasped and Levi knew he’d found the right speed. Just what Eren wanted. Then Levi added a little force, until they could both hear the smack of Eren’s skin against the smooth plating of Levi’s armour. When Eren’s voice pitched to into the high kind of moaning he was sure to be embarrassed about later, Levi knew he had the perfect combination.
He closed a hand around Eren’s cock, stroking idly. Not even bothering to match the pace of his thrusts, just providing the attention that Eren craved there.
And Eren looked positively spoiled, eyes closing constantly, moaning into Levi’s mouth, burying the increasingly mortifying soundtrack of his pleasure there between smirking lips. Levi paid attention to the tensing of Eren’s body, the flesh squeezing around him. It felt different with the new addition, but Levi could read the moment of Eren’s climax approaching without difficulty nonetheless.
When Eren jerked and garbled some nonsense into Levi’s languid kisses, he knew it was time.
Levi activated the mechanisms within him, feeling warm liquid race up his shaft and spurt into Eren. He knew how Eren loved it when he came just before him so that the feeling of being filled up could be that final sensation that tipped Eren into orgasm.
Eren was in no way ready for the intensity of his climax, all but wailing into Levi’s mouth as he shook and shot all over himself. He ground desperately against Levi, groaning when the droid pushed his hips flush against Eren’s ass and continued to spurt within him. Eren gave a final, pitching moan. Then he let himself collapse, just a puddle of satisfaction writhing sluggishly on the tarp. The pair stared each other down, kissing idly while Levi filled him. Only when Eren started to leak out what he could not hold did Levi let the flow taper off and stop.
He scooped Eren up, carrying the boy gingerly through the apartment, still connected. Into the bathroom he went, stepping into the shower block and grateful more than ever for the full-length mirror that made up one of the inner walls of Eren’s shower. He coaxed Eren to look over his shoulder, hands under the brunet’s thighs, and lifted Eren slowly from his cock.
The rush of false cum that escaped Eren was obscene and Eren gave a dazed little moan, squeezing to push out more. He slumped against Levi’s chest. Happy, sated, and smiling like a goddamned lunatic.
“Best early birthday present ever.” Eren mumbled between sleepy kisses pressed to Levi’s plating.
Levi chuckled. “I had a feeling you’d get off on that.” He smirked, kissing the top of Eren’s head. “Don’t fall asleep on me, now. I plan to have you at least twice more before your hot water runs out.”
Eren gave a drowsy hum, pleased and anticipating the thorough fucking that was still to come.
“Thank God for water-proofing, huh?” The brunet mumbled, cheeky and grinning.
Levi pinched him. “Smart ass. Do you want to clean yourself up, then?”
Eren gave a vaguely apologetic hum, shaking his head.
“That’s what I thought.” Levi scoffed, reaching for the hot water tap.
Oh the miracles of technology, the droid thought to himself wryly.
|
Archie refused to open his eyes. It was almost comedic, really – but he looked so traumatized that everyone else in the room found it hard to laugh. Well, everyone except Veronica, who was grinning from ear to ear with excitement over the news that Betty and Jughead were dating.
Archie refused to say a word. He just sat on the couch, hands over his face, not replying to Betty or Jughead, who were nervously looking at each other and trying to talk to him. Was he massively horrified? Definitely. It was scary that he was so silent. Veronica stood by the corner giggling and no doubt texting Cheryl like crazy.
“Can I just say?” Veronica started, staring up from her phone and beaming, “I totally saw this coming.”
Betty and Jughead didn’t reply to her, instead still awkwardly waiting for Archie to say something. “Hey, Arch?” Betty began, “I know you’ve seen me and Jughead as babies, but maybe it just takes a little getting used to.”
“I’m already used to it! It’s awesome!” Veronica said, dialing someone’s number and placing her phone to her ear.
Again, Veronica was ignored. Jughead nodded at Betty’s words. “Yeah, I know it’s sudden, man. But maybe we’ll grow on you. You might find us disgusting, which I get – ”
Archie removed his hands from his face, looking confused. “I’m not disgusted, you guys.”
“You’ve had your face covered for five minutes…” Betty told him.
Archie suddenly smiled. “No, I’m legit stoked. It’s awesome. I’m so happy for you both, I mean, I feel like a dad watching his kid get married or something,” Archie said.
Betty breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, weird. Am I your child in this scenario?” Jughead asked, grimacing.
“I just can’t believe I didn’t see it coming,” Archie explained, looking disappointed in himself. “Veronica’s been telling me over and over – there’s something there Archie! Look at how Jughead looks at Betty! And I refused to believe it! I was always like, the hell Ronnie? But sometimes I’d be like, wow, I’ve never seen Betty laugh that hard before, or Jughead try too hard to be funny. But I’d brush it off. And then I see you two here just now, and I felt like an idiot, but god, I’m so happy.”
He then stood up and hugged Jughead really tight. “I’ll start my best man speech tonight. You and Betty used to fight over me, and now I’m a third wheel.”
Betty laughed, feeling emotional all of a sudden. She looked over at Jughead, whose eyes were closed as he embraced his best friend, an amused look on his face. She was lucky, so lucky. She couldn’t imagine not having him in her life now. She couldn’t imagine feeling any piece of hatred for him at all, because the past few months with him made her realize a lot of things about herself. And she knew she was a better person for it.
“Get in here, Betty,” Archie said, lifting his arm so Betty could join their hug. She embraced two of the most special boys in her life. She was especially grateful to have Archie, her best friend, and the way he made everything, no matter how complex, simple. Love and friendship – how could she have thought he’d be horrified? This was probably his dream come true. It had Archie’s big smile written all over it.
“Don’t forget me!” Veronica said, rushing to them and squeezing the three. “I deserve most of the credit for making you two sleep in the same room, by the way. Let’s throw a party.”
“A party? For what?” Jughead said.
“There doesn’t have to be a reason, Jughead. Just a party in celebration of you both!” Veronica suggested.
“Weird, but I’d attend that,” Archie said.
When Betty and Jughead arrived at school, everyone could not believe their eyes.
“I knew it! I knew it!” Kevin exclaimed, slamming his locker shut and heading towards them. Jughead’s eyes were shining, and Betty loved to see him happy. “What did I say to you before, Betty? About tension not disappearing overnight?” he said, pleased.
Betty playfully rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, Kev, you were right and I was wrong.”
Jughead pulled Betty closer and kissed her on the side of her forehead. “I love it when you’re wrong.”
“Which is so rare, because I’m always right,” she said. If there was one thing she was so happy to have been wrong about, it was Jughead.
Kevin grimaced. “Don’t go PDA all over me. The two other couples in our group already give me enough.”
Jughead lifted his arm on Betty’s shoulder and raised his arms in surrender. “Okay, Kevin. We’ll stay PDA-free.”
“I told you Jughead liked you back!” Cheryl’s voice said from behind them. They turned around, seeing a very pleased Cheryl and a beaming Toni.
“Hold on, Cheryl knew about this?” Kevin said, raising an eyebrow.
“I felt betrayed, honestly,” Toni said, but she was smiling. Clearly, Cheryl had told Toni about Betty’s crush – which Betty couldn’t blame her for. It was big news. She couldn’t imagine not sharing to Jughead so many things.
“It was a totally impulsive decision,” Betty told them. “Under more calm circumstances, I would’ve told all of you. Cheryl was only in closest proximity.”
“That’s generous, but she still told me,” Cheryl said, a satisfied look on her face.
“But in all honestly, Betty, Jughead,” Toni announced, “We’re so happy for you. You’ve come full circle. Now it’s time to find Kevin someone, because I can already hear all the seventh wheel jokes he’s gonna be making.”
Kevin beamed. “You know me too well.”
Jughead was terrible at folding clothes. Still, he tried to help her pack on Friday night, even though she ended up just refolding everything he did anyway. They were sat on their room’s mattress.
She couldn’t help but smile while she looked at him. She was going to miss being this close to him all the time. And then the nagging thought came to her again: What if she was making a mistake?
“Dear god, why doesn’t this fold,” Jughead grumbled, eyebrows furrowed as he unfolded her dress for the third time.
“I’m scared this will fail,” Betty blurted out, face falling, quickly taking the dress he was struggling to fold and staring at it. “What if I just start fighting her again and nothing works out?” she asked him, looking at him again. Maybe she was expecting too much, as she had before? She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t almost irrationally afraid.
“Hey,” Jughead said, looking at her seriously. “Betty, it won’t be easy, forgiving her and repairing your relationship… but you said so yourself – you owe it to yourself to try. Whether it works or not, you didn’t make a wrong decision. And… as long as both of you are trying – it’s the furthest thing from a failure.”
She took in his words. He was right and she knew it. But it didn’t feel that way when she looked at him and realized they wouldn’t be spending all this time together. With him, in the comfort of Veronica’s home, she felt safe. Was she ready to try again with her mom?
She realized, that as long as she had her friends, she would be.
“And…” he began, eyes unsure. “I was also thinking. After you and your mom talked, I think… I think I want to visit my dad.”
Betty ignored what she had been doing and looked at him. He hadn’t said much about his dad – it was clear he wanted time in his own thoughts to come to terms with the accident, with the arrangement, with everything that went down in the past years. She didn’t have that clear of an understanding of whatever emotions were going through him, but she was going to try to.
He looked very confused, staring at her for any indication of her opinion. “Do you think I should?” he asked hopefully.
“I think… you should do whatever feels right,” she said, holding his hand. “And whenever you’re ready to talk to him again – then we can drive upstate. Whether that’s right now, or tomorrow morning, or any day you want.”
His face went from serious to smiling, and for a moment Betty thought he was going to cry. “You’ll be coming with me?”
“If you want me there, then definitely,” she said.
“Oh, I definitely want you there,” he told her. “A road trip, just the two of us. We could borrow Archie’s truck…”
He kissed her, and Betty felt all the butterflies in her stomach erupt all over again. How often were they going to get to do this, now that they weren’t going to be around each other every night? It was a stupid thing to be so annoyed about, but she was. “I’m gonna miss you,” Betty said to him, pulling away to frown.
“Well, I can’t wait till you’re out of here because you take way too long in the shower,” Jughead joked, making her smile.
“You take a long time too – don’t start with me,” Betty countered, raising her eyebrows.
He sighed. “Right. Because in all seriousness, who else is gonna mourn with me when we hear Archie and Veronica Facetiming at night?” He shuddered at his own words.
“Hiram Lodge,” Betty said, making him laugh.
His face grew serious. “I’ll miss you,” he said.
“Sleepovers at mine are always welcome,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him again.
A week after Betty had moved back with her mom, it was as if she and Jughead were still in the same room. They texted nonstop, sending each other films or documentaries to watch and lending each other books to read, and drawling about them until it was AM.
“Oh god, I did not see that coming!” Betty said to him on call on Friday night, after reading a mystery book Jughead had loaned her. She was lying down on her bed, her phone hot against her ear.
“Right? It’s brilliant,” he told her, his voice tired but still enthusiastic. “I only wish to write something half as good.”
“But you already write so well,” she said.
He was quiet. He was never exactly good at taking compliments. “Thank you,” he said after a while. They were quiet again, and Betty closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing on the other end.
“About the antagonist, though – ” she began, just as Jughead said, “So I was thinking about my dad – ”
“I’m sorry, you were saying?” Jughead said.
“No, you were saying something,” Betty told him.
He exhaled, probably finding the right words. “Well, I was thinking about my dad. I think I want to visit him. Tomorrow. But I’m not sure, do you think I’m ready?”
“Jug,” she began. “I do think you’re ready.”
She could almost see his soft smile. “Will you come with me?”
The trip to the rehab facility was quieter than they had planned out. It wasn’t awkward, though. They were too occupied in their own thoughts to say much. They left early and had borrowed Archie’s truck, putting on a Bob Dylan record.
How many times can a man look up before he sees the sky… Betty looked at Jughead, who was driving and most definitely thinking about his father. With the morning sun hitting his thoughtful face, he looked both innocent and wise at the same time.
She knew he was nervous and that this was a big step for him. His childhood hadn’t been easy. His family history had robbed him of a lot of things normal kids got, but in many ways it had made him stronger than normal kids. It wasn’t a completely good thing, though. She knew he wished things had been different.
Betty realized something profound at that moment – so she told herself that she would give Jughead an easy, steady, and assuring kind of love – far from the ambivalence he had gotten from his parents. She was going to try hard to give him that, because he deserved it more than anybody she knew.
Jughead glanced at her, his smile like that of a child’s. “Hey,” he said, eyes glinting, “thank you for coming with me today.”
She smiled. The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind…
While Jughead met up with his father, Betty waited in the lobby. It had been a little less than an hour, which meant it was probably going well.
Veronica was too kind, she realized. She was perhaps the most generous person she knew, thinking prudently for her friends and making sure they were loved and cared for. For the past few months, she had attended to her friends’ needs and made sure they felt at home, to the point that they had broken out of their ridiculous grievances into something more special. Betty wanted to do something for her best friend that could show her gratitude the size of even a particle of what Veronica had done for them.
Jughead came out into the lobby just as an idea came to her mind. He looked as if a weight was lifted off his chest. She stood up, briefly thinking about that day at the hospital after his father’s accident – and thought about how far he had come since then.
“How was it?” she asked him.
A small smile was on his face, and he practically ran to her, hugging her tight, as if he were a little boy. “I have never seen my dad look so… alive.”
She couldn’t help it – tears began spilling out of her eyes. “That’s wonderful,” she said. The happiness she felt for him was insurmountable. She held him tighter, hoping he would always be this happy forever.
Maybe some of his robbed childhood could be returned to him, after all.
“So, I was thinking,” Betty said to Jughead on her kitchen counter while he downed a burger, “Veronica’s birthday is still in August, but she does love parties.” She saw he was eyeing her fries that she had barely touched, so she slid the container towards him.
Jughead furrowed his brows, popping fries into his mouth. What was she getting at?
“And she always says, there doesn’t have to be a reason to throw a party,” Betty continued.
“You mean when she wanted to throw a party to celebrate our dating?” Jughead said, even more confused. “You want to push through with that?”
“Yes, except let’s celebrate Veronica,” she told him. “For all she’s done for us. A big party, just for the hell of it. I mean, what could make her happier than a party with all her friends?”
His face lit up. “That’s a great idea. A surprise party. But where?”
“I don’t know… I’d say Pops, but she owns the place, so she’d know what we’re up to...”
“How about right here? In your house?” he suggested. “We can do a bulk order at Pops.”
“Of course you thought about food right away,” she told him, not hiding her smile. “We can have Archie distract her while we set up. And bring in Cheryl’s karaoke machine.”
“A karaoke party’s awesome. But she has one of those?” Jughead asked.
“I’m guessing she has everything. Remember her pantry?”
Betty’s mother walked into the kitchen. “What’s this I hear about a karaoke machine?” she asked.
Betty smiled at Alice. She still wasn’t used to how gentle her mother was these days, which made for some reserved, albeit friendly conversations during meals. Slowly, but surely, they were getting closer again. Just the other night, they would not stop laughing over a sitcom that was showing.
“Good evening, Miss Smith,” Jughead said to her, his voice smaller than it was a mere seconds ago. He clearly was seeking her approval, though from the way Alice looked at him, Betty thought that Jughead didn’t have to worry about that at all.
“Hello, Jughead.”
“We’re planning a surprise party for Veronica,” Betty said.
“For what?”
“For no reason,” she explained. “Just a Veronica-Appreciation Party.”
Her mother nodded. “Then let’s have it here! Leave me to all the planning. And don’t bother making a bulk order at Pops, I’d be glad to prepare the food.”
Jughead’s smile somehow grew wider as he bit into his burger. A few nights ago, he had come over for dinner and devoured everything Betty’s mother had cooked with delight. She couldn’t blame him – her mother cooked the best food in the world. Alice Smith’s cooking was another thing Jughead had missed out on in the years he had thought he reviled Betty.
“You don’t have to, mom,” Betty said.
“Please, I insist. She’s done so much for you – not just these past months, but these past years. I know I didn’t exactly cause you a lot of joy, Elizabeth,” her mother explained. “But let me make it up to you, and to everyone who did what I should’ve done.”
Betty’s eyes glinted, feeling tears behind her pupils. “All right, then. If you insist.”
“I hope you include potato gratin,” Jughead blurted out.
Betty gave him a look. “At a karaoke party?”
“So? Are you gonna object to that?” he said in mock ferocity. She laughed, thinking that the way he scrunched up his face was the most adorable thing in the world.
She wants to go back to her place! Ugh.
“Oh no,” Betty said, reading the text Archie had sent to Jughead. The plan was supposed to be that after their movie date, Veronica and Archie head back to his place, where they would end up in Betty’s house.
“Oh no, indeed.”
Their friend group, along with several other schoolmates, were helping with the purple balloons and decorations around the house. Turns out everyone loved the idea of a Veronica Appreciation Party.
Jughead and Betty set up the food table, much to Jughead’s delight. He kept sneaking pigs in a blanket in his mouth.
She wrapped her arms around Jughead’s torso, staring at Archie’s message. “Tell him to seduce Veronica with the idea of Archie’s bedsheets.”
“What the hell? Why would I say that?” said Jughead, resting his chin on Betty’s head as he texted his best friend. “I’ll text him to say no one will feed Vegas.”
“Okay, that’s a much better idea.” Veronica was very fond of Archie’s dog.
Ok it worked. We’re otw. Be there in 5 mins max.
“They’re on the way!” Jughead announced, and everyone began working faster.
Betty looked up at her boyfriend, who was eyeing the food from the corner of his eye. She fixed the hair under his beanie so the right amount of curls stuck out and straightened the gray sweater he wore. “You’re so cute,” she couldn’t help saying.
He smiled. “Speak for yourself,” he said, pushing loose strands of hair behind her ears. As he leaned in to kiss her, a famously breezy voice interrupted their moment.
“You got over me so quickly, Cooper,” Reggie said. “Let’s hope he’s not just a rebound.”
Betty flinched at the memory of her saying she liked Reggie. Jughead did not look too happy to see Reggie at the party, but he was Archie’s friend. “Hi, Reggie,” Betty said.
“What can I say? I’m happy for you. Not every girl can get over me,” he told them. Typical Mantle behavior.
“Of course, ‘cause you’re such a heartthrob,” Jughead told him jokingly, but Reggie smiled as if Jughead were serious.
Just then, Jughead’s phone sounded. We’re going in, the text read.
“Turn off the lights!” he called out to Cheryl, who was by the light switch. She turned off the lights.
“I don’t understand why your spare key is with Betty’s mother, Archie,” Veronica said in the dark, just as Archie turned on the lights.
“Oh my god! What?” Veronica exclaimed, looking pleased but also, very, very confused. “Is it my birthday?”
“No, just a Veronica Appreciation Party,” Archie said, hugging his girlfriend from behind and kissing her cheek.
She blushed, her smiled wide. “What did I do to deserve this?” she asked.
“Everything,” Cheryl told her. “Seriously, Veronica Lodge, you’re an angel.”
Betty and Jughead approached her at the doorway. “Cheryl’s right. Thank you, V,” Betty said, “for being a wonderful, kind, and good friend. For making me and Jughead make up, for allowing me to live with you, and for allowing Jughead to mess up your guestroom.”
“Seriously, Veronica – you’re the best landlady ever. I never pay rent!” Jughead said, earning laughter from her. “And thank you, for not only taking care of me – but for taking care of my father. I don’t know where I’d be without your help.” He said the last part so sincerely, his face full of unbelievable gratitude.
“You’ve done so much for us, it’s hard to find a way to thank you,” Betty finished.
Veronica’s eyes welled with tears. “Hey, you guys, thank you for this. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without you all. You’re all my bestest friends in the world,” she said, tears spilling out. “This is too kind, thank you.”
“Hey, we love you so much, Ronnie,” Archie said, wiping her tears from her face.
“Okay, let’s start this party,” she said, voice cracking, though she was grinning. “I think I saw a karaoke machine.”
“It’s mine!” Cheryl announced.
It was a special night. Jughead ate his heart out (thanks to the gratin), Veronica and Archie sang several NSYNC songs, Kevin sang beautiful renditions of Les Miserables, and Betty had managed to convince Jughead to sing A Whole New World with her. He was off-key and could barely keep up with all the high notes, but Betty appreciated his effort (and sacrifice, as he had a brooding reputation to uphold).
While Reggie began a horrible impression of Frank Sinatra, Jughead put his arm around Betty as they sat on the couch. He kissed her cheek, making her feel warm all over.
Betty thought of something, and even if it was sudden, she was sure she had to do it at that moment.
“I just had an idea,” Betty said, tapping his knee. “Can I talk to you outside?”
He looked confused, but he nodded, standing up and extending her hand. “We’ll be outside for a bit,” he announced. No one seemed to mind, too engrossed in the absolute weirdness of Reggie’s performance, so they went out the door and sat by the steps in front of Betty’s house.
It was a windy night and the stars were bright, twinkling above them, up high over their small neighborhood. They could faintly hear Reggie’s singing from inside the house as Betty leaned on his shoulder.
“What are you gonna say?” he asked her.
“I remember you said once that you wished you were part of The Blue and Gold,” she told him. “So consider this a formal invitation. You don’t have to say yes.”
Jughead looked at her. “Really?”
“Really. You’re a great writer, Jug. And if it doesn’t interfere with your novel, I’d be honored to have you.”
“Wow. Thank you,” he said, smiling, facing the road. “A million ideas are hitting me. Does this mean I can write about anything I want?”
“I mean, as editor, you have to get approval from me first – ”
“Okay, I accept those terms,” he said, taking her hand.
“And, you have to deal with our crap printer,” Betty said.
He nodded. “Sounds lovely.”
“And, you have to deal with my nagging. I can be annoying about deadlines.”
“Even better. I love your nagging.”
“And also, I love you,” she finished abruptly, her hands growing cold. It was true. And as she said it, a strange peace filled her.
He froze. Looking at her, he stared. Was he shocked? Disgusted? Who knew. All she knew was that she had no regrets saying what she had because she meant it.
“I mean – ” she began nervously, taking in a deep breath and furrowing her eyebrows, “You don’t have to say it back. It’s only been a month, I know. I’m early. But I realized it when we drove to see your dad, and really, you don't have to – ”
“I love you, too,” he interrupted her, his blue eyes sparkling and expression softening. “I realized it too, that day. When Blowin’ in the Wind was playing. I love you, Betty, and I love who I am when I'm with you. You make everything better, and I;'ve said it twice already, but I do - I love you.”
She saw he meant every word.
She was smiling so wide, she thought maybe her heart would burst. She pulled him into a kiss, feeling his soft hair against her fingers and his warm hands on her neck. He deepened their kiss as if he couldn’t get enough.
“Jughead from last November had no idea what was coming,” he said when they pulled away.
“Yup. Red hair dye,” she told him, a hundred flashbacks coming back to her.
He laughed. “And the girl of his dreams,” he said.
“Nightmares, more like,” she corrected. He smiled as he kissed her again, and the rest of the world melted away and nothing else mattered.
She thought of Betty from last November and how different that girl was. Now, she could say, she was happier and lighter than ever before. She had her friends, she had a fresh start, and she had Jughead.
Take a daughter who didn’t come home for a weekend and a mother who stayed home for the weekend, mixed in with the tension from all the years of family drama, and somehow – by the strange machinations of the universe – Betty had found love.
|
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Children of Violence, Children of Peace
+
Chrom had braced for weeks of negotiations, but with himself and Robin at the helms of their armies, and Basilio and Flavia as their witnesses, their articles of peace come to paper over three short days. They enclose themselves in the castle’s Great Hall, a vast, vaulted chamber with piecemeal tapestries strewn like curtains over the windows. Outside, the rain abates, but the clouds linger, giving the sky a jaundiced look with the sun straining against it.
In these days, Robin sails around the room on the winds of her thoughts, scrawling white chalk notes on large, rotating slates she wheels from one end of the table to the other. Ideas come to life as jagged illustrations, words bubbled in X’s and O’s. To work alongside Robin, Chrom realizes, is to gather a harvest: she peels apart his suggestions like a feeble-skinned fruit, baring the good and the bad.
A year ago, watching the Mage Grandmaster assume the rule of Plegia would have horrified him. But now, Chrom has never been more certain that the peace between their nations will endure.
So long as her father is dead. Chrom doesn’t miss the way she tenses at any mention of him during their proceedings; her shoulders scrunch and her face pales, like his name is the beginning of a wound.
Flavia notices it, too. “Right now, Her Highness it at the helm of this country,” she tells them all. “Any plans should expect that to stay the case.”
Robin eases at that. She sinks into her chair and gathers her notes, which have unfurled themselves all over the table, into a single rectilinear stack. Chrom is overcome with an insistent urge to squeeze her hand. To support her. He abstains, but she gives him a long glance that makes him wonder if she knows, anyway.
They finish drafting their articles at sundown on the third day, a few scant moments before they’d need to light the candles. As Flavia and Basilio file out of the room, Robin lingers. She erases her slates and bangs the erasers together; chalk dust puffs out in a white cloud, then settles to the floor.
“Let me help you,” Chrom says to her.
She points to the last board still brightened with her slapdash drawings. “You can take that one,” she says, then adds, “Thank you. Really.”
He mirrors her, sweeping the chalk from the slate in broad strokes.
“I should have made you do them all,” Robin remarks. “You don’t have to stand on your tiptoes to reach the top.”
They both laugh. “Oh, but you’re so fun to watch,” Chrom says, and though he’s focused on his work, he imagines her cheeks going slightly pink. “Professor Robin. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Last I remember, you’re supposed to call me Your Highness,” Robin says, smiling through her words. “You’d do well to get some rest, tonight. Tomorrow’s a big day, with the announcement and all.”
“Do you think they’ll listen? The people here?”
“The League certainly won’t, but it doesn’t matter. I have power over them. I’m stripping most of them of their seats, anyway, for what they did in my absence,” Robin says. Anger runs a hot copper thread through her voice. “As for the rest of my people, all I can do is ask for their confidence. Things will be better. They must be.”
She wipes stray chalk dust on her pants and starts for the chamber doors. Before Chrom realizes, his hand is reaching for hers. His fingers swipe her wrist, and she turns.
The chamber is mostly shadow, now, but a slice of waning sun cuts from her chin through her mouth, over her left eye, turning amber into fire. “What’s wrong?” she asks him. She tilts her head, and his eyes follow the shifting of the light.
“I want to see you,” he blurts. “Not like this. It’s just—we’ve spent so many months writing letters to each other, I thought maybe we could talk through them.”
She winces. “What’s to talk through? We were enemies, and now we are allies. Simple as that.”
“You offered so much of yourself in those letters. It would be unfair of me to trek off to Ylisse with nothing but a goodbye,” he says.
“So, this is about fairness.”
Chrom shakes his head. A moment ago, she was all warm and playful, filling the hall with her melodic laughter, and now she’s clammed up, shut the doors. How do I get through to you? Why do I want to?
“No, Robin,” he presses. “I understand if you don’t want to spend any longer with me than you must. But I meant what I said in my last letter. You are a friend to me.”
Robin looks off towards a window, picking at a string on the hem of her mantle, and though Chrom swears he sees the barest twitch of a smile on her lips, for her sake, he pretends it’s a trick of the light. “If you wish to speak at length, we can meet after supper,” she says. “I’ll send Henry for you.”
She makes haste for the stairs. Chrom lingers at the board, savoring the strange, bubbling warmth in his chest.
Happiness. He thought he’d lost all sense of it, losing Emmeryn. But Robin said yes, and this bright flare inside him is happiness.
+
After months at war, Robin’s body has grown used to the strain of daylong battles; she knows a constant fog of sore limbs and strung-out veins, compounded by minor wounds that bother her only as she tosses and turns her way to feeble sleep. The pain that hits as she climbs the steps out of the Great Hall is different. It takes fistfuls of her muscles and wrings them tight. It is the pain of her body letting go, and she can only pray Chrom doesn’t see her hobbling and think her weak.
Her plan was to go to her room. She would sprawl out on her bed with her papers and practice her speech for tomorrow. Maybe practice Chrom’s part, too. Imitate his deep, earnest voice to make herself laugh. Yet thinking of him makes her woozy. She can still feel the shadow of his fingers on her arm, the storm in his gaze. I want to see you. Her skin had raised to gooseflesh at those words.
By the time she reaches the main hall, she abandons all thought of working. Her aching legs lead her to the lower west corner of the palace, down a claustrophobic stone stairwell that grows hotter at each narrow landing.
As far as she can remember, Robin has never been to the spring baths beneath the palace. If her father and Gangrel had found her anywhere in her free hours but the room or the training grounds, she’d be punished for dawdling. Slipping into the steam-clouded vestibule, she feels like a child lost in the high of mischief, mere moments from being caught.
The baths comprise two joined chambers, halved by a low partition of foggy purple crystal. Stone benches, sunk two feet beneath the water, jut from the walls. Florescent violet magic veins the ceilings, and the bathwater soaks up the color, churning with bubbles that blister in streams at the surface.
Robin drags her gaze across the room, ensuring no one is around before she snatches a towel from the rack and shimmies out of her clothes. The water is hot, but not scalding. Mineral haloes encircle her skin as she slips in up to her neck.
She swims over to the crystalline wall and reclines against it. The steam makes her lightheaded, like she’s on the drowsy precipice of a good dream. She leans back and closes her eyes, letting the water lap away the aches that wrack her body. This is it, huh? My first little indulgence as the Queen of Plegia.
Though she doesn’t plan on being an indulgent queen. She has seen enough men abuse their power for selfish pleasures, and she will not follow after them.
Even with whole armies at her command, she did not realize she could have power—true, worldly power, not the sort foisted upon her by a Fell God’s blood—until she sunk her blade into Gangrel’s gut.
Robin gathers a palmful of water and tilts her hand. The water rains out and bursts along the bath’s surface. She has made so many promises in the past few days, promises spoken to law and sealed in ink, with two Khans and a Crown Prince as her witness. What if she cannot live up to them? What if she can, only for her father rise from the ashes and unravel it all?
She shoves him out of her mind and labors at kneading old blood and dirt off her skin, working warm water against the bruises on her arms and legs. She will be a good Queen. Just like Emmeryn believed she could be.
Metal clangs, resounding off the walls. Robin clamps a damp hand over her mouth—shock numbs her to the water’s warmth. Her eyes dart; her side of the baths is empty. She hears the shuffling of fabric and sinks deep into the water. Turns slowly. Fingers trembling against the crystal barrier, she counts three profound splashes into the bath before she steals a peek at the intruder.
A flush razes her skin. She had known the Crown Prince of Ylisse was strong when he held her on the battlefield—a memory she’s been failing to expel for days—which means she should have figured he’d be completely arresting to witness like this, bare of all the belts and armor, his body hewn of hard muscle and shadow everywhere it belongs. The pronounced ‘V’ where his hips meet the water makes her grit her teeth and duck beneath the wall.
“Is someone there?” Chrom asks.
“Go away,” Robin says, surprised at her own childishness. But her whole body is pounding with embarrassment; she doesn’t exactly have control of her words.
“Robin?”
Robin flinches. Damn him. Of course he’d recognize her voice. It’s not as though she could ever forget his. She lifts her head above the wall. “Who told you about this place?”
Chrom scratches the back of his neck, and Robin forces herself to look anywhere but his torso. “Ah, it was Henry. I told him I had trouble drawing water to my room and he sent me here. I’m sorry, he must not have known.”
Robin presses her anger to a tiny cinder. She’s going to have a long talk with Henry tonight. In the meantime, there is the problem of Chrom, who is wholly indecent and painfully distracting and looking at her with a bleary-eyed softness that makes her want to scream.
She gathers her sanity. This is just Chrom. Chrom, who sends her melodramatic prose and silly declarations, who meant to steal her life and saved it, instead. If there’s anyone she shouldn’t be ashamed of, it’s him.
“Well, we can’t as well be silent and ignore each other, can we?” she remarks, praying the echo hides the shiver in her voice.
“I’ll be quick,” he assures her.
“Don’t worry about it. These baths are meant to be savored.”
“Really, I don’t want to bother you.”
Robin rolls her eyes. “You’ll be more of a bother if you’re off in some corner, pretending I don’t exist,” she says. “Come. Sit with me. I promise, I can’t see your naked bum through this wall between us.”
He laughs—a bright, full sound—and a cord of tension snaps free in her chest. They settle with their backs facing each other, his neck rested on the grooved top edge of the wall. An easy silence wraps about them, pervasive as the room’s earth-scented steam. Then, he shifts his head toward her, and Robin only pretends she can’t feel the way he looks at her.
“Robin, there’s been something on my mind.”
Her whole body clenches. Her heartbeat stumbles over itself. “What could that be?”
“The Risen,” he says, and she relaxes, closes her lips over a sigh. A heavier feeling follows, a hardening in the pit of her stomach. Disappointment. She doesn’t understand it—what else would she have wanted him to say?
“How did you get them to fight alongside you?” he continues. “That certainly didn’t happen in Regna Ferox.”
Robin shudders. The night in the Arena returns in red-edged pieces. The two of them, running for their lives. The darkness that crept into her mouth and made a home there.
“The Risen fought at our command because Validar summoned them,” she explains. “Risen miasma—it comes from fresh death. Souls, trapped as they flee the body. Every day, he sullied the honor of our fallen for more power.”
She can feel Chrom’s shiver through the wall. “But he’s gone now, right?”
“I doubt it. Aversa and her men haven’t returned,” Robin says. “Really, I think it will take more than the trials of war to kill Master Validar.”
A pause. “You don’t call him your father.”
Robin clamps her hands over her knees. “He prefers it that way. He is my teacher before he is my father. Our shared blood means nothing to him, and nothing to me. I will not miss him, and nor will our people.”
“Count your mercies. Emm and I, we spent our whole lives trying to wash out the stain that was our father,” Chrom explains. “What of your mother? You said you wanted to find her, right?”
Robin freezes. It wouldn’t be right to bring up her mother. Not when Chrom’s grief is so fresh, so alive, and hers is an old, rotting memory, unearthed like the Risen.
“I meant what I wrote in that letter,” Chrom presses. “I would like to help you, however I may. If she’s at large in Plegia, I wouldn’t rule out her hiding away in Ylisse.”
“You have a country to lead, and for now, so do I.”
“When things settle, then. It’s not odd for a ruler to take a tour about their country,” he says. So sweet. So earnest. Robin doesn’t know if she wants to strangle him or sob.
Her little cinder of anger bursts to flame. “She’s dead, Chrom,” she snaps. “Gangrel killed her, years ago, and I claimed his life as payment. There was no nobility in what I did on that battlefield. It was all petty vengeance.”
He shelters her words in a brief quiet, taking care with them. “That’s not petty. Not in the slightest,” he says, his voice low. “You think vengeance wasn’t on my own mind, with Emmeryn—”
“It’s different! Your sister was real to you. Flesh and blood real. Emmeryn was worth fighting for. My mother, on the other hand—I don’t remember anything about her. I wasn’t permitted.”
“What? How is that?”
She says nothing. The silence grows long. The pensive sort, each of them raveled in their own thoughts—her in memory, him likely in deliberation of what to say next.
“It’s alright, Robin,” is what he settles on, each syllable made of something soft. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Will you still meet me after supper?” Robin asks.
“Of course. I was looking forward to it.”
Bubbles skim along her stomach, climbing to her chest. “Then I’ll tell you there.”
“Robin, if it won’t perturb you, I’d like to see your face. Just for a moment.”
She turns to him, half afraid and half exhilarated. His face is softer in the even light; the colors draws out a tiredness she knows her own must share. He’s beautiful. The sort that hurts people. Her eyes flicker to the line where the water meets his body, an inch beneath his collar bone, then up the column of his neck to his mouth. A shadow winks between his lips as he gathers his words from the silence.
An old dream crawls back to her. One of stone and steam, much like that which surrounds them, as they battled in the luminous depths of Arena Ferox. Her beneath him, her sword close, the vines tethering their legs together. Knees knocking. Breaths entangled. An easy death. Only instead of spearing him, she curved her palm against his jaw and led his mouth to hers.
Robin grabs the outcropping beneath her thighs as a flash of heat sears through them. What the hell?
She must twitch, because Chrom adjusts his head, his brow ridged with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“This is all so strange, isn’t it?” she stammers. “Days ago, we meant to kill each other, and now, here we are having a soak like old comrades.”
“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he says, dejected. “I’m sorry, Robin.”
“No, wait—” she starts, but he is already swimming off the wall, headed for the steps.
Robin sinks back into the water and presses her head into her hands. Stay, she should be telling him. Keep listening.
She bites down and waits for him to leave.
+
Robin dines alone in her room. She’s never been more eager to cut into a roast, to watch pepper oil swirl through the sauce and potatoes vent steam from the holes in their skins. She is starving, but more than that, she yearns for a distraction from the events of the early evening.
This is no different from those horrendous dreams she had while marching. Naga testing her, her flesh gone awry. She is not used to anyone treating her so tenderly, let alone someone as handsome as the Crown Prince of Ylisse, and her stupid mortal body is responding in kind. She would act the same if it were a lovely woman like Olivia, or a different, good-looking man. Perhaps that surly retainer of the Prince’s, Frederick. There is nothing wrong with her, per se. Just her body.
The knock at her door is a small mercy. She opens it to Henry’s cheery face. He scoops up her hand and makes a show of kissing it like he used to. A true welcome home. Robin’s lips crack a smile.
“I brought you a surprise,” he chirps.
He steps to the side, and a woman dressed in black floats in beside him. “Tharja,” Robin exhales. She throws her arms around them both and draws them close. Giddiness swishes through her stomach.
“Congratulations, Your Highness,” Tharja whispers, tucking her face into Robin’s hair.
“I’m so happy to have you here,” Robin says. “You have no idea. Every day, I could have lost you both.”
When they break apart, Robin leads her retainers into her room, and it’s as though she’s passing through a shard of her life before the war, when Tharja would drape herself on the end of her bed, and Henry would settle in the armchair, and the three of them would talk until the moon rose and sank again beneath the mountains.
Now, they both stand before her hearth, and Robin knows what’s past is past.
“Will you stay?” she asks Tharja, hoping for more than the answer she already knows.
Tharja shakes her head. “I have sworn myself to Ylisse,” she says, staring at the floor. “Lady Robin, you know my heart will always be yours. But my life belongs to Chrom’s Shepherds. That was a choice I made for the both of us.”
“Then I wish you well,” Robin says, stiffly. “But you will always have a place here, if you’d like.”
“I will be gladder to visit Plegia, knowing you’re Queen.”
“I am not Queen yet. Not properly,” she says, half a reminder to herself. “Though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope they’ll find nothing of my father but his mangled corpse.”
Aloud, her wish is a jagged prayer, uttered to no god but chance. She cannot shake the horrible feeling in her gut that Validar is not dead, but hiding, waiting like a wolf stalks its prey.
This could all be another one of his trials.
“You could always just throw him out,” Henry suggests. “Ooh! What if you had him executed? I’d love to pick that cadaver apart.”
“If only it were so simple,” Robin says. If Validar won’t yield to death, he certainly won’t yield to a daughter. “All I can do with the time I have is to make things as good for our people as I can. At least, until my own fate comes to pass.”
She thumbs her Brand through her glove. She expects a flash of pain, or cold, but the mark is inert, warm as her skin. Validar’s death will not stop the darkness spindling its way through her body. One day, she will be strong enough, old enough, worthy enough, and Grima have the calamity he desires. Every piece she moves next will be a maneuver towards her own death.
Until then, all she can do is give her people a fighting chance.
+
Henry appears at Chrom’s door a hair before midnight. A large black crow perches on his shoulder and pecks at one of the golden tassels on his cape.
“Don’t mind my friend here,” Henry says, then rubs the bird’s head with his knuckle. “He just missed me so much while I was away—he can’t let go.”
“Should I be scared?” Chrom asks him.
“Of Mr. Nibbles here? Not at all! There’s a reason I call him ‘Nibbles’ instead of ‘Bites.’” Henry puffs up, proud of his little joke.
“I meant of Robin. I fear I may have upset her earlier.”
Henry giggles. His laughter sounds like a child’s. “Oh, no. If Lady Robin were mad at you, believe me, you’d know. Now, follow me. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Chrom wishes he could be relieved, but he’s spent the past hour watching currant wine congeal on the sides of a goblet while practicing an apology—Henry’s words do little to soothe his jitters.
Castle Plegia’s halls are constructed of sandy rock the color of a plum’s skin. Torchlight snags on shiny filaments in the stones. Passageways end in darkness, giving the sense of walking into some beast’s yawning mouth. They careen around a corner, descending into a narrow throat of a stairwell, and Chrom braces for teeth.
Henry leaves him in the main corridor. Up ahead, light gathers in sprigs of purple and white. Half hypnotized, Chrom drifts towards it.
The castle atrium, where Robin first received them all after the battle, is unrecognizable in the night. A forest of black-bark trees grows over the ornate floor tiles. Branches whisper and tangle, abloom with crystalline flowers. Flecks of purple magic float through the air like fireflies.
Robin waits for him at the heart of the forest. There, she is the moon, stealing the strange light of the trees in the folds of her hair, the darkened amber of her eyes. Magic gathers on her coat like captured stars.
She brushes a nearby tree with her fingers. Gloved, long, and elegant, one would never think they write so clumsily. “Lovely, isn’t it?” she muses.
Yes. Unbearably so. “What is all this?”
Robin steps closer. “It’s a mirage enchantment. Just like the one we saw in Regna Ferox,” she says. “Go on. Touch it. It’s real until the sun rises.”
He pads his fingers over coarse, strangely warm bark, then trails them down a low, sweeping branch hung heavy with flowers. He gathers one between his thumb and forefinger; at his touch, the bloom comes free of its stem.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts, though Robin doesn’t seem dismayed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She shakes her head. “No need to worry. That magic is as ancient and persistent as the sun. If it flakes apart in your fingers, it will be of its own will, not anything of your doing.”
The flower is an uncertain weight in his hand. He holds it out to Robin, and her face brightens, a curious lift to her mouth. “Ah, this isn’t an olive branch, but I suppose it will do.”
“Keep it. We made our peace on that battlefield.”
“Really, I insist.”
“Fine,” she says, plucking the flower from his hand. She twirls it between her fingers, watching its steady glow whirl to ribbons. “I’ll take it as repayment for all my lovely gifts to you.”
“What, like the Risen hand?”
Robin grins. “Exactly,” she says.
She lifts the flower and tucks it into one of the little braids that droops near her temple. Such a tiny motion, but it suspends him—his breath gets lost in his throat.
She catches him staring, and a blush surfaces on his cheeks. “What?” she stammers.
He clears his throat and gestures to the trees. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“It makes a nice place to talk, doesn’t it?” she says, shrugging. “Nicer than those dingy baths, at least.”
His mind takes him to the soft light on her face, the water droplets clinging to her collarbone. Mesmerizing. That’s the word. “They weren’t so bad,” he says.
Robin rolls her eyes. “Walk with me. There are a few benches near the stairs.”
She pinches the cuff of his glove and leads him through the maze of ephemeral trees, over bulging roots and under runaway branches. Her gait is confident, even when she tiptoes; she’s walked this path countless times. This is her home. He’s here, in the Mage Grandmaster’s home. Not as a prisoner, but as a guest. A friend.
They settle on a bench adorned in purple cushions piped with gold. Embroidered runes swell across the fabric.
“Sometimes, Henry’s crows come to roost in these trees for the night,” Robin says as she sits. She smooths her mantle with the heels of her hands. “I was hoping we’d see some.”
“You’re fond of birdwatching?”
“Are you?” she says, her brow in a challenging arc.
“That was a silly question,” he says, and there is that laugh of hers, light and sonorous and human.
Then, the air shifts. Robin draws herself close, grips her own elbows. “I won’t delay it any longer,” she says. “I’m sure you want to know about my memories.”
“Nothing you don’t care to tell.”
Robin scoffs. “Gods, you’re so disgustingly considerate. I almost miss the threats upon my life.”
“I got a bit carried away with those, didn’t I?” Chrom laughs.
“We both did. Of course, it appears fate had other plans for us,” she says, gesturing to the meager space between them. Should he move over? No. He doesn’t want her to think she repulses him. Not anymore.
Her face sobers. She tugs at the loose string on her coat. “As I told you, my father is not a good man,” she starts. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be Queen, but I know his death is the better outcome. Not only for me, but for my country.
“Duke Validar is more than just the leader of the Grimleal sect. He taught me everything I know about magic—he made the Mage Grandmaster you fought that night beneath the Arena. His power is…beyond my comprehension. Every day, I seem to learn some new tragedy he’s wrought with it.
“But the worst was the one against myself. I know it’s selfish to say that, but even when I discovered he’d been killing his own men to summon the Risen, I was more composed than in the moment I discovered what he did to me.”
She gathers her breath. Closes her eyes. “I don’t remember anything of my life before I was ten years old. The year my mother died.”
Chrom reaches for her hand, but his fingers stop short. They curl inward. “Robin…”
“My grief was inconvenient to him. So, he took it. Stole my memories of her, of all my life before Gangrel killed her. I was just a girl. But he got wanted. He always would. He asked for a dagger instead of a daughter, and I would become the sharpest.”
She pauses, clasping her hands so he cannot take them. It startles him how lucid she is. How calm. If someone took his memories of Emmeryn, he would be screaming.
“Do you understand now, Chrom?” she asks, her voice a raw whisper.
He nods. “You don’t want him to die so you can be Queen. You want him to die so you can be human.”
“It will take more than that, I fear. I have to repent for what I’ve done in my station,” she says, hanging her head. “Maybe we both do.”
“That’s the point of all this, right?” Chrom says, daring to move closer.
Robin looks at him, a puzzled pout on her lips. “To repent?”
“And to forgive each other.”
She sits with his words for a moment, mulling them over like she might an unwieldy passage in a tome. She separates her hands and lets them fall at her sides, palms curved open.
“I’m glad you told me about your memories,” Chrom tells her. “Would that there was something I could do to help you get them back.”
“One day, I will make peace with it. Until then, I will take comfort in knowing I had them, once, and they contained in them a mother who loved me.”
Her sadness a tide dragging him in, brining him in her downcast eyes, the shadow in the corner of her mouth. He’ll let her weep in his arms again, if she wants to. He’ll do anything to make her smile.
He doesn’t know where such strong feelings came from—but he has always been intense when it comes to Robin. First in his hatred, and now, in this strange amity between them, a smudged-paper friendship creasing and folding to life.
“I remember what you wrote in that letter. About grief being something that heals. Your words have helped more than just me,” he says. “That is to say, I think she’d be proud of you. Your mother.”
She hesitates, her throat bobbing with a heavy swallow. Her eyes go blank, distant. He rests his hand over hers, and a thrilling warmth fills his ribs when she plaits their fingers together.
“We can’t bring back the people we’ve lost,” he says. “Your mother is gone, as is my sister. But each day, we can wake up and try to make the world a better place than it was when they left it.”
Her smile appears, then fades. His mind grapples for the memory of it.
“Spoken like a true Exalt,” she says.
“Oh, I won’t be Exalt. Not yet. That’s a title I must yet earn. But I will be my people’s leader and do my best to lead them well.”
His confident tone is a veil of white smoke, refracting the truth. One day, he will be Exalt, and yet he can’t imagine ever donning that halo crown.
Robin’s fingers tense. The shimmer in her eyes is a blade, sundering his feeble half-lie. “You seem unsure.”
“I’m scared,” he admits. “I’m nothing like Emmeryn. What if I can’t live up to her ideals? What if I let the Ylisse she dreamed of fall to the very hatred that took her life?”
“It’s not on you. Not entirely. Emmeryn had support, your own included,” Robin assures him. “No man can save the world on his own. Not even with the Emblem and Falchion in hand.”
Chrom is struck. She’s right. If not for his friends and comrades, he wouldn’t even be alive. The bonds they share give him strength.
And that includes his bond with Robin.
“Can I count on your aid, then?” he asks her. A simple question, yet it brings a near-drunken fuzz to his head.
“So long as it’s within my power,” Robin answers, her tone cool and diplomatic.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chrom sputters.
She stiffens and draws her hand from his. “It’s nothing. I’m just worrying, is all.”
His palm is still warm. He wants to touch her, again. A brush of her shoulder, a loose grip on the inner vertex of her elbow. Something to tether her, keep her from floating off into her pain.
“Let’s be hopeful for a moment,” he says. “Say your father never returns. You become Queen, you fulfill all your duties, you finally earn the time to do as you please. What do you do? Where do you go?”
“Is this a game?”
“If you want it to be.”
She pauses. Her face prunes up when she’s thinking hard.
“I’d like to go to the Tundralands again,” she says after some time. “Though, I think I’ll prefer it in the summer.”
“A wise choice.”
“My mother’s family hailed from there. If any of them are still alive, I’d like to connect with them. To let them know how much she meant to me, even if I can’t remember who she was,” Robin says. “And then, I’d like to visit Ylisse, now that I can trust your Shepherds won’t be hostile to me. I can trust that, right?”
Robin would shine in Ylisse. A daydream flashes before him, though it feels more like a shard of the future. It would be summer, and she would wear a cream dress and gold bracelets. He would lend her one of Lissa’s hats. They would press their backs into the cool, mossy trunk of an oak tree and drink chilled rose tea and pass the same book across their laps, taking turns reading each other stories.
“Yes,” Chrom exhales. “You can trust that.”
“There’s just so much I don’t know,” she says. “Do your people really all speak the same language? What are your hunting techniques? Oh, and you must have music and instruments I’ve never heard. And food I’ve never tasted!”
This is her joy. The newness of the world, the life behind the words in all her books. Curiosity glows on her face like a healing spell, and Chrom is enraptured. She rambles on, but he barely hears her over all the lovely ways her mouth shapes the words.
“I…can’t say I have all the answers,” he finally says.
She pretends to swat his arm. “You’ll need to learn these things if you want to be the Exalt. Didn’t you have fancy noble schooling?”
“I suppose my teachers just weren’t as inquisitive as you, Professor,” he says, winking. “But I can tell you a little bit about my life there, if you want.”
“Please,” she says.
He starts in about his travels with the Shepherds, how they meandered through all the nooks and crannies of the country towards its borders and coasts. Robin interjects, asking about things like soil texture and the sweetness of wild fruits, and Chrom tells her she desperately needs to meet Miriel.
So many little stories unspool between them. Lissa’s pranks. Henry’s experiments. Frederick’s futile quest to clear the pebbles from every path Chrom walks. Neither Chrom nor Robin notices the sun begin to rise until the mirage trees flicker away and the flower in her hair closes, dims, and disappears.
“Where did they go?” Chrom says.
“It’s dawn,” Robin says. He cranes his head. Unobstructed, the skylights in the ceiling glow a lurid ultramarine.
“Gods, already?” Chrom mutters.
“We should rest before we announce the truce,” Robin says. Her voice has lost its brightness. Is she…disappointed? “Especially with your travels ahead.”
“That’s right,” he murmurs. Before, he wanted nothing more than to go home. Yet he finds himself wishing for one more day. A little more time with her. They still have so much to forgive.
“Before you go, there’s something I’d like to give you.” She digs into one of her mantle’s deep pockets and produces a letter. Places it in his hand. “Don’t open this until you return to Ylisse. You’ll understand why once you read it.”
His head swims. His curiosity is going to devour him alive. But he can’t break her trust—not when he’s only just gained it. “You have my word.”
The tension her face eases. Relief, plain is the approaching day.
“Listen, Robin—I really do hope we can meet again,” Chrom tells her.
“I wouldn’t rule it out. I’m sure some political business will draw us back together.”
A small heat, the first spark of frustration, billows where his chest meets his throat. He takes her hands again; the fire soothes as her gloves’ soft leather encircles his knuckles. “Not for political business,” he says. “Just you and me, as friends. That’s all I’ve wanted, ever since you bared your heart to me. Since I bared mine in turn.”
Robin avoids his gaze. “You do not need to ‘bare your heart,’ Chrom. It’s right there, plain on your sleeve.”
“I don’t know. It’s different when it’s you,” he says, his words racing ahead of his thoughts. Her face blooms in shock—he’s said something wrong. “What I mean is, I’d like for us to stay close. I…I care about you, and it would be nice to see you every now and then, to talk just like this.”
Her body drifts from him, but she does not release his hands. “That is a long way to travel,” she says. “But I don’t see how we couldn’t meet in the middle.”
A smile punches across his face. He gathers her into an embrace so tight, her toes lift from the ground. She flinches, and he nearly lets her go, but then her arms come around his waist. They linger, joined at the swells of their bodies, and the sky above their heads flickers to a paler blue.
“I’ll write to you,” he says.
“I should hope so,” she mumbles against his shoulder. The rush of her words on his skin makes him shiver. “Don’t make some sappy fool of yourself. We still have an announcement to make.”
The lightness in her voice sends him reeling. She sounds happy. Alive and here and happy. Her hands drift up the planes of his back. He pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her temple.
A gasp bursts from her lips. He leaps back, his face in flames. Did I just kiss Robin?
“I…I need to go prepare the caravan,” he stammers.
She brushes off her coat and jams her fists in the pockets. She won’t look him in the eye. “Go on, then.”
Chrom parts from her like a petal cleaved from a stem, raw and aching and adrift. How could he ruin something so soon after it started?
He slows, but does not stop. And when he glances back, she’s glancing, too.
+
Robin wears a simple violet dress with her mother’s crown. Were it a cooler day, she might have opted for one of the elegant numbers she wore as Daraen—the black ensemble with the peacock feathers, or the berry-colored dress she wore while traveling—but it’s far too hot for anything with full sleeves.
She thumbs her Brand while the same eyes stare back in gold through the mirror. Girl as calamity. Girl as queen.
Neither thing feels true.
Henry escorts her to the castle’s second floor a terrace, a wide, ornately columned balcony laying an apron shadow over the courtyard. The doors are sealed, yet she can still hear the roar of the growing crowd outside. Nerves shudder through her stomach. What if her people do not listen to her? What if the moment she and Chrom declare the peace, her father appears and destroys it all?
She clenches her fists as two servants flutter about fixing her skirts. Surely he hadn’t meant to kiss her like that. They were tired and battle-worn, their emotions swung to weary extremes. Even if he had meant it, perhaps it was an Ylissean custom. But that wouldn’t explain his flustered reaction, or the way his lips still burned on her cheek.
She shakes her head. She can’t over think this—especially not today.
The servants disperse. Noise bunches the air up ahead. Chrom arrives dressed for another day of battle, with a fresh cape and his pauldron fastened and polished, and Robin pines after her own casuals and coat.
“Are you ready?” he asks her.
“Not at all. But I don’t have a choice, do I?” she replies.
“Breathe easy, Your Highness,” he says. She swears he reaches for her arm, but he’s simply adjusting one of his belts. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“How dare you use my own words against me?” she teases.
“Because they’re good words,” he says. “Come along. We shouldn’t keep the people from their Queen.”
She doesn’t know if Chrom opens the door, or if the servants do. She doesn’t know if the cries that collapse over them are cheers, or condemnations. All she knows is the warm weight of Chrom’s hand in hers as they walk together to the edge of the balcony.
She peers over the edge, and a thousand faces greet her. Men and women and children, serried together for miles down the palace steps and into the road. A whole nation, trembling on the knife’s-edge of her next word.
The sight of her flattens the shouting into silence. Robin searches the crowd for a place to fix her gaze and settles on something blue.
“King Gangrel is dead,” Robin calls, and for the first time, it feels like truth. The proclamation earns an uproar, a joy that swells like a seaborne wind. “As his successor, Duke Validar, is yet unaccounted for, it is I, his daughter, Crown Princess Robin of Plegia, who must sow our peace from this great ruin.
“There is no winner in this war—none but our people who will no longer suffer for it. It is my sacred duty as your acting Queen to ensure your livelihood in this kingdom, to provide you with the mechanisms to heal from this wound we’ve all been dealt. But I cannot do this alone. Fortunately, I will have the support of my allies in Ylisse,” she says, nodding briefly to Chrom, “and Regna Ferox to guide me through. Now, it is your support for which I ask. Stand by me, and we will remake our broken nation into a place where we all may thrive.”
The people cheer. Someone calls out, “Long live our queen!” and Robin goes weak in the knees with relief. She might fall, if not for Chrom there beside her, keeping her steady.
As the clamor fades, Chrom takes a step forward. “In Ylisse, we are also grieving,” he says. His features are somber in the sunlight, but his voice rings strong. Robin is proud of him. “My older sister, the Exalt of Ylisse, was another life stolen by the needless war. As her heir—and the next Exalt, in due time—I must continue her work in building the world she dreamed of, one where strife is never written in the fabric of one’s fate.
“From this day forth, the theocracy of Plegia and the halidom of Ylisse shall be brothers once more. It will not be easy; your Queen and I have held many a prejudice against the other’s people in our lives. But we stand here today, with hands and hearts united, to urge us all to put our misjudgments behind us.”
Chrom squeezes Robin’s fingers. His eyes are warm with admiration; it spurs her better than any words could. He steps back, and she takes his place. “As acting regents of Ylisse and Plegia, Prince Chrom and I therefore declare the start of a new era of friendship between our nations, one where we honor our differences and build a new world together, one riveted on the pedestal of our shared humanity,” she says.
Chrom hoists their joined hands into the air, and the crowd assails them in ecstatic applause. Robin’s heart swells. They see in her a new hope, a lifetime of peace—and with the Crown Prince of Ylisse at her side, she forgets about her fate and believes it.
+
Ylisstol - One Month Later
Chrom returns to a city forlorn. Word of Emmeryn’s death has traveled ahead of them, and where the Plegians had rejoiced the fall of their King, the people of Ylisse toil under a dark cloud of mourning. Chrom’s own wounds, slowly scabbing, crack open again—people embrace him and Lissa as they march home through the streets, and their tears are not for show.
But the war has ended, and they must celebrate those still living. In his first measure as acting regent, he calls for a week of rest and a feast throughout all of Ylisstol. It is a funeral and a festival, a holiday tinged in melancholy. The people are hungry, and they come in droves.
Soon, Chrom will go out and join them, these people who will call him Exalt, but for now, Robin’s letter commands him. When he can finally shake Frederick loose, he opens it alone, her paper secrets ablaze in the sunset pouring through his window.
Dear Chrom,
If you’re reading this, congratulations! I’m dead. You won our little game, fair and square. I hope the sight of my blood on your Falchion is as lovely as you thought it’d be—I’d hate for all your effort to result in disappointment.
Because I am dead, and therefore cannot suffer the consequences of any more secrets I share with you, let me grant you this: it is my story, whole and true, beginning with the reason for my birth and ending, of course, with my death. Now, I ask that you do not share this with anyone—this is my gift to you, Chrom, and you alone.
I know you are soft, but you should not carry any guilt. You see, you made the right choice in killing me. Even though I spent my whole life raging against it, trudged through every waking hour with the song of survival in my heart, the only way I could avoid my fate was to die.
My mother’s name was Morgana. She was a member of the Plegian League, but more than that, she was the kindest, most selfless creature to ever walk the godless halls of Castle Plegia. I don’t remember a thing about her, but I trust the stories of those who loved her.
Morgana married my father to help her country. And when she bore his heir, she bore a monster.
The Fell God Grima is real. He does not sleep beneath the border mountains, or in the untouchable heart of our deserts, but within the blood and muscle of my heart. I was his Vessel, and when I grew strong enough, he would have taken my flesh as his own and unleashed incalculable ruin upon the world. This apocalypse, the zenith of the Grimleal faith, would beget the collapse of all existence, across time and space.
But my death does not evade this ruin—not entirely. If my father still lives, he will take another wife, seed another Vessel. If he is dead, then the Grimleal will farm a failsafe bloodline from among their own, and the cycle will begin again. Birth after birth, body after body.
The Grimleal must be destroyed.
Thank you, Chrom. For the letters, and the challenge. I wish I could leave you with more than just an omen. But they do not call it “fate” because it is gentle.
Yours, always,Robin
Her words overwhelm him like a sudden headache. It can’t be true. The Grimleal are a cult, and they’ve poisoned her brain, made her believe a lie to control her. Yet there is such a raw, painful honesty in the way she writes—it lacks her usual flourishes, her sculpted metaphors. This language does not sing, but screams, the words shredded raw.
How long has this prophecy torn at her? How long has she lamented her very birth? No wonder she knelt at his feet and asked him to take her life.
He does not see an omen when he looks at her. Not anymore. If his last days in Plegia showed him anything, it was that Robin is compassionate and capable, far from the heartless warlord he once believed her to be.
Truth or not, Chrom will keep her secret. But this letter is from a dead woman, and Robin is still alive. She must have some hope she clings to, some bright dream she believes can be stronger than her fate.
And with hope, anything can change.
|
Toph woke up to the warm rays of the sun tickling her toes. The sounds and sensations of the world filtered into her consciousness slowly. It was a usual mix of birds singing, breeze rustling the leaves, the gentle vibrations of critters scurrying through the undergrowth. And then there was something else; a monotonous tapping of a stick against a rock that didn’t quite fit into the usual morning sounds of the forest.
Right, her prisoner was fidgeting .
Toph - still half asleep - flicked a small pebble at his head. “Can you stop that? How long have you been up?”
“Ouch,” he yelped indignantly. “Since dawn.”
“Dawn?” Toph repeated incredulously. There was something deeply wrong with the guy.
“It’s a firebender thing,” he said defensively. It was at least an explanation why the Fire Nation was evil. Toph would have waged a war on the world too if she never got to sleep in.
“So why didn’t you get up?” Surely, there were more productive ways to spend the morning than disturbing others with squirming.
“You shackled me to the ground.” He sounded rather disgruntled about it.
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t have gotten out of that if you wanted to,” snorted Toph. She made sure that the shackles were flimsy and loose. She was curious what he would do. Also, she really didn’t want to be woken up in case he had to use what Sokka liked to call the “facilities”.
“It was my impression that you didn’t want me to,” Zuko muttered.
“You are still playing by other people’s rules.” Toph shook her head in disappointment. She had hoped that Zuko would take a clue from their sparring session and start behaving more like his free-spirited alter ego than this tight-laced good boy.
Permission received, there was a flash of heat, and the shackles were broken. He sat up, stretched and sat back on his heels, eerily still. Slow breaths, steady calm heartbeat. It was freaky. And boring.
“What are you doing?”
“Meditating. We soak up the sun’s energy to strengthen our chi. Early morning is the best time for firebending practice,” he explained in a leave-me-alone kind of voice. It was pretty much the only voice he had.
Toph cracked her knuckles.
“Well, as luck would have it, anytime is the best time for earthbending. And since I’m already up, how about we work up an appetite before breakfast?”
“The thing is...there is no breakfast, Toph. We are out of food,” he sighed mournfully.
That was definitely a set-back.
“Then let's head to the closest place for supplies.”
“We also have no money,” Zuko added with a sigh.
Yes, because you gave it all away, in a bout of generosity , Toph thought. His constant negativity was starting to get on her nerves.
“Won’t be a problem,” she smirked confidently. She had plans for these kind of things. After all, she had to use her wits to put together the entry fee for the Earth Rumble championships too. There were lots of ways to make money if one knew how to grasp the opportunities. And the Beifongs have built a business empire on this knowledge for generations. “Let’s go.”
“Uhhm…” Zuko cleared his throat, like she was supposed to know what that sound was supposed to mean. Waving his arms around in her general direction in a frustrating blur did nothing to help clarify the situation either.
“I have no idea what you are pointing at,” Toph said with annoyance. Didn't he realize that she was blind?
“Your...erm...hair. Maybe you could… " he sputtered.
"What?" snapped Toph. Something was wrong with her hair?
"I don’t know… brush it? We don’t want to draw a lot of attention.”
He sounded almost like Mother. Toph raked her fingers through her hair twice. “Better?”
Silence . Maybe her hair was really that bad? On most days Toph didn't care. It's not like she ever had to look in a mirror. And in the fighting arena rough looks were a bonus. Or so she was told by the thickskulls. But since she was out in the world, the question started to nag her just a tiny bit. What if she was ugly? Not that she knew what that meant, but she imagined it was like how a ragged boulder felt compared to a smooth marble.
“Actually, let me...?” he offered hesitantly.
“Fine. Since you are my valet anyways, you might as well make yourself useful.” Toph leaned back. Ordering someone was not the same as asking for help, was it?
His fingers felt rough against her scalp. He pulled on her locks clumsily as he tried to untangle them. There was a pang of something deep inside Toph’s belly as she remembered her mother’s soft touch. Poppy personally helped her get ready every morning; brushing her hair, tying the sash around her waist, washing her skin with rice water. Whether the pang was called regret or longing, it sucked, so Toph refused to examine it more closely. Emotions could make you soft and malleable, but she preferred to be a rock. Hard and unmovable, just like a rugged boulder. Those packed a good punch. She focused her attention back to Zuko’s very-unlike-mother’s fingers twisting her hair.
“Where did you learn about girls’ hair?” she asked. This was a new dimension of her companion, no, her valet.
“I was forced to play with my sister and her friends," he admitted grumpily. So Blue had a sister. That was also new information. So far, he only ever talked about his uncle.
"Well, you do have stone hands," Toph complained.
"Funny, coming from an earthbender," he noted drily, but made an effort to be more gentle.
“Where is your sister now?” she asked curiously.
His heartbeat quickened with - what was it? Fear, apprehension, worry?
“I’m not sure.” The reply came after a long beat. It was true. Or at least rue enough.
He put the last pins in place and announced, "We are done."
They rode the short distance to the village in silence. Toph was wrapped in a gloomy cloud of homesickness and Zuko was his usual grim self. The pangs of hunger was an extra irritation that dampened their mood.
They were in luck. It was market day; the hustle and bustle offered a welcome distraction from unpleasant thoughts. Toph soaked in the sounds and sensations. Markets also attracted exactly the type of people Toph was looking for: the hustlers, the cheaters, the scammers. She wandered around the stalls until the unmistakable noises of excitement and disappointment told her she found what she was looking for.
She whispered instructions into Zuko's ear and cut off his protests reminding him that valets did not argue with their employers. He hissed back that employers usually paid their staff, but lacking a better plan, he acquiesced.
Toph stepped forward towards the card stall, putting on a show of stumbling and bumping into people. It was the poor-little-blind-girl-act and people bought it without fail.
"Can I try my luck?" she asked innocently.
"Do you have money?"
"No, but I have this," she held out a jade bracelet. It was an expensive piece with excellent craftsmanship, or so her mother had informed her.
There was unmasked greediness in the man's voice as he extended his invitation. "Take a seat, little bird."
-0-
Zuko leaned against the wall behind the card stall, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes, hiding his face as much as he could. The crowd made him uncomfortable. Azula peppered ( flooded? ) the Earth Kingdom with wanted posters of Zuko and Uncle Iroh ( come on, Zuzu - isn’t it good to feel wanted finally?) and even though his hair changed, his scar remained very recognizable.
Toph was drawing too much unwelcome attention by her miraculous winning streak, which she accompanied by exaggerated displays of joyful surprise. It was like watching the Ember Island Players butcher a scene from Love Among Dragons all over, dying of second-hand embarrassment.
"You care to guess again?" The card guy tapped his fingers impatiently. His lack of enthusiasm was understandable; there was an ever growing pile of coins in front of the blind girl he had thought was going to be an easy prey.
"Sure. It's my lucky day after all," she intoned with the fakest sweet smile.
Zuko glanced at the cards from his vantage position. He tapped his foot lightly eight times.
Toph’s scratched her head. "I'm thinking of saying twelve, because I'm twelve, but then seven is my lucky number. You know what? I think it's an eight."
"Are you sure you don't want to go for your lucky number instead?" the card guy asked.
"I'm sure. There is this little voice inside me that just keeps whispering eight," Toph grinned cheekily.
"She won again. She must be a truth-seer..." The amazed murmur went through the crowd.
“I rubbed a badger-mole’s balls for good luck,” Toph announced loudly. “Maybe you should try it.”
A giggle rippled through the crowd. Card-man’s eyes flashed with hatred.
Zuko was on edge. This was not going to end well. They needed to get out of here - right now. He cleared his throat, and when that failed to draw Toph’s attention, he walked towards an abandoned alley, making sure to stomp his feet deliberately so she could not miss it.
She appeared soon enough, hands in pockets, a furious expression on her face.
“What’s wrong with you? I was not finished, Zu-” she hissed.
"Don’t call me that here,” he interrupted. “Yes you were. We have enough money now. We should go,” Zuko grabbed her arm and pulled her towards a fruit stand.
Only when the merchant asked him what he wanted did he realize that it was full of stuff he did not recognize. The Earth Kingdom had very different produce from the Fire Nation. Also, it’s not like he had much idea how to cook anyways. Finally, he spotted something familiar.
“We’ll take four mangoes,” Zuko told the seller, absent-mindedly paying the two silver pieces for the fruits.
“I hate mangoes…” Toph said loudly.
“You are drawing attention,” Zuko whispered and pulled her along. She must have done some earthbending trick, because she felt heavy like a bag of lead or a particularly stubborn ostrich horse.
“You are drawing more attention by overpaying like a dumbstick instead of driving a bargain,” Toph retorted. Zuko glanced back at the mango merchant’s slick smirk and realized that she probably did have a point. Even if he was in a hurry, he had to blend in and bargain like the rest of the customers. Like Uncle always did, which used to drive Zuko crazy. He wished he paid more attention to the old man, instead of complaining about wasting precious time.
“Let’s get some rice,” he headed down the street hoping that for once Toph would follow his lead.
Of course, she didn’t. She stopped and sniffed, turning her nose in the direction of a stand where a woman was steaming dough.
“Let’s stop for dumplings instead,” she suggested.
“We should be careful not to spend too much,” Zuko objected. Her winnings would tide them over for two weeks even if they stretched the money.
“Don’t worry. There is plenty of more where that came from. And your rice sucks. I want dumplings,” she insisted.
The smell was enticing. Zuko’s stomach growled in agreement, so he agreed.
They munched on the steaming noodles happily, as they continued walking through the market, looking for a rice stand and maybe some salted meat. It was the easiest thing to carry long distances.
Toph insisted on buying a lychee lemonade, picking a lucky fish ( which was unsurprisingly unlucky ) and stopping to listen to a group of vagabonds dancing and singing an annoying tune about some secret tunnel. It was worse than music night on the ship, and that was saying something. Toph clapped loudly when the song was over and threw a copper piece at the performers.
She walked away whistling the stupid tune. She was worse to shop with than Uncle. Zuko felt like screaming even though it was a bad idea, because sometimes screaming meant smoking nostrils and spitting sparks and well, that would surely get him caught. Instead, he took a deep breath and started reciting the names of the 3073 islands of the Fire Nation. He got to Dovetail Bay before he felt safe to open his mouth again.
They barely took three steps when she got distracted again - this time by another scammer playing a shell game.
“Ooh, that’s my favourite…” she exclaimed.
“I’m not helping. We got lucky the previous time,” Zuko whispered angrily. Dragon Cove. Eclipse Beach. Ember Island. Emerald Cape.
“Well, I don’t need your help on this one,” she shrugged. “If you are such a wimp, why don’t you go and do the rest of the shopping and come back when you are done.”
That sounded like a terrible idea.
“Toph…”
“I didn’t ask your opinion. Go, do the shopping, Valet,” she ordered loudly.
Zuko noticed that some of the people started to stare at them. Maybe letting her play was a terrible idea, but arguing publicly was even worse.
“As you wish, my Lady,” he replied through gritted teeth, accompanying his cold words with a quick, but impeccably executed bow. Not that she saw it, but it was a good way to keep his face hidden from view until he disappeared in the crowd.
Zuko wandered around in search of the rice stand, fuming internally. Toph was reckless and insolent. It was madness to stay with her, no matter what “terms” they agreed to. After all, wasn’t she the one cheating people and encouraging him to break rules? Maybe he was meant to run away.
“Would you like Jasmine, purple, black, wild or Wuchang?” a merchant asked.
“What?” Zuko realized that he was indeed in front of a rice stand staring at the grains. “Just rice.”
“There is no “just rice” here - we only have the finest selection of Earth Kingdom. The purple variety goes best with poached platypus-bear egg, wild rice can do wonders for virility, though I’m sure that a fine young man like yourself has…”
Whaaaaat? Firefly Island, Firestone Bay, Flaming Rock…
“I’ll take the Jasmine.” It sounded like something Uncle would choose.
“Excellent choice,” smiled the merchant starting to fill a bag with a tiny scoop.
Zuko waited impatiently, tuning out the merchant’s chatter about the different (rather dodgy) uses of rice. Instead, he listened to the hurly-burly of people bargaining and exchanging, until his ears picked up a conversation far more interesting than rice-ology.
“...by the Avatar.” It was the woman from the Secret-Tunnel-troupe.
Her companion interrupted, “The Avatar is probably inside the walls of Ba Sing Se by now, if he has any sense.
“Nonsense, I heard he was…” she replied. The end of her sentence was drowned in the sound of screams, pottery crashing, fruit carts turning over. The ground was shaking which could only mean one thing.
Zuko ran towards the shell-game stall where he left the 12-year-old epicenter. The shaking subsided, and he spotted Toph trapped inside a wooden cage, surrounded by a crowd.
“This girl is a rascal. She’s cheating, you all saw it,” the card-man yelled pointing at her.
“You just suck at playing cards,” Toph growled back, shaking the bars of her cage.
“I agree. She manipulated my game too,” the shell-game guy agreed.
“The girl is a street urchin,” added someone from the crowd.
“I think she works with an accomplice. A shady guy too,” a woman’s agitated voice joined in.
“There he is,” yelled one of the men who had witnessed Zuko’s argument with Toph earlier.
That was his cue. He dashed down among the stalls, knocking over a cabbage cart to slow down his pursuers.
“MY CABBAGES,” the merchant’s pained howl echoed among the houses.
Zuko jumped in an alleyway, climbed the walls and disappeared among the rooftops. He ducked behind a clothes-line covered with large sheets and waited motionless for the footsteps of his pursuers to die down. An owl-cat appeared from inside the house. It inspected Zuko with a hiss and a loud meow.
“Sshhhhh,” Zuko shushed the animal. “I’ve had a rough day.”
The owl-cat blinked its green eyes. It walked closer, rubbed itself against Zuko’s leg and curled up in his lap.
Zuko sank his palm into the animal’s soft fur. “Tell me, kitty, what is the right thing to do?”
The owl-cat purred in response.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Zuko sighed heavily. Animals never sugar-coated these things.
|
At first, there was only white.
And then a piercing, deafening, wrenching ringing in his ears, and the screech of metal on metal.
Then the burning sting of heat that started somewhere inside of him and spread quickly; creeping fingers of fire ripping through his veins and culminating at his fingertips. His hands were on fire, his back was on fire, he was burning godhewasburningmerlinsomeonehelphimhecouldn’tseeithurt-
Harry took a deep breath, and his eyes shot open.
“Oh thank Merlin,” Sirius said with heavy relief, dropping his wand to his side. “I thought you were-“
Ignoring the fiery pain pulsing through his body, Harry threw himself at his godfather. He sobbed hard, scrunching his face as he breathed deeply, and pressed himself closer to Sirius’s robes. Harry couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was so overcome with emotion.
It had worked, goddammit. It had worked.
He was home.
And he would look around to see his friends. Ron would look worried, Hermione would fuss- Ginny would give him that vicious grin that made her whole face light up. And Luna would say something vague, but Neville would have a new kind of plant-
Sirius squawked and scrambled away, pushing Harry off of him. “What are you doing?” And his voice was higher than Harry remembered, but maybe it was the shock-
Harry drank in his godfather’s face hungrily. The sharp incisors, the scars, and crowfeet around his eyes…
Huh.
They weren’t there.
Harry grabbed Sirius’ cheeks with his hands, his pain-hazed vision fading. He took in everything; the thinner lips, the wide and panicked eyes, the longer hair, the rounder nose, the youth- the Slytherin robes.
“Orion,” Harry whispered, and it was like the word was torn from his very soul; tugged from his lips and smashed on the ground. “Oh.”
This wasn’t his godfather, returned from the dead; youthful and glowing. This was Sirius’ father, looking like Harry might attack him at any moment.
Harry glanced around, finally seeing the chaos he was in the midst of. But it wasn’t the chaos of the Ministry under Death Eater attack; this was the Slytherin boys’ dormitory; torn to pieces. Curtains sagging on railings, duvets and pillows burst and spilling feathers onto the carpet. Glass shattered, wood splintered.
Riddle’s well-pressed tie hanging at the bottom of a bed.
He was still trapped in the past.
“W-what happened?” Harry whispered, flinching. Every movement hurt. “I-I-“
“You were taking ages in the dorm,” Orion said, moving closer cautiously. “I came up to check on you, but you were unconscious. The room was a mess. And this-” Orion held up his hand, and for the first time, Harry noticed the time pendant clutched tight to his palm, “was around your neck, glowing. It was burning you- seared to your skin.”
Harry’s hand flew up to his neck, and he felt the raised, burned ridge encircling it for the first time. Harry bet that, should he put the pendant on again, his scar would match the chain perfectly. “I didn’t think-“
“Exactly what were you thinking?” Orion snarled, and he looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. In fact, Harry didn’t think he had ever seen Orion angry. This was the key, Harry realised. To endanger those he cared about.
It was just bad for Harry that he was the one doing the endangering.
“I- I don’t know,” Harry admitted guiltily, throat hoarse.
“You told me you hadn’t bought anything from that whore,” Orion spat. “You lied to me.”
Harry rushed to defend himself, but realised that he didn’t actually have an excuse.
“Did you know what the necklace would do?” Orion demanded. “Was this some sort of contrived suicide attempt?”
“…No.” Even to Harry, his voice sounded insignificant and small.
He’d been desperate, reckless, and blinded by anger at everything. He wanted to get away from these people, who talked like muggles were so insignificant- like they weren’t even human. And he was willing to do anything to save his friends. But now, after the adrenaline had faded and he saw his actions in a more rational light… he just felt ashamed and appalled. What had he been thinking? This was the kind of Gryffindor recklessness he swore he’d stamp out of himself.
Orion obviously felt the same.
“So you recklessly put on a necklace that you had no idea about, didn’t tell anyone what you were doing, and then almost died? What could be worth all that?”
“I wanted to travel in time,” Harry burst out desperately, wanting someone to know. “I wanted to save my friends. They’ll die because of me, I wasn’t strong enough, I’m so sorry-“ Harry’s voice broke and he couldn’t speak anymore. He just cradled his face in his hands, and sobbed.
Suddenly, he was encased in a strong, warm hug. Harry leant into it, breathing shakily.
“You can’t change the past,” Orion said softly. Harry didn’t correct him- it was probably best that Orion misinterpreted what he meant. “Every day, I want to go back. I keep thinking that, maybe if I was earlier, I could do something to help Rigel, to stop the illness before it got this far. You mustn’t tear yourself apart over something you can’t change.”
“I can’t give up,” Harry said stubbornly, and already the tears were drying on his cheeks.
“The magic isn’t possible- it’s not been invented yet.”
“I have to try,” Harry muttered. “I have to find a way.”
Orion hesitated, and Harry withdrew from his arms.
“If you properly wanted to find out more about it,” Orion offered thoughtfully. “The Department of Mysteries is the only place really looking into time magic. I think Father was talking about a project…”
Orion’s anger seemed to have faded, now that he saw Harry wasn’t harbouring any sort of suicidal urges, and was no longer in immediate danger.
“The Department of Mysteries?” Harry asked eagerly. Could it be possible that the place that had caused all of this mess could fix it? Of course it was- how had he been so stupid? “If I were an Unspeakable…”
“I could probably put in a good word with Father,” Orion suggested brightly, caught up in the enthusiasm. “It’s not easy- you need TOADS in Magical Theory and something else, but I’m sure you could do it.”
“I could do it,” Harry confirmed, grinning. He had a destination. He had a goal; something reachable, something tangible. He felt lighter and airier immediately. It would take a few years, but what were years when he could get back home at the end of them?
There was a moment of calm between the two of them, like the eye of a storm. Harry felt happier than he had… well, ever since he got here. He had a goal: he was no longer stumbling through the dark in search of something. He knew where he had to get, and he knew how. He could bloody well dance for joy.
(Harry couldn’t ignore the sour taste of disappointment in the back of his throat from the failed pendant… but it was sweetened by purpose.)
“Oh!” Orion said in surprise, examining the jewellery in his hand. “Well, I don’t know why all this happened,” Orion remarked, frowning at the wrecked dormitory. “It was only a song pendant…”
“What?” Harry squawked. “But… it was like I was on fire.”
“It shouldn’t have done that. I know these pendants. Pedlars sell them to muggles and muggleborns because of their colouring, and pretend it’s something rarer. But they’re really quite common, and not at all dangerous.”
Why did these things always happen to Harry? “What kind of ‘song pendant’ is it?”
“I suppose that was a bit of an oversimplification,” Orion shrugged. “The necklace lets you listen to the sound of your magic. It turns it into music.”
“That’s… amazing,” Harry gaped. Even after 5 years, the Wizarding World could still shock him.
“Not really. There’s a spell that can do it more easily, so it’s how most pureblood children are sent to sleep. I remember when I was little…” Orion sighed in remembrance, a small smile on his lips. “But it’s done so often that most purebloods are bored sick of it by the time they’re grown.”
“Why didn’t I hear that?” Harry wondered. The ripping feeling inside of him definitely hadn’t been any kind of song.
“It must be a faulty one,” Orion decided upon.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “That’s it.”
They both looked at each other, and could tell the other one didn’t entirely believe it.
Orion settled for a bright sigh. “Well. We’d better clean this up, otherwise the others are going to think Grindelwald attacked!”
Harry reflected on one aspect of the future he wouldn’t miss.
Yeah, he thought drily. I’ve got a lot of experience with cleaning.
It didn’t take long for the two of them to sort out the dorm. Magic made everything ten times quicker. It was only some of the organisation that they decided to do by hand, for fear of making more of a mess. A powerful reparo and scourgify solved most issues; the curtains knitted back together, the duvets sealed back up and the spilled feathers were vanished. The bed frames were as good as new, and Harry mended the crack on a picture of Orion’s family without the other boy noticing.
Harry was quite cheerful throughout all of this. Orion still looked a little on edge, but seemed to mostly have forgotten the whole thing. Orion was changeable, and didn’t linger on the bad stuff. Harry thought it was an admirable trait to have- he wished he were more like that. There was no way Harry would be so cheerful if he’d entered a room to see Ron, twitching and screaming as he burned…
Yeah, Harry winced, and felt a wave of guilt. Poor Orion.
Harry should make it up to him somehow. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would. He remembered dragging Ron and Hermione around the past year, snapping at them when he got in moods, and rolling his eyes at their arguments. But had he ever thanked them, or done something thoughtful? Not that he could remember. Granted, Harry had always been pretty distracted by toads and dark lords…
And it wasn’t like Ron and Hermione were saints- but still.
Never mind. He’d make it up to Orion here, and then he’d apologise to his best friends when he got home. Maybe he and Hermione could show Ron a muggle film and watch his eyes bulge.
It would all be good.
“Are you really okay now?” Orion asked softly, plumping a cushion. Harry was surprised that he wasn’t leaving it all for Harry to do, but then that wasn’t the sort of person Orion was.
“Yeah, ‘course.”
“It’s just…” Orion said delicately, resolutely not looking at Harry. He was being very thorough with the cushion. “You’ve been spiralling out of control over the past few weeks. Your moods- and your grades- have been everywhere. One minute you’re happy and determined, and the next you’re having a shouting match with Atticus. I thought what happened… earlier could have been the end result of all of it. Whilst I’m glad it wasn’t- is this just one of the high moments?”
Harry laughed slightly, patting Orion on the back. “I think I’m good, yeah? I haven’t been good in a long time but this, er, this feels like good.”
And it did. Everything was good.
Harry didn’t tell Orion that the golden scars tracing the lines of his chest glowed brighter and deeper for hours that day, aching uncomfortably, until the sun set.
He hoped it didn’t mean anything.
Tom went to bed late and woke up late. At least it was a weekend.
He took the opportunity that being behind curtains granted to fix his hair, and to rub away the grain collected in the corner of his eyes. He had to retain some dignity, after all. When he finally emerged from his bed, he was looking as flawless as usual, and he had the envious look from Grahams and Atticus to prove it.
Tom received an unusually bright grin from Harrison, and smirked to himself. Ah, friendships: so beautiful in bloom. Tom always succeeded in his schemes.
Admittedly, Tom had been worried that yesterday might have changed Harrison’s mind on their reconciliation, despite the fact that Tom refused to take a side in the dispute. But apparently, Harrison was satisfied with Tom’s neutrality.
It was very clear that yesterday’s argument was neither forgiven nor forgotten. The tension in the dorm was palpable. Atticus pointedly avoided looking at Harrison, but tittered when he tripped over a discarded pair of socks and dropped his glasses. Harrison barely even scowled at Avery, picking up his glasses and sliding them back onto his nose.
Orion fussed over his friend more than usual, checking that Harrison was okay and scanning him for injury. Tom frowned at the display. What could have prompted the protectiveness?
“Are you alright?” Tom asked lowly, as Harrison pulled on a jumper and Orion retreated to brush his teeth.
“Huh?” Harrison mumbled, tugging the disgustingly fluffy thing (homemade, and sporting a large, wobbly ‘H’) over his head. It made his hair look amusingly haphazard, and Tom resisted the urge to fix it. (He didn’t do body contact.)
“I couldn’t help but notice that Orion is being rather… watchful. Did something occur last night after you left the pub?”
Something flickered over Harrison’s features, but he wrinkled his nose dismissively. “Nah. That’s just Orion, isn’t it? Acts like a child, but he’s really a grandmother under it all.”
Tom concealed a smile at the surprisingly accurate observation. “True,” he agreed. Harrison had lied, though. Something did happen. However, Harrison didn’t seem injured and he was more even-tempered, so it probably wasn’t anything grave.
“We just came back to the castle, after Orion calmed me down. I may have overreacted a bit,” the other boy admitted sheepishly. “Avery was still being an idiot, though.”
Tom found his direct honesty refreshing. It was rare to find someone who didn’t skate around topics and motives in Slytherin house.
“I, ah, hope you weren’t offended by my… non-involvement with the discussion last night,” Tom said delicately. He didn’t think Harrison was, but it was probably best to make sure. “You understand how difficult it is in these political climates-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Harrison shook his head. “I didn’t expect you to defend muggles.”
For some reason, Harrison’s disregard angered Tom. It was true he held no fondness for those without magic, but still. “I don’t prescribe to Grindelwald’s philosophy,” he snapped, in an uncharacteristic loss of control. Tom wasn’t sure why he wanted Harrison’s good opinion, but perhaps he was just ruffled over the unprovoked hatred he’d received since they met.
Perhaps.
“I-“ Harrison seemed genuinely flabbergasted, his green eyes blinked behind his frames. “I- you don’t?”
“I may not believe muggles are entirely equal to wizards,” Tom allowed, because wizards had magic for goodness sake, “But I certainly don’t believe in the subjugation of their entire race. I also don’t approve of his mindless violence- it only encourages opposition. It’s foolish.”
Tom very rarely shared his truthful opinion with anyone, and didn’t know why he’d chosen to do it now.
Harrison looked like his entire world had been ripped away. “You, uh, don’t approve of the violence?” he stammered.
“Of course not. I’m not sure what gave you the idea that I did.”
“Wow. That’s- that’s- good for you, Riddle.” Harrison patted Tom’s arm dazedly.
Tom stared at the hand on his limb, but allowed it. It was only there for a minute, before Harrison removed it and wandered away towards the bathroom, looking shell-shocked. Rupert sent a pillow flying towards his back as he did, and Harrison was knocked, stumbling, onto the marble floor with an ‘oof!’
The tension in the dormitory only worsened at breakfast, where they were able to divide themselves through seating. Atticus, Rupert and Lestrange sat at one end, and Harrison, Orion and Tom (to even the numbers- he appreciated symmetry) sat at the other. Cassius wandered off and perched by his sister, who was engaged in a passionate argument about Quidditch with Christina Day.
Harrison didn’t talk much, but Orion more than made up for it. He seemed especially eager to fill the silence today, nudging Harrison whenever his eyes glazed over, and babbling on about the effect of runes on some kind of scent ward. Harrison was still regarding Tom with a strange look, like he was trying to fit a puzzle together. It looked painful.
Tom began to dice his fruit salad, and took great pleasure in sending Harrison a serene smile whenever he looked too conflicted. The answering confusion was exceedingly satisfying, and Tom almost vowed to reveal more of his hidden motives in the future, should the results prove as entertaining.
“Banana?” Tom offered the side of his knife, upon which a perfectly-cut banana slice rested.
“I, er…” Harrison regarded the fruit with suspicion. “Don’t really like banana, thanks.”
“You don’t!?” Orion demanded quickly, swivelling on the bench. “But you said it was your favourite!”
“I may have… exaggerated?”
“You mean you lied.” Orion pouted.
Tom popped a cube of melon into his mouth, and chewed.
“The banana chew thing was the cheapest in the shop! You looked like you were going to cry if I didn’t let you buy something,” Harrison said defensively.
“You lied about the pendant, you lied about sweets!” Orion complained. “Is nothing sacred? What else have you lied about?”
“Nothing else, I swear!” Harrison yelped, raising his hands. Tom wondered if he was asking for another ‘high five’. It seemed rather inappropriate, considering the conversation. “I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings, honest.”
Orion scowled, but accepted it.
“What?” Harrison teased. “No vows to never lie to each other, ever again?”
“Now that’s just unrealistic,” Orion said seriously.
And it was. Everyone in Slytherin had secrets, even ‘innocent’ Orion. Tom wondered if he’d told Harrison of how Arcturus Black snagged the beautiful young Melania Macmillan, despite their vast age difference.
Dumbledore swept into the hall, and Harrison perked up. “Professor!” he called, waving an arm to attract the teacher’s attention.
“Wonderful,” Tom muttered, and glanced around for a newspaper to hide behind.
The Deputy Headmaster acknowledged Harrison, striding over to the Slytherin table and giving them all a false smile. Tom felt the majority of the suspicion and hostility directed towards him, and was thoroughly unsurprised.
“Yes, Mr Peters?” Dumbledore asked sweetly, his beard twitching. Tom wondered what it would look like set on fire.
“Can I speak with you?”
Tom’s eyes narrowed in interest. Now what did Harrison want with Dumbledore? From what Harrison told him, they weren’t exceedingly close… perhaps Dumbledore knew of Peters’ Seer abilities? Perhaps Harrison had a vision?-
“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled, like Peters was bestowed him with untold honour.
Harrison rose. Ah, so this would be a conversation conducted away from the Slytherin table. Never mind- Tom knew how to cast an eavesdropping charm, which he promptly did when they were a few metres away. It was a little bit patchy, but he usually managed to catch the gist of it all. Tom listened intently.
“Orion… family.”
“Not sure… should really-”
“Needs… flew to…”
“Rigel… not here-“
Tom cancelled the charm. It was evident that it didn’t apply to him. Either it was completely unrelated to Harrison’s unique skill set, or Harrison had a vision to do with Orion, of all people. Either way; not worth further investigation.
Tom speared a chunk of apple, and wondered what to do with his day. He did have some homework that needed to be done- perhaps Harrison would like to join him. But alas, Dumbledore and Peters were already leaving the hall, still conversing quietly. Tom would ask later.
“What was that all about?” Orion wondered.
“Nothing to do with you,” Tom lied blandly. “So what has Harrison so happy this morning?”
“He’s found a new goal,” Orion shared eagerly. “He wants to be an Unspeakable.”
“Does he?” Ah, so Harrison wanted to explore his gift? “And why is that?”
“He’s interested in the future,” was all Orion would say on the subject, but Tom didn’t need any more. Harrison needed help if he wanted to become an Unspeakable, as he would need to improve academically.
Tom could help with that.
“Harry, what’s all this about?” Orion asked curiously, attempting to peer over Harry’s shoulder. “Why did Dumbledore want me to come to his office?”
“Because I asked him to,” Harry said, containing his excitement. Orion was going to be delighted with this.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“No, no!” Harry rushed to reassure his friend. “Nothing like that.”
“Because Dumbledore isn’t exactly fond of Slytherins…”
“This is a nice surprise. I promise.”
Not seeing any reason to draw out the moment, Harry let the door swing open, revealing an open fireplace full of twisting, sizzling emerald flames. Dumbledore’s fireplace was a dramatic thing; covered with images of majestic, soaring phoenixes and nymphs dancing in forest glades. Harry liked to imagine that Dumbledore had done the sketches himself.
Orion took a step forward, frowning, before his features lightened with comprehension.
“You didn’t.”
“I did!” Harry sang, gesturing dramatically. “An open floo fireplace.”
“But why?” Orion knitted his brows together.
“I know how much you wanted to see your family-“
“I can visit home?!” Orion interrupted, his voice squeaky with exhilaration.
“Yep,” Harry replied with relish.
“But- but-“ Orion scaled back his excitement and ran a hand through his long, dark hair, shaking his head. “They don’t let you use floos in school. It’s not allowed.”
“Sometimes you have to break a few rules,” Harry shrugged- before adding sheepishly, “With permission from the Deputy Headmaster, of course. Apparently the floo powder’s complimentary.”
“How did you get him to agree to this? For a Slytherin, no less.”
“Mostly guilt,” Harry shrugged casually. “And you know, what with Rigel… I figured it’d be nice if you could see him, instead of sending all your carefully worded letters.”
Orion threw his arms around Harry for the second time that weekend, muttering a fierce, “Thank you.”
So they were doing hugs now. Harry was reminded strongly of Hermione.
“Thanks for last night.” Harry muttered into Orion’s shoulder. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. You’re a good mate.”
“I am?” Orion asked brightly. “I always wanted to be one of those.”
Harry snorted. “And a Wardmaster.”
“And a Wardmaster.” Orion considered. “Well, now that you’re going to be an Unspeakable, maybe we can take our TOADS together!”
“I highly doubt I’m going to do an Ancient Runes TOADS,” Harry pointed out drily.
“You never know!”
“You should probably go now.” Harry nodded at the flames, which were even then dimming slightly. He wasn’t sure how long floo powder lasted, but it would be a shame to find out.
“I haven’t told Mother that I’m coming,” Orion fretted.
“Screw the hag,” Harry huffed. “You get to see your family.” An intense pang of longing so strong that it could be jealousy hit him, and his smile froze.
“I do, don’t I?” Orion was beaming, and Harry knew that he’d redeemed himself from last night. Orion was so ridiculously easy to please; if this were Ron or Hermione, Harry would still be dealing with sulking or mothering.
Orion stepped backwards, the smoke from the fire surging around him on a kind of mock-aura. He was illuminated by a green glow that made everything sharper; older. Harry was reminded of yesterday, of seeing Orion and seeing Sirius.
The pain in his chest was duller than it had been.
Orion gave him a small wave, one which Harry reciprocated. And then Orion’s lips moved, he turned on his heel, and he disappeared. The flames surged and roared for a short moment, blasting Harry’s face with heat. Then they simmered down, returning to warm, crackling sparks cradled in the fireplace.
Harry inspected the embers, feeling unusually poetic.
He peered around Dumbledore’s office, unable to resist the urge to poke around now that he was alone. Harry had always been curious about Albus Dumbledore, but he had always seemed such a distant, removed character. Did he even have a childhood? It seemed funny to imagine a mini Dumbledore, moon-glasses and all, running around someone’s garden and giggling.
Harry wandered over to the desk, sliding open one of the drawers subtly. It couldn’t hurt to satiate his curiosity, could it?
The first thing he found was a picture. It featured a boy whom Harry assumed was a teenage Dumbledore. He had his arm wrapped tightly around a blonde girl too young to be his girlfriend. Stood just behind the two of them was another boy; older than the girl but younger than Dumbledore. He looked angry, and glared at the camera like it had personally insulted him.
Harry turned the photo over. Scribbled on the back was Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana Dumbledore. 1899.
They were siblings, Harry realised. Professor Dumbledore had relatives. What were the dinners like? Did this strange-seeming family; delicate and wan sister, wise and twinkling brother, and this angry, surly-looking bloke gather around a table each Christmas? It was odd to speculate on something so mundane about Professor Dumbledore; that he might not spend his entire time thinking up how to sound increasingly vague, but might instead wonder about what brand of perfume his sister would prefer.
Ariana, Harry reminded himself, looking closely at the picture. She looked thin and sickly, but she still bore a sweet smile. She couldn’t have been older than thirteen, but she was so small! Harry wondered if she might have something wrong with her.
Perhaps the family dinners only featured two Dumbledore siblings, each steadfastly ignoring the empty seat between them.
Harry shook off his morbid thoughts, and put the picture back, picking up another. This one was markedly happier; and featured a young Dumbledore with a different boy. This boy was blonde and beautiful, with a wild sort of mischief about him. Dumbledore seemed brighter and more hopeful in this photo, and the look he threw at the boy next to him was filled with a warm affection. Harry suspected that they may have been involved, despite the weirdness of Dumbledore ever being in a relationship.
Harry turned it over, but the back was blank; save for the date November 1898.
Harry searched through the rest of the drawers, but he found nothing of interest. Only exams and wine gums. The amount of essays waiting to be marked was astounding, and Harry made the firm decision never to become a teacher. No amount of ‘passing on knowledge’ was worth that much paperwork.
He slowly moved over to the book shelves, browsing the titles. He found gems like ‘Muggles and Magic: The Parallels’, and ‘Transphys: How Science and Transfigurations Link’. Dumbledore owned a surprising amount of fairy tales like ‘Snow White’, and more exotic titles including ‘The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage’. Harry also discovered darker tomes like ‘Magical Might’ and ‘The Evolution of the Wizard’- books that’d be more at home in the Malfoy library.
Harry’s eyebrows raised. They were controversial books to have, especially considering the war.
“What are you doing in here, boy?”
Harry jumped at the sudden noise, eyes darting around. They focused on a previously empty painting of a woman with jet black hair, a high forehead and sharp eyes. Her skin was a cool brown, and she frowned down at him with domineering eyebrows. Harry hadn’t even known eyebrows could be domineering, but these ones managed it effortlessly.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Never mind,” the woman snapped. “You may call me ma’am. It appears I have to repeat myself: what are you doing in here? I am quite certain I haven’t stumbled into the Slytherin Common room by accident.”
She was very intimidating; and this was coming from the boy who’d duelled Voldemort. Harry suspected she was one of the previous Professors, or perhaps even a Headmistress.
“I-I was using the floo-“ Harry stumbled.
“Can’t you speak without stuttering?”
Harry was mortified to discover an embarrassed flush spreading over his cheeks, as he was sorely reminded of Aunt Petunia.
The woman softened a little. “Why were you using the floo?”
“For a friend,” Harry said, more strongly this time. “I asked Professor Dumbledore and he agreed.”
“Well, at least you got permission. Where is Albus anyway?”
“At a staff meeting,” Harry replied, and the woman looked disgruntled.
“He’s always late.”
“He probably got distracted by the beauty of friendship,” Harry remarked coolly, gaining confidence.
The painting smirked. “So the boy has a backbone,” she drawled, astonishingly similar to Snape. “Well now that you’ve used the floo to send your friend off to goodness knows where; why are you still hanging around?”
“I was just wondering why Professor Dumbledore had all these books,” Harry explained, gesturing to ‘Muggles Under The Boot; A Series’. “They’re a bit…”
“Disgusting, yes I’m aware.”
Harry looked uncomfortable.
“Oh, don’t pull that look on me, boy!” she said, eyebrows growing even more intimidating. “I’m a muggleborn myself, and I don’t hold with all that extremist nonsense. I always told the children that, but your Professor Dumbledore’s ideas were always more fanciful.”
“Fanciful?”
“Is there an echo in here?” the painting snapped. “I said fanciful, and I meant fanciful. He was full of ridiculous dreams about ruling the muggles, until the incident of course.”
“Incident?” Harry murmured, reeling over the fact that Albus Dumbledore had been a magical supremacist.
“The echo continues. Yes; ‘incident’, and that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”
“But I-“
“You’d better leave. Albus is due back any minute, and I doubt he’ll appreciate you perusing his reading materials.”
“You won’t tell him, will you?” Harry asked anxiously.
“Now why on earth would I do that?” the woman sniffed, and suddenly she was frozen. Harry shifted from side to side, watching to see if her eyes followed, but she was completely still. Harry scratched the back of his neck, but took her advice and turned to leave.
It was too late.
“Ah, Harry! My dear boy.”
Harry was halted by Dumbledore’s entrance, and his remarkably bright hat.
“I trust Mr Black made the journey safely?”
“I, er, think so. Yeah.”
“Family is a precious jewel,” Dumbledore sighed. “We’re very isolated here at Hogwarts.”
Isolated from the muggles? Is that what you want? Harry questioned, but no- he was being stupid. If Dumbledore ever housed those kind of views- and the portrait might have been lying- they were long gone. He was the conqueror of Grindelwald, for Merlin’s sake. The champion of muggles. Walking poster-wizard for muggle-lovers everywhere.
Harry’s day was turning out to be very strange. Tom Riddle didn’t mind muggles, and Dumbledore used to be a magical supremacist?
“Are you quite alright, my dear boy? You look rather distracted.”
“I’m fine!” Harry said quickly. “That’s just… a very bright hat.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Dumbledore smiled contently. “My tailor was a little nervous about the colour combination, but I’m over the moon about it. Even Madam Hallpepper remarked upon its effect: she said it could wake a coma patient!”
Harry hummed his agreement, searching for an exit.
“Imagine that!” Dumbledore continued, chuckling lightly. “If bold fashion choices could perform medical miracles. Why, I think the world would be a better place, don’t you?”
Harry readily agreed. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve got to, er, go to the library. Now. I said I’d meet someone. About something.”
Dumbledore seemed taken-aback, but stepped aside and easily allowed Harry to flee. As Harry walked quickly away, he heard the dry tone of the woman in the portrait remark:
“What a strange child.”
Alone and without Orion, Harry found himself drifting towards the library. Perhaps, Harry thought, he could look up the TOADS you’d need for a job in the Department of Mysteries.
(He should probably also look up why the fuck a ‘song pendant’ set his veins on fire, but honestly Harry would be happy to never think about or remember that sensation ever again.)
And so he floated towards the careers area of the shelves, and picked up ‘Further Education in the Ministry’. It looked like a thrilling read. Hermione would probably salivate. Harry was just flicking through the first chapter, past the subsection on public health, when he was interrupted by a cough behind him.
Harry turned warily, rather bored of being snuck up on.
“Oh,” he blinked, wiping the lenses of his glasses with the sleeve of his jumper. “Hullo Cassius.”
Cassius gave Harry a slight smile, hair tumbling around his ears. “So this is the path you choose.”
“Sorry, what?”
“I was curious, you know. After everything that you’ve been through, what would you do? But you just keep on going, don’t you? Despite all the evidence that you’ll fail, and - to be honest – your steadily declining mental health. I wonder how that’ll turn out.” Cassius strolled closer, book held loosely at his side. He had his head cocked to the side, and seemed to be genuinely considering Harry.
“I, er-“ Harry shook his head confusedly, gaping at Cassius. “How do you know what I’ve been through?”
“I’m a little bit psychic,” Cassius shrugged.
Well. Harry had been beginning to think that Cassius was very Luna-like, but Luna would never be this straight forward. Cassius was psychic? This was really becoming a day of astonishing character revelations.
“Psychic?”
“I just know things sometimes. The universe whispers to me, and it’s practically screaming about you.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I got bored. I know your secrets, now you know mine,” Cassius pouted carelessly. “I thought it would liven up the game. I like you better than I like Riddle, anyway. I wanted to give you an advantage.”
“What game? I’m not playing any kind of game.”
“You’re always playing a game. Everyone is. Life itself is a game- it’s a board controlled by the major pieces, who push and control the pawns. It’s all just strategy,” Cassius said quietly. The book in his hand, Harry noticed, was one on chess.
“And what am I?” Harry asked suspiciously. To be honest, this was all a bit much to take in. He just wanted to become an Unspeakable and go home.
“Neither,” Cassius revealed, with as much glee as his monotonous, quiet voice could muster. “You’re one of the chaotic pieces. I like the chaos- being a part of the shift. It’s why I associate myself with people like you and Riddle.”
“Riddle’s a chaotic piece?”
“He could be. It depends upon you.”
“Do you have any proof?” Harry said slowly. To be honest, after the day’s revelations (Riddle’s decency, for one), Harry would believe mostly anything. However, he’d also been taught by Trelawney for three years. He held a healthy dose of scepticism for ‘psychics’ or ‘seers’. Last night had also been a scorching reminder to not take people at face value, especially not creepy people who approached you in deserted areas.
“You’re a time traveller,” Cassius said bluntly. “You had friends- an otter and a terrier? They died.”
Harry’s heart leapt into his throat.
“Or perhaps they didn’t…” Cassius finished, giving Harry an odd sort of smirk. “I can’t see the future clearly like that. It’s more… ideas, or what they’ll become. I’m basing this all on your past. And it’s very dusty. Mostly I just feel things. It’s instinctive.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I already told you. I like the anarchy, it makes everything more interesting. But I can’t interfere too much, so don’t worry.”
Harry groaned. He didn’t want to deal with a psychic that got their highs from screwing with reality. “This is crazy.”
“And so am I,” Cassius agreed readily. “Clinically insane. It’s fun, isn’t it?”
Harry felt vaguely disgusted by it all. Somehow, he found the idea of Cassius; playing god and courting chaos, to be more disgusting than Riddle, who at least appeared to have some human decency.
“So what happens?” Harry asked reluctantly. “If I follow down this ‘path’? If I become an Unspeakable. Do I manage to get home? What then?”
“I’m not a seer,” Cassius tutted, and for some reason this seemed to amuse him. “I can’t tell you what happens in the future. You’re a wildcard: shift the world around you.”
“Shift the world around me…” Harry repeated. “If I can do that, I can get home, surely?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Cassius murmured, “I suppose you could.”
Harry couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his features. This was it: a psychic, confirming what he needed to hear. It was possible for him to get home.
“What are you reading?” Harry offered in a show of goodwill. “You’re into chess?”
Cassius open the book, and slipped a thin comic from where it had been hidden within the pages. “It’s called Batman. It came out a few years ago.”
“Of course you hid it in the book,” Harry sighed. “Of course.”
“For the dramatic reveal.” Cassius elaborated. “It’s a very good comic. I enjoy the Joker, myself.”
“That’s the one with the face thing, yeah?” Harry vaguely remembered the Joker appearing in a TV show that Dudley used to watch.
“He’s so much more,” Cassius mused. “Or at least he will be.”
Harry hummed in reply, his patience running out. “So I’m just going to take this book… and read it over there.” He said, raising the book on Ministry careers. Now that he knew it was possible, he was even more eager to become an Unspeakable. He also wanted to get away from Cassius.
The Rosier boy before had seemed like such a quiet, studious character; a more reserved Hermione. But Harry knew the truth now. Cassius was like a puppet master, in the detached, impersonal way that Voldemort had never managed. Cassius didn’t want to control the puppet, or lead it- he just wanted to watch it dance.
Harry began to walk away, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at the beautiful, terrible boy. Next to Cassius, Riddle seemed mundane.
“Not every madman in this castle is as benign as me, Harry!” Cassius called after him. “I’d watch out if I were you.”
Well, that wasn’t ominous at all.
Tom’s prefect rounds were turning out to be just as uneventful as usual. He’d patrolled the third floor, peeked inside the broom cupboards, and was now making his way towards the grounds. He needed to check the greenhouses (students did hide in the strangest of places), and the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Then he only had to do the fifth floor.
The night was crisp and sweet on the tongue, and the only thing to ruin it was the faint buzz of insects. Tom sent a bolt of electricity rippling through the air, and the bugs dropped dead to the ground. Tom drank in the silence and sighed. Perfect.
His shoes cracked the frosted grass, and each step caused a satisfying crunch. He pitied the poor third year who dared to disrupt his calm.
The figure on the edge of the forest, standing beside the groundkeeper’s hut, was shrouded in darkness.
Of course, there was always one.
“You should have been in bed an hour ago!” Tom called out, his voice slicing through the night like a well-executed cutting curse.
The groan he received in response was very familiar.
“Harrison?” Tom asked, and yes- now that he grew closer, the head of messy hair and large glasses focussed into the image of his classmate.
“No,” Harrison said flatly. “I’m his ghost.”
“Hilarious,” Tom drawled. “What are you doing out here, breaking the school rules? Your new friendship with Professor Dumbledore won’t help you if Professor Merrythought finds you out of bed.”
“Aw, don’t be jealous, Riddle,” Harrison simpered teasingly. “You know you’re my bestest friend.”
“The horror. And don’t be ridiculous: your best friend is currently weeping over his dying brother in London somewhere, not freezing out here.”
Harrison didn’t reply and, for a moment, Tom thought he might have gone too far.
“He’s actually playing snap,” Harrison corrected finally, “He owled. Meissa’s crushing him.”
“Perhaps he should get Cassius to predict him a victory.”
Harrison laughed shortly, but it sounded fake. “Predictions. Funny.”
“But wouldn’t it be amazing if someone could see the future?” Tom fished. Would Harrison reveal his abilities freely? Did he trust Tom?
“That would be useful,” Harrison said mildly.
Yeah, Tom would take that as a ‘no’, then.
Tom conjured a blanket (emerald green and tightly woven) and took a seat, looking at Harrison expectantly.
“Well, aren’t you going to join me?”
Harrison rolled his eyes and sat down beside him, gazing out pensively. The forest created a dramatic outline against the night sky, which sparkled and glittered with specks of starlight. It was beautiful: a swirl of colours and movement. Tom drew his knee close to his chest, and rested his chin upon it.
When he looked at Harrison, the boy was staring back at him with a strange expression.
“What?” Tom cocked an eyebrow.
Harrison turned a subtle shade of pink. “You have a stupid face,” he muttered, picking at the blanket.
Ah. That was moderately surprising. Tom knew he was attractive, but this was one of the first noticeable signs that Harrison was attracted to him. It wasn’t uncommon though- if anything, this would help Tom. Harrison was much likelier to trust him if there was an element of attraction.
“So I heard you want to be an Unspeakable,” Tom diverted, saving Harrison some of his dignity.
“Yeah,” Harrison agreed. “I want to… look into stuff. Orion suggested it this morning. It seemed perfect.”
“Stuff?”
“They have an innovative time department.”
“You’re interested in time?”
Harrison didn’t reply to that, but his silence was as much of an answer as any.
They sat that way for a while, side by side, staring into the depths of the forest with not a word between them. Tom saw glints amongst the branches, and wondered what eyes were staring out at him from the inky shadows. Probably a few unicorns, centaurs, wolves, bowtruckles…
He was glad he’d never taken Care of Magical Creatures.
“So what brought you out here?” Tom asked, breaking the quiet. “An opportunity to flaunt the school rules?”
“This is a good place to think. You realise… everything changes over time.”
“That’s rather the point,” Tom said with a smirk.
“But just consider it. In a few years, this will be all be different.” Harrison gestured specifically towards the groundskeeper’s hut. “Same place, same job, same castle… but different. And hey!” he protested. “I haven’t broken the school rules in almost a month- bloody hell, that’s weird.” He blinked. “That’s like a record. Fred and George would cry. Or prank me.”
“Who are Fred and George?”
“My friend, Ron: they were his brothers. Twins, actually, and total nightmares. Once tried to send a toilet seat to their parents.”
“They sound like they’d get along with Rupert.” Tom conjured up images of Rupert tripled, running through the castle; causing mischief and cracking terrible puns. He shuddered.
“Nah,” Harrison dismissed. “He wouldn’t have agreed with them.”
“Muggles?” Tom assumed, as Rupert could mostly get along with anyone; provided they were magical.
“Yeah,” Harrison said. “Something like that.”
Tom could sense the conversation was drawing to a close, but he wasn’t willing to give up on the interaction so quickly. He was actually quite enjoying it.
“Do you want to accompany me on the rest of my rounds?” Tom asked, deciding that although he disliked company, he wouldn’t mind so much if it was Harrison’s.
Harrison considered Tom carefully, and Tom got the transparent feeling that he only ever usually got around Dumbledore. Tom shifted on the blanket, fighting against the urge to pull at his collar uncomfortably. Finally, Harrison shrugged and said, “Might as well.”
Tom led them back into the castle, and they climbed the stairs up to the fifth floor corridor. There weren’t usually many students on that floor, as there wasn’t anything there except for a few empty classrooms, the music rooms, and the Prefect bathroom. Still, empty spaces were always a viable option for night time… activities. Students were remarkably creative.
“So this is what being a prefect is like,” Harrison mused, as Tom cracked open a door and checked inside.
“It’s not the most exciting job, I admit.”
“Ron must have hated this,” Harrison laughed.
“That’s your muggle friend, with the brothers?”
“Yeah. He was a prefect in his school. Really lazy- never did any of the work. He got Hermione to do most of it. Ron hated it when she made him do homework.” Harrison said fondly.
“And he became a prefect how, exactly?”
“There were no better candidates.” Harrison snorted. “No, that’s not fair. Ron had his moments. He was very loyal, and brave. He didn’t think about what he was saying a lot, but he always carried through. He stuck to his guns. And he was funny.”
“Sounds like the quintessential Gryffindor,” Tom observed, with some distaste.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I suppose Gryffindors have some redeemable qualities. Bravery, for one. I’ve always admired bravery,” Tom said diplomatically.
“Well, don’t lay it on,” Harrison put his hand to his forehead sarcastically. “I might swoon.”
“You’re a Slytherin.”
“I know- I was speaking from a lion’s perspective. I have something called empathy? You might have heard of it.”
“Once or twice.” Tom said lightly.
“But you have admit,” Harrison insisted. “Gryffindors aren’t entirely useless.”
“I suppose every house has their good qualities,” Tom allowed. “Intelligence is always valuable.”
“What about loyalty?”
Ah, loyalty. A quality that Tom appreciated in others (directed towards him, of course), but saw little value in possessing it himself.
“Under certain circumstances, loyalty can be very useful,” Tom answered carefully.
Harrison chuckled. “A true Slytherin answer.” He yawned and stretched, leaning on a wall whilst running a hand over his tired face. “Merlin, I need a shower.”
“Well,” Tom suggested blankly. “The prefect bathroom is on this floor. We could take a midnight dip.” The upturn to the corner of his lips betrayed his humour.
“Fuck you, Riddle,” Harrison snorted. “I’m not taking a bath with you.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent bath mate.”
“I bet you steal all the bubbles.”
Tom sniffed. “I do no such thing. I am a firm believer in bubbles for all.”
“Right. And I’m sure you’d equally split the rubber ducks between us too.”
“Well, now you’re just being ridiculous. The rubber ducks are mine.”
Harrison burst out laughing, doubled over and clutching his stomach. Tom found himself also chuckling, albeit lightly, in entirely genuine mirth.
“I think you’ll find,” Tom said, once Harrison had recovered. “That many inhabitants in this castle would kill to share a space with me, devoid of clothes.” And then flashed him an arrogant smile.
Harrison turned bright red. That was an interesting reaction. Tom had expected a scoff, or a roll of the eyes (he got both of those as well), but Harrison also turned redder than a Gryffindor’s tie.
“Shut up, Riddle,” Harrison spluttered, cheeks glowing.
Before Tom had time to further explore that response, he heard a thump coming from inside the walls. Harrison spun around too, the colour fading from his cheeks at the loud noise, so Tom knew he wasn’t imagining it. Not that he’d ever doubt his own senses.
“Now where did that come from?” Tom wondered. “We checked the classrooms.”
“The bathroom?”
“No, the bathroom’s too far away.”
“Or maybe…” Harrison muttered, stalking towards a non-descript tapestry. “It came from here.” He pulled the hanging aside, revealing a wooden door. It was small; and looked very similar to a broom cupboard. “It leads to the Astronomy Tower,” Harrison explained.
“And you know that how, exactly?” Tom asked, challengingly. Even he hadn’t known that was there.
“Orion told me.”
“Of course he did,” Tom lamented.
“Oh, shut up. Should I open the door?”
“Well, staring at it doesn’t seem to be doing much.”
Harrison snickered. “You’re such a bastard.”
He pushed open the door, and a couple tumbled out; thoroughly entangled in each other. Both participants had thoroughly swollen lips, mussed hair, and flushed cheeks, along with heavy breathing- and Tom was pretty sure that wasn’t how buttons worked.
They moaned and writhed on the floor for a moment, before realising that they had an audience.
“Rupert?!” Harrison declared incredulously, stumbling away from the pair. “What are you doing?”
“Having an intellectual conversation, clearly,” Rupert replied cheerfully, recovering remarkably quickly. He jumped to his feet and dragged the poor witch up with him.
She was tall, with close-cut, flaming red hair and a thin face. She was pretty enough, Tom supposed, and had copious amounts of makeup smeared across her cheeks. She was also very familiar.
“Rupert, why are you locking lips with Avery’s latest accessory?” Tom asked, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Avery has a girlfriend?” Harrison yelped.
“I was shocked too,” Rupert declared, slinging an arm around the girl’s shoulder. “But then I pulled my moves on her, and I realised she’s just easy.”
The girl gasped in outrage, and slapped Rupert with surprising strength. The sound of her palm hitting his cheek cracked loudly in the stone corridor, and Tom saw Harrison wince sympathetically.
“You… are disgusting,” she spat, before marching away.
“That’s not what you were saying ten minutes ago!” Rupert jeered.
“Ten minutes ago, I was too busy faking an orgasm!" she bellowed back. A door slammed, and she was gone.
“Masterfully handled,” Tom drawled.
Rupert twitched. “Ah well, you win some, you lose some. She clearly didn’t know how to handle the experience of a lifetime.”
“Maybe you can work out how to improve that experience- since it so clearly needs it- in detention. Report to Professor Slughorn in the morning,” Tom answered smoothly.
“Come on, Tom…” Rupert wheedled.
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to learn all about your ‘intellectual conversation’.”
Rupert groaned. “Ah, well. It was worth it.”
“Was it?” Harrison asked doubtfully.
Rupert surveyed Harrison with unbridled pity. “Virgin.”
Whilst Harrison spluttered and coughed, Rupert offered a jaunty wave. “Have a good night, fellers!” And then he strolled away, whistling.
The journey back to the Slytherin dormitories passed in a blur for Harry. He could still feel the embarrassed heat prickling under his skin, and he did everything he could to avoid looking at Riddle. He wasn’t sure why the (truthful) jab about his virginity had bothered him so much. His life had always been too busy to think about things like relationships or puberty. A murderous dark lord took priority.
He knew he wasn’t the only virgin in the Gryffindor dorm- Ron had never had sex, and only the driven snow was purer than Neville. Dean and Seamus had boasted about their experience, but Harry was certain he’d caught them snogging each other once, so he wasn’t sure how seriously to take their guarantee that they’d slept with ‘loads of girls’.
Maybe it was just that Riddle had heard. Riddle: who Harry was certain had to literally throw the girls away from him. Harry had never been without female attention, but he’d always partially assumed it was due to the whole ‘famous conqueror’ thing. And there was no way he was having a relationship now. Any of the people he picked here would be grandmothers by the time he got back home.
He brooded through dressing for bed, he brooded through cleaning his teeth, and was still brooding as he collapsed onto his bed.
At least, Harry considered, he had a way home. Maybe Ginny would still want to go on a date with him, or something. She was very pretty.
He smiled at the thought of her freckled face, and sat up to pull the curtains across.
“Harrison?” Riddle’s low voice was deafening in the near-silence of the dorm. Rupert still hadn’t returned, and Avery snored in a nearby bed.
“Yeah?” Harry replied softly, hands frozen.
“20 points from Slytherin.”
“20 points?” Harry exploded in a hissed whisper. “For what?”
“For being out after hours.”
Even without seeing his face, Harry could hear the smirk that Riddle was sure to be nursing. The sound of curtains sliding along a railing followed, and Riddle didn’t say anything else.
Harry drew his own curtains across with a jerk, and fell backwards onto his pillow. Although he was angry, he couldn’t deny he felt a little amused too. “Well-played,” Harry mouthed reluctantly.
His eyes closed, and he was dead to the world.
|
Mother
The twins are born a month after Jaime becomes the Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West. She was bound to the birthing bed for days, surrounded by blood and sweat. It was worse than the girls – more painful, more worry, more midwives trying to subdue her pain, more fever dreams coming to her…
Rhaenys cries and whimpers like a lost pup, screaming for Jaime and Tyrion, Aegon and Elia, and her girls – she wanted to see her girls one last time, she wanted to be peppered by their kisses, for Alyssa to curl beside her, have Cerelle attempt to read another story, for Nymora and Joanna to squabble like the little ladies they were. For hours her cries go unanswered and she knew. She knew she was being punished. Kinslayer. Tywin was watching over her, gleeful at her pain. The gods served the lord who shat gold. Kinslayer.
The midwives open the windows, airing out the smells of smoke, blood, bile, and death. Rhaenys asks for Jaime again – I will die, let me see my lord husband again, one last time, please Maester Hors, please. She needed to see him. She needed to atone to the son and plea for forgiveness. Tywin was still his father, the girls’ grandfather, the great old lion, and she killed him. She needed to confess. She needed to live for the girls.
The measter pours milk of the poppy down her throat, the liquid slowly tickling down her neck. They try again.
“Cerion for a boy,” Rhaenys mumbles to a midwife, her speech slurred and her vision leaving her. “Myriah for another girl. Please… I need Jaime… Kingslayer…”
Kingslayer and Kinslayer, what a fine pair they were.
Rhaenys wakes up days later. The room is terribly hot, the sheets were sticking to her skin, a wet cloth was over her forehead, and she was alive. Rhaenys was alive and in Casterly Rock and she will see Jaime again.
She watches the door, desperate for someone to enter, for her girls to scream and jump on her bed. There is no sound from the outside, so she waits for hours until the doors finally swing open.
Jaime stands there, thin and pale, and when their eyes meet, he lets out a tired sigh.
“I had thought –“
His voice catches on itself and he closes his eyes, no tears spilling out. He refused to ever be weak in front of her.
“I’m too stubborn to die,” she said hoarsely, her mouth dry. “Water.”
He helps her sit up and she drinks until she was content.
“The child?” she whispers, voice still rough.
Jaime smiles at her and corrects, “Children.”
The girl came first and the boy shortly after, holding onto his twin’s foot. The wetnurses brought them to the room and laid both on her chest. Rhaenys cried and laughed and Jaime followed her lead. They were beautiful, her golden twins and their bright violet eyes. Cerion had Elia’s nose and Myriah’s eyes were the lightest of her litter. Cerion grabs Myriah’s foot again and Rhaenys cries – half-joyful, half-delirious at the love between brother and sister.
The children pair together, naturally. Nymora and Joanna are close in age, barely a year between them. They fight often, but they are each other’s greatest allies and the best of friends. Alyssa follows after Cerelle, mimicking her movements and studying meticulously to be just as clever and bright as her older sister. The twins are one in the same. They grow up beautiful and wild and full of laughs the other are not privy to. Of all the pair, they remind Rhaenys of her and Aegon, Elia and Oberyn.
Tyrion once accused Jaime of indulging the twins too much in private, letting the wine get to him. The twins are different and they needed better discipline from the other girls. They needed to know what was expected of them, that they could not keep running off like children, but they were children.
“What are you afraid of?” Jaime nearly demands of him. “They are diligent in their studies and Cerion will be training with real steel soon. They are allowed to still be young!”
“Myriah and Cerion trade clothes,” Tyrion sighs. “She trains with swords and he wonders the castle without a care. They often sleep together and the septas cannot pull them apart. They need to stop being so –“
“They will grow up soon enough.”
“A brother and a sister should not be that close,” Tyrion whispered, glaring at him with mismatched eyes that suddenly became black.
Jaime did not speak to him for a moon’s turn. The twins were the one sour spot between the brothers.
The day before Cerelle is sent off to King’s Landing to be Queen Elia’s cupbearer, Rhaenys bring her into her bed and holds her for the whole night. She kisses Cerelle’s hair and refuses to weep in front of her child. She spends the night telling Cerelle stories of her young at the Keep, baby Aegon and Viserys chasing them through the halls, and Dany sneaking them sweets from the kitchen because she was the quietest.
“I’ll be back in a few years, Mother,” Cerelle whispers. “And I’ll be with Grandmother and Grandfather.”
“I know,” Rhaenys tells her, soothing her hair. Buy you’ll be away from me. “You must listen to Grandmother Elia. She will have a lot to teach you, as will Aegon and Arianne. Egg even has a son your age. You might want to stay there and grow old instead.”
Cerelle laughs a little. “I think I’d rather be here with you and Father. I am a lion of the rock, after all. This is where I belong.”
Rhaenys clutches her eldest tightly and kisses her cheeks. “I’ll write to you every week and I expect an answer for each letter. You are never too old to respond to your old mother.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I will miss you dreadfully.” There are tears in her eyes that she cannot wipe away. “My little cub is a grown woman now.”
Cerelle falls asleep beside her, curled like a cat, and Jaime comes to them hours later with the other lions tailing him.
“Can we stay here too?” Nymora asks. Rhaenys nods.
They piled on the bed. Jaime is beside Rhaenys. He looks at her for a moment and kisses her tenderly. The children find their places. Nymora and Joanna settle themselves between Rhaenys and Jaime’s legs, Alyssa beside Cerelle, and Cerion and Myriah are intertwined at the foot of the bed.
Cersei Baratheon visits them a year after Cerelle’s departure for King’s Landing. Rhaenys does not care for the woman, but makes an effort for she is Jaime’s twin and he loves her. Cersei, however, does not reciprocate and only has eyes for Jaime. They drink and laugh and reminisce on days long past. She mentions Jaime climbing into the lion’s cage on a dare, and how not even Tywin could tell them apart.
“You look worried, Tyrion,” Rhaenys whispered towards him in the gardens.
Jaime and Cersei were ahead of them, their arms linked. The sunlight made their hair look even more golden and Cersi looked younger in years.
“Oh, I am fine, sweet Rhaenys,” he remarks quickly, humming as they walked along the path.
“Have you tried talking to your sister?”
“Who? Cersei?” He nearly laughs. “In her mind she only has one brother and I made peace with that notion years and years ago.”
“Then what troubles you?” Rhaenys asks of him.
Tyrion looks at his siblings again, both further and further away. Rhaenys wonders if they always leave him behind, if he ever caught up with them. Would things be different if their Lady Mother were alive?
“Twins are a particular thing,” Tyrion says at last. “I worry for Myriah and Cerion. One day they will be separated with years and miles between them. If they were to ever see each other again, it would be like meeting a stranger.”
They followed along the path. Jaime and Cersei were gone.
“I stayed with dear Cersei after her wedding to Robert. She was cold and cruel for months – more so than usual –“ he grumbled. “She needed Jaime. It was as though there was an empty space beside her. I caught her looking over her shoulder many times, searching for his laugh, searching for her other. She spent days in bed, tears in her eyes, hands clutching her chest, waiting and yearning for him. I worry the same fate awaits your little twins.”
Rhaenys could not say anything to him, could not find the right words. The description was more than just brother and sister.
In the depts of Casterly Rock, in the lion’s pits, they kiss and Cerion knows he can never be parted from his twin.
Cersei leaves the Westerlands and Jaime locks himself in his chambers. Rhaenys is left to rule in his absence with the assistance of Tyrion and the maesters. Jaime was never meant to rule. He was far too comfortable in the training grounds to ever be stuffed behind his father’s chair. Tyrion was smart and quick with numbers, but never wanted to take his brother’s seat. Rhaenys was left. She did not mind. She was taught to rule from a young age, watching after Elia and Doran and Arianne and even Rhaegar. But as the weeks flew by, fury began to claw at her chest.
I ought to be the ruler and you my horse. I secured your lordship, sullied my soul, and this is how you treat it.
But she loved her Lannister too much to speak the words to his face.
She tried her best to rule while her husband mourned for his sister, pushing aside her feelings. She was forced to be mother and father to the Westerlands and found herself less of a mother to her own children.
It does not bother Nymora and Joanna. They preoccupy themselves with their cousins and each other. Cerion is either with Myriah, sneaking off with laugher in their wake, or the Marbrand boys. Alyssa, older than the twins, still feels like Rhaenys’s little girl. She comes to Rhaenys every night, recounting her lessons and replying to simple letters from lords and ladies. She has become the lady of the castle in Cerelle’s absence.
“I pray for Father every night,” she says softly. “Being separated from Aunt Cersi and Cerelle being so far away must make him terribly sad.”
Cerelle is my daughter too. I carried her. I bore her, I swaddled her, and rocked her during storms, and I miss her too. I am here holding this castle together without my daughter and my husband.
“It must be painful,” Alyssa continues, “to have daughters and to see them move away.”
“Daughters are precious little things,” Rhaenys says at once. “Sons will go to war and build castles, but daughters will pluck the shining stars for their fathers. Why do you think I gave your own so many precious little ones?”
Alyssa smiled thinly and Rhaenys escorted her back to her chambers with Ser Merlon Crakehall behind them.
“I want you get a good night’s sleep and no more worries to protrude your mind,” Rhaenys tells her daughter. “Tomorrow we will see your father and write another letter for Cerelle.”
Alyssa suddenly blushes, glancing quickly at Ser Merlon before leaning in close to Rhaenys.
“I have a lot to tell Cee, especially of the last feast for Aunt Cersei.”
Rhaenys’s eyebrows raise and a small giggle escapes her lips. She felt like a little girl with her own little girl.
“Do I get to know this illicit secret? “
Alyssa’s blush deepened as she whispered, “Rodrik Marbrand gave me a rose after the feast.” Her face then turned to panic. “Please do not tell Father. He’s just a boy.”
Rodrik was the third son of many Marbrand boys and no great lord will give away their daughter to someone who will not inherit land or gold like the first. But Rhaenys did not wish to tell her young one this. Instead Rhaenys giggled with her.
“Your secret is safe with me. Rodrik is shaping up to be just as good as his father with a sword. Perhaps we will discuss this with your father in the future. But for now, rest and dream of songs and stories, my love.”
Ser Merlon escorts Rhaenys back to the study and something else gnaws at her.
“Ser Merlon, did you know about my Alyssa and Marbrand’s boy?”
“Aye, I did notice Marbrand pining after Lady Alyssa.” As usual, his voice matched his demeanor, grave. “She danced with him twice and would have done it once more if it was not so late.”
“How could I have not noticed?” Rhaenys murmured.
“It was a grand feast, my lady. You had much to attend to, including the comfort of Lady Baratheon. Worry not, for your children are safe.”
“Thank you for your comfort, Ser,” Rhaenys felt a rush of gratitude. “But I fear I missed too much. Please, tell me of what I’ve missed.”
Nymora sneaks into lessons from the master-at-arms more often than she takes lessons from the septa. Joanna goes to the shores of the sunset sea. Ser Merlon sends Josmyn Peckledon to guard her, but that does not stop her from trying to escape him as well. Rhaenys nearly blanches, but he reassures her that Josmyn is swift and has natural instincts.
“She is too wild, that one,” Rhaenys moans, leaning against Tywin’s old chair. “And the twins, what of them?”
Ser Merlon hesitates and Rhaenys implores him to answer.
“One of the cooks, Tilly, has a child who occasionally follows his mother into the castle. He has a little cat, a brown kitty.”
Another feeling blossoms within Rhaenys’s belly.
“I apologize for my words, my lady, and I have no ill feelings towards the little lord, but Lord Cerion skinned the cat. He said he was curious about what was inside. The little lad cried to his mother. She did not wish to tell me, she was scared. It was the other cooks who implored her to do so.”
Rhaenys clenched her eyes shut at the thought of her little boy, her only boy holding down an innocent creature, blood all of her his hands – she thought of Balerion, the old devil of the Red Keep. He chases after Aegon’s little girl now. How could anyone do such a thing? It felt as though it were yesterday, he was learning to walk in the garden, and now…
“We shall give them enough gold to soothe any worries. I shall speak to Lord Farman and see if he will take on Tilly’s services. I will not subject her the cruelty of being forced in this castle where her son was hurt. Lord Farman has a dozen grandsires and trice as many bannermen. The boy will be able to find a friend amongst them and perhaps one day become a knight.”
Ser Merlon nods and begins to leave, but Rhaenys stops him, her heart in her throat.
“Was… was Cerion truly curious or was he being cruel to this boy?”
“I cannot speak to Lord Cerion’s intentions, my lady, I was not there. But I did see the cat afterwards – “
“I do not wish to know,” Rhaenys says in a rush, dismissing him quickly. To think her son, her own flesh and youngest, would do such a thing scared her.
Cerion scrubs and cleans the stables for nearly a year, and he takes this with some shame and the bit of dignity left in his little body. They do not speak on the matter afterwards, his only excuse being curiosity, and Rhaenys is sure he detests her a little everyday, but she will sleep peacefully knowing that he will never harm another defenseless being. She ought to tell Jaime and let him deal with her son as well, but he was mourning a daughter and a sister, and not suited to hear more. It matters not, the issue was dealt with. She will continue to shield and protect her family.
“You could have told Mother the truth,” Myriah whispers in the stables. “Why keep this secret?”
You are mine, no harm shall ever come to you.
“You do not have the strength to lift a shovel,” Cerion settles on.
Evening begins to creep on them. Myriah does not take the bait, does not bite back, just merely smiles.
“It was very noble and gallant of you to do so, my protector.”
She moved closer, gently trailing her fingers along his shoulder. He froze, concentrating on the sensation, yearning pooling in the pits of his abdomen.
“Aunt Cersei told us how Father used to do the same for her, protect her from cruel septas and Grandfather when he was mean –“
“Mother is not mean,” Cerion tells her.
“Look at where you are,” Myriah chuckles. “A Princess has placed her son in the stables for a small act he did under orders –“
Cerion grabs his wrist, twisting her around until they were face to face. He forgot himself.
“I take no orders, sister.”
She does not flinch or back down, but presses herself closer. He is sweating and covered in dirt, and she soils herself. Where he ends and she begins cannot be distinguished.
Jaime comes to her days later, sweating and tired, but a dazzling smile upon his handsome face. Rhaenys lets out a sigh of relief and lets him kiss her deeply and roughly. She missed her golden husband. Jaime does not look at the scattered letters in front of her, merely tangling his fingers in her hair, losing himself in her.
“I apologize for my absence,” he tells her earnestly. “Old feelings of seeing my sister off years ago resurfaced and then seeing Cerelle leave was too difficult.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He words were honey.
“I should not have disappeared,” he reiterated more firmly. “I have a duty to my people and it should have been me here, forced to sit on this chair, not you. Tell me, what have I missed of our children?”
Rhaenys ought to tell him the truth.
“They were menaces, of course.”
Jaime laughs and kisses her. “Nothing less than I expected.”
Maiden
The children grow as tall as weeds around her. Joanna and Nymora are desperate for a grand old adventure. Jaime indulges them, lets them train alongside him and his squires, claiming for all those who scowl that they are of Dorne, the blood of Nymeria flowed through their veins just as much. Joanna’s choice of weapon is a spear, a gift from the Red Viper himself, while Nymora is half-horse, her dark curls flying behind her. Her handmaidens scrub her skin every night, desperate to rid the smell of manure.
“Could you not have picked up another spear instead?” Rhaenys muttered, unable to enter her daughter’s chambers.
“This is better than yesterday, milady,” Old Hilda told her, airing out the room. “Jeyne was nearly in tears, the poor thing. Oh, she was determined to rid the smell, but I told her,” she clicked her tongue, “Lady Nymora will just be back in those stables with that pony in a matter of minutes.”
“Sand steed,” Nymora hissed. Another gift from Oberyn. Rhaenys should wring his neck.
“Aye, aye, sand steed,” Old Hilda said, never scared of the children.
Cerelle will be due at the Rock soon with the might of her grandfather’s crown behind her. All the letters from the Queen Mother indicate that Rhaenys’s eldest is positively the shining sun of the Keep and will do wonders for years to come. All letters from Lady Ashara, however, indicate that Cerelle has her wits about her. She knows how to play the game, but goes about her own way. She dodges birds and snakes and spiders, makes quick friends with low and highborn alike, and even managed to charm the Tyrells with little assistance from Daenyers Tyrell.
Rhaenys pressed those particular letters in a secret book. She treasured those more than all of the Rock’s gold. The Red Keep was a dangerous nest, especially for a young woman, but her daughter was born to thrive.
Cerion takes after his father in skill, charm, and appearance. The only thing Rhaenys can claim are his eyes. Everything else was pure Lannister. His smirk was playful, his eyes darker than Viserys’, hair curled along the base of his neck, and he was as slender as a blade. He did not train as hard as Jaime, but his skill came naturally, as though all possible weapons were an extension of his own body.
“He is too arrogant,” chimed Tyrion, grey in his short hair.
“He is confident,” Jaime retorted back. “How can he not be, being as skilled and proficient as he is?”
Tyrion supresses a sigh and returns back to cheering for his nieces and nephew.
Alyssa and Myriah do not take up their father’s offer. Alyssa takes after Rhaenys, following her as she rules Casterly Rock. She learns from her septa and Tyrion all the same, her numbers were quick, and she was making her way through the tombs in the library. She was no mere lady. Any lord seeking her hand would be so lucky to have such an intelligent wife in Alyssa Lannister. If Nymora and Joanna were meant for adventure and Cerelle for court and flowers, then Alyssa was meant to survive.
Myriah was less diligent in his studies, preferring to wonder about the castle, free as a bird. Rhaenys often found herself unsure of her youngest daughter. She was either all her sisters in one or none at all. She would be equally happy to be a lord’s wife or a freewoman wondering the cities. Rhaenys tried envisioning a life for all her children, all the roles they would play and the people they would love, and she could not place Myriah anywhere.
There was a tourney to be held in honour of House Targaryen’s visit to the Westerlands. Jaime oversaw the celebrations and no expenses were spared. It pained Rhaenys to see her husband act to foolishly and rashly, for his dignity and pride to shine through, only to receive silence from her own father. He does not regret what he did to Aerys, Rhaenys never wanted him to feel shame for his brave act, but she wished he had a bit of Tywin in him. For all she hated of the man, he knew how to rule. Genna nearly told him as much and Jaime refused to speak to her for the rest of her trip.
“He never had any interest in ruling,” Tyrion reminded her. “But place a battle map in front of him and suddenly he is the Warrior come to life.”
But Rhaenys did not want the Warrior. She wanted Jaime.
Still, the thought of a grand feast and a tourney brought joy to her children. It brought joy to Rhaenys as well, to have her eldest back and to see all members of her family under one castle.
It was her parents who reached the castle first.
Rhaegar almost looks frail, his face lined and a melancholy that will never cease to leave him. His hair was cut to his ears and looked damaged. Elia looked years younger than him. She had streaks of white in her hair, and her smile was bright enough to guide sailors’ home. There was so much beauty left in the Queen.
“You Grace,” said Jaime, inclining his head and kneeling alongside their household. “It is an honour to welcome you and your family to Casterly Rock.”
Rhaegar nods, but he is guarded against Jaime. He gave Rhaenys away to appease the Westerlands and Lord Tywin, but he will never trust the current lord. It always confused Rhaenys, why he would do such an act to his own daughter. Lord Tywin saw his own granddaughter marry a crown prince and knew the royal line would be of his own blood, but Rhaegar and his council still feared the man, feared his convictions and his swords against the crown. How could Rhaegar and ten lords fear an old lion? How could that fear lead to Rhaegar giving away his only daughter?
As she stood in front of him, a mother herself, she realized she had lost her father years ago. That notion would have crumbled a younger Rhaenys, the one desperately searching the halls for her father. Now, it resolved her not to make the same mistakes. Not to fear old lions. She made her own way and so will her daughters.
Elia rushes towards her, kissing her cheeks, and Rhaenys laughs, feeling like a young girl once more, asking for more kisses before bed. She presents gifts for all the little Lannisters and makes promises to see them train and cheer. Arianne and Ashara come forward, pinching cheeks. Viserys and Oberyn make promises to show them Summerhall and Dorne, and Dany’s beautiful flowers make them promise that they will come to the Reach, not hear a word otherwise. Nymora and Joanna’s eyes shine, the thrill of adventure awaiting them.
Aegon stands as tall as Jaime, his pale hair cut short and dark stubbles along his jaw. His own children come forward and Rhaenys knows all of them by heart. Doran, the eldest with Myrcella’s colours and Aegon’s broad shoulders. Cassandra’s hair was more gold than Aegon’s white, but her face was all Targaryen. Rhaenys was the first to hold her after her birth, crying beautiful tears for her brother. Aemon was shyer, carefully holding his father’s hand and looking to his mother for permission. Rhaenys picked him up and peppered kisses on his cheeks.
“Perhaps our own children can show yours the lion’s pits, your grace,” Jaime tells Aegon kindly. “They will be guarded, of course, and Nymora and Joanna know better than to tend too close.”
Her girls smile slyly, cheeks burning.
“They listen now, do they?”
Cerelle appears before them, just as dramatic as her siblings. She left a girl but the court made her a woman with a fuller chest, narrow hips, and a beauty that outshone the whole of the west. Her hair was golden like Jaime’s and she still had Rhaenys’s colourings – her skin and figure from Dorne – but she was more striking now. More cut than smooth. There was a bit of Arianne in her, a bit of Ashara, and even Cersei from years long past, before she was made a Baratheon.
Some days Rhaenys feels as though she was being pulled apart, worrying over her brood. Wondering how she could raise so many children – wild girls, at that – and then rule in her husband’s stead. But seeing Cerelle now, seeing the woman she had become, she knew it was worth the births and worry and the anger and the burden of Kinslaying. It was worth it to see her eldest become a dream, and to know the others will soon follow.
Something subtly broke in Jaime’s expression, but he slipped back into the mask he worn in front of Targaryens. Cerelle was his pride and he mourned her immensely.
Cerelle walks up to both her parents, eyes them greatly, and says, “You’ve gotten old.”
Tyrion’s laugh breaks them both and the Lannisters are together again, laughing and hugging. Jaime picks up Cerelle and plants a kiss on her cheek. Alyssa nearly tackles her over, fiercely missing her confidante. Cerion is not as quick to embrace, but Cerelle brings him close all the same, asking to see him train.
Lords and ladies pile in from all corners of the continent with tents being erected around them. For once, Rhaenys does not care in performing her lady duties, smiling at false lords and bannermen. She wanted to simply bask in the glory of her family.
“The tourney will begin soon, I assume everything is in order, Lord Jaime,” Rhaegar said not unkindly.
Rhaenys squeezes his hand under the table as her Jaime says, “Aye, I hope it is befitting of your visit, your grace.”
His smile did not quite reach his eyes and Rhaegar nods, not noticing the waver in his tone.
“My own children have been begging to come visit,” Aegon told them with an easy smile. “Cassandra is especially good at getting what she wants. I cannot seem to deny any of my children.”
“Fathers naturally indulge daughters more so than their sons,” Elia offered. “My own used to sneak me candies from his travels. Oberyn was fiercely jealous.”
Rhaenys smiles at her mother. She remembers gifts from her own father, once desperate for her love and kisses. But no gift could soothe the betrayal and hurt he had caused them.
“There is also another reason why I asked you both here,” Aegon said, looking at Rhaenys and Jaime. “It is regarding Cerelle and my own son, Doran.”
Jaime inhales sharply. They both knew the day would come with suitor will ask for their daughters’ hand. Jaime was reluctant to let them go, pining for the days when they were still in the nursery and he could protect them in his home.
“Doran has rather taken to Cerelle,” began Aegon, giving Jaime an apologetic smile. “I do not wish to be presumptuous of her own feelings, but they do often walk in the gardens together. A member of the kingsguard chaperones them, of course.”
Jaime stills and Rhaenys squeezes his hand again.
“She has not yet seen twenty years and has not been home in three,” Rhaenys says smoothly. “She is not yet ready for marriage and I also wish my daughters to choose their husbands. If Cerelle wishes for Doran than I see no issue in waiting a few more years.”
She looks towards Jaime, who merely nods stiffly. He stays silent as they resolve to speak to their children.
“You knew the day would come,” Rhaenys tells him afterwards in her bedchambers. “I gave you many girls, Jaime, each as pretty as the next and each due to leave the Rock.”
He still says nothing, pouring himself wine.
“If Cerelle accepts Doran, a betrothal will be set, a wedding in a few years, and more will come for Nymora, Joanna, Alyssa, and Myriah. Tell me, do you think your vow of silence will stop this from occurring?”
“Rhaenys –“
“Ah, he speaks!”
Jaime snorts. “Rhaenys, I understand that lords will come for our daughters and they will leave me soon enough. It surprised me how quick it has happened. I am not ready to give any of them away, to look for alliances to strengthen our house. My father had it all planned for Cersei since she was in a cot. I am not him.”
He understood how to rule, the old miserable bastard.
“Genna said so as much and you refused to speak to her,” Rhaenys says softly, moving closer.
“No man wishes to hear his doubts spoken, least of all from their crass aunt.”
Rhaenys had a strange fondness for Genna, especially when she was in her cups, blabbering incoherently.
“I will break fast with her and discuss Doran,” Jaime said gravely. “A future king is interested in my daughter, we cannot ignore such an inquiry. If she accepts, then we shall speak to Prince Aegon and Myrcella. Perhaps this union can be announced at the tourney. It would be something of a song. She loves those.”
Rhaenys kissed her lord husband’s cheek. For all his faults as a lord, he was a good father.
“That’s a direwolf!” Myriah gasped.
Lord Torrhen Stark grinned boldly at her as the smoke grey beast carefully sniffed her hand. Myriah yelped and jumped back, nearly stumbling into the mud. Stark roared with laughter.
“He means no harm, my lady!” Stark said with an easy grace Cerion immediately detested. “My father has been training him since he was a pup. Grey Wind is friendly.”
But Cerion did not share his sentiment. He stilled as the beast walked around him and his other, sniffing and emitted a low growl. This was a direwolf, not a dog or pup to cuddle with. This monster was meant for blood and war. It can rip apart Myriah’s arm as easily as a dog to a rat.
“He is fiercely loyal to us Starks, as well as his littermates,” Stark continues, glancing at Myriah.
Her eyes widen. “There are more of them?”
Stark laughs again. “Of course, one for each of my grandfather’s children.”
Cerion shuddered the thought of those things roaming his grandfather’s continent.
“Will your bride then get a direwolf as a dowry?”
Cerion snaps, “That’s not how dowry works, stupid. Father would have to give gold and gift for your lord husband to keep you.”
Myriah frowns at him, her lips twitching and trembling, and Cerion immediately regrets his actions. It is not her fault Stark’s manners were lacking, and it was not Cerion’s fault Stark did not know how to reign the monster.
“Any future bride and wife will receive plenty from myself,” Stark said with an easy smile before it turned brazen. “A pup or two in the future.”
Stark winked and Myriah blushed and giggled, ever the maiden. Cerion shook with fury at the intent behind his words.
“You cannot marry him,” he said at once in the empty library. “Cerelle, Ny, Jo, and Alyssa will have to be betrothed first. There will be vicious whispers of them if you are to marry first. You cannot be so unkind to our sisters.”
Myriah smiles brightly at him, his harsh words soon forgotten. She shifts against the wall and he moved closer instinctively. He closes his eyes as her fingers gently touch his jaw, chin, and then cheeks.
“You wear jealously well, Cerion,” she whispers. “It suits your beautiful face.”
He grabs her hand, almost squeezing and snapping the little bones. She does not wince, does not cower as others would have. Her smile grows wider at the notion before he kisses her hand.
“I cannot lose you.” Especially to the future lord of a barren wasteland. They were one.
She shifts again, her face pressed to the side of his neck, his breath warm and tickling. “You could never.”
The tourney lasts for days. There was the great melee with over forty men, archery, axe throwing, horse racing, five days of jousts, and a tourney of singers for the feasts. Men competing donned their finest armour and begged beautiful ladies for their favours.
Cerion attempted to participate in the brawl, seeking a different kind of glory, but Jaime explained carefully that honour was found jousting and he was much better wielding a lance than close range. Cerion’s face darkened, but he heeded his father’s words. Many ladies attempted to give him their handkerchief, but as far as Rhaenys could tell, he was sporting none, keeping a cold distance since Jaime’s words.
The girls were a different matter. Cerelle gave Doran a purple ribbon and a quick peck on the cheek when she thought no one was around. Alyssa secretly snuck a honeyed pastry to Ser Rodrik, fearing that her father was spot any other favour upon him. Nymora refused to indulge any boy with false sweet words, and Joanna coyly dangled a favour in front of an Ironman with hungry eyes.
“Any favours for Stark?” Nymora whispers to Myriah in the royal box, the golden Lannister girls together.
To her credit, Myriah did not blush or splutter. “He did not ask and I did not seek him. I refuse to chase after someone not of our blood.”
“But he is as handsome as his father,” Joanna looked over at the Northern party.
Rhaenys kept her eyes forward as the tilts begin. It was true. Torrhen Stark possessed his mother’s Northern colours and his father’s features. He was said to be prone to wildness and flirtation, but all reports were follies of a young boy not yet a man. He would be a fine match for any of her girls, but Rhaenys harboured resentment towards the North. Childish perhaps to keep a grudge at her age with near grown children of her own, but she did not care. She was fiercely loyal to her mother and brother, and those who threaten them will receive no warmth from her.
“He even has a direwolf!” Joanna whispers. “Perhaps he could even give you one.”
Myriah smiles at a secret none of them were privy to and their attention turns.
Jaime unhorses many knights and could have easily made it to the finals if it were not for Ser Rodrik. He takes his defeat graciously with a smile. Ser Rodrik helps him to his feet and raises his hand in the air. The Westerlands cheer for their humble lord and roars in approval when Rhaenys gives him a chaste kiss.
“It’s a young man’s game now,” Jaime settles beside her and their daughters. “I am much suited to being a father and hopefully a grandfather in the future.”
There were whispers that being a father to so many pretty little girls made him soft, less of the golden knight of Aery’s deadly Kingsguard. Let them talk. Let them whisper, Rhaenys watched her lord husband make their girls laugh, they would never have a father half as wonderful as Jaime Lannister.
The tilts continue and the final four is set. Doran Targaryen draws Arthur Dayne’s name, and Cerion will face Addam Hightower. It was shaping up to be a tremendous tourney. The crowd was crying out their approval. The future king against the Sword of the Morning, and the heir to Casterly Rock against the White Bull’s kin and squire.
Addam Hightower was taught well, but he was no Cerion Lannister. Cerion split Hightower’s shield and unhorsed him with great effort that caused the crowd to gasp and shriek. As Hightower rolled in the dirt, the Westerlands roared and Cerion trotted his horse about the fence in celebration, his smile as golden as his hair.
“He’s too arrogant,” Tyrion nearly sang, clapping all the same.
Myriah turns around and snaps, “He’s brilliant, imp.”
Joanna pinches Myriah hard and Rhaenys gives Jaime a look. He will speak to her later. Tyrion rolls his eyes and returns to the display in front of them.
The crown prince and the Sword of the Morning now rode their horses to the far end of their list. They broke two lances against each other. The first one found Doran gripping hard to stay atop his horse, shifting as to not topple over. On the second lane, Arthur spurred forward in a hard gallop and Doran leaned into his horse. They both shifted in their seats, both lances broke as though the world exploded, and Arthur Dayne, wielder of Dawn, was found unhorsed.
The crowd gasped and cheered, and their voices grew as Doran helped Arthur to his feet, raising the old knight’s hand in the air before embracing. Jaime clenched his jaw before a strained smile appeared upon his face.
“There is no better knight to serve under,” Jaime tells Cerelle. “Doran will remember this day for years to come.”
“Did you train under Ser Dayne as well, Father?” Cerelle asks, her eyes now wide.
“He knighted me as a sworn brother and I dreamed of being him. Every young boy and knight wanted to exemplify the Sword of the Morning.”
Cerion and Doran positioned themselves at the far end of the jousting field. They both saluted the king and dropped their visors to audible clangs. It began. Rhaenys flinched when Cerion and Doran’s lances connected against each other’s shields, the woods cracking in half. Cerion was dexterous and precise, and Rhaenys knew from letters that Doran was swift and carried an immense strength hidden well by stature. Doran hit first, but Cerion reacted faster with his shield.
Both returned to their places to start again and took on new lances. Rhaenys watched with baited breath as their lances rode towards each other. Doran leaned into his screaming steed and Cerion struck the crown prince at the right angle. In the blink of an eye, Doran tumbled sideways onto the ground, still grasping at his steed’s reins.
The crowd cheered, gasped, laughed, and whistled as Cerion reined up at the end of the list. He took off his visor and the Westerlands’s roar grew. Cerion looked around at the cheers, his smile growing. In the sunlight, he was his father’s son.
He trots his steed towards the royal box and places the crown of white roses upon Myriah’s lap. It was a wonderful sight seeing brother crown sister. The Westerlands approved, seeing their own champion crown one of their own. The white crown complemented Myriah’s complexion and dark golden hair. She smiled coyly as she lifted the flowers upon her head and the crowd clapped. The only one not to join in celebration was Tyrion.
Smith
They traveled to King’s Landing two years after the tourney for the grand wedding. Cerelle is a beautiful bride. Rhaenys always knew she would grow to be a beautiful woman, far more beautiful than Rhaenys had ever been.
Rhaenys, Cerelle, Nymora, Joanna, Alyssa, and Myriah are alone in Rhaenys’s old chambers the morning of. The seamstress had already dressed Cerelle in her new gown. It was made of the finest Myrish silk and a beautiful pink contrasting against her Dornish skin. The skirt was long and full, and it hugged her figure in all the right ways. Alyssa did Cerelle’s hair, carefully brushing it so it fell in soft ringlets behind her. Nymora placed pearls in her hair, as though the stars clung to her flow. Joanna dabbed sharp flower scents behind her ears and under her chin. Myriah used rouge to lightly colour Cerelle’s lips and cheeks.
Rhaenys then placed the final piece. A rubied necklace commissioned by Jaime before their travel. Alyssa sighs dreamily as tears swell in her eyes.
“You look very beautiful, Cee,” Nymora whispers in awe. “A true princess even!”
“Doran is a very lucky man,” Joanna says.
Cerelle giggles and twirls, her skirt dancing around her.
Rhaenys sends the girls out and now its just her and her oldest.
“You will be a princess in a few short moments. Afterwards, not only will you belong to the Crownlands, but to the realm. They will look at your every move and will pounce if you are anything less than perfect, anything less than the perfect princess. Give them nothing to look for.”
She grips Cerelle’s shoulders.
“You are the descendant of kings and queens, even before the arrival of the conquerors. You were always meant to rule and thrive and bring men to their knees. Give these snakes and spiders nothing to look for.”
She thinks of Rhaella, Elia, and even Myrcella. The Keep nor the crown will break Cerelle Lannister.
“I am a lioness, Mother,” Cerelle told her, steel in her voice. “I will not cringe for them.”
Rhaenys kisses Cerelle’s forehead and they hold each other tight. For a moment, in the quiet chambers she used to occupy, they were simply mother and daughter. Rhaenys will recall this moment in her old age, remembering the flowers and the softness of Cerelle’s hair.
They left the room, descended the steps, and crossed the yard to the Great Sept of Baelor. They met Jaime and Cerion at the steps. Both men were wearing garments of crimson and gold.
“The colour suits you, sister,” Cerion tells Cerelle with a small smile. “You outshine the whole city.”
“You look very handsome yourself,” Cerelle tells him.
All her children had become so close since Cerelle’s return to Casterly Rock. They were often found in each other’s company, cheering each other on and laughing in the kitchens.
Jaime holds on tighter to the red cloak in his arms as Cerelle kisses his cheek.
“You look very beautiful, sweetling,” he finally says. “If this is what you truly wish –“
“Doran is a kind man,” Cerelle says at once. “He will be a good father and husband. Father, please be happy today. I love him and I know he loves me.”
Jaime resigns himself, finally letting his eldest go. He fastens the red velvet cloak around Cerelle’s shoulder.
“This was once your aunt’s and my mother’s.” He sighs again. “When you were younger, you used to run a lot, more so than your sisters even. You were swift and smart and Oberyn once said your spine was a spear. Then one day you stopped running, became the lady of the castle, and now princess of the realm!”
There were tears in Rhaenys’s eyes.
“I have no doubt you will be an even greater queen than Alysanne and have wonderful children. After all,” he winks, “I was always meant to be a fat old grandfather. If you ever need me, if you ever need the Westerlands, send word and I will come to the capital to defend you and be your father again.”
“You will always be my dear father, no matter the lands between,” Cerelle tells him.
He kisses her hands and they all begin to take their places.
As Cerelle and Jaime walk down the aisle of the Great Sept, she smiles shyly at Prince Doran, who stands before the High Septon. Her Lannister cloak is a burst of colour among the sea of subdue grey. When she and her prince join hands in front of Father and Mother and her smile is not longer shy but bold, the lion stands proud and tall.
Let them see the lion roaring, Rhaenys thinks. Let them see the future queen and know that she brings the might of the Rock with her.
Doran was always quiet and respectful in her company. He wasn’t shy, simply observant. He took after his namesake and was sharp like his grandmother. As he fastened the Targaryen cloak around Cerelle’s shoulders, the princely mask drops and he smiles brazenly.
“Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Doran of House Targaryen and Cerelle of House Lannister to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”
The feast was held in the Great Hall. There were guests from every corner of the realm, desperate to become friends with the newest member of the royal house. Lannister, Martell, and Tyrell members and allies made up most of the hall. Rhaenys sat beside Aegon throughout the feast, their cups never empty and their eyes in a daze.
“We will be sharing a grandchild someday,” Aegon tells her.
Rhaenys picks up her cup again, her lips twitching into a smile. Her child had just turned twenty and soon she will have a child and soon Rhaenys will be a grandmother. Aegon will be a grandfather, Egg will be a grandfather. Rhaenys grips his hand tight and he kisses her knuckles.
“I will look after her as though she is my own,” he reassures her. “She will be safe at court, this I promise.”
Once these halls were filled with the laughter and giggles of four children. First came Viserys, alone with an older brother that never understood him. Then Rhaenys, too small to play for an impatient four-year-old. He tried getting her to talk when she had only seen a few short weeks. But she grew and she chased after him in the halls and the gardens and the secret passageways, her little feet desperately trying to keep up. Aegon came a few years later, almost the perfect twin to Viserys. They tried dragging the babe everywhere, desperate for another playmate. Daenerys was the youngest, the smallest, and the last. Viserys, with all the strength of a boy who had seen nine namedays, held Aegon up in the nursery with shaky arms, and whispered, “Look, Egg, another sister to play with. We will always be together, the four of us, the blood of the dragon flows through us. Nothing could separate us.”
When talks of marriage for Rhaenys had come up, Rhaenys had cried terribly and hung onto Egg, Vis, and Dany. She was a dragon, just as much as her silver-haired siblings. She wanted to stay with them until the end of her days, to have their children grow up with nothing but love between them, to stay in her home and never separate. But she was sent to Casterly Rock, Dany to Highgarden, Vis never married Arianne and took solace in Summerhall, and only Egg remained in their home. Now, as music filled the hall, as laughter hung in the air, Rhaenys found that her dreams had been answered. Perhaps late, perhaps in ways she never expected, but answered all the same. Aegon will protect Cerelle alongside Doran, Elia and Myrcella will guide her, Dany visited the Crownlands with her little flowers nearly twice a year, Viserys more so with his fleets, and Arianne and Oberyn were almost permanent fixtures. Cerelle will always have family around her and one day, the Keep will be filled her own children chasing after each other, screaming and laughing and knowing nothing but love.
Cerelle and Doran led the dance. The beautiful pair had every eye upon them, her golden hair dancing in the air and his broad arms around her waist.
“I know,” Rhaenys whispered, patting Aegon’s hand. “All my dreams have been answered.”
Other guests joined the prince and princess on the floor. Nymora and Joanna paired with some Westerling twins. Alyssa feigned ignorance and surprise when Rodrik Marbrand asked for a dance, as though she did not instruct him on how to do so to avoid suspicion. Prince Viserys was begging the honour of Princess Arianne, those two ever flirting with each other. Queen Elia partnered first with King Rhaegar and then with Ser Arthur Dayne, both with smooth grace. Myriah ignored most of the requests before Arman Vaith asked her. Compared to others, Arman had broad arms and shoulders, and Rhaenys knew his swing was deadly in training. Cerion watched his sisters closely, Myriah more so, before finding a partner in Cora Merryweather.
“Are you two done reminiscing?” inquired Myrcella, her beautiful eyes shining. “I wish to dance with my prince.”
Aegon heaved a comical sigh, making a spectacle of himself. “If my wife so wishes.”
He kissed her cheek and followed her.
“Do my eyes deceive me or is a beautiful maiden left without a partner?”
Rhaenys rolled her eyes as Jaime came to stand behind her, his tone mocking her.
“I am hardly a maiden. You saw to that.”
He laughed and quickly dipped to kiss her cheeks. “Princess Rhaenys, will you indulge this poor lord with a dance?”
“Just one?”
Rhaenys leaned back against her chair and craned her neck to look up at him. He looked exceptionally handsome today and from this angle, something purred deep within her. He had made her a lion in all these years. Jaime smiles at her knowingly and they let the music take them, losing in the steps and the sounds of the hall.
“You could have danced with me.”
Cerion glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You seemed preoccupied.”
“No one would have any problems with a brother and sister dancing together at their sister’s wedding.”
“As I mentioned, you seemed preoccupied with Arman Vaith.”
She signed and groaned, leaning against the wall. They were in the cellar of the dragon skulls. A dim light was leaking through a narrow window set high in the walls, and he could see her clearly. Her light blue gown fit her beautifully and her dark golden hair was now loose around her shoulders.
“You are staring.”
You are vexing.
“Do you wish to marry him?”
She snorted. “Arman is handsome, but you know I cannot be away from you, dolt. You are the only one for me and I wanted to dance.”
Thankfully it was dark in the cellar for he turned red and blushed like a maiden. He moved close towards her and carefully took her hand in his. There was no harp or singer, but she had begun humming and they moved together. The skulls of Targaryen dragons were in the darkness surrounding them, watching them.
“You wear jealously handsomely, but you should trust me more. I am you, your other. You could never lose me.”
There was a boisterous cheer above them. The bedding was occurring. Young ladies rushed towards Doran, ready to help him out of his clothing and lords grabbed at Cerelle, no doubt pushing and ready to tear her clothes off.
“I will lose you,” he told her. “You will one day marry and move away from me. I will not be able to handle the loss.”
She sighs again, her breath tickling his neck. “I know. Mother is taking us around the realm, looking for other matches, and all I want to do is go to the Sept and proclaim you as my true lord.” She straights up and looks at him. “You will have to find a match as well. A lady to give you heirs. I will not have a place in Casterly Rock in a few years.”
He shook his head quickly. “No, no. Your place will always be by my side.”
How could she say such things? He kissed her rough and true until they were both breathless.
“They will never take you away from me,” he tells her.
Her eyes were glossily and she smiles knowingly. “Truly.”
“Truly.”
Her delicate fingers carefully moved down over his chest to undo the buttons and strings. His face was very near hers, her breath warm, and she smelled faintly of flowers and wine.
“My –“
“Shh.”
His tongue froze as her fingers worked on his breeches and soon, he was standing naked in front of her, exposed to the cold and damp air. She did her own gown, slowly taking it off and allowing it to pool at her feet. He almost took a step forward and a step back, unsure of himself. She was the Maiden come to life and he her Warrior.
“I – I thought –“
“Highborn ladies give their maidenheads to horses all the time,” she said slowly, as though convincing herself. “Nymora is half-horse herself and Joanna just as good. It will not surprise anyone if none of us bleed during our bedding.”
She steadied her shoulders and steeled her spine as she looked directly at him, violet eyes against violet eyes. “What better place than the Red Keep of our grandsires? A wedding is occurring above us. A Targaryen wedding. Should we not do as husband and wife?”
He loved her more than a man would ever love his wife. His heart bled for her. She was his other.
The cellar was cold and he made a poor makeshift featherbed. She laid upon their discarded garments, the dim light ill illuminating her soft curves. He crawled on top of her, her skin soft and warm, and gently pushed her legs apart. His heart beat steady and strong against his chest, and she was real, substantial, ferocious, and passionate. They were surrounded by dragon skulls and she was a lovely dream.
They stay at the capital for nearly two months before traveling once again. Suitoers come for her other girls and Rhaenys promised that they will get to choose their husbands. Princess Cerelle was already filling in her role with grace and she did not need her mother anymore.
They travel to Dorne first. Rhaenys nearly cries when Sunspear is in sight. Doran Martell welcomes her back. Oberyn promises to take her children to the Water Gardens and begrudgingly offers to break fast with Jaime. Rhaenys’s uncles had terribly grey hair and it pained her to see how much time had passed since their last visit. Arianne and the Sand Snakes pulled her children in different directions, their own children doing the same. The castellan of the Water Gardens, Quentyn, and his wife came forward, and Sansa Martell dips into a perfect bow.
“My apologies, Princess, for being unable to attend your daughter’s wedding.” Her auburn hair was curled and pulled back from her face. A direwolf was standing at her heel, peering at Rhaenys and Jaime curiously. “I heard the ceremony and feast was splendid. I hope to come to the castle soon to see your daughter and re-introduce her cousins.”
They had three beautiful children with hair darker than Sansa’s and eyes lighter than Quentyn’s. Olyvar was the oldest and will soon be made Arianne’s heir. He had an easy smile compared to his own father and was cut much like Oberyn. He was already making plans with Cerion to spar tomorrow. Alia looked more Tully than her siblings, but her complexion was pure Dorne. She dipped into a shaky curtsy before attaching herself next to Tyene’s eldest, whispering in conspiracy. The youngest, Dara, looked boldly at Jaime Lannister. She was a head shorter with a long face and a pointed chin. She knew from Arianne’s letters that she was a complete and utter menace to Sansa, and was even wilder than most Dornish children.
What a dangerous combination Doran put together, Rhaenys thought. Sunspear and Winterfell in one.
“Uncle Obe says you are good with a sword,” Dara says to Jaime. “Will you show me?”
“Eddara!” Sansa hisses.
Dara did not hesitate and she says to Jaime, “Will you show me – please?”
Jaime laughs and says, “Perhaps one day, when we are all rested up.”
Arianne escorts Rhaenys towards the palace. “Sansa had hoped for perfect little princesses and was gifted she-wolves, too wild to be tamed.”
Rhaenys sympathized with her.
All her children were soon attached to their cousins. Cerion sticks with Olyvar and Obara’s Aryon, each tall and quick in the training yard. Myriah and Alia whisper and giggle with each other, watching over men and boys in the yards. Nymora and Joanna find their place in Dorne, climbing walls and speaking rapidly to their cousins as though they grew up together, and Alyssa is close by, smiling and blushing at their crass words. Jaime breaks fast with Oberyn nearly every morning and indulges Dara, as he did with all his girls, when he shows her how to hold a sword.
“I should have known,” Sansa says gravely. “She takes after my sister in more than just appearance.”
Rhaenys almost pities her, for she knows what it is like to raise wild girls. By all accounts, Sansa was the perfect lady, wife, and mother. She was soft-spoken, sung songs, prayed to the old gods and new for her family’s good health, embroidered for all her children still, and emersed herself in Dornish culture and history. Her direwolf had taken to Dorne as well, often in the company of Quentyn, the children, and even some of the Sand Snakes. Quentyn was solemn and often reserved, nothing like bold Arianne or Trystane who made friends easy. Rhaenys remembers the young boy being uncomfortable around girls and rarely ever speaking to one. But now he smiles in his wolf’s presence with ease.
The festivals go on for days and into the night, as is custom. The halls fill with lords, ladies, children, and smallfolk alike coming to pay their respects to their Queen’s only daughter. Rhaenys greets them warmly. So many of them were friends and kin. Allyria was a mother herself with a rather strange husband, Ned Dayne was more interested in swords than a marriage, the Fowler twins were already in conspiracy with Nymeria and Tyene, her Gargalen cousins gifted them wine and fine silk, and Syrena Santagar threw Trystane a look of lust and longing. Surrounded by family and loved ones, Rhaenys watches her children closely. Alyssa blushes deeply when Ser Yoren Blackmont compliments her dancing and Lady Gwyneth Qorgyle laughs loudly at one of Cerion’s jokes. She had hoped to find a match for one of her children, longing for another connection with Dorne, for her girls to thrive in Sunspear or another Dornishwoman ruling over the Westerlands, but in the days that followed, she knew there would be no match for her children here.
“Your little cubs did not take to Dorne it seems,” Arianne comments when they break fast on their last day. “No matter. They are still Elia’s children and should you need our spears, we will come. Dorne protects their own.”
They stayed for a month and then traveled to Highgarden, past the marches and the mountains. There was a large party waiting for them at the castle’s entrance. In front of the red doors and the center of the crowd stood a dragon amongst flowers. As Rhae exited the wheelhouse, she ran towards Dany, who met her half-way. They were girls back at the Red Keep.
“It’s been so long,” Dany whispers, tears in her eyes. “Oh, I must look like an old crone.”
“You?” gasped Rhaenys. “Never.”
“How many times I have told you to visit?” Dany lightly slaps Rhaenys’s arm. “Must I always come to you?”
She was a little plump from four children around her hops, but like Viserys and Aegon, she still maintained a youthful look about her. She gushes over Rhaenys’s children, pinching and kissing their cheeks, and presenting gifts from the Reach before introducing her own children. Leo, Garth, Elaena, and Harlan had Willas’s colourings and both their parent’s charm. Rhaenys even blushed at Leo’s compliments and Elaena was enthralled with Jaime. Willas was the perfect host, overseeing their comfort and promising to show Rhaenys and Jaime the gardens on the morrow.
The feasts come and the noble houses trot their children forward in their finest garments, all hoping for a match with a lion. Rhaenys hopes to find a match close to Daenerys, but finds that she cannot stand the lords and ladies of the Reach, and their false honeyed words. Myriah nearly falls in love with Robert Oakheart during his training under Garlan Tyrell. He escorts her around the gardens after seeking Jaime’s permission and was a perfect gentleman. He had a comely but typical face found in the marchers with brown hair and eyes. He was exceptional in the training yard, only second to Cerion, and Rhaenys begins to imagine their wedding ceremony when a swift joke from her son sullies Ser Robert’s reputation in front of Myriah.
“Your children are very close,” Dany tells Rhae. “They often remind me of you and Egg, the twins especially. Neither of you liked to be parted for too long when we were children. Egg used to cry and turn himself red, the poor thing. I cannot imagine him being king one day. To me he will always be Egg, not Aegon.”
Rhaenys smiles. “Ashara once said we reminded her of Elia and Oberyn.”
“Was it not Oberyn who gave Ser Baelor Hightower the ‘Breakwind’ moniker? Oh, that cruel man,” Dany laughs behind a hand.
“You were really mean to Ser Oakheart,” Alyssa frowned at him. “He was being perfectly nice to you and Myriah, and even tried to help you with your sparing. The least you could have done was keep your comments to yourself or say it in private. You are Father’s heir. You have to act accordingly.”
Cerion rolled his eyes and tried to keep the smile off his face. Of all his sisters, she was the most sensitive and an even bigger priss than Cerelle.
“It was a joke,” Myriah shot back. “He’ll put his cock in some Flower’s mouth and forget Cerion’s jape.”
Alyssa made a noise of disgust. “Do not speak like that! You are supposed to be a proper lady and Ser Oakheart is noble son. He would do no such thing.”
“Noble sons have their cocks sucked all the time,” Myriah drawled, already bored with the conversation. “Rodrik’s had his cock sucked and I wager he’s paid a golden dragon for a maidenhead. It is unfortunate that Father will have to pay your dowry, if not he would pay twice for yours.”
Cerion knew Myriah had gone too far, her words far too cruel for the likes of Alyssa as tears began to brim and she left their table at once. Nymora and Joanna followed after her, glaring and muttering insults at them. The wine soured in his mouth and he left the hall.
But Alyssa needed to hear those words. She thought life was a song, that a daughter of a princess will marry a valiant knight.
“Since when did our sisters become such prudes?”
“They have always been prunes,” Myriah told him in the dark corridor. “They may think they are capable of fighting or seeing to a household, but they can barely stomach harsh words. Mention cock in front of Alyssa or war to Nymora, and they turn into children.”
He leads her to the empty library and to the dark secluded corner he had found just for them. The feast will continue deep into the night and they had a few hours alone.
“You are nothing like them.”
“Thank the old gods and the new,” Myriah muttered. “I am the youngest and yet I am the only one who understands what is expected of the first night.” She then sighed and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Oakheart would have been a suitable enough husband.”
He groaned and pushed her off him. This again?
“You are fond of his teeth too, then? Those were made for a pitiful animal rather than a husband.”
“I will not have to think of his teeth during the bedding.”
He pushed her against the wall and pressed himself against her, holding her there. She was not scared as she looked at him, her violet eyes the same as his. He could feel her breath, her breasts against the thin fabric, and the warmth of her core. They were one, moulded together. They fit against each other perfectly.
“He would not be a suitable match for you! He could hardly hold his sword properly and would rather show off to the other lords than train properly! What happens when he’s your lord husband and he cannot defend your honour or against attackers? What do you think shall happen to you when your castle is under siege and he cannot lift his sword?”
“Stop!” Myriah whispered. “Someone will hear you!”
“Let them!” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Let him hear how weak he is to protect you, all of them, and how – how –“ He throat turned dry “ – how it would utterly destroy me if something were to happen to you, my other half…”
“Cerion, I will have to marry a lord and bear his sons,” she mumbled.
He moved closer, their lips barely touching. He could taste the sour wine on the tips.
“Let’s run to the Free Cities, me a sellsword and you my wife. We can leave the Rock to one of our sisters’s whelps and be free together.”
She smiled at him and almost giggled and she was so enduring. How could anyone think to separate them? They were one, made for each other together.
“We could rule the Rock together,” she offered, lightly touching his lips with her fingers and their noses grazing. “We are Targaryens of Old Valyria, and we answer to neither gods nor men.”
Fuck the gods and the men who deemed it necessary to separate them, to force them apart and live in agony until they were reunited once more in death.
He bruised his lips against her and she slowly gets to her knees. No more words were spoken.
A moon’s turn later, they left for Storm’s End. The trip had consisted of Jaime and Cersei attached and never seen too far from each other, Robert drunk at every feast, and Tommen showing them around the Stormlands.
“Thank the gods,” whispered Joanna. “At least Tommen is kind.”
None of her children had taken to Joffrey Baratheon. He was a cruel man and his words crueler. He showed no great prowess during training, nothing exceptional like Robert or Jaime, and treated those smaller or lowborn horribly. Anyone not the heir to Storm’s End was not worthy of his presence. His boys were no different, sneering at bastards and ladies who did not wish to be nearby. Rhaenys held no love for her cousin Robert, but pitied what would become of his seat once he passed.
Tommen was different from his brother, nearly night and day. Joffrey possessed his father’s colours while Tommen had blond curls and emerald eyes. He and Cerion could have passed for brothers standing near each other. He was kinder than Joffrey to Rhaenys’s children and tended to all those in the training yard. He too did not have Robert’s power, but he was swifter and lighter on his feet. He inspired the bannermen more so than his brother. If only he was the elder instead.
Their stay at Storm’s End was the shortest. The castle was solid and impregnable, and the most magnificent Rhaenys had seen in years, but there was a darkness within these walls. She could not tell if it came from the pale mist surrounding the castle or the family living within.
“I hope your stay at Storm’s End was to your liking, Princess,” Tommen tells her. “It would be wonderful to have you and Jaime here for the wedding. This is the most I have seen Mother smile in years.”
Tommen had relented to his mother’s wishes and finally decided to take on a wife while a castle was to be built for them. Jocelyn Whent was a comely girl with high cheekbones and light auburn hair. From what Rhaenys had been told, they corresponded regularly and he was already quite smitten with her.
She looked around the great hall during their last feast. It was a boisterous crowd and Robert was surrounded by bannermen and ladies who wished to hear tales of his conquests. A pretty woman who Rhaenys did not recognize was sitting on his lap as his voice grew louder with each course. Jaime and Cersei were together, unfazed by the music or Robert’s roars.
“Thank you, Tommen. You are also welcome to come see us at Casterly Rock. I’m sure the girls would love to play host.”
That night Jaime came to her for the first time since Highgarden. He was not as drunk as Robert, but Rhaenys found she did not mind as he stumbled around the room, laughing and smiling and making small japes.
“Toyne made a comment about you.” He began taking off his black leather boots. “I would have had his head had Robert not – hic – not knock his head over.”
“Robert Baratheon defended my honour?”
“Robert laughed at his joke and he does not know his own strength. I would not take his actions as honourable.”
Rhaenys was still interested. “What did Toyne say?”
“Do not worry, my sweet princess,” he purred, settling himself between her legs, pushing her nightgown up. “A maiden such as yourself should not consider words of a sheep.” He kissed her inner thigh, sloppy and wet. “What a beautiful and sweet maiden.” His kisses got closer to her core. “Warm maiden.”
“Ser Jaime, you are drunk,” Rhaenys giggled.
“For you,” he said instantly, drawing himself up and kissing her firmly. “Call me ser again.”
“Ser Jaime.”
He hums, emerald eyes aflame. “It has been years since I’ve been called ser. Say it again, princess.”
She did as her lord husband wished, repeating it ever so often as he kissed her firmly and slipped fingers inside her. She lost herself and began undoing his breeches when he pushed her hands away.
“No – later. I want to ravish my wife and watch her.”
He had brought her to her peak nearly twice that night and did not undo his breeches, whispering a promise of tomorrow. As they laid next to each other, as Rhaenys was caught between dreams, she swore she heard him mumbled a name, barely moving his lips. In the morning, as the sun shone through the cracks of the window, she loosened his laces, pushed him down the featherbed, and climbed atop. He bites his lips as she pushes down, trying his best to stifle his moans.
“Are – are you afraid of waking the castle, my lord? Afraid of – of the other lords hearing your pretty voice?”
Jaime squeezes her thighs and lets out a throaty laugh.
“Who did you dream of, Ser Jaime?”
He lets out a strained shudder as she moves faster, digging her nails in his chest. His eyes are half-close, half-open, completely dazed as, “You… only you…” comes out.
Cerion is silent when he walks around the castle, freely moving along the thick, hardened walls. Rain began to fall and he dashes towards the small sept. It will only last a moment and he did not want to get wet, did not want any reason to get into trouble for leaving the castle without a guard.
He was not alone however. A candle was flickering out, but it was enough for him to see clearly their golden hair. He walked around the shadows, silent as a mouse, and hid behind the Smith.
“I am lost without you. I am not whole without you. You are home now, you are home…”
Aunt Cersei was panting and kissing Father hard. Her ankles were locked behind him as he thrust deep into her, his back rigid.
“You have to be careful,” Father said gruffly as Aunt Cersei nipped at his neck.
She laughed but to Cerion it sounded more of a deep growl.
“Careful for the princess. We cannot let the princess know.” She was taunting him with his cock inside her. “Does she have your heart, brother? Do you love your princess so? Does she take you in her mouth and make you come?”
Father’s hips stopped and he let out a low shudder. She had found her peak as well, letting out a strained cry. From the dying embers Cerion could see her glistering tears.
“It will never be good with anyone else,” she said serenely.
Panting and spent, Father still said, “Do not talk about Rhae.”
“Do not speak of her afterwards –“
“She is my wife. The mother of my children.”
“Have you truly fallen for your prized princess?” she sneered at him. “Have you become her little pet?”
Father moved and pushed himself away from her, muttering under his breath.
“Robert is not careful or considerate around me, why should I extend the same courtesy to him? Is it not enough I am forced in this castle with him, forced to bear his children and face his bastards, forced to lay under him and imagine you and imagine throwing myself off the highest tower? The only victory I have over him is Tommen. Tell me, is that enough?”
She had begun crying. The stone wall, the cold woman who barely regarded Cerion and his sisters had let the mask slip in front of her twin, her other half.
“The dragons married brother and sister for centuries, and all the septons turned a blind eye. We should have done the same. The realm should have seen that the Lannisters were above the gods and the laws, just as much as the Targaryens. Father kept the realm together, sat on that throne as much as the Mad King. You should have sat on the throne after slitting his throat, stood before the gods, and said it was me you wanted. No one would have raised a word against us.”
“Cersei…”
“All I wanted was you!”
Father tried to comfort her but she recoiled against him. She ran out of the sept. When the doors opened and the moonlight illuminated her face, Cerion could see the mask firmly up.
He looks back and sees Father looking directly at him, the moonlight betraying him. He understands the many looks on Father’ face. The anger, the betrayal, the curiosity, the shame, and then the panic setting over him.
“I don’t understand,” Cerion says quickly.
It was a lie and a truth.
“You cannot tell anyone,” Father comes to him a hurry. “This will hurt your mother.”
“But I don’t understand,” Cerion mumbled. Lie and truth.
“It’s –“ Father stops himself for a moment, his throat hitched. “I cannot explain it simply. Cersei is – she is my other. My twin... She was the Maiden and I the Warrior... The love I bear for her is true and different than any love between a husband and wife… We were made together. Please, Cerion… Come, before people notice we are gone…”
In a daze, they had returned to the feast, sharing many drinks with the many drunken stormlords. His Father had donned the perfect mask, laughing and jesting with the other lords, playing the perfect brother alongside Robert, but Cerion could see the anger behind his eyes. He wondered what Lord Lannister would have done if it were Robert who found them. What if Cersei had asked him to defend her? Would he have slain the drunken stormlord for his sister, his other half?
Cerion understood his father now more than ever before. How could love and need and desire be such a sin? How terribly painful it must be to not be able to stand before gods and men and have your love accepted. The Targaryens answered to no men, and yet men like Father and Cerion were forced to bend to those laws. He understood his father’s pain and he never wanted to experience it himself.
“I will not tell anyone,” he told Father outside his chambers. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Father was confused but gave him a small smile. He was not as drunk as Lord Robert.
“Are you sure? I would understand if you were to tell Rhaenys. She is your mother.”
“You are my father as well, and you cannot be faulted for who you love.”
Father hugs him close. Cerion cannot remember the last time they had hugged.
They left Storm’s End and made their way towards the Vale. There would be no match for her children in the Stormlands and Rhaenys was not eager to give any of her daughters away to Joffrey’s sons. This trip, though hazardous, brought upon a glimmer of success. They had chosen to stay at the Gate of the Moon with lords and ladies of the Vale and the Riverlands coming together for a feast.
Robert Arryn grew into an enduring lord under Brynden Tully’s guidance after the death of his mother and father. While he will never command a battlefield as dictated by his health, he was still a wise lord, taking after his father with his Tully mother’s pretty features. In his stead on a battlefield was Ser Corbyn Royce, a knight of House Arryn, and a loyal companion and friend. He was a comely knight with broad shoulders and mop of brown hair falling over his pale ember eyes. He had brought a hawk to the feast and promised to show Nymora one of Runestone’s many ports.
“That is, if you were to ever grace Runestone, my lady,” he said with a hint of a smile. “We can race to Gulltown. Of all the Valemen, I am the best upon a horse.”
Nymora’s eyes shined at the challenge. Ser Merlon had the unfortunate task of chaperoning them as they raced through the Vale, the hooves of their steeds thundering under them. They danced together at every meal and he gifted her a broach made of a fine ruby wrapped around golden vines. She wore it proudly for the rest of their visit and the morning of their departure, her lips were swollen.
Their last of their journey is made to the North with the Ironborn meeting them in Winterfell as well. Jaime was uneasy the whole journey, not eager to see any of the Starks, least of all Ned Stark.
As they drew closer, Winterfell became an imposing figure spanning arcs and protected by two massive walls. As they entered the gates, there was a sense of strength within the stones, a sense of the First Men, the Age of Heroes, and Rhaenys felt safe against the harsh wind.
Ned and Catelyn Stark greet them at the entrance alongside their household. Lord Stark was not as imposing as Rhaenys remembered. The man was rather plain and solemn compared to his beautiful Tully wife.
“It is an honour to welcome you to Winterfell, Lord and Lady Lannister,” Catelyn said kindly.
“Winterfell is yours and your children,” Ned said stiffly.
His house was soon introduced. Robb Stark took after his mother’s Tully looks, and married a Northern woman with whom he had two sons, Torrhen and Brynden. They were both as tall as their father with their mother’s colours. Torrhen’s eyes, brighter than the Stark grey, seemed to have found something amusing in their arrival while his brother stood stony by him, less as handsome and charming. Torrhen kissed the back of Rhaenys’s hand and offered to show the children around Winterfell. Brynden did not offer a word, merely nodding and grunting when his brother turned to him.
Knights found lodgings, their belongings were taken inside, the children ran off with one another, and soon enough, Rhaenys and Ned were left standing in the yard.
Rhaenys remembered seeing the man years ago when she was a small child. There had been no feast or lord’s progress when he came to King’s Landing to escort Jon to the North for fosterage. She was so happy seeing the back of this Northern lord, so happy for a chance to see her mother smile, for Rhaegar to remember he had other children and a realm to rule, for her grandmother and Viserys to stop having nightmares, and for a chance to forget. But those childish dreams were short-lived. She had lost her father and sometimes she thinks he was never hers to have.
We were real and living, and yet he preferred a dead girl old enough to be my sister. How could we ever compete with a memory?
“Preparations have been made for tomorrow’s feast,” Ned told her. “Lady Asha had only just arrived and the other Northern lords will be making their journey to Winterfell.” There was a pause and then he said, “Jon Snow will also be at the feast. He has since been named Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”
Snow. He had chosen to take of his mother’s land. Snow, not Blackfyre or Waters or even Sand. Snow, a name he chose. Jon, a name his mother had chosen. Choices never extended to the king’s Dornish wife.
“He has expressed joy in meeting your children,” Ned continued.
Lord Stark was stretching the truth. Jon had written to her once in all the years he had been in the North. Just before she had left for Casterly Rock, congratulating her on her marriage. Rhaenys had chosen to forget him. It was easier when there were leagues between them. All she needed was Aegon.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was heavy with smoke and the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread. A singer was playing the harp and reciting ballads. The fire was roaring and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations surrounded Rhaenys. She and Jaime had been seated in the raised platform alongside Ned, Catelyn, Robb, and Alys, and Asha Greyjoy. Her children were just below with Robb’s children.
Asha introduced the few Ironborn lords who chose to follow their lady and go far from the sea. The many Harlaws, Blacktyde, and Goodbrother stood tall and impressive. They were harsh, fierce, and took to the drunken loud, Northern lords. Rhaenys feared and admired them, and they were fiercely loyal to House Greyjoy in ways Southern lords will never understand or emit. Asha’s son was introduced last. Rollo was lean and tall with dark hair and dark eyes. There was something promiscuous about him, the wild sea taking to him as he took to it. He bowed deeply at the lords and ladies of the table before joining the children below. Joanna’s brilliant purple eyes followed him, her eyes narrow with want and almost lust.
“He is a very handsome lad,” offered Lady Alys, still unsure around Asha. “I am sure he is just as handsome as his father…”
Asha, with an axe strapped to her breeches and a permanent smile upon her lips, answered, “Aye, I’m sure he is, for his father is a kraken.”
Ned introduced them to the Northern lords and ladies. Rhaenys wanted to find fault in them, her mood sullied since yesterday and the mention of her natural brother, but found it to a difficult task. They were crass and loud and loyal to the Starks and each other. She met the various Flints, the Mormont women, the strange Manderlys, and the even stranger Reeds. Benjen and Bran Stark arrive from the Wall, both clad in black. Benjen regards Jaime coolly and kisses the back of Rhaenys’s hand. Bran brough his direwolf with him and he sniffed at Jaime’s fingers, looking for his own dinner, before Rhaenys retreated his hand back. The master-at-arms, Rickon, unnerved her. There was something wild about him, wilder than the other lords and even the small memory Rhaenys had of Brandon Stark. His direwolf was the only one that truly scared her.
Rhaenys’s heart clenched when Arya was introduced. She had Ned’s long face and dark hair pulled back into a tight braid. She wore breeches instead of a gown and had a slender sword on her hip. Her mother looked disappointed. She was immensely pretty. While Sansa had been beautiful since the day she was brought into this world, the woman standing in front of her grew into her looks. Rhaenys knew, she just knew, that Arya Umber was Lyanna Stark reborn.
“My daughter, Arya Umber, her husband and my goodson, Jon Umber, and their daughters, Minisa and Serena.”
Her lord husband was a head and a half taller than her and built strong. Their girls were younger than Myriah and were as different as the sun and the moon. Minisa was Arya’s mirror, all North with a stern face and the same amount of curtsey. Serena, however, was a trout through and through with deep auburn hair kissed by fire and cloudy blue-grey eyes. She dipped into a careful curtsey and gave Rhaenys and Jaime sweet words. Rhaenys noticed Arya frowning and she remembered Sansa in Dorne. Both ladies seemed to have given birth to their own sisters.
“Ah,” whispered Jaime as the Umbers joined the feast and the next person moved towards them.
“Jon Snow,” began Ned, his tone grave, “Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”
Rhaenys tried to search for any resemblance of Rhaegar in him. Rhaenys had dark purple eyes that could sometimes be mistaken for black at night, but it was inherited from him all the same. Aegon was Rhaegar’s miniature when he was a babe. As he grew, he was the perfect mixture of Martell and Targaryen. He inherited Rhaegar’s face, Oberyn’s hands, Elia’s copper skin, Visery’s shoulders, Doran’s voice, and Rhaella’s temperament. Jon was Ned Stark and Arya Umber. Jon was the North, through and through. Rhaegar left very little in his natural son and even then, he triumphed over Rhaenys and Aegon.
“Lady Greyjoy,” Jon inclined his head politely. He then turned his head slightly, paused for a second, and said, “Lord and Lady Lannister.”
“Congratulations are in order, Lord Snow,” Jaime said smoothly. “Commander of the Night’s watch is a respectable position chosen by his brothers. I commend you.”
Jon nodded, but kept his eyes upon Rhaenys and she did the same. Would things have been different if Rhaegar had refused to send his bastard son to the North? Would they be as close as she is with Aegon?
He moved closer and her body seized for a moment, her inside disappearing. He was carrying something in his arms.
“Furs for the winter,” he told her. “And…” he hesitates for a moment before extending the weapon. “Winterfell houses the finest blacksmith in all the realms. I had Mikken make this special. He had fashioned it out of dragonglass.”
Her throat went dry. It was longer than a dagger, but not long enough to be a spear. She unsheathed the weapon. The weapon was straight, thick around the hand, and leaner at the point, curved like a needle, and longer than her forearm. There was no sharp edge along the length as it was curved around. The material was dark, and the hilt was carved with vines and a sun. It was light and made for a dexterous individual.
Jaime, the Starks, Asha Greyjoy, and the children were watching her, watching for her reaction. Arya Umber took particular interest, as did other Northern lords. They were loyal to their Snow.
“It is a beautiful piece,” Rhaenys told him, placing the sheathed blade upon her lap. “Mikken is very talented. You have my gratitude, Lord Snow.”
She wanted to hurt him, hurt him for all the times she had been hurt and discarded, for all those months they were left with Aerys and the smell of burnt flesh clung to the Red Keep.
Jon silently sat with his cousins as they rejoiced in his attendance. Myriah’s eyes were following him and Rhaenys could not tell what her youngest daughter was thinking. The feast continued without any further interruptions, food and drinks were passed around, the singer plucking songs about the First Heros, direwolves moved between tables, trailing after serving girls. Men of the Westerlands, North, and Iron Islands found comradery amongst each other, a rare sight, but all Rhaenys wanted to do was leave, leave and never come back to this barren land or see Jon Snow’s face or be reminded of her mother’s pain.
“He has a very quiet wolf,” Rhaenys whispered.
Suddenly she was out of the hall, feigning exhaustion. She nearly ran out of there as though the Others were chasing her. The yard was quiet and empty. The sounds of music and laughter were muffled behind the closed doors and it was the last thing she wanted to hear. She took out the blade, held it tight in her hand, and then she stabbed part of the stable. The dent in the wood was circular and she briefly wondered what it would feel against Tywin’s skull or through Rhaegar’s eyes or raid the Seven Hells and kill Aerys again and again. Kinslaying came easy to her.
Rhaenys lifted the weapon again, her arm steady.
“You should not do that again.”
Jon Snow was standing near the doors. “You will dull it.”
A string of insults sat upon Rhaenys’s tongue. Instead, she said, “You should go back to the feast. You should not worry those Northerners of yours.”
“Too hot, too noisy, and they do not care what I do.”
Rhaenys snorted and once upon a time, Elia would have chastised her for making such an un-lady like noise.
“You are one of them. A Northerner through and through.”
“I remind them of darker times,” Jon says grimly. “Sometimes they forget and I am one of them. Other times, they remember all those they lost because of me.”
“It wasn’t because of you.” Idiot. “You were not born yet.”
Jon’s lips twitched for a moment, almost smiling, before he nodded.
“I used to hate you when I was a boy,” he told her. “I hated that I was stuck here while you and Aegon were with Rhaegar. I used to think that he wanted me more, why else would he almost go to war if not for this supposed great love he had for Lyanna and myself.”
She wanted to strike this blade through him. Nearly thousands paid their lives for this great love.
“I used to pray to your Southern gods that he would one day come for me, acknowledge that I was his true son, the destined son he loved above his family. He would banish you and Aegon, and I would take my rightful place as an Jaehaerys or Aemon for the Dragonknight or even Aegon the Worthy after the banishment.”
“You are an idiot, Lord Snow,” Rhaenys snarled at him. “Rhaegar would have been a disappointment of a father to you as well.”
“I know,” he whispered to her. “He visited three years after my arrival in the North. My head was filled with songs and dreams and expectations. I thought the moment he arrived, everything would fall into place. He could hardly look at me. Barely spoke to me in all those weeks. Jaime Lannister looks more of a king than Rhaegar and… I was so angry.”
He stared at her and she stared back, unwavering.
“I may look like a Northerner, fight like a Northerner, and even speak like a Northerner, but they will never accept me for all the see when they meet my eyes are the husbands and sons and brothers they have lost over what Rhaegar and Lyanna did. I never understood why they did such a thing. What could possibly be a justified reason to throw the realm into chaos and cause the deaths of so many, including Brandon and Rickard Stark? Their love only brought upon death.”
Rhaenys looked away first, the questions all to familiar to her for it plunged her dreams and nightmares for years.
“There is nothing I can say that will bring you any sort of comfort, Jon Snow, for none was given to me,” she said softly. “I had thought to ask him once, when I was younger. I had known his head was filled with prophecies before any of us were born and I had heard the tales of a great love. I wanted to know the truth, but I could not muster any courage to do so.”
“Why?”
Rhaenys snorted. “You do not understand, Jon. No answer was ever going to bring me a sense of comfort or peace. Would hearing that Rhaegar brought upon a rebellion for a prophecy or a doomed love story have helped you? Would it have helped your doubts that you were not a worthy enough daughter or the nightmares that plagued you ever night? Would it have soothed your fears of your grandfather’s threats or the burned corpses you were forced to look at or the screams echoing in the Keep?”
“You’re a dragon, aren’t you, little Rhaenys,” a voice snarled in her ear. “A true dragon of my great grandsire’s house, but you look too much like your mother. I think we ought to see if you can fly, little one, perhaps in the fire. No, no, no, fire cannot kill us, never kill us, sweetling. The fire will transform us into who we truly are – dragons!”
Those were the nice days. His long nails used to scratch her, mark her, bruise her, but she could never cry in front of him. The old king never liked to see her or Viserys cry.
She let out a shaky breath and continued, “I can still remember grandfather sitting upon the throne, forcing me to come forward after some lord was burnt, and he dung his nails into my arms. Sometimes he would even force me to come to his chambers and he would talk to me as a grandfather should, as though he had not threatened to throw me into the fires beforehand to see if I was a true dragon. Those nights truly scared me the most, more so than the threats ever could. Greatness or madness, I never knew what grandfather would emerge that night.”
Elia and Rhaella used to protest, commanding and begging the Kingsguard not to take her to Aerys, but they were ordered to listen to him above all. Rhaenys was never harmed, she knew even then Arthur Dayne or the White Bull would never let harm come to a child, but that did not soothe her fears. She used to sit quietly at the table beside the window, listening to him and wondering if he was going to throw her in the fires that night.
“You – you remember him?” asked Jon, shocked.
“I remember a lot. I even remember Brandon Stark screaming for my father to come out and die.” Rhaenys laughed for a second. “Viserys and I were not as lucky as you, Aegon, or Daenerys. We remember every slight and betrayal.”
She let out a shaky breath and her shoulders were lighter.
“I hated you as well,” she told him. “You were the son he went to war for. Aegon and I were the ones he left behind.”
“But you are the daughter he kept.”
“And lost,” she whispered.
Rhaenys squared her shoulders once more and lifted her chin.
“Aerys and Lyanna are dead, Rhaegar is far away, and one day we will be all that’s left of them,” she told him. “We can either stand here reminiscing of darker days, but those days are long behind us and I wish to get to know you before you depart for the Wall. What do you say, Jon Snow?”
He stared at her, his mouth slightly parted. And then he smiled.
“Your children are beautiful,” Jon offered her. “The girls look like you and the boy a Lannister. I am sure the King and Queen are happy to have many grandchildren to dote upon.”
“Thank you, Jon. Congratulations on being named Lord Commander. I am sure Lord and Lady Stark are immensely proud of you.”
Jon smiled, a true smile, and they walked back into the Great Hall together, arm-in-arm. They sat at the same table as her children and drank to the good of the realm, as many lords and ladies stared at them, gawking. Her children noticed, but they were Lannisters and they did not care as they begged Jon for stories of the North and the Wall.
“Uncle Tyrion is going to be so jealous,” Alyssa said, giggling. “He always wanted to go to the Wall and piss of the edge of the world.”
It was the most uncouth thing Alyssa Lannister had ever uttered and it nearly caused Myriah to choke on her bread.
That night, the fire warmed their borrowed bedchambers. Rhaenys moved closer to Jaime, their slick bodies carved together. She nipped at his ear. Her loins still ached and she wanted him again and again –
“You are certainly restless, princess,” murmured Jaime, laughing. “Perhaps in a few hours, unless my princess orders me otherwise.”
“You speak far too much, Lord Lannister, your pretty mouth could be used in other ways.”
Jaime laughed once again. “Vulgar, absolutely vulgar.”
He rolled off their featherbed, crossed the room, and cracked one of the narrow windows open, letting the night air into their bedchamber. It had been years since their wedding ceremony. He was still perfect to her, her golden lion. There were barely any lines in his face and his hair was only a few shades lighter. She was still young, not yet a crone, perhaps she could give him another child.
He was now examining the blade Jon Snow had gifted her a few hours ago. It glowed from the fire.
“It is an impressive piece,” he said. “All the best blades have names. Have you bestowed one upon this?”
Rhaenys thought about it for a moment and then said the perfect name for her gift: “Snow.”
“This sept was built for my grandmother by my grandfather after their wedding,” Torrhen told Myriah. “I assume if I were to take a southron for a wife, she would pray for my health here.”
Myriah raised an eyebrow, almost challenging. “Southron? The free folk beyond the wall would also consider you southron.”
“We are not different then,” quipped Torrhen Stark with a smile. “But, my lady, I was made for the cold and snow.”
Torrhen Stark had awaken early that morning and requested the presence of Myriah Lannister from their parents to escort her about Winterfell. Cerion had the unfortunate task of acting as their chaperone. He kept his distance as he repressed the urge to spill his breakfast over the snow. Rollo Greyjoy had done the same of Joanna and Alyssa was tasked to watch over them, struggling to keep up and losing the pair quite frequently. He would not be surprised if they were found in the stable, Joanna giving her maidenhead away.
They moved past the south gate, the empty stables, the armoury where a man brought his hammer down a bright sword, the kennels, and finally the godswood. Torrhen boasted about it for nearly an hour. Cerion did not like Winterfell’s godswood. Casterly Rock had a godswood within a cave. The weirwood was twisted and surrounded by rocks and flowers blooming in the darkness. It was bright and airy, their home. The one in Winterfell was different and darker.
“Three acres of old forest within our walls,” Torrhen told Myriah brightly. “Untouched for thousands of years as our castle rose about.”
It smelt of mold and dirt. Cerion stood around the edge as Torrhen practically dragged Myriah to the center of the grove. He could see them through the branches and leaves. An ancient weirwood loomed over black pools. The tree’s bark was white as bone and the leaves a bloodstained red. A face had been carved on the trunk, long and melancholy and crying blood.
“This tree is older than Winterfell,” Cerion could hear Torrhen, his voice carrying through the trees. “This has been here since the First Men, perhaps even before. They have seen Brandon the Builder and many Kings of Winter come here for council and guidance.”
“The godswood in Casterly Rock is… different,” Myriah settled upon, glancing around her shoulders.
“There are times when I can hear the leaves singing through the wind,” Torrhen continued, not hearing Myriah. “Most times it feels as though all the Winter Kings were here, singing and guiding.”
Myriah pursed her lips before her face changed. “You speak of your home with grace and beauty, Lord Stark.”
A blatant lie that the foolish lord could not detect. She did not mean her words. She simply wanted a compliment from a handsome and daft lord. But he laughed all the same, robustious and loud, reminding Cerion of Robert Baratheon.
“I have been called many things, Myriah Lannister, but beauty is not one of them. I shall thank you all the same.”
She was disappointed. She wanted a compliment of her own. She was greedy for one, to be noticed outside of her sisters – one now a princess, one half a horse, one meant for the wild sea, and another the perfect lady – she was none of them. She was beyond them and Cerion had drawn out his sword, ready to run it through the arrogant lord, but Torrhen had plucked a pale rose from the snow. He took a small sniff and placed it behind her ear, tucking a strand of hair, and gently caressing her cheek.
“I had spoken to my father about you during the tourney at Casterly Rock,” the words came through the trees like a whisper. “He had told me that I was too young to be betrothed and I had not yet explored the North, much less the Westerlands. I suspect he and grandfather wished for a different match, one not with the Kingslayer’s daughter, but I think otherwise.”
“Do you now?” came Myriah, her voice cold.
He smiled at her, grin wolfish, and said, “The rose suits you. In time, Winterfell will suit you as well, Lady Lannister.”
A blush began to grow on her neck, she stared at him blankly – and she kissed him! Cerion’s voice died in his throat when Myriah pulled away. But Torrhen Stark kissed her once more, fiercely and unabashedly. She returned it in kind and Cerion was frozen in place, the snow and ice holding him still. She had kissed him back as fiercely and boldly as she had ever kissed him and she was lost to him forever.
He stepped into the clearing and coughed loudly. Myriah had jumped away, her chest heaving, while Torrhen grinned, his cheeks slightly red. He did not even bother to pretend to be ashamed.
“We should return to Father and Mother,” Cerion told her. There was a pause and he added, “You should be grateful I was the one who interrupted. Another lord would not be so kind. Myriah, come now.”
She did not speak to him for days, and those days turned to weeks and months. Her anger forced her to be as cold as the Wall. Before Winterfell, Cerion would have begged for her forgiveness, bought her gifts, and found ways to make her smile at him. But as they finally made their way home, he found himself content in their silence. Of the two, he wondered who would become Lady Cersei.
|
The Duke wanders into the gardens of his London estate, flask in hand, seeking some semblance of solitary calm. Hosting a ball is an enormous responsibility--one which he frequently questions the necessity of--and his patience has worn thin quite quickly this particular evening. Daphne is no doubt fine, possibly better, handling the guests alone. The rules of polite society seem to be an innate knowledge she has possessed since birth. The Bridgerton family were of course taught these lavish expectations since they were children, but judging by her siblings’ knack for tempting scandal, Daphne is truly a natural. She handles mishaps with grace, delights everyone with her wit, and astonishes nearly everyone with her propensity for unfiltered kindness. Not to mention her beauty, which catches the attention of young men and their mothers alike. This is all to say that Simon is madly in love with Daphne Bridgerton--well, Duchess of Hastings, now--and holds her in the greatest esteem. He is nearly certain that his wife is much too occupied with her entertaining duties to even notice his absence.
Simon is not unaware of his ability to charm, an ability which often eases the nightmare of small-talk and shallow niceties that are expected of him. Tonight, though, he simply lacks the patience or the ability to care. His countenance is strained and his presence only evokes irritation. It might be Daphne’s and his marital relations last night and his subsequent inability to sleep that is to blame for his current poor temper. Contracts and land deeds haunt his thoughts, constantly there on the periphery. There was also the matter of his wife carrying their second child, causing their household-- servants included--to become inundated with misplaced worry and a frighteningly long list of preparations to be made. The Duke never imagined the pure chaos that an awaited infant necessitated. No matter the reason, he needs some space and endeavors to find a momentary silence amidst the shrubs and statues of his gardens.
It seems that the universe has very different plans for him. A soft moan can be heard from behind some bushes perhaps some thirty feet away from where he stood. He stops short on the dirt path, listening intently. Surely no one would be foolish enough to tempt indecency at his ball. His mind wanders to his own lack of judgement with Daphne in that garden just a few years ago, but he shakes his head and balls his fists. Anthony had every right to accost him like he had; Such actions were just not acceptable, and Simon would not tolerate such behavior at an event that his dear wife so meticulously planned. His personal opinions toward intimacy and societal norms are not relevant to the matter at hand.
Barreling toward the offending couple, he has a glimpse of what might lie in store for him if he follows through on his anger. Daphne would be upset, or at least mightily displeased at his impulsiveness, and he had made a vow to himself that he would do everything in his power to never crease her soft face with worry and a furrowed brow ever again. Perhaps he should gain a better understanding of the situation at hand. He ducks behind a tree at his right, maybe twenty feet away from the now rustling bushes. He cranes his head and peers through the leaves toward the couple. The figures are hard to discern in the darkness, but he could see rhythmic movement and accompanying sounds of pleasure. Simon stares for a few moments until his eyes adjust to the light.
It couldn’t be, could it? Simon is shocked to see two men in a passionate embrace, the shadows of their faces merging into one. The anger begins to bubble again inside him; Indecency was one thing, but illegal acts are not going to be committed without a display of his wrath. Balled fists, a tight jaw, and heavy footsteps begin to approach. Every movement is laced with anger and calculated determination. Not a second later, though, another moan and a raspy laugh stop him in his tracks. No. No, he must be mistaken. He steps back and retreats behind the tree once more, looking to spot any defining features of the men. A gentleman would not harm his wife’s family, and Simon needs to be sure that neither of the men are who he thought. Benedict Bridgerton would not be harmed by his hand, no matter the offense. Even this particular offense, it seems.
Collecting his nerves and bottling them up for a moment, Simon listens again for a laugh. Benedict and Anthony had a distinctive laugh, a laugh that one might call a giggle, really. It was not a very manly noise, to be sure, and the Duke had come to associate the noise with his dearest friend. Benedict’s laugh was nearly identical, perhaps just a pitch higher than his brother’s. When no such laugh is heard, he creeps closer behind some low bushes and observes the mens’ clothing. A yellow waistcoat. Dear God, please let it be someone else .
Simon closes his eyes in frustration, and opens them in time to see one of the men pull away. His chest grows heavy as he sees his brother-in-law’s face. Fuck.
His mind races as he contemplates the possibilities. He is not going to let his brother-in-law--his brother, really--be arrested. Nor is he going to assault him; his fists unclench at this consideration. The best course of action seems to be approaching them and admonishing them for their carelessness and disrespect toward Daphne. Of course, he would ask them both to leave, rudeness be damned. Anxiety begins to pour into his limbs, his arms vibrating and his breathing growing heavy. He sinks to the ground in order to regain his composure, knowing all too well that his speech cannot be trusted while in a panic.
He looks over again, grimacing involuntarily at the sight of Benedict unbuttoning the other man’s shirt. Aggravation was not strong enough of a word for what he feels. But it only gets worse. The other man turns his head enough for Simon to see, and his heart just about stops. Sir Henry Granville, the artist. He has painted his family on several occasions, now. If his memory serves him right, he has painted portraits for the Bridgertons. For the Queen, even. Fuck .
Both panic and embarrassment seem too insurmountable for Simon to approach them. However, the thought of someone else seeing them is enough to make him rack his brain for something to do. God forbid someone alerts the authorities. Or worse, physically attacks them. These thoughts spin furiously around in his head until another thought drowns them out entirely. Anthony. The Viscount. His best friend. Benedict’s brother. Colossal idiot with dueling pistols in his study.
Anthony, Simon’s best friend, is an honorable man. He is a rake, no doubt, but also a man of principle: He is someone who protects his family at all costs. Simon nearly died at his hands when he besmirched Daphne’s innocence and refused to marry her. Granville not only has placed Benedict in grave danger, placed the Bridgerton family reputation in danger, but he cannot rectify such an offense with marriage or the like. He cannot rectify what Anthony would perceive as Granville corrupting his beloved brother. Either Anthony or Granville would die on the dueling ground, surely leaving Benedict in a world of hurt and guilt no matter the outcome.
Priority one: get them to safety. Priority two: make sure Anthony Bridgerton never hears of this.
Simon looks around the dirt path and finds a large enough rock for his hastily made plan. It is undignified, yes, but what else is he to do? Putting aside his pride for a moment, the Duke of Hastings picks up a rock and throws it at the hedge that partially conceals the two men. The rock manages to snap a few branches on its way downward, hitting the ground with a thud. Benedict and Granville immediately part, Granville buttoning up his shirt. Simon winces as Benedict practically shoves Granville into the bushes while leaping back several feet. Satisfied with their apparent alarm and newly found sensibility, Simon retreats quickly back to the festivities.
He takes a long swig from his flask as he enters the ballroom, unable to summon any manners while this anxious. Spotting Daphne across the room, he quickly approaches her, vividly aware of the concern on her face. Everything else becomes a blur. She apologizes to whomever she was speaking to, picks up her skirt, and drags him to an empty corner of the room.
“Are you alright? You are frightening me,” she whispers, placing a delicate hand on her growing belly. She looks up at him, at his face which is hardened by panic.
“Y-yes. Of course. I...I am sorry...that I have...worried...you,” Simon whispers back, breathing heavily. He clears his throat, takes a steadying breath. “I am going to retire to our bedchamber. I...I hope that is alright.”
She nods slowly, grabs his hand with both of hers, and smiles as much as she can. “Of course.”
Simon knows that she will worry the rest of the night, and that she will come to bed with the intention of finding out what it is that plagues his mind. What it is that triggered his impediment, made him resemble the small child that he so fervently wants to forget. He dismisses the inevitable, and exits the ballroom, ascending the staircase toward the bliss of sleep. He knows he has a few hours at the most to avoid Daphne’s scrutiny and loving interrogation. He is going to spend that time unconscious, he has decided. A few hours to indulge in the calm and silence that he had been searching for in the gardens.
The studio is a bit chilly this evening, with rain pouring down the windows and the glass reflecting the interior scene. White cloth is draped on the floor and over a small table in the center of the room. Placed on the linen-covered table is an empty wine bottle, a small bouquet of sunflowers, and an apple. Easels surround this display, with eager artists placing deliberate strokes of paint on their canvases and far less deliberate smudges of paint on the cloth below their feet. Benedict supposes the floor must have been ruined too many times for such a precaution to be needed.
He looks around at his setup and smiles contentedly. His paints and palette are sitting on the small shelf attached to the easel, and a small cup of paint thinner and his wine glass are on a spare wooden stool to his right. Benedict realizes that placing the presumably toxic liquid next to his now dwindling wine supply might be tempting disaster, but he also knows that there are better ways to go than to die in an art studio.
Benedict takes a sip of his wine and pauses to brush his hair out of his face. Almost immediately, Henry’s hand catches his wrist, his other hand grabbing a napkin. Benedict looks over at the man sitting on his left and smiles again at Henry’s mess of a workstation. He had always assumed Lucy’s remark about Henry getting paint in peculiar places had been innuendo--an implication of activities that Benedict has since participated in-- but as it turns out, Henry is also a very enthusiastic painter when he is in the comfort of his own studio. Without the expected decorum that is required while painting clients, and perhaps with the help of alcohol, the artist was known to haphazardly smear paint everywhere.
“Hold still,” Henry laughs, dabbing the napkin with some paint thinner. “You have just managed to spread yellow all over your forehead.”
Benedict looks down and frowns as he sees his fingers covered in yellow and, to his alarm, his pants streaked with blue.
“Excellent. The servants will be most pleased with this development,” he says with a sly grin, taking a larger sip of wine. “What are you doing?” Benedict instinctively pulls away from Henry’s approaching hand.
“I am helping my friend look slightly less of an idiot,” he chuckles as he wipes Benedict’s forehead with the napkin.
Benedict begrudgingly allows this, knowing that the few people left in the studio are old acquaintances of Henry’s. He has been assured of their ability to be discrete. He is slowly getting used to this freedom, and at present is making the conscious effort to stay still. Henry has also told Benedict that becoming comfortable with his feelings will take some time; Like a child feigns maturity, Benedict has assured his lover of how fine he is. It is in moments like these that he hopes his discomfort does not show.
“Thank you, mother, ” Benedict says, unable to help himself. Bravado helps him feel a little less like a flustered debutante. “And coming from you? Disaster himself!”
Henry winks and returns his attention back to his canvas. He had set up his easel next to Benedict’s with the intention to paint, but most of the night he has spent teasing Benedict over his inability to color match an apple. It is an apple, Benedict. It is a rich red, yes? So why are you mixing in yellow? Are you trying to paint an orange?
Dismayingly, Henry’s painting is somehow more lifelike than the display of objects in front of them. Benedict wonders how this could be possible as he surveys his own work. His colors are not as vivid, but his attempt at painting the empty wine bottle is much better than he had hoped it would be. The apple looks like an apple, in his opinion, but maybe it is a slightly less ripe apple than the one in Henry’s painting.
“How did you do that?” he asks, bending over and pointing to the sunflower’s reflection that Henry has painted on his wine bottle.
“I paint what I see.”
“Yes, yes. But how did you do that? You say to paint what I see, but you are beginning to make me think I am rather blind,” he mutters and turns his head back toward the display of objects, realizing that the glass bottle is indeed reflecting the yellow of the sunflower.
Henry chuckles and places a hand on Benedict’s shoulder. He flashes a smirk and whispers low, “Really, Bridgerton, you must ignore my quips. Doubt is rather unflattering.”
Benedict laughs loudly at this and playfully shoves Henry. “You wound my pride and then expect me to please you? I would expect more from a gentleman such as yourself.”
At this, the two men go back to painting in silence. There is background chatter from the other artists, some of whom are beginning to pack up their equipment, and the candles are losing their ability to compensate for the growing darkness outside. Benedict realizes that his focus is straining, and wonders if Henry will mind if he returns to his family’s home tonight. They had planned to spend the night together at the studio, but exhaustion seems to have descended upon the Bridgerton quite forcefully.
He is about to voice his apologies to Henry when there is a knock at the door. Lucy enters with a letter in hand, pausing to hug one of the women in the corner. The two women giggle at something Lucy says and they continue their conversation as Lucy hands the letter to Henry.
“Thank you, dearest,” he says, scoffing melodramatically as Mrs. Granville ignores him and cracks another joke about the woman’s painting before taking her leave.
“Ah, the picture of marital bliss,” Benedict muses, before recognizing the stamped seal of the envelope. “That is from the Duke, is it not? Christ, does my sister want another portrait? I would have assumed she would wait until she was no longer carrying their child. She is quite vain, I must say.”
Henry looks at him with a quirked eyebrow and jokes, “I must remember to tell her this when I see her next. She deserves to know how her dear brother speaks of her.” He unfolds the letter and creases his forehead as he reads.
“What is it?”
“It is an invitation,” he mutters, looking up. “It seems that your brother-in-law wishes to dine with me tomorrow evening. Do you have any idea as to why?”
“No, not at all,” Benedict says, putting down his brush and wiping his hands on a nearby towel. He snatches the letter from his hand and reads. “This is rather odd. I think I should be offended, Granville. The Duke has never once invited me to dinner.”
“I cannot help it. Save for you, people seem to think I am rather charming.” He flashes a smile before frowning. “In all seriousness, though, why the invitation? If he wishes to commission a portrait, he certainly could have approached me at the ball last week.”
“I would wager a guess that it is Daphne’s doing. However, I do not dare claim to understand the whims of my sister. She is most cryptic.”
“Your sister? I have always known her to be the opposite. She is quite the lovely woman.”
“That is because you do not know her as I do, Granville. Daphne is simultaneously the most unguarded and impenetrable woman I know. I have learned to not ask questions,” Benedict says, recalling Daphne’s maneuverings during her debut season. Her calculation and deception were such a stark contrast to her demure exterior.
“Well you have certainly calmed my worries,” Henry says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I should think this invitation includes Lucy, yes? It would be most unusual to invite only myself. Perhaps Lucy can shield me from your sister’s duplicity, ” he mocks, dismissing Benedict’s harsh assessment. “I shall write to him at once.”
Henry stands to leave, but Benedict catches his hand and pulls him back down into his seat. “I think I would like to return home tonight. It has been a long evening and I do not think I will be very...appealing,” he says, flashing an apologetic smile.
“Yes, of course. It might be best for you to leave before you ruin your clothes any further. Really, Bridgerton, you ought to don a blanket,” he teases and leans down to kiss Benedict.
Benedict scrunches his face in embarrassment but kisses his lover even so. “Goodnight, Granville. I shall call on you tomorrow, after your dinner appointment.”
Benedict gathers up his coats and decides to kiss Henry again. The artist beams as he pulls away. “Goodnight, Bridgerton.”
Once seated in his carriage, the sound of hooves clapping on stone hushes the Bridgerton’s momentary flash of guilt. Kissing, touching, loving Henry? He swears he could live like this his entire life, basking in the warmth of his lover’s arms and intoxicated by paint fumes. He imagines himself waking up in the morning some years from now, covered in charcoal smudges, and breathing in the sweat on Henry’s neck, a sweet souvenir of the night before. It is all Benedict envisions for his future, but the trip back to Grosvenor Square always sparks regret and doubt. Duty and honor call for a very different future, indeed.
He falls into a trance as he focuses on the movement of the carriage along the stones, and feels the soft velvet of the seat beneath his fingertips. You have no idea what it is like to be in a room with someone you cannot live without... and yet still feel as though you are oceans apart. Henry’s words echo in his head and he smiles a bittersweet smile. Henry’s studio and Grosvenor Square feel oceans apart, as do his dreams and his reality. He thinks he finally understands what Henry meant. It is more than the secrecy at society events, the danger of being found out. It is the incessant desire to join their lives into one, to be a family, that is needlessly swept away by the opinions of others. When he cannot sleep at night, he sometimes indulges in his envy towards Lucy. She is such a sweet soul--and Benedict cannot imagine his life without her presence--but still, it is hard to watch Henry’s marriage in action. She can walk arm-in-arm with her husband, dance with him, brag about him. She can call herself a Granville for Christ’s sake.
He prays that Lucy savors the sound of her name on other people’s lips. It is truly a blessing, one that he will simply have to enjoy in the solitude of sleep.
Simon spends most of the afternoon pacing in his study. Deep in his heart, he can feel the dread creeping in, making his legs restless and his mind fuzzy. The sound of his boots on the wooden floor must be driving the servants mad, but he dismisses the thought in favor of planning the impending confrontation.
He wants to confront Sir Granville, obviously, but he does not want to speak so plainly as to risk anyone overhearing. He assumes that euphemisms might work best, but he also fears that such an approach will make him seem embarrassed or narrow-minded. His intention is simply to warn Granville of Anthony Bridgerton and the other dangers he is courting. Benedict must be protected, and he hopes to convey his concern to Henry. Simon can be trusted with their secret, surely, but he also considers offering support in telling Anthony if need be. If Simon facilitates the meeting between Henry and Anthony, perhaps the Bridgerton would remain calm long enough to talk to the man. He shakes his head, clearing the thought from his mind. Anthony is hell-bent on maintaining his family’s honor, even if it might cost his brother’s happiness.
The Duke cannot help but blame himself for this...this protective streak of Anthony’s. His actions with Daphne are certainly a contributing factor, but it was another, more regretful action of his that he fears might have caused such cagey behavior in Bridgerton. He thinks of that night at the club. They had smashed a table, left each other’s faces bloodied, and greatly bruised their reputations. The look on Anthony’s face as Simon had mentioned Edmund Bridgerton was something that has haunted him since. He had implied that his father would be disappointed in him, for God’s sake. Of course Anthony would be so wounded as to act so fervently in securing his family’s interests.
Simon cannot help but stew in this guilt while pacing and planning, the afternoon light wasting away outside.
Soon it is the evening, and the sound of horses can be heard outside. Simon leaves the safety of his study to welcome his guest. The artist and his wife--- fuck --- are punctual, greeting the servants as they are ushered inside. Mrs. Granville clings to her husband’s arm and they laugh at something Sir Granville whispers in her ear. They seem the picture of happiness, and Simon cannot help but take pause and reconsider his intention to confront Granville. He even worries that perhaps he is mistaken; Perhaps it was not Sir Henry in the gardens at all. Still, he places the worry aside and greets his guests with the utmost hospitality.
“Sir Granville! And Mrs. Granville,” he says, nodding politely at Lucy. He shakes Henry’s hand, and claps him on the back as he waves them down the hall.
“I must admit, your invitation caught me by surprise. It was unexpected, but an honor nonetheless,” Henry explains as they enter a beautifully adorned sitting room.
“Please, sit,” the Duke motions toward a sofa that sits below his mother’s beloved painting. It is the same painting below which he allowed himself to fall madly in love with Daphne Bridgerton. Sir Granville stops to admire the painted landscape before sitting down, his body nearly flush against his wife’s side.
Simon again feels a pang of doubt.
“You must excuse me while I go fetch my wife. The Duchess seems to have forgotten the time,” he smiles warmly, and exits the room in haste. A hint of anxiety creeps into his consciousness as he contemplates the best way to broach the subject at hand, taking into consideration the presence of Mrs. Granville.
Simon mentally berates himself for not taking Lucy into consideration while drafting his letter. He supposes he was too preoccupied with... everything else to have thought of this. It is with this pained countenance that he enters the upstairs library, in which Daphne is sewing a blanket for their greatly awaited addition to the family, sitting amongst the books in a heavily cushioned chair.
He walks slowly up to his wife, greeting Daphne with a teasing bow that makes her giggle. “Dearest, please do not be angry with me. I seem to have made a blunder while writing to Sir Granville and he has brought Mrs. Granville along. Could you…?” He does not finish the question, instead electing to sheepishly smile at his Daphne.
She sighs and places the blanket aside. “I will be downstairs in just a moment. I need to change into something more...appropriate,” she laughs as she stares down at her nightgown and bed jacket. She places her hands on the arms of the chair and begins to shakily stand up, but Simon quickly rushes to her side and assists his struggling wife. She laughs as she regains her balance in Simon’s arms. She places a hand on her belly and grabs her husband’s hand. “It seems I have forgotten how difficult this is. I cannot believe I let you do this to me more than once,” she smiles up at Simon and he can feel his face betraying just how smitten he is.
“You cannot blame me for this. You are just as guilty,” he smirks, flashing a mischievous glance her way. “And I seem to recall you enjoying our endeavors.”
She laughs lightly, smacking his arm and letting go of his hand. “I should be just a moment. Please extend my apologies to our guests.” She leaves the library, glancing back at her husband once, and makes her way to their bedchamber.
He returns downstairs, pausing to ask a servant to prepare for a larger dinner, and enters the sitting room to find Lucy Granville’s head resting on Henry’s shoulder. Her hand is in his and they seem to be admiring another piece in the Duke’s art collection from their place on the sofa. Henry is pointing at a small detail in the portrait, sharing his admiration of the impasto.
“Ah, Hastings! This piece is just lovely. How did it come to be in your possession, if I might ask?” Henry squeezes his wife’s hand and lets it go so that he can better point to the object of his attention. “The brushwork is,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “quite astounding. The artist is a much better painter than I,” he quips.
“I believe it was my grandfather’s. I do not know much about the portrait, I am sorry to say. There is another piece just like it in the dining room, painted by a man named Alexander Barrington, I believe. Perhaps it is also his work. I am sure you will find it just as impressive,”
he says, hoping his discomfort does not show on his face.
His silent prayers are answered as his wife enters the sitting room, a bright smile lighting up her features. She wears a light blue dress, a dress which accentuates her new figure, and dons a ribbon in her hair. Simon is impressed at her quick transformation; Daphne is known to be excessively slow while getting ready for company. “Mr. and Mrs. Granville! What a delight to see you,” she nods politely before sitting in a chair at Lucy’s side.
“Mrs. Granville, I must say, your dress is beautiful.”
Lucy smiles in the same genuine manner that Simon admires in Daphne. She rearranges the green silk before answering, “Madame Delacroix is truly a marvel. And, please, call me Lucy.”
“Well, then, you must call me Daphne. I am all too tired of trivial titles.”
The two women chatter on about the latest gossip, no doubt from the latest Lady Whistledown column, while Simon and Henry continue their discussion of the various paintings that hang on the sitting room walls. He periodically glances over to see the two women engaged in enthusiastic conversation and he smiles, glad that perhaps Daphne has made a new friend.
Simon turns his attention away from the two women and speaks plainly to Sir Granville. “Granville, I would like to show you another landscape that hangs in my study. I happen to find it most impressive, but it would be fascinating to hear an artist’s perspective,” he gestures toward the door, and Henry eagerly follows him into the hallway.
“I shall take a cue from my wife and tell you to call me Henry. I believe I have painted your family enough times for you to drop my surname,” he chuckles as they walk, glancing up at one of his portraits that hangs in the foyer.
Hastings does not return the offer, knowing that ‘Simon’ is too familiar for what he is about to do. Simon is a friend. The Duke commands authority; This is the quality he needs to summon at this moment. The awkward lack of reciprocation will simply have to be tolerated.
Simon takes a deep breath and leads them into his study, closing the door firmly behind them. Henry does not seem to take notice of Simon’s uneasiness, and walks across the room to the landscape in question.
“This is very nice. The colors are quite remarkable, as is the detail in the flowers,” Henry glances back at his host. “You have splendid taste, Your Grace.”
Simon assumes this to be a snarky allusion to his impertinence. He does not respond and sits down in the seat at his desk. He motions for Henry to sit in the seat across from him and Granville complies.
“You mentioned earlier you were surprised to receive my letter. I do suppose it was quite formal given the intention behind my invitation,” Simon starts and then stops to clear his throat. “Would you like something to drink? I have some whiskey in the cabinet.”
He does not wait for an answer before crossing the room and pouring himself a glass. Henry agrees to a drink and accepts his glass with his lips pulled into the smallest of smiles. Simon does not know how he should interpret this but falls into his chair and continues.
“Like you said, your work has become a staple in our household. On the occasions we have sat for our portraits, we were given very little time to talk. Daphne and I have seen you at events, yes, but the nature of such events are too formal for my tastes.”
“I would have to agree, Your Grace. Lucy and I were pleased to read your invitation. My wife and yours seem to get along well enough at balls, but they seem like they could be great friends,” Henry says, and Simon is inclined to agree. The two women seemed to be getting along splendidly.
“I must say, you and your wife remind me greatly of my own marriage. It is not often you see a married couple still so happy, let alone so happy in the company of others,” Simon says, taking a large sip of alcohol. “If you do not mind me asking, how did you two meet? Is she an artist as well?”
Henry laughs unexpectedly loud, before stifling it enough to choke out, “Heavens, no. My Lucy has been unsuccessful in all of her many attempts at sketching even the simplest of subjects. She wishes to understand my love of the arts--a sweet gesture that I am most appreciative of--and I have not had the heart to tell her that her talents are lacking.” He chuckles again as he takes a sip from his glass. “We met at the opera. It was a loathsome production and I have not the foggiest memory as to the name of it. We bonded over our shared distaste. Even now, we joke about the outlandish costumes.”
Simon nods his head, once again concerned that he might have made an error as to the identity of Benedict’s lover. Henry and Lucy just seemed so... happy. He cannot imagine a happily married man running off to the gardens to engage in an affair. Simon momentarily considers redirecting the conversation to better investigate Henry’s marriage; For one, he worries that Granville is taking advantage of Benedict. Secondly, he wishes to gauge Henry’s character. Benedict deserves happiness and Simon hopes it will come from an honorable person, a person who values loyalty. However, he downs the rest of his whiskey and proceeds according to plan.
“Daphne and I met a ball, but to say we were initially uninterested in courtship would be a grand understatement,” he reminisces. “Even our engagement was...unconventional.”
Henry does not respond, just raises an eyebrow and takes a modest sip of his drink.
Simon continues, feeling his throat tighten ever so slightly. “It is my understanding that you and Benedict Bridgerton are friends, yes?”
Simon looks for any signs of discomfort from the man but instead receives a perfectly unbothered response. “Yes, actually. I have been something of a mentor. I believe Bridgerton has great artistic potential.”
Hastings nods mechanically. “Well, then, I t-take it he has divulged... the story of Daphne and I’s engagement?” He steadies his breath and tries to regain some semblance of steady speech.
“No, he has not,” Granville says, sitting up straighter in his chair. His eyes betray his eager curiosity. “You must tell me, Your Grace. You have piqued my interest,” he says, nodding as if to say go on.
Simon is grateful that his impediment has gone unmentioned, and makes a conscious effort to ensure it remains that way. “I am surprised. It involves him, to an extent. You see, Daphne’s brother, Anthony--the Viscount Lord Bridgerton--forced my hand. He gave me an ultimatum: Either I marry Daphne or I would be shot dead in a duel.” He pauses to chuckle at Henry’s shocked expression. “That’s where Benedict comes in. He stood as Anthony’s second during the duel.”
Granville cannot help but interrupt, it seems. “Do you mean to say Benedict Bridgerton was involved in a duel?” He laughs and shakes his head. “That man has, on more than one occasion, asked my wife to kill a spider. I would have imagined dueling to be too much for him.”
Simon takes note of Henry’s soft smile, and is sure that he must be correct. It is a smile of a man in love.
Henry snaps out of his reverie, and goes back to looking positively scandalized. “My apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to interrupt. Why the duel? Surely you wanted to wed, yes?”
“Yes, of course. It was only inevitable that we were to marry, but the Viscount certainly... expedited the matter,” Simon says, heart beating fast in his chest. He shifts in his seat and catches Henry’s eyes. He seems to have noticed Simon’s discomfort. “He caught us at a ball---in the gardens, actually---participating in some improper activities.” At this, he sends Granville a sharp glance, praying that he will understand the implication.
Henry clears his throat and uncrosses his legs, trying to mask an expression which resembles panic. “Oh, dear...that must have been...less than ideal.” He downs the rest of his drink and smiles tightly at the Duke.
“Yes, well, it certainly was. Anthony, a dear friend, nearly killed me for my brazen behavior.”
Simon is almost relieved at the other man’s quiet terror; He is somewhat comforted to have his suspicions confirmed.
“What a story, Your Grace. Quite shocking at that.” Granville’s expression hardens, his eyes averted downward.
“‘Shocking’ is one word for it,” he flashes a knowing look. “I seem to have learned a valuable lesson, though. Lord Bridgerton will protect his family at all costs. It is a comfort, really--knowing that Daphne would be safe in his hands if anything were to happen to me.”
“What an interesting anecdote.” Henry mutters.
Simon’s guilt amplifies at this. “Do you--? Do you understand what I am saying?” He smiles in an attempt to assuage his own dread, but quickly frowns when he meets Henry’s eyes.
“Yes, I am afraid so,” he says, his voice heavy. He stands and places his glass on the desk. “My apologies, Your Grace, but it seems I suddenly feel ill. Perhaps it would be best if my wife and I were to leave.”
Simon stands and catches Henry’s arm and quickly explains, “There is no need to leave, Granville. I can have a servant fetch you some water.”
Granville angrily removes Simon’s hand from his arm and spins to face him. Henry is shorter than Simon, but his gaze is biting and intimidating as he looks up at his host. “No need, Your Grace. You have made yourself very clear.”
Simon is taken aback at this display of insolence. He feels childish as he chases after Granville, following the man out of the study and into the hallway.
He tries, once again, to grab Henry’s arm but the man is too quick. He instead stops in his tracks and shouts, “Mr. Granville! I must speak to you!”
Granville seems shocked by this, and turns quickly on his heel to face Simon. Henry walks toward him, closing the large gap that had opened between them. “Yes, Your Grace?” Henry’s voice is airy and mocking.
Simon takes a deep breath and continues. “You misunderstand me, Granville. I simply wish to warn you of Anthony Bridgerton’s temper. I fear he will be less understanding of the... situation than I.” He looks down and sees Henry’s eyes alit with rage and shining with fear. “You ought to proceed carefully,” Simon finishes, well aware that the servants are watching.
Henry laughs and turns again, marching toward the sitting room. He shouts back, “I am so very grateful for your concern. ” He punctuates the last word with contempt.
Simon once again follows the enraged man, feeling rather irritated himself. “Henry! I am trying to offer my support! If you would just let me--” he cuts himself off as he enters the sitting room.
Both Daphne and Lucy are staring at the two men with shocked expressions, Daphne’s face projecting the faintest amount of annoyance. Simon is sure to hear of his wife’s displeasure at his efforts toward ruining their evening. He shoots an apologetic glance at Daphne in an attempt to calm her worries, but he is only met with an intense stare.
Henry snaps at his wife, “Lucy, we must leave. It seems we are no longer welcome.”
Mrs. Granville looks appalled by his behavior and snaps back, “Excuse me, Henry, but we are guests. Whatever is this...,” she looks her husband up and down, “nonsense! Sit down and apologize for whatever stupid thing you did.”
“Lucy! I will not ask again.”
Lucy scoffs at this, folding her arms. “Absolutely not. I happen to be enjoying my evening. If it is alright with the Duke and Duchess, I would like to stay. You may leave if you wish.” She looks up at Simon, and he nods without thinking. Daphne voices her agreement. Satisfied by her continued invitation, Lucy grabs Daphne’s hand and says softly, “I am so sorry, Daphne. I cannot believe my husband’s childish behavior. You have been most kind this evening, and I worry this has ruined it.”
Henry calms enough to apologize and grab his wife’s other hand. “I am very sorry for my outburst, Lucy, but,” he stops, and looks at Simon and Daphne. He bends down, tenderly touching her shoulder, and whispers the rest of his explanation.
Hastings watches as her angered expression melts into concern and then into horror. Her eyes grow wide and she whispers something back to Henry, gripping his hand tighter and placing a loving hand on his arm. Henry is soothed by this, and helps Lucy up from the sofa.
He places an arm around her waist and smiles at Daphne before frowning at Simon. Mrs. Granville turns to Daphne and simply says, “We must go. It was lovely seeing you, Your Grace.” Lucy shoots Simon a formidable glare, undoubtedly pleased by his timid appearance.
Does Lucy Granville know?
They walk out into the hall, and Simon can hear murmurs of hushed whispers. Moments later, he hears the sound of horses and knows the Granvilles have taken their leave. He realizes he has been standing there in silence, and looks down at his sitting wife. Daphne’s expression is unreadable, but he assumes it is a mixture of confusion and aggravation. Well deserved, he notes.
“Daph, I--,” he begins, but is shushed by his wife’s raised hand.
“I do not wish to know,” she mutters and stands on her own, dismissing Simon’s offer to help. “I will be taking dinner in the dining room. I expect you not to be there.”
She leaves the room, disappearing into the hall. He hears a servant approach her and offer to escort her into the east wing. He looks around, dumbfounded, wondering how exactly he could---to borrow a phrase from Anthony-- fuck up this severely .
Benedict absentmindedly sketches his left fist in his sketchbook, anxiously awaiting Henry’s arrival. The studio is dark, save for the corner in which he sits. A candle burns to his right, its light casting deep shadows on his fist. His right hand darts across the paper, leaving smudged and jagged lines that are all too harsh for capturing his subject. He unknowingly tightens his jaw, agitated. His nervous energy spills into every movement; His leg bounces on the floor, his breathing is somewhat quick, and his eyes move in a frenzy from his hand to the paper and back to his hand. Henry will not be there for a couple of hours, but the Bridgerton is impatient and headed to the studio anyway.
He hopes no one saw him enter the building unaccompanied. It would be seen as unusual for him to have a key to the artist’s private studio. Still, he felt a staggering need to wait amongst the paint and charcoal and ink.
It is foolish and naive, he knows, but he privately longs for some semblance of normalcy. The affection and devotion that he and Henry have toward each other is something worthy of recognition, albeit a veiled sort of recognition. If Daphne and the Duke are charmed by Henry, he will relish in the knowledge that his sister and brother-in-law deem Henry a worthy recipient of Bridgerton admiration. That approval would be enough, he thinks, to muddle through the painful secrecy. So he waits, heart heavy, to hear the details of Granville’s night.
His restlessness becomes unbearable after three or four pages of sketches, and he practically jumps out of his seat to rifle through Henry’s book collection in the small study off the main hallway. The library-- if you can call it that--is a modest bookshelf in the corner of the room, filled with Henry’s sketchbooks and large anthologies discussing various art movements. He kneels on the ground and begins to flip through an older book, taking care to not rip the tattered cover clean off, and settles on a page depicting a rather unusual portrait. His fascination with the dated collection evaporates, though, as he hears the jiggle of a key in the front door.
Benedict leaps to his feet and greets an exhausted-looking Henry in the foyer. Henry seems surprised by Benedict’s presence, but quickly suppresses his shock and sends a smirk his way.
“Eager to see me, Bridgerton?” He laughs, shutting the door and mindfully locking it. He drags a hand through his hair and takes his jacket off with deliberate panache. He looks Benedict up and down before meeting his gaze and chewing his lip. “You are wearing too many clothes.”
Benedict blushes and leans down to kiss Henry, first whispering into his neck, “I believe I am not the only one who is eager.”
At this, Henry shoves him against the wall and starts to undo the buttons of Benedict’s shirt. Not a moment after his shirt is discarded, Henry begins to unbutton Benedict’s trousers, sucking desperately on his neck, his collarbones, his chest.
Benedict mumbles something into Henry’s hair and the man looks up, impatient. Benedict has an amused smile on his face as he teases, “You are back early, Granville. Were you that desperate?”
Henry cracks a smile but speaks with an edge to his voice that Benedict does not know how to interpret. “I simply missed you,” he says, genuine. It looks as if he is going to explain further, but he shuts his mouth and returns his focus to Benedict’s trousers.
Benedict simply laughs, deciding not to question the why and instead to focus on the what. “At least take me on the sofa, Henry.”
Henry, sighing again with impatience, drags Benedict into the main room and practically throws him on the sofa. He hastily draws all the curtains shut and falls on top of Benedict, kissing him with uncharacteristic force. The sofa creaks a bit at the sudden weight, and for a moment, Benedict fears the legs will give way. His worry dissipates as Henry tugs his trousers down around his ankles and leans forward to take him in his mouth. Moans fall from the lips of both men, Benedict’s breath hitching as his lover periodically pulls away to suck bruises on his inner thighs.
“Henry, love, please--,” he is silenced as he is turned over, his face now smushed against a cushion. He stifles a giggle as Henry kisses down his spine, and fails to suppress a shudder at Henry’s chilled hands clamping down on his legs.
“I love you,” Henry whispers. He takes a shaky breath and exhales loudly, letting out a noise that makes Benedict turn around to look at him. Henry’s eyes are shut tight, but is smiling as he whispers again, “I love you, Benedict, with every ounce of my being.”
Benedict looks away, feeling as though he has seen something he should not have seen. He swears that Granville’s eyelashes are wet, but he cannot imagine what could cause Henry to cry.
“I love you, too...Henry, let me see your face,” he says, slowly turning over onto his back. He looks up at Henry and places a hand on the man’s cheek. His fingertips feel the tears that are invisible in the low light. “Oh, Henry. What is it?”
He sits up, pulling Henry into his lap despite the man’s protests. “Please do not treat me like a child,” Henry begs, his voice breaking. “I am fine. I swear.”
“It is alright. You can tell me,” he whispers, fingers playing with Henry’s soft curls. “How can I help?”
Henry offers a lopsided smile in an attempt to seem alright. “You can let me fuck you.”
Benedict frowns and says louder, “Henry, please.”
Henry sighs, slides off his lap, and lets out a choked response, “I missed you. It has only been a day, I know, but sometimes I cannot bear to be apart from you. Today is one of those days, that is all.” He smiles reassuringly, and Benedict cannot help but feel at ease and very, very loved.
Benedict turns onto his stomach again, beaming. “You may proceed.”
“I may proceed ? Good God, Bridgerton.” Henry laughs, but continues kissing Benedict’s spine, his grin audible in his words.
Benedict can hear Henry taking off his clothes behind him. Or, more accurately, could feel him take off his clothes, the sofa shaking and creaking again. Benedict laughs as Henry wraps around him, realizing Henry still has on his shirt and that his own trousers are still around his ankles. They are both desperate, it seems.
He can feel Henry’s breath on the back of his neck, his breathing becoming heavier and more strained as they indulge their desire. A shudder runs down his back as Henry’s unruly hair brushes against his shoulder. In his ecstasy, he vaguely notices Henry’s arms wrapped around his chest, pulling him in closer, the embrace tender and warm.
They finish in time to hear a loud snap, and their panting soon devolves into a fit of giggles and snorts as they slide down the broken sofa onto the floor. They evaluate the damage and see that two of the legs had given way, and Benedict briefly worries how it would look for the two men to haul a broken sofa out of the studio.
“Perhaps we should cut back on the wine,” Benedict jokes, looking to Henry for a laugh. Instead, he sees the half-dressed man wearing a sullen expression, his body slumped forward. “Henry?”
The man draws a shaky breath and looks up. Benedict’s heart drops as he sees Henry’s watery eyes. Standing up, Henry pulls on his trousers and fixes his messy hair before pacing the room. Benedict follows suit, tugging on his trousers and searching for his shirt, deciding to give Henry a moment alone in his thoughts.
Finally, Henry breaks the silence by rushing up to a fully-clothed Benedict, kissing him with a renewed fervor. It is reciprocated, of course, but Benedict pulls away a minute later, remembering Henry’s distress.
“Please, tell me what is wrong,” he whispers against Henry’s lips. A dread settles over him as he awaits an answer.
The other man’s cheeks are now stained with fresh tears as he gasps, “The Duke knows.”
Benedict pulls away to better look at Henry’s face, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and asks, “What do you mean?” He prays that his fear is misguided; That his brother-in-law does not know his dearest secret.
He feels as if he is going to collapse as he sees the fear in Granville’s eyes. Henry nods slightly as he whispers meekly, “He knows.”
Benedict begins to speak but his voice falters. Instead, he sits on the floor, his gaze directed at nothing in particular as the terror floods through his body. If the Duke knows, surely Daphne does, too. He panics at the thought. "What-," he sobs, "What did he say?"
Henry sits down beside him and leans his head on Benedict's shoulder. "Our conversation was not a happy one, I am afraid. He not so subtly referenced your brother's fondness for dueling. I do not believe he has told him yet, though. It appears to be a threat." He pauses, then smiles as he grabs Benedict's shaking hand. "It is alright, love. I have handled much worse in my lifetime."
Benedict stares at Henry, bewildered. He cannot believe the man's quiet sadness in the face of danger. He feels his own blood boiling, his eyesight turning hazy. He feels as if he is going mad, a single thought echoing in his mind. The Bridgerton closes his eyes and clenches his fists. Simon Basset must be stopped.
Benedict Bridgerton is not known to be an angry man. Anthony, yes--given the right circumstances. Colin can be moody at times, occasionally threatening Eloise with a book aimed at her head. The books are usually small and the tosses light, but Benedict recalls one occasion, when he and his siblings were much younger, in which Eloise narrowly avoided a large book of poetry lobbed at her head. Benedict, though, is mellow in comparison to his brothers; His temper is duller, his emotions directed inward. He likes to think that he is his mother’s favorite son--excluding Gregory, of course, since he is the youngest--since he has, up until now, done very little that could cause their mother much grief.
She is aware of the parties, he knows. Violet Bridgerton is not
stupid.
Unfortunately for her sons, Lady Bridgerton is all too perceptive of their impropriety and immaturity. It is a miracle she has not seen Benedict’s relationship with Henry for what it is. Benedict knows that his face betrays too much when he is around her.
His face at present contorts into a slight frown, masking a great deal of viciousness behind the small curl of his lips. No, Benedict is not an angry man. He is a man that loves his family greatly, a fact known to all, and would do anything to secure their happiness. It is why he wakes in the night due to fears of
accusations.
The thought of his family’s reputation being tarnished by his actions is too much to bear sometimes. Simon knowing, and perhaps planning to tell, is a nightmare with which Benedict has great familiarity. It is usually a stranger who is the reason for his undoing, but the plot always seems to end with tears and blood. The terror he feels is only fueling his anger, though, as he vows to do what it takes to protect his siblings. His mother.
His Henry.
Henry had given him an hours-long, alcohol-driven speech the other night as to how to proceed with this new information. With this threat. In between tears and exaggerated nonchalance, he had managed to make a few notable points.
For the love of God, Benedict, do not duel. Do not start a brawl. You will not win.
Benedict is inclined to agree on this one.
We could spend some time apart. The Duke intends to scare me away, it seems. We could act as if we are no longer involved.
Benedict had objected to this immediately. For one, they are already so cautious in their trysts that it would not make much of a difference from an outsider’s perspective. Secondly, the Bridgerton cannot conceive of willingly separating himself from Henry, especially when they are facing the possibility of shared ruin.
Perhaps we should tell your brother.
You
should tell your brother. You could talk him out of a duel. Although, if you cannot, that would not end well for me.
Henry had dismissed this thought on his own, really. Anthony is not one to listen when in a fit of anger, and Benedict does not want to risk the possible consequences of this plan. His brother loves him, but he does not know if that love is enough to protect him from his brother’s judgement. Benedict does not know how Anthony would respond to his affair with another man, and he does not intend to find out in this way.
Surely the Duke has secrets. Everyone has secrets! Your sister could help in finding something useful. No, not her. The nosy one.
Benedict had laughed at this suggestion, but after spending quite a while mulling it over, he had to admit there was some potential in it. Eloise. His sister is incredible at many things; She could surely find some compromising information on the Duke. However, as capable as she might be, this plan ignores the inevitability of Eloise questioning Benedict’s motives. Besides, what kind of a brother would he be if he were to ask this of her? No, this plan would not work. At least not with Eloise.
Benedict stands outside the Bridgerton home, biting his fingernails and staring at his reflection in the glass of the empty carriage. Guilt is gnawing at his conscience but fear is eating at his heart. It is either this...
unfortunate
act or risk losing everything. He very much wishes he could evaporate into nothingness. Or drink heavily enough that he forgets his troubles.
The driver sends a glance his way, just barely hiding his impatience. He had been standing outside for ten minutes, contemplating the morality of his plan. Daphne is his
sister,
for God’s sake. Does he really wish to hurt her? To let her become collateral? The answer is a firm
no
, despite this being the least destructive course of action. If what he finds is too damaging, he will not indulge his desperation.
He sits down in the carriage and wills himself to calm down. The nerves are threatening to overtake his composure completely, which would no doubt alert his sister to his bad intentions.
This is for the best. Daphne would do the same, would she not?
He convinces himself, thinking of Daphne’s calculated nature.
Yes, she would. Of course she would.
Lord Berbrooke is a victim of a similar crime. Still, his heart aches at the prospect of committing it.
He is to blackmail the Duke of Hastings.
The carriage ride feels all too long. The dread only amplifies as they travel along the stone, and his mind drifts to the events of last week. The memories are somewhat tainted with this current awfulness, but they make him smile all the same. The party at Henry’s studio was wild as usual, and he had a splendid time celebrating the important occasion. It was Lucy Granville’s birthday, but to be honest, Benedict is not sure if he even saw her that night. His attention was directed elsewhere, focused on the ceiling of a locked room with Henry hovering above him.
Before that, there was Daphne’s ball. Like Lucy’s party, he had consumed copious amounts of alcohol. It was no mystery as to why he spent the next several days feeling unwell. The night had progressed as expected--social engagements such as these become monotonous all too quickly--until he and Granville took a detour into the gardens. It was risky, and a drastic departure from their usual decorum, but the two men had made their own fun in the shadows of the foliage. The rest of the ball had become a blur, but he remembers the numbness of his ears and nose in the chill night. The warmth of Henry’s breath on his cheek. Henry’s hands loosening his cravat and feeling the warmth of his mouth on bare skin.
The Bridgerton’s breath catches and his fingers dig into his seat as the realization hits him square in the chest.
The Duke had seen them that night.
He bangs his head back against the wall of the carriage and slumps in his seat, feeling as though he is going to be sick.
He
had suggested they go into the gardens.
He
had been the one to pin Henry’s back to the bushes and kiss him.
He
is the reason for their current suffering.
It is quite the unfortunate miracle, but the Bridgerton now feels even more guilt than he previously thought was possible. Blackmailing Simon is shameful, especially given that his shameful antics are what led him here, but he must rectify his mistake. He was certain of it.
It is with great displeasure that he soon finds himself greeted by his sister outside her London home. She walks up to the carriage, wrapping her arms around his neck as he steps onto the stone path. Her pinned-up hair tickles his neck and he pulls her into his chest, hoping the guilt does not show in his face as they pull away.
“This is quite the reception, sister,” he says, extending his arm for his sister as they walk toward the doors. He smiles down at her and teases, “It is lovely to see you, too.”
Grabbing his arm, she leans her head on his shoulder as they walk inside. “Do not flatter yourself, brother. I rather think such a reception is generous given your absence from my ball,” she teases, squeezing his arm. “Would you care to explain your impertinence?”
He chuckles and shoves his sister lightly, aware that his deception comes all too naturally. “Perhaps you should host a ball worthy of my attention, then.”
She snorts, a sound that has always amused Benedict. “I have missed you. You do not visit enough, I should think.”
He grins, doing his best to oblige his sister’s warmth. He is immensely grateful for Daphne’s apparent ignorance of the situation. It pains him to think of what might happen if it were just the opposite. Daphne is the ideal daughter and the ideal wife. And unsurprisingly, the ideal mother. She is just so attuned to societal expectation that he fears propriety might overshadow her gift of understanding.
“I did not mean to offend. For what it is worth, I miss you, too. It pains me to hear the sitting room free of your abominable compositions.” He laughs as he ducks a playful swat. He goes on, “I heard that the Duke has gone to Clyvedon. I thought I should give my sister and my nephew some company. Where is he, anyway?”
“He is with Lady Danbury, no doubt being spoiled with sweets. You are stuck with me, I am afraid,” she jokes, but Benedict can see a flicker of insecurity on her face. Benedict’s guilt seems to grow ever larger as the day goes on.
They enter the parlor, Benedict dropping down on the sofa and looking around the room. He was here just last week, at the ball, but it seems that Daphne has meddled with the furniture again. She drops down on the chair opposite the sofa, and Benedict is keenly aware that he is being scrutinized. Her gaze is steady and sincere as she evaluates his countenance.
Can she sense his uneasiness?
They chat for a while about their family. Daphne mentions Colin’s flirtation with several young ladies at her ball, both laughing at his newfound dedication to dancing. Benedict divulges the details of Eloise’s latest novel, and explains the current feud between Hyacinth and Gregory. The conversation is light and Benedict feels his worries lift slightly.
That is, until Benedict foolishly mentions his latest drawing. He describes the portrait with pride, detailing his improved shading skills. Daphne smiles at his enthusiasm, but soon furrows her brow.
“I must ask you about Sir Henry. Simon invited him to dinner the other evening and they seem to have gotten into an argument. I have pressed Simon for specifics, but he insists that it was nothing of consequence,” she says, pausing to collect her thoughts. “It certainly seemed important by the looks of it. Has Mr. Granville told you anything?”
Benedict shakes his head, quickly answering, “No, not at all. I shall ask him the next time I see him.” He bounces his leg and bites the inside of his cheek when he realizes Daphne has taken notice of his discomfort.
“Good. I wrote a letter to Mrs. Granville apologizing for the incident but have not yet sent it. I do not want to make matters worse.” She pauses again and squints curiously at Benedict. “Are you alright, brother? You seem unwell. I can fetch some water if you would like,” she asks, confirming Benedict’s fears. She starts to stand, but Benedict waves her back down.
“I can fetch some myself. Really, you should be resting, Daphne,” he says, nodding toward her belly. She scoffs, dismissing his concern. “I think I shall go for a smoke outside, if you do not mind.”
She nods and he leaves the room, his hands beginning to shake. He mutters some profanities as he crosses the foyer and then some grateful prayers as he realizes there are no servants around to see him enter the Duke’s study.
He is shocked that the door is not locked--dismayed, even; A part of Benedict had hoped that maybe he did not have to go through with this. He closes the door behind him and walks over to Simon’s desk. Beginning to hastily shuffle through the papers in the desk drawers and on the shelves, he realizes he has no clue what he is looking for. An address book of acquaintances, perhaps? Anthony has told enough stories of his time at Oxford to know Simon’s antics were a common occurrence; An old friend might divulge incriminating anecdotes. Or maybe financial records? He doubts the Duke would be careless with his wealth, though.
He is struggling to justify this behavior, even to himself. What if he did find something worthy of blackmail? Could he really keep reckless or immoral behavior a secret from Daphne? He is about to return to Daphne, empty-handed and relieved, when he hears his sister in the hallway, calling his name. The time must have gotten away from him. He momentarily considers jumping out the window, but instead rushes over to a nearby cabinet, feigning innocence.
Daphne opens the door, and he tries his best to casually meet her gaze. “Do you know where the Duke keeps his liquor? I did not want to bother the servants,” he says, smiling.
Daphne begins to answer before stopping abruptly, scanning the desk full of open books and loose papers. She looks up, eyes wide, before asking in a hushed tone, “Benedict?”
He chuckles nervously, placing a hand on the windowsill and leaning his body weight to one side. “I uh--,” he clears his throat. “I was looking for...um,” he stops again, scratching his neck, grasping for an excuse.
Looking up at his sister’s hurt expression, Benedict’s defences collapse. He does not notice the hot tears on his cheeks or the sobs racking his body until Daphne rushes at him and nearly suffocates him in a tight embrace. He slouches to bury his face in her shoulder and wraps his arms around her, trying his best to match her breathing and focus on her hands rubbing his arms. She coos some words of comfort in his ear as if he were a child, but at this moment Benedict does not care. All he feels is pain in his chest and the loving arms of his sister.
“Benedict, please. Tell me,” she whispers, pulling away to look at his face. He must look like a pitiful mess, because her face sinks into a frown and her eyes betray that she is close to tears. Her hand finds its way to her belly, almost as if her maternal instincts compel her to do so.
“Daph, I am so sorry.” Benedict runs his fingers through his hair in a panic, his tears still rolling down his cheeks, and sits down in one of the chairs at the desk. “I am so sorry,” he mumbles, his words barely audible as he covers his face with his hands, his elbows digging into his lap.
His sister--his ever patient sister--pulls up a chair and sits at his side, her hand reaching out and pulling his hands away from his face. “Ben, please. I want to help. I promise I will not be mad. Whatever it is, I will not be mad.” She squeezes his hand and leans forward to meet his eyes. “Please.”
He takes a shaky breath, opens his mouth, and begins to sob. Between the ugly cries, he manages to gasp out an explanation. “Simon, he, he...he knows something he...should not know and...and he is threatening to tell Anthony...and, and, and I...I am so...so scared.” He wipes away tears, and says, steadier, “I am so scared, Daphne.”
He looks up at his sister and sees her delicate face stained with worry. She whispers gently, “Ben, I...I do not understand. What does Simon know?”
He knows it is for the best if Daphne finds out now. It is better if he is the one to tell her. Not Simon, not Anthony, not Lady Whistledown when Henry is shot dead. He must be the one to tell her.
He has to tell her.
“Sir Henry...I lied. The argument was about me.”
“About you?”
He nods, unsure of how to proceed. “Simon knows something about me. About my relationship with Mr. Granville.” He takes a deep breath and averts his gaze before continuing. “He saw us in the gardens on the night of your ball.”
Daphne smiles softly and strokes her thumb across the top of his hand. She waits patiently for him to continue, undeterred by the silence.
“He saw us in a...
compromising
position,” he says. He does not look up. His muscles tense as he waits for a response.
“Compromising? You mean..like a fight?” she asks, her voice fraught with confusion. Benedict cannot help but laugh as he looks up. She just stares at him, silently demanding an explanation.
“No, no. Quite the opposite,” he says, his humor falling flat. “I...We...We were engaging in some activities most would deem improper... Immoral, even.” He looks up, frustrated as he notices Daphne’s continued confusion. He hesitates and says, “It is like you and the Duke. Simon caught us...um...kissing.”
There is a prolonged silence that follows and Benedict once again contemplates jumping out of the window. He inspects his sister’s face, watching her demeanor shift as she processes this information; She does not stop holding his hand, still absentmindedly rubbing circles into his skin. A reassuring sign, he hopes.
“Simon...he...he threatened Sir Henry?” she asks with a pained expression. “Why would...why?”
Benedict squeezes her hand this time, and says, “I do not know, Daph. I am just so frightened and I--,” he gestures toward the desk, “and I foolishly thought blackmail might help.”
She flashes a disapproving glare at him before returning to her tearful state. “I shall write to him, Ben. I am sure this is a misunderstanding,” she states firmly, nodding her head. “I am sure of it. Simon would never hurt you.” She smiles, but Benedict can feel the doubt that hangs heavy in the air.
“Thank you, Daphne,” he says. For the first time since Henry had told him of Simon’s threat, he feels a sense of calm. “You…? You have not said anything about...about Henry and I.”
She sighs and steadies her breathing before speaking. “Are you...do you…,” she huffs as she struggles for the correct term. “Is it more than a moment in the gardens?”
“Yes. We have been...
involved
for the better part of a year. Officially, at least.”
She nods and thinks for a moment. “Does Mrs. Granville know?”
“Yes.”
“Then I believe I should invite the Granvilles to dinner. I must apologize for Simon’s behavior. Besides, I think I should better know the man my brother is kissing in the gardens.” She smirks before smacking Benedict’s arm and playfully chastising, “Is that why you left my ball? For God’s sake, Benedict!”
He laughs and smacks her back, grinning as he says, “Do not be a hypocrite, sister. It seems us Bridgertons love to rendezvous in gardens.”
Lady Danbury arrives around noon to retrieve Andrew for another day of gallivanting about London, no doubt doing her best to influence their son via ice cream and such. Daphne greets the woman at the door, laughing at Lady Danbury’s beaming smile that she knows is reserved only for Simon and Andrew.
“Where is my grandson? I have a full day planned and we must hurry if we are to enjoy any of it,” she announces, marching up to Daphne. She pulls Daphne into a hug and wraps her hand around her arm as she pulls away. “Now show me where he is,” she demands, dragging Daphne along into the foyer.
“It is good to see you, Lady Danbury. I believe Andrew will be most delighted to hear of your plans,” she says, smirking at the older woman. “Although I must say that I am curious as well. He never does tell me what you two are up to. I am beginning to feel conspired against.”
Lady Danbury just laughs and pats her arm, “That is none of your business, my dear. A grandmother deserves to have her secrets.”
Daphne just nods, amused. Although she knows Lady Danbury’s tricks all too well, she trusts very few people as greatly as her. It was Daphne’s idea to have Andrew call her grandmother-- a proposal that worried Simon lest Lady Danbury feel old--but the woman was overcome with joy the first time Andrew was able to say the word. The word cemented what everyone already knew: Lady Danbury is family.
“He should be in the library. He has taken to pressing his face against the windows to admire the birds. The library seems to be the best spot for this.”
Lady Danbury grins, reminiscing, “Children are certainly baffling. Simon had a few--,” she stops to smile proudly as she sees Andrew run around the corner, his pudgy arms lifted upward. “There’s my boy!” She bends down to greet him in a loving embrace, discarding the doctor’s orders to take care with her knees. “Are you ready to go? I hear the ice cream shop has some new flavors.”
She stands and watches as Andrew grabs her skirt and giggles out a “yes”. Daphne retrieves his coat and coaxes him into it, making a conscious effort not to aid him too much. Simon constantly informs her that she is coddling him, but Daphne has caught her husband wiping Andrew’s face and hands at dinner even after scolding her for doing so. She supposes that Andrew will never have a need for servants if he continues to be so convincing.
“Please, not too much. Sugar keeps him up at night,” Daphne warns, but recants as Lady Danbury sends a shrewd look her way. “But I suppose a little cannot hurt, can it?”
“Hmm,” Lady Danbury nods.
“A letter for you, Your Grace,” a servant approaches the two women, holding out a piece of paper.
“Excuse me,” Daphne says, grabbing the letter. She turns the letter over to see the name Sir Henry Granville written on the paper. Out of an abundance of caution for her brother, she quickly places her hands behind her back, hoping Lady Danbury did not see the name.
Lady Danbury raises an eyebrow and asks, bluntly, “Does that letter have anything to do with the argument between Simon and Sir Granville?”
Daphne nearly chokes on her tongue as she replies. “How do you know about that?”
“Servants talk, my dear,” she says, and then, in a whisper, “I cannot help but wonder if this is why Simon fled to Clyvedon. He seemed considerably displeased the last time I saw him.” There is a question being asked, but Daphne elects to ignore it.
“It is nothing, Lady Danbury. I assure you.” She bends down and says to Andrew, “Be good for your grandmother, yes?”
Andrew nods, still clutching Lady Danbury’s skirt, and follows his grandmother down the hall to the door. Lady Danbury bids farewell but Daphne is wholly focused on the implication regarding Simon’s return to Clyvedon. Surely, she should be worried, yes? What if the servants had overheard Simon’s conversation with Henry in his study? God knows what Simon had said. Or worse yet, what if they had heard Daphne’s conversation with Benedict? Benedict had been completely candid with her; He had felt comfortable speaking with her--a trust that Daphne greatly appreciated--and had not used euphemisms when discussing Henry.
She retreats upstairs to her bedchambers, the place where she has opened all of the letters from the Granvilles. She has been corresponding with Lucy over the past few weeks, first to apologize for Simon’s behavior, and then to discuss far more trivial matters. Lucy has even written to tease Daphne’s poor luck while gambling at Lady Danbury’s last party. Despite only speaking briefly at balls and at dinner, and through their letters, she thinks she and Lucy could be great friends. Lucy Granville is not like Daphne’s other female acquaintances; She is far bolder, less filtered, and as opinionated as Eloise--albeit less annoying than Eloise.
She opens the letter, a letter she has been expecting. Daphne’s initial dinner invitation to the Granvilles had been declined, Benedict passing along the message. He had told her of Henry’s weariness in regards to privacy, and had suggested she come to dinner at Henry’s studio instead. She finds an art studio to be an odd place to host guests, but had agreed nonetheless. Perhaps Henry was correct; It had become clear that her home was not a place to discuss sensitive matters. She has been expecting a formal invitation to arrive.
The letter is brief, and reads as follows:
Your Grace,
I would like to extend the sincerest of apologies for the behavior I exhibited towards the Duke. It was most childish, not to mention ungracious, considering the warm reception I was given. Your brother, surely, has informed you of my reluctance to attend dinner at your home. I fear that we would not be able to speak plainly with an abundance of servants present. However, I believe that it is of the utmost importance that we meet. I would be most pleased if you could attend dinner at my studio tomorrow evening. It is an unusual venue, one not suited for a Duchess perhaps, but my studio will provide the necessary privacy.
Yours,
Sir Henry Granville
Daphne cannot help but smile at the formality. It is not quite befitting of a man who is romantically involved with her brother, but she understands the demands of propriety. It is still strange, though, to imagine Benedict kissing Sir Granville. She has heard rumors, yes, of men involved with other men, but the matter is only ever discussed in hushed whispers or following snarls of profanity. It is considered taboo, a crime, immoral-- as Benedict had said. It pains her to think of Benedict in this way, but her fears are very much real: Men like Benedict get hurt. They get arrested. They get killed.
She knows she must look past this, must be the loving sister Benedict needs. She cannot help, though, worry for his safety and his happiness. He is the second-born Bridgerton son. As such, he is expected to marry, have children, and assume the role that is expected of him. She worries about the rumors-- God, what would Lady Whistledown think?-- and all the things he will miss out on in life. However, she has vowed to hide these misgivings and simply do her part in protecting her older brother.
She bites her thumb as she hides the letter in her wardrobe. Catching sight of the dress Simon had gifted for her birthday, her thoughts turn to her husband. Simon would never threaten them, would he? The thought of her husband hurting Benedict is too much to bear. She would undoubtedly protect Ben, even if it were to mean the end of her marital bliss. No, no. Simon would never hurt anyone intentionally. He is a kind man.
Still, she worries. And worries.
Benedict paces the hallway, clawing at the back of his neck, fidgeting with his sleeves, checking his hair in the mirror that hangs by the door. He knows he is driving Henry mad, occasionally glancing over to see Henry tapping his fingers on the makeshift table in the main room and glaring at him.
“Please, for the love of all that is good, sit down!” He finally snaps, pointing at the seat next to him. “Sit.”
Benedict feels great empathy toward Gregory at this moment. “Yes, mother,” he gripes, still obeying and sitting down. “Do you take pleasure in treating me like a child?”
“I would take pleasure in you calming down sometime soon. Here, drink some wine,” Henry dramatically pushes a filled wine glass toward Benedict and sinks further into his chair. “You need to relax, Bridgerton. You said it yourself--Daphne is eager to dine with us.”
Benedict looks around the room and cannot help but sigh. The room is lined with easels holding canvases with wet paint, filled with the stench of paint thinner, and the wooden floor is in dreadful condition. The paint-splattered cloth might be more visually appealing, honestly. The curtains are closed tight and candles are lit on the hastily-made dinner table. Benedict and Lucy had spent the afternoon pushing together small wooden tables to create a large, uneven, slightly tilted table and draped it in the fine linen Lucy had stolen from their home. The chairs are three paint-covered stools and an armchair from Henry’s study. The armchair, of course, is for Daphne, but Benedict eyes it covetously as his back aches from his earlier efforts.
Lucy is somewhere outside, probably pacing the streets. She, too, is nervous, although Benedict suspects he is to blame for this. His anxious energy seems to be irradiating everything and everyone around him. He places his hands on the table to smooth out the linen and breathes heavily when the table moves. This section appears to have a broken leg. Wonderful. Benedict prays that the dinner, which Lucy has had delivered from their home, is more acceptable than this...this...this mess.
He fixates on the silverware as he realizes the food is growing cold in Henry’s study.
“Henry, what if...what if she is just being polite?” Benedict asks, chewing his lip. “Daphne is too sweet for her own good sometimes, and...I cannot help but wonder if she is genuine in her enthusiasm.”
“What are you saying? Your sister loves you. Do not be ridiculous, Ben,” he smiles, reaching for Benedict’s hand. “Everything will be fine.”
“But that is the problem! My sister would do anything for me, Henry. I am afraid that she is hiding her true feelings out of love,” he holds onto Henry’s hand a little tighter, “What if she thinks unkindly of me? Of us? What if she…?” Benedict shakily sucks in a breath of air.
Henry stands and wraps his arms around Benedict, bending slightly to reach the seated man. He softly runs his fingers through Benedict’s hair, and whispers, “It is alright, love. I’ve got you.”
Benedict nods, knowing that Henry is right. Dinner was Daphne’s idea; She would not have suggested it if she were uncomfortable. He looks up at Henry and decides to lighten the mood, knocking the artist off his feet and pulling him into his lap.
“Jesus, Bridgerton!” He laughs as he scrambles onto his feet. “These stools are old and we do not want to repeat...well…,” he glances over to the tarp-covered pile in the corner. The broken sofa is piled somewhere underneath the tarp, buried amongst crates of paint and other items Lucy and Benedict tried to hide during their cleaning efforts. “Why did I leave the cleaning to you two?”
“I haven’t a clue. You should thank me, really. Lucy suggested dumping everything in the Thames,” Benedict chuckles. Henry shakes his head, sighing amusedly, fully aware that Lucy was only half-joking.
A knocking at the door interrupts the now jovial atmosphere, causing Benedict to gulp down his wine and jump to his feet. He begins to make his way to the door but is stopped short by Henry’s hand.
“I will get it,” he says, turning to Benedict, “ You need to calm down. I am dangerously close to putting paint thinner in your glass.” He waits to see Benedict smile before walking down the hall to answer the door.
The pacing resumes as Benedict hears muffled greetings and approaching footsteps. He is somewhat relieved when he sees Daphne enter the room, giggling at something Henry has said. Although he will never admit it, Benedict is grateful that Henry is such an impressive charmer. He cannot conceive of anyone disliking the man that stands before him, the man currently teasing his sister as if they are great friends.
“Benedict, say hello to your sister,” Henry says, snapping him out of his daze. Henry turns to Daphne and asks, “Has he always been so anxious?”
Daphne giggles again, blushing, and leans toward Henry to whisper her response. Henry’s lips curl into a smile, then a grin, and then he is outright chortling. By the time Daphne pulls away a moment later, finished with her seemingly entertaining answer, Henry’s eyes are crinkled and his face is pink.
“Thank you for that riveting tale, Your Grace,” he says, letting out a remaining chuckle, and turns to Benedict. He cannot help but laugh again, though, as they lock eyes.
“Good Lord, sister. What did you tell him?” Benedict says, appalled. He looks to his sister and then to his lover and cannot help but regret inviting Daphne to dinner. It was just his luck that Daphne and Henry would bond by embarrassing him. He receives no response, just the two of them glancing at each other conspiratorially, and a lone snort from Daphne. “Henry, be a dear and fetch me some more wine? I cannot handle the two of you while sober.”
Henry frowns and steps forward. “Your glass, please?” He grabs the glass from Benedict and bows mockingly. “Anything else, Mr. Bridgerton?”
Benedict hides his amusement. “Yes, actually. Could you find Lucy and tell her to come inside? I need reinforcements should you decide to share any embarrassing stories to my sister. I am sure Lucy has quite the knowledge of humiliating anecdotes concerning you.”
“She would not dare,” Henry jokes and walks again toward the door. He ignores his coat and slips into the night, looking for Lucy. She has been gone long enough that Benedict suspects she has resumed her smoking habit.
Benedict looks up and smiles at his sister. Gesturing toward the armchair at his side, he invites Daphne to sit, eyeing her with suspicion. “What did you tell him?”
“It was nothing too damaging, I promise. Just a small tidbit from your childhood.”
“Thank you for that,” Benedict quips, reaching for his wine glass that he soon remembers is gone. He clears his throat. “And thank you for coming. You are too generous, Daph.”
Daphne’s confusion is palpable as she asks, “How do you mean?”
It is suddenly difficult to speak as he scrambles to form a sentence. “I...I suppose I mean...this,” he gestures to the dinner table, to her, to the door, “You did not have to come, Daphne. But you did, and for that I am grateful.” He looks down at his hands in his lap and continues, “I suppose I did not expect my relationship with Henry to be so welcomed. You were to know eventually, of course, but you have been so accepting, sister.”
When he is met with silence, he looks up at his sister. Daphne is smiling softly, her gaze full of love. Leaning over, she wraps her arms around him, and whispers in his shoulder, “I want you to be happy, Ben.”
He wraps his arms around her and squeezes once before letting go and smiling. His eyes feel teary but he blinks them back; He does not want to worry Henry. The moment is cut short by the door slamming and Lucy rushing into the room. Her purple dress is wrinkled and her hair is unruly, but her smile is as bright as ever. She carries two bottles of wine in her hands, loudly exclaiming, “Let’s start drinking, yeah?” She leans over Benedict to place the bottles on the table, and he gives her a knowing look as he smells the cigarette smoke on her skirts. She smiles down at him and mouths, "Fuck off."
Henry returns with a full glass of wine and shoves it in Benedict’s face. “Here. I cannot promise it is without turpentine.”
In a haze of laughter and lively chatter, Lucy fetches the food from Henry’s study and finishes setting the poor excuse of a table. The four of them sit, eating and chatting about Andrew, Lady Whistledown--it seems only Benedict does not care about her column--and Benedict’s half-finished painting that hangs by the window. It is the London skyline, vivid and beautiful, with only half the buildings filled with paint. The other half remains without color, only a rough charcoal sketch filling the canvas. Still, it is framed and presented as if it were complete.
“He refuses to finish it. I think it is remarkable, and I tell him this all the time, yet he continues to fuss over minor flaws. I have hung it out of spite, so that anyone who asks about it will have to hear of Benedict’s stubbornness.”
Daphne snorts at Henry’s remark and swats Benedict’s arm. “It is lovely, Benedict. You are all too critical of your own work.”
“That is what I have been telling him! He refuses to listen to reason. Has he always been so stubborn?” Henry says loudly, uninhibited. He is comfortable in Daphne’s presence, something Benedict finds both delightful--he is overjoyed at Henry bonding with his family--and terribly dreadful--Henry now feels entitled to family gossip, it seems.
Daphne opens her mouth to respond but Benedict throws a piece of bread at her before she can speak. “Do not answer that, Daph. He will only torment me.”
His sister scoffs and picks the piece of bread off of her dress, staring at Benedict, shocked. “Ben! You are no better than Andrew!” Despite the admonishment, she throws the bread back at Benedict, hitting him square in the face.
Henry and Lucy laugh at their childish antics, and as Benedict looks around the room-- at Daphne’s smile, at Henry’s shining eyes, at Lucy’s embarrassed face in her hands--he cannot imagine his life any other way.
Daphne has reassured him that Simon meant no harm toward Henry. He believes this--believes this because he has to--but even if he thought otherwise, tonight is enough to make Benedict long for a lifetime of nights spent with Henry and Lucy and Daphne. If Simon were to become a threat--or Anthony, or anyone--, Benedict knows he would sacrifice nearly anything to preserve their current happiness and the home they have made in the dimly lit art studio of one Sir Henry Granville.
Daphne arrives home around midnight, still smiling from the evening’s festivities. Dinner was splendid despite the haphazard display--which was supplemented with tons of alcohol, of course--and the conversation was...
illuminating
, to put it mildly. She has always prided herself on being a loving and attentive sister, but tonight has made her realize she hardly knows Benedict, at least not as well as she should. He was an artist, yes, but she did not realize he was an
artist.
His paintings are phenomenal, even in Henry’s opinion, and the collection of canvases are displayed around Granville’s studio, proudly hung for company to see. Benedict has sketchbooks lying around the studio, paint-stained shirts hanging in the corner, and she swore she had seen one of Benedict’s tailcoats in the closet where Lucy had stored the biscuits.
Benedict’s favorite kind of biscuits
.
It seems Benedict has an entire life tucked away neatly in an art studio across town, hidden from her and the rest of their family. It pains her to know the reason for this, but she smiles all the same, proud to know her brother, honored to know his Henry, and blessed to have been welcomed into her brother’s second family. Blessed to have her brother’s trust so that she may know
all
of him, not just the muted image of himself that he presents to the world.
Henry is wonderful. Daphne is overjoyed to see that Benedict is in good hands. Sir Henry is polite, attentive, respectable. He is also riotously funny, effortlessly warm, and, from what she had seen tonight, madly in love with Benedict Bridgerton. He was just so proud of Benedict, bragging about his talent, grinning while telling an embarrassing story at the Bridgerton’s expense. Henry is tactile; He had almost immediately grown comfortable enough to touch her arm, her upper back--an inkling of familial love, no doubt. Several times throughout the night, he had unconsciously reached for Benedict’s hand. Her brother had pushed his hand away the first few times, eventually entwining their fingers with a deep blush to his cheeks. She hopes the embarrassment was not because of her presence, but it certainly was not out of novelty or surprise, either. Benedict and Henry do not seem like they are courting, no. They remind her of a married couple, content and devoted. Like her and Simon.
She only wishes her siblings could know of his happiness as well.
Tired enough to stumble out of the carriage, Daphne wearily marches inside, quite intent to collapse in her bed, not noticing the carriage already parked outside. The servants are still awake, greeting her at the door, offering her water and various concoctions that promise to ease her obvious achiness. She begins to dismiss them, but a male servant approaches and announces that a guest is waiting for her.
She thinks she misheard, and asks, appalled, “A guest?” She cannot imagine anyone visiting at such a late hour. Or having the nerve to expect her appearance. “Who…?” she begins, but she stops, having answered her own question. There is only one person who would call at such a late hour, indeed.
“Lady Danbury, Your Grace. She arrived several hours ago and refuses to leave.”
Daphne nods and pinches the bridge of her nose, fully aware that she is too fatigued to handle Lady Danbury at the moment. “I believe I will take that drink now. The one with the ginger, please,” she says to a servant, hoping the mixture will ease her impending headache, and smoothes her dress. If nothing else, her dress will be presentable.
She makes her way into the sitting room, which is mostly darkened except for the lit fire in the far corner. The curtains are drawn, blocking out any possible moonlight, and Daphne is frightened to see Lady Danbury sitting in an armchair, her face cast in shadow. The deep shadow and bright firelight set her features in great contrast, elevating her piercing gaze to something truly terrifying.
“Lady Danbury! What a surprise,” Daphne says, doing her best to remain nonchalant despite the peculiar circumstances. “What are you doing here? It’s quite late.”
“Yes, it is quite late, isn’t it?” she says, looking at Daphne with a devastating curiosity. She takes note of Daphne’s slight limp. “I came to visit Andrew. I thought I would stay to chat over dinner. Seeing as the Duke is out of town, I figured you might like company. It is unpleasant to eat alone.”
“Yes, it is,” Daphne replies, cautious. She fears she might be unknowingly walking into a trap. “I am awfully sorry I kept you waiting. Surely the servants told you that I would be away this evening?”
“They did, Your Grace. Although I had assumed you would be back to wish Andrew goodnight,” Lady Danbury responds, blunt and biting. “But I suppose he did go to bed early. We had a very tiring game of hide-and-seek. That boy gets into the most
unusual
of places.”
Daphne giggles, nervous and unsure of how to respond. Surely she isn’t implying that Daphne has neglected Andrew this evening? “I am glad to hear you had so much fun. Andrew goes on and on about how he misses you whenever you leave. He adores you, you know.”
“Well I should hope so,” she flashes a small smile before frowning once again, “Where were you this evening?”
Panic momentarily seizes Daphne’s mind, causing a slight stutter as she answers, foolishly, “I was at Grosvenor Square for dinner.” She immediately regrets saying this, but where else could she have been at such a late hour? “Mother sends her good wishes.”
Daphne is about to address Lady Danbury’s disapproving gaze--
does she know she is lying?
--- when a servant enters and hands her a glass. She still stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, noticeably too uncomfortable to sit, as the servant whispers, “This should help, Your Grace.”
“Thank you,” she says, sipping the orange liquid. She waits until the servant leaves before continuing, “It seems I am quite drained from tonight’s festivities, and my feet are killing me. I really should be off to bed.” She smiles, attempting to clear away Lady Danbury’s judgment.
“Hmm, yes. Well,” she rises from her seat, wielding her cane in an especially harsh manner, “I should be going, too. I just wanted to see that you made it home alright. Goodnight,
my dear
.”
She passes Daphne with little more than a nod of acknowledgement--no hug or her usual pat on the shoulder-- and carries on her way to the front door, her cane clicking loudly on the marble floor. Daphne ponders the strange tone to the woman’s farewell, but her thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a headache. She forgot how exhausting it is to carry a child; It seems as if her body has ceased to function properly.
She finishes her drink and retires to her bedchamber, her feet feeling every warp of the wooden floor as she rushes through the corridors. Carelessly throwing her dress on the floor and undoing her braids in a haste, she does not notice the open door of her wardrobe or the wooden toy that sits below the vanity.
She crawls under her sheets and stares up at the ceiling.
Tonight was truly delightful.
Benedict’s happiness is truly infectious, she thinks, and she smiles, remembering how he giggled at Henry’s jokes. The night might have ended rather strangely, yes, but the smell of paint and the taste of wine and the sound of laughter is enough to drown everything else out. Lady Danbury’s odd behavior will be the center of tomorrow’s thoughts, but for now, Daphne sinks into the mattress and dozes off into a blissful sleep.
Benedict wakes up to the sound of birds chirping and women chattering outside the curtained window of Henry’s study. Sunlight spills out onto the carpeted floor, creating a flood of yellow directly below the window. A pillow sits uncomfortably under his neck, and he is annoyed to discover that he has pulled a muscle in his shoulder as he sits up on the sofa. Henry is not there, and neither is the pile of his clothes by the door, and Benedict assumes he has left to go paint in the park or deliver one of his portraits. Henry always delivers the portraits himself, because, despite being a large proponent of “art for art’s sake”, he greatly enjoys the praise he receives. Even if he did not get paid--and handsomely, he might add--for his commissions, Benedict likes to think Henry would still paint the portraits, simply for the compliments. Benedict smirks as he thinks about the night before, after Daphne and Lucy had left.
Henry certainly enjoyed Benedict’s praise.
Benedict picks his clothes off of the floor, realizing he once again forgot to fold them or hang them up. Now he must leave the art studio in wrinkled clothes--a conspicuous sight at any time of day--but even more so in broad daylight. It seems to be midmorning based on the birds and the intervals between passersby outside the window. He pulls on his trousers and walks into the hallway, looking for any signs that Henry might still be in the studio. His coat is gone, and Benedict doesn’t hear any mumbled singing coming from the main room and its easels, so it seems Henry has left for the day.
His shoulder aches enough for him to wince as he goes back into the study and pulls his shirt on. The two of them are idiots, he thinks, as he yet again regrets having had sex on a sofa; He is young, still, but too old to be getting fucked on anything but a mattress. It was his fault, really, so he couldn’t blame Henry for being overly eager. After all, he had deliberately drank from the wine bottle in a manner that some would call...lewd, fully knowing that Henry is not one to be teased.
The Bridgerton finds himself walking into the main room and sitting in the armchair at the dinner table, his eyes gleaming as they pass over the plate of biscuits that sits at his right. Henry had promised Lucy that they could handle cleaning up by themselves. It seems they had become too interested in each other by the time they were supposed to dispose of dessert. He knocks one of the biscuits on the table, deciding that it crumbled enough to not be stale, and stuffs it in his mouth whole. He should be eating breakfast at home and getting lectured by Anthony right now, but eating dry biscuits and wallowing about in wrinkled clothes is incredibly more satisfying.
Daphne had reminded him last night of Anthony’s invitation to a family meeting this morning. It was less of an invitation and more of a pointed demand. He had given out three specific invitations: one to Daphne, one to Colin, and one to Benedict. The rest of their siblings are at home every night--unless Francesca or Eloise is staying with a friend--and Daphne no longer lives with the family, but Colin and Benedict have made such a habit of staying out all night that Anthony now believes they need to be invited to breakfast. Benedict would be offended by this if it weren’t a correct assessment. Here he is, now, patently ignoring his brother’s request, and nursing his sugar addiction.
Besides, he doubts his sister will be able to make it for breakfast. She was incredibly worn out last night and needed to be assisted to her carriage. Daphne is probably still sleeping, or at least lazily eating breakfast with Andrew, and cannot possibly be bothered to bend to Anthony’s whim right now. Anthony did not even explain what the meeting is about, although Benedict has his guesses. It is most likely about the family’s behavior at Daphne’s ball and how to prevent such behavior at this weekend’s garden party. He had been delighted to hear that he was not the only one who had fucked up at his sister’s event. While he was in the gardens with Henry, Colin was flirting with every female in sight--which would have been fine if it were not for his attentions toward two sisters and the very heated argument that ensued, and Eloise was sneaking drinks of champagne and loudly extolling the virtues of spinsterhood to a group of young men. It was a miracle Anthony Bridgerton did not suffer a medical emergency.
He hopes his sister will forgive their bad behavior. Sometimes he thinks she was born into the wrong family, what with her being so proper and refined. That is why it was comforting to see Daphne so relaxed last night, snorting and eating with her hands and even indulging in profanities. She was so unlike the perfect sister he had come to know, and he was so happy to meet the boisterous woman who had come to dinner. This is not to say he is not close to Daphne. They have spent many nights arguing over a dinner table, or discussing a play, or plotting an elaborate scheme to annoy Eloise. But in all of those interactions, it appears now that they were both hiding aspects of themselves. Aspects that had come into full view in the safety of Henry’s studio.
Just thinking of Daphne and Henry laughing at his expense, his heart feels as if it could burst. His sister and his lover! A few short weeks ago, this happiness was unimaginable. A few short weeks ago, he had thought his private paradise was in jeopardy. He had thought Simon was threatening them, threatening to hurt Henry via Anthony. Daphne’s love and conviction have calmed his fears for the most part. She is right; Benedict knew Simon to be a good man. He would not hurt Daphne’s family.
The core truth of the misunderstanding still remained, though. Anthony would be mightily hostile if he were to find out about him and Henry. Hell, Anthony was willing to kill his best friend over besmirching Daphne’s innocence.
Besmirching her innocence.
Judging by the little detail Anthony had divulged prior to the duel, it was a euphemism for a kiss. A kiss!
What euphemism would Anthony use when asked why he shot Henry Granville dead in a duel? What euphemism could he possibly use to describe the fact that Henry Granville has been fucking his brother almost every night for a year? Simon knows Anthony as well as Benedict does; Anthony would not let any man ruin the reputation of a sibling, the reputation of their family. And this is all not to mention the criminality involved. If anyone outside the family were to know? Benedict would have much worse problems to contend with.
Still, he is grateful for his sister’s love. Her naivety might have helped greatly--did she even know about men like him? Of the hatred?--but it was Daphne’s endless love that moved her to hug him last night.
I want you to be happy, Ben.
It is all too much for him to comprehend. All he knows is he loves his sister so very, very much.
Footsteps in the hallway jolt Benedict out of his thoughts. He turns to see Henry holding a bouquet of flowers, a large smile on his face. He laughs and nods toward the crumbs on Benedict’s chest and says, “Someone is hungry, I see,” he kicks off his boots, “Are they still good?”
Benedict brushes off the crumbs and hands a biscuit to Henry, who immediately stuffs it in his mouth in a manner unbecoming of the gentleman. Benedict smiles and asks, “What are those for?” He points at the very colorful display of flowers, realizing there is a notecard attached. “Is this a marriage proposal?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Henry scoffs, “No, it is for your sister. She was so lovely last night. I thought I should send her a gift as a token of my appreciation.”
“Flowers? God, Henry. You have never once gotten
me
flowers.”
“Would you like some?”
“Not particularly.”
“Then I won’t be getting you flowers,” Henry says, bending down to kiss Benedict. “Your sister is wonderful, Benedict. She is correct about so many things; I found our opinions align quite well,
especially
when they concern you. You should be absolutely frightened.”
“Believe me, I am. The day I upset both of you is the day my body will be found floating in a river,” Benedict snorts.
Henry laughs before continuing, “And that snort! God, I thought you were the only one, Ben, but your sister does it, too.”
Benedict makes a mocking expression as the man sits down beside him. He places the flowers on the table and begins to fill out the notecard. The artist’s penmanship is impeccable, and his hand is careful and deliberate as it writes:
Daphne,
Please accept these flowers as appreciation for your kindness toward myself and my family. I hope you will grace us with your presence again soon.
Yours,
H.G.
There is a long silence as Henry fusses over the notecard. Benedict is consumed in his thoughts, thoughts of how excited Henry has become over Daphne’s friendship. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, an unvoiced thought caught in his throat.
Henry catches on to Benedict’s apprehension and finally asks, as he finishes attaching the notecard to the bouquet, “What is it?”
Benedict rubs his palms on his knees and lets out a breath, “Should I tell Eloise?” He nods, meets Henry’s eyes, and continues, “I want to tell Eloise.”
“Then tell her. I trust your judgement.”
Benedict looks at Henry with suspicion drawn on his face. “‘Tell her’? You seem awfully blasé about this.” He shakes his head at Henry, eyebrows raised, his mouth open in confusion. “Why?”
“I am not
blasé,”
Henry narrows his eyes at the French, “I have seen unimaginable acceptance from Daphne. Your family loves you, Benedict. Perhaps they will all feel as she does.” Henry, a mischievous look forming in his eyes, appears to open his mouth to say more, but instead smiles up at Benedict.
It is Benedict’s turn to squint in judgement. He studies Henry’s face as he asks, “What is it? What was it that you were about to say?”
“Nothing at all.”
“There is something you were going to say, Henry. I want to hear it.”
“It is nothing, Benedict. I agree with you. You should tell Eloise. It will be delightful to meet her properly. Perhaps we could go for a stroll in the park,” he smiles again, strangely nostalgic.
“Henry. If it is about telling Eloise, I want to hear it. She is my little sister, for Christ’s sake. She is my
favorite
sister, actually,” Benedict stops and looks up at Henry in mild horror, “Don’t tell Daphne I said that.”
Henry chuckles and waves his hand. “I promise, I promise.”
Benedict continues, quieter, “I want her to know about us. About
me
, Henry. I cannot help but feel I am lying to her by hiding so much of myself,” Benedict smiles softly as he thinks of his younger sister and oldest confidante, “El will understand, Henry. She always does.”
“Tell her, Benedict. I support you completely. You know that,” Henry pats Benedict’s hand and begins to rise from his seat but he is immediately pulled back down.
“I’m glad that you
support
me. I really am. But what do you know that I do not?” Benedict asks, more forceful this time. “I know that look. You make that face when you know something you shouldn’t.”
Henry flushes a bright pink and nervously laughs as he answers, “Really, Benedict, it is nothing important. I am confident that Eloise will be accepting of us. That is all.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you should tell her.”
“Henry!” Benedict says, frustration harshening his voice.
“Fine, fine! But you must not get mad, yes? You asked,” Henry concedes, throwing his hands up. “I have...
noticed
some things…” Henry begins, staring at the wall behind Benedict. He hesitates and coughs seemingly out of embarrassment. “At balls, mostly. About your sister.”
“Eloise?”
“Yes.”
“What about her?”
“Well...I will just say it, then. She is like us, Benedict,” he states, assured and forthright. He must sense Benedict’s discomfort. “You do not need to fret over Eloise’s reaction.”
Benedict does not understand what Henry is getting at.
Like us?
Surely he cannot be implying…? “What the fuck are you talking about?” The question comes out more harshly than intended, but Benedict does not care. “You are talking about my sister, Henry. Tread carefully.”
Henry sighs and looks at Benedict with a weary countenance. “This is why I did not want to talk about this.”
“What are you saying, Granville?” Benedict continues, offended, “What have you
noticed?
”
Henry laughs, amused and annoyed in equal amounts. “Have you ever spoken to your sister, Benedict? Tell me, what does she think of marriage?”
“Fuck off,” Benedict spits, getting up to pace around the room. He cannot believe the gall Henry has to act as if he knows Eloise better than her own brother. Not only is he overstepping, he is wrong. Eloise is not
like them.
His sister is not interested in marriage, yes, but she is not
like them.
He hopes to God she is not
like them.
Eloise deserves all the happiness in the world. It is different for men, for Benedict. He can remain unwed; Eloise cannot.
He paces for a few moments before turning to Henry, doing his best to avoid glaring at the man. “What about the balls? What did you notice?” He calms himself enough to listen, his heart racing as he considers the possibility.
“We do not have to discuss this, Ben. I am sorry I brought this up.”
Benedict can hear his own resistance snap as he says, quieter, less defensive, “Tell me.” He looks up to see Henry frown and sigh, waving him over to his abandoned seat.
Benedict sits down and Henry responds, monitoring his expression closely, “She does not like to dance. She stands in corners and drinks champagne. I only noticed because she reminded me of myself at her age. I was always in the corner, drowning in alcohol, talking to other young men.”
“Yes, but your aversion to women and my sister’s aversion to society are two very different things.”
Henry laughs but continues, “Eloise spends a significant amount of time admiring the dresses of other young women, I’ve noticed. I thought you said she hated ball gowns?”
“Hmmph,” Benedict frowns but doesn’t refute this. It was a pain to get Eloise into a ball gown--any servant can attest to that. And yet, he can recall his sister remarking on the dresses of other young women.
The emerald suited her, don’t you think?
“It was really only a suspicion until the end of last season. I was keeping an eye on Alana--she was drinking a concerning amount of alcohol--and--”
“Alana?
Our
Alana? As in Alana Courtenay?” He glances over to Alana’s unfinished painting in the corner.
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” Benedict says, scrunching his face. Alana is not the type of woman he wants near his sister. She is a loose skirt, one might say.
“Yes, well, I noticed Eloise staring at Alana for most of the night. They talked at one point, though the conversation did not last long. I do not believe Alana was aware of it, but Eloise definitely seemed flustered around the woman.”
“And you believe this was...what, exactly? Infatuation?”
“Possibly. I know what I saw, Ben,” Henry shrugs and flashes a wistful smile, “I was the same. I knew.”
Benedict nods, thinking. He recalls his late night conversations with Eloise, the cigarette smoke and the secrets.
Suppose I desire something different? I watch Daphne prepare for these balls, with all of those dresses and the many suitors, and I am exhausted. Suppose I want a different life, Benedict?
He smiles. Perhaps Henry is right.
“I hate to admit it, but you are not incorrect about the dresses. Or the passionate talk of spinsterhood,” he folds his arms and laughs despite the horrid thought, “Anthony has been dealt a defective hand of cards, it seems. Let us pray Colin finds a nice young bride lest Anthony suffer a heart attack.”
Henry chuckles but smacks Benedict’s arm. “Let us pray your brother does not find out in the first place, yes?” he jokes, but there is an undercurrent of sincerity. He looks up suddenly and asks, “Speaking of, are you not meant to be eating breakfast with your family?”
“I am not in the mood to be lectured by my brother, Granville.”
“Granville?” He raises an eyebrow. “I did not realize we were still arguing, my dear.”
“We are not. I simply do not wish to speak of him right now,” he grabs Henry’s hands and grins, “But seeing as I am here, could we…?” He eyes Henry’s crotch and bites his lip.
Benedict's smile grows wider as he sees Henry's eyes light up; He can never refuse Benedict. The man unfastens his trousers and leans over to grab Benedict’s face. “Yes, but you are leading, Bridgerton. I’m quite spent from last night.”
Benedict grins and pulls Henry into his lap, begrudgingly accepting that he is sitting in an armchair.
Is an armchair better than a sofa?
His lips meet Henry’s and his hand finds its way down his trousers, his fingers nimble and knowing as he strokes the man to arousal.
Henry pulls away from Benedict’s lips to suck on his neck, pausing to whisper in his ear, “Remind me to send the flowers to Daphne later.”
Benedict pushes Henry away, dumbfounded. “Why the fuck would you mention my sister right now? Jesus, Granville! You certainly know how to ruin a good thing,” he laughs, “Fucking is more important than the damn flowers.”
Benedict playfully shakes his head and pulls Henry closer, the two men blissfully unaware of the visitor arriving at Grosvenor Square, her cane clicking its way into Anthony’s study.
Lady Danbury arrives at Grosvenor Square midmorning, uninvited. Anthony is sitting in his study when a servant comes to collect him. The announcement of her arrival jolts Anthony out of his haze, the haze he had been indulging in since the early morning hours. The bottle of whiskey is still sitting on the corner of his desk, next to his propped up feet. There is no headache yet, thankfully, due to the continuity of his glass pouring. He has barely begun to register Lady Danbury’s name before the woman is walking into his study, also uninvited. Perhaps he should have postponed his lonely drinking another night.
“Lady Danbury! What a surprise!” He quickly removes his feet from his desk and smoothes his waistcoat. In his shock, he neglects to fix his wild hair, giving the man an overall feral appearance. “It is lovely to see you.”
“Do not lie, Lord Bridgerton. We both know you have more important things to do than entertain a visitor,” she smiles, smug, glancing over at the open whiskey bottle. “I have come to discuss a possible scandal.”
“Scandal? What do you mean?” he asks, frantically pulling up a chair and inviting her to sit. Heaven knows, Anthony Bridgerton has dealt with enough scandal to last a lifetime.
“It seems I have overstated the importance of the matter. It is more of a concern, really,” she says as she sits, looking at Anthony with great uneasiness. “I will get to the point. I must ask about your sister’s whereabouts last night.”
“My…? Daphne?” he wipes his eyes, hoping the fogginess will fade. “How would I know?”
Lady Danbury quirks an eyebrow and smiles a bitter smile. “So you did not dine with her last night?”
Anthony does not like the coldness in her voice or the sudden contempt in her eyes. Her question is a leading one and he is not sure if he should answer it.
“No?” he says before he can stop himself. Confusion must be plastered across his face because Lady Danbury softens her expression slightly. Her stare is still most intimidating. It now occurs to him that he must smell like the inside of a tavern.
“No?” She repeats, her eyes lighting up. “Then tell me, Anthony. Why did your sister arrive home at midnight?”
Anthony shakes his head, trying his best to understand what Lady Danbury is saying. “Daphne? Daphne was not home last night?”
“She was not. I saw Andrew to bed myself.”
“Where was she?” he continues, somewhat concerned. Daphne often dines with friends, of course, but Lady Danbury’s worry tells him that there is another possibility he should know about. A worrying one.
“That is what I am asking you, Lord Bridgerton. When I asked, Daphne informed me that she dined with your family last night.”
“She did not.”
“Yes, I know,” she smiles slightly at Anthony’s delayed comprehension, “It is regrettable, to say the least, that I must now share this ,” she pulls a folded letter from her purse and hands it to him, “with you.”
“What is it?” Anthony reaches over to his desk and retrieves a pair of reading glasses--an unwelcome reminder of his age-- and begins to scan the page for a signature. “Sir Henry Granville.”
“Yes.”
“He is friends with my brother,” he begins, but stops short as he begins reading the letter:
Your Grace,
I would like to extend the sincerest of apologies for the behavior I exhibited towards the Duke. It was most childish, not to mention ungracious, considering the warm reception I was given. Your brother, surely, has informed you of my reluctance to attend dinner at your home. I fear that we would not be able to speak plainly with an abundance of servants present. However, I believe that it is of the utmost importance that we meet. I would be most pleased if you could attend dinner at my studio tomorrow evening. It is an unusual venue, one not suited for a Duchess perhaps, but my studio will provide the necessary privacy.
Yours,
Sir Henry Granville
“I do not understand. What is this?” he asks, skimming the page once more. “Why is he writing to--? ‘Behavior I exhibited towards the Duke’...that’s Simon. What happened with Simon?”
“I do not know. I was hoping you could enlighten me.”
Anthony takes a deep breath and rereads once more. This cannot be what it looks like, right? “I do not understand,” he says again, “Why does Henry Granville want to have dinner with my sister?”
“Had,” Lady Danbury corrects.
“Excuse me?”
“He had dinner with your sister. The letter arrived two days ago, meaning the dinner invitation was for last night.”
Anthony nods, “You believe that is where Daphne was last night.”
“Where else would she have gone?”
“And you said she was out until midnight?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus,” Anthony says, reclining in his chair. “Have you asked Simon what this is about? The letter seems to imply a disagreement between Simon and Granville.”
“Simon has gone to Clyvedon,” Lady Danbury sighs, “but I have heard from the servants that an argument broke out between Simon and Sir Granville several weeks ago. Granville and his wife had been invited for dinner, but left before the meal was served. They left in quite the haste.”
“Why were the Granvilles invited to dinner? Are they close with Simon and Daphne?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Hmmm,” Anthony turns the paper over in his hand, trying to parse the vague message. Your brother, surely, has informed you of my reluctance to attend dinner at your home. “Benedict. This must be referring to Benedict.”
Anthony lets out a sigh of relief. If Benedict is involved, this letter is certainly benign. His brother would not let Daphne be hurt.
“Yes, it seems so. Where is Benedict?”
“That is a good question, Lady Danbury,” he chuckles, pulling out his pocket watch, “I gave him specific instructions to attend breakfast this morning and he has not come. Neither has Daphne, in fact.”
Lady Danbury nods, appearing somewhat unsettled by Daphne’s absence. “If you do not mind, Lord Bridgerton, I would like to hear what your brother has to say about this.”
“Of course, Lady Danbury. I shall ask him the next time I see him,” he rises to escort the woman to the door, “Apologies, but I must ask: where did you get this letter?”
Lady Danbury purses her lips and gives a mischievous glance, “It is better if you do not know.”
He nods, agreeing that his ignorance is for the best, and places the letter inside the top drawer of his desk. He will ask Benedict what the letter is about the next time his brother decides to come home. He wonders where it is that Benedict goes for days at a time, but he knows better than to pry. After all, there were entire weekends that he spent at Sienna’s, wrapped in her sheets. Wrapped in her. He glances back at his whiskey, suddenly reminded as to the reason for his drunkenness. Loneliness is brutal.
He knew he should not have started drinking before the family meeting, but Colin’s arrival back home in the early hours prompted an existential crisis of sorts. Anthony is getting older. Not too old, mind you, but his father’s early death, and Anthony's lack of a wife and an heir, have been lurking in the back of his mind for ages now. Colin’s youthful antics only made the pain unbearable.
The morning meeting had gone as well as one would expect. Anthony, drunker than he is now, had sat his siblings down and lectured them on propriety. Everyone was polite enough to verbally ignore his own impropriety, but he had felt his mother’s pointed stares. There was to be another event this weekend and he’ll be damned if his siblings repeat their foolishness. Eloise had scoffed and groaned the whole time. Colin had asserted his innocence. Eloise complained about Benedict’s absence. Colin agreed and mentioned Daphne’s absence. Their mother joined in and also complained about Benedict and Daphne. Suddenly the meeting was centered on Anthony’s poor management skills and his unanswered invitations.
Thus, the drinking continued through the morning.
Once Lady Danbury leaves, Anthony leaves for the club, alone. If Simon were not in Clyvedon, he might visit his friend and his sister. At present, he is skeptical about visiting Daphne. One, he is not in a state that is acceptable when visiting one’s sister, and two, he decides he must learn more about the relationship between Daphne and Sir Granville. He does not wish to interfere in what is certainly a misunderstanding. Daphne would never hurt Simon. Never.
He must confirm this assumption, though, or else his drinking habit will only amplify.
“Uncle Henry!” Alana shouts across the room, a wicked smile turned toward Benedict. She knows very well by now that Henry Granville is fond of her, sometimes more fond than he is of Benedict.
Alana Courtenay is a student of Henry’s. She has been under Henry’s tutelage for years--the man having somewhat stepped in for her absent father-- and thus has acquired a second home at the Granville’s. When Henry is the judge, Benedict loses every argument to Courtenay. He cannot help but feel jealous at times.
“What?” Granville groans, his back facing the young woman. He is hunched over some boxes, doing his best to unpack and organize a shipment of supplies.
“Your wife is bothering me.”
“Why is Lucy bothering you?” He asks, a smile evident in his tone.
“Not Lucy. The other one.”
Henry laughs before asking in his best solemn tone, “Why is Benedict bothering you?”
Benedict speaks up, “I am simply attempting to get my fair share of red paint but Courtenay is hoarding all of it.” He realizes too late that he has not objected to being called Henry’s wife. The label is sure to find its place in Alana’s collection of derogatory nicknames she likes to use on him.
“Well I am simply trying to save Benedict’s trousers from turning purple. His entire lower half seems to be caked in blue.”
“Shut up, will you? Just give me the damn container,” he says, reaching over his table and spilling a bit of linseed oil onto the floor, grabbing hopelessly at the container now held over Alana’s head.
She smiles at him, taunting, lifting the paint further out of reach. “No, fuck you.”
“Fuck you!” He says, aggravation beginning to trump any of his residual amusement.
“Shut the fuck up! Both of you,” Henry says, finally spinning around to look at them. He tosses Benedict a tube of crimson and chuckles. “Here. Paint away.”
“See?” Alana says, putting her paint container back in its place, “I did you a favor. You now have a fresh tube of paint.”
“And you now have red spilled on your dress,” he shoots back, gesturing toward the red splotch on green satin.
“Damn it!” She hurriedly reaches for a cloth and begins to blot the paint away, but it seems to have stained already. “Your chaos seems to be contagious.”
“Then perhaps you should move your easel away from mine. It would be nice to have some peace and quiet.”
“You know you love me, though,” she teases, leaning over and squeezing his arm. “Who else could possibly cripple your confidence with such tact?” She winks and returns her attention back to her canvas.
Benedict hums his disapproval despite the accuracy of the woman’s jest. Courtenay’s talent far outshines his, her hands seemingly crafted for the sole purpose of holding a paintbrush. He would never admit such thinking, though; The woman is not the least bit humble.
He turns back toward his own canvas, though his mind is still wholly focused on the woman beside him. She is beautiful, yes. She has an obnoxiously big ribbon tied around her hair at all times, and her dresses are always inappropriate for whatever event she is attending. The grandiose manner in which she conducts herself is enough to make most men turn their heads. And Eloise, apparently.
He should talk to Eloise, right? Such sensitive matters are rarely spoken of, even amongst men, and his sister is still unsure as to how babies are made! It would be inappropriate for him to discuss such things with her, but still he contemplates the best way to approach the conversation. If Henry is correct, Benedict is the only person who can understand what she is feeling. Christ, is Eloise even aware of what she is feeling?
Benedict recalls the night he attended his first party at Henry’s. The night was... pleasurable, a great departure from his life of propriety. He looks at Lucy, currently sitting with a sketchbook in her lap and doing her best to draw an apple, and grimaces. Their first encounter was certainly memorable, he supposes. But it was not the most memorable moment of that night.
He replays the scene in his head sometimes. His heart beating wildly in his chest as he had seen the two men intertwined, passionately making love. Granville and Wetherby. Wetherby’s back was facing Benedict, but Henry had locked eyes with him. He had locked eyes with Benedict and held the gaze as he went back to kissing Wetherby’s neck. It was a taunt, daring Benedict to do something about it. He did nothing, of course, but close the door and fuck Henry’s wife.
The image of the two men had haunted him for days, kept him awake in bed and staring at the ceiling. The nights he had spent with Madame Delacroix were a nice distraction from the torment, but the nagging thoughts returned when they were done. Men like him--men of society, respectable men--were not sodomites. And if they were, it was not talked about. To see Henry Granville, his friend, making love to another man? It had shocked him to his core. Henry was... normal. Benedict did not particularly care about his friend’s sexual exploits--and he told him as much, to Henry’s great relief-- but he was concerned with this new understanding of men like Henry. If Henry and Wetherby loved men, it meant anyone could. Did Benedict?
The possibility plagued his consciousness for weeks. He analyzed particularly close friendships from his childhood, his predilection for drawing men--they were easier to draw, of course--and his growing affection for Sir Granville. The man commanded attention, what with his extravagant wardrobe and all, and Benedict could not help but comply. Perhaps the friendship was not completely innocent. Perhaps Benedict did have romantic feelings for the artist.
This turmoil lasted for months, Benedict suddenly becoming giggly and flustered at the vaguest innuendo of Henry’s affair with Wetherby. He could not help but feel embarrassed, embarrassed of his own desire to be in Wetherby’s place. Even a simple touch on the shoulder from Henry was enough to make him turn red. Henry caught on, of course--though the man was painfully oblivious for far too long--and immediately broke things off with Wetherby. Benedict admits that this immediate devotion only made him fall in love all the more quickly.
Eloise’s apparent nervous laughter around Alana reminded him of himself. Infatuation is a hell of a drug, addicting and never satisfying.
A thought pops into Benedict’s head and he smiles. He plans to tell Eloise of his relationship with Henry tonight. The man had said he wished to meet Eloise properly, to take a stroll in the park. Another guest would be welcome, yes? Especially a guest whom Henry favors so much.
“Alana.”
“Yes?” the woman answers, too engrossed in her work to bother looking up.
“Henry and I are planning to go to the park after the garden party. Would you like to join us?”
The woman finally looks up, amusement staining her countenance. “You have ulterior motives, Bridgerton. I can hear it in your voice.”
Benedict blushes and continues, “I simply thought it would be impolite to not extend the invitation. You will be in attendance at the party, yes?”
“Yes,” Alana answers, her suspicion still apparent, “Although, would I not be ruining your courtship?” She teases, but her concern is genuine.
“Not at all. Your presence is most welcome,” Benedict pauses and decides it is wrong to mislead the girl, “Speaking of, I thought I might invite my sister to join us as well. You know Eloise, right?”
Alana narrows her eyes at him, “Yes, I do. She is...strange. Well, ‘strange’ is not the correct term, I suppose. She is... amusing .” Alana nods, more sure, “Yes. Amusing. Her tirades are the antithesis of polite society--much like myself, I might add. I admire individuality in a woman.”
Benedict is not sure how he should interpret this assessment. It is favourable, yes, but drowning in condescension.
Alana continues, “But I must say, Benedict. Inviting me for the sole purpose of entertaining your sister is insulting at best. Does my riveting conversation bore you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Are you accepting the invitation or not?”
“I shall think about it. I suppose your sister would make a suitable conversation partner, though.”
Benedict regrets asking. It is his intention to gauge Eloise’s interest in the woman--and to provide his sister with the thrilling joy of fleeting, unrequited passion-- not to endorse a friendship. Eloise is far too intelligent for corruptibility, but he worries still. Alana is known to have broken a few hearts.
“Excellent,” he says, but his protectiveness surfaces, “Though I should warn you. I do not take kindly to anyone insulting my sister.”
“Who do you think I am?” She smacks his arm, “You know I only pursue older women.”
Benedict groans. “That is not what I meant and you know it.”
Alana winks and returns to her painting. Benedict suddenly has the urge to murder her. He does not want to upset Henry, however. He shall just have to monitor Eloise and Courtenay closely.
He smiles as he thinks of Eloise. She will be supportive of his relationship, he is sure of it. He can hardly wait to tell her. She will tease him, yes, but she will love Henry once they meet. The thought is enough to make his chest hurt, his heart feeling like it could burst.
Benedict returns home late, late enough that he worries Eloise is asleep. As he steps into the foyer, however, he is greeted by Eloise running down the stairs into his arms. He hugs his sister and kisses her head.
“I have missed you, Ben. It is miserable without you here,” she mumbles into his chest, squeezing him closer.
“Eloise, you act as if I do not share a wall with you. My room is only a few steps away,” he jokes despite sharing her sentiment. There was a time when his sister would jump into bed with him and demand to be told a bedtime story. He likes to think that his terrible stories had prompted Eloise to start writing her own; By the time she was ten, his sister had begun criticizing his plots.
“Yes, but that is only when you are home. Which you are not most nights,” she pulls away and looks up at him, “And you do not even respect me enough to tell me where it is that you go.”
Benedict laughs at Eloise’s resolve. He is tempted to withhold that information just to mess with her, but he knows he cannot keep Henry a secret any longer. He regrets not telling her sooner, in fact. There was never any doubt as to whether Eloise would accept him, but fear does not consult logic very often. The fear is gone now, elation having taken its place. He must be wary of mentioning Daphne’s knowledge, however; El would be infuriated if she thought Benedict trusted Daphne more than her.
“It is interesting that you say that, sister, because I have specifically come to discuss my absence with you,” he says, smiling smugly.
Eloise frowns. “Do not mock me, Ben. I am serious.”
“As am I,” he says, wrapping Eloise’s arm around his own, “Though it is best that we discuss this in a more private setting.” He winks before asking, “You do not happen to have any cigarettes, do you?”
El giggles and nods. “Perhaps,” she pauses, “Oh, shit. Anthony is on the warpath, be careful.”
Benedict opens his mouth to admonish her for her language but he freezes when he sees his brother descend the staircase and march toward them. Eloise turns around and whispers something to Benedict but he does not hear it. Anthony stares directly at him, eyes narrowed and frightening.
“Brother! I apologize for missing this morning’s meeting, I--” he begins, but Anthony holds up his hand.
“No need, Benedict. I am not mad,” he says, unconvincing, causing Eloise to hoot into Benedict’s arm. Anthony looks at El, displeased, before continuing, “Another matter has come up that I must discuss with you.”
Benedict tenses, knowing damn well what Anthony’s strained expression means. “What is it?”
Anthony looks over at Eloise, probably contemplating whether it is worth the aggravation of asking her to leave, and decides to carry on with their sister present. “I must ask about Sir Henry Granville.”
Benedict’s stomach begins to churn. “What about Granville?”
“Lady Danbury called on me this morning. She mentioned an argument between Simon and Granville?” Anthony raises an eyebrow, his eyes never leaving Benedict’s face.
“Did she? Well…,” he blushes and stumbles over his next words, “Well, this is the first time I am hearing of this.” He internally cringes at his words, aware of how insincere they seem.
Anthony nods, his eyes narrowing further. “Well, then. Will you ask Granville? Lady Danbury seemed awfully concerned and has asked me to investigate the matter.”
“Of course, brother. He should be at the party this weekend. I will ask then.”
“Please do,”Anthony places his hands behind his back and glares at his brother once more before leaving for his study.
Benedict lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding. Eloise looks at him in awe. “Your inability to lie is simply astounding.”
“Oh, shut up,” he groans, running a hand over his face. “Get the cigarettes, will you?”
Eloise runs up the stairs to retrieve the contraband that is no doubt hidden beneath her mattress. He makes his way to the tree in the gardens and stares at the two swings that hang from the branches. The grass is lit up with moonlight and the air is silent and still. It is cold tonight despite the lack of wind. He sits on one of the swings and sways, contemplating.
What was Anthony getting at? Does he know about…? No, he does not. Simon was right; If Anthony knew, he would be at Granville’s doorstep right now. He supposes it must be Lady Danbury’s doing. Anthony is scared of that woman and she knows it. If she asked him to investigate, Anthony was going to investigate. And he did. Benedict prays Anthony will accept his blatant lie and be done with it.
He should think up a convincing explanation, just to be safe. Although, it is difficult to imagine a reason for animosity between Granville and Basset. Perhaps a dispute over the payment of a portrait? Hopefully, further deception will be unnecessary.
Eloise runs toward him, positively giddy. She throws the carton of cigarettes at Benedict and jumps on the swing beside him, seemingly prepared to indulge her curiosity. Benedict lights a cigarette and tosses the box to his sister, racking his brain for the right words. He has imagined this conversation for so long, yet his nerves are getting the best of him.
“So! What is it that you do when you disappear for days?” Eloise is understandably beaming; It is always a thrill to be let in on a secret.
“Don’t be too excited, sister. This is not Lady Whistledown’s column,” he is joking, of course, but perhaps he should emphasize the matter. “You mustn’t tell anyone. Not even Penelope.”
Eloise laughs, “I am not an idiot, Ben. I am well aware of Penelope’s love of gossip.”
“I trust you, El. More than anyone, I think. That is why I am trusting you with this," he says, his gentle words dripping with sincerity.
“Then get on with it, Benedict.”
Benedict takes a deep breath, steadies himself. “Henry. Henry Granville,” he looks at Eloise and how she is staring at his fidgety hands, “It is not a secret that we are particularly close. I spend most days at his studio, painting and sketching.”
“Yes, I know. I credit him with making your sketches slightly less horrid.”
Benedict snorts. He can always rely on his sister to humble him. “Well, you see, I have taken to spending my nights at his studio as well. Spending my nights with him. ” He looks up sheepishly at his sister. Her face is blank, unreadable, but her eyes betray her amusement. “What is so damn amusing, sister?” He folds his arms.
“I am sorry, Ben, but--,” she giggles, “is he not married? I did not take you for such an accomplished rake.”
“Excuse me?”
She snorts, “To be perfectly honest, Benedict, I cannot believe that I am capable of such obliviousness . It is so painfully obvious, too!”
“Excuse me?” he repeats, dumbfounded. “You are more scandalized by his marital status than him being a man?”
Eloise guffaws. “I have seen your sketchbooks, Ben. Women are vastly underrepresented in your drawings.”
“You looked through my sketchbooks?” he feigns offense but a soft smile betrays his relief.
“If you did not want them to be seen, then you should keep them hidden,” Eloise returns Benedict’s smile, “Or hidden better , at least.”
“You never cease to amaze, sister.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.”
Eloise hums contentedly. Benedict laughs again and leans back against the rope of the swing. He takes a puff of his cigarette and considers his sketches. He already knows that he draws men more than he does women, but Christ...is it that obvious? Eloise is disquietingly observant, he knows, but he makes a mental note to stash the rest of his sketchbooks at Henry’s for safe measure.
“Benedict?” Eloise says, a sudden shift in her voice.
“Yes?”
“Be careful, will you?” She sighs and looks down at her feet, her voice strained, “I would hate to lose you, Ben.”
Benedict is silent as he crushes his cigarette beneath his foot and walks over to his sister. He wraps his arms around her and holds her head to his chest, knowing that his sister can probably hear the ache he feels in his heart. He knows she is right; It is dangerous. With a choked voice, he whispers, “I will never leave you, El. I promise.”
Eloise wraps her arms around her brother and holds tight. Her love saturates his thoughts, momentarily numbing his worries. Eventually, after several minutes, the two pull apart, and Benedict smiles down at his sister. “Henry will be at this weekend’s party. I thought perhaps you’d like to meet him. We could go to the park?.”
Eloise cannot contain her excitement as she answers, “Yes! I must warn Sir Granville of your inadequacies.”
Benedict laughs but is reminded of Daphne’s joy at sharing embarrassing stories with Henry. “He is well aware, do not worry. We have been involved long enough.”
“Yes, but I have known you for longer. Your list of flaws is quite remarkable, brother.”
“Thank you.”
The Queen’s garden party begins at noon on Saturday. Despite the reasonable time, Benedict and Henry struggle to be punctual. Saturday morning had begun poorly, with Benedict realizing his tailcoat was stained with paint--Henry teasing, “How do you do it, Benedict? It’s almost a talent”--and having to return to Grosvenor Square to retrieve a clean one. Anthony had raised an eyebrow at Benedict’s attire, seemingly amused that he had packed an entire wardrobe for his nightly exploits. Benedict, once properly dressed, had returned to Henry’s so that he could pack his charcoals and sketchbook in a bag. The two men had decided it might be nice to sketch in the park after their stroll.
Benedict takes this time to lecture Henry on Eloise.
“Remember, do not force an interaction. Let
her
approach
you.”
“You make your sister sound like a wild animal,” Henry laughs. “Why can’t I say hello?”
“She becomes skittish at these types of events. I’m afraid you might startle her.”
“You cannot be serious, Ben.”
“I absolutely am. If it were up to my sister, she would not be in attendance at all. She loathes shallow conversation.”
“Are you implying that my conversation is
shallow
, dear?”
“I am saying that approaching my sister with frivolous discussion will only annoy her. If she initiates the conversation, she will feel more comfortable and less likely to detest your company.”
“‘Detest’? You think so highly of me. How did I become so lucky?” Henry teases but nods in agreement, “I shall keep this in mind.”
“Thank you.” Benedict stuffs his sketchbook in his bag before reconsidering. Eloise’s comment regarding his sketches has put him on edge.
Henry’s eyes suddenly light up and a smile spreads across his face. “Daphne will be in attendance, yes?”
“Yes,” Benedict answers, slightly amused and slightly annoyed by Henry’s friendship with Daphne. Henry has only Lucy and Benedict--and Alana, if one were generous--as family. Daphne must be the sister he never had. It is sweet, yes, but still serves as a reminder that Henry will never truly be a part of the Bridgerton clan. He is grateful, though, that his sisters will join Henry’s little family, even if Henry cannot join theirs. “Have you got an empty sketchbook?”
“I hope she received the flowers I sent,” Henry says, biting his thumb while looking around for his pencil bag. He does not acknowledge the question.
“I am sure she did, Henry,” Benedict soothes, pulling the man’s hand away from his face. “I didn't mean to frighten you. El will love you.”
Henry maneuvers his hand into Benedict’s. “I should hope so. I know you hold Eloise’s opinion in the highest esteem.”
“I do. And that is why I have no doubt that she will be glued to your side by the end of today’s events,” he squeezes Henry’s hand, “Prepare yourself for non-stop chattering.”
“I look forward to it.” Henry’s words are genuine, absent of any derision. He grabs his pencil bag out of Benedict’s outstretched hand without acknowledgment. The thought of another sister must be all-consuming.
Benedict laughs at the man. “You will soon regret saying that.”
There is a banging on the door of the studio, accompanied by a woman’s shouting. “Hurry up, will you?”
The two men interrupt their packing and open the door to Lucy, who is currently pacing the doorstep. Words are unnecessary as Lucy glares at their disheveled states.
Bastards.
Anthony and Daphne sit across from each other in the carriage. It is silent and tense and awkward, Anthony bouncing his leg and scowling out the window. Daphne sits with her gloved hands in her lap and watches her brother intently. Anthony feels her stare and cannot help but feel scrutinized.
He
should be scrutinizing
her.
He had volunteered to escort his sister to the godforsaken garden party, though his offer was not an altruistic act--far from it. He has endeavored to put the Henry Granville matter to bed, so that he may get some sleep and--more importantly--free him of Lady Danbury’s command. A carriage ride with his sister offered him an opportunity to force a conversation she could not escape; It just so happens that it also allows Anthony to avoid his mother’s current disapproval of his poor temper. Yes, this carriage ride would be very beneficial if only he could muster up the courage to speak.
He finally turns to Daphne and clears his throat, “Sister. I must ask you something and you cannot be angry.”
She looks at him and warily replies, “I will do my best.”
“That is all I ask,” he breathes, “I spoke with Lady Danbury several days ago. She was concerned. About you.”
“About me? What for?” Daphne’s expression reads as confused, but the sudden shift in her seat implies otherwise. He ignores this.
“She seems to think there is a feud between Simon and Sir Granville. Is she correct?”
Daphne laughs, her body still unnaturally still. “I am afraid she has blown this out of proportion, brother. There was an argument, yes, but it has since been resolved. There is no need to worry.”
“Good. I will tell her as such.” Anthony tries to project nonchalance, but he is relieved. There was a part of him that had worried about Simon’s sudden absence. His mind had mulled it over, producing wild possibilities. Was Simon threatened?
“Please do,” she shakes her head, annoyed, “I cannot believe she thought this worthy of your attention.”
“I imagine it is because I am in the unique position of being Simon’s friend as well as your brother. She seemed to want specifics as to the nature of the argument. She might have thought Simon spoke to me about it.”
Daphne looks out the window before continuing, “I am sorry, brother, for dragging you into this.”
“Nonsense. It was Lady Danbury’s doing. She seems to think that I am apprised of my siblings’ day-to-day lives,” he chuckles, “I can hardly manage myself these days.”
Daphne ignores his self-deprecation. “I feel I should apologize to Lady Danbury today. I didn't mean to worry her with my dismissals.”
He nods, uneasiness washing over him. There is another matter he must broach. “I did not want to pry, but it may be best if you tell Lady Danbury where you were the other night--when you arrived home late. It seems her concern runs deep these days.”
Daphne lets out an airy laugh that is audibly laced with irritation. “That woman never ceases! If you must know, brother, I was at dinner with the Granvilles.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I was afraid
this
would happen,” she bites her lip, “I did not want her to overthink the Granville situation and yet it seems I have done exactly the opposite.”
“I think it might be best if, going forward, you remember that Lady Danbury is a nosy woman, Daph. I do not want her making another visit,” he smiles. “But I am glad that you are alright. I was beginning to worry, too.”
Anthony leans back in his seat, much calmer than before. Daphne was simply protecting Simon’s business, that is all. He resolves not to ask about the dinner invite; It is irrelevant now. He already knew Benedict would not participate in any scandal concerning their sister, but Daphne’s explanation is satisfactory enough for him to be done with the matter. He shall speak to Lady Danbury today and be rid of the burden.
Henry, Benedict, and Lucy arrive at the party around 12:30, still early enough to join the festivities unnoticed.
Almost immediately, though, the group is greeted by Daphne and Andrew. Daphne holds Andrew in her arms, his feet wrapped around her torso.
“Benedict!” She walks over and kisses her brother on the cheek, and leans so that Andrew may give his uncle a hug.
“I’ll hold him, Daph,” he grabs Andrew and lifts him out of his sister’s arms. “How’s my nephew, hm?” He ruffles Andrew’s hair as the boy giggles. The boy babbles a response that Benedict assumes is positive.
“Daphne, it’s great to see you again,” Henry says, stepping forward. He kisses her hand and smiles. “You look lovely as usual.”
Lucy rolls her eyes and hugs Daphne. “Excuse my husband, Daphne. He’s an old flirt.”
Henry laughs, “You say that like it is a bad thing.”
Lucy and Benedict lock eyes and giggle. Benedict snorts and looks down at Andrew, “Your Uncle Henry is a certified rake.”
There is a sudden silence. Benedict looks up at the three sets of eyes staring at him and blushes as he realizes what he just said. He begins to mumble an apology of sorts, but Daphne speaks before he is able to stop her.
“Yes, and Aunt Lucy is a very patient woman. Isn’t that right?” She looks at Lucy and smiles.
Lucy’s eyes light up. “That’s right. Henry is exhausting. Some days I wonder why I put up with him,” she jokes.
It is Henry’s turn to speak and all eyes turn toward him. Instead of making a witty remark, he just says, “Uncle? I’m an uncle?” His eyes crinkle as he grins. “Well, then, I should perform the duties of an uncle. Can I?”
Daphne giggles and nods, handing Andrew to Henry. “Maybe Uncle Henry could bring you to get some ice cream?” she says to the boy. He clings to Henry’s jacket and screams in delight.
“I cannot say ‘no’ to that,” Henry bounces Andrew on his hip, “Let me guess: chocolate?”
Andrew furiously nods his head and wraps his arms around Henry. The man laughs, smiling wider than Benedict has ever seen. It is truly a sight to see, Benedict thinks. He says goodbye to his sister and Lucy and follows Henry to get ice cream and champagne.
“Thank you for that,” Benedict says, “I didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out. I forget we’re not officially family.”
“Are you kidding, Bridgerton? Your slip up is the best thing to happen to me all week! Just look at my nephew!” Henry begins to baby-talk with Andrew and leaves Benedict for a moment to retrieve the promised ice cream.
Benedict goes to a nearby table and grabs two glasses of champagne and waits for Henry to return. As he waits, sipping his champagne, his eyes find Lady Danbury in the crowd. She sits in a tent at the far end of the lawn, fanning herself and chatting with several older women. Making a mental note to avoid that tent--he could hardly withstand questioning from Anthony, after all--he turns around to see Henry and Andrew return. Andrew’s face and hands are covered in chocolate, as is Henry’s shirt. He hands a cup of vanilla ice cream to Benedict and gladly accepts the glass of champagne in return.
“You know that I shouldn’t be eating this,” Benedict says with a mouthful of the dessert, “The sofa incident was a wakeup call.”
“Eat the damn ice cream,” Henry’s eyes go wide, “Oh shit. Do you think Andrew will repeat that?”
“No clue. When he curses in front of my sister, we will just pretend it wasn’t us.”
“That is most comforting.”
“Andrew, are you done with that?” Benedict grabs the cup from his hand, realizing too late that the remaining contents are liquid. The chocolate spills on his lapel and onto his sleeve. “Fuck!”
“Let us hope he doesn’t repeat
that.”
“Very funny, Henry, but I look like a mess. And this is the second coat I’ve ruined today.”
“Just dab it with a napkin. You won’t even see it, Ben. Your coat is too dark.”
“The same cannot be said of your red jacket. Or your shirt.”
“It is a small price to pay for my newest family member,” Henry wipes Andrew’s mouth with his sleeve, not at all caring about his unseemly appearance. “Dispose of your cups and get me another glass, will you? I’ve got my hands full.”
“Yes, sir,” Benedict rolls his eyes but desperately wishes to kiss Henry. Seeing the man with Andrew feels like a dream, and Benedict cannot help but swoon.
Alana Courtenay arrives nearly an hour into the event, ensuring that her arrival is noted by as many as possible. If her belated arrival did not turn heads, her dress definitely does. She wears an extravagant red skirt with gold embroidery, and a gold tiara on her head in place of her signature ribbon. The top of her dress is a glorified corset, really--it hugs the curves of her body and shows an indecent amount of skin. She wears long black gloves and dark eye makeup. It is no surprise that every head turns as she makes her way around the garden.
The woman did this on purpose, surely. Benedict should not have asked for decency around his sister; Alana seems to have taken the request as a dare to be perverse.
Henry sighs, sensing Benedict’s aggravation. “Please, Benedict. Don’t.”
“I could kill her, Henry. I really could.”
“She does this at every event, there is no need to panic,” Henry says while playfully covering Andrew's ears.
“I swear to God, Henry. If she attempts to seduce my sister, I will--,” Benedict balls his fists and cuts himself off. He cannot bring himself to speak his mind.
Henry chuckles, “What will you do, hmm? You cannot expect me to believe you would do anything notable.”
“I could if I wanted to,” Benedict scowls.
“Of course, love,” he pats Benedict’s shoulder. “Besides, it is entirely your fault. If you didn’t intend to force a friendship, why did you invite her?”
Benedict stares down at his champagne, frowning. “You must remember being young and fancying someone. I wanted to make my sister happy, I guess.”
“And?” Henry raises an eyebrow, sensing that Benedict is withholding something.
“I do not think I am up to the task of helping Eloise,” Benedict admits. “I’m her older brother and Alana is...God, you know I would never want her near my sister, usually. But she is the only woman I know who...is like us. Like Eloise. Or, at least, the only one who is my sister’s age. And…,” he shrugs.
“And you think Alana could help her,” Henry finishes. His smile conveys his understanding.
“Lord knows I would have been lost without you,” Benedict says under his breath, suddenly aware that they are surrounded by people. He thinks of the torment he suffered while accepting his feelings for men. He is thankful everyday that it was Henry who was by his side.
Henry nods, trying his best to hide his blushing cheeks. “Then we shall keep a close eye on the two. Though I doubt Alana will attempt anything with Eloise. Your sister is a lovely girl, yes, but Alana doesn’t care for people her own age. It is a fact that causes me much anxiety--as you are well aware.” Henry gulps down his champagne at the thought; The man has had to chase off many predatory suitors the last two years.
“I suppose you are right. It does not ease my irritation, though.”
“You are a good brother.”
Benedict distractedly nods--still glaring in Alana’s direction-- and grabs Henry’s arm. “Take off your coat.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give Courtenay your coat. I cannot have her traipsing about half-naked and meeting my sister.”
“I thought you wanted to make your sister happy?” Henry jokes, but coughs awkwardly as Benedict whips his head around. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”
Benedict cannot fathom his own anger at the moment. If it weren’t undignified, and if Henry was not holding his nephew, he swears he would smack Henry for that. “I am going to take a walk around now. Do as I say and give Alana your damn jacket.”
Henry stifles a laugh at the man’s temper. “Yes, sir.”
Benedict marches off into the hedges and balls his fists once again. His protectiveness over Eloise is not a laughing matter.
He arrives at the food table-- and is about to stuff his mouth full of bread to forget his worries--when his brother claps him on the shoulder.
“Anthony,” he says, less than enthusiastic. “What did I do to deserve your company?”
Anthony smiles a snarky smile and clears his throat. “I have spoken to Daphne about the Granville situation. There is no need to worry about it any further. No need to concern Sir Granville either.”
“How do you mean?”
“She explained everything in a satisfactory enough manner,” Anthony looks around at the crowd, “It seems Lady Danbury misinterpreted the situation.”
Benedict takes the opportunity to shove bread in his mouth, thinking it may soothe his rapid heartbeat. He miscalculates, though, and begins to choke on the crumbs.
“Jesus, Benedict,” Anthony smacks Benedict on the back in any effort to calm his coughing. “Maybe you should chew next time.”
“Sorry, brother,” Benedict begins, “I am just confused. She explained everything?”
“Yes,” Anthony starts, but stops when he sees his brother’s face start to flush. “What?”
“I am simply surprised, Anthony. Overwhelmingly so,” Benedict grins, breathless with relief and joy. “I thought you would be angry. I was so worried.” He grabs Anthony and wraps him in an embrace that is overly personal for a public event. He whispers, in a voice that is warm and true, “Thank you.”
Anthony practically pushes him off, hitting Benedict hard enough that the man nurses his shoulder as he steps back. “What in God’s name are you on about?”
Benedict tilts his head as he responds. “I am sorry I doubted you. I should have known you would be open-minded.”
Anthony tilts his head this time, his expression rattled with a blinding confusion. “As much as I appreciate the uncharacteristic affection, brother,” Anthony quips, “I will admit I do not understand. Why would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you would view the situation as indecent,” he grimaces, “But enough of that. I shall tell Daphne and Henry of the good news.” Benedict smiles again and leans over to give Anthony another hug but is quickly rebuked.
“Yes, well. You do that. I will talk to Lady Danbury and give her just enough information so that she will quit badgering me.” Anthony shoots him a sharp stare before departing toward one of the tents. Benedict notices Anthony’s fidgety hands as he walks away.
It is no matter, though. Benedict’s wildest fantasy has come true! Anthony loves him still. He shakes his head as he goes to find Henry. Of course his brother would understand. And he is not angry at Henry, either. He cannot help but grin the entire trip to where he had left the man.
Instead of finding Henry, though, he runs into Lucy. She holds Andrew in her arms, leaning so that the boy’s weight falls on her hip. She bounces him absent-mindedly as she talks to a group of women. Andrew plays with Lucy’s necklace, blissfully unaware of the woman’s overall discomfort at interacting with a child. He is surprised Lucy was willing to watch Andrew at all; A marriage to Henry provided her with many benefits, one of which was a husband who did not expect her to become a mother. It didn’t stop others from pestering the couple, however.
Benedict arrives at the group of women in time to hear the beginnings of such conversation.
“Lucy, dear, you’d be an excellent mother. Just look at how fond he is of you,” the woman comes closer to coo over Andrew. “Tell that Henry of yours to settle down. Forget those parties.” She says the last part in a disgusted tone.
Lucy smiles politely, but Benedict knows the woman well enough to recognize the twitch of her eyebrow as a sign of agitation. “Forgive me, Lady Thompson, but I believe my marriage is none of your business.”
The woman tries her best to smile politely in return, but her face betrays offense. Benedict swoops in then to save Lucy from causing a scene.
“Mrs. Granville! Could I borrow you for a moment?” He reaches out and pinches his nephew’s cheek. “And Andrew, of course.”
“Yes, Mr. Bridgerton,” Lucy smiles at the man, and then turns to the women and bids a far too gleeful farewell. “It was lovely to see you ladies. I hope I will see you at Lady Danbury’s next party.”
As the two walk to a more secluded spot, Benedict grabs Andrew to Lucy’s relief. “I will be sure to inform Henry that he mustn’t try for a child.”
“Bug off,” Lucy hits Benedict’s shoulder, a gesture that has become too familiar to the man.
“My shoulder has taken quite the abuse today.”
“Yeah? Who else did you bother?”
Benedict grins. “My brother, actually. It seems that Daphne has told him everything. He is fine with it.”
Lucy beams. “I would hug you if I could, Ben. I am so happy for you!”
“I am happy for me, too. Where is Henry?”
“I am not sure. He was just here a minute ago to hand Andrew off to me. I can go find him if you like?”
Benedict shakes his head, his excitement palpable. “No, no. I will find him. I cannot wait to see his face when I tell him the good news,” he contemplates for a second before saying, “Fuck it. I am just so happy, Lucy!” He places Andrew on the ground and wraps his arms around the woman before quickly pulling away. With any luck, no one saw that.
“I am so relieved. I could not bear the thought of our family being torn apart,” she smiles softly, and Benedict can sense the tears she is holding in. “And it has just grown, too! Where is Eloise, anyway?”
“I am not sure,” he looks around for a quiet corner his sister has surely staked out, “Could you find her? She is probably miserable. Penelope is out of town visiting her cousins.”
“Yes, but you must keep Andrew. He produces far too much liquid.”
Benedict laughs, “You really would make an excellent mother.” He pauses as he picks up Andrew, “Wait. Where is Daphne?”
“She went off to find something to eat and rest in the shade. Hormones will do that to you.”
Benedict nods and leaves to find Henry. The man pretends he is not worried, but Benedict knows he is only hiding his fears to protect him. Now he will not have to pretend. Neither of them will. He grins. Today is only just beginning, and yet it feels as if a lifetime has passed and the world has changed.
“Oh! My favorite nephew is here!” Henry grins and walks over with his arms stretched wide. “Did Aunt Lucy have fun?” He looks at Benedict with a smirk, obviously knowing the answer.
“Why did you leave him with her, anyway?”
“I did what you asked. I offered Alana my jacket.”
“Why, then, is Alana still dressed like a prostitute?” Benedict looks down at Henry and nods toward the man’s stained jacket.
“I offered, but she told me—and I quote— 'You look as if you took a shit and used your jacket’, so I took that as a ‘no’.” Henry chuckles, seemingly unbothered by the girl’s vulgarity.
“That story has not assuaged my worries.” Benedict bites his lip nervously and begins to rub Andrew’s back. “She is my sister, Henry. I am responsible for her.”
“You act as if Eloise doesn’t partake in profanities. Young women are not wholly clueless.”
“Again, that does not help my fears,” Benedict whispers, “What if Alana talks about…sex?”
He feels ill at the prospect. The intention of Alana speaking with Eloise was to help his sister understand her situation. Her attractions, her social standing, her need to be discrete...not encouragement to act on her desire! He is naive to think Alana will be well-behaved.
“I thought that was the point,” Henry squints. “Besides, Eloise reads, yes? I doubt her collection of books is closely monitored.”
Benedict frowns. “Perhaps it should be.”
“Do not be stupid. Your sister is an adult.”
“It is a fact that is becoming quite apparent,” Benedict runs his hand through his hair, clearly bothered, “and it seems I am not coping well, am I?”
“No, you are not,” Henry turns his attention toward Andrew, “Can I have my nephew? I saw some children playing ball over there and I thought I could bring him.”
“Sure,” Benedict places Andrew on the ground, “Be good for your uncle.”
Andrew nods and sticks his fingers in his mouth. Perhaps Lucy has a point about a child’s propensity for getting fluids everywhere.
“I need to tell you something. Something good, don’t worry. But you should play with Andrew right now. I can tell you later,” Benedict says, realizing that the conversation might be best had in a private location. This is not to mention his growing anxiety surrounding his talk with Anthony.
“It pains me that I can’t kiss you right now,” Henry smiles with his eyes as he continues, “You would be a great father, Benedict.”
“Ha! No, thank you. I’d much rather be a perpetual bachelor,” he laughs.
This is true; For as long as Benedict could remember, he never imagined himself with a child on his lap and a wife at his side. He wanted to marry, of course, but the thought of the idyllic family suffocated him--still suffocates him. It is yet another expectation of polite society. Part of him wants to console Henry--the man has expressed concern for all the things Benedict will miss out on, fatherhood being one--but another part of him wishes to relieve his own guilt. There is guilt that he is disappointing his mother, and there is guilt that he is choosing to give up a life that so many covet. Still, there is nothing he wants more than to spend his life with the man standing before him.
He pulls Henry by the arm to a spot behind a tree, nestled between the maze of hedges— a place too covered with branches to be visible to others.
Henry looks annoyed and pulls his arm away. Andrew follows behind, running in a toddler’s clumsy manner. “Jesus! You cannot do that here.”
“I just wanted to do this,” he leans over and cups Henry’s cheek. He places a kiss on his lips, gentle and slow.
Henry pulls away with a frown, but his face is reddened nonetheless. “That was reckless and you know it. But thank you. I needed that.”
“That’s why I did it.” He does not say it, but Benedict desperately needed it, too.
Andrew tugs on Henry’s trousers and stomps his foot, “I want to play!”
Henry laughs, “It seems your nephew is as persistent as you are.”
“You are having an awfully good time being an uncle,” Benedict pauses before his face lights up. “Does that mean you don’t consider Alana your niece? My goodness, Henry. Someone ought to tell her.”
“Oh, shut it. She calls me ‘uncle’ but I cannot in good conscience consider her my niece. Not when I’ve seen her in the midst of several questionable activities.”
“Drugs or sex?”
“Yes.”
Benedict laughs and resolves to tease Alana about that later. He is right; Alana is less of a niece and more of a stray cat that Henry has taken off the street. She may bite, but she is still a cherished part of the family.
Henry leans in for one more kiss, a mischievous smile on his face, before leading Andrew out of the bushes and to the field of screaming children.
Henry would be a great father, too.
Anthony wanders through the gardens, searching for Lady Danbury. He tries to ignore the worry he feels, but Benedict’s words were just so...unsettling. What was his brother talking about?
I thought you would be angry. I was so worried. I guess I thought you would view the situation as indecent.
The look on Benedict’s face was so telling. His brother wears his heart on his sleeve--a quality that has gotten him into lots of trouble--and the paleness of his face, followed by unbelievable relief, was concerning. Indecent. What was so indecent about a minor argument and a dinner invitation? He had dismissed his earlier concerns by assuming his brother would not participate in any scandalous behavior. Was he wrong to do so?
He shakes his head as if it will help him dismiss those thoughts. Daphne is too proper and hell! She is just too good to do anything salacious. She simply would not hurt Simon. She would not have an affair.
Anthony finds Lady Danbury underneath a tent, sitting amongst a gathering of women, no doubt gossiping about some trifle. It is almost a talent to transform a trivial matter into a full-blown scandal; He berates himself for almost doing the same. Lady Danbury is fiercely protective of Simon--as Anthony is of Daphne--so he cannot blame her entirely. Worry does not suit either of them, he has learned.
“Lady Danbury! If I may, I would like to speak with you in private,” he says, not bothering to acknowledge the other women. He does not wish to participate in idle chatter.
“Of course, Lord Bridgerton,” she narrows her eyes at him, and turns to the other women, “If you’ll excuse me.”
The woman begins to stand from her seat and Anthony moves to help her. She swats him away, characteristic of her entire demeanor toward him. It is no wonder that the man is terrified of her. They walk a little ways to a place in the hedges, free of nosy members of the ton.
Anthony clears his throat and places his hands behind his back, attempting to project the confidence of a viscount. “You will be relieved to hear that all is well. I have spoken to my sister and she has assured me that the argument was a trivial matter. It has been resolved.”
“And the dinner invitation?”
“I assume it was an apology of sorts. I did not want to press the matter.”
“Why not?”
Anthony sighs and looks at Lady Danbury. “If I may--”
“You may.”
Anthony chuckles, nodding his head. “You cannot actually think that Daphne,” he looks around and lowers his voice, “is romantically involved with Henry Granville, can you?”
It is Lady Danbury’s turn to sigh. “No, I do not. Your sister is wonderful, Lord Bridgerton. You must know how fond I am of Daphne. But the letter and the lying…Truthfully, I thought that Simon might have done something…,” she trails off, and Anthony nods his head to convey his understanding. “I did not know what to think. I suppose I let my worry get the better of me.”
“I will admit that the letter was concerning. I, too, was worried that Simon had done something stupid. I would not put it past him,” he smiles nervously, “But the dinner invitation was benign. It seems my sister lied about the dinner to avoid worrying you further.”
Lady Danbury laughs and nods, “Well that did not work, now did it?”
“I suppose not.”
“I am very sorry for worrying you, Lord Bridgerton. It was foolish of me to ever consider the possibility.”
“There is no need to apologize, Lady Danbury. If anything, I appreciate your concern for my sister’s safety and reputation. Though I must ask that you do not involve me in any future investigations. I have been a mess.” He thinks of the past week of sleepless nights filled with existential dread, made all the more worse by the risk of scandal.
She looks at him, taking note of his pathetic appearance. His trousers are wrinkled and his hair is askew from his nervous tics. “I will keep that in mind.”
Anthony stands awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to take his leave. His sister--his wonderful, exonerated sister--saves him from an embarrassing farewell.
“Lady Danbury!” Daphne walks over and flings her arms around the woman. “I hope I am not interrupting anything important.” She meticulously adjusts her shawl and fans herself with her hand. “Excuse my appearance. I am somehow all too cold and all too hot at once.”
“It is no bother, sister. I was just informing Lady Danbury of our conversation earlier.”
Daphne blushes. “How fitting. I am here to apologize, Lady Danbury. I did not want to worry you in regards to the argument between Simon and Sir Henry. It was not much of an argument, really, hence my dismissals.”
“It is quite alright, dear. I should have kept my nose out of it,” she grabs Daphne’s gloved hand and pats it.
Daphne nods, “I also wanted to thank you for bringing Andrew this morning. I trust he was well behaved?”
“He took a nap in the carriage. You know my grandson would never cause trouble,” she winks. “Isn’t that right, Lord Bridgerton?”
Anthony laughs, “My experience with Andrew is certainly different.” The boy once tried to drink from his inkwell, for God’s sake. He takes this opportunity to bow out of the conversation. “I shall leave you alone so that you may speak in private. Good day, Lady Danbury.”
He nods at the two women and hastily walks away, weaving his way through the maze of hedges. The muscle tension that Lady Danbury inspires in the Bridgerton is an achievement of grand proportions. He swings his arms to loosen his shoulder muscles and is so wholly absorbed in his efforts that he nearly knocks Sir Granville to the ground as the man turns the corner.
“Oh, Mr. Granville! I apologize,” he looks down at the man with a puzzled expression. The artist is sweaty and his curls stick to his forehead. Brown stains litter his jacket and his unbuttoned collar. Anthony hopes that they are paint stains.
“It is quite alright, Lord Bridgerton. Do you happen to know where your brother is?”
“My brother? Oh, right, of course, um…,” Anthony looks around and shrugs, “I’ve no idea. I spoke to him earlier, though, and he expressed his intent to speak with you.”
“Oh, well I should find him, then,” Granville flashes a polite smile and brushes past Anthony, walking toward the main festivities.
That is odd. Sir Henry Granville is always spectacularly composed at such events and here he is, looking absolutely slovenly. He looks as if he had just run a race. And those stains! Surely he didn’t arrive at the party looking like he does. Anthony turns his head and stares at the man as he walks away, the puzzled expression still plaguing his face.
What on earth had Granville been doing?
“Ben!” Eloise runs over in a panic.
“El!” Benedict imitates her movements, which—unsurprisingly—earns him a smack on the arm. What was that? Three?
“Brother, I am serious. Alana Courtenay has just informed me that she is going to join us in the park. Is this your doing, hm?”
“Yes, actually. What? Do you not like Ms. Courtenay? I was under the impression that you two were friends.”
“Certainly not!” Eloise scoffs and fakes indignation, but her cheeks blush a deep shade of red. Her next words come out flustered, “Look at her, Benedict! She is practically naked! I prefer not to be associated with such behavior.”
Benedict giggles at his sister’s attempt to distance herself from the woman she so clearly fancies. Even now, as Eloise points at the woman in disgust, her eyes are not on Alana’s face.
“Well, despite your feelings toward Ms. Courtenay, she will be joining us. Perhaps you two can find common interests.”
“Like what exactly?”
Benedict desperately wants to make a joke, but refrains from infuriating his sister. He wants her to meet Henry while having a controlled temper.
“I do not know, but Alana is a lovely girl once you become acquainted with her better parts...,” the double meaning of his words makes him blush as he carries on in a futile attempt to calm his sister, “She is fond of poetry. She often draws inspiration from her books for her paintings. You can discuss that.” He takes a sip of his champagne—God, how many glasses is this?—and grabs his sister’s arm.
“Where are we going?”
“We are going to speak with Henry. Perhaps you could find it in yourself to behave like a lady.” The two siblings look at each other before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
“Your humor is impeccable.”
“You should tell that to Henry.”
Eloise lets Benedict guide her through the gardens in their search for Granville, but eventually pulls Benedict aside.
“What is it?” Benedict looks down at his sister’s strange expression. Is she pouting?
“What do I say? You know how terrible I am at these events,” she fidgets with her purse, “Polite conversation is the bane of my existence, Ben. You know that.”
He laughs, “El, this is Henry. Treat him how you would Simon.”
El raises an eyebrow. “I did not realize you had gotten married, brother. I am most offended that I was not invited to the wedding.”
Benedict smacks his sister’s arm this time. “See? Henry will appreciate your marvelous wit.”
“I do not want to disappoint.”
“Henry will adore you, El. Everyone does.”
“Everyone?” Eloise smirks.
“No. But some do,” he chuckles and messes with his sister’s hair. “And I am sure that Henry will be one of them. He is not exactly fond of propriety either.” He smiles and winks, “Obviously.”
Eloise frowns and pushes her brother. “You are horrid, you know that?”
“I try my best,” he leads her once more through the gardens, trying his best to not let his anxiety show.
He is not nervous about El meeting Henry. The thought of Anthony approaching Henry at this event, however, is enough to make Benedict dizzy. His brother is not angry, but meeting his lover is another matter entirely. Is his brother being polite? Is he secretly disgusted? Is the public venue preventing him from becoming irate? Questions spin in his head and upset his stomach.
But he gathers himself enough to look presentable. How is it that he can so easily ruin a good thing? Just moments ago, he was celebrating and planning to tell Henry the good news. Now Benedict feels a strange combination of dread and excitement as he prepares to introduce the two people he loves the most to each other.
It is Henry that spots them first, the man sprinting across the clearing to stand before them. He looks awful.
“Are you alright? You look as if you have caught the plague,” Benedict looks him up and down and grins. “I was hoping you would look presentable while meeting my sister.”
“If Ms. Bridgerton was not present, you would be hearing a slew of profanities,” he quips, before turning to Eloise, “It is lovely to meet you, Ms. Bridgerton.”
He leans down to grab her hand and kiss it, but Eloise swats his hand away. “It is Eloise,” she sticks out her hand and holds it firm, “and I would much prefer a handshake.”
“My apologies,” he giggles and looks at Benedict as if to say ‘Your sister is wonderful, Bridgerton’, and shakes her hand.
“Pardon my candor, Sir Granville, but what exactly is that on your jacket?” Eloise does not disguise her disgust.
“Chocolate ice cream, courtesy of your nephew. I seem to have taken the brunt of the damage," he sighs, "His coat is spotless.”
Benedict interjects, “Where is Andrew?” He glances behind Henry for the boy, somewhat concerned that the man has lost him.
“It seems my age has severely limited my running capability, so I left him with his Aunt Hyacinth. That is fine, yes?”
Eloise nods and asks, “Is that why you look like a plague victim?”
Henry smirks, “Do I look that terrible?” He fusses with his hair and buttons up his collar, but he frowns at Eloise’s expression. “That did not help, did it?”
“Not at all, Sir Granville.”
“Enough frivolity. Call me Henry.”
Eloise contemplates this for a moment before plainly stating,“You look awful, Henry.”
“Much better. Thank you.”
Benedict cannot help but feel relieved. Their banter is so natural and Eloise is already at ease with the man.
“So, what do you think of my sister? She’s not as polite as Daphne, but she can certainly hold a conversation,” Benedict says while staring at Eloise and sipping his champagne.
Eloise sticks her tongue out at him, earning her approval from Henry.
“Is he always like this?” Henry feigns surprise. “My word, Benedict. A young lady deserves to be treated with respect,” he laughs lightly and throws his arm around Eloise. “Has your brother always been a pain?”
Eloise’s face lights up and she removes herself from Henry’s embrace in order to rummage through her purse. She pulls out one of her notebooks and begins flipping through its pages.
“Damn it! My page marker must have fallen out.”
“Language,” Benedict admonishes, purely out of habit. Henry is right; Eloise is an adult. She is never going to behave like a proper young lady—a quality he so dearly admires in his sister—so she might as well indulge in profanities. As long as she does not do so in front of their mother, of course.
“Here it is!” She hands the notebook to Henry while pointing at the open pages. “An incomplete list, obviously, but I have made sure to record the most notable events.”
The man peruses the pages and he bites his lip, clearly amused.
“What is it, Granville?” Benedict leans forward to catch a glimpse of the page, but Henry steps away before he can do so. Henry begins to laugh at an improperly loud level as he turns to the next set of pages. “What did you do?”
“I fulfilled my promise, dear brother,” Eloise says, all too delighted at Henry’s enjoyment, “I have drawn up a list of your defects and humiliations.”
Benedict’s jaw drops, “You what?”
“She has written quite the list, dear. Did you really fall down the stairs at your first ball?” He turns the page and laughs even harder. “You wrote a love letter to your housekeeper?”
“How do you know about that?” Benedict turns to his sister, bewildered. He scrunches his face and cringes at the thought of his infatuation with Mrs. Wilson. “I couldn’t have been more than ten when I wrote that letter!”
“Anthony is useful for some things, you know,” Eloise smiles, fantastically smug for someone who also has a notable list of foibles to exploit.
Benedict shakes his head, “For someone who doesn’t fancy women, Granville, you certainly have a way of getting them to like you. I’ve been betrayed by my own sisters!”
There is a silence as Benedict prays his sister will not take notice of his slip up.
“Wait, Daphne knows?” Eloise smacks Benedict’s torso this time. “You told her first!”
“You cannot blame me. It was an accident. Besides, why do you think Henry is running around with Andrew? Did you really think Daphne would just let anyone take care of him?”
“I did not give it much thought. Although,” El stifles a giggle, “She does let you and I watch him, so it seems she does not have very high standards.”
Henry interrupts. “As much as I enjoy your witticisms, I think it would be best if we leave for the park soon.” He looks up at the sky. “The light will only be good for another two or three hours.”
Benedict looks up, taking note of the sun’s position. “You are right. Find Alana. I will collect our bags and say goodbye to my mother and sister. And Lucy,” Benedict prods Eloise, “Come, I know you have questions for Mrs. Granville.”
Henry raises an eyebrow at a blushing Eloise. She reclaims her notebook and explains, “Benedict informs me that she is aware of your...situation. I would simply like to confirm this.”
The man nods and smiles, “How noble. Bridgerton, your sister is a delight.”
“Hmm.”
Benedict wraps his sister’s arm around his own as they search for Daphne. Eloise gushes over Henry as they walk, inquiring about his paintings and his family. She is dismayed to learn that Alana is practically adopted by Granville, but her spirits lift as they discuss the gatherings of artists at his studio. After a long walk around the gardens, they find Daphne standing next to a fountain, stuffing her mouth full of biscuits. The urge to indulge is hereditary, apparently.
“Sister!”
Daphne looks up and quickly wipes the crumbs from her dress. “Please be a gentleman and pretend you did not see that.”
“See what?” Benedict jokes, but he is very tempted to ask where she got the dessert. “We are heading for the park, but I could not in good conscience leave without saying goodbye,” he kisses Daphne’s cheek and pulls her in for a hug.
Benedict wraps his arms tight around his sister’s shoulders, and is relieved when Daphne hugs back with the same warmth. They stand like that for several moments, Benedict suddenly overwhelmed by his love for his sister. Her unwavering acceptance thus far was enough to make him feel blessed, but inviting Henry and Lucy into Andrew’s life is another degree of acceptance entirely.
“Thank you for everything, Daph,” he whispers as he lets go.
She nods with understanding in her eyes, and turns to Eloise. She flings her arms up to trap Eloise in a hug, but the younger woman quickly dodges out of the way. Typical.
“I will see you soon,” Benedict promises. He grabs Eloise and they go off on their search for Lucy Granville.
With any luck, Benedict will no longer have to be lectured on the sins of adultery. A woman deserves to know what kind of man she has married, brother. Are you sure of Mrs. Granville’s approval? He appreciates his sister’s concern--and Lucy will no doubt pull Eloise into an unwanted hug for her efforts--but he feels silly as he drags his sister to meet his lover’s wife.
Situations such as this make him shake his head and laugh. What a circus his life has become.
Anthony escorts Daphne home, not for any particular reason this time. It is nice to spend time with his sister and his nephew, and Anthony relishes the entire ride with Andrew sitting on his lap and wiping his nose on his lapel.
“I am so sorry. It seems he has caught a cold.”
“No worries, Daph,” he smiles down at his nephew, smitten, “An uncle doesn’t mind.”
“Uncle Ant-ee!” Andrew says, making Anthony laugh. The boy is still figuring out how to pronounce his name.
“Yes, that’s right,” he looks up and winks at Daphne, “I am your favorite, though, right? Colin might be the best at hide-and-seek, but I give the best hugs.” He wraps his arms around Andrew and jokingly rocks him side to side.
“Uncle Colin.”
“I will pretend I didn’t hear that," he laughs, “And you have Uncle Ben and Aunt El and…”
“Uncle Hen-ee!”
“What’s that?”
“Uncle Hen-ee.”
He raises an eyebrow at his sister, who only blushes a deep shade of pink.
“Henry Granville brought him to get some ice cream today.”
“And Uncle Ben,” Andrew adds matter-of-factly.
“Yes, Andy. Him, too,” Daphne giggles at her son, but looks up at Anthony with a slight nervousness.
“Oh,” he frowns, “Well that was nice of him.”
“Yes, it was.”
There is an awkward silence as Anthony processes this information. He had seen Lucy Granville with Andrew today, but he had thought nothing of it; Women of the ton are always doting on his nephew--Anthony likes to joke that Andrew gets this quality from Simon. But it is unusual, at least in his view, for Henry Granville to be spending time with Andrew. Enough time for Andrew to call him ‘uncle’.
“I was not aware that you were so close to the Granvilles,” he says, now regretting that he did not pry for details during their earlier conversation.
Daphne shifts in her seat, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Yes. They have become great friends.”
“With you? Or with Simon as well?” He asks this with a casual tone, but worry is beginning to find its way into his brain.
Daphne makes a disapproving noise and folds her arms. “This again? Really, brother. I thought you had dropped this.”
“You did not answer the question.”
“We are both friendly with the Granvilles,” she snaps, but continues as she guesses what his next question will be, “The argument that Lady Danbury so helpfully mentioned was a spat between friends.”
Anthony is becoming quite annoyed with his sister. He places Andrew on the seat next to him so that he may fold his arms, too. “See! This is why Lady Danbury was worried, Daph. You are being infuriatingly vague. If you are such damn good friends, why not tell her as such?”
Daphne grabs Andrew and places him on her lap. “Really, Anthony, mind your language around him.”
“Daphne.”
“Yes, yes, I know better than to interrupt one of your lectures,” she sighs and pauses for a moment, brushing Andrew’s hair with her fingers. “I had thought it might be best to keep Lady Danbury ignorant of the friendship. You know that the Granvilles aren’t exactly the most respectable.”
“Yes, I am aware. I have had this conversation with Benedict many times, and yet he has only resolved to spend even more time with the man and his acquaintances.”
“Speaking of,” she turns to Andrew, “Uncle Ben has promised to give you drawing lessons. Maybe you’ll be an artist as well.”
“Do not change the subject, sister.”
Daphne rolls her eyes and spits, “Perhaps you should not have started the conversation at all.”
“I am serious. If their company is not respectable enough to share with Lady Danbury, then why is Henry Granville running about with Andrew? At a party, no less?”
“And I am serious. Let us not discuss such matters in front of my son. I do not want him to see us arguing.”
Anthony chuckles and mumbles, “I believe it is too late.”
His sister shoots him a deathly stare and looks out the window. Her arms are wrapped around Andrew but her hands are balled into fists as they cling to his coat. It seems Anthony has done a brilliant job of pissing off his sister.
And yet, he cannot keep his mouth shut. “I am not done with this conversation.”
“I am.”
“What did Benedict mean when he said the situation was ‘indecent’?”
Daphne furrows her brow, “Indecent? What are you talking about?”
“Benedict discussed the matter with me. He called the situation ‘indecent’.”
“Well, I have no clue as to what he was implying. The fact that you actually believe that I would--”
“What?”
“That I would do anything indecent, brother,” she whispers with an intensity that shocks Anthony, “Besides, I do not believe any of this is your business. Nor is it Lady Danbury’s.”
Daphne slumps into her seat and begins to fuss over Andrew’s hair again. Her shawl slips slightly, falling from her shoulder to her elbow, and exposes the upper part of her dress. Anthony’s eyes grow wide as he sees a brown stain on his sister’s breast. He bites his tongue so hard he thinks it might bleed. No.
Daphne would not hurt Simon. She would not hurt Simon. She would not hurt Simon. She would not--
A terrible thought slithers its way to the front of his mind and interrupts his compulsive denials. Prince Friedrich. His sister was practically engaged to be married when he found her in the gardens with Simon. It was Simon’s fault, of course--and Anthony made his feelings about this very clear--but a question still lingers. Why was Daphne in the gardens with Simon at all?
It is not the same, he knows, but perhaps his sister is capable of doing such a thing. It is no secret that Daphne can be deceitful when she sees fit to do so. She is quite adept at manipulating a situation and concealing secrets. Is Anthony all that mad to worry?
He thinks back to his strange encounter with Sir Granville. The brown stains on his clothes. His disheveled appearance. The sweat and the blushing. Just mere moments after Daphne had interrupted his conversation with Lady Danbury, too! She had also looked a mess, sweaty and yet still holding her shawl tight around her shoulders.
Lord Bridgerton balls his fists as the world goes black, closing in around a single thought. If Anthony is correct in his suspicions, Henry Granville is as good as dead.
Eloise had steeled herself, feeling a bit nosy and presumptuous, and marched over to Mrs. Lucy Granville. The woman laughed at Eloise’s questions, nodding and joking about her sham of a marriage. There was certainly relief in Eloise’s chest at hearing Lucy’s explicit consent, despite Benedict’s promises of this very approval. It is not that she doubted Benedict or Henry; She knew Benedict’s judgment to be poor at times, and she feared that Lucy might harbor some resentment while outwardly purporting the opposite. She is glad that this is not the case.
Lucy Granville had indeed hugged Eloise, just as Benedict had warned. Eloise had smiled politely and waited an appropriate amount of time before pulling away. It is pathetic, she knows, but a thought appears as she walks away with Benedict: perhaps her life did not have to be an endless foray into loneliness. Perhaps the vague picture she has imagined in her head could become a concrete reality. A life of freedom, to put it simply. If Henry Granville could do it, it must be within her reach as well.
She looks up at Benedict and smiles, squeezing his arm ever so slightly and hoping he will understand. It is meant as a gesture of acceptance. She knows her brother better than he would like to admit, and she fears that he may feel the same toward her. It is terrifying to be known better than one would like to be. It is this fear that she now feels that makes her regret her conversation with Benedict on the swings. She should not have looked through his sketchbooks; Even worse, she had informed him of her knowledge of his secret. What seemed right in the moment might have been insensitive. No one should have to feel as if their deepest secrets are on display to the world.
It is this feeling that plagues Eloise’s mind as they say goodbye to their mother. She hugs her mother and accepts the kiss on her cheek, seeing the proud look on the woman’s face. She seems to think Eloise has become a willing participant in the search for a husband. Eloise has no clue as to why, though she worries it might have something to do with her recent interest in her appearance. If only her mother knew why that is.
Benedict must know, mustn't he? She has divulged her deepest wishes to him while smoking cigarettes in the garden. He knows how she loathes these events and the suitors and the very concept of marriage. But if he does know how she feels toward the women of the ton? She will feel naked and scared. It will mean she has not been careful enough.
She cannot decide which is better: Benedict knowing and being the accepting older brother, or Benedict being the oblivious idiot he so often is and leaving her alone with a semblance of security.
The topic must be discussed eventually, though, and there is no better time than the present. She broaches the subject as they walk through the gardens.
“Brother,” she starts, looking up at him again, “Why exactly is Alana joining us?”
“Like I said, Granville has become a father figure to the girl. He thought it would be rude to not invite her.”
“And that is all?”
“How do you mean?” he coughs, as if to say ‘This conversation is uncomfortable’.
She digs deeper. “That is the only reason?”
“Yes,” he pauses, “Well, no. I must admit that I was the one who invited her.” He blushes. “I thought that you two would get along. Though I will say, her indecency has given me reason to think otherwise.”
Eloise nods, blushing. “She knows how to make an impression. It is strange that she is unmarried. There is always a crowd of eager young men offering her champagne and company.” She suspects Ms. Courtenay to be a like-minded woman, but she dares not ask outright.
Benedict raises an eyebrow. “I never noticed.”
“Yes, well, you no longer need to worry yourself with such grovelling. It is, however, a plight I must endure.”
“Do you mean to imply that there are a horde of young men at your disposal? In that case, I must have a word with them,” he teases.
Eloise laughs wholeheartedly at this. “You act as if I am incapable of defending myself from a group of rabid dogs, brother. It is quite easy. One must simply wound their ego,” she says, pleased with herself. “You should know better than to think I would attract any suitors. I am destined for spinsterhood.”
Benedict frowns at her before looking up and into the distance. He has clearly retreated into his mind, contemplating something of which she has no clue. She thought he would laugh at her joke, but it has only upset him, apparently.
“You are the best woman I know, El,” he finally says, avoiding her gaze. “Any man would be blessed to have you as his wife.” He looks down and smiles slightly, pain flashing in his eyes. He swallows thickly before continuing in a strained voice, “No one can match your biting wit and intellect. You must know that, right?”
Eloise looks away, unsure how to respond. It is a rare sight to see Benedict so choked up, not to mention choked up over such a benign comment. Self-deprecation comes naturally and often stains their banter, so she is uneasy as she attempts to console him.
“You have forgotten to mention my propensity for humbleness,” she laughs, “I know, Ben. You need not remind me how wonderful I am.”
Benedict stops abruptly and drags her to a bench that sits at the entrance to the gardens, surrounded by bushes. She assumes they will wait here for Henry and Alana to arrive, but the look on her brother’s face suggests other plans.
He grabs her hand--an act she only allows Benedict to do--and clears his throat. “I am serious, El. I cannot put into words how fortunate I am to know you. Not just as your brother, but as a friend.”
Eloise refrains from sarcasm, her words spilling out in a sad tone, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I do not want you to think you are unloveable. You are just the opposite, Eloise; You are truly the treasure of the ton.”
She smiles and nods, acting as if she understands. It is pity, she thinks, that her brother feels for her. She is sure he means what he says, but it feels hollow all the same.
“I think you have finally lost your mind, brother,” she teases, but she stops smiling as she sees the pain in Benedict’s eyes. “Thank you. I simply do not wish to see you worry on my behalf.”
“I am your brother, El. That is my job.”
She nods again, her eyes feeling teary suddenly. “Thank you.”
She leans over and places her head on Benedict’s shoulder, suddenly understanding. It is with his arm wrapped around her waist that she allows tears to fall. I do not want you to think you are unloveable.
Her suspicions appear warranted. Benedict must know. The feeling is uncomfortable, but she breathes through it. Benedict must sense her sudden discomfort--her shoulders are tensed, after all--and leans his head on hers while pulling her closer.
“You deserve all the happiness in the world,” he whispers. “Even if the world is not yet ready to provide it.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, Eloise letting silent tears drip down her cheeks, and Benedict rubbing her arm. No words are needed as the two sit in each other's company. The two siblings soon pull away, though, as Henry’s voice can be heard nearby. They straighten up and compose themselves as Henry turns the corner of their hideaway.
“Are you ready?” Henry asks, smiling at Benedict.
“Yes. Eloise?” he looks down at his sister, and flashes a lopsided smile.
She tries her best to discreetly wipe away her tears and clears her throat as she responds, “Yes. I have waited to leave this party since I awoke this morning. Anticipated dread does not bode well for sleep.”
An airy laugh sounds behind them. “A woman after my own heart!”
Benedict groans before practically tearing off his coat. He holds it out to the woman without looking at her, and says in an uncharacteristically harsh tone, “Put this on. I will not be seen gallivanting about with a whore.”
Alana laughs and snatches the coat from his hand. “Effrontery does not suit you, Bridgerton.”
Eloise stops herself from giggling. Benedict’s self-righteousness is cause for mocking.
“Fuck off, Courtenay. Put on the jacket.”
Eloise raises an eyebrow at the profanity. Benedict admonishes her for the slightest profane comment, and yet here he sits, saying such vulgarity to a woman her age.
“I am under no obligation to do so,” she snaps, throwing the jacket in the man’s lap.
Henry jumps in, sounding a bit exhausted, “Please, Alana, just wear it.”
“It is the principle, Uncle Henry. I am not a dog your wife can command as he pleases.”
Eloise lets out a giggle at the derogatory nickname directed at her brother. He turns to her and glares at her betrayal. She turns to Alana once again, unhappily enthralled by her brash behavior. Her eyes travel downward slightly--the woman’s corset has slipped lower it seems-- before she catches herself and returns her gaze to the woman’s face.
Benedict snorts. So she does need to be more subtle.
Eloise speaks up then. “Ms. Courtenay, if you could please put on the jacket, I would very much appreciate it. It would save my brother from embarrassment.”
Alana smirks, looking Eloise up and down. “Of course, Ms. Bridgerton. It would be cruel of me to deny a lady’s request.”
Benedict groans and Henry chuckles. Eloise blushes. Are her suspicions about Alana correct?
Benedict stands and grabs his artist’s satchel, clearly annoyed. “Let us go before I find a pistol and shoot Courtenay.”
Alana giggles as she grabs the jacket and puts it on. It drapes over her body, way too large for her short stature. She buttons it up, but the cut of the jacket results in her chest still visible.
She laughs loudly at this, clearly satisfied. “Is this suitable enough for you?” She spins around and poses.
Benedict simply glares and storms off, speeding ahead of them as they walk the streets to the park. Eloise periodically glances over at the woman, suddenly grateful that Benedict is so tall.
Anthony arrives in Grosvenor Square and slams the door to his study so hard he worries it might split. His mind races and his eyes repeatedly dart toward the shelf in the corner. There lies a box, now covered in dust, furnished with two pistols and a promise of death. He shakes his head and begins to pace. He will not be reckless this time, no matter how angry he might be.
Daphne is his younger sister. His younger sister who is filled with contradictions. She is at once the sweetest, most proper of them all, and a cunning, intelligent force. Her courtship with Simon was a grand display of these qualities, his sister having manipulated her way into the ton’s favor. Her deceit gained her the attentions of a prince ! He could not claim to be appalled by her behavior then; In fact, he was, at the time, impressed by Daphne’s stunning feat. Now, he looks back in horror at what she had done. Her known ability for deception is what worries Anthony as he continues to walk in circles.
Daphne loves Simon. Simon loves Daphne. They are the happiest couple he has ever seen, save his mother and father. There is no reason for Daphne to stray, especially for a man like Henry Granville.
The man is an eccentric! His parties are the epitome of filth. Anthony has never been in attendance; The parties seem to be invitation-only. This exclusiveness makes the guestlist all the more concerning. He has heard--albeit through rumors--that those parties are filled with whores, deviants, booze, and drugs. Going to those parties is courting scandal, hence his worry of Benedict’s frequent invitations.
It is bad enough that his brother tempts scandal via Granville, but to have his sister do the same? It is too much for Anthony to handle. Hearing Andrew say ‘Uncle Henry’ was devastating. How dare his sister allow such familiarity! It is wrong to let even a friend insinuate himself into their family, which is why he suspects that Daphne is leaving out crucial details. Daphne would not let Sir Granville be Andrew’s uncle, but she might let Henry be his uncle.
He thinks of the dinner invitation and the concern of privacy. He thinks of Benedict’s strange behavior and even stranger use of words. Indecent. He thinks of Granville sweaty and covered in stains, and his sister’s hair damp with sweat just moments later. It was not hot enough for such perspiration. He thinks of Daphne’s dress and the stain on her breast. Indecent. He thinks of the lying and the late arrival home. He thinks of the sudden closeness with the Granvilles at the same time that Simon is away. He thinks of the argument between Simon and Granville. Indecent.
What did his brother bloody mean by that ? He could kill Benedict right now. He really could. If he finds out his brother is an accomplice to adultery or the like, Benedict will be in a world of trouble. Anthony admittedly does not know what he would do exactly, but it would begin by punching him. Hard.
He needs proof. He needs evidence. He will not hastily declare war on Granville without further investigation. Anthony’s existential dread has made him wary of duels.
What is he to do? Eloise is nosy, but she would never cross Benedict. Not to mention, he does not wish to involve yet another one of his sisters with such a man. Benedict and Daphne have shown themselves to be liars. Or at best, prone to skirting the truth. He can investigate himself, he supposes, but he would have to gain access to one of Granville’s parties if he wishes to gauge the man’s true character. Sir Granville is proper enough at society events, but he will be most vulnerable at his own studio. Would Benedict extend an invitation?
He sighs as he paces. His brother has been acting strange as of late. Barring Benedict's unusual affection at the party, their relationship has been strained. He doubts Benedict would knowingly allow him to attend.
Fuck.
Colin cannot be trusted to keep a secret, and he also would not doubt Daphne’s character. It is Benedict who Anthony turns to in situations such as these. His second choice would be Simon, who is conveniently not in London and also involved in the very scandal that Anthony must resolve. He has only himself and his short temper. And a box of dueling pistols, of course.
He looks over at the shelf again and prays. Please let him be mistaken.
It is maybe ten minutes or so—the group having just reached the park—when Benedict has his jacket thrown in his face.
“What was that for?” He looks at the woman, astonished.
“There is some vile brown liquid on your lapel, Benedict. Do you and Uncle Henry regularly frolic in the mud like pigs? Or was this a special occasion?”
“Shit,” he mutters, inspecting his jacket.
“Shit?”
“No, it is ice cream.” Benedict sticks his tongue out at her before lifting his jacket to his face and licking his lapel.
Alana gags. “Men are disgusting,” she grabs Eloise’s arm, “Come.” The two girls walk away and leave the pair of artists to set up their easels.
Benedict and Henry sit on a bench near the bridge, foliage and flowers in perfect view. They set up their easels, the rickety legs wobbling on the uneven grass, and pull out the tubes of paint, brushes, and charcoal in Benedict’s bag. Benedict scans the park and sees Alana and Eloise sharing some fruit--his sister must have stolen some from the party--and considers sketching the two women. They sit in the grass, the light hitting them perfectly, and Benedict begins to laugh at the grass stains that will litter his sister’s dress. The servants will be shocked at the two siblings’ collections of stains. He is about to suggest to Henry that perhaps they should paint the girls, but he stops short as he sees Alana eating an orange slice.
“Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t like how she’s eating that orange, Henry,” he grabs the man’s arm and points to the action in question. “It’s obscene.”
A sigh. “Explain, please.”
“She is being rather deliberate with her tongue, I shall say! And she’s making eye contact with my sister!”
“Calm down, Bridgerton. It is just an orange.”
Benedict might have been open to the suggestion, but his anxiety worsens as he sees Alana lean toward Eloise. “Yes, but they are also doing that .” He points at Alana stuffing a slice into Eloise’s mouth.
“That is hardly objectionable. Young women do that, you know.”
“Not like that, they don’t.”
“Enjoy the fresh air. The flowers,” Henry gestures dramatically, “The clouds in the sky.”
Benedict folds his arms. “Your point?”
“My point is that you must relax.”
“But—“
Henry sighs. “If you can find it in yourself to stop worrying, perhaps I’ll find it in myself to be deliberate with my tongue tonight.”
“Tempting, indeed,” he nods, mulling the offer. “Can I still worry a little bit?”
“As long as you do not involve me, yes.”
Benedict holds out his hand, “Let us shake on it.”
Henry laughs and rolls his eyes. “Of course. Mr. Bridgerton, I solemnly swear that I will engage in sexual acts with you, on the condition that you stop being an overbearing brother.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
They shake hands and burst into giggles.
Henry catches his breath and says, “Perhaps this formality should be extended to all of our sexual exploits,” he throws a cheeky glance at Benedict, “I will be sending you an invitation the next time I want to fuck.”
“As a gentleman should, Granville. I shall hold you to it.”
“Very well.”
The two men look back at the two girls-- women , Benedict corrects himself--and see them giggling. Eloise is passionately monologuing while Alana nods her head and blushes. It is strange to see Courtenay so flustered; In the daytime, she is so different from the woman he sees by candlelight--the woman with an unmatched bravado and wicked smile. She is not much different from his sister when seen like this, without an audience to impress. She resembles Henry in this way. Whether her behavior is what drew Henry’s interest or his mentorship is what influenced her behavior is unknown, but Benedict is beginning to understand their bond.
Henry halts his spectatorship. “I could not help but overhear your conversation with Eloise. It is not my place, but--”
Benedict shakes his head and smiles, dismissing the man’s misgivings.
With this, he continues, “I heard what you said. About deserving love, even in an unyielding world...Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saying what I wish someone had told me...when I was young,” he smiles, nostalgic. “Eloise is very lucky to have you.”
Benedict nods and leans back. Henry has shared stories of his youth--usually when drunk or sleepy--and although most are vibrant and happy, many are not. It is clear that these unhappy memories stir in his head as he utters his thanks.
“Well I shall say it to you now, then,” Benedict declares, placing his palm on the bench, moving his eyes from Henry’s face to his hand, gesturing for the man to do the same. Henry looks around and places his hand next to Benedict’s, only a few inches apart.
Benedict clears his throat. “You deserve every happiness, Henry. And though the world may try to forbid it, my heart is yours,” his words drip with sincerity now, “ I am yours. And I will live the rest of my days trying to make you smile.”
Henry smiles and moves his hand closer. “It seems you have succeeded...Thank you.”
Benedict moves his hand closer until their fingers touch. He pulls away only a moment later, but the effect remains. Both men blush and place small, thin canvases on their easels. Soon enough, their hands are dragging charcoal across canvas, sketching their subjects.
Benedict leans over and takes a peek at Henry’s canvas. “What are you painting?”
“The bridge and the water. And you?”
“I haven’t decided. I am not patient enough to paint water today.”
“You could paint the clouds and the line of trees over there.” Henry points to the far end of the bridge.
“But I would have to move.”
“That is very sweet.”
“Oh, I am not referring to you, Mr. Self-Absorbed,” he jokes, grinning at a cross Henry. “I cannot be bothered to set up my easel again.”
“Fair enough.”
“Now that we are alone--somewhat regrettably,” Benedict glances at the two women eating fruit, “I have news to share.”
Henry sits up straighter and turns his body toward Benedict. “Is this the good news you were excited about?”
“Yes, actually,” Benedict grins a toothy smile, “It seems that my sister has divulged everything to Anthony. He is not angry, Henry.”
“Your sister?” Henry glances at Eloise.
“Daphne.”
“Ah,” Henry nods. He slips into a reverie, a smile painting his face. After what feels like ages, he looks up at Benedict and says, “Does this mean I have a brother-in-law to impress?”
Benedict cannot help but laugh, all of the fear he did not know he had harbored pouring out in the joyous noise. “I am so damn happy.”
“As am I, love.”
There’s a pause as Benedict composes himself. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, bounces them, and finally shifts in his seat until he is still. “Fuck, I can hardly contain this feeling.”
“Yet you kept this to yourself the whole party?”
“I did not want to interrupt your time with Andrew.” Benedict gives a sheepish smile. “You are a very attractive uncle.”
“Well I should hope so,” he laughs, “My God, you are right. I feel a profound relief in my chest.”
“Well, then let us paint so that we may go back to the studio all the more soon. To celebrate,” Benedict winks.
“Do not make me regret our agreement.”
Benedict sticks his tongue out at Henry and turns to his easel. Painting water is taxing on his patience, but the view of the bridge over the water, and the water reflecting the pink and blue of the flowers, is too beautiful not to capture on canvas. He resigns and sketches the bridge in charcoal, periodically muttering profanities under his breath as he makes innumerable mistakes.
At one point, as to not become frustrated, he puts his charcoal down and leans back on the bench. Henry has already filled his sketch in with blues and greens, half the canvas painted. Benedict reminds himself that Henry is a professional artist--he has more experience. The thought does not ease Benedict’s annoyance, though.
He looks around at the somewhat crowded park and his eye catches sight of a young couple. They cross the bridge, arm in arm, the young woman looking up at the young man in awe. The couple seem to be courting still, and passersby greet them with smiles.
“I wish I could do that with you,” he says, almost unintentionally. It’s as if the thought had left his lips by its own volition.
“Hmm?” Henry looks over, confused. It seems that he, too, had been deep in thought.
“I would promenade with you on my arm,” he says, pointing to the couple.
Henry thinks for a moment, pursing his lips. “It is a bit showy, is it not? Though I suppose I am not one to extol the virtues of austerity.”
Benedict snorts. “I suppose not.”
“I would dance with you, though. At those drab balls,” he smiles at the horizon, clearly picturing the scene. “We’d be the talk of the ton.”
“Who would lead?”
Henry’s face lights up with amusement. “You cannot possibly believe that I would ever let you lead.”
“Why not?” He feels he should be offended.
“You are clumsy, for starters.”
Benedict moves to rebuke this, but sighs with resignation instead. “What else?”
Henry laughs, and speaks after a moment of thought, “You would look stunning in a ball gown.”
“Ha! As if I would ever grant you the satisfaction.”
“We will see about that,” the man winks, and Benedict cannot help but turn red.
“You are shorter,” he argues, making a point to look down at the man.
“That may be so,” Henry smiles, “but my ego is much more inflated than yours. You would not dare wound me, my dear.”
“You are correct. I would be stuck listening to your complaints.”
“Precisely.”
The smiles and the laughter fade into sad expressions as they both stare at their canvases, having suddenly lost all interest in their efforts.
“I would do everything with you,” Henry says at last. “Even mundane things.”
“Such as?”
“I would attend every dinner party with you if I could. Balls, obviously. Weddings, funerals, birthdays.” He stops and grins, “I would kiss you at your first exhibition.”
Benedict smiles. “I do not know about that. I have a long way to go before my talent is at all comparable to artists of such caliber.”
“You judge yourself too harshly,” he goes to pat Benedict’s hand but stops short. “I’d do simple things, too. Such as taking your hand in mine, not placing it on a bench.”
“I would like that,” Benedict grins and looks away, thinking. There are countless things he would do with Henry: kiss him without fear, live with him, travel with him. Get married, even. Yet there is one thought that overshadows the rest. “I would introduce you to mother.”
Henry makes a disapproving sound. “I highly doubt that Lady Bridgerton has a favorable opinion of me. What with all the parties, I mean. People talk.”
Benedict laughs. “Yes! How could I ever forget about the parties?”
A pause. “I tease, but I would love to meet her as well. As your Henry, and not just as the man who she pays for portraits.”
Benedict nods. “Hyacinth would adore you. Though she would expect to be gifted with a flattering drawing of herself, first...or maybe a sketch of a pony. She is a harsh critic. Much like me, I suppose.” He smiles as he thinks of his first encounter with the man beside him.
“And Anthony?” Henry asks this in a careful tone, knowing how much it might hurt him.
“Truthfully?” Benedict meets Henry’s eyes, “You would be great friends...if it were not for everything else.”
Henry frowns before probing further. “Did he not voice his approval at the party?”
Benedict struggles to respond. His anxiety still nags in the periphery. There is a part of him that feels he should doubt Anthony’s nonchalant acceptance. It is so unlike his brother to bring up such a sensitive matter at an event, not to mention his brother’s lack of aggravation. No matter how fine Anthony is with his and Henry’s affair, Benedict was sure he would admonish him for his carelessness and risk-taking. Still, if Anthony were truly angry, he would have discussed the matter in private, somewhere he could start a screaming match with Benedict.
“I suppose he did, didn’t he?” He chuckles nervously. “God, Henry...I do not want to cry. Not here, anyway,” he looks around at the people milling about, “But I can hardly believe that today’s events are real and not a dream.”
“It was a good day, Benedict,” Henry agrees. There are crinkles by his eyes as the corners of his lips curl into a subtle smile. The man’s chest rises and falls slowly, as if he is breathing through his own flood of emotion.
“Yes, it was.” A pause. The nagging anxiety refuses to disappear. “Do you believe my brother was sincere?”
A heavy sigh falls from Henry’s lips. “Not this again, love. Your brother would not have mentioned it if he were upset. And he certainly would not have let you leave the party with me if he were angry.”
Benedict nods, somewhat reassured, but he tenses when he sees the look on Henry’s face. His eyes are narrowed and he gives a lopsided smile. If Benedict did not know better, he would assume this was a look of pity. “What?”
“You really do judge yourself too harshly.”
Benedict looks at his sketch and shakes his head. “The perspective of the bridge is wrong, and…,” he trails off as he sees Henry frown.
“I am not referring to the painting, Ben.” He smiles down at Benedict’s hand and blinks. He slides along the bench several inches so that he is now sitting a mere foot away from Benedict. Benedict immediately recoils, though, and slides away. Henry laughs bitterly, “Much too harshly.”
Henry slides back to his initial position and raises an eyebrow at Benedict until he does the same. Benedict coughs awkwardly and apologizes. “I am sorry. It is just that there are people , Henry.”
“Yes, I have eyes, Benedict,” the man blinks again, clearly struggling to maintain his composure, “I cannot help but worry about you. There are little things--well, big things, too--that I have elected to ignore so as to not diminish your feelings.”
“Excuse me?”
“You shy away from my touch. Not just now, but at dinner with Daphne. You pushed me into the bushes at the Duke’s ball and jumped away. You flinch when I kiss you in front of anyone who isn’t Lucy. I’m worried for you, that is all,” he says this while staring into his own lap, perhaps more hurt than he lets on.
Benedict cannot believe what he is hearing. “You seem to have forgotten that I am the one who kissed you in the gardens that night,” he snaps, “And we thought someone was approaching! Was I supposed to stay pinned against you? And just now, at the party...did I not kiss you?”
“Yes, but you initiated those moments. And I reciprocated, even when I thought it foolish. And yet you cannot bear to accept my affection unless we are alone.”
“What are you getting at?”
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, clearly uncomfortable. “You are struggling, Benedict. As much as you claim to be fine, and as much as you are able to console myself and Eloise, you do not like yourself. I see it in your mannerisms. In your eyes. In the doubt you feel when your siblings love you. You doubt them because you do not feel the same toward yourself.”
The audacity! “Fuck you.”
The timid voice that follows is painful to hear. “I sometimes think that you would loathe me if you did not love me.”
He cannot be implying…? “ Fuck you.”
“Am I wrong to think so? If Anthony were involved with another man, how would you feel? How would you feel if you were not that way yourself? It is one thing to passively ignore the love life of your eccentric artist acquaintance, and another thing entirely to accept your brother. You did not hate me because I was not close enough to you to provoke discomfort.”
“Am I hearing you correctly? You were my friend , Granville. Not just an acquaintance. You are absurd to think otherwise. Regardless of my own feelings--which, I might remind you, I did not realize at the time--I did not care. I did not mind your relationship with Wetherby.”
“You did not mind because you were not obligated to acknowledge it. You fear that Anthony might hate you because you cannot be sure what you would do if the roles were reversed.”
“You are mad.”
“Am I? I seem to recall your nervous laughter whenever I were to mention Wetherby,” Henry spits, “I told myself that it was jealousy or some juvenile infatuation. Now I worry it was discomfort.” He frowns deeply before continuing, “You love me, Benedict. As I love you. You said it yourself before: you wish to spend your life with me.”
“And?”
“It is not my intention to upset you, love. I worry that your self-inflicted shame is giving you more pain than you may realize.”
Benedict scoffs, “Shame? Jesus, you really are bold , aren’t you?”
“You deserve to be loved. You are loved. And I will not stop until you realize this.” He tries again to slide toward Benedict, and this time Benedict allows him to move closer. Henry looks up, an apology hanging from his lips. “I suppose Eloise and Alana have made me nostalgic.”
“How so?” Benedict entertains the slight shift in conversation, happy to stop speaking of his darkest thoughts. Aggravation still simmers in his mind, however, ready to boil at any moment.
“They are so young. They have love and support that I did not have at their age,” he glances at the women and then at Benedict, “Eloise has you, and Alana has me. Not that Alana needs any reassurance,” he laughs, “but I am here for her nonetheless.”
“And now Eloise and Alana have each other. I may be worried, but it ought to be a good thing, I think.” Benedict’s demeanor is lighter as he speaks of his sister.
“I worry that I have neglected to provide you with the same.”
“Do not be stupid, Granville.” He frowns slightly, his aggravation beginning to spill again. “I do not loathe you, Henry. I do not loathe my sister. And I damn well do not loathe myself. This...this savior complex of yours…,” he shakes his head, “I do not need you to save me.”
Henry sits up straighter, defiant. “Then I shall invite Anthony to our festivities next week.”
Benedict’s limbs grow numb and his mind vibrates with the intensity of his terror. “ No . No, no, no .”
“And why not?”
Benedict averts his eyes and begins to pick at his fingernails. “The parties are not exactly respectable.”
Henry guffaws. “Your brother is not exactly of repute, Ben. Has he not been known to frequent taverns and brothels?”
Benedict sighs and nods, “It is not the same.”
“And why not?” Henry repeats.
Benedict snaps, “You know damn well why.”
Henry, satisfied at the admission, says in a sorrowful tone, “Yes, it seems I do.”
Benedict looks at the ground and mumbles, “I do not wish to discuss this… please .” The last part comes out with a pained crack of his voice.
Henry nods and returns to his painting, mercifully ignoring Benedict’s shaking hands. The man is courteous enough to grant him a sliver of dignity as he drowns in doubt.
Benedict’s mind races as he thinks of the words that were just spoken. They stung, but they were not incorrect. He knows Henry’s words have merit, yet he cannot find the words to respond. Instead, he rises from his seat and walks toward the trees on the other side of the bridge, looking for some solace. He is sure he hears Henry sigh as he walks away.
He does not loathe anyone; How dare Henry insinuate otherwise. He was perfectly fine with Granville’s relationship with Wetherby--except for the jealousy, of course--and he was not uncomfortable around Henry following his discovery of their affair.
Benedict sits on the grass below a large tree and sulks like a child. Henry does not deserve such puerile behavior, he knows. His words were spoken out of concern, and here Benedict is, being an absolute arse.
He contemplates that evening in the studio, Daphne and Lucy and Henry around the makeshift table, and smiles. He had thought it a perfect occasion, but Henry’s words have caused new memories to resurface, tarnishing the happy picture. Henry had repeatedly reached for Benedict’s hand throughout the night, and he had denied the man several times before obliging. It is no wonder why Henry was--is--hurt by such behavior, but what was he to do? They have to be careful.
He would be content with this explanation--it is a self-preservation instinct that causes his uneasiness--if it were not for the incident in the gardens. He could not control his urges that night. Not when he saw Henry dancing with Lucy, playing the roles of Mr. and Mrs. Granville splendidly. It was reckless to shove Henry up against the hedges and kiss him. Just as it was reckless to kiss him at the party earlier.
Perhaps Henry is correct. Though it pains him to admit it, Benedict is not quite as fine as he pretends he is. There is always doubt in the back of his mind: when Henry hugs him in front of friends, when Henry smears black eye makeup on him at parties, when he sees Wetherby at balls. A part of him is always worried that someone will spread their secret around the ton. It is a crime, obviously, but it is more than that. Benedict’s reputation would be ruined.
Reputation! He has always claimed to be above such nonsense. Yet he sits and stares at the water separating him and Henry and wonders if it is this fear that drives his repulsion. He simply does not want to relinquish control to anyone--not even Henry--and let someone else decide his fate.
He likes himself, yes, but it seems he does not wish for others to see this version of himself. He does not wish for Anthony to see him. His favorable reputation in the eyes of the ton would be meaningless if he lost the respect of his older brother.
He supposes it is too late for that now. The control he desperately clings to has slipped through his fingers, and it terrifies him. Anthony is unbelievably kind to accept his relationship with Henry, but it comes at the cost of his brother viewing him in a different light. No matter his opinions, his open-mindedness...Things have irreparably changed between them. Daphne was surely trying to resolve the situation, doing what she thought was best for him, but he cannot help feeling angry. It should have been him that told Anthony-- if he told Anthony--and no one else.
Benedict admonishes himself for such pathetic thoughts, knowing Henry has a point about shame. It is with a deep sigh that he stands, brushes the dirt off his trousers, and marches back to his lover, an apology forming in his mind. Hell! Love and support cannot hurt, can it?
As he marches up to Henry, he sees that the man wears a guilty look on his face. “I apologize.”
“As do I,” Benedict says, sitting back down on the bench. “You are not wrong, Henry. There are some things I do not feel comfortable with. Not yet, anyway.”
Henry smiles softly, soothing Benedict’s nerves slightly. “It is natural. I felt the same when...well, you know.”
Benedict nods, “It seems I do.”
“I must also apologize for teasing you earlier.”
“Why?”
“It seems you are correct,” he points to Eloise and Alana. “You might want to interrupt...whatever that is.”
Benedict looks up and sees red. Alana’s hands are maneuvering around Eloise’s bust, almost as if she is trying to undress her. Benedict knows that even she isn’t that bold, but that does not stop him from jogging over to where they sit.
“Alana!”
The woman looks up with a wicked grin, feigning innocence as she asks, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
He looks down at a blushing Eloise and Alana’s hands still meddling with Eloise’s dress. “What is it that you are doing?”
“My dear Eloise’s dress is compromised. Look at the detached lace,” she glances at the lace between her fingers, “How dreadful it would be to let your sister waltz around with a ripped dress!”
Eloise chimes in, “Alana is helping pin the lace back in place. It is very sweet of her, is it not?” She grins at him and Benedict cannot help but laugh.
“Yes, well, perhaps you could wait until you are not in the middle of a public park,” he looks around nervously before whispering, “It is not appropriate.”
“Do not be silly, Bridgerton. Eloise has asked me to mend it for her.”
“Is that so?” He looks over at Eloise, amused, but carries on in an aggravated manner toward Alana, “Regardless, I would prefer it if my sister was not seen being fondled by a whore.”
Courtenay fakes an offended gasp, but is unable to speak before Eloise gallantly defends her. “Really, Ben, I did not think you capable of such malice.”
“Eloise, darling,” Alana wraps Eloise’s hand in her own, “you must not know your brother, then. He bullies me quite frequently.” She pouts at Eloise and looks up at Benedict, her eyes spelling out ‘ Fuck you, Bridgerton’.
Eloise is too busy blushing and staring at their entwined hands to notice Benedict glaring at Alana. His sister finally looks up, though, and admonishes him, “What is wrong? Ms. Courtenay has done nothing to draw your ire. She has been nothing but kind.”
Benedict snorts. “Ah, it seems you have forgotten the torrent of insults directed at me today,” he pauses, “It seems Alana has only been kind to you.”
Alana smiles and glances at Eloise, proudly exclaiming, “Your sister is lovely. Besides, it would be wrong to insult a lady.”
“I see,” he sighs, knowing he is not going to win this argument.
“Now leave,” Alana shoos him away with her hands, “Go ruin someone else’s fun.”
Benedict gives up, stomping through the grass back to Henry and his disgraceful sketch. He mulls over excuses he can use as to why he and Eloise look so disheveled; Between the stains and the rip of her dress, the servants will have a swell time spinning salacious tales.
“My sister has ripped her dress. Alana claims to be pinning the lace back into place.”
“Ha! Ms. Courtenay will be the death of you.”
“In that case, Eloise will help dig my grave. Alana has made an impression on her.”
“You have only yourself to blame.”
“I am aware,” he sighs, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it in oil. “I have given it thought. It might be best if you were to invite Anthony to the party.”
Henry raises an eyebrow. “Really? What changed your mind?”
“You two will have to interact eventually. I am not yet ready for us to dine with my brother. I would prefer he attend a party, so that we may find an excuse to walk away if needed.”
“I am inclined to agree. Dinner with your brother is quite the formidable task. Though, I must ask: are you sure? It was wrong of me to taunt you earlier, Benedict. You would be well within your right to be uncomfortable.”
“I am not comfortable; You are right,” he smiles to ease the worried look on Henry’s face, “But I will have you by my side.”
“Then I shall send him an invitation.”
Benedict continues to smear blue onto his canvas, trying to grapple with the inevitable. Anthony attending a party is terrifying, but somewhat less intimidating than the alternatives. He chews his lip as he thinks of the displays of depravity that unfold in Henry’s studio. Half-naked guests--and naked models--and illicit drugs and sex. Lots of sex. Men touching men.
“I have one stipulation,” Benedict announces, looking at Henry with a bashful smile, “You cannot put makeup on me this time.”
“But you look so pretty!” Henry teases, but he nods, “I will not.”
“Good,” he says back. There is a long pause as Benedict gulps down his anxiety. There will be a day, he hopes, when he is no longer plagued by this doubt and worry. Today is not that day. “Does this ever get easier?”
He stops his painting and looks over at Henry. The man holds his own paintbrush but does not paint. He is looking off into the distance, eyes pointed to the rays of light poking out from the puffy clouds.
Henry whips his head around to look at Benedict with a pained expression. He seems to understand what Benedict means as his lips curl into a reassuring smile. His eyes stare into Benedict’s and speak words that are too difficult to say aloud. What he does say, though, is simple and genuine, “I love you.”
There is an unspoken grief that lingers in the air. The two men breathe it in and breathe it out, dipping their brushes in paint and spreading pigment on their canvases. Couples walk by, children run about, and any onlookers only see two artists, deep in concentration. No one has any idea of the pain and the fear and the love and the devotion that sits on the bench between them.
“I love you, too.”
It is late in the afternoon when Simon finishes his letter. He sits at his desk and stares out the window at the fields and the trees, the sun low in the sky. He has written a letter to Daphne informing her of his imminent departure from Clyvedon. It should not have been difficult to compose, yet it took him an hour to write the short note that now sits in front of him.
The last month has been hell. He has awoken every morning cold, his hands foolishly reaching for Daphne’s warm body every time. Dinner is depressing without someone to eat with, he has learned. Andrew’s laughter does not echo through the halls, and his son’s habit of hiding under his desk is sorely missed. Even now, sitting in his study, he longs for the weight of his son climbing on his leg.
He has written all of these thoughts in his previous letters, and this one is no different. The difficulty in writing the letter lies elsewhere.
Benedict Bridgerton and Henry Granville . His duties called him to Clyvedon at the most inopportune time, leaving him with little recourse to apologize to Sir Henry. The Duke has replayed their conversation countless times in his head, realizing how easily his words were misconstrued as a threat. The guilt gnawed at him for weeks until he received a letter from Daphne. She had mentioned Benedict’s paintings. It was a simple and inconspicuous remark, but Simon wondered if it was an allusion to something more. He contemplates the possibility again, hoping he is correct. Benedict’s artistic endeavors are not a topic of discussion in their household, and he finds it odd that his wife had found his paintings to be of such note that they necessitated mentioning. It could very well be his stress-addled brain inventing secret messages, but he believes that Daphne might have been implying her knowledge of the Granville situation.
This is why he has taken the opportunity to propose a dinner in his letter to Daphne. He has suggested they invite the Granvilles to dinner again, briefly mentioning how Benedict might like to join as well. If she knows, she will understand his meaning. If not, well, he will simply keep their secret to himself. There are other ways to apologize to the man, of course.
He supposes he must apologize to Benedict, too. Granville must have told him of their hostile encounter, and he fears he may have subjected his brother-in-law to great distress. It is this guilt that makes him pray that Daphne knows their secret. She will have reassured them that he meant no harm. It pains him to think of Granville and Benedict living in fear this whole time.
He exits his study, flagging down a servant. He is currently stacking luggage in the foyer, preparing for the Duke’s departure.
“Have this delivered to our London estate. I wish to warn the Duchess of my impending arrival,” Simon jokes, handing the sealed letter to the servant.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Simon nods and walks back to his study. In only a few short days, he will be in his wife’s arms, his son hugging his legs. They will be sitting in their dining room--Daphne, Andrew, Benedict, the Granvilles, and him-- and laughing at the misunderstanding. In a few short days, he will be welcoming Henry Granville into the family, perhaps giving him some words of advice from a fellow Bridgerton spouse.
In a few short days, he will be in London with his family. He must only endure a few more days of this hell.
Benedict spends most of the afternoon worrying--having spent the morning hours trying his best to stay asleep--and focusing on the most trivial of matters. His hair is a mess, his shirt is wrinkled, his sweet tooth has made his trousers too tight for his liking. Henry tries his best to console him, but still he worries and paces.
“Dearest, I…” Henry begins, but sighs and rubs his face in frustration. “The invitation is on my desk. I do not need to send it.”
“No, no. I promised to do better and I must.”
“You must not do anything that causes such stress... Benedict, your hands are shaking,” the man stands up from his seat and grabs Benedict’s hands, wrapping them in his, rubbing circles into his palms, and soothes, “You must calm down. Please do not do this for me. I did not intend to pressure you.”
Benedict smiles and kisses Henry, his lips chapped and his palms sweating beneath his fingers. “No, you were right. Anthony will have to see this eventually. See this...this part of my life. God, I have been so distant.”
Henry nods, mulling over Benedict’s words. “Shall I send the invitation?”
Benedict pauses, inhaling and exhaling shakily before nodding his head. Henry will be by his side. Everything will be alright. “Yes.”
“Alright, then. Now leave. I cannot have you pacing here all day. I have things to do.”
“What a gentleman,” he jokes, but gathers his coat nonetheless. He has promised to attend a concert with his mother this evening--only after ensuring Anthony will not be in attendance, of course--and he is rather looking forward to spending time at her side. Drifting apart from Anthony is tolerable at best, but he will not lose his mother amidst his secrecy.
“I try my best.”
“Hmmph.” He pouts and makes his way down the hallway and to the front door of the studio, thinking. Despite the rest of the world’s feelings, he is solely focused on that of his brother’s. Tonight will be difficult, yes, but it will end with Anthony knowing the full extent of his truth. He walks out into the afternoon light and breathes in the cool air, exhaling with a smile. Whatever shall happen, shall happen. Henry is worth fighting for.
The invitation lands on Anthony’s desk an hour later, finding the Bridgerton in a state of absolute chaos. His feet rest on the desk and his waistcoat and cravat are somewhere, surely, but he has neglected to remember their exact location. A bottle of brandy graces his lips--drinking from a cup is just a veiled attempt at propriety, he figures--and, as always, his hair is quite the sight to see. The man’s anxious nature has truly taken hold of him, leaving him secluded most of the day in his study, pacing and drinking and muttering profanities.
The past week has felt like an endless barrage of scandal. Colin has once again found himself fancying a woman of dubious character. Their mother drank a little too much at the garden party. Eloise has been seen picnicking with Ms. Courtenay in the park--Benedict will be hearing of Anthony’s displeasure toward this development--and has since avoided answering any questions regarding the matter. And, of course, the situation regarding Sir Granville and his sister remains unchanged. Their household has devolved into varying degrees of embarrassment, and any further issues will only cement what he already knows: he is an absolute failure when it comes to managing his family.
The Granville situation is the most pressing by far, but Anthony is still unsure as to how he should proceed. He is debating the best way to maneuver his way into one of the man’s parties when by the grace of God he receives an invitation. He assumes Benedict is responsible for the invitation, but his brother has not been home all week and therefore has escaped any interrogation. This pattern of mysterious disappearances is beginning to worry Anthony--has Benedict secured his own flat?--and he intends to berate his brother for his absence as soon as he sees him. Perhaps the invitation is his brother’s way of mending their relationship.
The invitation worries him, though. Why is it that his family is suddenly entwined with the Granvilles? Benedict has been close friends with the man for a couple of years now, but Daphne? And possibly Simon? And his nephew? Anthony cannot fathom what unusual circumstances have led him here. To the conclusion that his sister is having an affair. What in God’s name is he supposed to think?
Would Hastings leave his wife alone if he suspected an affair? He might if he intends to keep his family’s reputation from irreparable damage. He has a child to look out for, after all. Still, the entire situation’s odd nature plagues him. Would Benedict really approve of such a bizarre arrangement? And Mrs. Granville, too? And would they invite him to a party in the midst of such a scandal?
This invitation is sure to be useful. The party will be enlightening no matter the situation. Aside from his sister’s wellbeing, he is curious to investigate the man whom Benedict has befriended. He had resolved to stay out of his brother’s business, but he is now regretting his decision to do so.
He knows his brother has a passion for the arts. But Henry Granville? Of all the artists in London, Benedict has chosen a man with a questionable reputation as his tutor. Fucking hell! His brother’s poor judgment is contagious and has infected half the family.
Yes, Anthony must attend this party. Confronting Granville directly seems counterproductive as the man would likely retreat from their conversation. Beyond that, Benedict would intervene, as the two seem inseparable for whatever blasted reason. Mrs. Granville, though, might be willing to divulge some illuminating information. She must be in attendance, certainly.
Anthony stands and looks in the mirror. His appearance is not fit for even the most raucous of parties.
There is a part of him that does not want to go. It is foolish but it has been too long since he has indulged in such antics; He does not want to fall back into his old habits. He laughs at the thought after a moment of contemplation. His drinking habit is stronger than ever—what terrible thing could come of a little sex? It is not like his efforts at finding a wife have at all been fruitful.
With this in mind, he brushes his hair and walks upstairs to find suitable attire. If all else fails in his investigation, at least he will have an enjoyable time.
Benedict and Henry are lying on their new, sturdier sofa, blissfully unbothered by the world outside, and Henry hums a tune Benedict doesn’t recognize as he plays with Benedict’s hair. Henry is stretched out, his head propped up by cushions, and Benedict rests with his head on Henry’s chest, his arm wrapped around his torso, their legs intertwined. They are dressed for the day ahead, having already pulled on their jackets and boots, but neither wishes to leave the studio. Benedict had been the one to drag them to the sofa, suggesting they sit for a little while, but Henry had pulled him into an embrace and has since not pulled away. Henry’s cravat tickles his ear as he exhales, but Benedict only pulls him closer, his arm and leg trapping him in place, returning the sentiment.
“We ought to get up,” he mumbles into Henry’s jacket, attempting to be responsible. The Cowpers are meant to sit for a portrait in an hour, yet the artist seems less than enthused. Benedict cannot blame him, though; The Cowpers are dreadful.
“Yes, we should,” he whispers, remaining perfectly still. He continues humming and closes his eyes.
“I am glad you agree,” he laughs, burying his head in Henry’s side, and breathes in the man’s cologne. The Cowpers can wait.
The two continue in silence, each content in the other’s company. Benedict swears he could lie in Henry’s arms forever. He had often wondered in his youth how it would feel to romantically love another so deeply, the answer having always eluded him. His mother and father were the picture of devotion if he had ever seen it, and Daphne and Simon have followed in their footsteps. When Lady Bridgerton would grab his arm and suggest he dance with various women at balls, he had always felt trapped. Bound by the expectations of others. The women were beautiful and witty, but to marry and start a family? Benedict had brushed his discomfort up to commitment issues. The women he pursued with genuine interest were those that were independent, free of social baggage, and, to put it simply, fun. Lady Delacroix comes to mind.
It seems he has found his match in, at once, the most unexpected and expected person. When he had insulted Henry’s painting in their first introduction, he would never have guessed he would fall in love with him. Walking into his studio cemented his fate, Benedict’s eyes opening to the possibilities that were afforded to him if he were only to reject society’s wishes. He did not think he would ever fall in love with a man. He did not expect to fall in love with an artist of questionable reputation. And yet, their story makes perfect sense. Henry is so like him, so attuned to his thoughts, and is everything Benedict lacks. The reverse is true, too. The two complete each other in a way that he could never have imagined. Lying here, their bodies fitting together perfectly, nuzzled in Henry’s jacket, he smiles. If only others could see them, he has no doubt they would see what he had seen in his parents: Undying devotion.
The sentiment repeats itself. He could lie like this forever. The minutes pass too quickly, however, and with one eye on the clock in the corner, Benedict nudges Henry’s shoulder.
“I am aware of the time,” he says, gesturing to Benedict to climb off of him. He slips, though, crashing down on top of Henry. They both laugh as he rolls off and hits the floor with a thud.
Benedict remains sprawled out on the floor as he quips, “We ought to get a wider sofa.”
“ Or ,” Henry remarks, “you could procure your own place. It would be nice to sleep in a bed with you.”
Benedict smiles at this. “Craving domestic life, are we?” He teases, knowing how the man truly feels. Their conversation in the park is not the first time they have discussed their desire for a formal union. Henry feels as he does; They are what every married couple hope to be.
“Something of the sort.”
“I shall think on it.”
A knock on the door interrupts their conversation, and they rise to their feet, smoothing their shirts. Well accustomed to unexpected company, Benedict retreats into Henry’s study and closes the door, pressing his ear to the wood and listening.
The front door opens to a woman’s voice. Lucy. Benedict remains hiding despite this, not wanting to intrude.
“This is unexpected,”Henry says, most likely pulling Lucy into a hug.
“I thought you might want this delivered straight away.”
There’s a sudden silence. “Yes, thank you.” The sound of an envelope being torn open. “It is from the Duke.”
“Let me see.”
“Here. It is a dinner invitation.”
“I am also invited, it says. Do you want--?"
“Of course. You are always welcome.” Benedict can hear Henry’s warm smile through the door.
“Then I shall…,” she trails off, her voice suddenly concerned, “Henry, look.”
“What is it?”
“The date.”
“Oh.”
“Let me know what you would like me to do.”
“I will,” he says, his tone serious. “I plan to return home tonight. I shall see you at dinner.”
“Goodbye, Henry.”
“Goodbye, dearest.”
The door opens. “Goodbye, Benedict!” She shouts as she walks out.
Benedict laughs and walks into the hallway once he hears the door click shut. “Lucy is awfully perceptive.”
“Yes, she is.” Henry's face contorts into a frown as he continues, “The Duke has invited us to dinner.”
“You and Lucy.”
“You as well.”
Benedict grins. It was wrong to have doubted Hastings. Simon has invited both of them to dinner. He is following Daphne in welcoming Henry into the family. He is acknowledging their relationship. “Is it silly that I should be so happy?”
“No, not at all. But…,” Henry bites his lip and holds the letter out to Benedict, “He wishes to dine with us on Friday.”
“The party is on Friday,” Benedict breathes, snatching the invitation from Henry’s hand.
“I am aware,” Henry scratches his neck in agitation. “Dinner with the Duke takes precedence, however.”
Benedict considers this, but concludes that Henry is mistaken. His brother will not take kindly to being disinvited, even if the party is to be cancelled. He undoubtedly feels slighted merely by the last moment nature of the invitation. “It is too late to cancel the party. Anthony has already been invited.”
“I cannot decline your brother-in-law’s invitation. We have already begun our relationship rather poorly.” Henry paces, deliberating, and Benedict views this as permission to argue further.
“Yes, but my brother has already received an invitation,” he repeats, but stops as he sees Henry’s irritated glance.
“Yes, but your inebriated brother taking liberties with fellow guests is not as important as mending my relationship with Hastings.”
“But--”
“I know you are preoccupied over your brother’s attendance, but you can simply not attend. You can come with me to dinner.”
“That would look awfully strange, would it not?”
“Then let it appear strange. Lucy can handle hosting duties.”
“Can she?”
He hesitates. “Well enough, yes.”
Benedict laughs. Lucy left alone as hostess is an alarming thought. Still, he cannot abandon Anthony. “We cannot invite my brother to a party which we will not be attending.”
“Then stay and join Anthony in the festivities. I simply worry for you, Benedict. You are being tremendously uptight.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He fiddles with his shirt collar. It seems his anxieties have returned. “What was it like for you? When I found out about you and Wetherby?”
“I hope you are not implying that your brother will be finding us in a compromising position.”
“No, no,” he laughs, “I meant...You could not have known how I would react. It could have been disastrous.”
“It very well could have been,” Henry agrees, sounding somewhat alarmed by Benedict’s questioning.
“Yes, well, I wonder how that felt...how you felt knowing that I knew that--”
“Get to the point, love,” Henry chuckles, walking over and wrapping his arms around Benedict’s neck. Benedict shivers as his fingers trace patterns on his skin. He looks up to see Henry’s eyes staring at him with vague concern.
He stays silent a moment longer, collecting his scattered thoughts. Seeing Henry and Wetherby had been jarring, he’ll admit. He cannot deny that it would be even more jarring if he saw his own brother with another man. “I still worry about my brother. He knows, but he does not know.”
Henry nods, understanding. “It is one thing to know and another entirely to witness.”
“Precisely.”
Henry chews his lip. “Then we shall tread lightly. Society rules.”
Society rules--how they must conduct themselves in public...excluding the reckless rendezvous they so often participate in, of course.
Benedict pulls the man into another kiss before joking, “Am I expected to shake your hand now?”
“If the situation so requires. Although, I will be at dinner when your brother arrives. Consider this a golden opportunity to discuss our relationship in my absence.”
“I suppose you are right.”
“Speak highly of me.”
“And what is it that you expect me to say?”
“He already knows of my talent and beauty. Perhaps you should discuss my humility.”
“I am serious.”
“So am I,” he chuckles, “What is it that you told your brother about Madame Delacroix?”
Benedict bites his tongue and provides the polite answer. “Only that she was a friend.”
“That will not suffice in my case.”
“No it will not.”
Henry's demeanor shifts, his teasing dissolving into sincerity. “Tell him we are in love. It is uncomplicated and it is true.”
“Yes, it is.” Benedict smiles and captures Henry’s lips in yet another kiss, and wraps the man’s arms around his torso, pulling him closer. “Maybe it is for the best that you will not be present. We would only make my brother jealous.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, I am afraid so,” Benedict grins, lifting his hand to fix Henry’s stray curls. “Anthony can only hope to find such a love match. I am immeasurably fortunate that you have chosen to share your life with me.”
“You say that as if it were a chore. You are my life,” he pauses, laughing at his saccharine confession, and rephrases in a teasing tone, “Or at least a sizable portion of it.”
Benedict dismisses the joke and continues, one hand on Henry’s back and the other in his hair, his words laced with tremendous conviction, “I love you.”
“And I you.”
The arduous journey from Clyvedon Castle to Hastings House is spent wrapped in internal turmoil. Simon suspects Daphne is apprised of Benedict’s affair, but it is a delicate task to surmise the truth. He cannot ask directly, of course, but veiled language might obscure his meaning too severely. He shakes his head and reassures himself. Daphne’s mention of Benedict’s artistic talent is too unusual to be a coincidence. His wife is clever; Hiding a message in an innocuous remark is exactly what he has come to expect from her.
He arrives in London in the early afternoon, just early enough to take Andrew to the park if he so desires. His carriage has hardly pulled to a stop when he jumps out onto the dirt path and runs. Daphne and Andrew are waiting outside their home on the steps, and his son runs to meet him halfway. Daphne laughs and waves, waiting for him to reach the steps. He wraps her in his arms, dips her--Daphne yelps--and kisses her.
He takes notice of her weight and glances down. Her belly has swollen since he left; It seems his wife will grant them their second child quite soon.
“God, I have missed you,” he breathes into Daphne’s ear, feeling her arms wrap tighter around his shoulders and her hair brush against his neck.
She pulls away with a grin and pats his cheek. “I should hope so,” she laughs, “I have missed you terribly.”
“And this little one?” he bends down and picks Andrew up, swinging him in the air before hugging him. The boy giggles and buries his head in Simon’s chest.
“Papa!” He tangles his fingers in Simon’s cravat.
Daphne rubs their son’s back and grabs onto Simon’s arm, resting her head on his chest as well. “He has been quite busy,” Daphne explains, tapping Andrew’s nose, “Haven’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, well, I must hear all about your adventures, then,” Simon laughs, placing Andrew on the ground. “I trust Lady Danbury was involved?”
“You have no clue as to the trouble that woman has caused,” Daphne laughs, biting her lip and giving him a strange look, “She has, however, been a very good grandmother. Isn’t that right?”
Andrew nods and runs inside, leaving Simon and Daphne alone on the steps.
Simon jokingly huffs and places his hands on his hips, “Our son certainly knows how to provide a warm welcome.”
Daphne giggles and pulls away, beginning to drag him inside, “Come. You ought to eat and lay down. It is a rough journey.”
“I will certainly do just that,” his smile falters. He hesitates and halts his wife in her tracks. “But first, I...I--,” he looks around, at the trees, at the carriage, at the ground. He avoids his wife’s gaze. “I must discuss something with you, and I--”
Daphne cuts him off with a soft pat on the arm. “No need. I know.”
He raises his eyebrows at his wife’s nonchalance. “You know?”
“I know.”
He squints, “What exactly is it that you know?”
“That you frightened my brother half to death,” she narrows her eyes, “I had to clean up your mess.”
“I was afraid of that. Listen, Daph, I--”
“I know it was not your intention. I told Benedict as such.”
“And...Granville?” He says this carefully, still wary of the extent of Daphne’s understanding toward the situation.
“They are both fine,” she says, smiling sweetly in a manner that screams ‘ I love you, you idiot.’
“Good,” he sends an amused glance down to his wife. “You amaze me.”
“How so?”
“Your capacity for understanding.” Daphne is so sheltered that he had feared her confusion might hinder her ability to comfort Benedict and Henry. He is glad that this was not the case.
“I will admit it came as a surprise, but he is my brother, Simon. What else am I to do?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
“Besides, Henry is marvelous. And Lucy, too. I dined with them about a week ago.”
“Is that so?” He shakes his head, “So Mrs. Granville does know of their...relationship.” He must ask Sir Granville about his marriage at their next meeting. The Granvilles’ arrangement has stirred his curiosity. Is Lucy also…?
“Yes, much to my relief, I must say.” The two begin to walk into the foyer when Daphne stops short. “Can we continue this conversation in your study?” She nods toward the servants.
“Of course. I am interested to hear about your dinner with the Granvilles,” he frowns, “What is it?” Daphne’s face is suddenly marked with anxiety.
“It is my brother. Anthony,” she whispers, “He has taken it upon himself to investigate the argument between you and Sir Henry. I have tried my best to settle the matter, but--”
“Let us discuss this in private,” he agrees, maneuvering his wife into his study and closing the door securely behind them.
Daphne sinks into his chair behind his desk--it is the most comfortable seat in the room--and he pulls up another chair to join her at her side. He tosses his jacket on the desk, content to relax after weeks of maintaining his authority.
He grabs Daphne’s hand as he continues the conversation. “Exactly how did Anthony come to hear about our disagreement?” He tries his best to even his tone and dispel any traces of worry.
“Lady Danbury appears to have gossiped with the servants. She also, unfortunately, was present when Sir Henry’s dinner invitation arrived. It seems she passed along this information to Anthony.”
“Why?”
“She has apologized for her presumptuousness. Her maternal instincts must have dampened her senses. She worried for you.”
Simon sighs. Lady Danbury’s methods are rooted in good intentions, but they often sprout the drama she so loves to witness. “I am sorry you had to battle her intrusions while I was away. It is an unenviable task.”
“It is nothing in comparison to my brother’s probing. He knows I am withholding information--it has taken great effort to withstand his questioning thus far--and it has only strengthened his suspicions.”
“Does he suspect Benedict and Granville are...?”
“I do not know. He appears to be primarily disturbed by our sudden involvement with the Granvilles,” she explains, pausing as she seemingly remembers something, “Although, I do recall Anthony mentioning a discussion he had with Benedict.”
“And?”
She looks up, more concerned than before. “ Indecent. He called the situation ‘indecent’.”
“Anthony did?” His throat tightens as he gulps down sudden fear.
“No. Anthony claimed Benedict called the situation ‘indecent’.”
Why would Benedict…? He shakes his head. “You must have misunderstood. Benedict would not risk telling your brother anything damning.”
“You must be right. Either way, he has gotten this silly notion in his head. He is now on a mission to rectify this supposed indecency.”
Simon laughs at the thought of Daphne doing anything unseemly. “What could he possibly suspect?”
“The Granvilles are not exactly reputable, and you know my brother. He demands propriety above all else--regardless of his hypocrisy, I might add--and cavorting with such lowly individuals places the family at utmost risk of ruin,” she says, her words dripping with mockery.
Jesus. Anthony desperately requires an intervention. “The Viscount is in dire need of a Viscountess. Perhaps marriage will compel him to quit drinking and meddling in the affairs of his siblings.”
“Drinking? Should I be concerned?”
He winces at his slip. Daphne does not need to know the extent of her brother’s afflictions. “No. He is under immense pressure, is all. He has overcome such stress several times before, not to worry. Lady Bridgerton is more than capable of setting him straight.”
“She certainly is,” Daphne agrees. Her slight smile fades quickly, though, and she chews the inside of her cheek.
“What is it?”
“It has occurred to me,” she looks down at her lap, “Benedict is unable to introduce Henry to mother... The magnitude of my brother’s loss is truly painful to contemplate.”
“I am sorry, Daph,” he squeezes her hand but her gaze remains fixed downward.
She lets out a sad chuckle. “I am not the one who requires sympathy, Simon. Benedict…,” she shakes her head, “He deserves happiness. I only hope I can provide him with such.”
“ We will. You, Andrew, and I. Benedict is not without family, Daph. Everyone still loves him, even if they are ignorant of his other life.”
She hums in passive agreement, and Simon’s heart cannot help but ache. Daphne’s sadness is the same sadness he had felt the night of their ball. He had felt scared for his brother-in-law. He had felt angry at the Bridgerton for his disrespect. But most of all, he had felt great sorrow.
Benedict is the good-natured younger brother he never had. It is Simon’s duty to protect him. It is his duty to ensure his happiness. It is his duty to set matters right.
“I have given it thought,” Simon says, breaking the tense silence, “I think it is best if I apologize to Sir Granville in person. Did you receive my letter?”
“Yes,” Daphne tries her best to smile but it falls flat, “I have arranged for the Granvilles to dine with us tomorrow. Benedict as well. Is that too soon? You look quite worn from your travels.”
“No, it is wonderful. I wish to settle the matter as soon as possible.” He leans over and kisses Daphne’s cheek, grabbing her chair and pulling her closer, the chair squeaking on the wooden floor. “I have not yet told you today, so I shall say it now,” he clears his throat dramatically and makes Daphne giggle, “I am madly, madly in love with you.”
Daphne blushes. “I suppose I am fond of you, too.”
Benedict spends an hour debating his attire for the party. His usual choices hang in a closet in Henry’s studio, and he scrutinizes his colorful garments with a harsh eye. They are too showy. Too...aberrant. Returning home to Grosvenor Square crosses his mind--to retrieve more respectable clothing--but he does not want to cross paths with his brother before the party.
Shaking his head, he resolves to wear a bright blue waistcoat, one embroidered with silver thread that shines in the light. He has promised Henry that he would deal with his embarrassment-induced secrecy. He digs deeper in the closet and pulls out the container of black pigment that Henry keeps on a shelf behind his aprons. Benedict spins the container in his hands, deliberating, before deciding that he will ask Henry to smudge the makeup on his eyes like he always does at his parties.
Fuck judgement! It is impossible to pretend that he doesn't care about Anthony’s opinion, but his brother will simply have to accept this.
Besides, Henry adores it when Benedict wears makeup, and Benedict adores the feeling of Henry’s breath on his neck when he applies it.
“Henry?”
“Benedict?” he calls back, his attention still trained on the new Lady Whistledown column. He sits on the sofa, absorbed in the latest gossip, in a futile attempt to postpone his departure for his dinner appointment.
“Could you…?” He holds out the container and flashes a sheepish smile.
Henry looks up and rushes over, teasing, “I thought you were too respectable?”
“Fuck off,” Benedict says, blushing as Henry kisses his cheek. “I know how much you love it.”
“I do,” he says, grabbing the container and laughing. “You look beautiful.”
He unscrews the lid and dips his little finger in the pigment, grabs Benedict’s neck and pulls him closer, and begins to smudge the color under his right eye. Benedict flinches, scrunching his nose and causing Henry to laugh again.
“It is a miracle I have not gone blind.”
“If you stopped moving, you would cease to worry.”
“Hmmph.” He closes his eyes again and giggles when Henry starts to touch his eyelid. He places his hands on Henry’s chest and pushes him back. “Your hands are cold.”
Henry sighs, a mischievous smirk on his face, and places the container on the nearby table. “You have left me no choice.”
“What are--”
Benedict is cut off by Henry crashing his lips onto his and backing him into the wall, his shoulders slamming into the wood. Henry lands on top of him--a welcome weight on his chest--slipping between his legs, and he grips Benedict's lower back, his fingers running along the seams of his trousers. Benedict tries to return the favor, reaching out to unfasten Henry’s trousers, but he finds his arms pushed back into the wall with a thud. A whimper. Nothing is more arousing than being held down by his lover. Running his tongue across Benedict's lower lip and grinding their hips together, Henry elicits a moan, which he swallows as he begins to deepen the kiss. Saliva drips down Benedict’s chin, and, though still confused at Henry's sudden interest, he feels his own trousers grow tighter, his need building, and pulls Henry closer, closer, closer, until the slightest brush of Henry’s leg makes his cock ache. Henry obliges and pins him even flatter against the wall, his hands sliding down his torso toward the stretched fabric at his crotch. There is a wet warmth on his skin as Henry sucks at his neck, a gentleness broken by a graze of his teeth, and he slumps against the wall, giving Henry full control. His anticipation builds as he feels Henry's palm on his groin, his hand moving in a graceless circular motion, and he begins to tangle his hands in Henry's hair when he realizes the man is laughing. Henry's hands stray from Benedict’s trousers to grab his wrists and pin them above his head. Henry grins as he pulls away from his neck, and Benedict whines impatiently.
Henry holds his arms in place with one hand, and, with the other, dips his finger in the black pigment that sits on the table. “Now hold still.” He begins to smudge black on Benedict’s eyelids once again, the man powerless to push him away.
“You tease!” Benedict glances down at his erection and frowns. “I expect you to finish the job.”
“Let me finish this one first, love.”
“You are infuriating,” he groans, not bothering to fight against Henry’s grip. Being pinned against a wall with Henry between his legs is not at all unpleasant. Still, he rubs against Henry's hip as he waits for him to finish applying his makeup.
“I am almost done.”
A pause. “What will you say to Hastings?”
“Concerning…?”
“What will you say about us?”
“Considering Andrew now calls me ‘uncle’, I should think I can speak unhindered with the Duke.”
“Yes, but...do not embarrass me.”
Henry laughs. “But Ms. Eloise has divulged so many humiliating anecdotes about you. It would be impolite not to share.”
He cringes. “I shall never live those down, shall I?”
“Never,” Henry kisses his cheek and releases the grip on his arms. “I am finished. Go look in the mirror.”
“Thank you.”
“You are very welcome,” he says, pausing as he looks at the clock. “Jesus! I must be on my way.”
“But--,” Benedict complains, gesturing at his crotch.
“You have a hand, yes?”
“But--”
“I shall make up for it later.”
“You absolute arse.”
“Goodbye, Bridgerton.” He winks, kisses him on the cheek again, and walks out the front door, pausing for a moment before closing it. “Do not let your brother near Alana, please. God knows what she might share.” Henry closes the door with a chuckle, no doubt amused at the woman’s propensity for trouble.
Jesus. Benedict had not considered the need to rein in Courtenay. He paces once again, as worried as before, his panicked face now equipped with eyeliner. Knowing her, she would not only share her friendship with Eloise, but she would also share intimate details of his and Henry’s relationship. Or a devastating anecdote about Benedict. Oh dear God! Benedict walks into the other room, intending on...using his hand, when he recalls an unfortunate incident of Alana walking in on him in the midst of similar activity. Not to mention when she...He dismisses the memory of that encounter and focuses on the present, unfastening his trouser buttons.
Fuck. This party has the potential to demolish any remaining dignity he has.
Simon paces most of the afternoon, his boots once again falling heavily on the wooden floor of his study. His mindset is eerily similar to the one he had prior to meeting with Granville the first time. His mind was preoccupied then with warning Sir Henry of potential harm. Now, he must apologize for causing actual harm. God! What a fiasco!
Daphne, at least, is able to console him this time. She spends her afternoon knitting in the sitting room, occasionally entering his study to distract him with inane gossip. She knows better than to talk of the situation, realizing mindless chatter is what he desperately needs. She has assured him countless times that the Granvilles will not be angry, and yet, he cannot help but worry his wife is mistaken. The Granvilles are not angry with Daphne--who could ever be angry with her?--but that understanding does not necessarily extend to Simon himself.
His guilt is only amplified, of course, by the devastating fear he gave his brother-in-law. Benedict Bridgerton has always been kind to him, having been the first Bridgerton brother to warmly welcome him into the family. Anthony, predictably, had been somewhat cold for long after the wedding, and Colin was too polite to treat him as anything other than the Duke.
Benedict is an incredible brother as well. Daphne speaks highly of him, and Ms. Eloise simply adores him. It is a shame that Simon could not be a better brother-in-law to the man.
“Simon, you are to drive yourself mad. Sir Henry is delightful. As is Lucy. A simple apology will suffice.”
“With all due respect, I sincerely doubt their ability to forgive such an offense. You told me yourself how distraught Benedict was.”
“Yes, but I rectified the misunderstanding rather quickly. My brother is not angry. He is simply relieved.”
Simon nods and paces, paces, paces. Daphne returns to the sitting room after another quarter hour of his madness, and he is desperately relieved when he finally hears the sound of a carriage outside. He adjusts his cravat and straightens his jacket and rushes to greet their guests. He stops short as he hears one set of footsteps walk up the front steps. As he turns the corner, he sees that only Sir Henry graces the open doorway. Henry approaches with an aura of uneasiness, which Simon unintentionally reciprocates as he meets the man in the foyer. Daphne enters then, throwing her arms around Henry before Simon has the chance to speak.
"It is lovely to see you," she smiles, patting his hand, "Where is Lucy?"
"I regret to inform you that it is only myself who will be dining with you this evening."
Daphne nods, looking back at Simon with a strange expression, "Well, I should think it would be best if I were to retire to my bedchambers, then. I am awfully tired and I do not want to intrude on any discussion."
Simon barely refrains from a panicked shout, instead stating with an even tone, "That is unnecessary, Daph. Besides, you do not seem all that exhausted."
"Exhaustion has overcame me quite suddenly, you see."
"Yes, I do," he says back, trying his best to convey his annoyance.
She turns to Granville, patting his hand once more. "I apologize, Henry. Perhaps I can dine with you and Lucy sometime soon."
"No need to apologize, Daphne. You will certainly be receiving an invitation in the future." Granville smiles at Daphne and squeezes her hand before watching her depart upstairs.
She throws one more smile in Henry's direction before sending a smirk toward Simon. Good god. Daphne will be the death of him.
Simon stands awkwardly, suddenly feeling like a stranger in his own home. He had not realized how comfortable Daphne had become with Henry. It is wonderful, however, and he hopes he can make a similar impression upon the man tonight.
“Sir Granville, I would like to begin by,” Simon extends his hand toward Henry, but the man steps back and flinches, “...apologizing.”
Henry takes a deep breath and smooths his shirt, stepping forward and shaking Simon’s hand. “And I apologize, Your Grace. I should have allowed you the opportunity to speak before storming out as I did.”
Simon nods, his guilt building. The man is frightened of him. “No need. And please, call me Simon. It seems we are family now.”
“I am flattered. I must say, your wife is simply marvelous.”
“Yes, she is. Speaking of, where is Mrs. Granville? I had thought she would be joining us this evening. And Benedict, for that matter.”
“We had prior engagements this evening. There is to be a party at my studio, and Lucy and Benedict have stayed behind to host. I do not intend any disrespect.”
Simon smiles at the notion of Benedict hosting a party. He is glad that the Bridgerton is having fun. “Of course not. I am honored that you accepted my invitation. My company pales in comparison to a rowdy gathering.”
“Do not be silly, Your Grace,” Henry assures, before seeing Simon’s disapproving look, “Simon.” He laughs, “I will need some time to become accustomed to that.”
He leads them into the sitting room, gesturing for the man to take a seat on a chair at the far end of the room. Daphne has been rearranging the furniture while he was gone, and her current arrangement of the chairs is less than ideal. “I have sent the servants away in order to ensure all our conversations will be private. You may speak freely here.”
“I extend my gratitude. Benedict and I invited your poor wife to my studio for dinner while you were away. We could not guarantee privacy anywhere else. As you can imagine, a studio is not fit for a dinner party.”
“I am sure Daphne did not mind,” he chuckles, imagining his Daphne sitting amongst paint and easels while dining. “She speaks highly of you. Andrew, too.”
Henry beams. “That is very sweet of them. Your son is a delight. Though you do not require me to tell you that.”
“No, I do not. I will never get tired of hearing his meandering stories,” he smiles, remembering his son’s retelling of a bedtime story the other night. “He has a very distinctive laugh, you know. He giggles like Anthony and Benedict. And he has inherited the Bridgerton snort, too.”
“The snorting! My God, I was surprised to hear your wife make the same sound. It has always amused me.”
“As I.”
There is a pause while Simon stands to fetch a bottle of whiskey from atop the fireplace. This time, it is not needed; It is for their mutual enjoyment and not a substitute for his own courage. He pours two glasses and returns to his seat across from Granville, who is currently admiring the portrait in the corner and folding his jacket over the seat.
“Thank you,” Henry says, grabbing the glass. He swirls the liquid around a few times before taking a sip and relaxing into the cushions.
Simon hesitates--the man has just become at ease--but he feels it is important to address this straight away. “I must ask; What are your intentions with Benedict going forward?”
Granville sits up straighter. He does not appear uncomfortable, merely curious as to Simon’s reasoning. “I am afraid I do not understand.”
“Your... persuasion has not hindered you from procuring a wife. Will Benedict do the same?”
Henry sighs and takes a large gulp from his glass. “He insists on remaining unwed. As is his right, of course. He does not wish to deceive an unwitting woman. Lucy and I are lucky in that our arrangement is mutually agreeable.”
“I have wondered about that. What does Mrs. Granville stand to gain from your marriage? Other than companionship, obviously.”
“Freedom, mostly. She can do as she likes with little regard for propriety. I do not expect children. Or fidelity. She is her own woman.”
Simon nods, digesting the man’s explanation. It is unconventional, but it is clear the two spouses love each other as close friends. He has a host of other questions--how did they come to agree to such a thing? When did Lucy know of his secret?--but he redirects the conversation back toward Benedict instead.
“When did you and Benedict form an attachment? I vaguely recall you speaking with him at my wedding reception.”
“Ah, yes. That conversation.” Henry chuckles, blushing. “We were only acquaintances at the time, though that particular exchange was when he discovered I was having an extramarital affair.”
“So you were involved with someone else at the time?”
“Yes. As was Benedict.”
“So when…?”
“A year ago. Officially.”
“Officially?” He raises an eyebrow at the qualification.
“Officially,” the man confirms, trying his best to hide a smirk.
“Can I ask what that means?” Simon asks, amused at the opacity.
“I think it is best if you do not.”
“Understood,” Simon coughs, despite having only vague guesses as to the man’s meaning. Did he commit infidelity? Did Benedict? Was this an innuendo of some kind? Still, he drops his line of questioning. Perhaps he will supply Benedict with enough alcohol to hear the rest of it one day.
“It is something to which I have given plenty of thought. Marriage, that is. I have suggested Benedict marry a woman whom I find to be suitable, but he has repeatedly rebuked the idea. He is too much of a gentleman it seems. He is committed to maintaining propriety in all the ways that matter. She, too, has expressed similar disdain for my suggestion,” Henry smiles fondly, as if at a private joke, “Although, the two simply despise each other, so the decision was not exactly difficult.”
Despise each other? He makes a mental note to add this to the growing list of questions he has for Daphne’s brother.
He weighs Granville’s proposal in his mind. Despite Benedict’s hesitancy, marriage would be extremely beneficial. To both men. “He is a good man. It is a shame, though. Finding a wife would obscure Anthony’s suspicions regarding the both of you. Daphne has advised me to keep my arrival a secret so that the Viscount cannot interrogate me. I should warn you to be careful as well.”
Henry waves his hand. “There is no need. Anthony Bridgerton is aware of our relationship. Benedict has told me his brother is not angry.”
Simon sighs a breath of relief, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders. “This is excellent news. I was so worried.” He is about to propose a celebratory toast when he is interrupted by a flippant Henry.
“Did Daphne neglect to tell you? She is the one who informed Anthony.”
Simon frowns. “She did not.” He considers the thought, but knows his wife would never intervene in such a way. “She would not divulge such information herself. In fact, she is very concerned for your safety.”
Granville tenses, his grip on his glass tightening. “But Benedict said…?”
He shakes his head. “I am sorry to say that he is mistaken. Anthony does not know.”
Henry gulps down the remaining alcohol and coughs, “Fuck.”
Adrenaline courses through Simon’s limbs. He has seen this expression of terror before. “What is... what is it?”
“Lord Bridgerton has been invited to the party at my studio. Benedict might say something he shouldn’t.”
“Fuck.”
Simon springs from his seat and gulps down whatever liquid remains in his glass, gesturing to Henry to gather himself. The two men lock eyes, sharing a mutual understanding of the urgency of the matter, and sprint through the foyer, their panicked voices echoing through the hallways. They rush out into the cold night air, Granville without his jacket, and hastily concoct a plan of action.
“Return to your studio and discreetly inform Benedict of Anthony’s ignorance. I will travel to Grosvenor Square and intervene if he has not left for the party yet.”
A pause. “What if I am returning to an aggrieved Lord Bridgerton?”
Simon hesitates. He knows Granville is justified in his fear. If Anthony has found out about the affair and spots Henry, the man is conceivably in danger of being assaulted. The only consolation is his knowledge that Anthony would never lay a hand on Benedict for this. He loves his brother too much, which is exactly the reason Henry is in peril.
“I…,” he begins, but is halted by Henry’s raised hand.
“I understand.”
Simon nods solemnly before tipping his head in farewell. He prays he is not too late to stop his friend from committing an error. Anthony is quick to anger and slow to reason, and his temper will not be muted by the presence of a crowd. He will create a larger scandal in his efforts to control the one at hand. God forbid Lady Whistledown gets wind of a fight. It would only shine a light on the entire affair, a catastrophic possibility that could reveal the core secret.
What will he say to his friend? He could invite him to drinks at the club, he supposes, but he cannot rely on Anthony’s response. The man may very well accept his offer and skip the party, leaving Simon vulnerable to interrogation. Still, this outcome would be less disastrous than the alternative.
All he needs to do is stall Anthony long enough so that Henry may warn Benedict. He can manage this.
Anthony arrives at Sir Granville’s studio at the specified time, hoping that his worst fears will not be realized. He knocks on the door, bracing himself to meet Granville face to face, and is surprised when a young woman welcomes him inside.
The woman wears a revealing dress, her bare legs peeking out on either side, and Anthony cannot help but stare. Lust overcomes him, but he stops short as he realizes the object of his attention is Alana Courtenay. His brotherly instincts begin to kick in--Eloise is never allowed to speak to this licentious woman again--when his annoyance is abruptly interrupted by the woman’s airy laugh. She waves him into the crowded foyer--the studio is filled with drunken revelry and an abundance of exposed skin--but he is solely focused on the woman before him. She licks her lips, her eyes scanning his body.
“Like what you see, my Lord?” She teases, adjusting her dress to reveal more skin.
The man becomes flustered as he responds, “I am only searching for …” His eyes once again wander from her face.
She waves him closer until their bodies are only inches apart. She leans in, her face ducking under his chin. He breathes heavily as he feels her maneuver toward the side of his neck, preparing for the warmth of her lips. Instead, she giggles again, and whispers in his ear, “I am very sorry to disappoint, Lord Bridgerton, but my heart is quite taken by someone else.”
He frowns and opens his mouth to respond, but she shoves him back, leaving the man embarrassed and confused. Has he lost his charm?
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, my Lord. Find another lady to degrade.” She shoos him away with a wink, seemingly pleased by her insult.
Anthony walks away, more annoyed than before, and weaves through a crowd of debauchery in a haze. Couples surround him as he makes his way down the hall, all of them in varying stages of pleasure. This place resembles a brothel, not the studio of a well-known artist. What the hell has he gotten himself into? He half expects to see his brother somewhere, no doubt joining in on the festivities.
He would not blame his brother, though, as he himself becomes intrigued by various women brushing up against him. At least some women are interested.
One of these women grabs his sleeve and spins him around so that they are facing each other. She wears a silk robe and little else, but she clears her throat so that his attention is directed at her face. The woman smiles warmly, so unlike the hedonistic stares of the others, that it gives Anthony a moment of pause. Is that…?
“Lord Bridgerton! I do not believe we have formally met,” she says, holding out her hand. Her words are slurred--it seems the woman has indulged in a great bit of alcohol--and she giggles as Anthony leans down to kiss her hand. “Though I suppose this is not formal, now is it?”
“No, I suppose it is not,” he responds, nervously laughing. “Mrs. Granville, I--”
She slaps his arm and laughs, “It is Lucy. Let us not feign respectability...here,” she waves around to gesture broadly at the crowd.
He clears his throat and smooths his shirt, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “I apologize for seeming so uptight, Mrs. Granville. I had just assumed we would meet under more reputable circumstances. Though, I cannot deem this display of indulgence beneath me.”
“Of course, my Lord,” she grabs a glass of wine from a nearby table and consumes its contents in one gulp, a smile tugging at her lips, “Perhaps you’d like something else beneath you, hm?” Lucy comes closer, her chest nearly flush against his, “It would be a shame for you to spend your night alone.”
Anthony steps back and glares at the woman, shocked. “Mrs. Granville, I--,” he blinks in disbelief, “You are married .”
She giggles again. “Henry does not mind, my Lord. We have an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?” His worry heightens.
She narrows her eyes, “Did Daphne not tell you?”
Anthony’s heart skips a beat. “ Daphne?”
She slaps his arm, “You do not need to feign ignorance with me. I am fully aware of my husband’s affair.”
“Pardon?” His throat tightens.
“Come! Enjoy yourself,” she bites her lip and looks up at Anthony. “It is a shame, though,” she trails her finger up his chest and neck, finally lifting his chin and whispering close, “My husband has his Bridgerton, but I would not mind having my own.” She flashes a mischievous smile and giggles, clearly satisfied with his bewildered expression.
Anthony can feel the veins in his neck becoming visible as he coughs down his shock. He pushes her away with a force uncharacteristic of a gentleman—though he cannot purport to be as such in an environment like this—and bolts in the opposite direction, his heart beating wildly.
He had wished he was mistaken. He had wished he was being foolish. Now...now his nightmares have become real. Sir Henry Granville is fucking his sister.
Mrs. Granville calls out to him, her voice barely audible above the crowd, “Lord Bridgerton! I did not mean offense! Please accept my deepest apol—“
He turns and shouts at the woman struggling to push her way through the crowded hallway, “No need, Mrs. Granville. I should be thanking you. Our conversation has been illuminating to say the least.” He turns on his heel and fights his way through the studio, determined to find his brother.
He shall make a scene if he must. Benedict has only himself to blame for the impending fist directed at him. He thought his brother incapable of aiding in the ruin of their sister. Protecting her is their job, and yet he has let Granville commit an abominable crime towards Daph, and for what? Friendship? A career in the arts?
He was wrong to carry such malice toward his sister. Daphne is not absolved of guilt for sure, and he is still mightily upset with her disloyalty, but he cannot expect her to defy both Benedict and the conniving rat of a man she should find in Granville. Fucking Christ.
If he were not blood, and Anthony did not love the idiot so much, Benedict would be on the other end of a dueling pistol. No matter. It will be enough to meet Sir Henry Granville himself at dawn.
The rooms, too, are packed with people, and he gives up on his search shortly, realizing he must make arrangements in the case of his untimely death. He gulps. The only worry that potentially outweighs his fear of mortality is the notion of Benedict becoming head of the family. A month ago, if asked, Anthony could say with the utmost sincerity that Benedict would be a much better Viscount Bridgerton than he. Tonight, he finds himself concerned at the prospect.
He must tie any loose ends in regards to the family’s finances, he must leave instructions for his brother, he must say goodbye to mother...Anthony’s head spins as he opens the front door and stumbles into the street, the cool night air fueling his dread.
“Lord Bridgerton!” A voice calls from across the cobblestones.
Anthony looks up at the man approaching, his eyes growing wide at the shadowy figure of Henry Granville. The man wears a smile, his gait is assured, and he appears to wave, blissfully unaware of Anthony’s ire.
Muttering under his breath, his fists clenched, Anthony walks into the street. “Sir Granville…,” he snarls, and begins to lift his fist in the air, “I believe we have a matter that needs settling.”
Granville’s smile vanishes and the color drains from his face. He recoils and places his arms in a defensive position in front of his head. “I can explain, Lord Bridgerton.”
“No need,” Anthony drops his arm, satisfied at the man’s terror, and barks, “I demand satisfaction. I shall see you at dawn.”
Simon arrives home about an hour after his hasty departure with Granville. Anthony was not at home--much to Simon’s chagrin--and so he has returned to Hastings House with the intention of waiting on Granville’s possible arrival. If Henry has averted disaster, he assumes the man will stay at his studio and enjoy the rowdy gathering. If not, however, Simon awaits word from Henry as to the present state of the situation.
As he climbs the staircase in his journey to check on his sleeping wife, shouts echo through the hallways, amplified by their urgent, frantic nature. It is Daphne.
“Simon! Simon! We are in the library!”
“Daphne? Daphne!” Sprinting down the hallway, his worry heightens with every step toward his distressed wife. She should be in bed--why have the servants not come to her aid?
He swings the library door open to a pitiful sight, indeed. Daphne sits on a chair beside the window, looking downright distraught, her head turned toward the shelves. He walks in and follows her eyes to the corner, where a restless Granville is pacing and mumbling to himself.
Simon furrows his brow and mouths to Daphne, “What happened?”
Daphne shakes her head and shrugs. “Henry? Henry,” she calls to the man, snapping him out of his trance. “Simon has arrived.” She gestures toward Simon in the doorway, attempting to muster a sympathetic smile.
It appears Granville has been waiting for him.
Daphne rises from her seat and tiptoes toward the doorway to whisper in Simon's ear, “He stormed in and began shouting your name. I was awoken by Rose. I ushered him up here to avoid any further intrusion.”
Granville finally turns toward the couple and exhales, his cheeks stained with tears. Oh no. Simon whispers, “Go back to bed, Daph. I will handle this.” With a kiss to the cheek, he walks her into the hallway, smiling once at her worried expression before entering the library and shutting the door. He prays he is wrong in his suspicions as he walks over to Henry. Please do not let this be Anthony's doing.
“Mr. Granville...Henry, are you hurt?” He grabs Henry's cheek and examines the man’s face, scanning for bruises or cuts. “Why don’t you sit down?” Simon nods toward the armchairs by the windows and places a hand on Henry's shoulder, ushering him to his seat. Henry complies, dejected, and slumps into the armchair. He does not say a thing--simply stares at his reflection in the glass. Simon decides he must pry. “Henry, what is it? Did Anthony—“
“He has challenged me to a duel,” he turns to face Simon, “I did not know where else to go.”
Fuck. “Does Ben—“
Henry shakes his head and chuckles, his voice raspy. “No. Not yet, anyway,” his voice breaks, “I do not know how to tell him.”
Simon nods, and, without the slightest hesitation, he states, “It will be alright, Granville. I will stand as your second. I will sort things out with Anthony.”
Henry pauses as he contemplates. “You will be my second. Who will be Anthony’s?”
Although it pains him to do so, he decides he must answer honestly. His speech threatens to betray his outward confidence. “He will not bring one. He cannot...jeopardize Benedict's reputation,” he says, hesitating before adding, “...He will not in-invite a doctor...either.”
Henry is incredibly stoic as he accepts this answer. “Could you promise me something?”
“Of course.”
“If anything were to happen—“
He interrupts Granville's morbid thoughts. “Nothing shall happen to you. I promise you this--Anthony will need to shoot me before he has the opportunity to pull the trigger on you.”
Henry smiles, chuckling. “You say that now. It is an entirely different matter on the dueling ground.”
“I honor my promises, Henry.”
“I still need you to promise…,” he gulps, “…if I were to die, you would look after Benedict. I cannot bear the thought of him losing a chance at happiness for my sake.”
Simon sighs as he entertains the thought. “Of course...And Mrs. Granville?”
“I have my affairs in order. Men such as myself must plan for the worst. Lucy shall be provided for. I have no doubt Benedict would look after her as well.”
Simon nods, saddened by Granville’s preparedness. “Under such a circumstance, I should find it to be my duty to watch over her.”
“Thank you. She is my best friend.” He looks down at his lap and fiddles with his sleeves. He wears a smile that Simon cannot decipher.
“Nothing will happen to you, Granville. There is no need to worry.”
Henry chuckles again despite tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “Now if you will excuse me, I must tell the loves of my life that I am to die in a matter of hours.”
He moves to stand but Simon drags him back down into his seat. “You are not going to die.”
“I must say goodbye regardless.”
“There is no need to worry Benedict. Or Lucy. Please trust me when I say that you will return unharmed. Goodbyes are unnecessary.”
“Then I shall not call it goodbye,” he wipes away a stray tear, “But I must spend the night with Benedict.”
Simon smiles in an attempt to console the man, but he cannot imagine the pain Henry must feel. His heart aches as he imagines saying goodbye to Daphne. One night is not nearly enough time to express a lifetime of love. “I understand. Say what you must, but please do not say goodbye. It would be best if we keep this between us and Anthony. I do not want to cause Benedict any more harm.”
“Please do not bear any guilt. You have done more than I could ever wish. I am sincerely grateful for your kindness toward myself and Benedict.”
“You have my word, Henry. You will be alright. I will make sure of it.”
Granville nods and stands, holding his hand out to Simon. “Thank you. I think it would be best if I return to my studio now.”
Simon stands and shakes his hand, gripping tight as he instructs Henry to meet him before dawn. “I shall have the horses ready for when you arrive. You are familiar with the procedure?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He drops Simon’s hand and nods farewell, pausing in the doorway to ask one last favor, “Please apologize to Daphne on my behalf. I did not mean to worry her.”
“I will. Goodnight, Granville.”
Henry takes his leave with a quiet dignity, and Simon looks out the window to see the man walk down the street. It is cold and he is without a jacket.
Simon takes very little time to reflect on their conversation before retiring to bed. Rest is needed if he is to wake at dawn and carry out his plan. The added weight on his side of the bed wakes Daphne, who, in her sleepy state can barely open her eyes, asks, “Is Henry alright?”
“Yes, Daph. It was simply a misunderstanding. He is fine.”
She opens her eyes the slightest bit more and frowns. “You are not telling the truth.”
Daphne can always be relied on to ascertain the honesty of a person. “There is no need to worry. Go to sleep. I am exhausted.”
She hums and settles into her pillow once more, falling asleep only moments later. The same cannot be said of Simon.
He sleeps little that night, spending the few remaining hours before dawn staring at the ceiling. Daphne sleeps soundly beside him, her breathing soft and slow, and he wonders if Granville is also awake, lying beside Benedict and worrying.
Anthony will not dare shoot the father of his nephew. He is certain. Standing between Anthony and Henry should be enough to end the duel if his pleas to Anthony are not effective. Sir Granville will be fine—there is no doubt in his mind as to this fact. No, he worries for the long-term impact of such a conflict. Their family cannot go forward with such deep resentment and fear--torn apart by secrecy and prejudice.
As he told Henry, he will defend him and Benedict with his life. He and Daphne—and Eloise, of course—will know of their secret, and the rest of the Bridgertons, aside from Anthony, will continue treating Benedict the same. Dinners will be tense, however. And what of Benedict's residence at their home?
Right now, though, all that matters is Henry Granville’s safety.
As the party draws to a close, its hosts begin to feel the effects of their debauchery. Benedict is sprawled across the carpet in the hallway, drunk and positively giddy, and Lucy lies on the carpet beside him, in a similar state of intoxication, and she prods Benedict with her elbow, insistent that she was only teasing Anthony.
“It was not a serious proposition.”
“Sure it wasn’t,” he laughs. “Do you intend to go after Colin, too?”
“Shut up,” she giggles, shoving him. “ I did not mean to offend him. I know how anxious you were to see him tonight.”
“It is not your fault that my brother is uptight.”
“I am serious. I feel terrible.”
“Don’t.” He sighs. “I am somewhat glad that I did not see him. Henry is right; I am not ready for that conversation.”
“Give it time. It will get easier.”
“I know.”
They lie in silence for a while, blocking the path of the few remaining party-goers. The revelers step over the two, causing Lucy and Benedict to see far too much as women step over their faces.
The door swings open to a pale Henry in disarray. The man kicks off his boots and wipes his face with his sleeve, clearly exhausted, before pausing and smiling at the two people occupying the floor. He walks over and slumps down next to them, grabbing Benedict’s hand as he settles into a horizontal position.
“I assume the party was fun?” He chuckles and tangles his fingers in Benedict’s. “You two are looking rather poorly.”
Lucy giggles and nods her head despite Benedict blocking Henry’s view of her. Benedict turns and props himself up on his elbow so that he can look down at Henry’s face.
“As are you,” he brushes Henry’s hair out of his face and frowns. The man’s expression is difficult to read. “Did Hastings do something out of line?”
“No, no,” he waves his hand, “I left my jacket behind. I must have caught a chill.”
Benedict accepts this explanation, content to just flop onto Henry’s chest and pull him closer. “I missed you.”
Henry shakily exhales into Benedict’s hair and rubs his thumb across Benedict’s hand. “I missed you, too.”
Several more people step over the three floor-dwellers and Henry laughs as a woman passes over his face. “That might be the first time I’ve seen one of those from that angle.”
Benedict joins him in laughter. “Pervert!”
Lucy pipes up, “Can you lovebirds go somewhere else? I am attempting to find tranquility.”
“On the floor?” Henry jokes. A pause. He creases his forehead and frowns. “How was your conversation with Lord Bridgerton? Your demeanor would suggest it went… well? ”
He looks up at Henry from his position on his chest. If Benedict is not mistaken, he wears a look of confusion. “Yes, actually, considering there was not a conversation at all.”
“No? But…?”
Benedict furrows his brow, wondering what Henry is asking, but the thought is quickly squandered by Lucy’s giggling.
“It was my fault. I may have… flirted with the Viscount. He left in a hurry.”
“Ha! Judging by your description, it seems you practically mounted him.”
She smacks Benedict’s arm. “I did not!”
Benedict looks up again at Henry, expecting the man to be laughing. Instead, his mouth is drawn in a straight line, but his look of confusion has waned. “Ah, so your brother was accosted by my wife.”
“Are you sure you are alright?”
“Yes, love. I am simply exhausted,” he mumbles into Benedict’s hair. “You look ravishing tonight.”
Benedict lifts Henry’s hand and kisses his palm. “You flatter me, Granville. My eyeliner has smudged all over my face.”
“Still. You look beautiful despite the mess.”
Lucy groans. “It seems I must ask a second time--can you flirt somewhere else?“
“You are spoiling the mood, Lucy,” Benedict groans back. He nuzzles into Henry’s shirt and mumbles, “Maybe we should move to somewhere more…private.”
Henry mumbles into Benedict’s hair something he cannot hear, but the tone is sad, his voice raspy. Empty.
Benedict sits up and pulls Henry up with him, and, in his drunken stupor, he examines Henry’s features. His smile is remarkably forced. He reaches out and traces his finger along Henry’s lower lip, whispering, so that only he can hear, “It is only a chill?”
“Yes.”
He nods, still concerned, but resolves to lift Henry’s spirits. He whispers again, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Care for some warmth?”
“God, yes.”
The men stand up, grab hands and run down the hallway--with the eagerness of two young lovers--to an empty room, Lucy shouting behind them, “Have fun!”
The door is closed but a moment before Benedict shoves Henry onto the sofa and grinds against him. If he were not in a daze, he might consider feeling embarrassed by his desperation, but his desire trumps his ego. “I have waited for this since you left. My hand is not as satisfying.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” A chuckle. “Although I enjoy the enthusiasm. You are fun when you are drunk.”
Benedict grins. “I should hope so.” He lowers himself onto Henry’s chest and kisses him, only pulling away enough to whisper into his lips, “I love you.”
Benedict is known to become sappy when drunk, but tonight especially he feels an overwhelming need to be as close as possible to Henry. Not even sexually—any touch will do. Sex is a bit hard to resist in his inebriated state, though.
Henry reaches up and strokes Benedict’s cheek. “What would I do without you?”
“Your life would not be nearly as fun, I would imagine,” he giggles, kissing him again. He glances down and bites his lip. “Can I…?”
Henry gulps and nods, nearly gasping, “Yes.”
Benedict flashes a toothy smile and sits up so that he straddles Henry’s legs. His fingers rip open the man’s trousers—half out of impatience and half out of a lack of coordination—and lowers himself back down to bury his face in Henry’s hips. He slobbers a few kisses before mumbling into his skin, “Am I really that appealing or are you just as desperate as I am?” Henry is already stiff beneath him.
He laughs, reaching down and tangling his fingers in Benedict’s hair, answering with the same raspy voice, “You are beautiful, Benedict.”
Benedict blushes, somewhat disquieted by the earnestness, but continues to suck on Henry’s hip bones as his hands find their way into Henry’s trousers. His touch causes the man to moan and wriggle beneath him, and Benedict takes this as encouragement to lower his head and wrap his lips around the man's cock.
He savors the taste, the sounds of Henry gasping and moaning, and the warmth of his skin. Henry writhes and melts into his touch, his hands clasped on Benedict’s shoulders, and begs for more. He happily obliges.
“Benedict. Benedict,” he says at last, his voice breaking.
Benedict stops and lifts his head to look at the man. Spit coats his lips and chin as he crawls up Henry’s body to reach his face. Henry’s eyelashes are wet but his eyes are shut tight, causing creases between his eyebrows. Benedict runs a finger over his eyelids, coaxing them open, and his heart drops as tears spill from them.
“Henry? Henry,” he coos, brushes the man’s hair out of his face, damp from sweat, and kisses his cheek. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
He sighs. “I cannot help but think how I could have lost you, Benedict. Dinner with Hastings seems to have resurfaced that fear.”
“You won’t lose me, Henry.”
“I know,” he smiles, pain still marring his countenance, and reaches up and pulls Benedict into a gentle kiss. “I know.”
“You are my family.”
Henry grins, his tears easing the slightest bit. He whispers into Benedict’s lips, “Would you marry me? If we could?”
Benedict cannot help but giggle as he nods furiously. “You know I would.”
“You would hold my hand in front of a minister and declare your love in front of your family?”
Benedict cannot help but feel sad at the implication—that his present discomfort with public affection would deter him from marrying the love of his life. He grabs his hands and whispers between kisses, “I would kiss you at the altar, Henry. Just as I am now.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Henry grabs Benedict’s hand and places it over his heart, his heartbeat radiating into Benedict’s palm. “I am forever grateful that you thought my painting a daub.”
He giggles. “As am I.”
Benedict places one more messy kiss on Henry’s lips before unfastening his own trousers. Desperation floods his senses again, and, in a blur, he finds himself naked and under Henry, who wraps him in his arms and spreads his legs.
Henry looks down at him with a raised eyebrow and waits for Benedict to give a gentle nod before he enters him. A cacophony of moans and panting follows, and Benedict cannot help but feel light-headed from the alcohol and from pleasure. This—making love to Henry? This never ceases to warm his heart.
He finishes a few moments before Henry and waits to see the man reach his peak, grinning at the noise he makes. Henry collapses onto Benedict and buries his head in his neck, both ignoring the mess.
“Benedict?”
“Hmm?”
“Would you grant me another promise?”
“Hmm?” Benedict’s capacity for serious conversation is rapidly declining.
“If anything were to happen—“
“How do you mean?”
“If we were to be found out, perhaps…promise me you would save yourself. That you would take care of Lucy. That you would find happiness without me.”
Benedict’s heart quickens. This morose discussion is all too familiar. “Dinner really prompted all of this?”
A sigh. Henry’s breath hitches as he continues, “I simply need reassurance, is all.”
“You are frightening me.”
“That is not my intention, love. I just worry. I do not have family besides you and Lucy and…and I have my affairs in order--in case anything happens. You have a family, Benedict. The chance at a normal life. Promise me that you would take it.”
“I have a normal life, Henry. With you,” he kisses the top of Henry’s head, squeezing him closer. “My family is your family now...at least part of my family.”
“Please just promise me.”
Benedict begrudgingly nods. “I promise. But you must promise me something, too.”
“Anything.”
“That you would do the same for me. Eloise needs someone like you in her life.”
“I promise. Though I would sacrifice myself in a heartbeat if it meant saving you.”
“I know.” Benedict pulls the man up from his chest for a kiss, feeling grateful that someone loves him this much. “I would save you, too.”
Henry smiles into the kiss and breaks away with a laugh. “I apologize for the bleak conversation. It is an awful way to conclude our fun.”
“I am not sure if you have noticed, Granville, but I have had a fair bit of alcohol. I would wager that I shall remember very little of our conversation tomorrow morning.” He sits up, pulling Henry along with him. “Let us clean ourselves up and pour you a glass. It is no fun to be the only one sober.”
He chuckles. “You are right. I suddenly find myself in desperate need of some whiskey.”
Benedict wakes in the early hours—just before the sun spills into the sky—to Henry wide awake and sitting in a chair in the corner. There is a piece of charcoal in his hand that he spins between his fingers, and he occasionally looks up at the clock on the wall.
Benedict lies on one of the sofas—having gone to sleep with Henry on top of him—and a mound of blankets is occupied by Lucy and Alana on the other side of the room. The four had stayed up far later than planned--they must have gone to sleep only two hours before--and were somehow able to become drunker than they already were. Benedict regrets this as he sits up, his head throbbing.
“When did you wake up?” He wipes his eyes, but his vision is still dodgy in the dim light.
Henry is snapped out of his thoughts and turns to look at Benedict with crinkled eyes and a soft smile. “A little while ago. Go back to bed. I didn't mean to wake you.”
There’s a rustle in the corner as Lucy stirs in her sleep. Alana is soundly unconscious, snoring loudly, and sprawled out with one arm over Lucy. Benedict lowers his voice as he continues.
“Do you have somewhere to be, Granville?” He yawns, pointing to the man’s attire. He is fully dressed—in last night’s clothes, yes, but still dressed as if to leave for the day.
“No,” he chuckles. “Not anywhere I have to be…I was thinking of going for a walk.” He glances again at the clock.
Benedict squints, attempting to decipher the man’s expression. “At this hour?”
“It would be nice to see the sunrise.”
Benedict nods and decides to call the man’s bluff. “It would. I’ll come with you.”
Henry’s eyes widen for a split second before he hastily responds, “You all had far more to drink than I. The sun is not your friend in your current state.”
Benedict wants to argue but the man is correct. His headache has not ceased. “You are up to something.”
“Go to bed, Benedict.”
He frowns, settling back down on the sofa, and turns his head to face Henry again. He pouts. “Could you come here?”
He nods and walks over--taking care not to step too loudly in his boots--and kneels down on the floor at Benedict’s side so that they are face-to-face. His hand begins to rub Benedict’s cheek. “What is it?”
“Be back soon, please? I think I would like to visit my brother today.” Benedict has realized it might be best to see Anthony at their home. His siblings will prevent them from speaking of uncomfortable topics entirely. That conversation will not need to occur at all.
Henry’s face drops and his hand pulls away. “I will try my best.” He plants his lips on Benedict’s, accommodating his sleepy kisses, and stands up without any further acknowledgement of the question.
“Hmm.” Benedict closes his eyes and tries his best to fall back to sleep. Alana’s snoring is greatly hindering his efforts.
In his grogginess, he hears Lucy shift on the blankets. “Care to explain why we are awake at this hour?” It sounds as if she is mumbling into her arm.
Henry laughs. “I am going for a walk. Go back to sleep.” Benedict can hear him kneel down by Lucy and he opens his eyes to watch.
Henry picks up her hand and kisses it, whispering, “I did not mean to wake you, dearest. Go back to sleep.”
She nods, flashing him a curious look, but lies back down. Before standing, though, he reaches over to brush Alana’s hair out of her face and kisses her forehead.
Benedict is nearly awake again when Henry comes back to his side. Henry kisses his lips and his wrist and his cheek before whispering, “We will watch the sunset later, hm?”
Benedict nods, smiling. “Yeah.”
He turns over again and closes his eyes, hearing Henry’s boots thud down the hall, and listens as the door opens and closes, accompanied by the gentle click of the lock. He hears Lucy stir again in her sleep, but he keeps his eyes shut, intent on getting a few extra hours of rest.
As he drifts off, nearly asleep and enveloped in darkness, he thinks he hears the door open and close again. He falls asleep before it even occurs to him to investigate.
Daphne is yet again awoken by a concerned Rose.
“I am sorry to wake you, Your Grace. Mrs. Granville is here. She assures me that her business is most urgent.”
Daphne nods, and sits up. Considering Henry’s outburst last night, Simon’s strange behavior when he came to bed, and Lucy arriving while the sky is still dark, she is very, very concerned. She turns to wake Simon--he should be apprised of this new development--but his side of the bed is empty. “Where is Simon?”
“He left a short while ago. He has gone for a walk.”
That, too, is worrisome. She rubs her eyes. It is far too early to be dealing with weighty affairs. “Did he say where he was going?”
“No, Your Grace.”
At this, shouts echo from the foyer. It is Lucy. Rose is correct; Such impertinence and desperation suggests an urgent matter.
Daphne rises from bed and is helped into her night jacket, too occupied by her worry to further bother with her appearance. She walks downstairs and is greeted by a distraught Lucy Granville, who is currently pacing and rubbing her face, further smearing the messy makeup she wears. Her hair, too, is a mess. It looks as if she slept in yesterday’s attire.
“Lucy!” She feigns joy and nonchalance. “Where is your coat? It’s awfully cold—“
Daphne is rushed by Lucy, the woman grabbing her arms and bombarding her with a panicked whisper. “Where has Simon gone?” Her eyes are wide, fearful.
Daphne scrunches her eyebrows, whispering back, “How…?” She figures it is best to simply answer. “He has gone for a walk.”
“To where?”
“He did not say.”
“My Henry has also gone for a walk. He was acting strangely this morning—he left me an overly affectionate letter, even— so I followed him…all the way here. I spotted him departing with your husband on horse a few minutes ago.”
“Why…?” Daphne begins, but Lucy raises an eyebrow. In her sleepy state, she has missed the obvious. “It will soon be dawn.”
“I am afraid so.”
“Oh, dear. Let me get my cloak.” Daphne calls for Rose and turns back to Lucy. “I know where they are headed.”
“How will we get there?”
Daphne sighs. She cannot ride a horse in her state. “A carriage will have to do.”
“If they truly are involved in a duel…who will be shooting at my Henry?” Lucy asks, grabbing Daphne tighter.
“I do not—“
“Oh!” Lucy gasps, pulling away to pace once more. “Your brother...Lord Bridgerton.”
“Anthony?” Daphne shakes her head, dismayed. She knows Anthony’s protectiveness has clouded his judgement in the past, but to challenge Sir Granville? She thought he had gained some sense. She cannot imagine that he would knowingly hurt Benedict in this way.
Lucy continues voicing her epiphany. “I spoke with him at the party last night. He left in a hurry, having barely arrived, looking rather pissed...He must not have known.”
“About Henry and Benedict?”
“Yes. Oh, it is all my fault! Benedict had said Anthony knew, but I should not have mentioned it. It is not my place.”
Daphne nods, confused as to why Benedict would assume their brother knew of his secret. Rose arrives with Daphne’s cloak. “Rose, ready a carriage.” She turns to Lucy. “And fetch Lucy a coat as well.”
“No need. If we are correct, we must leave immediately.”
Lucy turns and starts following Rose toward the door, but Daphne catches her hand. “What of Benedict? Does he know?”
Lucy shakes her head. “He is asleep at the studio. We do not have time to go back.”
She contemplates this, but ultimately decides Lucy is correct. They must save Henry. In truth, there is a part of her that worries for Simon, too. Would he face the barrel of Anthony’s pistol if necessary? Would he do as she had done? Dueling has left the woman wary of leaving men to their own devices. “You are right. We must put an end to this foolishness.”
And with this, they depart for the street parallel to the field where Simon nearly died. The carriage man must make haste if they are to stop the duel--it is imperative that they succeed. Daphne and Andrew need Simon. Benedict and Lucy need Henry. She says a silent prayer in her head and pulls her cloak tighter around her torso, swaying with the movement of the carriage, and consoles Lucy. She holds the woman’s hand and whispers words of reassurance—words she does not necessarily believe.
Benedict wakes to a sudden thud of weight on his stomach and his arms being jostled.
He opens his eyes to see an ashen Alana atop him, shaking him awake. “You must wake up! Uncle Henry is—“
He cuts her off and pushes her off of him. “What the fuck? You cannot just attack people in their sleep!”
She frowns and hovers above him instead, “Uncle Henry left me this note,” she waves the paper obnoxiously in his face, “The contents are concerning.”
Benedict sits up, wincing at the pain in his head. “How are you not more ill right now? You had more to drink than I did.” The woman seems perfectly fine aside from her complexion and messy appearance. She wears a borrowed shirt and trousers from Henry, having tied her ribbon around her waist to secure the loose clothes.
“It is because I am not old,” she snaps, annoyed at the interruption. “Anyway, as I was saying , I think we ought to worry.”
“What does the note say?”
She clears her throat and reads, doing her best impression of Henry’s vocal inflections:
Dearest Alana,
I am honored that you have found a home with Lucy and I for all these years. You have grown up to become a remarkable young woman and a fine artist. It is my dream to see you displayed in a museum next to your beloved Rembrandt one day. In such an event, I should hope to be invited to any celebrations—seeing as I have paid for all your paint for the last seven years. In fact, I wish to attend every happy occasion of yours. Nothing could make me happier than to walk you down the aisle at your wedding—if you ever choose to settle down, of course—even if it might be a private ceremony for an unconventional marriage. I know that you will tease me for such sentimental musings, but please know that they are genuine.
Your Uncle Henry
Benedict shrugs. “And? That is a very flattering note.”
“Yes, but when has Uncle Henry ever written me such a thing?”
It is strange, he will admit. Benedict looks around the room and asks, “Where’s Lucy?” He looks at the clock and the faint light outside the windows. “And why is she gone at such an hour? Did she go with Henry?”
Alana shrugs. “I don’t know. Where has Uncle Henry gone?”
“For a walk,” Benedict says, puzzling his brain for an explanation. “Where did he leave that note?”
“In my shoes.”
Benedict leans over and retrieves his boots from where he had haphazardly kicked them off onto the floor. Sure enough, there is an envelope stuffed inside.
Alana sits and leans on Benedict’s shoulder. She looks up at him and fakes a pout. “Yours is bigger.”
Benedict fakes a laugh. He rips open the envelope —shifting slightly to shield its contents from Alana— to reveal a folded piece of drawing paper. Unfolding it, his heart skips a beat. It is a portrait of two intertwined bodies.
He blushes as he realizes what it is. It is an old sketch of Henry that Benedict had drawn while the man was asleep. He had been so embarrassed by the action that he hid it away in an old sketchbook, tucked neatly between pages. Evidently, Henry had discovered it. Now, looking at the sketch, he smiles. Henry has added to it.
The paper now holds a mediocre sketch of Henry in faded charcoal, and a skilled sketch of Benedict atop of it. Henry has drawn Benedict with his arm and head lying on the portrait of himself. It is a dangerous drawing. Still, Benedict folds it back up, wondering if he can find a hiding spot for it somewhere at home--so that he may feel Henry’s presence when he is sleeping alone in his bed.
The thoughtful sentiment has worrisome implications, though. He chews his lip as he contemplates.
Alana pipes up then. “What is it?”
“A drawing. Of Henry and I.” He looks around. “Lucy left already. Do you suppose he hid a letter for her, too?”
Alana shrugs. “I’m not sure. I just woke up myself a few minutes ago.” She scans the room and points. “That must be it.”
She walks over to a table in the hallway and snatches the stray piece of paper. She reads it and grows more pale than she already is.
“What does it say?”
Alana looks up, terror in her eyes, and reads:
Lucy,
You have been at my side through the joys and sorrows, and I only hope I have provided you with a sliver of the love that you have given me. You are my dearest friend, the loveliest wife, and the boldest, brightest person I have been blessed to know. I do not say this enough, but I love you, dearest.
Yours forever,
Henry
“Christ.” That sounds like a goodbye. Benedict panics and looks at the clock. “Does Henry own any pistols?”
Alana shakes her head, understanding his meaning. “Who would have challenged him?” Her voice cracks as her eyes become teary.
Benedict shuts his eyes tight and sighs. “My brother, Anthony. Did you see him at the party?”
“Yes. I rather pissed him off. I heard Lucy did the same... Would he challenge Uncle Henry for our bad behavior?” She asks, distraught. “Did I do this?”
Benedict rushes to her side. “No, not at all. It is my fault. I invited him...Perhaps he was not as accepting as I thought.”
“Where would they go?”
“I know the place. It is still early. My brother might not have left yet." He grabs his boots and dresses in a hurry, shouting to Alana, "Our home is on the way. We might be able to stop him. At the very least, we can grab some horses.”
Alana nods, hastily pulling on her shoes, and follows Benedict to the door. The two are quite the picture: a woman dressed in men’s clothing and a man in wrinkled clothes and smudged makeup on his face. Benedict and Alana are oblivious to their strange appearance as they run down the empty streets of London toward Grosvenor Square, praying that their Henry is safe.
This is why he had become so sentimental last night. Why he had indulged Benedict’s neediness, providing him with even more love than what was asked of him. Benedict had thought it to be a perfect night, filled with love and laughs, and yet Henry’s wistfulness had been his way of saying goodbye. How could he have missed this?
Benedict’s heart sinks as his faith begins to fail him. Henry cannot die. He feels dread as he watches Alana speed ahead of him. He thinks of Eloise and feels sick, knowing one thing to be true: he will jump in front of his brother’s pistol if need be. Henry will not die today.
Eloise creeps down the stairs in the early hours, intending to grab a book from the library, when she sees Anthony leave his study. She ducks behind a corner to monitor the man. What is Anthony doing at this hour?
He fastens his coat and wraps a scarf around his neck before picking up a box that he had placed on the floor. It is a box Eloise has seen on his shelf when she has snooped through his desk in the past. It never interested her enough to investigate its contents. Now, though, her curiosity is getting the better of her.
She creeps closer, removing her slippers so that she may tread lighter, and watches as her brother takes a few deep breaths, his eyes shut, and how he shakily walks toward the door. It is still dark outside, but she hears the sound of a horse out front. Oh no.
Daphne had told her the story of Simon and Anthony’s duel--how they met at dawn, how she intervened at the last possible moment. The details were vague, but she knew Daphne and Colin had ridden horses to get to the location. She knew Anthony had initiated the duel. It would make sense that he would keep pistols in his study. In a box in his study.
Once she is sure her brother has started down the road, she sneaks into his study using her hairpin to unlock the door. The room is dark but as her eyes dart around the room, she spots a pile of papers on his desk. They are stacked neatly, perfectly aligned, and are held down by... Oh. Her heart drops. Atop the papers is Edmund Bridgerton’s pocket watch. Anthony would never leave their father’s pocket watch behind unless he thought he would no longer have need for it. If he thought he were to die.
Eloise panics and twists her slippers in her hands. Should she wake Colin? She does not know where Anthony is headed--she cannot do as Daphne had done and intervene. She rifles through the papers, praying that they contain a hint as to the location of the duel, but all she finds is financial documents and several pages of instructions that are addressed to Benedict.
Benedict . She wonders if Benedict is involved. If he were to become head of the family, surely Anthony would inform him...right? And if Benedict knew, would he not tell her? If Benedict is involved, is Sir Henry involved, too? She begins to pace, fussing with her hair, and fears the worst. Is Anthony intending to kill Henry as Benedict had feared?
She exits the study and resolves to wake Colin. She racks her brain for an explanation that does not involve Sir Granville, but she decides that protecting Benedict’s secret is not as important as saving Henry’s life. Benedict would understand. As she runs back up the staircase, no longer taking care to be quiet, she hears footsteps in the foyer and panicked voices near Anthony’s study. She once again sneaks behind a wall and investigates, her breaths catching in her throat.
Her breathing becomes less erratic as she spots Benedict. “Benedict!”
He turns toward her and her heart drops once more. Her brother is pale and his eyes are wet. Not to mention his absurd attire and the stained puddles around his eyes that run down his cheeks as black tears.
“El,” he breathes, running to her and wrapping her in a desperate hug. “Where is Anthony?”
“He has just left. I was on my way to wake Colin,” she begins to hyperventilate, “I believe Anthony has challenged someone to a duel.” Benedict grimaces as she continues, “It is Henry, isn't it?”
Benedict does not let go of her as he replies in a hushed whisper, “Promise me, El, that you will be alright.” He gulps. “If something were to happen to me, that you will be alright.”
Eloise pulls away to see Benedict’s eyes fill with tears. Her own eyes follow suit. “Do not say such a thing, Ben. Anthony would never hurt you.”
“Promise me. Just in case.” He smiles despite his desperate plea.
“I cannot make that promise. I would be miserable without you.” She returns a forced smile. “So do not die or else you will be the cause of my endless sorrow.”
He groans and pulls her into another hug. “You are vile.”
She leans into his chest, his shirt soaking up her tears. “We must leave, Ben, if we are to stop Anthony.”
He lets go of her and nods, shouting across the foyer, “Alana, can you ride a horse?”
Eloise whips her head around to see Alana Courtenay walk out from the shadows. She is wearing trousers and her hair is wild. She is stunning.
“You seem to forget I am wealthier than you, Bridgerton,” she giggles. “I have owned several horses in my lifetime.” Benedict rolls his eyes and gestures for her to follow him outside.
Eloise smiles at the woman and waves, feeling her head spin as the woman winks and waves back at her. For a brief moment, the world does not feel as if it is coming to an end.
Benedict calls back, “Wake Colin anyway, El. He should know... And do not tell mother. ”
Eloise pauses, realizing that Benedict intends to leave her behind. “No. I must come with you.”
“No. Definitely not. Wake Colin.” Benedict runs out the door and presumably readies the horses.
Eloise sulks but straightens up and smoothes her hair as Alana approaches her. The woman whispers in her ear, conspiratorially, “You can ride with me. Your brother has a stick up his ass.” Eloise snorts and Alana grins as she remarks, “That noise is a lot more adorable than when your brother does it.”
Eloise blushes. “Thank you. For the offer, I mean.”
“Of course.”
“Alana! Hurry up!” Benedict calls.
“Ready?” Alana asks, grabbing Eloise’s hand.
Eloise nods, speechless, and lets the woman drag her outside to their horses. She addresses Benedict, “It seems I have been invited.” She sticks her tongue out at him, hoping her juvenile behavior will make him laugh.
He just sighs and climbs on his horse. “I do not care. Just get on the damn horse so we can stop our idiot brother.”
Alana climbs on the other horse and helps Eloise up. Eloise hesitates, but Alana reaches back and grabs Eloise’s arms, wrapping them around her torso. “Hold on tight, alright?”
There is a rush of warmth to Eloise’s chest. “Yes.”
Benedict and Alana snap the reins and the three begin their journey. Eloise rests her head on Alana’s back as they ride and feels the woman’s torso spasm with unheard sobs and quiet sniffles. The magnitude of the danger that lies ahead is suddenly all too apparent. Sir Henry Granville might be bleeding out at the moment—slain by her brother’s temper.
She looks to Benedict and sees his eyes and cheeks grow wetter and his knuckles grow whiter as he grips his reins. Her heart aches for him. Two men he loves dearly are embroiled in an unwinnable situation. By the time they arrive, Benedict may bear witness to a murderer and his victim.
She tightens her arms around Alana, to soothe both her and herself, and vows to hug Benedict when this is all over—to hug and console him as he has done for her so many times before—regardless of the outcome. As he has said to her, he truly deserves more than the world currently allows. So much more.
Benedict rides his horse through the streets of London, his eyelids wet and black, his hair askew, half-dressed, and wonders what he will arrive to. Will he arrive to a breathing Henry? Will he be mortally wounded? Dead? He cannot bear to picture such a bloody scene. Could Anthony really have the guts to kill someone?
Yes. He pulled the trigger on Simon. He can pull the trigger on a stranger.
Benedict knows that Anthony would not hurt him. He did not mean to worry El, but if he must, he will ride into the line of fire as Daphne had. In a twisted way, he knows Anthony’s ire is born out of love for him. The thought pains him, obviously—that Anthony views Henry as a threat—but it also means that he will not pull the trigger on Benedict. He simply will not. Benedict’s body can shield Henry from harm. This is what the Bridgerton thinks about as he and the two women trailing behind him pick up speed through fields of overgrown grass.
His mind drifts, however, back to Henry himself. Anthony’s opinions do not matter anymore, not when he has resorted to such barbaric behavior. If Henry is alright, if he is alive and well, Benedict swears to himself that he will kiss the man in front of everyone. The current affair has made one thing known to him: life is too fleeting to be frugal with his love.
His mind is flooded with images of Henry’s eyes crinkled at the corners, the warmth of his wine-stained lips, the tickle of his curls, the man’s messy easel, his showiness, his protectiveness toward Alana, his laugh, his grin as he holds Andrew, how he hangs Benedict’s paintings in his studio, his love…his Henry.
The sun begins to rise on the horizon, sending golden streaks through the trees and forcing Benedict to shield his eyes from the harsh light. The day is beginning and his whole world feels as if it might collapse—destroyed by noon.
He promised to watch the sunset with Henry tonight. Benedict Bridgerton keeps his damn promises.
The early morning light casts shadows beneath Simon and Henry as their horses gallop across the cobblestone streets, the dirt paths, and the fields of grass, all the while the two men steeling themselves for the inevitable conflict that faces them—a verbal conflict, as long as Simon is present. He will battle his friend with fists if necessary, but Anthony will fire no bullet. The Duke’s sole concern is the barrage of insults Henry may endure. Guilt and regret plague his conscience as he looks at the man riding alongside him. Perhaps it would have been best to settle this alone. Henry is a gentleman, though, and a gentleman does not flee from battle.
Still, he feels a warning may be in order. “Mr. Granville, I think it may be best if you let me speak to Anthony before you dismount your horse. I do not wish to subject you to any of Anthony’s unfiltered malice.”
“It is perfectly unnecessary, Your Grace. I have heard plenty in my lifetime. I do not require further intervention on my behalf. Preventing an oncoming bullet is more than enough.”
Simon nods, troubled by the implications—troubled by the thought of Benedict facing such abuse in his lifetime. Henry is a braver man than most. “Of course.”
They ride the rest of the way in silence, a growing dread rising with the sun on the horizon. A figure in the distance paces beneath a tree, partially obscured by the long grass, with a box under his arm and a pistol in his grip. Anthony Bridgerton.
Simon slips into an authoritative tone as his eyes focus on his beleaguered friend. “Do not approach until I have removed the pistol from his hand.”
Henry nods and falls behind, waiting atop his horse as Simon moves ahead and dismounts, walking toward the Viscount with a frown on his face.
Anthony looks up and sighs, relieved. He is almost euphoric. “Oh thank God, Hastings. You’re here. I was prepared to do this on your behalf.” His friend holds out the pistol to him, his hands visibly shaking as he does so. Anthony is in the habit of picking battles he is not brave enough to fight.
Ignoring the strange remark, Simon snatches the pistol from his hand while Henry dismounts his horse to join them in the grass. Simon moves in front of him, as if to shield him from an unarmed Anthony, and calmly states, thankful that his voice has not betrayed him, “Stand aside, Granville. I will handle this.”
“Excuse me?” Anthony looks at Simon, aghast. There is a twinge of madness in his voice.
Simon inspects the pistol, noting that it is loaded, and explains, his voice still steady, “I would prefer it if we could settle this in a civil manner. I am here to vouch for Sir Granville’s character.”
Anthony continues to stare, amazed, as his countenance turns ugly with rage. “You are clearly unaware of what this vile man has—“
“I am aware of the situation, and I must ask that you try to understand…,” he pauses as he sees his friend reach into the box and grab the other pistol, “…you will stand down or else I will demand satisfaction from you myself.”
Haphazardly discarding the box in the grass, he scoffs, “You are threatening a duel if I proceed with this one? I knew you were mad—what with your apparent approval of such an arrangement,” he waves at Henry with disgust, “but you are willing to die for the man who dares to defile your wife? My sister ?"
“Defile? What are you implying, Bri—,” he begins to defend Granville of such accusations—how dare he think Henry a villain—but stops short, wondering if he had indeed heard his friend correctly. “…My wife? What are you saying?”
“That I am defending my sister’s reputation from ruin,” he flashes his pistol and spits, “and you cannot stop me from doing what you have failed to do.”
“Fai—?” Simon looks back at Henry, who buries his face in his hands and chuckles, and laughs himself. Is his friend that foolish?... Yes, he is. “You cannot be serious.”
Anthony looks at the two laughing men, bewildered, and barks, “Would you care to enlighten me as to what is so damn funny?”
Henry steps forward and Simon moves to shield him again, but the man pushes him aside to address Anthony, “Lord Bridgerton, I am afraid I do not know what to say…,” he laughs again, “…but I am most definitely not having an affair with Daphne.”
“Keep her name out of your mouth.”
Simon approaches, grabs Anthony by the shoulders, and waits for his friend to look up at him. “Daphne is not having an affair,” he says, failing to crack a joke, “At least not with Sir Granville.”
Henry laughs at this, but Anthony stares at Simon with wild eyes. His friend pushes him away, snapping, “Is that right?”
“Yes. I am afraid you will need to secure another outlet for your angst.”
“Simon, what are you…?” He trails off as the sound of horses are heard nearby. The men scan the grassy horizon, but Anthony points to the trees instead. “Is that…? Is that Daphne?”
Two women are approaching on foot, one with a blue cloak and long hair, the other bare-armed and assisting the other.
Simon sighs and hands the pistol to Henry. “Yes, it is. I will send her away.” He begins to walk over to meet his wife, but stops short as he realizes Anthony still holds his weapon.
Henry begins to shout toward the disheveled woman at Daphne’s side. “Lucy? Lucy!”
Anthony barks, “Did you send out invitations, Granville?”
Lucy leaves Daphne’s side and runs over, nearly knocking Henry to the ground with the force of her hug. His pistol drops to the ground as he wraps his arms around her. “I am alright, dearest,” he soothes as he grabs her hand. “I am alright.”
Simon smiles at the reunited husband and wife, feeling a twinge of guilt that they had decided to leave everyone in the dark, and he turns around to face the wrath of his own wife.
“Daphne, why…?” He looks around. “Did you come here on foot?”
“Carriage for most of the way. I do not believe riding a horse is wise.”
He nods. “You should be in bed, Daph.”
“And leave you to do what, exactly? Duel my brother?” She looks over then and admonishes Anthony, “And what was your intention, hm? To kill Henry? Good Lord, brother. I thought you better than this.”
Anthony looks as if he is about to respond when the noise of horses is heard again--two horses are rapidly approaching. The Viscount’s eyes widen as he sees two more of his siblings. “Well isn’t this grand! My whole family is here to witness such an embarrassment.”
Simon squints his eyes and sees Benedict and Eloise and…he does not recognize the woman riding with Eloise. Hearing Henry sigh, he turns around to see the man wearing a guilty expression.
“Stay here, Lucy. I believe I must apologize to…,” he looks at Anthony, and realizes that their relationship is still a secret, so he clears his throat and proceeds, “I will send Mr. Bridgerton away.” He moves toward the approaching horses but Lucy pulls him back to her side, clearly shaken up still.
Daphne frowns at the formality— Mr. Bridgerton— and Simon realizes he must explain. “It seems Lord Bridgerton, ever the sleuth, decided that you were romantically involved with Sir Granville.”
Lucy and Daphne begin to laugh, their giggles mixed with the Bridgerton snorts, and Anthony shouts, “Again, I might ask, what is it that I am not privy to?”
It is at this moment that Eloise jumps off her horse and runs up to Anthony, frantically shouting, “Please do not kill Sir Henry! He is family!” She grabs her brother’s arm and adds, “How could you do this to Benedict?”
Daphne drags Eloise away and whispers, not low enough, “He does not know.”
“Oh.”
Anthony looks over at Henry, enraged by the opacity of everyone around him, and shouts, “Family? Care to explain all of this, Granville? What is it that I do not know?”
“It is not my secret to share, Lord Bridgerton,” Henry states, squeezing Lucy’s hand before letting go, and says with a nod, “Now if you will excuse me, I think I should speak with your brother.”
He walks away, toward Benedict and the unfamiliar woman, and puts his hands out to halt Benedict’s advances. The Bridgerton smacks his hands away and pulls him into a tight hug, burying his face in Henry’s neck, his eyes growing wide as Henry whispers something in his ear. Simon grimaces as he realizes that Benedict has inadvertently spilled their secret. He turns to Anthony in an attempt to soften the shock, or to deflect, but he is too late.
“What are they…?” Anthony gestures towards his brother and Granville, but his face falls and his anger diminishes. “…Oh . ”
Simon decides it may be best to intervene, “Anthony, please try—“
Anthony places his pistol on the ground and stomps his foot. “Damn it! I should have known…I should have known! They are inseparable!”
“Bridgerton, please, for Benedict’s sake, try to— “
Anthony holds up his hand. “It is alright, Hastings…I…,” he sighs, resigned, “I knew this might happen one day.”
Does he…? He knows? Simon begins to ask the question, but instead turns back to see Henry and Benedict laughing. It is their smiles that give it away.
Benedict arrives to an unexpected sight: Daphne and Lucy are standing in the grass with Simon, Anthony, and Henry. It seems Benedict is not the only one who has rushed to save family at this early hour. Jumping off his horse, he wipes away his stray tears, and runs toward Henry with a desperation he has never before felt. Henry is safe.
Henry holds up his hands as if to deny Benedict’s affection, but he smacks his hands away and pulls the man into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face in his neck and whispering, “Do not ever frighten me like that again. I cannot lose you, Henry.”
Henry nods and pulls him closer, shushing him and whispering back, “I am not going anywhere, love.” He begins to bury his face in Benedict’s hair when his body abruptly stiffens. He pulls away slightly and whispers, “Anthony does not know about us, Benedict.”
Benedict’s heart picks up pace, his eyes widen, and he is suddenly aware of the closeness of their hug. He steps away, his face red and hot, and whispers back, “What is all this, then?”
“He thinks I have been fucking your sister.”
Benedict snorts. “My brother is a genius.” Several more quips pass through his brain before the seriousness of the situation bears down on him again.
“We do not need to tell him. Not yet, anyway,” Henry pauses, “A warm embrace between friends is not all that conspicuous, is it?” He smiles in an attempt to reassure, but both know that Benedict's display of affection is quite damning.
“No,” Benedict straightens and clears his throat. “I am done with secrecy. This must happen eventually.”
With renewed resolve, he grabs Henry’s arm and marches them over to the others, his grip on the man’s arm tightening as he surveys the scene before him. His sisters are dressed in their nightdresses and slippers, Alana wears men’s breeches, and Lucy’s dress is wrinkled and her hair and makeup are well slept-in. He himself is dressed in wrinkled clothes, his hair no doubt in poor condition. They well and truly are a family of dubious propriety--Benedict’s escapades should be no worse than Simon’s or Anthony’s.
He glances at Henry’s encouraging smile before addressing his brother. “Brother, I…,” he looks at the ground, “There is something you must know…about me.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, glancing at Anthony once before lowering his gaze again. “I…I…,” he looks at Henry and feels sick. He cannot get the words out.
In a moment of desperation and commitment, he grabs Henry’s arm and pulls him closer, closer, until their torsos are flush against each other, until he can feel Henry’s heartbeat below his jacket. He grabs the back of Henry’s neck and the man relaxes into his touch as he realizes what is happening. All at once, his lips are greeted by the warmth of Henry’s, his hand is pulled into Henry’s grasp, his fingers twisting between his own, and the fear in his eyes melts away as his eyelids flutter closed. Benedict pulls away a moment later, his eyes wide with relief and his smile bright with joy. He did it. Henry smiles, proud, and it occurs to Benedict that this moment is the last moment before he faces his brother--the last moment of false safety that his secrecy has inspired. He savors it, savors Henry’s flushed cheeks and his cold hand, the smell of wet grass, the rustling leaves above him, before pulling away completely and turning toward Anthony. He coughs. “Sir Granville and I…um…”
Anthony coughs back, just as awkward. “I have gotten the gist, Benedict. Christ.”
Simon chuckles, and flashes an amused smile Benedict’s way. Lucy and Daphne smile as well, Alana cackles and claps from atop her horse, and Eloise grins. Benedict bids none of this much attention as his focus falls solely on Anthony’s frown.
“Why…? Wh—?” Anthony groans. “Damn it, Granville!”
Benedict steps in front of Henry, pissed and protective. “Do not be angry with Henry. I was the one who pursued him .”
“No, not that.” He looks at Henry and then back at Benedict. “You should have informed me of this earlier. It would have saved us a whole lot of grief.”
Benedict frowns, confused at the absence of anger in Anthony’s demeanor. “You’re not angry. With me, I mean.” A pause. “Brother, say something.”
“What do you want me to say? I nearly killed your lover! Please grant me a moment to recover my dignity.”
“My…? You’re not upset? That I’m...that I am in love with a,” he swallows thickly, “...a man?”
Anthony laughs, loudly and unrestrained. “We have all seen your sketchbooks, Benedict.”
Benedict’s face drops. “My what?”
“Your sketchbooks, brother,” he repeats, chuckling. “Really, Benedict, I am not upset with you.”
Benedict looks around at his brother, at Eloise, at Henry, before self-consciously asking, “What the fuck is so damning about my sketches?”
Anthony laughs again, his madness pouring out in unwarranted glee. “There are more drawings of male nudes than there are of clothed women in those books. Not exactly subtle.”
“Oh.” Benedict picks at his fingernails, overwhelmingly relieved, but suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. He asks in a quiet voice, a whisper, really, “Who else has seen my sketches?”
“Colin...and mother,” Anthony says, cringing as he does.
Benedict’s heart skips a beat. “ Mother ?”
“Do not worry. They spotted me with your sketchbook and I provided a censored tour of its pages.”
Thank God . “Thank you for that...Though, if I may ask, can my siblings find it within themselves to avoid rummaging through my private possessions?” He narrows his eyes at Anthony before sending a teasing frown at Eloise. He has come to expect such intrusions from his sister, but apparently he must defend against his entire family’s invasive nature.
“Yes, but I must ask that you be more discreet in the future. I would have spoken to you earlier but I was afraid of scaring you off.”
“Scare me off?”
“I decided it would be best if you were the one to inform me of your…,” he glances at Henry, “... preferences . Besides, I did not know if my suspicions were correct. You have pursued numerous ladies through the years. Madame Delacroix--”
“She was...,” he coughs, hoping Anthony will understand the suggestion, “...a friend, yes.”
“But…?”
“I am…,” Benedict racks his brain for a word, “...open-minded.”
Anthony nods, looking at Henry and back again at Benedict, a question on his lips that goes unspoken. “Brother… Please be careful. Though it pains me to say, it is a crime. I have had time to make my peace with your... way , but I cannot in good conscience say I am pleased by this development.”
Benedict frowns, “I do not expect you to be.”
“You did not let me finish,” he steps closer, grabs Benedict’s arm and pulls him into a hug, “You are my younger brother. And as such, it is my duty to ensure your happiness.” He pulls away, smiles, and pats Benedict’s shoulder.
Benedict can hardly mask his joy. He breathes through his grin, “Thank you.”
“No need.” His brother’s warm smile slowly drifts into a confused line as he scans Benedict's expression. “What is that on your face?”
Benedict turns red and rubs his eyes. His fingers are indeed stained with black. “It is…makeup.”
Anthony nods, surprised. Benedict cannot blame him--it is undoubtedly a shock to see one's brother kiss a man and wear makeup in one morning. His brother's shock quickly morphs into annoyance, however. “You cannot galavant about town looking like this. Really, Benedict, I thought you smarter than this.” He looks at Daphne. “Can you assist Benedict with looking presentable?”
“Unnecessary. I shall do it,” Henry says, fishing out a handkerchief from his jacket and leading them away from the group. Benedict flinches and pulls away from his hand, before realizing that this is far less embarrassing than kissing.
He lets Henry move close enough that the man’s breath tickles his cheeks, and he looks out of the corner of his open eye to see an uncomfortable-looking Anthony. Fuck.
He mutters through his teeth so that only Henry can hear and see, “I think that perhaps my brother is more upset than he is letting on.” He subtly nods toward his brother--the man is currently frowning at them.
Henry looks out of the corner of his eye as well, and his face drops as he sees Anthony’s demeanor. He steps back and withdraws his hand from Benedict’s face. “I will let Daphne finish.”
Gritting his teeth, he pulls Henry back towards him, a smirk forming on his lips as he looks down at Henry's. His brother will need to embrace this side of Benedict eventually. Slow and deliberate is their kiss, and, reluctantly pulling away, Benedict nods for him to continue his work.
The man smiles and begins to wipe the black pigment off of Benedict’s eyelids and cheeks once more. “Do not require me to pin you against the tree over there.”
Benedict bites his lip and whispers, “I can assure you that someone will be pinned against a wall tonight. And a sofa, too…Maybe even the floor.”
Henry grins and jokes, “Is this a formal invitation? Or should I request a letter?”
Benedict snorts. “Fuck off.”
Their banter is interrupted as Eloise walks over, collapsing onto Benedict’s arm and resting her head on his shoulder. “We Bridgertons ought to cease such affairs. Dueling is a relic from less civilized society, upheld by stubborn men such as our brother.” She smiles as Benedict snorts again. “He will be alright, Benedict. He is simply jealous of your happiness.”
Henry smiles down at her and back at Benedict, chuckling as he says, “Ms. Eloise is correct. You would be very wise to heed her advice.”
“Believe me, I am quite aware of my sister’s intellect--it continues to cause me great pain,” he teases, grinning as Eloise sticks out her tongue and punches his arm. It is a miracle his arm, with its continued abuse, has not bruised.
Henry finishes his work, pulling away with a satisfied nod, and rests a hand on Eloise’s shoulder. “I think we have not given your sisters the credit they are due. Their support has been greatly appreciated.”
She grins at the comment, but cannot stop from insulting her brother in the process, “I cannot very well be upset with my favorite brother and his vastly better half.”
"You insult me an awful lot for someone--"
They are interrupted by a thud in the grass. Alana finally dismounts her horse and runs up to Henry, wraps her arms around him, and buries her wet cheeks in his chest. Her words are muffled as she proclaims, “I am really glad that you are not dead.”
He laughs and kisses the top of the woman’s head. “I appreciate the sentiment. So am I.”
She looks up at him and whispers barely loud enough for Benedict to hear, “You cannot walk me down the aisle if you are not alive.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
Benedict smiles, realizing that he may one day walk Eloise down the aisle himself—at a makeshift wedding if necessary. Perhaps he and Henry will one day do the same. They could hold a ceremony at Hastings House, with a feast and...
He turns his head to see Anthony glaring at the two wrapped in a hug. The subsequent hurt dissipates as he realizes his brother is glaring at Alana and not at Henry. He wonders if Anthony is angry at Alana’s insults or at her friendship with their sister--or both. He will surely be lectured on such matters later, after the current storm has passed.
Alana pulls away from Henry and walks over to Benedict, wrapping her arms around him, too. “I am proud of you, you know.”
Benedict frowns. “What for?”
“For telling your brother. I know how hard that is.”
He hugs her back. “Thank you.”
She pulls away a moment later to hug a surprised Eloise, nearly crushing his sister with the eagerness of it. “And you! You are a darling for consoling me on the journey here.”
Eloise blushes and awkwardly hugs back. “Of course.”
Benedict’s mild concern evaporates as he sees Alana’s genuine smile. Henry notices, too, as he leans over and whispers, “Ah, young love. It is quite a sight to see.”
Benedict smiles back and grabs his hand. “I wish I could do that with you.” He points at the women locked in a tight embrace and the lack of suspicion among any onlookers. “It would be nice to even hold onto your arm without the risk of…,” he sighs, “…you know.”
“I do.” Henry squeezes his hand and smiles. “But we shall not dwell on such scenarios, hm?” He gestures toward Benedict’s—their—family milling about in the grass and breaking off into smaller conversation. “You have your family, Benedict. That is far more than most can say. We will be alright.”
“And if not, I can rely on my brother to make an arse of himself--yet again-- with a pistol in hand.”
Henry chuckles. “The authorities are no match for an aggrieved Lord Bridgerton.”
“No, they are not.”
A pause. “I should speak to your brother. I am sure he has a few words in mind that he would like to express.”
Benedict sighs. “You are probably right despite my reluctance to say as much.” He laughs. “Do not embarrass me.”
“I shall leave such efforts to your sisters.”
“Hmmph.”
“Do you think I am walking into a conflict? Your brother looks rather poorly.” He points to Anthony, who currently sits under the tree alone, dejected.
“He always looks poorly,” Benedict laughs, pushing Henry away. “Go on--before I worry too much.”
Anthony sits in the grass below the tree and wallows in his embarrassment. How could he have missed this? It was so obvious. Benedict and Granville are inseparable at balls, his brother constantly talks of his talent, and he arrives home from the studio in the early hours with a grin on his face. They are too obvious. Perhaps it is easy to avoid the things he does not wish to see.
Protecting Colin from unsuitable courtships has been enough of a pain. Now he must protect Benedict from being arrested? Or worse? That is not to mention keeping it a secret from the rest of the family! A Bridgerton remaining a bachelor will already become conspicuous in time, but it will be even more so if his brother ceases to woo women at society events. What will their mother think?
His thoughts are interrupted by the man he most wishes to speak with and most wishes to avoid. Anthony stands to greet him, pausing to self-consciously brush dirt off of his trousers--as if doing so would heal his wounded ego. “Sir Granville.”
Granville extends his hand and apologizes, “I believe I owe you an apology, Lord Bridgerton. This is not how I would have liked to present myself if you were to find out.”
If? Anthony hesitates but shakes his hand. “I believe I am the one who should be apologizing. It was foolish of me to think you’d engage in an affair with Daphne. I should have seen this for what it was.” He hesitates again. “Your wife—Mrs. Granville—halted any suspicions I might have had. Clearly she is apprised of your relationship with my brother. I must ask…what is the nature of your marriage?”
Granville chuckles as he asks the question. “Lucy is a friend—nothing more. Marriage provides protection and freedom for us both. We mutually benefit from our arrangement.”
Anthony nods, still disquieted by his brother engaging with a married man. “I see.”
There is an awkward silence as Granville opens and shuts his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he says, “It is understandably difficult to process such matters, and I would like to thank you for extending your well wishes to Benedict. Your acceptance has greatly eased his fears—and mine.”
“I did not realize my brother had been plagued by such fear.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Is this why Benedict kept this from me? He thought I would harm him?” The very thought causes a pain in his chest.
“No, not at all. He was concerned you would harm me.” He gestures around him. “It was not an unfounded concern. Hastings warned me of such a possibility. He told me of your valiant efforts to defend your sister’s honor.”
“I suppose it makes sense that he holds a grudge. However, that incident was under vastly different circumstances. He pursued my sister at a ball. Besides, I suspect my brother can defend himself if need be.”
Granville suddenly looks at the ground and scratches the back of his neck. “About that…,” he nervously chuckles, “…Similar circumstances led to Hastings discovering our affair.”
Anthony grinds his teeth. Is he implying…? “You what? ”
“We have learned our lesson, Lord Bridgerton. Believe me, we have learned our lesson.”
Anthony grunts. For Benedict’s sake and to preserve what is left of his own dignity, he will wait to berate his brother and Granville—but they shall certainly be hearing of his disapproval.
“You need to be careful. I do not intend for my brother to end up in jail.”
“Neither do I. We will proceed with greater caution.”
Anthony contemplates. “This is not a silly affair, correct?” He continues as Granville shakes his head, a warm smile gracing the man’s face. “You love him?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will try my hardest to protect you both.”
“Thank you.” He turns to leave but stops short, his smile growing. “I have promised Benedict that I would watch the sunset with him this evening. Would you care to join us? I am sure Eloise and Daphne would be happy if you were to join us for dinner, at the very least.”
Anthony chews the inside of his cheek. The offer is an olive branch, he knows, but he is still wary of the situation at hand. “I do not intend to intrude on your plans.”
“It is no bother. We would greatly appreciate your company.”
It would be impertinent to refuse. “Then I shall accept your invitation. I presume we will meet at Hastings House?”
He nods. “We shall see you then.” He looks back at Benedict and Mrs. Granville and…Ms. Courtenay, before stating, “It might be best if I bid you goodbye. Lucy and Alana need their rest, and your brother and I need a drink. I am sure your sisters and yourself require similar activity.”
“I will most definitely join you in drinking tonight. I will see you then.” He nods, and sighs in relief as Granville walks away.
He has a little more than twelve hours to collect his wits and make peace with this new arrangement. His sisters seemingly adore Granville, and Simon had begun to vouch for Granville’s character when he first arrived. And Benedict…well, Anthony cannot deny the smile that graces Benedict’s face as Henry now approaches him. Benedict is madly, madly in love.
It appears it is only a matter of time before he himself warms to Granville. Still, he walks to his horse with apprehension of the coming evening.
Henry frowns in Anthony’s general direction. “Do you think I am walking into a conflict? Your brother looks rather poorly.” Henry points at Anthony, who currently sulks under the tree and fiddles with the now locked box of pistols.
“He always looks poorly,” Benedict says, pushing Henry toward him. “Go on, before I worry too much.”
As Henry walks away and Benedict chews his lip, his sisters, Alana, Lucy, and Simon walk up to him. Simon slaps Benedict on the back and chuckles, “You certainly know how to put on a show.”
Benedict blushes. “Pretend you did not see that.”
“There is nothing embarrassing about showing affection, Bridgerton.”
Despite his outward smile, he internally cringes at the public display of his. “Hastings, would it be alright if we were to join you for dinner tonight? I believe an evening of light-hearted drinking is in order.”
“Of course,” Simon looks to Daphne for confirmation, and then continues, as he glances at Alana and Lucy, “Everyone is welcome.”
Benedict grins and gestures for Eloise to join him at his side once again. “Eloise, why don’t you bring some of your writings? Alana is quite the literary critic.”
The woman nods enthusiastically at Eloise and his sister cannot help but agree as her face turns pink, “I will bring my journal.”
“I am sure your words are lovely,” Alana smiles, smitten, but catches herself and smirks instead, sending a wink Eloise’s way.
Simon raises an eyebrow and Benedict nods, confirming the suggestion. Eloise may be subtle but Alana is far from it.
He throws his arm around Eloise as he formulates a plan in his head. “Could you please console our brother when you arrive home? Anthony is in need of a distraction. I would prefer it if he were not spending his day worrying about me.”
“I will try my very best, but our brother would sooner drink himself unconscious than divulge his worries.”
Daphne giggles. “Your wit is enough preoccupation, Eloise.”
Benedict nods in agreement as he realizes Henry is approaching them. “How is the Viscount?”
“He is as well as one would hope for--given the circumstances. I would wager that everyone would have liked for this to have turned out differently.”
Looking at the group of people surrounding them, Benedict shakes his head. “No, I am rather glad all of this has happened. I cannot imagine any of you finding out so soon--or at all, even. If it were not for my...foolishness at the ball," he grins at an amused Simon, "I would not be surrounded by such love and warmth right now.”
Daphne smiles and wraps him in a hug, followed by Eloise and an eager Alana, and Lucy finds an unoccupied piece of his shoulder to lean on. Simon laughs at the women smothering Benedict, and pats him on the back, “Perhaps your family is a bit too warm.”
“I am inclined to agree,” Benedict giggles. He looks to Henry for assistance. “Could you…?”
Henry chuckles as he gestures for Lucy to move away, but his face hardens as he finds he must physically pry a stubborn Alana from Benedict and Eloise. Daphne steps back with one of her soft smiles, but Eloise’s face remains buried in his chest.
Benedict halts Daphne’s attempts to grab her. “Eloise can stay if she likes.” She giggles at his comment and her hair tickles his neck.
Henry grabs his hand—still cold in the cold morning air— and leans in to whisper, “We should get some rest, Benedict--or a drink. It has been a long morning.”
He hums in agreement and pulls Eloise away slightly so that he can see her face. “I think we should all go home.”
Expecting an insolent remark, Benedict is confused as Eloise tilts her head, looks to Henry and back at him, her eyes betraying a wistfulness that was not there before. “Where will you go, Benedict?”
Benedict frowns at the implication. He does not know the answer to her veiled question. “I will leave with Henry to his studio now, but I will return to Grosvenor Square after our dinner at Hastings House.”
There is a sad smile that spreads across her face, and Benedict cannot help but mirror her expression. What happens when two lives, once oceans apart, collide? Which life wins out? He now understands what Daphne must have felt leaving for Clyvedon for the first time. His home is no longer his home.
Catching on to the weighty moment, Henry looks between the two siblings and squeezes Benedict’s hand. He addresses Eloise and Daphne, “Please know that you are all welcome at my studio at any time. It would be unfair of me to hide your brother away.”
Eloise’s frown wanes—only slightly—and Benedict follows suit. They will all need to adjust to this new reality; Time will heal the present turmoil.
“Let’s go, shall we?” He extends his arm to Eloise and leads them back to their horses.
Henry follows close behind, at one point placing his hand on Benedict’s lower back, and echoes his earlier sentiment, “It would be an honor to have you visit my studio some time, Eloise. You might discover that you share your brother’s artistic talent. Either way, I would greatly enjoy more anecdotes of your brother’s misfortunes.”
She grins and Benedict cannot help but smile, too. His two favorite people are conspiring against him—it is unexpectedly wonderful.
“I would greatly enjoy some whiskey. My headache has not ceased.”
“Of course, love.” Henry leans down to kiss Benedict’s shoulder. “You have certainly earned it.” And then, in the quietest whisper, “You have rescued me in more ways than one.”
They return to Henry’s studio emotionally frayed and cold from the early morning chill. Benedict’s hangover is only beginning to wane—riding horseback did not aid in easing his aches—and Henry collapses onto their new sofa with a thud and an exclamation.
“Remind me to never upset your brother—or anyone for that matter—ever again.”
There is a question that has been festering and nagging and pulling at Benedict’s conscience since they departed from that godforsaken field with his brother’s godforsaken pistols.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question is spoken in a voice much weaker than he had hoped. His voice is raw, strained--much like the pain rising in his chest and crushing his lungs.
Henry sighs. “I did not wish to worry you. Hastings assured me that all would be well.”
“You should have told me.”
“I am sorry.”
“I know.”
And Benedict
does
know. The man looks pitiful as he lies on the sofa, undoubtedly still shaken up from this morning’s events. If anything, Benedict should be consoling him, and yet, all he wants is to be held and consoled himself.
Silence descends upon the room, neither man moving from their respective positions. What is there to say?
There is so much to say.
How to put those thoughts into words?
Benedict does not know.
After wrestling with his racing thoughts and failing to conjure a single one that makes sense, he resignedly pulls up a chair next to Henry. A moment passes and he says the first thing that comes to mind--something true and genuine. “I would have protected you. I would have dueled my brother if it meant saving you.” The words surprise even himself.
“That is exactly why I did not mention it. I promised I would sacrifice myself for you, remember? I could not risk you ruining your relationship with your brother for my sake.”
“I did not realize your ramblings last night were a goodbye.”
“I know. I should have told you.” Henry intertwines their fingers and continues as he lovingly smiles down at their hands, “We are in this together, hm?”
Benedict nods, suddenly weepy--the brunt of the morning’s emotions coming to crash down on his head all at once. He pushes Henry over to make room on the sofa and wraps his arms around him. He begins to sob into his shoulder--quietly at first and then not so quietly-- and is relieved as Henry begins to cry, too. The tears that fall from Henry’s eyes are silent, but his chest rises and falls rapidly, and Benedict feels the wet drops falling on his hair.
His whispers are muffled as he chokes out, “I love you. You can trust me with your life, Henry.”
“I know, love. I know. I love you, too.” He rubs Benedict’s arm and kisses the top of his head, clearing his throat so as not to sound so desolate. “We should lie down for a bit. We need the rest.”
“I need a lot of things, but sleeping next to you is at the top of my list.”
“Next to?”
Benedict blushes at the joke. There is no need for a mattress when he has Henry nearby. “On you.”
Henry nudges him. “Grab a blanket.”
Benedict begins to stand but instead grabs Henry’s face and kisses him. A sloppy, desperate kiss that makes him laugh as he pulls away. “I still expect a great amount of alcohol later. Also sex.”
Henry raises an eyebrow. “Before dinner?”
“After.”
“I thought you promised Ms. Eloise that you would return home tonight.”
“Oh. Right.”
Henry looks at him with a sympathetic smile that makes him feel small. “The Bridgerton house no longer feels like home, hm?”
Benedict settles back into Henry’s arms before beginning, “I feel stuck between two worlds. And now that Anthony knows, I…I no longer feel the need to play the part of a respectable second son. I could have my own place without Anthony questioning the sudden move.”
Henry nods and leans his head atop Benedict’s. “And sneaking away to spend nights here with me is feeling rather juvenile.”
Benedict laughs. “Like you have said, it would be nice to sleep in a bed.”
“Yes, it would.” He squeezes Benedict closer to him. “I am very proud of you, Benedict. What you did today is braver than most will ever do.”
His face grows warm. “Having you by my side made the fear seem trivial.”
“The look on Lord Bridgerton’s face when you kissed me!” Henry lets out a hearty laugh, a laugh that Benedict latches onto.
“I have the sneaking suspicion that I will be teased for such a display for years to come.”
Henry’s fingers run up and down Benedict’s arm, sending shivers up his still chilled skin, as the man agrees, “I suspect all those involved have experienced their fair share of embarrassment over the last few weeks.”
“I cannot begin to imagine what tonight’s dinner will be like.”
“It will be lovely.” He pauses. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I know I have given you some grief as of late about your supposed shame.”
“Oh.
That.”
Benedict knows Henry was correct.
Is
correct. There are things Benedict cannot say aloud, do in front of others...but he also knows that he is trying. He wears makeup at parties, casually holds Henry’s hand in front of Lucy and Alana, and now--he can hardly believe it--he has kissed Henry in front of his family!
“Yes, well…It has not been lost on me that such a bold display of affection was particularly difficult for you. I know a part of it must have been to console my worries.”
Benedict nods, wondering if Henry is right about this, too. The kiss was about Henry’s worries, yes...but it also was not about Henry at all.
“I did it for
me,
Henry. You are right— I cannot expect my family to accept this if I cannot. And I cannot bear to hurt you any longer with my foolishness.” He smiles and repeats Henry’s earlier sentiment, “We are in this together.”
Henry smiles and nudges him upright. “You are brave, Benedict.” He kisses his cheek. “Now get a blanket.”
It is mid evening in London, and the roads rumble with carriages and couples dawdle outside homes, Andrew dines with his grandmothers, and Hastings House is lit up with candles and smiling faces. Servants and secrets alike have been banished from the festivities that echo through the large abandoned hallways.
The Bridgerton clan--Simon included--and the Granvilles--Alana included--sit around the large dinner table and engage in a lively discussion over their half-eaten ice cream. Everyone is excitedly retelling their perspective of the last several weeks, shouting over each other and snorting and giggling and chortling.
“I thought the Duke was threatening us.”
“And then I had the brilliant plan to blackmail him,” Benedict laughs, knowing Simon will not take offense. He is correct--the man’s face lights up in a grin.
“You
what?”
Simon guffaws. “I did not think you had it in you, Bridgerton.”
Eloise snarks, “And you say
I
am ruthless.”
Benedict sticks his tongue out at her and continues, addressing the table, “And that is when I told Daphne. She insisted she dine with the Granvilles and I.”
There is a brief moment where Benedict and Daphne lock eyes, an unspoken understanding lingering far after they look away. Crying into his little sister’s arms had felt humiliating in the moment, but he cannot bear to imagine what would have happened had Daphne not interrupted his scheme to hurt Simon. He can hardly believe the thought had ever occurred to him. No matter how it came to be, he will forever be grateful that Daphne held his hand and never once considered dropping it.
Daphne takes a sip from her glass--as if to prepare her throat for a dramatic retelling-- before picking up where he left off, “That is how Lady Danbury became involved. She must have read one of the letters between Henry and I and—“
Anthony nods as he swallows another large gulp of whiskey. “Yes, she did. I have the letter in a drawer in my desk.”
A heavy sigh falls from her lips as she turns toward an equally exasperated Simon. He breathes a soft chuckle as he says, “I cannot say that I am surprised.”
Benedict smiles to himself. It is not the least bit shocking to hear Henry’s letter was misinterpreted. The man often forgets himself while addressing close female acquaintances--those who know of Henry’s relationships--and how his friendly affections may read as flirting. Disregarding the disastrous results, Benedict can only find happiness in the way Henry has become so comfortable with his sister.
Sisters
, actually. He wonders in passing if Henry and Francesca and Hyacinth would feel the same toward each other.
Daphne clears her throat and resumes her side of the story. “When I arrived home from dinner at such a late hour, I foolishly lied and said I was dining with the family.”
Anthony nods once again. “She asked about that. I told her I was not aware of your whereabouts that evening. I had suspected I was walking into a trap, but I did not listen to my own misgivings.”
Benedict interrupts, “And that is why you questioned
me.
You thought I was involved.”
“Granville mentioned you in the letter.”
With a clatter of her fork onto the table, Eloise sits up straight, turns toward Benedict, and exclaims, “You are a terrible liar!” before recounting to the rest of the table, “His hands were shaking. Really, if it were not for Anthony’s denseness—“
“Hey!”
“—He would have realized Benedict was hiding something. He wasn’t hiding anything from
me,
of course.”
Benedict rolls his eyes and huffs in a silly, exaggerated manner that makes Eloise grin. “I thought I was revealing my most protected secret to my sister--I knew she would understand, but I was still a nervous wreck and--”
“Yes, you were.”
“-- and there she was, informing me she already knew.”
“It was foolish of you to doubt me.”
“You did not guess it was Henry, though.”
“Even I am fallible at times.”
Benedict shakes his head and grins back at her. His sister is too smart for her own good. “
Anyway,
Anthony had a
very
vague conversation with me at the garden party and—“
Anthony holds up his hands to interrupt. “By this time, I was nearly convinced that Granville was up to no good, but Daphne had eased my concerns somewhat—until I spoke to Benedict, that is. I should have known we were not having the same conversation when he
hugged
me—“
Eloise giggles and quips, “Benedict, is your new interest in public affection permanent or…?”
He turns red.
Why did he think that was a good idea?
There were other ways, surely, he could have told Anthony. “I will ask again: can we please not talk about that?”
Henry undermines him, of course, smirking as he says, “But it was such a lovely kiss!” Benedict allows him to rub his forearm as he continues, “Well,
kisses.
There was more than one.”
Again, he asks himself,
why did he find it necessary to do that?
Various Bridgertons snort along the length of the table and Benedict frowns as he continues, patently ignoring Henry’s remark, “I thought Anthony was alluding to Henry and I.”
“And I thought he was discussing Granville and Daphne. He used the term
indecent
. What else could I have thought? And then! Oh...,” he groans, looking down at his ice cream, “...it was chocolate!”
“Chocolate?”
“I bumped into Granville at the party and he was covered in awful brown stains and I thought—“
“It was shit? Yes, I had the same thought.” Alana smiles, completely earnest, and completely unaware of her transgression.
Anthony stares wide-eyed at the coarse woman and takes a moment to regain his composure. After a brief pause, he says, “Whatever it was, Daphne’s dress was stained with it, too. I thought…”
Henry chortles as he points to Benedict’s lapel.
Oh.
“It must have come from Benedict. I made sure to clean Andrew up before returning him to your sister.”
Eloise seizes the opportunity. “Perhaps you should find it necessary to provide Benedict with a permanent bib.”
Benedict frowns at an amused Henry. The man has given him enough grief about his propensity for mess. Goading Eloise to do the same is...well, predictable, but also sure to cause Benedict great suffering courtesy of the entire Bridgerton household. Perhaps teasing Colin for his recent courting mishaps will catch on and eclipse any teasing at his own expense.
Anthony intervenes before Benedict can return an insolent remark. “No matter how we got here, I am glad that Sir Granville is alright.”
Everyone solemnly nods except for Alana. She pipes up, “It is no thanks to you that he is unharmed. I do not find it easy to dismiss a duel as insignificant.”
Eloise, suddenly armed with a very vocal ally, agrees to pester Anthony some more. “Who else believes my brother’s pistols should be confiscated? He has shown he is incapable of tempering his anger.”
A table’s worth of amused agreement and laughter sound out, and an offended Anthony scoffs, “If anything, you should be grateful that I risk my life for my family’s reputation.”
Daphne snorts at this, leaning over the table to better address him. “You have nearly killed two people, brother. I cannot imagine that would reflect positively on the family.” She gestures toward Simon and Henry. “And that is not to mention that you nearly shot two of your siblings’ spouses.”
Spouse.
Benedict beams. Not long ago, he waited in suspense to hear of Henry’s dinner with Daphne and Simon, hoping that a possible friendship would emerge. It was foolish, but he had hoped such approval of Henry’s character would make up for his inability to share their secret with Daphne and Simon. And now...
spouse.
Who knew a single word could make him so damn happy?
Anthony grunts in response and returns to angrily scooping soupy ice cream into his mouth. Eloise, though, grins at the consensus and declares, “I believe we should relocate the pistols to someone less...boorish. Mr. Granville, are you interested in--”
Benedict answers for him, “
No.
We are not confiscating our brother’s property.”
Anthony nods at him. “Thank you, Benedict. It seems
one
of my siblings has some sense.”
He continues with a smirk, “We will instead lock the box and give the key to our mother.”
Eloise nods and says with her mouth full, “I will settle for this arrangement.”
Anthony stares at his siblings with an astounded expression. “It has become ever so apparent that none of you respect my position as the head of the family.”
“Perhaps you should act like it, then,” Eloise snaps.
Simon intervenes and tries to hide his amused smile as he asks, “Would anyone care for some cake? Andrew has assured me that it is delicious.”
Once again, the table sounds out in joint agreement--even Anthony, who reluctantly mutters, “Fine.”
As he stands to fetch the cake from the kitchen, Simon addresses Anthony with a cocky grin, “For what it’s worth, Bridgerton, I do not hold a grudge against you for shooting at me. Though I am inclined to develop one if you continue duelling in the future. I will feel less special.”
Anthony laughs at his friend’s comment. “Understood.”
As the table once more returns to benign conversation. Benedict leans toward Henry and whispers underneath the chatter, “Do you think we could sneak away and...um…”
“
Here
?”
Benedict blushes. “I have had a considerable amount of alcohol. You know how I get. Besides, we were not able to...before dinner.”
“Hmm.” He pats Benedict’s arm. “I will consider it.”
Benedict smiles—he cannot stop, it seems. Reminiscing once more, seemingly growing more sentimental by the moment, Benedict looks toward the empty seat at the head of the table. It was in this house that Benedict had cried, scared of Hastings and what he might do. Now he is considering fucking Henry under the same roof....alcohol is the drug of temerity, certainly.
His attention returns to the gathering as Simon enters, places the cake on the table, and helps distribute it to everyone. It is a sight to see--the Duke of Hastings serving dessert as a servant would. Once Simon returns to her side, Daphne speaks up. “I do believe it might be best if we do not keep such important secrets from each other. We are family, and as such, we deserve each other’s trust.”
Benedict cannot help but notice Eloise staring down at her lap. His heart drops at the thought of his sister suffering in the same way that he has. In an effort to fill the silence, and save Eloise the guilt of omission, he speaks up and sheepishly voices his thanks.
“I am sorry that I doubted you all. I should have known that you would not be angry with me--or Henry,” he looks over and smiles at the man, “I am very glad that you all know.”
Anthony grumbles, “Perhaps we should not celebrate more people finding out about a crime.”
The table erupts in admonishments of varying degrees--from Daphne’s calm “That kind of talk is unnecessary” to Alana’s callous “Are you always such a prick?”--and Anthony frantically holds up his hands to halt the onslaught of shouts.
“I did not mean to offend. I simply would like to stress the importance of keeping this a secret. The importance of keeping Benedict--and Henry--safe.”
A prolonged silence intrudes upon the festivities, everyone suddenly without words to say. Benedict looks around at the table of lowered heads and sighs—his brother certainly knows how to ruin a party. He looks to Henry, though, and grabs his hand. It is criminal, but in this moment, surrounded by their loved ones, at least, they are safe to do so.
The silence continues uninterrupted save for the clinks of forks against porcelain plates. Benedict finishes his cake with alarming speed—this has really become a problem—and relaxes against the back of his seat, surveying the faces of his family. Eloise sits next to Alana, who is absent-mindedly sucking on her fork in a way that has drawn Anthony’s eager attention. Simon sits at the head of the table, Daphne at his side, and a tipsy Lucy sits across from Daphne so that the two may engage in conversation.
The stalled liveliness starts again as Daphne yelps. Everyone’s heads turn to her and she smiles, her face glowing, and says, “The little one has just kicked.” She giggles. “Must be impatient.”
Simon grins and leans over to rest his hand against her belly. He waits for another kick and chuckles when he finds it. “She will be here soon enough.”
Henry asks, “She?”
Daphne nods. “Lady Danbury insists it will be a girl,” she pauses as she chokes back a laugh, but cannot help snorting as she proclaims, “We very well cannot doubt her judgment.”
At this, the table erupts in laughter once more. Even Anthony is amused. Once he catches his breath, he declares, “I should not have listened to that woman. I do not know why I thought it to be a wise idea, what with all her scheming.”
“Perhaps it is due to your--”
Simon clears his throat to stop Eloise from voicing one of her insults. “It is getting late. Perhaps we should all go outside.” He looks around at the confused faces. “To see the sunset.”
Anthony groans. “Are we really doing that? I thought Granville was kidding.”
Benedict scoffs and snarks, “Why would we ever joke about such a beautiful gift from God?”
“Shut up.”
Eloise and Alana hide amongst the flowerbeds and hedges of the gardens, away from the rest of the gathering. Everyone else sits on benches and drinks, presumably waiting for the sunset, but Eloise’s mind is instead busy being tormented in between rose bushes.
Pacing and biting her thumb, Eloise sneaks glances at Alana sitting beneath a tree and flipping through the pages of her beloved—and until now,
private
— journal. Damn Benedict for suggesting she bring it! Now Eloise must wait with bated breath to hear criticisms from this woman--a woman who has an unnatural grasp on her thoughts as of late.
At last, Alana stands and walks over, grabbing Eloise’s arms so that she may stop and look at her. “Your stories are…, she trails off, searching for words. “And such beautiful prose. So intimate…,” she whispers, moving closer until Eloise can feel the warmth of her breath, “Thank you for letting me read them.”
Nodding, Eloise gulps and pulls her head back slightly as Alana moves in. The woman places a kiss on her cheek and retreats with a soft smile.
This will not do.
Something overcomes her, then, and Eloise pulls Alana close once more. Close enough that their noses nearly touch.
The woman is taken aback--happily. “Are you sure?”
Eloise nods, suddenly surer than she has been in a while. Is this how courting is supposed to feel? “Yes.”
“Me, too.” Alana leans in and softly presses her lips to Eloise’s, chaste and perfectly restrained.
This will not do either
. Suddenly Eloise finds herself with her hands wrapped in the fabric of Alana’s dress, pulling Alana as close as possible, and kissing back with intentions not nearly as innocent.
Granted permission, Alana giggles against her skin, ticklish and warm, “If you insist.”
In a flash, Eloise’s back is pinned to a tree and Alana’s tongue is between her lips. Yes. Yes.
Yes.
“Wait,” Alana breathes, pulling away. Eloise frowns before realizing what the woman is doing. Alana walks over to a nearby rock, removes her jacket and leans down--revealing enough skin to make Eloise’s breath catch--and drapes it over the rock. She gently lays Eloise’s journal on top. “I do not want it to get dirty.”
Eloise grins. Most in Alana’s position would simply have thrown it in the grass. Before she can voice her thanks, the woman returns and grabs Eloise’s hips and tugs her closer by her skirts.
Yes.
They continue on this way, unable to get close enough--skin on skin, hands wandering--until Alana rolls up her right sleeve.
Eloise pulls away, flushed and dizzy. “Why are you…?”
Alana shakes her head and laughs, gentle and not at all condescending, and says, “I’ve gotten ahead of myself. It is nothing. Let’s go back to kissing, hm?”
Suddenly feeling rather naive, Eloise is about to ask for an explanation when her brother so conveniently interrupts.
“Courtenay! Get the fuck away from my sister!” Benedict sprints toward them.
At least it is not Anthony.
Alana shuts her eyes and cringes before turning around and feigning nonchalance. “Hello, Bridgerton. You’re looking rather unwell.” She articulates toward his general disheveled appearance that has only heightened with his anger and alcohol intake.
“I have given you too much trust. You have betrayed my good faith.”
“Excuse me?”
“I let you befriend my sister. I let you flirt. I will not let you—,” he cuts himself off to take a deep breath and continues in a harsh sneer, “Roll down your goddamn sleeve!”
Alana turns red and complies. Eloise frowns.
What does a rolled up sleeve mean?
“Benedict, do not be angry.”
“I am not angry with
you
, sister. Alana, however, is a—“
She cuts him off before he can utter whatever profanity he was planning to use. “It was my idea. She kissed my cheek and I…um…”
Benedict’s anger comes to a halt as he raises an eyebrow and snorts. “You…? Ha! Of course it was!” He snorts again. “It has become apparent that us Bridgertons require supervision in gardens.”
Alana quips, “You can stay and watch if you like, but it would be quite strange.” She turns back toward Eloise with a smirk, clearly waiting for a reaction.
“Get the fuck out of here, Alana.” His anger has melted away slightly, his tone now infused with exasperation instead. “Please.”
Satisfied by Benedict’s frustration, Alana kisses Eloise on the cheek once more before running off. Eloise cannot help but stupidly grin up at her brother.
Blushing and timid, she asks, “Can I come to your next party?”
He guffaws and throws his arm around her, responding with a decisive “Absolutely not.” He grins down at her, clearly shocked still, and leads her back toward the party. “Come. I think you have had enough fun for today.”
She grumbles, “I would have had more fun if you did not interrupt.”
Anthony, more drunk than he would have hoped he’d be for this particular conversation, but also the perfect amount of intoxicated to initiate this conversation, catches Benedict at what appears to be a bad time. His brother has just finished speaking to Eloise with a somewhat concerning demeanor, and responds to Anthony’s call by approaching with a nervous gait.
“What?”
Anthony ignores the blunt greeting and carries on before he can convince himself to stop. Without precursory chatter, he delves in, “I need to know. Are you sure about this?”
“I do not appreciate the implication.”
Damn. Benedict looks offended. How does Anthony speak of something he does not fully understand? “I apologize. I fully support your decision whatever it may be, but… “
“What?”
Fuck it.
Anthony just asks. “Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life with
him,
yes
.
”
Anthony nods, pensive. “Lifelong bachelor, hm?”
“Yes.”
“No children?”
His brother shakes his head and looks to the ground. “Do you think mother will be upset?”
Anthony bites his cheek and averts his own gaze. In truth, he does not know the answer to that question. “Daphne’s children will keep her well occupied for the foreseeable future.”
“Do you think she will suspect…?”
The possibility would never cross their mother’s mind...right? “Let us not worry about that for now. Shallow flirting at balls may be enough to satisfy her.”
They both sigh. Their mother is a smart woman, more than capable of detecting when her sons are up to something. Flirting is not a substitute for courting. It is
certainly
not a substitute for marriage. A solution eludes him at the moment, but
something
must be done to appease their mother.
There is a heavy silence as it becomes clear that Benedict is wrestling with a question that does not want to be voiced. With great hesitation, he begins to ask, “Do you think…?” His voice trails off as he looks down slightly.
It is father’s pocket watch that has caught his attention.
Oh.
Anthony grimaces. It had not occurred to him that Benedict would ask such a thing. He saves his brother the pain of asking outright. “You are a great man, Benedict. Do not doubt it.”
Clearly still unsure, Benedict whispers, “Thank you.”
Anthony only wishes he is worthy of that gratitude. No matter his intentions, no matter what scheme he concocts, no matter the effort, Anthony cannot guarantee his brother’s safety.
But he sure as hell will try.
It is what their father would have done.
“There is much to discuss, still....But watch the sunset with Granville tonight. We will figure this out. Together.”
Benedict returns to the bench and to the glass of whiskey he had placed on it--and to Henry, of course. The man looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and a cocky grin. “Why is my Alana so giddy?” He points to the woman currently singing to herself and folding a handkerchief into the shape of a flower. “And why is her ribbon so askew?”
Benedict simply sighs and takes a swig of his drink. Henry nods. It is one more thing to worry about. And one more secret to keep from Anthony.
“It should go without saying, but we must keep this from my brother.”
“It should be easy enough. Only us four know about it.”
Wait.
Benedict’s eyes go wide. “Hastings noticed them flirting.” Damn Alana for being so brazen.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck.”
The two men stare at the ground and take generous sips of their drinks, contemplating this new mess they have gotten themselves into, before Henry drags a finger across Benedict’s jaw and lifts his face upwards.
Benedict sees Henry smirk and does the same. “What is it?”
“Now that everyone is preoccupied outside, I thought we could…” He gestures toward the door and winks.
Benedict giggles. “We are here because of our plans to see the sunset and now you wish to go inside?”
“It was simply a suggestion.
Your
suggestion.”
Benedict contemplates, looking the man up and down. His hair is a bit unruly and his shirt has come loose from his trousers. Also, they are both quite intoxicated—drunk sex is good sex. “Fuck the sunset.”
Henry licks his lips and leans in close. “That is what I thought.”
After a disastrous tour of Hastings House in an attempt to find a suitable room, the two men settle on a room near the library that is nestled in a secluded stretch of hallway. Henry makes a grand show of locking the door, having clearly learned his lesson, and Benedict calls from the other side of the room, already aroused.
“Come here.”
Henry raises an eyebrow at his demand. “Someone feeling impatient?” He deliberately slows his pace as he saunters over, clearly amused by Benedict’s exasperation.
Benedict refuses to oblige banter at the moment. “This is your formal invitation to fuck. Hurry up.”
Henry chuckles and backs Benedict into the wall, humming in his ear, “How very gentlemanly.”
Benedict flips them over so that Henry is the one pinned to the wallpaper. “I have no intention of being a gentleman tonight.”
“Oh? Neither do I.” He smirks as he flips them over again.
“
No.
It is
my
turn.” Benedict switches their positions again and commands, “Take off your clothes.” His attempt at a husky voice only makes Henry laugh.
“Alright, alright.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “You win.”
As Benedict parts his lips to respond, Henry darts forward and places his own lips in between them, the chapped skin rough against Benedict’s and the taste of whiskey mixing with his own. Henry unties his cravat and removes his jacket before doing the same for Benedict, all the while failing to suppress his amusement at Benedict’s desperation. Benedict pays it no heed, though, and begins to unbutton the rest of Henry’s attire between sloppy pecks on the lips.
As he turns to taking off his own clothes, Benedict finds that he is a bit too intoxicated to make sense of anything. “Help me with the…yeah, with the…,” Benedict turns around and points at his shirt that has become stuck to his trousers, “…with
this.”
Henry, now fully disrobed, laughs at his frustration and tugs the cloth loose. “How ever did you manage that?”
“I haven’t a clue,” he giggles. He yelps, then, as he trips while stepping out of his trousers. “It appears I’ve had too much to drink.”
Henry grins as he catches him in his arms. “You are adorable when you are like this.”
“
Adorable
is not my intent.”
“Whatever you may be,” he leans down and kisses the nape of Benedict’s neck, “I want it desperately.”
Blushing, he sits on the sole sofa and tries his best to regain a seductive attitude. “Come and get it.”
The man appeases him, following him to the sofa and letting Benedict guide him into place. He ends up on his hands and knees on the sofa, his head hovering above Benedict’s lap.
Benedict strokes Henry’s neck as he whispers, “Put your mouth on me.”
Henry obliges and Benedict can feel himself grow in Henry’s mouth, pulsing and twitching as Henry’s tongue swirls around him.
After a few moments, Benedict, his head tilted back in pleasure, sucks on his fingers and begins sliding his hand down Henry’s back. Henry moans in anticipation, a low grumble that makes Benedict moan in response as his fingers find their place inside Henry.
Henry lifts his head up, lips slightly swollen, and grabs Benedict’s arm. “Wait, wait.”
Benedict withdraws his hand with a frown. “What is it?”
“We are currently fucking on your brother-in-law’s sofa.
The Duke of Hastings’s
sofa.”
“Why the sudden issue?”
“I am simply saying that we should cover the sofa with your jacket. For the...you know.”
“Oh. Right.”
Benedict scrambles to his feet, feeling foolish walking over to the pile of clothes while so aroused, and is returning to the sofa a moment later, jacket in hand, when he frowns again. “Wait. Why
my
jacket?”
“I was almost killed by your brother today. We are using
your
jacket.”
Even in his state of inebriation, Benedict realizes that Henry’s argument is flawed, but he complies so that they may resume their activities.
They settle back into their positions, Benedict slowly inserting his fingers once more. The action elicits a moan and draws Henry closer to him. After ramping up the speed and pressure, Benedict becomes satisfied with his work and motions for Henry to sit upright on the sofa. “Do you want to face me or—“
“Stop talking,” Henry breathes as he climbs onto Benedict’s lap.
Benedict shuts his mouth and gulps as he watches Henry maneuver himself into place, his hands gripping his shoulders and his weight slowly pressing down until Benedict is wholly inside him. He hums and latches his hands onto Henry’s hips, guiding him up and down, watching Henry’s face contort from a slight wince to one of pleasure.
The alcohol speaks for Benedict with a joke in poor taste. “We should risk our lives more often. The sex is better when the stakes are so high.”
Henry is not amused by the flippant remark. “Shut up and concentrate.”
Nodding furiously, he bucks his hips upward and quickens his movements until both men are trying their best to be quiet—and failing miserably. By the time Henry finishes, making a mess of Benedict’s chest and jacket—thank goodness one of them had the wherewithal to suggest covering the sofa—both their pupils are blown wide and their breathing labored. Reaching completion shortly after, Benedict grins at the man still atop him.
“You’re very pretty tonight.”
“You’re drunk.”
“My eyes still work.”
Henry grunts and climbs off of him, but it is clear that he is flattered despite his best efforts to hide it. Benedict knows the man adores his drunken confessions.
They both clean themselves off with Benedict’s jacket—it’s already spoiled, anyway—but soon realize that neither one was sober enough to think their plan through.
“What am I supposed to do with the jacket?”
“Shit.” Henry scratches the back of his neck. “You could lick it clean.”
“You’re joking…you
are
joking, right?”
Henry smirks. “Enjoy explaining those stains to everyone, love.”
“Wh—?”
Laughing, he pulls Benedict in for a kiss. “I am being facetious. Use a wet handkerchief, you idiot.”
“Oh.”
Henry laughs again and mocks, “
Oh.”
Benedict cannot help but giggle, too. “Fuck off.”
By the time they conclude their activities and return outside, trying their best to appear composed and not as if they just committed a crime—a very
enjoyable
crime—inside the Duke’s house, the sun has already set and night has fallen on London.
Anthony is not so easily fooled. “May I ask where you two went?”
Deciding humor is the best approach, Benedict quips, too at ease to feel embarrassed, “Henry planned the most excellent proposal. We shall marry in the spring.”
Anthony grumbles what is surely a string of invective to himself, but Daphne interrupts before he can voice his grievances audibly, “You missed the sunset.”
Benedict shrugs. “There will be another sunset tomorrow.”
He and Henry walk toward the bench Alana and Eloise currently sit on, and, with cheeky smiles on their faces, squeeze between the two women—a move that very effectively causes both women to grouse under their breath.
Henry asks, “How
was
the sunset?”
Only Simon and Daphne provide actual answers, with the rest of the party making flippant remarks. Benedict should not be surprised, really. Watching the sunset is not exactly a novel experience.
It takes Benedict longer than it should have for him to notice Andrew asleep on Daphne’s lap. Lady Danbury must have dropped him off while he and Henry were busy.
Fuck.
He prays the woman did not overhear anything she shouldn’t have.
Daphne combs her fingers through Andrew’s hair and gazes down at him with all the love in the world, Simon at her side doing the same. Benedict watches his sister and her family and smiles. He was only joking, of course, about Henry proposing. They joke about marriage all the time, really, and talk of hypotheticals when they are feeling particularly sentimental. But what is stopping them from having a marriage ceremony?
Daphne finally yawns and says, “I believe Andrew and I need our rest.”
Simon stands and scoops Andrew into his arms, and announces, in a somewhat judgemental tone, “I will also be turning in for the evening. Feel free to continue doing whatever it is that you are doing.”
The remaining group all look at each other. Hell, they are not doing much of anything other than drinking and being a general disgrace to their respective social ranks.
“Maybe we should all do the same.”
And with that, the party dissipates into smaller groups. Daphne, Simon, and Andrew return inside as the only ones still worthy of respect, a drunk Lucy and an equally drunk Alana return to their homes, and the rest depart toward Grosvenor Square on foot. Anthony and Eloise walk ahead of Henry and Benedict, the two seemingly without much to say to each other. In Benedict’s opinion, it looks quite a lot like Eloise is lost in thought, and he suspects the reason why to be a very short woman with a very large ribbon.
He and Henry also walk in silence most of the way, content to just be at each other's side. As the Bridgerton house comes into view, Benedict says, “Thank you for escorting me home. You’re such a gentleman.”
Henry chuckles and whispers, “I should hope not.”
They both blush and continue toward the house. The windows are still lit up and Benedict frowns at the idea of his mother waiting for them to return. He hopes he and his siblings will successfully feign sobriety, but he doubts it will work. Even Eloise is visibly tipsy.
Benedict and Henry slow their steps as Anthony and Eloise ascend their house’s stairs, and come to a halt in the road outside.
Eloise calls for him through the open door, but Benedict’s boots do not move from their place on the stone beneath him. Neither does his voice reply, for his ears bask in the silence that proceeds the inevitable need to part ways with Henry.
The two men seem to be in agreement as they loiter silently in the road, free of awkwardness until Benedict finally says, “I should, um…” He points to his family’s house.
“Of course.”
Neither one moves, though. Benedict smiles, a soft one that betrays the lingering desperation of the early hours. “It feels strange, doesn't it? Just this morning I thought all would be lost and now...now we are saying goodbye but…”
“With the promise we will see each other tomorrow.”
“Yes.” He sighs and smiles again, more sure that this ache in his chest is overwhelming happiness. “We will wake up tomorrow morning and it will be just like any other day.”
“A good one, love.”
“A good one,” he agrees.
And it
will
be a good day. Perhaps it will be strange and different—but still
good
—as if the world has shifted closer to what Benedict wishes it could be. Waking tomorrow will not involve dread or unnecessary grief. His head will pound from the alcohol but his heart will beat as usual—although breakfast beside Anthony and their mother will certainly be a challenge. Still, all will be both normal and not at all normal, in all the best ways.
Henry leans in closer and whispers conspiratorially, “And another day to see the sunset. As promised.”
“I will hold you to it.” Benedict holds out his hand with a lopsided grin, meeting Henry’s gaze and his raised eyebrow, and declares, “It has been a pleasure dining with you this evening, Granville.”
Henry chuckles. “Goodbye, Mr. Bridgerton. Let us both go home and rest.”
They shake hands, and, with a firm nod, Henry departs down the road, his step lighter than it has been in a while. He looks back at Benedict once, waves, and continues on his way. Benedict stands in the road outside his family’s house and whispers, to the air, to himself, to the silhouette of Henry as he fades out of view, “My home is with you.”
And for the briefest of moments, Benedict allows his mind to wander the streets of his dreams. Toward Henry, and toward the house that would be theirs—a house with a single bed and two easels and a room for doing absolutely nothing but lounging in each other’s arms. A sofa that does not need to be sturdy but is anyway, and a sketchbook cover that reads
Mr. Benedict Granville.
One day,
he thinks.
One day.
|
The Trent and Nick had left the Porsche back at Greystone Manor when they had gone for supplies the night before. It was a good two hour trek back to the Range Rover by the time they reached the SUV Tianna wanted to drop. Her rapid healing had taken a great deal of energy and it took all her strength just to stand up straight. She did so, further sapping her strength but not wanting to betray any inkling of weakness. Nick bundled her into the back seat and got in next to her. Trent sat on the other side of her, as if she would jump from a speeding vehicle. The thought had crossed her mind but it would be fruitless. She grimaced at the thought of what hitting the pavement at 70 miles an hour would do to her already battered body.
Instead she glared at the back of Ethan's head. She wondered if the other two weres would be fast enough to stop her if she were to snap his neck. Would he crash the car then? It wouldn't kill the others but it might incapacitate them just long enough for her to get away. Her lips parted in a snarl.
Ethan's azure gaze flickered to hers in the rearview mirror. "Down girl," he murmured.
Tianna growled jerking toward him but she was immediately restrained by Nick's arm holding her back in her seat causing Ethan to chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the rearview.
Tianna seethed but slowly sat back in her seat. "I'm fine," she hissed through gritted teeth and glanced at Nick giving him her most innocent expression. "I won't hurt him."
The dark haired were hesitated a moment before removing his arm but he did not seem to relax his vigilance.
Tianna lifted her chin and stared at Ethan in the rearview mirror. She spoke steadily. "So I gathered that you know who I am and what I am." She cocked her head and smiled beatifically "So I'm assuming that you know who my father is and you're fully aware of the shit you're in."
There was an uncomfortable silence emanating from the male weres around her.
She sighed and her saccharine smile stretched wider. "Oh, good." She slid a little lower and her seat and seemed to relax a bit as she savored the feeling of their wariness.
Tianna simply gazed out the window at the lush green scenery that passed by in blur as Ethan drove swiftly to the far secluded outskirts of Shandaken. She didn't know exactly where they were headed but she had a pretty good idea.
It was about a half an hour before they pulled up to a tall wrought iron gate flanked by tall stone columns. The gates opened automatically when the Range Rover halted in front of it.
Tianna turned as they drove through the gates and watched the iron bars swing closed, feeling as though they were indeed shutting the rest of the world out and shutting her in. The driveway wound through trees about a half-mile before Greystone Manor rose before them against the backdrop of the forest. It was a regal stone mansion with white columns and large windows.
Everyone got out of the car and Tianna stepped out. A cool morning breeze lifted her hair and with it came a tantalizing seduction of scents. She fought the urge to close her eyes and inhale deeply the sharp tang of cedar, the faint perfume of apple blossoms, and the teasing smell of breakfast.
She gazed up at the stone mansion feeling the pull of memory. As large as it was there was nothing menacing about the large home but rather a calm sort of expectation enveloped the place like it had been waiting there for her.
Ethan strode forward and flung open the heavy double doors, threw his bag on the floor, and stalked across the hall. Nick gave Tianna a nudge to follow and she hesitantly did so.
Tianna followed Ethan across the majestic marble foyer and into the study but the room was empty. A folded copy of the Wallstreet Journal lay beside a chair by the fire. Stacks files and papers littered the couch and desk.
"Where's Aaron?" Tianna demanded, halting in the doorway crossing her arms over her chest.
"Dunno. I haven't seen him since we left yesterday evening. He must have gone out."
"Out, huh?" Tianna didn't have to ask to know that Ethan didn't mean he'd gone out in the usual sense. Going out meant that he had gone for a run--and that didn't mean jogging.
A muscle ticked in Tianna's jaw. Did Aaron really expect her to submit to a kidnapping and then wait on his convenience? Apparently, he did. Of course he did. But Tianna wanted to go home and she wanted to go home right now. She turned on her heel and strode towards the back of the house, letting the faint memories and her instincts guide her through the kitchen and then out the back door and across a patio towards the woods.
"TIANNA!"
She ignored Ethan following behind her and quickened her pace. She hopped on one foot and then the other as she kicked off her boots. She glanced over her shoulder as she shrugged out of the leather cycle jacket.
Ethan was coming out of the house, a dark scowl on his face.
Laughing ,Tianna ducked into the woods and ran.. She tugged her camisole and bra over her head as she ran and tossed them aside. She undid her pants and paused only seconds to push them down, kick them off them and continue running. Her legs ached to run and to carry her swiftly through the intricate world of the forest and claim it as her own. But part of her protested fiercely. 'No! This isn't yours. You don't belong here!'
She could hear Ethan crashing through the brush behind her and it made her smile. He was in for it. She waited a moment allowing him to catch up to her.
"Tianna..." he started in warning as he halted a few yards away, his hands curled into fists, his gaze roving over her nude body. Ethan felt his loins tightening painfully as he allowed his eyes to move languidly over her exquisite form. She stood a good ten inches shorter than him but she was small and beautifully shaped. Her dark hair fell wildly about nearly delicate shoulders and that framed high taut breasts enough to fill man's hands. Her waist was small flaring out to gently rounded hips atop a pair of shapely golden legs. Christ she was perfect from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. His tone was low when he spoke. The warning was unmistakable. "Tianna, stop this now."
She shook her head and grinned roguishly at him displaying elongated canines. Her eyes gleamed. "Too slow wolf," she tossed at him and turned on her heel and bolted.
"TIANNA!" he roared. He chased after her as she wound through the trees. Ethan cursed as he sprinted after her as he lost sight of her momentarily. He veered around a tree to see a large black wolf dashing through the woods and he skidded to a stop.
He was in shock. It had taken her only seconds to change and she had done it on the run. She hadn't stopped and curled up into a ball willing the change to come and rip its way agonizingly though her body. She was too fast for him but even if he caught her now he was probably still strong enough to subdue her but not without getting shredded by her teeth and claws in the process.
Breathing hard in his fury he ripped off his t-shirt and quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing and willed himself to breath slowly. He felt power surging through his thick corded muscles and he dropped his head back and let the pain come.
Tianna slowed her pace just slightly as she heard Ethan drop back behind her. He'd stopped to change she was sure, giving her a couple of minutes to really concentrate on Aaron's scent as she made her way deeper into the woods.
Aaron's pathway wasn't difficult to follow. She recognized the faded scent pathways winding through the forest as the weres she had spent the last twelve hours with. And then there was the very new fresh scent of an unfamiliar werewolf. Aaron.
A howl pierced her thoughts, singing urgent cry of a wolf. Tianna paused and shuddered as the howl reverberated through her. She held back the answering howl that rumbled deep in her chest. She exhaled a puff of air and shook her head, prancing on her paws. 'No, no, no' she thought urgently. 'Claim the forest if you like but not him. No. Don't claim that.'
The brush rustled behind her and she whirled around to see a large blonde wolf launch himself at her. Ethan. He caught her full in the side and knocked her on her side skidding across the forest floor, then stood over her and nipped at the loose flesh at her neck.
Tianna snapped her jaws at causing him he pulled back.
Ethan whined and stood over her. He bent his head and prodded her with his nose, no longer aggressive but imploring her to run and play with him.
Doing a mental eye roll Tianna lunged forward and grabbing his foreleg between her jaws she yanked him off balance. Ethan went down and she leapt atop him but he quickly flipped over and they wrestled through the thick undergrowth, nipping and kicking, and fighting for position.
Tianna wriggled free and leapt away. They circled each other. Ethan's tail wagged and brushed against her side, running along her flank like a caressing hand. He inched cautiously closer and rubbed his side against hers. He halted suddenly put a leg in front of her to stop her and he pressed his nose against her neck.
It was strange for her. Her father had taught her to wrestle, to fight for the top position. But this was different. Ethan was being playful but there was something else. She was drawn to him. He was pushy, dominating, ruthless--a true alpha male. She hated him but she felt inexplicably pulled toward him.
She could feel his heated breath against her skin as he inhaled her scent. Tianna sighed but her reprieve was short lived. Ethan grabbed her by the skin of her throat and threw her backwards, giving a yip of triumph as he leapt over her and pinned her.
They wrestled for a while longer before Tianna leapt free wriggled away from him and leapt free. Ethan lunged for her but Tianna sprung to the side and took off sprinting.
Ethan skidded, turned, and tore after her. They raced through the forest, crossing acre after acre. Tianna's legs gobbled up the ground as she put more distance between herself and Ethan but just as she started worry about venturing too far into the forest with Ethan a myriad of scents assaulted her senses, halting her as she was about to circle back. Weres, three of them. All of their scents were unfamiliar. She hadn't smelled them at the mansion.
Tianna headed east to solve the mystery. She barely gone ten yards when Ethan leapt from the brush in front of her and growled, his teeth bared. He was no longer playful.
Tianna stared at him, wondering if she'd misunderstood. He growled again and she was sure. He was telling her to back off. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. She pulled her ears back and snarled. Obviously he hadn't gotten the point yet. He couldn't boss her around. She curled her lips back and growled one last warning. He didn't back down.
She flung herself at him. He met her mid-lung, knocking the wind out of her. When she had finally recovered her senses, she lying on the ground with Ethan's teeth locked onto the skin behind her head.
She let out a low moan. She needed some practice. Ethan growled and gave her a rough shake before pulling back and looking down at her expectantly with narrowed eyes.
Tianna doggedly pulled herself to her feet with as much dignity as she could manage but before she was even fully upright, Ethan butted her backside with his muzzle.
Snarling, Tianna turned and gave him a glare, her lips pulling back from her teeth. But Ethan ignored her and simply butted her again, herding her in the direction of Greystone Manor.
Tianna went along with Ethan's prodding for about a half mile before she abruptly swerved to the side and tried to loop around him. Seconds after she sprinted past him two-hundred pounds of fully grown wolf dropped onto her back and she skidded to a halt.
Ethan's teeth sunk into her shoulder, deep enough to draw blood. Tianna let out a yelp of pain and writhed attempting to fight through the initial shock. She couldn't believe it. He'd bit her! The bastard really bit her!
This time he didn't even let her get to her feet before he started herding her back towards the house, nipping at her hind legs when she showed any inkling of hesitation.
Tired of Ethan's pushing and prodding, Tianna turned and snapped at him. When he pulled back instinctively she reared back on her hind paws and changed.
Ethan was staring at her as she turned and stalked away from him. He followed closely behind as she went in search of her pants.
Tianna glanced back at the sandy wolf following her. She knew what he was thinking; how unlike the loup garu she was in the way that she changed. A were valued his privacy when he changed. Even for the experienced werewolf, the change was uncomfortable at best though not the energy sapping agony of a new wolf's change. They valued their privacy for another reason. The in-between state--the transition from man to wolf--was gruesome and unpleasant to watch. But as Ethan watched Tianna shimmy into the tight leather pants he wondered at her transformation.
A light had seemed to fold around her body, blurring her form. The light--the aura--he could think of nothing else to call it, was in the shape of a wolf and then the shape stretched and fluidly lengthened into a human shape, Tianna shape. When the light had faded, Tianna was standing there in all her naked glory. She'd abruptly stomped away from him as though the change had taken nothing out of her, as if it had not taxed her in the least. It was incredible.
Ethan was not behind her when Tianna stepped from the woods. She snatched up her camisole from the lawn and yanked it over her head, nearly tearing a hole in the black lace. She shrugged into the leather jacked, stuffing her bra into her pocket. Cursing under her breath she shoved her feet into her boots and faced the forest waiting for Ethan to emerge.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her booted toes. She blew out slow steady breath of air. 'Calm,' she thought, 'I am calm. Getting into an argument with him isn't going to solve anything. Calm,' she nodded to herself. 'I can do calm.'
"So what you meditate too?" Ethan stepped from the woods barefooted and bare-chested. "I don't think it's doing you any good darlin'," he drawled.
Tianna's head whipped up and her dark eyes clashed with his serene azure gaze. He was right. Her mantra wasn't working. She exploded. "Who the hell do you think you are pushing me around?! I'm not Pack and I'm not one of your underlings. So just get it through that Neanderthal brain of your and keep your hands and paws off me! Understand?" She ripped aside the collar of her jacket displaying the rapidly healing bite mark on her otherwise flawlessly smooth shoulder. "And you fucking bit me!"
Ethan had crossed his arms over his powerful chest and cocked his head to the side as he listened to her tirade. "You finished?"
Tianna perused him warily asking herself how far she was willing to push him. He was over six feet of powerful muscle and he was much faster than she would have liked to admit. Her gaze lingered on the flat pink male nipples before moving lower to peruse the taut ripples of his abdomen, the deep muscular v-cut at his sides and the trail of light blond hair that trailed from his belly button and disappeared into the slightly distressed denim jeans.
Ethan lifted one blonde brow and cleared his throat causing Tianna to jerk slightly and wrench her gaze back to his amused expression. His voice was husky when he spoke again. "Finished now?"
Tianna's face felt like it was on fire. "Yes," she mumbled averting her gaze.
"Good," Ethan was striding towards her and before she could even react he had bent and tossed her over his shoulder and was striding back towards the house.
"ETHAN!" Tianna shrieked in fury. "What the fuck did I just say!? Put me down!" She punched him hard, aiming for his kidney but he barely seemed to register any pain. She hit him again. "I hope you piss blood," she snarled.
"Shh." Ethan brought his hand down hard on her bottom eliciting a squeak from her. "Behave," he admonished.
He carried her through the house and back to the study where he dumped her from his shoulder and onto the plush leather settee. Tianna glared up at him.
"Stay," he pointed at her. His tone brooked no argument.
Her jaw twitched as she held back an outburst. Her gaze followed him as he sprawled in a tall all armchair next to the settee. It was then that she realized that they were not alone.
Standing by the window, his gaze intent on her, was Aaron Thorne. He was tall though not so tall as Ethan and all lean muscle. He was olive skinned and dark eyed. His dark hair was worn long and feathered about his shoulders. A shock of hair fell across his brow. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties though Tianna knew he was her father's age, about twenty years older than he looked. He was dressed conservatively in a black button down over dark denim and black cowboy boots.
"Tianna." His voice was not what she expected. He spoke softly though with assurance. There was no derision in his tone, nor anger or disapproval. He sounded speculative, as though her were simply testing her name out on his tongue.
Tianna straightened in her seat, lifted her chin, and returned his gaze. She could feel Ethan watching the exchange with interest. "Mr. Thorne," she returned evenly and watched the corner of his mouth tilt upwards in a small smile.
"So formal," he chided softly. "Call me Aaron. We're practically family aren't we?"
Tianna forced a tight smile but said nothing.
Aaron came forward and stopped in from of her. "Are you alright?"
Surprised at his question and at the look of genuine concern on his face, her eyes darted to Ethan who smiled back at her and shrugged, amusement once again lighting his cerulean gaze.
"I'm fine," she ground out glaring at Ethan.
"You're certain?" Aaron asked her, causing her to lift her gaze once more to those probing dark brown orbs.
"Yes."
"Good," Aaron nodded more to himself than to her. "Ethan will show you to your room. He said simply, turned from her and moved to sit behind a heavy mahogany desk. She was being dismissed.
Tianna slowly rose to her feet, her hands balling into fists. "That's it?" She ground out. "You have me kidnapped and manhandled and you have nothing else to say? No explanations?"
Aaron leaned back in the armchair, steepling his fingers before his lips. One dark eyebrow winged upward. He said nothing.
He was going to keep her here. Tianna stared at him. He couldn't be serious. She felt Ethan's hand closing over her upper arm as he propelled her from the room. Still reeling, Tianna went along mutely as Ethan lead her through the expansive foyer and up the stairs, down a series of hallways before stopping at 'her' doorway.
"Don't push him, Tianna," he warned, but she simply stared door before her silently.
There was a slight tremor in her voice when she spoke. "Are you going to lock me in?"
Ethan shook his head. "No."
"And your room?" she asked tonelessly.
He nodded to the door neighboring hers a little ways down the hallway. "Nick is across the hall, and Trent around the corner. Marcus, Aiden, and Aaron's rooms are in the other wing along with Dominic's."
She nodded to herself. "My father's room."
Ethan nodded. "Dominic may choose to reside in New York but Greystone has always been his home."
When Tianna said nothing Ethan gently took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him, grimacing when she flinched at his touch. Her gaze was fixated on the center of his chest. "Tianna," he said softly, lifting her face to his with one fingertip. "You're safe here, I promise."
Tianna jerked away from him. "Safe from what, Ethan?" she demanded.
Ethan simply looked at her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He at least had the decency to look somewhat chagrined.
Tianna felt her eyes burning. She was going to cry. "Leave me alone, Ethan," she mumbled and quickly ducked into the room, slamming the door behind her before leaning against the door. A hysterical bubble up through her chest, promptly emerging as a sob.
Tianna clapped her hand over her mouth to mute the sound as she slid down the door to sit at its base. Tears streamed down her face, her chest seizing painfully with the effort of holding back sobs.
"Tianna?" came Ethan's voice from the other side of the door.
She reached up and turned the lock, locking him out though she realized a locked door was a flimsy deterrent.
Ethan stared at the door handle in consternation. She was crying. He could hear her on the other size of the door.
The girl had seemed to display the emotional depth of a teaspoon: anger, rage, fury, indignation ,fury. It was what he would have expected of Dominic Moore's daughter.
Fiery tempers, willful disobedience, reckless determination, and a disturbingly calculating mentality were notorious Moore family traits and Aaron had warned him not to forget it when he had gone to collect the girl.
Dominic Moore could have undoubtedly been the head of the Pack had he wanted that distinction. But Dominic would never have fought Aaron nor had he wished to challenge Aaron who was like a brother to him. He had no wish to lead the Pack. Dominic Moore preferred to live his life outside the immediate constraints of the Pack though never truly leaving the Pack behind him. He'd wanted the same for his daughter, but not at the expense of her safety.
It was why he'd allowed her to come to Shendaken. The girl was under the illusion of complete freedom and independence but Dominic had wanted her looked after and protected. The girl would be an instant draw to any mutt who came across her off Pack territory.
No mutt had trespassed on Pack territory in over a hundred years until the incident in Manhattan. The mutt had been dealt with swiftly and brutally for the infraction. He had been made an example of but the lesson concerning Tianna's safety had not been forgotten.
Ethan had thought himself prepared for Dominic Moore's daughter. He had been prepared to deal with her fury, her resistance and her defiance. It was her quiet sobs on the other side of the door that disturbed him.
"Tianna," he tried again.
"Go away, Ethan!" she came her muffled shout.
Shaking his head Ethan backed away and made his way to his own room. He flopped on the bed letting out a low groan. He couldn't quite fathom his reaction to Dominic Moore's daughter. She was everything he had imagined her to be; fierce, beautiful, and exceedingly difficult. What he hadn't counted on was his the way she pissed him the fuck off and made his cock ache with wanting her all at once.
Covered his eyes with his arm and listened carefully. He could still hear her crying in the next bedroom. It would only be a matter of time before she calmed down and started plotting again. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if she was plotting right now.
***
Tianna moaned, her eyelids flickering open. Panicked at her unfamiliar surroundings, she shot up to sitting position on huge four poster bed hung with pale pink drapes. The memory of where she was came slowly, doing little to alleviate her panic.
She took her time perusing the spacious bedroom. It was decorated in creams, golds and pale pinks. The room was decidedly feminine despite the clean simple lines of the furniture. There was an a sitting area and an armoir in the corner. There was also what looked like a walk-in closet and a bathroom.
Light poured through the large windows framed by cream and gold damask curtains. Sunset? No. The light was coming from the wrong direction. She'd slept heavily through the night. She blinked rapidly. The light hurt her eyes.
She slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and stiffly stood to her feet and moved towards the bathroom.
The marble countertop was crowded with feminine products; expensive bath salts, lotions, and other products. Tianna turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face.
She looked at herself in the mirror, her hands splayed against the cool marble. She looked like hell. Her face was slightly swollen from crying herself to sleep. Her hair was a wild bird's nest around her head. Cursing she looked around the bathroom. There was a claw footed tub and a shower. She opted for the shower. She slowly removed her clothing, wincing at the movement. Yesterday's change and roughhousing had been too much too soon after her rapid healing. Her muscles protested, reminding her of the way she'd abused them.
She lingered in the hot shower as the heated water soothed her sore muscles. She worked the expensive shampoo and conditioner through her hair and tried to ignore the dark dirty water that ran off her body and down the drain.
She emerged and wrapped a fluffy white towel around her body before reluctantly donning her filthy leathers once more.
When she excited the bathroom, the first thing she noticed was the telephone on the small side table next to the settee. She was across the room faster than her body appreciated and snatching up the handset. She dialed her father's number and listened.
Nothing. No dial tone. Nothing. She looked at the screen. It seemed to be working okay. She tentatively put her ear back to the handset. "Hello?"
"Tianna, I'm on the line." It was Aaron.
"Tianna?" a second deep rumbling voice answered.
Tianna sat straight up. "Daddy?"
"Tianna, baby, are you okay?" Dominic Moore demanded.
Relief washed over her and her voice clouded with tears. "Daddy, what's going on? They kidnapped me and wrecked my bike. I wanna go home. Please tell them to let me go home."
Dominic Moore sighed. "Tia, baby, I'm sorry but you've got to stay put for now."
"What? Why?" she wanted to know, hating the way she sounded lie a pleading child.
"We're still trying to figure some things out, Tia. Please just do as your told."
Tianna felt as though her lungs were shrunken in her chest.
"Tianna, please honey listen to me on this."
Tianna bit her lip. She answered in a soft trembling voice. "Okay."
"Tia--"
She hung up the phone.
She sat for minutes, staring at the phone in her hand before placing it back in the cradle.
She moved to the bedroom door and pressed her ear against the cool smooth wood. She could hear people moving about the house.
Shaking her head she moved across the room and shoved open the large picture window overlooking the back patio two stories down. With no hesitation she jumped, landing in a crouch. She straightened slowly and rolled her shoulders. Ouch.
A slow clapping caused her to jerk her head in the direction of the house. The French doors off the breakfast room were flung open opening onto the patio. A table full of staring men (she counted six) had stopped, obviously mid-motion with forks halfway to their gaping mouths.
Ethan stopped clapping and lifted a coffee cup in mock salute. "Nice entrance, darlin' but you could have taken the stairs. How about some breakfast?"
|
Tianna stumbled through the trees, tears streaming down her face. She could almost hear them behind her. She could surely smell them. She went faster, as fast as her bruised and battered body would allow. She was only half loup garu, her blood dilute. Her vision wasn't as keen, her senses less attuned. She couldn't muster the strength to call up her abilities, sharpen her senses. She couldn't see and the woods around her felt ominous. Branches tore at her hair and whipped at her face. The very tree roots seemed to raise up and trip her.
She felt like she was trapped in some B movie slasher flick and like any heroine she faced the inevitable fall. She didn't see the tree root and she most certainly didn't see the ravine that followed.
She screamed and tumbled headfirst down the slope, pulling, attempting to grasp roots, grasses, anything to slow her fall.
She hit the bottom hard and rolled to a halt. She screamed in pain. She couldn't help it. She couldn't move as new waves of pain ripped agonizingly through her body.
Snick, snap, snick. The stars sang out in tiny voices above her head through the canopy of the trees. She tried to move but her body protested fiercely.
Change. If she could just change. She could heal more quickly, possibly keep running. She lay still, silent, trying to focus. She felt the tiniest twinge of muscles, the slightest shifting of bone but nothing more. She was too weak, too damaged. She lay silently staring up at the stars, tears blurring her vision.
The darkness began to creep in at the edges of her vision and then her breathing slowed. And then her vision went back and she knew nothing.
Ethan halted suddenly as her scream ripped through the trees. Her cry frightened him. Her cry was sharp and agonized. The scent of blood was growing stronger and he was sure any carnivore around could smell it.
As if to confirm the thought, he heard the piercing cry of a puma ring out. And considering the condition he figured the girl was in, there was no way she would be able to defend herself.
He quickened his pace, closely following her haphazard trail. He could smell Nick and Trent close behind him. He had to stop himself short before he shared to girl's fate and tumbled down the ravine.
The smell of the puma became overwhelming. It was right below him. With a jolt, he realized, so was the girl.
He slid down the ravine, landing crouched. His eyes fixed on the puma crouched low over the prone figure of the girl. The puma fixed Ethan with it's yellow gaze. It smelled wolf, wolves.
Ethan straightened to his full height. Blood rushed through his veins, the possibility of a fight calling to the wolf in him. He felt his nails lengthening, felt his muscles expanding, his canines growing. His eyes took on a feral glow. A growl started low in his gut, working up through his chest. The sound bore no semblance of his humanity.
The puma crouched low over its unconscious prey. Ethan stepped forward and growled again full of menace. The sounds of more growls sounded from the lip of the ravine above.
The puma flinched and darted into the woods. Ethan relaxed feeling his wolf features retreat. He stepped forward and knelt quickly by Tianna's side, "Christ," he murmured.
She was pretty banged up. He pretty face was scratched and bruised and there was no telling what broken bones or injuries the leather biker suit might be hiding. He was afraid to move her.
He surveyed her face. There were many tiny cuts. He winced, a twinge of worry tugging at him. She should be healing faster than this. Was it possible she was beyond healing herself.
He heard Trent and Nick slide down the slope beyond him.
"Is she alright?" Trent asked uncertainly.
Ethan sighed. He slowly ran his hands over her small body, searching for broken bones. "We keep her right here 'til morning until she heals a bit. We can't move her before then."
Trent protested, "We don't have the supplies for her here. We can't--"
"Then go get them," Ethan snarled. "Both of you. Return to Thornehall. Get the supplies and bring them back to this spot."
"But--"
"Now!" Ethan nearly shouted. "And tell Aaron what's happened."
Nick and Trent turned and slowly made their way up the ravine.
Ethan stared down at the girl. He had a long night ahead of him.
********
Tianna opened her eyes to gaze up through the tree tops at the starlit sky. She groaned as she attempted to shift. God, it hurt.
She realized suddenly that she was not alone. The tall blonde man from the bar was with her. He was carefully tending a small blaze that he was attempting to coax larger.
The amber light of the flames flickered over her his features. Lord, he was handsome and built to make a woman actually want to be a sex slave.
Tianna gave a mental shake. She was not one of those women.
Feeling eyes upon him, Ethan lifted his head and found the girl awake and staring right at him. He stood and watched her eyes widen and become frightened.
Ethan walked over to where she lay and crouched down beside her. He watched her try to shrink away from him and wince in pain. He gave an answering grimace at her discomfort. He reached out to sooth her and stroked her dark silken hair. He pulled a leaf from her now tangled locks.
The motion seemed only to agitate her further. She gave a small whimper and tears filled her eyes.
Ethan drew back. "Sorry," he said softly as he lifted his hands and managed a small smile. She didn't seem convinced. He tried again. "I'm Ethan."
She narrowed her eyes at him but still didn't speak. The name sparked a memory. Good God she hoped this wasn't the Ethan her father had told her about.
He sighed heavily and dropped to his knees beside her. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry about the bar, and chasing you and your accident. But we don't want to hurt you."
She glared at him. "I wouldn't be hurt if your had just left me alone."
His mouth pressed into a thin line. His voice was low. "We had planned to take you before you needed to be chased. We were informed that you would be difficult."
Tianna gritted her death. Her dark eyes blazed with rage. "Fuck you," she growled.
Ethan smiled again. "That can be arranged darlin'," he drawled.
Tianna wanted to smack him.
Behind him two men were sliding down the slope, packs slung over their shoulders. They came to stand beside Ethan.
They all grinned down at her and Tianna felt like a bug under a microscope.
The dark-haired one smiled down at her. He was kind of pretty, Tianna noted. "How is she?" he asked, glancing at Ethan.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Difficult."
Tianna sneered at him. "Go to hell."
Trent, the smaller red-headed male laughed and smacked Ethan on the back. "Well I can tell she's taken a liking to you Ethan."
"She needs that mouth washed out with soap," Ethan growled low in his throat, turned on his heel and began to go through the Packs. Trent went to join him.
The dark-haired werewolf, Nick, bent beside her. His smile seemed genuine.
She gazed back at him warily.
"Are you in much pain?" he asked softly.
Tianna pressed her lips together and nodded her head.
"Is anything broken."
Tianna nodded again. She blinked back tears. "My ribs," she said quietly. "My ribs are broken, I think."
Worry entered his dark gaze. "Does it hurt to move?"
"Immensely," she answered.,
The man bit his lip. "Aaron's going to kill us."
She frowned. "Who's Aaron? Aaron Thorne?"
"Head of the Pack," Nick answered.
Tianna's mind was racing. The Pack? A group of werewolves, purebloods, not mutts. whose bloodlines went back to ancient times. She decided to say nothing and fixed a blank confused look on her face. She'd visited the Pack when she was a child but she had no contact them for years. She wanted no part of them.
Nick noticed the blank expression and dismissed it. Instead he focused on her injuries. He met her gaze and nodded at the fitted black motorcycle jacket. "May I take a look?"
A look of panic flitted over her pretty features. She threw a glance towards the others. They were busy pitching tents and paying her no attention. She shifted her attention to Nick and met his gentle gaze. She nodded silently.
Tentatively he reached for the zipper and pulled it down slowly, doing his best not to hurt her. A black lacey camisole was revealed against golden brown skin. Nick tried to ignore the generous swell of her breasts and instead his fingertips grazed the bottom of her top.
"I'm just going to check your ribs," he said softly.
She nodded and seemed to be holding his breath.
He lifted the camisole to reveal dark purple bruises all along her right ribcage. Watching her face, he gently glided his fingertips over her side. She hissed in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut.
Nick withdrew his hand. He sighed. "You're banged up pretty good."
She exhaled slowly as he lowered her top. "No kidding," she mumbled. The bike suit had had protected her from cuts and scratches but not the breaks and bruises.
"Anything else?" Nick asked.
"As if this weren't enough?" she hissed.
He had the courtesy to look chagrinned.
She shook her head, no. "Just bruised and achy."
"Do you think you can move?"
Tianna snorted. "Not likely." She stopped short. Should she be admitting that she was completely helpless.
Ethan came to stand beside Nick. "How is she?" he asked softly.
"Broken ribs," Nick supplied.
"Why can't you just let me go?" Tianna demanded.
Both men looked at her skeptically.
"Do you know who my parents are? If you're Pack, you know who my father is." She hissed at them.
Ethan and Nick exchanged glances.
"We're going to move you now," Ethan said quietly. "We'll be as careful as we can not to hurt you."
Tianna's jaw tightened and she steeled herself. The two men got on either side of her; Ethan by her upper half on her left and Nick by her legs on her right. Both men slid their arms under her and lifted her.
Tianna stifled a whimper of pain as they carried her across the ground an gently deposited her inside of the tents. After seeing that she was settled upon one of the pallets, they withdrew closing the flap of the tent behind them.
Tianna sighed. She knew she wasn't going anywhere tonight. There was no way her body was going to let her. But tomorrow would be different.
Musing to herself, she lengthened her nails. She felt her canines growing longer. She traced their sharp tips with her tongue.
She smiled to herself. Soon.
She allowed herself to close her eyes and give in to the darkness and the sounds of the woods around her.
She fell asleep, a contented smile upon her face.
"That smile worries me," Ethan growled as he peeked into the tent in which the girl lay sleeping. "She's planning something. I know it."
Trent looked in on her. "Ah, Ethan, she looks peaceful. Where's she gonna go anyway?"
Ethan straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll stay with her tonight."
Trent grinned. "Why do you get to share a tent with that luscious little piece."
"Exactly," Nick mirrored Ethan's posture.
Ethan's brows drew together as he surveyed his Pack brothers. "If she tries to run...she'll be stronger tomorrow. She'll fight. Are either of you willing to take her on?"
Both Trent and Nick shifted uncomfortably under Ethan's glare.
"We have to get her to Thornehall even if we have to knock her around a little before. She'll thank us later." He surveyed each man in turn. "I'm going to bed. Any other arguments."
Trent shrugged and looked sheepish. Nick simply turned on his heel and stalked into his own tent.
Ethan nodded goodnight to Trent and then ducked into the girl's tent. He gazed down at her. She looked so peaceful; her face relaxed and serene, her hair was a dark cloud around her head. He could almost forget that she would gleefully rip him into tiny pieces if she were at full strength and given the chance.
He gazed at her a moment before he settled down onto the pallet next to her, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and determinedly fixed his attention on the ceiling of the tent. This girl was going to get him in trouble. He was sure of that.
*******
Tianna's eyes snapped open. It was near dawn. She lifted a hand to her face. It felt grimy and dirty. She wrinkled her nose. But there was no trace of the scratches or bruises that had been there the night before.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself to sitting position. Her ribs were still sore and bruised but she could tell the bones had fused together nicely.
It was then that she noticed the sleeping male werewolf at her side, the one called Ethan. He looked like Michelangelo's 'David' but even in sleep he was something fierce.
His heavily lashed lids slowly lifted and his dark blue eyes stared at her. Tianna froze. They held each other's gaze and something crackled in the air between them.
Ethan stared at the girl. Christ, she was beautiful. Her dark eyes were heavy lidded with sleep. Her full pink lips were slightly parted. Her raven hair tumbled wildly around her shoulders, but his gaze was drawn back to her lips. Before he could stop himself he felt his tongue sweep over his own lips.
Tianna's eyes widened. If he didn't look like the big bad wolf, she didn't know what did. She dove for the entrance of the tent. She was fast but not fast enough. He caught her around the waist. She twisted in his grasp and raked her nails across his chest, drawing blood.
He barely flinched. He gripped both of her wrists and pinned her beneath him. She writhed frantically beneath him but it was useless. He was too strong, to heavy, and she was still too weak. A frustrated sob escaped her throat and she lay still.
They stared at one another, breathing hard, their faces mere inches apart. Both pairs of eyes had taken on a feral glow and parted lips revealed sharpened teeth.
Tianna met Ethan's smoldering gaze. A tear slipped down her cheek and she watched as his gaze changed. Some of the feral glow left them, but still they smoldered. He bent his head and she could feel his gently breath warm against her cheek, and then his mouth moved to cover hers.
She tasted like honey and salt. He wanted more. He deepened the kiss, letting his mouth crush hers slightly. She parted her lips and he thought he might lose his mind if he didn't take her right now. He slipped his arms around her, mindful of her injuries. Slowly he explored her mouth with his tongue. She tensed slightly and he held her more tightly, letting her know that she was safe and protected and he was in control. She relaxed in his arms and combed her fingers through his hair.
A voice in the back of Ethan's mind whispered, 'If she's this good at kissing, what will it feel like to have her naked under you? To slide into her welcoming body, feel her nails dig into your back?" Ethan shivered. His tenuous hold on his desire was beginning to give away, and he wanted to let it go.
'Get a hold of yourself!' Tianna's logical mind reached to regain control.
Tianna dropped her head back, thinking that looking into those cool cobalt eyes would snap her quickly back to reality. But Ethan's eyes were soft cerulean, igniting her veins.
When he lowered his lips once more, Tianna knew she was lost. She never wanted anything as much as she wanted to feel this man beside her, his skin bared to her touch. She wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved and wanted her. And, God help her, she wanted him inside her.
He began ravishing her mouth with his tongue, invading, claiming completely. The spasms inside her body startled her and she tensed. The solid wall formed by his tightening arms let her know she had nothing to fear, that he was there to protect her. Her mind was whirling, part of her knowing that this was not right, the other part only caring about the sensations coursing through her body. He fell between her thighs, his hard maleness pressing intimately against her. He gently rocked his hips against her mound and Tianna thought she would die of pleasure. She arched up against him.
His hand found the bottom of her camisole and he slid his fingers inside, reaching for the soft mound of flesh hidden beneath the scant protection of the black lace.
Tianna held her breath knowing, that the touch of his hand would send her spiraling out of control.
A shadow fell over them from outside the tent, "Hey Ethan." It was Trent. "What's going on in there? We can smell the heat out here."
At the first word, the fragile spell was broken. Tianna felt the words sink in and realized what she almost let happen. She pushed on Ethan's shoulders and pulled her mouth away from his caressing lips. He pulled his back and she watched his eyes actually change color, going from light cerulean to hard dark blue.
He stood, pulling her with him. She was happy to find that her legs didn't turn traitor and let her crumble to the ground. He pulled her after him as he stepped through the opening in the tent.
"What's going on Ethan?" Nick stood not far away, looking decidedly angry but attempting to mask it with a stoic expression. His dark eyes swept over Tianna. Tianna flushed and looked at the ground.
Ethan stretched and yawned languidly. "Morning wood," he shrugged and smirked. "Couldn't help it."
Nick seemed to relax, soothed by whatever he saw in Ethan's eyes. Trent simply grinned.
"Come on," Ethan said, "Let's get out of here."
Tianna watched as they quickly Packed up. When Ethan reached for her arm she wrenched away, ignoring the pain in her side. Her eyes were spitting black ice. "You've got morning wood?! You son-of-a-bitch, is that was? Just wanting to get rid of a hard on?"
Ethan smirked and shrugged again. "What did you think is was, sweetheart? True love?"
That smirk was too much. He'd made a fool of her. And worse, she had let him. She would have smacked a lesser man. This wasn't a man though. Putting all her rage into the action, Tianna caught Ethan with a hard right hook.
Tianna immediately cried out and fell to her hands in knees. The movement had caused her ribs a fair amount of pain but it was worth it.
Ethan stumbled, off balance. He then stood stiffly. He stood perfectly still as the girl rose to her feet. There was a shallow cut on his cheek made by her ring. Nick and Trent stood, shocked expressions on their faces.
His eyes told her of impending doom. In a move faster than her eye could follow, his hands shot out and clamped down on her upper arms. He yanked her towards him, pulling her against his immobile frame so hard she was certain she had fractured her ribs once more.
With a cry she gritted her teeth and her head dropped forward to his chest as she gasped for breath.
His whisper stirred the hair at her temples. "You're either very stupid or very brave," he said softly. He lifted a hand to her face and gently stroked her cheek before e let her go and pushed her away from him. She backpedaled and compressed her side, grimacing.
He perused her dispassionately. "Don't do that again. Nobody hits me and lives. Since you're a female and there are plans for you, I'll let it slide this time. But don't press your luck, girl."
It took all of Tianna's courage to hold her head high and follow the men through the forest instead of giving into her first instinct which was to run like hell.
|
Ok people, I tried to make the last one longer, but it wasn't long enough for my tastes. Keep the comments coming though; I love to hear from you!
Hopefully Ch.5 will be coming soon, quicker than this one, most likely...
And there are some Latin names in this one, Infernus is one. It's Vampire Colony and the name means Hellfire.
There's also Erant, the name of a Pack. It literally means Were.
Bye!
k_k
----------------------------------------------------------------
Caleb
'I can hear the van.' She said. A shiver ran down her back.
'Which van? The one from the alley?' I asked. She nodded to confirm.
'I hate that van.' She muttered. I could hear the loathing in her voice.
'Why?' She shook her head.
'I can't tell you now.'
'Why? Don't you trust me?' She paused.
'I trust you more that I trust our safety right now.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means we're not safe, because even though I can hear the van, I can't see it. And that freaks me out.'
'Then let's go.' She looked at me, sceptical.
'Go where?' Taking her arm, I pulled her around the side of the building to where I knew she'd have parked her bike.
'I'll tell you how to get there. Now drive!'
*
Darley
I ran to my bike and leapt on. Caleb followed me and sat behind, forcing me to be uncomfortably aware of his...maleness. "Mon Dieu." I thought. I turned the key and revved up, kicking the rest up. 'Hold on!' I yelled to Caleb and opened up the throttle, racing out of the car park.
I followed Caleb's instructions, much to my own chagrin, and found myself outside a modern-looking apartment. 'Is this it?' I asked Caleb, slightly disappointed. He grinned, and my stomach gave a few back-flips when I saw he had dimples. "Get a grip, Darley!" I told myself.
'This is it.' He said. We walked in. It was nicely furnished, but minimalistic, with a cold-colour scheme of white and gold. It was slightly messy but it suited Caleb to a 'T'. I didn't let that show, of course.
'Doesn't look like much.' I sniffed. 'And it smells like wet dog and sex.'
'Damn, I forgot that Kaen and his friends came over...'
'Kaen?' I shivered. Where had I heard that name before?
'Yeah, Kaen is one of my best friends, and a fabulous Beta.'
'But not as good as you, obviously.'
'Holy shit. Was that a complement?'
'No.'
'It sounded like one.'
'You need your ears cleaned out. I'll do it with a scalpel...'
'No thanks.' He walked to what I assumed was a kitchen. 'You want something to eat?' I arched one eyebrow.
'What'cha cooking?'
'Ok...you can have...fish? I'm joking, I'm joking!' He added hastily, seeing the scowl on my face. 'Ok... how about a jacket with butter and cheese?'
I bit my lip, unaware of his eyes following my movement. 'Ok. But can you add beans?'
'If you want.'
'Thanks, that'll be fine.' I worried my lip with my teeth, unsure of how he was going to take my next request. 'Umm, can I just-'
'Do you want a shower?' He interrupted. My eyes widened.
'What the- how did you know I was going to ask?' He looked slightly chagrined.
'Well, I-'
'You know what,' I said, strolling to the bathroom. 'I don't wanna know.' And with that, I closed the door and slipped into the most heavenly shower of my life.
¬¬¬*
Caleb
I watched as she slid through the door and shook my head slightly. What was it about the girl that made me want to both strangle her and kiss her senseless? "Wait, kiss her senseless?! Where did that come from?" I thought. "That's impossible. She can't be. I don't have a mate. She can't be my mate!" I growled and ran to my basement, where my personal gym was. I needed to get my head straight and the best way to do that was to decapitate a dummy.
Fifteen minutes and twelve dummies later, I headed upstairs to get the food on, figuring that she'd still be in the shower. The door was slightly ajar, and through it, I could see Mencal. "Holy hell." I thought. There she was, standing in the shower, completely naked. I flushed and my work trousers started to become uncomfortably tight. I needed to get away from Mencal and her fucking gorgeous body, so I escaped to my room. I changed my clothes to a more casual jeans and a t-shirt, whilst tying my long hair back with a leather band. After taking a moment to compose myself, I walked into my living room just as Mencal came in from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. "Hot damn." I thought. She eyed me over and blushed slightly, while I could only imagine what thoughts were occupying her mind.
I made my way over to the grill, starting it up, while Mencal shut herself in my bedroom to get changed. I was just pulling the beans out of the microwave when Mencal opened the door. She didn't look half bad. The borrowed top clinged to her damp skin, highlighting her curves and her denims rode low on her hips. She walked over while I was giving her the eye and sniffed appreciatively. 'That smells nice!' She said smiling, and turned to find me looking away from her with a strained expression. She frowned. 'What's wrong?' I looked pointedly down at her shirt then back up and away again. Her shirt was wet through and her breasts were perfectly outlined. She looked down and promptly crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks flaming. I coughed awkwardly and started to dish out the beans onto two jacket potatoes that had been cooking in the oven.
After we had eaten, we sat on my sofa in comfortable silence. I sighed and leaned back, watching as Mencal stretched then did the same. 'Caleb?' I felt a warm rush over me as my name slipped from her lips.
'Yes, Mencal?'
She frowned. 'For some reason, I don't like you calling me that.'
'I have no other name for you.'
'You're being awfully polite.'
'Would you rather me be awfully rude?'
'No.'
'Well then.'
'I wanted to ask you something...'
'Ask away, Mencal.'
'How long?'
It was my turn to frown. 'How long what?'
'How long did you spend in that hellhole?'
'Ah. So you did notice.'
She snorted. 'I've seen enough vampire bites to know what one looks like.' She paused. 'Do you... aagh. Never mind.'
'No, what were you going to say?'
'Umm...you know what? It doesn't actually matter...'
'Tell me.' Mencal flinched then glared at me.
'Don't tell me what to do.'
'Fine. Will you please tell me?'
She sighed. 'My name.'
'What?'
'I was going to ask if...you still wanted to know my name. But it honestly doesn't matter now-'
'No, wait. Tell me, Mencal. I still really want to know. Please?'
'Will you tell me how you ended up getting bitten by a vampire?'
'...Yes.'
'Fine then. Don't tell anyone, or I will hunt you down and kill you in your sleep. And I'll enjoy it.'
'Ok...'
'My name...Oh god! Okay deep breaths...in...out...in...out...' She sighed again. 'My name is Darleinaska.' There was a pause.
'Holy Shit.' I said, astounded. That was the name of-
*
Darley
He knew. I could tell. "Oh God, what have you done?!" I thought desperately. "Why did you tell him, you idiot! -No-one shall know, and no-one shall ever know- Why couldn't I keep my damn promise?" He stared at me, completely unblinking. 'Darleinaska?' I shivered at the sound of my name. 'Yes?' He blinked.
'You're not...by any chance...The Darleinaska, are you?' I swallowed hard. He knew.
'Depends on who you mean by "The".'
'Umm... The last full Were-cat?' And with that sentence, my temper sky-rocketed. How dare they!
'Is that what they call us now?' I raged, jumping up and striding around Caleb's apartment. 'Full Were-cats? This is so typical of Weres! Making even other species conform to their standards. We are not, and never have been Were. I never want to be. I am not the "last full Were-cat" because there never was such thing as a "full Were-cat"! I am Felis Nigorakxe.
The prime Cat; descendant of the Goddesses. And I am the Last Felis, The Alpha Princess Darleinaska.' I halted, suddenly realising something. 'Oh no,' I groaned. 'That's how they keep finding me! That's how Damien keeps finding me...' I held my head in my hands and stared down at the floor, abruptly lost in thought. However, my portion of nostalgia time was rather rudely interrupted by a growl emanating from Caleb. I arched an eyebrow. 'Caleb? Are you alright?' He stopped growling, but his face remained stony.
'Who is this Damien?' He rumbled.
'A very pissed off vampire prince, and my ex-captor. Why?' I was confused. Why did he care? His face relaxed.
'I just...don't really like the idea of you knowing another male by first name.'
I was shocked. 'Why the fuck do you care?'
'Does it really matter?'
'Hell Yes!'
'Well... as far as I know... I mean, I could be wrong, but-'
'Spit it out, dammit.'
'I think that you're my mate!' He snapped, and then froze in alarm. My eyes went wide.
'Your...mate?! But...that's not... Shit! For fuck's sake...'
'I know. I'm not even supposed to have a mate, never mind a fucking princess...' I flinched. I hadn't been addressed as a princess for a long time. Then the rest of his statement sunk in.
'What do you mean you're not supposed to have a mate?'
He groaned. 'I-It's to do with my time with a vampire colony...do you really want to know?'
'Yes!'
'Ok then. I'll tell you. Just... don't judge me' I was slightly excited. He took a deep breath and began to talk.
*
I was in my home when I got the news."No way." I thought. "They're not going to send me to live with blood-suckers for 3 fucking years!" But sure enough, 2 months later I was travelling to a vampire colony, to be an ambassador for a new alliance between my Pack and the Infernus Colony.
The Infernus Vampires were notorious for their change. The entire colony had stopped draining their victims. But even then I didn't trust Vampires. I didn't want to work there, not even as a peace keeper. But I had no choice, Alpha's orders must be obeyed. When I got there, it wasn't that bad. The Vampires were...welcoming. Not hostile or even withdrawn, they were happy. I realised that these Vampires were free now. And I began to feel free with them. I made friends; a female Vampire was particularly interested in me, but even if I liked a few Vamps as friends, it doesn't mean I wanted to get... involved with one. I told her so, and she shut down. She became withdrawn and depressed, so I thought. Turned out she was just plotting. That was nearly a year in.
A while later, she came up to me, said she was sorry, and asked if we could still be friends. 'I don't see why not!' I said. So we continued to see each other, strictly superficial, but I don't think it was ever enough for her. No matter how happy she seemed. After about 18 months I was... content. I missed my pack, but I had to take reports to my Alpha every four or five months, so I got to see my fiends and their mates sometimes. And living with Vampires wasn't awful. Yet.
The vampire that had asked my out, everyone called her Mona, but her full name was Desdemona. It literally means "from the Devil". I wish I'd have known that then. Maybe, it would have warned me, warned me to stay away from that bitch. One day, she invited me for dinner at her place. We were still superficial, but about as close as two "superficial" friends could get. So I went, and they attacked. They beat me up and tied me to the floor. They fed off me for days on end, I didn't know what time or day it was, or when they were going to stop. Mona was insane; she tried to get me to love her for what she was doing to me. I never did, and that's why she got so mad. That's how I've got the marks on my neck. I was there for two months.
When they found me, I was a wreck. It turned out that one of the newly-turned Vamps in Infernus was also rather enamoured with me, and when she hadn't seen me for a month, she contacted my pack to see if I'd gone back. Between them it took a little over three weeks to find where I was. Mona got decapitated and set alight, her two partner-in-crimes got defanged. They died around seven months later. I had therapy for a year, and then I joined the police. My alpha's never made me do anything to do with vampires again.
*
Darley
I was shocked. How could the man in front of me, a normal werewolf, go through all that and still remain so...intact? He still looked, sounded and acted normal. Or, as normal as a Were can get. "Not like me". I thought. "My experience with Vamps messed me up big time."
I stared. He stared back. After a while, he began to look uncomfortable, fidgety. I was still sitting, staring off into space, thinking about what I'd just heard and if it was similar enough to my own past to keep him from bolting if I told it to him.
'Say something...' I heard quietly. I shook my head slightly, and focused back on Caleb.
'Sorry?' I said. He gave a short, hoarse laugh, and I jumped slightly.
'It's fine. I'm almost over it now. But apparently, I was so severely scarred, mentally, that it would be impossible for me to have a mate.'
'Until, you met me.'
'Yes.'
'Because, you believe I'm your mate.' "I wonder if he's only annoying half the time?" I thought.
'...Yes.'
'Are there anymore jacket potatoes left?'
'What?!' He nearly chocked at the sudden conversation change.
'I can't help it if I'm still hungry, Aesop.'
'Aesop? Oh right, the storyteller...'
'Yeah. So, potatoes?'
'Yeah, right, there should be. Hang on, I'll just grab them for you.'
'Thanks.'
'Wow, was that a thank you?' His annoyingness had just returned full-throttle.
'Yes, it was. So shut up and get my food.' I turned away huffily. 'And step on it!' I added, mimicking his voice perfectly. He jumped as he was pulling the tray from the oven.
'How do you do that?' He asked, setting it on the counter.
'Do what? This?' I asked innocently, this time mimicking the current Prime Minister's voice. He roared with laughter at that, and I could help but notice his dimples, and the way his eyes lit up as he laughed. "Fuck that sounds cliché." I thought.
'Ha ha! David Cameron! God, that was a good one.' He set the plate down in front of me. 'Do another, and I'll see if I can guess.'
'Ok then. How about... this? "Hey, what's up doc?" ' It was a perfect Bugs Bunny.
'Ah, my favourite wappit. Okay, another!' And we continued playing this new found game, progressing onto animals when we had run out a famous people. I could help but admire his quick-thinking and wit on some of my impressions. His laugh was deep and rich, and it was worth making a total fool out of myself just to hear it. At quarter-to-seven, I looked at the clock, suddenly realising how late it was. We had arrived at his apartment at half-past ten.
'Mon Dieu! Nous avons été ici pendant environ sept heures! Merde, j'ai vraiment besoin de rentrer à la maison, j'ai ... choses à faire, et ... J'ai juste besoin de rentrer à la maison!'
'Calm down, Darleinaska! You can sleep here, and in the morning, I will take you home. I promise!'
'Right, désolé. Thank you for your offer, but I really should get going...'
'It's winter, Darleinaska. The skies were dark two hours ago, and I refuse to go out now. I'm sorry, but I really don't want you getting mugged... or worse.'
'That's good, because I hate the cold.' He laughed again, loud and rich. 'Désolé encore, but with my past, I find it very hard to trust people, especially men or police officers. And since you're both...'
'It's ok. When I was in therapy, I could hardly talk to a girl, and I never made eye contact. It was like being sixteen again.'
I laughed loudly, for the first time in ages, and I could see how pleased he was at my reaction. 'Thank you for gracing me with your laugh, Darleinaska. You are most gracious.'
'Don't push it, Caleb. And please, no more of the "Darleinaska", it makes me feel old. Just call me Darley.'
'Very well, Darley.' I suddenly felt an unbidden rush of tingling pleasure at my name coming from his lips. "God, he made it sound like a hidden promise! How can a name sound that erotic?!" I thought, my mind suddenly being battered with images of him calling my name as I took him in my mouth... "God, Darley! Obtenir une poignée de vous-même! Tu agis comme un adolescent putain excitée!"
'Darley? Hello?' God, I hadn't even realised that he was talking to me!
'Désolé! I... zoned out for a second there. Yes, I'll stay.'
'Yes!' My eyebrow arched.
'But...'
He groaned. 'Why must there always be a "but"? Why must there always be one to ruin a perfectly good sentence?'
I laughed. 'Hey, it's only a small, yet still extremely important, "but". And it is this, I do tend to have nightmares, but do not, for the life of you try to wake me from one. I
Hopefully, I won't have one tonight, but the Fates aren't usually that kind to me, so be prepared.'
'Ok. Fair enough.'
'And one more thing... Please can I sleep on the sofa?'
'Do you really want to? I mean, you can have the bed, I'm not saying join me or anything-' My mind flooded with pictures of us entangled together. '-But I'll sleep on the sofa, if you want!'
'No, no, I definetly want the sofa. Besides, I'ts probably more comfortable than what I sleep on at the moment!'
'And what's that?'
'A large, rather old cat bed.'
'Oh. I can guarantee it's more comfy that that.' I laughed again. It was going to be an interesting night.
|
“Why does he want to go to the City of Light?” Clarke asks once Bellamy had gone after Jasper, leaving the two girls alone. It’s a stupid question and she already knows why. Probably for some of the same reasons she wants to go. To see her.
But the blonde knows that she has to play coy if she wants Raven to spill what she knows so she tries her best to keep her voice distant and uninterested.
“He’s right.” Raven eyes her skeptically, quickly reading her game. She wasn’t the youngest zero-g mechanic for no reason. “It’s none of your business.”
“Actually, it is.” She insists. If Raven won’t back down, neither will she. Determination . That was one thing they had in common.
Well, there was that and Finn. But they never talked about him. In fact, it had been quite a while since she had heard the Latina mention anything about him at all. It was a mercy kill, executed by Clarke herself, and despite her intentions of protecting him from any further torture, Raven had been furious at her. Rightfully so. She was the reason he cheated on her in the first place after all. But none of that explained why or how Raven had suddenly just forgiven and forgotten the whole ordeal.
“You’re not allowed to.” Raven says sharply, teeth grinding together. “Nobody is. Abby’s orders.”
“Well, good thing you’re not one to follow the rules.” Clarke quips.
Raven’s eyes are unreadable, she glances a few feet away, a flash of terror across her face. She shakes her head, breathing heavily.
“Raven, what do you know?” Clarke leans forward, bring the girl out of the trance. Blue eyes locked on brown ones. “What aren’t you telling us?”
It’s a stare down. Clarke wins, just as she typically does.
“I took the chip from Jaha before your mom caught on to it.” The brunette confesses. “I realized it wasn’t what I expected and Abby found out. She banned them after I told her.”
It was starting to make sense now. No wonder why Raven wasn’t looking at her the way she used to, with so much hatred and sorrow. She didn’t have to feel the pain that Clarke had caused her now. And if there was no death in the City of Light, it was likely that she could visit Finn whenever she wanted. It all sounded so perfect.
“Told her what?” Clarke was about to embark on her own journey to the forbidden city and if she wanted to be able to carry out Lexa’s wish, she needed to know as much information as she could.
“I can’t get a grip on reality.” Raven holds her head, hands smoothing over her hair roughly as she struggles to grasp her words. They come out in short sentences; strangled and disconnected. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’m still in the City or not. I don’t remember what’s real.” The mechanic kneads at her leg nervously. Clarke tries to stop her from further injury but the brunette just chuckles, brushing her hand away.
“It doesn’t hurt.” She says flatly. “Nothing hurts. Not my knee. Not Finn.” She shrugs, but Clarke can tell she feels uneasy about it.
"I don’t remember Finn.” Raven continues. “I just know that he was my boyfriend. Because people tell me he was. But I don’t know. I can’t. No matter how much they try to remind me of him, I can’t even picture what he looks like.” She confides.
Clarke swallows.
Finn was Raven’s Lexa. It wasn’t just pain. It was the person all together. The person who caused you pain would be completely eliminated from your memories, happy experiences included.
“We need to fix this.” Clarke resolves. “I’m going to talk to my mom.” She stands from her place across from the mechanic.
“I’m coming with you.” The brunette asserts in agreement, confirming with a nod. Clarke returns one of her own and waits for the Latina to maneuver her leg and brace out from under the table before the two set off in the direction of the Ark’s medical wing.
She leads a few feet ahead, stopping in the doorway when she sees her mother with her back to her, hovering over a young boy lying weakly on a cot. He’s clearly in pain, pupils dilated as she brushes the shaggy bangs out of his face. A few stands stick disobediently to the sweat on his forehead. Clarke can’t help but think of Aden. Her stomach drops again at another reminder of Lexa.
“You still have access to the City of Light.” She says from the doorway, heart clenching as she watches the boy writhing in pain. Abby stiffens, placing a cold washcloth on the boy before rising slowly, closing the door behind her as she slips out to speak to her daughter.
“How did you know?” Abby asks.
“A little birdy told me.” She says sarcastically. As if on cue, Raven appears from around the corner, standing confidently at her side. “I need one of those pills.”
“We can’t just use the pills when things get tough.” Abby lowers her voice.
She’s misreading the situation.
“It’s not for the reasons you think.” She clarifies.
"I still can’t let you have one.” Her mother rejects. “There are complications.”
“Like what?” Blue eyes narrow. The doctor looks around them, glancing carefully down the hall before motioning for the two to follow her. They walk wordlessly to her office.
“Shut the door.” She instructs and she does. Raven takes a seat in one of the office chairs in front of Abby’s desk but Clarke remains standing, too focused on the task at hand. Abby fixes her eyes on her, urging her to sit as well.
Clarke gives in, solely for the purpose of getting more information from her mother. Abby takes her place behind the chair, inhaling and exhaling slowly before continuing their conversation.
“I haven’t quite figured out all of the details,” She begins calmly. “But it does something to the temporal lobe of the brain, specifically focused on the hippocampus of the user.” She chews her lip and Clarke waits expectantly. “Whenever a nociceptor sensory neuron fires in that region of the brain, the chip somehow eliminates that whole experience or memory. It basically freezes that part of the brain and prevents them from functioning.”
Clarke’s eyes widen.
“That’s not all.” Abby continues. “The longer you stay in the City of Light, the more dependent you become on visiting. Staying. And then your physical body depletes. If you don’t come back to reality to sleep, nourish, and care for it, you could wither away.”
“It’s like getting hopped up on drugs.” Raven jests, trying to alleviate the tension. It fails.
“It’s much more serious than that.” Her mother warns.
“I need to get there.” Clarke says as straightforward as she can. “You have to give me one of the pills that Raven took.” She insists.
“No.” Abby shakes her head. “I won’t allow it.” She says steadfastly.
“I’m not going to stay there.” Clarke swears. “I’m not going to waste away.” Any more than I already have anyway. She thinks.
The older woman holds firm. “It’s too dangerous. You could get hurt.”
Raven looks nervously between the two Griffin women, unsure of how the whole debacle is going to play out. She fidgets with the metal bolt of her brace watching the two go back and forth.
“Everything hurts.” Clarke counters. “There’s always that chance.” Abby’s expression folds for a moment and Clarke can tell that her new behavior has taken her mother by surprise. Hell, it took her by surprise too. But this was something Lexa wanted. Lexa was smart. If this was something Lexa needed to have done, it had to be of a greater importance, even if Clarke didn’t quite understand it all. Ultimately, Clarke wanted what Lexa wanted; purpose, a reason for peace. And she intended to make it so.
“A chance I’m not willing to let you take.” Abby regains her composure.
“I don’t care.” Clarke pushes again. “I’m going.”
“Not if I can help it.” Her mother presses back.
“You can’t help it.” Clarke says defiantly.
“You’ve forgotten, I’m the one with access to the pills. Not you.” She asserts. Abby leans forward in her chair, daring Clarke to challenge her again.
“Didn’t you hear anything she just told you?” Raven finally pipes in. “Or anything I told you?”
“Are you going to help or not?” Blue eyes tear way from the doctor’s, pinning to the mechanic’s brown ones.
“What exactly am I supposed to be helping you do anyway?” The Latina holds her own. “You haven’t exactly divulged that somewhat important detail.” She sasses.
“Yes, Clarke.” Her mother agrees. “What is the purpose of all of this? You haven’t expressed any interest in them before. And I would have liked to have kept it that way.” Abby says.
“I need to get into the City” Clarke sighs. “So I can destroy it. It’ll be my first and last time there.” She promises.
It somewhat relieves her mother who takes in the words. But they sink into the pit of Clarke’s stomach as well. It will be the first and last time she might be able to see Lexa, if she is even allowed to get there. And then there was the factor of whether or not Lexa’s memory would cause her pain. If that was the case, Clarke wouldn’t be able to see her there either, just as Raven couldn’t remember Finn because of how much he hurt her.
But Lexa was different. Clarke thought to herself. Lexa brought her more peace and love than anybody ever had. More respect and comfort than she deserved. Clarke wasn’t hurt by Lexa. She hurt for Lexa.
“How?” Abby posed the question that Clarke was hoping to avoid.
“I haven’t worked that part out yet.” She confesses. “I was hoping you and Raven would be able to help.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.” Raven admits. “Abby?” The mechanic turns to her doctor.
Clarke can tell that her mother is trying to decide whether or not to divulge any more information.
“If we’re going to make this work, I’ll have to find a way to re-stimulate the inhibited neurons.” Her mother explains. “I would have to run a lot more tests and find someone who was willing to go through a potentially large amount of pain.” Her voice fading as she ends with the hard truth.
“That’s the roadblock.” Clarke realizes. Nobody would willingly want to inflict pain on themselves, especially not a person who had already been relieved of it completely.
They sit in silence, unsure of what to do next. It’s deafening.
“I would.” Raven says softly after a beat. She looks up from where she had been staring at her hands in her lap. “I’ll volunteer.” She says more confidently, her voice is firm and unwavering.
“No.” Abby’s eyes are full of concern. “You are still…”
“She’s a fighter.” Clarke cuts her off, warding away her doubts. “She can do it.” She looks at Raven gratefully, giving her an encouraging nod.
“But Raven is…” Abby tries to come up with another excuse.
“Raven is right here.” The Latina rolls her eyes. “And she can think for herself, thank you.”
Abby sighs. “Let me think about it.”
Clarke tries not to push it and Raven nods. They take the cue to leave the medical office, the tensions of the mental war lingering over their heads.
“Thank you.” She says honestly when they return back to the mechanic’s work station. She doesn’t know what else to say.
“Stop looking at me like that, Princess.” Raven huffs. “I’m not some bird you found in the woods. I have wings, ya know? I can still fly.”
Clarke nods. If Raven can keep fighting, so can she.
“I know.” The blonde says. “But I’m here if you need anything.”
“Yeah,” The Latina bites back a smile. “Well, you better fucking be. You promised to pick me first.”
|
Little Pokemon Academia
Chapter 43
Divulgence
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
The next morning Akko awoke to the sound of her alarm going off, and swiped the off button, letting her arm flop back down. Eevee yawned, stretching out her toes and showing off her claws before getting up and shaking herself. Akko glanced at the girl sleeping with her head on her shoulder and smiled, recalling the previous night. Her mind started to wander and she pushed those thoughts away, already starting to feel a hunger that had nothing to do with breakfast resurface. Diana was going to be the death of her at this rate.
Akko made a 'shh' motion with her finger, pressing the digit to her lips when Eevee started to wiggle with excitement. Trying to be as gentle as she could, Akko tried to free her partially asleep arm without disturbing her bed mate. Diana grumbled and tightened her arm around Akko's waist, halting her attempt to depart and scrunching up her nose. Nuzzling her way into Akko's shoulder, Diana mumbled out a quiet protest.
It was too adorable, and Akko felt her resolve to get in her morning workout start to waver, flopping back against her pillows. Missing one day wouldn't be that big of a deal, right? Eevee glared at her trainer, sensing the possible change in plans and flattened her ears. Akko raised her free arm and gestured at the other sleeping trainer, trying to communicate,
what do you want me to do?
It was like trying to get out of a pit of quicksand. They say not to struggle because it only serves to engulf you faster. Who was Akko to fight with quicksand?
Eevee snorted, walking over to Diana and raising a paw to slap at her cheek and Akko flung out her hand in panic. No! She quietly begged, and was too slow to stop the determined fox from succeeding in a quick, whap, whap, whap! Before darting out of reach.
Wagging her tail and enjoying this new game, Eevee waited to see what Akko would do next. Diana grumbled, shifting closer to Akko and pressing herself up along the other girl's side, mumbling out a protest. “Five more minutes.”
Akko chuckled nervously, trying to ignore the way Diana was rubbing her leg against hers, “I don't know if Eevee will wait that long, she's really eager to go this morning.” As if to accent Akko's point, Eevee crawled closer, wagging her tail and raising her paw for another strike. No! Akko waved, swatting at the fox.
Frowning, Diana yawned and stretched, “Fine.” She pouted.
“You could come with me,” Akko whispered, “You want to complete the training course right? It would be good practice.” Gently, Akko poked the other girl's cheek with her finger and nudged the corner of her lips up to simulate a smile. Diana opened one eye to glare at her, annoyed at being woken up by two pestering individuals who had no business having this much energy in the morning.
Letting out a huff that was the closest thing Akko was going to get to agreement, the energetic trainer started to roll out of bed when she felt Diana pull her back in. “You forgot something,” Diana mumbled, drowsy. Akko was about to ask what she wanted, what she could have possibly forgotten, when Diana pressed a quick, soft kiss before shoving her away. Grinning like an idiot, Akko half fell out of bed and mumbled about going to get changed so they could go. Today was going to be a good day. Thank Arceus Sucy slept like a log.
~o~
Despite Diana's best efforts, she was gasping for a time out before Akko had hit the halfway point of her usual workout and the trio slowed to a halt. Watching when Diana stopped beside her, bending over with hands on her knees to catch her breath. It made her wonder for the umpteenth time why Diana wanted to put herself through the police training course.
She didn't need the help to beat Lt. Surge, and while Akko wouldn't say it to her directly, Diana didn't seem ready to take on something that rigorous with less than a week to prepare. It would probably be more accurate to say a couple days. Either way, definitely not enough time.
Standing back up straight, Diana nodded her head, still too out of breath to speak and started to walk at a slow pace. Sweat was dripping off her face and down her neck, and Akko found herself distracted by the way her friend's clothes were clinging to her body. Stupid hormones. The thought brought back up her recent insecurities, and Akko frowned. It wasn't just physical attraction.
She trusted Diana, respected her opinion and ability. But if that were true, why hadn't she told her about Mew yet? If she were being fair, she'd only just realized who that pink pokemon was. Or learned anything about it. Not that she knew much.
No, that wasn't right though. Because Akko could have said something when Mew had appeared in Cerulean. Or even when she had been trying to research the pink pokemon after Mount Moon. No, the truth was she’d had multiple opportunities to say something. But she hadn't. Why? It wasn't that she was opposed to telling anyone, she had already spoken to Professor Ursula.
While it was true that she was nervous about how Diana would react. Akko herself still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the development. She was worried that Diana would think she was crazy, or reading too much into it in a desperate attempt to find out what happened to Shiny Chariot. But Diana wasn't like that, Akko believed that. So then, she should tell her everything, right? It would be okay. Even back after the most recent mind-voodoo memory journey, Akko had admitted she needed help. Who better to help than the smartest person she knew?
The pair walked in relative silence for what, to Akko, seemed like an eternity, while she tried to work up the courage to spit it out.
Diana studied her companion, confused as to what had her so worked up. From outward appearances, it seemed like Akko was trying to work out a complex math question in her head and wasn't having much luck. It wasn't like her to stay silent for such a long period. “Is something wrong, Akko?”
“Huh?” Akko responded, snapping out of her train of thought, “No.” She assured, embarrassed at being caught. Just spit it out, Akko repeated trying to force her tongue to stop protesting. Just do your job and form words, dammit!
“Are you sure?” Diana pressed, “It's not like you to be this quiet.” She hesitated, brushing a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear, “Are you having second thoughts about—”
“No!” Akko rushed out, mortified that Diana would think that would be the problem. That was definitely not the problem. It was the exact opposite of the problem. Well, no because that would be a solution. And despite how much she was enjoying this new closeness she had with Diana, kisses were not the solution to saving Kanto from some impending doom. Was doom accurate? The legend had only said danger. There were danger signs everywhere, but somehow the possibility of falling off a cliff didn't seem like what the writing meant. “No, definitely not,” Akko reiterated, trying to make sure Diana believed her. “There's just something I've been wanting to talk about.”
Diana gave her a skeptical look, “Alright...” She drawled, “You know you can talk to me about anything?”
Please don't be mad. Is there a reason for her to be mad? Not really. Akko tried to think about the reason Diana typically scolded her. She hadn't gotten hurt, or done anything reckless. So, check. She'd just been remiss on sharing every detail of her day. Although randomly bumping into a legendary pokemon hardly seemed to count as something as simple as a detail. “Do you remember that pink pokemon that saved us, in Mount Moon?” Best to start from the beginning.
Diana seemed surprised by the question, and took a moment to school her reaction, “Yes, I've actually been trying to figure out what it was.” The other trainer admitted. It startled Akko, to think that Diana had been doing the same thing as her the entire time, maybe Mew had visited her as well? That would make more sense than Mew choosing her, at least Diana was strong and smart. “I haven't had any luck unfortunately, why?”
“Oh,” Akko breathed, deflating at having her barely hatched theory debunked. She had already built up a fair bit of hope that maybe it wasn't just her. “Well, I saw it again.” Akko scratched her cheek, chuckling and trying to lighten the mood when Diana fixed her with a shocked stare. “It actually appeared in my room, and then again at night. I don't think it has any sense of timing,” Akko mumbled, before shaking her head and trying to explain a little clearer. “I'm not making much sense.”
“What do you mean it appeared?” Diana asked, speaking slowly and watching Akko with scrutiny.
“It just,” Akko waved her arms out in a, 'poof' motion, “You know.” She looked at Diana, noting how utterly confused she was. “Appeared,” Akko lowered her hands and chewed on her lip. “I don't know how or why, I was just watching some videos with Harley and Eevee when all of a sudden, it was just… there. Floating above my head and in my room.” It was the truth, but even with that on her side, Akko knew it sounded completely ludicrous.
“When was this?” Diana asked, and Akko flinched.
“Um,” She mumbled, nervous at how Diana would react when she told her it was more than two weeks ago. “The day before the Pokemon Contest,” Akko admitted in a small voice, shoving her hands into her pockets and bowing her shoulders.
Shock coloured Diana's face, “Why didn't you tell me?” She asked, “Akko, what if it's dangerous?”
“I wasn't sure you'd believe me,” Akko responded, and Diana let out a sigh, coming to a halt and looking at her friend. Her expression was strained and worried, and she took her time forming her reply.
“Of course I believe you,” Diana said, forcing a smile that didn't quite clear the concern from her jaw.
Akko stopped as well, feeling guilty. “It's just, something else happened and I'm having a hard enough time believing it.” Diana opened her mouth in panic and Akko waved off the concern, “I'm fine, I promise. It's just,” She frowned, looking at the ground beside her friend rather than directly at her, trying to organize her thoughts. “It touched me, with its tail,” Akko poked the spot on her forehead, scrunching up her nose and trying to remember every detail.
“And,” Akko shook her head. It sounded crazy, “It's hard to explain.”
“Try,” Diana prompted, “I promise I won't think poorly of you.”
Nodding, Akko found Eevee playing in the grass beside them and used the fox to anchor herself, “It showed me something. I think it was a memory, because I saw two girls.” Akko hesitated, knowing how far-fetched the next admission would sound, “I think I saw Shiny Chariot and a friend of hers, but when they were like, I don’t know—younger than us now.”
Diana frowned, “Okay...” She drawled, waiting and trying to keep her expression neutral so as not to discourage her friend.
“They were standing in a field, Chariot was holding a wounded Pidgey and they were talking.” Akko concentrated, trying to remember the details that were slowly becoming foggy. “Chariot was saying she wanted to make the world better, free of cruelty, and then they saw something. And that was it.” Akko shrugged, peeking at Diana to gauge her reaction. “I know it sounds crazy,” She rushed.
“It does,” Diana agreed, looking up to meet Akko's worried gaze, “But that doesn't mean you're not telling me the truth, or that I don't believe you.” Relief flooded Akko and she let out a deep breath, feeling a little more confident. Maybe she was a fool to think Diana wouldn't understand.
“There's more,” Akko admitted, “Do you remember when I said I went to talk to Professor Ursula, and she suggested I visit the Power Plant?” Diana nodded, “Well, I actually told her about the mountain and the reason she suggested the Power Plant was because she had heard of some ruins around there. She thought they might offer some insight.” Akko reached for her pocket, pulling out her pokedex, “I couldn't find them originally but then it appeared again.”
Akko's hands trembled as she flipped through her pictures and videos, looking for the bookmarked one. Diana was watching her, struggling to keep her expression neutral and glancing down at what she was doing with her pokedex. “This time it showed me more,” Akko continued, feeling her voice start to waver. It all just sounded too crazy to be true, now that she was saying it outloud to someone else.
“It was Chariot and her friend again, and they were looking for the same ruins I was. They seemed to know exactly where they were though, and there was this strange writing on the wall that her friend could read.” Akko felt her nervousness start to take over and jumped when she felt Diana touch her arm gently. The shaking of her hands slowed slightly and relief rushed through, cascading through her body like a wave.
“There was a cave in, that's why I missed it. But Eevee could wiggle through this hole and she managed to get this video, it's not very clear.” Akko rambled, hovering her finger over the play button. “They said the pokemon's name is Mew, that it's the origin of all pokemon and that it only appears when it senses great danger.” Akko rushed out, fingers tightening around her device as she looked up to catch Diana's gaze.
“What if that's the reason Shiny Chariot disappeared? What if something happened to her?” Akko asked, voice cracking and finding it more difficult to keep her emotions in check when Diana was present. She had been trying not to dwell on it, but there was a real possibility that the reason Shiny Chariot had just disappeared was because—because whatever that danger was, it had won. If it had beat someone as amazing as Shiny Chariot, what chance did she have? Why was Mew showing her all of this?
“Akko,” Diana breathed, wall crumbling under the broken expression her friend was showing. “It will be alright,” She assured, pulling Akko in for a tight hug. “You don't need to do this alone. I know you're scared, but you don't need to do this alone. I'm not going to leave you. We'll figure it out.”
Akko nodded, letting out a shaky breath and resting her cheek against the side of Diana's head. She really was foolish for thinking Diana wouldn't understand, Akko chastised herself, tightening her arms around her friend's lithe form. “Okay,” Akko responded, stepping back. “I'm not going to leave you either, you know that, right?” Akko added, feeling like Diana might need to hear it. The conversation reminding her of another they had, had the same day this had all begun.
Diana flashed a lopsided smile, “I know. Come on, we should finish before Mizar decides to eat us instead of waiting to get back to the pokecenter. And then you can show me the video, alright?”
Akko nodded, putting her pokedex back and conceding Diana had a point. As if on cue, Mizar circled from above and glared at his trainer. Without needing further prompting, Akko took off at a sprint, ignoring the surprised exclamations that were following.
~o~
When they returned from their workout, Diana immediately went to study, swearing that the name Mew was familiar. Determined to find where she had read that name before. Akko had offered to go with her, but had been informed that her presence was distracting. Diana's departure left Akko alone with Sucy, who made it clear she didn't want to talk. That didn't mean Akko wasn't going to try though.
“So,” Akko drawled, sitting on her bed with her back against a wall, absently thumbing through battle analysis done on Lt. Surge. Brock was known for being careful, waiting for the right moment to strike, to clinch the win. He used the high defense value of his team to bide his time. Misty was aggressive, using high mobility and terrain advantage. She didn't give her opponent time to gain their footing, to learn how to use the unusual area.
Lt. Surge was... unpredictable. He was a veteran, in both senses of the word. His strategy changed based on his opponent. The electric gym leader used the versatility that came with electric types, exploiting the wide array of attack styles and ranges. He was known for studying his opponent, and changing his tactics based on who was currently challenging him. Always the strategist. It made it difficult for Akko to prepare for the battle with him. The best she could do would be to study herself, and see where he might find weakness or flaws.
Sucy looked up from her book, arching an eyebrow while waiting for Akko to spit out whatever she wanted to say. “Um,” Akko continued, scratching at her cheek. “How are you?”
Rolling her eyes, Sucy flipped to the next page, “Fine.” She replied, unhelpfully. Akko frowned, that was clearly a lie. Something was wrong, and they were friends, friends talked about that kind of stuff, right?
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Akko tried to be a little more direct, “You don't seem fine.” The nervous trainer hesitated, when Sucy looked up from her book and bore her gaze into her teammate. “I just mean, you know...” Akko supplied, letting out a breath. You just seem angry about something. Probably Diana, but it wasn't like they had interacted since arriving, so what reason did Sucy have to be this angry?
“I'm fine,” Sucy reiterated, biting off the response. Making it clear she had no intention of changing her answer.
Well, this wasn't how she wanted to go about this, but if Sucy wasn't going to cooperate, Akko didn't have many other options. “Then, I want to use my second question.” She said, swallowing when Sucy snapped her gaze back up, narrowing her eyes in a clear threat, not pleased by the turn of events. “If you're actually fine, then just consider this a throw away.” Akko chuckled, trying to alleviate the murderous aura the room was suddenly filled with. Even Eevee seemed to sense the shift, and looked up from her grooming, tongue poking out of her mouth.
“And remember you have to answer honestly and fully!” Akko rushed out, shrinking back but refusing to back down, “So, what's wrong?” Akko asked, a little softer, leaving her follow up unsaid. How can I help?
Sucy wasn't cruel, Akko knew she wasn't. Sarcastic, sassy and quick witted, yes. Possibly enjoys pranks and teasing a little too much? Definitely. But she wasn't cruel. Her recent remarks were out of character, and it bothered Akko. She wanted to help her friend, but Sucy was refusing to let her help. She'd probably be furious, being forced with her arm twisted behind her back as she was. But Akko could endure it.
The room was silent as Sucy worked her jaw, absolutely livid. “Fine, you want to know what's wrong?” Sucy snapped, and Akko nodded. “You do realize that Diana isn't perfect, right?” That was... Not what she expected. Well, not entirely. Akko figured it was something to do with Diana, she knew they hated each other. But Sucy had been in a terrible mood ever since, well since they got back to their room after her birthday party.
“It's as if you don't remember how she treated you when you first met,” Sucy scoffed, laughing in disbelief. “She tore you down, Akko. She told you that you'd never make it past the first hurdle,” Akko frowned, it was true, they did have a rocky start. But that hardly mattered now. Why was it making Sucy mad all of a sudden?
“She apologized,” Akko argued, uncomfortable and feeling a nagging need to defend her friend. Diana had apologized countless times. Besides that point, it wasn't entirely Diana's fault, she had instituted it just as much.
Sucy came back with a retort already locked and loaded, “So? Everything's just suddenly forgotten if she apologizes? You have it in your head that everything is hunky dory and yet her teammates still tear into you every single time they see you. And she does nothing, Akko. She says nothing. With the way those two worship her, if she told them to stop, they would. At least to your and her face.”
“You can't blame her for something her teammates do!” Akko protested, it wasn't Diana's fault that Hannah and Barbara didn't like her. It wasn't her responsibility to script what they say or do. Akko fought to keep her hackles from rising, feeling a protective need to defend her friend.
“I'm not.” Sucy replied, letting out a deep breath and scrunching up her nose.
“Yes, you are! You just said—” Akko insisted.
“No, Akko. I'm trying to show you, friend's defend each other, they have each other's back!” Sucy interjected, cutting Akko off, “Just like what you're doing right now! The second I started to speak ill of Diana, you became defensive!” Akko recoiled, opening and closing her mouth and unable to refute the claim. “So why doesn't she do the same for you? Have you ever considered that?” Sucy challenged, waiting for an answer.
Akko looked down at her sheets, trying to see Sucy's argument from her point of view when she heard the quieter question. “You made such a big stink about you and I being friends. So why don't you do the same for me?”
Surprised by the question, Akko tried to pinpoint the moment Sucy was talking about.
Never have I ever almost killed a teammate.
Oh. Akko sucked in a breath, trying to recall if she had noted any discomfort or sign that the comment had wounded her friend. She didn't, but that was because she hadn't paid it much heed, her attention had been turned to Frank's story and then to Diana.
“You're so quick to dismiss any of her wrong doings by saying she apologized,” Sucy ground out, “But, apparently when I apologize that doesn't magically erase the issue from memory like it does for her. She nearly killed Harley,” Sucy paused, making sure she had Akko's attention. “All because she made a mistake, but that's okay because she apologized, right? She didn't mean it?”
The researcher frowned and looked down at her book, fiddling with the pages and making a dog ear to mark her spot. “Because she feels bad about her mistake,” Sucy grimaced, “So why, when I apologize, is she still allowed to attack me for doing nothing wrong? You already know how I feel—” Letting out a breath, Sucy pulled her legs up to her chest and set her book aside.
“I know what I said was cruel, but she's the one who refuses to let it go. It's not exactly a fair fight when she has unlimited get out of jail free cards, and I have a one strike and you're out policy.” Sucy mumbled, leaving Akko at a loss for what to say. She knew that they hated each other, but hadn't realized just how much Diana's comments bothered her.
After the incident, Akko had assumed that Sucy had all but forgotten about it; she made no mention of it. “Diana doesn't seem like the forgiving type either, if Andrew is any indication. So if that's how she treats someone who she claimed was like a brother to her, why would I be any different? It feels like she's not going to stop until I'm completely cut out of the picture.”
Andrew? Akko paused, it was true that he and Diana weren't exactly getting along. And Akko still didn't know what he had done to make Diana as angry as she was with him. But Diana wouldn't really force her to choose between herself and Sucy. That was ridiculous. Right?
It surprised her when Sucy continued, “I'm not used to having friends either, you know. And it feels like Diana is going to force you to cut me out, for making one mistake. Because you can't seem to recognize that she's not perfect. Her mistakes just don't matter.”
“That's not—” Akko sat forward, heart breaking. She'd fucked up, and hadn't even realized.
Sucy turned her head so her cheek was resting on her knees and looked out the far window, “I know I'm not the easiest to get along with. I wouldn't blame you and Lotte for choosing other people instead of me.” Rubbing her nose, Such laughed, “I get it though, Diana is very pretty. And I will admit when it's you, she can be nice. Sorta.”
Running her eyes over the frame of the window, Sucy seemed to be working through her feelings as she went on. “Frank seems nice, he makes her laugh, and Lotte shares a lot of interests with Barbara.” Turning her attention to the pattern of the comforter in front of her, Sucy curled her toes, “A lot more than she and I share anyways.”
She's afraid, Akko realized. It was a fear she could certainly relate to, one she'd thought about multiple times since starting this journey. Afraid to go back to the time before meeting this new band of misfits. Afraid to go back to being alone. “I'm sorry,” Akko said when it was apparent Sucy wasn't planning on saying more. “I didn't realize—” That what Diana was saying hurt her so much.
She should have, it was strangely familiar to Diana's apology from the previous night. Shaking her head, Akko tried again, “I'll do better.” She promised, flashing a smile, “But you're wrong, about me and Lotte. Love and friendship doesn't have a limit, it only grows. It doesn't matter if Lotte makes more friends, or if—” If whatever is going on with her and Diana continues to... do things.
“Or how many friends I make, we'll always have time for you.” Akko assured, nodding. “We're not going to leave you behind. You and I are best friends forever, remember?”
Sucy snorted, not replying and picking up her book again, “I never said that, you really have an odd way of hearing the words, 'Diana isn't perfect, check yourself.'” Akko watched as Sucy picked her book back up, flipping it open and scanning the top of the page. “Whatever though, I answered your question.”
She doesn't realize how much she actually has in common with Diana, Akko thought to herself. Even as she tries to put up a front of nonchalance, Sucy was actually a lot more sensitive than she let on. They were both so terrified of being abandoned, that they started to push the second someone got close enough.
Seeing that Sucy had no intention of saying more, Akko tilted her head to try to read the cover of the book. “What are you reading?” Akko asked, getting up and going to sit beside Sucy, trying to peer over her shoulder.
“Nothing,” Sucy pulled the book away, closing it so Akko couldn't read the pages.
“Aww, come on!” The trainer protested, reaching for the book and missing it narrowly when Sucy stretched her arm out as far as she could to keep it out of reach. Not one to give up, Akko leaned across the researcher's lap and continued to slap at the book, laughing at Sucy's annoyed look. “It can't possibly be that embarrassing.”
With one last lunge, Akko fell across Sucy's lap and grabbed the book, “Nightfall?” Why was Sucy reading Lotte's book?
Sucy turned bright red and tried to push Akko off her lap, struggling when she realized the other girl was heavier than she looked. “Why are you worried about not having enough in common with Lotte if you read the same books?” Akko asked, looking at the thin line Sucy had her lips set in. Oh, “You're reading them so you'll have more in common?” Akko grinned, and Sucy's scowl deepened. Nailed it, “That's so cute!”
“Shut up,” Sucy pushed again, giving up in a huff when Akko refused to move.
“Are they good?” Akko asked, curiously flipping open the first page. They must be if there's a big fancy convention going on in Saffron the entire week.
Sucy smirked, “They're kinda dirty.” Akko whipped her head around to stare up at her friend to see if it was true, there was no way Lotte would read those kinds of books! It was
Lotte
, innocent, sweet, Lotte!
“No.” Akko breathed, surprised and slightly curious. Sucy nodded, snickering and taking the book back.
“So there's no way I'm letting you read this,” Sucy said, putting the book between her back and the wall. “Diana would skin me if she thought I tainted your innocence.”
“Hey!” Akko protested, “I'm not—” The trainer thought about the previous night and flushed, Diana didn't seem too worried about keeping her innocence intact. Or did she? Was that a normal first kiss? Was kissing always that—intense? Left you that breathless?
“What's with that face?” Sucy asked, studying her friend with a mischievous grin, “Did you two finally—” Akko slapped her hands over the researcher's mouth, and received a raised eyebrow, and could feel her lips smirk against her hand.
Gently, Sucy pushed at Akko's hands to try to get her to release her. “Nope,” Akko shook her head, “You're stuck with me.” The trainer giggled at her own joke, “Get it? Because right now my hands are stuck to your face? And you were worried about being able to get rid of me.”
Akko's laughing increased and Sucy glared over Akko's fingers, before the trainer recoiled her hand with a yelp of surprise, feeling a wet warmth wash over her palm. “Ew! Did you lick me?” Akko asked, wiping her hand on the comforter. The disgruntled trainer looked at her friend who was snickering with delight and smiled. It was good to see Sucy feeling better.
Even if their conversation left her with more questions than answers.
|
Aaron's gaze switched between Ethan and Nicholas who'd met him in the foyer as soon as he'd entered Greystone. Trent hovered anxiously behind them. "Where is she?" he demanded.
Ethan and Nick exchanged glances.
"Upstairs, sleeping," Ethan answered.
"Sleeping?" Aaron's voice was harshly incredulous.
Nick winced. "She might have worn herself out throwing me against the wall while holding off Ethan and Trent and then basically scorching my nerve endings."
Aaron's gaze switched to Ethan critically. "And you let her live?"
Ethan shifted. "Tianna stopped me."
"And who is she to Tianna?"
"Her best friend," Nick said.
"They've been together since they were kids," Ethan put in.
Aaron squeezed the bridge of his nose against the impending headache. His words were issued through clenched teeth. "And what did you say her name is?"
"Eva," Nick said. "Eva Clinton."
Aaron's head jerked up and he stared at them mouth agape. "Clinton?" he growled. "As in Sanaa Clinton?"
Ethan and Nick looked at each other. "Should that mean something to us?"
Aaron's voice rose several octaves. "Only that if Eva Clinton is THAT Eva Clinton, then she is descendant from one of the most powerful dark witches that ever existed and is no friend to our kind."
Ethan and Nick exchanged troubled looks. Trent let out a low groan behind them. "Oh shit."
Aaron was tearing up the stairs, and Ethan and Nick took off after their Alpha.
Tianna was wrenched into wakefulness by the sound of the bedroom door being flung open and crashing against the wall.
She lunged into a protective crouch over Eva who had remained sleeping, not stirring in the least at the sound of a commotion.
Aaron Thorne stood in the doorway of her bedroom. His hands were clenched into fists, his expression vengeful. "Leave the witch," he growled. Gone was the sedate, cultured, quietly authoritative leader of the pack.
Tianna flinched involuntarily. Biologically, something in her yearned to obey the Alpha but she pushed the impulse down. She wasn't the wolf. She allowed the wolf free reign on occasion but she was not the wolf and she would not let the wolf control her.
She met Aaron Thorne's vivid gaze steadily and shook her head. "No."
Ethan appeared behind Aaron in the doorway. She glanced at him. There was a tightness behind the eyes but his face was otherwise impassive.
Aaron took a step into the room, stopping short when Tianna tensed.
Tianna bared her teeth at him. "You even think about touching her, Thorne, and I swear to God I'll kill you."
Aaron gritted his teeth and titled his head, perusing the girl laying asleep on the bed, seemingly unaware that there was a werewolf in the room who had every intention of snapping her pretty little neck. He returned his hooded gaze to Dominic Moore's daughter, the little fool. "Do you even know what she is? What she is capable of?"
Tianna drew a deep breath. "I know exactly who she is and what she's capable of. But she's not her mother, Aaron. I mean—seriously—look at her!" She gestured to Eva. "She's out cold just from holding them off."
Aaron grimaced and sighed, unfurling his fists. "Clinton women are always a threat." He eyed Sanaa Clinton's sleeping daughter and relented a bit. "Can we talk?" He looked at Tianna. "Alone?"
Tianna shook her head vehemently. "No. So you can sick your henchmen on her the moment I leave? Forget it."
Aaron glanced at over his shoulder at Ethan. "They will do no such thing. You have my word."
Fighting down the tide of panic, Tianna reluctantly slid off the bed. She gazed up at Aaron. "If you hurt her—"
"I will not." Aaron assured her.
Tianna passed Nick in the hall, shooting him a pleading look. He merely nodded in reassurance.
She followed Aaron to the opposite wing of the manor and into a small study. He closed the door softly behind her and motioned for her to take a seat on the overstuffed leather couch. She did so warily and he seated himself next to her.
He leaned forward, seeming incredibly interested in the tips of his boots. "How did she know you were here?" His voice was low. "You told her?"
Tianna shook her head. "No."
He looked at her, raising one dark brow expectantly.
Tianna sighed and slumped against the cushions. She anxiously twisted the silver ring around her index finger. "When I told Ethan that she was like a sister to me, I didn't mean that lightly or metaphorically. We're blood bonded."
Aaron's generally impenetrable façade fractured and is eyes widened.
"It was in college," Tianna rushed on. "When Eva was still experimenting with her power. I encouraged her to really work at it. That's when we did the spell."
Aaron's brows knitted together as he considered this. "And what does this blood bond entail?"
Tianna shrugged. "Whenever I'm feeling particularly emotional, she can feel it. I didn't have to tell her I was here." She toyed with her ring. "She would have felt my panic, my fear. She's not an idiot. It obviously didn't take her long to connect the dots."
"Look, Aaron," she said gazing at him, hating the pleading not in her voice. "Just leave her alone. Let her stay. I promise she'll give you no problems."
Aaron rose fluidly to his feet. He studied her intently. "I'm holding you to that."
Tianna nodded soberly. He left her then and she leaned forward and let her head fall into her hands, letting her hair fall across her face in a dark curtain that obscured her view and closed her off from the rest of the world.
It looked like she would be staying at Greystone until things were sorted out. Eva's presence was soothing but it didn't completely ease her anxieties. And at the moment, Ethan was at the core of those anxieties.
She groaned, remembering the way he'd looked when he'd stepped from the forest and she remembered the way her wolf had responded to him.
If anything, Tianna had known all her life that werewolf men were not to be trusted. She even doubted her father. She'd always wondered if he would have shown any interest in her at all were it not for her....wolfishness. Women were disposable goods to them, to be used and tossed aside. And in the instance that they fathered a son, they took the child without so much as a 'fuck you' very much to the mother.
Tianna wasn't just some woman to them, she knew, though she doubted that her heredity made much difference to them. She was still female, and in pack culture she would have to obey and submit. Getting involved with a werewolf was unthinkable, even if that werewolf was as damned sexy as Ethan. Better to keep him at a distance. ***
Ethan paced the floor of his room letting out a growl of frustration.
Never, not once in all his life had he ever hesitated to back Aaron up. Not once. But just minutes ago he had stood completely frozen with dread. If Aaron had gone for the witch and Tianna had gotten in his way, Ethan was unsure what he would have done.
It went against every fiber of his being not to defend his Alpha and his friend and yet there was Tianna. He couldn't imagine bringing himself to truly hurt her despite his threats. She had a tough exterior. He saw and understood that. But beneath all that bravado, swearing, and thinly veiled contempt he knew she was afraid and just barely holding it together. Her friend arriving at Greystone was a blessed lifeline to her sanity and she was obviously willing to do just about anything to protect the witch even if that meant taking on pack wolves on her own.
He rubbed a rough hand over his face. He had to end this—whatever it was he felt for Dominic Moore's stubborn daughter. Having Tianna Moore at Greystone was anything but simple and he was a man that hated complications. He was putting his Alpha and his pack at risk with a distraction he could ill afford. Not now. He would watch over her and protect her if necessary but it would go no further than that. He wouldn't allow it. *** Eva struggled into consciousness, her head thudding dully at the base of her skull. Damn. She'd really overdone it this time. She wondered how long she'd been out.
She was relieved to find herself in one piece. Coming here hadn't been her most brilliant or most thought out idea but she hadn't come up with an alternative. She sighed, mumbling her mantra to herself. "There is no such thing as a bad idea, just poorly executed awesome ones."
Eva grimaced, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and pushed aside the dusky rose colored duvet.
The room tilted when she stood and she stumbled, grasping the back of a chair until the room righted itself. She cautiously tottered to the bathroom grumbling about damn werewolves.
Flicking on the light, she pressed her hands against the cool porcelain countertop and leaned toward the mirror, blinking away the slightly blurred vision to stare at her reflection.
"Well, hello," she murmured to herself, absently scrutinizing her pallid face in the mirror. She looked like shit. Dark circles stood out vividly beneath her flat hazel gaze. Her normally impeccable hair stood on end, mussed into a wild nest around her head.
Groaning, she scraped her hair back into a haphazard bun.
The last thing she remembered was Tianna looking at her with great concern while shouting for the wolves to back off. And then the dark haired wolf, his face close to her own and his eyes soft and gently with concern.
Her insides lurched at the thought of her friend. Where was she? If they hurt her, there was nothing and no one that could save them. The darkness surged inside her at the thought of vengeance, powerful and intoxicating. She'd kill them all.
"No!" She slammed her palm against the countertop and gulped deep calming breaths. "No," she murmured softly. The power left her, leaving a feeling much like a gaping void in the center of her chest.
Shaking off the feeling of unease, Eva splashed cool water on her face before padding back into the bedroom and shoving her feet back into her riding boots. She inhaled deeply, fixing her thoughts on Tianna.
Tianna friend was close by, not frightened but her heart rate was elevated high above normal. There was a frenzied quality to her thoughts.
Slipping into the hallway, Eva went in search of her friend.
***
Tianna's mind was wandering, making it difficult to dodge Ethan's punches. Her thoughts were too jumbled and unfocused, full of questions and scenarios.
Ethan's hand shot out, knocking her off balance. She tripped over his thigh as he stepped into her. She hit the mat, flat on her back and Ethan was on her instantly.
The air whooshed out of her lungs even as heat flooded her belly and her breasts ached where his hard chest was pressed against hers. She mentally kicked herself but damn if he didn't feel good, all hard muscle and strength. A strength, she reminded herself, to be wary of. Bad. Definitely bad.
"You've got a lot to learn, girl." His voice jolted her back to reality out of her musings.
He rolled off her and to his feet fluidly.
Tianna pushed herself up on her elbowed and stared at him, perplexed. "Excuse me?"
Ethan spared her a mere glance. "Your head's not in it. You're not here. Whatever you're thinking about, it isn't this and that will get you killed or worse."
Tianna glared at him. She didn't want to be doing this anyway. Aaron Thorne was the reason she was sequestered in the basement with this maniac in the first place.
The basement of Greystone had been outfitted as a gym with mats, benches, free weights and punching bags. He'd wanted Ethan to teach her to "defend herself." She'd scoffed. She could change faster than any of them. She didn't need her fists. She'd just loose her wolf on them.
Her father had taught her a few things when she'd been in her teens when he'd realized that his daughter might be a target. And yet here she was, dumped on her ass.
She pushed herself to her feet. "Again," she demanded.
Ethan merely snorted. This was what she hated about him; the condescending authoritarian that didn't argue but dictated.
He glanced at her from the edge of the mat, twisting a towel in his hands. The glint in his cerulean gaze and the tightening of his lips told her that he was going to come at her and he wasn't going to hold back.
Her heart leapt into her throat when he moved. He was like lightening slicing through the air. She blocked and feinted, realizing quickly just how much he'd been holding back. He'd thought she couldn't handle it and that pissed her off.
She focused, bringing forth the wolf; not enough to cause a physical change but enough to sharpen her senses.
Ethan drove her across the mat, noticing a flicker of gold in her dark eyes and the sudden almost palpable energy coming off her.
He kept her on the defensive but when he threw his next punch she made her move. She blocked and turned his punch aside with her left hand, slamming her right palm into his jaw.
He reeled back and she kept on him; spinning, kicking and punching as he narrowly blocked her and attempted to regain his balance.
When he blocked her next punch she expected it and changed levels quickly, driving her fist into his stomach. When he made a grab for her she sidestepped him, grabbed the arm whizzing past her and flipped him neatly over her shoulder. She plunked down on top of him, her forearm against his throat.
For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, their faces mere inches apart and the only sound was of their labored breathing—hers anyway. Ethan, she realized was breathing easily, not even a bead of perspiration on his brow. Tianna grimaced, wonderful.
His face was impassive. "That was better." He made no move to remove her arm from his throat or to push her off of him.
Tianna sighed. He'd been holding back after all. She scowled at him. "You've been holding back all this time." Her words were sharp with anger and irritation.
"Of course," he growled, and as easily as he would have swatted a fly, he yanked her arm from his throat, flipped her unceremoniously to the mat and stood smoothly to his feet.
Tianna flushed with embarrassment and sat up. For all her self-assurances, she was clearly no match for him. Was she a match for any of them? She was suddenly uneasy. "Treating me with the kid gloves, huh?" she mumbled, yanking the useless elastic band from her hair, wincing when she yanked a few stray hairs from her skull.
She pushed herself to her feet, feeling anger and humiliation simmering in her guts. "Again."
***
3 hrs later...
"C'mon, Tianna focus," Ethan snarled as she stumbled off balance from his blow. He repeated the combo over and over and yet she'd been unable to block him. He was far too fast. She knew exactly how she should be reacting to what she knew was coming but she just always seemed to be a fraction of a second too slow. Him yelling at her did little more than fray her nerves.
Ethan threw up his hands in frustration. "You think you're capable of taking care of yourself? You can't even block a shot you know is coming!"
Tianna snapped. "Isn't that why I'm down here?! You're supposed to be teaching me because I'm NOT as strong or as fast as you yet! And you yelling at me doesn't help!"
Ethan moved quickly, suddenly towering over her. "It's an uncomplicated move," he growled. "I've shown you, we've been at this for an hour, and you still don't get it."
She gave him a two-handed shove though he didn't budge. "You showed me once!" she screeched. "ONCE! And you expect me to pick it up right away! You come at me faster than I've ever seen anyone move and then you question MY ability?!" She punctuated her next words with finger jabs to the center of his chest. "Worst. Teacher. Ever."
Ethan lost control. He brought his hands up and gripped her shoulders hard and yanked her against him. "Spoiled bitch."
She refused to flinch despite the near painful grasp he hand on her shoulders. "Asshole," she sneered.
And then with a low growl, he kissed her, the taste of her near driving him mad with its hints of forbidden spice and sweetness. There would be consequences for this, a price to be paid, but the thought only made the feel of her lips beneath his that much more intoxicating.
Tianna made a small whimper of surprise when Ethan's lips crashed down over hers but the shock was short-lived. She fisted her hands in the material of his t-shirt, dragging him closer.
There was no gentleness in the kiss. No tenderness. Their mouths warred. Their tongues stroked and sparred, each of them well aware that this was a terrible idea.
Ethan bore her down to the mat.
'Stupid girl,' she thought to herself but found herself unable to tear her lips from his. She wriggled beneath him, allowing him to settle between her splayed thighs.
His large calloused hands traveled up the smooth flesh of her sides, skimming over her ribcage and her breasts before he brought them back down and slipped one hand beneath her tank top.
Tianna moaned as his palm brushed over her flesh to her breast before he caught her hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger, gently rolling and tugging at the sensitive buds.
Groaning and pressing his erection against her mound, Ethan left her mouth to leave a burning trail of kisses down her neck, pausing to nip at her throat with blunt teeth.
"Ethan..." she gasped.
"Tia?" there were light footsteps on the stairs. Eva. Her friend's voice was like a bucket of ice water dumped on her.
Eva stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Woah."
Ethan was off her instantly, rolling off her and shielding her body from sight while she pulled her top down.
Eva blinked rapidly as though attempting to clear her vision. She peeked around Ethan's large frame and glanced at her friend who was blushing violently and running a rough hand through her dark locks. "Obviously, I had the wrong idea in coming here." She didn't sound angry, simply perplexed.
"No, you didn't," Tianna offered firmly. "That..." she stammered. "That was a mistake," she ground out and glared at Ethan. "One that will never happen again." Brushing by him she left, stomping up the stairs, leaving Ethan and the witch together.
Ethan studied the witch who was glaring at him, arms crossed beneath her pert breasts. He could see why Nick was interested by her. She was nice to look at and—he inhaled—the seductive scent of spice and magick hung in the air about her. She scowled at his blatant perusal. Nick would have trouble with this one, especially if she was anything like her best friend.
She stalked toward him, her heady scent washing over him. "Ethan, right?"
He nodded once. "Eva," he acknowledged.
Standing a mere foot from him, she extended her hand, palm up.
Ethan lifted a flaxen brow and glanced at her small upturned hand before peering into thickly lashed hazel eyes.
She wriggled her fingers. "C'mon. I won't bite. I just want to get to know you."
Ethan frowned, dubious, but enveloped her palm in his own.
A satisfied smile slid over her features as her eyes drifted closed.
Ethan felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins and his palm tingled as though pricked by millions of minuscule pins.
"Hmm," her eyes slid open and she slipped her hand from Ethan's grasp.
"What was that?" Ethan asked, bemused.
The girl shrugged her small shoulders. "You were just making out with my best friend and knowing Tianna, your lips wouldn't have gotten anywhere near her unless she wasn't into you."
"And the witchy tingly feeling?"
"I'm a bit of an empath," she said simply. "I can sense a lot about people from touch."
"And?"
Eva studied him, scrutinizing his handsome finely sculpted features. "I dunno if I like you for her." She shrugged again. "But you suck less than some of the other idiots she's dated before."
Ethan wanted to laugh until he considered Tianna dating other men.
Eva snickered at the myriad of emotions playing over his features. She patted his muscular shoulder consolingly. "Well, I'll see you around."
And then she was skipping up the stairs, leaving Ethan to ponder it all.
*** Eva found Tianna standing at the edge of the woods beyond Greystone Manor.
Tianna glanced at her friend who came to stand beside her.
"Thinking about a run?" Eva asked, knowingly avoiding the subject of Ethan and their sweaty make out altogether.
Eva knew her too well. It was what she did when she was upset or anxious. She ran; her legs flying over the ground as she sped with inhuman speed through the trees, letting all emotions fall away as the wolf took over.
"Yeah," Tianna murmured. "I think so."
"Go," Eva encouraged.
Tianna glanced back at the manor house uncertainly.
"I'll be fine," Eva smiled. "I'm going too" She stared into the woods. "A little channeling and meditation to recharge will be good for me." Her face broke into a wide grin. "Race you."
Eva took off, racing through the trees, her laughter ringing out as the pulled on a bit of magick to speed her on.
Tianna grinned and shot after her friend. The girls raced, neck and neck until Eva stopped, breathing hard.
"You okay?" Tianna skidded to a stop.
"Yeah," Eva gasped and looked around at the clearing they'd stopped in. "I think this is a good spot for me. You go on."
Tianna looked around. "You sure?"
Eva smiled. "Certain."
With a toothy grin, Tianna was gone.
Sighing, Eva pulled the elastic band from her hair combed her fingers through the strands until it lay around her shoulders. Sinking down to sit cross-legged, Eva closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, held it and let it out.
*** The witch hadn't been in Tianna's room when he'd gone to check on her for the third straight morning in a row. Her scent lingered but she was gone. He frowned. Seeing her there, laying pale and still had been like a sucker punch to the gut, jarring and unexpected.
Nick shook his head. He couldn't explain it, this pull towards her. If she hadn't been unconscious he would have sworn that she'd spelled him. Every night since she'd set foot in Greystone Manor he'd dreamed of her beneath him. He'd dreamed of her beautiful breasts and her nails scoring his back as he thrust into her.
Tianna was aware that Nick had been in the room staring at her sleeping friend but she said nothing, simply quirking an amused brow at him. He had is bad for a girl with whom he'd yet to have an actual conversation. A girl, he reminded himself, would probably like nothing better than to kick his ass with whatever magic tricks she had up her sleeve.
Leaving Tianna's room, he tracked her scent until he stepped outside the back door. And then it hit him. It felt like a jolt of electricity, a tingle in his groin and what felt like a fist seizing his heart.
Nick stopped dead in his tracks, struggling against the sensation only to have a current of seductive energy ripple through his body. Eva.
He turned to the woods and followed. He tracked her easily, her scent mingled with Tianna's and then he saw her, there sitting alone in the forest. The air was fair crackling with energy, and then it subsided to a subtle thrum and shimmer of the air around her.
Eva was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing, her eyes closed. He listened, his sensitive hearing allowing him to hear the softly murmured latin words. His gaze lingered on her face, no longer pale but flushed with color against her dark hair. He let his eyes drift downward, his cock stirring as he perused the outline of her braless breasts pressed against the white t-shirt.
He should leave her, he knew. So he took one last lengthy look at her. Here full pink lips were curved upwards in a calm and serene smile. Another ripple of near crippling desire flooded through him causing his fingers to dig into a nearby tree trunk as he restrained himself from going to her, taking her there in the woods. What had she done to him?
He turned away from her, fully intending to return to the manor for a cold shower when he smelled it. Blood. Her blood. He turned at her low sigh to see her fall limply to the ground.
Before he could stop himself he was there beside her, pressed against her and cradling her head in the palm of his hand. "Eva!" He lightly tapped her cheek. "Eva!"
Her dark lashes trembled and her hazel eyes opened to mere slits. Blood oozed slowly from her nose and he moved to wipe it away with his t-shirt. But she was stubborn, twisting away from his touch and tossing her head.
Nick growled impatiently and held her steady, dabbing at the blood the flow which seemed to have ebbed already. He stared down at her, magic seeming to coil around them. Angry at his own sense of helplessness against her, he pressed his lips against hers.
Eva moaned and arched against him as Nick grasped her thigh and brought her flush against his erection, rubbing against her to create more delicious friction. His head spun at the feel of the fullness of her breasts against his chest. He groaned, scenting the ambrosia of desire between her thighs. He gripped her to him, hard.
He tugged her t-shirt up, exposing her glorious breasts. He dragged his tongue roughly across one flushed areola. "Jesus, Eva," he growled. "What have you done?"
"Nick, s-stop," Eva breathed against his ear but she lifted her hips, pressing them against his. "You should leave."
Nick nodded, almost obediently but instead he raised his head nuzzled the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of lavender and vanilla.
'What the fuck did you do to me, little witch?' He wanted to ask, but all strength to resist had left him and all he could do was firmly unbutton her jeans, slip his hand within, nudge her panties aside and slip his middle finger into her wet heat.
"Ah!" Eva bucked against him, her small hands gripping his shoulders. Nick's cock strained against his jeans, to the point of being painful.
Nick kept his finger inside her and as he nipped at her throat and brushed his lips over her heated skin. He laved the elegant column of her throat with his tongue before gently sucking.
He was going to leave a mark, he knew and he wanted evidence that he did this to her, wanted to her to remember this and know that that he happened. Smiling against her fluttering pulse he began to move his finger slowly, taking his time.
Eva shuddered, and her hips bucked against his hand as she rode his finger. She wept at the power of it, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.
"Stop it, Nick," she whispered, near pleading with him but her hips rolled against his hand as if of their own accord.
She was drunk with magic, he sensed—lethargic with it. Her power had called him to her as clearly as if she had shouted his name. He couldn't help but respond to it.
"Nick!" she wailed, her movements uncertain as she pushed at him only to draw him ever closer. She came hard, her nectar flooding over his fingers as her eyes widened and she stared up into his dark gaze.
His fingers still inside her, he kissed her lips, swollen from the ferocity of his kisses. Tearing her mouth away she buried her face in his shoulder, trembling in his arms, hiding her face.
"Shhh...don't hide from me, little one," Nick whispered as he cradled her close, feeling her body go soft against him. "Never be ashamed with me."
Nick felt her shudder and stifle a confused sob against his shoulder. Holding her against him, he withdrew his finger from her sex coated in her cum.
Nudging her face to look at him, he met her gaze steadily as he slipped that finger into his mouth. A low rumble started low in his chest. Closing his eyes, her savored her taste and another near crippling wave of desire shot through him.
He leaned into her touch as she lifted trembling fingers to cup his face. She stared at him in wonder.
Wordlessly, Nick lifted her into his arms and stood. Her taste lingered on his tongue. He began to make his way back towards the manor. His cock still ached with need at each step he took, urging him to take her and make her his, to bury his head between her thighs before he fucked her.
He gritted his teeth fiercely reigning in the need. He glanced down at the girl in his arms. She was unconscious. Again. He sighed nudging open his bedroom door and laid her on his bed, carefully brushing her hair back from her brow. Her t-shirt was bunched under her breasts, revealing her smooth flat belly. He brushed his fingers over the silver bar piercing the flesh above her belly button.
A wry smile quirked upon his lips as he lay down next to her and considered her silently. She was always passing out just when things were getting interesting.
He placed a chaste kiss on her mouth before standing and heading for the bathroom for that cold shower.
*** "Phew," Tianna doubled over mid-stride as the first wave of ecstasy washed over her unbidden. She bent, attempting to catch her breath as hit after hit of raw pleasure accosted her senses. It was Eva and the magic she knew, but she'd never felt anything like this.
Tianna was used to feeling the twinges of Eva's power; it was part of the blood bond, but this...she had never felt anything like this.
She stumbled against a tree trunk, her legs going slightly wobbly. She sank down to sit at the roots. "Wow," she breathed, pushing her sweaty hair back from her face.
Feeling the sensations ebb and begin to recede, Tianna allowed her eyes to drift closed. She inhaled the clean earthy scents around her. This was what she loved about Shendaken. Sure, there wasn't much shopping and there was a total lack of any sort of decent nightlife but the natural beauty of the place more than made up for all that it may lack. She felt more liberated here than she ever did in the city.
The abrupt snap of a twig jerked her out of her thoughts.
Tianna was perfectly still, listening. She wanted to call out but something made her hesitate. The sound had come from downwind and she was unable to catch a scent. The thought made her uneasy, it was a predatory move; keeping where she couldn't see or catch their scent. She scanned the trees and the forest beyond searching for a flicker of movement. Nothing.
Tianna stood slowly to her feet, trying not to make a sound. There was utter stillness about her and it unnerved her.
"Ethan?" she hissed, knowing that he would hear her if he were close by. "Nick?"
Nothing.
She was being stalked, she was certain of it.
A sick feeling settled in her gut as a dark shadow moved from behind a tree trunk. Not, Ethan and not Nick. It wasn't any man she'd ever seen before. The wind changed course and his scent hit her full on. A werewolf.
He stalked toward her. Tianna took and involuntary step back. He was between her and Greystone. She was fast but he'd be able to cut her off if she made a run for it.
He was tall, well over six feet and broad. The black t-shirt he wore was stretched taut over his broad chest. He wore black cargo pants tucked into black combat boots. His hair was dark blue black against his tanned skin. His eyes were so light grey that they took on an eerie quality. Tianna supposed he would have been handsome if it weren't for the menace radiating off of him. His lips were curved up in a rather disturbing smile as his cool gaze roved over her.
He stopped about ten feet from her, seeing her tense to flee. He smiled at her though there was little warmth in the flashing of teeth. "Imagine, running into you here." His voice was low, rumbling through his expansive chest.
Tianna sidestepped, only to have him mirror her move. She eyed him warily but said nothing.
A low noise, almost like a purr came from the man. "Had I known it would be so easy to find you alone, I would have taken to wandering these woods much earlier."
Tianna started moving again, slowly stepping, watching him mirror her moves. If she could keep him distracted, she could move herself closer to Greystone. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice hard and hinting at aggression. She watched as his stance changed slightly as he sensed her enmity.
"Ah, I'm surprised you do not know me little wolf." He grinned. "Surely, I would have thought they would have told you about me by now?" He lifted his chin.
So he wanted to play coy. Tianna glared at him. "Get on with it."
He frowned then. "My my. Cocky aren't we?" His cold silver gaze bored into her. "I've been following you since you split with the witch. There's no one here to save you."
They circled one another and Tianna halted her back now to Greystone. She snorted, forcing a arrogant sneer to her face. "You think I need saving?" she scoffed, meeting his gaze directly. "You think if I needed saving they would let me out of their sight? You think they would leave me alone?" She watched uncertainty flicker in the large man's gaze and she smiled a wide predatory smile. "I'm faster than you," she told him, seeing doubt pass over his features. "I'm stronger too," she lied and summoned the wolf, allowing her eyes to shift to gold and feeling light enclose her body. "I'm nothing like you at all."
She bared her elongated canines at him and snarled. She watched in satisfaction as he took a startled step back from her. She took his shock as an opportunity and bolted, sprinting through the trees toward the manor house.
His roar rang out through the trees behind her and she could hear him crashing through the brush. She lowered her head and pushed herself faster.
*** Nick was stepping out of the shower when Eva's scream shook him to his core, sending him barreling into his bedroom naked and dripping wet. She barely spared him a glance as she scrambled off the bed and raced for the door.
"Eva!" he caught her arm, stopping her short and dragging her against him. "What is it?!" Her lovely eyes were wide with panic and fear. Of what? Of him?
"Tianna!" she shoved him back with more strength than possible for her small frame. Nick made a grab for her again. "She's in the woods! He's after her!" Eva gasped, jerking away from him. She backed toward the door, "Get Ethan!" She was gone then, dashing out the door.
Nick was wrenching on clothes. "ETHAN!" he shouted, his pack brother appearing in the doorway almost instantly.
"What is it?" Ethan demanded, sensing Nick's agitation.
"Tianna," Nick said, dragging a t-shirt over his head. "She's in the woods. Eva felt her I think. I think she's really afraid."
"Shit." Ethan was gone and Nick could hear him tearing down the hallway.
"Fuck," Nick cursed, jamming his feet into a pair of boots and hurrying after him.
|
There it was again… That strange feeling of having eyes on her, but not feeling in danger.
It happened from time to time for the miko… Ever since she returned to her own time three years ago. She’d been so sad at first, but hopeful. Kagome had gone through the motions of living, of finishing high school, but there was always a… presence, looking out for her.
Like a guardian angel.
Kagome sighed as she walked home from work. The cafe had been slow, so Mr. Han had let her go home a bit early today. She had asked for the weekend off for a festival that was being hosted at the Sunset Shrine, and a few extra hours to prep tonight would be Kami sent. Her mom had taken on a bit too much, and Kagome agreed to help out.
She was glad her boss was such a sweet old man. He also visited the shrine frequently, and was a good friend of her family. Mr. Han had hired the recent graduate right out of high school, since Kagome didn’t have any real plans for a career yet. She had some leads, and was looking into a couple options, but no solid plans. At least between the shrine and the cafe, her time was full. She missed the structure of school already, and it had only been a few months. Graduation was back in April, and it was already mid August.
But what she truly missed… was adventure.
Kagome had hoped, deep down, that anyone from the past would have found her by now. She had yet to run into the dark haired man she had sworn was a future version of Sesshomaru, and had almost given up hope that her best friend had managed to take the long way to see her again. Even after he promised.
There had been no sightings, no sensing aura… not even a phone call.
Loneliness was a constant companion for the miko that felt like she had left part of her family in the feudal era. She had friends, sure, but it wasn’t the same.
Kagome looked up into the after noon sun, shading her blue gray eyes with her hand. The brightness stung. It made it easier to explain the tears that rushed to her eyes as she let her thoughts get away from her again.
“Miss Higurashi, is that you?”
The young miko started, and turned on her heel. Her light summer dress fluttered in the warm breeze as she spotted the speaker.
It was a woman that looked in her late 20’s, black hair pulled back into a stylish bun style. She was wearing a pencil skirt and blazer in a rich, dark purple, with a white shirt underneath, and the most fabulous silvery stilettos. Kagome smiled as she recognized her high school guidance counselor, Mrs. Nakamoto.
“Mrs. Nakamoto, hi there!” Kagome called back, waiting a moment on the sidewalk until the older woman caught up.
Kagome had always really liked the guidance counselor. When the miko had been at her lowest, loneliness and depression hovering ever close, Mrs. Nakamoto had helped her through it. The counselor had helped Kagome choose what classes interested her, a couple of clubs to join, and even suggested getting to know one of Kagome’s now best friends.
If it weren’t for Mrs. Nakamoto, Kagome would have never gotten to know the shy, soft spoken girl in the back of her class, that liked to read a lot. Kirari had needed a little push too, and the miko was glad she could help push her new friend out of her shell.
“How’s it going today?” the woman asked gently.
The miko smiled shyly, but replied, “Not bad, just got off work…”
“Oh, where are you working? Have you applied to any collages yet?”
Kagome bit her lip, looking away. “I got a job at a cafe, and no… not really.”
“Hnn.”
They walked quietly for a few minutes, though Kagome felt a little out of place. The guidance counselor was easy to talk to most of the time, but at the moment, Kagome felt like she was disappointing the older woman. After all the good advice the counselor had given the miko, Kagome wanted to stay in Mrs. Nakamoto’s good graces. Didn’t matter that school was over.
They crossed the street, seemingly going in the same direction for now. Kagome felt that same weird feeling still, but she was guessing it was just her over zealous reiki picking up on her anxiety.
There were no demons in modern Tokyo anymore… No matter how much she hoped. Or at least, they were too busy to reveal themselves to her.
“Kagome… May I ask you a personal question?”
The miko flinched, but looked to her side to regard the counselor. She had only used her first name a hand full of times, and it sounded somewhat… familiar for some reason, now. The miko nodded to the question.
“What makes you happy?”
Kagome stopped walking, starring at her shoes.
“I…” the girl started, choking a little as she shook herself out of the slump. “I don’t… really know.” She stammered out, hand squeezing the strap of her purse. “I want to go to college… but I don’t know what to study or what I’m any good at. Probably not anything. Life was easier when I was chasing demons…” Kagome gasped as she caught herself, “Oh! I mean… erm…”
Mrs. Nakamoto just smiled, as if she didn’t hear anything at all about demons. Kagome breathed out a sigh of relief. She’d managed to maintain the double life routine, after a miraculous recovery from dozens of diseases, both known and unknown. Kagome had kept her jumps through time a secret, and made sure to never say her friend’s names out loud. It kept them real, inside her heart.
Sometimes it felt like it had all been a dream. The Sengoku Jubai of 500 years ago only existing in the miko’s head. With mundane life going on around her, Kagome almost believed it sometimes.
That feeling across her shoulders got a little stronger.
But before Kagome could even look around, Mrs. Nakamoto, unphased, said, “As a guidance counselor, I’m supposed to steer you in the right direction. Meaningful careers, that pay well, and let you take care of your family… But let’s be honest, sometimes the cookie cutter life isn’t for everyone.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve told me that before…”
“You’re capable of a lot of things, Kagome… You make people around you happy.” the woman went on, taking a few more steps forward before stopping to turn back to face the girl. A soft blush spread across the miko’s cheeks as Mrs. Nakamoto smiled again, tilting her head a little. “But have you thought about how you make others happy, and making that a career?”
Kagome’s stormy eyes snapped wide.
The older woman shrugged, then said, as if it were obvious, “An event planner.”
The miko’s lips parted in shock.
Kagome had thought about her career path so much she was sure her head would explode. She’d researched being a nurse, since she’d always played a good healer in the past. There was also accountant and tax broker, but math had never been a strong subject. Her english was strong, and she considered becoming an English teacher or translator for a while, but the salaries made her cringe. She had always loved kids, so the teacher idea was sound enough, but Kagome didn’t want to spend years in college learning to teach.
She figured she’d just end up at her fall back idea… looking after her family shrine. Maybe if she worked and lived there long enough, the Bone Eater’s well might open again…
However, the older woman’s suggestion resonated. Hadn’t someone told her she’d be good at organizing events, long ago…?
“But… I’ve never…”
“I think it’ worth a shot…” the counselor went on. With a smirk that looked vaguely familiar, she added, “I know my dads had a great time at the cultural festival during your last year of high school. You planned most of that event, did you not?”
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“Your organization skills are top notch, and you have a wonderful sense of design. You’ve shown me your bullet journal, after all. I know you enjoy planning events for you family shrine. Aren’t you the organizer of the festival this weekend?”
Kagome blinked, several times. Then she licked dry lips before saying, “But, Mrs. Nakamoto-!”
“Please, Kagome… No need to be so formal anymore. You’ve graduated school.” the counselor grinned, then added, “You can call me, Izanami.”
The miko blushed again under that beautiful smile, and those bright hazel eyes. With the afternoon sunshine behind her, Kagome could swear she saw some glinting gold in the older woman’s gaze. The guidance counselor had taken her job at Kagome’s high school shortly after the miko had started her first year there, and had been a caring person to her ever since.
“Umm… well, I guess…” Kagome stammered a little, then shook herself again. The miko squared her shoulder and met a smile with a smile. “Actually, yes, I love making others happy. I really enjoy organizing events that make others smile. I actually planned a wedding once, for dears friends…”
The older woman just looked pleased, amusement dancing in her glinting eyes.
Before either woman could say more, however, a phone began to ring. A little startled, the counselor reached into her blazer pocket to dig out the chiming cell phone. She glanced at the screen, and her smile turned into more of smug grin.
“Sorry, Kagome, but I must cut this short.” Izanami said, as she turned the ringer off. She then shoved the phone back into her pocket as she added, “I’m meeting my dad for dinner. But! Think about what I said, you don’t fit into the cookie cutter… You’re a unique person.”
“Oh, umm, thank you, Mrs. Naka- I mean, Izanami.”
“It’s been nice talking to you Kagome, as an equal.” Izanami said, turning to head down the street. After a few steps, she turned and waved, adding, “Though no one will ever equal the Shikon Miko.”
Kagome let out a gasp, but before she regained her barrings, the guidance counselor was already too far down the street. There was no way she had really said what Kagome thought she’d heard. No one… in so long… had called her that.
Yet, Kagome couldn’t stop the proud tear that escaped her eye.
She was still Kagome Higurashi, the Shikon Miko.
Even if no one else knew…
~ ~ ~
“Keh… You are a so impatient…”
“No more impatient than you, InuPapa.”
The man grumbled as he revealed himself from around the corner of the building. His long black hair was pulled into a high tail, and he scratched his head a little out of habit. He glared a little at the younger female, wondering when his daughter had picked up this particular bad habit.
She probably got it from her father, the stubborn bastard.
The two fell into step together, walking down the side street side by side. Silent, until they came to the large lot outside of a restaurant. The afternoon was waning, and the sun had cast it’s first streaks of setting.
“So… when are you going to talk to her?” the woman asked softly.
A soft snarl, then, “Soon.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying for months.”
“I know… But, I…”
The girl huffed in an annoyed way that she had for sure gotten from her stoic father. “You are such a coward! You said you were waiting until she graduated, but that was months ago.”
The man shoved his hands into his baggy, jeans pocket, heavy brows scowling. “Keh… Well, stuff keeps coming up, and I had to step away to sort out that problem with your brother back then and-!”
“Don’t you blame this on Shorin, that was handled in a week, tops.”
The man grumbled. He hated when he eldest out maneuvered him like this. He was used to being ganged up on though, he was a favorite target for his kids. His mate usually just stood back and watched, the jerk.
Apparently, his daughter wasn’t done laying into him, “Dad, listen… Kagome is a social person, but she’s been so sad, for so long. I know she asked you and father to wait until she’s had a chance to get back to a normal life, but she’s passed that now. She’s healed from the loss of leaving the past behind, but now she needs us…
“And you know damn well Kirari wants to invite her friend over, but she can’t since it’ll give everything away! We’re all waiting on you. You’re holding up the reunion!” Rant over, the glaring woman’s fists on her hips, the proud dad knew he had lost.
“Alright…” he sighed, “You’re right, as usual.”
“Good…” she replied, then eyed him pointedly, “When?”
He huffed again, defeated. “Give me two days. After the festival at the shrine.”
She nodded, letting him be for now. “Okay. Now let’s go inside, or Papamaru might come out to fetch us…”
His ears perked up under the illusion he wore.
“Sessh is back from New York, already?”
His daughter nodded, “Yep, he landed a few hours ago, and Yusuke picked him up. He’s scheduled for a shoot over the weekend, but father said he’d had enough of… how did he put it? Human bullheadedness to last a lifetime.”
With a laugh, the man tucked his pup under his arm and strode into the resturant. His mood was now drastically lightened, but the reunion still loomed in this thoughts.
It was long over due…
~ ~ ~
Kagome stared down into the darkness of the Bones Eater’s well, hands gripping the cold edge of the wood.
She could hear the festival wrapping up outside the well house, barely muffled by the weathered, wooden structure. It was a quiet place to hide for a moment, to catch her breathe, before seeing to the clean up.
The summer festival at the Sunset Shrine had gone off without a hitch, and Kagome was so proud, she had to admit. Her organization and attention to details had helped everything run smoothly. Even when her mother was sure the yakisobe booth was going to explode, Kagome had kept a level head and simply changed the gas for the stove. She even managed to add two more performances from last minute applications, a pair of fire dancers and a traditional chindon’ya marching band.
Yet, with all the happy smiles around her, people laughing and enjoying the festival, Kagome just couldn’t absorb the joy she needed.
So that was why she was here. Starring down into the old friend that had gone quiet.
Just once… she wanted to see them again. Inuyasha, Sesshomaru, Shippo, Sango, Miroku, Rin, Kohaku… Kouga. Everyone that she’d had to leave behind.
She sighed. Dwelling on the past did her no good. She’d asked them to let her heal, but she didn’t think it would take so long.
Taking a deep breathe, Kagome left the well behind. She ascended the short set of steps, and closed the sliding door behind her. The miko let the cool summer air calm her spirit, and glanced over at the Sacred Tree.
The Tree of Ages was a silent sentinel that watched over her family shrine for over 500 years. The folded paper talismans around it’s trunk danced in the wind, the old tree was a familiar presence. The scar in the weathered bark told of the adventures she’d had. That day, on her 15th birthday, Kagome had fallen down a well, and met a brash, rugged half demon. It had happened right here, all those years ago.
A real smile spread across her lips.
Movement to her right caught her attention, and Kagome glanced over. The shrine courtyard was still filled with display booths and festival decorations, but was otherwise deserted of people. Save for a young man walking in her direction.
Kagome couldn’t look away from him. He was really handsome. Right out of one of those romantic yaoi books that her friend Ayumi lent her.
He looked about early thirties, tall and broad, and wore his long black hair up in a pony tail, though his shaggy bangs were right in his face. He wore a simple red t-shirt and baggy jeans, and a pair of shit kicker boots. There was a bit of a tattoo pocking out of the shirt on the man’s upper, left arm. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and Kagome figured he was just another guest at the shrine for the festival.
Until, however, the man grinned at her, a sharp canine showing over his lip.
It was a cocky grin that she knew. Blue gray eyes flicked to his wrist, and she noticed dark beads and fangs bracelet she had made for him so long ago.
Kagome gasped, covering her mouth with her hand and taking a step back. She recognized him right away. He was older now, broader, and his eyebrows were heavier, but it was him.
“Hey, Kags.” the man said, flicking long black hair over his shoulder as he added, “Sorry it’s taken me so long… Family life and all…”
She swallowed back her shock of seeing him again. It took a few seconds to find her voice, emotions crashing through her in a maelstrom. “Inu… yasha?” she asked, trying to confirm to her brain what her heart was yearning to accept.
His grin got bigger as he nodded, “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me.”
In a heart beat, Kagome was rushing forward. Her friend’s arms opened and she leaped into them. Her face hit a solid wall of muscle and Kagome was crying and laughing all at once as he spun her around. He might look human, but the miko had seen the hanyou on his human night lots of times. Her reiki reached out, and Inuyasha’s youki lapped back at her, like a happy puppy.
“Inuyasha!” She cried into his chest. “I could never forget you!”
His arms tightened around her, as did hers around him. Like holding onto a life line, Kagome couldn’t hold back the torrent of happy tears. All she could do was brush her face against his t-shirt, her happiness barely contained. Inuyasha just held her, and the girl got the feeling that even after all this time, the awkward hanyou was still terrible with a female’s tears.
To try and ease the tension, Kagome pulled back and glared as best she could through her joy, “What took you so long?”
The disguised hanyou released his hold, and took a half step back. He rubbed the back of his neck as her looked to the side, “Like I said… family life and shit… I’m terrible with dates, and… Time sorta got away from me.”
Words registering, Kagome took that moment to look around them. The two were completely alone. “Inuyasha… where’s Sesshomaru? I would think you’d both be here…”
“He’s a, umm…” Inuyasha rubbed his neck, then grinned as he added, “A little tied up…”
The hanyou chuckled softly, but took Kagome’s hand to lead her to the little white bench across from the Sacred Tree. When she sat, but Inuyasha remained standing, he said, “Well, we talked about both coming, but it was decided that I’d sorta give you the introduction to our modern era selves. No need to overwhelm you with all the kids or nothin’ right away.”
Kagome flinched, looking up in wonder, “That’s right! Sesshomaru was still pregnant when I had to leave! Wait… kids? Like, plural?”
Inuyasha had to hold his side as he let out a loud belly laugh. The miko looked a little sheepish in her seat while her friend retaught himself how to breathe. When he sighed, and plunked himself down on the bench, he said, “Yes, Kagome, Sesshomaru and I have more then one pup… We have five actually, two girls, two boys, and one that’s neither. And that’s not including the ones we adopted over the centuries. I think the pack is up to around 20, now. And every one of them want to meet you…”
“Meet me? Why?” the miko asked, lips parting a little. It was taking effort to absorb everything, but she was keeping up. She wanted to know him again for so long, that even the information dump would not deter her from asking question and learning the Inuyasha of now. “I’m just Kagome… just me.”
Arms stretched over his head and the man looked up into the swaying bows of the tree. “Cuz all their lives… Sessh and I have told our pups the story of the clumsy Shikon Miko. How you helped battle our greatest enemy, Naraku, and kept us all together. About your big heart, your knack for getting in over your head, and the way you can’t leave someone needing help… Even if it meant you had to throw yourself into danger to help them. Not to mention that every time Sessh ever built a pillow fort with the pups, he’d name it after you.”
The tears were streaming down her cheeks again, but her smile was beaming.
Inuyasha glanced at her, and smirked, “You were always with us, Kags, even if you hadn’t even been born yet. Not gunna lie, a couple of the pups are more impatient than I am, though.”
Kagome managed a soft, “Oh?”
Inuyasha chuckled, “You may or may not have met our eldest already… One of my boys has been in love with you since he was able to swing a sword, and my youngest wouldn’t be who she is now, without you.”
Starting to feel slightly overwhelmed, and trying to draw up every human interaction that could have possibly been a demon in disguise, Kagome tried to sort it all out. The problem was she was drawing a blank. The wheels were turning, but the miko couldn’t keep up.
“Don’t over think it, Kags…” Inuyasha said, putting an arm over her shoulders and tucking her close to him. “You’ll get use to it all… I promise. We’re not just going to drop into your life and then vanish. We’ll give you time to come to terms with us… All of us.”
Kagome just nodded, sighing into her best friend’s warmth. “I’m just glad your still alive, Inuyasha… I knew you’d come someday. You did promise.”
The two friends fell into a comfortable silence. Much like their last evening together. As the evening sun began to set, creating a beautiful red and pink show in the branches above, Kagome felt content. She finally had a sense of closure on the adventure that she had left in the past. When the Shikon no Tama sent her home the final time, Kagome had felt lost. Like she had left a piece of herself in the warring states era.
It had been three years since she returned home. Her heart had ached to return so much, just to know that her friends were happy and living their best lives. Knowing and knowing were two different things though, and now Kagome finally knew. Now she had a chance to know more…
To begin a new adventure. To know new friends.
“Inuyasha?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I… can I ask some questions?” the miko asked softly, tilting her face up to look a him. Inuyasha raised a brow, so Kagome went on, “I think it would help… I want to know everything, but I should take this one thing at a time…”
The hanyou nodded, and Kagome asked. Inuyasha told her about Sango and Miroku, and their brood of kids that outnumbered the Inu Lord’s quickly. Sango had remained head mistress and Chieftain of the demon slayers all her life, raising and training a new generation of warriors, before leaving the title to her eldest daughter. Kyoko had held up her mother’s mantel, ending up mating a hanyou, which increased her life a little.
Kagome asked about Rin and Shippo next. The hanyou looked a little odd, then started into the story of Shippo’s journey to become a great demon, learning everything and anything. It was the kitsune’s goal to make it to the modern era too, and he had, though he agreed to let Kagome be until Inuyasha gave the all clear. Rin’s story, and by extension Kohaku’s, was harder to get out of the hanyou Lord. After the two humans fell in love, Rin and Kohaku stayed in the Western Lands, living in Edo, and what would later become Tokyo. Rin’s passing had hit her youkai family hard, and her only request was to watch over her family. Both inukai had agreed right away, loyal to the little girl that had helped heal her Lord’s cold heart.
“Yeah, It was fun for a while, until Rin’s great, great,” Inuyasha started ticking is fingers, then stopped, counted, then shrugged. “Great granddaughter married a man named Kuzama Higurashi, who lived in a shrine…”
Kagome’s gaze shot up. “Wait… does that mean…?”
The hanyou nodded, “Yep… you’re actually one of Rin and Kohaku’s direct descendants, Kagome… neat, huh?”
The girl looked down at her feet, but it was only so her friend didn’t see the new wave of tears flood her. It was so romantic, and she was so happy for the little girl that had been resurrected and the demon slayer with a tragic past find true happiness. She was a descendant of theirs. They were her family, and she had never known it.
“So… tell me about your descendants. I mean, your kids… Oh, I mean, pups.”
Inuyasha chuckled again, a pale blush rising to his cheeks. “Keh… There ain’t enough time this visit to tell you about all of them, so I’ll stick to the one’s you’ve met. The impatient munchkins…” he grumbled a little, but Inuyasha was also grinning like a fool as he continued. “Our eldest, Izanami, is-!”
“Izanami?!” Kagome gasped, turning her stormy blue gaze to her friend. There was no way… This had to be a coincidence, but the miko ventured anyway, “My guidance counselor?”
The hanyou sighed, “So that’s what she does during the day… We knew she was at your school, but… Yeah, she said she wanted to look out for you while you finished school, but I didn’t think she’d get directly involved… Kagome? Kagome!”
The miko was reeling, and suddenly a lot of things made a lot more sense. Izanami Nakamoto was Inuyasha and Sesshomaru’s eldest child? Her high school guidance counselor encouraging her to join the archery and debate clubs, and research career paths, suddenly made more sense. Izanami had grown up with stories of the Shikon Miko, and helped the girl get back to a normal life. Kagome was feeling a little dizzy, and her best friend was holding her shoulders as she leaned over.
So the older woman walking away the other day really had called Kagome by her ages old title…
As the miko breathed, she chose to push forward. “Who else?”
Inuyasha shook his head, “Nope! Change of plans, one at time…” the hanyou continued to hold his human friend close to him, using a tiny bit of youki to strengthen her body.
Kagome was able to breathe easier much faster this time with that demonic help. Her head stopped spinning quickly, but no matter how much she begged, Inuyasha was resolute. He promised to fill the girl in slowly, and maybe meet his kids on a more level playing field in the weeks to come. Sesshomaru would be next of course, but Kagome laughed again about meeting him in the sex shop a long time ago. She thought it would be fun to see the stoic demon Lord again. Hopefully they could have a drink and maybe build another blanket fort…
The only person that Kagome didn’t ask about, was Kouga. She had made the wolf demon promise that he wouldn’t hold out for her, waiting five centuries to arrive in her time. He had agreed to the promise, with a compromise that if he did end up in her era, single, that she would would give him a chance. Kagome’s heart ached so much to ask, to find you if the ookami prince was still around. What he was like, what he did for a living now, and if he had found someone to love.
But the miko didn’t ask. She couldn’t… She told herself that Kouga had moved on, that there was no way he would still be carrying a torch for her, not after all this time.
Kagome sighed, and pushed the thought away.
“Oh!” the hanyou jumped to his feet and moved a meter or so away before he turned around. Kagome watched his wide, proud grin as he looked around them, clearly making sure they were still alone, before looking back at the girl. “You gotta see this…” he said, reaching for his hand.
Kagome noticed a plain silver band around his left hand’s ring finger. On his middle finger was another silver ring, but this one had a deep purple stone embedded. Inuyasha pulled the ring with the gem off, and the miko suddenly felt a wave of youki.
Demonic aura swirled gently in the winds that rustled the girl’s dark hair. She breathed in the power she hadn’t felt in years. It was refreshing and soothing, and so much stronger than Kagome had felt before.
Looking up, Kagome expected to see her old friend, just as she left him. That was an expectation she should not have had, since the hanyou’s human form was noticeably different.
Inuyasha’s black hair became snowy white, and his adorable puppy ears on top of his head appeared. Kagome instantly wanted to touch them, but she held back. The soft white ears had a number of silver rings pierced in them now. His dark eyes became sunshine amber, fangs elongated, and claws appeared on his hands.
The most noticeably different though, was the huge silver fur cascading down the hanyou’s back. It curled over his shoulders, down his back, and then split into two two tails. It looked so out of place with baggy jeans and a red t-shirt.
Kagome’s mouth was open in shock before she blurted out, “Did Sesshomaru give you his fur?!”
Inuyasha laughed and shook his head. “Nah, the bastard’s fur is still his, though only a little bigger… Kagome, this fur is mine. I have a mokumoku pelt! Just like my mate!”
Kagome rose to her feet and rushed over to hug her friend. Inuyasha beamed with pride, and the miko thought it adorable that he could swap from bastard to mate in 0.05 seconds. She could tell that he hadn’t really changed that much in 500 years. He was still brash and cocky, and wore his emotions on his sleeve, whether it was hair of the fire rat or manufactured cotton. Kagome felt her heart easing significantly at that realization. He might be older, but Inuyasha the half demon was still her best friend.
“Are you showing off your fur again, InuPapa?”
Both miko and hanyou flinched, and slowly looked to their left. Inuyasha was tense, with good reason since his human glamour was off, but when he saw the speaker, he instantly relaxed. Kagome, on the other hand, just got confused.
Standing a good distance away, near the top of the white shrine steps, was a girl about Kagome’s age. Her dark hair was short but still framed her soft face, bangs grown out long so her pretty, icy blue eyes were no longer hidden. The girl wore a cute long sleeve, pink sweater, and a black pleated skirt. Her smile was wide as she turned towards the reunited friends.
Kagome could suddenly feeling another youki aura, similar to Inuyasha’s but… feminine.
“Kirari?” the miko asked slowly, but then started as she realized all the silver fur and puppy ears standing next to her. With a shriek, Kagome jumped in front of her friend, and waved her arms, “Ah, what are you doing here, Kirari? The festival is over, and… erm, I thought you were away to visit your dad and… wait… InuPapa?”
Inuyasha chuckled softly, but stepped to the side so he could look at the flustered miko. “Kagome, I’d like you to meet my youngest daughter, Kirari. But I’m guessing you’re already pretty close.”
Kagome looked between her two friends and her brain short circuited. She was sure there was steam coming out of her ears and she sank to her knees.
Before she fell on her ass, Inuyasha was quick enough to grab her, helping her back to the little bench. Kirari also rushed over, and was wearing a more sheepish smile now.
A soft snarl, then, “Kir, I thought I told you was going to be busy tonight?”
“Hmm, yeah, but I found out from Murasaki that you were coming here.” the other girl replied, her soft voice not revealing much as she added, “They had to convince Yusuke to stay away, but I slipped out.”
“Keh… That boy is so impatient. Oi! So are you! I thought we all agreed that I’d come talk to Kagome first… then you lot could introduced yourselves later.”
“Only you and father and Uncle Shippo agreed on that…”
“Oi! Don’t you back talk your dad!”
Kagome choked out a laugh, drawing the others’ attention to her. The tears were back, sheer joy at listening to her friend’s argue bringing back so many memories. She looked between the two, Inuyasha’s amber eyes sparkling while Kirari’s softer expression was familiar. Kagome abruptly wondered what her girl friend looked like in her demon form, and noticed a very similar ring on the girl’s right hand. Kirari had told her friend that the ring was a gift from her uncle, but never elaborated more than that. Kagome understood now. Shippo must have made the glamour rings.
“I’m so happy…” the miko murmured, hands reaching up to cover her face a little and try to wipe away the tears. She looked at Inuyasha, “You’re really here, and you have a loving family… and I’m just… so happy for you.”
Kirari sat next to her, and reached out to take one of Kagome’s hands. “Ugh, I’ve wanted to tell you so many times, Kagome! Now I can finally invite you over!”
The miko pulled her friend in for a hug. “I’m so glad Mrs. Nakamoto, I mean, your sister Izanami introduced us!”
“I know! Iza-chan is such a meddler!”
The two girls gushed for another few minutes, but eventually Kagome noticed that her hanyou friend looked uncomfortable. His eyes were darting about, and he was half turned from them. He kept picking at his ear, and when he looked down to check his phone, the miko noticed he had a headphone bud tucked into the triangular appendage.
After a moment more, Inuyasha took a step back from the girls, replacing the ring on his finger. The hanyou’s aura muted to almost nothing, and Kagome was sad to feel it go. His white hair darkened to black, amber eyes changed to violet, and all the sharp and pointy clues of being a demon vanished. Normal, human ears appeared on the side of his head, but Kagome could no longer see the little black ear bud, or silver earrings. It made her think that the illusion really was just for show. Nothing actually changed, it was all just for show.
It made the miko smile, knowing that youkai still existed around her. She didn’t like that they had to hide, but it made sense. Humans fear what they can’t understand, after all.
Kirari noted the change of focus, and asked, “Dad? Everything alright?”
A soft, pink blush spread across Inuyasha’s human face as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “Ah, yeah, everything’s fine… But, I, erm – I should probly get going…”
That instantly made Kagome flinch. All the loneliness boiled up, and without thinking, the miko jumped into her friend’s arms again. “Inuyasha! Please don’t leave!”
“Keh… cool it, wench…” the man said, awkwardly patting her back, “I ain’t going far… I have a den a few blocks from here and I-!”
Kagome flew back and glared, “You live a few blocks away and never came til now?!”
“The den he’s talking about, Kagome,” the other girl said, with a smirk that was all from her dad, “Is where he goes to be alone with father. And when he says a few blocks, he means in maybe this side of Tokyo.”
Calming a little, Kagome looked between the two a moment, then, “So… you don’t actually live around here?”
Inuyasha sighed, but his lips twitched in amusement. “I’ll tell you everything, eventually… Tell you what, Kags, why don’t you and Kirari catch up a bit, and I come back in the morning. I’ll even bring Sessh, if he’s up for it.”
“Oh!” Kirari perked up, “We can have a sleep over! Like we used to.” She looked back at the still teared up miko, and added, “And this time, you can ask whatever you want! Secret is out, after all.”
Kagome forced a smile, and she did feel it, but she still looked back at her oldest friend. “Inuyasha? Will you really come back? You’re not… just gunna…?”
“Kagome.” the hanyou grinned, tucking an arm over her shoulder, “Now that I’m back, I don’t think I’m capable of leaving again. It took me too long to come here, and if I didn’t have to go, I’d stay all night too.” He hugged her again, chuckled, and muttered, “Besides, there’s a fox and wolf that’s been on my ass about seeing you for ages now…”
Kagome flinched, but then laughed, wiping away the tears that threatened to burst free again. Her heart felt lighter again as the memory of a little kitsune and rugged ookami flashed through her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder what they would be like, after all these years. Kouga was around, and she would get to see him again.
After another dozen assurances, Kirari grabbed the miko’s hands and pulled her towards the house. Kagome’s mom was just outside the door, and waved at the two friends.
Kagome looked over her shoulder just as she headed inside the house, and noticed the way Inuyasha was looking up at the Sacred Tree…
Standing with his head turned, black pony tail fluttering in the evening breeze, hands in his pockets, and a soft smile creasing his familiar face. Kagome’s heart swelled, easing as the winds danced in the leaves over his head.
The Tree of Ages would always watch over her, and him.
The tree that had brought them together all that time ago… and brought them back together today.
~ ~ ~
Inuyasha pulled his keys from his jeans pocket as he rode the elevator to his suite.
Kirari was staying over night with Kagome, since she’d done it lots of times during their years at school. It was fine with Mrs. Higurashi too, and the hanyou was excited to be invited back over for a home cooked breakfast. He’d actually admitted he missed the miko’s rolled omelets, and she’d begged to cook for him again. Mrs. Higurashi mostly dealt with Sesshomaru, in his human glamour, when dealing with the Sunset Shrine’s upkeep, but had never suspected who he really was. Mr. Taisho was just a wealthy benefactor for the old place, and it was going to be a blast to finally reveal themselves.
Inuyasha had had to be so careful all through the years, at every festival and school event, but now the secrets were out. Kagome could finally know him again, and his family…
He grinned, pulling his phone out to check again. He heard another soft whimper, and it took so much effort to hide his growing erection. Had been so difficult to hide all afternoon.
This had been his mate’s idea, and the hanyou had been skeptical at first, but he was thoroughly enjoying it.
Inuyasha had gone to the festival at the shrine, while Sesshomaru finished his day at work. The photo shoot should have ended at about six ish, and the taiyoukai would head to their den. It was an apartment they rented in the downtown area, mostly for when one of them were staying in the city, or needed some time alone. Sesshomaru always liked having little safe houses tucked away for any occasion, after all.
The den had everything they needed, including decent bathing facilities, as always, and was a top floor pent house. One of four on the top floor, and shared a roof top outdoor space. For the former Western Lords, it was a small, private oasis in the otherwise chaos of modern living.
Their full family home was a good distance outside the city, on a large plot of land that Sesshomaru had been sure to keep passing down in his own name for every life they started. It was big enough to have the whole family stay, without anyone bumping into each other. Though that wasn’t to say the Western Inukai were not a close knit family now. The family patriarch had been adamant about keeping tabs on each other, and no one ever felt abandoned or left out. The House of the New Moon still ruled the territory, but in a lesser capacity these days. It was a lot easier to hand the responsibility to those that wanted it.
The elevator dinged his floor, and the hanyou entered the long hallway leading to his den. The décor was dark and soft, charcoal grays and neutral beige walls. It was generic enough, and no human that came to the top floor would think that all four suits were either owned or rented by demon royalty.
If his eldest daughter hadn’t kicked him in the shins with her inherited impatience, Inuyasha might not have his best friend back in his life. He didn’t think himself a coward, but he had been scared Kagome wouldn’t look at him the same way anymore.
After all, the man had changed a lot in 500 years. He’d proofed that when he showed off his mokumoku and youki aura. Kagome had been impressed, and so damned happy. He’d been truthful when he’d bid her goodbye tonight, that if he hadn’t been needed elsewhere he would have stayed longer.
However, a certain horny taiyoukai had been moaning in his ear for almost an hour.
Sesshomaru would have arrived at the den after his modeling gig, strapped himself up, then called his little brother. They both had grown rather fond of bdsm lifestyle over the centuries, and the two had an open communication regarding their kinky play. Sesshomaru had been exploring more self bondage lately, and Inuyasha often found his mate wearing leather harness or ropes under his clothing. Especially after the birth of their first daughter, the taiyoukai loved feeling owned.
Inuyasha couldn’t wait to see what his mate had in store for him.
Standing outside his suite, Inuyasha took a deep breathe, subtly shifting his demeanor. Sesshomaru loved this, and they had spoken about it lots of times.
Inuyasha slipped his key into place, and unlocked the heavy door.
The scent of a thunderstorm, sweet cherry, and musky arousal hit Inuyasha’s nose, and he felt his cock twitch in his jeans. That scent was so much stronger for some reason, and he felt like he could taste it.
After kicking his boots off, tossing his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter, then sauntering to their bedroom, the hanyou grinned at the sight. It was so difficult not to rush into the room and lick every drop of sweat and seed from his mate’s body. Instead, Inuyasha removed his glamour ring, and let his youki flow. His brother’s whole body jerked as he whined behind the gag.
“Hey, love… How you holding up?” Inuyasha crooned as he caressed down his lover’s chest. The submissive taiyoukai whimpered pitifully, and the hanyou bit his lips to keep himself from moaning. He used a flicker of youki to vanish his mokumoku, and pulled his t-shirt over his head to toss it on the floor. He tugged the hair elastic from his snowy locks, letting his mane free again, and tossed his now turned off cell phone on the night stand.
Inuyasha had been gone a little longer then intended, but his mate seemed to be doing alright in his self imposed bonds. The hanyou had kept an ear bud in the whole time to make sure. During his whole visit with Kagome, he’d had a moaning and panting Sesshomaru in his ear…
The youkai Lord was getting more creative every time they did this.
Sesshomaru was standing in the middle of the bedroom, though standing was a bit of a stretch. More like being suspended on his toes. There was a metal bar across the demon’s shoulders, leather straps holding his wrists straight out. There was also a harness around his torso taking most of the weight. The bar was hooked in the center to a sturdy cord connected to the ceiling pulley. The device was rigged that it was easy to get into, but once weight was applied, it was impossible to get out alone.
No matter how much the demon clawed and snapped.
There was no point in hiding their true appearances in the den, and it was safe behind a powerful barrier. Sesshomaru’s gorgeous form was on full display, and the hanyou licked his lips.
The taiyoukai’s short, silver hair had been slicked back, bangs out of his face, and he was blindfolded. The wide, silicone bit gag held his fangs at bay, and the torso harness was secured between Sesshomaru’s legs. The hanyou had seen that harness before, and his hands slipped further down his mate’s hips until… yep, there was the connector, and the plug. This particular plug was actually connected to a cock ring, making them both vibrate. Inuyasha smirked, fingers tracing over the vibrating plug, and when the demon flinched again, the boy pressed the lit up button on the base.
Sesshomaru’s body bucked as the intensity was turned up. A thin, shimmering string of saliva dripped down the man’s chin, and his hands flexed in his restraints.
Inuyasha chuckled under his breathe as he leaned in close to nuzzle. His lips started at their mark, the familiar shiver racing down his spine, and right to his groin. Sesshomaru was already panting, body straining against his bonds. Sweat made him glimmer in the dim lighting and Inuyasha surrendered to the scene of their play.
Kneeling behind his partner, the younger male had to hold the older still while he grazed the demon’s right cheek with a fang. Due to be held aloft, Sesshomaru didn’t have much leeway to move into the touch, though that didn’t stop him. Inuyasha hooked his thumbs under the leather straps of the harness at the hips, and tugged hard enough to make his brother gasp.
“You know… this was your idea…” Inuyasha murmured, smiling against his lover’s lower back. Sesshomaru whined, and arched back as the hanyou’s mouth traveled lower still. “I’m guessing you’ve been hanging around for more than an hour… you must be so close already…” One hand let got of the harness, a finger hooking into the connector of the plug and ring. Sesshomaru whimpered as the plug was tugged out, and pressed against the lower, sensitive flesh in between.
It was clear to Inuyasha’s sense of smell that his mate had washed up properly, and had lubed himself. Not that the uke really needed to, since he made his own natural lubricant, but the flavour smelled intriguing. Inuyasha was guessing that was why the scent of cherry was much stronger than normal.
Modern day inventions sure had given the two demons more variety. From the suspension swing and restraints, to all the different vibrators, to flavoured lubes and condoms, humans really knew how to have good sex.
Another tug, and Sesshomaru’s toes left the floor as his ass went to Inuyasha’s mouth. The sweetened slick was ambrosia on the hanyou’s tongue. The moan over head was loud and a growl rumbled through him. He reached around and began stroking the weeping length, Sesshomaru yelping from behind the gag. The demon’s thighs were coated in the overflowed slick and his hips pumped into the duel assault. Inuyasha missed these scents and tastes, and they were all his once again.
Sesshomaru had a busy schedule, what with on sight photo shoots and the occasional runway show out of the country. Inuyasha was usually pretty busy with his own career in graphic design, or helping with the territory obligations as a Lord. Jaken usually took care of most, or Murasaki. That youkai had a great head on their shoulders for leadership. The inu couple hadn’t seen each other for maybe two weeks, but to Inuyasha it had been way too long.
It was why they decided to meet up here, at their private den, for some much needed fun and comfort.
Another low rumble vibrated through the hanyou’s chest, and Sesshomaru moaned against his gag. The hanyou grinned, and his hand squeezed as he pulled his tongue away. Inuyasha licked one last trail up the crease, and murmured, “Want something more?”
He heard a low shriek, and an affirmative noise above. Followed by a long whimper of pleading.
Inuyasha was almost concerned about how his brother was doing, but he took a heart beat to feel his mate’s emotions. Desperation, excitement, blissful joy… Pleasure beyond words. Their mating mark told Inuyasha his mate was still doing fine… more than fine. Sesshomaru was so far into his sub-space that he was nearly high on sensation.
Slowly kissing his way onto his feet, Inuyasha’s hands teased along with his lips. Thumbs brushed across the magenta stripes on his older brother’s hips, then along his lean, yet muscled chest. The hanyou pressed his own chest to his lover’s back, hands cupped his mate’s pectorals. He squeezed the slightly rounded mounds, finally letting a moan slip his lips.
After five children, Sesshomaru’s chest had stayed just a little rounded. The uke youkai exercised regularly to keep a more masculine frame to make up for it. Not to mention his modeling job. And though he rarely had a need to wield Tenseiga these days, the taiyoukai still practiced sword play, as well as several forms of martial arts.
It kept his body in peak condition.
Personally, Inuyasha loved the little bit of warm squish. He loved it when Sesshomaru would lay on his back, and beckon the boy forward to sit on his stomach. Inuyasha would press the breasts together, sliding his length between them, and his mate would lick the tip of his dick… Moaning again, Inuyasha’s hips were grinding into his mate’s ass, hands kneading the rosy nipples. Sesshomaru flinched, back arching further into the pleasure.
“I missed you, Aniki.” Inuyasha groaned, pushing forward more, his cock pushed against the slick entrance that was waiting for him. “I know it… was only – a couple weeks, but… mmrhmm… still…” Inuyasha snarled, trying to raise his more dominant side up.
His uke didn’t want mushy tonight. He wanted the firm hand of his Alpha.
Sesshomaru loved to be edged closer and closer to his climax. He liked to be a little rough, tied up and strapped down as he was. Inuyasha always gave what his mate needed, whenever he could.
Whining and pumping his hips, Sesshomaru twisted against the metal bar and suspending cord. The mark was sharing a hazy maelstrom of sensation, and Inuyasha let himself fall.
He thrust forward as hard as he could, hilting himself flush against his lover’s hips. Inuyasha stayed still, simply reveling in the slick, wet heat now wrapped around his cock. Sesshomaru whimpered, pushing off his toes for just a little friction. The hanyou’s hands finally traveled upwards, catching the leather strapes of the gag with his claws. With a sharp tug, the bit came loose, and Sesshomaru sucked in air as fast as he could.
“My… mate…” the taiyoukai panted, head leaning back onto the younger male’s shoulder. “Please… fuck me! I… need you… to fuck… Ahhh! YES!”
Sesshomaru had not even stopped begging before Inuyasha began to move. His thrusts rang through the dimly lit apartment. His pace was grueling even for a full blooded demon, and Sesshomaru screamed his enjoyment.
The Alpha could easily picture his mate’s face, even though he was behind him. Sesshomaru’s glazed, gold eyes would be leaking under the blindfold, and he would be wearing a wide, slightly dopey smile. Lips parted as he panted, and back curved so tight he might snap at any moment. Inuyasha’s hand gripped his mate’s hip to pump faster, while his other hand pulled around to push Sesshomaru’s face into the right angle to kiss him. His mate moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing and sucking one another tenderly.
Without warning, Sesshomaru arched back, lips ripping away. Roaring as his body bowed tight, his released washed through him, bolts of lightening racing up his thighs. Youki rippled through the room and seed spilled across the floor.
Body pulsing and convulsing, it only took a few more thrusts for Inuyasha to follow off the edge.
He was so glad he paid for the sound proof walls…
The hanyou’s white mane fanned out behind him as he buried himself deep in Sesshomaru’s channel, filling him full of his own spill. Arms wrapped around his mate’s chest, Inuyasha’s body shuddered against his uke’s suspended form. He was so warm that they were sticking together in the this hot August evening.
He also thanked Kami for the invention of air conditioning.
When he could breathe again without gasping, the hanyou manged to get his legs under him. He slipped free of Sesshomaru’s body, noting the soft shudder. Gently, on one side and then the other, Inuyasha unbuckled the wrists straps, and then took the bulk of his mate’s weight in order to unhook the harness. Sesshomaru groaned softly as he was carried to the large, four poster bed. Inuyasha reached for the buckle to the harness his brother wore, right above the large metal ring in the center of Sesshomaru’s chest.
“Leave it.”
A heart beat of pause, then, “You sure? No numbness?”
Sesshomaru shook his head, still blissfully drawn out.
Inuyasha pulled his brother close, content for now to ride out the high. They might be youkai, but that did not mean they wouldn’t be safe. Inuyasha always took the time to make sure his mate was alright, checking in while they played. Sesshomaru did the same, and had even been a performance shibari rope artist for a while in the 30s to learn more. It gave them the knowledge to get so very creative during their play.
“No… just… feel good.”
Inuyasha chuckled, nuzzling in close, pride leaking into his cocky grin. The inukai must be floating high if his speech was wrecked to that extent. Sesshomaru was always so articulate and formal, and he still slipped into full royal mode whenever any of the pups deserved it… Or the hanyou did.
Which was luckily not nearly as often as it used to be.
Humming softly, the younger Lord gently massaged his mate’s wrists, one at a time. Sesshomaru moaned into it, and Inuyasha was careful with the obvious bruises forming. The taiyoukai had a new source of pride when it came to bedroom marks, seeing them as sort of battle wound only he and Inuyasha knew about. Bruises, claws marks, biting and hickies, all were worn with such pride by the taiyoukai. But no mark made the powerful uke youkai as proud as the faded, slightly metallic silver lines around his hips and stomach. It took a long time to build up that pride, and Inuyasha calling them battle scars none stop, but Sesshomaru’s confidence had been rebuilt.
And confidence looked good on the powerful inukai. It proofed that anyone could heal.
“So…” Sesshomaru murmured softly, still blindfolded and relaxing across the massive bed. Inuyasha was kissing along the faded stretch marks along the demon’s hip stripes as he hummed his attention. A soft huff, likely in pleasure, then, “Did you get to see… our miko?”
“I did.” the hanyou replied as he made his way up. “She was surprised… and pissed at me. Just like you thought.”
“Hnn… and you doubted this one?”
“Not for a moment…” the boy grumbled back, adding, “Which is why I waited so long. She’s with Kirari right now, and the two want us at the Shrine for breakfast, tomorrow…”
Inuyasha licked at his lover’s nipple on his way by, pulling a soft gasp from the demon’s lips. Sesshomaru’s body shivered, contorting to the lapping tongue before trying to speak, “I would… enjoy that, little brother. I miss her, too…”
The hanyou grinned as his partner writhed. Sesshomaru was still a tight ass, in more ways than one, and he didn’t have many he’d call true friends. Kagome was an exception, a human that had broken through the walls of ice to connect with the taiyoukai. Sesshomaru had had a few girlfriends over the years, but none stayed around long enough for him to call them friends. Inuyasha wondered if it was time to push his mate out of his own shell, just like they had done for their pup.
They could use a chance to get away together. Maybe another vacation, though there were few places they hadn’t seen yet. Over the centuries, Inuyasha was still the hopeless romantic he ever was, and he prided himself on being able to plan great vacations. On their last trip to Rome, he’d actually proposed his mate again. They’d been married, by various customs, four times over the last five centuries.
Each time they moved somewhere new, they started a new life, and Inuyasha was able to court his husband all over again each time. He sort of liked the idea of proposing again, too… And now they even had an event planner they trusted for another wedding. He put a pin in that thought as Sesshomaru moaned again under him.
“Let’s not talk about Kagome right now…” Inuyasha murmured, nipping his way up his lover’s neck. He loomed above, and nuzzled close enough to pull the blindfold up and off with his teeth. Sesshomaru blinked for a moment, but his gold eyes flew wide as his mate penetrated him gently.
Inuyasha’s hips began to move in a much slower rhythm, sliding easily in the slippery center. His hips made long, even strokes, and he leaned in close enough to capture his lover’s lips. Sesshomaru’s arms reached up and wrapped around the hanyou’s neck, moaning softly and his back curved into the drags. Long legs hooked around Inuyasha waist, not letting him pull out completely as he moved.
“Aniki…” Inuyasha moaned softly when his mate released his mouth. He nipped the older male’s jaw up to his pointed ear, adding, “Did you – nggh – miss me… too?”
“Ahh… yes!” Sesshomaru whined back, tilting his head back in surrender. Inuyasha took the invitation, kissing down his mate’s throat as the demon moaned, “Please… faster, mate. Move!”
Inuyasha could do nothing but oblige.
The slow pace was maddening, even for the Alpha. With a smirk, the boy gave his uke everything he needed for as long as Sesshomaru could stand it. Inuyasha’s stamina had reached epic levels long ago, and only during the taiyoukai’s heat could the youkai keep up with the empowered half demon.
As the moonlight peaked behind the tasteful window coverings, Sesshomaru was once again laying out on the bed. On his stomach this time, pillow lifting his hips, leather harness having been removed a little while ago. Inuyasha was still lazily gliding in and out of his spill filled ass. The inukai moaned through a hoarse throat, tilting his hips just enough to get his lover to brush him in just the right way.
His sweet spot, his prostate, was so sensitive by now.
The full blooded youkai was ready to burst again, but the lazy pace kept him only inching closer to his completion. His arms were tucked under him, holding a pillow to his chest as his legs pushed up into the hot friction. It felt so deliciously wonderful, and he wished he could keep up with his virile mate more. He had accepted that he was uke, and therefore slightly weaker than his Alpha now. His body craved his Alpha’s seed, but also wanted to give back.
It made Sesshomaru think about something that had been on his mind for a while now.
“Hnnnnn… You know, Otouto…”
A grunt, then, “Yeah?”
“This spring… it will be my… next heat.”
Inuyasha hesitated in his next thrust, before finishing the drag, drawing out another long groan. Sesshomaru shivered as his shoulder blades were nibbled, “Keh… what are you sayin’, Sessh?”
The uke tilted his head just enough to look over his shoulder. Inuyasha was glistening with sweat, a bead running down his upper arm over the black and silver tattoo he’d gotten a few decades ago. It was a beautiful, stylized, inukai in it’s true form, with a small violet crescent moon between shining red eyes. It was only colour in the whole piece, besides the monochrome.
Loving, amber eyes were soft with pleasure as the hanyou’s body continued to move. A thick brow rose, prompting the taiyoukai to continue. It took a heart beat to remember where Sesshomaru was going with his thoughts.
“It has… hmmm… been a long while. I was pupped… with Kirari, while we lived in Ireland – nnghaa – over 60 years ago…”
This time, the younger Lord’s movements stilled, making Sesshomaru squirm. Inuyasha’s cock was deep in his ass, and yet he was not moving any more. The uke writhed, trying to move his own hips enough to bring back the torturous heat in his abdomen. He had lost count of his orgasms since he’d drifted out of the submissive mind state, yet he desire more.
Hot breathe puffed into Sesshomaru’s delicately pointed ear. “Aniki…? Are you asking for another pup?”
Sesshomaru smiled softly over his shoulder, lips barely meeting his mate’s stunned expression. “I am, my Alpha. I want another pup.”
A large, proud grin spread across Inuyasha’s face and the slightly smaller male was partially lifted into the air. For a moment, he was empty, and he nearly cried out in anguish. Bewildered, Sesshomaru was dropped into his mate’s lap, impaled in a second, and the half demon began to pound. Yelping with joy, Sesshomaru could only grab onto his lover’s shoulder for balance. His mouth fell open, tongue lolling out as he gulped down air.
He had thought about waiting until closer to the spring to mention it, but he had grown impulsive in his centuries of life. He rather enjoyed throwing these types of things at his mate, since the boy was always so zealous.
Inuyasha seemed quite pleased, if the pace and affection were anything to go by. The hanyou was holding Sesshomaru tightly, pumping fast, kissing along the demon’s collarbone and old scar.
“Sesshomaruuu…” the hanyou moaning, lips against the older male’s mating mark as he spoke, “Marry me.”
The taiyoukai wasn’t sure if he’d heard right, but he managed a panted, “Yes! Always! Ngghhaa… Inu – yasha! Yes!”
Inuyasha thrust his hips faster, grunting as the strokes became erratic. The older male’s claws dug into honey kissed flesh as Sesshomaru leaned back, silver hair thrown off his face. It might be short, but it was long enough to become damp on his brow. Muscles tightened, and Sesshomaru’s body went rigid with pleasure. The surges of his release hit him a heart beat later, and his seed coated his lover’s chest and stomach. The boy moaned his brother’s name one last time before his own climax hit him, cock twitching as he filled Sesshomaru fuller.
Sesshomaru slumped forward, feeling wonderfully sated, though curious if his mate was determined to continue. He was not sure he could keep up, since his photo shoot that afternoon had been exhausting. He was working with a new designer that did not know how to run her own show, and thus, the experienced demon had given his two cents. All his suggestions had been heeded, and it ended with the poor team working later than expected.
Not that Sesshomaru had stayed late. He was too important, and he had other plans.
His Alpha was so warm under him, and made no move to separate them.
“Oi… you serious about another pup?” Inuyasha finally asked, lifting his head just enough to kiss his mate’s forehead. The tingles told Sesshomaru it was right on his moon marking.
With a soft smile, the demon replied, “I am… I have thought about it, and if you are game, then I would like to expand our pack once more.”
A soft growl and another nuzzle, then, “Might be harder this day and age… not many men can give birth. You alright hiding away when you start to show?”
Sesshomaru remained quiet for another moment before finally nuzzling back. “This one kept a rather slim figure last time, if you recall, though dressing as a woman from time to time was actually enjoyable. I would be happy to spend the summer months at the family estate, or even the lake house in the north. Lady Ayame is also planning for another pup this year, and I feel the company would be welcome. Perhaps our miko would enjoy a vacation to the wolf’s territory as well.”
“Keh… wow, you have thought about this…”
“Indeed.”
Inuyasha smiled, lips curving against his mate’s cheek, “Well, if another pup is what my mate wants, then as Alpha, I guess I’m willing to help out… Hey!”
Sesshomaru withdrew the elbow that had struck the younger male’s ribs just moments before, wrathful smirk in place as he did.
Laughing softly, the hanyou lifted them both to their feet. Their bodies freed from one another easily, and Sesshomaru instantly felt the amount of seed leaking down his thighs. With a grimace, he only wobbled for a moment as he was placed on his feet. With a flare of his youki, he added strength to his legs.
Though, clearly the power was unneeded, since Inuyasha swung his uke up into his arms a second later.
Without words, Inuyasha took them both into the spacious washroom, setting the older male on the edge of the large tub. All of the dens they had used over the years, whether as safe houses or just getaway spots, they always had a place to comfortably bathe. It was a must for the demon Lord, and he prided himself on his ability to keep clean. It took barely ten minutes to fill the tub, all the while give the lovers time to kiss and touch some more.
Tucking his arms around his mate’s waist, Inuyasha settled back into the large tub, Sesshomaru laying against his chest. The water was hot and did wonders for the hanyou’s back and hips. Inuyasha knew he’d be tired in the morning, but he couldn’t wait to show Kagome the new battles wounds on his neck and shoulders.
He could just imagine the blush she’d sport.
“Otouto?”
Inuyasha hummed his attention, his claws already reaching to his brother’s short, silver hair. He preferred more length, but the sides being shaved and the top being a bit long was a really cute style on the demon Lord.
“Did you ask this one to marry you, again?”
Inuyasha chuckled, “Yeah, I did, right after you asked about a pup…”
“Were you serious, this time?”
“What are you sayin’? I’m always serious…”
“Hnn.”
“Don’t be like that.” the hanyou ran his wet hands over his mate’s shoulder’s, massaging as he went. “I know I ask you at least once or twice a year to marry me, but this time I am serious. Let’s have another wedding.”
Sesshomaru leaned back, cutting off the massage, and looked up into his little brother’s shining, amber eyes. “Any particular reason?”
“Keh… well, we do know a decent event planner now, and if you want another pup, maybe we should get married, in this time, before the spring hits.”
“Or maybe during the spring…” Sesshomaru mused, brushing his cheek against his lover’s, “I do so miss the cherry blossoms…”
“Anything you want, Aniki… Anything you want.”
Gold eyes, like drops of sunshine, were bright with happiness. A soft rumble, like a purr, vibrated through the taiyoukai’s body, and Inuyasha just nuzzled in again.
“Keh… Got nothin’ to say, Sesshomaru?”
“Hnn…”
Inuyasha sighed, “I guess I’ll let you have the last word… just this once!”
Sesshomaru smiled, flicking a puppy ear over his head by memory alone. The hanyou shook his head, grumbling at the annoying teasing.
“Then I shall leave it at this… I love you, Inuyasha.”
“Love you, too, Sessh…”
“Hnn.”
~ Fin ~
|
Oliver and Felicity’s weekly morning runs soon turned into bi-weekly runs, and soon after that, they ran almost every morning together. When Felicity asked him one time if his work schedule wouldn’t get affected by it, he quickly assured her that Robert couldn’t care less if he showed up at the office around 9 or 10, as long as he got his work done by 4pm. Felicity could hear the hint of distress in his voice while he spoke but decided to not ask him about it and possibly ruin their relaxed morning together.
They had been talking about everything and nothing during their runs, but most of the time it was Felicity babbling about school and her upcoming summer projects and Oliver silently listened, more often than not wondering how in the world she had the breath to talk so much while running.
Thea had been a moping mess for a few days after Tommy announced his father expected his presence on a business trip to India for two weeks. Even Oliver noticed his little sister had been more on edge for a few days than she normally was.
“Do you know what’s up with her?” Oliver asked when they jogged back to the mansion, making a stop at the stables so Felicity could feed the horses.
Sure, your best friend left for two weeks and she’s lovesick. “No idea.” Felicity lied and tried to put up her best poker face. Oliver could read her too well and she couldn’t risk exposing Thea’s feelings towards Tommy to anyone, especially not to Oliver. “Maybe she’s just having a few cranky days.” she shrugged and patted Castiel’s nose before they both headed back up to the mansion.
Thankfully, Tommy was due to return back in two days, because even Felicity felt slightly annoyed by Thea’s sulky, mopey behavior. It was really getting out of hand lately, but for some reason, Thea always waved her off when Felicity asked about it. And since Thea had to endure a similar Felicity when Oliver and Tommy had been out of country the first few weeks, she decided not to say anything to her friend. After all, she knew all too well how Thea felt right at that moment.
-------------------------------
A few weeks before Felicity’s 18th birthday, Oliver could feel the shift in her behavior.
Everything she’d done to that point in their friendship slash relationship was subtle, always sweet and shy.
But at some point lately, that behavior had changed. The things she did now weren’t so subtle any more, and she even seemed a bit more risky than before. Where she was all about keeping secrets and only getting close to him when no one else was in the room except for Tommy or Thea, she now openly sought out his closeness, wrapped herself around his arm more often than not and even pinched or slapped his butt every now and then when they passed each other in the mansion. Oliver had no idea where that sudden change of behavior came from, not that he did mind, but it made him wonder nonetheless.
“Man, is Felicity getting hotter the older she gets, or is it just that new bikini?” Tommy spoke from the lounge bed next to Oliver, pulling his best friend out of his thoughts before he sent Tommy a hard stare.
“Chill out, I told you several times she’s like a little sister to me.” he defended himself.
“It’s driving me insane, Tommy.” Oliver sighed when he leaned back into his lounger, rubbing his face with his palms.
“Well, even at the risk of repeating myself… finally go for it!”
“I don’t know, man…” he sighed, “this friendship thing between us is better than it has ever been. I don’t want to ruin that. We’ve been there before, it wasn’t pretty. So I think I’ll let it stay just the way it is right now.”
“And risk dying from blue balls? Doesn’t sound too pleasurable if you’d ask me.” Tommy snorted. “Besides, the way she prances around you all the time tells me she wants more as well.”
Tommy’s words made Oliver’s head snap up. “You see that, too? I was sure I was only seeing it because it affected me so much.”
“Oh, trust me,” Tommy laughed, “I do see it. It’s so obvious. She’s like a goddamn cougar and you’re her prey. Sometimes I envy you, but most of the time I’m just happy I’m not in your place.” he snickered, bumping Oliver’s shoulder in the process. “I have no idea how you do it.”
“I don’t, either.” he grumbled and watched the girls in the pool, both engaged in a serious pool noodle fight. “Last week she was wearing a freaking g-string bikini when we sat in the tub. I didn’t know until she stepped out and bent to grab a towel. I almost came in my shorts, like some goddamn teenager.” he sighed, earning another heartfelt laugh from his best friend.
“Maybe she’s trying to send you signals to move things further?” Tommy offered after taking a sip of his beer.
“Or she’s just getting older and enjoys teasing around.” he sighed.
Tommy watched his best friend watching Felicity in the pool for a moment.
“You need to get laid, that’s all.” he said and handed Oliver another beer. “Unless you’re keeping secrets from me now it’s been what... 1 year?”
“That’s the thing… there isn’t one single woman I’m interested in.”
“Besides her.” Tommy replied and motioned to Felicity leaving the pool.
“Besides her.” Oliver sighed and let out a feral growl when he saw Felicity bending over the lounge bed, firmly presenting him her backside when she grabbed her towel. Tommy couldn’t help but laugh even more at the scene that had been unfolding in front of him, but he couldn’t say that he felt any better than his best friend.
He was almost 100% sure that Felicity’s sudden streak of confidence stemmed from no other than her best friend, the lovely young lady who did just the same to him like Felicity was doing to Oliver right now. With the only difference that Thea didn’t suddenly start to act that way, she had been like this from day one.
So all in all one could say that Tommy Merlyn was suffering even more than Oliver Queen. Especially considering the fact that he couldn’t talk to his best friend so openly about this ‘problem’, unless he wanted to risk a broken nose and probably equally broken friendship.
“Well her birthday is coming up soon... any plans to change your behavior towards her after that? I mean, since you’re not stepping into any legal potholes any longer...” Tommy offered with a shrug.
“I’m not going to change anything at all. Like I said, the friendship we have right now is better than anything we’ve ever had before. I’m not going to jeopardize that again only because she’s above the age consent in two weeks.”
“But you do know that this can’t go on forever, right?” Tommy shot back, giving his best friend a look over his sunglasses.
Of course Oliver knew that. He knew that all too well, since it had been on the front of his mind for quite a while now. Despite the fact that the friendship between him and Felicity was better than it could ever be, and she seemed to enjoy the situation between them very much, Oliver knew the situation wasn’t ideal, at least not for him.
Of course he wanted more, and with her 18th birthday fast approaching, at least the legal aspect wouldn’t be an issue any longer then. But the more the thoughts about legality vanished, the more doubts about his family surfaced. Would Moira and Robert ever approve of that relationship?
It wasn’t that he was worried about himself, or maybe his reputation; he knew all too well how much his parents disapproved each and every single one of his past girlfriends, not that he ever cared about that.
He was actually worried about Felicity and the fact that his parents could believe he might be a bad influence for her, or maybe he’d hold her back in pursuing the ‘great future’ they were always promising her.
Robert had told him often enough that he wished Oliver had Tommy’s morals and work ethics, not that he had any idea what his father was talking about. Tommy partied just as hard as he did, and he even disliked working for his father just as much as Oliver. So Robert was either too blind to see the real Tommy, or he just wanted to hurt his son. Either way, Oliver never let it get to him too much, but the fact that Felicity could be affected by it made him worry.
He wanted her to be able to have the best future possible but still be with her - but he still had no idea how to make this work.
“It’s my birthday next week.” Felicity told him with a sing-sang voice while rounding the desk in his room, propping her butt up on one corner.
“I know.” Oliver nodded, trying his hardest to look unaffected by her sudden predatory behavior and the playful glint in her eyes.
“Got anything nice planned for me?” she purred with a grin, her eyes twinkling in the sunshine.
“Mhmm.” Oliver mumbled, tight lipped.
He didn’t like his gift-idea one bit, not that he would tell her that. And as long as he didn’t come up with a better one, and that soon, his idea would have to do. Not that she wouldn’t appreciate it, he knew she would. But he himself wasn’t convinced that this was the best idea to come up with for her. So it was just one week before her birthday, and Oliver was still stuck with some consolation prize of a birthday surprise for her. Crap.
“Can’t wait to see it.” she purred when she hopped off the desk, and after sending her a wicked grin and a wink over her shoulder, she was out of his room just as fast as she’d been in.
Oliver sat at his desk and stared at the closed door for a few long moments. He couldn’t say that he didn’t like Felicity’s new, so much more bold behavior, but it didn’t help him with his problem either. He still needed to figure out what to do with her once she turned 18. He had promised her they would sit down and talk then, as soon as all legal obstacles were out of the way - which they were, in exactly 8 days.
With a sigh, Oliver rubbed his face and pushed the thoughts about the upcoming ‘talk’ with Felicity out of the way so he could focus on finding a better birthday present for her. He knew she’d love getting a car from him, especially the BMW convertible that he spotted at the dealer a while ago, but giving her a car for her 18th birthday was so... impersonal; and definitely not fitting into the list of gifts he’d given her so far. He really needed to find something more creative, more personal for her.
When Thea announced she would be organizing and hosting Felicity’s ‘big birthday bash’, Felicity wasn't too fond of the idea at first. But she had to admit, Thea had been quite invested in the whole project for a few days. Even Moira and Robert had given their okay to have a party hosted in their home and garden, and for some strange reason Thea even managed to squeeze an okay out of them when she made puppy eyes and asked for a little champagne to be served. Moira had agreed, but not without informing her daughter that both Oliver and Tommy would be on duty that night, keeping a close eye on the drinking habits of the party guests, especially Thea and Felicity. Of course Thea had agreed to that; given her brother had allowed them to drink Champagne and Cocktails on New Year's Eve over a year ago already, she had no doubts he would object with a little alcohol now.
“Will you at least tell me how many people you invited?” Felicity whined. For more than 20 minutes, she’d unsuccessfully tried to get any information out of her friend, with very little success so far.
“No.” Thea replied with a proud grin. “But I will tell you that Mom agreed to have some light booze served and that Ollie and Tommy are put on duty as our watchdogs. I can’t imagine you would object with that.”
“Absolutely not.” Felicity grinned. She wasn’t sure if Oliver would be willing to stay for the party, given that Thea probably only invited school friends their age. But hearing he would be there, and apparently the whole evening, instantly lifted her mood.
“Thought so. Now, mom and dad will have to leave around 6 for another conference in Central City, so I planned the party to start at 8. That way we’ll have enough time to get ready once mom and dad are out of the house. What are you going to wear?” she clapped excitedly and for a moment, Felicity was amazed at Thea’s outstanding party planning abilities. If she’d have to do it herself, they’d probably run out of booze an hour after the party started and in all likelihood, there wouldn’t be any music playing, at all. It was just how Felicity functioned. Give her a task, or maybe two at once, and she’d kill it. But having to keep in mind so many things at once and yet keeping her head above everything? Yeah, she was downright glad Thea so eagerly volunteered to organize the party for her.
The morning of her birthday started somewhat slow for Felicity. Even though there was already a ton of activity going on around her, she decided to roll over once more and just relax into the sheets for a little longer. She’d given herself a day off from working out today, so she might as well sleep in for once. With the small snippets she had caught from Thea, she’d have to be up for quite a long evening, it seemed.
When she entered the dining room around 10am, Raisa and Thea were the only ones to congratulate her. Raisa served her an opulent breakfast with all the goods she had started to love over the years while Thea kept her best friend in a tight hug, excitedly babbling about all the plans she had made for the evening.
Moira and Robert took the afternoon off so they could spend the day with their foster kid before having to leave to Central City for the annual company conference.
“Happy birthday, dear!” Moira smiled warmly and pulled Felicity in a tight hug, something the Queen head rarely did. Robert followed suit, and after stepping back, a wide smile plastered on his face, he handed her a small package.
Felicity stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out what might be inside.
“Well, open it up, dear!”
She slowly opened the delicate bow and removed the lid, revealing a pair of car keys. When she looked up into Moira’s and Robert’s smiling faces, pure shock and surprise covering hers, Robert took a step forward.
“We thought it was fitting. And now you won’t have to ask anyone if you want to go to the city.”
“Come on, let’s have a look at it! We’ve had some details custom made. We hope you like it.” Moira added and motioned for her to follow them to the main entrance. Thea instantly fell in step with her, eager to see Felicity’s new car as well.
When they stepped out, a shiny black BMW convertible parked in the driveway, very similar to the one Thea owned, but with a little different details. The black leather seats sported bright pink stitching as well as the steering wheel. The whole car had very subtle pink details here and there, and Felicity loved how much attention to detail Moira and Robert had spent.
“I can’t... I mean…” she stuttered, unable to form her appreciation in words. She really loved the car, and she loved how generous her foster parents were, but this definitely felt too much to her.
“You are our daughter, Felicity. And each of our kids got their first car from us. Call it a family tradition.” Robert smiled and led her down the steps to her new car.
“What about Thea and you making a little test drive while Moira and I get your cake set up? Oliver should be home in a bit as well, and we could enjoy the afternoon outside, just the 5 of us, before Moira and I have to leave for Central City again. What do you think?”
“That’s a brilliant idea!” Thea piped up from the side and jumped into the passenger seat, not even giving Felicity any time to overthink the idea and maybe deny. She knew her best friend all too well, when things started to feel too overwhelming for her, she tried to pull back. Well Thea wasn’t going to let her pull back on her big day, that for sure.
“Alright, but please don’t be later than 4.” Moira added from the side. “Contrary to what Thea might be trying to make you believe, it is not polite to keep your guests waiting.” she smiled and turned to follow Robert back into the house.
Sending Thea one last glance, Felicity slowly took a seat in her new car and started the engine. This was by far the most expensive gift she had ever gotten and the fear of maybe even scratching the paint was still a little overwhelming for her.
“Relax, Fee… it’s a car, not a delicate flower that will break if you breathe at it the wrong way.” Thea chuckled when Felicity steered the car off the driveway agonizingly slow.
“No, it’s not just a car, it’s a freaking 80.000$ vehicle that your parents stupidly gave me the control over. There’s reason why I never wanted to drive your car, or Oliver’s, for that matter. I’m a terrible driver, Thea!” she sighed, pulling the car to a stop when they reached the end of the private driveway, ready to turn right to head onto the road to the city.
“Well then you need to practice a little.” Thea replied, earning a tired smile from her best friend. “Geez, relax, Fee. At least you don’t have to fear wrecking my or Ollie’s car now that you got your own.” she snorted. “And now get us out of the driveway before the security guard sends someone to check if you broke the car already.” she added with a laugh, earning a smack from Felicity.
Spending the afternoon of her birthday with her family was something Felicity was very grateful for. Oliver had been home already when Thea and Felicity turned up at home again and Raisa had managed to create the most delicious birthday cake Felicity had ever gotten. It was a sunny and relaxed afternoon and for the first time since her parents passed away, she realized how much she missed having a big, own family like the one surrounding her right now. How she deserved to be so lucky, she certainly had no idea. Up until this day she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Moira and Robert took her into their family, without even having to think about it twice. And she also knew that, if it hadn’t been for the Queens, she probably would still spend her miserable life with her adoptive family, and definitely not sitting around a delicious birthday cake at that moment. Her life clearly would have been a lot different hadn’t the Queens helped her the way they did.
“Thank you.” she suddenly blurted out, making 4 pairs of eyes snap up and look at her, while Felicity directly looked at Robert and Moira.
“For what, dear?”
“For this birthday, the amazing car, for everything, actually.” she told them.
A warm smile spread on Moira’s face.
“You don’t have to thank us for anything, Felicity. We’re glad you’re part of our family.”
“That’s what I wanted to thank you for, as well. For taking me in the way you did, even after I snuck up on you the way I did. I never expected any of this. Actually, I was only afraid I might cause Thea any trouble.” she added, earning a laugh from Thea and Moira. “But I never, for one moment, thought that I would be welcomed like this. I haven’t been very lucky when it came to that after my parents’ death, and I realized I haven’t properly thanked you for everything you’ve done for me, so that’s what I’d like to do now. Thank you, really, from the bottom of my heart. I would have never guessed I could feel like having a real family again, but I do. And I’m so happy about it.” Felicity smiled and wiped a stray tear off her cheek.
It had gotten dead silent on the sun deck, until Moira got up from her chair and pulled Felicity in a tight hug. Thea quickly shot up and joined the women, hugging Felicity from behind. Robert and Oliver stayed seated though, looking at the ball of women with a warm smile.
“We couldn’t have asked for a better addition to this family, Felicity. You’re a wonderful young lady that has not only greatly impacted Thea’s life in the last two years, but ours as well. And if we make you feel like having a real family again, then everything is perfect.” Moira spoke while glancing over to her husband, earning a small smile and nod from him.
“Am I interrupting something?” Tommy suddenly piped in from the open doorway, a wide grin plastered on his face.
“Not at all,” Moira replied, taking a step back, so Tommy could pull Felicity into a hug.
“Happy birthday, blondie.” Tommy mumbled when he wrapped her in his arms, giving her a warm hug. When she stepped back, he handed her a small envelope. “It’s not as fancy as the gifts you usually hand out, but I thought I’d give you something you haven’t gotten yet.” he grinned and waggled his eyebrows, earning a snort from Thea.
Felicity looked at the bright blue envelope with the Merlyn logo on top of it. For a moment she was too nervous to open it but then curiosity got the best of her. Taking a knife from the coffee table, she carefully opened the side and pulled out a handwritten letter.
After reading the text, written in Tommy’s delicate handwriting, twice, she looked up at him with incredulous eyes.
“Aspen?”
“Yup.” he grinned proudly.
“Oh no.” Oliver’s mumble piped up from the side. He knew all too well what that letter meant. In fact, he had gotten one of these in the past, as well.
“You’re officially invited to a weekend in the snow to the Merlyn lodge, where I’ll show you the joys of snowboarding, snow skiing and hot tubbing in the snow at 10°F.”
Felicity looked over the letter one more time before she sent Tommy a confused look.
“You mean... just you and I?” She asked him, her voice sounding just as sceptical as she looked.
Tommy laughed out loud at that.
“Oh hell no! I couldn’t stand spending more than two hours alone with you without feeling the urge to rip that smartassed head off of yours.” he laughed. “Actually, this is for both Thea and you. And Ollie, of course. For moral support, so to speak.” he grinned proudly, winking in Oliver’s direction.
“What a lovely idea, Tommy. It has been too long since that lodge has been put to good use, anyway.” Robert threw in from beside them. Between the confused and amused looks the 4 sent each other, they had completely forgotten that there were still the Queen heads present with them.
Tommy nodded politely and stepped back from Felicity, letting Oliver take his place.
“Since we’re doing the whole gift exchange now - “ he said, sending Tommy a pointed look, “happy birthday, Felicity. Again.” he laughed, pulling her into a tight hug. For once he wouldn’t have to worry about his parents getting a wrong opinion of them and he made sure to enjoyed it to the fullest.
“You’ll get my gift as soon as the party started.” he mumbled into her hair before letting go of her again.
Thea was the last to step up and somehow she managed to slip back in and out of the mansion completely unnoticed, because the small box she was holding in her hands, a broad grin plastered on her lips, definitely wasn’t there before.
“Happy birthday, Fee.” she squealed and almost tackled her friend to the ground, the gift box squashed between them. Thea crushed her so hard it knocked the breath out of her lungs.
“Gee, Thea, if your sudden outburst is any indication on how tonight’s party will be, then I have to say I’m actually scared.” Felicity laughed when she freed herself from Thea’s embrace and steadied them both safely on their feet again.
“Oh don’t worry. We’ll just have some tea and biscuits and will go to bed no later than 10pm.” she giggled, earning a smack from her friend. “Now stop hitting me and open your gift, will you?”
Quickly removing the bow and lifting the lid, Felicity peeked inside and spotted - another letter.
“Did Tommy write this one, as well?” she laughed when she held it up for everyone to see. She was about to set the box aside so she could read the letter when something shiny in the box caught her eye. She rummaged through the tissue and pulled out a small silver eiffel tower with a little keychain attached to it. Sending Thea a confused look, her friend nudged her to open and read the letter.
Felicity’s eyes flew over the few written lines on the letter, all neatly written down in Thea’s handwriting. When she read the letter a second time, Thea spoke up next to her.
“I remember you said how much you hated not being able to visit Paris with your class during the summer program. So I thought it would be a nice idea to take you there now, just the two of us. We’ll do some sight seeing, shopping, eat some weird food, whatever you want to do.” Thea smiled, earning an equally broad smile from her best friend. “I had a little help from mom and dad, though,” Thea confessed, “they’ll let us take the QC jet, so we won’t have to deal with extra waiting times at the airport.”
“But of course you won’t go all on your own.” Moira threw in from beside them, making both Tommy and Oliver sigh a breath of relief. The moment each of them heard that ‘their’ girl would be leaving for Paris, alone at that, they stopped breathing. Habits of watching Taken a little too often, it seemed.
“John Diggle will accompany you at all times and don’t you dare trying to sneak on him.” Moira warned them with a pointed finger. “I only approved of Thea’s idea under this condition. And no drinking, of course.”
Both women nodded before turning their attention back to each other, squealing in delight.
Tommy and Oliver both went oddly silent after that. The moment Moira had announced the girls wouldn’t be going alone, a part of Oliver had hoped she’d ask him to accompany them. Of course he would have to deal with his father before, hoping he could take some days off, but he was sure he would’ve managed. Hearing that their bodyguard had been assigned for that job, though, slightly disappointed him, not that he’d ever tell his parents that.
He could only hope the trip would just be a few days, one week max. He wasn’t sure if he could stand being separated from Felicity longer than that. Not after his whole 1-year-trip fiasco from that their friendship yet had to fully recover, even though it was on an awesome path at that moment.
Pushing these thoughts away, he focused on the birthday party Thea had organized for later that night. He couldn’t wait to give her her gift. After waking up in the middle of the night from one a little too pleasant dream, Oliver hopped out of bed and scribbled down a few thoughts of what he later deemed ‘the best goddamn gift idea I’ve ever gotten for her’. Finalizing everything a day later went surprisingly quick and easy, much to his surprise. Now he couldn’t wait to give her her gift, but since he planned to do it in a little more private setting, he’d decided to do it later, once the party started and his parents were out of the house.
Everyone fell into an easy conversation after the gifts had been handed out, and Felicity even forced Tommy to eat a slice of the cake Raisa had made her. It was a perfectly relaxed birthday afternoon for her with her family and closest friends, something she hadn’t had in - forever, actually.
Half an hour later, Moira and Robert got up from their spots.
“We really have to leave now or we’ll be late for the conference.” she announced and pulled Felicity into one last hug. “Have a lovely birthday party. Raisa will make sure there’s enough food and drinks. But if you need anything else, just ask Oliver. I’ll be home back tomorrow morning for the meeting with the adoption counselor, so please don’t overdo it tonight, alright? We don’t want you to greet the counselor for the last time, sporting raccoon eyes and some lack of sleep, right?”
Felicity nodded with a small smile, accepted Robert’s hug and then watched them leave for the mansion. Thea didn’t give her much time to think about anything, though.
“It’s almost 6, that leaves us exactly two hours before the first guests will be here. And, knowing our friends pretty well when it comes to free booze, they’ll definitely be on time. So you and me -” she spoke and dragged Felicity over the patio and back to the mansion, “we have to get ready now. See you later guys!” she quickly waved and before Felicity knew what was happening, they were already in the hallway, walking up to their rooms.
When Oliver came down to the living room, dressed in Jeans and a light blue button down, the mansion was already buzzing with activity.
Raisa was rummaging through the kitchen, yelling orders at the two other servers while some girl Oliver had seen with Thea once or twice before - Alice, maybe? - ran through the living room, stocking up the tables with snacks and crackers. She stopped for a moment when she spotted Oliver standing in the doorway, but quickly regained her wits and flashed him a wide grin and approached him with quick steps.
“You must be Ollie. Hi, I’m Alicia. I’m a friend of Thea and Felicity.” she smiled at him and waved her manicured nails in his direction. Oliver loosely shook her hand, but let go just as quickly. The way she batted her eyelashes at him made him incredibly uncomfortable.
“Aren’t you a little early? The party won’t start for another -” he quickly checked his watch, “30 minutes. Aren’t women usually 30 minutes late, instead of 30 minutes early?”
She giggled at him and in a high pitched voice and swatted his arm lightly, resting it there for longer than he’d have liked.
“You’re funny. I’m helping Thea getting everything ready for the party.” She winked and - finally, thank god! - removed her hand from his bicep. Turning on her heel, walking back to the bar to grab the stack of red cups, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a seductive smile.
“And to answer your question… I’m never early. Usually I come right on time.”
With a wink in his direction, she resumed her task doing whatever the hell she was doing and left Oliver standing in the middle of the living room, completely shocked and confused. That girl looked like she was barely 18 years old, and did she really just hit on him?
Shaking himself out of his shock, he quickly left the living room and stormed into the kitchen. That woman could easily turn into a huge problem tonight if she’d decided to keep up with that - whatever she was doing 2 minutes ago. He didn’t want Felicity to witness it, and he certainly had no interest to dodge her advances all night.
Texting a quick SOS to Tommy, letting him know to come to the mansion as soon as he could, Oliver hid in the kitchen for another 15 minutes, avoiding to go out at any cost while at the same time hoping that Alicia - girl wouldn’t come in. As long as he had no idea how to politely tell her off, he needed to avoid her.
That’s how Tommy found him 10 minutes later, hiding in the kitchen like some teenager.
“Dude, what’s wrong? And who is that brunette chick that hit on me just 2 minutes ago in the living room? Do her parents know what she does when she’s not at home?” he laughed with a shake of head when he entered the kitchen, motioning behind himself with his thumb.
“That’s what the SOS was about.” Oliver mumbled and hopped off the kitchen stool.
“Oh so she hit on you, too?” Tommy replied, clearly amused.
“Wonder if she’ll try and get us to tag-team her when we step out and she sees us together?” he joked, earning a hard stare from Oliver.
“Tommy!” he snapped and swatted his friend over the head. “That’s not funny! What if Felicity sees it? That girl is one of their friends!! And this is her birthday party!” Oliver told him with an exhausted sigh.
“Yeah what are you going to do about it? Hide in the kitchen all night because a teenage girl hit on you? Very mature, buddy.” Tommy chuckled and was about to leave the kitchen again when he turned to his friend once again.
“I don’t think I need to remind you, but Felicity’s 18 years old now. Go and finally stake a claim on her. That’ll be as clear as it can get to this girl out there.” he winked and was out the door before Oliver could object.
The party started somewhat slow with just a few guests arriving on time. Since most of Thea’s friends knew their way round at the mansion, neither Tommy nor Oliver needed to shoo anyone out of the private hallways or lead them to the right direction.
Of course, Felicity was fashionably late to her own party. When she arrived downstairs, the party was already in full swing, more than 50 guests mingling and chatting away in the living room and on the garden deck. A DJ that was playing some dance tracks out in the garden area and even a few people had made use of the pool already, even though just with their feet dangling in the water.
Tommy and Oliver made their rounds across the party, watching like a hawk that no drugs were being passed around. Well, Tommy was making rounds through the crowds. Oliver tried to hide himself with refilling Champagne glasses or finding reasons to leave for the kitchen, for the most part.
But the moment he entered the living room and saw Felicity standing next to Thea, his jaw dropped. Thankful for the bar next to him, he gripped the handle of it to steady himself.
In the other side of the room she stood, surrounded by a few people Oliver didn’t recognize, laughing and hugging everyone that approached her. But what made him catch his breath was the way she was dressed up.
She was wearing a skin tight, almost inappropriately short grey bandage dress with some intricate black laces along her neckline, running down the front of her dress. Oliver took the moment when no one greeted her to fully take in the way it hugged her body so perfectly. She still hadn’t noticed him standing a few feet away, too wrapped up with her guests, but the moment she turned to greet someone, Oliver was sure he was about to suffer a heart attack.
Her back was completely bare, except for the dressline ending just above the cute dimples on her back, and the small lacey neckline. How the dressed stayed in place like that, he seriously had no idea. But he did realize that this very little amount of fabric she was wearing instantly made him want to grab and hide her somewhere no one else would be, preferably his bedroom.
The moment she looked through the room and spotted him, her eyes lit up. She excused herself from the group and walked over to him, a wide smile on her lips. That moment he noticed her high heels for the first time.
“Hey,” she spoke up when she stopped in front of him. “I hope my guests behave themselves so far?”
Oliver could only gulp and nod like a goddamn teenager. Clearing his throat, he looked down her body once more before he settled his gaze on her face again.
“You look beautiful tonight.” he rasped out. “I remember those high heels.
That made her look down at her feet in confusion. “Really? From when?”
’From the night you had them wrapped around my body when I kissed you senseless in the hallway of Verdant. “Oh, you were wearing them on that New Year’s Party at Verdant. They’re so shiny, it was the first thing I noticed about you.” he casually told her, earning a small nod and a smile from her.
Thea and her friends didn’t give them any more time to chat, though, when they pulled her outside to the garden deck and made her greet everyone through the microphone. From that moment on, Oliver and Tommy held themselves in the background, only casually joining some groups for a little chit chat. Thankfully, Alicia didn’t make another move on him the moment Thea and Felicity had joined the party, so he even allowed himself to go out to the garden deck a few times. And even though more people came to the party than Thea had told her mother, Oliver had to admit that the evening started a lot better than he first anticipated.
Now he only needed to find a good moment to sneak Felicity away from the crowd without anyone noticing so he could give her her gift.
|
Cheryl and Toni had always been best friends. For the past year, that is, but it feels like they’ve known each other for way longer. In fact, they were so close that people had a suspicion that they might be dating. With all of the cheek kisses, close quarters, and smiling between the two, people were very adamant about finding the truth. Toni was bisexual and everyone at school knew that. Cheryl was straight, as far as anyone knew, including Toni.
They were currently in Cheryl’s bed on their phones and catching up on the latest. Their sleepovers happened frequently and almost every Friday night. Cheryl was laying on her stomach with her pillow supporting her chest as she scrolled through Instagram. Toni was beside her on her side, facing Cheryl, but also on Instagram.
“So I’m seeing this girl,” Toni started with her eyes still glued to the phone screen.
“Oh! Do tell!” Cheryl’s voice was high-pitched and excited. Toni could see a wide grin on her face illuminated by her phone. That was the only light in the room because the sun had set hours ago and everyone in the house was asleep but them. They could hear Jason snoring softly in the next room.
“Well, not really seeing. We’re just talking.” Toni hesitated for a moment. This girl she was talking about was just someone to pass the time. A distraction.
The only girl she would want to date was laying right next to her.
“That’s still something. Go on.” Cheryl put her phone down and looked at her best friend in the cutest way.
Toni caught glimpse of this and lowered her phone. She had stumbled on her next words after seeing how both cute and hot she looked at the same time. Her beauty was truly a sin. “She’s a Serpent and, good god, she’s fucking smokin’.”
“Oh, like you aren’t.” The redhead rolled her eyes.
See, there’s the thing. The occasional flirty compliment that always seemed unnecessary. It’s a best friend just trying to hype another best friend up, but they were both in pajamas without any reminiscence of makeup on their faces. What was the point? It was just them. If they were at a school dance or prom, it would be different.
Toni chose to ignore it. “Her name’s Blake and she’s nineteen.”
“Didn’t know you were into cougars.” Cheryl joked and laughed.
Toni pushed Cheryl’s shoulder playfully. “Shut up.” She laughed too.
“Do you have a picture of this Blake?”
“Only nudes, Bombshell,” Toni smirked as Cheryl’s jaw dropped.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope.” Both of the girls were smiling now.
“Did you send any back?”
Toni pursed her lips, trying to hide her smile. After a few seconds of not answering, Cheryl caught on.
“Toni!” Her mouth just stayed open at this point.
“What?”
“Are they new? I haven’t seen your nudes in a while.” Cheryl raised a brow.
“Probably. Here.” Toni went into the hidden section of her photos and pulled up her new ones. She was laying on her back on as Cheryl shuffled over and laid down next to her. Cheryl leaned her head on one shoulder while her arm looped around Toni’s chest and held onto her other shoulder. They were cuddling. Something that Cheryl would do that no one at school would expect is that she was really touchy when she was comfortable with someone. Not the extreme kind of touchy that can get annoying but a good amount that makes you feel loved and wanted. This was one of those times.
Toni scrolled through her nudes, showing Cheryl each one. The Blossom was very generous in showing Toni hers whenever she would take a new one which was almost every day. She never sent them to anyone but, given the opportunity, she would. They were mostly for herself. It helped her love herself and Toni understood. A lot of girls do that.
“Very, very nice,” Cheryl whispered. She hadn’t been smiling when those words seemed to just drip out of her mouth. If she wasn’t careful, a string of drool might also drip from her mouth. Toni looked down at Cheryl. Her eyes were glued to the screen where it showed a completely naked pink-haired Serpent. The photo only captured from her lips to her knees and it was all bare, apart from the black lacey underwear. “You sent her that?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“And you haven’t fucked yet?” Cheryl sat back up in the position she was in earlier. She went back to her phone. “If I was her, I’d be all over you. Figuratively and literally.”
Toni smiled. “Well, that was pretty gay of you.” She joked and leaned up to press a kiss on Cheryl’s cheek, something all girls do to show appreciation to their friends without having to express it in words. “But thanks, Bombshell.”
“Uh uh, keep those lips to yourself.” Cheryl laughed as Toni pulled away from her cheek.
This only wanted her to do it more. Toni pressed three more kisses to her cheek and leaned away laughing hysterically.
“Seriously?” Cheryl was smiling hugely. “I swear if you do it one more time, I’m turning my head so we actually kiss and it ruins our friendship.”
Cheryl meant that as a threat but it felt more like an invitation. She was still on that damn phone.
Toni bit her lip before leaning in. Just before she was about to kiss her cheek, Cheryl turned her head really fast and they kissed. Lips on lips. Eyes closed. It lasted longer than a peck. Toni pulled away slowly.
“Stop.” Cheryl sighed and moved her head back to her phone. She was smiling softly.
Toni narrowed her eyes as she watched her friend. The tension between them was now present. It had always been there but the two idiots had never been aware. Toni had always had her own suspicions about Cheryl which she kept to herself of course. When Toni had told Cheryl that she was bisexual, the redhead seemed to be very understanding and interested in her sexuality. She wanted to know more. If Toni didn’t know any better, she would say that she was bi-curious but her gaydar was off the charts even before they had become best friends. Toni’s gaydar was never wrong. She knew before Fangs had come out and she had her suspicions about Moose until she was proven right by seeing him and Kevin share a quick kiss in the hallway. Moose was still closeted.
The Serpent had an idea. One that may affect their relationship in either the best way or the absolute worst way. This could ruin it.
Toni put her fingers under Cheryl’s chin and moved her head so they could kiss again. Cheryl seemed more than willing to kiss Toni again. They both leaned in gently and shared a precious kiss. Cheryl put her phone down and turned her body to Toni. Again, Toni was the first to break it off.
“You okay, Blossom?” Toni asked quietly as they caught their breath.
“I... uh, yeah. I’m... I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—“
Toni pecked her lips again to keep her quiet. “No, I meant are you okay with this? You and I kissing in your bed? Kissing a girl? Is that okay?”
Cheryl took a moment. She breathed in and out a moment more, remembering how good those lips felt on hers. Soft and way better than any guy has ever given her. She had already melted into her.
Cheryl smiled at her best friend. She’s been holding in her feelings for the same sex for years. She wasn’t exactly sure as to why. There were a lot of people that associated with the LGBT community and no one really cared anymore. It was all about positivity and acceptance. Cheryl was scared to lose her friends. She was scared to put herself out there and be rejected. Now...
Now it all felt right.
Because it was with the right person.
“Yeah... yes. It feels right.”
That was all Toni needed to reconnect their lips. They moved together like waves on a shore. They began slowly at first to set the pace and so Cheryl feels comfortable with where this may or may not be headed but it looked like the redhead was more than ready. She rolled Toni to her back and straddled her. Her fingers went underneath Toni’s shirt and slowly traced a line all the way between her breasts.
“Cheryl,” Toni broke off the kiss again. She was seriously concerned for Cheryl’s comfort. “Do you wanna slow down a little?”
“Oh, come on, Cha Cha, I know you’ve had a massive crush on me the first week we met.”
Toni gulped down that information.
“And unless you're uncomfortable, then I’d like to keep going. It’s been a whole year of built up tension and pretending like I’m not bi.”
“This is why I like you.” Toni bit her lip.
Cheryl, noticing this, mirrored the reaction. She pulled her lip between her teeth as she smiled. “I like you too.”
Cheryl leaned down again as the two began kissing like sexually frustrated teens.
Which they were.
Toni held Cheryl by her hips and slowly flipped them so she was on top. Toni broke from her lips and attacked that porcelain neck that she’s been dreaming to drag her tongue across. Cheryl held her by the nape of her neck while her other hand clawed at her back. She closed her eyes in pure pleasure as the Serpent ravaged her throat.
“Toni...” She moaned. The Serpent has been waiting for a whole year to hear that noise and felt guilty about it at the time. “God... why haven’t we done this before?”
“‘Cause you told me you were straight,” She kissed her pulse point. “And I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”
“How straight am I now?” Cheryl laughed.
Toni leaned up and looked her in the eyes with a smile of her own. “I’d say you’re pretty fuckin’ gay.” They laughed and continued.
Toni sucked a dark mark onto her collarbone. The redhead whimpered. Toni pulled at the hem of Cheryl’s shirt and the redhead complied by putting her arms out to help with the removal of her top. No bra. Perfect.
The Serpent just gazed.
“You’ve seen this before.” Cheryl chuckled softly.
“Yeah, but a photo is different.” Toni slowly put her hand up and grazed the pad of her thumb against one of her nipples. Cheryl arched her back into the touch and moaned quietly. “So different.”
“Come on. You now.”
Toni crossed her arms and pulled off her shirt, revealing her bare breasts as well.
“Sweet Christ, my best friend is gorgeous.” Cheryl smiled and leaned up to kiss between Toni’s breasts. The Serpent leaned her head back and held Cheryl’s head there for a moment.
The redhead laid her head back on the pillows.
“Now, I know you’ve never been with a girl before so we’ll go slow, okay?”
“We’ll see about that, TT.”
She really was a firecracker. Toni was excited but also conscious at how Cheryl was responding just in case she felt uncomfortable. It looks like the redhead was focused on what she truly wanted which wasn’t just the orgasmic sensation, it was Toni. She wanted Toni. She wanted to feel around and discover and explore and give. She was doing this because she liked Toni and the Serpent could not get over that. It was everything she’s ever wanted. It was a miracle. Toni dipped her fingers into her shorts and began sliding them off.
Then she was bare fucking naked.
And perfect.
Toni began kissing down her body. Cheryl softly moaned as she moved lower and lower until Toni was settled between her legs. She nibbled at the insides of her thighs and made sure to leave marks there so Cheryl will remember this.
“Still okay?” Toni asked after leaving her second hickey.
“God, yes.” She breathed and moved a hand into the pink hair. The Serpent smirked as she licked up Cheryl’s slit with a flat tongue. The redhead arched her back and whimpered. “Fuck, Toni...”
The Serpent flicked her tongue back and forth on her clit, occasionally licking in circles and sucking hard on the little bundle of nerves. Cheryl responded with every small bit of movement. She was absolutely loving it. Toni pressed one finger in, making the redhead squirm, and let her get used to it before adding another. With two fingers in and pumping, the climb to her peak was getting shorter and shorter with each thrust. Toni glanced up at Cheryl and watched her moan uncontrollably.
“Faster! Faster, Toni! Holy shit...” Cheryl was close. She had begun moving her hips with Toni’s fingers so they would enter her deeper every time. The Serpent watched her again. Breathless, eager, furrowed eyebrows, and tightly shut eyes. The Blossom was gasping for breath.
“Stay quiet. Your family is sleeping.” Toni warned.
The Serpent saw that Cheryl had almost reached her peak so she curled her fingers, taking her all the way. Cheryl arched her back into the orgasm as she came all over the Serpent’s fingers. Toni climbed up and kissed the redhead so her moans would be muffled as the Serpent finished her off and slowed her fingers. Once the loud moaning had all been suppressed, Toni moved to her neck while Cheryl caught her breath.
“Holy fuck.” Cheryl softly moaned one last time while her chest heaved and Toni nipped on her skin. “Delete her number.”
“Who's?”
“Blake or whatever the fuck her name is. Delete it.”
Toni moved so they were face to face. She was grinning. “Way ahead of you, Bombshell.”
After finally regaining her breath, Cheryl kissed Toni’s cheek. “Girlfriends?”
“That’s how you’re gonna ask me? I was expecting quite the show outta you.” Toni teased and Cheryl rolled her eyes.
“Did you not just get one?”
The Serpent smirked. “I did.” Toni looked deeply into her eyes with a smile. “But yes, Cheryl Blossom, I will be your girlfriend.”
“Good because I wasn’t letting you leave this house without a yes.”
Toni had always found her attempted threats to be hilarious. She could never find her to be too intimidating even if she was a few inches taller. “Whatever you say, pillow princess.”
|
If It Is Broken
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
"The Arrow and the Song" - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1845)
---
Armor can't serve much purpose
If it is broken.
- Michael Kusi (2018)
The tarpaper roof has long since given up the last of its sun-baked heat to the night. Frank is glad of this as he lays in prone position, powerful scope zeroed in on the waterfront warehouse below.
That bastard is down there somewhere. Christopher McDougal, 54, rap sheet long enough to put the Manhattan yellow pages to shame. Since the age of 18, he's spent just as much time in prison as he has out of it.
But that is just the lesser stuff. The so-called "victimless" crimes. Because no one fucking bothers to scratch the surface enough to see what sort of activities his "victimless" monetary crimes are funding. How he pays hackers to help him keep his activities deep and anonymous. How he rents every apartment in a ramshackle 3-story building—each apartment under a different pseudonym, of course—where he keeps freaks around the world entertained with what he streams for top-dollar from the make-shift studios.
Some of the victims aren't even 10 years old.
Frank clenches his jaw and continues to wait. It's what he does best.
McDougal has apparently been working a side gig as a driver for some of the heavies of Hell's Kitchen, and is one of the drivers from the little convoy that pulled up to the dockside warehouse a while ago. A number of men went inside, including Wilson Fisk. Frank would recognize that bald-headed giant anywhere.
No matter. His business is not with Fisk. It's with—
Gunfire coming from somewhere in the warehouse catches Frank's attention, and before he can quite pinpoint its location, an upper-level window crashes outward. Something splashes into the water below.
Frank zeroes the scope in on the water about where he thought the splash originated. Judging by the shape of the moonlight reflecting on the surface, he can see where something has momentarily disturbed the pattern of ripples. He moves his sight with the current, waiting for whatever it was to surface.
Nothing does.
Shouting voices bring his attention back to the door of the warehouse. Men are spilling out, shouting frantically, guns drawn. The all rush to the north side of the warehouse, toward the mysterious splash. Most run along the dock, obviously hoping to spot whatever it is. A few others run along the bank of the river.
They're not accounting enough for the current, he thinks. Unless whatever it is they're looking for sinks. In which case, why bother looking for the surface of the water?
With guns. The thought hits him like a mallet. The men aren't looking for something, they're looking for someone.
Frank sweeps his scope along the river with renewed intensity. Moonlight, water, lights, asphalted shoreline—all sweep by in horizontal blurs as he scans. He's not sure what he is looking for, but Christopher McDougal will have to wait.
Frank's scope catches on a shape in the water. He tenses. No, it's just an old barrel full of god-knows-what. He—
... no, wait.
There's someone there, clinging to the barrel. The person manages to reach shore, tries to get to their feet, stumbles.
Frank increases magnification and squints through the scope, trying to make out details. He can't see, though, because half of the person's face is wrapped in a mask...
Frank's gut drops with sudden realization. "Son of a bitch," he whispers.
With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, he stows his weapon and rushes to the fire escape. He descends the six stories as fast as his boots will carry him, without sending him tripping ass over teakettle. The metallic rattling of the fire escape stairs ring loud in his ears, and he's sure at any moment the gunmen will note his presence.
The final ladder descends under his weight to the ground, but Frank drops off before it is halfway down. He stands straight to regain his bearings. The shouts still echo from nearer the warehouse than where Red is. At least, for now.
Lips tight, Frank strides with purpose across the access road that separates the building and the warehouses on the dock. The goons with guns are still too focused on the water. Their situational awareness ain't shit, he muses, and he is able to make his way down to the shoreline without being spotted.
He makes his way to get to the masked idiot. "What the fuck are you—"
The rest of Frank's question is cut off when he has to dodge a blow aimed for his head.
But the masked man is too weak to be much of a threat. His own punch throws him off balance, and he falls back into the water.
"It's me, Red. Frank." Frank's eyes dart about. The distant shouting voices are steadily drawing closer. "C'mon, we gotta get you outta here." He gets his arms around the man's torso and heaves him to his feet, noticing but not having time to fully register a number of cuts in the black clothing.
They'll have to deal with that later.
* ~ * ~ * ~ *
The safehouse Frank has been using the past couple of weeks is too far away, and the masked man is in no condition to travel under his own steam. Even if Frank could carry him that far—the scrawny bastard is actually heavier than he looks—he couldn't do it without drawing a lot of unwanted attention from everyone on the street.
It's too dark yet for a proper examination, and right now Frank’s goal is to get them holed up safely—but there are enough cuts in Red’s clothing to tell Frank that the other man will probably need at least a few stitches.
But the farther they travel, the more of Red's weight Frank has to support, until he is all but carrying him while his feet shuffle along beneath him.
And he is being quiet.
Red is never quiet.
He's gonna be in rougher shape than I thought...
"C'mon, Red, up here."
Frank maneuvers them up a couple of steps to a nondescript building. The doorway opens onto a set of narrow, steep stairs, with only old plaster walls on either side.
He is about to ask, "Think you can make it?" when Red groans and slumps against the wall.
"Shit!" Quick action gets Frank under him before he can fall to the floor.
Instead, Red flops loosely over the Marine's shoulder.
With a grunt, Frank hoists him up into a fireman's carry and, using the walls on either side to help him balance, takes Red upstairs to his safehouse.
Once inside the bare apartment, Frank starts toward the sofa... but on second thought, he decides that the light in the living room is inadequate; he’s pretty sure he’s about to have to apply every little bit of knowledge he picked up from medics and battlefield first aid. His focus needs to be on examining and repairing Red, not making him comfortable.
The barebones apartment doesn’t have a kitchen table, but it has a bar countertop that separates the kitchen from the living room. Frank lays the masked man upon it and flicks on the lights.
For the first time, he gets an idea of Red’s injuries.
“Jesus Christ,” he says in a low voice. Wonders how the other man managed to not drown in the river. Wonders how he managed to make it almost to the safehouse upright, despite Frank’s assistance. Wonders how he’s not dead.
The calm washes over him then. The calm he sometimes felt in battle right before the shit really hit the fan. Frank has a clear task before him, and he needs to act.
Because this location is not his primary safehouse, it is not as well-stocked as it might have been otherwise. There are the basics: some non-perishable food, bottled water, a couple of hand guns and ammo, some toiletries, a couple changes of clothes, and first-aid supplies. The medical supplies are much more than what the average household would have on hand, but they are still basics—items meant to help hold a soldier together long enough until they could be transported to proper medical facilities (items he means to use to keep himself going as long as possible, to take out as many of Them as possible).
Frank takes a breath, scrubs his hands, cuts away the black clothing—wet with blood and river water—and, after the briefest hesitation, peels off the the mask and tosses it aside. "How do you see outta this thing anyway?" he mutters.
For the first time, he lays eyes on the whole of Red's face. He's in too much of a hurry to fully appreciate the beauty of the man before him, but on some level, something in him kneels in speechless wonder while the rest of him sets to work prioritizing the injuries.
There are so many injuries.
There is a particularly horrific wound on his upper right side that seems to be the source of most of the bleeding. So that is where Frank begins. It goes deep. So deep. It will be a miracle if vital organs haven't been lacerated.
Frank carefully but quickly packs that wound with gauze, eliciting a sharp yelp that tapers off to a whimper from the unconscious man.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Red,” Frank says, hoping somewhere Red can hear him. Wishing he had a name other than 'Red' to call him by, even though he knows that will always be his name for him. “Gotta get this bleeding under control.”
No time to close up that wound. Not yet. He rolls Red onto his left side so that he can get at the open gashes there. They’re deep but not catastrophic. Frank slaps some gauze onto those as well before rolling him over again onto his back, letting the man’s own weight provide pressure to help staunch the wounds there. There are dozens of smaller cuts and scrapes that are no longer bleeding; Frank ignores them for now.
An unknown length of time passes during all of this. Only the slow, metronomic dripping of the kitchen faucet behind Frank and the gradual strengthening of light showing through gaps in the curtains mark the passage of time, though not with any measurement Frank can readily interpret. Adrenaline and urgency keep him alert. However, he feels a crash coming on the heels of all this.
Once all of the bleeding wounds have been addressed, Frank turns his attention again to the terrible wound in man’s side. He wants to check the status of the bleeding, but hesitates. Thinks he remembers somewhere that he should put new gauze on top of old, that removing the old gauze now might get the bleeding started again.
“This is beyond me, Red,” Frank says, not expecting an answer.
But to his surprise, Red rolls his eyes open and gasps, “Phone. Claire.”
Frank blinks for a second, then goes to the wet trousers crumpled in a couple of pieces on the kitchen floor. He feels around and finds a low-tech burner phone in a pocket. When he flips open its face and presses buttons, the screen stays dark. “It got too wet. Not working.” Frank snaps the phone shut and and tosses it on the counter by the sink. “I can drop you off at a hosp—“
A hand darts out and clasps Frank’s wrist.
So fast, Frank muses in astonishment. Even when he’s more than half dead, he’s so fast...
“No...” A gasped breath. “Hospitals.”
Frank looks down at the hand grasping his wrist with failing strength. “Red, you could very well be dying on me...”
“That’s ok.” This comes out fast, as though he isn’t sure how many breaths he has left and wants to pack as many words onto them as possible. “Let me die.” Gasp. Eyelids flutter. “No... hos... pitahhh...”
The final syllable turns into a sigh and seems to burn up the last of his strength, the last of his consciousness. His eyes—which never did lock onto him, Frank notes with some unease—roll to show the whites, and his body goes limp.
For a moment, Frank stands uncertain on what to make of that. Goddamned martyr complex, he muses. But in a way, Red has also freed Frank to make mistakes. There’s some difference, in his head, between "doing something wrong that will cause Red’s death" and "doing everything he can to cause Red's life."
“All right, Red,” he says to the unconscious man. “Double or nothin.”
Frank works well into the day, using antiseptics on the open wounds and closing them up with clumsy stitches. He cleans the dried blood from around the area before applying more gauze as dressing and taping it into place. The process repeats on the wounds on the back, across both of his forearms (they line up to reveal the path of a single blade strike; he must have been holding his arms up in an attempt to block), his legs.
Finally, grainy-eyed with fatigue, Frank tends the dozens of small cuts. Mending them with butterfly closures and regular ol’ band-aids seems laughably amateurish compared to what he has been doing for the past... how many hours? It was still dark when the pair arrived at the safehouse; now the sunlight peeking through gaps in the curtains is nearing the strength of midday.
Frank doesn’t trust the stitches enough to carry Red into the bedroom, so instead he drags the single-size mattress into the living room, pushes it as near the bar as it will go, and lowers the unconscious man onto it.
Staggering under his own fatigue, Frank retrieves the blanket from the bedroom and covers the other man. And, with nothing else in his power that he can do, he collapses onto the couch and falls into a dreamless sleep.
* ~ * ~ * ~ *
A harsh sound jerks Frank from his sleep and has him sitting upright instantly, brain racing to orient himself. Dark outside. Kitchen light on. He was asleep on the couch. The sound...
His eyes zero in on the form lying on the mattress on the floor nearby. Red's eyes are open wide, panicked. He gasps for breath, and it is obvious that each gasp brings a new agony.
Frank is kneeling by his side in an instant, not even remembering his move from the couch to the mattress. "Red? Shit!"
He detests this sense of uncertainty and helplessness. He hasn't felt uncertain since That Day, when he didn't know how he was supposed to move on with his life. Regained a sense of purpose when he decided on his mission. Hasn't felt helpless since he lost all hope.
So why have these feelings returned? For a masked stranger who has traded more blows with Frank than anyone else ever has?
But he has seen something like this before. In the desert. The concussion from the blast of an IED knocked them all off their feet. The ones who were lucky. Some no longer had feet to be knocked off of.
He remembers the kid they called Kansas, gasping in much the same way Red is now. Remembers the field medic moving in with a sureness Frank wishes he felt now.
"Pneumothorax," Frank says, pronouncing the word even as he hears it in his memories. "I think you have a pneumothorax."
He jumps to his feet, grabs the medical kit he used earlier—supplies all but completely exhausted now—and a small flashlight. Fuck the dim lighting in here.
"Which side, Red?" he demands, returning with the supplies. "Which side hurts?"
A pale hand flaps weakly at his upper right chest.
"All right, hang on." Frank kneels on that side, swabs alcohol in the area (he's not sure where exactly he's going, so he settles for mostly pouring it over a sizable section of the exposed skin), and fixes the largest gauge hypodermic needle he has to a large syringe.
Frank takes a breath. "I'll try to do right by you, Red. I don't even know your name, but I'll try to do right by you." Then adds, "This will hurt."
He holds the flashlight in his mouth, aiming it at a spot near the clavicle, and allows his memories to drift back to the desert. To the actions of the medic. Where had he jabbed? Here? The hand that holds the syringe is surprisingly steady, though Frank's heart feels fluttery in his chest.
Frank has never been one for hesitation, at least not with anything that didn't involve his kids—
No. Put that thought away. No time for it now.
—and he doesn't hesitate now. He hovers the needle above where he thinks it needs to go, and he plunges it through skin and muscle.
Red doesn't have the breath for a scream, but he manages the closest thing to it.
"Hang on, baby, hang on."
Frank feels almost as breathless as Red. Wishes there were a god worthy of his faith. Won't waste a prayer on a god that took his babies away.
Slowly, he retracts the plunger of the syringe. He breathes a sigh of relief when no blood wells into the chamber. The plunger moves easily, and somewhere he remembers that this means it is not fighting a vacuum. It is indeed sucking air from where it should not be. A jolt of panic. Unless he is in Red's lung and is sucking air from there? Shit, he doesn't even know that it's a pneumothorax that he's dealing with. If he'd been able to take him to a fucking hos—
Red's breathing grows quieter. Relief joins the panic in his eyes.
"Okay. Okay okay." Frank's heart eases into a steadier rhythm. "That's good. That's good, Red. Easy."
When the syringe is full of air, Frank detaches it from the needle while carefully holding the needle in place. In a quick motion, he expels the air from the syringe and reattaches it. He begins drawing out more air.
Red's breaths come easier, deeper.
Three-quarters of the way through the second syringe, the plunger begins to resist Frank. He pulls a little more for good measure, but when it doesn't give, he pulls the needle from Red's chest.
"I think we got it all," Frank says. Broken sleep and the departure of adrenaline has exhaustion nipping at his heels once again. But he won't sleep. Not yet. Not until Red is resting comfortably.
Red says something that Frank doesn't catch.
"Say again?"
"Matthew," Red says. "My name is Matthew."
A small smile touches Frank's lips. "Matthew, huh. I like 'Red' better."
Matthew manages a small smile of his own. "Why... 'Red'?"
"Don't talk too much," Frank warns, but eases back until he is seated on the floor. "The piping on your clothes, I guess. Sounds better than 'Black,' right?"
A bead of blood wells from the puncture in Matt's chest. Frank wipes it away with a bit of gauze and applies one of the few remaining band-aids. A fucking band-aid for a collapsed lung, he thinks, amused.
But as he applies the bandage, he thinks back to the first time he saw Red.
"The piping," he continues, "and the neon light from that giant-ass sign, you know? The first time I saw you. On that roof. Everything was red. I guess it just sort of suits you."
Matt's gaze is still fixed on the ceiling. "Suits me... better than... 'baby'?"
Frank blinks, goes still. "What?"
"You called me 'baby.'"
Frank's thoughts dart this way and that. Had he?
"If I did, it was a slip. Back when I used to bandage my kids' bloody knees or somethin. I was a little caught up in the moment there, Red."
There is a silence between them for a moment, a silence in which wisps of memory are allowed to twirl in their pretty dresses before skipping off again into the past. The memory brings the familiar rush of pain, but it brings sweetness as well.
To chase away the memory, Frank's mind returns to something that has been needling at him. "You haven't looked at me once." He feels he is circling a truth that is so profound as to be an abyss. "...and your mask. I used to think the fabric was see-through. It's not, is it."
It isn't a question.
Matthew smiles faintly.
Frank runs a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ. I mean, I've heard of people with... gifts... running around out there. I guess I shoulda assumed you were one of them."
He stares at Red, a million questions running through his head ranging from how long have you been blind? to can you fly? But the other man's eyelids drift shut, and soon his breathing falls into some semblance of a peaceful rhythm. Questions will have to wait.
Besides, he has already had one important question answered this day.
My name is Matthew.
|
Will felt as though he was having a nightmare or experiencing deja vu or something between these two torments when he clambered out of bed with nausea roiling in his stomach and boiling up his throat. It was dark again though he could not discern whether it was evening or early morning.
The last thing he could remember was the unfulfilled ache between his hips. He’d stopped himself, hampered by exhaustion, Hannibal’s impending return, and the simple fact that there would be no way to discreetly conceal the evidence even if he managed to finish before he was no longer alone. He must have fallen asleep before Hannibal had reappeared. The universe finally having mercy on him.
He staggered towards the doors, but the abrupt tug on his arm and the sharp pinch of the needle shifting in his vein reminded him that he was still hooked up to the IV. He hissed out a curse through his teeth and groped for the connection port, his fingers trembling. He was unaccustomed to the apparatus, and in the darkness, he could barely make out the little release mechanisms. His throat seized, and he bent, bracing himself on his knee as he battled the urge to vomit on the floor. He panted, swaying and trying to steady himself. Carefully, he began to straighten, but the movement seemed to trigger another contraction of his stomach. He bent back over, squeezing his hand over his mouth as bile burned the back of his throat. He didn’t have time to wrangle with the connection port.
Grabbing the IV pole, he rolled it with him. The simple act of walking seemed to jar his ankles and knees, and he leaned into the pole, the construction of which was not built to support his weight. It nearly tipped over, and with an impulsive expenditure of energy, he jerked it into submission, silently cursing Hannibal for hooking him up to the contraption to begin with — cursing himself for letting him — and pushed himself out of the room.
He stumbled around the corner and into the bathroom, and the very sight of the toilet made his stomach lurch. He crashed to his knees, his nearly empty stomach dry heaving for a moment before wrenching bile and a small amount of liquid out of him. A pitiful show for all the effort he’d gone to to get there. Gasping and choking, he squeezed his eyes shut through the expulsion until he could sink to the floor again. He leaned his head back against the wall, curses circling on a loop in his head until he felt like he could move without making his head spin into another round of vomiting.
Slowly, he pulled himself upright on trembling legs with cold chills still crashing over him. He braced his shoulder against the wall, gripping the IV pole. It was a flimsy lifeline compared to Hannibal’s strong, steadfast hands. Once he was sure he wouldn’t fall, he used the toilet and flushed.
He leaned on the cool marble counter, using it as a crutch to position himself in front of the sink. He groped for the knobs in the dark, twisting on the cold water. Trembling and leaning down on his elbows, he cupped the water to his mouth, swished, and spit to flush out the acidic taste as best he could. He gathered another handful of water and pressed it to his burning visage. The relief of the cold against his fevered skin was marvelous, and he longed for it to swallow the entirety of his body.
He was already in the bathroom, he reasoned. He could at least sit in the shower even if he couldn’t stand. The privacy that it offered lurked beneath his justifications, but he clung to the fact that he had not bathed in three days and pushed himself upright to find the lightswitch.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the initial, searing brightness bursting orange and yellow through his lids. When he squinted, he saw himself in the mirror. For a moment, he couldn’t move or breathe, then the initial paralyzing jolt careened into disgust and minor panic. He grabbed the edge of the counter, stumbling closer to stare at the patches of skin inflamed to pink across his chest and stomach and the purple-red dots lining his arms. His gaze tore from the mirror towards his actual flesh, and he prodded the patches, finding them slightly raised and painful to the touch.
“What the fuck,” he breathed, only for the sudden use of his voice to incite a round of coughing that left him leaning heavily on the counter with the both hands. He bowed his head, eyes closed in the aftermath, panting and dizzy with a fresh wave of fatigue. When he opened his eyes again, he stared at his chest and stomach for another moment before he turned his head towards the open doorway. Looking into the darkened hall, he swallowed roughly.
Hannibal would know what it was. He’d conjectured that it was a tropical virus. This development, as horrifying as it was, would likely offer him some clue as to which one it was. Then would come treatment. Pain killers. Relief.
Will didn’t move from his place in front of the mirror. He hesitated – hesitated when he should have been taking himself as quickly as he could to find Hannibal. Hesitated when the virus being fatal was still a possibility. Hesitated when all he should have wanted was to be healthy again. Instead, some part of him wanted to stay in the bed. On his back. Under Hannibal’s care. Unraveling every inch of Hannibal’s faulty facade of caretaker. But he knew that soon enough, Hannibal would come to check on him, and he would see the rash for himself whether Will wanted him to or not. There was no advantage in keeping it from him for another hour, two at most. There was really no disadvantage either except that he would only be delaying the inevitable – the moment when Hannibal would touch him again.
A cold chill twined with the insidious heat of desire gripped him again, and he squeezed the stainless steel pole in his sweaty grip. Rolling it forward, he left the bathroom. He limped down the hall, finding Hannibal’s door shut, an indication that he was still asleep and a confirmation of the time of day. Hannibal never slept before 1 am or stayed in bed after 7 am.
Leaning against the jamb, Will gathered his breath and lifted his fist to knock three times. He was alone with the sound of his breath and his pulse for only a moment before he heard movement from within. Living with Hannibal, Will had learned that he was as easily roused as he might’ve guessed – the instinct of awareness ingrained after years of hypervigilance and Hannibal’s own carefully controlled relationship with his subconscious. His footsteps crossed the short distance of the room, and the door opened, spreading soft, yellow light from Hannibal’s bedside table lamp into the hall. He was bare-chested again.
“Will,” he said. “Are you all right?”
Seeing him, Will suddenly remembered that he had not closed the sketchbook before falling asleep and that Hannibal had likely noted which page he’d been looking at – though, in retrospect, Will wondered if his leaving Will alone with the drawings to begin with had been intentional despite his seeming unwillingness to share them. It would be like Hannibal to manipulate his curiosity, to depend upon their shared history of crossing boundaries in order to get what he wanted without ever even needing to ask for it.
“Will?” Hannibal prompted when he didn’t explain his presence at his door.
“I, um,” Will said, squinting against the light, “I think we got a problem, Dr. Lecter."
In the semi-dark, Hannibal’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Look.” Will thrust his arm towards Hannibal.
Hannibal’s gaze flitted to Will’s arm, and he leaned a bit closer. He took Will’s arm slowly in both hands as gentle as ever. It was the first time he had touched him without gloves since he’d assisted him to the bathroom and that had not been a purely medical endeavor. Will clutched the IV pole, his jaw clenching against a fresh tug in his gut at the possibility of Hannibal inspecting him without the barrier.
“Come,” Hannibal ordered, directing Will further into the room to make use of the light.
Will obeyed, all the more aware of his nudity after the sketchbook as Hannibal brought him into the illumination of the lamp.
“Sit,” Hannibal said, motioning to the bed.
Will complied, his legs weak. The sheets were a slippery silk, cool at the edge where he sat. He thought he must’ve known that from the moments when he’d moved Hannibal’s bedding from the washer or the dryer to make way for his own laundry, but the mundanity of such things seemed disconnected from the pleasurable sensation — from what Hannibal could do to him now amongst the floral-scented fabric. He found warmth, the place where Hannibal had been lying, when he pressed one palm into the bed to prop himself up, and his fingers curled over it incrementally.
Hannibal sank down in front of him. Kneeling. Will’s heart squeezed with a ragged pulsation as Hannibal cradled his arm again and held it close to the lamp.
“Sure you want me sweating on your sheets?” Will asked, a poor attempt at levity to counteract the image of Hannibal on his knees.
Almost imperceptibly, Hannibal’s grip flexed. When he glanced up at Will, his shadowed eyes held a pinpoint of light in the darkness, a glint of desire, and Will realized what he had said, what Hannibal had inferred from the suggestion of Will sweating in his sheets, and his pulse tripped again. Hannibal stared at him, stared long enough that Will’s throat tightened with the wild possibility of Hannibal lunging up from his crouching position and pinning his vulnerable, naked body down against the creamy silk — but then Hannibal’s gaze fell away, softening as it traveled slowly down Will’s face to his chest where more of the rash resided. The inspection was like a caress. There was no disgust on his face, the ugliness mottling Will’s skin lost under his half-lidded eyes and the desire that had already risen to engulf his pupils.
“Does this hurt?” Hannibal murmured and reached out a hand, his thumb tracing the edge of one patch of irritation on Will’s pectoral. Will’s chest rose to meet his hand with a shudder.
“Yes,” he whispered, his fingers curling tighter around the portion of sheets under his grip. “It’s… tender.”
Hannibal’s tongue wetted his lower lip, glistening pink in the dark. He nodded in understanding, the motion merely rote as his eyes continued their exploration of Will’s chest. His hand drifted lower, his warm, bare fingertip catching Will’s nipple for the briefest of moments before he caressed his ribs. Will pressed his lips together, suppressing a shiver at the sensation of his nipple tightening and the thought of how simple a matter it would be to sink his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and force his mouth between his thighs. How hot Hannibal’s mouth might feel on his fevered flesh. How warm his exhales would be, streaming from his nose over Will’s pubic hair. The little choked sounds that he could elicit if he pushed Hannibal’s head down just another inch further.
“What… what do you think it is?” he asked abruptly, his inhales cramped. His flesh was swelling with a new kind of heat, and his stomach trembled with the proximity of Hannibal’s unprotected fingers to the place where he’d begun to ache.
Hannibal lingered for a nerve-wracking moment before finally leaving off from his quivering belly. He sat back, his clinical demeanor slipping over his expression again like the gloves fit over his hands – smooth and cool, without a blemish. “A maculopapular rash,” he said.
“Plain English?” Will asked, breaking eye contact to shift on the mattress against his braced arm while he discreetly brought his other hand into his lap to mask the exuberant response of his body to a few simple touches.
“It simply means a rash consisting of raised and flat papules like you have. When did you become aware of its presence?”
“In the bathroom a few minutes ago. I threw up again.”
Hannibal nodded and began to rise. “Let’s get you back to your room.”
“What does it mean?” Will asked, hesitating to rise and give up the discretion that sitting provided. “I mean… Can you tell which virus it is from this?”
“The rash you have is consistent with a variety of viruses, but I have my suspicions based on your other symptoms. I’ll need to conduct a test to confirm – which would be better done in your own bed,” Hannibal said, holding out his hand. Almost impatient. Hannibal wanted him out of his room, Will realized. Out of his bed.
Will glanced down at the front of Hannibal’s pajama pants, his stomach lurching at the possibility of seeing the evidence of Hannibal’s weakness, but in the sparse light under the shadow of his extended arm, he could not discern an improper shape. He couldn’t divide his breathlessness between anxiety and anticipation, gambling the conspicuous nature of the flushed tumescence nestled between his own thighs. If Hannibal laid eyes on his arousal, he wondered if that would be invitation enough, if, beneath the weight of indisputable acknowledgment, Hannibal’s facade of medical concern would finally suffer an irreparable tear.
His eyes lifted to Hannibal’s again, and he thought Hannibal could see straight to the back of his skull. Hannibal’s head tilted, discernment tightening the corners of his eyes. “Is there something else you wish to tell me, Will?”
Will swallowed and shook his head. “No…”
Hannibal hardly blinked. “As your doctor, I should be aware of any concerns you may have.”
Concerns
. Will wanted to laugh. What concerns could he tell Hannibal? That all he could think of was his mouth? That every time he touched him, he wanted him to linger? That he wanted Hannibal to fall to his knees and beg while some traitorous part of him wished that Hannibal would simply take what he wanted like he’d always done before? That he felt maddened by this game but compelled to play it out to the end? That he hoped that Hannibal was as pained as he was?
He shook his head again. “No, I’m… I’m fine.”
He took Hannibal’s proffered assistance and grabbed the IV pole with his other hand. Hannibal’s gaze did not ease as he rose, and the sensation of the backs of Will’s thighs and his ass departing from Hannibal’s silky sheets prickled his skin there with goosebumps. When he was standing in front of him, they were very close, and Hannibal's eyes threatened to tear him asunder in the dark. His touch skimmed underneath Will’s wrist and forearm, painting shivers towards his elbow, and gripped tight.
For the briefest of moments, Will imagined that Hannibal’s other hand would slip downwards and wrap around his cock with as much firmness and certainty. He imagined falling into him, crying out, pressing his face into his neck and breathing in the scent of him that he’d learned so well during embraces of agony and punishment; he imagined Hannibal’s arm slipping around him, his fingers winding tight in Will’s hair, cradling him through the unbearable pleasure. For the briefest of moments, Will thought that he might.
“Come,” Hannibal said, shattering the illusion, the darkness in his eyes folded away, zipped up tight. Without a glance downwards, Hannibal brought Will to his side again, and they started the journey back to Will’s bed. It seemed far longer than it had taken to get to Hannibal’s.
Once inside his room again, Will hobbled towards the bed as Hannibal released him to turn on the lights. He shakily pulled the sheets high above his waist as he crawled onto the mattress and sank against the pillows.
“I’ll be right back,” Hannibal said, and Will nodded absently.
The crack in the ceiling was staring back at him. He listened to Hannibal leave, turning his head away from the incriminating reminder above him, but his new line of vision contained Hannibal’s sketchbook at his peripheral. Closed and set aright. He looked at it and drew an unsteady breath that tickled his throat. He began to cough, and he curled onto his side, stuffing a handful of the sheet against his mouth. When the nagging irritation calmed, his temples and pulse were pounding and his joints were throbbing sharply. He sank against the pillow and pressed his eyes closed against the image of the sketchbook, striving to accept the fatigue vying for his attention, to let it smother the desire that had crept between his legs.
When Hannibal returned, he was carrying a blood pressure cuff and monitor, and Will’s lids had grown heavy.
“I’m going to be performing a tourniquet test to gauge capillary fragility,” Hannibal said as he sat at the edge of the bed. Will glanced sluggishly downwards as Hannibal unwrapped the cuff to see that the blue nitrile barrier had returned. He blinked slowly, watching with a conflicted expression as Hannibal took his arm that lay atop his side in his gloved hands. He didn’t know whether to feel grateful or relieved that there was something between his and Hannibal’s flesh besides desire.
“This test is primarily used to distinguish dengue fever from other viruses or gastrointestinal issues,” Hannibal continued as he affixed the cuff to Will’s arm. “Dengue has a very specific effect on the blood.”
“But you ruling everything else out…” Will murmured, drawing his eyes away from Hannibal’s hands. “You think it’s… whatever you said…”
“Dengue. It’s very possible.” Hannibal fussed with the velcro, his gaze intent upon the device, before he began to inflate the cuff.
“Dengue contagious?” Will asked sardonically around a wince as the cuff tightened.
Hannibal glanced at him, his mouth curled. “Not among humans.”
“What if I do have something contagious?”
“I suppose I would have no choice but to suffer with you,” Hannibal said, seemingly unbothered.
Will gazed at Hannibal — shirtless and tousled like he’d been the first night he’d found Will on the bathroom floor, jaw bearing the shadow of stubble, plush lips set in a perpetual pout, collarbones and shoulders smooth and bare – and he could imagine with a strange sort of excitement how Hannibal would look next to him in the bed, fevered and pained. Vulnerable. The scent of their shared sickness entwined in the particles of their air between them like sex.
“I’ll take your blood pressure and then maintain the tightness of the cuff at a slightly lower pressure for five minutes. If you have dengue, this should be enough to cause a high density of broken capillaries at the inside of your elbow,” Hannibal said, drawing Will’s attention back to the tightening band around his arm just before the pain of it became physically apparent. “It may be uncomfortable given the skin sensitivity.”
“No shit,” Will gritted out, closing his eyes and turning his face into the pillow as the cuff crushed his arm, irritating his already inflamed skin.
Will felt warmth on his thigh — the heat of Hannibal’s palm permeating the glove and the sheet, squeezing gently – and Will’s stomach dipped as the effect of the touch spread upwards, an experience that was both soothing and stimulating. Peace and torment were like conjoined twins inside him when it came to Hannibal. Being touched by him was no different.
“This development is actually quite positive,” Hannibal commented.
“Positive?” Will’s tone was strained, distracted.
“Yes. A rash indicates that your body is fighting the virus. Dengue fever patients presenting with this rash are less likely to develop dengue shock syndrome. A much more severe version of the fever that is often fatal without hospitalization.”
Hannibal leaned in a bit closer to check the numbers on the monitor. He released some of the tension of the cuff, and Will relaxed marginally against the mattress. The softening of his muscles made his flesh seem all the more pliable under Hannibal’s hand at his thigh. He could barely concern himself with the fact that the virus could still prove deadly.
“I-I guess that makes sense.” Will pushed out the halting response to disguise the way he shivered, to distract himself from the thought of slipping onto his back and letting his thighs fall open to Hannibal’s touch.
Hannibal did not reply, and Will felt him shift closer, felt his hand slipping higher still, leaving off his leg to press against his temple. Almost by instinct, Will turned his head into the contact to allow Hannibal’s palm to cup his forehead as his lids fluttered open. Hannibal was bent close to him, his thumb stroking slowly at Will’s brow.
“The rash is often accompanied by a lower fever,” Hannibal murmured, “though you still feel quite warm.”
Will’s breathing, which had just begun to even, faltered again as he stared up at him. “You’d… You’d have to check… to confirm.”
Hannibal’s thumb stilled, and Will breathlessly watched the flicker of desire pass beneath Hannibal’s expression, betrayed in the slow expansion of his pupils, spilling like oil. “Yes,” he said quietly, a husky quality entering his voice.
Will swallowed jaggedly on his sore throat, and he watched Hannibal’s lips part softly as his attention drifted to Will’s neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. Will could almost feel the phantom sensation of Hannibal’s fingers at his throat, massaging for swelling. When Hannibal met his eyes again, Will could see the lust written so clearly on his face — not raw like it had been only moments ago in Hannibal’s bedroom but calculating. Refined into action. Warmth crawled over Will, working a flush into his neck and cheeks as he tried to imagine what Hannibal was about to do to him.
“I think we must reconsider the mode of hydration,” Hannibal said, stroking Will’s head slowly. “The IV may cause you discomfort given the skin sensitivity.”
Will remembered the painful tug on his arm when he’d gotten out of bed earlier, and the memory rose from the haze of his mind, presenting itself readily as an unimpeachable justification for complying with Hannibal’s medical care without resistance. Without question. “Yeah…” he whispered. “It is. A little bit.”
“Yes, I thought so.”
“It won’t hurt?” Will’s voice came up unsteady and raspy. “What… what you’re going to do?”
“No…” Hannibal’s pupils pulsed as he stared at him, voracious, then he leaned in slowly and pressed his lips against the space between Will’s brows. His mouth was warm and soft, just a hint of stubble. Will’s eyes closed, a shudder slipping through him. He could smell Hannibal’s perfume and feel the heat exuding from his flesh beneath his clothing. Familiar. Dangerous. Intoxicatingly human.
Hannibal’s lips parted from his forehead, and Will opened his eyes again to find Hannibal looking at him, very close.
“It will be very gentle,” Hannibal murmured, his gloved hand petting Will's flushing cheek.
Will’s pulse fluttered, and he forced himself to give a rueful smile. “Promise?”
Hannibal returned his smile warmly and sat back. “I’m your doctor, Will. I’m required to do what’s best for you.”
Will could’ve made a cynical jab at him, given Hannibal’s previous actions regarding his medical care, but all he could think of was what Hannibal might say if Will pulled back the sheets and asked him what would be best for the ache residing between his legs, of how he might say,
What treatment would you prescribe, Dr. Lecter? Would you administer it yourself? Or would you set me on fire again just to watch me burn?
“That should be enough,” Hannibal said, his hand trailing away to release the cuff from his arm. “If it is dengue fever, petechiae will begin to form within the next two minutes. In the meantime, I will prepare all that we will need to attend to your hydration.”
Will nodded, and Hannibal rose from the bed, taking the blood pressure monitor away with him. Will watched him go before he glanced down at his body. His hand held a slight tremble as he lifted the edge of the sheet to glimpse his cock, half-hard, jutting softly from his thighs and pubic hair. He tugged the covers against his stomach in a fist and turned his face into the pillow again, trembling with his proximity to the last boundary that lay between them. It was as thin now as the gloves that Hannibal donned to pretend for his own amusement – for their shared amusement – that the way he touched him was, at least, partially of a clinical nature. Whatever Hannibal was planning, Will already knew that no matter how medical the procedure was, the facade had already begun to decay.
***
A little field of petechiae bloomed on Will’s arm at the inside of his elbow in a dense patch of burst capillaries while Hannibal was gone. Will tried to number each new, rosy bud beneath his skin as he waited, but some of them bled into one another, merging at undefinable boundaries, and he lost count.
When Hannibal returned to the room, carrying another stainless steel tray, Will stretched his arm out to show him. “Looks like you’re right again, doctor.”
Hannibal laid the tray down and sat next to him, eying Will’s arm as he put on a fresh pair of gloves. With both protected hands, he angled Will’s arm towards him, handling his limb like a precious antique, to inspect the results of the tourniquet test with an attentive gaze – eager to fully appreciate the necessary damage that the cuff had done to him.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Typically, more than ten petechiae per square inch constitutes a positive. You’ve more than fulfilled that requirement.” His voice was warm, pleased by his accurate deduction, by the new mark he’d left on him – his influence embedded into Will’s flesh beside the virus’s. Pleased with Will for suffering perfectly under his care.
Will’s inhale was shaky. It was dangerous to give Hannibal exactly what he wanted, more dangerous still when they both wanted the same thing.
“Good for me,” he deflected flatly.
“It is advantageous to know which virus we are dealing with,” Hannibal said absently. He was lingering over the broken capillaries beneath Will’s skin, stroking the tender flesh as though it was something beautiful or valuable, one of his works of art.
The thought that Hannibal could achieve a somewhat similar effect with his mouth passed through Will’s mind, and he knew before it ended that Hannibal was thinking it too, imagining Will’s flesh decorated in suck bruises and the bright indentations of teeth. If he let Hannibal touch him, he would never live another day without some reminder of it – the way that he bore his scars on his stomach and forehead, the healed bullet wounds in his shoulders – nor would Hannibal escape the reciprocity that came with Will’s own hungry jaws. They were too familiar with slowly ripping one another to pieces.
Will knew how it would end, yet it no longer felt like a matter of if Hannibal touched him but of when. Maybe it had only been a matter of time since the Dragon or before that in Florence, before the bloodshed of Baltimore, since the very first time Hannibal had put a needle in his arm, and this illness was simply their relationship finally coming full circle, the stars aligning, the perfect storm finally coming to a head.
Finally, Hannibal laid Will’s arm back down and shifted to the other in which the IV was inserted. Hot and unsteady, Will slipped onto his back to allow Hannibal full access to remove the IV, exposing himself like an animal with a vulnerable underbelly as his thighs parted under the sheets. He closed his eyes as Hannibal detached the tube from the injection port, his exhales shallow.
“Now that we have confirmed that what you have is dengue fever, hydration is even more important. Re-hydrating patients with dengue is a crucial aspect of recovery,” Hannibal said as he carefully peeled back the adhesive. Will’s skin was sensitive to even the lightest touch, and as Hannibal separated the dressing from his arm, he scraped his teeth over his lower lip, his stomach quivering. He thought the fever must have broken as Hannibal had predicted because the clutches of the sickly haze that had rendered his body weak and helpless to Hannibal’s care had grown lax. Everything felt too crisp and bright.
Hannibal slipped the catheter from his vein, leaving him temporarily empty of his devices, and the sensation made Will ache. His lashes were already fluttering open to find some assuagement when the bed shifted, and he felt Hannibal’s gloved knuckles at his cheek.
“But before we address that, we must look at the state of your fever,” Hannibal said softly, gazing at him with that look that Will could only define as hunger. “Will you turn for me?
Warmth crawled beneath the surface of Will’s skin, under the petting of Hannibal’s hand, and he nodded. His throat felt too constricted to speak.
“Good,” Hannibal smiled before he straightened to retrieve the thermometer from the tray.
Will turned away from him, a weakness and a heat pervading his body that made his movement ungainly. Finally, he settled onto his side and pulled his knees up towards his chest, cradling a fistful of the sheet against his stomach. He stared at the opposite wall, his pulse quick and insistent in his chest from the exertion and the nervous desire.
Hannibal tucked the sheet away from his backside, and Will pressed his eyes shut again. Goosebumps rose faintly along his arms and the backs of his legs, and the aperture of his body, already familiar with the ritual, trembled and contracted in anticipation. This time, however, his awareness was not so dulled. His body was not so tormented by the illness that it could not react. The certainty of enduring the thermometer with every faculty of his body alert made Will’s head turn. When Hannibal’s hand covered his asscheek to spread him open, he felt a flinch run through his body, and he knew that Hannibal had felt it too because he paused, his perception silent but heavy.
“Relax,” Hannibal ordered quietly, at last, and Will could hear the husk in his voice, the smallest betrayal of desire. In the tight cradle of his legs, Will’s cock throbbed softly with gathering arousal, but he tried to obey, to purposefully slacken his muscles and allow Hannibal entrance. He felt the tiny tip of the thermometer probing his opening, and he bit down on his lip, suffocating a whimper as it slipped in. He’d expected it to feel larger, more intense, but instead, it seemed smaller, so much smaller than before.
“Good.” Hannibal’s utterance was low as he gave Will a rewarding squeeze.
A pulsation of desire traveled through Will’s midsection, bringing his cock to distinct ache. He tried to breathe without panting, but the effort was almost entirely in vain, and he realized in a somewhat delayed fashion that Hannibal would be able to smell him as surely as he had scented the illness residing under his skin, that he’d likely smelled him from the very first time he’d laid him on his side. A flush rose on Will’s cheeks.
Hannibal settled next to him again to wait, his palm resting steadfastly on Will’s ass. He didn’t speak, only stroked him as before, soothing his fevered body. This time, it only stoked the fire burning Will into charcoaled remnants of ash. If Hannibal understood that the pain running through Will’s body now was of a much less medical nature than before, he did not say it.
By the time the thermometer gave a shrill beep, Will was throbbing, barely holding himself back from squirming with arousal and the urges to turn over and force Hannibal’s hand or mouth to his wanting flesh.
“99.5. Very close,” Hannibal murmured as he lifted the swell of Will’s ass away from his impaled hole. The thermometer slipped out slowly, and Will turned his face into the pillow again, muffling a sound that would arise. Hannibal’s thumb followed after, caressing and tormenting the whole of his cleft, washing a shiver from his tailbone upwards to the base of his skull. Will’s back curved minutely, involuntarily reaching for the friction, the promise of penetration. A pulse of arousal traveled the length of his dick as Hannibal’s touch dragged over his hole, lingering for a brief moment before trailing over his perineum and departing.
“I will need you to stay just like this,” Hannibal murmured.
Will went still, hardly breathing for a moment at the implications of Hannibal’s words until Hannibal released his asscheek. He turned his head, glimpsing Hannibal over his shoulder as he chose a new item from the tray – a thin tube only about a foot long with two injection ports at the end. No needle.
“What is that?” he whispered.
“A Macy catheter. The lining of the colon can absorb water via the anal canal and distribute it to the rest of the body quite effectively,” Hannibal supplied, opening the little bottle of lubricant that he used for the thermometer and applying it to the last few inches of the tube. “It’s a time-tested method. Rectal hydration precedes intravenous hydration by several hundred years in the medical field. It’s been particularly useful for severely injured or dying patients. In our case, I will bypass the nausea in your stomach and avoid the discomfort of the IV in your arm.” He turned to Will, the tube poised in his hand. “Please, lay as you were.
Will took one last look at the catheter before he sank fully onto his side again. He stared at the wall, breathless, as Hannibal touched him again. He’d expected a more invasive procedure, but the increased attention to the private parts of his body made his pulse flutter erratically. The catheter wasn’t to be an intermittent experience like the thermometer but a continuous treatment until Hannibal decided he was well enough to do without it.
“This is very simple,” Hannibal said as he pressed the tip of the tube to his hole and inserted it gently. “Once the tube is positioned correctly, I will inflate a small balloon just inside you with water through one of the injection ports, and this will keep it secure. No adhesive required.”
Will nodded haltingly, hyper-aware of the thin tube snaking deeper on the slickness of the lubricant. He felt as though control over the situation was slipping away from him little by little. With his cock squeezed hot and stiff between his stomach and thighs, his disadvantage was growing, perhaps larger now than Hannibal’s. He wanted to turn to see whether it was true, longing to catch another glimpse of weakness in him, but he could not without exposing himself to an unavoidable degree.
He laid still as Hannibal filled the balloon via a syringe of water, gritting his teeth as the little plastic bulb swelled inside him. Hannibal gave the tube a gentle tug to ensure its secureness, and Will’s fingers clenched around the sheets at the sensation. His throat felt full, burgeoning with quiet groans and insensible words, his pulse loud in his ears. He was vaguely aware of Hannibal standing from the bed to start the drip again, but any further explanations were lost under the hum of desire vibrating through Will’s body. The urge to turn and grab his hand – to make him stay, to make him
touch
– mounted to a demand, and Will wanted to sob.
He was almost ready to submit when Hannibal bent and pressed his lips to his temple again. Supple and full of promising heat. The contact short-circuited the unhinged compulsions thundering through Will’s body and froze the whimpers at his tongue. His eyes came open, a helpless tremble washing over him.
Hannibal’s fingers slipped along his jawline to cradle his chin, directing Will to look at him. He’d taken off the gloves. The touch of his hand was fleshy and warm again, dizzying in its enticement like a dose of scopolamine too strong to resist – wiping away everything but the suggestion of Hannibal’s skin against his own. Will sank gradually to his back, staring into Hannibal’s dark, fervent gaze as flushes of heat lapped at his body. His lashes were wet, crystals of agony twinkling in his vision. He clutched the sheet at his waist, caught by the notion that if he drew the slip of cloth away, Hannibal would take him – in his mouth that had whispered each detail of illness and care, in his hands that had attended to his agony with hippocratic devotion, with his body that Will knew burned with a desire indecent to medicine.
He parted his lips, his mouth dry but wanting, and Hannibal smiled softly. He stroked Will’s cheek again, his thumb drifting closer to his quivering mouth. Hannibal’s gaze fell there, and Will saw him swallow, saw his tongue dart out to wet his own lips. Scarcely breathing, Will let his eyes slip shut in the universal signal of acceptance. Of anticipation. His body was pulsing with such wild desire, and he thought that Hannibal must assuage some of it. He must. Because Hannibal was his doctor. Because he was in pain.
Hannibal’s thumb skimmed over his lower lip, and Will shuddered, a whine building in his throat. He’d begun to tilt his chin up in another desperate bid at wordless consent when he heard Hannibal’s voice whisper softly, “Rest. I will check on you frequently.” Will’s lids fluttered open as Hannibal leaned in and laid another kiss on his forehead with an echo of the command.
Rest.
Then Hannibal’s hands drifted away from him, leaving him bereft and powerless, grasping at the receding promises of fulfillment. Hannibal’s denial was so gentle that it only made Will ache more deeply because he knew what zealous desire lay beneath, and because, for a delicious, delirious moment, he’d been ready to surrender. Stinging tears of frustration swelled in his eyes, but somehow, he could not bring himself to reach out to him as he had before and order him to stay.
He wondered as Hannibal slipped away if he understood that he could’ve had him in this very moment without confusion or resistance. Surely, he must’ve known. Will watched him through a cloud of distress, uncomprehending as Hannibal straightened the sheet to cover him more comfortably, ignoring the evidence of Will’s longing that must’ve been apparent under the thin cotton. He turned to gather the discarded packaging and the intravenous IV equipment onto the tray. He checked the drip one last time, an unnecessary measure given his fastidiousness, and it occurred to Will that Hannibal was as unwilling as he was to allow this to end, that he too understood that with a diagnosis came the final act to this play they’d performed for one another. Perhaps, he feared that once the curtain fell, without the stage of illness as their backdrop, Will would no longer allow him to look or touch as he pleased.
|
Charlie's entire body ached. His shoulders ached, his back ached, his hips ached, his legs were fatigued, his neck stiff. Right now the only thing on his mind was to attempt to achieve blissful slumber while lying in bed. However, he quickly became preoccupied when he realized what had woke him this morning. He looked down between his legs to see his wife.
Or at least what his wife was now. Her head was busy bobbing up and down along his shaft, each stroke accompanied by a soft "mmummugh." Her head was also now sporting a pair of long catlike ears poking through her trellis of hair. Her naked back with her ass in the air made it clear she was kneeling down on him. And between those firm, rounded cheeks a long tail had emerged from the small of her back. It was in the air gently swaying back and forth in rhythm with Tam's continued attempts to get more and more of a rise out of him.
Given the generous amount of sex Charlie had had in the last 12 hours The head on his shoulders was not responsible for any sizeable portion of his thought processes.
"Well," he said looking down at the wonderful women between his legs, "aren't we in a 'frisky' mood this morning?" Tam suddenly slowed her motion, tightening her lips around him, she slid down. In side her mouth her tongue danced around his shaft like a dancer around a pole. Finally, she cam back up running her tongue along the entire length, leaving just a trace of saliva between her mouth and his prick. She shot him a mischievous grin with her silted eyes. Slowly sliding forward she kissed his stomach, than chest, than neck, than chin until nibbling his ear and giving an affirmative, "Uh huh."
Prowling forward she dragger her now ample tits across his chest and up to his face. Charlie took the opportunity to give them a well deserved suckling. As she straddled his form she slid back down slowly letting her self become impaled once more. Arching her back up she gave her husband a view of her enhanced cleavage. Than with out thrusting she started to squeeze her cunny in a slow pace to insure his prick would stay true to her needs.
Not wanting to rush things, Charlie sat up pulling himself out slowly. Coming around from behind her he caressed her neck with slow kisses. Reaching around with one arm he worked on her tit flesh, twisting her nipples, and pressing firmly. The other arm reaching down he used his index finger to tease and finally stoke her C-spot.
As he continued his attentions she began to Purr again. Louder and louder. Her tail raping around him. Her own hands sliding across her body, seeking to do what ever they could to enhance the pleasure coursing through her body. Finally, one landing on her unattended breast, where she palmed the entire surface in round motions. The other met her husbands hand at her pussy. She took his hand and thrust it into her. She started a quick rhythm with her husband's hand deep in her cunt.
Finally reaching around she found his still erect cock and guided it back to her thirsting pussy from behind. Almost instantly grinding agents him. Each thrust was accompanied by the wet slurping sound of the two lovers. After a final pounding Charlie could feel his balls clench as he shot his load into her. In sympathy to his climax her own body finally erupted in passion. Fire running through pussy, her spine, her chest and exploding in her mind. Her hands clenched her chest as she collapsed back onto Charlie.
In her post climax euphoria she took his arm. Squeezing it between her breasts and gently began kissing his fingers.
"Wow, Tam what a way to stat the day," said Charlie.
"Niyu?" she responded. Looking lovingly at him.
"Gods babe your cute, and you look so amazing with those ears on, and where did you pickup the tail...were you spying on my gift shopping....?" As Charlie was suddenly coming the realization that his wife looked, really quite different.
"Um honey? How do you feel?" he asked
Slowly rolling over on the bed, she once again ran her hands along the length of her body. "Hmmm, I feel like..." as she closed her slited eyes in thought. Suddenly she perked up on to her knees. Her jugs bouncing generously as she did so, she brought her tail around and slowly began playing with it. "well, honey, we have made love, played around, I given you some head, I kinda want breakfast, but what I really want is to niyu....:
"Do what?" he asked.
"I really want you to fuck me over the kitchen table," she said in a tone like she was admitting a horrible truth, but her eyes looked at him with a pleading little look.
"Um ok well either way we should move to the kitchen than." Charlie found his boxers and slid them back on. Tam watched the process like it was the most novel idea in the world, the whole pouting on clothes thing. She walked over to her dresser, opened pulled out a pair of nylons, matching garter belt and the bra that went with it. The stockings and belt went on easy enough but no matter how hard she tried she just could not seem to get her breasts into her bra. After the third failed attempt she slingshoted the offending item across the room. Instead she settled for an old corset that she had worn for her wedding night, the kind that only went from navel to just below the breasts.
Once she was finished she walked into the kitchen. "um honey? Is it me or are my Bras smaller? Nyo?" she said. Holding one boob in each hand as she sat at the table where Charlie had placed the breakfast essentials.
Charlie turned from the fridge and nearly spilt the orange juice as he saw his sex kitten wife in what passed for dressed. She pulled over a bowl, looked at the box of corn flakes like it was the most alien thing in the world before pouring herself a full serving of milk straight into the bowl. She than preceded to lap it up. "Well I wanted to talk to you bought that... do you think that you look... Any different?"
"Meow?
"like your tail for example...
"Niyu? My tail? What is wrong with my tail..." she said as she curled it up from under her chair. "It looks fine to me."
"Um, ok.. honey how long have you had that tail?
"mew? What kind of question is that? Since...since..." than finally a light went off behind her eyes. "Since last night! When I put on the head band!"
"Ok now we are getting somewhere! And do you notice anything else different?"
She looked at her reflection in the microwave. "No, my ears are nice and perky, my boobies as bouncy as ever..."
Charlie sighed, walked over to the wall and pulled down their wedding picture. "look here babe this is what you looked like when we got married," He said as he passed her the photo. She looked at the picture tilting her head with curiosity.
"Charlie this is not funny, niuy" she said with panic slipping into her voice.
"Um, ok it started when you put those ears on lets just take them off," Charlie walked over. He could not see the head band, but he did see the obvious cat ears starting from where her old ones where all the way up to the top of her head. He took a gentle grip, Tam purring reflexively to human contact, and gave a swift pull.
"Rawl!!" Tam hissed at the sudden pain. Instantly she pounced out of her chair onto Charlie, biting his shoulder. They hit the ground hard. Charlie looked over to his shoulder, to see that Tam had drown blood. She was now slowly liking the wound. She said nothing until the bleeding stopped. Finally, giving him a soft kiss.
Looking deep into her eyes Charlie could see fear. "You still love me right? Even though I am some kind of freak? Mew" Well of all Tams' problems that was not one of them.
"Of course" He replied. Tam quickly showed her apparition. With cat like flexibility she kicked down his boxers and one again began to feverishly kiss him. Tears and lust in her eyes. "Thank you,
,I,
, love you,
meow,
purrr,
, please,
niyu,
Charlie slid off the remnants of breakfast and turned around just in time to see his wife walking over with a can of whip cream form the fridge that Charlie had neglected to close. Than with surprising strength she pushed him onto it. Than, sprayed cream across his body, and than liked it up.
Charlie, deciding to take a more active role relived her of the can and said, "My turn."
"NYU!" Tam responded in enthusiasm. Hoping on to the table and spreading herself like a buffet. Charlie had figured out that Tam's Pussy seemed to be insatiable now so he started there. A spry of cream, a lick, a spray, a lick. Each time she would purr and moan. "More give me more!"
Charlie got up in the table straddling her. While spraying her right breast he liked the left, than he would switch.
"Ni, I want that, give me that," she begged pointing at his cock. Not one to argue Charlie emptied what was left of the cream between her breasts and proceeded to give her a titty-Fuck. Each thrust bringing cream to her mouth that she gleefully lapped up until the cream was gone and she was taking his tip in her mouth.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Niyu, Baby finish me" Charlie pulled her back off the table and bent her over it. He quickly guided into her, hands on her hips and commenced to steadily enter her, faster and faster and faster.
"Ni, Ni, Ni, Yes, Ni, More, Ni, Ni, Ni, Hugh, Ni, NIIEE!"
Finally, she climaxed on him, and continued to purr with delight.
"Mew, what are we going to do Charlie?" Tam finally asked after a long time of just holding him. "I seem so horny and aroused all the time, I just can't get enough of you."
"I don't know babe... Wait, I got the ears at that shop, I think I have their card still, they said I should call if I have any questions.!"
|
Ayanna:
Anger: A strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism (2013, merriam webster dictionary)
I loved him from the first moment I saw him. It seems a little freakish because when I first saw him, he was only ten years old. I was over a hundred and he was ten, but it's true. From the moment I got a glimpse of those beautiful dark brown eyes of his and that beautiful dark chocolate skin, I was fixated. I knew this was the one I wanted for myself. However, I couldn't decide if he was human or vampire.
His mother and father I'd heard, were new to the community. They'd come up north to Chicago after the birth of their youngest because according to the gossip vine, they'd managed to rescue their child from Lilith, the mother demon of the shadows. I'd gone to check this family out, to see if they even look like warriors, and they didn't.
The mother and father both were tall and slender, with the mother fashionably updated. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine, with her hair done up in a ponytail of Shirley temple curls. Although the curls were out of date, she brought them back in with a pair of gold leafy earrings, that had a green gem nestled in the center of the leaf of each earring. She had on a matching dark green thermal cashmere sweater with a beautiful collard blouse sticking out of the top and bottom of the sweater. With this she had on a pair of stretch pants that fit her beautiful frame to a t.
The boots she had on were definitely hot, and I recognized them because I had a pair myself. They were a black leather pair with gold buckles accentuating the sides with a thick soled heel and a nice treading at the bottom. I smiled as I knew we would get along famously. She had a serious passion for fashion like I did.
The father looked debonair, like some ritzy guy with his nice tailored made clothing. I could tell he wasn't the sort to wear Jeans and T-Shirts, that the closest he'd come to dressing down was a dress shirt and slacks. I liked the neat way he presented himself; with his curly hair wiry all over his head, not looking messy but stylish in it's own way. His mustache was tapered and looking neat. His white dress shirt was neatly tucked into the waist band of his dress pants.
The sleeves settled comfortably at his wrists. He wore black dress pants I'm sure had been tailor made to fit him perfectly. His slender build gave a stylish, yet poised visual of him. Their other Two children, a young girl about thirteen and a young boy about six or seven years old were trailing behind the first three. The young boy was the spitting image of his father, with eyes the same color as his mother. He was carrying a football in hand, tossing it up and watching it come back down to fall in his hand.
He was a very cute young lad with a long and lean structure that gave him a look older than his years. Dark brown hair fell down into his eyes, keeping them away from my prying gaze. The boy's sister was almost as tall as the mother and looked as if she could have been her mother's twin; that's how much she favored her. She had a cd player in her hand and was listening to her music rather loudly. I frowned in disgust.
I didn't like any of the music they played now a days. It was too much racket. I stopped liking music after the nineteen fifties when Jazz and Blues began to shrink in popularity. My personal favorites were Nina Simone, Peggy Lee, Dorothy Dandridge And Sammy Davis Jr. I could rattle off a lot more, but that would be an exhaustive list.
As I watched him and his family go up to their new home, I knew that now was not the time to make my presence known. My father and I had heard all about the Wilheim clan and had even done some extensive research on them. They were not the type to approach unnoticed, unless you wanted to fight to the death.
Although I had no problems with protecting myself, it simply made no sense to stir up trouble when a woman didn't have to, so taking one last glance at the young boy as he entered the home first, I let out a small smile, allowing my thoughts to ponder what he may look like as an adult and then swiftly but stealthy made my exit.
~~
When leaving the Gregoire's home, after my final glimpse of the one they called Tavis, which in my opinion is a strange name, I made my way back to my own home. The two bedroom home I shared with my father and had now for the past five years that we'd resided in Washington Heights, a suburban area of Chicago, was on the opposite end of town where they lived. I liked the place we lived in because it wasn't a crowded area, nor was it completely in solitude. I hated being secluded off from civilization.
Mainly from humans since I fancied their life force. I'm not one of those vampires who fed off animals, or rodents or any other creature that wasn't human. I actually felt a connection with animals of the wild better than I did humans. After one hundred plus years, living as an immortal, I've discovered that humans were fun to play with, easy to entice, and eager to give their blood when it meant they had the chance of becoming a vampire. I had chosen to walk instead of run, because I didn't need to. I was in a great mood and my heart was filled with all sorts of emotion as I thought of my future mate. He'd been waited upon for a very long time. I smiled at the thought that my wait was finally over. I let out a little giggle and started singing very loudly, "To be loved...To be loved..."
"How cute." I heard a voice state, interrupting my playful banter. Unfortunately for the person who'd spoken, I just happen to choose the worse neighborhood in the city, which was an area of multiple ghetto housing developments to make my presence known. I came to an abrupt stop and noticed there was a guy propped up next to a brick building by an alley way. He was nonchalantly running a knife over the palm of his left hand. His dark hair had been cut in a short style and spiked. He was wearing an earring in his bottom lip and one in the eyebrow. Since I knew that the bottom one leaked the most blood, this one was the one he'd loose first. However, before that even happened I began running my hands up and down my arms, fearfully.
"What's a matter baby, you cold?" I heard a smooth voice fill my ear. I felt stupid. At-least that's what I told myself. If I was to put on a good performance, I needed to feign surprise, even if I'd been aware of the second guy who'd been behind me since the first one had spoken. I smelled him the moment I'd been brought out of my little sing song. My dad was always telling me that when ever I was distracted, it was completely, to a point where my surroundings did not matter, which he said that for a vampire was not good; and for a vampire who'd celebrated her seventeenth birthday for more than a hundred and twenty five times this past march, that was even worse. Especially since I didn't look a day over seventeen years. It would make me more vulnerable to these types of attacks. What could I say? When I was into something, I got completely immersed to the point of obsession. It wasn't like I was trying to, it was just that when I became intrigued, it was something consistent and on going for years, sometimes centuries.
Anyhow, now, here I stood caught in a trap, at least that's what it appeared to be. Oh God, what's a girl to do! I thought sarcastically, Cry out for help? This was exactly what I did. "Help! help!" I shouted. Damn I was good.
"Nobody can hear you sweet thang..." He stated as he pushed his body up against mine. I was appalled at the hard on he was sporting, which I could feel through the back of the dress I was wearing. A blue jean twill jacket had been chosen to complete the ensemble. Although it was cold enough to freeze water after less than thirty minutes of being in this weather, I always wore dresses.
Today I was wearing a thick black dress made from a combination of wool and cotton that cinched at the hips and flared out at the bottom, which I might say looked nice on my full figure. I was a big girl, but not in flabby, fat big. I was big as in thick bones, a lot of muscle mass and built like, how shall I put it nicely? A curvaceous woman. My hips, and thighs were firm, while my butt was round, plump and succulent, and I always, always had a problem with men rubbing up against me or touching me. I couldn't figure out what made them want to be so disgusting. My dad said it's because I was beautifully made.
However, my thickness did not create problems moving around when I needed to.
As the guy behind me put a hand over my throat, and I felt a pointed object at my stomach, I gulped and whispered, "Mr. You don't want to do this." He gave off a sharp laugh.
"Sexy accent sweet heart, where you from?" The guy in front of me inquired as he looked at us from his position.
I whispered, helplessly frightened, "Please...please, I'll give you what ever you want." I immediately shrank back as I felt the guy holding me tongue slide along the outside of my ear. He was a rapist too? I felt my anger beginning to stir. I could always rely on my anger when I needed it. It never failed me in times like this. I felt my adrenaline flow hard. "It's good to know that you are eager to please sweet heart." The guy by the wall stated. Tears began to run down my face as I begged for them not to hurt me. Just for measure I told them that I wouldn't speak to anyone what was happening. The guy nudged me in the hip with the sharp object he carried and whispered, " we know you wont be doing that."
"As a matter of fact, you wont be doing much of anything after tonight, sweetheart." The other guy stated. I groaned, seeming to resign to my fate. The young guy instructed me to go behind the alley and stand on the wall, while the other guy posed as look out. I whimpered as I was thrown against the brick wall of a building and the guy forced me to spread my legs by kicking both my feet apart.
A sharp inhalation of breath was heard as he stated, "Damn baby girl!" I rolled my eyes, waiting for him to begin the flirtatious trail with the point of the knife around the bottom of my skirt. I let out another whimper, knowing that he was eating it all up. He really was convinced that I was helpless. I waited till he pulled my skirt up before I began, to cry a final time, this time managing to sound and look desperate as he pressed my face against the surface of the building. I begged him to stop. As I did, the look out stated, "hurry up man so I can have my turn."
"Shut up and handle your business, while I take care of mine." my attacker stated. I listened as his pants unzipped, the sound loud in my sensitive ears. I then took my turn to exit the situation as I quickly turned around and laughed. Remember how I told you guys I liked playing with humans? This is how I play. I fall into script, which at this moment was a helpless maiden and then, when unexpected, and seeming less harmless, I pounce on my victim for what I really want while they, usually the males scream helplessly, which this guy would soon enough be doing. He opened his mouth to scream, but I quickly placed my hand on his chest, silencing him, as well as bounding him to the ground that he stood on. I'd simply placed a curse on him with one touch.
The other guy who looked off in the direction in front of him didn't notice as I came up behind him. By the time he glanced up, I'd already sank my teeth into the pulsating vein above his collar bone. As I drained him of his blood, he stood paralyzed, feeling but not being able to move. Once I was finished taking the blood I wanted, I licked his neck, releasing a healing property to seal up the bite mark. He would not be sure as to whether or not this had been reality or a dream. I sighed as I thought of being able to slowly drain his life force without making a huge mess.
I turned from him, to the other guy and whispered, "Death be in thy shadows, death be in thy wake, I wish to hold thee close so that I may take. Thy dreams be quick, thy dreams be profound, not understanding, but being held bound." This guy would confuse reality with fiction during his sleeping hours to a point where he'd be prone to insomnia. I knew with a surety that no longer would he be raping and pillaging other women, but instead succumb to nightmares so rich, they'd keep him awake weeping. I smiled at this thought. It served him right for being able to do the things he'd done for as long as he had.
~~
The area I stayed in with my father was suburban. It was an area of the town that was quiet and held many households with one parent incomes, but those parents were making a median amount of income. You couldn't live here unless you did. The walk from down town Chicago to my side of town was a good thirty minutes.
Full now due to the events that had taken place during my evening stroll, I walked up onto the porch and tried the knob. It twisted open. This told me that my father was indeed home tonight. I walked into our home and let out a loud sigh. Pulling the door closed, I yelled, "You won't believe this dad!"
There was no response. I went through the house calling his name. Finally, I found him in the downstairs cellar, sitting in the dark on one of the sofas we'd put down there. "Dad?"
"Ayanna."
"Is everything alright?" I inquired, going over to the dinner table that I knew had a candle stick holder that I was sure held at-least ten candles on it.
"Everything's fine Ayanna. I'm just mulling over a few facts. The internet has become highly resourceful these days." He stated.
"You don't say?"
"Yes, I do say."
"And what's the point of this revelation?"
He sighed, "I think I found him."
Immediately, my previous discovery went to the back of my mind and the animosity that was always held back came to the forefront. I didn't need a name, just a residence. "Where?"
"I believe he's to be living under the Pseudonym Mark Gius. His place of residence is in Iowa."
"Typical of a criminal." I spat, speaking of the name change.
"However, before anything can be done, I must go to confirm that this is indeed Caduceus."
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up at the mention of Caduceus Pontius, the Roman General who had stalked our family for decades.
It all started with my great grandmother, Aneema. Caduceus Pontius had shown an interest in her, however, she'd been forbidden to marry outside of her race; and to Caduceus Pontius, one of the worst generals in the history of our African Continent was a huge no. It was thought that Caduceus Pontius had forgotten about her because he went back to his homeland of Rome. However, after I was born, he returned back to Africa.
Remarkably he held the same features he'd left with. He stayed out of our hair until I turned ten and then it was during this time that he approached my mother for my hand. My mother told him no, appalled at the idea that he would even be attracted to someone as young as myself, but more so at the idea of me, her African daughter, married off to a Roman who had been stalking our family since my great grandmother was born. He left us alone that day but as I got older, I started to feel as though I was being shadowed, my every movement watched. He had the audacity to corner me on a road to the local school in the village I lived in with my family, and demand in our native tongue that I come with him. I told him no.
At the time I was sixteen years old. I told him that I was not interested in him. He was older than I, at-least thirty. I didn't have anything against his age because girls my age often married men his age, but it was just that I was intrigued with someone else. Another boy my age, in my class. My refusal did not stop his advances. He continued to try to persuade me, meeting me on that road everyday for a year. On my seventeenth birthday, he met me on that road one last time to ask me to marry him. After my decline, his eyes began to glow a bright red, making them stand out against the short tapered cut he wore. I still remember the chills that coursed my spine that day. I was so scared that I began to tremble with fear. He grabbed me by my hips and pulled me closer to him. As if being in a dance, he twirled me around, along the road. With eyes hot as anger, he stated, "I have a lot that I can offer you. Clothing, education, a pampered life, full of rich indulgence. You can have anything you want."
My gaze drifted away from him as for a second I was tempted. In my village, my people struggled a bit. Although we weren't far from Carthage we often times were subjective to poverty, and this is what caused that waver in my thoughts, even if it was for the briefest of seconds, but then the disgust over marrying someone like him, a roman who pillaged our village and raided our lands made me sick. I knew without doubt that should I accept, my life would be that of ownership and to expect anything less would be out of the ordinary. "No." I stated. My eyes hardened at the idea of being his slave. Everyone knew with a Roman General that the wife was in full servitude to her spouse and knowing I would not be able to last with him, I refuted adamantly.
"Are you sure, Ayanna?"
I could feel the anger that welled up in him, for it made me tremble with cowardice, nothing I'd admit to him. Not that I needed to. "I'm sure." I stated, my tone even and sincere.
He stared me in the eyes, as if trying to yield me, but I held my ground. My answer remaining firm in my mind. I could feel the pull of his mind to mine. I quickly whispered a prayer my grandmother had taught me. He immediately broke contact and his features filled with a deep grin, "Impressive, Ayanna." I tried to pull away from him, the effort futile. He loosened his grip on my arm and I was all to aware of my arm slipping through his hand. He cleared his throat, "It's not wise for you to reject me in this manner Ayanna."
"I don't like you, Caduceus."
"Not even if I could offer you the world?" He inquired.
I shook my head no. He let my arm go, allowing it to fall to my side. "I'll see you later little Ayanna." He stated, his gaze still burning hot in mine. I stared at him, unable to take my eyes away. He cleared his throat. "You are free to go."
I felt the weight of his arrival leave me and everything was luminous again. I was able to break his gaze and with one last look at him, I turned and walked toward the school I was in.
~~
Eleven months later:
My parents and I breathed a sigh of relief the day that Caduceus told us he was leaving. It was the best news yet that he wouldn't be back over to our village for a long time. We were glad that he was gone, not to bother us again. It was the night before my eighteenth birthday. I was set to marry Dakarai, a man older than I well established in our community, but closer to my age at 24. His family had a home built out of straw and bamboo wood. There were four rooms in the home outside of the kitchen and the living area. While this may not mean much in this world, back in my world it was a lot.
My family had closed up our home for the night, a two bedroom house. They'd shut the windows, closed the doors and blew out all the candles so that we could all go to bed. My mother had made me two new gowns, both colorful. One with green and yellow stripes in a pattern, the other white with pink flowers on it. This one, she'd stated was for my wedding ceremony.
We had been in bed for a while. I had dosed off to sleep, excited about tomorrow and what it would bring, when I was awakened by loud rustling in the living room. I got up and went into the living area. My eyes were wide with fear when I saw my father being attacked and my mother laying on the ground, blood pooling around her from the base of her head. Panicking, I stood there frozen, until I heard my father's body hit the left wall of the shack. I turned to run and as I did, I felt arms grab a hold of my waist. I cried no and began digging into Caduceus's skin as hard as I could. He let out a hard laugh, "Little Ayanna, I gave you a chance but you didn't take it."
"No..." I screamed, struggling to pull away. He held my body in such a rigid position, that I could not move my upper limbs, neck or face. As I fought with the best of my ability the attack on my, I felt my eye sight go blurry as something sharp and stabbing slid through the flesh on my neck. I couldn't hear what was going on behind me as I began to fade out of consciousness.
When I awoke, my vision was blurry. As my eyesight began to return, I felt the stiffness in my limbs, as I tried to move them. My heart beat was fast and steady. I thought of the unusual quietness and that's what made me recall the events from last night. As I tried to move my legs, I suffered through an unbearable amount of pain. Looking down at my leg, I noticed that it too had been broken.
There was blood covering my gown. I wasn't sure of the events occurring the previous night, but I knew what ever it was, it had been horrid. My thoughts turned back to my mother, as I remembered seeing her lying on the floor. Suddenly, the memories began to emerge one by one. My body began to succumb to trembles as I felt the constrictions began in my throat, making it almost difficult to breathe.
My eyes teared up as I glanced at what was left of our home. Everything in the place had been strewn about; the decorations we had used to make our house a home. The pottery my mother had collected were broken to bits and pieces on the ground. My mother believed that every piece of pottery held a meaning and there were certain African artifacts that she considered priceless. The table we'd had in our place had been turned over, and it's contents were spewed on the floor.
Pulling myself across the floor to where my mother lay, I felt her body, knowing that because of the rigid coldness state she was in that she was dead. I glanced down at her, feeling pain wash over me, so severe, so full, that I was numb. I understood that crying out for help would be futile. She was no longer here. Her spirit had left her body. Immediately, my heart burst forth with an intense froth of pain and I laid my head over her chest, crying until I passed out.
~~
Iowa:
Control: to exercise restraining or directing influence over. (2013, Merriam Webster Dictionary)
Caduceus
"Myra take my clothing to the dry cleaning. I'm expecting guests by the end of the week. I also need you to take Grant to the grooming parlor. Afterward, I need you to pick up something from the supermarket for dinner for our guests and I need you to make sure you get every item on the list, is that understood?" I glared over at my servant, Myra Tilly. Myra was the only human allowed full time in my home. Others I only accepted when I had business meetings to conduct.
I never told Myra what my business entailed and I intend to keep it that way. There are certain facts of knowledge that masters don't share with their servants, definitely one that isn't a vampire herself. Clearing my throat, I said, "I will expect you back no later than seven thirty tonight, that gives you a good seven hours to get everything you needed done. Do I make myself clear?" I inquired, my tone sharp. No master would ever allow their servant to think that they were close to them, or even make them believe they were anything but that. At least not a master such as myself.
Masters had their place giving orders, and servants had their place taking them.
"Yes sir," she uttered, the fear evident in her anatomy as it shook from my demands.
I nodded my head, giving her permission to leave my presence. I often made people tremble just being around me and a lot of times they didn't know why, but I did. Not only did I carry myself the way those native to my home land did, but I will say that I am very self assured, in control and demand nothing less than obedience from my subjects.
As I thought of this, my heart rendered its own grief at the idea of the one woman I thought about day and night. She was my obsession, the one I have yet to tame. The anger began in my center and worked it's way ferociously through out the rest of my body as I thought of her. Her stubbornness had caused not only her demise, but her parents demise as well. As Myra left out the door to attend her duties, I made my way back to my office, where I sat down and began to reminisce over said subject; Ayanna.
I had met her family accidentally on a trip while in Africa, attending to some business affairs of my beloved country. I loved the city that had become seized from the Phoenicians, by my beloved ancestry during the first, second and third punic wars, where it continued to hold it's sovereignty until 1985. In 1985 Rome's Prime Minister and Carthage Prime minister made a peace treaty that has remained stable to this day. During the years that I'd been sired in Rome, Rome had been a bustling economy, the center of religious worship and politicking as well. Rome in my day had undoubtedly been at it's last zenith of power before the total collapse of it's empire in 1453 by the Ottomans.
I left Rome after that, for favor of Britain and then after that, I left Britain for favor of America. I still, however would travel to and from Carthage, exploring it's magnificent ruins. It was during one of my travels that I met a Dongo's. The Dongo's had taken their name from a natural area they'd uprooted from in Southern Africa in the the 1800's after the destruction of their Congo kingdom by the Portuguese in 1857. They were a beautiful sort of people. I noticed that they were not as the other Carthaginians with mixed heritage of Phoenician, who have blood ties to Caanan, and Africa, but they were of a warrior sort, who protected their own with a ferociousness. I loved this in them. The Dongo were such a discreet sort who stayed to themselves. They were fighters and trained their women well in manners of house keeping. The Dongo's were very prideful, full of religion, sometimes superstitious. They were full of heart and took care of one another. The first time I saw Ameena, I was enthralled by her strict obedience to her father and mother. She seemed to have a very good nature, understood her role as a woman and she seemed to be more demure than other women around her.
It was almost as if she had been bred just to serve and this appealed to me. She never complained of the duties that her parents intrusted upon her and she never once came against them. I saw this as an attribute and I began to inquire about Ameena.
At first, questions were answered, however, once I expressed my interest in her, Dongo father told me no. I was not pleased at his disapproval, but never the less, I elected to find a different mate. However, being as my kind are, it was very difficult to let go of that pull I had toward her. This pull seemed to be consistent not only with me, but her as well, but without her father's approval, it could not happen.
My upbringing had me garnering the approval of the family before betrothing myself to someone. So, I waited, sure that her parents would see the admiration that I had for her and allow me to come in to her.
I left for a trip back home for a good two weeks, settling affairs there, trying to get everything done so that I could rush back to Ameena. However, while there, I felt her detach from me. I went back to Carthage and only then was I told that she'd been given to someone else. I was so enraged that I thought of taking her. After all, it was fair, she'd approved of me and I of her, so why not. My plans were thwarted when one of her younger siblings had come to me, requesting that I meet her.
We met on a rocky path closer to the shoreline than to her home. While speaking with her, I became so saturated with anger over the way she had just accepted her father's passing of her to another, that I almost killed her. I had grabbed her with every intention of doing so until she cried out to me. Looking at her, I was once again startled at the pure beauty she radiated. Big huge eyes, so dark they looked intensely blackened in the midnight sky, beautiful rich chocolate skin tone and a slender, yet sleek frame that had constantly warranted my attention. She begged me not to hurt her, her arms going up to shield her face. Exhaling sharply, I threw her down, watching as she stumbled over a huge rock, fell down and hurt her ankle. I did not help her up because I saw no need to. That was what she deserved. It was then I turned away from her, leaving her in that state. I didn't venture back to Carthage again until I knew she'd be deceased.
I had no reason to linger on in my prospects of a mate since the one I wished to have was already dead, so for years, I roamed my beloved village of Capitoline in Rome. It wasn't until I ventured back into Carthage, that I found out that the Dongo clan had moved further back into the mainlands of Africa. I went out of curiosity to see the how the Dongo's were fairing, but what was done with good intent actually revived a feeling of resentment toward the prior clan leader.
It occurred to me that since I had to suffer this long without a mate, due to her father's denial and acceptance of me because of my race, that I could just wipe them all out, but then as I was contemplating this, another idea turned over in my mind and I gathered the bright idea of befriending the daughter of Ameena's child. Ameena and her father had already passed on. Ameena during the year of her grand daughter's expectancy and her father, five years after Ameena had been given in marriage. I saw this as a new opportunity to forge a bridge, make myself more appealing to the family. On the day that I introduced myself to Ameena's daughter, under the guise of a drifter, I asked her for some water.
This was around 1885. As I stared at her daughter, I could see much of Ameena in her. She was subservient as well and I thought she would make a fine wife one day, but as she went into the house, I heard a baby from inside and I knew that she was mated. The Dongo's took pride in mating and raising children. This was another reason I liked them, they were a family unit, not ones to go off on their own. They stuck together in everything they did and this was something commendable in my book.
A woman who was subservient and loyal was what I needed and none fascinated me more than the Dongo women. The men were in charge of their homes and the women were obedient, but I will say that the men did not exert that obedience, which to me was their weakness. A woman had her place in a man's life, in his home, in his bed and in his heart. Everything had to be in order.
I ushered myself over to the door the woman had walked through and listened in on the child as she picked it up, nursed it and then sat it back down in it's crib. As I stared down at the brown skinned child with dark starry eyes, so much like her grandmother, I felt my breath taken away from me upon site. The desire I felt for this child to know me and understand me was overwhelming.
I wasn't a bad guy, I just demanded excellency and obedience. I thought of the fact that if this child was to grow up knowing me, then perhaps by the time she was of age, she would know me to a point where I would not have to worry about her running. It occurred to me that I could in fact mold her into precisely what I wanted, all under the guise of being a friend to her.
For ten years I tried this, from the moment the child was an infant, I would make excuses to come near her home with the parents, talking and discussing everything, from the weather to the upcoming battle within Africa itself between the north and southern areas of the country. Her father in particular took a liking to me, seeing as how I came around so often. I would help him build or tear down anything he needed. I would help him lift water from the well that had been built on their land, and I would help him do odd jobs around the house, never once having him suspect who or what I was.
At-least that was what I assumed, until I approached her mother Candace in her own dialect about their daughter, who'd been given the name Ayanna; African for beautiful flower. It is a name that suited her well because she loved flowers. When I approached her mother and asked her about Ayanna, she stated in a low calm voice, "No. I will not sell my daughter to you."
"She will be well provided for." I stated. She glanced up at me. "It is unspeakable for a man your age to want a child as young as her. She is only ten years old and I will not give her to you."
"Not even if I offered you enough money to end the situation that you and your husband are in?"
She glared at me, her eyes cold, lacking warmth, "Don't think my mother did not tell me about you, Mr. Pontius. I am well aware of your intentions. I know what you are."
"If you know what I am, then you must know that I could just take her and never allow her to see you again." I stated, my tone menacing.
Her native tongue flew as she swore a string of words at me. One I understood as black haired devil. Slowly a smile formed on my face, a devil eh? I stared at her, my eyes gathering more anger over being denied. She stared at my face, her's just as hostile as mine, without the red tint mine took on. I could smell her fear, I could even taste and hear the change of flow in her blood, but I admired her toughness. "You're not getting my child."
"She is mine." I hissed. "Either you will allow me to have her now or when she comes of age." I demanded.
She yelled, "No! How dare you demand that I give you my daughter? She is not yours and she will never be. Your kind has done nothing but destroy my people, destroy our lands, and now you wish for me to sale my daughter to you outright? No."
"She will lack for nothing. Everything I have, I give to her. You even have my word that I will not touch her until she is of age."
"And I am explaining to you that you may not purchase my daughter, my very blood. She is too young."
"Shall I wait till she get older?"
"No." Her head shook adamantly, "I wish for her to marry within her own people."
I had to bite my tongue. Staring at the mother, I knew I would get no where with her, so I cleared my throat and offered an apology, "I thank you for hearing me out and I will not bother you again."
Her look still looked angry. I had to give her credit for her bravery. Since I couldn't speak with her, then I knew I had to find other means necessary to obtain what was rightfully mine.
~~
As I came out of this memory and entered into another one, I was filled with a blood soaked rage, a desire to fulfill what I had once failed at. Not just once, but several attempts. I'd been shut out the first two times by the woman I wanted and then by her daughter to her offspring and then, a third time by the father who seemed to dislike me even more than the mother after learning of my talk with his wife.
However, I'd found Ayanna undoubtedly beautiful. She was not as slender as her grand mother, but she had a quick wit, smart mouth and was even less compliant than her mother had seemed on the surface. This fueled my desire to have her even more. She was a fighter and I wanted to take that from her, I wanted to make her into my submissive partner. Men have to be in control at all times.
I knew she could do all that any woman could do, and even more by the age of fifteen. She liked things of colors, so she was always making bands to go around her hair or putting flowers in the cottony coils that were well taken care of. As she got older, the more consumed with rage I became at the idea of being turned down. I knew she had a link to me because I didn't need to create a bond to build one. I just focused on the person I wanted and just being near that person awakened something strong. I would describe it as instinctive or spine tingling chills. The more I followed Ayanna, the more she became aware of my presence, til I no longer could hide myself. I had to reveal who I was to her, so that she would see.
By this time, she was fifteen years old, ripe for mating and even more beautiful than I had ever anticipated her being. Her cottony hair had grown out past her shoulders now and she had twisted them into braids. She'd also placed a veil of flowers around her hair, to make them look decorative; almost as if she were a bride. The dress she wore was equally colorful. Her mother was a woman of impeccable taste. The darkest skin shone the most beautiful in bright, bold colors.
Today, Ayanna wore a lavender and white colored dress, with her hair french braided back. I went up to her and asked her to consider having me as a spouse. Of course she denied me and the ramifications of that denial, although accidental, was something I was sure she was still paying for to this day. I knew that she and her father were still alive, because, I'm the one who'd changed them. The only one I'd intended to change but left for dead out of frustration was Ayanna.
She and her father had changed within a matter of days.
Most of my kind would have went back and killed them both, however, I was more interested to see how they would fair and adjust as vampires in a human world.
I still wanted Ayanna and unless I had something to bargain her for, I would never be able to obtain her.
|
Seobanien watched the girl as she strung wispy threads of mock spider web across a flimsy wooden coffin. She had been working for hours decorating the small house and bit by bit transforming it into the very ideal of suburban festivity. Stark white plastic ghosts frolicked in the yard alongside cardboard gravestones. A scarecrow sat limply on the top of a tree stump, his painted on face pleasant and happy. Jack-o-lanterns lined the front steps and grinned their idiot smiles of welcome.
It had not been those false monuments to a dead religion that had brought Seobanien to the edge of the wood. He had no interest in the trivial observances that humans indulged in during this era of 'modern' thinking. No, his attention was riveted on the girl. It had been her soft singing that had captured him, the sibilant melody of her young voice, so full of life that had drawn him from his sanctuary. Seobanien did not know how old she was; he had lost all sense of human age millennia ago. From the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast through the thin costume she wore he guessed that she was well past adolescence.
He stared at her hands as she wound another string of the artificial web around the coffin. Her fingers were long and thin, tapering perfectly into long nails that were painted black. The green dress she wore clung to her body, accenting every supple contour like a lover's embrace. Her hair was plaited in intricate braids that looped around her face and accented the graceful lines of her features. A sparkling green powder glittered on her eyelids, matching her dress, her eyes. Her delicate feet had been bound into black slippers with thin cords of satin that crisscrossed up her calves. A pair of wispy wings floated on her back and though Seobanien knew they were false the image she created charmed him in a way he barely remembered.
Voices, high and piercing, interrupted his train of thought and Seobanien looked on in consternation as a group of fantastically dressed children scampered up the street. There were princesses, pirates, gremlins and each one held a bag or bucket of some sort that displayed decorations similar to those that the girl had put up so diligently. They clambered around her with a singsong chant, giggling and jostling each other. To Seobanien's surprise, instead of sending them away, she gave them handfuls of small brightly colored packages that were piled high in a glass basin. He did not completely understand the function of the custom and before he could deduce its meaning the children were gone, running back up the street with squeals of laughter.
As the hour grew late, he watched the scene repeated again and again. As the moon neared its zenith the groups of children trickled off into pairs then they stopped coming altogether. Seoban could feel the girl's fatigue as she took the nearly empty basin into her small house then returned to the steps. With a tired sigh she sat and turned her green eyes up to the moon with a wistful expression.
Seobanien knew the time was nearing when he would be able to leave his hiding place and approach her. It was Sow-en night, a night when the barriers between the worlds grew thin. It was during this time that all the peoples could mingle together, good and evil. He slipped down through the branches of the tree where he had been waiting. His slender form moved among the branches with a gracefulness that no human could match, making no sound as he dropped to the ground in a crouch.
The girl did not move as he made his way to where she sat; in fact she had not yet realized that she was not alone. The shadows were Seobanien's friends and he slipped between them as if he were one of their own, letting their soft darkness cloak his body until he was nearly upon her. When he finally stepped into the harsh yellow light pouring from the windows of the little cottage the girl's eyes widened in fear. Seobanien had not been expecting fear from her and it pained him to see it in her gentle features.
"Do not fear me. I have come to show you the wonders of my realm," he whispered to her in his most soothing voice, drawing on his own elemental influence to ease the troubled thoughts from her mind. The frown marring her face smoothed, melded into a tentative smile that lit her features with a glow that shone from within. Seobanien basked in that glow, drinking in the essence of her like a cool wine. It was sweet, subtle, and wholly pleasing.
He held a hand out, willing her to take it, using the force of his presence to urge her into trust. When she did, her touch sent a wash of her life force through him, making his head spin as if he had indeed drank wine. Seobanien gently tugged her to her feet and pulled her with him toward the wood. He wanted her to see his domain this night. A world she would likely never have known existed otherwise. She did not protest but followed him willingly.
They moved quickly into the dim realm of the trees where the moon's salient face could not follow. Seobanien gloried in her innocence, the wide-eyed virtue of her clean presence. He had not felt a soul such as hers for a very long time and it nearly overwhelmed him. She was a spring breath, filling him with that sense of newness that could only be found in the purity of youth.
Seobanien lead her deeper into the forest, past the familiar trees that lived in the mortal world. They were the same trees that grew in his realm but here there was no sign of time's passage. As they traveled further into the interior of the ancient wood, there was a subtle change and the verdant leaves lost the lackluster haze that surrounded the world of men. Here in the outer ring of his haven life had a different soul. Here the soul of the fey touched everything, made itself palpable to the senses.
He heard her gasp in awe and knew she could sense some small part of what surrounded her. Seobanien clasped her hand tighter when he noticed a group of curious sprites gathered around a ring of bright red toadstools further up the path they followed. He wondered if she would even see them as they passed their tittering voices unmistakable to his own ears.
To his disappointment, she did not. It saddened Seobanien, reminded him of his banishment from the mortal world now many centuries gone. There had been a time when humans could recognize even the smallest fey, the very least of his brethren, but that had been before the cataclysm had come, before one world had been sundered into many and all the peoples had scattered.
As they neared his refuge, his own small palace at the heart of the forest realm, Seobanien felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. The girl had come quietly with him to this point, willing and docile. It boded well for his purposes that she was compliant, yielding to his subtle glamours. She sparked a hunger in him that had long lain dormant. So long that Seobanien had all but forgotten its existence.
He led her, wide-eyed and breathless, through the arching entrance of his home. He could feel the unsteady beat of her heart, sense her overwhelmed thoughts, as she trailed behind him through the countless rooms of living stone. She gaped openly at the beautiful tapestries, the galleries of delicate statues, the things he looked upon as constant reminder of his isolation. His eyes passed over these wonders with hardly a pause. She was the most beautiful object within the walls of his prison this night. She was life itself, newness made flesh.
On he took her through the maze of hallways and alcoves until they were at the door to his private chambers, his own sanctum. With a slight twitch of his hand, the intricately carved doors swung out and he motioned for her to enter. He could not lead her here; she must come of her own will. For an agonizing instant, he thought she would reject his invitation but she only hesitated for a breath before stepping over the threshold.
She was his now, there would be no turning back for her from this point until he had drunk his fill of her cleanness, her essence. Seobanien gathered her slight form into his arms, the feel of her soft flesh alive against his own, and the utter purity of her singing through his veins. The girl sighed, a light sound, almost a whisper of breath as his mouth captured hers.
Her lips were rose pink and sweet with the wine of mortality. Seobanien could feel his own body responding, gathering his spirit so that he might partake of hers. His hands clutched at her, wanting, needing the feel of her skin without the barrier of her clothes to hamper their need. She did not protest as he plucked at the clasps holding her silky dress in place, did not resist as he stripped away the flimsy material from her warm flesh.
Seobanien lifted away the false wings tied to her back, letting them fall unheeded to the cold marble floor of his chambers. His fingers plucked at the sheer underclothes that hid her away from him, discarding them impatiently in his haste to have her completely exposed, open before him. Her eyes were closed, shut tight, though the skin of her face glowed with the barest flush and her lips were parted just slightly. Seobanien's eyes were ravenous for wanting of her, gliding over her bare flesh with a greedy haste. He had not bothered with the thin little slippers on her feet he was so overtaken with the need to have her.
It only took a moment for him to bear himself to her, though she could not see him and he could wait no longer, could not withhold his hunger. Seobanien let his hands gather her pliant body to his own, let them wander as they would across her supple skin, eliciting wordless cries from her slim throat. He urged her back against a thick tapestry, careful not to let her touch the chill stone wall lest it break his spell. She gasped, but did not protest as he lifted her, gathering her legs in his arms and opening her completely to him. Seobanien pressed against her, capturing her mouth in his one last time as he thrust, tearing the very last of her barriers.
She cried out against his lips, the sound of her agony filling his ears with a music he had not heard in to long a time. His glamour gone, the enchantment he had woven around her from the beginning vanished in the simple brutality with which he took her. Seobanien gloried in her pain, in the screaming echoes of her mind as she saw his true form at last. He clamped his sharp teeth to the pulsing vein in her slender neck, rending the tender flesh, swirling the salty tang of her lifeblood over his tongue.
He forced his distorted flesh into her with no regard for the damage it caused, the sharp scent of her fear and horror driving him into ecstasy. She whimpered softly, the sound a hum of pleasure against his tongue as he drew her essence into himself. The heady scent of her death made his head spin, his body tremble as her soul slowly slipped away from the mortal bonds that had held it for so short a time. He convulsed violently as her heart gave its final gasp and went still. Seobanien shuddered against the limp husk that had been the girl; let the last vestige of her wash over him in glorious waves.
When at last he could focus his mind again Seobanien let the desiccated body fall to the floor with a smile, his long needlelike teeth shining in the soft candle light. He ignored the dry and withered shell that had fed him so richly this Sow-en Night and dressed in his finest tunic, leaving his apartments without a backward glance. He had not had such a rich meal in so long he had nearly forgotten the surge of power that accompanied such a feast. Seobanien strode through the dim halls of his palace, his glassy black eyes glittering and his leathery wings twitching in satisfaction.
|
Steve was about ready to lose his mind.
How turning twenty had propelled him back into teenage hormones, he didn’t fully understand (he came so close to flunking biology, okay) but he suspected it had something to do with Eddie Munson.
Actually, he suspected it had everything to do with Eddie Munson, with just a dash of unfortunate timing.
Barely two weeks into their relationship and Wayne was back on day shifts at the plant, bringing him promptly home every evening by five thirty pm, a whole forty five minutes before Steve’s shift at Family Video ended.
“But…but…he works nights!” Steve had insisted upon hearing the regrettable news, to which Eddie had given an apologetic shrug and replied —
“Yeah, but he can’t be on constant nights because he needs to be able to experience daylight or some shit. I don’t know. It’s a whole Union thing.”
Which, okay—fair point.
But now, a week later, Steve found himself distracted from his job thinking through all those wasted moments they were actually alone in the trailer and he was still too chicken shit to initiate…something. All those casual shoulder bumps as they watched movies smushed together on the couch, every time Eddie would crowd behind him and squeeze his hips as they passed each other in the cramped hallway on the way to the bathroom. Wasted. Just crumpled paper unskilfully thrown at the trash can that was Steve Harrington’s new sex life.
He couldn’t help it. There was just something that felt safer being locked in Eddie’s room, two whole doors between them and the outside world as they pressed close under the sheets, already in a bed where one would expect kisses to turn heated, for hands to wander. It was simpler. Less abrasive to Steve’s senses.
It had taken every hormone in Steve’s whole being to jump Eddie on the couch that first night he’d finally confessed his feelings, and a lot of that he chalked up to wanting to prove to Eddie just how sure he was about this, about them.
And okay, it was a little bit about being a horny bastard—but who could blame him?
In the confines of Eddie’s room Steve routinely found himself clutching at the straws of his sanity. Nothing had ever made him feel like this before, so dumb for Eddie’s body. One slightly longer than chaste kiss, one hand grasping at his side or the back of his neck and he was fucking revved and ready to devour every part of Eddie by any means necessary. Steve never thought it possible to want one person so wholly and completely, never thought it possible to be given such affection so freely.
“Am I flying solo today or what?” Robin griped from the other side of the counter, a stack of tapes precariously balanced in her hands, just a tape or two away from entering ridiculous cartoon territory.
Steve huffed and grabbed a few tapes off the top, relieving his friend of potential disaster and revealing her scowling face.
“Sorry,” he apologised. “Just stuff on my mind.”
Robin blew at her fringe as she set the tapes on the counter. “Still not getting any?”
Steve frowned. “I mean, we kiss and stuff but it’s just hard to set the mood with his uncle in the next room.”
To give them their credit they did try, but that meant keeping quiet which was a lot harder than it sounded when Eddie first suggested it. And it wasn’t Steve’s fault, not completely. It’s just that he’d never before had a mouth on him quite like Eddie’s, so sticky and sweet and so fucking eager to please. It was hot how into it Eddie got, and while Eddie had a mouthful to help him keep quiet there was only so much a pillow or his own hand could do. Because, yeah. It turned out Steve was helplessly vocal under Eddie’s ministrations, and even when he tried to tamper down, that somehow made the embarrassing strangled noises he made even harder to conceal.
Which usually resulted in a lot of awkward coughing from Wayne (because sound apparently travelled like a fucking cathedral in a trailer) and Steve so mortified he wanted to leave through the window and never face the man again.
“I’m serious,” Steve had said just a few nights prior, “we can’t fool around here anymore. I can’t look your uncle in the eye as it is!”
Eddie had been both unsympathetic and unhelpful.
“Just because someone is incapable of being discreet when it comes to getting a sloppy top doesn’t mean I should have to become celebat.”
Steve recoiled in horror. “Okay, if you ever use the term ‘sloppy top’ again I am never ever ever touching your dick ever again.”
Eddie smirked, biting on Steve’s shoulder as they lay side by side and begrudgingly fully clothed on Eddie’s bed. “Blasphemy and lies, Harrington!”
“Yeah, mostly. But, still, please don’t,” Steve begged, to which Eddie finally reluctantly agreed, on all accounts.
Robin looked equally unsympathetic as she began shoving tapes across the counter at record speed.
“Well, as a painfully single queer in this backwards town, my heart truly bleeds for you, Harrington. Truly.”
As the bell above the door chimed bringing in a gust of June air, Robin shoved the final tape with enough force to hit Steve in the gut, making him give out a pained ooof sound.
“Jesus, Robin. No need for violence.”
“Hey,” came a voice that instantly stole the air from Steve’s lungs, “no one beats up my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend! Steve’s mind sang, lighting the word up in a flashing electric blue, neon sign. The term was new, only nine days old (but really, who’s counting) since first sleepily being uttered as Steve took Eddie’s joint from between his lips before he could completely fall asleep (“I have the best boyfriend ever.”), and every time he heard it he wanted to blush.
He was blushing if Robin’s disgusted eye roll was anything to go by.
Eddie’s grin was wide and boyish as he stood with his arms crossed over the chest of his Hellfire Club t-shirt, sleeves pushed up his forearms and jacket missing, a sign that summer was well and truly on her way.
“Where were you two, three, and four years ago?” Robin deadpanned, to which Steve shot her a penetrating glare.
“Obviously preparing for my Steve Harrington era,” Eddie winked as he stalked around the counter, and Steve had never been more grateful for Eddie’s ability to sense when to divert an obviously unwanted conversation. He pressed a noisy kiss to Steve’s cheek, though it was most probably to further annoy Steve’s would be attacker. “Hey, sugar. Y’miss me?”
“Ugh. I’m going to go hate you guys by the tragedy movies…” she trailed as she wandered away, woefully adding “all alone! Forever alone!” before disappearing down the aisle.
“So, what brings you here? Other than to irritate my coworker. I thought we were meeting at your place?”
Eddie hopped up onto the counter with childlike glee. “I have great news.”
“Oh?” Steve asked, rubbing his sweating palms against his jeans to stop himself from reaching out. It would be so easy to step forward between Eddie’s parted knees and slot their bodies together, so simply done to take Eddie’s face in his hands and kiss him stupid.
But he didn’t, for the same reason fooling around in Steve’s car wasn’t a viable option. There were only certain things, certain little touches which could be shrugged off as a joke if caught by the general public.
Sucking Eddie’s face off in the middle of Family Video was sadly not one of them.
Eddie kicked his legs out merrily. “Uncle Wayne’s got a poker game with some buddies tonight. Said he’ll be gone until nine thirty, maybe later if we’re lucky.”
The words were sweet beautiful music to Steve’s ears. A choir of heavenly hallelujahs ringing out through his veins.
He checked his watch. 6:01PM.
“He’s already gone?” Eddie nodded. “Oh my god, we’re wasting time. Move! Shake a leg!”
“Don’t you have fifteen minutes of work left?”
“For the love of god, just leave!” insisted Robin’s disembodied voice from somewhere within the store.
“I owe you one, Rob!” Steve called, already ripping off his vest and grabbing his backpack from beneath the counter.
“You both do!” She hollered back, and before Eddie could protest Steve grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him off the counter.
─────
Possibly breaking several traffic laws, Steve tore up the streets to make it to Eddie’s trailer in record time. Which would have been great…if they were in the same car.
By the time Eddie finally pulled up in his van, a full minute later, Steve was practically vibrating on the front porch.
“Jesus, Harrington. Eager much?” Eddie laughed as he took his sweet time clambering out of his shitty excuse for transport and made his way up the steps.
Steve huffed, “Don’t act like you’re not as hard up as I am Mr. How-Dare-You-Make-Me-Celebat.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Eddie smirked as he unlocked the door and disappeared inside.
“If you think you can trick me into one of your little—ooomf.”
Steve found himself crowded against the slammed door with a mouthful of Eddie, all smirking lips and curling tongue as he pressed himself against Steve’s hard lines, and he didn’t have one damn complaint left in his head.
─────
They did, eventually, make it to Eddie’s room, but not before leaving some extremely questionable stains on the living room carpet (that wouldn’t budge no matter how many times Eddie rubbed at them with the heel of his shoe).
“I’ll get some elbow grease on that sucker later,” Eddie promised, throwing his tshirt towards the overflowing hamper and flopping back on the bed. “For now it’ll just blend in with the rest of the stains around this place.”
“Uh huh,” was all Steve could say, knowing damn well Eddie wouldn’t be cleaning anything. He was right, though, it probably would just blend in with the rest of the stains. “Remind me again why your uncle rejected that house the government offered.”
Eddie paused, halfway through tugging off his jeans by flopping around on the bed like a convalescent fish. His brows knitted together into something painfully serious, a look that always seemed so unnatural on his usually jubilant features.
“You know how he feels about charity, man. A few burgers every now and then is one thing; that’s just being friendly—but a whole house? Nah. No way.”
Steve nodded, loosening his crossed arms in hopes to look as understanding as possible. “I get that, I do. It’s just that, it wouldn’t be charity. It’s more like compensation. You were wrongly accused and subjected to a manhunt.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Eddie kicked his jeans off the rest of the way, finally settling against the pillows in only his boxers. He sighed with what sounded like resignation, and a part of Steve felt a little guilty for bringing back whatever memories were currently flooding through his head.
Pulling off his own shirt and jeans, Steve stalked to the bed and crawled over his boyfriend’s body, inquisitive eyes watching his every move.
He splayed himself over Eddie’s nimble frame, nudging their noses together until Eddie finally opened up for a long and messy kiss.
The response from Eddie’s body was instantaneous, curling around Steve like vines. Months ago this probably would have ignited something fearful in Steve, but there was something reassuring about being entwined with Eddie that made everything else in his mind shut down—he hoped he was doing the same for the other man now.
When Eddie’s hips began to slowly roll up against Steve, and when he felt the beginnings of a promising boner grinding into his hip, he knew he’d well and truly succeeded with his distractions.
“You ready to go again?” Steve mumbled hotly into Eddie’s mouth, to which Eddie groaned and rocked his hips harder.
Slipping a hand into Eddie’s boxers, Steve gripped his cock with a warm and sure hand, giving a gentle squeeze that had Eddie cursing breathlessly.
“Jesus, Steve. Fuck. You make me feel like I’m fifteen again.”
Steve grinned, dropping one last open mouthed kiss to Eddie’s lips before slinking down his body, taking the underwear with him as he moved until he was finally eye level with Eddie’s now straining erection. Steve couldn’t help but thrum with pride knowing how quickly he too could get Eddie worked up. It was a real thrill. He felt powerful, yet all he wanted to do was give.
When he took Eddie in hand again he found Eddie’s gaze fixed on him. He looked truly beautiful like this, eyes blown and chest heaving, lips red and used and parted just slightly. Steve gave a single lick right across the tip and Eddie gasped.
“You gonna make some more questionable stains for me?” Steve asked, and before Eddie could answer (probably something about Steve and his cheesy one-liners) he took him in his mouth, reducing him to nothing but moans and prayers.
─────
Redressed in borrowed sweats and a cut up band t shirt (because holy fuck was it getting warm), Steve drummed along on Eddie’s chest to the music pouring from the cassette player on the dresser.
He felt amiably sated, and the repetitive drum beat thrummed through his bones in a pattern that wasn’t completely unpleasant.
Eddie had taken to playing Steve a selection of music over the course of their friendship and subsequent relationship, and each time Steve would listen patiently before usually giving a hesitant shrug when approached for comment. He had, since everything, made much more of an effort to genuinely listen to the music—it was such a big part of Eddie’s life, after all—hoping the harder he listened the more he’d come to understand just what Eddie’s obsession was with loud, thrashing, thumping noise. Slowly (and reluctantly) Steve had come to realise that it wasn’t all bad.
Like whatever this was right now.
“Y’know this isn’t half bad,” Steve admitted, chin propped on Eddie’s shoulder as the other turned to give a satisfied smirk.
“Oh, really?”
“It’s catchy. I like it.”
Eddie threw his head back a whooped, pumping a fist out in triumph. “I knew you’d be a Misfits fan! I knew it!”
Despite being dislodged from his comfortable position, Steve grinned gleefully at his boyfriend.
“Yeah, how’d you guess?”
Eddie pointed to the cut off shirt draped over Steve’s torso. “Well, you picked their band shirt for one.”
Steve glanced down at the white monstrous face. He had thought it was pretty cool when he pulled it from Eddie’s dresser.
“No shit. Guess I got good taste.”
Eddie’s eyes were shining as he propped on his elbow and towered over Steve.
“Yeah, I guess you do,” he murmured, and his warm breath and predatory tone made Steve shiver. He hooked his finger into the neck of Eddie’s tshirt, dragging him into a kiss, but before it could deepen the over exaggerated sound of the rattling front door handle echoed through the trailer.
“It’s just me,” Uncle Wayne hollered, after taking much longer than necessary to unlock the door.
“Be out in a minute!” Eddie called back over the music, shoulders sagging when he turned back to Steve. “Fuck.”
Steve checked his watch. 8:55PM.
“Guess his game finished early.”
Eddie groaned and collapsed listlessly onto Steve’s chest. “This is getting ridiculous, man.”
“I know,” Steve agreed, running a soothing hand through Eddie’s hair. “Still, two orgasms each is a pretty successful evening in my eyes.”
Eddie snorted. “Yeah.”
There was more silence and Steve could feel the disappointment rolling off of Eddie—which he felt too, of course he was disappointed. He longed for a night with a handless clock, longed to have Eddie undressed and satisfied with endless hours of nothing but each other.
“The shitty thing is before Hawkins fell apart my parents were never here. I’d throw these stupid parties just to fill the house with noise.”
Eddie huffed. “Yeah, I know. Who do you think supplied the weed?”
Steve gave a gentle tug, his fingers wound deeply in Eddie’s hair. “You were there?”
“Once or twice, but I never stayed. It was weird being there with the kids last summer. I swear I was one flashback away from telling Henderson how much an ounce was these days.”
Eddie’s face was still hidden in Steve’s sternum. He did not sound unkind or even particularly bothered by the conversation, but something was still rolling heavy in Steve’s chest.
He took a breath.
“I’m sorry I haven’t told my parents yet.”
What Steve expected to follow was more silence, some awkward tension to stretch uncomfortably like hot tar between them as he spiralled quickly into a pit of self beration.
Instead Eddie lifted his head, a sleepy smile on his soft lips.
“That’s something you gotta do in your own time. You don’t ever have to tell them. It’s only their business if you want it to be.” His face was kind, and Steve reached out to brush a loose strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear.
“That really wouldn’t bother you?”
Eddie shrugged, slipping a hand under his chin as it perched on Steve’s chest. “Look, you’ve got a lot of shit with your parents, and I get that. It’s not like what I got with my uncle. Fuck, I didn’t even have to tell him, he just knew, y’know? If my old man were in the picture I don’t know if I’d ever want him to know. His opinion means shit to me but that doesn’t mean I ever wanna have to hear it. So, yeah. I get it…and I’m okay.”
“Oh.”
Steve felt like the air had been sucker punched right out of him, replacing it with an intense glowing warmth. There was more understanding, more compassion and more patience in Eddie’s words than Steve had received from his parents in his whole lifetime.
Eddie’s head tilted, his smile gentling his features. “Are you okay?”
His mind blanked. He couldn’t find any words, no matter how hard he scrambled for them.
“Yeah, I—” I think I’m falling in love with you. No, I know I’m falling in love with you. “I’m okay.”
─────
It was three days later when, like Divine intervention or some holy manifestation, Steve sat across from his parents at the breakfast table as they informed him they’d be in New York for a long weekend. It was a short conversation, they weren’t looking for Steve’s comment, not for approval or admiration, simply passing information from one source to another — like a public notice board.
Steve managed to curb his excitement with an act of nonchalance that should have been award worthy, but as soon he’d escaped to the safety of his car he punched the air and yelled with untamed jubilation.
He wondered, as he drove, if this is how Eddie had felt upon learning of Wayne’s poker night, completely giddy and light.
Steve got to feel that a lot these days.
When he finally made it to the Wheeler residence, it was a surprised looking Nancy who answered the door.
“Steve!” She pulled him into a tight hug, a huge delighted smile plastered on her face that reminded him so much of Eddie.
“What the hell are you doing here, Nance? I thought you weren’t back for another two weeks.”
She gave a weak shrug as she pulled back. “I was supposed to be interning but it kinda fell through at the last minute. Thought I’d just come home early and annoy everyone.”
Steve squeezed her shoulders gently. “I’m so glad you did. Robin’s gonna freak.”
Nancy laughed, a little abashed, as she led Steve inside and to the kitchen. “Yeah, I can’t wait to see her. She’s been my eyes and ears in this place, keeping me in the loop.”
Steve swallowed thickly. “Uh, she has?”
Robin hadn’t mentioned talking to Nancy frequently, and though he knew she wasn’t exactly the type to judge there was still a nervous pang in his chest. His best friend informing his ex of his new boyfriend? This could get awkward.
Nancy opened the fridge, pulling out two sodas. Her smile was calm but piercing, like she was holding her cards to her chest while knowing Steve’s hand absolutely.
“She sure has.”
Steve blinked, silently accepting the can. He paused to thumb at the logo.
“Did she have much to say?”
Nancy blinked innocently back. “About what, Steve?”
“Y’know. Just about…things. Stuff.” Me and Eddie.
Nancy nodded with amused nonchalance. “She said some things, sure.” A pause. “She said you and Eddie have been getting close.”
“Close?”
“Close.”
“Oh. Well…Uhm.” Steve knew he was blushing, could feel the heat burning his cheeks. He had to bite the bullet, having a feeling Nancy could keep this charade going far longer than he could. He slumped, defeated. “She told you, didn’t she?”
Nancy chuckled softly, ever the modest victor. “Not in so many words, think she wanted to let you do that yourself if you wanted.”
“But she implied?”
“She implied.”
Steve chewed his lip nervously. “And?”
Nancy sighed as she cracked open her can. “And I think you look the happiest I have seen you in a long time. Or ever, for that matter. So does he.”
Steve’s shoulders dropped with relief but his stomach flipped over and over. “He does?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Nancy laughed brightly. “He’s down there now giving the performance of a lifetime.” She flicked her eyes up and down Steve’s body. “Somethin’s keeping that boy happy.”
Steve’s cheeks ached.
─────
It didn’t take long for The Party to need supplies, Steve and Nancy only halfway through their sodas before there came an advancing thundering from up the basement stairs.
“Steve!” Eddie called gleefully, smile stalling as his eyes ping ponged quickly between Steve and Nancy. He stopped a respectable distance away, hands shoved in his pockets. “Everything good?”
The kids piled into the room, descending over the fridge and cupboards like an invasive swarm, completely ignorant to the scene before them.
With a sure step Steve closed the distance between them, tucking two fingers into Eddie’s belt loop as he pulled him in for a chaste kiss. Eddie’s brows climbed into his hairline, but he accepted the kiss without hesitation.
“Yeah,” said Steve. “Everything’s good.”
Dustin slammed a cupboard door behind them. “If you’ve quite finished manhandling the DM, you can help us carry these snacks down for the final leg of our quest.”
Steve grabbed a dish towel and flung it at Dustin’s head. “Ask nicely, you little shit.”
“How come me and Mike aren’t allowed girlfriends at campaign sessions but he is?” Lucas griped.
“Because he’s the DM and because Max’s comments are unhelpful in the heat of battle,” Dustin explained through a mouthful of moonpie. Eddie moved to ruffle his hair but he easily ducked out reach with a manic cackle.
“Not that I’m not exquisitely happy to see you,” Eddie turned to Steve to say, “but what are you doing here?”
The earlier excitement needled beneath Steve’s skin again, not quite able to light his whole chest with so many other eyes in the room.
“Oh, yeah…my parents are going out of town. I’m gonna have the house to myself for four days.”
Eddie froze, the corners of his smile tucking up into his ears. “Holy shit, are you for real?”
Lucas whooped. “Hell yeah! Pool party!”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s what they’re excited about,” Dustin replied with grim realisation.
“Oh, god. Gross!”
“Get back down into that basement, buttheads, before I start adding on damage points.”
The kitchen quickly cleared.
─────
Two days dragged by with Herculean effort, but Friday finally found the boys as Steve yanked open the door to reveal his bouncing happy boyfriend clutching a duffel bag and a guitar case.
He’d intended on giving Eddie his actual first proper tour of the Harrington home, especially considering Eddie had never been upstairs, but as soon as Steve had flipped on the lights to the main bathroom and Eddie had gotten to see the large walk in glass shower in all its glory, Eddie had dropped his things in the hallway and immediately began stripping.
“You’re getting in this thing with me right now, Harrington.”
Steve rolled his eyes fondly but did as instructed. It was especially warm out today, and getting to see the expanse of Eddie’s sun warm skin beneath cool sprays of water did sound paradisal.
Eddie’s body was taut and lean, twisting in an almost feline way as he freed himself of all clothing and gave a loud stretch before pulling the lever, sending water cascading down over him. Steve felt his fingers tingle with anticipation as he tugged off his shorts and underwear.
“Holy shit, warm right from the get go,” Eddie marvelled, dipping beneath the stream.
Steve watched the water trickle down Eddie’s back in thin rivets, winding around those marred merit badges of survival that matched Steve’s own. He didn’t often get to see the puckered skin in such bright light, and he wanted to commit the sight to memory. He couldn’t help but step up behind Eddie and follow the tiny streams with his fingertips, tracing one right from the centre of his shoulder blades to the cleft of his ass.
Eddie hummed and shuddered, the noise spurring Steve on as he snuck a hand round to rest on the flat of Eddie’s stomach. He rubbed gently, using his slight height advantage to drop wet little kisses along the side of Eddie’s neck.
“A guy could get used to this,” Eddie drawled, pressing back against Steve’s body, naked flesh against wet naked flesh.
Steve didn’t want to ever not be doing this. They might have to just cancel tomorrow’s pool party and spend the entire time in this shower. He dragged his open mouth to the back of Eddie’s neck, brushing hair out of the way as he went.
“My lips are at your service.”
Eddie reached back to dig his fingers into Steve’s hair, scritching at his scalp lovingly.
“And what a trying task that appears to be for you.”
Steve continued to mouth over the back of Eddie’s shoulder, moving only just out of reach, just to feel his hair tug in Eddie’s grasp. He thrust gently forward, his stirring cock prodding at Eddie’s ass cheek.
“It’s a hard task, alright.”
Eddie chortled happily, finally turning in Steve’s grasp so he could take him by the hips, pushing Steve’s back against the warm glass wall of the shower.
“I wanna watch you come,” he said with every ounce of his DM bravado, taking Steve in hand and eliciting an eager groan from him. Steve’s head tipped back, gasping into the steam as Eddie began to strip his cock with devastating pressure. He kept himself tucked close to Steve’s body, taking just enough of his weight for Steve to feel so consumed and so free. “I wanna watch you come all over us both, and then I’m gonna turn you over and come all over that perfect ass.”
“Oh, fuck Eddie.” Steve’s cock twitched hard, his toes curling as Eddie kissed at his throat, his jaw.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Steve. You gonna let me come on that pretty ass of yours?” Eddie again spoke with the same air of dungeon master authority, and Steve was fairly certain he could never again attend such an event.
The request echoed through the glass chamber and Steve nodded frantically, grasping at Eddie’s shoulders for purchase as he soon felt his orgasm building.
“Fuck, Eddie, just like that. Just there, right there, right there,” babbled Steve, watching helplessly as Eddie’s hand became a blur. Mere moments later he dug his blunt nails into Eddie’s shoulders and came with a throaty yell of Eddie’s name, spilling over his fist, the ferocity of his milking strokes sending droplets of come splashing over both of their stomachs.
Steve dropped his head to Eddie’s chest, shuddering as his spent cock was finally allowed to slip free.
“Fuck that was hot,” Eddie groaned, pressing a tender kiss to the side of Steve’s head as he reached to palm at himself. Steve opened his eyes to find Eddie smearing Steve’s come over his own cock, making Steve give a futile whimper.
“Thought that was for me?” Steve breathed, bliss drunk and pleased with the answering groan that came flooding by his ear. He turned quickly, pressing his hands to the glass and leaning forward slightly, presenting Eddie his prize.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Eddie clamored, squeezing each of Steve’s ass cheeks in his greedy hands. “Look at you, Stevie. You’re fucking perfect.”
Steve’s head thunked softly against the glass. Fuck, this was the most erotic moment of his life so far. He wanted to watch, loved the way Eddie looked when he was frenzied and close, loved the slackness of his mouth and his blown out pupils, but more than that he wanted Eddie to get what he wanted. Wanted him to feel as dirty and as needed as Steve felt.
Listening to Eddie as he touched himself was nothing short of delicious torture, his staccato pants of ah ah ah echoing off the tiles and rolling sweetly over Steve. Eddie kept a bruising grip on Steve’s hip as he worked himself over, and soon those breathless pants gave way to desperate chants of Steve’s name.
“C’mon, Eds. I wanna feel it,” Steve murmured, hand sliding over Eddie’s, fingers interlocking.
Eddie groaned, resting his forehead against the back of Steve’s neck as he began to shake.
“Fuck, Steve—Steve!”
Steve felt hot ribbons of spend hit the small of his back, the cleft of his ass, his left ass cheek, washing away beneath the spray all too soon as Eddie slumped against him. His weight was grounding, pressing Steve into the glass as they breathed through the afterglow.
After a few moments, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, pressing kisses to the backs of his shoulders.
“Best. Shower. Ever.”
─────
Steve was no stranger to waking up entwined with Eddie. Many mornings he’d woken in Eddie’s bed, chest to back, listening to Eddie's soft breathing.
But waking up with Eddie in his bed was something else, made something thick and fuzzy nestle deep in Steve’s chest. He always woke before Eddie, and though he couldn’t wait to see Eddie’s sleep bleary eyes peer up at him he wouldn’t have it any other way. These stolen moments of watching Eddie’s relaxed features, matching his own breathing to his, were some of Steve’s most treasured.
It had surprised him how often Eddie was still. Ever the jester, Steve had enjoyed getting to know Eddie’s quieter moments, and Eddie never looked more at peace than while he was sleeping. There was much more natural light in Steve’s bedroom, and Eddie looked unnaturally golden in the late morning sun. Steve wished he knew where his Polaroid camera was, not trusting his eyes to memorise every important detail. He made a mental note to try and dig it out at some point during the weekend.
Eddie’s nose began to twitch and a lazy smile spread his lips slowly.
“Mornin’, creepy.”
Steve shifted, allowing Eddie to roll flat on his back just so Steve could roll on top of him.
“Mornin’, faker,” he replied, to which Eddie huffed, eyes finally fluttering open.
“I’m an opportunist. It’s unnatural to expect a well fed, well fucked guy to get out of bed before midday.”
Steve nipped at Eddie’s chin. “Oh, okay. I’ll just explain to everybody that you’re too well fucked to join the party. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Eddie groaned and shoved Steve off of him, pulling the pillow from beneath his head and smushing it over his face. “It’s too early for consequences!”
─────
“Cannonball contest!”
“I’m not driving anybody to the ER!” Steve yelled, though he was sure his protest had been lost over the noise of shrieking teenagers—and his boyfriend.
Bare feet slapped against the ground as they raced towards the pool, and a moment later came the deafening sound of bodies hitting water, causing a small tidalwave to ripple through the pool.
Steve grimaced, pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead so he could scan the party for any immediate causes for worry. Thankfully, everyone resurfaced with rawkus laughter, and immediately split up into pairs to play chicken.
“Sit the hell down, grandpa!” Robin ordered from her sun lounger, looking completely at ease in her bright blue bathing suit and garish Hawaiian print shirt. She smirked at Steve behind a pair of Nancy’s stolen sunglasses, grabbing a beer from the cooler beside her and handing it over. “Take a load off.”
Begrudgingly, Steve dropped gracelessly onto his own lounger, snatching the beer up and taking a long pull.
“Better?” she asked, to which Steve hummed. “Thought you’d be in a much better mood after a night in pound town.”
Steve grunted and took another sip, to which Robin slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose so she could stare at him incredulously. He tried to avoid her gaze, but as always she managed to have an articulate conversation with him with nothing more than the arch of her brow.
Why was Steve destined to be around such intuitive women?
“Okay, so we may not have been to pound town per say…”
Robin dropped her tone as she pushed her glasses back into place. “But you’ve…spent time in the suburbs?”
“Oh my god,” Steve groaned, rubbing a hand over his heated skin. “Why do I keep talking to you? Yes. We’ve spent a lot of time in the suburbs. And the suburbs are great, really, I’m super happy in the suburbs. The suburbs are good.”
“And now you want to…enter the city limits?”
“Okay, this analogy is starting to confuse me.”
Robin smiled, clearly enjoying this conversation far more than Steve was.
“So, what’s the problem? Eddie clearly wants to, and you’ve got the opportunity now.”
“We’ve only just had the opportunity, really. At first I was, I don’t know, nervous.” Steve paused, waiting for the mocking or even the sly smirk, but none came. Thankfully—though he felt a little bad for expecting it. Robin might enjoy the usual friendly ribbing, but she was never cruel. Steve still, even now, needed reminding he was no longer around his old crew.
“That’s understandable,” she offered kindly instead. “I’d still be a nervous wreck at this stage, babbling uselessly about any topic that fell into my little head until the other person questioned what the hell they were doing wasting their time with a rambling idiot, y’know?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She knocked her bottle into Steve’s. “You’re doing great, though. I mean, he’s crazy about you so you gotta be doing something right. It’ll fall into place.”
Steve turned to the pool where Eddie currently held Erica on his shoulders, advancing quickly as Lucas and Max tried to knock them over. Eddie was shouting loud, eloquent taunts in his best Dungeon Master voice, his shoulders already starting to redden, hair wild and untamed.
Steve knew he loved him.
“Yeah. It will.”
─────
After everyone was suitably sunburned and stuffed full with burgers and snacks, Steve marched them all inside to change and be slathered in after sun. He’d been chewed out more than enough times by Mrs. Henderson to ever make that mistake again.
He made popcorn in the kitchen as Dustin set the movie up, and as he finished salting the bowl just the way Eddie liked it, Eddie appeared to whisk the bowl away, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek before disappearing into the living room.
As he watched him leave with a dopey grin, he caught Nancy smiling lovingly at them.
“Cute,” she whispered, taking the second bowl and pressing a kiss to Steve’s other cheek before leaving in a similar fashion.
In the living room, the couches were already full, but Eddie’s knees were spread as he lounged back in the armchair, a cushion waiting between his feet. Steve took the spot without comment, tingling with tranquility as Eddie’s fingers so easily tangled into his hair.
To his delight, Dustin had chosen Star Wars: A New Hope for the evening entertainment, meaning the kids were extra animated throughout the movie. It filled Steve with such joy to see them acting so young and foolish, quoting and yelling and enacting lightsaber fight scenes across the living room.
What he loved most was Eddie’s surprised, happy little hums as Steve replied seamlessly to every quote thrown his way, or how he wielded his own imaginary lightsaber as Dustin rolled in front of him to bring him into the foray.
Eddie tugged Steve’s head back lightly until he was staring at his boyfriend’s smiling upside down face.
“Oh my god, you’re a nerd, Harrington. A total dork!” he laughed, eyes brimming with pride. It made Steve’s heart swell right there in his chest, to be called such things like they were the most favourable compliments, like it meant he was included, like he belonged.
─────
“Today was so much fun,” Eddie exhaled, flopping back noisily onto the center of Steve’s bed with a flourish, his towel skirt hiked high up his knees, revealing all the soft pale skin that’d been hidden from the sun beneath his swim shorts.
“Yeah, it was.”
Steve watched the reverse of him in the mirror for a moment as he ran a hand through his freshly blown hair. He twiddled a few strands between his fingers before working a handful of product through it, purely out of routine than anything else.
He felt sun soaked right down to his bones, for once not minding the freckles it brought out across his arms and shoulders. Eddie had taken the time to kiss the more prominent ones in their second, slightly more perfunctory, shower together, whispering how sexy they were. It made Steve tingle all over, even now as he pressed a finger to one right on his collarbone.
When he found Eddie’s eyes again, they were watching Steve closely, burning bright with want. Steve bit his lip, trying not to blush. This wasn’t new territory for him, the flirtatious looks, the honey slow dance that was wooing someone into bed—but he couldn’t quell the nerves that still managed to stir in the pit of his stomach.
He felt safe, though. So safe and secure, knowing no matter how foolish he felt his jester boyfriend would still grin and kiss him like he hung the stars.
“Hi, there,” Eddie said, tone so cool and calm like there wasn’t a tangible heat pulsing between them. His skin was a blur of colour in the dim lamplight, pink puckered scars and dark smudges from his tattoos across pale skin like oil on canvas. Steve couldn’t stop staring. Eddie rubbed a hand over the skull on his chest. “Wanna come hang out over here?”
A thrum of excitement moved Steve quickly to the bed, clambering onto Eddie’s body and falling into a graceless kiss, teeth clattering, laughs mingling. Eddie’s hair was still damp in his hands, the slightly dryer ends already beginning to frizz, but he let his fingers get lost in it all the same.
Eddie palmed at Steve’s ass through the towel before eventually giving in and shoving it down, loosening it until it fell away around his hips. He ground up into Steve’s body, groaning when Steve began to push back.
“Hang on,” Steve breathed, shuffling back on his knees until he could free Eddie from his towel and send it spilling to the floor with his own.
Eddie’s lips parted as though expecting to be kissed, but Steve instead ducked and took his hard cock in his mouth.
“Oh, fuck!” Eddie sang, one hand falling uselessly at his side as the other took its place on the back of Steve’s scalp.
Steve loved having Eddie’s hand in his hair when he blew him, loved how he’d thread his fingers between the strands, how he’d ever so gently tug up and push down, guiding Steve’s mouth on his cock exactly how he liked it. It made Steve go crazy, made him long to be practiced enough where Eddie could really let go, yearning to have Eddie fuck his mouth and use his throat until it choked him.
It made Steve eager now as he sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks as he took as much as he could, nose pressed into the nest of dark hair at the base of Eddie’s cock. Eddie let his hips loose just a fraction, just enough to restrict his breathing, to gag for just a moment. God that felt good, and if Eddie’s shapeless moans were anything to go by he felt every bit of it too.
“Steve, fuck—wait a minute,” Eddie panted, pulling Steve off his cock. Drool spilled from Steve’s mouth as well as a pathetic little whine, but even that made Eddie curse like it was the hottest noise he’d ever heard.
“Fuck, look at you,” he continued, thumb smearing over Steve’s red lips. Steve hooked a lip over the tip of the thumb, sucking it gently as Eddie cursed again.
“I want you so fucking bad.” Steve’s voice was exquisitely hoarse already. He raked his eyes over Eddie’s body, from the pink tops of his shoulders to his golden shins.
Eddie gulped, chest heaving, like he knew exactly what Steve meant. “Why don’t we start with what you know, okay? You’ve done anal before, right?” Steve nodded, pushing back onto his knees, hands trailing up Eddie’s thighs. “Will you fuck me?”
Steve groaned and squeezed the supple flesh. “Jesus, Eddie.”
“So, that’s a yes?” Eddie pulled himself up onto his elbows, lips curled into a coy grin.
With a hand around his neck, Steve pulled him up for another clumsy kiss. “Of course it’s a yes.”
Eddie’s grin turned warm and wicked and Steve quickly tore open his bedside table, fumbling blindly for supplies.
“Know what you’re doing?” Eddie asked, not accusatory but gentle and curious, as he nodded at the thick tube of KY.
Steve settled a hand against Eddie’s shin. “Yeah, just keep telling me if you’re good, okay?”
Eddie nodded, falling back off his elbows as he took a steadying breath.
Steve had done this only a handful of times before. With girls. Ever the ardent lover, he knew enough to know that a little prep was gratefully appreciated, and so he liberally coated two fingers with lube, rubbing his thumb over them to warm it a little against his skin.
He shuffled closer, pressing at the back of one of Eddie’s thighs, tucking his bent leg closer to his chest, exposing Eddie to him completely. Eddie licked his lips and gave a final nod, and Steve let the tip of his thumb circle Eddie’s hole slowly.
He pressed forward lightly, just to test, gradually adding a little more pressure until the tight ring of muscle finally gave, unfurling just enough to let his thumb slip inside.
Eddie gave a soft groan, and when Steve glanced up to check he found himself trapped in Eddie’s burning gaze.
“Go on,” he urged.
Steve pumped his thumb in and out slowly, just a few times, before pulling it free and quickly slipping his slender, longer, index finger in its place. Eddie gave an abrupt hum, clearly pleased with the replacement.
With gentle determination Steve worked Eddie open, one finger at first and then adding a second, the heat of anticipation coiling in his own stomach as he imagined sinking into Eddie’s tight warmth. He scissored his fingers carefully before hooking them and pressing up, wondering if this would perhaps get him the same response with similar, but not the same, experiments on girls.
Eddie’s back arched with delighted surprise. “Fuck, Harrington. How did you know about that?” he gasped.
Steve shrugged, smug. “Took an educated guess.”
Eddie looked a little drunk as he pulled himself back onto his elbows, thrusting down once onto Steve’s hand before lowering his still bent knee. “I’m good now, c’mon.”
“You sure?” Steve pushed and curled his fingers again, grinning maniacally when Eddie’s eyes slipped closed and he swore.
“Oh god, you’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. Hopefully.”
When Steve went to try the maneuver again, Eddie raised his hips, dislodging Steve’s fingers with a wet slip, making them both groan.
“If you spend too much time on the opening act we’ll never get to the main show,” Eddie explained, tearing a condom from the strip and gracelessly flinging it at Steve’s chest.
Steve didn’t need to be told twice.
With the condom now on and a lube slicked hand working himself over with just a few pulls, Steve squeezed Eddie’s hip and asked, “You wanna turn over?”
Eddie bit his lip and shook his head softly. “I can go like this.”
Steve had to pause. He knew all fours was more comfortable for a first attempt, despite this not being Eddie’s first attempt (and that he really couldn’t think about for too long), but the idea of getting to see Eddie’s face the whole time was unraveling Steve on the inside.
“Yeah, okay,” he said instead of again asking if Eddie was sure. He looked sure. “Tell me if that changes, though.”
Eddie nodded, reaching for a pillow and carefully lodging it beneath his hips.
Again, Steve pushed on the back of Eddie’s thigh as he shuffled closer, and Eddie used his free foot to hook around the back of Steve’s, tugging him forward. Steve took himself in hand and pressed the tip to Eddie’s wet hole, holding his breath as he finally and glacially pushed inside.
All the air left Steve’s chest at once, and Eddie inhaled deeply like Steve were a bellows igniting him on the bed sheets.
“Oh my fucking god,” Steve groaned as the sultry grip of Eddie’s body held him like a vice. He didn’t realise his eyes had closed until he felt tugging on his arms, and when he opened them again he found Eddie looking at him pleadingly.
“C’mere. Kiss me.”
Steve obliged immediately, tucking his forearms beneath Eddie’s shoulders until they were chest to chest. He kissed Eddie with slow, languid tongue, forgetting his own pleasure momentarily to give Eddie whatever he wanted, until it was Eddie himself pulling back from the kiss and urging him on.
Steve kept the undulation of his hips slow and steady, groaning wordlessly at the relentless and taut pull of Eddie’s body. He studied Eddie’s face continuously, guided by every flicker and moan as to how to please him best.
Eddie grasped at Steve’s bicep with one hand, the other sliding smoothly down Steve’s back to press gently at the swell of Steve’s ass, as though urging him deeper.
“You feel so fucking good,” Steve panted, capturing Eddie’s mouth, not missing the way Eddie preened beneath the praise, eyes glittering.
Eddie’s hand pressed hard against Steve’s lower back, holding him impossibly deep until Steve choked with the bliss of it, the clench of Eddie’s body blindsiding him.
“So do you,” was all Eddie had to say for himself as Steve’s head dropped to rest in the hollow of Eddie’s throat.
Once recovered, Steve raised himself up onto his hands, putting enough distance between them until he could wind his hips forward with force, punching a moan right out of Eddie’s chest.
Two could play at this game.
Eddie’s hands scrabbled at Steve’s biceps. “Fuck—Steve. Again, do that again.”
Steve did as instructed, spurred on by Eddie’s wanton moans to thrust again and again and again into a fast, relentless rhythm that had Eddie clinging on to Steve’s shoulders.
That’d show him.
When Steve ducked to kiss Eddie, unable to resist those wet parted lips much longer, Eddie grasped at the back of Steve's head to keep him close, fingertips digging into his scalp.
“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,” Eddie begged, as though Steve had any intention to do so. His whole body trembled at the glossy feel of their sweat prickled skin sliding together, and the tight coil of arousal in his gut began to unravel.
Steve reached to take Eddie’s cock, working him almost frantically.
“I’m close,” he told Eddie, to which Eddie groaned and nodded.
“Yeah, yeah, c’mon then. Come.” Eddie’s hair was sweat logged and stuck to his temples, and Steve knew he too wouldn’t be lasting much longer.
He shook his head. “You first, wanna feel you come first. Want to be inside you when you come.”
Eddie’s back arched as though the words themselves were deep, accurate, sanity reducing thrusts. He grasped at the nape of Steve’s neck, locking his fingers into the soft hair there as though to anchor himself.
Steve worked his hand and thrust forcefully until the amalgamation of the two had Eddie letting out a mewling whine as he spilled over Steve’s fist.
The reward was worth the hold off as Eddie contracted around Steve impossibly tight, relaxing and clenching again and again as the waves of Eddie’s orgasm passed over them both.
When Steve’s hand fell away, Eddie was quick to grab at his backside with both hands, legs hitching higher to his chest.
“Don’t go,” was all he had to breathe before Steve’s hips gave their final few snaps and he unravelled completely, emptying into Eddie until he felt hollow.
The come down was slow and dizzying, like slipping into a too warm bath with aching muscles. Steve struggled to keep himself aloft until Eddie tugged at his elbows, urging him down, letting him rest his full weight against him. He sometimes forgot how strong Eddie was.
They breathed through the quietude of their afterglow, Eddie’s fingers gentling affably through Steve’s hair as Steve’s face remained hidden in the crook of Eddie’s neck. He stayed there for an unknown amount of time, only pulling back when the cooling wetness between them outweighed the need for rest.
Steve lifted his face to kiss a still blissed out Eddie tenderly before finally moving off of him, taking care as he slipped free of his body. He tied the condom and slowly rose from the bed, not quite sure how to trust his legs.
When he returned from the bathroom with a warm washcloth, Eddie was watching him with a docile smile.
“Do you want to…?” Steve offered the cloth, and with a nod Eddie took it to start wiping at his stomach. When he reached down to wipe at the insides of his thighs and over his perineum, Steve stood and watched, dumbfounded, his cock giving a pathetic twitch of interest.
Eddie chortled, dropping the cloth onto Steve’s bedside table with a wet slap.
“I’m gonna need a minute if you want to go again,” he joked, and Steve slid back in to bed just to gather his boyfriend in his arms and tell him-
“You are the hottest fucking thing alive, Eddie Munson.”
─────
The dark room and the empty bed discombobulated Steve as he woke several hours later. He lay an outstretched hand over the crumpled sheets beside him as he gently came to, noting how they still held warmth. Eddie hadn’t been gone long.
After pulling on a pair of clean boxers and Eddie’s earlier discarded t-shirt, Steve traipsed sleepily through the house until he finally located his boyfriend at the back patio doors. He wore Steve’s yellow sweater, the sleeves pushed back to his elbows (of course), and the sight made something wonderful ache throughout Steve’s whole body. It was strange to see him in something so bright, making his usual edges appear softer.
Eddie turned when he heard Steve shuffling along the carpet, joint hanging between his lips and smiling sweetly as he glanced down at his own shirt. He stepped further out through the door, allowing Steve to join him at his side.
“Hey,” Steve yawned, rubbing sleep from his eye as he stepped out into the cool night. He nuzzled his cheek against the soft shoulder of the sweater, comforted by the combination of their scents.
He didn’t ask what Eddie was doing awake at this hour. No one in their friend circle ever questioned bags under the eyes, an extra cup or four of coffee, long drawn out yawns throughout the day— intrusive thoughts and disrupted sleep were a regular part of life when you’d seen what they’d seen.
“Borrowed your sweater,” Eddie murmured, and Steve hummed and rubbed his cheek against the material.
“Looks good on you.”
“Feels good. What kind of fabric softener do you use?”
Steve shrugged. “No idea, I’ll ask the housekeeper.”
There was no replying ‘rich boy’ jab, which Steve was grateful for. They watched the lights rippling in the pool in comfortable silence for a while, Steve’s cheek resting against Eddie’s shoulder.
“You should keep it,” Steve said, “the sweater.”
When he pulled back, he found Eddie with his lips pressed into a secretive smile, eyes still on the pool.
“Thanks.” He took another drag of the joint and offered it out to Steve. “You want?”
Steve nodded, moving to take it from Eddie’s fingers, but before he could Eddie turned and maneuvered them until Steve was pressed back against the glass doors. He grasped Steve’s jaw firmly between his thumb and fingers, taking a lungful and dipping to blow it into Steve’s mouth, their lips barely grazing—the most torturous of kisses.
The smoke was burning, making his tongue prickle, but Steve breathed it back with practiced ease, pulling away to blow it gently above them, sending the white wisps curling towards the stars.
He watched Eddie observe the smoke on its futile journey, and when those big doe eyes found his again, he exhaled the words with the same ease, “I love you.”
Eddie’s jaw slackened, but didn’t drop, and he blinked those pretty lashes rapidly at Steve for a while before pulling him into the most delicate of kisses, cupping his face in both hands (the forgotten joint dropping to the ground) and winding their tongues together. Steve let out a soft groan into the kiss, his own fingers wrapped around Eddie’s wrists, feeling the flickering of his pulse beneath his fingertips.
“Mm, I love you too,” Eddie broke the kiss to say against his lips. Steve didn’t open his eyes, just listened to the words as they reverberated through him before he hurriedly tugged Eddie forward into another kiss.
─────
If there was one thing Steve’s mother had managed to do before her parenting became as depreciating as his father's, it was showing Steve how to be confident in the kitchen.
The recipes learnt by rote were far simpler tasks for Steve’s mind to grasp than his studies had ever been, but that might have been more to do with the finished product. Steve was a visual person after all, a trait that served him well as an athlete, he wanted to see the results clearly in his mind, touch it with his hands and feel heavy with the satisfaction that he had really, truly earned this.
Truth be told, today—Sunday—was the day Steve had been anticipating most of all in his and Eddie’s long weekend together. A whole day laid out just for them. No parties, no kids, no Family Video shift, no uncle Wayne. Just twenty four hours of bliss.
He greeted the day with furor, eventually freeing himself from octopus-like limbs, leaving Eddie dozing peacefully in bed to pad down to the kitchen where he first flicked on the Sunbeam coffee master before rummaging through the fridge.
After schlepping ingredients and pans over to the counter, Steve fiddled with the radio until he found a station he liked and the melodic sounds of Tears For Fears poured into the kitchen. He let his hips swing in intrepid motions as he glided along the counter, slicing and chopping and seasoning, humming along with the music.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
Steve spun quickly, brandishing the slotted spoon utensil as though he expected to fight off the undead with it, yet all he found was his boyfriend leaning in the doorway with a concupiscent smirk, the pillow side of his hair still stuck up with friz.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathed in reprieve. He jabbed the spoon in Eddie’s direction. “I’m gonna put a bell on you, Munson.”
Eddie did not look apologetic, in fact he was positively beaming as he crossed the kitchen and pressed into Steve’s side, pecking his cheek sweetly.
“Mm, this smells delicious.”
When Eddie reached across the counter with eager fingers towards the bacon resting on greaseproof paper, Steve slapped his hand away with the spoon, causing Eddie to let out an offended yelp of protest.
“It’s not finished yet. Go pour some coffee and wait at the table.”
“Jesus. Yes, ma’am! Don’t let little old me and my raging hunger get in the way of Betty Crocker over here. I’ll just sit in silence like a good little hubby. Maybe read the morning paper and comment on—”
Ignoring Eddie’s halfhearted snit (and not letting the word hubby burn too deeply into his prefrontal cortex), Steve lifted the eggs from the simmering water and placed them onto the perfectly toasted English muffins.
Five minutes later he set down breakfast on the table, trying to avoid studying Eddie’s reaction as he blinked blankly at the plate before him.
“Holyshit, Harrington. This is an actual home cooked meal.”
Steve worried his lips between his teeth and shrugged, grasping at his coffee mug just to give his hands something else to do.
“It’s just eggs Benedict,” he said. With seared asparagus and bacon and a hollandaise sauce it once took him at least seven attempts to get right.
Eddie gave Steve a mouth open smile of amazement before snatching up his fork and digging into the food with keen frenzy. When he dropped the fork with a loud clatter after a single bite and thumped the table, Steve almost stopped breathing until Eddie began to moan.
“Oh my god. That’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my damn mouth,” Eddie said with a groan before giving Steve a lecherous once over, “no offence to present company.”
Steve smirked with bulging pride. “None taken.”
When breakfast was eaten Eddie cleared away the table, trying to bat Steve away when he tried to help load the dishwasher, despite the fact he clearly had no idea what he was doing.
These little hooks of domesticity barbed their way into Steve’s skin, pulling him in a direction that was way too soon to be venturing down and most probably close to impossible. Still, though, he ached for it. That whole Project: Nuggets or whatever was akin in this kind of life. He’d take as close as he could get. Eddie was no consolation prize, he was the whole damn carnival.
Eddie stood and slapped his hands thrice together in a job well done. “Guess I better go and get dressed.”
Before he could turn to leave, Steve grabbed him from behind, yanking him away from the door and tugging him full bodied towards the living room instead.
“Oh no you don’t. We have rules around here, Munson, and the most important one is that on Sundays hot boyfriends don’t get dressed.”
Eddie laughed ferociously, allowing himself to be dragged, but in no way helping, until he was practically thrown onto the larger of the two sofas.
“Well if that’s the rule today…” he grinned, his attempt at snatching at Steve’s shorts thwarted as Steve quickly sidestepped out of reach.
He pulled his work backpack out from behind the couch and threw it next to Eddie, hoping curiosity would soon soothe his pout.
It did.
Eddie dug through the backpack, pulling out a stack of tapes with intrigue.
“The Shining, Alien, Poltergeist, The Thing…holy shit, Nightmare on Elm Street!” He looked up at Steve with bemused doe eyes. “These are all the movies I told you to watch.”
Steve thumbed at his lip, dropping down on the other side of the backpack. “Yeah, I know, I kept a list. I thought we could watch ‘em all together. I know you went kinda nutso over these ones, I figured you wouldn’t mind watching them again.”
Eddie leapt onto Steve, knocking tapes to the ground as he scrambled onto Steve’s lap. Steve laughed, holding Eddie still by the hips to stop them from tumbling forwards. Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands, peppering kisses across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his smile.
“I fucking love you, you know that?” he asked, breathless and charmed giddy.
Steve brushed his thumb over Eddie’s cheekbone. “Yeah, I know. I kinda love you too.”
“You’re such a sap,” Eddie whispered, nuzzling his nose over the bridge of Steve’s. “I love it.”
Tucking his fingers into the collar of Eddie’s worn t-shirt Steve tilted his head down just so Eddie’s lips would graze his forehead.
“Good, because that’s sort of my whole MO. Don’t tell anybody.”
Eddie’s replying laugh puffed a gentle breath of air against him. He pressed a kiss to Steve’s hairline, arms resting against his shoulders.
“All your secrets are safe with me.”
You’re safe with me.
─────
Two movies in and Steve was sure this had to be his greatest idea yet, next to his big idea to start driving Eddie to his favourite spot in town and eventually confessing his undying love for him.
Having Eddie’s head in his lap while Steve mindlessly played with his hair brought an air of calm Steve had once only thought possible from a good orgasm or a decent joint. But now he felt as though his bones had liquified in his body, the only thing known to his senses the feel of Eddie’s soft hair wound around his fingertips, Eddie’s own hand reaching up to curl his fingers against Steve’s arm, the sight of endless space as Alien played on before them.
Eddie gave the occasional commentary, usually around the special effects which seemed to make the movies less scary— though Steve didn’t know if that was Eddie’s intent or if he was simply losing himself in his own tangents of fascination. Either way, he didn’t mind.
For lunch Steve made sandwiches, really fucking nice sandwiches with that expensive bread his mom always bought and never fully used, thick cuts of honey glazed ham, lettuce, and just a dollop of French mustard and mayonnaise.
Eddie groaned something feral when he took a bite, eyes rolling back like they did whenever Steve did that flicky thing with his tongue.
“Damn, baby makes a good sandwich,” he muttered, more to himself, and Steve shoved his own sandwich into his own mouth to stop whatever noise was bubbling in his chest, chuckling inconspicuously instead.
“It’s nothing fancy, but I’m glad you like it.”
Eddie chewed noisily, leaning in to press a full mouthed kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Tastes even better coz you made it.”
Steve rolled his eyes but flushed nonetheless. “Oh, and I’m the one with the cheesy lines, huh?”
Eddie wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Tastes so good ‘coz it’s made with loooove,” he crooned. “Because…” he took a deep breath.
“Oh god.”
“THAT’S THE POWER OF LOVE! A FORCE FROM ABOVE! CLEANING MY SOUL! FLAME ON— ouch! Hey, cut it out!” Eddie griped as Steve viciously jabbed him in the ribs.
─────
Eddie was congratulating Steve on an excellent Beef Stroganoff for dinner (despite Steve once again insisting it was no big deal) by sucking his soul out through his dick.
“Fuck yeah,” Steve breathed, Eddie’s tantalising tongue flicking trick shots along the underside of his cock and back down to his balls. He sucked greedily at his sack, and Steve could feel the pools of saliva spilling out of Eddie’s mouth.
With the heels of his feet pressed into the mattress Steve bared down onto…well, nothing, and he gasped at the realisation that he fucking wanted something inside him—needed it—wanted to feel as good as Eddie made it look to be full.
“Hey, Ed, wait a sec,” he tugged at Eddie’s hair until he pulled away from Steve with an obscene amount of drool dribbling down his lips.
“What can I do for you?” Eddie drawled, stupid blissed out grin on his face.
Steve wordlessly took the lube from the nightstand, staring at it in his hand with minor trepidation before shoving it down into Eddie’s grasp.
Eddie licked his lips making a dirty little slurping sound as he did so. Steve shivered. Eddie’s eyes shone.
“Yeah? You wanna try fingers?” Steve nodded, front teeth digging into the soft meat of his bottom lip. Eddie ran a soothing hand up Steve’s shin, kissed his knee. “Okay, baby, but I’m gonna need you to use your words.”
“Yes.” Steve’s voice sounded loud even to him, and he hoped it came off as certainty.
Eddie kissed his knee again and took a hair tie from his wrist, pulling his wild curls into an untamed up-do. Steve groaned. Fuck, why was that so hot?
With his fingers slicked and his other hand providing soothing pressure up Steve’s thigh, Eddie circled Steve’s hole slow and teasing, until Steve grunted with impatience.
“C’mon, I’m good. Green light. Simon says go.”
Something wicked flashed across Eddie’s face and he steadily pushed his index finger up to the second knuckle as he sucked Steve’s cock into his mouth again.
Steve was so torn. The mouth was heavenly but the intrusion was…strange. Not entirely unpleasant, no, but not yet quite pushing the boundaries of pleasure. He groaned into it all the same, chasing Eddie’s warm mouth, focusing on what did feel good. Eddie’s finger began to rub back and forth as he worked his mouth in a similar rhythm, free hand splayed wide on Steve’s inner thigh, grounding.
Eddie squeezed the flesh three times quickly, and when Steve found his gaze it was questioning, silently seeking permission.
Steve nodded. “I’m good, go on. Use another.”
This second finger slackened his jaw. The stretch wasn’t painful, per say, but it was in the ballpark.
“Breathe,” Eddie pulled off to say, voice calm and confident. Steve hadn’t realised his eyes had screwed shut until he felt fingertips at his cheeks. “Breathe for me, in and out, c’mon, big boy.”
Steve hummed at the nickname, eyes flickering open, finally exhaling. The pressure eased a little but didn’t dissipate. None of that mattered right now, though. Not with the way Eddie was looking at him, so wanton and approving. Steve keened beneath the praise, breathing in and out steadily again and again until Eddie was smiling (“Good job, baby”), thigh-soothing hand now wrapped around Steve’s cock giving tight, slow pulls.
Gradually, the discomfort began to ebb its way into something else, something that crawled up Steve’s spine like little licks of fire.
His cock twitched, and Eddie gave a congratulatory lick right over the slit, making Steve’s belly tighten.
Eddie crooked his fingers, rubbing up and up, deeper and deeper until—
“Holy fucking shit!”
Approximately sixty seconds later, Steve came his stupid brains out.
─────
Steve felt come drunk and love dumb by the time midnight rolled around. He felt pleasantly sore and bonelessly empty, fucked out and debauched by mouth and tongue and hand. Eddie looked equally worse for wear, covered in hickeys and finger shaped bruises at his hips and thighs as they’d tried to cram possibly weeks worth of orgasms into their evening.
He knew they were avoiding sleep, hiding from tomorrow and the end of their weekend, that painful jolt back into reality. They drank from the same soda can and ate toast in bed, still yawning and rubbing sleepily at the various marks over their bodies.
Eddie looked gorgeous, almost ethereal like this, sheets twisted around his legs as he lay along the bottom of the bed, still brushing toast crumbs from his chin. He smiled at Steve from his elbow propped vantage point, hair so much darker in the dim light.
If everything ended tomorrow, this is how Steve would want to remember his life, right in this moment, like nothing was ever going to feel wrong again.
“You’re having sappy thoughts,” Eddie mused, “I can tell. Your eyes have gone all goopy.”
Steve smirked. “So what if I am? Can’t a guy think sappy thoughts in the privacy of his own home?”
“Well, since we’re already here, I guess I may as well further this quest to maximum goop levels.” Eddie pushed himself up, clambering clumsily from the bed to his guitar case. He dragged it over, not missing the slow drag of Steve’s eyes over his body, like an overfed animal being tempted with one last bite.
Steve sat as Eddie did so on the edge of the bed, pulling open the zipped pocket on the front and rummaging around for a moment until he finally produced a silver ring and a long strip of leather lace. Wordlessly he slipped the leather through the ring and tied it off into a makeshift necklace.
Without finding Steve’s eyes, he handed it over.
Steve took the ring and turned it in hand, taking in the thick stained silver band and the etched design, a heart clasped in hands with a crown over the top.
“Is this…for me?” Steve asked carefully, as carefully as he held the ring, as carefully as he held Eddie’s heart.
“I found this thing years ago at a D&D convention. The woman said it’s supposed to represent love, loyalty, and friendship. I didn’t know if I’d ever have anyone to give it to but, I don’t know…something made me buy it.”
“Eddie,” Steve breathed, the word so soft and fragile in his mouth. How he wanted to press into the other man until he sank into him so completely their atoms combined.
“I know how lucky I am. I know that people like you don’t happen to people like me, and definitely not in a town like this. But I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for you, that you exist and that you…uhm…that you exist with me.” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous hiccup of laughter escaping his lips as he cringed. “Fuck, I swear I was way smoother than this when I ran this through in my head.”
Steve, who’s heart was hammering so hard in his chest he could almost taste it, let forth the smallest of whimpers, just loud enough to alert Eddie’s gaze back to him.
“Shit…Here I was thinking you were about to serenade me and you pull out something so off the charts romantic.” He slipped the necklace on and tangled his fingers into the hoop of the ring, pulling Eddie towards him by the neck with the other. “I’m the lucky one, okay? We’re all the lucky ones that we get to be around you, get to know you. I’m so fucking lucky my shit got turned around in time for me to be able to see you for everything that you are. I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive because I get to love you.”
Eddie’s eyes blinked wet and he sucked in a shaky breath, giving a curt nod before the gap between them closed and they were kissing with pure unbridled deliverance.
“Fuck, I love you,” Eddie pulled back to sniffle unabashed.
“Enough to serenade me with a metal love song?” Steve teased and Eddie huffed, shoving at Steve’s chest.
“Oh, ye of little faith. Eddie Munson is a multidimensional character, I’ll have you know.”
When he pulled the guitar free from the case, Steve was surprised to see a sleek black acoustic guitar instead of Eddie’s beloved jagged edged electric.
“This machine slays dragons…?” Steve read aloud from the thick white scrawled writing along the body. He laughed fondly. “Alright, Woody, how many non metal songs can you rock out on this thing?”
Eddie fiddled with the strings a little and shrugged.
“Alright, so maybe only one or two.”
Steve fluffed the pillows behind him and leisurely reclined back. “Play me your favourite.”
Eddie pulled the pick from between his teeth. “I thought you wanted a love song?”
“I want you to play me something you love to play.”
Without hesitation, Eddie began to pick at the strings, fingers finally settling into shape against the fretboard.
“Alright, here goes nothing…My favourite non metal song for my favourite non metal guy.”
Steve kicked at Eddie’s knee softly. “Your favourite every guy.”
Eddie smirked as he sank into playing, plucking the strings in a melody Steve vaguely recognised.
He looked happy. So soft and happy and loved as he played.
Steve slipped a finger into the ring around his neck, charmed by the nervous rasp of his boyfriend’s voice.
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war
For a leading role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same old ground
What have we found?
The same old fears
Wish you were here
|
Rose was surprised to see Lynda already in the office with Martha when she came in for work the next morning. She smiled, a little relieved that the girl seemed so on top of things. “Lynda, Martha, good morning,” she said, nodding to the both of them.
“Good morning, Miss Tyler!” Lynda said, dipping her head a little. Rose greeted her in return.
“Good morning, you’re early!”
“I didn’t want to risk being late for my first day on the job! I hope that’s okay.”
Rose nodded. “Perfectly fine, actually. Come with me, you’ll be with me at my desk. Well, it’ll be your desk, soon enough.”
She led Lynda to their desk and tugged an extra chair over. Luckily the desk was long enough to accommodate both of them and allow them both to do work at the same time. Rose sat behind the computer and gestured for Lynda to take the seat next to her. No sooner had they sat down then the buzzer of her intercom rang, signalling that Mr. Smith wanted her in his office. She tried not to sigh and offered Lynda a smile. “Come on, then, duty calls.”
Mr. Smith was already looking at Rose when they entered the room. “Ah, Miss Tyler. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Smith, what is it that you needed?” Rose asked.
“I just wanted to say good morning,” he said simply.
Rose blinked. He’d literally never said a simple good morning to her without an attachment in the nine years she’d known him. She cleared her throat. “Well, your schedule hasn’t changed since yesterday, so you needn’t worry about anything.”
“Good. You’ll attend my appointments and Lynda will stay here with Martha and the others.”
“Ah, well, shouldn’t Lynda come with us?”
“Not on her first day. Hello, Lynda. I’d just like Miss Tyler with me.”
Lynda nodded. “Sure! I’m sure I can learn some paperwork that I can do before you both go on your events for the day.”
Mr. Smith nodded, his eyes never leaving Rose. “Right,” he said. “Well done. You are free to go.” Rose tipped her head. “Sure, Mr. Smith.”
The women left the room and Rose blew her cheeks out as they left. “Sorry, Lynda, I would’ve really liked for you to come with us and start to see that ropes.’
“That’s okay, if he doesn’t want me to, I don’t mind,” Lynda replied. “I’ll be fine.”
Rose sat down at her desk again and started to pull out some of her old files. “Ah, I suppose we could have you go through these, get to know the lay of the land as far as Mr. Smith’s preferences go. He’s a little strange, has a lot of little idiosyncrasies. I’ve charted absolutely everything since I started working here.”
Lynda looked a little intimidated but smiled brightly at Rose, nodding. “I’ll be sure to remember it all.”
“Nah, you don’t have to remember it all,” Rose assured her. “Just skim them, get to know most of it. And they’ll be yours when I leave here. There’s no test,” she laughed, sliding Lynda the first files. “I’m just sorry he’s making you stay here.”
“Would it be alright if I cleaned up around his office, too? I really want to make a good impression. I… I need this job.” Rose nodded. “Mr. Smith is a big fan of cleanliness. I think that’s a good idea.’
Spending the day running to meetings with Mr. Smith was not unusual. Despite his long stride she was used to keeping pace with him and knowing what he was going to ask of her before he even asked it. She was truly good at her job, and she knew that no matter what, he was going to be at a loss for awhile once she was gone. Part of her liked that, and she felt bad for it.
But today, Mr. Smith was chattier than usual. He’d ask her questions, and then look at her with a deepness that was terribly confusing. She didn’t think he’d ever looked at her like that before. She didn’t think
anyone
had ever looked at her like that before.
All of a sudden, her phone chirped and she looked down at it before realizing Mr. Smith probably wouldn’t like that. She put her phone back in her purse and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“No, you can check it if you need to,” Mr. Smith said casually. He watched as she cautiously checked her phone and then pocketed it without answering the message. Adam. She didn’t want to see him again, not really. There’d been no connection, and she felt a slight sense of loss from it. She wanted that connection, someone who would love her absolutely, and she just didn’t think that Adam could or would give that to her.
“Who was it?” Mr. Smith asked.
“With all due respect, Mr. Smith, that’s my business.”
“I’m just curious,” he replied, clasping his hands together behind his back. “I don’t mean to offend you, Miss Tyler. In fact, it’s literally the last thing that I would want to do.” She blinked. “Well, that’s appreciated.”
He’d seen it. He hadn’t known the name, but he’d seen it, and for some reason that he couldn’t put a finger on, his stomach had dropped when he’d seen a man’s name on the screen of her mobile. It was a sort of jealousy he hated experiencing and he wasn’t even sure what to say about any of it.
He wouldn’t admit that Jack was right, then. Right about anything he might feel for Rose. Feelings made him weak. He didn’t need them. But he needed Rose,and that scared him more than anything else. “Yes, well, you should be allowed to talk to whoever you want.”
Rose blinked again, not saying anything. His behavior was unbearably odd today, and she wasn’t sure how to talk to him when he was acting like this.
He was more normal during their lunch appointment with the president of a neighboring company. He was snarky with her and she took it like she usually did, with a smile and a reply that was just backhanded enough that she could get away with it. Their lunch partner seemed to enjoy the subtle banter immensely and agreed to work with Mr. Smith on an upcoming project.
“Excellent work, Mr. Smith,” Rose enthused when they left, “It’ll be a very strong year for the company.”
“I wish you’d be around to see it.’ “Mr. Smith…”
“My offer stands,” he said suddenly. “It really does. If you wish to stay, if you wanted to be married, to fulfill that part of your dream.”
She saw the earnest look in his eyes, and it scared her a bit. He was attractive, he really was. A beautiful man, actually. She swallowed hard and looked away from him, needing to not look him in the eyes for a bit. He had been kinder to her recently, yes, but that didn’t mean anything at all. He was just trying to keep her here. She wasn’t going to let it draw her in. He was a charming man when he wanted to be and she had a feeling that’s what he was doing. She smiled softly and looked away from him.
“No thank you, Mr. Smith. I really have to insist that you stop asking, too. I’ll never say yes.”
“I’m sure you know I’m a resilient man.”
“I know. I think you’ll find I’m even more resilient.”
He smiled at that, almost to himself.
At the end of their meetings and appointments, Rose joined Lynda back at their desk and Mr. Smith disappeared into his office. Minutes later a loud cry emanated from the office and Rose leapt to her feet and pushed past Lynda to get to Mr. Smith’s office. Pushing open the heavy door, she found him curled in the corner of the office, head in his hands, fingers curling into his hair. He was shaking, and Rose’s gaze zeroed in on the zip ties that Lynda must have used to organize Mr. Smith’s cords.
“Oh, no,” She breathed out, taking scissors from his desk and cutting the zip ties, shoving them at Lynda, who had come into the room behind her.
“Throw these out,” She said harshly, “Are there any more in the room?”
“N-no, I just thought-” “You must not have gotten to that file. We don’t use zip ties here, period.”
“I’m sorry-”
“Just get rid of them.” Rose didn’t mean to be so harsh with her, but she knew how these things affected Mr. Smith.
“Mr. Smith, they’re gone, it’s alright,” she said, kneeling next to him on the floor. He reached for her hand and she let him take it on instinct, forgetting for a moment, that this wasn’t something they did. She pulled their hands against her collarbone and leaned forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Smith, it’s fine, please believe me. They’re gone.”
“I can’t look at them, I can’t. They have to- get-” He broke down into sobs, his head hanging further. He looked like he was having a mental breakdown, and Rose was struggling to reach him.
“
John,
they’re gone.” She rarely used his name, but she thought this might be an appropriate exception.
He looked up at her, his eyes red and panicked, tear tracks on his cheeks. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiled, trying to reign him in just a bit. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He looked down, his eyes clipping back up to her eyes after a moment. “Can you look again?”
“Okay,” she said softly, and looked over at where she knew all the ties were gone. “Okay, they’re all gone, please don’t worry. You can look.”
He still didn't let go of her hand, gripping it like a lifeline. She squeezed it in return, hoping he would loosen his grip on her.
“The slayer of my demons,” he said softly, gazing up at her, and his eyes drifted to the outlets and power strips. “Ah…” he said softly, ‘Gone.”
“What did you say?” Rose asked, feeling like she’d heard him, but not really sure.
“My… Sorry, I don’t know- thank you.” He released her hand and got to his feet, stumbling a little when he got there. She stood slowly and watched him, making sure he wasn’t going to freak out any more.
“I should’ve been more careful to warn her, Mr. Smith, I’m sorry,” she said, clasping her hands together in front of her. “This is my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Mr. Smith shook his head. “Could you please get me some water though, Miss Tyler?”
“Of course.” He had a little water cooler in the corner, and she quickly poured him a cup of water and returned to his side. “Here.”
He looked at her, his eyes still full of shock and fear. “Thank you.” He took sips of the water and set the cup down only when it was empty.
“Maybe you should go home,” Rose suggested. “Get some rest.” “No, I don’t want to be alone.” He looked at her, and a small smile made its way onto his face. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
Rose felt herself blush, and she looked away from him. “Don’t… Don’t think about that just now. If you’re going to stay here, you should still try to get some rest, okay? You’re going to need it, I think.”
He nodded. “Alright. I would… I will call you if there’s anything else. Thank you, Miss Tyler.”
She smiled tightly and nodded back to him. “Of course.”
She sort of hated to leave him, as he still looked shaken, so she brought him another glass of water before leaving the office. Lynda stood pacing outside, wringing her hands.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It’s alright. I’m sorry for shouting. It’s not- It’s not a common phobia, the fear Mr. Smith has of ties. I don’t know what it is that causes it, actually. He doesn’t talk about it. I’m just so used to dealing with it, I didn’t think-”
“You… Calmed him down so fast.”
“Not really.”
“I don’t think he would’ve done so if anyone else had tried to calm him down. He’s really got a connection with you.”
Rose swallowed hard. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”
But as she sat back down and set Lynda back to work…
She had to wonder if it was.
|
“Do you have to play that song again?”
Armie watched Timmy look up briefly from his lazy sprawl on the bed, wearing nothing but half a navy bedsheet on one thigh.
“It’s a good song,” He frowned, going back to typing on his phone, settling himself better in the cushions.
“I know you think it’s a good song, I’ve heard it five times this weekend alone.” He picked up a shirt off the floor and threw it at Timmy’s chest, making him grunt like it was a thirty-pound cinder block. Dramatic.
“Stop telling me to come over and you won’t have to hear the song anymore.” Timmy smirked, biting his lip and glancing up through his eyelashes. Armie hated how smug he looked, more so he hated how true it was.
He lunged, reaching over and grabbing Timmy’s phone out of his hand, hitting pause and throwing it onto his laundry-covered desk chair. He was smiling triumphantly until he watched Timmy give him a blank stare, shrug, and reach over to the nightstand.
“You can’t even -”
The song was back on in less than two seconds.
“How the fuck do you know my password?” Armie gritted out, making to snatch his phone out of Timmy’s hand, but Timmy held it up high and out of reach.
“Oh yeah, your age and the last two digits of the year you were born was a real stumper,” Timmy said mockingly. Armie batted at his bare chest and crawled up the bed, because this was more about principle than anything at this point, he wasn’t going to lose in his own bedroom. But Timmy wrapped one leg around Armie’s waist when he got closer, scraped his nails across his shoulder blades, and hummed into his ear, because Timmy didn’t play fair.
“Hi,” He whispered, grinning when Armie leaned back to look at him, his dick a firm line on Armie’s belly.
“You’re infuriating.” Armie huffed, grabbing Timmy’s ass, and then his other leg, to wind around himself too.
“Huh,” Timmy frowned. “Does Little Armand think I’m infuriating?” He got his hand between their bodies and into Armie’s briefs, stroking him with a puzzled look. “Nope.”
“Stop calling my dick Little Armand, it’s not fucking little.”
“Believe me, I know that.” Timmy said, tonguing the corner of his mouth, giving Armie the look he gave him the first time he saw him, with his stupid ‘fuck me’ eyes and pink lips. Who was he kidding, he always looked like that.
But that first time, as Timmy leaned on the island of their kitchen, one hand balanced on the granite and the other nursing something in a red cup, Armie’s interest immediately peaked.
He fell off the girl he was grinding against, unclasping her hands from his hair with a kiss to her neck and a mumble about getting another drink. He pushed his hair off of his sweaty forehead and decided making a beeline for this dude was a great idea, was incredibly smooth.
“Who are you?” He asked when he got there, not meaning for it to sound so accusing but not caring when it did. Timmy looked up at him while still sipping his drink, his eyebrows high, and when he took the cup away from his face his lips were pursed when he swallowed. Armie didn’t watch for his reply, too busy fumbling around the counter, picking up bottles and checking if they were empty, compiling whatever shit he could find into a cup he’d found and poured any remnants out of.
“You’re wearing two polos on top of each other.” He’d replied instead, slightly slurring, his voice husky from his gulp. Armie looked down to check. Yup.
“That’s so douchey,” Timmy said, one hand up on Armie’s shoulder now, the closest thing to a whisper he could manage with the music blasting in the living room.
“You wanna take it off me?” Armie grinned, holding on to his elbow and pulling him in.
Timmy groaned, looking at his chest, fingering one of the popped collars and wincing. “God, I kind of do.” Armie grinned wider, blinking slowly.
“Sick.”
He grabbed Timmy’s jaw and licked into his mouth, felt him reciprocate with an eager hum. His lips were as soft as they looked, and Armie swirled his tongue over them before putting the bottom one between his teeth.
“Fucking fuck.” Timmy gasped, both of Armie’s hands trapping him against the counter as he mouthed at Timmy’s throat. He could feel how hard they both were, stuck a hand between them to pet at Timmy through his jeans.
“Woah! Woah there,” Timmy panted, pushing Armie a few inches away. “Let’s -” He scrunched his face, looking for the words. “Room?”
“Yeah.” Armie said, nodding, kissing him for a few more seconds then taking his wrist. “Yeah.”
“Sersh!” Timmy yelled, yanking Armie back to where they were standing, the momentum smacking them together. Armie grabbed at his waist from behind. He only heard pieces of a conversation - too busy licking up the shell of Timmy’s ear, then biting his shoulder when he was batted away.
“I don’t fucking know, he’s hot, just let me have this.”
With that he was allowed to continue pulling Timmy up the steps, slamming him into his door when it shut behind them.
“You’re hot too.” Armie said, making Timmy chuckle, lifting him up against the wall. Timmy wrapped his legs around his waist and Armie splayed both hands on his ass, squeezing and kneading as they kissed, making Timmy moan into his mouth.
“Let me down so I can suck you off.” Timmy breathed. His lips were wet but he licked them anyways, just to wipe them on his shirt sleeve in the next second. Armie carried him to the bed instead, barely seeing through the waves of curls in his face as Timmy clung to his neck. Timmy rolled them over as soon as he could, crawling off the bed and onto his knees.
“Pull my hair,” Timmy said, when he got Armie’s dick out of his shorts.
“Fuck.” Armie strained, his voice breaking as he took a handful and dragged him closer, making Timmy’s eyes roll back. He asked for Timmy’s name two minutes in, when his dick was halfway down his throat. Timmy’s eyes rolled again but not out of pleasure.
“Timmy.” He said, one hand still moving up and down.
“Armie.”
Timmy gave him the normal puzzled look that everyone did, but in the end only said, “I’m gonna ride you.”
He climbed up to straddle Armie’s hips, pulling off his shirt in one motion and a shake of his hair. Armie scooted them back towards the bedpost and ran his hand across Timmy’s ribs, his stomach, pulled him close to lick at his nipples.
“Get these off,” Armie huffed, tugging hard on his belt loops.
“Get your fucking polos off, bro,” Timmy smirked, kissing him one more time before lifting up to kick off his jeans. Armie took in the view of Timmy as he climbed back onto him, his dick flushed to his stomach, his thighs on either side of Armie’s waist.
“Fuck, I want to fuck you so bad.” Armie said, spreading his cheeks apart, making Timmy grind down with a gasp.
“We are definitely on the same page.” Timmy nodded, tongue curled up to his teeth. “Lube.”
Armie watched him reach back, push two fingers into himself with his eyes closed, his head tipping back with every thrust. Armie rubbed the bottom of his tail bone.
“I can -”
“No - no. I got it.” Timmy said, leaning forward to balance himself on Armie’s chest. “Okay. Okayokay.” He guided Armie into him and breathed hard through his nose, slumped into Armie’s neck and started rocking slowly. “Fuck.”
“So fucking tight.” Armie breathed out, pushing Timmy’s hips onto him.
“Stop talking.” Timmy shook his head as he mouthed at his throat. So Armie pulled his hair again instead. Timmy sat back, put his hands on Armie’s thighs and fucked himself until he was whining, touch me, touch me, touch me, and after Armie made him come, Timmy wrapped his arms around Armie’s neck, let Armie lie him down and pound into him hard and fast, his body pliant and sliding down the bed.
“Yeah, come on.” Timmy kissed his shoulder. “Come on.”
Armie came so hard. He came harder than he did in that threesome sophomore year, when he let two girls from Delta Sig tie him up because they were older and giving him the time of day.
“I’m gonna fucking regret that in the morning.” Timmy sighed, his hand between his legs as Armie’s come dripped down his thighs. Armie pressed his own fingers to Timmy’s hole, making Timmy gasp and squirm and bat him away with his eyes closed. “Get away from me, asshole.” he pouted.
“Feisty,” Armie mocked, finding a shirt on the floor and offering it for the mess.
“I’ll clean it up tomorrow,” Armie whispered, lathing his tongue over the back of Timmy’s neck to hopefully get across his intentions.
“That’s so gross.” Timmy whispered back, scooting into him, plastering his back to Armie’s front and already sounding distant.
He woke up to Timmy scrolling through Twitter, still on his side. Timmy turned over when he heard him stirring.
“You snore.” He said pointedly, not looking up.
“You talk loud.” Armie groaned, turning away from him. His head was pounding and from what he remembered last night, the dude was mouthy as fuck.
They heard footsteps running down the hall and yelling in the distance. Timmy finally peered up with a startled look.
“What the fuck was that?”
Armie laughed into his pillow. “Do you know where you are?”
“Yeah, Kappa Yo Gabba Gabba, or whatever.” Armie rolled his eyes.
“Make fun all you want, you’re in this bed, aren’t you?”
He lifted his head to look at Timmy, saw his hesitant expression, like he didn’t have some snide remark to say. It woke him up instantly.
“And you fucking loved it.” Armie grinned, climbing on top of him. “You’re loving it right now, if you didn’t you wouldn’t still be here.”
Armie scraped the tip of Timmy’s chin with his teeth and heard Timmy’s breath hitch when he got his hand on his dick.
“Yeah, well. I believe I was promised something when I woke up.” Timmy said, a little high pitched and gripping onto Armie’s shoulder. “I’m just - fuck - cashing in.”
Armie kept his promise - licked Timmy clean until he was trembling, then fucked into him while he was still on his belly, coming with the view of Timmy clutching the sunny sheets, his cheek pressed to the mattress, practically drooling.
“Why does the sex have to be so good?” Timmy whined, ass still arched up in the air when Armie flopped down next to him, cursing himself under his breath. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Armie laughed breathlessly. “I - ditto. Fuck. I’ve had a lot of sex, but.”
“Please stop making me regret letting you hit this raw.” Timmy interrupted, rubbing his face into the sheets. “Twice,” He said, like an afterthought.
“I told you I’m clean,” Armie frowned. “You have easy access to see for yourself.” He gestured towards the wall closest to the door, where his results were framed and hung. Timmy squinted at it and his eyes darted back and forth, mouth going slack.
“Oh my fucking god what am I doing here.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“What?”
“That is - this is not normal.” Timmy made a box with his fingers as he pointed at the papers.
“But it is helpful.” Armie reasoned, talking to him in slow nods. Timmy turned towards him with wide eyes, two fingers at his temple.
“You are - this is giving me the fucking chills.” He visibly shivered, picking up clothes from the ground, pulling on a long sleeve that was obviously not his. It went to mid thigh and had their letters on it, if the size didn’t give him away. He almost fell as he pulled on his jeans and Armie watched him blankly.
“That’s my shirt.” He deadpanned. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m majoring in drama, so, thank you.” Timmy said with a sarcastic bow. He was still running around Armie’s room, stopping at his nightstand when he found his actual shirt laying there. Armie thought about rolling towards him as he changed, wrapping his arm around that long torso. It’d probably be easy to convince Timmy into one last fuck. But the thought quickly snapped him out of it, because he didn’t need to convince anyone. So he kept his arms behind his head as Timmy pulled his shirt on, his eyes barely open as he watched him leave.
It was whatever. He could fuck anyone he wanted. He didn’t need some melodramatic, pixie-looking dude and his pouty mouth.
--
Two weeks later, Armie was at one of the last pool parties of the season, before the temperatures dropped and the sororities traded in their tube tops for sweaters and boot cuffs.
“You on watch this early?” He heard from behind. It was Nick, one hand dragging a lawn chair to pull up next to him.
“Not really.” He replied, taking a swig from his bottle and looking up at him lazily through his sunglasses.
“Looked like you were scanning the place.” Nick shrugged.
“Niki, come on.” Armie shook his head in mock disappointment. “They come to me.”
“Oh yeah, hot shot?” Nick laughed. “Like who?”
Armie gestured to the coolers with a nod. “Red shorts gave me a handy in the hot tub.”
“Fuck you,” Nick groaned, flicking pieces of paper he’d been thumbing off of his beer. “Is there no concept of fucking sanctity?”
“Calm yourself,” Armie said, raising a hand. “I came in his mouth in the bathroom behind the kitchen.” He smiled sweetly until Nick huffed a laugh, shaking his head through a gulp.
“You’re something else.”
Armie laughed, shrugged, saw dark curly hair in his peripherals and fucking froze.
“You good bro?”
He wasn’t looking for Timmy; at least that’s what he was going to keep telling himself. It wasn’t until a couple of days before that he started wondering about why Timmy was even there that night. Drama majors weren’t usually flocking towards their house. He blamed the monotony of these mixers. He only ever saw the same fucking people over and over, and it was getting boring, so he was forced to think about things that didn’t really matter.
“What?” Armie said, turning back to Nick from where his neck was craned to the side. Two seconds looking at that ass and he knew it wasn’t him. He slumped back in his seat. “Yeah. I’m good.”
--
Then Timmy was sitting on the grass. Armie never walked this way on Wednesdays, but he stopped at the ATM because it was $13 All You Can Drink Night at Varsity and he didn’t have cash. So now Timmy was sitting on the grass in the quad with huge headphones on, bouncing his leg even though they were criss-crossed.
He was never one to avoid his hook ups on campus. It wasn’t like he was ever embarrassed, or regretful, or too drunk, even, not to give them a wink and a wave. This was just...that.
“What’s up?” He said, toeing Timmy’s boot. When he registered in Timmy’s eyes, all he saw was panic. Timmy pulled his headphones to rest on his shoulder.
“Huh?”
“I asked ‘what’s up’.” Armie shrugged.
Timmy frowned, going back to the notebook on his knee. “You’re wearing a backwards cap.”
“Yeah?” Armie looked at him quizzically, crouching down, lying back on his elbows with his legs straight out.
“You’re wearing a backwards cap with sunglasses, when you could just wear it correctly without them.” Timmy said pointedly, pressing a little too hard as he wrote.
“Always trying to take my clothes off, huh?” Armie smiled, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them into his shirt collar.
“I’m not.” Timmy said, finally looking up. “I’m not.”
Armie tipped his head back, enjoying the afternoon sun falling through the trees. He should sit here more often.
“What are you doing later?” He asked after a while, leaning a foot against Timmy’s thigh, maybe rubbing it against, just a little.
“Nope.” Timmy shook his head, grabbing onto his shoe immediately.
“What?” Armie huffed a laugh, feigning innocence.
“We’re not doing this.” Timmy said, pointing back and forth between them.
“I didn’t say anything,” Armie said, hands lifting slightly in defense.
“Yah, okay, frat boy, I know who you are.” Timmy rolled his eyes. Armie decided that was a smile he saw before Timmy’s head ducked back down.
“I know who you are.” Armie replied. He sat up on his palms, scooted to lean over Timmy’s ear. “I know a lot of parts of you.” Timmy turned to him, inches apart, glanced down at where Armie’s mouth was slightly parted and upturned.
“What a mistake.” He whispered, eyes fluttering up to meet his.
Armie slouched, letting out a huff and shaking his head. “Why did I not factor how annoying you are into seeing you again.” The words made Timmy scowl.
“Oh really. Sorry I don’t just fawn over you in silence and – wait, what do you mean factor in?”
Armie frowned, not understanding.
“What? Like you think about seeing me again?” Timmy smiled wickedly. Armie leaned away from him, eyes narrowing.
“No, that’s not what I –”
“Oh my god, do you write about me in your diary? How long have you been planning this?”
“Shut the fu-“
Timmy placed a hand gingerly on his own chest, mouth mockingly agape. “Am I the best you’ve ever had?”
“Are you done?” Armie tilted his head coolly.
Timmy shrugged. “For now.” He was grinning with no teeth, his eyes crinkled in delight.
“You know you look like you’d be the brooding-in-silence type, and then you speak.”
That startled a laugh out of Timmy, same smug smile lighting up his face. His laugh sounded like a wheeze, and it was stupid.
“I get that a lot.”
Armie glared at him, albeit lazily, and glanced down to where Timmy was playing with a button on his flannel.
“Why do I still want to blow you.” He said with repulsion in his voice.
Timmy looked up with half his lip between his teeth.
“How is that what charms you into thinking about it?” Armie sat back up, incredulous.
“Shut up, you’re the one having wet dreams about me.” Timmy scoffed.
Armie sighed, looked out on the rest of the quad, saw people playing Frisbee to their left, thought about how stupid Frisbee was, thought about how stupid this conversation was too.
“I’m leaving now,” He announced, as he pushed himself off the grass.
“Nice seeing you again, man.” Timmy said, hunching back over.
“Fuck you,” Armie laughed. Timmy stared up at him, his eyes light and mischievous, pulling his headphones back on and making a point to click his pen.
--
That Saturday, they got to the bar a little before eleven, only a few of the brothers making it past their pregame at the house (no pledge leaves without the two 40-ounces duct taped to their fingers fucking empty). Armie was pretty buzzed. He and Nick had been matching shots for at least an hour and a half - he was still coherent enough to be aware of how loud he was getting, but not coherent enough to stop himself. He walked in with his arms already up, his top half sagging with every clump of people he bumped into until he got to the back of the place.
“Liz! Lizzie, we playin?” He asked, eyebrows up and wrist lazy as he pointed to the pool table. Liz wasn’t looking at him, but turned away from her conversation when she heard his voice, her hand wrapped around the pool cue she was leaning on and her eyes mid roll.
“You are literally so bad at this, Armie.” She said, re-racking nonetheless.
Armie frowned at her, snagging a cue from the wall and rubbing chalk over the tip.
“How could I be bad? I’m tall.”
“Completely unrelated.” Liz rasped, her face twisted from the drink she just gulped down.
He was very good at pool, even if at this particular moment, he couldn’t remember if he was stripes or solids.
“What is, you know, your... favorite type of ball. Do you, um. Think.” Armie squinted, already nodding as he leaned on the table.
“I’m not telling you which ball you’re supposed to hit, Armie.” Liz deadpanned. “Again.”
“Yeah, this was a mistake.” He turned around, gave the cue to the nearest dude with a pat on the chest and ran a hand through his hair, heading towards the bar. That was until he saw Timmy in one of the circle booths with, like, six other girls, sharing a pink fishbowl with the blonde one he vaguely remembered from that night at the party.
“Hohhohoo fuck yes.” He mumbled to himself, scooping popcorn out of the machine against the wall and popping a few in his mouth as he strolled over. Timmy didn’t see him yet; he was laughing at something one of them had said, his mouth going wide as his cheek rested against his fist. Armie could hear that laugh, even without being able to actually hear it over the bar noise.
“Hi.” Armie grinned, his mouth half full as he stood in front of their table. “I’m Armie.”
He wiped his popcorn fingers off on his shorts and shook their hands starting from the right, a few beautiful names and nice to meet you, Armies inserted into their introductions. Timmy was second to last, and when Armie got to him he had his fingers on his straw, sipping out of his huge drink, starring at him expectantly. Armie paused only briefly before skipping right over him.
“Hi, Armie, and you are?”
He heard Timmy practically choke with laughter, saw bubbles spurt up from the fishbowl, but kept his gaze on the girl Timmy was sharing drinks with.
“Saoirse,” She sing-songed, a lilt of an accent Armie was too drunk to place.
“Serrshaaa,” He repeated. “Like inertia!”
“That’s what they say,” Saoirse nodded, amused. Armie could see Timmy watching all of this unfold with his tongue in his cheek, stirring the drink, and Armie wanted to put his tongue there.
“Well, I – just wanted to make sure you all were having a good time.” Armie winked at them, hand going to the back of his neck.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were hosting the entire bar.” Timmy nodded with mock intrigue, prodding at ice.
“You’re lucky I told them to let you in, huh?” Armie said, pointing his finger obnoxiously close to Timmy’s face until it was pushed aside.
“We’re gonna dance.” Timmy said, bumping Saoirse by the hip out of the booth. He tripped stepping down from the elevated platform and Armie caught him by the waist, dropping his popcorn and grunting on impact when Timmy’s hands flung to catch himself on his chest.
“Okay,” Armie smiled, holding Timmy against him by the small of his back. Timmy rolled his eyes, but he was suppressing a smile of his own and didn’t push away for a significant beat.
“Not you.”
Timmy’s friends were chuckling behind their glasses as Armie watched him walk away. He nodded at them, nice to meet you all, and went back to the pool tables to tug at Liz’s wrist.
“Dance with me,” He pleaded.
“She doesn’t want to go home with you, Armie,” she said, wriggling out of his grasp and bending over, calling the corner pocket.
“He, and he already has, once.”
“Yikes. Off your game?” She sunk it and began moving around to the other side.
“No, he’s just an asshole.”
“Then why are you going for him again?”
“Becaaause,” Armie drew out, circling the table to grab Elizabeth by the shoulders. “His asshole.”
“Armie! Shut the – you are so fucking vulgar!” She groaned, shaking him off.
“I’ll give you a pledge.”
When she paused to think, Armie knew he had her.
“Yes, thank you, thank you, thank you,” He repeated, taking her hand.
“I’m keeping him until the Delt house is spotless” she said behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah; of course.”
It wasn’t easy to hide on the dance floor; even with the changing colored lights and the music so loud it almost eliminated all of one’s senses entirely. Armie saw Timmy and Saoirse, tucked behind the stairs leading up to the platform that held the dancing pole. They were close, really close, holding each other like they were familiar with how the other’s body moved, worked, felt. It was the same for him and Liz, her thigh finding it’s way between Armie’s and his hand going for the back of her neck.
Timmy saw him when he looked up - his chin hooked over Saoirse’s shoulder - and his hands visibly clenched around her waist. Armie winked, pulling Liz closer to him, mouthing at her neck when Timmy held his gaze.
Timmy whispered something to Saoirse and splayed his long fingers across her back, rubbing up and down, his curls bouncing into his eyes as he nuzzled under her jaw. Armie smiled as he pushed Saoirse away from himself to twirl her. He was actually a good dancer.
From then on they were aware of each other on the dance floor. Timmy’s eyes on him were almost tangible, tickling up Armie’s neck as he would grind and move his hips with Elizabeth. They would catch the others eye as they dragged their hands over their partners, smiling wickedly through their eyelashes. As far apart as they were, Armie still felt a buzz of energy on his skin, even in his dick as he watched Timmy roll his body into Saoirse and lick his lips under the strobe lights. More people crowded in, the music flowing easily into each new beat, and they stayed in each other’s line of sight, up until last call.
“Alright, buster, time’s up.” Liz slid her hands to his waist and rubbed his ribs. “You owe me a drink, with all the feels I let you cop.” Armie laughed and kissed her cheek.
Timmy was pulling Saoirse off the dance floor. Right before he was hidden amongst the bodies, Armie saw him look up and search for him, just for a moment, his eyes flitting upwards and around the room.
“Fuck, okay, Liz, I gotta –” he pulled cash out of his back pocket and pressed it into her palm, kissed her cheek again and pushed away, pushed through the crowds and towards where Timmy was headed. He was near the bathrooms when there was a tug on his wrist, and he toppled side ways into the wall, bracing one arm against it and the other on the culprit’s hip.
“C’mere, dumbass,” Timmy mumbled, pulling Armie the rest of the way, linking arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily. Armie groaned, catching up, and pressed Timmy into the wall with his body, nipping at his lips and hiking his leg up onto his thigh. Timmy exhaled at the new angle, wrapping more surely around him. They were practically dry humping right outside the bathroom doors.
“Come home with me,” Armie whispered into his mouth, hand still under the inside of Timmy’s knee.
“Fine,” Timmy sighed, his eyes still closed, his lips still parted.
Armie chuckled, fished his phone out of his back pocket and unlocked it with his thumb. Timmy was incredibly impatient, sucking on Armie’s jaw as he scrolled.
“You’re drunk,” Armie teased, getting kissed as soon as he gave Timmy his attention again. “You like me too much right now.”
“I like the way you fuck me,” Timmy shrugged, mouth creeping into a smile when he saw Armie’s eyes widen with lust.
“‘Dan’ will be here in 4 minutes.” Armie showed him the phone quickly. “But in the mean time...”
--
“Just do it,” Timmy breathed, his clothes already off, climbing onto the bed on all fours.
“Okay, bossy.” Armie said, rubbing lube up and down his cock before running a finger slowly between Timmy’s cheeks. Timmy hummed as Armie scissored him open, then whined for Armie to hurry the fuck up, reaching behind himself to pull Armie towards him, so he obliged, draping himself over Timmy and dragging the tip of his cock over his hole, kissing between his shoulder blades when he finally pushed in. Timmy tipped his head back and moaned. Armie held him there with a grip on his curls.
“So ready to take it.” He smiled against Timmy’s shoulder.
“As if you haven’t been begging for it all night.” Timmy shot back, sucking air through his teeth when Armie pulled harder.
“Mouthy.” Armie stuttered, bottoming out and moving his hand to splay on Timmy’s stomach. “How am I supposed to fix that?” He shifted his hips and earned a keen from Timmy, so he gave him more - small, shallow thrusts that didn’t yet unstick their bodies from each other.
“I – you – you’re not –” Timmy couldn’t get a word out, too busy trying to meet Armie’s thrusts with his own and biting back gasps. “Fuck, just do that again.”
“Okay.” Armie said with a breath, done riling Timmy up because it felt too good inside of him, hearing his moans and watching him try to get Armie deeper. He pulled back, clutched onto Timmy’s sides and started slamming his hips into him, sliding in and out of tight heat and running his hands up the skin of Timmy’s back.
For all that lead up to it, this fuck felt quick and dirty. Armie was glad, because it meant they were taking advantage of each other in the same way - pure indulgence and desire. Every sound of pleasure spurred him on, giddy with the way their tension was pulled out of him in each thrust.
“Still a mistake?” Armie asked, reaching around and thumbing the tip of Timmy’s dick, stroking him hard and fast to match his movements.
“I’ll let you know.” Timmy strained, his head lolling to the side when Armie started kissing his neck. Armie tasted salt on his skin, smelled the fruity drinks he’d been having all night, and felt the way his body stuttered to a stop against him. He came with a shaky breath into Armie’s hand, and Armie wasn’t far behind once he felt the pulsing of Timmy’s orgasm around him. He pulled out, giving himself a few more tugs until he came all over Timmy’s back, painting the slight dimples he had above his waist. He let out a hard breath and sagged, his hand slipping from Timmy’s hip and down his thigh.
“Why’d you do that,” Timmy pouted, rubbing his cheek on his shoulder, still in the same position. Armie pulled him upright by the chest and reached for a shirt that hung over his bed frame.
“So I can do this,” He said, wiping Timmy up, who was mostly dead weight. “You complained last time. But you’re complaining again, so I’m thinking you just complain.”
“M’all sticky.” Timmy replied, not listening to Armie’s very rational response. Instead he just leaned back against him.
“How is this comfortable for you?” Armie questioned. He was still on his knees and yet he looked like he could fall asleep in two seconds.
“Hmm?”
Armie rolled his eyes, manhandled them into bed and let Timmy turn over and hook a leg over his waist.
The next morning, he woke up first this time. Timmy slept with his mouth fully open, and was blowing hot breath onto his chest. He shifted until Timmy rolled onto his back and watched him kick the sheets off of himself, one leg bent and his hand on his stomach. Armie reached out to touch his soft looking skin, propping up on his elbow and running his fingers across both pecs.
Timmy grumbled with his eyes closed. He tossed his head around lazily and stretched.
“Can I suck you off?” Armie whispered, rolling Timmy’s teeny nipple under his thumb. Timmy scrunched his eyebrows, as if trying hard to focus on nodding at him. Armie grinned triumphantly. He scooted down, spreading Timmy’s legs so he could lie between them. He took Timmy’s soft cock into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks, flattened his tongue.
“Show off,” Timmy gasped, when Armie fit most of him in one go. He could feel Timmy’s cock getting thick and heavy as he bobbed his head, saw him begin to arch up after a few minutes. He held Timmy’s hips down firmly and took him deeper, rubbing circles with his thumb and reveling in the husky moans it brought out of him, his voice still sleepy, his eyes still closed. Timmy’s hand came to rest on the back of Armie’s neck, his fingers lacing in and out of Armie’s hair.
“You gonna give me your phone number this time?” Armie smirked when he dragged his mouth off of him in a pop, turning his head to run his lips up Timmy’s shaft.
“Yes,” Timmy sighed, boneless and ready to please.
--
It wasn’t even a couple days after their reunion that Armie texted Timmy the first time.
A: Hey
Timmy replied almost immediately.
T: class
Armie laughed, leaning against his headboard. He could feel the anger from here.
A: i washed your come off my sheets
T: cool!
A: Wanna see?
He didn’t wait for a reply, just sent the picture of his hard cock in his hand, his thighs spread out and his thumb on the tip.
T: you did NOT just make me open a picture of your dick in an 11 am lecture
A: i forced nothing
A: i only create opportunities
A: ;) ;)
Timmy came within the hour, knocking on his door and coming in before Armie said anything, his backpack still on with his thumbs hooked in the straps.
“What if I was literally anyone else?’ He said, frowning at the fact Armie was still just as naked on his bed. Armie shrugged, closing the book he was skimming through for his next class.
“I mean in theory you all have seen each other’s dicks, for like, measuring purposes, so I guess –”
“Oh my god, are you going to take your clothes off within this century?”
Timmy came within the hour, meaning, Armie had been horny within this entire hour. Did they really need to do this whole thing or could Armie get his hands on him already?
“You mean I’m not here for study group?” Timmy questioned. He peeled off his backpack one strap at a time, then fixed his hair, then shimmied to pull one arm out of his hoodie, and Armie was out of the bed before he could fit his elbow through the hole.
“What?” His eyes wide, obviously holding back a laugh and backing into Armie’s desk.
Armie yanked the hoodie off and tugged down his joggers. He wasn’t wearing underwear, fuck. He reached down, grabbing Timmy’s ass in both hands and mouthing at his neck. He heard Timmy’s breath hitch, and he squeezed Armie’s biceps as Armie lifted him onto the desk, his calf knocking a stray drawer shut and loose pens clattering onto the floor.
“Is this what you wanted?” Armie asked pointedly, massaging Timmy’s hips as he whispered in his ear.
“Honestly, the fact that you can lift me up is beyond hot,” Timmy strained, pulling Armie closer and spreading his legs.
“Yeah? You using me for my monster height?” Armie grinned, scraping his teeth on Timmy’s neck and getting a hand around both of them.
“Yes.” Timmy said simply. “And your monster cock.”
“Fuck,” Armie gritted, bucking up to where he held them together. He heard Timmy chuckle. He was so close that he wasn’t even irritated by it.
They wiped up come with his stack of post-its. Well, Armie did. Timmy put his forehead on Armie’s shoulder and whined until Armie carried him to his mattress.
He woke up to leave an hour later, yawning, nuzzling the pillow, stretching and starting to search for his clothes. His naked body looked fucking enticing as he walked away from him, how his shoulder blades poked out and his back curved. Armie wanted his tongue on every part of him.
“Uh, I have Com Theory in twenty minutes.” He said, fixing the hood on his jacket, when Armie told him as much. “But, you know, next time.”
Armie was glad they were on the same page about there being a next time.
--
That pretty much set the precedent of Timmy coming over multiple times a week. Nearly every time Armie was horny, actually, because why the fuck wouldn’t he take advantage of a hot dude with a nice ass that reluctantly tolerated him so they could have really good sex?
Timmy was stubborn as fuck, had an attitude the size of his hair when it stuck up in the mornings, yet somehow the look of his lips when he smirked, or wrapped them around the head of his cock made up for that.
The dude could not keep his eyes open after he came, though.
“You know if you don’t have a bed you could have just told me,” Armie said one afternoon. “I am happy to trade sex for housing.”
Timmy was curling up under his armpit, nudging Armie’s arm away with his nose. “I have a bed, dick,” he said, soft but not without it’s usual sass. Armie rolled his eyes, moved an arm around his shoulders anyway.
He put on some Netflix original he’d been meaning to watch, a thriller about a guy that got roped into working with the Mexican drug cartel. He didn’t even realize Timmy was awake until someone got shot on screen and he flinched on his chest, squeezing harder on Armie’s waist.
“Shit.” Timmy mumbled. He stayed for one more episode after that.
He never saw Timmy around campus, but he saw his friend Saoirse a lot for some reason. Saoirse like inertia, he would salute with a grin, and she would wiggle her fingers at him with crinkled eyes.
“Who was that?” Nick asked once, when Armie waved at her as they crossed the street toward each other.
“I’ve been fucking her best friend.” Armie said, while smiling and nodding to two other people he recognized.
“Wow, like, repeatedly?” Nick said, looking taken aback.
“Okay, shithead,” Armie laughed. “Like I haven’t done that before.”
“You really haven’t.” Nick said pointedly.
Armie decidedly shook off the comment with a shrug. It was fun; not some significant rift in Armie’s so-far consistently inconsistent sex life. This was no different from any other hook ups he’d had.
--
“So I walk into the left wing and no one is looking at me.”
Armie looked up from his laptop to see Timmy walking into his room, taking off some fat scarf even though it wasn’t even cold outside today, fishing out his wallet and putting it on Armie’s nightstand.
“It’s like highschool. Except everyone knows bigger words, and feels even more entitled now that they’re closer to a degree.” He pulled off his jeans and straddled Armie’s waist, pushing Armie’s shirt up and running over his stomach, his ribs, his chest, barely giving him enough time to react and toss his computer to the other side of the bed.
“Fuck” He groaned, grinding down onto Armie’s crotch and hunching over to suck on Armie’s neck.
“Am I dreaming?” Armie said, grabbing Timmy’s hips and arching up into him as he unbuttoned his shorts and got his hand underneath the fabric.
“We always fuck on Thursdays,” Timmy said into his skin, his hot breath heating him up. Armie lifted Timmy’s chin to get at his lips and he hummed into the kiss. “And I needed this after the day I’ve had.”
“So what, the Ansel fucker got the part?” Armie panted, chasing Timmy’s mouth with a hand on his jaw, making to sit up as Timmy leaned back to take off his long sleeve.
“No,” Timmy said, pulling it over his head. “I got the part.”
“Fuck yeah,” Armie grinned, flipping them over. Timmy gave him a small smile, half lidded, and Armie kissed his stomach, hooking his fingers into his boxers and pulling them down.
“No one thought I was going to, not even me, so.” He laced his fingers in Armie’s hair. “Drama.”
“Bet I can cheer you up.” Armie said, patting one hip so Timmy would turn around. He laughed at the excited noises Timmy made as he shimmied up the bed on his stomach, hugged the pillow closest to him and burrowed. Armie ran fingers down his back to make him shiver, parted his cheeks and licked one long stripe over his hole. Timmy sighed, arching his back as Armie made his tongue rigid and firm then soft and lazy against him, sucking slowly then pushing inside to make him moan.
“This is what I’m using you for,” Armie said, biting one cheek hard before soothing it with his tongue.
“Yes, please yes.” Timmy begged, sounding broken.
He fucked in and out of him until Timmy was grinding into the mattress.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Timmy babbled, pushing up to his knees. “Please, Armie –”
“Want you to come like this first,” Armie said lowly, pressing the flat of his tongue to him.
“Fuck.” He was rocking backwards erratically, riding Armie’s mouth and making the best sounds Armie’d ever heard.
He got a hand around Timmy’s cock after minutes of begging from him. These were always the pockets of time that Armie craved, when he was able to to strip every bossy bone from Timmy’s body and just leave him needy and pliant. All he needed was Timmy’s mouth lazily sucking on the head of his cock before he was coming right after him, already worked up over seeing Timmy spread out like this.
He cleaned them up, moved Timmy away and out of the wet spot of the sheets but he just climbed on top of Armie to sleep instead. He didn’t try to reach for his laptop, just scrolled through his phone and drew on Timmy’s back with his fingers.
“Did you finish the last one?” Timmy asked when he woke up, rubbing his eyes.
Armie shook his head and gestured to the other side of the bed. Timmy rolled, pulling the laptop towards them and giving it to Armie to fiddle with.
--
When Timmy was into TV shows, he was into TV shows, which is what Armie learned in the next coming weeks.
“The fact that his wife still doesn’t know is bullshit.” Timmy frowned, shaking his head as he scrolled to skip through the next intro sequence.
“Yeah, it’s weird she can’t hear you from all the yelling you do at the screen.” He rested his arm on Timmy’s head, fingers combing his hairline. When Timmy reached to pull the laptop closer, he pushed him away.
“Nope. You always touch the screen and mess it up. It stays on my side.”
“Because touchscreen computers are stupid and I forget that you’re stupid enough to have one.” Timmy pouted, still reaching for it fruitlessly.
“Why do you even need to touch the screen? There is never a reason to touch the screen, ever, and you do it constantly.”
“I don’t,”
“It’s because you’re always pointing at things. Armie, what’s that guy’s name again, Armie, he’s hiding a gun, Armie, is she okay? Is she okay? Holy fuck, is she okay?” He mimicked Timmy effortlessly, poking him in the shoulder just like how he tapped on the screen.
“I didn’t know I was that annoying to you,” Timmy said sarcastically, making to scoot away. Armie pulled him in by the waist.
“We both know you’re that annoying,” He said, rubbing his back. “Want pizza?”
Timmy nestled back into him with a small smile. “We just had pizza.”
“Chinese, then.”
“Get me –”
“The side of pineapple fried rice instead of the noodles.” Armie finished.
“Yup.” Timmy said, without turning towards him. He paused the screen while Armie dialed.
--
Armie didn’t even mind that Timmy started calling his dick Little Armand, but he said he did, because that was them. Their insults stopped holding heat a while ago.
--
It was the week of midterms, so Armie was at his desk when Timmy opened his door. He looked beat, his eyes were a little puffy and Armie swore he was wearing the same sweater he saw him in on Saturday (or took off of him, actually). He sat down on the edge of Armie’s bed, toeing off his shoes and setting his backpack below him. Armie swiveled towards him, running his foot up Timmy’s calf.
“How’d studying go?”
“Didn’t sleep,” Timmy said, rubbing his eyes. “My first test was this morning at 8.”
“Do you feel good about it?”
Timmy shrugged and licked his lips, his eyes blinking open. Armie frowned at him worriedly.
“Come on,” He said, hand out stretched. “We can sleep for a bit.”
“I can’t,” Timmy groaned. “I have to study with Saoirse.”
“When?”
“Like, thirty minutes.”
Armie sighed. “Tim, you’re tired, you think I don’t know when you’re about to pass out? That’s literally all you do.”
“Do not,” He said, his eyebrows scrunched.
“Do too,” Armie smiled, standing up and tugging Timmy’s sleeve. “Let’s go to bed.” Timmy's eyes followed him.
“I bet you say that to everyone,” he accused, turning around watching as Armie pulled his shirt off.
“I can honestly say I've never asked someone to follow me to a sexless nap before,” Armie laughed.
Timmy bit his lip pensively and conceded, crawling up towards the pillows, finally smiling and holding his arms up when Armie fingered the hem of his shirt too, with a click of his tongue and a you don't need this. Armie wrapped his arm around his waist, nudging his phone at Timmy’s chest.
“Tell Saoirse you’re gonna be late.” He whispered, kissing his shoulder blade.
“Okay.” Timmy said, his hand on Armie’s as he dialed.
--
Once midterms were over, Armie got absolutely wasted. He took a shot of Everclear because it was Nick’s new kick - he’d given him a very enthusiastic lecture on it the day before, about how much money they’d save getting fucked up from one shot instead of 4 or 5. They went barhopping, and when he got to the one he’d seen Timmy in all those weeks ago, he grinned at the circle booths against the wall, imagined Timmy’s dumb coy mouth on the tip of his straw. So much fucking work.
He got out his phone and snapchatted one of them, zooming in and out of the booth with his finger. “TBT to when you didn’t want to fuck me,” he said in the background. He found Timmy’s name in his recents and pressed send.
His phone buzzed with Timmy’s reply after he got his drink. It was a picture of just his eyes at the bottom of his screen looking unimpressed. Above his head, he captioned it, It’s not even Thursday.
Armie turned the camera to face him. He held down record and frowned, and at the last second, clinked his drink with the phone repeatedly and took a sip. “Where are you?” he slurred. Pressed send. He scrolled through the app for a second and tapped Timmy’s name when he saw he posted on his story.
No more midterms! The caption said. It was Saoirse with a drink in her hand. He knew that restaurant. It was definitely in walking distance.
Before Armie thought about it he was walking out of the bar and down the street, then around the corner, not knowing how he was even remembering the way. He smiled widely at the hostess, charming her into pointing towards a table in the back of the place. When Timmy saw him, he didn’t even look surprised, just gave him a half smile and waved.
“God, you’re drunk.” He said as Armie slid in next to him, as Armie put a hand very high up his thigh. Armie held his head up on the table with the other.
“I am feeling very good, actually.” Armie said, side eyeing him. “Sober, even. I need a drink!” He raised his hand but Timmy put it down before the waiter could see, which was rude.
“Timothée,” He frowned, holding Timmy’s hand to his chest. Timmy only smiled up at the ceiling, shaking his head. (Probably remembering the week before, when Armie saw the drivers license in his wallet and wrestled him into submission until he got the pronunciation out of him.)
“Saoirse like inertia,” He said, attention shifting, his voice trailing off as his head went to rest on the table “How are you.”
“Good, Armie. Is Helms treating you well?” Armie looked back up and grinned, nodded, went back down.
“You have class together?” Timmy asked. Armie scooted closer to his voice. It was a second before Timmy started rubbing his back.
“No, but I see him in the building sometimes. He leaves Dr. Helms’s classroom while I’m walking towards Dr. Burke’s.”
“In the Humanities building?” Timmy sounded confused. Armie turned his head to look up at him.
“I’m an Art History major,” He whispered loudly, to help.
“You’re a – you are?” Armie nodded, his temple sliding on the hard surface. “I didn’t...what are you gonna do with it?” It made Armie laugh. He sat back up, pointing at him with a snap of his fingers. “You and my father would get along nicely.”
Timmy’s eyes went wide, and Saoirse giggled, which made Armie laugh harder, until they were in a fit. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Armie just shrugged.
“So what, are you sipping tea in front of Picasso murals and seeing if you get a boner?” Saoirse asked, still laughing, her chin in her hand. Armie slapped the table.
“Picasso. Was. Shitttttt.” He said, apparently too loud, because Timmy was shushing him and Saoirse was laughing harder. “Primitivism was fucking cultural appropriation.”
“Jesus Christ,” He heard Timmy whisper.
Timmy pushed Armie into an Uber some time later, climbing in with him after kissing Saoirse on the cheek. He didn’t really remember what else happened at the restaurant, only sleeping on Timmy’s shoulder and random images of Saoirse across from them. When they got to the house Timmy put an arm around him and dragged him toward the door.
(Armie did not teach Timmy their secret knock, and even if he did, hypothetically, it was only because Timmy wouldn’t let him come unless he hit the pattern across the headboard, kept releasing his dick at the last second until Armie relented. Armie fucked the smug smile off his face afterwards, and made him promise not to use it to open doors. You know, hypothetically.)
“Are you going to help me get you up the stairs at all?” Timmy panted. Armie was hanging all over him, laughing as Timmy pulled them and nibbling at his ear.
“You’re dragging me to bed.” Armie grinned. “Instead of me dragging you.”
“You don’t drag me, Armie.” Timmy huffed, getting a better grip on his waist.
“Used to.” Armie said, tugging a strand of hair on his forehead. “So fucking stubborn.”
“Yeah, well you were a fucking sleaze bag.” Timmy said. When they got to his room he sat Armie on the bed, turned his legs onto the mattress after taking off his shoes.
“Still?” Armie asked. Timmy was plugging his phone into his charger, then ducking underneath his bed, pulling a water bottle from the case he kept there and setting it next to him.
“You’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt with the first four buttons open, Armie.” He was smiling when he said it, tugging at one side of the collar like he did when Armie had him up against the counter of their party. Armie caught his hand there and frowned.
“Am I still?” He repeated. Timmy stared at him for a second before shrugging minutely, thumb going back to rubbing at the fabric.
“I’ll let you know.”
--
Timmy didn’t stay over. When Armie woke up and remembered the night before, realized why Timmy didn’t stay over, he cupped both sides of his neck and groaned.
He fucking ambushed Timmy’s night out, as if they did that all the fucking time, as if they always hung with Timmy’s friends and Timmy always got him home safe and tucked him into bed. He definitely was holding Timmy’s hand at one point of the night. Fuck. What was he thinking? It was embarrassing, and it wasn’t them, wasn’t Armie. He couldn’t remember someone other than his brothers ever having to make sure he was okay like that. He’d overstepped the unspoken boundaries they’d made with each other, grossly overstepped them.
He had a sick feeling in his stomach. The only conclusion he could come to was that he ruined something. Timmy didn’t want to be a fucking babysitter. He turned on his side, trying to go back to sleep but reaching for his phone instead.
“You’re alive.” Was the first thing Timmy said to him when he answered.
“I – yeah.” Armie said, chuckling awkwardly. “Look, I feel like I should apologize to you.”
“Because you got a little drunk?” Timmy laughed. “It was midterms, I’m not fouling you for it.” He sounded like he was moving, busy, like he didn’t want to have this conversation right now. Armie winced.
“I know but I made a fucking fool of myself.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t go out with you and Saoirse. You shouldn’t take my drunk ass home. It’s not our place.” The movement seemed to stop on the other line.
“Not our place.” Timmy repeated.
“I was wrong.” Armie went on. “We don’t do that. And I’m sorry for putting you in the position.”
“Right.”
The line was silent. Armie didn’t know what else to say.
“I hope I didn’t permanently fuck things up,” He chose. Timmy still said nothing. “Timmy? I –”
“You know what’s really fucking rich, Armie? Is that you think I’m the stubborn one.”
“What does that even –”
“Lose this number.” The line went dead.
Armie was frozen, the phone still up to his ear. The way Timmy spoke was like...like that first morning after the party. Like Armie was disgusting again. When had that stopped? At what point had Armie gotten used to not hearing Timmy sound so full of disdain for him?
He let out a breath. It was whatever. It was fine. He’d stepped over the line and Timmy was done. A clean break.
Armie didn’t even think about how this would end, which probably was what was making his chest feel so bloated and confused. He hadn’t prepared himself, didn’t know how to prepare - he’d never hooked up with the same person more than maybe three times. He took for granted how permanent Timmy felt.
But Timmy just ended it. It was so easy for him to decide to never see Armie again. Lose this number, he kept hearing over and over in that biting tone. Was it that easy? It should be, it was only sex. He turned off his phone. Chucked it to the bottom corner of his bed. Could he think of this as a loss when he didn’t have anything in the first place?
Nick barged into his room that night with the stupid fucking Everclear in his hand.
“Dude, it’s almost 9 and you don’t have one shot in you. Catch up.”
Armie was lying on his stomach, head propped up on his elbow. He glanced up at him briefly before looking back to his laptop screen. “Go on without me dude. I’m still hungover.”
“Are you kidding me? Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
Armie just shrugged.
“It’s fall break! No classes until Wednesday and you’re telling me you’re gonna waste a Saturday night?”
“I’m not feeling up to it, man. I think I’m coming down with something.” Nick gave him a funny look.
“Armie. Last year, during Greek Week, you were 2 days into having the flu when you did that kegstand at the Delt house.”
“That was really fucking shitty of me, huh? Like, how many people probably got the flu after that?”
“You know that’s not my point. I’m saying you’re Armie fucking Hammer, and we’ve lived together since freshman year so I know you. So what is actually going on?”
“Nothing,” Armie insisted. Nick stood there with his arms crossed, the bottle of alcohol tucked into his elbow.
“You’re fucking ditching us for your boy aren’t you?”
Armie looked up, startled. “When have I done that, ever?”
“Uh, Beta party last week - you left after one beer, the bowling night mixer, lunch two days ago,” Nick’s voice trailed, his fingers counting up as he listed. Armie’s mouth parted, but he didn’t know what to say. “And those are just the recent ones.”
Armie thought back. He’d been sexting Timmy at the Beta party, so that one was easy. The night of the mixer Timmy was out cold – Armie had worked three fingers into him and watched him come untouched - and Armie didn’t think it was important enough to wake him up. Lunch? Yup, he was with Timmy then too, who had given him study ~incentives~ that he wanted to cash in on.
“Fuck, I didn’t realize it was that many times,” He whispered under his breath, his eyes flitting.
“It’s fine dude, you could have just told me the truth though. There’s no reason I wouldn’t be happy for you.”
Armie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’re dating. You didn’t have to hide it; no one would think less of you for settling down.”
“I – uh... We weren’t actually. Dating. And he ended it today, so.”
“Oh.”
Armie nodded.
“But you weren’t dating?”
Armie shook his head.
“I mean we hung out a lot,” Armie reasoned. “And we had a lot of sex.”
“By hang out you mean...”
“Got food... watched Netflix? I don’t know? Talked?” Armie squirmed, feeling uncomfortable breaking their normal bubble of privacy. Nick nodded.
“Yeah, dude. That’s pretty much dating.”
“Fuck,” Armie said, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “Is that why this feels so shitty?”
“Probably,” Nick chuckled. He uncrossed his arms, looked down at the bottle and offered it up in question. Armie waved it away, still processing.
“He like... he cut me off so quick.” Armie laughed humorlessly. “I don’t think he thought it was that. It was too easy for him to pull away.”
“Well what did you say before he did that?”
“I called him, and I was apologizing for last night. I had... crashed his dinner with a friend and I wanted him to know I wouldn’t do that again. That I didn’t want to ruin what we already had.”
Nick squinted at him. “And what is that? You hiding him away in this room? Having five minute conversations between the sex? You pretty much told him you don’t want to be seen with him, Armie. That you’re using him. That’s fucked.”
“I thought that was all this was!”
“Maybe it started out that way, but obviously it’s not like that anymore.”
Armie let out a breath.
“Wow, what a fucking mic drop. I’m amazing.” Nick started turning around. “Everclear’s still here for you man, anytime you want it.”
Armie laughed. “I’m pouring that down the fucking sink as soon as you’re not looking.” Nick flipped him off behind his back and closed the door.
Armie looked at his phone at the other end of the bed. Should he call him? What Nick said sort of made sense, but Armie was so sure they’d been on the same page this whole time. He reached for it and watched it turn on.
He fiddled with it at first – not ready to do anything rash – plus three people wanted to follow him on Instagram, and his grade for Roman Antiquity was out. He opened Snapchat, because there was a little red notification in the corner. In big bold letters was Timmy’s name – Friday 10:28 pm – last night.
I’m at Brickhouse with Saoirse. You could come by if you want. There was more of him in this picture than the first one, a peace sign in the corner and a small scrunched up smile. Armie looked at it until the timer ticked down to zero, holding his finger on the photo as if that would make it stay longer. He kept looking even after it shrunk back down to just Timmy’s name.
“I am such a fucking idiot.” He whispered.
Timmy fucking invited him to join them and he didn’t even see it. That means, he literally fucking called Timmy this morning to tell him he didn’t want Timmy to invite him places anymore. He was such a fucking idiot. Timmy wanted him there.
He pressed Timmy’s contact and it went to voicemail. He pressed it again. Again. Fuck. He wasn’t going to fucking answer him. Of course not.
Armie’s leg was bouncing restlessly on the bed. Then he remembered something.
“Holy fucking hell.”
Timmy had used his phone to call Saoirse on Monday because he was going to be late to their study date. He winced at the thought of his chin hooked over Timmy’s shoulder as he talked to her, giggling into the phone when Armie started drawing patterns on his chest. How had he not seen how intimate that was?
The phone was ringing, which was promising.
“Hi, Armie.”
“Saoirse –”
“Timmy went home for fall break.”
“He –”
“It was a last minute thing, since you decided to be a douchebag.”
“I thought I ambushed your dinner! I didn’t see his snap, I just recognized the restaurant from his story. I thought I was a fucking creeper.” He said it quickly before she could interrupt.
Saoirse didn’t say anything for a second.
“So you -”
“I thought that’s what he wanted. For things to stay the same. But now I know he doesn’t.”
“And you don’t?”
“And I don’t.”
“God, you’re both so stupid.”
--
He had all of fall break to realize where Timmy would be on a Wednesday.
"Hey.”
Timmy looked up from where he was sitting on the grass. “Fuck off.”
“Timmy,”
“Armie, we don’t need talk to each other unless your dick’s up my ass.” Armie flinched. “So keep moving, because that’s not happening any time soon.”
Armie sat down, which made Timmy start shoving his notebook in his bag.
“Timmy, how was I supposed to know?” He pleaded. Timmy was already up on his feet.
“Know what?” He spat. “How to treat someone like a human being?” He shook his head and turned to walk away.
“That I was allowed to have feelings for you.” Armie called out. Timmy stopped.
“You think I’ve ever done this before?” Armie continued, getting up. “That I know what dating even looks like? Nick informed me that it’s this.” Timmy’s back was still towards him, so he walked around to face him. “It never occurred to me that you would want more... that you could want more with... me. You know I followed you to that restaurant? I didn’t even see that you invited me. I thought I ruined everything.” He said, voice breaking to a whisper.
Timmy was playing with his fingers, his hair all in his face. Armie waited for him to say something.
“Well he was wrong.” He finally said with a sniff.
“What?” Armie frowned.
“Nick was wrong, dating’s between two people.” Armie squinted quizzically.
“Wait, do you –“ Armie smiled, laughed, almost deliriously. “Timmy, I haven’t been sleeping with anyone other than you.” He pushed Timmy’s hair behind his ear and lifted his chin. He felt like his heart was going to fall out of his chest with affection. They both really were stupid.
Timmy allowed Armie to pull his head up, still looking suspicious. “You haven’t?” Armie shook his head.
“Not since I picked you up from the bar.”
“Since I picked you up from the bar.” Timmy corrected. Armie rolled his eyes, petted Timmy’s cheek with his thumb.
“I missed you.” He said, making Timmy’s head shake, his lip between his teeth.
“It was four days.”
“Yeah, four days without your favorite song of the week stuck in my head, or your drool all over my arm, or my computer reloading to Facebook because your favorite characters on the screen.” Timmy laughed. His laugh sounded like a wheeze, and Armie loved how stupid it was. “I’m sorry.” He added.
When Timmy sobered, he nodded, his eyes wide and glancing down at Armie’s lips. He blinked, half lidded.
“Am I forgiven?” Armie smiled, pulling him closer. Timmy nodded more, faster and faster until he closed the distance between them, kissing Armie and making him hold his weight. Armie laughed, bent down to wrap his arms around Timmy’s middle and lifted him off the ground. Timmy squawked, but his legs went around Armie’s waist and his hands came up to grasp either side of Armie’s face as he kissed him and kissed him and kissed him in the middle of the quad.
“You should put me down.” Timmy laughed breathlessly, his hands petting Armie’s hair.
“Why?” Armie frowned. “You think this is hot.”
--
“Armie,” Timmy sighed, arching off the mattress.
“Shhh,” he soothed, one hand on Timmy’s stomach as he pushed two fingers inside of him. He put his lips on the soft skin of his groin and sucked, making Timmy jump and squirm.
“Fuck you,” Timmy groaned. Armie laughed.
“Sensitive?”
“You know that fucking is.”
Armie bit down on the inside of his thighs, spreading his fingers apart and adding a third.
“You’re not going to fall asleep on me, right?” He said, glancing up at Timmy through his eyelashes. He knew that face well enough, could see the way Timmy’s eyelashes were fluttering in pleasure.
“I’m not.” Timmy shook his head.
“Timmy,” He said warningly.
“I’m not,” Timmy practically yelled. He put his hands on Armie’s cheeks to pull him up, gave incessant kisses to Armie’s jaw, neck, chin. “Fuck me,” He panted, touching their foreheads together.
“Okay,” Armie nodded, kissing him once.
Timmy’s legs went up over his shoulders and he pushed in slowly, watching as Timmy’s mouth went slack, practically bent in half.
“So pretty,” Armie whispered, snapping his hips quickly and pushing Timmy further into the mattress. He was already going pliant, the arms wrapped around Armie’s neck getting limp. Armie reached between them, Timmy only needing a few tugs before he was coming into Armie’s hand. Armie kissed his neck as he came down.
Timmy brought Armie’s hand to his mouth as he pulled out, licked his fingers with his eyes closed until Armie was spilling onto his stomach with a whispered fuck. Timmy smiled when Armie flopped down on him, hugging his waist and nuzzling into his neck.
“I fucking knew it.” Armie huffed, when he sat up and Timmy clung to his neck.
“I’m awake,” Timmy whispered against him.
“This is what I get for letting you seduce me.” Armie sighed, putting a hand on his back to hold him there.
“Letting me,” Timmy scoffed. “I’m irresistible.”
“Yeah, well I fuck you into unconsciousness, so I think I win.”
“You do.” Timmy mumbled. “Fuck me so good.” He blindly searched for Armie’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “Thank you.” Armie laughed.
“Such a fucking sweet talker.” He held Timmy’s wrist and kissed his palm. “This is what gets me in trouble.”
“Armie!” Elizabeth yelled from out the door. “The party bus is leaving in 5 minutes, get the fuck out here already!”
“I’m working on it!” Armie yelled back. He maneuvered them to standing position. Timmy was still a weight on his chest.
“You know how much Liz will kill me if her last winter formal goes wrong, Timothée.” He chastised in a whisper, tugging on his curls.
“Do it for me,” Timmy grumbled, his elbows curling in.
“God fucking damnit.” He steadied one hand on Timmy’s hip as he reached for the slacks hanging on his closet door. “Where the fuck did your boxers go?” He whispered incredulously. Timmy’s shoulders shook as he giggled.
They made it with seconds to spare and a very disappointed look from Elizabeth.
“He’s insufferable!” Armie tried to explain.
“Timmy is perfect,” Liz said, matter of fact. Timmy grinned when she kissed his forehead, then stuck his tongue out at Armie as she walked down the aisle of side facing seats.
“So fucking smug.” Armie whispered, kissing the same spot and shuffling them towards seats. Someone passed drinks around, and at one point Nick was sliding on the stripper pole in the middle. Armie laughed, tipping back his beer, and turned to Timmy when his hand covered the one Armie had on his thigh.
“You having fun?” Armie asked. Timmy nodded with a smile.
“I wanna dance, okay?” He asked, chin on Armie’s shoulder. “When we get there.”
“With me this time?” Armie answered, squeezing his leg.
“Yes,” Timmy laughed, leaning forward for a kiss. Armie obliged, obviously.
The dance floor of the ballroom was already packed when they walked in, the DJ playing something loud with a bumping bass. Armie grabbed Timmy’s hand, wove them through the tables and pulled him in when they got to it, holding him close by the small of his back. Timmy wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him, long and slow, until Armie pulled them apart so he could spin him by the fingers.
“So, dating really is the same thing as what we were doing before, huh?” Armie said thoughtfully, his hands back around him. “Because three weeks in and I’m fucking killing it.” He grinned when Timmy rolled his eyes.
“You never took me outside, so no, it’s not.”
“Uh, from what I remember, you never took me outside either.” Armie countered, and when Timmy mimicked him mockingly, he did it right back until they were both just smiling softly, and Timmy rested his cheek on Armie’s chest.
“Is it okay that I love you already?” Armie asked, his nose in Timmy’s hair. Timmy lifted his head, his eyes wide before pursing his lips in a smile.
“Armie,” He laughed, bringing his hand to Armie’s cheek. “You’re wearing a suit with little Pac-mans all over it. I love you already too.”
|
The next morning is an early one, the two of them having committed to going to couples yoga.
Hoseok thinks it’ll be a good opportunity to show their love and teamwork - especially considering they’d been off the resort for most of yesterday.
They’d managed to get out of the pool without Hoseok resorting to urination as a form of retaliation - but it was a close call. They’d taken their respective showers to rinse off the chlorine, and set their alarms extra early for the class.
It’s apparent how little they’re prepared when they show up for the class in board shorts and tank tops, only to be greeted with five other couples wearing actual workout clothes.
The two of them find an open mat and take a seat facing each other, waiting to begin.
“Have you ever done yoga before?”
Hoseok shakes his head, moving his foot towards his inner thigh and leaning over his still straight leg. Namjoon attempts to mirror the movement in an effort to fit in. “Nah, tried pilates a few times but never yoga.”
Namjoon hums, already a little embarrassed at how little he’s able to stretch, “I took zumba with my mom once but that’s the closest I’ve been to a group fitness thing.”
Hoseok gives him a look while switching legs, “you’d better not bring me down, Kim Namjoon. We’ve gotta be cute, attuned, and competent.”
Namjoon doesn’t bother to respond, his knee cracking as he goes to switch legs. Hoseok shakes his head with a sigh.
Their teacher - instructor? Yogi? Starts class then.
She has them start out sitting cross legged back to back, hands on their knees. They work on steadying their breathing for a while, focusing on their partner and their breathing pattern. Namjoon closes his eyes and feels the way Hoseok’s rib cage expands and contracts against him, feels his shoulder blades against his back. Feels sweaty at every point of contact they’ve got.
They’re instructed to try to alternate their breathing, Namjoon inhaling while Hoseok exhales until they’ve got a rhythm going. It’s nice, if not a little strange. Namjoon finds his breaths getting deeper as he tries to match Hoseok’s slower rate.
“Stop taking such short breaths, you’re gonna make me hyperventilate,” Hoseok whispers, and Namjoon’s eye shoot open as he tries not to pout.
“I’m doing my best. You know I’ve got a breathing thing.” They’re quietly shushed and Namjoon closes his eyes and does his best to relax once more. They get back into a rhythm, and the longer they seesaw back and forth the more comfortable it feels.
After a few minutes they move on to the next pose, lifting their arms above their heads from where they’re still sitting back to back as they take in a deep breath. On the exhale they both twist to the right, until they can rest their right hand on the inside of each others left knee, placing their left hand on the outside of their own right knee. Hoseok’s leg is hot under his touch, like everything in this place. He almost jolts out of his seat when he feels Hoseok touch him. It must be because he can’t see it happen that it catches him off guard. He pretends not to hear the giggle Hoseok lets out at his reaction. They hold the pose for a few seconds before untwisting and repeating the move on the other side.
Next they spread their legs in a v and touch feet. Namjoon tries to weave his toes through Hoseok’s just to see how he’ll respond - and he barely catches the look of utter disgust on his face before anyone else sees it. Namjoon bites his lip to keep from laughing, and Hoseok gives him a sickly sweet look and tries to pinch at the ball of his foot with his toes. From there they’re told to spread their legs further apart. Namjoon goes as far as he can, and Hoseok gives him a rather judging look before moving so their feet are no longer connected and stretching to see how far he can go without breaking anything in Namjoon.
It’s. Wow. Hoseok is very flexible. Logically, Namjoon knows this. But knowing that Hoseok can touch his toes without bending his knees and giving himself a pep talk is different to watching him contort his body nearly into the splits a foot away from him. His shorts ride up a bit at the action, and Namjoon’s brain becomes a constant stream of ‘
don’t stare at his crotch don’t stare at his crotch don’t stare at his crotch
’.
He obviously fails because a middle aged woman next to them - who’s actually doing the move with her partner - starts laughing. Both of them look up to see what’s going on, but she just smiles at the two of them and shakes her head, “newlyweds?”
Namjoon can feel his face heating up, and he nods. Then he explains to Hoseok what she had said so he can smile and nod as well, reaching out to grab Namjoon’s calf and massage it gently with his thumb as he does. They eventually get in position for the actual move, and Namjoon doesn’t focus on Hoseok’s flexibility, doesn’t think about every innocent movement he’s watched him make over the years and how they’d translate in less innocent situations. Namjoon works on controlling his breathing and stretching, because that’s what they’re there for.
For the next pose they have to stand facing each other, feet hip width apart and looking one another in the eye. There’s something about forced eye contact that always feels a little strange, especially in such a quiet, almost sombre situation. They inhale then lift their hands above their heads, leaning forward from the waist until their hands meet in the middle. From there, they fold forward farther, until the tips of their fingers all the way down to their elbows are flush against each other. There are inches between their faces, but Namjoon’s gaze shifts down Hoseok’s loose fitting shirt. They really didn’t dress for this.
“Cover up, harlot. I can see your happy trail.” Hoseok smiles at him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“You’re welcome.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, and he’s about to answer when the instructor comes up behind him, asking if she can correct him. Namjoon nods, and then her hands are on Namjoon’s back, encouraging him to let his chest and stomach relax towards the floor. Hoseok must be thinking of the incident they’ve sworn never to discuss because he starts shaking silently with laughter. Namjoon leans more heavily into his arms, taking a sick sort of delight in the way he nearly stumbles.
The next move has them standing side to side, palms to elbows touching on the side next to one another as they both balance on their inner leg and lift their outer leg up to their inner thigh. Hoseok gets into position with no trouble, folding his leg up impossibly high and balancing easily. Namjoon can barely get his outer leg above his knee and he wobbles more than a newborn calf trying to stay in position, which puts pressure on Hoseok’s balance.
“You’ve got so much leg, how can you be so bad at using it?” Hoseok nags with a smile, counting on the fact that none of the people here look like they speak Korean.
“My centre of balance is finicky. I’m still not entirely sure it exists.”
“We’ve gotta win this, Joon. You can do it.”
Namjoon sets both of them shaking, “I don’t know that winning is the point of yoga. And I’m not entirely sure I can.”
“Picture perfect couple to your left has nailed every move, and they keep giving each other cute little shy looks. I hate them.”
“You don’t hate them.”
“I don’t want to lose to them.”
“Mhm,” Namjoon starts, turning to see the couple Hoseok is talking about and apologizing profusely when it sets off his balance further. They do look cute, and they’re even wearing yoga appropriate clothing. Namjoon looks back at Hoseok, who’s biting at his lip in concentration - most likely from the effort of trying to keep both of them upright. He looks at their arms, the way their tattoos are flat against one another like this, and the thin line he’d gotten as a makeshift wedding band sits on his ring finger.
Namjoon threads their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over Hoseok’s. He hears someone ‘awh’, and turns to see their instructor giving them a fond look. He doesn’t have to fake the blush at being caught.
⬤
The rest of the session goes about as well as can be expected, Namjoon doing his best to meet Hoseok’s standards of balance and flexibility but always falling just a little short. The view isn’t bad though. Not that he’s still thinking about that. He’s not. Seriously.
They don’t get much of a chance to recover, because island hopping is on the agenda for today. They meet their boat on the shore along with a few other couples - some of them are even Korean so they have to watch their language. They wiggle into their life jackets and take a snorkel and mask set from the pile and get ready for another adventure.
The boat is a sort of outrigger, with support floats on either side they can hold onto while they’re in the water. They stop in three different spots to look at fish and coral, with one of the crew throwing bits of bread into the water to draw them out.
Hoseok is a little out of it, having taken anti-nauseant before they left. He looks at a few fish on their first stop but mostly just floats on his back for the second. Then they stop on a small island for lunch, another chance at more local food. Hoseok isn’t feeling great even with the medicine, so Namjoon ends up sharing most of his water with him and finding an empty table for them to sit at so he can lay down across a few chairs and sleep until they have to go. He rests his head in Namjoon’s lap because he’s still damp and it’s the closest thing to a cold pillow he’s going to get. Namjoon runs his fingers through Hoseok’s hair as he eats, already used to having a hand free.
He only drops food in Hoseok’s hair once.
A young couple comes to join Namjoon at one point, thinking he’s alone. He explains to them that his husband gets seasick, that he’s trying to nap, and apologizes that he can’t talk with them. They’re nice about it, telling him he’s a good husband taking care of him like that.
He feels bad when it’s time to wake Hoseok up, even more so with how puffy-eyed and pouty he gets when Namjoon shakes his shoulder gently.
They put on some more sunscreen and get back on the boat. Namjoon doesn’t especially care about seeing more fish, he can tell Hoseok’s pretty much done and he wishes they could just go home. They end up getting taken to a super tiny island, with nothing more than a restaurant on the entire place. On the backside of the island three levels of walkways are set up with diving boards. Namjoon spends most of the time just sitting on a bench with Hoseok watching other people jump. There are a few that try over and over again, only to chicken out at the last second and walk back shamed faced to let the next person in line go. They’re almost halfway through their time when Hoseok bumps him in the side gently with his elbow. “You should try.”
Namjoon smiles, “I’m fine here.”
Hoseok snorts at this, “go jump you big baby. You can’t just use me as an excuse not to go.”
“Then why don’t you go?”
Hoseok lifts the back of his hand to his forehead, slouching against the bench, “I’m not long for this world,” Namjoon gives him a look, which doesn’t slow down the dramatics in the least, “the only thing that will give my weary soul rest is watching you fall screaming from the highest platform on this island.”
“I married such a sweetheart.”
“You gonna keep stalling?”
“Uhh…”
“I’ll record it.”
Namjoon sighs, “fine.”
As he gets up on unsteady legs to make his way up the stairs to the highest platform he hears Hoseok yelling behind him, “that’s my boy! Gonna fall so good! Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.”
“Don’t take pictures of my ass, freak!”
⬤
There isn’t much of a line for the highest level, most people cycling through the lower jumps - and for good reason, Namjoon thinks. From where they were sitting, bench built into the rock face of the island in front of the second level, it really didn’t seem that bad. Now he gets why people were chickening out. He’s not even at the edge of the board yet and he can already feel his toes tingle and chest clench with discomfort. He’s too far out to hear Hoseok, but when he looks back he can see him holding the camera down by the second platform, waving up at him. He takes a deep breath and runs off the end before he can talk himself out of it.
When Hoseok asks later, he’ll say he didn’t scream because it wasn’t actually that scary. The truth is he was too scared to do anything other than flail, the feeling of nothing beneath him so simultaneously overwhelming and terrifying he was wishing for water.
His adrenaline is through the roof when he surfaces, slowly paddling back over to the ladder out of the water. Hoseok meets him, all big smiles and excitement.
“I can’t believe you actually did it!”
Namjoon doesn’t even care enough to argue it, laughing and hugging him to burn off some of his excess energy. Hoseok squeals at getting all wet, but doesn’t push him away.
⬤
Neither of them bothers getting out of the boat for the last fish spotting stop, both more than exhausted from their day. They make a pitstop at a minimart before heading back to the resort to get some aloe vera, because both of them are looking a little red despite their best efforts.
Once they get back, they do a quick rinse off, pop the aloe vera in their mini fridge, and crawl into bed for a much needed nap.
When Namjoon wakes up, he hurts. A lot. His back and upper thighs seem to be the worst off, but his cheeks and nose are tender as well. He feels too hot, too sweaty, generally uncomfortable. He thinks about going for the aloe, but he’s so overheated he settles on taking a proper shower to cool off first.
It feels amazing. He just stands under the cool spray for a few minutes, thinking how nice it is not to have to worry about the water bill. He’s just put in shampoo when he hears Hoseok banging on the door.
“What?”
“I’m gonna piss myself, get out.”
“I’ve got shampoo in my hair, just wait.”
Hoseok groans, “can’t wait.”
Namjoon starts vigorously massaging the shampoo into his hair, “just go in the tub.”
Namjoon can almost see the disgusted look on Hoseok’s face, can hear the offended noise he makes.
“I’m not defiling our beautiful tub before I get a chance to enjoy it.”
Namjoon sticks his head back under the shower head, “well then you’re just going to have to wait.” He really hopes he locked the door.
“Nope, nope, nope,” Hoseok says, cracking the door open. Namjoon lets out a screech, turning so his back is facing the door.
They’re both completely silent aside from the sound of the shower and Hoseok’s bare feet slapping across the tile as he rushes to the toilet.
Namjoon doesn’t dare turn around, feeling impossibly exposed.
“I can’t go with you there listening, It makes my bladder nervous.”
Namjoon waves his arms in defeat, starting to shiver underneath the the cool water, “well it’s not like I can just leave! You really think you’re the one worse off here?”
“Oh, damn. Your thighs are super burnt.”
“Stop looking!” Namjoon reaches behind himself to cover his butt, Hoseok’s cackles echoing around the room.
When he finally gets a hold of himself, he sighs, “there we go, all I needed was a flash of Joon moon.”
“I’ll make your death look like an accident.”
⬤
Namjoon convinces Hoseok that he should get the aloe first for his trauma, and Hoseok resignedly agrees. So he’s lying facedown on the mattress in his boxers, waiting for Hoseok to grab the bottle out of the fridge and put it on him.
“You look like a half cooked lobster.” Namjoon can hear the squelching noise of the aloe vera being forced out of the bottle.
“Like, all of me is half red? Or half of me is very red?”
“Second one.” Then Hoseok’s hands are on his back, cold and wet and Namjoon is squealing despite himself, squirming even as he tries his best not to move. “Hold still, gotta get you soothed.”
Once he’s adjusted to the cold, it feels great. The hot discomfort of his skin doesn’t go away completely, but it feels infinitely better - especially with Hoseok being so gentle.
He’s finally getting settled when Hoseok gets another handful of the gel and moves to his upper thighs. It’s freezing, and his butt clenches instinctively. Hoseok laughs as he all but massages the gel in, pushing his boxers up so he can get to the places that burned when his loose board shorts had rode up in the water.
“Okay, that’s enough. Your turn.” Namjoon gets up before he can get too into whatever it is that’s going on. Hoseok just shrugs, gingerly pulling his shirt off and moving to lay where Namjoon had been. His entire back is red, up to the tops of his shoulders. His legs faired better, because he hadn’t been quite as lazy with his initial sunscreen application. He shifts to pull down his shorts a bit, revealing the stark contrast between the burned and unburned skin of his lower back. Namjoon takes a deep breath and focuses on the task at hand.
⬤
They don’t end up getting super that night, eating a few snacks they’d picked up from the mini bar so they don’t have to put shirts on. They laze about, sticky with aloe vera and moaning in discomfort before finally passing out stomach down on top of their blankets.
|
Gus didn't wake up in his home, in his bed, secure in the knowledge that he was okay.
No, he woke up standing dead in the center of a terrifyingly familiar, long, dark hallway. Flames from torches flickered at the edges of his vision, shadows whirling around him as everything slowly came into focus. Gus stared down at the carpet under his feet and watched the colors shift, flickering rapidly from black, to gray, to the golden color that bounced off the walls before abruptly settling into a dark purple. He looked up, up at the Emperor's Coven sigil plastered across the tapestries hanging on the wall. He couldn't even see the end of the hallway, shrouded in darkness and shadows. He had been here before, though, he distinctly remembered that the castle had a lot more doors than this. He saw one, two. But they were blurry, out of focus. They wavered every so often, fading from view briefly. Everything around him seemed to flicker like that, actually, shapes and shadows shifting as the room fell into place.
He didn't know what was going on. Wracking his brain, trying to figure it out, doing loops in his head with every attempt, Gus slowly turned to look toward the other end of the hall instead. Two large doors glared back at him, and something in his gut twisted, screaming promises of danger. Gus let his gaze flick over the doors, then slid a step back and turned to explore the other way.
And then Belos emerged from the shadows and Gus nearly jumped out of his freaking skin. His breath left him in a sharp gasp, the air punched from his lungs at the mere sight of the man, and he stumbled back several steps toward what he knew very well was just a dead-end. Belos kept walking, continuing forward at a brisk pace, not even stopping to acknowledge him. Strangely, this was what gave Gus pause; he froze once again in the middle of the hallway, and just watched the man approach. His head didn't even tilt in Gus' direction, and his steps didn't falter.
He walked past, and Gus stared, wondered and thought, until another figure emerged from the darkness after Belos. This one was much more familiar, and scared him much more than Belos.
"Hunter," he whispered.
The older boy was struggling to keep up with Belos, despite the vice-like grip the man seemed to have around his wrist. He wasn't fighting it, wasn't trying to get away. Stumbling and tripping over his feet with every step he took, trying to get closer, it seemed, so he wasn't simply being dragged along. Gus' heart caught in his throat, stomach lurching as he spurred himself into action, forcing his feet to move once again and giving chase. He reached out with the intention of dislodging Hunter from Belos' grip, and his other hand fumbled for a grip of his own on the teen's arm so that he could drag him the heck out of there the second he was able to. But his hands passed through instead of finding solid purchase, and he staggered a bit, having expected to actually make contact. Another attempt had the same results, and Gus understood.
This wasn't real, of course. He was still asleep, then. This was a nightmare.
But… it was a strange one. It was entirely possible that his worries over Hunter the night before were manifesting here, but this felt off. This felt way off. He didn't feel like he was dreaming, and lucid dreaming… wasn't really his thing either. Maybe this wasn't his own nightmare, then? Dreamwalking was very closely intertwined with Illusion magic, and though he'd never done it before, well - he did have that magic amplifier on him, still. Graye could use it to sort through his memories, so there was really no telling what else he could do with it. So this could very well be Hunter's nightmare, which would make sense… or a memory. Whatever it was, he needed out.
Gus blinked, and the halls were gone. He stood in a large room instead, the sound of a beating heart ringing too loudly in his ears, and watched Emperor Belos release his grip on Hunter's wrist, leaving him standing in the middle of the room while the man walked over to his throne. Hunter stood still, his face hidden behind his Golden Guard mask, hand trembling as he slowly curled his other one around it and rubbed at the wrist Belos had been holding, as though it hurt.
The younger witch didn't even look around the room, not caring to take his surroundings in now. He gravitated toward Hunter instead, reaching out only to pull back, remembering too late that he couldn't touch, that he couldn't offer the assistance and comfort that he so strongly ached to.
A sudden chuckle across the room finally stole his attention away. Hunter stiffened beside him.
"Time and time again," Belos' voice was soft, scornful, "you inevitably disappoint me."
Hunter flinched. Subtle yet harsh, simple words cutting deeper than Gus could know, or feel. But the older boy's reaction cut Gus, in a way he didn't expect. He reached out again, passing his hand through Hunter's shoulder in a futile, half-hearted attempt to offer comfort he knew he couldn't give. A visceral, harsh longing took him over, mercilessly stabbing at his gut, surrounding his heart like two wide, jagged hands made of glass, cutting into him as harsh fingers prodded relentlessly and furiously at the beating organ. His lungs folded inside out, his insides felt too sensitive, like he was ready to fall apart at any given second. His hand hovered, fingers sticking halfway through Hunter's shoulder, for a long time before he pulled away again.
Those metaphorical hands squeezed his heart tighter when he heard Belos suddenly turn and walk towards them again, when Hunter's shoulders locked in place and his head leaned back.
Gus had never loathed a person before, but in that moment, he despised the man before them. His hand flinched away from Hunter completely when the older boy suddenly took in a harsh, ragged breath and sank to one knee before the Emperor, lowering his head as the man drew closer. "I'm sorry. I'll do better, I can do better." His voice was quiet, breathless. If Gus could have, he would have turned and launched himself at Belos, but he was helpless, unable to do anything more but simply watch. Hunter made no excuses, offered no further explanations. Just apologized again, and again, and again, and only silenced himself when Belos knelt in front of him, a gloved hand reaching out, long fingers curling themselves under the edges of Hunter's mask and pulling it up to reveal his face, letting the hood of his cloak lower and his hair fall free.
Hunter stilled, panic flashing through his eyes as he looked up at the man, face pale and bruised. Something, everything and nothing cracked and shattered in Gus at the sight and he had to force himself to reel away from them, taking several steps back and covering his own face just so that he wasn't any more tempted to launch himself at Belos and start swinging, knowing how futile any attempts to do so would be. He didn't think he'd been wrong before, with what he suspected, but he also hadn't expected to be so right, and that was what angered him.
"Then do better."
"I will," Hunter's voice wavered. Gus clenched his fists. "I will."
He dragged his hand down his face, and forced himself to really focus on Hunter, to study the bruises on his temple, trailing down to his jaw. He swore one, near his chin, looked like someone had simply dug their thumb into his skin - someone, as if he didn't know who that was - and his suspicions were only confirmed, again, when Belos raised a hand and cupped Hunter's face, his thumb falling into place just over the bruise and applying the slightest pressure. Enough to make Hunter wince slightly, and at this point, Gus just felt damn near feral.
A scream tore itself from his lips, frustration and fury bubbling and boiling in his chest as he whipped around and made his way to the other side of the room, putting as much distance between them as possible. His hands lifted to grab harshly at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. Calm down. Calm down. It can't last forever, right? It'll be over soon, I'll wake up any moment…
"I know you will," Belos murmured behind him, and Gus jumped, whirling around to face them again. But the Emperor was still facing Hunter, still holding his face in that vice-like grip, still talking down to him. "Because… you would never put me through the trouble of replacing you." Hunter froze, and Belos let out a soft, harsh chuckle, pushing his head back and releasing his chin with it as he stood up and turned away, leaving the blond still kneeling, still frozen, still horrified, as he swept back to his throne. "You're quite lucky I'm in a merciful mood today, Hunter. You can go. But." He turned his head, and Hunter stilled halfway through standing up. Gus balled his hands into fists, tighter and tighter, as he watched. "Do not ever lie to me again."
Hunter winced, the fear in his eyes diminishing into something much more apologetic, understanding, even, and Gus balked at the sight. "I'm sorry. I… I just… I wanted to help, and…"
"And I want to keep you safe," Belos replied icily. "Cease your studies on wild magic, or I will."
That's what this is about?
Hunter's mouth stayed open for a few more seconds, as if battling with himself over whether or not to say more. But he didn't quite agree, Gus noted that. He just nodded to himself, when Belos turned away from him again, and pressed his mask back onto his face, pulling the hood of his cloak back up and turning toward the doors behind him. The room shivered and shuddered with every step he took, and Gus followed after him at once, watching the walls shake and slowly collapse and fold in on themselves as he reached toward the doors. When they opened, the room gave out entirely, and for several horrible seconds, Gus was surrounded in darkness.
This didn't last very long, though. He closed his eyes and opened them again to find himself in the same room, this time with his back to the door, staring ahead at Hunter and Belos yet again. Hunter was kneeling, just like before. Belos was seated in his throne this time, almost looking calm; Gus slowly ventured further, and the sound of the heartbeat that drummed in his ears was almost in pace with his own, slow and steady but slowly and steadily getting faster, and louder.
He stopped beside Hunter, and sank down beside him this time, resting his hand against the floor beside where the older boy's rested. A tremor passed through Hunter's fingers, creeping up his arm, to his shoulder; it engulfed him completely, his entire body shuddering. He was quick to compose himself, to fall still again, but the fear in his eyes, focused so firmly on the floor in front of him instead of the man ahead of them, made Gus' heart ache again. Those hands were squeezing and squeezing and squeezing and Gus feared his heart may just give out, and break.
"So, you return with nothing." The way Belos addressed Hunter - with such malice in his voice, so condescending and threatening - sent a shiver down Gus' spine. He didn't need to be told that the Emperor wasn't a good guy, but this? This was different from everything he had learned growing up. This was different from the way Belos addressed the people of the Boiling Isles. Swallowing back the bitter taste that lingered on his tongue, Gus only barely, briefly, spared a glance in Belos' direction before focusing on Hunter again, watching the way his head ducked, eyes narrowing just slightly, while the Emperor slowly pushed himself to stand up from his throne. He didn't approach, but Hunter's body tensed. "Is this the thanks I get for taking you in?"
"Really?" Gus spat in his direction.
Hunter's head swung upwards at that, affronted, horrified. "'Course not! I wanna help!" His gaze shifted to the side, almost looking at Gus, and he hesitated slightly before continuing carefully. "A- and if you told me how wild magic did this to you, I might be able to find-" And then, silence. The blond's pupils shrank, jerking his head slightly to the side, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Gus hardly dared to breathe, staring at the green and brown spike that rested beside Hunter's head. It stayed there for a second, almost as a warning, before slowly retracting toward Belos.
Hunter relaxed again, too quickly for someone who'd almost been impaled. "My apologies. I spoke out of turn. It won't happen again." And no, no, nope, nuh-uh, there was a lot Gus could deal with but this wasn't it. This just wasn't it. He felt sick, dizzy, angry and numb all at once. And there was nothing, nothing he could do here. He couldn't offer the comfort he wanted to give, he couldn't attack Belos, he couldn't get Hunter out. But he didn't need to, he reminded himself, squeezing his eyes shut and hunching forward, doubling over, curling in on himself. Hunter was out. Hunter was out, and he was fine, and he was safe, he just needed to wake up.
Something about this memory felt familiar. Like he had seen it before, maybe a snippet of it, once. But he couldn't really think past the feeling of his heart pounding and cracking in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears and Belos' voice as he continued to scold and belittle Hunter.
He had seen enough, it was time to wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up, please.
To his utter relief, everything stopped. He was laying down again, curled up in his bed, wrapped up in his blanket. He felt this before he even dared to open his eyes, almost afraid of what he would see when he did even then. But the familiar walls of his room welcomed him with open arms, and Gus breathed in slowly through his teeth, relief pooling almost painfully in his gut as he rolled onto his back and pressed his hands over his face. freeing both arms from his blanket.
Thank Titan, he didn't know how much more he could take of that. Not only was watching these memories an invasion of privacy, but it was just too much for him. He hardly knew Hunter, but he did know he felt such a strong, steady impulse to protect him regardless. It was funny, the guy was way, way older than him, but Gus also felt like protection was something that he had gone so long without that even the tiniest bit of it, even coming from him, was somehow good enough. There really was no further explanation for it, just the fact that he cared, and he wanted to help. But this, this wasn't the way, was it? This was too much for him, at least right now, it was too much and Gus needed to clear his mind before he approached and dealt with the situation itself.
For now, Hunter was here, curled up in the air mattress on the other side of the room, and Gus was content in the knowledge that he was safe, and protected, by both himself and his father. Perry wouldn't let anything happen to Hunter, he was already worried about the teen as it was. Gus was sure more time with him would only reveal and confirm what Perry was thinking, and at that point, there would be nothing stopping the man from putting his own life on the line to protect the runaway from the Emperor's Coven. And Gus would do the same, without hesitation.
Because he cared. Maybe he cared too much, that was always one of his biggest weaknesses. But lately, it had also proven to be one of his biggest strengths, so that's why he would never stop. He would never stop caring and trying to help because that was just who he was, it was something permanently ingrained in him, something he just couldn't imagine ever being without.
It would pay off one day. No, it was paying off now. Hunter was safe, because he cared. And he would stay safe, because he cared. If that wasn't worth it, well, then Gus didn't know what was.
After a moment, he turned his head to check on the blond in question. He wasn't sure what made him pause, made him stare. But there was something, something that caught him off guard. Hunter was asleep, curled up on his side now, arms wrapped around himself tightly. His eyes were shut and his expression was… surprisingly peaceful. Maybe that was what made Gus stare; after what he had been through, even just what Gus had seen which he was sure, instinctively, intuitively, barely scratched the surface of it all, you'd expect the guy to have nightmares. Gus honestly expected that to be the reason behind the dark circles under his eyes.
But right then, laying there, Hunter was nothing short of relaxed. Calm. His eyebrows were slack, his breathing was even and steady, no longer calculating every breath as if the world would shatter at the wrong one. There was something gentle in his expression, almost childish. He certainly looked like a teenager now. Gus marveled at it, despaired at it, and felt so utterly weakened by it. If he wasn't already sure in his decision to help, then this would convince him. Seeing Hunter okay, even only slightly, even if he had to be asleep for it, made him feel hopeful.
He could rule out Dreamwalking, then. So what he had seen really had been Hunter's memories. Gus rolled his head back to look back up at the ceiling, folding his arms over his stomach and settling back into the mattress with a sigh. The worst part, or one of the worst parts, was that he couldn't even feel surprised. Upset, and sad, and pained by everything he had seen, but not surprised. There really was no other explanation for a lot of Hunter's behaviors and Gus had already known that, to some degree. Actually seeing it, confirmed, right in his face, just filled him with such raw sympathy, and a blinding sense of fury and compassion. There was nothing he could do to change the past, but he had the opportunity to help right now.
But, back to those memories… the last one, specifically. That familiarity still clung to him, he knew he had seen that before, but how? His eyebrows furrowed as he thought, and, just like yesterday, flickers of images he didn't remember seeing in the moment flickered through his mind, dancing across his vision. Gus closed his eyes, and let the images surround him this time.
Flashes and flickers of memories, still pictures rather than scenes, played out in his mind. Images he couldn't decipher, tattered paintings, broken masks that resembled Hunter's old one. Gnarled tree roots and branches. Belos, glowing red, his arm shifting into goop, wrapped tight around a bird as he lifted it into the air over his head. Belos again, eyes glowing a bright blue. Willow? In a cell? That one was familiar on a much more personal level. Gus furrowed his eyebrows further as the images continued to flicker across his mind. Belos. Belos again, again. And then, there it was. His mind's eye stopped on the image of Hunter with his eyes squeezed shut, braced for an attack, with that green and brown spike resting against his cheek. A warning.
A threat.
Gus sighed, and forced his eyes open again. Right, of course. What happened at Hexside… he'd been too wrapped up in his own mind at the time, but now he remembered. The sudden onslaught of pictures that had flooded his mind, other people's memories invading his thoughts, his vision, before it was all swept away in the tide. Hunter's had been among them, as brief as it was. But he had fought through them, through that little forcefield Gus had formed around himself. Honestly, Gus didn't know where he'd be right then if it weren't for him. He'd probably be in the same state as Graye, still lost in his own mind. The thought made him shudder slightly.
Something bumped against his cheek, and he rolled his head to the side to focus on Emmiline. A soft smile spread across his Palisman's face as she nuzzled closer, rubbing her nose against his cheek, and he couldn't stifle a soft giggle as he rolled over and reached up to rub her head.
Morning, morning!
"Good morning," Gus whispered. A soft chirp caught his attention, and he tilted his head to peer past Emmiline, letting her settle in the crook between his neck and shoulder while he focused his attention on Hunter and his own Palisman. The bird was gently bumping his head against the boy's cheek, occasionally grabbing onto strands of his hair and tugging between soft chirps. Gus watched, with growing amusement, every futile attempt Hunter made to swat the bird away. It was all half-hearted at best, and eventually, with a low, begrudging groan, Hunter rolled onto his back and lifted his hand over his chest, holding it there until the bird perched on his finger. Gus' smile only grew, watching the teen's thumb lift to rub the Palisman's cheek, eyes still shut.
The bird chirped again. Hunter's eyebrows raised and settled again, sighing. "Mm, okay, I'm up." Another chirp. Hunter sighed again. "Okay. Awake. I'm awake. I thought you wanted me to sleep more, this is very counterproductive of you… my schedule? Ugh. Okay. Just five more minutes."
The bird seemed ready to give in, almost smug, even. Gus couldn't bite back a chuckle in time, and Hunter's eyes flew open, every muscle in his body locking up as he turned to look at him. Gus silenced himself quickly, offering a sheepish smile, and hesitantly pushed himself into a sitting position. He moved slowly, not wanting to startle the poor guy further, though Hunter didn't really seem startled, or scared - he just looked guilty, like he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. "There's no rush to get back on your schedule, tough guy. You can sleep in if you want." He could too, technically. School had been closed for the week. Now, whether he was going to or not was a different story. He didn't want- that to happen again.
After a moment, Hunter sat up as well, hunching forward and stretching his arms out in front of him briefly before cupping his hands around the Palisman, lifting the little red bird up to his face.
"That's okay," he murmured. "Flapjack's hungry."
Flapjack. Gus smiled despite himself, that was a cute name. "Yeah… guess it's breakfast time, then. My dad should be awake by now." He scooped Emmiline up into one hand, gently kissing the top of her head as he pushed himself to his feet. Hunter looked up to watch him, rubbing his eyes with one hand and guiding Flapjack onto his shoulder with the other. "Oh, speaking of my dad… he's probably gonna want to talk to you today. Don't worry," he added quickly, remembering the flash of fear those words had brought to the older boy's gaze the night before. "Like seriously, he's totally cool. He's just probably gonna ask a bit about what's going on with-"
"The Emperor's Coven," Hunter murmured, a knowing but sour look crossing his face, something bitter entering his tone. Gus himself ached to know exactly what had brought on this sudden change of heart, but Hunter's gaze gave away nothing but betrayal and anger and grief. "I know I've got a lot of explaining to do… I just hope they believe me." Gus wasn't sure he was meant to hear that last bit, with how quietly the words were spoken, but he couldn't not respond.
"Hey, for whatever it's worth?" He offered, managing a small smile at his friend. "I'll believe you."
Apparently, that was worth a lot, because Hunter blinked, and a slow, small smile of his own steadily formed across his face, gratitude softening the worry in his eyes. "... thank you, Gus." His mouth stayed open for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth from Gus to the door for a long moment before he spoke again. "It's just… I guess it was a lot for me to believe, so maybe I'm just… expecting the worst. But I can't ignore what's happening anymore," he mumbled. Gus' ears pricked slightly, turning his full attention to the older boy. Absolutely willing to listen, all ears to whatever explanation Hunter was going to offer - but he didn't elaborate further. Just took a slow, deep breath in - the air whistled between his teeth, it tickled him a little bit - and shot a wider, far less genuine smile up at Gus before pulling himself to his feet. "Anyway… breakfast?"
And that… was okay. An explanation would come in time, whenever Hunter was ready to give it. Gus offered another smile, hoping to put his nerves at ease, and opened the door. "Yeah, okay."
Hunter's hand trembled this time as he reached up to rub Flapjack's head, walking past him.
Gus didn't think he could hate the Emperor more.
|
“I did some research,” Kirishima says during a Class A get-together a couple of weeks after Hosh-san’s win.
“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” Kaminari sputters, nearly spilling his beer across the wide table as he gestures for members of Class A to silence themselves. “You did research? That’s like saying I did a morning run!”
“Who’re trying to impress?” Jiro narrows her eyes at the redhead, “You’re married.”
“Can’t I just be concerned for a friend? It’s not like Iida didn’t stalk Jinja Haruki for months after Uraraka started dating him!” The hardening hero protests.
Uraraka gasps, snapping her gaze across the table to the former Vice President. She slams her fists against the table, rising from her seat. “You did what?”
“In his defense,” Tsuyu gently tugs the heroine down, blatantly ignoring the murderous hand signals Uraraka sends the speed hero’s way. “We all sort of stopped meeting people after,” She pauses, glancing towards Izuku, “You know.” Several gazes drop to the table. “It was strange someone wanted to join in.”
“Which is why I did research!” Kirishima gestures at the heroines as emphasis.
“Ejiro, last time I checked, we’re all either dating each other, married or not,” Ashido frowns before glancing around the table, landing her gaze on Kanako snuggled in Shoji’s arms.
“Midoriya is dating.”
Uraraka rips out of Tsuyu’s grasp and practically lunges over the table to grip Izuku’s arm. “Is it that Hoshi-san person I met? Are you really dating?”
“Uh,” Izuku tries to pry the anti-gravity heroine’s hand free without luck. He could do it if he wanted to, but not at the risk of dragging Uraraka over a food-laden table. “Yes?”
“Hoshi-san is a designer,” Yaoyorozu emphasizes, creating a small stuffed toy that vaguely resembles a model with one of Hoshi-san’s outfits.
“Oh!” Ashido leans back on her hands. “So, it’s just for the case?”
“N-no,” Izuku draws out the word slowly. “I met him while trying to find closure.” The mood of the room dips once more. Uraraka releases her hold, settling back into her seat. “But it’s okay! Really! I didn’t know he was entering a competition for fashion week until way after I met him.”
“He’s really attached to Izuku,” The redhead states. “That competition? You know me, I don’t get romantic gestures – ”
“The fact that I had to ask you out on seven dates for you to realize it was not a group hangout is not lost on me,” Ashido cuts in.
“Man made an entire show line that was a blatant confession.”
“It was not!” Izuku protests. Yaoyorozu’s face turns from surprise to contemplation, arms glowing as more dolls with Hoshi-san’s entire show emerge. When the glow fades, she lifts each doll carefully, examining the forms.
“You’re right,” She marvels.
“This I gotta see. Momo, here!” One doll soars through the air into Ashido’s waiting hand. Before Izuku knew it, Yaoyorozu created and dispersed enough dolls for each member of Class A to examine.
“This green is the exact shade of your hair,” Todoroki states flatly, picking at the burnout suit jacket.
“Why is this dotted?” Hagakure asks, holding up the doll as if comparing it to Izuku. “Oh! It’s your freckles!”
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Izuku groans, covering his face with his hands.
“I must admit, Midoriya, while I’m not acutely aware how a designer decides to make a line of clothing, it certainly seems like you heavily inspired them.”
“I can’t do this,” The one for all hero declares. “Please burn all iterations. I’m going home.”
“You’re leaving to make out with lover boy?” Sero teases, and Izuku freezes. Sort of. As a celebration of Hoshi-san narrowing down his theme to three possible choices, they were going to cram themselves into Izuku’s office and watch movies or say they watched movies and do something else entirely.
“So the thing is,” Kirishima continues, tossing a doll between his hands, “Hoshi Kaguya doesn’t exist.” Several eyes lift to the redhead. “Or at least not until five years ago and, really, not until two and a half.”
“Someone backdated a fake identity?” Shinsou arches a brow.
“I mean, I suspected. He mentioned something about purposely disappearing. That usually comes with a new identity.” Izuku sets the doll next to his mostly drunk glass of water.
“Runaways take recently deceased identities,” The mind control hero says. “Easier to be in the system and bypass a lot of red tape if an identity preexists. New identities take time, especially if they have to log their quirk. There should be at least three records of Quirk description assessment. If the first record of a person is dated five years ago with all niche government data filled out, it doesn’t guarantee Hoshi-san was already Hoshi-san then. If we’re thinking about this as a best-case scenario, dude’s in a witness protection program. But if he was, he wouldn’t be trying to get recognition at fashion week OR attempt to date the number one hero.”
“There’s data about him, but you don’t really see movement in transactions, forms, emails, or subscriptions until two and a half-ish years ago.”
“This is a gross invasion of privacy.” Iida protests.
“Rich coming out of a stalker’s mouth,” Uraraka glares.
“It was a lapse of judgment!”
“YOU’RE a lapse of judgment!”
“You’re right; I should go out and see friends more, Ejiro,” Ashido beams.
“Midoriya, are you comfortable dating someone you don’t know?” Tokoyami leans across the table, attempting to see the hero over Uraraka’s and Iida’s wide accusing gestures.
“Everyone, it’s fine,” Izuku holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I know enough. Besides, I trust him,” He smiles, which earns a heartbroken sound from Tsuyu. “We’ve got an end date. He wants to return to his old life, so he’s not trying to invade our group. No one’s trying to replace Kacchan.”
“Midoriya, that’s not what I meant at all,” Kirishima starts.
Izuku stands, pocketing the doll before leaving enough cash on the table to more than double his fair share. “I know you’re all worried, but Detective Tsukauchi seems to trust him, so he’s got to have good intentions, right?”
“Who sneezed on your birthday cake?” Hoshi-san asks, pinning muslin to a dress form when Izuku enters.
“Hmm?” Izuku smiles, but it immediately falters as he replaces his shoes with slippers. “Oh, nothing; my classmates pried a bit too much.”
“Not nothing,” The designer removes the tape around his neck and stabs the remaining pin haphazardly into the mannequin. “I know you, Freckles. Don’t give me that fake shit.” He stomps to Izuku, resting a hand over the back of Izuku’s neck, leaning down until their foreheads press together.
“Just,” The hero sighs, leaning forward to wrap his arms around the designer’s small waist. “I know you’re working hard. I know what you’re doing is important and that you can’t tell me all of it.” Hoshi-san wraps his arms around Izuku’s shoulders, pressing a kiss into green curls. “They’re worried because they found out Hoshi isn’t your real name.”
Hoshi-san stiffens in Izuku’s hold. “You knew?”
“I suspected.” Izuku buries his face into the designer’s chest. “Sometimes you forget to answer to it, but you have Detective Tsukauchi’s trust, which only adds to how much I already trust you.”
“That’s fucking reckless of you, letting people with fake names into your home.” Hoshi-san squeezes Izuku tighter.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t trust you.” The hero forces air into his lungs before pushing away, forcing a new smile to his face. “So, how about that movie?”
They watch the first movie – some heist film where the thieves get trapped in a vault that negates their quirks and have to escape – shifting closer to one another until Izuku is cuddled in Hoshi-san’s arms. When the second film begins, the hero turns away from the television, kissing the designer’s strong jaw until Hoshi-san turns to meet him. The touch springs tears to Izuku’s eyes, every kiss a reminder that this – whatever this is – is ending. Is it dating or a matter of convenience? The designer helps Izuku breathe, and Hoshi-san remains safe from attackers with the hero around. The moment the last model leaves the runway, Hoshi-san will be gone. Izuku will be alone again, and Hoshi-san will head straight to their most important person.
Hoshi-san kisses him with urgency like Izuku doesn’t understand – and he doesn’t – because why are they doing this if his second love is going to leave? So he lets Hoshi-san take control, kiss him until he’s dizzy, allows him to wipe away tears, and holds him with all the care Izuku has never known.
“When it ends, Freckles, I’ll tell you. Even if it’s the last fucking thing I do.”
The next day, Hoshi-san declares he needs to start his designs from scratch, abandoning dozens of drawings on the cutting table. He moves the workroom into the guest bedroom, resetting the living room and shoving his bed and dresser into Izuku’s office while the hero is out on patrol. There’s barely room to maneuver mannequins, but the designer insists the action is necessary.
“The show is gonna be a surprise,” He says, kissing the hero before offering him a cup of tea. “Everyone is gonna flip their shit.”
At night, if Izuku isn’t called to work late-night patrols or Hoshi-san isn’t working on an outfit late into the morning, the hero lays curled in the broader man’s arms. He thinks this is how he was designed to love: tragically. Born quirkless to a father who leaves and a mother who watched him struggle with a faithless gaze. How he loved Kacchan long before quirks and even after firework explosions left marks on his skin. How he loved All Might only for the hero to crush his dream, revive it, and made him a target to an unkillable god. How love was on the tip of his tongue watching Kacchan ascend to the stars as the number one hero in record time only for the sky to shatter – Kacchan drifting into the great unknown and Izuku plummeting back to earth and into a turbulent sea. How love was nearly immediate when Hoshi-san proved he could stitch the stars back together and wear victory in embroidered suits instead of explosive costumes, only to have one foot out the door.
Hoshi-san’s filter drops just a little bit. His words loosen, detailing when he first arrived in the city. He’d been off grid for months, waiting for any potential heat of his disappearance to die down. He was fine for the first week and the second, and then loneliness crept in without his knowledge; he was homesick for people that annoyed him. He cursed his decision, cursed a person who offered a punishment disguised as an opportunity and condemned the people he left behind because they dared to worm their way under his skin.
“I used to curse more than I do now,” The designer explains one evening as Izuku cooks. For all the time Hoshi-san has lived at Izuku’s apartment, he notices the dark-haired man avoids the kitchen as if it’s as dangerous as a snake. It’s strange because the hero recalls plenty of pots and pans regularly cleaned at the designer’s studio. “I called people shitty nicknames because I didn’t want them to get too close, and they did without me knowing. Eventually,” Hoshi-san sighs, “I ran out of steam. No point in cursing if you’re the only one around to hear it. It gets old fast.”
They go on dates, real ones. Not coffee, not running errands for new outfits or fabrics, or delivery eaten on the couch. Real restaurants in the public eye and dressing up for one another. Izuku regales his high school days, and Hoshi-san listens with a fond smirk, eyes twinkling as if he can imagine every ridiculous moment.
On the days Izuku can’t breathe, Hoshi-san holds him, floating the hero to the surface until Izuku whispers about his first love. He talks about Kacchan like a north star suddenly snuffed out, mentioning they weren’t always the best to one another, but love had cemented before the cruelty and long before Izuku could give it a name.
“I think it was always Kacchan,” Izuku whispers one early morning after Hoshi-san jolts the green-haired hero awake from a nightmare. “Growing up, I couldn’t decide what was more attractive. Girls are pretty, and so are boys, but none of it mattered when Kacchan shined above the rest. I think there will always be a part of me that regrets not telling him. I should have told him, even if it meant he’d shove me away and hate me forever.”
Hoshi-san rocks Izuku in his arms, pressing kisses into his hair. “I promise, Freckles, no one could ever hate you.”
Hoshi-san meets Izuku’s mother and All Might during the holidays, excusing himself when Midoriya Inko announces the Bakugou’s are on their way.
“Don’t you want to meet them?” Izuku asks as the designer pulls on his boots. “You’re a big fan of their work.”
“I can’t,” Hoshi-san hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “They can't see me.”
“Why not?” Was Hoshi-san an intern or a former employee? Is that how he knows about stitching signatures?
“Freckles,” The designer stands, hands clenching and unclenching.
“I get it; I’ll cover for you.” Izuku cherishes the brief kiss before the black-haired man bolts out the door.
The new year comes and Best Jeanist calls for an increase in meetings. Desired targets chose all pro hero models, and Jiro complains she’s barely gotten sleep after being charged with composing music for eight shows. Izuku, whose purpose is drawing attention away from the mission, has dozens of invitations to front-row seats. The investigation is going smoothly, with the operative lying low after helping arrest several junior designer proteges engaging in illegal activities. The proteges are talking, and it’s building quite the case.
Izuku is reading in bed a month before Japan’s fashion week. His brain is spinning from clothing terms, names of fashion houses, their leaders, and their crimes. He wants to turn off his brain for a minute or two and enjoy reading a book about how fictional superpowers became the most desirable quirks.
A knock on the door lifts his gaze, where Hoshi-san leans against the doorway, holding a garment bag aloft.
“Come in?” Hoshi-san doesn’t knock to enter this room. He sleeps beside Izuku; the guest bed shoved into his office closet months ago.
“I made you something,” The designer glides into the room, sitting at the foot of the bed. He lays out the garment bag below Izuku’s feet, unzipping it to reveal a black suit detailed with fireworks that come to life depending how he turns the fabric. “When you sew two threads side by side, it gives an iridescent effect. If treated correctly, you can mimic animation. Mandarin collar because you’re fucking hopeless with a tie. Plenty of gussets for easy movement in case you need to ditch my show and be a hero.”
Hoshi-san talks through the details of the outfit. He called in favors for hero costume fabric, adding extra pockets for support gear, then how aspects of the suit mimic Izuku’s hero costumes. “I replaced one of the inner linings with a lightweight bulletproof material,” He continues, detailing intentional additions for hiding comms and a secure place for Izuku’s hero license.
The designer’s raspy voice shakes with each description. The hero doesn’t catch most of the words, only that the designer has talked about the suit for well over ten minutes, fumbling with fabric even though Hoshi-san has the steadiest hands Izuku has ever seen.
“You love me, don’t you?” Izuku realizes after Hoshi-san’s words peter out.
Izuku doesn’t expect the designer to respond. It’s one of many ways the black-haired man is similar to Kacchan. Love as a word is too direct, too damning, and dangerous. Words of affection, even as simple as Mom or Dad, could paint a target for abuse. Even if Hoshi-san does mean love, he’ll likely call it something else. Izuku may be his home away from home or simply a safe space.
“What of it?” Hoshi-san glares, shoulders rising as he tenses for something to go wrong.
“Well,” Izuku sets his book aside, shifting to his knees. He tugs at the designer’s coveralls, pleased it’s the one filled with embroidered constellations, dragging Hoshi-san on top of him as he falls back against the pillows, shifting his grip until his arms are around the designer’s waist. He buries his face into the crook of the larger man’s neck, breathing in sugar and spice. “I love you, too.”
|
"I've been going to therapy or the past 3 months."
Ali looked up to Ashlyn's tombstone and then back down in embarrassment. It had been 5 months since her visit with Kyle. She thought she was getting better and healing, but she had a major setback 2 months after. The looks in her family's eyes seemed to really grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. Their concerning words about her mental and emotional state, and for Leighton as well, fueled her more to get better.
"That's why I haven't been here in a long time," she continued and picked at the grass. "I, um, I called my voicemail after missing a call from work, but then your voice came on. I completely forgot about that voicemail. I always answer my phone and rarely have to check it. My phone is always glued to hand, as you always say, and that one time it wasn't."
Ali looked up and smiled at the memories of her wife teasing her.
"That was the last thing you said to me," she whispered faraway. "My parents found me on the floor in the living room. I was sitting by your recliner and bawling my eyes out. I hadn't cried that hard in a long time. Luckily, Leigh was with your parents."
She looked back down in shame and swallowed.
"My mom was so sad and scared that she started crying. My dad had to carry me upstairs to bed. My mom laid behind me and held me while my dad sat on the edge of the bed with his hand on my leg. They were so worried for me and how I was doing. There was some yelling and arguing, but after they told me that my behavior would end up affecting Leighton, I snapped out of it. The thought of me hurting her in some way made me come back to reality. The thought of failing her, which would in turn mean failing you, made me shape up."
She gave a small smile as she stared at her wife's name.
"I never want to do that, Ashlyn. I never want to fail you or our daughter. I love you both too much to do that. That's why I sought out help. That's what I've been doing; for our little girl. Me getting better for myself and for her. It's been helping out a lot. I actually feel better each and every day. It's a small amount, but it's still something. I know if I keep up with it and keep going that I'll get there. I just know it. But I have to do it for myself. Because the moment I can do it for myself is the moment I can do it for our daughter."
Ali wiped at the corner of her eye and fanned at them to keep them dry.
"I just...I hope you don't feel like I'm neglecting you, babe. I'm not. That's the last thing I'd ever do. I just need to do this one step at a time if I want to continue to get better. I just have to take my time and be patient."
Ali didn't know why she felt like she had to explain herself until she stood. She felt like she was starting to believe she was going to have closure with Ashlyn. That hit her hard in the chest and she put her hand over her heart. She didn't bother stopping the few tears that escaped. She was learning in therapy how to heal through the loss of her wife and the progress was showing now. She felt bad and scratched her forehead.
"I love you so much, Ashlyn. Leighton loves you so much. Every day we all tell her in some way or form who you are. I promise you she'll always know who you are. I have to go. Just remember that I'll always love you and you'll always have my heart. Remember that."
She stared at the tombstone a little longer before pressing her fingers to her lips. She sniffled as she pressed them to her wife's name.
"I'll see you later, baby," she promised and quickly left.
Ali headed back to her car feeling guilty about getting close to closure.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Five Months Later.
"You did so good today, honey," Ali grinned, nose crinkling at her 2 1/2 year old daughter.
"She did really good. Miss Leighton is a very healthy and strong little girl," Leighton's pediatrician, Dr. Jeffrey Winters, agreed.
Ali looked to him and smiled after kissing her daughter's cheek. "Thank you, Dr. Winters," she nodded and stuck her hand out to him.
Dr. Winters chuckled and shook her hand. "Means a lot coming from the woman who tried to bite my head off earlier after finding out I took over Dr. Anderson's patients. And please, call me Jeff," he winked.
Ali blushed and brought her hand back to her daughter's back. "Sorry about that,...Jeff. I like being in control of things and that definitely threw me off," she smiled sheepishly.
Jeff laughed and grabbed his little patient's hand to bob up and down. "No problem at all, Miss Harris. If it had to be anyone, I'm glad it was you. I totally understand what you mean," he said, looking to her more serious than needed.
Ali was all too familiar with that look, as she got it a lot from men, but it was different with him. He didn't look at her like some thing to conquer or some piece of meat. He looked at her with nothing but complete and utter respect. He looked at her like a person, but a woman, that he could have an intelligent conversation with, joke around with, and with a sparkle in his eyes. Jeff was very infatuated with Ali and thought she was so beautiful.
"Um," she said, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet nervously.
"As I was saying," he started, shaking his head and clearing his throat too, "you're daughter is healthy and everything looks fine. All in all, a very good checkup. You guys are free to go."
Ali giggled at his joke and shouldered their bags higher. "Thank you, Dr. Winters. We'll see you in a few months," she smiled and headed to the door.
Jeff just grinned brightly and grabbed the door for her. "Jeff, remember. Can't wait to see you guys again, Miss. Harris," he nodded softly.
"Ali. Call me Ali," she smiled more and dipped her head as she headed out.
Jeff watched her walk away and look at him one more time before disappearing around the corner. His smile never left and he clicked his pen as he tapped his clipboard. He was sure it was probably unethical to like one of his patient's moms like he was now, but he didn't care. Ali's smile and laugh had already sunk their hooks deep in him. She had an equally cute daughter and he was finding it hard to find something wrong with her.
"Yep, Jeffrey. You're screwed," he said after puffing his cheeks.
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Two Weeks Later.
"Ali," a familiar voice said in question.
Ali was out with one of her close friends, Bella, for lunch. They had spent the whole time giggling and gossiping about things going on in their lives. Bella had been dating Omar for the last 6 months, courtesy of Ali, and was so happy. It warmed Ali's heart and made her feel good about getting 2 really good friends together. She felt she owed Omar the most and still felt bad about how she talked to him, even though he had long forgiven her.
Leighton was out with her Uncle Chris at the movies and would be picked up later. Ali and Bella had just finished eating when someone called her name. She recognized the voice and raised her eyebrow in curiosity as she turned to it. She was met with Dr. Winters, who was smiling brightly with twinkling eyes. She returned it and stood from her seat to shake his hand. Bella observed them with a knowing smile.
"Dr. Winters! How are you doing," she asked and noticed him slowly let her hand go.
"Jeff, remember," he winked and chuckled.
"Right," she laughed along and nodded. "Jeff, how are you?"
"I've been good. Just coming to grab something to eat with friends," he informed with his thumb jutted towards the back.
At the mention of the word 'friends', Ali remembered hers. "Crap! Sorry, Bella, this is Leighton's pediatrician Dr. Winters. Dr. Winters, aka Jeff, this is my close friend Bella," she introduced and moved out of the way.
"Nice to meet you, Bella," he smiled warmly and reached over to extend his hand.
"Likewise, Jeff...or is it Dr. Winters," she asked with a teasing smile as she shook his hand.
"Definitely Jeff, especially when I'm not in the office," he laughed and stood back.
They all laughed and Jeff admired Ali the whole time she did not too slyly. Bella noticed while Ali didn't, and had to bite back a teasing smile. Jeff noticed he was staring when Bella looked to him with suspicious eyes. He cleared his throat and Ali looked up to him, making him rub the back of his neck nervously. Ali looked to him in concern and Bella snickered into her hand. Ali still had her power to make men uncomfortable.
"I have to go, but it was nice seeing you. I hope you ladies enjoy the rest of your lunch. Tell Leighton I said hi," he smiled and took a short step back.
"Ok. Thank you. I hope you have fun with your friends," Ali smiled back and watched him.
"Thank you, Ali. I hope you have a good day," he said softly and waved as he left.
Ali watched him greet his friends before sitting back down without a care. Bella had been staring at them the whole time, and now she was shaking her head at her friend. She could clearly see how interested he was in Ali, but her friend was a little more harder to read. Ali had went back to her drink and started people watching. She felt someone staring and looked to a smirking Bella.
"What," she asked and tried to not smile.
"Seriously," she asked and laughed.
"What," she laughed at a loss.
"He likes you, Ali," she stated, leaning close so no one heard.
Bella knew it was a touchy subject for Ali, but she was worried for her friend. Ali had not once mentioned dating anybody since Ashlyn's death. She knew she had to say something about the exchange and hoped it would open Ali's eyes. She thought she was being a good friend.
Ali looked at her like she was crazy and shook her head in disbelief. "You're crazy, Bell. He's Leighton's pediatrician. He doesn't like me, he's just really nice," she said, ignoring her twisting stomach and took a drink with a chuckle.
Bella snorted and leaned back into her chair leisurely. "Bull, Al. He wouldn't stop staring at you and he had the look," she stated simply.
"The look," she asked, trying to hide her uneasiness and already knowing the answer.
"Yeah. The 'look'. The one that guy has for you when he thinks you're the most beautiful thing ever. Hook, line, and sinker," she winked and curled her finger like a hook.
"Ok, you're crazy, Bell," she laughed her off and shook her head. "I have to go pick up my daughter. You ready to go, Miss 'Hook, line, and sinker'?"
"Whatever, Ali. You know I'm right," she smirked and stood to leave. "Let's go get my favorite niece!"
Ali laughed as she stood and shook her head again. She thought her friend was crazy and seeing things. Jeff was nice and did seem to stare a lot, but she couldn't base him liking her off 2 meetings. Ali's eyes trailed to the back of the restaurant and she caught Jeff staring. He blushed, though she couldn't see it, and gave her a big smile. Ali returned it and held his stare for a moment before grabbing her purse. He nodded to her and she did the same as she left.
As she made her way to her car, she suddenly felt dirty and like she was cheating.
|
Dreki Kyn
The day I first met you, I thought you were a monster.
You were so small compared to me, but Viking, all the same. And with those vines binding my body, I could not move to stop you. Death had stared back at me from your eyes, and as I lay there, I found my only regret was that I could not take you with me.
But then you had freed me, little one. And I could not understand. What sort of predator would free me – me! – to play a little longer?
I had you under my paws, and should have killed you then. But my fear was too great and made my throat clench; I could not spit out the fire I needed. And I was too afraid to use tooth and claw, so I fled. I took the coward's way, and did not stay for the fight.
It was the best decision of my life.
You came back for me, little one. And I did not understand. Hadn't my roar told you that I was not yours to kill? I did not understand why you would return.
So I growled before you could. Lunged before you could. Had I known you were hiding such delicious treats, perhaps I might not have been so hasty. You were so funny running through the trees, so long-limbed and noisy. It made me wary, for surely you could not be this clumsy.
But such delicious treats you dropped! They were fish, but not fish, just as you were prey and not prey. I gobbled them up and followed you to the edge of your Viking Nest.
And when the treats didn't poison me, I came back for more.
I felt bad sometimes, taking your kill. You had always been so small and skinny. But you were also Viking, so I told myself it was okay. Besides, you always carried around food. If you needed it so badly, then you should have eaten it.
I felt worse once. I had come for your kill, but you had none. So I had told you just once I would pay the debt, and gave you part of mine.
I think that was a mistake. It made you greedy. You started demanding things - from me! But I humoured you, because collecting fruit was easier than fishing.
You came back again and again. I could not understand why. We were enemies, you and I. Should have been, at least. But you blurred so many lines: Viking, but not; enemy, but not. Your Nest smelt of blood and death, but your paws were so soft and small. It took me a while to understand why.
You had always liked to play. You always squealed and chattered. What gave it away though were your eyes: so bright and full of light, and big! I knew then that you were a hatchling. And such a small one you were, so soft and fragile. I worried you would break.
But the more I understood you, the less I did. Hatchling, yes. Hatchling of what? Not Viking; you couldn't be. Vikings travelled in flocks and your scent was your own. When the other dragons came to your Nest, you were left outside to roam; your mother did not hide you inside her den.
"What are you, little one?" I had asked once. You did not answer. Never did, never would. Not in any tongue I could speak.
But you had always expressed yourself well through tone. You were loud when you were mad; quiet when you were sad. When I asked that question, you chattered to yourself quietly. Your body drooped.
You reached for me. You had always liked to touch. I did not know what to do, and you grew upset at my lack of response.
So, I relented. Just this once, I told myself.
I let you touch.
I once thought you were secretly a Changewing. I had heard long ago that the youngsters, if their parents died, would pretend to be something they were not. They could sneak into another nest, flash their hypnotic wings and make the parents see another. Sometimes, too, I heard, they kept up the illusion so long, they forgot themselves what they really were.
If they could convince themselves they were another dragon, then why not Viking?
I thought it could be true. You had never been very Viking. You were too small, too skinny; you vocalized like them, but didn't move like them. You were at once both smoother and clumsier than they were. They were loud and angry; you were noisy and boisterous. So frail in body, but so strong in soul.
So I tried to take you flying. You didn't like it. You clung to me like a parasite. And when I finally shook you off, you never opened your wings. You would have died if it wasn't for me.
It made me mad. I had barked. "Didn't your sire teach you how to fly?"
You had barked back, as you liked to do. Then gone quiet. You had stared at the sky; I had no idea why.
I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. I asked where your mother was; I could not smell her scent on you. I thought I smelt your sire's scent, but it was not strong enough for me to be sure.
You left soon after that.
I felt bad.
We ended up flying. I flew, at least, and you clung to my back. With help from that smelly thing. I hadn't liked it, but you had a hatchling's eyes, and a hatchling's gentle croon, so I accepted it (you weren't strong enough to hurt me anyways). This time, you liked flying. You only screeched a little bit.
You always wanted to go flying after that. I humoured you. I always imagined that one day, you would reveal your wings and fly with me.
You never did. But you became more dragon. You bared your teeth a lot. You snapped at me once. I don't think you remember. You were awfully sleepy at the time.
You smelt more like dragon, too. Like other dragons. That made me mad, but you smelt healthy and fed, and you were not mine, so I allowed it (I sniffed around the Nest for those dragons, but could not find them). You always came back to me, and that made me happy.
We flew a lot. Played a lot. At night, you would always go back to the Viking Nest. I thought of you sometimes when I was on my island. I wondered if you could hear her voice, or if the Viking matriarch sung to you the same way she sung to me. It scared me to think about that.
You couldn't hear her though. You weren't dragon enough for that. But when we saw her, you were dragon enough to wail. I never knew you could shriek so high and loud. It hurt my ears, but it hurt her, too.
We ran away, and for the first time, I was free. There were no more whispers in my head. Your shriek had scared them away.
We stayed out a long time. It was a good thing. After I returned you to your Nest, I had run into others. They smelt of smoke and blood and Vikings.
I didn't need to ask to know why they had attacked. She had sent them. She had been looking for you.
So, I went back for you. Found you in the cove. Saw the other Viking attack you. I tried to flame her, but you got in the way. And then she wouldn't leave so I could help you.
So when the dark came, I flew to your den. I remember when I first found you in there. You smelt bad. Like burns and fear. You hadn't washed your leg; instead, you had wrapped it in weird, white bark. That made me very mad. Where were your parents? Why hadn't they washed it? Why hadn't they taught you how? I would have flamed them if I had seen them.
I washed it for you. You were very upset. You scratched me with your stubby claws, and cried an awful lot. It made me even angrier when no one came to see why.
I thought you would be safe, little one, hidden inside your den. But I hadn't known Vikings could be so cruel. I heard your scream one day, and I came for you.
They had locked you inside a cage with other dragons. I flamed the cage and chased them away. I thought that would protect you, but when I caught up to the other dragons, they told me no. They smelled familiar. They smelled like you. Like the other dragons whose scent had clung to your skin.
They said Vikings locked you in. That Vikings locked you in while dragons were roaming freely. (Not real free. There was always a cage. The Gronckle could not remember how long she had been in there)
I felt very bad for you. I did not know Vikings were so bad. Hatchlings, even Viking hatchlings, should be protected. Not locked with dragons.
I had thought your parents were cruel. Now I knew they were evil.
When I came back for you, there was a strange Viking in your den. He was big and growly, with horns and a thick pelt. He even had a mane.
I smelt your fear before I smelt him. Heard your fright before I heard him. You were too small to challenge him, so I snarled for you; I fought for you.
You grew afraid. You did not want me to kill the angry Viking. I did not understand why. But then I sniffed. I sniffed again. He smelt of metal and sweat and you. I smelt you in him, and him in you.
Kin.
(He didn't have your mother's scent on him either)
I hated him. I wanted to flame his face off. He was your sire, but a poor sire. You had been scared when I arrived, and he had not comforted you.
Maybe you had been scared of him? Scared because he had locked you with dragons.
I did not like him. He could not be trusted with young. He could not be trusted with you. He was big and strong, and you were small and weak. He had growled at you when you were scared. He could not (would not) raise you.
So I would.
You had always been stubborn. It was frustrating. When I had taken you, you had wanted to go back to Vikings. Why couldn't you understand you were only Viking in body?
It made me happy when you decided not to go back. Then I was frightened when you wanted to go to my Nest. You always had a way of making me feel, little one. (I don't think I had ever felt so much before. Not when I was alone). But I beat her, we beat her, and we were free again. Free forever.
That was the day I almost lost you. You had fallen from my back into the flames. I had never been so scared before. You were so small and frail; you burned so easily.
So I went back for you. I covered you in my wings and held you tight. The flames hurt a lot; I wanted badly to fly away. But you needed me, so I stayed for you.
Your sire took you away after that. I tried to hold on to you, but I was so tired, and my body hurt. They took you away from me, and I was afraid.
When they put you on the floating tree, I forced myself to fly after you. I wanted to flame them, but I was scared of hurting you.
The other dragons came, too. They had flown back once we had killed her, and followed the floating tree with me. I hadn't liked them. I had snapped and growled, but they wouldn't leave. They claimed you as flock. That made me angry, because you were my hatchling. I was especially mad at the Nightmare. He had tried to hurt you before, so I bit him hard.
You appeared again after the floating tree reached the Viking Nest. Even though there were Vikings everywhere, I couldn't help but greet you. It wasn't like the last time you were flamed. You were walking and happy.
I asked you to come with me. To go away. It was best for you. You weren't Viking. Not like them. You belonged with dragons, with me.
You agreed. You were scared, but you agreed.
Terrors flocked. Nadders flocked. Sometimes, even Zipplebacks flocked. But Night Furies did not flock. Parents flew with hatchlings, but Night Furies did not flock together. Nor did they fly with other dragons. But you were very good at making me forget.
I did not like having the others around. They were noisy and pushy and distracted you when you should be with me. You liked them though. When I snapped at them, you would always comfort them. You liked cuddling with the small one.
You loved all of them. Even the Nightmare. I kept a close eye on him because he had hurt you once, and I did not trust him. But you were not afraid. You never feared he would flame you. The first time he went alight, you cooed, made your happy sounds, and went for a closer look. I thought you might actually touch him. You were not that silly, though.
The Gronckle always pretended she didn't like you. When you sat next to her, she would fly away. She liked to pretend she couldn't hear you. I thought that would make you sad, but you always smiled and laughed. Sometimes, you would sneak up on her and pounce.
The Zippleback was nice. He loved it when you scratched him. When you scratched me, he would try to draw your attention to him. I would have flamed him, but he always shared his kill. Plus, he wasn't pushy like the others.
The Terror was pushy. He was always making noise. He bit a lot. You never got as mad at him for it as you would at me. I think it was because you thought the Terror was a hatchling, too. But he wasn't. He's older than me!
I liked the Nadder most. She watched out for you, too. When I went hunting, she would stay with you. When the storm hit and you got lost, she was the one who found you. I don't think you noticed, but she liked to act like your mother. She would sometimes pile sticks and stones around you when you were sleeping.
She asked me once what you really were. I did not know what to tell her. You were not dragon, but you were not Viking either. You were both, but neither. You were you.
So I told her you were mine, and that was that.
We raised you well. You became strong and lean, (like me!) and you grew. You were still small for dragon, but you were larger than you were before. Your mane grew, too, but for some reason, you didn't like it big. You would always cut it shorter.
You spoke more dragon. Your voice became lower (more like us!) and you used your body a lot more. You would bump us and wrestle when you were playful; when you wanted to be alone, you would bare your teeth and snap. You loved touching foreheads.
The first time you growled, I had laughed. You had taught yourself, so you didn't know any better, but your growl was like a hatchling's. The Nadder loved it; she thought it was cute, and always wanted you to growl more. When I laughed in front of her, she snapped at me and scolded me for not teaching you.
So, we tried. But we never could teach you. Your voice was too high to growl right.
But we taught you how to sing with us. Well, the Terror taught you. The rest of us didn't know how. But we learned, and we sung lots of songs. The Gronckle had the best songs; she always sung about food and funny things. But the Terror's songs were the prettiest. He liked to sing about faraway places.
He never sung about the Viking Nest. He didn't want you to feel bad.
We travelled a lot. Night Furies had always wandered. The others were okay with it, except the Nightmare. He had been very moody at first. He had wanted us to make a den and hide in it. The Zippleback and Gronckle had convinced him to come with us, but we had slept in a lot of caves because of him.
We went everywhere. You always wanted to look for other dragons, no matter how many times we told you no. You didn't understand that other dragons were not as nice as us.
Sometimes, you looked for them anyways. If you heard one nearby, you would try to find them. The first few times, I caught you and brought you back. But you would always run off again. So, me and the Nightmare started following you to make sure the strange dragons didn't hurt you.
They weren't usually mean. You had always been very happy and gentle, like a hatchling. So they would sniff and greet, and sometimes play.
We found other Vikings a few times. You didn't like them as much as dragons. You always had to sneak and find their Nest before you would think about greeting them. You wouldn't always either, and when you did, you wouldn't let us go with you (so we flew above instead).
Once, another dragon found us. The dragon told us that he had heard some Terrors singing about you and wanted to see. We had been worried, but right away you went up to him and sniffed and greeted.
You let him stay with our flock for the night. It made us all very nervous. Me and the Nadder made sure you slept between us, and the Terror slept within your fur, just in case. The Gronckle growled at the stranger before she fell asleep.
The stranger and the Zippleback talked during the night. I didn't pay much attention. The stranger left the next morning, and I was glad.
The Terror wanted to know what they had talked about. The Zippleback said that the dragon had told him that there was another like you. Another who smelled like you, up North.
We were all very curious, so we decided to go North.
North was cold. The Nadder hated it. She always shivered at night. We were all cold, but the Nightmare set himself alight, and then it was okay.
You started getting more interested in fire. That was good. I wondered if you were old enough to flame yet. You liked to poke at the embers, and burn sticks and plants. A few times, you started your own fire. We were all surprised. None of us had seen you flame. No matter how close we watched, we could not figure out how you made fire.
But we were happy. If you could flame, it meant you were growing up. But you still needed to learn how to hunt. And to fly.
You already knew how to fish. You would use sticks as your claws and catch them. But you could only fish in rivers. You couldn't fly and fish in the ocean like the rest of us. So, I tried to show you how to catch land creatures, but you were too slow to grab them.
That made me sad. I worried I wasn't a good sire. The Zippleback said it was okay because you weren't really dragon, but it didn't make me feel better.
We almost ran away from the Not-Viking. She was tall and strong, and surrounded by many dragons. The Nightmare thought it was a trap.
But she was nice to us. Even before I let you out of my wings, she spoke with the gentle croons and coos that you did. She wasn't big and bulky like your sire, but lean like you. She had your bright eyes, too. But most important, she had your scent. She smelt of frost and trees and you. I smelt you in her, and her in you.
She was kin.
I think you were confused at first. You were careful approaching her. You didn't speak much. But she was gentle with you, as a mother should be. You didn't know who she was, but she recognized you. And when you figured it out, you wriggled and tackled and clung to her, like you would to us.
We had found your kin. Your real kin.
So what did that make me?
The next day, I thought I lost you again. Not dead-lost. But still lost. You came up to me in the morning after you had scratched all our itchy spots, and asked me to take you back to the Viking Nest.
The Terror said we should just ignore you. But I couldn't. You weren't Viking, you were mine, but I had always known that someday, you would want to go back and show off your mane.
I didn't eat much that day. I wasn't hungry anymore. You spent that morning with your real mother, and I was even less hungry.
Your mother came with us. At first, I tried to chase her and her flock away, but you always got so mad. None of us knew what to do, but your mother's flock refused to leave, so we had to allow it.
I always kept my distance from them. I didn't want them – I didn't want any of them – getting close to our flock. The Zippleback and Gronckle liked them though. I growled at them a lot for that. The Nightmare liked your mother; I think it was because her flock was larger dragons like him.
We flew all the way back to the Viking Nest. You always perched on my back, but you talked to your mother more than me. I had never spoken Viking like you, but you had always cooed to me before.
It made me feel alone. Even though I was surrounded by dragons.
The Viking Nest was very different from when we had last seen it. It stunk of Vikings, but also dragons. I had worried that the Vikings and dragons were still fighting.
But then we saw lots of Vikings and dragons not fighting. It was no longer just a Viking Nest, but a Dragon Nest, too. But they weren't like us. They weren't playing together or flying together.
I recognized some of the dragons. They were all very eager to greet and sniff our flock. The Vikings wanted to greet, too. They all chattered at you; none of them growled this time.
I did though, when I saw your sire. You made hissing sounds at me and then ran to him and snuggled him. Your sire didn't snarl at you this time; he chattered like the other Vikings.
Your mother joined you. Your sire went very quiet at first. Then he got very loud and touched foreheads. They clung to each other, and you clung to them, too. You all smelled of dragons and fish and each other.
You had a mother and a sire, now.
You didn't need me anymore.
I followed you around for a week. You spent lots of time with your parents and ran from Viking to Viking, to dragon to dragon and helped them make flocks. You didn't spend much time with ours.
It made me very sad. I didn't fly very much after that. I slept a lot. I thought I was sick because I didn't have much energy. Even you had trouble getting me up.
The rest of our flock worried. They would poke and prod, but I snapped at them and told them to leave me alone. I always felt bad after that, but I was too tired to find them and say sorry. I think I even snapped at you once.
You worried, too. You brought me fish because I didn't have the energy to catch them. They always tasted weird. I didn't like eating so much anymore. You cooed to me and scratched me, and tried to push me so I would stand. I always felt better when you were there, but then your mother or sire or playmates would come by and you would leave. Then I felt bad again. Sometimes, I couldn't remember what it was like not to feel bad.
I tried to leave once. I only told the Nightmare so our flock wouldn't look for me, but then he told the Nadder and she brought you and found me. You could never really speak dragon with us, but you understood what I was doing anyways.
You grew very scared. I could smell your fear. You wailed a lot, and clung, and squeezed very tightly. I shook you off and told you that you didn't need me anymore. You had parents to teach you how to be Viking. You had no need for me to be your sire.
You wouldn't stop clinging, though. I couldn't fly away because I would take you with me. I told the Nadder to help me, but she refused.
You started to smell like salt. It was your eyes; water was leaking out of your eyes. I knew you did that when you were very sad.
I didn't like it when you were sad. I licked and told you that you would be okay without me. Your eyes didn't stop leaking; you wouldn't stop clinging.
I didn't know what to do. I let you cling to me.
Your wails grew softer and quieter. That's when the Nadder spoke to me. She told me that even though we were no longer your parents, that didn't mean we weren't flock. She told me I should stay. For you.
I wasn't sure, but I told her I would try.
For you.
You ended up making us a new den, close to your old one. You no longer slept in your parents' den, but in our own.
The den was big enough for our whole flock to fit inside. We slept together, ate together, and played together. Once our flock had our own den, it was better. I wasn't so tired anymore.
You still ran around with the Vikings, but not as much as before. You spent most of your time with us. Sometimes, you brought other Vikings back. Especially the blonde female. You spent a lot of time with her (I wondered if that fight I had once interrupted had been a courting ritual).
But you spent lots of time with us, too. You spent more time with us then you did with your parents.
And that was good, because it still meant you were still mine.
We went flying today, just me and you. You had grown a new pelt (actually, it was more like a shell) and wanted to fly with it.
It was a normal flight. You asked me to go high, and then we glided a lot. You kept chattering to yourself and me and looking around.
Then, I felt you move. You weren't balanced on me anymore. I looked to see what you were doing –
You jumped.
I screamed. I dove after you and screeched at you to tell me what you were doing –
And you did it. You stopped falling. You started gliding instead, and I accidentally dove past you and had to catch up. I did not understand what had happened.
Then I looked closer. And I understood.
You were gliding, like me.
You had revealed your wings.
You still couldn't really fly. You could only glide, and I had to keep catching you and bringing us higher. But you had wings. Like me.
You were very loud and happy after that. When we landed, you laughed a lot and clung to me. I licked because I was happy, too. I think you finally understood:
You had never been Viking.
Always dragon.
|
The crowd was extra loud tonight as the smell of sweat permeated his senses. He could also smell the fear of his opponent. Oliver lived for this moment. The moment before he wins. He picks up his opponent and tosses him to the ground, breaking his back. He circles around the other man twice before picking him up by his head and twisting until he snaps his neck, killing him instantly. The crowd roars. Oliver looks down at another wasted soul, all for the entertainment of bored rich people who are born different and therefore special.
Oliver moves around the small ring with his hands raised. He looks to his Dad who nods his approval. Oliver just won his family yet another hotel chain. Oliver wonders when enough is enough for his parents. He moves to the side of the ring, lifts the rope and ducks under. He stalks back to the dressing room. He opens the door to see his best friend Tommy talking to several women who have gathered hoping to take home a rich man tonight.
Oliver moves to the shower. He washes his body then lets the water soothe his muscles. He is letting the water run over him when he hears the curtain move. A few seconds later he feels small hands wrap around his back to his stomach, then down to his cock. She starts to pump him slowly. He feels his body come alive again. He turns around, lifts her against the wall and thrusts into her without any hesitation. Oliver pounds into the woman without knowing or caring about her name. He knows Robert Queen sent her to him as a prize for winning. Oliver accepts it as normal.
When he's done, she scurries out. Oliver is left feeling empty and alone again. This way of life was once everything he could ever want- fighting and sex below the city streets. In the city, being revered because those people have no idea about the secret society beneath it. Even up there, Oliver Queen is desired and wanted by men and women. Life was perfect until he realized....Oliver is an Alpha and he wants to mate. He feels driven to find a mate. It is biology.
It is also out of the question.
"Oliver, it's time to collect our winnings. Get out here." Robert Queen shouts at his son.
Oliver shuts off the water. He wraps a towel around his waist. His Father is holding his suit by the hanger for him. Time to be the young man of privilege and prestige as the city above sees him and as his father will never see him : a winner not a tool to be used and abused.
FELICITY -
Felicity Smoak has an ideal life. She works with her Dad on his many inventions and programs he creates on the tiny island. She knows they do some government research and are trying to make the world safer. She knows everyone on the small island and loves it here.
She is walking from her tiny little cottage to the big research and development building. Today she is wearing a dress and wedges. Robert Queen of Queen Consolidated is coming to inspect the work and premises tomorrow and her Dad has sent strict instruction of jeans and a shirt for his arrival. He along with the government gives them the money they need to do their work. Her Dad stressed how important it is to impress Mr. Queen. Noah also gives her the impression she shouldn’t personally impress at all.
Felicity lifts her head to the sky, the sun is shining and she soaks up a few of the precious rays before entering the dark building full of harsh unnatural lighting. She takes a deep breath and looks over at the mountain rising above the island. She beams as she enters her natural environment. She smiles at several of the employees. Several look nervous, others look downright terrified. Her Dad says her brains and her abilities make her scary to some. She thinks it’s because she is his daughter.
Felicity walks into her lab. She loves her lab. It is bright and airy, at least this part is bright and airy. The other part is chilled and dark for the sake of keeping her servers cool and working.
Barry is sitting in her office which is part of the outer lab. Barry Allen is her best friend and one-time boyfriend. They work well together, but Felicity wants sparks and undying passion.
"Barry...what's up?" She asks as she slides behind her desk.
"We have a Queen inspection tomorrow. The team is wondering if they will be sent to the mainland again?"
Felicity sighs, "I don't know. I'm talking to Noah, but he seems to think the less of us here the better. He wants just you and me from our department and the people do love a free vacation."
Barry smiles, "That they do. I wouldn't mind one myself." He sits forward, "How are you doing? Nervous about your first big meeting with him?"
Felicity spins in her chair once, "Nope. I am charming, don't you know?"
Barry laughs, "That you are, but he is a hard ass."
"I know. I am hoping my Dad doesn't make me do too much with Mr. Queen. I don't do well with those situations as you know."
Barry and Felicity think back to when she babbled through an entire dinner with The President of the United States when he came to see the mercenaries and hire them for a job. Barry and Felicity were dating then.
Barry stands up as he laughs, "I will see you for lunch?"
"Yep. I need the time outside."
Felicity watches Barry leave as she gets to work on some code she's been working on. She loves getting lost in a good line of code or a project. She works diligently until their is a knock on her office door. She spins around.
"Hey, Dad."
Noah enters her office. Felicity adores her Dad. He taught her everything about computers and electrical systems and so many other things. She didn't even have to leave the island to be able to do top level work. All she needed was him.
"Hey Baby...you know tomorrow Mr. Queen will arrive with his entourage." Felicity watches her Dad fidget and he never fidgets. She got that particular quirk from her mom.
"Yes, I know." Felicity frowns, "Am I being sent to the mainland again?"
Often times when Mr. Queen or anyone from the mainland comes to their little island Felicity is sent away. Her parents insist it's because everything is boring when the Queens arrive. Felicity has been here for many heads of states and even Bruce Wayne, but never Robert Queen.
"No. You will be joining us for dinner and he wants to see your lab...your work with bioengineering has caught his attention."
"Oh!" Felicity smiles.
Her dad doesn't looks excited or proud. "Listen, honey...Robert Queen and his family...they're different from us and I don't mean just their money. The super rich like them are different...dangerous. Be polite, but not friendly. Be courteous, but not inviting and...dress down tomorrow, please...for me?" He tells her for the millionth time.
"Dad...you make it sound like he is some sort of monster! He is the reason we have this wonderful island and money to make so many of our dreams come true. He believes in our vision...he can't be that bad."
Felicity sees anger flash in her father's eyes. Her father who never is angry. He grabs her by her arms, "He does this for himself not us. He uses us. Never forget he could rip all this away from us and never bat an eye." He drops her arms.
"Do as I say...please, Felicity?"
She nods, "Okay, Dad. I will be whatever you ask of me tomorrow."
Noah kisses her forehead, "That's my girl. Now go grab lunch. I will see you tomorrow."
Felicity walks out of her office a bit worried. What doesn't she know? She thinks about it on the way to pick up her lunch from the cafeteria before heading to her favorite spot to eat. She spots Barry, Caitlin and Cisco already there.
They all wave. She sits down, too and unwraps her sandwich. "What were you guys talking about?"
They look guilty. Cisco speaks, "Your Dad came around giving us all stern lectures on not wasting Mr. Queen's time tomorrow and basically saying not to speak unless spoken to."
Felicity swallows her bite of sandwich, "He said the same to me and told me not to dress nicely...which is the direct opposite of every other person who visits us."
Barry shrugs, "Maybe Queen is just a mean guy or an asshole."
Felicity rolls her eyes, "I doubt that...he gave us all this. Didn't he recruit you, Cisco?"
Felicity, Barry and Caitlin were all born here on the island. Cisco arrived a couple of years ago. It was exciting to hear his stories of the mainland and life somewhere else. She can't imagine ever not living here. She enjoys visiting the mainland a lot, but it seems a lot less friendly than the island.
"No. Walter Steel recruited me. I've never met any of the Queen family. All I know is what I read online or saw on tv."
"Which is?" Caitlin and Felicity both ask at the same time.
"Robert Queen is rich...one of the richest men in the world. He's married to Moira Queen. They call her The Ice Queen. She seems cold and not like the mothering type. They have a daughter Thea...totally spoiled, never wears the same outfit twice and likes drugs almost as much as clothes and then there is Oliver Queen." Cisco pauses, "Every girl I know has a crush on him. They say he's handsome...he seems allergic to shirts and is always with a different girl...dropped out of college so Daddy gave him a VP position in his company."
Felicity wrinkles her nose, "He doesn't sound attractive at all."
Cisco pulls out his tablet and hands it to her. She looks at him, "He is....ummm...well, he looks nice..." She tilts her head to look his abs over again, "very well...
maintained
..." Caitlin takes the tablet as Felicity takes a drink of water.
"Damn...He's gorgeous." She hands the tablet back to Cisco, "Too bad he's dumb...I need brains in a man."
The group all laughs because they all know she has a huge crush on Ronnie Raymond who arrived a couple weeks ago but so far has kept to himself.
"So, Cait, you hoping our free vacation will be a time to finally talk to Ronnie?" Cisco teases her.
Caitlin blushes. "I don't know...I think he's into someone else."
"Then he's an idiot." Felicity announces.
The boys agree with her.
"I need to get back to work." Felicity announces as she stands up and tosses away her trash. "I will see you tomorrow, Barry, and you two after your vacation."
Felicity goes back to her office and works until late in the evening. She finally turns her computer off around midnight. She walks out of the building and looks up at all the stars. She forgot her jacket and it's cold sometimes at night on the island. She hurries towards her little cottage.
She slips into bed thinking about tomorrow and how she will act. It's not in her nature not to be friendly and welcoming. She sighs. It's only one day, then life will go back to normal. She falls asleep going over the code in her head.
|
Olivia:
The following morning I woke up, practiced a little kick boxing, throwing my all into it, thinking of the two boys I'd fought at the Gallery. What I understood about fighting was that when you came across someone who could inflict pain on you, it meant two things; One, you weren't as good as you thought and two, you needed to brush up on your game.
I had never been pushed to my limit like that and I'd fought several people in my lifetime. Back in Wisconsin, I was a junior champion in my league with Kick boxing and Stick licking. With what it took my mother a seven whole years to master, it took me three, so by the age of nine, I had beaten every kid in my age division nationally.
In my opinion, they weren't that great to begin with, so that wasn't a challenge there. What I accelled in was Ju Jujitsu.
As my mind went to the deliberate kick in the knee I'd received from one of the boys yesterday, I did a round house kick, hearing the rip in the bag as my foot collided with its side.
I balled my fist and slammed it into the front end of the bag, pushing the mounted sand bag toward the back of the attic. As it came back toward me, my left fist met up with it's swing and I watched as it busted open, sending an awful pain through my hand, up my wrist and to my arm.
As I pulled my hand back toward my face, I smiled as the sand bag bounced to the ground, toppling from the anchor that held it to the attic ceiling. The little piece that had held it onto the anchor had ripped.
Going over to the small fridge that held a stock of water, I went in, twisted the cap off and downed the bottle.
Not long after I'd opened it, I heard a voice yell, "Stefan, Olivia broke the punching bag...again!! I listened as he stormed downstairs in frustration. I finished the water in my bottle, threw it into the trash and then made my way toward the main area of the house.
When I reached the living-room, Stefan was telling Tavis, he needed to child out because there was another bag in the garage. "I don't want to be the one to drag that bag in the house and all the way up to the attic." He stated.
"Alright, I'll do it, but first..." He paused and glanced up at me, "I'd like to speak with you in my office." He stated, his Grey eyes probing mine. "Ok." I shrugged, "Where's ma."
"Sleeping." He stated. I furrowed my brow, "Why aren't you downstairs with her?"
"I needed to speak with you and it's important."
I rolled my eyes, irritated, When ever Stefan usually said he wanted to speak to me, it usually meant he was going to give me a stupid lecture about what...I wasn't sure.
He probably was going to talk about the other day and what happened. "I can explain that. I know I wasn't supposed to sneak out of the house, but I was curious as to what the ware house really was..."
"And you had to go right?" He inquired, his tone holding no hostility or anger.
I closed my eyes, "I know, y'all forbid me or Tavis..."
"I'm not mad at you Olivia. I get it, just come on so we can talk in my office. I'd rather discuss this in private." He stated.
"Non est mecum?" Tavis questioned him.
"Non." Stefan answered back.
Although I wasn't an expert in Latin, I understood no and what ever Stefan spoke to him, it was no to his question. As Stefan stood and beckoned me to follow him, I let him lead to the drawing room.
Once there, he sat down at a large oak desk, which had a computer, all in one printer and little nick nacks used to lend decor to the old piece of furniture.
I felt as if I was being brought to the principal's desk as he sat down in his usual spot, turned on the computer and I sat down at one of two empty chairs in front of him. My gaze drifted to the expansive library and liquor cabinet beneath a shelf of books. "You know, I've never seen you drink anything in that cabinet, yet you have so much alcohol."
He responded without looking away from what he was doing, "It's because I don't drink in front of children and most of what's there is for guests whom I entertain." I glanced over at him, not understanding why I felt so odd. I knew he wouldn't hurt me, yet this little meeting had me on edge. "I spoke with your father yesterday."
He stated.
I narrowed my brows, "Did you?"
"Yes."
"I'd love to hear what he had to say." I stated,
already convinced he was lying.
"He asked for you to join him at the Gallery."
"Mm, hmm."
"He'll be here at noon to pick you up. I'm expecting you to have some of your clothing packed and your pick of weapons." He stated.
I folded my arms across my chest. This was a hoax right? He and mom wanted to get back at me for leaving without permission.
"He'll be granted temporary custody through the training years however, during the summer months you are to come back to your mother and I."
I shrugged, Ok, if they wanted to play this little charade, I'd play. "Really...And I suppose mom approved?"
"She told me which ever decision I made, she would stand behind on."
"Eager to get rid of me that quick huh?"
"Just your mouth." He stated, his tone clipped. I was not surprised by what he spoke. In all the years that I'd known him, he'd been one to not bite his tongue on what he thought of an individual.
As this thought crossed my mind, I pondered what it was he was telling me. If there was one thing I knew about Stefan, it was that he wouldn't lie nor would he play games, if he had something to say, he'd just say it. He was that transparent. As my brows furrowed, I remembers Denver telling me that my father was in Bolivia and if so, how could he possibly be here?
"The young man lied to you, Olivia."
Stefan intruded on my thoughts. My eyes met him irritated, "Don't do that please, I hate it."
He smiled, "I bet you do." I let his comment slide and turned my attention back to him, "Ok, so when is he getting here?"
"Noon."
"Seeya." I stated, turning away, going to the door. As I reached for the knob, he spoke, "Olivia, before you leave, talk to your mom."
"Ok."
"I don't mean as you're leaving but at least an hour and a half before. She needs to see you before you go."
I glanced down at my watch. It was six in the morning. "As soon as I'm done packing, I'll go see her."
"Thank you." He stated. I opened the door, realizing that maybe Stefan wasn't so bad after all. I could feel
the ecstasy leap up within me, over joyed at my new beginning.
~~
Odilia flipped her hair over her shoulder, starring up at the ceiling in her bedroom. She couldn't explain the forlornness she felt at the thought of Olivia going, she understood that she had to go, but what she couldn't fathom was the idea that Oden could reach Olivia in a way that she couldn't.
She already had a hard time getting the girl to accept that she was a vampire, but if she went with the hunters, she would choose them over her own mother who'd been with her since conception.
Although Olivia was pushing her away at this moment, Odilia could feel in her heart that this stage would pass. At least it would have before Oden stepped into the picture.
Odilia had refrain from speaking anything about her father, because of the simple fact that he'd left when Olivia was three, and she had no memory of him. That and she wanted her to accept Stefan.
He was clearly a better father than Oden, who'd left his own two children, using that bull shit excuse of her being the reason. No man in his right mind would leave his children in the event of not loving the mother.
Truth be told, Odilia had loved Oden, way more than he'd loved her, a lot longer than he had. So much so that she had suffered through bouts of depression for a year after he left and had refrained from building any sort of relationship with any man until Stefan.
From the very beginning her attraction to him was so strong that it overshadowed any reasoning she attempted to have when dealing with him. Before him, she'd believed that no man would ever get as close to her heart as Oden had. However, she'd found a new height of love, desire and attraction with him. A bond that grew stronger and stronger as the years continued.
If she'd thought the love she'd shared with Oden had been real, it dimmed to nothing when compared to the man she'd come to understand in Stefan. His blunt way of dealing with things, compassion, and rationale were more than she'd hoped for in a man. When she ran around overly emotional without a rational thought in her mind, he leveled her out. When she opened her mouth too much, he spoke out on it.
Stefan was disciplined in such a way that she lacked that it steadied her. As she recalled the conversation from last night, she remembered how he'd kept what he'd known about Olivia from her. Exhaling sharply, Odilia felt that heat burn in her, fanning the flames. Calm down, love. You don't want to go there. He whispered.
Oh shut up Stefan. I'm not that angry! She yelled.
Yes you are. You need to chill out, for real.
Chill out?
Yes, Odilia Gregoire, you are really upset.
And you don't think I haven't a reason to be?
Of course, but not this angry. This type of anger is uncalled for.
Uncalled for? Stefan, how long have you known about Olivia being a hunter?
Since she was eight.
And how long have you known she'd be used to protect Junior?
Long enough.
Long enough to keep it from me.
I apologized for that, but as I said before, it wasn't time.
And I suppose last night was perfect?
Not really, I felt the longer I kept this from you the more sane you'd stay. You're too emotional.
I'm not, I can control my emotional state well enough.
Stefan laughed. I don't think so. You over react to everything.
What did you think I would say if you told me that Olivia was Junior's protector?
Exactly what you're saying now. That I deliberately tried to keep this from you to hurt you, but it was really to preserve you. I didn't think you'd be able to handle this.
Is there more to her being his protector than just training him, Stefan?
Stefan sighed, a lot more. They will fight together against Lilith.
Not that again. I thought she was done and over with.
He's been marked Odilia, she'll be back for him. She will try to use him to connect to this world. To control, manipulate things the way she sees fit.
She has that much power?
All but manifestation. She needs a human sacrifice for that.
Odilia raised a brow. Excuse me.
They're a packaged deal Odilia.
No.. she protested, You're lying.
It's true.
No... Feeling something fierce rise up in her, Odilia felt a headache come on. It was so severe that she blacked out.
~~
Odilia was floating away from her body. She was floating so fast, so far out that it was hard for her to grasp onto anything. She went so fast, past the many souls that were still throughout the earth and its atmosphere.
She continued to float away from the land mass, through the trees, through the clouds, through the atmosphere, out into a blackened sky where she stopped between the stars and the earth. Glancing down, she saw a hole splitting through the middle of the earth.
Inside, she could see many, many creatures down into the bottom of the earth, from humans, to vampires, to wolves, to creatures she'd never seen, and some she'd heard about in myths, dragons, with expansive wings, and talons so thick they'd shred anyone on earth into millions of pieces. "You shall not stop me." A voice stated in her ear, the tone hissing. "I will be where I am, how I am, and what I am." Odilia felt something so cold course through her veins, it filled her with dread. "You cannot contain a release!" The voice was so loud, so boisterous that it felt as if a speaker had blown in her ear, "I will be who I am, how I am and where I am." Chills, she felt chills and trembles course through her body so horrid that she could not stop the chattering the blistering cold wrapped her in.
~ ~
Olivia:
I went down to talk to mom like Stefan instructed and what I found astounded me. Stefan was leaned over mom, checking her pulse and calling her name. There was no answer. At first I thought she may have been asleep but then I watched as she seemed to loose color and began to pale. "Mom."
I called out, of course she would not answer me either.
I stared at her, confused as to why her body lay still the way it was with her hands to her side, almost like she was dead.
Horrified, my eyes went wide and I ran toward her. Right before I was to reach out to touch her, Stefan held out his arm, stopping me in my tracks. "Don't touch her, she's in hibernation right now." He stated all of this with a transfixed gaze on his features. "Wha...what?" I inquired, confused.
"She's in what they call a hyperbaric state." I stared at Stefan wondering how he could possibly know everything there was to know about everything.
Furrowing my brows, I sighed and glanced back at mom. "What does that mean?"
"I'm not sure what it means for her, but it's a state where the mind and body are inactive for a period of time."
"How long has she been like this?"
"For a couple of hours."
"You're not panicking?" I inquired, turning to him.
"No. I think she will be alright, I've seen this happen before with Shaman, it's like being in animated suspension."
"Should I stay, you know..." My tone trailed. In all honesty, I didn't want to stay, I wanted to leave, but given the circumstances, even for me that would be shallow.
"No, I'm sure she'll be alright, Olivia. I am going to call Raina and have her come up here, perhaps she can help her out of this." He glanced down at his watch. It read thirty minutes til eleven. "Go say goodbye to Tavis and Junior if you will."
I turned away from him and walked toward Junior's room. As I stood outside his door, wondering what to say, I heard a voice say, "come in." I twisted the knob and walked into my kid brother's room. He glanced up at me from his bed, A football in his hand, twirling it.
"Hey," I spoke, sitting down next to him.
"Hi, Olivia, right?" His tone was sarcastic as he tensed up.
I gave a small smile, "Right, look, I know you don't see too much of me, but truth be told I am not too fond of..." I struggled for another word other than bloodsucker. It was hard considering that I'd never spoke any word other than that one about vampires. This caused me to look at Junior with curious eyes.
He flickered his long eye lashes and stared up at me with dark intense eyes. His dark curly hair framing his head in a natural wiry way, the same as Stefan. "Vampires Olivia, we are vampires." He supplied. I smiled at his smart tone. "Vampires then, I've never been fond of them."
"No?"
"No."
"Why not?" He inquired, his gaze going back to his football.
I shrugged, "Well for starters, you drink blood, and everyone knows that blood is a life source and that's like taking a life."
"Yeah, well, dad says we aren't allowed to hunt humans."
I nodded. "That's a good thing, right?"
Junior threw the ball up in a toss and it came back down toward his lap. "I suppose if you're human it is, but you know what..."
"What?" I inquired, my gaze going to the floating football in the air. After throwing it in the air, the foot ball hadn't come back down.
"I'm not sure being a vampire is all that great either. I've been wanting to go outside in the light but mom and dad are smothering me in here. I don't go anywhere or do anything, it's so bad, they won't even let me enroll in public school."
I sighed, "Trust me, Junior, School is not all that and I know what you mean about smothering.
All these rules are grating my nerves. I'm so tired of do this, do that, I feel like I'm in a drill school."
"That's where you going, right? A fighting school?"
I nodded, "You could call it that."
"They will have rules there too you know."
"Yeah, they will but I will be more compliant when doing something I enjoy versus just compliance." Junior furrowed his brows, "I know I'm only six, but that sounds whacked."
I laughed, "It does doesn't it? I've tried questioning my beliefs at times too, but it's like something inside of me is like that."
"Something that wants to be free."
"Exactly."
"Maybe you will find more freedom when you learn to treat others better than you have been lately. Maybe your frustration is rooted to how you deal with everyone else." He stated.
"Come again?" I stared at him, unsure of how he even knew what he was talking about.
"You feel frustrated, misunderstood and at times unloved. If you learned how to deal with people, how to be conscientious of how you interacted with them socially, you would be less frustrated."
"Frustrated, misunderstood, contentious, interacted...seriously dude, you're only six and you're making me look bad." I stated, impressed at his vocabulary and knowledge of myself.
He laughed, "Well thanks but the question you asked I just answered. Learn to respect and you will be respected." I stared at him, taking in what he spoke. He didn't say anything else, just continued to hold the ball in suspension in air. "How did you do that?" I inquired. He said, "Heck if I know. I just know I can."
"I think it's raw."
"Raw...vernacular, right?"
"What?"
"It's a part of your original di..." He paused and chose another word, "common language."
"No...I don't think so..." I was perplexed. What was Vernacular?
"What do you mean by raw then?"
"It is an expression for cool."
"Ah, ok, so if I say Olivia's fighting skills are
raw, would that be accurate?"
I smiled, "You got it."
"Will you teach me to fight like you?" He inquired, turning bright luminous eyes upon me.
I furrowed my brows, "You want me to teach you to fight?"
"Yes."
"Why not your dad?" I asked, "I'm sure he wants that as his department.
He sighed and shook his head, "He would not be that great. He'd go easy on me. I don't want that."
I gave a sideways glanced perplexed. He actually paid attention to me? "You're my sister. I see the fight in you and I like it. It's what makes you great and will ascend you to the best."
I stared at him, "You know I don't like you reading..."
He cut me off, "I didn't read your mind. Your body expression says it all. I will not violate or intrude anywhere I'm not wanted. I'll give you your privacy."
I sighed, "I'm leaving today and I won't be here until the weekend before Christmas."
He finally allowed the ball to drop into his lap. "I guess I will see you then."
I smiled, "Yeah, you will." I stood up, feeling different about this little boy having just talked to him. I also felt a little calmer than I usually did. The storm that seemed to always brew was quieted down around him, that extra energy. I said, "Good bye Junior."
He smiled, "Don't you mean little bloodsucker?" I was speechless as I tried to come up with an explanation for what I'd spoken over the years.
He laughed at my expense, "Don't worry, I'm not angry."
"Maybe I'll just call you Junior."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you've earned it."
"Ok."
I waved to him and then found my exit.
|
This tale is set at what should have been the End of Days, or Armageddon. Some even call it The Apocalypse. It is a tale of betrayal, love, and salvation...
I give full credit for inspiration for this tale to Jon Shaffer and Iced Earth from the following albums:
'Something Wicked This Way Comes'
'Framing Armageddon'
'The Crucible of Man'
\m/
I.D.
--------------------------------------------------
Prologue: Framing Armageddon
"You know your task, Bazael."
"To eliminate the one foretold to give birth to the Redeemer."
"Yes, my friend. How you do so is up to you."
"Why?"
"Because we trust your judgment. All of your assassinations are flawless."
"No, Lord Elder. Why must she die? She has done no wrong."
"You know why, Bazael."
"Because she was born into Mankind? Her soul is pure like a Setian."
"Because if she lives, Mankind will find the path to Redemption."
"Would that not be the correct course of action? Let Mankind be redeemed."
"What has gotten into you, Bazael? You have been flawless from Christ to Kennedy. Your assassinations have been written into their history books."
"Because I tire of this, Lord Elder. My infinite anger is at an end, and I have seen that these men and women today are not those who committed Genocide on us millenia ago."
"Know your place, Bazael. You have served the Thirteen and the Ten Thousand for ages with no remorse. You do what we cannot."
"I do, Lord Elder. I also know that if I kill her, then all hope of Redemption for Mankind dies with her. They have great evil among them, but they also have great love. Who are we to judge these descendants of the Murderers?"
"We are the Chosen of Earth Mother, Bazael. Have you forgotten your own wife and child murdered in the Scourging?"
"No, Lord Elder. I remember them as if it was this morning. I see my wife's face. I see my son's face. I see them look upon me with horror in their eyes at the acts I have done in the name of Justice."
"It is unpleasant, Bazael. But it is also necessary."
"Is it, Lord Elder? Give your Order, then."
"Bazael, the Order is given. The Mother of the Redeemer will die by your hand, or not at all."
"Yes, Lord Elder."
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Chapter 1: Harbinger of Fate
I stepped from the subway into the station and headed up the stairs to street level. It was raining hard that night. My tasks are always grim, and they have worn on me over the centuries and millenia.
The rain hit my trenchcoat and it felt as if each drop was a hammer, beating me down. I had grown tired. I looked at the diner where she worked, and I sighed. In my sigh, anyone passing by might have heard the regret and frustration inside me. I had been a good soldier. I had done the Council's bidding since before the Dawn of Time. Now our victory was within our grasp, and all it would take would be to snuff out the one candle of hope that Mankind had left.
It must be done in secret. It must be done without the knowledge of anyone close to her. I saw her through the window, taking orders from her customers at their table. They were rough looking men, and they leered at her constantly. I let the rain fall over me as I watched them and her. I looked at their Souls, and I saw they were darker than my own. I looked at her soul, and I was blinded by her brilliance. Those four men would snuff out her light without my intervention. I could let them do what they were planning and leave her to die. I would not have to slay her, but the mission would be fulfilled.
I looked for traffic, but there was none. I stepped into the street and made my way to the diner. I looked at my face in the window and saw what all men and women saw. My short black hair was plastered to my head by the hard heavy rain. My green eyes were clear and bright, and seemed otherworldly, even to me. It was a form that I preferred over others, simply because it was the most unexpected. I looked non-threatening. I looked like most other people, except for my eyes. That was the one Setian trait that I would never lose. I could change my face and hair at a whim, but never my eyes. I looked at the reflection and into my own eyes. I could see the love I had, and the pain of devastating loss. I closed my eyes and turned away from my reflection. I walked up the steps and into the diner. I looked around. The cook, the four demons in human form, and the woman were the only others in the diner at this time of night. I stepped to the counter and sat down on a stool.
"What can I get ya, hon?" I was roused by the sound of her voice, the Brooklyn accent not masking the softness of her voice.
"Coffee, please. Black. No cream or sugar."
"Comin' right up, sweety." She said and flashed me a radiant smile. I nodded slightly and showed a thin smile that didn't reach my eyes.
She poured a mug for me and set it before me. I handed her two dollars. "Thank you. You may keep the change."
"Thanks, sweety." She flashed another brilliant smile at me. and her blue eyes gave me soft feelings inside. I looked down as I felt my face flush. No. She is the target. She must die. I resolved to make her death as painless as possible. She would feel nothing as she passed from this life.
I looked at her nametag. 'Sharon' was engraved in black upon the gold painted tag itself.
I could hear the men whispering from their booth. The four men who wished to rape and kill this angel in human form that it was my sworn duty to slay. They were actually just planning to rape her, but they knew that if she lived, the police would hunt them down. She would die by their hands to hide their crime.
No. She deserved a better death than what they would do for her.
One of the men stood up and straightened his jacket, and I saw the tell-tale bulge of a firearm stuffed into his belt on the side.
"Hey, homie. You're out kinda late in that fancy suit. You lost?" I realized that he was addressing me.
"No, friend. I am exactly where I need to be." I looked up at him from my sip of coffee. I looked in the mirror above the counter and saw his friends readying their weapons as well.
He was black, or African American, as they were called now. His ancestors had landed in Africa before it was even called Africa, and had destroyed all traces of Setian culture there. Of the Ten Thousand Setians still surviving, none had come from Africa.
We were not always immortal. We lived and died as God and Earth Mother intended. We lived for hundreds of years, but we died eventually. Of old age or by accident. Death takes us all. It was only the Prophecy and the Magic therein which now coursed through us and made us what we were.
"Why you even here, then?" He asked. His tone had become belligerent very quickly. He started to raise his jacket to reach for his weapon.
"For a cup of coffee." I raised my mug and smiled before taking another sip. The coffee tasted bitter, as it should. It reminded me of life.
I glanced at Sharon, my target. She had a look of apprehension on her face. She recognized these men for what they were. I would not let them have her, though. She looked from them to me, but she couldn't say anything. I saw her reach into her pocket for her cellphone. I caught her eye and slowly shook my head No.
Her eyes grew wide at my gesture, and I smiled at her before turning back to the man still standing there looking down his nose at me. He was trying to intimidate me. I was not intimidated, but continued to smile at him in a friendly way.
He raised his head and chin in a quick gesture. "Enjoy your coffee, homie." He turned and walked back to his friends.
"How'd you do that, hon?" She asked in a low whisper.
"He saw that while I posed no threat to him, I would kill him if he had acted." I explained evenly to her in a lowered tone.
"Well, we need you around here every night, then." She smiled at me, and I returned her smile with a nod.
"This is good coffee. Thank you. May I have a refill?" I had finished the mug and was ready for some more.
"Of course, sweety. On the house." She winked at me and I felt my heart skip a beat. I considered her for a moment as she went to refill the mug. Her hair was short down to just the nape of her neck. Her hair was as black as mine, but her eyes were the most brilliant blue I had ever seen. They seemed to glow with her inner light.
She returned with my mug. "Thank you, Sharon." I smiled and nodded.
"You have a name, sweety?"
"Baz."
"Is that short for something?"
"It's a nickname." My 'real' name among humans was Alec Bastion.
"What's your real name, hon?" She smiled at me again, and again I felt my heart skip a beat.
"Alec. Alec Bastion." I smiled back at her, and this time the smile did reach my eyes.
"I'm Sharon Summers. It's a pleasure to meet ya, Alec." She held out her hand.
I took her hand and felt her soft skin on the back and the callouses on her palm and fingers. She had worker's hands. I kissed the back of her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Sharon."
She blushed as I released her hand. "The pleasure's mine, Alec."
I nodded in acknowledgment.
The cook came out from the back. "That's it, folks. The diner's closed for the night. Ya don't have to go home, but ya can't stay here." He turned to Sharon. "You can go, sweety. I'll close and lock up." He smiled at her as a father to his daughter.
"Thanks, Jerry." She replied with a grateful look at him.
"No problem, Shar. See ya tomorrow." He said as she gathered her stuff. He came out from behind the counter and approached the four men. "Time to go, guys. It's closin' time."
"Yeah yeah. We're goin'. Keep your pants on," said the one who had confronted me. They got up and left a twenty on the table, then headed for the door.
He came back towards me. "Time for you to go too, fella. We're lockin' up here."
I finished the coffee in the mug and stood. "Very well, Jerry. Thank you for the coffee." I nodded and left by the same exit as the men. When I got outside, I closed my eyes and sensed them close by. I stood on the street corner as if waiting for a cab, but they didn't approach me.
"Hey, sweety." Sharon came out the door and Jerry locked it behind her. I turned and smiled at her.
"I hate to ask, but can you walk with me? Those guys in there made me really nervous." She smiled at me, and I felt my resolve wavering. I knew she had to die to fulfill the Prophecy of Setian Life Returning. But if she went the way where those men were lying in wait for her without my protection, she would suffer greatly before she died. I would not allow that.
"Certainly, Sharon." I nodded and she smiled broadly.
Those men must have cased her route already, as they were waiting for her when she walked around the corner to head home. I stepped to her left to intervene if they should attack her.
"Well well. Hey, Sharon. Hey, homie. What you two doin' walkin' down this street? It can get dangerous at night, ya know." The man from the diner was now holding a pistol in his hand and aiming it at us sideways.
"Jimmy, we don't want any trouble. I'm just going home and Alec here is walking with me." Sharon knew them, but was obviously afraid of them.
"Sharon, it's about time you gave up that booty, baby. I think we needs to have us some of dat! Now, come on, or...." He stopped talking.
I moved without moving. I was gripping his throat and squeezing the life from him as his gun clattered to the pavement. I held him aloft with my left hand and squeezed until I felt his windpipe collapse and heard his neck snap.
I looked at his friends, who were carrying knives of various lengths. They moved in at once to attack me, but I was no longer there. Jimmy's body hit the ground and so did theirs. I crushed one attacker's throat with an open handed chop, and snapped another's neck before he could blink. The last attacker got behind Sharon and put his knife to her throat.
"Yo, man! Fuck this shit! You move, I'm gonna cut her!"
"Then I won't move," I said from behind him and grabbed his wrist. I pulled it away from her neck, and the knife slipped from his hand as the bones in his wrist snapped under my grip. He went to scream, but I silenced him with my fist in his throat. His windpipe collapsed from the blow and his spine snapped just below where his neck met his cranium.
I dropped him and turned to Sharon. "Are you hurt?"
Sharon was in shock at the violence. "N...no, Alec. How'd you do that?" She was looking at me wide eyed.
"Long years of experience, Sharon. Do you need me to walk you the rest of the way?" I asked.
"Y... yes, please. I.. I'm not feeling very.. good...." She passed out, and I caught her as she fell. Now. I could do it now. We were alone on the street, and I could slay her now before anyone came. It would be done, and Setian life would be assured.
I hefted her in my arms and carried her to her apartment building. I set her down by the door and reached into her purse for her keys. I found them and unlocked her door, then picked her up and moved inside with her. I laid her on her couch and locked her door. Once that was done, I moved over to where she was lying and sat beside across from her.
The Elder's words rang in my ears. "Bazael, the Order is given. The Mother of the Redeemer will die by your hand, or not at all."
I recalled the Prophecy again. 'Mankind will find Destruction or Redemption by their own hands. With their Destruction, Setian Life will return to the Earth, and we shall thrive again.'
That was the end of the Prophecy, though. What would happen if they found Redemption? The Council thought we would die off completely. Seeing Sharon as she was, both at work and now, lying unconscious, I had doubts. For the first time in my long life, I had doubts about the Prophecy and how Mankind's Destruction would be better than their Redemption.
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Chapter 2: A Charge to Keep
The Order had been given. The Mother of the Redeemer would die by my hand or not at all. Sharon Summers was to be the Redeemer's mother. But that made no sense. If she was the Redeemer's mother, who was the father? I checked her Driver's License from her purse. She was only twenty-two years old. I reviewed the information about her that I had been given. She had just graduated college, and was working her way through law school with the help of government grants and student loans. She came from a poor family, but had rose up from poverty to make something of her life.
Who was to be the Redeemer's father? That question nagged at me. Why had the Prophecy said nothing of the Redeemer's father? It was unlike any other Prophecy the Elders had received before. When I had first seen her the previous day as she arrived for work after class, I had scanned her soul and saw only the purest light. It had been then that I had returned to our sanctum beneath the streets of New York City. I had to question the Elders of the Council. It had been their wisdom and Prophecies that had guided us throughout the countless human generations of war and violence. We tried with all our might to stop Mankind from gaining a foothold on the Earth. Twelve thousand years of clouding their minds and erasing their memories. Twelve thousand years of guiding them down the path of self-destruction.
For what? They continued to thrive even now, but the Prophecy was Absolute in the minds of the Elders. 'Mankind will find Destruction or Redemption by their own hands. With their Destruction, Setian Life will return to the Earth, and we shall thrive again.'
We had to protect the rest of the universe from their destructive ways. That had been the Elder's explanation for stranding them here instead of simply letting them leave after their massacre had been fulfilled. They had been here for our Magic. Once they had it, they would leave our world and we would have been able to thrive again. But we wouldn't let them leave. We disabled their ships and clouded their minds with a great spell that cost many Setian lives. We few who remained were immortal. We could not die until the Prophecy had been fulfilled.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head as I thought of Jarielle and Brenael. My wife and son. I took myself back to that day when Mankind had landed. We had been curious about the large stone ships they flew in. Then they had attacked in force. Their weapons had laid waste to our cities and towns. My wife and son had been amongst the first casualties in this long long war. We were driven underground. I was chosen for my skill in combat as one of the Ten Thousand. I was chosen because I wanted the same as the others. To kill every last one of Mankind who walked our Earth now. The Prophecy had been clear, though. We would not kill Mankind. Mankind must kill itself. We would kill key figures in Mankind's development. Christ had died due to my poisoning of his own people's minds against him. Julius Caesar had died due to my manipulation of the Roman Senate. John F. Kennedy had required a more active role. I had been able to subvert Lee Harvey Oswald, but he was a terrible marksman. I had waited in the storm drain for Kennedy's limo to come into view, and had waited until Oswald started shooting before I fired the one round through the President's forehead for the killshot.
All of them would have been Father of the Redeemer. I also had to sabotage the plane of John Kennedy Jr. to make certain that he was not the Redeemer himself.
I had killed good men. I saw into their souls. Some were evil, but some were good.
Now I gazed at Sharon as she slept the sleep of pure exhaustion on her couch. I picked her up and carried her to her bed where I laid her back down. I removed her waitress's dress and pulled the covers over her. Then I sat by her bed and watched her sleep.
She looked like an angel. Her face was beautiful as she lay there with the street light shining in softly through her window. 'Mankind will find Destruction or Redemption by their own hands. With their Destruction, Setian Life will return to the Earth, and we shall thrive again.'
"Why must she die?" I whispered as I watched her breathing. "She has done no wrong to anyone, and her life will herald a new age of Redemption for Mankind. She will give birth to the Redeemer."
I sat and watched her sleep. I memorized every detail of her lovely face. Her lips were full and lightly made up with her favorite shade of lipstick. Her cheeks had no makeup on them, nor did her eyelids. She was a natural beauty both inside and out. She reminded me of Jarielle.
I lowered my head to my hands and closed my eyes. I made my decision, and I felt no more guilt over what I had to do. I felt sorrow and regret, but no guilt. I would never feel guilt over that decision for the rest of my life.
I was lost in thought when she awoke. "Alec? Where am I?" She asked, taking me by surprise. I smiled ruefully. I had been that lost in thought as to be taken unawares by her awakening.
"You are home, Sharon."
"My home? How did you...?"
"Your purse, Sharon. I saw your Driver's License and found your keys. You are safe now." I smiled at her. I had made my decision.
"Alec, why did you help me?"
"Originally, so you would feel no pain when you died. You deserve better than what they would have done to you."
I saw the look of fear in her eyes as I uttered the words.
"Why?"
"Sharon, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Suffice it to say that I won't let them, or anyone else harm you for as long as I live."
"Try me, Alec. I've heard stranger things." She laughed musically.
I couldn't stop the smile that came to my lips and eyes. "I doubt that, Sharon."
She raised her eyebrows in disbelief at my words.
I sighed. "Sharon, do you really wish to know?"
"Yes. I would like to know why the man who saved my life is now planning to kill me."
"Was. Not is."
"What changed your mind, then?"
"You did. You have no sin in you. You have never harmed another in your life. Your soul is pure."
"Are you an angel?"
"No."
"Are you a demon?"
"I've been called that, but no."
"Then who are you, Alec?" Her questioning voice was now a whisper.
"I am an assassin older than time itself. Now you will think me insane, but you wanted the truth."
She smiled and shook her head. "Seriously, Alec. Who are you?"
"I cannot tell you without showing you first." I said as I stood up from the chair by her bed.
"My name is Bazael, Sharon." I closed my eyes and let the change happen back to my original form. I opened my eyes to see her smiling at me in wonder.
I had changed not at all in shape or form, but for my skin, hands, and my face. My skin was now golden in color and myface had light horn ridges above my eyebrows and jutting from my chin. Twin spires of bone that met in a point below my chin. My eyes, as green as the richest emerald, remained unchanged.
"Alec, you aren't human." Her voice held no fear now, only wonder and... something else.
"No, Sharon. I am Setian." My voice had deepened somewhat with my transformation.
"Who are the Setians?" She asked.
I sat back down in the chair. "It is a long story, Sharon." I smiled.
"It's Saturday, and I don't have to be to work until five tonight."
"Very well. I'll tell you of my people and of what we, and I, have done throughout your history. When I am finished, you will hate us for what we have done."
"Alec, you saved my life last night. I won't hate you."
"When I finish my tale, you might have a different opinion." I warned her.
"Just tell me, please?"
The look in her eyes was both accepting of me for what I was and pleading with me to tell her of myself and my people.
"It started twelve thousand years ago, when Mankind first came to Earth...."
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Chapter 3: The Domino Decree
"Before Mankind first came to Earth in their great stone ships, we, the Setians, lived in harmony with nature. We lived for hundreds of years, but we were not immortal. Our Magic was born of Earth Mother, and was nurtured by our Elders who commune with her still to this day. When the Invasion and Genocide began, Mankind was looking for the source of our Magic. The Council of Thirteen had received a Prophecy of the Invasion, and the Gathering was undertaken. As Mankind started to slaughter us from on high, The Ten Thousand were gathered. It had been millenia since we had fought a war, but I was brought into the Ten Thousand as a warrior, skilled in combat from years of training. But not before I saw my wife and son slaughtered in a strafing run by one of the small stone ships the invaders flew. Jarielle, my wife, had my son Brenael by the hand and was reaching for me as we ran towards each other. But when the ship attacked, they died in fire and flames."
Sharon got out of her bed in just her underclothes and pulled me to my feet. She hugged me, and I was nearly overwhelmed by her gesture. I gently pushed her back and sat her down on her bed as I sat down in the chair again before continuing.
"My tale isn't finished yet, Sharon. After that, the Ten Thousand began training in secret, far underground where Mankind could not reach us. We had food, shelter, and solitude to train and prepare. When another thousand Setians were brought in, however, it was not for their safety. They were brought before the Council and made to sacrifice their lives for a Spell of Clouding, which hadn't been used in eons, but was the only way to protect the rest of the cosmos from Mankind. We knew back then that Man had come to Earth in its entirety, having destroyed their home planet already. The Elders foresaw their... your demise, and that we would catalyze it. We would not destroy Mankind, but we would cause them to destroy themselves. 'Mankind will find Destruction or Redemption by their own hands. With their Destruction, Setian Life will return to the Earth, and we shall thrive again.' That was our prophecy, Sharon. I was one of the Assassins that would divide the world and see Mankind fall. There are others as well. The Ten Thousand live amongst you today. What I have done over the millenia is beyond forgiveness, though. Even with the promised return of our culture when Mankind is destroyed, I would have no place there."
"I can't believe that you would ever hurt someone who didn't deserve it, Alec." Sharon was holding my hand in hers. My claws had grown when I transformed, but my hands remained mostly human looking.
"Jesus died because I manipulated his people into turning against him. Hitler came to power through my machinations and whispers of power in his ear. President Abraham Lincoln died thanks to me whispering words of death and destruction in the ears of John Wilkes Booth. John Kennedy, I assassinated myself, and Lee Harvey Oswald was my accomplice. I fired the killshot, though. Robert Kennedy died when I poisoned the mind of Sirhan Sirhan. If you want a complete list of my sins, Sharon, we will be here for a month or more."
As I had predicted, her eyes had gone wide and she was looking at me in fear again.
"Why did you kill them? They were good men!"
"Some were. Some were not. They were all to be the Father of the Redeemer, though. John Kennedy Jr. died after I sabotaged his aircraft, since it was rumored that he could have been the redeemer. Do you see now, Sharon? I have fought a war in the shadows for so long that there is nothing of the man I was left inside me. At least not until I met you. I don't expect your forgiveness for what I've done. I do expect you to please accept my protection until you meet the man who will father your child and redeem Mankind. If I cannot have Redemption for what I have done, Mankind will, and I swear it by Blood and Stone."
I saw the look of abject terror in her eyes and realized that I had snarled my Oath. I closed my eyes and calmed myself. I achieved the inner peace learned over the thousands of years since my birth. "I apologize for that, Sharon. I didn't mean to scare you."
Her hand was still holding mine, and she squeezed it gently. I opened my eyes and looked into hers.
She had tears falling from her eyes with a sad smile on her lips. She leaned forward and knelt before he as her arms went around me. My arms came up around her back, and the softness of her skin under my fingers overwhelmed me. Everything about her overwhelmed me. Her beauty of body and soul. Her touch. Her skin. Her scent of roses and jasmine. Her soft breath on my ear. Her hands on the back of me neck and head. Her fingers in my hair.
"It's ok, Bazael. I can't judge you for your past. It's not my place. I also can't judge you for what you are. I know that you will protect me."
"But for what I've done, Sharon?"
"That's in the past now. You aren't the same man you were then. You said so yourself."
It was true. I wasn't the same man I was two days ago. When I saw her and scanned her soul for the first time, I saw something I hadn't seen in so many years, I had nearly forgotten what it was. Hope. Not just her own Hope. Hope for everyone. Human and Setian alike.
I felt their presence before they struck, and pushed Sharon to the floor as her door burst inward in splinters. I rose to my feet and looked at her. "Stay down!" I shouted. I turned my attention to the door, and saw them. They had dropped their disguises and were advancing on us. I stepped between them and her.
"Let us have her, Brother."
"I cannot do that, Dathael. She is to die by my hand, or not at all. That is the Order of the Elder." I snarled at one of my oldest friends.
"Bazael, why do this? You cannot save her. You would risk the destruction of us all over a human woman? Why?"
"She is innocent, Dathael! Scan her soul yourself! She has no darkness in her. No evil! I will not slay the purest soul on this Earth!"
I saw his eyes go silver as he scanned her himself. "Bazael, you are correct. She has no evil upon her soul. Yet still she must die before she gives birth to the Redeemer. Stand aside, Brother. We will be quick, and she will feel no pain." His tone was soft and full of regret.
"I cannot, Brother. Forgive me." I moved like lightning and impaled my Brother Dathael through his chest with my claws. Tears fell from my eyes as I slew Rahael and Burielle as well. I fell to my knees as their bodies disintegrated, leaving no trace of their existence. I cried for them and for myself. They would only live on in my memories now.
Sharon wrapped her arms around me from behind, and held me as I wept.
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Chapter 4: A Gift or a Curse
We had no choice now but to run. My Brothers and Sisters in the Ten Thousand would hunt us. I knew this for a fact. None of us had ever 'gone rogue' until now. I was the first, and I would assume, the only Setian to turn his back on our Holy Crusade. Not only had I turned my back on it, but I was now harboring their greatest enemy, protecting her from harm.
Sharon was ready to go, having packed her bags. I had a list of safe houses that only I knew about where I would go to ground after a successful assassination. We would hide out in one of them, then move to another before we were found out. I changed back into a human guise and we were on our way as soon as she had packed all her necessities.
She leaned up and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, Alec." I found that she would call me Alec when I was human, and Baz when I took my true form.
"Do not thank me yet, Sharon. Save your thanks for when you have your child. Your child, be it male or female, will redeem Mankind." I said it to her kindly and stroked her face. She reminded me so much of Jarielle.
We went from her apartment then and made sure nobody would recognize her. We would need to stay as well hidden as possible. She asked if we could go back to the diner to say goodbye to Jerry, but I had to refuse her.
"We can't, Sharon. They will be watching the diner and soon your home. We have to leave the city behind." I was still speaking to her kindly and gently, and she realized I was right. I had a place we could stay at until nightfall, so I took her there. It was my penthouse apartment, and I had a lot of supplies and firearms there.
The doorman let us in when we got there. "Heya, Mr. Bastion. Good to see you again. Who's the lady?" Jim asked as we got to the door.
"She's a friend, Jim. Thank you." I handed him a ten dollar bill as a tip.
"Thank you, Mr. Bastion. You two lovebirds have a wonderful day." Jim smiled as we nodded to him and went to the elevators. I closed my eyes, but didn't sense any of my brethren, so we were safe for the moment.
"He seems nice." Sharon said.
"Jim is a good man. He has very little evil in him." I informed her. "He loves his wife and children, and would do anything to keep them safe."
"You can tell all that about someone?" She asked.
"I can, and I also talk with him a lot. He's the closest thing I have to a human friend." I admitted. Sharon was surprised.
"I didn't think you looked at us as anything other than murderers and invaders."
I laughed quietly. "Sharon, I gave you my people's perspective earlier, and my own as it was at the time. I believe there is good in Mankind, and you are the purest soul I have ever met. I dream of the day when I scan Mankind and see more light than darkness in their souls."
She put her arms around me again. Her head leaned against my shoulder. "So do I, Alec," she said quietly. I found myself once again with my arms around her as well. Jarielle. I could feel her when I closed my eyes with Sharon in my arms. Their souls were the same bright light of life and love.
The elevator finally came, and we entered. I hit the penthouse floor and we went upward quickly. She took my hand in hers as we rode it upwards, and interlaced her fingers with mine. I had seen lovers do such things, but I allowed her to do it. If it meant I could keep her safe, then I would allow her to do whatever she wished.
I smiled as we reached the top floor with my penthouse apartment. We stepped out of the elevator, and I unlocked the door.
Once inside, I showed her the bedroom, and told her I would take the couch.
"Alec, please. You don't have to sleep on the couch on my account. The bed is big enough for two." She smiled at me.
"Sharon, it wouldn't be proper." I said gently.
"Why not, sweety? Because we aren't married?"
"Because you don't love me." I realized in that statement that I was falling in love with her. I believe she realized it too.
"Alec, you are a strong, caring, decent man. Beneath the Council's Assassin lies the heart of a good person." She put her hand over my heart, and I closed my eyes again. It was exactly as Jarielle had done. A thought occurred to me and I looked deep into her eyes and soul as my eyes silvered over.
"Jarielle?"
"No, Alec. I'm Sharon."
"Please forgive me, Sharon. You remind me so much of her." I turned my face away before she could see me blush like a boy in love for the first time.
"You love her a lot." She said it as a statement.
"I do, but she's been dead for twelve millenia. Sharon, please forgive me. I see her when I look at you. You have the same kind of soul."
"There's nothing to forgive, Alec." She took my hand and turned me to face her. "I'm not her, but I know what she saw in you."
Her hand went to my face and stroked my cheek as she tilted her face upward slightly. Our lips met and parted slowly as her tongue slipped into my mouth.
I closed my eyes and was once again kissing Jarielle. Her tongue felt the same and tasted the same. My arms went around her waist as hers slipped up and over my shoulders.
I kissed her passionately as if she was the only woman on Earth. At that moment, she was to me. I held her close as our tongues danced together in the dance older than time itself. She moaned as we kissed and pressed her body to mine. She rubbed my hardness with her belly, and I loved how she felt against me. Sharon was not Jarielle, but I felt as if I was holding my wife again.
She broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. "Make love to me, Baz. Please." She looked up into my eyes, and I realized that during our kiss, I had let my guise drop. I could see my reflection in her eyes. She looked at me as Jarielle had when she wanted to make love.
"I will, Sharon. Tonight and for all time if you so choose." She nodded at that and took my hand, leading me to the bedroom.
We undressed each other slowly, taking our time. I explored her as she explored me. I could feel the warmth of her breasts and her hardened nipples against my bare chest when she pressed her naked body to mine. I sat on the edge of the bed with her and we kissed as deeply and passionately as I had ever kissed Jarielle. But Jarielle was no more. Sharon, however, remained with me. I kissed Sharon lovingly and tenderly, my hands roaming down her beautiful body.
I no longer cared that she was human. I cared about her and loved her as I had never loved any woman since my wife died. I lowered my mouth to her breasts and sucked her nipples between my lips. I licked and sucked around them and bit gently. She moaned in pleasure and held my head to her bosom. I moved my hand down her belly to between her silky thighs, and she spread her legs as my finger slipped into her. She was wet already, and I inhaled the scent of her arousal. She was not afraid of me. She was not disgusted with me either for my appearance or for what I had done. All I could sense from her was acceptance and love.
"I am a virgin, Bazael," she said, but it didn't surprise me.
"I know, Sharon. Your purity of spirit is completely untainted, and you would never make love with anyone unless you had love in your heart."
"I love you, Bazael. I need you inside me. I want to give myself to you."
"I love you as well, Sharon. I will take what you offer and give myself to you in return."
I moved on top of her and slipped the head of my hardness into her slowly. She gasped and looked into my eyes as I penetrated her to her maidenhead. She smiled and kissed me passionately as I thrusted through it as quickly as possible.
She screamed into my mouth as the pain nearly overwhelmed her, but I just held her and soothed her until the pain passed. I was completely inside her, and held myself there as she adjusted to me.
"I won't move until you want me to move, dear one." I softly said to her.
"I'm fine now, Baz. Make love to me, please."
I started withdrawing, then thrust back into her slowly. She was extremely wet and tight, and hotter than I had expected. I moved within her as I rotated my hips in and out and side to side as I thrust into her over and over. We moved slowly together, and her moans of pleasure were music to my ears.
She tensed up as her orgasm took her, and she squeezed herself around me tightly. I felt it, then. I felt that once familiar sensation before I erupted into her like a volcano. I cried out as she did, and we came together in perfect harmony. I kept thrusting slowly through our shared orgasmic bliss and she came again around me as I kept making love to her.
What if I am the father? The thought came unbidden to my mind, and I had admittedly never thought that I would be able to impregnate a human woman.
If so, then God let it be. I realized that I would be a father to our child if she should conceive.
We made love all through the day and into the evening. I lost track of how many orgasms we both had. I hadn't been with a woman in millenia, but the feel of Sharon's body below and above mine was exquisite. When night fell, we were laying in each other's arms as the sun set out my western window.
"I never thought sex would be so wonderful, Baz," she said dreamily. Her smile was one of complete bliss, and it raised my spirit to see her so happy.
"For many, it is not. I am happy that you enjoyed your first time, dear one."
"Nobody has ever called me 'dear one' before. I like hearing it from you."
"You are a dear one, Sharon. You are unique amongst humans." I now knew that I was completely in love with her.
"And you are unique amongst Setians, Baz. You betrayed your own people for me. It's a bit overwhelming, to be honest."
"I did what had to be done, Sharon. I would do it again in a second if it keeps you safe."
"I saw your tears and the pain it caused you to kill those who came for me at my place. Baz, you saved my life twice so far. I can never repay that."
I laughed softly. "You never have anything to repay to me, dear one. I am protecting you because you need my protection for the sake of Mankind, and because I love you."
"I love you too, Baz. I was wondering how I would meet the man I would love, and this never even entered my mind." She chuckled.
"Now we need to get up and shower. I need to train you to defend yourself in case something were to happen to me." I stood from the bed and resumed my human guise. I walked to the wall safe and opened it with my combination. I then withdrew two 9mm handguns and several boxes of ammunition. I placed them both on the table by the door to my firing range, and turned back to her. She had a fearful look in her eyes.
"Baz, I don't want anything to happen to you." She came to me and slipped her arms around me, holding me tight.
"As long as I live, you will be safe, Sharon. What I am preparing you for is just in case I should be captured or killed by my brethren." My arms went around her and held her naked body to mine.
"I.. I understand, Baz."
"Good. Now, let's go take a shower and get into some more practical clothing."
I led her to the bathroom and we showered together. We kissed and held each other and washed each other clean. Once we were clean and dry, I gave her some old jeans and t-shirts for her to wear. It was more practical than her current attire. Then I gave her some earplugs and we went into the shooting range. I had paid a lot of money for the soundproofing and bulletproofing of the walls, but it had been worth it. I set up targets and gave her a compressed shooting course. I showed her different grip styles, and she decided that the weaver grip was best for her. I nodded in approval. She was a natural. Her skill was perfect as she put three rounds in the center ring, then did the same to the center ring on the head of the target.
Once she was comfortable with shooting, we worked on fast draw and tactical shooting techniques. By the time we had finished, she had an advanced working knowledge of firearms and tactical combat. I was proud of her.
"I didn't think I would be able to learn that so fast!" She grinned at me as I smiled back at her.
"You're a natural, Sharon. I have never seen anyone pick up the basics and advanced tactics of shooting as fast as you have."
After we were done, I showed her how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble her pistol. I gave her a Beretta and four magazines, and three boxes of Hydrashok rounds. She became adept at loading the magazines and then tactical reloading during a firefight. She became excellent at counting her rounds as she fired them, and we had made a lot of progress.
It was past midnight when I felt the presence. "Sharon, get in the bedroom."
"Are there more of them?" She asked with a worried look on her face.
"Just one. But still, please go into the bedroom."
She nodded and kissed me. "Ok, sweety. If you need me, let me know." She holstered her pistol and went into the bedroom, shutting the door.
I moved to the front door and opened it just before he knocked.
"Gabrael."
"Bazael."
"You will not have her, Brother."
"I'm not here for her, Baz. Please, may I come in?"
I stood aside for Gabrael and he walked inside.
"Baz, I know what you are doing. I know why you have done it. You are my best friend, and I won't stop you."
I nodded. "Gabrael, I have had to kill three of our brethren so far to protect her. All friends from before the Invasion."
"I know, Brother. The Council is calling for your head, you know."
"I figured they would. Are you here for me, then?" I smiled ruefully. "It would be just like the Elders to send my best friend to kill or capture me."
Gabrael laughed. "No, Brother. If they knew I was here, they would put a Mark on me as well. Now, you said her soul is pure. I have yet to see a human over the age of two years old with a pure soul. May I see her?"
I turned to the bedroom door. "Sharon. you may come out. Gabrael is a friend."
I turned back to him as I heard the door open. I was ready in case he were to try something, but I just saw his eyes go silver as he gazed into her soul.
Gabrael nodded and smiled. "Her soul is pure as you said, my friend. You didn't mention that she was already carrying the Redeemer within her, though."
I started at that, and he noticed. "Baz? Did you and she...?"
"Baz, what's going on? What does he mean by that?" Sharon asked with a concerned look.
"She carries your child, Baz. How is that possible?" Gabrael asked as he sat down.
"I haven't scanned her since we made love, Gabrael. I didn't know. But if the Redeemer is born of both human and Setian blood, then so be it. Maybe then we can let the vendetta go against Mankind and work with them to better themselves so they don't make the mistakes of their ancestors." I had moved between them as I said that.
Gabrael nodded once. "While I don't agree with everything you do, Baz, I agree with you on this. For twelve thousand years we've been trying to bring Mankind down from within. We have put the most horrible humans in power, but we still are no closer than when we started. Mankind has a way of overcoming obstacles at every turn."
I turned and looked at Sharon, and she was smiling. I took her hand in mine and we turned to face Gabrael together. "Gabrael, this is Sharon Summers. I love her as I loved Jarielle. Sharon, this is Gabrael. We have been friends since before the Invasion."
Sharon held out her hand with a smile, and Gabrael shook it. "She reminds me of Jarielle, Baz. The same soul. The same eyes. The same smile. If reincarnation isn't a myth, then she is Jarielle."
"She is Sharon, Brother. When you return, give the Council a message from me. Tell them that I will not tire. I will not rest. I will not falter. I am bound by Blood and Stone to defend Sharon and our child until my dying breath, and They will not have her. Whoever they send against me shall die.... Even you, Gabrael. Forgive me, but that is how it will be."
Gabrael nodded and smiled. "If they try, I will refuse. If I die, so be it. I will not die at the hands of my friend." We embraced as Brothers in all but blood. He smiled at us both. "I wish you both luck."
"The same to you, Brother. Be well, and escape the Council's wrath if you can." I said.
"You know me, Bazael. I'm hard to kill." Gabrael grinned and left as he had come.
"He's your best friend." Sharon said. "He's a good man."
"I married his sister. If they had sent him to terminate you, he would have refused as I did and turned against them. He walks a dangerous path, but he will not betray us." I told her.
"Jarielle was his sister?"
I nodded. "It was how he saw your similarities as easily as I did. He is perhaps the only man who knew her better than I did, since they grew up together."
"I have to know if he was lying, Baz. Can you scan me and see if we're really going to have a baby?" The look on her face was one of apprehension.
I silvered my eyes and gazed upon her pure soul. As my eyes neared her abdomen, the brightest light I had ever seen shown like a beacon. I placed my hand over her stomach and could feel my child's life emerging. I could tell that he would grow strong and become the one hope for Mankind and Setians as well.
"The Prophecy is wrong, Sharon. Our son will save both our species." I smiled and laughed with relief at what I had seen. I collapsed on the couch and Sharon sat down on my lap.
"From what you told me, it isn't wrong. It's just incomplete." She shrugged. I must have blinked several times as that sunk in.
"You're right! We must go. If Gabrael found us, the Council's Assassins will find us soon." I pulled her to her feet as I stood. I kissed her passionately. "Sharon, I love you. Let's go before they find us."
"Yes, I believe it's time to go, Baz. I love you too!"
We left shortly after one and took my Jaguar from the garage. It wasn't the lowest profile vehicle, but it was fast and powerful. Sharon was impressed. "First a Park Avenue penthouse, and now a Jaguar. I'm glad I fell in love with you!"
I laughed. "It's centuries of hard work and investing wisely. Setians have controlled your stock market for years. You might say we invented insider trading."
"Sneaky." She laughed.
"Indeed." I agreed.
"So if we get married, will I have to sign a prenup?"
"No. We might not even live that long, but if we do, I am pretty certain that you won't rob me." I chuckled.
"Hmm. True."
We drove out of town and down into New Jersey and Atlantic City. Sharon went to sleep as we passed into Delaware and down into Maryland. I stopped and got food for us and fuel for the Jaguar, then we were back on the road down the East Coast. We needed to put as much ground between us and New York City as possible. Virginia came and went, as did North Carolina. We stopped in South Carolina for food and fuel again, then down into Georgia, where we turned west.
I had taken the circuitous route south in case they followed, which I knew they would. We stopped in Atlanta for a more substantial break and a visit to my safe house there.
I unlocked the door to the townhouse, and it was tidy as usual. I employ a lot of cleaning staff for all of my safe houses, just in case I need them at a moment's notice. I have autopayments set up for their accounts. I showed Sharon into the house and she gasped in delight.
"It's beautiful, Baz!" Sharon was awestruck by the splendor.
"I'm happy that you like it, dear one." I smiled at her happiness. She was my second chance at lovr, and I would do all in my power to protect her and our child. I remembered her humble beginnings and moved to hold her in my arms.
"I love you, sweety." She smiled and kissed me.
Her kiss intoxicated me and aroused me. I loved the feel of her lips on mine, and her tongue entangled with my own. We broke the kiss after several long moments.
"I love you too, dear one." I replied breathlessly.
"How long can we stay here?" She asked.
"Two or three nights, but then we will have to move on. We can't stay any one place for too long until we get to California. That is where my main safe house is." I said by way of explanation.
"Do you have a fortress out there?" She asked with a smile.
"Something like that. It's a place that nobody, not even Gabrael knows exists."
"Gabrael is a good man like you, Baz. I could feel it in him."
"He is. I believe he began to tire of our Crusade even before I did."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because he told me of the nightmares he had been having of Jarielle looking at him with horror in her eyes at what he had done. I soon had the same nightmares with my son added to them. They both looked at me as if I was the worst monster on Earth. I looked inside myself and could not argue."
"This Redeemer that your Prophecy speaks of, is it really going to be our son?"
"I believe so. Up until now, no Setian has successfully mated with a human. In fact, I believe we are the first to even try." I smiled.
"If that's the case, would my protector wish to make love to his pregnant girlfriend tonight?" She grinned and winked at me as she said it.
"I believe I would, dear one. Sharon, I haven't felt this way in over twelve millenia. With you, I feel as if I can do anything."
"Then you can do anything, Baz. As long as you believe, anything is possible."
"Indeed, sweet Sharon." I kissed her lovingly and led her to the master bedroom.
Once again we undressed slowly, and again her very presence intoxicated and overwhelmed me. I let my guise drop and was once again a Setian in her arms as we made love all through the night. Again and again we felt the need for each other. Deeper and deeper our love grew stronger.
As morning dawned, I heard my cellphone ringing and moved to pick it up. Gabrael's name was on the caller ID, so I answered it.
"Hello, Gabrael."
"Glad I caught you, Baz. You have a serious problem."
I laughed bitterly. "I already know that, my friend. Are there any other problems?"
"The Watcher's Eye." He said soberly.
I felt my blood run cold. "No. They would not!"
"They have, Baz. He has been awakened and sent after you and Sharon. I advise that you run as far and as fast as you can."
"We cannot outrun him, Gabrael. You know that." The Watcher's Eye is the ultimate weapon at the Council's disposal. He is invincible. None can stand against him.
"You can at least buy yourself some time. I gave them your message after they informed me of The Watcher's Eye. They seem unconcerned that I helped you."
"That is because The Watcher's Eye will dispose of us in short order, and no one will be able to stop him. He is the breakage of the Prophecy. The Doomsday option against Mankind!"
"Still, Baz. Just run. Please!" I had never heard Gabrael so unsettled.
"Calm down, my Brother. I believe I know his weakness. If I am wrong, we both die anyway. If I am right, he will not harm us."
"What do you mean, Brother?"
"Gabrael, just trust me. If you do not hear from me after the battle, mourn me and avenge me if possible."
"Very well, Brother. If you fall, I will see the Council burn and the end of this Unholy Crusade. You have my word, and I swear it by Blood and Stone."
"Thank you, Gabrael. You have been my Brother in all but blood, and I will always call you friend. Farewell for now." I hung up and got ready. I reached over and shook Sharon gently.
"Hmmm? What is it, sweetheart?" She was still a bit groggy.
"Wake up, dear one. We have much to do and only a short time in which to do it."
She was awake instantly. "What is it?"
"The Watcher's Eye. I didn't believe they would send him, but Gabrael just called and told me. Before you panic, listen to me. If I am right, he cannot harm you."
"What do you mean 'if'?" She sounded unsure. I was even unsure it would work.
"The Watcher's Eye, also known as The Coming Curse or The Anti-Christ, is a Doomsday weapon that breaks the Prophecy and annihilates the Wicked. Mankind is not listed specifically in its orders. I scanned you, and you have no wickedness inside you. You are innocent and so is our child."
"That doesn't sound good, Baz."
"You have mastered the art of understatment, dear one." I smiled in spite of our situation. "He won't cut a bloody swath to us, though. When targeted at a single enemy, he will track and destroy that enemy to the exclusion of all else.
"And now he's coming after us? Why?"
"Because the Council fears our child, Sharon. They will stop at nothing to kill you before you can give birth. We need to get away from Atlanta, though. We must face him away from the innocents."
She nodded and dressed quickly, as did I. I had changed into jeans and a t-shirt again for ease of movement, and because I didn't need to impress anyone with how I was dressed. I found the weapons safe and removed a SPAS-12 and a fully automatic AK-47. They wouldn't do much, but they would at least slow the fiend down, if necessary.
As we were getting ready to leave, I heard the doorbell and felt the presence.
"No. He is here already, Sharon. Come with me, and we will face him together." She took my hand and we walked towards the door. I opened it to a rather banal looking man standing there staring at us.
"Come in, Eye." I bade him enter, and he looked surprised but did so.
"You know why I am here, Bazael." His voice was otherworldly in nature.
"I do, but you cannot harm her."
"I punish the Wicked, Bazael. She will die." He moved and put his hand on her forehead, then recoiled. "NO! How can this be?"
"She has no evil inside her, Eye. She is Innocent. She carries our son in her womb. Our son is also Innocent, and you cannot harm him either."
"But I can take you, Bazael."
"No you cannot, Eye. Everything I have done in the name of Justice, I have done at the Council's bidding, until now. Now I protect my love and our child from the depredations of the Elders. Take me to them, and they will burn."
He nodded once. "You are safe from me for now, Bazael and Sharon Summers. But the time will come when I will find you and slay you as the Council wishes."
"Eye, when our son is born, he will unite Setians and Mankind. He will redeem all of us, Brother."
"It cannot be done, Bazael. Your quest is a fool's errand."
"Time will tell, Eye. We believe what we believe. The Prophecy is incomplete, and you know it."
To my surprise, he nodded again. "It is. The Council cannot find the missing piece of it. If you do find it, then you will know what no one else knows."
"Do you know where it is hidden, Eye?"
"I do, but I cannot tell you under penalty of Death."
"Your life is already forfeit when the Council discovers that you have failed."
The Eye thought about that for a while. His eyes unblinkingly stared at Sharon, then at me. "Very well, Bazael. It is kept in a safety deposit box in Olympia Washington at the Bank of America branch there."
"Thank you, Eye. Who holds the key?"
"Hirielle. She lives in Olympia, and you will find her."
"I take it that she either does not know what it is, or she does, but will not show it to anyone."
"Your latter supposition is correct. Only Elder Garhael knows of the missing piece of the Prophecy, except for Hirielle, you, and myself. I do not know what it says."
"Eye, thank you. You may have just saved all of us."
"If you find it, Bazael, and use it against the Council, please free me. I fear this dark power bestowed upon me even more than you do. It is always coursing through me, begging for release."
I was surprised by that.
"Do not look surprised, Bazael. I am not without emotion. I know what I have become. I wish you luck, Brother." He bowed and left the way he came.
"We have a new target, Sharon. We need that key."
She smiled and nodded to me. I nodded back. We gathered our bags and departed in the Jaguar.
We stopped twice more for rest. I tried to remember the last time I slept, but could not. How long had it been? A hundred years? Two hundred? Even longer? I resolved that after this was all over, I would sleep for at least a day.
I sat and watched Sharon sleep in our hotel bed. She looked like an angel. So peaceful and lovely. I smiled ruefully at my feelings. Long had they remained dormant to the point where I had thought myself dead inside. Then I had met her, and resolved that she would not die by my hand or anyone else's. I had loved her, and would love her until my dying breath and beyond. She would be the mother of our child. Our son who would become the last best hope for Mankind and Setian alike.
She loved me in spite of all she now knew. Tomorrow we would be in Olympia and would have the last piece of the Prophecy. If it was what I thought it would be, Garhael and Hirielle would pay with their lives for keeping it from us. Garhael had taken great pleasure in throwing the Prophecy in my face, knowing that it was incomplete. Only the Eye, who knew where everything was on the entirety of Earth, knew where it was kept. He had risked everything for us. If he should face his death for his transgression, then we would make sure his death was not in vain.
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Chapter 5: I Walk Alone
I gently woke her by kissing her sweet lips. Her eyes opened and she smiled. When she sat up, she asked why I wouldn't sleep with her at night.
"I do not sleep like humans do, dear one. I must also remain vigilant against those who would harm you."
"Ok. But when this is over, please sleep with me, and hold me in your arms?"
I smiled as my heart melted for her. "I will, my love."
She gave me her most radiant smile at that. I was now able to distinguish the love for her from the love for Jarielle. While they were the same in many respects, Sharon possessed qualities that Jarielle hadn't. Jarielle was Setian. She would have accepted the Crusade against Mankind, at first. Sharon wouldn't, had she been in our shoes. She would have fought for peace above all else.
We left after checking out and made Olympia in a few hours. It was easy to close my eyes and concentrate to find Hirielle. When she opened her door as we approached, she looked at me stoically.
"You know why we are here, Sister."
"Yes, Bazael. But what you want is not mine to give."
"That does not matter, Hirielle. You know what the missing piece of the Prophecy says, don't you?" I would not play games with her.
"I do, yes. It would change everything. Garhael was wise to shield our people from its knowledge." She asserted that our people would not be able to handle the truth.
"The Truth walks alone, Hirielle. You know this. It is a bitter fruit to bear sometimes, but it must always come out.
"Why, Brother? Why must it be known?"
"Because without it, more and more innocents will die. I will no longer allow that if there is another way. Sharon carries our son, the Redeemer. He will bring about either the end of Setian life, or peace between us and Mankind. Which will it be?" I grabbed her by the throat. "Tell me, woman!" I snarled.
Her hands went around my forearm as I squeezed her throat. Sharon touched me and I released her.
"My apologies, Sister. Please give us the key for the safety deposit box."
"She is the one who bears your child, Bazael?"
"Yes, and not even the Eye can kill her."
Hirielle laughed. "The Eye can kill anyone, Bazael."
"No, Hirielle, He cannot kill someone pure of soul and spirit."
"Then why did he not kill you?"
"Because if he killed me after the knowledge I bestowed upon him, he would then have to annihilate the Council."
"Just following Orders, Bazael?" She raised her eyebrow as she asked.
"Yes."
She nodded. "You know how to bend the truth until the ends touch."
"It is necessary sometimes, Hirielle. Now, the key if you please." I held out my hand, and it was not a request.
"Very well." She took the key out of her pocket and handed it to me. "I will report this to the Council."
"I know you will." I took the key and we went to leave.
"Wait, Bazael! Before you do this, think of the consequences!"
"I have, Hirielle. My conscience will be clear for the first time in twelve millenia, and so will the consciences of all other Order operatives. We were deceived by High Elder Garhael, and you knew of it. Instead of choosing the peaceful route as any self-respecting Setian would, he chose the path of war. The Order of the Rose will finally be absolved."
Hirielle seemed to consider what I had said, but then drew a pistol from behind her and moved to aim it at Sharon.
I didn't even have to think. I crushed the pistol in her hand before she could take aim and fire. I then grabbed her by the throat again and lifted her off the ground.
"Hirielle, you are only still alive because of Sharon. If you were to so much as scratch her, I would tear your head from your neck!" I growled low in my throat.
"I will report this to Garhael, Heretic! You have thrown away your heritage and your people for this human whore!" Hirielle snarled at me, and I could no longer stand it.
"Forgive me, Hirielle. Forgive me, Sharon. I do what must be done." I squeezed, and Hirielle dropped her guise just before the life left her body, and she crumbled to ash in my hand. The enormity of my deed hit my soul like the Hammer of God, and I fell to my knees.
And once again, Sharon was there to hold me as I wept the tears of pain and sorrow that I had lost another old friend, traitor though she may have been.
I rose to my feet and wiped the tears away. I was ready once again to finish this.
I looked at Sharon and kissed her tenderly. "I am sorry for my actions, Sharon. I love you and will protect you until the end of my days."
"You did what was necessary, my love. She was twisted in her soul, and her heart held only vengeance." Sharon said in a different language. My eyes grew wide. I pushed her back to arms' length and looked into her eyes. I was searching. Searching for... there!
"Jarielle, how is this possible?"
Sharon's mouth spoke, but Setian words emerged. "I am here, my love. Sharon Summers is here as well, and we now speak as one, for the moment. I know you love her as you loved me, my husband. I love you, and so does Brenael. She is your future now, darling. This is our goodbye." Tears fell from Sharon's eyes as Jarielle kissed me with her lips one last time.
"Goodbye, Jarielle. I love you, my wife. Goodbye." I spoke in Setian.
"We will always be in your hearts, Bazael. Our love will go with you and Sharon throughout the rest of your lives. Now she will be yours. Goodbye." Jarielle spoke and Sharon collapsed momentarily in my arms. When she blinked and looked at me, she cried and hugged me tightly. I held her close as she cried the tears of loss and love.
"I... I heard her, Baz. I felt the love she has for you and me." Sharon was sobbing softly as she cried out her grief over our loss. It was no longer mine alone. Jarielle's soul had touched Sharon.
"That was my wife, Sharon. Jarielle was the only other woman I knew who is comparable to you." I softly stroked her short black hair and held her to me. We knelt as the ashes of Hirielle's body dispersed throughout the house.
I stood and pulled her to her feet as she stopped crying. She looked at me and smiled. "She was remarkable, Baz. I never had a sister, but if I had, I imagine she would have been like Jarielle."
I smiled back at her. "I believe you are right, dear one. Let's go get that piece of the Prophecy. We will need it when we return to New York."
"Yeah. Then that Garhael guy will have to answer to the rest of your Council." She smiled and hugged me, then we left the house and ran back to the Jaguar.
We drove to the bank branch with key in hand. We went in together and the manager showed us into the safety deposit room with the box. We opened it together, and she left us with the Scroll of Prophecy. I lifted it and read it aloud. It was indeed the last piece!
"What, sweety? You were speaking Setian." Sharon smiled at me and I looked at her.
"I've already told you most of the Prophecy, Sharon. 'Mankind will find Destruction or Redemption by their own hands. With their Destruction, Setian Life will return to the Earth, and we shall thrive again.' This is the last part. I will translate it for you. 'If Mankind should be Redeemed by one of mixed blood, all life on Earth shall thrive, and Setians will live in peace with the races of Man.'" I smiled and laughed in relief. I felt as if the weight of the ages had finally been lifted from me. Sharon was smiling radiantly and laughing as well. I rerolled the small scroll and replaced it in the tube. I closed the safety deposit box and we left with the scroll in hand. I turned in Hirielle's key to the manager and told her that we no longer needed it.
Once in the Jaguar again, we drove east. We stopped only four times on the way back to New York. The last time we stopped for the night was in Philadelphia. We checked into the hotel under the names Alec and Sharon Bastion, and Sharon had smiled at that. She was only two weeks pregnant now, but we already knew what we would name our child.
"The penthouse suite again, sweety! You're going to spoil me!" She laughed when we entered the suite at the hotel.
I took her hand. "No matter what happens tomorrow, dear one. If the Council does not listen, we will die. But tonight belongs to us alone."
I led her to the bed and undressed her slowly as she undressed me, kissing and licking every part of skin I uncovered. She looked into my eyes when I knelt between her thighs and pleasured her with my tongue. Her moans of ecstasy were music to my ears when I tasted her orgasm.
I spoke no words as I rose above her and sank my manhood into her depths. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist as I thrust into her over and over. There was an urgency to our lovemaking that we hadn't felt before. We could feel the necessity in case this would be the last time we would hold each other. The next day would tell the tale of our success or failure, but I would not deny either of us the pleasure of our love that night.
She lay in my arms as we caught our breath. "Baz, what's going to happen tomorrow?"
"We live or die by the Council's judgment, my love. I will present our case and demand that High Elder Garhael recuse himself from judgment, or be removed by his peers. I shall then read the entire Prophecy for them, and let them judge its veracity." I said as I stroked her bangs back out of her eyes.
"They have to believe us, sweety!" She looked nervous.
"They will have to, Sharon. The scroll bears The Seal of The Order of the Rose. It is the Order by which all Commands are given by the High Elder."
"I have faith in God, Baz. I also have faith in you." Sharon held me tight and pressed her body to mine.
I held her as well, and for the first time in God knows how long, I drifted to sleep with her in my arms.
--------------------------------------------------
Chapter 6: Come What May
I awoke disoriented for a moment. Sharon wasn't in the bed with me, and I looked out the window to see the sun rising. I looked about the suite, but she wasn't there. "Sharon?" I called.
Then I heard the shower running, and moved to the bathroom. I saw her outline through the fogged glass door and smiled to myself. I returned to our bed for the night and called Gabrael.
"Baz! I heard about what happened with the Eye when he returned. I thought you were going to call me!"
"I was, but we had a new target, and I apologize for not informing you. I am going to bring Sharon before the Council and present our case to them. Will you stand with us?"
"I will, Baz. By Blood and Stone, I will stand at your side and face down the Council by your side."
"Then by Blood and Stone will I stand with you through any trials you may have in this life or the next, my Brother. We will meet you inside the main entrance in an hour."
"I will be there, Brother. See you then."
I hung up and went back into the bathroom.
I slid the shower door open and joined Sharon. She looked up and smiled at me. "There you are, sleepy head." She kissed me lightly on the lips.
"I fell asleep, dear one." I wasn't ashamed. I was elated that I had been able to sleep with the woman whom I loved.
"Yes you did, and you snored like a chainsaw!" She stuck out her tongue at me, then giggled.
"I did?" I was shocked.
"No, but you should see the look on your face, sweety!" She giggled even more and jumped into my arms. Her mouth was on mine in an instant and I pushed her back against the wall as I hardened beneath her. Her legs wrapped around my waist and I lowered her onto my hardness.
She gasped as I entered her and her lips found mine again. I braced her against the wall and thrust into her over and over. The urgency from last night had returned as we made love standing under the hot water of the shower.
"Yes, baby! Yes, make love to me, Bazael! Feel me around you as you make me yours for all time! I am yours, sweetheart! Give me your love, please. Come inside me again, baby!"
Her soft pleas lit the fire in my blood and I gave her all that I am. I came inside her as she spasmed around me in orgasm. Making love to Sharon is always as magical for me as it is for her. Two souls and hearts enmeshed into one.
As we recovered our breath, I raised her off of me and lowered her to her feet. We washed each other again and dried each other off as we left the shower. We kissed and dressed ourselves in preparation for whatever this day would bring.
I paid the checkout bill for the Hotel suite and we walked across the Grand Central Station. It was where the entrance to the Setian Sactum was located. We went down the steps into the main concourse and towards the little known and never used secondary maintenance corridor. Once before the door, I turned to Sharon.
"Beyond this door, no human has ever been before. You will be the first, dear one. You will, however, be under my protection. I called Gabrael, and he is meeting us inside."
"Good. At least we'll have a friend backing us up." She took my hand, and I raised my hand before the door. It became intangible, and we stepped through it together to solidify behind us.
"Yes we will. Gabrael and I have trusted each other for more generations than I care to remember. Let's go." I led her through the corridors to the main entrance guarded by two Setian Warriors.
"Halt, Bazael. You are to be slain on sight, as is your human lover."
"Kelnael, you will stand aside. We have the missing piece of the Prophecy in our grasp, and the Council needs to hear it." I would not back down, even as Kelnael and Raxielle drew their swords.
"That is impossible," Raxielle said. "The Prophecy is complete!"
I looked at her. "Raxi, do you really believe that, when it says nothing of what will happen if the Redeemer should be born? I will read you the missing piece, and you may judge for yourself.
I opened the tube and unrolled the ancient scroll. "'If Mankind should be Redeemed by one of mixed blood, all life on Earth shall thrive,
and Setians will live in peace with the races of Man.' Here is The Seal of the Order of the Rose, if you doubt its veracity."
Kelnael took the scroll and looked at it, noting the seal. It had been very skillfully cut from the bottom of the orginal Prophecy and rolled into its own scroll, to be Sealed again by the Order, under the Command of Garhael. The Scrolls of Prophecy are indestructible, since the Magic prevents it. They cannot be hidden for long, even inside a volcano. They have a way of turning up somewhere unexpected. The only way it could remain hidden was inside that safety depostit box, and in many safes and lockers before that.
He handed it back to me after reviewing it with a critical eye. "It is real, Bazael. You and... Sharon Summers may pass. She who is the Mother of the Redeemer." He bowed to her, and we passed as he and Raxielle sheathed their swords.
Gabrael met us before we reached the Council Chamber. "Baz, Garhael has ordered all guards to detain or slay you if you try to gain entry."
I let my guise drop and flexed my claws. "Then let them try, Gabrael. Will you join me in battle one last time, Brother?"
Gabrael let his guise fall away as well and flexed his shoulders and claws. "It has been a while, my friend. Let us face them together." He nodded and grinned.
I turned to Sharon and handed her the scroll. "Sharon, my love. Keep this safe while we keep you safe. If we should fall in battle, make certain this gets into the hands of Elder Nishielle. She is the fairest Councillor of the Thirteen. She will see the veracity of the writing and will act accordingly. You have your pistol just in case, as well. Aim for heart or head, or you will not kill them."
Sharon nodded with tears in her eyes. "I love you, Baz." She came into my arms and we kissed lovingly. I stroked her hair and face, feeling her skin on my hand.
"I love you, Sharon. No matter what happens in there, never forget that." I smiled at her, and we turned to the main doors.
Gabrael and I nodded to each other and we kicked the doors inward. Twenty Setian Bladesmen stood in front of us. I knew them all. I had trained them all.
"Brothers! Drop your weapons and let us speak! The Council must know what we know!" I shouted my demand.
"Bazael. You have a lot of nerve coming back here after your betrayal and murder of four of our kind," said Garhael from his high seat in the middle of the Council bench.
"Garhael, I know you are a liar and falsifier. You removed the scroll the Redeemer's Mother now carries from the original Prophecy scroll! You secreted it away for millenia, in hopes that you would never be found out, or at least hoped it would be after the destruction of Mankind!"
Garhael laughed. "Kill them all," he ordered the Bladesmen.
"No." The voice rang out clearly. Elder Nishielle rose from her seat. "We will let them speak if we so choose. Vote?" She looked around. All save Garhael raised their fists to give her the support she needed. Only a majority override could cancel an order by the High Elder.
I bowed. "Thank you, Elder. Sharon Summers, Mother of the Redeemer, has the scroll in question. She will hand it to Bladesman Vesael, and he will deliver it to you."
Vesael stepped forward and I nodded to Sharon, who handed him the tube with the scroll inside. Vesael bowed to her and marched up to Nishielle, handing it to her.
She then looked up and at her colleagues, Brothers and Sisters. "I move for High Elder Garhael to be recused, forcibly if necessary, from participating in these proceedings. Aye?"
Twelve fists rose into the air.
Garhael sat and said nothing. The Elders reviewed the scroll and we stood patiently waiting. The Bladesmen stood before us, and Sharon had come to my side, taking my hand in hers and interlacing our fingers again. I smiled at her and kissed her tenderly, causing a gasp from a Bladesman. I looked at him sharply.
"Where is your discipline, Yarael? Did you forget all that I taught you?"
He snapped to and saluted. "No, sir. My apologies, sir."
I smiled grimly. He knew who his Commander had been. "Then you will treat my love with the respect she deserves, Brother."
Garhael stood. "You blasphemer! You have taken the human whore as your lover, and have your son growing in her sinful womb!"
"Bladesmen! Remove the High Elder! He is being forcibly recused from these proceedings!" Nishielle ordered them. They nodded and moved to flank Garhael.
Garhael struck swiftly, and ten of the finest warriors I had ever trained fell before our eyes, writhing in pain. I moved without moving, slamming the High Elder against the wall. "NO, GARHAEL! YOU WILL REMAIN STILL! IF YOU TRY ANYTHING, I WILL KILL YOU!" I growled the shout at him. There were no tears in his eyes.
The Council acted quickly, binding him in place with Earth's Magic. I looked back, and Gabrael had moved between the High Elder and Sharon, blocking her from harm. He nodded at me and smiled. A Brother til the end.
I nodded and smiled in reply, and motioned for Sharon to join me before the Council. She walked up to me and smiled again. I took her in my arms and held her close.
"Bazael, the Prophecy is now complete." Nishielle bowed to me. She then turned to the rest of the Council. "I move that the Marks upon Bazael and Sharon Summers be removed immediately, and The Eye be brought as a witness. Aye?"
Eleven fists rose with hers in agreement, and The Watcher's Eye was summoned.
He walked in, still in his non-descript human form to stand before them. He bowed.
"Eye, you were the one who alerted Bazael and Sharon to the Scroll's whereabouts, are you not?" She asked.
"I am, Elder."
"Then your services as Watcher's Eye are no longer necessary, my Brother. Let the power be stripped from you and your freedom be long and full of peace."
The Council raised their arms as The Watcher's Eye knelt before them. The red aura of destruction coalesced from him and vanished back into Earth Mother from whence it came.
"You are free now, Hunshael." Nishielle smiled.
"Thank you, Sister." For the first time in my life, I saw him smile. Gabrael came forward and stood beside us as well, and Hunshael, formerly The Watcher's Eye, stood beside Sharon.
"Bazael, will you take Sharon as your wife?" Nishielle raised her eyebrow.
"If she will have me as her husband, yes, Lord Elder." I replied.
Sharon stepped forward. "I know I'm not really known here except as Mother of the Redeemer and all that, but I would like to say something if possible?"
Nishielle regarded her, then nodded her head. "You may speak, Sharon."
"Thank you, umm, Lord Elder. When all this started, I had no idea that I would be the Mother of the Redeemer, and I really didn't expect to fall in love with the man sent to kill me. We have been hounded across the country on the orders of that guy there." She pointed at Garhael. "Now I guess I'm being sorta accepted here, and I wanted to thank you. Baz is my love, and I am his forever." She stepped back and took my hand in hers again.
"She reminds me of Jarielle, Bazael." Nishielle smiled.
"Her soul is a perfect relection, Nishielle." Gabrael said with a smile. His wife nodded.
"So I see, Gabrael." She had silvered her eyes, as had the rest of the Council. They saw her without sin or evil, and they saw the life growing inside her. "Sharon, what do you propose we do with High Elder Garhael?"
This was unprecedented, and even I was surprised.
"I think you should lock him up and throw away the key." She glared at him.
Nishielle nodded and smiled. "I agree. Aye?" She asked the Council.
Twelve fists rose into the air.
We settled into my rooms later that night. "You are safe now, Sharon." I stroked her hair as we lay in bed together.
"I feel safe in your arms, sweety." She answered and kissed me. "We won. What's next?"
"Will you marry me, Sharon?"
"Yes, Baz."
"How's tomorrow sound?"
"Sounds perfect, Baz. So what do you think will happen in the long run, sweetheart?" She asked.
"We will raise our child in the world of Man, and we will set him on the path he must walk. What happens then, who can say? He is the last best hope for Mankind and Setian alike. We will love him as we love each other, with no condition, and with full support, come what may."
The End
|
Charlie left Tam in the kitchen to recuperate as he headed to the bedroom to get the discarded bag from Fetishes'. Charlie had no idea what was going on. Somehow his anniversary celebrations with his darling wife had turned into the longest sexapades he had ever known. His wife was now the most sexually sensual creature he had ever encountered, her entire body was now built for sex, and she craved it. Constantly.
The Sales girl (...er...elf girl?) from the shop said that if he had any questions he should give them a call. The number would be on the card in the bag. Charlie found the bag discarded by the side of the bed fortunately the bag still contained his receipt and the small business card.
Fetishes': Charm and Totems direct
Making your fantasies reality
Earth bound location, East Side Mall
In the bottom corner of the card: a long distance number. Reaching over to his night stand he picked up his cell phone preparing to call the number. He had better rates on his cell phone than the old land line. Besides he could not let Tam stay like this, a few phone charges be dammed. Tam was no longer the woman he had married, but instead some sexed up fantasy version of her. She could not lead a life like this; she would have work Tuesday (Gods bless three day weekends)
It took a moment for the number to connect; it seemed a brief eternity before a voice echoed across the other end of the line. Charlie was expecting a foreigner with a heavy accent. That was not what he got. Instead it was the clear voice of a woman, a woman who sounded out a breath and quite happy about it.
***
In a teal and seemingly empty room a woman sits in the center, beneath the only source of illumination. At first glance she would appear to be naked sitting in a dormant slumber upon a chair as if just waiting. A closer look such a sight required would reveal that she is in fact only nearly nude. Small phone wires wrap around her body as if it were some kind of erotic costume, each one color coded for a different number that they all connected to on a phone box lying innocently at the girl's feet. She looked demur and calm in the tranquil beauty that only a young woman can possess while she slumbers.
Suddenly the silence is interrupted as the box at her feet rings, the electronic sounds of a classic modem springing the girl to life. Her body shutters as if in pain but is in fact intense pleasure waking her from her catnap.
***
"Thank you far calling -ehh- the Fetishes' Hotline." From the way the voice talked it was clear that she was enjoying herself.
"For a –uhh- list of locations on your plane press 1"
"For rebate and warranty –ohh- press 2"
"To request a catalog press 3"
"For all other please press pound," The girl's heavy breathing came over the line waiting for Charlie. Not knowing what to do Charlie pressed pound.
"OH!!!" Came the woman's voice the instant Charlie pressed the button.
"For an increase in penile vascular flow press 1"
"For specific questions on duration press 2"
"For compatibility listings press 3" What was all this? This sounded more like a sex line that a customer support center. Guessing randomly Charlie pressed 1.
"OHHH! ... OH" the woman regained her breath. "Operation successful! If you require any other assistance please press any key; otherwise please hang up."
Charlie pressed a button, still a bit confused and quite sure he was not getting anywhere.
"Please, enter your PIN. When you are done press the pound key." What Pin? Charlie looked the card over for this mysterious number. What the hell was it?
"Please, enter your Planer Identification Number. When you are done press the pound key." The woman repeated a little more calmly. *Planer* Identification Number? Charlie had not flown in nearly a year, what did Planes have to do with anything?
"I don't know any Planer Identification Number...." Charlie said into the phone.
"That Ok, what dimension are you residing in?" the woman answered back. Wait. This was a real person? What the hell was he pushing buttons for?!
"If you can hear me why am I pressing buttons?!?!" Some questions are best asked aloud.
"Because, I love having my buttons pushed!" the girl squealed back. "Now please key in the numbers... please." The slight tone of begging was beginning to creep into her voice.
"I don't now what the numbers are!" Charlie was so confused.
"Well, sounds like personal problem, hmm, dial in your birthrate." Charlie began pushing numbers. With each press the woman cooed, sighed or moaned in pleasure.
"OK now what?"
"Oh nothing, I just needed some *motivation*, you should remember that though, if you don't know what buttons to push it is better to push something, than nothing at all." She answered playfully as she regained her breath.
"UH huh"
"Please key in the name of your planet" Charlie did so. "Okay, what is your problem?"
"My wife she has been transformed! She is some kind of sex freak now! She is like some weird erotic fantasy creature, she can't stop fucking!" Charlie hoped he was getting somewhere now.
"Ooo, Lucky girl, so what the problem again?"
"How do I get her back to normal?" Charlie pleaded, yeah it had been fun but Tam could not spend the rest of her life like an animal in heat.
"Well you can do one of two things. One, bring up the expiration; I show all items on Earth to be set at fifty. Or option two: return the item for a partial credit."
"Oh, thank you then." Charlie said still a little confused, but he could just take Tam to the shop and they would take the ears. Everything would than be fine. HE would have his wife back.
"No problem. Sir, could you do me a favor now?" Playfulness creeping back into her voice. "Could you, like, press a lot of buttons? Start slowly, but press them faster and faster, and like use the number 6 a lot?" Ah what he hell. Charlie went for it. She moaned at first, started yelling, starting cursing, started to scream louder and louder, until finally she held her note of climax for what seemed an eternity.
Panting and completely out of breath the voice answered back "Gods I love my job" and the line went dead.
***
Tam sat in the kitchen looking around her home. She had lived here with Charlie for years know, since before they were married. In all that time they had never had sex outside the bedroom. She could barely fathom it, so much wasted time! She looked around and all she could think of was how to use the rest of the house. Pounding into each other over the counters, Cowgirl style in the captain's chair, on the stairs, getting bent over the banister, on the washing machine with it on, curled up in front of the fire place slowly caressing each other in the fire light.
What was wrong with her? Why had she not done these things? She nervously stroked her soft tail. Fear creeping into her mind that maybe Charlie did not love her, maybe that is why he was not making love to her. Tam decided she needed a distraction.
She was still hungry but poor Charlie was probably empty of tastiness. Hmm what to eat? She pored herself another bowl of milk, lapped that up. Tam looked around still hungry. She went to fridge (still open) and peered inside, Tupperware stared back at her. She closed the door unsatisfied. She went to the pantry. Chips and snack cakes stared back at her. She closed the door unsatisfied. She looked at the table; left over sex stared back at her; she licked some up remembering this morning's fun. She opened the cupboard, cans of tuna stared back at her.
"Yeah FISHIES!" she exclaimed jumping with joy, her now overly ample chest swinging this way and that as she did so. She took a pile of cans to the table, sat down and bit one.
"Owe" Silly her, she forgot to open them.
***
Charlie came back into the kitchen to find Tam sitting on the counter, surrounded by cans of Tuna.
"Alright dear, we need to get you dressed, so we can go to the mall."
Tam looked down at her exposed body, corset and stockings. She had stockings on wasn't that dressed enough? She gave Charlie a confused look.
"Dressed, Niyu?"
"Yes, we are going to the East Side Mall," Charlie explained as he took in the vision of the sex kitten he had for a wife. "They can help you there."
"Oh, so I will need a better outfit then, what should I where?" Tam asked curiously.
It took Charlie and Tam a while to find clothes that they could agree on. She seemed to think walking around in a collection of stockings, her midsection quarter cup corset and an unbuttoned cashmere blouse was simply a fine thing to do in public. Tam refused to wear pants as they conflicted with her tale, and too much of anything made her "itchy." To complicate things Tam's tail seemed insistent on causing trouble. As Tam was getting dressed it would push clothes away or play with Charlie's thighs.
Ultimately, Tam ended up wearing a thigh length skirt with the slit turned to let her tail out. She kept the stockings and garters, Charlie consented, wondering why pants made her "itch" but the nylons didn't. Around her mid section she wore her long leather belt. The final concession being a sheer silk blouse instead of the near transparent cashmere one Tam had picked out.
"There, I would say we are ready to go," said Charlie appraisingly at the outfit. He could not see any nips or tips. Aside for the tail and the fact she was sporting a pair a feline ears, she looked fine. If "fine" meant like a woman waiting for a porn scene. Charlie sighed; it would have to do. But since the phone call he had not been feeling as exhausted, he could probably go another round, and Tam was definitely game. No, Charlie focused; he had to save his wife from this life as a sex kitten. Yeah, the idea had merit but this was not really the woman he had fallen in love with and promised to love, hold, and protect.
Charlie led Tam out to the car and belted her in trying to not draw the attention of passers by or neighbors; it would not do to have questions about what the two of them were up to. As Charlie kicked over the engine he could tell something was wrong.
Tam's body had gone tense; he could see her taught muscles and the knuckles of her fists were discoloring. "You okay honey?" He asked as he pulled the car out of the drive way. Tam jumped in her seat at the movement of the car, letting out a sharp yelp.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
"I don't know I am just uncomfortable," replied Tam, fidgeting in her seat. Charlie reached over and stoked her shoulder which seemed to calm her nerves quite a bit as Tam visibly relaxed.
However, as Charlie drove, Tam became more and more agitated. In an effort to relax her, Charlie pulled her head over to rest on his shoulder and once again her breathing returned to normal; though it was not long before the fidgeting started again.
"Relax, babe, we are almost there, just close you eyes and do not think about it." Tam gave an affirmative purr, closed her eyes and situated herself so that her head was on Charlie's lap as he drove.
Just think of something else, she thought. Think happy thoughts, not about the road, happy thoughts. About things that made her happy, things like Charlie. Charlie was so good and sexy, he was a good mate. He was strong and smart and great at mating. Mating with Charlie was good. It made her happy to have sex with him. Happy to run her tongue across his delicious body. Happy when he kissed her and played with her body as a good mate. Happy when he thrust his cock in her, deeper and deeper making her happier and happier. Charlie's wonderful cock.
As Charlie drove he looked down at Tam in his lap, she had a gentle smile now and was snuggling into his lap, whatever she was thinking about behind those sweet closed eyes was definitely calming her down.
Yes, Tam thought, she did love Charlie and his delicious cock. She loved it in her warm pussy, and she loved the feel of it inside her, and she loved the taste too. She loved her mate's penis in her mouth all strong and warm. She loves sucking his cock, sucking his cock made her happy.
Tam brought her hands up to Charlie's lap and unzipped his pants. She could feel Charlie's hard member as she had snuggled into his lap and wanted more of it. Without pretense she pulled out his stiffy and began to eagerly lick it.
"Wow! Tam baby! I need to ... Oh my word." Charlie objection was cut short as Tam slide his entire length in her mouth, one hand massaging his base while the other stroked his balls in unison with her rhythm.
"Oh Charlie!" she said coming up briefly before going down again agonizingly.
"You" she said before going back down again. "make... me... feel... so... safe... I... want... to...always...be...with...you" she got out word by word as her head bobbed up and down slowly on his crotch.
"Yeah Tam that's good" was all Charlie could say as he tried to focus on driving, not willing to let Tam stop and sure it would not help things if he did anyway. Encouraged by Charlie's words Tam sped up her pace. Squeezing tightly she sucked him making sure to get as much of him as she could. Charlie, not sure how long he could last at Tam's ministrations, sped towards the mall hoping that today the cops were not cracking down on speeding.
Arriving at the East Side Mall, Charlie quickly parked the car in an out of the way parking spot while Tam continued to suck him off as though there were nothing more important in the world. Charlie was amazed at how long he lasted under Tam's unyielding assault. They must have been parked for 10 minutes before she finally got his load to go off. Tam joyfully took it all, screaming in joy around his cock as loads of cum shot down her throat. When he was finally done she looked lovingly up at her mate, snuggled into his chest purring quietly as Charlie stroked her head and put his pants back in order.
|
“Could you at least try to be nice once in a while?”
“Seriously? Guilt trippin' me, 'Samu? That has never worked before and it won't start working now.”
“But you-”
“Just leave me alone!”
“Can't you see I'm just trying to help you?”
“Well, maybe I don't want ya help!”
“Why the hell are you so damn stubborn all the time?!”
Atsumu couldn't quite recall the next words he had thrown at Osamu but the pain in his side where his twin brother had kicked him afterwards still lingered.
He huffed out a breath and laid his head back down on his front paws.
At least he was far away from the temple now.Away from Osamu and all the others who would probably be taking care of his brother right now. Atsumu hadn't been too hard on him but they were shifters after all, their strength was nothing to be messed with.
His scowl deepened when he remembered how Suna had helped Osamu to his feet right after Aran had stepped in, asking him if he was okay in that untypically soft voice.
Ugh, gross.
Aran had glared at Atsumu but before the older fox could even open his mouth to lecture him (like he'd done hundreds of times before) Atsumu had turned and ran away.
He knew he would get in trouble for it later and he shuddered when he imagined how the older foxes would scold him but in that moment he had felt...
He didn't know how he'd felt. Only that it hadn't been a good feeling.
Atsumu wasn't good with feelings, never had been.
He loved his annoying twin brother to the moon and back and he loved Kita.But he had trouble making friends.
Unlike Osamu.He had easily made friends with everyone in Inarizaki and everyone loved and cared about him in return. They readily offered him their help whenever they could and it made Atsumu feel sick sometimes.
It wasn't like he wanted to be treated the same way as his brother, not at all.He liked his independence and wasn't much of a people person anyway.He just wanted...
What did he want?
Atsumu wasn't sure himself.
He had everything he needed.He and Osamu still were one heart and one soul, no matter how often they fought.And he knew that he was safe with the pack. Kita was a good leader (not to mention that the twins owed him their lives) and Atsumu didn't have any major troubles with any of the other foxes either.
But somehow he felt like he didn't... belong.Not like the others, not like his brother.
Would he have left Inarizaki if it wasn't for Kita and Osamu?
That thought had been playing on his mind a couple of times lately and he hated that he even thought about it.What would he even do if he ran away? It's not like he had another place to go to and-
With a low growl Atsumu pushed these thoughts aside and inhaled deeply through his nose.
The fresh breeze calmed the chaos in his mind a little and he breathed out slowly.He opened his eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings and nothing else.He would get in trouble later anyway, there was no use in worrying about it now.
At least here he was on his own.No one knew about this place as far as he was aware.It was on the very outskirts of their territory, near the border to the Nekoma clan.
Atsumu had found it years ago when he'd first been allowed to explore the area on his own.It was a beautiful place.The first time he'd been here the small clearing had been covered with flowers of all different sorts of colours.A big strawberry bush had been in full bloom and the huge chestnut tree next to it, that towered above all the other flora in the area, had just started to show new leafs. The branches of the tree were so thick that Atsumu could easily lay down on them without having to fear that he'd fall and the leaves hid him from any prying eyes.
No one had ever followed him here, this was Atsumu's safe place.
Content for the moment he stretched out his front legs and closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the silence around him.The trouble would come soon enough and Atsumu vowed to himself that he would apologize for his behaviour.But right now he wanted to stay away from the clan just a little longer...
Apparently his wish hadn't been granted by the gods because suddenly a strong breeze swept through the branches, strong enough to startle the young fox and make him bore his claws into the bark.
He looked up but couldn't see much through the trees' crowns but when he raised his nose to sniff the air he caught a faint scent of rain.With an annoyed sigh Atsumu heaved himself up and started climbing down the branches.
If he hated anything it was getting his fur wet so he had to hurry if he wanted to reach the temple before the rain hit.
Back down on the forest floor he took another deep breath through his nose.It would probably still take a little while before the first raindrops hit so he decided to hunt on his way back.If he was lucky he'd catch a careless animal that hadn't sought shelter from the oncoming rain yet.
Atsumu followed a small path through the under-bush and towards the river where he probably had the best chances of finding something.Maybe Kita wouldn't be as mad if he at least made himself useful and brought back something for dinner to share.
He hadn't come far when he noticed that the winds were getting stronger.It pressed his fur against his body, ears flat against his head and he had to squint to see what was in front of him.
Once he reached the riverbank he caught a glimpse of the dark grey sky above.Maybe it was more than just rain.When he looked into the distance the clouds seemed to be almost black.Atsumu shuddered and quickly returned into the forest so the trees would protect him from the worst of the downpour.
He quickened his pace, jumped over stones and plants, keen on getting home now as fast as possible as he followed the familiar way through the woods.
He hadn't come far when a sudden shrill cry from nearby made Atsumu stumble in surprise and he rolled over the forest floor in a heap of legs and tail.
Luckily the fall hadn't hurt and the young fox shook his head to get the dirt out of his ears before he raised his head and listened.
It had sounded like a bird from what Atsumu could recall and when he heard the sound again a moment later, accompanied by the flapping of wings, he knew that he was right.Maybe the odds were in his favour after all, some easy prey could help his situation a bit.
Atsumu followed the noise, his paws making no sound on the ground as he slowly weaseled his way around plants and bushes, his body so low above the ground blades of grass tickled his belly.
Atsumu smelled the air to try and identify the scent.It was definitely some kind of bird but he couldn't remember smelling the exact same scent before and that confused him.He was a good hunter and had brought home all kinds of prey before, it was rare that he couldn't name a scent. The opportunity to bring home something new this time excited him.
He got closer slowly, a couple more steps and he could see the animal.
It was a crow and it was struggling.One of its wings dragged through the dirt uselessly as it desperately tried to get off the ground by flapping the other wing as hard as it could.
But what really threw Atsumu of was the size of the bird.It was big, too big to be a normal animal.
A shifter then.
That explained why Atsumu hadn't been able to identify the scent before.
But the only crows he knew of lived high up in the mountains.What was one of them doing down here in the forest?
Atsumu stayed where he was, mulling over his possibilities while the crow kept on struggling.
Shifters of different species weren't friends by nature so even if he decided to help the crow there was a very real possibility that it wouldn't thank him for his help.Maybe it would even attack him.
But maybe it wouldn't.Clans were very territorial and if the crow was stupid enough to attack a fox in their own territory then it probably deserved to suffer the consequences.
Atsumu wrecked his brain, trying to think of what Kita would do in his place.His heart sunk though when he realized he had no idea.
Kita had always kept them away from the other clans in the area and so Atsumu didn't have the slightest idea on how to handle a situation like this.He had zero experience with other shifters.
What he did know was that Kita had always taught his pack to be kind and remembering that Atsumu felt a hint of pity for the crow.It was all alone, far from home, injured and with no chance of making it back on its own.Atsumu knew shifters weren't supposed to cross territorial borders (without having a good reason) but the crow didn't look like it had landed here on purpose.
The young fox had made up his mind before the realization had even hit him and he stepped forward without thinking about it.
The crow let out another, more scared sounding cry when it caught sight of Atsumu and backed away as far as it could.A bush stopped it's retreat and panicked brown eyes stared at the fox shifter in horror.
Atsumu stopped dead in his tracks.He didn't want to seem like a threat so he slowly cowered down, his eyes trained on the crow.
The crow stopped moving its wings and they just stared at each other for a tense moment.It dawned on Atsumu as the silence stretched on that he had no idea what he would do with the crow.He couldn't bring it back to the temple, could he?
He had caused enough trouble today already, Kita would have his head if he brought a foreign shifter into the heart of their clan grounds.And if it wasn't Kita it would be one of the others for sure.
The rumbling sound of thunder in the distance startled both of them and reminded them that the storm was about to hit.
Atsumu looked up at the trees' crowns and a first raindrop hit him on the nose.They didn't have time.
Atsumu took a deep breath and shifted back into his human form.The crow watched with big eyes as the golden fox turned into young man with the same golden hair, caramel eyes and dressed in a black yukata.
“My name is Miya Atsumu”, the fox started because he didn't know what else to say. “You're in Inarizaki territory.”
The crow held his gaze for another moment then it must have decided that it was safe enough to shift because next thing Atsumu knew there was a young man with spiky orange hair and a pair of black wings sitting in front of him.He too was dressed in black clothes.
Atsumu saw that he was shaking.
“P-Please don't hurt me.”
The words felt like someone had pushed a thorn into Atsumu's heart and he quickly shook his head.
“I won't hurt you, I promise.”
More raindrops started to fall and thunder rolled again, closer this time.
“Listen, I don't know how you got here but the storm is about to hit. I know a place where you can hide, but we need to go.”
The other shifter opened his mouth but the words died on his tongue and nothing came out.Atsumu knew that he must be asking himself if he could trust Atsumu but there wasn't time for that right now.
“Okay”, the crow decided and got up. His injured wing looked roughed up and a little crooked as he tried to fold it against his side.Atsumu heard the pained hiss but the crow motioned for him to lead the way.
Atsumu nodded and started running.He knew the Inarizaki territory by heart and there was a little stone cave not far away from here.They were still pretty much on the outskirts of the clan grounds so Atsumu was positive that the others at least wouldn't find the crow that fast.
The rain was pouring by now, turning the terrain into a muddy mess with puddles everywhere. Atsumu didn't care much but the crow seemed to have more problems with it, slipping a couple of times and almost falling.
“Come on, we're almost there”, he tried to encourage him but the boy just looked scared.Atsumu stayed closer to him for the rest of the way but luckily he had been right and the cave hadn't been far away from their original position.
They hurried inside, relieved to be out of the downpour and the wind.It was dark in the cave and considerably cooler than outside but it was nowhere near freezing.
The crow ruffled his intact wing to rid of the drops that had gathered on it and Atsumu shook his head to get the water out of his ears with a growl.He really hated getting his fur wet.
The two shifters looked at each other, catching their breaths while trying to think of something to say.
“Thank you for helping me”, the crow eventually said and sat down on the dusty floor with a sigh. He carefully stretched out his injured wing and whimpered when pain shot through it.
Atsumu watched with worried eyes. “What happened?”
The crow glanced up at him before he tried to get water off of his crooked wing with his hands.
“The storm winds surprised me. I wanted to land but the winds were only getting stronger and I got carried away. I then crashed where you found me.”
Atsumu hummed in understanding.
Outside a lightning bolt struck and enlightened the cave for a heartbeat before loud thunder followed a few seconds later.
Atsumu knew he should return home.It wasn't safe out in the open and in this cave he was at least sheltered from the rain and the wind, he knew that too. But he had caused enough trouble today already.He didn't want the others to worry for him the whole night because he wasn't coming home.
On the other hand he didn't want to leave the other shifter alone.
He turned to the boy who was carefully prodding at his injured wing.
“How is your wing? Do you think it's broken?”, Atsumu asked.
The crow looked at the black feathers for another moment before turning back to Atsumu.
“I'm not sure”, he answered honestly. “But I don't know what...”
Another lightning bolt, followed by thunder, closer this time.
“Well, we can't do anything before the storm's over anyway and I need to get back home. My clan will be worried”, Atsumu said. He looked the crow over once again.
“Can you tell me your name?”
Silence, then: “Hinata Shoyo...”
Atsumu nodded. “Alright, Hinata. I... I've never met a shifter from another clan before so... I don't know what to do in a situation like this but I think it wouldn't be the wisest idea to bring you back to the temple. Kita-san might get mad at me and... well, I don't want that to happen.”
“You think, the other foxes would hurt me?”
Hinata's fearful eyes were fixed on Atsumu and the young shifter quickly shook his head.
“No, I don't think so but... to be honest I can't guarantee for anything. We're not in contact with any other clan so I don't know how my pack members would react if they were in my place. But you will be safe here for a while, I promise! I will come back first thing in the morning and we can work out what to do then. How's that sound?”
Hinata didn't seem thrilled by the prospect but in the end he nodded slowly.“Guess I have no other choice...”, he mumbled.
There was a weird feeling in Atsumu's chest when the shifter said these words.
“I promise I won't hurt you. We'll find a way to get you back home.”
He looked outside again, the rain still continued to pour down.
“I need to go. Promise me you will stay here until I come back tomorrow?”
Hinata still frowned but he nodded.
“Okay, I promise.”
Atsumu nodded, relief flooding his chest.
“I will come back as early as I can.”
He smiled a little bit to show that he was serious, then he shifted back into his fox form and ran out into the woods.
The rain poured down harshly and as much as Atsumu would have loved to run as fast as he could he needed to slow down after only a short while because water kept getting into his eyes and the ground was slippery from all the mud.
His heart sank when a loud howl rang through the trees.Kita was calling for him. Now every pack member knew that he was missing.The only thing he could do now though was to hurry home.
The way to the temple wasn't too far but Atsumu needed more than double the time.
By the time he passed the big stone fox statues that were covered in moss his fur was soaked through and his paws were hurting.
He jumped up the stone steps that marked the entrance to the temple, passed the red gates and ran across the courtyard towards the biggest building.A cold shudder ran down his back when he saw that Kita was already waiting there beneath the roofed bit just in front of the big double doors.
His two tails swished from side to side in a rare display of impatience and his ears were turned backwards against his head.
Atsumu slowed down his tempo until he was trotting the last few steps before he came to a halt beside Kita.
The roof at least protected him from the merciless rain and Atsumu resisted the urge to shake the water out of his fur.Instead he shifted back into his human form and bowed deeply before the kitsune.
He stayed in that position for a moment, unsure if he should try to explain why he'd run off earlier or if Kita would speak first.
“Enough. Look at me, Atsumu.”
The usual warm tone in Kita's voice was gone and Atsumu gulped before he straightened up, almost not daring to face his leader.
The kitsune's yellow eyes glimmered in the dark and under that gaze Atsumu suddenly felt very small.
“Well? Care to explain yourself?”
“F-Forgive me, Kita-san”, Atsumu stuttered out.He barely managed to hold the eye-contact and he quickly hid his shaking hands behind his back.“I just... just wanted to be alone for a while after... my fight with Osamu. When I noticed the strong wind and the dark clouds in the distance I started making my way home. B-But I felt kind of bad because of earlier and I wanted to see if I could at least bring something home for dinner... but then the rain got so strong and the way took longer usual...”
He decided to leave out anything about Hinata as he spoke.
He had been right, Kita was disappointed enough.The leader didn't need to know that he'd hidden a crow-shifter in their territory yet.
Kita looked at him in silence for so long that Atsumu wondered if he'd had said something wrong.Did Kita know that he hadn't told the whole truth?
Atsumu shuddered again and that seemed to snap the leader out of his thoughts.
“Your intentions were good but it was too dangerous staying out on your own with a storm rising this quickly. This will have consequences, Atsumu.”
The young fox swallowed down his protest and bowed again.
When he straightened up Kita's gaze was a little softer.“Go to the bathhouse”, he said and nudged him in the right direction. “I'll have someone bring you a set of fresh clothes.”
“Thank you, Kita-san.”
“Then you'll join Oomimi in the kitchen. You will also do all the dishes on your own later, understood?”
Atsumu gave another light bow.“Yes, Kita-san.”
“Good, now go.”
Once Atsumu turned around Kita let out two quick howls.
'Oh no', Atsumu thought as he remembered what the signal meant. 'He even sent someone to look for me. Hopefully not Ginjima, I'll never hear the end of it.'
His heart was still pounding in his rib cage as he made his way around the building to enter the bathhouse from the backside.Kita's ancestors had build it like this so the foxes wouldn't get the hallways dirty with mud and dirt whenever it rained.
Atsumu was grateful for it now because otherwise Kita probably would have made him scrub the floors too.
He scurried through the wooden door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that two of the wooden tubs were filled with steaming hot water already.He walked towards the first one and peeled off his soaking clothes in one go.He left them in a wet heap beside the tub and sank into the warm water with a grateful sigh.
Atsumu grabbed a bathing sponge and started scrubbing off all the mud first, then he took care of his hair, ears and tail.
Halfway through the door opened again and a drenched Akagi entered the room.The older fox only glared at him with a low growl before he climbed into the other tub.
Atsumu felt shame burn hot in his stomach and he quickly finished his bath so he could join Oomimi as Kita had demanded.
He made quick work of the dirty water, mumbled an apology to Akagi and then went to the smaller, secondary room to dry off and get his clothes.
To his surprise Osamu was already waiting there, sitting on a wooden bench, with a stack of fresh clothes beside him.He promptly threw a towel at Atsumu when he entered.
“There you are, idiot”, he growled and got up, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. “What the hell, Tsumu? We were all worried about you.”
Atsumu couldn't help the quiet, mocking sound tumbling from his lips.“You mean you were worried”, he corrected as he quickly dried himself off. “It's fine, I just needed some time alone.”
But Osamu kept glaring and eventually Atsumu gave in.
“Okay, okay, I'm sorry for earlier, alright? I didn't know what had gotten into me.”
That obviously hadn't been the answer Osamu had hoped for, judging by the look on his face, but it was something.
“Already forgotten”, the silver-haired twin mumbled. “But be more careful next time, okay?”'I couldn't bear it if one day you didn't come home anymore.'
Osamu didn't speak it out loud but Atsumu knew that he was thinking it.
They had almost lost each other once before, years ago, and only because they had come across Kita they had survived.
“I will be”, Atsumu promised but his voice was quiet.Of course he would always return to his twin, nothing could tear them apart and they had vowed to stay with each other since they'd been children.But lately Atsumu had felt the need to be on his own more than ever but he hesitated to share his feelings with Osamu.
He couldn't make sense of all his complicated emotions yet but everything would fall into place over time.Atsumu desperately wanted to believe that.
Maybe he should talk to Kita about it.Speaking to him was easy, always had been. And the kitsune was there for him when he needed someone to listen.It was his best idea yet.
He quickly pulled on the rest of his clothes and thanked his brother before he explained that he had been put on kitchen duty and sprinted off towards the dining hall.Osamu was left staring after him in confusion but in the end he just shook his head and went to re-join the other foxes.
It was much later in the night when Atsumu quietly entered the sleeping room.He had helped Oomimi to cook and prepare everything for dinner and after dinner he had been alone in the kitchen for hours, doing all the dishes and cleaning the room until it was spotless.He didn't want anyone to think he couldn't do a good job.He was reliable and he could be useful, the others would see for themselves.
Now his arms hurt from all the scrubbing and he shivered despite the two open fires burning by the west side of the room.
Most of the foxes were already asleep in a big cuddle pile on the floor.Akagi was passed out next to Oomimi, Ginjima snored a couple of feet away from them.Kita had shifted into his huge fox form and as usual he was in the center of the pile.
His yellow eyes opened as Atsumu entered and with a flick of his ear he invited him to join them.Atsumu breathed a tired sigh of relief at the prospect of some much needed sleep and closed the door behind him.
He tip toed around between the clan members, looking for a place that could be comfortable.
He saw Osamu curled up close to Suna's shifted form but with a grimace he looked away again.Aran was sleeping close to Kita while Riseki and Kosaku were off to the side a bit.
Atsumu hesitated.Whenever they did a cuddle pile like this (they often did in the winters when it was cold and on nights like these, where there was a storm or rain outside) his favourite place to sleep was nestled between Kita's front legs.It was warm there and he loved feeling the soft white fur against his back.
But after today he wasn't sure if Kita would welcome him there.
The decision was taken from him when a set of sharp teeth carefully closed around his sleeve and tugged him down.
Surprised, Atsumu looked up into Kita's golden eyes.There was something calm and reassuring swimming in them that made Atsumu smile before he made himself comfortable in his usual spot.“Thank you, Kita-san”, he mumbled and yawned.The leader nuzzled his ears in response and then laid his head back down again.
The rain had lessened over the course of the last couple of hours but the wind was still howling outside and Atsumu couldn't help but think about Hinata every few moments.
He knew that the crow must be freezing and scared and alone and for a long time Atsumu couldn't fall asleep because he asked himself if it would have been better to bring him here.
His fidgeting must have woken Kita again because at some point he felt the leader nuzzle and lick at his ears in a soothing gesture.The rhythmic motions made Atsumu sleepy after a while and a quiet purr rumbled in his throat before he slowly drifted off to sleep, all thoughts about Hinata pushed to the back of his mind for the time being.
His dreams were full of raindrops, black feathers and fearful eyes though.He woke up a couple of times in the night and once he could see the first signs of the sunrise through the window he got up and quietly sneaked out of the room.
When Kita opened his eyes a couple of hours later Atsumu was already gone.
Sneaking out of the temple was as easy as breathing for Atsumu.He'd done sit more times than he could count in the past but he was still careful now as he grabbed one of the leather bags they used to transport prey animals in and filled it with various things.
He'd brought his blanket from the sleeping room already.On top of that he packed a set of clothes, a knife and some leftover food from the night before (he'd managed to pick that up while he was doing the dishes after dinner).He hesitated to open the door to the small chamber where they kept all their herbs and medicine.
Aran kept a close eye on it and Atsumu was afraid that he'd notice if something was missing.Still, he needed at least something that would help numb Hinata's pain if nothing else.At least for now. He'd have to think of a way to treat Hinata's wing as soon as possible.He carefully picked out some dried, orangey leaves that Aran had used hundreds of times on both Atsumu and Osamu before and prayed to the gods that the black fox wouldn't notice.
If he did, Atsumu could still tell him that his side still hurt from yesterday's squabble with his brother.
He put the small glass jar back in its original place, made sure that the leaves were packed securely in his bag and then left the temple with quiet footsteps.
His listened to every noise around him, ears pointed and let his eyes wander from side to side as he went around the building.He couldn't leave through the front gate, if someone happened to look out of the window they would see him.
Of course he could still say that he was going out for a hunt but if someone demanded to see what he had in his bag it was over.How could he possibly explain all the stuff in there?
Telling everybody that he tried to run away?
No, he just needed to be quiet and pray that no one would notice him leaving.
Luckily, he heard no noise from the temple, no steps and no voice calling after him and as soon as was out of earshot from his pack members he shifted, picked up the bag between his teeth and started running.
The sun started to rise, golden rays just barely shining through the green forest when Atsumu noticed just how much the storm had damaged everything.Lots of small to middle sized-trees had fallen or crashed into other trees. Broken branches, green leafs and blossoms were scattered across the muddy floor and lots of deep puddles had built from the heavy rain.
When Atsumu smelled the morning breeze there wasn't any sign of new rain though, only the nice scent that lingered after a rainfall. He breathed it in deeply and excitement flared up in his chest. The young fox continued his way, jumping over every obstacle with newfound energy.
He heard some birds starting to chirp as he neared Hinata's location and quickened his pace.He couldn't stay with him for too long.His plan was to try and hunt on his way back so he could say he was out to catch prey when someone asked where he'd been.If he stayed away for too long he risked his clan's disapproval again.
The area around the cave seemed pretty unharmed by the storm to Atsumu's relief.He put down the bag just before the entrance and shifted back so he wouldn't scare the crow.
He hoisted the bag up over his shoulder and ignored his pounding heart as he walked into the cave.
“Hinata?”
There was a rustle and then Atsumu caught sight of the crow.He'd retreated to the far back of the cave probably to escape the wind and rain as much as he could.He had his good wing wrapped around his body, Atsumu spied his still damp clothes beside him a moment later.
“Miya-san?”
“Yes, it's me. Hang on a moment.”
Atsumu put the bag down and pulled out the blanket first, then his spare set of clothes.
“You must be freezing. Here.”
He handed over the blanket first which Hinata took with a quiet gasp before he wrapped it around himself tightly.
“Th-thank you”, he said with clattering teeth. “It was too cold in my drenched clothes.”“I brought you some of mine. You can wear them while yours dry. I don't think it's gonna rain again today.”“Thank you so much... I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't showed up...”
Atsumu didn't want to think about that, so he didn't answer.“It's no trouble”, he assured him instead. “How is your wing feeling?”
Hinata glanced at it where it rested half spread against the ground.“It hurts”, he admitted. “I don't think the cold and the rain did it any good.”
Atsumu hummed in understanding and searched the bag for the leafs he'd brought.
“Here, eat this”, the fox said as he held out one of them to the other shifter. “It doesn't taste good but I swear it will numb your pain quickly. Works on me and my brother all the time.”
He smiled encouragingly and after a moment of hesitation Hinata took it and started chewing on the plant.He pulled a face that almost made Atsumu laugh but he bit his tongue and instead reached for the food he'd brought.
“Did you... did you tell your clan about me?”, Hinata asked once he'd managed to swallow down the disgusting plant.
Atsumu shook his head and sat down.“No. I thought it was safer not to. But now that the storm's over we should think about what we want to do.”
Atsumu met Hinata's gaze and took a deep breath.“Do you want me to tell them about you? Kita-san might not be happy that I didn't talk to him about you yesterday but maybe he could send a messenger to your clan? And they could come get you?”
“No!”, Shoyo almost screamed and Atsumu flinched back in surprise.He opened his mouth to say something but Hinata quickly apologized.“I'm sorry. But please don't tell them. I don't want to pull your clan into this mess. It was my own fault that I ended up here. I left the mountain even as Tanaka-san told me not to because it was too dangerous. I lied to his face and said I wouldn't. In reality I thought I could handle it but was proven wrong when the storm winds swept me down into the forest.”
The crow gnawed on his bottom lip, clearly embarrassed by his revelation.
“This injury is my own fault so I should handle it by myself too.”
Atsumu was about to object but... wouldn't he handle a situation like this in the same way? Knowing himself Atsumu would probably try to make his way back in an injured state and possibly worsen it even more.
Also this was Hinata's decision, not his.
“Okay, so what should we do then?”, the fox asked. “Your wing needs to heal before you can leave.”
“Yeah, I know”, Hinata answered.He carded a hand through his hair, thinking for a moment.“I really don't think it's broken though”, he eventually said with a glance to his aching wing. “Maybe if I'm lucky it will heal fine on its own and in a couple of days I can return.”
“Maybe. Do you know anything about identifying and treating injuries at all?”, Atsumu asked.
“Not really. Asahi-san and Kiyoko-san mostly take care of us when something happens.”
“Well, I don't know much about treating wounds either but... we'll think of something. Maybe I can try to ask Aran about it... I just have to do it so he doesn't notice something's up...”
“You would do that for me?”
It took Atsumu a moment before he was able to answer, his face grew weirdly hot.“Well, I can't leave you like this, can I?”
“I'm just... surprised.”
A small smile spread on Hinata's face.Atsumu couldn't help but smile back.
“You're the first shifter I've come across in a long time, apart from my pack mates I mean”, Atsumu tried to explain. “I know there's a gathering every three moons on new moon's night, when the seasons change. And all the clans in the area are going but Kita-san won't allow us to...”
“Why not? I mean... if that's not too personal to ask...”
Atsumu thought about it but came to the conclusion that it wouldn't do any harm if he told him.
“Well, Kita-san doesn't talk about it much but when he was younger his clan got attacked by another shifter-clan. I guess he just doesn't want to risk that happening ever again so he just avoids all the other clans to protect himself and us.”
“Ah, that's understandable... I mean, I've heard stories about the fox clan, but I've never seen a fox shifter either. I wondered why you would never show up but I guess you have a good reason not to.”
Atsumu nodded.
“Is your clan visiting the gatherings?”, he wanted to know.
“Yes. Though it can be quite... overwhelming sometimes. So many shifters in one place you know? But it's... kind of magical.”
Atsumu had wanted to go to the gatherings ever since he'd heard about them and in the beginning he'd bugged Kita day and night with it.But the leader had never budged and so Atsumu had given up eventually.
His gaze fell down to the bag he'd brought and he quickly took out the food and pushed it over to Hinata.
“Sorry, here. I got you some food. And here are the clothes.”He pushed the little bundle closer.
“They might be a bit big but I have a knife so we can shorten them a bit.”He gave Hinata a once over.“We probably need to cut in holes for your wings too, right?”
“You really don't have to! I can wait until my own clothes are dry again, no need to ruin yours by cutting them.”
“But you'll freeze, spring has only just started, the nights are still cold.”Atsumu smiled a little.“It's okay, really. I have plenty.”
“If you say so...”
They kept on chatting while Hinata ate the food Atsumu had brought and afterwards Atsumu helped the crow with his yukata. It was noticeably bigger but once they had made some adjustments it wasn't so bad anymore.
The holes for the wings were a little tricky, especially because Hinata couldn't move the right one very well but in the end Atsumu cut a hole from the middle of the back up to the neck, brought the two parts around the base of the wing and tied the cloth at the top.
“Is that okay like this?”, Atsumu asked, looking at his work critically.
“Yeah, thank you.”
The fox' eyes wandered over to the crooked wing.
“Can you see any wound from the outside?”, he asked.
Hinata shook his head.
“No. I ripped out some feathers when I fell through the branches but apart from a couple of scratches I can't see anything.”
Atsumu hummed absent-mindedly and his ears started twitching like they did so often when he was thinking about something.But there still wouldn't come an idea to his mind that would solve the problem of what they could do to mend Hinata's wing.
The loud chirping of a bird right outside the cave pulled him from his thoughts and he gasped when he noticed how light it had gotten outside.
“I need to get back”, he explained and grabbed the now empty bag. “I will come back later. Don't worry, we'll find a solution.”
“But what if one of your pack mates finds me?”Hinata's eyes were big with worry and Atsumu hesitated with his answer for a moment.He couldn't imagine how Hinata must feel in this situation, in the middle of another clan's territory, injured and alone.He knew it must feel bad though.
“They won't”, he answered, knowing that his answer was unsatisfying. “Maybe I can bring you somewhere else later. But please, trust me. The storm has done so much damage that all of us will have to work hard to get everything back to a normal state back at the temple. No one is gonna come all the way out here. So don't worry.”
Hinata crossed his arms, clearly not happy with Atsumu's words but then he gave a tiny nod.“Promise you will come back later.”
Atsumu nodded.
“I promise. I'll be back as early as I can.”
Then he shifted, grabbed the bag and left the cave with big leaps.
He knew a place not far from here, close to a small river that winded through the forest, where lots of animals scurried around usually and that's where he headed to.
The gods were on his side this time.
He quickly managed to catch two rabbits and was especially proud of a small fish that he'd managed to snatch out of the river.His legs and snout were dripping wet but that had been worth it.
He safely stashed his prey away in the bag before he hurried home.
When he jumped up the stairs to the courtyard the golden fur on his legs was spiky and dirty from all the puddles and mud he'd walked through.
When he neared the main building he saw Aran and Osamu who were busy collecting all the big branches that the wind had carried onto the temple grounds. It had swept some tiles off the roof as well and Atsumu carefully tiptoed around the shards.
Aran looked up first when he noticed the fox.
“Atsumu”, he called and Atsumu trotted over to him.He put down the bag and shook out his fur before he shifted back.
“You missed breakfast”, Aran pointed out, one eyebrow raised.“I went hunting”, Atsumu explained and gestured to the bag at his feet. “Last night I saw that we didn't have much anymore and I thought I could try and get us something before we start cleaning up around here.”
Aran's other eyebrow raised up too and Atsumu almost laughed out loud because it looked so funny.Osamu shot him a weird look too but he didn't say anything.
“What?”, he asked at their surprised expressions. “I can be useful too, you know.”He hadn't meant to say the words with a biting undertone but it happened anyway.
Aran shook his head and the expression was gone.To Atsumu's surprise he smiled a bit now.
“We know you can. Good job, Atsumu. We left some breakfast for you in the kitchen.Eat and then go and join Suna, Riseki and Akagi in the fields. Kita said there is the most work to be done.”
“Yes, Aran-kun!”, Atsumu said with a grin, grabbed his prey and skipped off to the kitchen.
“I really wish he'd stop calling me that...”
Behind Aran Osamu barked out a laugh.
“Dream on, Aran-kun!”
Atsumu scarfed down his food as soon as he'd stored away his prey and then ran out towards their fields.
Kita had been taught in everything agriculture from a young age and then he'd taught his foxes one by one.Atsumu remembered how they had started working on getting the earth ready for the first sowing and how excited all of them had been when the first plants had started to grow.Kita had just smiled contently back then.
Now the fields looked... a little roughed up to say at least. They had a rice one, a small potato one, a bigger wheat one and all of them were surrounded by trees that could bear fruit or smaller vegetable plants.
Lots of the plant stems and leaves were crooked, others had been pressed flat to the ground by the wind.The extensive rain water had made the earth sticky with mud and the storm gusts had broken off lots of branches and leaves from the surrounding forest as well.
“Doesn't look pretty, does it?”
Atsumu turned his head and saw Akagi come his way, his hands and feet were covered in mud, his clothes didn't look much better.
“You don't look pretty”, Atsumu couldn't help but tease and laughed when the older fox reached over to give him a light slap against the top of his ear.
“I'm joking, I'm joking” the young fox giggled, trying to protect his head.
“Where were you anyway?”, Akagi wanted to know. “Kita-san didn't seem to be worried but it's rare that you're up before anyone else.”
The question made Atsumu nervous and he quickly answered: “I went out hunting. Couldn't sleep anymore and thought I'd do something useful.”
He ruffled the hair at the back of his neck nervously when he remembered the bathhouse last night.
“Sorry about yesterday”, he apologized. “I should have come home sooner.”
Akagi waved him off. “Already forgotten. Kita-san told me to search the area around the temple. I had barely started when he called me back.”
Atsumu still bowed his head in apology but Akagi really didn't seem to mind anymore.His tail swished against Atsumu's and he jerked his head to the side.“Come on, there's lots of work to do.”
The two shifters joined Suna and Riseki who were busy sorting out the potato field.Atsumu started with the vegetable plants next to them while Akagi started collecting the bigger branches from the nearby wheat field.
They worked while the sun steadily rose higher and by the time early afternoon came around the warm spring sun had dried most of the earth. They sat down for a little snack, munching on some onigiri and vegetables that Kosaku had brought them.
They continued working until the sun started to dip below the trees' crowns, then Kita called all of them back to the temple to have a bath and to start preparing dinner.
The kitsune had joined them a while ago, going around the fields and checking all the fruit trees.
Suna, Akagi and Riseki had started walking back already but Atsumu made his way over to Kita, who was carrying two heavy baskets.He quickened his steps when he saw the leader hitching up one of them higher again and again.
“Let me”, he offered and reached out already. “It will make your shoulder ache again.”
Kita sighed but let Atsumu take the basket, a little smile briefly playing on his lips.“Thank you, Atsumu.”
Atsumu just flicked his ear in response and they started walking side by side.
“I was surprised to find you gone when I woke up this morning.”
Kita didn't sound accusing, only mildly interested when he said these words but Atsumu's face grew hot anyway.
“I-I went out to catch some prey”, he stammered.“I saw one of the bags was missing”, the leader answered calmly. “It rarely is like you to do things on your own accord though.”
“I...”Atsumu swallowed.“I still felt bad because of yesterday and it made me think that... I could do more. You've been saying I need to find and earn my place in Inarizaki... and I need to start somewhere, right?”
Kita's golden eyes watched him openly now.The kitsune inclined his head in a signal for Atsumu to go on.
“I can take over the kitchen duties for a while. And I could go out hunting more. I'm good at it and now that spring's here prey animals start to come back. I know you said what I did yesterday will have consequences and I will do anything you ask of me. But I would like to start with these things if you let me.”
Atsumu's tail jerked from side to side nervously as he waited for his leader's answer.
“I had other things planned for you”, Kita admitted eventually. “But we'll have a lot to fix around the temple after the storm. Do you think you can handle hunting for all of us on your own? The more my foxes work around here, the earlier we can get everything back to normal again but I don't want you to overwork yourself.”
“I will try”, Atsumu said honestly and straightened up. “I can go right now, if you want.”If he hurried he'd have time to visit Hinata again.And the more often he hunted, the more opportunities he had to look after the crow shifter.
Kita chuckled. “Well, if you want to. But be back before the sun sets. I'll make sure a bath is ready for you then.”
“I promise I won't be late this time.”
The kitsune smiled.“I'll take you by your words.”
They came to a stop just outside the temple gates.
Atsumu handed Kita the second basket but before he could go the kitsune leaned over and quickly scented him.
Atsumu let out a squeak in surprise but then a quiet purr rumbled in his throat and he closed his eyes, eager for the rare show of affection.
Kita scented all of them from time to time, it identified them as a pack member of the Inarizaki clan but it also strengthened the bonds between each individual.
When Atsumu had been younger and hadn't known Kita for long the kitsune had often scented him and his brother but over the years it had calmed down noticeably.He had never asked why but now he was just grateful when it happened.
The kitsune stopped all too soon but the smile he gave Atsumu made him feel warm.
“I'm proud of you today, Atsumu.”
The young fox bowed in gratitude.
“I'll prove that I deserve it”, he vowed with a smile.
Then he shifted and ran off into the woods.
Kita's gaze followed him until he disappeared between the trees.
~
Atsumu felt incredibly light as he hurried through the woods to get the small stone cave where Hinata was hiding.
Kita's words had given him new energy and it didn't take long to reach his destination.
“Hinata, I'm back!”, he called as soon as he'd shifted.
The other shifter smiled a little as Atsumu entered the cave but then his eyes went incredibly wide and Atsumu saw how he pressed himself closer against the cave wall.
The young fox stopped dead in his tracks, confused but also scared that he had done something wrong somehow.
“What's wrong?”, he asked but couldn't quite keep the panic out of his voice.Hinata stared at him unblinking for another moment then he slowly started to relax again.
“I'm sorry but there's this scent on you... it's quite overwhelming.”
“What scent...”, Atsumu started but then remembered how Kita had bid him off.“Ah, yes. There's no need to be scared. That's my clan leader's scent. Is it... really that strong to you?”
Hinata leaned forward and inhaled deeply again.
“It's strong, kind of reminds me of Daichi-san. But it's very different from your own scent. It's more like... snow on a cold winter day, I guess.”
Atsumu smiled and sat down across from Hinata.
“Yes, Kita-san was born in the North, I guess it's been like this since he was born.”
“Is it true that he is... a kitsune?”
Hinata's eyes were wide and he gasped quietly when Atsumu nodded and said:“He is.”
“Wow... so he truly is a direct descendant of the Old Gods...”
Atsumu smiled proudly but didn't go further into the topic.
“I thought about bringing you to another place”, he said, pulling Hinata out of his thoughts. “I know you're worried about the other foxes finding you so we could move you somewhere else. It would be close to the river, so you wouldn't have to worry about water and there are some edible plants around like strawberries and carrots and stuff. You wouldn't have to wait for me to bring you food every time and it's further from the temple too. In the past weeks none of the other foxes have been there. What do you say?”
Hinata didn't hesitate for long before he nodded.Earlier he had laid out his clothes to dry and now he picked them up, then followed Atsumu out of the cave.
Outside Hinata blinked a couple of times because of the bright evening sun and looked around for a moment before he caught up to the young fox shifter.Together they made their way to the new destination.
~
The last rays of the sun had faded and made way for the dark blue of the night sky when Aran wandered through the temple grounds in search of Kita.
Unsurprisingly, he found him sitting in his usual spot on the patio next to the little koi-pond.
The kitsune was leaning against a wooden pillar, an old leather-bound book in his hand and staring into the sky where the moon had started rising.The tips of his white tails occasionally swished against his leg.
“There you are.”
Kita looked up and smiled, his yellow eyes glowing warmly in the dim light.
“Aran”, he said and invited him over with a flick of his ear.
“I brought something for your shoulder”, the black fox announced and held up a small glass jar for the kitsune to see.
“How do you always know when it bothers me?”
“Because you never tell me.”
Aran grinned and took a seat beside the kitsune.
“Well, you're holding the book with your right hand so you won't strain your shoulder for example. And we all had lots of hard work to do today, so I just assumed.”
Kita closed the book and carefully put it to the side.
“You're right, it does ache a bit.”
He changed his position so he was facing away from Aran and pulled down his clothes so his left shoulder was free.He sighed when Aran started rubbing in the ointment with practised ease.
“By the way, did you send out Atsumu to hunt earlier?”
Kita hummed quietly.
“He offered. When we made our way back from the fields he told me he would take over the hunting for us if I agreed. He even asked to be put on kitchen duty for a while.”
“Really? That doesn't sound like him. Didn't you have something else in mind for him anyway?”
Kita nodded. “I had but then he came to me on his own and asked for all of those things. I guess he really felt guilty because of last night. So I agreed.”
Aran huffed but Kita knew he smiled.“You're too soft on him, Shinsuke. You've always been. On both of the twins.”
“Well, someone in this pack of feral idiots needs to be”, he teased but then his expression turned solemn. His eyes shifted up to the half moon slowly making it's way across the sky. “Maybe, you're right. But I truly believe Atsumu needs someone who's gentle with him.”
“That's because you still see that little boy in him sometimes, isn't it?”
The kitsune let these words float around in his mind before he answered.
“Ever since I saved them all these years ago, Atsumu only had his brother. He had us too of course. And then Suna. Akagi, Oomimi and later all the other foxes that joined us over time.”
“He always looked up to you ever since you brought them here and gave them a home. That's why he only listens to you.”
Kita's tails twitched and he closed his eyes for a moment.
“I think you underestimate him”, he answered. “We might be content with the life we have, with the relationships we've built and with all we have right now. But Atsumu wants to see more of the world. I can see it in his eyes. I used to have that same look when I was younger.”
Aran stayed quiet but when Kita glanced back at him he saw his friend listening attentively.
“I think he's been acting up recently because of Osamu and Suna.”
“That... that actually makes sense...”
“I think Osamu needs someone who can protect him but also won't coddle him. And Suna can be that someone for him. Atsumu on the other hand... I'm not quite sure what he needs. Maybe it's just a friend, maybe something else. Seeing Osamu and Suna getting this close lately must have bugged him a lot. But his behaviour today just proves that he has the ability to grow and change.”
“Why don't we go to the next gathering then? It would be a way for him to meet other shifters and built some new relationships. It would do the others good too, I think. So why not?”
Aran only asked very hesitantly because he knew how vehemently Kita had always shut down any ongoing discussions about the topic but this time the kitsune just hummed, deep in thought.
“I... thought about that too”, he admitted.Aran felt Kita's tails starting to twitch again as he spoke.“But not yet. Not while Riseki is still getting used to living with us... and not while we're still weakened from the long winter.”
Aran gently continued massaging Kita's shoulder, his movements extra careful where he touched close to the deep scar that troubled their leader at times.
“It's okay if you're not ready yet”, he mumbled and the sudden urge to nuzzle Kita's ears to soothe him overcame Aran.It was no secret to him that the kitsune was this overprotective of his clan because of his bad experiences in the past.But right now Kita's confident facade wavered and let his uncertainty shine through.
Aran hated seeing him this restless.He leaned forward but only quickly touched his nose to Kita's white ear.
“Think about it for a while. The next gathering is still almost two moons away. And if you decide we won't go then that's okay too.”
The kitsune stopped fidgeting and nodded slowly.“I will think about it”, he promised.
“Good”, Aran smiled.
They stayed there for another while, Aran making sure that he'd massaged out all the lingering ache in Kita's shoulder as best as he could before he got up and offered his hand to the kitsune.
“It's late, most of the others will be asleep by now. Let's join them.”
Kita collected his book, took Aran's outstretched hand and let himself be helped up.He leaned up to briefly scent the other fox.A small smile showed on his lips when he felt Aran lean into it.
“Let's go”, the kitsune mumbled as he pulled away and together they joined their tired pack.
As it turned out Atsumu didn't have to worry for too long about what to do with Hinata's injury.He'd been looking for a way to ask Aran about it without raising suspicion but the right moment hadn't come yet.
Atsumu had already visited Hinata this morning and was glad to see that the crow shifter seemed more relaxed in his new hideout.When he'd arrived earlier Shoyo had dipped hishurt wing into the river stream carefully, so the cool water could ease the lingering ache a bit.
Atsumu knew they needed to do something soon, because if Shoyo was wrong and the bones were broken after all, it wouldn't heal properly and there was a very real possibility that the crow wouldn't be able to fly anymore.And how would he get home then?
Atsumu would have to tell Kita if that happened and probably lose his leader's trust for all eternity.
His legs ached now as he made his way up the stairs leading to the temple.All the running around the past couple of days made itself known through light muscle pain slowly but surely.
He hadn't even been able to catch a single prey animal this morning because his muscles protested whenever he ran too fast.He huffed, annoyed, and shifted once he was atop of the stairs.
When he passed the red gate his sensitive ears picked up on a conversation somewhere near the south side of the courtyard.
“Are you sure you can walk? That looked like it hurt.” Oomimi's voice sounded worried, alerting Atsumu instantly.
He started walking in the direction the voice had come from when someone else answered.
“I'm not sure, it kind of hurts.”
That was Ginjima.
Atsumu rounded the corner of the building and promptly spotted his two clan mates.Ginjima was clinging onto the older fox' shoulder for balance while Oomimi had his hands hovering near Ginjima's side, ready to stabilize him if needed.One of Ginjima's feet was hovering over the ground, covered in mud up until mid-calf.
“You need any help?”, Atsumu asked, stepping closer. “Is it bad?”
Ginjima grit his teeth but shook his head.“Nah, it's gonna be fine. I just need to be careful...”
When he put his foot down though a loud yelp escaped him and Oomimi caught him safely just as his foot gave in under his weight.
“Damn it, let us help you”, Atsumu said and grabbed one of Ginjima's arms and put it around his shoulder. Oomimi did the same on the other side.“Aran should take a look at that.”
Ginjima growled but didn't protest any further.
Together they made their way inside the temple.There was a small room next to their sleeping quarters where Aran usually treated his patients.
There were two futons on the floor and Oomimi slowly helped Ginjima sit down on one of them while Atsumu declared that he'd look for Aran.
Kita had sent out all the foxes again this morning to continue to clear the chaos left behind by the storm.Atsumu remembered that Aran had been sent to the fields with the others instead of Atsumu who had been assigned to go hunting first.
Once he reached the fields he called Aran over and told him what had happened.The two of them then made their way back to the temple with quick steps.
Oomimi and Ginjima looked up when the black fox entered the room, trailed by Atsumu who now sensed his chance to ask Aran about all the medical stuff he needed to know.
Aran was his usual calm self and sat down beside Ginjima.
“Oomimi, Atsumu, you can go. Akagi could use your help with the wheat field.”
Oomimi nodded and turned to leave but Atsumu stayed where he was, nervous all of a sudden.
“Um...”
Aran looked up.One of his eyebrows raised in question when he saw Atsumu still standing in the doorway.“Is there a problem?”
“No... I was just wondering if I could... watch? While you're treating Ginjima?”
Aran squinted at him with a frown and Atsumu's nervousness instantly picked up a notch or two.
“Why would you... Are you hiding an injury from me again, Atsumu?”
Atsumu felt his face grow hot and he whined, his ears turning backwards without his permission.
“No! That was one time! I just... I just want to see. Maybe I could learn something.”
Something in Aran's expression changed, almost like surprise, but in a good way.Atsumu, seeing his chance, quickly continued.
“You're the only one who knows what to do when one of us is sick or injured. It wouldn't hurt to have someone who can help you a bit, would it?”
Aran exchanged a glance with Oomimi, who had stopped in the hallway just behind Atsumu.The older fox just shrugged and then left with quiet steps.
Atsumu's tails swished back and forth restlessly as he waited for an answer.
But in the end Aran nodded.
“Alright. Come here. Ask if you want to know something, okay?”
Atsumu nodded eagerly and skipped over.
Ginjima eyed him suspiciously but as soon as Aran started asking him questions about what had happened exactly and how the pain felt for him he forgot about Atsumu.
Atsumu listened attentively to every question Aran asked and every answer Ginjima gave, hoping that he could remember all of it so he could ask Hinata the same things later.
When they took a look at Ginjima's foot after carefully cleaning off the mud it was swollen around the ankle and Atsumu felt a sting of pity for him.
“How would you describe your pain? Try to be as accurate as possible. Is it sharp or dull?”
“Hm... I'd say more on the dull side, it's pulsing a little but it doesn't sting...”
“Okay, that's good”, Aran encouraged with a smile. “How would you rate your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”
“Maybe... maybe a five? I'm not sure. It's been better ever since I sat down.”
Aran nodded.
“Alright. Is it okay if I feel around your ankle a bit? I need to rule out a fracture. I promise I will be as careful as possible.”
Ginjima nodded hesitantly but closed his eyes so he didn't have to look.
“Atsumu, come a little closer. This part is important.”
Atsumu scooted over so that he could see everything the older fox did well.
Aran carefully felt over the swollen skin, pressing down here and there, asking where it hurt the most and Ginjima answered through clenched teeth.
Aran let Atsumu feel the area too but he did flinch away when Ginjima hissed once he pressed down on the most painful spot a little too hard.
“Don't worry. I'm sure it's not a fracture. You probably just pulled your ligaments a bit.”
“Can you always feel it if a bone is broken from the outside?”, Atsumu asked.
“Not always. Sometime you can see it from the outside, if it's really bad. Often you can feel it. Sometimes you can't but if it's broken the patient is in a lot more pain than Ginjima is in right now.”
Aran got up and went over to the little chamber where the medicine was stored away.
“But isn't he in much pain...?”
Atsumu was a little confused.How could he determine if it was a broken bone when it came to Hinata's wing?
“If something was broken you probably would have had your head bitten off when you applied pressure earlier.”
Atsumu heard the smile in Aran's voice and would have been offended by the teasing if he wasn't so used to it already.He turned to Ginjima who gave him a strained smile.
“I could still bite your head off. Watch your back Atsumu.”
Atsumu stuck his tongue out and crossed his arms.Aran came back then with some herbs and a few utensils he'd need.He put everything down in front of him while he explained what everything was and what it was used for.
Atsumu's head swam as he tried to keep all of Aran's words in mind.Maybe he would need them later.
He tried to remember what the herbs and leafs looked like before Aran mixed them all together with a couple of other bits and Atsumu watched in wonder as everything together turned into some sort of ointment.
Granted, it didn't look pretty, but Aran promised that it would help.
The black fox got up again after applying the ointment to get some clean bandages he'd forgotten to bring earlier and when he came back he dropped a big book into Atsumu's hands before he sat down again.
“This is a book about everything that is related to injuries and illnesses. How to identify them, what you can do to treat them and so on. You can read in it for a bit if you like.”
Atsumu's tail curled over his back in excitement and he smiled.“Thank you, Aran-kun”, he said, his eyes fixed on the book, as he flipped through a couple of pages.
He watched the rest of the treatment before he got up, book in hand and ready to leave.
“I'll swing by the fields, see if Kita-san has something for me to do. I'll tell him about what happened”, Atsumu called over his shoulder.Then he was out the door.
He carefully tucked the book into his empty bag from this morning's hunt so he could take it with him later and then made his way to the fields.When he arrived he went to Kita straight away, informed him of what happened and then helped Akagi with fixing various parts of the wheat field.
Atsumu was kind of impatient and made some avoidable mistakes along the way but he couldn't help it.He itched to grab the book and run out to where Hinata was hiding so they could start to figure out what they should do together.
-
When Kita finally called them to get back to the temple for lunch in the early afternoon Atsumu was the first to jump up and abandon his current work.
He hoped that Kita would let him go hunting again after they had eaten. He hadn't caught anything this morning after all and a pack of foxes were big eaters.Surely Kita would say yes.
The small group was just walking up the hill back to the temple with Atsumu in the front when two big shadows darted over them, accompanied by a low cry.When Atsumu looked up he saw two crows circling the sky over the courtyard.They were big, too big to be just regular birds.
Shifters.
Atsumu turned around to warn the rest of the group but they had already seen it too.Kita stared up into the sky, his body rigid and golden eyes wide.His tails slowly moved from side to side and he seemed frozen in place for long moment.
A weird feeling made itself a home in Atsumu's chest and a shudder ran down his back. Something was not right.
But the crows didn't attack, they just kept going in circles, as if they were waiting for something.
No one dared to speak but Atsumu had a feeling that he should say something.
“Kita-san?”
His voice echoed a little too loudly in the open and he bit his tongue immediately.
But that had been all Kita needed to snap out of his daze and he howled out a loud warning call, so that Aran, Ginjima and the rest of the foxes at the temple would know they had visitors.
Then Kita started leading the way back but called Akagi and Suna over with a flick of his tail.“Keep your eyes on them”, Atsumu heard him mumble. “If they do anything suspicious, any movement that's out of place, you tell me. And don't hesitate to attack them if they should do the same.”
There was something tense in Kita's voice but Atsumu didn't have a chance to wonder why because his own thoughts were running wild in his head.
Were they from Karasuno? They must be and they must be looking for Hinata.Had they found him already? Or were they just here to tell the foxes that they were searching for their missing clan member? Should Atsumu say something or keep his mouth shut?
He didn't have time to think about any answers to his questions because once they stepped back into the courtyard the rest of the Inarizaki were already waiting for them.
Not a word was spoken as Kita moved into the middle of the place, his foxes coming up in a half circle behind him.
“Come down”, he called up to the sky. “You have my word that nothing will happen to you.”
The two crows started to glide lower and lower.Their huge black wings raised dust as they landed a good few metres across from the foxes.
One of the crows was massive while the other was noticeably smaller, so the bigger one was probably their leader.
Kita's fox form was also way bigger than the rest of theirs and Atsumu instinctively took a step back as he really took in the dark crow.It's presence was overwhelming.
He did rleax a little when he felt Osamu stepping up to his side.“Who are they?”, his brother whispered, eyes trained on the two newcomers.
“Don't know, from the crow clan in the mountains probably”, Atsumu answered.
Kita cut them a harsh glare and both of them quickly shut their mouths.
All of Inarizaki watched in silence as the shifters took on their human forms in front of their eyes.
The bigger crow wasn't a remarkable tall or striking person at all but everything about him radiated confidence and strength.
The other one was quite a bit smaller but he too had an easy confidence around him and Atsumu couldn't help but marvel at that.
He knew he wouldn't be nearly as calm standing across a whole clan of shifters he had never even seen before.
The taller one took a step forward and bowed deeply, the second crow followed his example.
“My name is Sawamura Daichi and I'm the leader of the Karasuno clan.”
His voice echoed loud and clear over the courtyard, then the one named Sawamura straightened up and let his gaze wander over the many foxes standing behind Kita before he spoke again.
“This is Nishinoya Yuu, one of my clan members.”
Nishinoya nodded his head in greeting but didn't say anything.
It was silent, just for a heartbeat, until Kita decided to take a step forward as well.His tails still twitched occasionally and Atsumu noticed that his ears were turned backwards just the slightest bit.
“I am Kita Shinsuke, leader of the Inarizaki clan and these are my foxes.”
Atsumu stood a little straighter and focused all of his senses on what was happening in front of him.
So his assumption had turned out to be correct.These were two of Hinata's clan mates.What happened now was of uttermost importance.
“May I ask why you have trespassed into our territory?”
There was a sharp tone in Kita's voice. Atsumu shared a quick glance with his twin but Osamu seemed just as perplexed as him by their leader's behaviour.The crows hadn't given them any reason to be wary of them so far.
If Sawamura noticed he didn't let it show.He bowed his head again and then said: “We're sorry but we are here in an important matter. One of our clan members disappeared right before the storm hit two days ago. We searched our entire clan grounds but weren't able to find him.We fear that the strong winds could have carried him somewhere else and that he's now hurt somewhere where we can't reach him. Say, have you seen him by any chance? He's quite small, has black wings like us and orange hair.”
Atsumu could feel the fur on his tail rise as a a cold shudder crept down his spine.He quickly hid it against his side where Osamu couldn't see it and prayed to the Gods that his brother hadn't noticed how he'd tensed up at Sawamura's words.
Atsumu tried to focus on Kita instead but the kitsune seemed just as rigid as him for some reason.
Kita glanced over his shoulder.“Has any of you seen him or a noticed something, like a hint, that could help them?”
One by one the Inarizaki shook their heads or mumbled a 'no'.Atsumu felt unbearably hot when Kita's eyes met his and for a split second he was about to open his mouth and confess everything.
But the same guilt he'd squashed to the back of his mind held him back in the end.He should have told Kita from the beginning.If he admitted he'd not only seen him but hid him from the others...
No, he didn't want to think about the consequences. Shoyo himself had said he wanted to solve this problem by himself.Of course that had been before two of his clan members had showed up, but still.
Deep down Atsumu knew he was doing the wrong thing but he'd always been good at ignoring his true feelings and pushing them down was easy for him.So that's what he did.The moment of uncertainty passed and he managed to say 'No, I haven't seen him' without his voice wavering at all.
He still felt hot all over but Kita nodded.He believed him.
Atsumu just hoped that it would stay that way.
Kita turned back around to the crows.
“You've heard it yourself. We haven't seen him.”
Sawamure and Nishinoya shared a brief glance and even from the distance Atsumu could see how worried they were.Sawamura's expression turned into something disappointed for a brief second but then he ruffled his wings and shook his head a little and the expression was gone.
“Thank you anyway”, he said and bowed again. “If you happen to see or find him, would you be so kind to send us a message? You know where we live, right? I would guarantee for the safety of any fox that crosses our border.”
Kita's ears twitched.“We... we would need to travel through other clans' territories to get up the mountain”, he objected.
“That's right but I have sent a crow to each of the clans in the area to ask them the same thing. They won't harm you if you tell them why you have stepped onto their territory.”
Kita still hesitated for another moment before he finally gave in.
“Alright, we will do that if we find your crow.”
Sawamura nodded.
“Thank you, Kita-san. There is something I else I want to ask of you though.”
“And that is?”
“We can't just wait until one of you possibly find him and tell us about it. Hinata could potentially be moving around so we need to actively look for him. Would you allow us to patrol the sky above the Inarizaki territory from time to time?”
Atsumu saw Kita tense up more visibly this time and he swallowed down a gasp when he noticed the kitsune's hands shaking by his sides.Could he sense a threat coming from the crows? Were they in danger?
Most of the other foxes had noticed too and the atmosphere quickly changed into something uneasy.
Atsumu shared a concerned glance with his brother but before anyone could say anything Karasuno's leader spoke up again.
“Kita-san?”
Atsumu saw the kitsune flinch the slightest bit but then he straightened up and hid his shaking hands behind his back.
“Yes. We will allow you to do that if none of my foxes has anything to say against that?”
The rest of the clan shook their heads at the question.Karasuno's request had been completely understandable, so there wouldn't have been a reason for any of them to deny it.
Atsumu still felt uneasy as the kitsune gave the crows his okay though. He needed to speak to Shoyo as soon as possible.Maybe he would change his mind now that he was actively looked for by his clan mates.
“Thank you for your time, Kita-san”, the smaller crow said and bowed.“Yes, thank you so much”, Sawamura added.
Kita nodded curtly.
“Let us know if you find him”, he said. “And we will let you know if we do.”
Sawamura agreed with a nod of his own.Then he gave Nishinoya a sign, the two shifted back into their animal forms and spread their wings, ready to take to the skies.
Kita stepped back as the crows slowly soared higher and higher, their wings causing enough gusts to ruffle the foxes' furs.
Daichi crowed once more before he and Nishinoya departed, soon disappearing in the distance.
The courtyard was eerily quiet as Kita stayed unmoving, his gaze lingering where the crows were only little dark spots in the blue sky by now.
“Kita-san?”, Atsumu dared to ask when the silence stretched on for too long.The kitsune didn't react and it was only when Aran stepped up to him, murmuring a quiet “Shinsuke?” that he moved again.He'd jumped at the other's voice and looked up at him without saying anything, his yellow eyes unusually wide.
“Are you alright? You're shaking.”
Kita blinked, then his gaze fell down to his hands that were indeed trembling.
“Oh...”
Akagi was the next one to step forward.
“Did you notice something off about them?”
“No, that's not...”Kita didn't finish his sentence and the worry inside of Atsumu only grew.
“I'm sorry. It's nothing. Let's go inside.”
That obviously wasn't the truth but not even Aran dared to call Kita out on it.None of them had ever witnessed him act so... so different, so no one had an idea of what to say to him.
Atsumu glanced at his brother but Osamu just shrugged before he turned and led the way inside.Atsumu followed but looked back over his shoulder.
Kita was walking at the very end of the group, Aran hovering close by.The kitsune's gaze was trained on the floor and Atsumu could see that the fur on his tails was still ruffled up.
He resisted the urge to go up to him and ask if he could do something for him.But Kita obviously wasn't in the mood to talk so Atsumu bit his tongue for now and followed his brother back into the temple.
-
It was later in the afternoon when Atsumu leaped through the forest, on his way to visit Shoyo.He'd asked Kita if he could go out to hunt again and the kitsune had agreed.Atsumu had had a feeling that Kita hadn't really listened to him when he'd asked but he had welcomed the opportunity anyway.
The book Aran had given him this morning was safely tucked away in the bag that the fox was carrying between his teeth as he got closer and closer to Hinata's location.
He was still worried about Kita. At lunch he hadn't really seemed to be present much, his ears twitching constantly, not to mention the distant look in his golden eyes. Something wasn't right but Atsumu had to accept that the he couldn't do anything to help now. First he had to speak with Hinata.
Once Atsumu arrived at the hideout he spied the crow sitting on a rock close to the river.
Atsumu felt a weird sort of spark in his chest when he saw the shifter out in broad daylight, looking relaxed as he let his legs dangle at the edge of the water.
Hinata jumped when he heard Atsumu's footsteps but relaxed as soon as he caught sight of him.Atsumu slowed down and shifted back into his human form.
“Miya-san!”
Atsumu tried a smile as he collected the leather bag from where he'd put it down on the floor and walked over.
Lots of things went through his mind, had been ever since Sawamura and Nishinoya had showed up at the temple earlier and he knew he had to tell Hinata about them.
“Hinata...”, he started but paused again.He sat down beside him on the rocks first and turned to face him before he continued speaking.
“Two crows showed up at the temple today and asked about you.”
Hinata's dark eyes went comically wide and he inhaled sharply.“Really? Who was it? What did they say?”
Atsumu had this weird sinking feeling in his chest but he tried to push it down and focus on the conversation instead.“Uhm... it was Sawamura-san and Nishinoya-san. They said they searched their entire territory but couldn't find you. Sawamura-san said they have sent someone to each clan to ask if someone has seen you.”
“Were they worried?”
The question caught Atsumu off guard and he had trouble finding words for a moment.
“Of course they were worried. Wouldn't you be if one of your clan mates suddenly disappeared? Especially right before a storm?”
Hinata cast his gaze down, Atsumu saw him gnawing on his bottom lip.“Of course I would be worried”, he mumbled.
“They said if anyone finds you they should send a messenger to the Karasuno clan and they keep looking for you as well. Kita-san allowed them to look for you from the sky.”
Hinata's eyes immediately shot upwards as if he expected to see another crow up there.He was weirdly silent.
To be honest Atsumu would have expected him to be more upset.Maybe ask him to bring him back to the temple so Kita could send a messenger up the mountain to deliver the good news.
But he didn't do any of these things.
“We... I can still say I found you on one of my hunting trips”, Atsumu offered quietly.He had a tight feeling in his stomach when he said that and he realized he didn't like the idea at all but he had to do what was right for Hinata.“We can say you didn't know where you were so you hid in a cave you found because you were scared and your wing is hurt. We could get away with that, I think...”
Hinata glanced up at him and held his gaze for a long while without saying anything.Atsumu kept his mouth shut and waited.This was Shoyo's decision, he had no right to take it from him.
“I... I want to go home but... I guess I'm just scared what my clan mates will say when I'm back. I mean... I disrespected a direct order, didn't listen when I was told not to go. I have gotten in trouble often before but now it ended with me injured a-and I just f-feel so ashamed that I didn't... didn't listen... a-and...”
Atsumu's ears drooped as he witnessed Hinata's eyes starting to water and his voice getting more and more restricted to the point he couldn't finish his sentence.
“Hey... Hinata... it's okay. We will find a solution, yeah? It... it might not be easy.I know it's hard. Hell, I have been in trouble often enough myself and dreaded to go back home more times than I can count. In fact the day we met I was out here because I wanted some distance from the temple and some of my clan mates.”
Hinata quickly scrubbed at his eyes with the cut sleeve of Atsumu's yukata. “Really?”
“Yeah. I've gotten into a fight with my brother that day and afterwards I just wanted to be on my own.”
A picture of Osamu and Suna flashed in his mind and that same sinking feeling he had felt back then now echoed in his chest.When he looked back into Hinata's teary eyes it somehow lessened a bit though.
“Good thing I did, because I wouldn't have found you otherwise.”
Hinata tried to smile but it looked wobbly.
“Thank you for helping me that day”, he mumbled.
“It's nothing. We need to decide what we want to do now though.”
Hinata nodded.
“Can I ask you a question first?”
“Sure.”
“How did your clan react when you came back that day?”
Atsumu thought back to the moment he'd stepped foot on the temple grounds again.“Well, Kita-san was very disappointed in me at first”, he admitted, his ears turned backwards at the unpleasant memory. “He scolded me and said it would have consequences. But Kita-san is not cruel. He made sure I got a hot bath and food but also put me on kitchen duty that night and didn't let me leave before everything was spotless. The next day I came to visit you in the morning and that same day I asked Kita-san if I could stay on kitchen duty for a while longer and also do all the hunting for our clan. I was really scared he'd say no but surprisingly he agreed.”
Atsumu shrugged.
“I guess it was just good timing. The storm did so much damage, especially to our fields that Kita-san's priority is to get everything back to a normal state there first.So I guess my offer just solved the problem of who would be in charge of the hunting. Usually we switch around but now that only I do it the others can work on their respective tasks without having to leave it for too long. I think my brother was more worried than mad at me but I apologized and it's been okay between us ever since, I guess. I think the others still have an eye on me though, especially the older foxes. But now I can prove to them that I can be just as useful as them.”
Atsumu smiled and he felt a spark of determination flare up in his chest again.
“Sorry, I went a bit off with my response but does that answer your question?”
He hadn't really understood why Hinata would ask such a thing in the first place but he probably tried to compare it to what his clan would possibly say to him when he eventually returned.
Hinata nodded. “Yeah, I think so... Kita-san sounds like he is a good leader.”
Atsumu smiled.
“Yeah, he is. He saved me and my brother when we were younger. Some of the other foxes think he favours me because we share a special bond but I know that's not true. He is kind and fair but also strict when he needs to be. Is... is Sawamura-san not like that? Is that why you're scared to go back?”
Atsumu almost didn't dare to ask in case it was a sensitive subject but curiosity won him over in the end.
“No, Daichi-san is great and I really respect him, that's not it... it's just that I've felt, kind of out of place lately... I can't really explain it but when I left just before the storm hit I wanted the same thing as you: just get away for a little bit. And I guess I got more than I bargained for...”
Atsumu's ears shot up pinpoint sharp when he heard Hinata's words.
“I... I've been feeling the same lately”, he answered. “Out of place I mean...”
A silence followed their conversation and Atsumu watched the river pass by, lost in his thoughts.
“Let me ask you a different question then”, he eventually said and gazed back into Hinata's dark eyes. “Are you ready to go back yet?”
Almost immediately the crow shifter shook his head.
“No. I don't feel... no. I'm not ready yet.”
Atsumu nodded a couple of times.
“Alright. Then I won't tell Kita-san about you. How about we focus on getting your wing back to normal again and then we decide what to do?”
“We still have no idea how to treat it though”, Hinata objected, glancing at his crooked wing.
“That's right but I have this now.”
Atsumu pulled out the book Aran had given to him earlier with a big smile.
“One of my clan mates, Ginjima, accidently stepped into a deep puddle and got stuck in the mud as he tried to yank his foot back out this morning. He couldn't walk properly and I asked Aran if I could watch while he treated him. I guess I was a bit suspicious but he let me stay and then he gave me this book.”
He showed Hinata the front page and then opened it.
“It's all the notes he has ever taken on every wound and illness he's ever treated. He had already learned quite a bit before he came to Inarizaki but with a bunch of fox shifters around accidents are bound to happen a lot.”
Hinata's eyes lit up. “We can go through it and find out what's wrong this way.”
Atsumu's smile brightened even more.
“Exactly! And Aran even noted down how he treated everything, made a list of all the utensils he needed and all the plants and herbs he used. He even listed where to find each of them here in the forest on the last couple of pages. He really is awesome!”
“Do you have much time left before you have to go back?”
“About two hours maybe. Kita-san let me go after lunch so I could look for more prey animals. I wasn't lucky this morning but I should have enough time if I leave once the sun really starts to go down.”
“Okay, then let's do it!”
The two shifters huddled closer together, bend over the book, determined to find out the right way to mend Hinata's injured wing.
-
Kita took a deep breath, then exhaled.He listened to the sounds around him but he couldn't seem to calm his mind tonight.
The incense he'd lit earlier only marginally helped him focus on where he was and that he was safe.
Another deep breath, another exhale but his hands still wouldn't stop trembling.
Frustration made him growl deep in his throat and he opened his eyes.He blankly stared at the old stone statue of a kitsune across from him before he huffed out a breath and let his shoulders sag in defeat.
Maybe he should just go back to the sleeping quarters and try to rest for a while.Sleep probably wouldn't come to him but at least he could close his eyes for a couple of hours.Being close to his pack usually soothed him like nothing else, as it was typical for a clan leader.
But when he'd woken up from a hazy nightmare earlier in the night and accidently woken up Riseki and Ginjima he'd left to be on his own for a while.
He often came to this part of the temple grounds but it was rare that he could be found here this late in the night.
It was a small shrine, just next to the main building.Kita's ancestors had built it decades ago, when foxes had still lived in this forest.It was the place the kitsune held most dearly to his heart because he could feel the magic of all of his ancestors lingering here.The same magic that he couldn't use properly yet.
For some unknown reason Kita's magic was unusually weak. Granted, it wouldn't have been that strong considering his age because as everyone knew the older a kitsune got and the more tails they gained the more powerful they got.Kita might not be old yet but he'd gotten his second tail a couple of years ago already, around the time he'd saved the twins and brought them here.His magic should have been stronger since then but it wasn't.
Usually just kneeling at the shrine, lighting some incense and meditating comforted Kita more than anything else because he didn't feel alone here and the burden of leadership didn't weigh quite as heavy.Even if he hadn't mastered his magic yet, far from it, he found solace in the thought that he would one day and that all his ancestors were watching him on his journey.
But right now he couldn't get into that calm headspace.
The visit from Karasuno's leader earlier had thrown him off completely and his hands hadn't stopped shaking since then.
He knew that Sawamura-san had sought him out for a good reason and he knew the crow didn't have any bad intentions towards them.He was only looking for one of his own and that he even turned to Inarizaki, when all Kita had done these past years was to avoid the other clans at all cost was nothing if not courageous.
But Kita had trouble dealing with the situation.He knew why but he was afraid to admit it to himself because then it would feel too real.It felt strange because he hadn't been afraid of something for a long time.
The kitsune shook his head lightly and took one more deep breath – only to jump when he heard glass shattering somewhere in the temple, followed by quiet cursing.
Kita's heart had barely enough time to pick up it's beat before it slowed down again when he recognized Suna's voice.
He got up and followed the hushed noises until he found Suna kneeling in front of the medicine chamber, shards of what once was a flask scattered on the wooden floor.
The fox' head shot up when he heard Kita's footsteps and he grimaced when he caught sight of his leader.
“I'm sorry, Kita-san”, he mumbled as he tried to pick up the shards with shaking fingers. “Aran said I could go and get another dose if the tremors wouldn't stop but I dropped the flask by accident.”
There was something panicked in the younger fox' voice and Kita saw that he kept dropping the shards again and again.
He swiftly knelt down beside him, one of his white tails coming up in front of Suna to hold him back.“Let me”, he said calmly and Suna obediently knelt back on his calves, his shaking hands resting in his lap.
Kita quickly picked up the shards to get rid of them and saw that the healing liquid from the flask had soaked into the floorboards and wouldn't be of use anymore.
The sudden urge of wanting to help his pack mate surged through Kita's chest and he grit his teeth because he knew there wasn't much he could do.
He remembered the first time he'd met Suna very vividly.It had been a couple of days after he'd come to this temple.Suna had roamed through the forest in his animal form for a while back then already and he'd built a weird sort of friendship with Aran, who he had met even before Kita had showed up with the twins.
Suna had been intimidated by Kita's presence at first and it was only when Aran had expressed his sadness that the fox seemed to have disappeared that he had come back.
Suna had suddenly appeared in front of them, eyes wide and cautious, his fur bristled but standing his ground. His front paws had been laced with multiple scars, some deep, some light and Aran had explained that he'd treated him because when he'd first stumbled upon Suna his front legs had been shaking so bad he'd lost his footing constantly.
Suna had never really said how he'd gotten these scars because he said it didn't matter. The only important thing was that he'd have to live with them and not let them control his life.
And it had gotten better over the years. Aran's treatment had worked well and with some hand picked exercises Suna's strength had come back and increased steadily to the point he could almost use his hands normally again.
He had trouble with his right thumb and left ring finger sometimes because the muscles had been damaged so much but other than that he managed just fine.
He often had his fingers wrapped in bandages to stabilize them and prevent any problems.
It hurt Kita seeing them shaking like this again.
“How did it get so bad?”, Kita asked once he'd collected all the splinters and slowly got to his feet.Suna followed.
“The work in the fields I guess. I had to dig a lot, guess I overdid it a bit.”
He glanced at his trembling fingers, then down to the small puddle on the floor and he frowned.
“Damn it, if only I hadn't dropped the flask.”
“Didn't Aran used to treat you differently? I remember he worked on some kind of tincture once and then he wrapped your hands in bandages after applying it.”
“Yeah, we did that in the beginning but it uses up a lot of our supplies and the liquid I just spilled treats it just as well without us wasting so many reserves.”
“We don't waste them, they're used to help you. Can you remember what exactly he did in the beginning?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“No buts, Suna”, Kita cut him off. “Tell me, I will help you.”He grit his teeth and felt that helplessness in his chest again.If only his magic would work!He remembered his grandma healing open wounds with a snap of her fingers, why wasn't he able to do that?
Suna gave in when he caught a glimpse of Kita's troubled eyes and listed all the things they needed.A couple of minutes later they sat across from each other in front of the small shrine.
Kita wondered how the hell he had managed to pick up all the shards because now his hands were shaking just as badly as Suna's again.
He felt the younger fox' concern but only when Kita had fumbled with one of the herbs for far too long did Suna step in.
Kita was almost surprised when he felt one of Suna's cool hands on his own.
“Kita-san...”, he mumbled, the hesitation clear in his voice because he didn't want to say anything that might be insensitive. “Hang on a minute. Just breathe.”
Kita closed his eyes and shook his head, frustrated.“I've been trying that all night. I can't.”
Suna watched him for a little while and waited to see if Kita would start talking eventually.But he didn't and Suna didn't like that.Clearly the kitsune had something on his mind that he needed to get out even if he didn't want to.So if he wouldn't take the first step then that was Suna's duty.
“Was it a clan of crow shifters that attacked your family when you were still living in the North?”
Kita's eyes shot up to meet Suna's and the younger fox could see the shock reflected in them but he didn't react, just waited for an answer patiently.
The kitsune's gaze fell down to the herbs laid out between them and it took a long while until he was able to answer.
“Falcons”, he admitted. “Was it that obvious?”
“To me it was”, Suna answered easily. “The other's thought you only were defensive when the crows showed up, maybe cautious because we haven't had contact with other shifters for so long. But in reality you were scared.”
“I... Yes... I was... their wings scare me.... It's one of the few things I remember from that day, these huge wings darkening the sky...”
Suna could sense that there was more the kitsune wanted to say and so he waited.
“Have I been careless all these years?”
Suna's ears twitched in surprise.
“What do you mean?”, he wanted to know.
“What if they hadn't come in peace. They could have attacked us and we would have been defenceless.”
Kita's eyes had gotten wide as he spoke and his gaze was far away, seeing something that no one else could, probably one of his past memories.Suna slowly reached out until he was able to touch Kita's shaking hands with his fingertips.
The kitsune flinched but his eyes focused back on Suna and slowly his vision started to clear up.
“The crows didn't mean any harm. You know this. There were only two of them, they didn't come to attack us.”
Kita could only nod, but the worry was gnawing at him, the what-ifs tormenting him.
“Kita-san.”
Suna's voice pulled him back into reality some more.
“We are not defenceless even if they tried to harm us. Aran knows how to fight and most of the others can at least defend themselves. We can look after ourselves. And you have never given the other clans a reason to distrust or hate us, have you?”
Kita could feel Suna's words sinking in slowly and with the realization that he was right the tremors slowly started to subside.
“You're right... Thank you, Rintarou.”
The young fox gave a nod and Kita spied a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Kita took a deep breath and for the first time that night he felt all of the tension lessen a little bit.
His worries weren't gone completely and he doubted they'd be for a while.But it was remarkable how Suna had managed to ground him again.
“Say, Rintarou. Can you answer me a question?”
“Ask away.”
“Have you ever learned how to fight?”
Suna remained silent for a couple of heartbeats.
“Only for myself.”
The kitsune hummed but did not ask any further questions.Suna's answer was enough for now.
Kita picked up the herbs he'd fiddled with previously again and carefully separated the tiny leaves from the stem.Suna watched him with a small smile but didn't speak again either.
This time Kita didn't have problems treating Suna's hands.
When they returned to the sleeping quarters a while later, Suna's hands now carefully wrapped in fresh bandages smelling of a soothing blend of medical herbs, both of them were tired.
Kita briefly got on his tiptoes to nuzzle at Suna's ears, a quiet thank-you for all the fox had done for him.Kita thought he'd feel embarrassed or stressed because one of his foxes had seen him in such a desperate state but Suna hadn't given him any reason to feel that way and for that he was grateful.
He would have loved to scent him but Suna didn't like much physical contact and his eyes were starting to fall shut anyway.
Suna gave a small nudge with his nose against the kitsune's cheek in response before he shuffled over to where the twins were sleeping and cuddled up to Osamu with a yawn.
Kita heard the grey fox mumbling in his sleep and then Rintarou shushing him.He smiled.Osamu seemed to be an exception when it came to Suna's dislike of physical affection.
Quietly the kitsune sneaked over to where the older foxes had formed a small cuddle pile.
He glanced at Ginjima but the younger fox seemed to sleep just fine despite his bruised foot and Kita laid down with a relieved sigh.
The others must have felt his presence because the next thing he noticed was Aran coming up behind him, his calming scent filling Kita's nose and making him relax within seconds.The black fox slipped an arm underneath Kita's head so he could use it as a pillow and then buried his nose in the kitsune's white hair.
A tired smile blossomed on Kita's lips and it widened more when he felt Akagi shuffling closer until his forehead was resting against Kita's chest.Oomimi came closer too, a sleepy purr rumbling in his throat as he wrapped one arm around Akagi's waist, shuffling closer so all of them were comfortable in their little nest.
Their combined scents finally put Kita at ease and he felt his eyes slipping shut.He prayed that the nightmares would stay away this time and let himself doze off.
Outside the moon sank low in the sky and made way for the first rays of the sun.
When the new morning came Atsumu felt like he hadn't slept nearly enough although he had been one of the first ones to go to bed last night.His eyes couldn't seem to stay open for more than a couple of minutes before he felt them droop again and at breakfast he had trouble holding his chopsticks properly.
Osamu teased him for it and Atsumu snarled back something unintelligible which only made his twin laugh harder in return.
Atsumu was already contemplating if he should just jump straight into the river after breakfast. Maybe the cold water could shock him awake.
“Could you all please listen for a moment? I have something important to say.”
All eyes wandered over to Kita who was sitting at the head of the wooden table. The mumbled conversations died down as they waited for their leader to start speaking.
The kitsune seemed tired somehow, Atsumu noticed. His yellow eyes lacked the usual glint but Kita was a lot calmer than he'd been the day before.Atsumu's lingering worry about him dissipated when he saw him smile at his foxes in his usual reassuring way.
“I want to look for the missing crow today. If we do find him by any chance we can send a message to the Karasuno clan and the problem will be solved.”
Atsumu almost choked on his rice once Kita had finished the first sentence and only a quick gulp of water saved him from coughing and possibly spitting his rice all over the table. He could feel Osamu side-eye him through squinted eyes but he couldn't even bring himself to care because his heart had started racing so fast that it felt like it was going to burst.
“Not all of us are going of course, there's still enough work to be done here. But I was thinking Akagi, Osamu and Riseki should go. Akagi, you know our territory like the back of your hand. Osamu, you're one of the best ones to track scents and different types of footprints. And Riseki, it will be a good way for you to commit the clan grounds to your memory once again.”
Their youngest fox nodded his head eagerly and every other time Atsumu would have teased him for it.
But if the others approached the outskirts out on their search they would find Shoyo without a doubt.He had to prevent that somehow.
“I could help too”, he blurted out. Atsumu felt himself getting hot under the other foxes' stares but tried his best to ignore it and focus on his voice so that it wouldn't waver. “I wanted to go south, towards the area between the river and the far end of the Nekoma border. It's a good place to hunt. I know it's a little far but then the others won't have to go there. It will take a while for them to search the forest and the fields anyway and if I'm there already I could look around for the crow.”
To his immense relief Kita gave an affirmative nod almost straight away and Atsumu thought he even smiled a little brighter.
“That's a good idea, Atsumu. Take your time and look for the missing crow, all of you”, he added and looked at the foxes he'd chosen previously. “It will take quite some time so I won't be expecting you to be back here for lunch. But please be back before the sun sets. Kosaku, you will take over Atsumu's kitchen duty for today.”
Atsumu and Kosaku nodded in unison.
The rest of breakfast seemed to last hours to Atsumu who was keen on leaving as soon as possible now.He was just grateful that his kitchen duty had been taken from him for today and so as soon as Kita got up Atsumu snatched his bag (wherein he had already stashed away all sorts of leaves and herbs for Hinata's wing) from the wall near the kitchen, called a quick “See you later!” over his shoulder and was out the door.
Osamu stared after him for a minute, lost in his thoughts before he nudged Suna with his elbow.
“Don't you think Tsumu is acting a little weird today?”, he asked, his gaze still lingering where his brother had disappeared just a few seconds ago.Suna briefly followed his eyes but in the end he just shrugged.
“He probably just wants to be good so Kita-san will forget about his stupid behaviour when the storm hit. And to get off kitchen duty, you know how he hates it.”
Osamu had to smile a little.“Yeah, you're probably right.”
There was something deep inside Osamu's chest though, a feeling that he couldn't quite name, something that told him that this hadn't been all there was to his brother's newfound eagerness to work hard.
Suna's hand brushed against his own then though and all thoughts of Atsumu were gone from the silver fox' mind when he looked up into Suna's green eyes.
“I need to go, Oomimi is already calling. See you at dinner, okay?”
Osamu nodded and briefly squeezed Suna's bandaged fingers between his own.He would have loved to lean over and give him a quick kiss but Suna was still shy when it came to openly displaying his affection and so Osamu gave him his sweetest smile instead and let his tail flick against Suna's.
“See you at dinner.”
Both of them got up, ready to take on their tasks for the day.
Osamu spotted Riseki standing a couple feet away from him and the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other every few seconds easily gave away his nervousness.The silver fox tried to hide a grin and went over to him.
“Hey, you ready to go?”
Riseki's black ears shot up and he nodded more forcefully than was strictly necessary.“Yes!”
“Good.”
Osamu saw Akagi still chatting to Kita so he gave Riseki a quick nudge with his tail and jerked his head towards the hallway.“Let's go wait outside for Akagi-san.”
The youngest fox seemed to relax a little as soon as they were out of the big dining room and the two of them kept going until they were at the temple gates.
Osamu sat down with his back against one of the red pillars but kept an eye on Riseki who looked like he would rather be pacing the courtyard up and down than standing still and waiting. His tail twitched constantly and as much as it amused Osamu it was also kind of distracting.
“Why are you so nervous?”, he asked.
“W-Well”, the young fox stammered without meeting his eyes. “I'm just... what if we do find the crow? Do you think he would attack us? He must be pretty scared if he's been on his own since he got lost in the storm.”
“He would be pretty stupid if he attacked three grown fox-shifters”, Osamu pointed out. “To be honest I think it's highly unlikely that we find him. But we'll only know that once we've looked for him. But you're excited that Kita-san has chosen you to be part of the search party, aren't ya?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. It's the most important task he's given me so far so I really wanna do well.”
“You're already doing well”, Osamu answered and he meant it. Riseki might have been with them only since last autumn but he'd gotten used to his new life remarkably well in that short amount of time.
“T-Thank you, Osamu-san”, the younger fox stammered out and Osamu did laugh a little when he bowed and then turned a little red in the face afterwards.
“It's just the truth, no need to thank me.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone walking towards them and when he looked up he recognized Akagi.
“Let's go”, the older fox said with a smile. “Kita-san said we should take our time and if we don't manage to search everything today that's okay too. We can continue tomorrow if we have to. Also Kita-san advised us to be very thorough so we don't need to rush anything. You tell me if you find something, even if it's just one little seemingly insignificant thing. Don't hesitate to share it, okay?”
Osamu knew Akagi had spoken to both of them but his big eyes rested on Riseki when he said this.
The young fox nodded quickly and Osamu gave a nod himself as well.
“Understood.”
“Alright. Then let's go. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Akagi led the way and Osamu let Riseki go first so he could follow last.As he slowly stepped down the temple stairs he looked back over his shoulder one last time just to see Suna doing the same from where he stood across the courtyard.
There was a pleasant sort of warmth spreading in the silver fox' chest and he smiled before he turned back to his other two clan mates and followed them into the woods.
-
“Atsumu-san!”
Atsumu smiled -even in his fox form- as he heard Hinata call his name.
It had felt strange when the crow had called him Miya-san in the beginning so Atsumu had asked to be called by his first name and explained that it was because he had a twin and calling them by their family name had just confused everyone so Inarizaki had resorted to calling the twins by their first names.
“You're a little later than usual”, Hinata said once Atsumu had shifted and came towards him.
“Yeah, I had to take a different route today. Kita-san ordered some of the others to look for you this morning, but don't worry! I offered to take over this part of the forest so they won't even come near here.”
“Are you sure?”, Hinata asked, dark eyes full of concern.
“Yes. I walked from where the Nekoma border meets ours and went across the forest all the way towards the riverbank. This way the others will catch my scent and know that this is the part that I will “search” for you.”
Hinata still seemed a little nervous about the fact that some of the other foxes were out looking for him but he trusted Atsumu that he'd told the truth.“Alright. Do you have everything we need for my wing now?”
Atsumu nodded and opened his leather bag to take out all the different leafs and herbs he'd collected the evening before.
“How does it feel now?”, the fox wanted to know. “Is it okay? Hopefully I didn't make the loop too tight?”
Before he'd made his way back home the previous evening Atsumu had carefully fixed Hinata's wing to his side with some of the leftover fabric he'd cut off of his kimono.The two of them had spent lots of time going through Aran's notebook yesterday and afterwards Atsumu had carefully inspected the crow's wing.He had been nervous – because treating someone with such a serious injury was terrifying when he was nothing but a rookie in the medical field - but thankfully he had remembered most of what Aran had showed him and so he had felt around the areas that Shoyo had told him hurt most.
Atsumu couldn't feel anything that was out of place, not in a way that indicated Shoyo had broken a bone. There was a part near the base of the wing that was still swollen though. Hinata had told him that he'd fallen on there when he'd crash-landed but he hadn't heard it cracking then so it would probably be bruised and just hurting for a while.
His worst pain however was near the so called humerus bone.Shoyo had explained lots about the structure of wings, their bones and their feathers to Atsumu so he could have a general understanding of what they were trying to treat here.Unfortunately the area around that bone hurt so much that Hinata couldn't spread this wing all the way without having to grit his teeth and dig his nails into his palms so he wouldn't scream because of the pain.There's no way he could fly with that.
Even worse was that while they had been able to rule out a broken bone yesterday, there was no way to tell if the bone wasn't at least fractured.
Atsumu had asked Aran about fractures again when they'd checked up on Ginjima's ankle once more after dinner last night.But Aran had just told him he would immobilize Ginjima's foot for a while if that was the case because there really wasn't anything else he could do.
And Atsumu had done that to Hinata's wing the evening before already.It had only seemed logical after what they'd been reading in the book.Straining the injured wing unnecessarily would only cause Shoyo more pain and both of them had wanted to prevent that.
The area around the bone was without a doubt inflamed and they had to take care of that before Shoyo could even think about flying again.
“Did you find all the plants without problem?”, Hinata asked as he picked up one of the stems and promptly sneezed when he smelled the colourful petals at the top.
Atsumu chuckled but nodded.“Yeah, thanks to Aran-kun's notes. I could find everything apart from one because it was near the river and the storm damaged lots of the area there. But I know for a fact that we have some of that in the medicine cabinet. Maybe I'll be able to take some without anyone noticing.”
Atsumu inspected the knot in the loop that kept Shoyo's wing by his side but it hadn't budged since yesterday.He nodded to himself and then asked: “Can you read out to me which leafs I need for the paste that will help with the swelling and the pain? I'll start with this one I think.”
Hinata picked up the book again and turned the pages until he found the one they needed.Atsumu separated the various leafs and herbs according to Hinata's words and then started working on the paste, guided by Hinata who read the instructions in the book to him step by step.
“Does that look okay to you?”, he asked sceptically once he was done and pushed the bowl of his freshly mixed medicine over to the crow shifter.
Hinata looked at it from different angles but in the end he could only shrug.“I guess we'll only know if it works if we try it?”, he answered. “But according to the book it should be alright like this.”
Atsumu nodded and took the bowl back.“Okay, then I'll start applying it now.”
He moved to sit behind Hinata and carefully felt around the black feathers near the base of the wing until he found the swollen area again.It was a little tricky to locate it under all the feathers and Atsumu realized he would really have to massage to paste in if he wanted it to work and that it would probably be uncomfortable for the crow.
He communicated this to Shoyo who gave his okay but started fidgeting right away.
“Tell me about the gatherings”, Atsumu said in an attempt to distract Hinata from what was about to happen. “I've never been there, so what's it like?”
“Um... well I guess they're pretty cool? What do you wanna know exactly?”
The crow sounded confused about Atsumu's sudden question but the fox didn't give him time to think about it.
“Everything! Does your whole clan go?”
“Yes, usually everyone goes. You know that the gatherings only happen when the seasons change, right?”
“Yeah, I know that. Isn't it on a specific day too?”
Atsumu started to spread the paste evenly to the swollen area but he worked slow and with what he hoped were gentle movements so he wouldn't cause Shoyo any discomfort.
Atsumu saw him pulling his shoulders up on instinct and his good wing twitched and unfolded halfway before he was able to relax and answer the question.
“Yeah, it's on the new moon of the month. Sugawara-san said it is a sign of trust to the other clans because it's darkest on a new moon's night of course and thus it's the perfect opportunity for an attack. By leaving the clan grounds behind, often without anyone to look over it for the duration of the gathering, the clans leave it vulnerable. But the clan leaders trust each other not to use that to their advantage. Something like that? I'm not quite sure. But as long as every clan shows up we'll know everything is fine.”
Atsumu hummed softly but there was something about what Shoyo had said that made him feel uneasy.
“Are the other clans worried about the Inarizaki attacking them in these nights? Because we never show up even though we've lived here for years?”
He had stopped working in the paste , his unmoving fingers sticky with the medicine.
“I guess in the beginning they were? I remember the day when Kuroo-san from Nekoma told us about new foxes that had settled down in the old Kita-family clan grounds. He said he'd only met them once very briefly though and that he didn't think they were dangerous.”
Atsumu actually remembered that day.Not much of it, to be fair, because at that time he had been traumatised by then recent events and his only worry had been his brother.Kita had passed through the Nekoma territory with them because there had been no other way to reach the old fox temple if they didn't want to swim through the river. (And that wouldn't have been possible since all three of them had been in a bad physical state at that time.)
Kuroo had showed up then and Atsumu vividly remembered his huge shifted cat-form, those piercing eyes and black fur.
Atsumu still knew that Kita had stepped in front of him and his brother, ready to protect them should the cat-shifter decide to harm them.
But Kuroo had shifted into his human form and Kita had done the same. They had exchanged some words before Kita had picked up the injured Osamu again and told Atsumu to stay by his side before they continued their way.
Atsumu had looked back once and he'd met Kuroo's orange eyes for approximately one second before he'd quickly broken the eye contact and hurried after Kita, clinging onto his red kimono, the fur on his golden tail raised in fear.
Yeah, they truly hadn't been a threat then and Atsumu doubted that they were now.If the other clans saw that differently they were wrong.
He shooed the thoughts of the past away and continued rubbing in the paste in slow circles.
Hinata sighed quietly.“I think it's already starting to show effect.”
Atsumu smiled.“That's good... Say, Hinata... do you have friends in other clans?”
“Yeah, I have! Let's see... there are Kenma and Inuoka from Nekoma! They're both really cool! Kenma was kind of quiet and reserved at first but we've become great friends over time and Inuoka has been really nice from the beginning. We first got to know each other because...”
Atsumu listened to Shoyo ramble on while he made sure to use up every last bit of the medicine and once that was done he washed out the bowl in the river stream and continued with making the second ointment, the one to help mend the inflammation.
Hinata helped him while he continued talking about the other clans and his friends.
“Have you ever heard about the Fukurodani?”
The name didn't ring a bell in Atsumu's mind and he had to shake his head no.
“They're owl-shifters and I was super intimidated by their leaders at first!”
“Wait, wait, leaders?” Atsumu's brow furrowed in confusion. “Like there's more than one?”
He had never heard of that before.He knew that in family clans there was often a married or mated couple on top of the hierarchy but only one of them carried the title of a leader.
But Shoyo nodded.
“Yeah! I heard that both of them were born leaders and were supposed to take over their family clans but instead of doing that they founded their own. I don't know how it came to be but I know it's true!”
“Wow, that's...”Atsumu couldn't find the right word for it but he realized that there was a lot more to the different clans than he'd previously thought, an awful lot more.
Somehow that made his chest ache and he felt a wave of sadness wash over him.“I wish Kita-san would let us go to the gatherings...”, he mumbled, his hands freezing in his movements once again. “There is just so much, you know? So much to be seen and... so much to be experienced... and...”
“Maybe Kita-san will allow you to go soon”, Hinata tried to cheer him up. “You said that he was scared because of a past attack on his family, right? But now that Daichi-san and Nishinoya-san have visited your clan maybe he will realize that we aren't a threat to him at all.”
What Hinata said made sense and Atsumu knew that but he also remembered Kita's weird behaviour from the previous day and that didn't raise his hopes much.
“I think he's still scared”, he realized as he spoke the words out loud to Hinata. “He was really tense yesterday and... I don't know. Maybe he will change his mind one day...”
“Are you sad that you don't have friends in other clans?”
Atsumu looked up and met Hinata's big questioning eyes.
“I... I don't know... I guess I just want...”
What did he want?There was that damn question again.
“I can be your first friend from another clan, Atsumu-san.”
Hinata smiled at him then and Atsumu felt his heart skip a beat.Hinata hadn't even waited for an answer from him. He had just offered to be his friend. Just like that.
Atsumu was stunned into silence. He didn't know why, probably because he hadn't expected Hinata to be so open with him and that he actually wanted to be his friend too.That was something new for him but damn if it didn't feel good.
“Yes, I would really like that”, he heard himself say with a voice that was way too quiet and soft to possibly be his own.
But Hinata just smiled brighter and suddenly Atsumu's chest felt a little lighter.
There was a comfortable silence between them as they finished making the second paste and once they were done Atsumu asked Hinata to tell them more about the other clans.His curiosity had been awoken and he wanted to know more.
He sat behind Hinata again and started to apply the freshly made ointment while he listened to the other shifter talking.
“Well, there are a couple other clans in the area, apart from Nekoma and Fukurodani. Do you know about Shiratorizawa?”
“I think Kita-san mentioned that they've lived here for a long time, is that right?”
“Yeah, they've been here for generations! They're eagle-shifters and if I had to pick I would say they are the most intimidating clan of all.”
“Didn't you just say that you were scared of Fukurodani when you first saw them too?”
“Well, yeah but they are really nice! Shiratorizawa are different... more serious I guess? Their leader is quiet and he has these eyes...”
Atsumu could feel a shiver run down Shoyo's spine and the crow made a funny noise as he tried to shake it off.
“You can't help but feel like he's always watching, judging... it's kind of scary. I think it's because he is a descendant of the Old Gods. They always have this aura around them.”
“He is?”, Atsumu blurted out, perhaps a little too loud. “There are others like Kita-san here?”
“Two actually”, Hinata answered. “Kuroo-san is one of them too. I heard that he already has four of his possible nine lives.”
“I... always thought there aren't many of their kind anymore...”
“There are probably more than we think out there”, Shoyo answered. “But being born with special powers doesn't automatically make them good leaders, right?”
Atsumu nodded hesitantly.“I guess so, yeah...”
Atsumu dwelt on his thoughts in silence while he finished treating Hinata's wing.
Once he was done he washed his hands in the stream again and dried them with the hem of his yukata.
“How long can you stay?”, Shoyo asked.He'd gotten up and slowly stretched out his good wing.The morning sun shone through the feathers and Atsumu saw that the big primary feathers had orange spots at the tips for the first time.
He forgot to answer the question and just stared, fascinated in a weird sort of way.
“Atsumu-san?”
Atsumu snapped out of it with a shake of his head and quickly apologized.“Sorry, it's just... I noticed you have bits of colour in your wings. I never noticed before.”
“Oh yeah”, Shoyo smiled and let his fingers glide over the feathers softly. “You can only see it when the sun shines through them. Only Nishinoya-san has that too.”
The crow then looked at Atsumu expectantly and the fox remembered that he'd been asked a question.
“Ah, right. Kita-san said we should take our time looking for you and that he wants us the be back before the sun sets. So, I have pretty much all day. I will have to hunt later but there will be enough time if I leave in the afternoon.”
Hinata beamed at him and Atsumu felt that flutter in his chest again.He couldn't help but smile.
“Great! Then it won't be so boring! Would you tell me more about your clan? I'm interested to learn more about the mysterious Inarizaki.”
Atsumu agreed and they sat down in the entrance of the little cave, hidden from any unwanted eyes.Atsumu would have to try and find something to ease the crow's boredom for whenever he couldn't be with him. He hadn't thought about that yet but he was sure he could find something back at the temple that would help the crow get through the days a little easier.
He stayed until the sun touched the trees crowns and then left with the promise to come back tomorrow as soon as he could.
-
Kita looked up from his book when he heard a nearby door open and he smiled when his older foxes joined him in the small inner courtyard.
It was more of a garden really. There was a small pond, lots of flowers and even a young cherry blossom tree.It was the same place where Aran had found him a couple of nights ago and had taken care of his bad shoulder.
He closed his book – also the same one he'd been reading that night - and put it aside.
“Thank you for coming here. I know all of you must be tired, especially you, Michinari.”
Akagi tried to wave him off but let out a noise that sounded something like a yawn.
“I hope this won't take too long but I need your honest opinion on the matter so I want you all to be real with me.”
“When aren't we, Shinsuke?”, Aran teased and sat down in the grass next to the pond.
Oomimi and Akagi joined him and all of them waited patiently until Kita finally spoke up.
“I talked to Rintarou last night and he said some things that really made me think. I couldn't shake off the fear after Karasuno's visit and Suna guessed that I had a bad experience with bird-shifters in the past and that's why I was so...beside myself.”
“Where they the ones who hurt your shoulder so bad?”, Oomimi dared to ask when Kita didn't finished his sentence but to all of their surprise Kita shook his head.
“No, but they were the ones who killed my father. And soon after that my mother followed him because she couldn't accept his death and wanted revenge so she stormed into battle against them once again. Only a few foxes made it out alive but my mother wasn't one of them. That is how I ended up staying with my grandmother.”
Kita shook his head. “But this isn't about my family story. Well, maybe to a degree. But last night got me thinking.”
The kitsune looked up.
“Suna reassured me that the crows didn't have bad intentions when they visited yesterday and I know they didn't. But I couldn't help but think... what if they hadn't come in peace? What if they had come with more crows? I feel like we would be defenceless if it ever comes down to a fight. I hope it will never come to that but...”
“But Shinsuke, why would they ever attack us?”
The kitsune lifted his shoulders, the gesture looked helpless.
“Different shifters have different reasons. Maybe I'm just paranoid because I grew up with shifters, clans and families constantly getting into battles around me, but...”
Akagi sat up a little straighter, all of the tiredness was gone from his big eyes.
“You've never given the clans around here a reason to distrust us.”
“Rintarou said the same thing yesterday”, Kita answered with a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “And you're both right. I have never given them a reason to be wary of us but I haven't done anything to gain their friendship and trust either.”
That argument silenced the other three foxes for a moment because, yeah, Kita was right about that.
“You don't really think they will be coming for us, do you?”, Oomimi finally wanted to know.
Kita shook his head.
“No. But I think it is good to be prepared if that should that ever happen. I was so fixated on living in peace and allow for the Inarizaki to live a calm life here that I turned a blind eye to something very important. We need to be able to defend ourselves. Others might not have the same good intentions as we have and if we won't be able to fight back if necessary that will be fatal.”
The other three foxes watched with big eyes as Kita dipped into a low bow before them.
“It was foolish of me to be so ignorant about such an important thing. I sincerely apologize for that.”
The kitsune stayed like that for a couple of heartbeats before he straightened back up again.
“You don't have to apologize.”
Three pairs of eyes wandered over to Aran.The black fox looked deep into Kita's yellow eyes with a gaze so open and honest every word Kita wanted to say melted on the tip of his tongue.
“You have experienced a lot of pain and sorrow when you still lived with your family, haven't you? I think it's only natural that after coming here you rejected the idea of our foxes learning to fight simply because you wanted to spare them the past experiences you made.”
Kita could barely manage a nod because it was only then that he realized Aran was right.All this time he'd thought he'd done what was best for his clan.But now he could finally acknowledge that he'd also been scared for a long time as well.
“You were trained in combat from a young age, weren't you?”, Akagi asked and pulled the kitsune out of his thoughts.
“Yes. But ever since my shoulder got injured I haven't been able to fight well. And... I guess coming here made me realize I never wanted to fight again. It got my parents killed and I lost my home because all the families and clans in the North still are way too greedy for even the slightest bit of power. I never wanted to be a leader after my parents died and I never wanted to fight either. But...”
Kita raised his head and met everyone's eyes one after another.
“I am Inarizaki's leader and I am proud to be. I never regretted coming here and nothing could make me happier than having all of you around me. And now the time has come for me to get over my past fears. We are shifters after all and while I don't think it's in our nature to fight each other, we are wild beings. We need to be able to defend ourselves, no matter who or what might be a danger to us.”
The light in the kitsune's eyes dimmed a little.
“But I can't be the one to teach all of you.”
He'd raised his hand unconsciously where it hovered above the deep, ragged scar in between his neck and shoulder.
He took a deep breath, lowered his hand back down to his side and then turned to look at Aran.
“I know you left your tribe because you hated seeing people get hurt and that you wanted to learn how to heal wounds rather than causing them. But I also know you were an outstanding fighter. Please believe me that I wouldn't ask this of you if there was another way. But no other fox knows the Inarizaki as well as you do. You easily recognize their strengths and weaknesses so there is no one else I can give this responsibility to.”
Aran had a feeling he knew what Kita was about to say next but his eyes widened when Kita got on his knees and deeply bowed to him, his forehead almost touching the ground.
Oomimi and Akagi gasped quietly when they witnessed their leader bowing before one of his clan mates in such a formal way, someone who had a lower status than himself.Not that hierarchy had ever meant much to Kita but seeing him behaving like this was a first for all of them.
“I, Kita Shinsuke, leader of the Inarizaki clan and youngest kitsune of the Kita-family, ask you, Ojiro Aran, to train our foxes so that they will be able to fend and fight for themselves and the Inarizaki clan if the circumstances ever call for it.”
The inner courtyard was quiet for a long moment and the silence rang too loud in Kita's ears. Neither he nor Akagi or Oomimi dared to breathe. The quiet was suffocating.
“I accept. I will train our foxes so that they may be able fight for themselves and the clan.”
Kita's head shot up and he looked at Aran with what he knew must be surprise in his golden eyes.
The black fox smiled down at him softly and the kitsune thought he saw something like affection glimmering in his blue eyes.
“Sit up, Shinsuke. There's no need for you to be so surprised. I knew this day would come.”
“You knew?”
Aran smiled.
“Of course. It's not like I will be training our foxes for war. You only want everyone to be able to defend themselves and that is something I support. Besides, it will do our youngsters some good. They have lots of energy they can burn up this way.”
Kita was still surprised that Aran had agreed to his request so easily.
“If you've wanted to do that all this time and thought it would be good why didn't you ask me about it?”
“Because you had already said you didn't want it back then and I just wanted to respect your wish. I knew you would ask sooner or later. I'm just sad that it had to happen like this.”
“Are you still feeling anxious?”, Akagi asked quietly and reached out for Kita's hand.
The kitsune took it and smiled when Akagi's thumb brushed over his knuckles in a soothing motion.
“A little maybe”, he admitted. “But I feel better now that I've made my decision. And because Aran agreed of course.”
“We'll have to work out how exactly we wanna do this”, Oomimi added thoughtfully. “There's a lot we need to consider before we can start.”
Kita nodded.
“And we will do that. But not tonight. Michinari's eyes are falling shut already.”
“They're not!”, Akagi protested when he heard the amused tone in Kita's voice.
Oomimi laughed quietly.
“You've had a hard day, it's only natural that you're tired. You still have part of the forest to search tomorrow, haven't you?”
“Yeah, we have”, Akagi groaned. He stretched out his legs in front of him and started doing some light exercises so his muscle pains wouldn't be too bad the next day.
“No trace of the crow yet?”, Aran asked.
Akagi shook his head.
“No. Atsumu hasn't found anything either. I really don't think he's here.”
Akagi interrupted his next stretch and sat back up.
“How horrible it must feel... losing a clan member like that, not knowing where they are or if they're alive anymore...”
Kita nodded slowly.“I really hope Sawamura-san and the rest of Karasuno will be able to find him soon.”
“I hope so too”, the others mumbled at the same time.
They stayed in the garden for another while, just chatting quietly while Akagi finished his stretches.When he then finally dozed off against Oomimi's shoulder, Kita got up and ordered all of them to go to bed.
The moon hadn't risen that high up in the sky yet and the four older foxes were actually the first ones to turn up in the sleeping quarters.They went right up into the middle, where they usually slept and collected all their pillows and blankets.
“Thank you”, Kita said as he sat down on the padded floor. “All of you. I couldn't lead Inarizaki without your help.”
The kitsune smiled a rare and honest wide smile and not even a second later the other three foxes were crushing their friend in a tight group hug.They didn't even say much but Kita felt Akagi purr deep in his chest, Oomimi's dark grey tail curled around one of his own and Aran softly nosed at his ears.
Kita couldn't help but purr in utter satisfaction and before he even realized he had started scenting his friends one by one.Akagi first, who was dangerously close to falling asleep against Kita's chest right then and there. Then Oomimi who always relaxed so quickly when he was being lulled in by the kitsune's scent.And then Aran who just closed his eyes and enjoyed the scenting ritual with his whole heart.
They settled down like that soon after, limbs tangled together and soft purrs coming from all of them while they were slowly falling asleep in their big cuddle pile. Kita felt nothing but gratitude for his amazing pack mates as he slowly drifted off into a deep sleep, uninterrupted by nightmares this time.
“Is it going well?”
Aran looked up from his his notes to see Kita and Akagi coming his way carrying plates of onigiri and meat.
Oomimi, who was sitting across from him, groaned and stretched his arms over his head until his back gave a satisfying pop.
“I think so”, Aran answered, glancing back down at all the ideas he and Oomimi had written down so far. “There is a lot more to be considered than I previously thought”, Oomimi added, scratching his head, eyes skimming over his and Aran's notes again. “Like, are we training them in groups or one on one? In shifted form only or in human form too? What time is the best and where should we do the lessons?”
A proud smile curled at the corners of Kita's mouth. They'd done a whole lot of work, judging from Oomimi's words and the many many papers strewed across the wooden floor of the patio.He'd known they would do their absolute best on this task, like they always did.
“Let's take a break”, he suggested but really left no room for arguments. “You two have been at it since this morning.”
They put the ink, papers and quills aside and sat in a loose circle, the plates with their lunch between them.
All of them ate the first few bites in silence until the worst hunger had been satisfied.
“Have you found any trace of the crow at all?”, Aran wanted to know between two bites of onigiri.Akagi shook his head in response and swallowed a piece of meat before he answered.
“No sign of him. We did find a couple of muddy black feathers but honestly? They looked just like every other regular sized crow's feathers. We can't send someone up the mountain because we found a couple of feathers that might potentially belong to the missing crow. That's just not enough, is it?”
He looked over to Kita who nodded in agreement.
“You're right, Michinari”, he assured him. “You haven't seen him and haven't found any other trace that he was here. I was sceptical from the start because the wind and the rain would have most likely washed away all lingering traces anyway. If there even were any to begin with, that is. But now we have done everything we can.”
“We should still keep our eyes open, just in case.”
The leader nodded.“We will. I will tell the others at dinner time.”
They ate and talked while the sun slowly sank down from it's highest point in the sky.Rays of sunshine soon warmed them up and while Aran flopped down to enjoy the warmth with closed eyes and a smile on his lips Kita nearly downed all of their water alone in just a few minutes.
“Are you feeling alright, Shinsuke?”, Oomimi, ever the attentive watcher, wanted to know.
The kitsune nodded and patted away a few stray drops from the corner of his mouth.
“It's gotten warm so quickly over the past few days”, he explained. “I still have my winter coat and it will be a moon or so before I really start to lose the thick fur.”
Kita often struggled at this time of the year because he was born in the North where there was ice and snow almost all year around. It only got warm for a couple of months in the summer and even then the ice rarely ever melted completely.
Here at the old Kita family temple it was way warmer than up there and Aran remembered how much Kita had struggled with the different climate, especially in the beginning.That first summer he,Suna and the twins had fussed over him so much. The temperatures had risen so drastically that year it had left Kita overheating if he wasn't careful enough and he'd had to rest an awful lot. (Not to mention that his shoulder had only just started healing properly around that time).
It was better now and everyone made sure that he would get enough rest and water but they just couldn't help but worry a little about their leader.
“Let's switch places”, Akagi suggested and waved him over to where he was sitting in the last bit of shadow.Kita took his place and let his head fall against the wall behind him, closing his eyes.“Thanks...”, he mumbled.
Akagi only touched his nose to Kita's hair with a smile before he took Kita's previous spot and then turned back to the other two.
“So, tell us about your ideas so far. We wanna know everything.”
“Well, we have lots of stuff written down and we'll tell you all about it in a minute but let me just ask: would you two be willing to do a mock training session with us later?”
Kita and Akagi exchanged a quick glance and nodded.
“Of course”, Kita answered. “Would that help you in figuring out what exactly you wanna do in the training sessions?”
“Yes, we think it's best if we try it out with you beforehand. You're both experienced fighters in comparison to the younger foxes so it will be different from their experience anyway but both of us think it could help a lot.”
Oomimi nodded in support of Aran's words.
“Alright. Let's meet up in the afternoon and talk all about it then”, the kitsune decided. “Osamu can take over for me in the meantime, there is still work left to do in the fields and I trust him to do a good job.”
Akagi smiled, amused, as if he had just remembered something funny.
“Have you noticed how he's getting closer with Rin each day?”
Kita smiled while Aran laughed softly and Oomimi hid his grin behind his hand.
“They think they're being really inconspicuous, don't they?”, the black fox chuckled.
“Oh, leave them be”, Kita answered with a smile. “They obviously want to keep it secret for a while longer.”
“Yeah, let's focus on our task for now. They will probably tell us in the close future anyway.”
“And once that happens we can tease them!”, Akagi threw in, making the group laugh.
“Alright, get back work now”, Kita said once they had calmed down and got up. “No word to Suna or Osamu, okay? Let's meet at the gates later, I will call for you.”
The other three agreed.Akagi picked up the empty dishes and hurried after Kita, leaving Aran and Oomimi to work in peace.
-
It was late afternoon when Atsumu finally reached the little cave at the outskirts.At breakfast Kita had asked him to help Suna fix the roof of the bathhouse because the wind had swept some tiles off in the night of the storm.Atsumu had agreed of course but the whole time he'd been itching to run out into the woods and visit Shoyo.
He announced his arrival with two short howls now, a sign that he and Hinata had agreed on, so the crow would know it was him.
Hinata waited for him to shift and then greeted him with a little smile.“You're late again”, he teased, although Atsumu had a feeling that Hinata didn't take it as lightly as his words made it seem.
His heart sunk and he nodded sheepishly.
“I know, I'm sorry. Kita-san had another task for me this morning and it took longer than expected and then I had to stay for lunch because everything else would have been suspicious.”
The crow's eyes lit up in understanding.“I'm not mad at you”, he quickly tried to explain then. “It's just kind of unsettling to be on my own all day... and it's boring too...”
“I know. That's why I got you this.”
The fox took Aran's notebook and all ingredients for the medicine out of his bag and then handed it over to Hinata.Curious, the crow peeked inside and nearly shrieked in excitement when he saw what Atsumu had brought.
He pulled out various worn out books and his eyes shined so bright Atsumu felt that flutter in his chest again.“Those are my favourites”, he explained (and he only stuttered a little bit so he counted that as a win). “I don't know if you will like them but I hope you do. I can get you some others too if you want.”
The crow held the books against his chest and smiled up at Atsumu all warm and happy.“Thank you, Atsumu-san. I will take good care of them and read them all.”
Atsumu cast his gaze down to hide his blush (and maybe his smile) but Hinata probably saw it anyway.
“How is your wing feeling today?”, the fox wanted to know and thankfully Hinata easily accepted the change of topic.
“A little better”, he answered and lightly touched the big primary feathers of his hurt wing. “I definitely slept better last night.”
“That's good to hear.”
Atsumu took the wooden bowl he'd used the previous day to mix the medicine in and collected some water from the river in it.“I have no idea how long it will take for your wing to heal but since shifters heal faster than humans, maybe it will only be a couple of weeks if everything goes well.”
They sat down in the safety of the cave and Atsumu untied the loop around Shoyo's wing before he started washing away the dried bits of medicine from the previous day.
The crow wasn't as tense as yesterday but Atsumu still tried his best to be gentle with every movement.Hinata picked up one of the books as Atsumu worked and thumbed through the pages.
“I have never heard of any of these books before”, he said after a while. “Do all of these belong to you?”“Kita-san gifted most of them to me and my brother when we were younger”, Atsumu answered. “They've been in the old Kita family temple – which is now the Inarizaki temple – for years collecting dust. I guess most of them are really old. But I promise all of the tales are exciting. Me and 'Samu even took notes on the kanjis we didn't know so if you don't know one you can look it up at the back of the book.”
Atsumu started picking out the right leaves and herbs for the first ointment, double checking with Shoyo to make sure it was right, before they split the work among themselves and followed the instructions in the notebook.
“Do you miss your clan mates a lot?”, Atsumu suddenly asked, catching the crow off guard. “B-Because you said it's unsettling for you to be alone earlier.”
“Yeah, I do miss them”, he admitted after a moment. “I guess I never realized how much I'm used to them being around me all the time. Being here now it's... it's just so quiet, you know?”
Atsumu hummed, while he sprinkled some small yellow petals into the bowl.
“I know. Inarizaki is such a loud, rowdy bunch sometimes. I guess you crows are not that different, huh.”
He smiled when Hinata laughed at his words.
“Oh trust me, Karasuno is a chaotic group too and I won't pretend I don't have a part in it. But I would say Nishinoya-san is probably worse than me.”
“Nishinoya-san?”, Atsumu asked, a confused frown appearing on his face. “Isn't that the one who was here with your leader a couple of days ago?”
“Yeah.”
“But... he didn't seem like that at all?”
Atsumu had a hard time believing that this seemingly fearless and courageous little crow shifter he'd met the other day was supposed to be the troublemaker of the group.
But Shoyo just laughed again.
“Yeah, he really doesn't look like it, does he?”
Hinata handed Atsumu the last few leaves for the medicine and then looked up to meet his eyes.
“You'd be surprised if you knew more about them.”
“Will you tell me a little more about your clan mates maybe? I mean, only if you want to!”Atsumu stopped talking for a second to try and not stumble over his words. “I told you lots about Inarizaki yesterday. So... your turn?”
To his relief Shoyo nodded easily.“It's only fair I guess. So there are a couple others my age, let's start with them...”
Atsumu listened while Hinata talked and he worked on massaging the ointment into the base of his wing.The crow shifter didn't flinch once at his movements today and the corners of Atsumu's lips quipped up into a tiny smile.
He took his time, used up all the paste and then he started working on the second one with Hinata's help.Hinata just rambled on about his clan mates, the older and younger ones, his friends and the ones he wasn't that close with.
Atsumu just listened and tried to keep all of the new information in mind but while he was rubbing in the second paste he could feel his eyes droop and promptly a massive yawn escaped him.
“Did you not sleep well?”, Hinata asked, interrupting the story he was currently telling to give Atsumu a sympathetic look.
“No, I slept fine”, the fox answered with a flick of his ears. “I've just been doing so much the past couple of days, helping around the temple, hunting and kitchen duty, not to mention trying to find the time to help you with your wing.”
Atsumu let out an exhausted sigh but then he smiled softly.
“It's okay though. I will manage somehow.”
“Please try not to overwork yourself, Atsumu-san”, Hinata said and reached back, grabbing onto Atsumu's forearm.The fox looked up, surprised and met Shoyo's big brown eyes.
He saw real concern in them and for some reason that made Atsumu smile again.He briefly put one hand atop of Hinata's and without meaning to his tail gently flicked against the crow's thigh.
“I will try my best”, Atsumu promised. “If I'm doing good for another while Kita-san will surely take me off kitchen duty and then it will be a little easier.”
He let his hand drop back into his lap and Shoyo nodded, letting go of his arm in return.Atsumu thought his cheeks looked a little red but it was probably because they were sitting directly under the late afternoon sun.
Atsumu continued treating Hinata's wing and after a while the crow picked up where he left off and finished a story about him and some of his clan mates getting scolded for sneaking out at night for a dare.
Atsumu smiled all the way through because it reminded him so much about Osamu and himself. They had done similar things often (and gotten scolded by the older foxes almost as often too) but it had been exciting every time anyway.
When he was finally done it was nearly evening and the fox realized he hadn't had a chance to hunt yet.
“I need to go”, he said and got up but groaned when his muscles protested.
Hinata was on his feet a second later, there was something unsure in his expression, Atsumu noticed.
“Do you know when you'll be back tomorrow already?”, Shoyo asked him.
“Not yet, but I'll try to be here earlier than today.”He gave Hinata a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, I will swing by tomorrow too, no matter how early or late it is. I will be here.”The words seemed to calm Hinata and he nodded.“I recommend 'The tale of the moon cubs' by the way”, Atsumu added and nodded to the pile of books near Hinata's sleep place. “It's my favourite.”
The crow's features lit up, erasing the lingering worry for a short moment and there it was again.That weird feeling in Atsumu's chest, right where his heart was beating.
“I will read that first then.”
Atsumu tried to hide a smile and nodded.
“I'll get going then. See you tomorrow, Hinata.”
“See you tomorrow.”
There was a split second where Atsumu didn't want to leave at all.He wanted to stay and keep sharing stories.He wanted to look through Aran's notebook once more together with Shoyo to see if there was something else they could do.
But he knew all that had to wait until tomorrow.His chest felt kind of tight as he gave a parting wave, shifted into his fox form and then ran through the woods back into the direction of the Inarizaki temple.
-
“'Samu, my arm is falling asleep.”“Oh, sorry.”
The grey fox shifted around until his head was resting on Suna's chest and the younger fox gave a relieved sigh.
Osamu smiled a little and closed his eyes.
He and Suna had left the temple before dinner to have some time to themselves.
They've made themselves comfortable on a small hill from where they could look down on their fields.The damage from the storm was still visible but it looked a hundred times better already. They had gotten done lots of work the past days and that was something they were proud of.
They'd been laying in the grass for a while when the younger twin noticed how the breeze had gotten cooler.In the distance the last bright rays of sunshine faded to make way for the deep blue night sky.The first few stars were starting to get visible, one by one.
Osamu sat up and stared towards the horizon in silence.Suna opened one eye to see why they weren't cuddling anymore.
'Ah, there's that stern expression again', he thought.He heaved himself up with a sigh and snaked his arms around Osamu's waist.He hooked his chin over his shoulder and gently butted his head against Osamu's.
“You're making that face again.”
“I'm not.”
Suna chuckled and pressed a light kiss to the other foxes' shoulder.
“Just talk to him if you think he's behaving weirdly. What's stopping you? He's your twin, you always bother him with everything. What's the worst thing that could happen?”
“I just don't want him to snap at me again like last time”, Osamu mumbled. “'Tsumu is usually not like that and you know it. Maybe he's jealous because I've been spending more and more time with you. I bet he feels like I'm trying to replace him...”
Suna cocked his head, the expression on his face was so disbelieving he almost smiled.Osamu felt his cheeks grow hot.
“He knows you would never replace him, idiot. That's not even possible, so get that out of your head right now.”His gaze softened then and he squeezed Osamu a little tighter.“Maybe you should just remind him of that. I'm pretty sure you would behave in a similar way if Atsumu was spending lots of time with someone else.”
“I barely see him at all, despite at breakfast and dinner”, the grey fox complained. “I just don't understand why he would take on so many tasks at once. Oh gods, it's because he can't stand seeing us together, isn't it?”
Osamu hid his face in his hands while Suna rolled his eyes.He gently pushed Osamu back into the grass by his shoulders and grabbed his hand to pull it away from his eyes.
The older fox looked up at him with those huge caramel eyes and Suna smiled, linking their fingers together.
“'Samu, I promise that's not what's going on. I bet you a hundred kisses he just wants to show Kita-san his best side after he's fucked up so bad on the day of the storm. If you really want to know just ask him. Please. You've let this brew for too long already, that's not like you.”
Osamu swallowed but he couldn't deny that Rin's words were reasonable.“Yeah, okay. I'll talk to him”, he answered although he wasn't looking forward to it.
Suna smiled at him almost in a proud way and Osamu couldn't help but giggle against his boyfriend's lips when he leaned down to kiss him briefly.
“Let's go right now. Then it's over and dealt with.”
“Rin!”
Osamu protested as Suna pulled him up to his feet with a big grin, eyes glinting mischievously.
“No, no, I don't want to hear your complaints”, he said as he pulled Osamu along by his hand. “Besides, the sooner you get this problem out of the world, the sooner you can give me those one hundred kisses.”
Osamu was sure he blushed furiously as Suna glanced over his shoulder and winked at him and whatever sentence he'd wanted to say next turned into unintelligible gibberish.
Suna just laughed.
“I think he's still on kitchen duty?”, the younger fox said as they arrived back at the temple grounds. “It's quite late already, isn't it? I'm surprised no one has called us back for dinner yet.”
“I'll see what's up”, Osamu answered and squeezed Suna's hand one more time before letting go. “Keep a seat for me, yeah?”
“Of course.”
Suna went on towards the dining hall while Osamu made his way to the kitchen.He walked straight across the small inner courtyard because it was the shortest way and was surprised to bump into Aran just in front of the small door.
“Hey 'Samu”, the black fox greeted him. “You wanna see what's taking Atsumu so long too?”
Osamu opened his mouth to disagree but then he quickly nodded his head.He didn't want to explain to Aran what his actual reason was.
“Yeah, he should have been done by now, right?”
Aran nodded and slid the door open.“Let's find out.”
They entered the kitchen and Osamu already had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue but it melted away as he caught sight of his brother.
Atsumu was sitting at the table, cheek pressed against the wood and eyes closed.Soft snores echoed through the room.
Osamu and Aran could only exchange a surprised glance and then stare at Atsumu in disbelief.
“Oh my, what do we have here?”
Kita had silently stepped through the open door behind them and briefly came to a halt beside Aran and Osamu.
They all took in the scene in front of them in silence.A small pile of recently cut vegetables sat on the table to Atsumu's right, water was already boiling in a cauldron in the corner of the room.The cutting knife laid abandoned next to his hand, as if it had slipped from his grip when he'd fallen asleep.
The young fox didn't wake up, even when Kita walked over to him and softly laid a hand on his shoulder.“Atsumu, wake up.”
Atsumu only stirred when the kitsune gently shook him by the shoulder and he barely managed to look up to meet his eyes.
“Are you okay? You're not feeling sick, are you?”
The golden fox blinked a couple of times until the question properly registered in his mind.
“No, Kita-san”, he slurred and let his head sink back down against the wooden table-top. “Jus' tired...”
He didn't even try to apologize for not carrying out his task properly - the way he would have done if he was even halfway awake.Because this was Kita-san.And Atsumu never wanted to disappoint his leader.
His lack of an apology made it clear that he was not of any use in the kitchen right now.Somehow the whole exchange made Kita smile though and he waved Aran over with a flick of one of his tails.
“Would you be so kind to bring him to the sleeping quarters? I think he needs a proper nap before dinner. Osamu? Can you help me finish up his work? It will be quicker if we work together.”
“Of course, Kita-san.”
Aran tried to wake up Atsumu enough so he'd be able to stumble along but he was so out of it that the older fox just sighed before he picked him up.“Try to hold on”, he advised and Atsumu somehow managed to hook one arm around Aran's neck.
Before they could leave Osamu leaned up on his tiptoes and briefly nuzzled his brother's ear.“Stupid Tsumu, get some sleep”, he mumbled.Atsumu tried to purr but all he managed was to flick his ear against Osamu's nose before he was out like a light again.
Aran left with careful steps and a secure grip on Atsumu's lax body but Osamu still watched until they were out of sight.Then he sighed but joined Kita at the table without any protest.
He would talk to Atsumu once his brother had a good night's sleep.
Back at the sleeping quarters Aran gently lowered Atsumu down onto the padded floor and looked around for his blanket.When he couldn't find it he just huffed out a sigh and went to grab his own.Atsumu blinked one eye open halfway when he felt someone tucking him in.
“Aran-kun?”, he mumbled, one hand coming up to rub at his eye.
“You fell asleep at the kitchen table, Tsumu”, the older fox explained quietly but he couldn't hide the fond smile on his lips.Atsumu really had worked hard the past few days.“Kita-san says you can take a nap until dinner time.”
Atsumu took a moment to process the words then he nodded with a small hum.
Aran ruffled his hair but before he could get to his feet and leave, Atsumu reached out to grab him by the sleeve of his yukata.
“Stay?”, he asked, eyes already drooping again but Atsumu stubbornly refused to let them fall shut before he had an answer.
Aran hesitated but he couldn't deny that he was tired too.The practice session with Oomimi, Akagi and Kita had taken a lot out of him and his muscles ached from training again after so long without fighting.A quick nap wouldn't hurt, right?
“Okay”, he gave in. “You wanna cuddle?”
Dumb question, Atsumu always wanted to cuddle.
Before Atsumu could voice his agreement Aran had already pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around the younger fox' bundled up form.
Atsumu gave a sleepy purr and let his forehead rest against Aran's chest.
The black fox smiled and curled his tail around Atsumu's waist protectively before he too closed his eyes and slowly dozed off.
Atsumu had trouble properly waking up again after his nap because it had been so good. Now he was just glad that his brother was sitting next to him, nudging him in the ribs whenever his eyes started to get unfocused.Suna on Osamu's other side just seemed to be mildly amused.
They were halfway done eating when Aran came over and placed a small cup of steaming tea in front of him.
“Drink this”, he ordered gently and Atsumu picked up the cup obediently, smelling it first but pulling back with a grimace.“This smells disgusting”, he complained and looked up at the older fox accusingly. “What the hell is in there?”
“It's ghost ginseng”, he explained with a chuckle. “It doesn't taste as good regular ginseng tea but it will help you sleep well and energize your body for tomorrow. You'll need it.”
Atsumu carefully took a little sip and he couldn't help but pull a face again.“I'm just glad if I don't have to vomit from this horrible taste”, he said after he'd managed to swallow. “And what do you mean I will need it?”
Aran just gave him another smile but didn't answer.“Drink up”, he said instead.His tip of his tail brushed against Atsumu's neck, then he was back at Kita's side.
Atsumu followed him with his eyes then turned back to his brother with a confused expression but Osamu just shrugged, looking just as clueless as his twin.
Atsumu eyed the small teacup with wary eyes but then picked it up and chugged the whole thing.Better get over with it quickly.For one second he really thought he was going to throw up but it passed and Atsumu quickly shovelled a couple spoons of soup into his mouth to get rid of the bitter taste.
He could hear Osamu and Suna chuckle beside him and he growled at them to be quiet.
“Not my fault if you exhaust yourself so much you fall asleep with your head in our dinner, gotta deal with the consequences yourself then”, the silver fox snapped back but surprisingly there wasn't any real bite in his voice and when Atsumu met his eyes he even thought he saw a glimmer of concern in them.
He opened his mouth to answer but Kita cleared his throat and spoke up before he could think of something to say.
“Please lend me your ears for a few minutes. I have something to share with you.”
Most of the foxes shared surprised glances but Atsumu noticed Aran wasn't fazed by their leader's words at all and neither Oomimi nor Akagi seemed to be either.They probably knew all about it already.
“I know most of you have worried about me after the crows' visit and lots of you came forward to ask if they could do something to help me and you all have my deepest gratitude for that.”
The kitsune bowed his head before his clan members with a small smile.When he looked up again his expression was serious.
“The truth is a clan of falcon shifters attacked my family when I was younger and ever since that day I've had trouble dealing with them. I'm anxious when I see their wings and although Sawamura-san was friendly and didn't mean no harm when he came here I was just waiting for them to attack. I don't want to talk in detail about my past experience but I was scared that day and I realized that although we want to live in peace and have never bothered any of the other clans, things probably wouldn't go well for us if one of them ever decided to attack us. I know that it is unlikely since we have stayed away and didn't cause them any trouble so far but for all we know they could distrust us. They know only so little about Inarizaki and we know only few things about them.”
He let his golden gaze wander over each and every of his foxes.
“I want us to be able to defend ourselves if anything should ever happen and I realized I should have come to that conclusion a long time ago but... I have decided now.I have talked with Aran, Akagi and Oomimi about this and they see it the same way so they will train you in combat.”
Atsumu gasped and his tiredness was gone in an instant. Osamu beside him looked at Kita with big eyes too while Suna didn't seem that surprised by their leader's words.
The younger foxes were excited by the prospect of going to be trained, their eyes sparkling while they exchanged hushed words and Atsumu had to admit he felt the same way.
He and Osamu had begged Aran to teach them ever since they'd learned that he'd been born into a tribe of foxes that were trained in all types of fighting styles since they'd been able to shift into their animal forms.Aran had never budged though and Atsumu remembered how he had always sulked because of that.
But now that Kita had changed his mind he could feel that buzzing feeling in his chest again and his tail jerked from one side to the other in rapid motion.
Kita gave them another moment before he asked for their attention once again.
“We have worked out a system to be able to teach all of you. Aran, Akagi and Oomimi will divide the lessons between them and I will try to help wherever I can too. We will tell you about the lessons for the next day at dinner the night before. Tomorrow morning we'll all meet up in the courtyard by sunrise and each of you will be examined to see what your strengths and weaknesses are so we can work on them. So I suggest you go to bed early today in order to be fit for tomorrow. If you have any questions or concerns you can always come to me or any of the older foxes. I want you to know that I didn't make this decision lightly but I will stand by it and so I expect all of you to do your best.”
“Yes, Kita-san!”
The leader smiled proudly, his two tails curled over his back in delight.
“Very well. One more thing: Akagi and his team have not found the missing crow but I want you all to keep your eyes open for him anyway. As Sawamura-san said, he could potentially be moving, so keep that in your minds. Now, eat up and as I said, don't go to bed too late tonight.”
The conversations among the foxes picked up again as soon as Kita had ended his speech and Atsumu had a hard time finishing his dinner because the bubbling feeling of excitement in his stomach made him feel like he couldn't swallow one more bite of his food.
He talked about the coming examination with Osamu and Suna, already betting on who would be better and who could beat the others faster.
Kita watched his foxes from the head of the table but there still was a slight uneasiness settled deep in chest that he couldn't shake off. He couldn't help but feel that his decision could cause them trouble sooner or later.
“You have done the right thing, Shinsuke.”
The kitsune looked up to meet Aran's steady blue eyes but he could only sigh deeply.
“I hope you're right.”
The sleeping quarters were alive with hushed conversations for a long time that night.Kita should have seen this coming but he huffed out a tired, grateful breath when Atsumu's and Osamu's voices finally quietened down.
He could feel Aran smile into the back of his neck at the action and lightly kicked him in the shin for it.The black fox grinned even wider but cuddled a little closer.
“Sleep now, it's gonna be a hard day tomorrow.”Kita didn't feel like he could fall asleep even if he tried but he closed his eyes anyway and tried to focus on taking slow, deep breaths.
Aran actually drifted off quiet quickly but Kita stayed up for a long time.At some point he could see the moon through the windows on the east side of the room and he sighed quietly.
Why was he so unsure of his decision? It wasn't like he'd be sending his foxes off to war. It simply was a precautionary measure. There was nothing wrong about that.And yet – the dark feeling lingered like a shadow in his very core.
He prayed to the Gods that his fears wouldn't come to life and only dozed off in the early morning hours.
-
Atsumu nearly vibrated with pent up energy as he was standing in the courtyard the next morning, waiting for Aran to show up and start the examination.Osamu beside him was no different while Suna seemed more relaxed but there was a sparkle in his green eyes that gave away his excitement.
“This is taking too long”, Atsumu whined. “I wanna get started already!”
He hadn't forgotten about Hinata but he also looked forward to learning his first real defence moves and possibly even some attack moves.It was early still, only just past sunrise so he'd have plenty of time to visit later and since he'd only managed to bring back a few little prey animals the day before Kita would surely send him out again.
The foxes would need a lot of food when they started training seriously now and so Atsumu hoped that Kita would agree to take him off kitchen duty soon so he could focus on training and also have more time to hunt (and visit Hinata while he was at it, of course).
All of these thoughts vanished as soon as Aran stepped out of the main building, Akagi and Oomimi on either side of him while Kita followed two paces behind.
Atsumu stood up a little straighter on instinct, beside him Osamu did the same.
Aran couldn't help but grin when he saw his excited clan mates waiting for him and a shudder ran down his back.
'I will train them to become the best they can be!', he thought. 'You will not regret giving me this responsibility, Shinsuke. They will be great!'
They stopped in front of the waiting group and Aran showed a big smile, all white teeth and shining eyes.
“Are you all ready? Then let's begin!”
“And then Aran-kun taught us this other move, an attack one! You go down like this...”Atsumu shifted in a matter of seconds and cowered down low, tail swishing from side to side, his eyes fixed on an imaginary enemy in front of him.Then he suddenly leapt forward and jumped upwards while turning a little at the same time.He landed on his paws safely and turned back to Hinata, his caramel eyes shining bright like stars, tongue lolling out and tail wagging like the one of an excited dog.
He looked so proud of himself that Hinata had to hide a laugh behind his palm because he had absolutely no idea what Atsumu had tried to show him.
But thankfully Atsumu shifted right back and bounded over to Hinata while explaining: “You can use it when your opponent leaps at you and you can't dodge the attack because you don't have room or time to do so! So you just jump forward and then throw your shoulder into their chest. If you're lucky it will throw them off balance, even if it doesn't stop the attack completely. And also Kita-san said we need to be careful when we use this move because the enemy could try to bite us.”
“Sounds like you learned a lot on your first day of training already”, Hinata pointed out with a smile as Atsumu flopped down on his back, looking up into the cloudy sky.His gaze was far away, probably still stuck in this morning's memories.
“It was amazing”, Atsumu answered with a smile on his lips. “I can't wait to learn more. And there's no way I will lose to 'Samu next time! I will just use everything I learned against him and then-”
Atsumu suddenly jumped up again and took on his fox form, jumping and rolling around on the rocky floor, fighting his invisible twin with all the new tricks he'd learned.
Shoyo laughed as he watched him go wild but suddenly Atsumu yelped and shifted back, running over to Hinata.He held his head weirdly but before Shoyo could worry that he had hurt himself Atsumu whined: “There's something in my ear! Get it out, get it out please!”
“Sit down first”, the crow said, grabbing the fox by the wrist and pulling him down.Atsumu did as he was told and tried to keep still but his ear would flick every couple of seconds, so Shoyo didn't even have a chance to take a good look.
“Atsumu-san, I don't know how-”“You can hold it up, it doesn't hurt”, the fox answered his question before he could get it out. “Don't mind if it keeps twitching but please hurry, it's uncomfortable.”He dragged out the last two words on a whine and Shoyo saw his tail thumping against the floor repeatedly as he spoke.
He quickly got up on his knees and then grabbed the tip of Atsumu's ear between three of his fingers, pulling it up as carefully as he could while still maintaining a firm grip.He felt the fox' ear trying to flick but he didn't let go.
One quick look had Shoyo discover an old, dry leaf stuck deep in between the soft hairs.“It's just a leaf. Stay still, I'm gonna get it out.”
“Please hurry”, Atsumu said through pressed teeth and screwed his eyes shut.Hinata pinched the edge of the leaf between the thumb and pointer-finger of his free hand and pulled it out as quickly as he dared.
Atsumu whined miserably and his tail thumped against the floor at the uncomfortable sensation again, his ear twitched repeatedly in Hinata's firm grip.
“I got it, I got it”, Hinata reassured him and let the leaf fall to the floor as soon as it was out. “It's okay, it's out.”
Hinata let go of Atsumu's ear but carefully stroked down the fur he'd ruffled up while holding it upright. “Is it still feeling weird?”
When Hinata looked down to meet Atsumu's eyes the fox looked back up at him wordlessly but his big eyes were shimmering with something unknown under the dim sunlight. Something like surprise maybe but it was also kind of gentle?
“No, it feels okay now”, Atsumu answered after a few seconds. His voice was untypically quiet and it took Hinata a moment to realize that he was still stroking Atsumu's ear.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I just messed up your fur”, he stuttered out and lowered his hand back down to his lap.He just barely kept himself from saying how soft the golden hairs felt between his fingers and promptly he felt a hot blush spreading across his face and quickly he cast his gaze down.
For a long moment there was an awkward silence between them but then Atsumu smiled and started laying out the leafs and herbs for the medicine between them.They easily fell into their now familiar routine of preparing the ointments. Atsumu refused to let the silence drag on then and started talking about the first fighting lesson again.
Hinata listened and soon forgot about the embarrassed feeling from before.
Atsumu looked so excited and so alive as he talked about everything that had happened this morning that Shoyo couldn't help but feel happy for him.
He spied lots of bruises on Atsumu's elbows and knees and he had a couple of scratches and scabbed patches of skin but none of them seemed to bother him at all.
He seemed so different from the first time they had met and considering it had barely been a week since then it was astounding.For a moment it seemed like there was an entirely new fox sitting across from Shoyo.
And he had to admit that he liked this passionate, energetic shifter a lot.
Atsumu took care of treating his wing like the days before and it didn't hurt one bit today. It still was a little uncomfortable of course but Shoyo knew his wing couldn't heal overnight so it was absolutely fine.He knew Atsumu did his best to be gentle and Hinata was just glad to have him here to help.
“I got halfway through that book you recommended by the way”, he said as Atsumu jumped down to the riverbank to wash his hands in the stream.
“Oh yeah? Do you like it so far?”, Atsumu wanted to know.
“It's great! I think I can finish it today and then we can talk about all of it tomorrow.”
The fox smiled on his way back over and shook off the excess droplets of water still clinging to his skin.“I'm looking forward to it.”
The sun had continued it's way across the clouded sky and Atsumu estimated it to be early afternoon by now.
“I need to go”, he said, ears drooping a little. “The hunt is important today, everyone will be hungry tonight. Let's hope I can find something good.”
Shoyo didn't look too happy but he nodded.Atsumu had only been here for such a short while but the crow understood that Atsumu had his duties.
“I see. Then go, I will be fine. I still have lots to read. And thanks again for the leftovers from yesterday's dinner.”
“I'll bring you more tomorrow.”
Atsumu suddenly remembered the disgusting tea that Aran had given him the night before and made a mental note to bring some of it too. It might not be nice but it could help get Hinata to his feet quicker. He really needed to find out if there was anything else that would be good for Hinata's health overall.Surely there was something.
“Is there a special sort of meat you like to eat?”, he asked hesitantly. “I'm still on kitchen duty so I could cook it if we have it?”
“Uhh... I like rabbit a lot. But don't stress yourself! It's not a problem if it's something else. I do like all the stuff you bring me, honest.”
The crow smiled up at Atsumu and the fox felt his heart starting to beat a little faster.
“I'll see what I can do”, he answered and let the tip of his tail flick against Hinata's hand. “I will try to be here tomorrow at the same time.”
The crow nodded.“I will wait for you.”
Atsumu smiled softly and almost added a 'I'm looking forward to it' but stopped himself at the last second. He did feel his cheeks heat up though and so he quickly stuttered out a goodbye and shifted before running off.
Hinata watched him until he had disappeared between the trees, then he pressed one hand against his chest.His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it beneath his palm.
Atsumu yawned.The day had been long and dinner had made him sleepy (he had managed to catch a couple of rabbits and found satisfaction in the fact that he could bring Hinata his favourite food tomorrow) but he really wanted to take a bath before he went to bed.
Aran had given him some of the ghost ginseng tea again and it hadn't been so bad this time now that Atsumu knew what he had to expect.
The young fox had just gotten some fresh clothes and was on his way to the bathhouse when he bumped into Kita.
“Atsumu, do you have a few minutes to spare?”
Atsumu was awake in an instant and straightened up, heartbeat picking up slightly.
“O-Of course”, he stuttered.
What did Kita want? Had he noticed that Atsumu was out unusually long when he said he'd go hunting? Did Atsumu forget to do one of his tasks? Had he somehow noticed Hinata's scent on him although Atsumu always made sure to get rid of it before he came back?
But Kita was calm and all he said was:
“You've worked hard the past couple of days, Atsumu. And you did well this morning too. Aran told me he was quite impressed with both you and Osamu.”
Atsumu knew his eyes must have lit up like stars because Kita's small smile gave it away in an instant.Aran wasn't generous with his praise so he had every right to be happy about his words.
“Thank you”, the young fox said in the end and bowed his head, smiling.
“Don't thank me, but keep working hard.”
Atsumu nodded, then looked up to meet the kitsune's yellow eyes.
“You will be off kitchen duty from now on and we will switch around like we usually do. But you do something foolish or dangerous again and I will not hesitate to put you back on it, you hear me?”
“Yes, Kita-san. I will be more responsible, I promise.”
“Good.”
The kitsune came closer and Atsumu closed his eyes when his leader leaned in and started scenting him.The young fox purred contently at the physical contact.
“I was worried when you fell asleep at the table yesterday”, Kita confessed quietly. “If your duties are too much for you you just have to tell me. I don't want you overworking yourself, even if this is still your punishment from the night of the storm. If you can't take any more just talk to me.”
Atsumu hummed tiredly.“I will, Kita-san.”
His heart-rate slowed down gradually as Kita's icy scent lulled him in and Atsumu swore he could have fallen asleep on the spot if it continued for much longer.
Kita seemed to notice this and stroked Atsumu's soft ear just like Shoyo had done a couple of hours ago before he stepped back.
“Go take your bath and don't go to bed that late.”
Atsumu nodded with a yawn and Kita gave him a fond smile before he disappeared and left Atsumu to continue his way towards the bathhouse with slow steps.
He felt warm all over now.Today had been a good day.And tomorrow would be even better.
When he padded into the sleeping quarters later he laid down between Ginjima and his brother.Osamu was already cuddled up with Suna but Ginjima came a little closer, seeking warmth and maybe comfort too.
He had been sulking all day because his foot hadn't healed completely yet and so Oomimi had decided that he would only be examined once he was completely healthy again, for his own safety.Atsumu couldn't imagine how tough it must have been for him to sit out on the first ever training lesson.
Pity overcame him and wordlessly he inched a little closer to his friend.
“Your foot will be fine soon”, he mumbled. “And then you will learn everything quickly and train with us.”
Ginjima sighed and barely gave Atsumu a nod before he closed his eyes.
Atsumu's heart sank.Obviously he hadn't found the right words to encourage his friend.
But there wasn't really anything he could do now, could he?He glanced down to where Gin's foot was still wrapped in bandages and frowned. He would ask Aran again if there was anything else they could give him. He doubted it, because if there was Aran would have surely already used it, but asking wouldn't hurt.
He took a deep breath and accepted that he could not help right now but swore to himself that he would try tomorrow.Then he let his eyes fall shut and quickly fell asleep, the warmth of the pack lulling him in.
The last thing on his mind before he was out like a light was Hinata.Had he managed to finish the book by now?
-
“Okay, that's it for now!”
Atsumu groaned once he'd finished his last stretch and flopped down onto the stone floor beside his brother.Osamu was breathing hard, a droplet of sweat trickling down the side of his face.Atsumu knew he must look the same and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“I gotcha good today”, he teased breathlessly but with a smile on his lips.Osamu just kicked his shin in response, still trying to catch his breath.
Atsumu turned to Riseki beside him who was busy chugging water from a bottle.“You did real good”, he said and held his hand out for a high five.Riseki grinned and did the same.“I only managed to get you twice, Atsumu-san”, he said, rubbing the back of his neck.“You did this new move perfectly like ten times and I had no chance.”
The youngest fox groaned when he stretched his arms over his head.
“I think I'll have bruises from head to toe tomorrow.”
Atsumu laughed apologetically.“Sorry if I went a little hard on ya”, he said. “But try to remember these two times you got me. You're fast. And since you're not fully grown yet you can use that to your advantage too.”
Riseki listened attentively to every word Atsumu said and nodded along.Quiet footsteps announced the arrival of another fox and when they looked up Aran was standing above them.
“He's right”, he said to Riseki with a bright smile. “Focus on these strengths for now and try to use them wisely. You have great potential.”
Atsumu grinned when he saw Riseki's big shining eyes and open mouth but he completely understood.After all he had been the same yesterday when Kita had told him Aran was impressed with his and Osamu's skills.
“Atsumu, are you still fit enough?”
“Sure”, he answered without thinking. “What for?”
Beside him Osamu snorted and Atsumu just swatted at him without looking.
“I need to fill up the medicine cabinet with ingredients and thought you might want to help me.”
“Sure! Let's go right now”, Atsumu said and jumped to his feet.
He could ask Aran all about ways to keep someone energized, like with the ghost ginseng for example. It would be useful for all of the Inarizaki pack but also for Shoyo too and Aran wouldn't wonder why Atsumu asked him about it at all when they were out searching for stuff anyway.It was foolproof.
“I'll get us two bags and the list of everything we need. Wait here.”
The black fox walked towards the temple building and Atsumu sat back down again.He noticed his brother watching him after a few moments and turned around to meet his eyes.
“What?”, he asked. “Trying to get on Aran's good side too, aren't ya?”, Osamu teased but he wasn't smiling as bright as he usually did when he taunted his twin brother.
Atsumu suddenly felt like he had to defend himself.“What's that supposed to mean? I'm just helping him.”
“Whatever you say, Tsumu.”
Atsumu bristled and growled quietly.“What's with you lately? Am I not allowed to help? Am I not allowed to do things? Why are you like this?”
“Because-”
“Atsumu!”
The twins whirled around to see Aran standing by the double doors of the entrance hall, waving the older twin over.
“We will talk later”, he grumbled before he got up and jogged across the courtyard without waiting for an answer.Osamu watched him leave through squinted eyes but only huffed out an annoyed breath in the end.
“Is everything okay between you two?”, Aran asked once Atsumu was in ear-shot, his gaze wandering back to where the silver fox was still staring after his brother.
“I don't know, he's been acting kinda weird... but I don't wanna talk about it right now.”
Aran raised an eyebrow but handed Atsumu one of the bags without another word.
“What are we gonna look for?”, the younger shifter wanted to know once he had shouldered his bag and followed Aran through the red gates and out into the woods.
“All kinds of stuff, here.”
Aran handed him a list with lots of names, some Atsumu had never heard of, some he couldn't even read but he thought he recognized some from the tags on the flasks and jars in the medicine cabinet.
“Huh, did we use up so much the past days?”, he wondered out loud. He knew they had used quite a bit for Ginjima's treatment and Suna had had his hands bandaged too the last two or three days.Apart from that (and the leafs he'd taken to ease Hinata's pain in the beginning) the shelf hadn't looked that empty to him when he'd last seen it.
“Not necessarily”, Aran answered. “But some of our supplies are quite old and lots of their effects lessen the older they get. It's not a problem with... let's say leafs of the golden devil's claw. Do you remember which one that is?”
“Aren't those these orangey dried leaves that are used to lessen all kinds of pain?”
Aran gave him a smile and Atsumu felt his annoyance from before fade away.
“Yes, very good Tsumu. The golden devil's claw is quite strong actually. If a human ate just one leaf it would probably make them delirious for a whole day.”
“Really?”
Atsumu tried to imagine it but it was hard. He remembered when he had first met Aran and he had taken care of Kita and Osamu he had given Osamu two of the leafs (and he had only been around twelve or thirteen at that time!)Kita had gotten three and neither he nor Osamu had seemed even remotely out of it, only glad that their pain had been dulled by the golden leafs.
The black fox must have seen the confusion on Atsumu's face because he chuckled quietly.
“Humans may look quite similar to us but there are significant differences between us. After all, there's still a lot of magic flowing through a shifter's body. Even more in someone like Shinsuke. If I gave you regular devil's claw for example it would only help ease your pain a tiny bit. You would have to eat lots of it for it to help and why would you do that if you can have one of the golden leafs and have the same effect?”
Atsumu nodded, understanding a bit better now.“Are we looking for it today?”, he wanted to know.
“Not particularly but if we come across it, it wouldn't hurt to pluck a couple of leafs. We will need lots of different plants now that we have started training seriously. Devil's claw is useful in a lot of ways but no, the first thing we are looking for is chamomile. It can help speed up the healing process of scratches or minor wounds. We should be able to find it on clearings or in a place where there aren't too many trees. Over there for example.”
The tip of Aran's tail pointed to a small grassy area to their right.The two foxes walked over and Aran spotted the white blossoms almost immediately.Atsumu followed behind him and watched as the older fox cut some of the stems with a small knife.
“We take only a little because we want the rest to grow so that there can be more here next time. But if you see some more on our way later you can collect it.”
“Okay”, Atsumu agreed.
Aran carefully rolled the chamomile into a piece of cloth before stashing it safely into his bag.
“Next up is... rose hip. I know a place where it grows lots. Let's shift, you follow right behind me, okay?”
Atsumu nodded.
Both took on their fox forms and grabbed their bags between their teeth, ready to go.Aran glanced over his shoulder back to Atsumu who only gave a flick of his ear in response.The black fox answered with a short growl and then led the way with big leaps, Atsumu followed.
It was the late afternoon of the same day when Atsumu woke up from a long nap.
He hadn't planned to take it actually but the training session this morning had been tough and then running through the forest for hours with Aran had exhausted him.The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep in the short amount of time he had with Hinata so he'd opted for a quick nap.
Turns out it was already way later than he'd thought and he cursed as he got up and left the sleeping quarters in a hurry.He grabbed a bag from beside the door and stumbled out the door.
He was just about to shift when he heard his brother call for him.Osamu stepped down the stairs of the main building as Atsumu turned around.
He was carrying a bag too.
“What are ya doing with that?”, he called but the answer was obvious and Atsumu's heart sank.
“What does it look like? I'm going with ya. Oomimi-san told me to, probably knew that you wouldn't catch anything when you're asleep on your feet.”
Atsumu growled but let his brother catch up to him before they continued their way together.“I'll still catch more than you.”
His brother side-eyed him with a sharp glare.“Bet.”
Atsumu growled again but it wasn't because of the fact that his brother had been asked to come with him.But if Osamu did accompany him they couldn't go anywhere near Shoyo's hideout.Atsumu swallowed down a disappointed sound as he realized he probably wouldn't have a chance to see the crow today after all.If he only hadn't taken that nap, maybe it had been different then...
But thinking about the what if's and could have been's would lead to nowhere so Atsumu shook his head to focus and led the way.
The foxes left the temple grounds and stepped out into the woods.Both of the twins could feel the weird tension between them clearly now but neither dared to speak of it yet.They only glanced at each other from time to time, little growls escaping them when they caught the other looking.
Atsumu knew how this was going to play out.Osamu knew it too.
Everything between them was a competition.Neither of them could remember a time where it hadn't been that way, it was natural to both of them.Atsumu remembered that it had concerned the other foxes in the beginning, their deep desire to always one up another.But Kita and Aran had soon recognized it as an important part of the twins' relationship and hadn't interfered again.
But now that things had been brewing between the siblings for a couple of days, it wouldn't be as easy as usual.Atsumu knew they had to talk it out but right now he had absolutely no desire to.He just wanted to see Hinata.And maybe afterwards he'd go to his brother.
So the sooner he got over with today's hunt the sooner he could go visit Shoyo.Hopefully.If all of this didn't end in another big fight.
He quickened his pace, pulling off the bag from across his shoulders.“I will lead the way”, he said with a too harsh glare directed at his brother.Osamu growled and was about to snap back but Atsumu shifted without waiting for an answer, picked up the bag and took off towards the river.
He heard his brother call something after him but ignored it.It didn't matter anyway because only seconds later Osamu had caught up to him.The two fox brothers raced through the forest, constantly trying to outrun their twin on the way to the hunting spot Atsumu had chosen.What for exactly, they didn't know.
When Atsumu recognized the place he'd had in mind he stopped, panting hard from the long sprint.Osamu was only one second behind him.
The golden fox shifted back quickly and dropped his bag near the roots of a big tree.“We will gather all the prey here and then take it home once we have enough.”
“Don't tell me what to do”, Osamu spat and threw his own bag beside Atsumu's.
Atsumu growled but his brother had already taken on his fox form again and was out of sight in a heartbeat.Atsumu rolled his eyes in annoyance but shifted too and ran off in the other direction.
And so their competition took it's course.
Both brothers were excellent hunters and it showed in the mass of prey they were able to catch over the course of the late afternoon.Every time they returned to the spot by the trees they saw that a new animal had been caught and the deep desire to beat the other hunter made them double their efforts every time they went back out again.
After a while it resulted in them making mistakes though.Atsumu accidently kicked a small stone as he was sneaking up on a bird, alarming the animal so it flew out of reach with a panicked, shrill cry.
Osamu's tail caught onto some thorns as he followed a scent through the under-bush and the yelp he let out when the thorns ripped out some of his silver fur chased away all the potential prey animals in his radius.
The brothers returned to their spot at the same time, both exhausted and panting but trying to hide it as soon as they caught sight of the other.
“You done already?”, Osamu called once he'd returned into his human form.“I could go all night”, Atsumu spat back.“And what for? What are you trying to prove?”“What the hell are you talking about? You're behaving like an idiot lately!”“You're an idiot!”
The two brothers growled at each other, teeth exposed, ears turned flat against their heads and tails of golden and silver fur ruffled up in anger.
“You're just trying to get on Kita-san's good side so he will forget about your stupid behaviour and you can be his favourite again!”
Atsumu's eyes widened, not in surprise but rather in shock.Osamu had never said something like that to him and it hurt. It really hurt.
“I'm not Kita-san's favourite! And I'm not doing this for him!”
“Oh please, who are you trying to fool?”
Atsumu's last bit of reserve broke away in an instant and with an angry, guttural hiss he pounced at his brother.
Osamu had anticipated it but Atsumu crashed into him with such a force that he stumbled and both of them fell to the floor.The silver fox howled angrily and tried to get his brother off with a knee to his side but Atsumu didn't budge.
They fought viciously, scratching, punching and kicking while spitting curses at each other in the heat of the moment.
Osamu screamed when Atsumu sank his teeth deep into his forearm and dragged his claws across his brother's cheek in return so he would let go.
Atsumu did and backed away a couple of paces, one hand pressed against the bleeding claw marks.Osamu glared at him sharply, ready to defend himself if Atsumu decided to come at him again but all the fight had left the older fox' body.
Atsumu just sat there hunched over and panting, drops of blood dripping down his hand.He didn't even look up to meet his brothers' eyes.
Osamu's face fell when he spied a single tear running down Atsumu's cheek and his brother whimpered quietly when it hit one of the open scratches.
Guilt crashed over the silver fox like a tidal wave and slowly, because he didn't know if he was allowed to, he scooted closer.
“Tsumu? Can I... can I see?”
He reached out hesitantly and wasn't surprised when Atsumu growled and swung at his arm to slap it away.Osamu caught him by the wrist before that could happen and met Atsumu's red-rimmed, angry gaze when his eyes snapped up.
“I'm sorry, Tsumu. Please just let me see, okay?”
Atsumu still glared at him and then tried to yank his wrist out of his vice grip but Osamu wouldn't let go.Then Atsumu caught sight of the bleeding teeth marks on his brother's forearm and something in his expression changed.
Osamu let go of his wrist and Atsumu slowly lowered his blood-stained hand.
The scratches weren't that deep, thank the Gods, they were only bleeding quite a bit.
“I'm sorry... I just...”
“Why would you say stuff like that, 'Samu?”
The younger twin winced at the hurt tone in his brother's voice, shame burning deep in his gut.He had fucked up.
“I don't know why I said it”, he mumbled, his grey ears turning backwards on instinct.
“'Samu.”
Osamu looked up and was met with his brother's cold dark eyes.
“The truth.”
The silver fox swallowed heavily before he was able to take a deep breath.He remembered Suna's words from the day before and decided to just get it over with.
“It's just... You've been acting so different lately! You took on so many tasks and threw yourself into training more than anyone else. You're always on the run doing stuff ever since we had that stupid fight before the storm and I feel like I barely see you anymore.”
Atsumu began to understand a little as his brother finally started pouring his heart out.But he remained quiet and just listened.
“You have never done more than you were supposed to but now you suddenly started doing that and... I'm sorry I said it is because you want to be Kita-san's favourite but if it's not to get on his good side then... then it's because of me right?”
Scratch that, Atsumu felt like he didn't understand anything anymore.
“What?? Why would you think that?”
“It's because I spend so much time with Rin, isn't it? Tsumu, I promise I'm not trying to replace you with him! You will always come first and you know that. He knows that. But... I love him.”Osamu's voice got very quiet all of a sudden.“And I want to be with him. I know I spend more time with him than you now but don't feel like I'm neglecting you, okay? I promise I'm not! It just feels like you're trying to avoid me...”
“'Samu, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Huh?”Osamu looked up to meet his twin's confused stare with his own teary eyes.
“I'm not avoiding you because I can't stand seeing you two together. Are you kidding? I've known Rin for as long as you have. I know you've liked him for a while. Hell, probably longer than you knew yourself and I understand why you're drawn to him.”
“But...”
“No buts. I'm happy for you, 'Samu. I really am. Believe me.”Atsumu even managed to smile a little.“You two make a great pair.”
“But then why...”Osamu still couldn't make sense of Atsumu's behaviour.
His brother sighed deeply and looked up towards the tree's crowns.
“I just wanted to help more, I guess. I'm not gonna lie, it had been a little weird seeing you spend so much time with Rin and maybe I took on a little more tasks because it distracted me from the fact that we didn't spent as much time together anymore. But don't forget, some of my duties are still punishment for that night when the storm hit.”
Atsumu chose his words carefully.He'd already thought about telling his twin about Shoyo but he'd always come to the conclusion that it probably wasn't a good idea.If he slipped up now and told him too much Osamu would know about his secret soon.And he couldn't know, not yet at least.
It made him feel uneasy, keeping such a big thing from his twin brother but he would have to live with it for a while longer.Hinata couldn't leave, not yet. So no one could know that he was here.Besides, he hadn't lied to his brother, technically.Only didn't tell him the whole truth.
“And maybe I did try to impress Kita-san a little. He was so disappointed when I came back that night...”Atsumu remembered the icy golden glare their leader had fixed him with vividly and a shudder ran down his back.“But once I started doing all these tasks... it was kind of fun, you know? I had some time to think when Kita-san allowed me to go on hunting trips every day and the time by myself helped to get used to the new situation. Helping out Aran-kun is kind of fun as well. Maybe you should try it too. You could learn to help treat Rin's hands for example. I'm sure he would appreciate that.”
Osamu hummed and was surprised to find that it wasn't such a bad idea at all. Maybe Atsumu was right.
“I... I'll think about it. But Tsumu... please don't overwork yourself, okay?”
Atsumu's face took on a faint shade of red when he realized what his brother was hinting at.
“Just because I fell asleep at the kitchen table one time?”, he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I'm just saying”, his brother answered. “If you ever feel like your duties are too much you can always share with me.”
Atsumu smiled, for real this time.
“Thanks”, he mumbled.His tail briefly flicked against his brother's arm.“Kita-san already told me pretty much the same. I promise I won't be exhausting myself as much again.”
Osamu nodded.
“Everything okay between us then?”
“Yeah. Sorry I bit you.”
“Sorry I scratched your face.”
The silver fox got up and offered one hand to his brother.Atsumu took it and let himself be pulled upright.
Together they went down to the riverbank and washed off most of the blood with fresh water from the stream.
“Kita-san and the others won't be happy to see us like that”, Osamu sighed.Atsumu just shrugged in response.“It's not like we've never dealt with that before.”
They shook off the last drops and returned to their pile of prey animals.
“How the hell are we supposed to get all of this home now? It won't all fit into our bags.”
The twins shared a helpless look before they both sighed.“Two trips it is”, the said in unison and started stashing away every animal they could fit into their bags before they returned home.
The brothers managed the first trip without someone noticing their new scratches and bruises.Or so they thought.
When they came back with their second load of prey just as the sun started to go down Oomimi was waiting for them in the door-frame leading to the kitchen.
The twins stopped in front of him, trying to withstand the stern look the older fox was giving them.Oomimi only raised an eyebrow wordlessly.
The two brothers shared a glance before giving their senior a low bow.
“Sorry, Oomimi-san”, Atsumu mumbled.“Yeah, we're sorry. We didn't mean to get into another fight”, Osamu added.
“Did you at least talk it out?”
“Yes, we-”
Wait. How did Oomimi know there had been something going on between them?Had it been that obvious?
Atsumu looked over at his brother who just shrugged in return.
“Yes, we talked it out”, Atsumu finished his sentence from before.
The older fox nodded.
“Good. Now stash away the prey and then go and look for Aran. He should take a look at both of you.”
“Yes, Oomimi-san.”
The twins did as they were told, not aware of the way Oomimi watched them with a content smile.
They found Aran in the room next to the sleeping quarters with Suna and Ginjima.The black fox was currently checking Ginjima's ankle once again.Suna sat off to the side a bit and watched, patiently waiting for his treatment.
All of them looked up when the twins slid the door open.
Osamu guessed they must have looked pretty roughed up still because Aran took one good look at them before he let out an annoyed groan.“Don't tell me you got into another fight again”, he growled, irritation flickering in his eyes.
“We're sorry, Aran-kun”, Atsumu mumbled, eyes trained on the floor. He felt like he let his new mentor down somehow. “We know it was stupid. I can take care of us if you want to...”
Aran looked them up and down, spying the teeth marks on Osamu's arm and the claw marks on Atsumu's cheek and for a moment his irritation was replaced with worry.The brothers often got into little squabbles but this looked like it had been more than that.
“Are you two okay?”, he wanted to know, letting go of Ginjima's ankle for the moment.
“Yeah. We already talked it out afterwards.”
Osamu's eyes flickered over to where Suna was sitting and Suna gave a small, proud smile in return.Osamu showed him a brief smile too.
“Okay, good”, Aran answered, turning to Atsumu. “Yeah, you can take care of you two. Remember to disinfect the open wounds, especially the bite and these claw marks. They're most likely to get infected. You know where everything is. And use the book or ask me if you don't know something.”
Atsumu nodded and dipped into a quick bow for good measure before he went over to the medicine cabinet to get everything he needed.
Osamu sat down next to his boyfriend and was surprised when Suna immediately leaned over to nuzzle his ear.“Well done”, he mumbled.Osamu couldn't help but smile a little more and he leant into Suna's side, closing his eyes for a moment.“Is everything okay with you?”, he wanted to know then. “Is it your hands again?”
“Nah, my back's been aching since this morning. You know how it is sometimes.”
Osamu hummed.Suna's posture had never been the best and he was cold easily too, so when it was rather cold outside (like last night) he was prone to shivering a lot which cramped up his muscles. All of this resulted in rather chronic back pain, although it was mostly fine in the summers (and when he remembered to do all his stretches).
But usually Aran had always found something that helped and Osamu remembered his brother's words from before. It was a good idea to learn to help Suna with his health problems. Plus it would take some responsibilities off of Aran and that was good, right?
Then Atsumu was back and Osamu sat still as his brother treated him.
It was clear that he hadn't been doing all this for too long, his touches were too rough sometimes and he was very generous with the amount of medicine he used.But Atsumu knew what he was doing, that much was clear and Osamu thanked him genuinely once he was done.
His brother mumbled something dismissively and took care of his own little wounds before he left.
Once Ginjima was gone too Aran beckoned Suna closer but seemed surprised to see Osamu still waiting with him.
“Is there something else you need?”, he asked, while Suna pulled off his clothes so his upper body was free and laid down on the mat next to Aran.
“No, it's just... 'Tsumu said maybe it could be useful if I learn to help with Rin's treatment. So you won't have to do everything on your own, you know?”
Aran just stared at him for a moment and Osamu felt his face grow hot.Had he said too much? The others didn't know about him and Suna yet, right?Oh god, he'd called him 'Rin' in front of Aran!
But the black fox just laughed softly, waving him closer.
“You and your brother just continue to surprise me time and time again”, he said with a big smile. “Come here, I'll show you what to do.”
Suna glanced over his shoulder and when Osamu looked down to meet his eyes he gave him a nervous but excited smile.
Suna grinned softly and laid his head back down on his arms, closing his eyes, knowing that he was in good hands.
The moon shined high up in the sky that night as Atsumu cowered in the shadows of the Kita family shrine.His ears were pointed and he stayed frozen in place as his eyes wandered over the courtyard, from the main building to the temple gates and back.There had been no sign of any of the other foxes for a while now and Atsumu knew most of them were already slumbering away peacefully.
But sleep wasn't on Atsumu's mind.He was glad that he'd talked things out with his brother but his thoughts had wandered back to Hinata time and time again ever since he'd treated his Osamu earlier.
He'd promised his new friend to come visit no matter how late it was but he hesitated to leave even though he was aching for it.
If someone noticed or saw him disappearing it would only look suspicious and he didn't want to risk that.Not now while everything had finally calmed down a little.
But he needed to make sure the crow was okay.He was aware that Hinata wasn't dumb and probably knew he couldn't make it today and he was also smart enough that he could take care of his wing on his own.Both of them knew the ingredients by heart and Atsumu had left them all at the little cave so he wouldn't have to carry them back and forth every time.
He'd also copied the text from the book on how to make the two ointments, just in case Hinata would have to take care of it himself.So it wasn't that big of a deal.
But Atsumu felt terrible because he had promised.He just needed to go and see if Shoyo was okay.He also missed the little crow's company if he was being honest with himself.
And so he waited for a few more minutes, listening to every sound and looking for any sign that one of the other foxes was still awake and wandering about the place.But it stayed quiet and so he slowly dared to come out of his hiding spot and sneak along the shadows of the courtyard, hoping that he would stay undetected.
He made it out into the woods and was just about to shift when a flash of white fur somewhere on his far right made him freeze on the spot.He quickly pressed his hands over his mouth and held his breath.
Kita hadn't noticed him, luckily.Atsumu could feel the fur on his tail rise but he stayed where he was, fearing that the kitsune could hear him if he moved even the slightest bit.
Atsumu's ears twitched as he picked up on another pair of footsteps following behind Kita's.The young fox couldn't see much but the cool breeze carried over a faint voice that sounded a lot like Aran.
“Are you sure, Shinsuke?”
“I am. It's not fair otherwise.”
The footsteps stopped then and Atsumu sneaked a tiny bit closer, curious what the two were talking about.He was still scared that they would notice his presence so he stayed hidden behind the trees in a safe distance but close enough that he could eavesdrop.
He knew there was no way he could go and see Hinata now or else he would get caught by Kita and Aran. It would probably be smartest to get back to the temple and go to sleep before someone else noticed he was gone.But his curiosity was bigger than his fear and so he stayed to hear the rest of the conversation.
“This is not about it being fair”, Aran sighed. “Your shoulder-”
“Is something I learned to live with”, the kitsune interrupted him, his voice quiet but determined, leaving no room for arguments.
They had stopped on a small clearing, the leaves and grass appearing silver in the bright light of the full moon. Kita's white fur seemed to glow, making him look like the divine being he was deep inside.His golden eyes looked deep into Aran's blue ones.
“I know that it's not the best idea to fight with this injury. But as far as I know it could never heal properly. And it's not fair that our foxes do their very best to learn from you when I'm only watching. You know I used to be able to fight. I was taught by the best in the Northern Kingdom. This injury may be a disadvantage to me and for a long time I felt helpless because of it. But I ask you, please, help me find a way to be able to fight despite it.”
Aran saw the genuine wish to learn and the promise to work hard shimmering in his leader's eyes.He sighed quietly.He had never been able to deny the kitsune anything.And it wasn't like he didn't understand his wish to be strong and be able to fend for himself.A good leader should want all that but Aran had never thought of Shinsuke as weak before.So maybe that was the reason he was hesitating to teach him.
But more likely he didn't want to put his old friend through the trials and errors that his wish brought along. It would be hard and Shinsuke would no doubt suffer a lot of pain and frustration.Aran knew the kitsune could take it, he didn't have a single doubt in his mind about it.It was just that he'd have a hard time putting him through all that.
But it was his leader's wish so he had no choice but to obey.
“It will be difficult”, he warned but his voice was quiet and Shinsuke knew he'd already made up his mind.The kitsune smiled calmly.
“I know. But I trust you. Trust me too.”
Aran nodded.“I will.”
“Good.”
He crossed the clearing with a few soundless strides.When there was a good distance between him and the black fox he turned back around.His golden eyes blazed with excitement and his canines showed when he grinned at his friend.
“Teach me how to fight again, Ojiro.”
“Do they taste good?”Hinata nearly choked on his food when he looked up and Atsumu's face was right there, only inches from his own. The fox' big eyes watched him expectantly and Shoyo quickly swallowed down his bite of rabbit skewer before he nodded.
“Yes, they're great Atsumu-san”, he laughed. “Haven't you had one yourself before?”
“Nah, I just scoffed down some rice balls before I came here. These are mine actually but I wanted to give them to you as an apology.”
Atsumu tried a smile but it was nervous even to him and so he quickly cast his gaze down.Shoyo didn't miss the way his ears started twitching a little.“You know because I couldn't make it yesterday and you were on your own all day... I felt terrible...”
Atsumu had already told him there had been lots to do yesterday and that's why he couldn't leave without it looking suspicious but Shoyo had already spied the scratch marks on his cheek. Even he could tell they must be from another fox.There was more to it than what Atsumu had told him.
“Is everything okay?”, he dared to ask quietly.
Atsumu raised his head when he felt Shoyo's knuckles carefully stroking his cheek above the claw marks.His ears straightened up slowly and for a moment he held the crow's gaze without saying a word.
When he was finally able to answer he slightly turned his head away so Hinata wouldn't be able to feel the warmth rising in his cheeks.“Yeah, I'm alright. I got into a fight with my brother when we went hunting yesterday but we talked it out. Don't worry about me.”He gave a reassuring smile this time.“It's just a couple of scratches.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”, Hinata wanted to know, taking another bite of his skewer. Asking couldn't hurt, right?
Atsumu still smiled but shook his head.“I appreciate the offer but nah, it's okay. As I said, 'Samu and I talked it out already. I'd rather take a look at your wing.”
Shoyo nodded and allowed the fox to get behind him to inspect the black feathers.“I couldn't reach the base part well”, Hinata explained. “It might look a little messy but I tried my best.” Atsumu hummed, looking at the messed up feathers sticking together with the remains of the medicine.
“I think you got the most important area though. I'll wash off the remains and do it properly again.”
Atsumu untied the loop around Hinata's wing and got some water to clean off the ointments. Then he laid out everything he needed as usual and got to work while Hinata munched on his food.
“Have you finished the book I gave you?”, the fox asked as he added some camomile blossoms into the mixing bowl.
Hinata smiled, his cheeks bulging as he chewed.“Finiffed an' starded anotha one”, he answered proudly.
Atsumu laughed and gave his mixture a final drop of peppermint oil before he took his usual spot behind Hinata.
“Did you like it? And swallow before you answer this time!”
Shoyo followed his advice.“I loved it! The way it was written was very nice. Quite simple but still enchanting somehow...”
Atsumu started spreading the medicine around with careful fingers.“That's what I love about it too”, he agreed. “Every time I read it I feel like I'm in another world.”
“Exactly!”
Shoyo's wings spread a fragment upon his excitement and much to Atsumu's surprise he didn't really seem to notice it.It didn't even seem to hurt him.
Atsumu blinked, his movements freezing for a second, fingertips still lightly pressed against the black feathers.
“Hm? Is something wrong, Atsumu-san?”Hinata had turned his head to look at him and tried to glance down to where Atsumu was still touching his wing.“Did I do something wrong with the treatment? Oh Gods, did I make it worse again?!”
“No, no! It's okay, you did the treatment fine! It's just...”
Atsumu scooted back a little.
“Do you think you could try spreading your wing as far as it will go? You just moved it and you didn't even notice.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Atsumu got to his feet.
“Try it please.”
Hinata looked nervous but he swallowed down his insecurity and nodded.
Atsumu watched with bated breath as the black feathers slowly unfolded.He could see Hinata was biting down on his lip but he didn't seem to be in pain as he slowly stretched out the hurt wing.It was only the last bit that still hurt and Hinata stopped when he felt a twinge of pain but his eyes were wide as he stared at his wing.
A huge grin broke out on Atsumu's face and he felt a shiver of excitement shake his whole body.
“It helped! The medicine helped! Your wing looks so much better already!”
Hinata caught his gaze with big shining eyes but struggled to find words for what he wanted to express.
“You... we... it doesn't hurt much anymore, Atsumu-san! Thank you, thank you!”
The crow jumped up and pulled Atsumu into a tight hug.The fox' brain needed a second to process what was happening before he was able to slowly snake his arms around Hinata's shoulders to return the hug.He carefully avoided the black wings but grinned when Hinata squeezed around his middle with a big smile on his face.
“Thank you”, the crow repeated once again and looked up into Atsumu's dark eyes.“Ah, thank me when your wing has fully healed”, Atsumu replied bashfully and looked away. “We still have some work left to do.”
Hinata nodded but the smile didn't disappear as he let go.
“Right”, he acknowledged and sat back down. “But if it goes as well as it has up until now, I will be able to fly again soon. And then I can return home.”
Oh, right.Once Hinata was back to normal he would leave the forest and fly back up the mountain to get home.To his own clan.
Atsumu's excitement faded as he realized his friend wouldn't stay long with him anymore.He had known that it wouldn't be like this forever but he'd gotten used to it so soon and now he was reminded that it's wouldn't last much longer.
Hinata, who had turned to see why Atsumu wasn't replying, cocked his head and gave him a worried look.
“Atsumu-san?”
“Yeah? Sorry, I was just...”
The fox shook his head and sat back down behind Hinata again.He could feel the crow still watching him and it made him nervous as he picked up the bowl of medicine again, so maybe he should just...
“Will we still see each other when you go back home?”
The question was out before he had time to think about it.His ears twitched when he met Hinata's big eyes briefly and he had to look away again while he desperately searched for words to try and explain.
“I... I never had a friend in another clan and I think I will just... miss you when you return home. And since Inarizaki doesn't visit the gatherings...”
Atsumu jumped when Hinata's good wing grazed his arm and he was surprised to see the crow smiling at him.
“We'll find a way, okay? Maybe Kita-san will change his mind and you can finally visit a gathering too. And if not then we can meet up here from time to time. No one has followed you here yet after all so it should be safe, right?”
These words calmed Atsumu down a little and he was able to take a deep breath.
“Yeah, you're right...”Hinata seemed satisfied with that answer for now and turned back around so Atsumu could continue working on his wing in peace.
Halfway through the treatment the fox remembered the ghost ginseng tea he'd brought with him.Hinata took the flask out of the bag (Atsumu didn't have anything else he could have transported it in safely) and pulled off the cap to smell it.
Atsumu laughed when he recoiled with a disgusted expression on his face.
“Do I have to drink this?”, the crow asked, face pulled into a grimace.
“You don't have to”, Atsumu reasoned, picking up the bowl to wash it out and start mixing the second ointment. “But it helps you stay energized. Apparently there's lots of good stuff in there. It's not tasty but you'll survive it.”
Hinata didn't seem convinced but Atsumu left him to think it over as he prepared the next mixture.He caught the crow taking a hesitant sip and pull a face but he swallowed the tea and didn't complain once.
Atsumu took care of the second injury while Hinata sipped on his tea.They talked a little about the book but stayed silent most of the time.
Once Atsumu was done and had re-tied the sling around Shoyo's wing he picked up the bowl to clean it but stopped in his tracks when he heard the crow sigh.
“Is everything alright?”, he wanted to know immediately. “Did I make the knot too tight?”
“No! No, it feels fine but... I just... miss flying I guess.”
Hinata tried to smile but it looked too sad and Atsumu didn't have the heart to fake a smile in return.
“What does it feel like?”, he found himself asking instead, sitting back down.
“Flying? I don't know how to explain... it's just... you see the world so differently from up there.”
Hinata looked skyward, his eyes gleaming with something like longing.
“Everything is so small. Sometimes all my problems become meaningless when I see the world from above. I can't help but think about it sometimes, especially now when I will be able to return home soon. But I can't imagine what's going to happen once I'm back. Sure, everyone will be relieved to have me back I guess, but... I don't know what they will say. I don't know what I will say. Am I gonna lie and say I ended up far away and it took me so long to find my way home? Will I tell them I had help from a friendly stranger who helped patch me up?”
He looked up to meet Atsumu's gaze and the fox didn't miss the troubled feelings reflected in Hinata's eyes.
“I can't ever tell them the truth, can I?”
Atsumu opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out.What even was the answer?
What would he say if he was in Hinata's place?
“Shoyo-kun, I...”
Hinata's worried expression turned into a surprised one and it took Atsumu a moment to realize it was because he'd called him by his given name for the very first time.
He felt the fur on his tail rise and his face grow hot in embarrassment but quickly continued in hopes that Hinata wouldn't notice.
“I don't know what's right in this situation and I don't know what I would tell them either if Karasuno were my clan but...you will know.”
He smiled at his friend.
“When you stand before them you will know what to say. And if you choose the truth then... I won't be mad at you.”
The last traces of trouble on Hinata's face smoothed out and but he still asked: “That would be alright with you?”
“I mean, yeah. I guess? If we want to keep seeing each other we should come clean, don't you think? Our leaders won't be happy, that much is certain but... maybe it's best if we tell them everything. But I'll leave it up to you. Whatever we decide, we just need to take responsibility for it.”Atsumu knew that was easier said than done and he was surprised to hear himself speak those words but realistically he couldn't keep this a secret forever. Even if they stayed lucky and no one found out about what they were doing.He wasn't looking forward to Kita finding out at all but he would face him if it was for Hinata.
The crow seemed to understand what he wanted to say and sighed.“It's no use worrying about it right now anyway, is it?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Try and focus on getting healthy again, okay? That should be your priority now.”
“Yeah, you're right. We can talk about this again when I leave, that gives us some time to think things over.”
Atsumu agreed with a nod, picked up the bowl and got to his feet again.“Good. Now, I guess we should start to add some light stretches so you won't lose all the mobility in your wings? Now that it doesn't hurt as much anymore, I mean.”
Hinata nodded and unfolded his good wing tentatively.“Yeah, I think that would be good.”
“Alright but don't overdo it, okay? I can't really help you with this because you will know what is best for your wings. But take it slow, okay?”
Hinata promised to do so and did some exercises with his good wing while Atsumu cleaned up the utensils in the river stream.
“I need to go back now, before someone wonders where I am”, the fox announced once he's tidied up the little cave and put everything back to where it belonged.
Shoyo looked disappointed and Atsumu hated to see that so he pulled the crow into a hug without thinking.Again, he was surprised by his own action but Shoyo nestled up against him for a few seconds and the surprise quickly turned into a happy smile.
“I'll be back tomorrow”, Atsumu promised before he let go. “What is the new book you started reading called?”
“Uhm, it's 'The Otters At The Jade Sea' I think.”
“Ah, I remember that one, it's actually 'Samu's favourite. Let's talk about that one tomorrow, yeah?”
Shoyo nodded and Atsumu was relieved to see the crow looking more relaxed than he had all day.
“I'll try to finish it before you come back.”
“I'm looking forward to it. See you tomorrow, Shoyo-kun! And I'll ask Aran about some muscle stretches that could help!”
With that he shifted into his fox form, shook out his golden fur and gave a parting yowl before he grabbed his bag and left with big leaps.
Once Atsumu's bushy white tail disappeared into the bushes Shoyo pressed his palm against his chest only to find his heart racing even faster than last time.
What was going on? Was he starting to fall for this fox?
He shook his head, smiling, amused that he was even thinking that.
But the warm feeling that had settled in his chest ever since Atsumu had told him he'd know what to say when it was time, already knew the truth.
Hinata just wasn't ready to admit it to himself - no, he couldn't.Because acknowledging it would make it so hard to leave when he had to eventually.
And he wasn't sure he could deal with that.So he just pretended it wasn't affection what he felt, just gratitude that Atsumu was helping him so much.
-
About a quarter of a moon passed and none of the foxes caught onto what Atsumu was doing.
He'd visited Hinata every afternoon without fail and the crow was gaining more and more strength with each passing day.
Atsumu's daily routine was still straining, especially with every new fighting lesson he and the others mastered, but he liked to think he managed quite well.
The training made him stronger. All the new moves he learned and every new plant he was able to memorize gave him such a boost of confidence he felt like he could take on the world.He felt great.
He was still careful around Osamu though, simply because his twin knew him best and would most likely be the first one to figure out what was going on if Atsumu let something slip. So Atsumu made sure to spend enough time with him (and Suna too) and was happy to find their relationship returned back to normal in a short amount of time.
He still took his brother out to early hunting trips every two days or so and both of them actually enjoyed these mornings a lot.The wounds from their fight healed quickly and soon they had forgotten about it entirely.
The clan had been eating well too thanks to their combined hunting talents and this way Atsumu could ensure that Hinata was getting enough food too. Whenever he was on kitchen duty he made sure to cook a little too much so he could bring what was left over to his friend.
The weather was still inconsistent, some days warm, some cold -as expected at this time of the year- but the foxes coped quite well with it overall.
Osamu treated Suna's aching back muscles successfully for the first time after the temperatures dropped unexpectedly one night and the silver fox thanked his brother for putting the idea into his head afterwards.Atsumu himself continued to learn a little bit more from Aran each day and he knew that the older fox was glad to have someone he could rely on.Atsumu had never expected that being a healer was this much work and he admired Aran for it more than he ever had before.
He would have done more too, especially after seeing Kita in pain after he'd announced that he was being trained by the older foxes as well - albeit one on one.
His old injury was playing up again after the training sessions and because it was such an old and complicated injury it needed lots of different plants and herbs to be treated somewhat properly.Atsumu went out to look for the ingredients for Kita's medicine whenever he could (well, whenever he went hunting or visited Hinata) because they needed a lot of them after each training session but he never actually helped Aran with treating their leader.And there was one reason why.
It was only a matter of days now before Hinata was ready to return home into the mountains and that knowledge distracted Atsumu more than he would like to admit.He wanted to spend as much time with him as he could before the time would come and he feared that he couldn't concentrate enough when he was asked to help with a more complex treatment.
He also feared that he would let something slip in the kitsune's presence, something that could unveil his secret and end in a disaster.And that was the last thing he wanted.
So he helped but never stayed to assist Aran.Instead he spent every free minute with Hinata.
Like right now.
He watched from a safe distance as Hinata spread his wings to their full span.The afternoon sun shone through the feathers and Atsumu could see the little orange spots at the tips of Shoyo's primary feathers again.The sight was just as marvellous as the first time.
Yesterday the crow had finally managed the stretch his wings all the way without feeling any pain and he'd been so happy that he'd cried while Atsumu had held him with a smile.
Shoyo couldn't help the laugh bubbling up in his throat now and he flapped his wings a couple of times, not strong enough to leave the ground but to test the waters further.
The breeze he created with every new flap ruffled Atsumu's hair and fur and he smiled.
“Do you want to try and shift?”, the fox asked.
Hinata thought about that for a moment. His eyes wandered over his right wing sceptically and he moved it again.
“Not yet”, he decided then. “The wing may have healed well enough for that but I probably lost quite a bit of stamina and flying again after such a long time without will be weird enough anyway.”
He folded his wings against his back and skipped down the rocks to where Atsumu was standing.Hinata used his wings for balance too, the fox noticed. They moved and unfolded a bit before going back again so Shoyo never had to fear falling even when he ran over uneven ground like the forest floor.
“Tomorrow I will try to shift”, the crow added with a smile once he stopped in front of Atsumu.
“Alright”, Atsumu agreed. “But I would still like to apply the medicine once more. Just to be sure.”
“You worry too much, Atsumu-san”, Shoyo teased and leaned into Atsumu's chest for a brief hug. “But if it makes you feel better then sure.”
“It would actually”, the fox admitted bashfully, ears turning backwards a little on instinct.
They sat down and divided the work as usual and it wasn't long before Atsumu massaged in the ointments with practised ease.
“Are you sad because I will leave soon?”
The question caught Atsumu completely off guard and he accidently tipped over the bowl with a flick of his tail.He cursed but caught it just in time to avoid the medicine going everywhere.
When he sat back up Shoyo had turned around to face him.He seemed a little nervous, a hand coming up to ruffle his orange hair but his eyes were gentle.
“It will still be a couple of days”, he mumbled. “And I already promised I'd come visit you. I don't plan on breaking that promise.”
Atsumu swallowed.“I know that”, he replied truthfully. “It's just that... so much has changed over the past few weeks and I got so used to having you here that it will be weird without you, I guess...”
He raised his eyes so he could meet Hinata's gaze.
“You're my first friend from another clan and I...”
He forgot everything he wanted to say as he stared into Hinata's dark eyes and felt himself starting to lose himself in them.
He swallowed and tried to keep the chaos of different feeling inside his chest under control. He had never been good with feelings, neither with naming nor expressing them.But looking at the crow in front of him, the one he'd saved and become friends with, the one he'd cared for and shared stories and secrets with, the one that made his heart race a little more with every new day he saw him...
Atsumu knew what that feeling was.He knew it.
But he fought it and he refused to put a name to it.Because it would make everything so much harder.Shoyo would be gone in a couple of days and if he let his feelings wash over him, really feel them, it would end in him spilling everything to his clan sooner than later.He knew it.
He couldn't keep secrets well when he was emotionally troubled.
So he just shook his head to forget all this and pulled Shoyo into another hug.Maybe it was a mistake, the physical contact, but he needed it right now.
“I'll just miss you”, he mumbled into the crow's shoulder, holding back tears.Shoyo immediately returned the hug and squeezed him tightly. Atsumu gasped quietly when he felt Hinata's wings wrap around them like a blanket.The feathers felt soft and warm where they touched his skin, instantly making him feel safe and protected.
“I'll miss you too. But I'm still here, so don't worry just yet.”
Atsumu nodded curtly but didn't answer.His voice would waver for sure if he tried to and then he'd end up crying for real probably so he just let Hinata hold him until he was calm again.
“Come on, you still need to finish up my wing.”
Atsumu took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to push away the last of his worries.He reached out to pick up the bowl again and Hinata smiled softly before he turned around to let Atsumu finish the treatment on his wing.
He hated seeing Atsumu so troubled already and he made a promise to himself to visit as often as he could.He could fly really fast, none of the others would notice if he was gone for a couple of hours.
-
A twinge of pain made Kita hiss and he adjusted his posture for the tenth time that night.He straightened up his back while he carefully pulled his shoulders down at the same time.
The pain faded and the kitsune sighed, rolling his head from one side to the other.
He'd known his one on one lessons with Aran wouldn't be easy and they sure as hell wouldn't be painless on his damaged shoulder.
But he hadn't expected the near constant ache and the sharp twinges when he made just one false movement.It was tiring to say at least, but gruelling was a more accurate description.
The kitsune inhaled deeply and just focused on his breaths until the pain was gone again.Then he looked down at the old leather-bound book laying in front of his crossed legs.
He reached out with his right hand and flipped a couple of pages until he found an easy spell he'd tried often before.
Kita knew most of the words in the worn book by heart and he could recite all of the spells perfectly and knew what he had to do to make them work.He'd read through the pages hundreds of times in hopes that it would help him understand and therefore improve his magic.But up until now it hadn't.
Kita sighed, his eyes wandering up to where the first stars showed themselves in the dark blue evening sky and he just observed them for a while.
Being a kitsune was hard. There was so much he didn't understand because there was no one to teach him. Sure, he had the magic book, but that was pretty much it already.
He didn't understand what it meant to be a descendant of the Old Gods, didn't know what it took to live his life as a kitsune. He had no idea what else he could try to improve his magic abilities and lately all of these doubts had played on his mind.
Ever since he'd asked Aran to train his foxes he had asked himself if he was doing the right thing and it was scary because no one had an answer for him.His grandma had always told him he should have faith in himself and make his decisions with confidence.
If you believe it's the right thing then follow through with it.
That's what she'd always said. And Kita had lived every day of his life by those words.It was the only piece of advice he'd ever received from another kitsune and he held it closest to his heart.
But it was hard to keep the words in mind when he'd dreamed of huge, dark wings, blood and spine-chilling screams the past two nights in a row. Part of him wanted to believe he was just reminded of his past, the attack of the falcons and the battles that followed after it. Another part of him feared that it could show him the future. A future where Sawamura could show up with his crows and make him re-live his worst nightmare anytime.
Kita shook his head.No, no more thinking about that.
He didn't need another night of bad dreams.All his actions were justified and he knew that.He believed in that.
He inhaled deeply and tried to let go of all his worries on the next exhale.His gaze fell down to the open pages of his book.
The familiar words written in ancient calligraphy helped him focus and he slowly spoke the words to the easy water spell.They rolled off his tongue effortlessly and the kitsune stretched out his right arm so it was closer to the pond.
Technically there was no need to make a physical movement for this spell.But for some individuals it increased the focus if they had a move to execute at the same time, it became a habit so to say.And Kita had just gotten used to it because his magic had never worked properly so he'd always tried to support his spells with a certain movement.
He spoke the last word and moved his hand in a swishing motion, as if he would let his fingers glide through water.
The surface of the pond moved immediately, forming a small wave that followed the motion of Kita's fingers.
The kitsune squeaked in surprise and tumbled backwards, the spell broke and the water splashed half onto the grass, half back into the pond.Kita's eyes were wide in shock, the surface of the pond still rippling as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.
He sat unmoving until the water was calm again, then his eyes wandered to his hand, then down to the open book.
What in the name of the Old Gods...?
His fingers were shaking when he raised his hand again but he repeated the words as he stared at the small body of water, trying to focus on all of it.When he moved his hand a little slower this time he was prepared but he still gasped when a new wave formed slowly.
A huge grin broke out on Kita's face and his golden eyes glimmered with excitement as he carefully let the water swirl around in a circle.He couldn't describe the feeling of the magic grasp he had on the water, it was unlike anything he'd ever felt.There had been hints of it before but now it was like it had grown.
He let the water flow back into the pond and tried to form a ball next.Holding a specific shape was more complicated and the kitsune felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple after such a short amount of time but he wanted to see if he'd succeed.
The water ball was about the size of a cabbage and little drops dripped back down into the pond constantly as Kita let the ball rise above the surface.
The bright moonlight shone through the water, revealing a small koi fish swimming in small circles inside of it.Startled at the sight, he tried to lower the ball back down slowly but the koi's tail fin struck against the edge of the ball and splashed his face with water.
His focus wavered, the spell broke and Kita could only watch as the water and the fish dropped back down into the pond with a loud 'splash'.
The kitsune could feel his heart beat rapidly in his chest and his breathing had become laboured as if he'd run across the forest for miles but the huge grin returned and he jumped to his feet.
He needed to tell someone, anyone, right now!
He stumbled back inside and raced down the hallway, looking for his clan mates to share the incredible news of what just happened.
The first one he came across was Aran.The black fox had just shut the door to his medicine chamber but spun around when he heard a booming “Aran!” from down the hallway.
Next thing he knew his arms were full of excited kitsune pressing up against him.He noticed Kita's body was shaking but the leader squeezed him tightly and Aran briefly caught the happy but somehow also overwhelmed expression on Kita's face before he hid it against Aran's chest.
“Shinsuke, are you alright?”, he asked, half smiling, half worrying.He slowly rubbed his arms up and down Kita's back, not knowing what else to do.“Did something happen?”
“Aran, you won't believe it! Back at the pond! My magic... the water... the koi fish!”
Aran smiled but he knew he must look confused as hell.Kita looked up at him with so much excitement in his golden eyes, like he was one second away from bursting into happy tears.
“Breathe, Shinsuke”, Aran laughed and reached up to wipe away stray droplets of water from the kitsune's cheek. “And then tell me again what happened.”
Kita breathed out a laugh on his own and needed a moment to collect and arrange his thoughts.When he spoke up again it was quiet but the words were flowing over with happiness.“I was able to use my magic. It was an easy spell but it worked. It worked, Aran.”
Aran stared at his friend in wonder, trying to grasp what he had just said.Kita laughed breathlessly when he was pulled into another hug and squeezed so tight it was almost uncomfortable.
“That's great, Shinsuke!”, the older fox mumbled into his hair with a big smile. “Do you know what changed? Why were you suddenly able to make it work?”
“I'm not sure”, Kita admitted and pulled back a bit so he could look up at his friend. “I didn't expect it to work at all but somehow it did.”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Please.”
“I think facing your past fear and making the decision to let me train our foxes changed something within you. I know you've not been too happy with the things you had to decide but you stood by them, like a true leader. Maybe your own training sessions helped too. They've caused you a lot of pain, I know. But in my tribe we learned that body and soul need to be in harmony and that both physical exercise as well as meditation are needed to remain the balance.”
He smiled gently only for Shinsuke to see.
“And you have always been thinking too much. Maybe all this training is just what you needed. I know you don't enjoy it and I can't blame you.”
The tip of his dark tail grazed the fabric on Kita's shoulder that hid the gruesome scar from sight.
“But I believe it does help you. Or do you have any idea why else your magic abilities suddenly improved?”
The kitsune had to shake his head but didn't seem entirely convinced either.
“It's just hard to believe that that should be all that was necessary for me to improve”, he admitted. “I'm not saying you are wrong but I think there is something else. I don't know what it is but if it helped me enhance my magic abilities it must be something good.”
Aran just nodded.Whether Kita was right or not, he didn't know but it didn't matter right now.
“Do you want to show me?”, he asked instead.
“I'd love to.”
The kitsune took a step back but almost immediately a wave of dizziness overcame him and he quickly held onto Aran's arms for balance.
“Ah, I forgot that the use of magic can be physically draining”, he apologized as he blinked away his dizziness.
“Tomorrow then”, Aran decided. “And no training today. You wouldn't be able to concentrate much anyway now that you've managed that spell for the first time.”
“You are probably right”, the kitsune answered with a smile.
“Would you rather go to bed then? I know it's not that late yet but if you're tired...”
“It's not that bad”, Kita laughed. “Actually... I'm kind of hungry. Shall we see if there's some dinner left in the kitchen?”
Aran agreed and the two foxes made a quick detour to the pond because Kita still needed to pick up his book before they continued towards the kitchen.
When they opened the door they were surprised to find Akagi and Oomimi already there, standing over by the little fire in the corner.Something was bubbling in a cauldron above it.
“What are you two doing here?”
Both foxes jumped and turned around to see the other two newcomers standing in the doorway.
“Ah, sorry we did not hear you over the bubbling of the water”, Akagi apologized and waved them inside.
“We're making miso soup with some vegetables. We don't have any rabbit meat left to fry but we'll just take something else.”
Kita was about to ask why they were cooking again when the whole clan had eaten only about two hours ago - but then again he was here to eat too.
Aran immediately caught onto the reason why they were making another dish instead of just eating the rest from dinner.
“Ah, has it already been a year again?”
Oomimi and Akagi nodded in unison.“Yeah... hard to believe, huh?”
A pang of guilt hit Kita in the center of the chest.Of course.Today was the anniversary of Akagi's and Oomimi's old clan leader's death.
The clan had disbanded soon after because no one had been ready to take over the responsibilities of a leader.
Akagi and Oomimi had stuck together and had set out to find a new clan to join.And a couple of months later they had showed up at the old Kita family temple.It had been in the late summer and the two had been the first ones to join apart from the five founding members.
Kita felt horrible that he had forgotten the date. He knew it was relatively early in spring but he just hadn't kept track of it this month.All because he had been so occupied with his own thoughts...
“I take it you two will spend the night in one of the private rooms?”, he asked softly.
He knew his two friends would likely talk all night and exchange stories and memories of their time before Inarizaki.That's why they cooked the food too. It was something they had often eaten back home. If Kita remembered correctly it even was a recipe their old leader had shared with them. There was a special herb or spice that went into the soup and that specific flavour always reminded the two foxes of their old home.
Akagi nodded at the question and briefly leaned his head against Oomimi's shoulder.
“Yeah, we would just keep you all awake with our talking and it's been a long day.”
“You can have my room”, Kita offered. “I'll give you the key if you want to.”
“You would do that for us?”
Oomimi sounded surprised and Akagi's big eyes were staring at their friend in wonder too.
“Of course”, the kitsune answered but he knew his tails twitched and his ears had turned backwards, revealing that it wasn't just generosity that made him offer his room to his friends. “To be honest with you I forgot that it was today. I apologize. I would not have made you do any tasks today if I had remembered. I know how important this day is to both of you.”
“Shinsuke, it's fine. Please don't feel guilty. There is a lot to do at the moment. It's not a problem to us.”Oomimi sounded genuine and Akagi nodded in support of his words.
“I'll still give you the key. That's the least I can do.”'And I'll give them the day off tomorrow', he decided silently as he sat down at the wooden table.
“Alright”, Akagi agreed. “Now, tell us what you two are doing here? Shouldn't you be training by now?”
“Shin was hungry”, Aran said teasingly from the other side of the room where he had spied the leftovers from dinner.He picked up a rice-ball and gave it to Akagi who took a bite and then fed the rest to Oomimi who was busy seasoning their soup.“And something special happened. Tell them, Shinsuke.”
The kitsune smiled into the cup of tea Oomimi had just handed him and took a sip before he answered: “I was able to use a magic spell.”
“What?!”“That's amazing!”“When?!”
Akagi promptly back-hugged him in excitement and even Oomimi left his place by the fire to step closer.
“Only a little while ago”, he explained. “Get off me! You're gonna make me spill my tea!”
Akagi giggled but let go.“What kind of spell was it?”, he wanted to know.
“An easy one, a water bending spell.”The kitsune couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips though.“But it worked.”
“Can you show us?”
“Tomorrow. I didn't know magic could be so draining. I guess that's why I'm hungry too.”
Aran sat down beside him with two bowls of leftovers and pushed one of them over to Kita.
“Thank you.”
Oomimi's gaze went soft when he saw his old friend like this. The quiet joy in his golden eyes was quite conspicuous.“Get some good rest after you've eaten, Shinsuke”, he advised quietly but friendly. “You deserve it.”
Kita nodded.“I will get you the key and then go to bed, I think.”
The four friends stayed and talked while Aran and Kita ate their second dinner and the other two cooked.
When Kita handed over the key and they parted for the night he pulled both of his friends close to scent them briefly.“See you tomorrow. If you need anything, we'll be there.”
Akagi purred contently when Kita's scent started to cling onto his skin and clothes and he nodded.
“We'll be fine, Shinsuke”, Oomimi answered. “Try to get some sleep, I know you've been plagued by nightmares last night.”
Kita's golden eyes met Oomimi's dark ones and the leader could clearly see the worry in them. He had hoped that no one had noticed but he should have known. Something like this never escaped Oomimi's watchful eyes and ears.
Kita bowed his head in response.“Don't worry about me, Ren. I appreciate your concern but I'm sure I'll sleep peacefully tonight. Today's been tiring.”
The taller fox seemed to accept that answer and let Kita scent him too, then they stepped apart.Akagi picked up the small lantern he'd put down on the ground earlier, in the other hand he held the key to their leader's private room.
“See you tomorrow.”“Good night.”
Aran and Kita turned around and made their way towards the sleeping quarters.Aran chuckled when his friend let out an enormous yawn and had to rub at his eyes because of a sleepy tear.
“I should put another layer of ointment on your shoulder before you go to sleep”, he reminded him, his tone apologetic.
“Oh... right...”, Kita grumbled. Aran could tell he wasn't looking forward to it at all.
“Why don't you go and get comfortable already?”, he offered. “I'll bring everything to you.”
Kita agreed and went on while Aran stopped to get everything he needed.When he stepped into the sleeping quarters two minutes later Kita was already laying on the padded floor.He had managed to pull off his clothes so Aran could treat him no problem but his eyes were already closed and his breaths were slow and steady.
The black fox laughed quietly as he stepped over and sat down beside his friend.“That spell really had you tuckered out, huh?”, he mumbled and softly carded trough Kita's white hair. “Well, I'm sure the adrenaline from the excitement and the second dinner had something to do with it too. But I still need to treat you.”
He wasn't even sure if Shinsuke heard his words but he continued talking nonetheless. “You can stay like this, I will try to be gentle.”
He opened a jar with a mixture he had prepared only for Shinsuke's shoulder.He dipped his fingertips into it and warmed it up by rubbing his hands together before he carefully touched the marred skin.
Kita made a small, protesting noise in the back of his throat and his tails thumped against the floor because he didn't like the touch right now but Aran quickly shushed him.“I'll try to make it quick.”
The leader was tense for a while before he slowly started to relax as the lingering ache started to fade away.By the end of it he was dozing peacefully again and once Aran came up behind him to cuddle Kita fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
-
“Ren, you really didn't have to do this.”
Said fox just laughed because Kita's slow way of speaking and the relaxed tone in his voice revealed that he really didn't mean the words at all.
“Well, you certainly seem to enjoy it”, he answered with a smile. “Besides, you're starting to lose your winter coat now and we can't have the temple full of white fur strands again.”
“That was only the first year”, Kita reminded him, eyes still closed and head resting on his good arm.
“Hush now, just let me brush your tails in peace.”
Kita smiled but kept his mouth shut.
He and Oomimi had made themselves comfortable in front of the entrance to the main building, the last warm rays of the sun shining down on them. Kita was curled up on the wooden planks, basking in the sunlight while Oomimi sat beside him, legs crossed.
The older fox held a comb in between his fingers and brushed through Kita's fluffy tails with it. He was careful but also thorough and he collected all the white fur that had come off in a little sack.The thick fur of the kitsune's winter coat was perfect to stuff pillows and blankets with and so they kept it.
Ren was the only of his foxes Kita trusted with this task and Oomimi did pride himself on it. (Not that he would ever admit that out loud)But when the kitsune started purring after a few minutes too, Oomimi smiled contentedly.
“That was an impressive magic spell you used earlier, Shinsuke.”
The white fox just flicked his ear dismissively.
“It was nothing. I have to say it did work a little better than yesterday already but I need to practice a lot if I want to improve.”
Oomimi hummed quietly, dragging the comb through his friend's long fur.
“Don't overdo it though. You don't know your boundaries when it comes to using your magic yet.”
“I know”, the kitsune sighed. His golden eyes fluttered open and he stared into the distant sunset, deep in thought. “I talked to Aran already and he said we should do the training session on one day so I can focus on my magic the next day.”
“That sounds reasonable”, Oomimi answered as he pulled a tuft of white fur out from in between the big comb bristles.
Kita's tails suddenly started swishing restlessly and hit him in the face.
“Hey, be careful”, he chided, collecting the strands he'd dropped onto the wooden planks beneath them.
“Oh, my apologies”, the kitsune mumbled, leaning up onto his good arm so he could look at his friend. “It's just... now that I have so much to learn I feel like I should be working day and night to improve myself. It's hard to take things slow even though I know it will be best that way.”
“You're right, it will be best that way”, Oomimi agreed.He started pulling the comb through Kita's first tail again.“Especially with your shoulder. It's no secret it's been hurting a lot lately. So don't overdo it because you feel like you're not making enough progress. You know these things take time. Routine is important, as you always say. The results will come eventually.”
Kita knew his friend had said that because he was being protective of him.After all, Shinsuke was the youngest of the older four foxes and they all kept a watchful eye on him, despite his higher rank as a leader.But he appreciated it because it always made him realize he could count on them no matter what.
So he smiled and replied with a quiet “I will do my best.”
The sun sank lower and lower, turning from orange to red and soon the sky overhead had taken on a dark blue and purple-ish colour.
An owl's hoot came from somewhere in the distance.
“I saw one of the crows yesterday”, Kita remembered as he heard the bird's cry. “When I came back from the fields it was circling over the forest before it disappeared in the direction of the mountain.”
“I saw one too today. Just after the training session this morning.”Oomimi stopped in his motions for a heartbeat.“I take it they haven't found their fledgling yet then...”
“Seems like it...”, Kita answered and he felt some sort of sympathy with the crows blooming in his chest. “I hope they do find him. It has been a couple of weeks since they started looking for him, right?”
“Yeah. It must be so draining, searching for him every day, sunrise to sunset...”
Kita swallowed thickly as he had to think of what it would feel like if one of his foxes was missing and he had to send out search parties every single day.
“I'm going to pray for him”, he decided quietly. “It might not help much but I'll ask the Old Gods to guide him home safely.”
Oomimi smiled softly.
“I'll accompany you. I'm almost done anyway.”
Kita hummed, acknowledging the words but his gaze and thoughts were still lost in the distance.He sent a silent prayer to his ancestors, thanking them that his clan was safe at least.He didn't know what he would do if he had to deal with the disappearance of one of his foxes and he hoped he would not ever have to find out.
The sun had set when he and Oomimi went on towards the small shrine.They both spoke prayers for the crows and asked the Old Gods for their grace.Then they lingered a bit, staying in silence before a cool breeze made Oomimi shudder and the two foxes returned to the sleeping quarters for the night.
-
Around the same time Sawamura stood at the edge of the stone plateau that build the courtyard of the Karasuno temple. The ever present winds dragged and pulled at his clothes and the crow had his wings folded and pressed close to his body but he remained standing there, waiting for his patrols to show back up.
It had been way too many days since Hinata's disappearance and Sawamura could tell that most of his clan mates were starting to lose hope. But there was no way he could show them that he was feeling the same way. Someone had to remain strong and as a leader that was his job, his burden to bear.
A near cry ripped him out of his dark thoughts and he let out a relieved sigh when he spotted all three crows he'd sent out for patrol this noon.Every day he was scared that the ones he sent to look for Hinata wouldn't return either.The anxiety drove him mad and didn't let him sleep much.
Despite his fears a tiny little spark of hope lit up in his heart as he watched his crows come closer, hoping that they would bring good news for once.But their movements were slow and strained to the point where it seemed like they were struggling to keep flying any longer.
Luckily they all landed safely but immediately upon shifting the three of them let themselves fall to the floor, all panting heavily from the exhaustion of the long day.
Sawamura let them catch their breaths, then he helped them up one by one.
“Nothing new, I'm afraid?”
Daichi didn't have to see their dark expressions to know the answer but he forced himself to look all of them in the eyes anyway. The frustration and sadness he saw hurt but he waited until they were ready to answer his question.
Kinoshita was the the first the shake his head.“Not a single trace of Hinata”, he admitted. “I met Akaashi-san though. He asked about Hinata and I told him what we've been doing to try and find him. I'm sorry if I gave out too much information, I probably shouldn't have-”
“No, it's okay, don't worry about it”, Daichi interrupted him because he didn't want his friend to stress himself even more. “None of them would ever use that information against us in any way. They are our friends. When I met Bokuto-san a couple of days ago he seemed worried too. They probably just want to know what's going on.”
Kinoshita nodded.“I think so too. Akaashi-san said they would keep an eye out for him too.”
Daichi felt relief hearing that. Finding Hinata would be easier if more shifters took part in the search.
“Nothing new from Shiratorizawa and Dateko either”, Kageyama added quietly.Daichi had noticed that the young crow had suffered a lot without Hinata there recently and he wasn't surprised the hear him mumble a “Where has this idiot disappeared to?” next.
“Don't lose hope just yet, Tobio.”It was a hopeless attempt to cheer him up but what else could he do?
“Suga, any news?”
The grey-haired crow shook his head.Out of all of his clan mates Sugawara looked the most tired and Daichi knew he tormented himself because he hadn't taken better care of Hinata.Which was bullshit because no one - not even Suga - could tame their little wildcard whenever he'd gotten an idea into his head.
Daichi had tried to point that out to him but Suga hadn't wanted to hear it.He'd asked to go on patrol every day since Hinata had disappeared and Daichi had never once been able to deny him his wish when he'd looked into those dark eyes swimming with desperation and a need to find their missing fledgling.
“Nothing”, Sugawara admitted. “I visited Kuroo-san on the way back here but they haven't seen or heard anything that could help us either.”
The leader hummed in understanding.
“And the foxes?”
Daichi saw Suga glancing at the other two crows before he hesitantly spoke up again.
“It's probably nothing but I noticed they have started to train every morning. At first I didn't think anything of it because we teach and train certain defence and combat moves too. All the other clans do it too, right? But I could see that the majority of the foxes are just rookies. It's clear that they have only started to learn the basics recently. I mean I'm no expert and their fighting style would differ from ours but-”
“How recent?”, Daichi interrupted him.
Suga swallowed.“A couple of weeks at most I would say.”
“But that... could it be that they have only started to train after... our visit? And if so why would they do that?”
“Didn't you say they behaved weirdly when you showed up the first time?”, Kageyama reminded him.
“Yeah, they did. Especially their leader...”
Daichi clearly remembered the sharp tone in the kitsune's voice, the wary look in his eyes and the rigid way he'd held his body.
A dark feeling made Daichi shudder inwardly but he tried to stay calm so his crows wouldn't notice.
“This doesn't have to mean anything”, he quickly said but he realized when he looked into his friends' eyes that they all had come to the same suspicion he had. “But all things considered... keep a closer eye on the foxes. We'll patrol their area two times a day starting tomorrow. If Kita-san has a problem with that we will confront them but chances are he won't even notice or think we've found a clue to Hinata's location somewhere in their area. But as I said, this doesn't have to mean anything. We must not jump to conclusions here. If we find a sign that they have Hinata or if they knew where he was all along we will show no mercy.”
“Why don't we confront them right away? If they do have Hinata for some reason we can't lose any time!”
“I understand your worries, Kageyama”, Daichi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think straight. “But we don't know much about the foxes and they have done nothing wrong so far. We need to be careful. And Hinata just has to hold out a little longer, wherever he is. We will find him.”
Neither of the three crows looked happy with his decision but Daichi knew he was doing the right thing.
He couldn't risk a fight with the foxes because of a suspicion that hadn't proven to be true yet. Why would they hide Hinata if they had found him? What did they gain from that? There was no logical answer. But he had bad feeling about the fact that Kita was training his foxes for combat. Were they expecting an attack soon? Were they expecting Karasuno to attack? Daichi couldn't make sense of it all but the picture of the white fox from the day they had visited wasn't leaving his mind. Why had he looked so tense? Had he kept something from him when he'd asked about Hinata?
He didn't know.All he knew was that foxes were clever, excellent hunters and on top of that Inarizaki's leader was a kitsune.
He was likely a lot more powerful than Daichi himself.
No, they had to find some trace of Hinata first.Then they could act, one way or another.
“I'll tell the rest of the clan tonight. Go and get a bath, all of you. We will find Hinata. I promise you.”
He watched his friends leave but stayed out a little while longer to think his decision over.When he finally left to go back inside his face was grim and the desire to finally find his fledgling pulsed under his skin, fuelling him and giving him the strength to keep going.
'We will find him.'
He had to believe that.They had to make that come true.
“How does it feel now? Try to move it.”
Ginjima cast a nervous glance at Kita beside him but the kitsune nodded in his usual calm manner.
“I'm sure it worked. Don't be afraid.”
“Okay...”
The young fox slowly started moving his foot around, expecting a twinge of pain any second.But it didn't come and Kita watched in satisfaction as Hitoshi's face lit up.
Aran still watched the movements critically from where he was kneeling at the end of the mat.He guided his patient through a couple movements and allowed him to get up when none of them evoked any pain.
Ginjima shifted his weight from one foot to the other tentatively once he stood, then followed all of Aran's instructions on the different moves.Together they stretched and Ginjima imitated all of Aran's exercises perfectly without a problem.
“I think it has fully healed”, Aran announced with a bright smile once they were done. “You've taken good care of yourself. I feared that you would overdo it at some point but it's thanks to your good behaviour that your ankle healed this quickly. Well, and thanks to Shinsuke's magic of course.”
The kitsune waved him off but a tiny smile sneaked onto his lips anyway.He was just happy that the simple healing spell had worked this well on Ginjima's ankle.
“I didn't do much”, he argued. “I just wanted to help.”He slowly got up and was glad when his head didn't start spinning again.It would take another while to get used to the side effects of his magic spells and it would probably be a long time until he could handle them no problem.
“I think you are ready to be examined now. We know you hated missing out on the training sessions.”
Ginjima's eyes lit up like stars and he turned to look up at Aran.
“Can I?”, he asked eagerly, grey ears pinpoint sharp.
“If you feel ready for it”, Aran agreed with a chuckle.
“Yes, I am ready! I waited weeks for this day! Thank you!”
Without warning the young fox jumped into Aran's arms, a huge grin plastered on his face, his tail's fur ruffled and spiky with excitement.Kita was surprised when Ginjima also bounded over to give him an equally big hug a moment later.
“Thank you, Kita-san.”
The kitsune smiled, his gaze turning soft as he returned the hug.
“You're welcome.”
“Let's go right now”, Aran decided once Ginjima had let go of the white fox. “Then we are done just before lunch, I think. I just need my notes and your personal sheet, hang on...”
The black fox looked through the shelves in the little room but couldn't seem to find what he was looking for.
“Where the hell are- ah, I left them in one of the private rooms.”
“I will get them for you”, Kita offered. “You two go ahead and I'll join you in a minute. You can talk Hitoshi through all the exercises until then.”
“Yes, thank you, Shinsuke.”
The two foxes left and Kita could already hear Ginjima bombard his poor friend with lots of questions about the examination.He couldn't help the amused curl of his lips but hurried to get the things Aran needed.
Out of all the places on the whole temple grounds the private rooms were the ones where Kita spent the least time by far.
Fox-shifters were social creatures and there rarely was a night the clan didn't spend together in the big sleeping quarters. It was second nature to them and one of the reasons why they were getting along so well. Kita already missed the warmth and snoring from all of his foxes if he just spent one night on his own.
But he got why the private rooms could be of good use and the rooms themselves weren't the reason Kita didn't like to come here.
It was the magically sealed door at the end of the hallway that made him restless whenever he laid eyes on it.
His grandma had never mentioned the room to him before so he had no idea what was behind the door. He didn't even know if he wanted to know.It had been locked ever since he'd arrived here all these years ago but every now and again he would try to open it (when his curiosity got the best of him).
He tried not to look at it now as he went straight for the door of the first room, which was the one Aran retreated to whenever he needed to think or write down things in his notebooks.
But once he had everything he needed and slid the door shut behind him his eyes did stray over to the sealed door.
Damn it.
His fingertips were itching and he found that he was actually curious if he could do it this time because of how his magic abilities had improved.But somehow he knew that it wouldn't work this time either.
Once he had gotten a little stronger perhaps.Maybe he would just know when he was ready.And if not then he would keep on trying.But not today.
More important things waited.
He gave the door one last look before he left to join Ginjima and Aran for the examination.
-
It was sometime in the early evening when Kita sat down in the long shadows of the temple gates with a content little sigh.He'd finished his work in the fields for the day and he was proud of all the work he and his foxes had managed to do in the past weeks.It was nearly back to normal and he really hoped their hard work had paid off and that they would only lose a small part of their harvest to the damage done by the storm.
He was optimistic though and took a moment to just close his eyes and enjoy the quiet around him.He picked up on the distant sound of a bird singing, the wind caressing the leafs on top of the trees' crowns, rustling them softly.
He knew Aran and Riseki were already in the kitchen preparing dinner. He could make up the faint sizzling noise of something being fried and a moment later the delicious smell of meat being cooked in sesame oil wafted over to him.
It wouldn't be long until all the other foxes returned from their duties and Kita enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere while he could.
He let his head rest against the wooden pillar behind him and looked skywards.
Only a couple of stray clouds passed by as the blue slowly turned darker.Behind Kita on the horizon it looked like someone had dipped the sky into red and orange paint, the colourful swirls making for a breathtaking sight.
The kitsune took a deep breath and send a silent thank you to the Old Gods that he and his clan were living such a good life.In quiet moments like these Kita often realized how grateful he was for all he had and for all that they had managed to build for themselves over the years.And it was going so well at the moment.
He was still struggling with his training and his shoulder was anything but okay but he managed.His clan thrived, Ginjima was healthy again and soon summer would come.Kita knew it would still be about two months of course, but he looked forward to it everyday.
His thoughts came to a halt when he spotted two birds high up in the sky.They seemed to come from the direction of the Nekoma territory and Kita didn't need to look twice to know that they were some of Karasuno's crows.
Up until now they had always been alone though and the obvious change made Kita uncomfortable.His mind immediately tried to come up with an explanation.
Maybe something had happened and Sawamura-san had deemed it safer if the patrols consisted of at least two shifters or maybe they had finally found a clue in the area and needed all possible eyes to look for the missing crow.
All that sounded plausible to him but he remembered he'd seen the crows this noon already, right before he and Aran had tested Hitoshi's strengths and weaknesses.
The same patrol? Or a different one?
Kita felt unsettled by his unanswerable questions but his thoughts were interrupted when a fox with dark fur came jumping up the stone stairs and stopped at the top, just beside where Kita was sitting.
The big eyes and spiky black fur left no doubt that it was Akagi looking down at him, head cocked to the side.
“Hi Michinari”, Kita smiled but he immediately protested and put his arms up for protection when the fox shook out his fur right where he stood and then flopped down beside him, his head coming to rest in Kita's lap.
“You're lucky I haven't had a bath yet”, he scolded his friend but the black fox had his eyes closed and his tongue was lolling out from his mouth, giving the impression that he was smiling.
“Brat”, he mumbled but let it go and started tickling Akagi under the chin.The older fox immediately started purring and Kita smiled.His gaze returned back to the sky.The crows were still there and he watched them fly over the temple grounds in silence.
Akagi had followed his gaze and a moment later Kita could feel him shift but the fox stayed where he was and Kita kept touching him, his hand wandering to the back of Akagi's neck where he stroked through the shorter hairs repeatedly.
“It's new that the crows are coming out here with more than one shifter, right?”
Kita nodded.
“I noticed it too. Maybe they finally found a clue about the whereabouts of their lost fledgling.”
“I think so too.”
Akagi turned his head, eyes shifting up so he could look at his friend.“You're worried, right?”
“You know I'm nervous whenever I see them.”
“Yeah...”
Akagi briefly nuzzled against his thigh and it helped calm the kitsune's nerves a little. “If they found a clue we can only hope that they find him quickly.”
“I guess you're right.”
Akagi went for a sympathetic smile.
“I know you don't like it and if it bothers you too much we could still talk to Sawamura-san and ask him what all this is about.”
Kita thought about that, his brows furrowed as he tried to imagine that conversation.In the end he shook his head though.
“Let's just hope they will find him soon and leave us alone then.”
“You don't want them to know you're scared.”
The words shouldn't have stung as much as they did because Akagi was right and Kita knew he was right.Some sort of reaction must have shown in his features though because Akagi sat up right away and bowed his head lightly.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”
“No, you're right. You're right... it's just. A knowledge like this could do great damage if it falls into the wrong hands. I don't think Sawamura or the crows are evil in any way. But... my fear is my weak spot. And if I can hide that truth from them I would rather do that. It wouldn't be of any use to tell them just because I don't like seeing their patrols over our clan grounds. I can manage, don't worry about me.”
“The nightmares Ren mentioned two days ago...”
“Yeah... you guessed it. I dreamed about the crows. Well, not them in particular. Just dark figures with huge wings...”
Pictures from his hazy dreams flashed before his eyes but before he lost sight of the here and now he felt Akagi hugging him close.Kita blinked and looked down to find his friend's arms circled around his waist, his face pressed into his chest.The touch was gentle, warm but also steadying.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to remind you of them.”
“It's okay, I'm here. I'm with you.”
Kita wrapped his good arm around the fox' shoulders and they stayed close for a while.The memories of his bad dreams faded away as quickly as they had come.
“Thank you.”
“Don't mention it.”
Akagi let go then and smiled up at his friend.“Let's go take a quick bath, dinner will be ready soon. Aran promised he and Riseki would cook more than usual so we can have food to snack on later when we watch the meteor shower.”
Kita's mood lightened as he was reminded of what they had planned for tonight.
“That sounds great, let's go.”
Akagi jumped up immediately and offered his hand to Kita who let himself be pulled up.The two friends strolled across the courtyard and into the main building, collecting some fresh clothes before disappearing into the bathhouse.
Atsumu easily picked up Kita's and Akagi's lingering scents at the gates as he returned home.The sky was already a dark blue and the young fox hurried to get inside.
He quickly sniffed the collar of his yukata but Hinata's scent was only very faint and he was sure the heavy and delicious smell of the fried meat he could already make out would distract everyone's noses anyway.Still, he would wash his clothes and take a bath after dinner.
Atsumu sat down between his brother and Oomimi when he entered the dining room and only moments later Aran and Riseki brought all the dishes so they could start to eat.Atsumu was hungry because he'd been on his feet since sunrise and had hurried to do all his tasks so he could spend some time with Hinata under the guise of taking a walk on his own.
The dining room was alive and full of chatter but Atsumu found his thoughts had wandered back to Hinata a couple of times since he'd left to go back home a while ago.
'I will leave tomorrow.'
That's what Hinata had said to him earlier.That one simple sentence had made Atsumu feel sick but he'd known the day was close.And what could he do but try to accept it?
He repressed a heavy sigh and forced himself to munch on a spoonful of rice while trying to look interested in the story his brother was currently telling.
He got through dinner fine in the end and his bath was nice and relaxing too but as he walked through the temple afterwards something felt off.
He felt off.
A picture of the orange-haired shifter shot through his mind and Atsumu could only sigh longingly, knowing he couldn't go back again today as it would be too suspicious.
“Is everything alright, Atsumu?”
The young fox jumped at Kita's unexpected voice, unable to hide his fright.The white kitsune stood in the open door that led to the small garden, arms folded, a concerned look in his eyes.
“You scared me”, Atsumu accused weakly.
“I apologize”, the kitsune answered, walking over with light steps.
They walked side by side for a moment, Kita still waiting for an answer and Atsumu avoiding his leader's eyes while his heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest.
“Do you not feel like talking?”
Atsumu hated how quiet and careful the older fox' voice sounded but he nodded his head.He realized he'd love to tell Kita all about what was going on. He had always done that when things had gotten too much for him to handle and even Osamu couldn't help him.
Hell, he'd love to tell Osamu too.
Atsumu knew he felt something deeper than just friendship for the crow. He'd known for a little while but today he had given up on trying to convince himself otherwise.
Osamu would understand his weird feelings for Hinata, right? Had he felt the same way when he'd realized he had fallen for Suna?
Atsumu doubted it but he wanted to tell someone and if just so he wasn't alone with it anymore.It was hard on him because he knew he couldn't. Maybe he shouldn't too.
What if nobody understood him?When he eventually spilled his secret he would get in more than enough trouble. Admitting to Kita that he'd fallen in love with the shifter he'd kept hidden from them could make him lose the kitsune's trust entirely.
Kita watched Atsumu's troubled expression with worry but decided not to ask further questions.Atsumu would talk to him eventually, he always did.Although he was surprised that it was taking the young fox so long to share what was on his mind.
“Would you like to join me for a little bit of moving meditation?”, he asked instead, successfully shaking Atsumu out of whatever brooding thoughts he'd had.
The young fox hesitated and for a moment Kita thought he would decline his offer.But then Atsumu agreed and Kita smiled.
“Come on then, let's go the shrine.”
Atsumu lit the two big lanterns once they arrived and both he and Kita bowed deeply and spoke a couple of words to their ancestors and the Old Gods before they got into position side by side and Kita started leading Atsumu through some easy moves to start off.
Atsumu hadn't done this for a while but the moves were still familiar and he could feel the slight ache from the earlier training session in his muscles with every new stretch.It felt good though and Atsumu was able to concentrate on himself without his thoughts wandering back to Shoyo for once.
“Focus on your breath”, Kita advised and Atsumu nodded wordlessly.
The spring air had cooled off as the two foxes did their exercises but they weren't cold. Atsumu concentrated on each inhale and exhale, on the correct execution of each figure and was surprised when Kita announced that they were done after only a relatively short while.
“I apologize but my shoulder has started to ache again and Aran said I should stop when that happens.”
The kitsune sat down in front of the fox statue and Atsumu followed his example.Kita saw that he was much more relaxed now and dared to ask a question again.
“Do you want to tell me what's on your mind, cub?”
Atsumu bit his lip, his thoughts instantly rushing back to Hinata and he shook his head.
“Then can I do anything for you?”
Atsumu raised his head and shyly glanced over to his leader who looked back at him openly, golden eyes gentle in the low light of the lanterns.A strong feeling rose in Atsumu's chest, one that made his heart ache and his eyes well up just the tiniest bit.
“Can we just-”Atsumu stopped and cleared his throat because his voice had been too high pitched, too close on the verge of breaking.He took a deep breath and lowered his voice.“Can we just cuddle? Like... like old times?”
“Of course. Come here.”
Kita opened his arms and Atsumu scrambled over to him within a heartbeat.The younger fox knew fair well that he had outgrown Kita by now and he almost felt bad as he climbed into the kitsune's lap, wrapped his arms and legs around him and buried his face against his good shoulder.
But Kita didn't seem to mind at all.He held Atsumu close, his arms warm and secure around Atsumu's shoulders and lower back.His tails moved to stroke over Atsumu's arms and legs in soothing motions.
After a moment Kita's icy scent thickened and the tension in Atsumu's rigid body slowly bled away as he inhaled the familiar scent deeply, nose coming up to press against the kitsune's gland.His breathing calmed down and he was able to blink the tears away.It was remarkable, the effect Kita's scent had on him, how well it was able to calm him down every time.
The leader smiled softly when Atsumu slumped further into his hold with a little sigh.“There you go”, he encouraged, his hands starting to draw circles into Atsumu's back.Kita only felt one of Atsumu's ears flick against his hair in response but he took it as a good sign.
His own ears twitched when he heard scuffling, footsteps and voices coming from the main building, increasing in volume as they got closer.A moment later the big double doors were pushed open and a couple of the foxes piled out. Kita could see that they were carrying mats and pillows and bowls and plates with snacks.
Atsumu moved his head, sneaking a glance over his shoulder to see what the others were doing, a pout on his lips because how dare they interrupt this moment?
“What are they doing?”, he mumbled, brows furrowed in confusion.
“They are setting everything up to watch the meteor shower tonight”, Kita explained as he and Atsumu watched Osamu, Kosaku and Suna debate on something, pointing fingers in different directions. “I told you about it at breakfast this morning, remember?”
Atsumu opened his mouth, a lie already forming on the tip of his tongue but it melted away as he watched his friends scurry across the courtyard with different items.He didn't remember Kita's words or anything else from this morning to be honest.He'd thought about the training lesson briefly but then his mind had already wandered back to a certain crow.
“I guess I forgot”, he admitted quietly.
“Don't worry about it”, Kita answered easily. “You know now, don't you?”
They kept watching in silence for a while, Kita never loosened his hold on the young fox.
“Do you want to join them?”
Atsumu shook his head against Kita's shoulder.
“Can we stay a little bit longer?”
“Of course, cub”, the kitsune smiled.
“I heard Aran and Akagi made extra food to share”, he added after a while. “And we can all cuddle up later when it gets really cold.”
Atsumu knew it was an indirect invitation to stay close to his leader if he wanted to.Kita probably thought it could help him deal with whatever was going on. Atsumu wasn't so sure if it would but he found himself nodding anyway.
“That would be nice”, he added quietly and even managed a small smile directed at Kita.
The kitsune touched his nose to Atsumu's forehead gently, eyes closed but a matching little smile on his lips.
“Anything you need.”
Atsumu knew Kita meant his words and a wave of gratitude crashed down on him so hard he almost teared up again.
He was so lucky to be living with Inarizaki.He'd always known that.But he only truly realized it only now.
Why had he been so unhappy just a little while ago when they gave him security and comfort whenever he needed it?
“Thank you...”
If Kita had noticed the crack in his voice he didn't say anything.
They stayed until Atsumu had sorted out his thoughts and the tears that had threatened to spill this whole time had gone away for good.
Atsumu took a deep, steadying breath.Whatever would happen soon he knew now he could get through it. His clan would be there for him, they always have been, each of them in their own way.Osamu would understand his feelings for Hinata and Kita would forgive him when he told him everything.
He had to believe in that until the time had come to spill the truth.What would happen after that he couldn't say for sure. He just hoped they would have some kind of understanding for his reasons.
“Can we... can we go and join the others now?”, Atsumu asked quietly, finally pulling back a little to scrub over his eyes and cheeks.
“Of course.”
They got up and walked down the steps of the shrine together, taking one of the lanterns with them.
“Oh, looks like they have built one giant nest for all of us to share”, the kitsune said, a loving smile curling his lips at the sight before him. A huge pile of mats, pillows and blankets had been built in the center of the courtyard and various clan members had already made themselves comfortable somewhere in there.
Atsumu looked for Osamu first and couldn't help but roll his eyes when he saw he had already snuggled up with Suna. It was a miracle that none of the others had called them out on their 'secret' yet because both of them were being way too obvious lately.
The thought dissipated when Ginjima waved at them and both Atsumu and Kita joined him in the center of the soft pile.
“Hey Hitoshi”, Atsumu grinned and flopped down onto one of the huge pillows. “I heard you did well in your examination.”
The grey fox' eyes started to shine immediately at the words.
“Yeah! It was so cool!”, he burst out. “Aran said with my skill level I will have caught up to all of you in no time! So you better be prepared 'Tsumu because I'm coming for ya!”
“ Oh, is that so?”, Atsumu grinned, his own eyes twinkling with mischief, the tone in his voice challenging.
A heartbeat later and the two were already squabbling playfully, messing up the previously arranged pillows and mats in mere seconds.They got dangerously close to a bowl of rice balls and would have definitely broken it if Aran hadn't shown up just in time.
“Be careful, you two!”, he scolded, picking both of them up by the collars of their yukatas, not unlike a parent would pick up their wayward cubs.
“Oh, sorry, Aran-kun!”, Atsumu said with a huge innocent grin.
Aran just sighed and Kita laughed quietly.
“Sorry”, Ginjima repeated but bowed his head and immediately cuddled up to Aran's side when the black fox had gotten comfortable.
Atsumu wasn't sure where he should lay down but then he saw Kita patting the space between Ginjima and himself and Atsumu gladly weaseled his way over and buried his face in one of the pillows.
Kosaku and Akagi joined them a while later.Oomimi and Riseki sat nearby playing some music for everyone.
Oomimi strummed the strings of his shamisen with eased practice while Riseki's play of the hocchiku was still a little wobbly at times.But they had fun and Atsumu relaxed more easily listening to the music.
Osamu tapped his leg to pass him a bowl of dried meat pieces but when Atsumu reached to grab it his twin wouldn't let go.Confused, Atsumu met his brother's dark eyes.
“Is everything okay?”, the silver fox whispered. “I saw you with Kita-san earlier. Did something happen?”
Atsumu shook his head.“Nah, everything's fine, 'Samu. No need to worry about me.”He smiled and it must have been convincing enough because Osamu let go of the bowl.“If you say so...”
“I just didn't want to bother you because you were with Suna”, Atsumu quickly tried to convince him. “It's nothing, really.”
Osamu gave another nod and turned back to his boyfriend who seemed to be dozing already.Atsumu just hoped he had been convincing.
He laid back down and nestled up against Kita's side a little.For a while he closed his eyes and just listened to the music and the quiet chatter all around him.
When Akagi excitedly claimed he'd seen the first meteor Atsumu opened his eyes again and stared into the night sky, lit up by so many stars.The sight was soothing but Atsumu also felt very small all of a sudden.
Kita's presence helped grounding him and he wiggled a little bit closer again.The kitsune started purring and his calming scent got stronger.
Within minutes everyone seemed to have gotten closer – most likely pulled in by their leader's scent - because suddenly Atsumu was warm and a small purr was coming from his own chest.Ginjima was there right next to him, Oomimi and Riseki stopped playing to join their friends too once more meteors started to light up the sky for a few precious heartbeats.
“Don't forget to make a wish”, Aran reminded them. “It is said that wishes you tell to falling stars are going to become true.”
“Do we have to say it out loud?”, Osamu wondered, his head sticking up from somewhere in the pile so he could look over at Aran.
The black fox chuckled and shook his head.“No but if you want to that's alright. If you'd rather keep it to yourself that's fine too.”
Atsumu, who too had looked at his mentor, slowly let his gaze wander back up to the stars.
He knew what he wished for already.He wanted to keep seeing Shoyo.He couldn't imagine never seeing him again, the thought alone scared him.
So when he caught sight of a shooting star next he quickly pressed his palms flat together, closed his eyes and silently spoke his wish to the stars.
'Please help me so I can keep seeing Shoyo.'
A couple of seconds passed before Atsumu opened his eyes again.Was there a sign somewhere that the stars had heard him?He thought about asking Aran about it and the question was already on the tip of his tongue but when he looked over the older fox was silently making his own wish and Atsumu didn't dare to interrupt him.
Then an arm wrapped around his shoulders and before he could say something he was being pulled back into Kita's side.Surprised he glanced up and saw the white fox smiling down at him.
“The stars can hear you”, he mumbled as if he'd guessed what Atsumu had wanted to ask.
The words sounded like a promise and Atsumu found that he believed them.He gave a small nod and Kita's smile widened a fraction.He touched his nose to Atsumu's forehead and the younger fox relaxed, the purring starting back up again.
Oomimi then started telling the clan about all kinds of constellations and their names and to everyone's surprise Suna added to it here and there.
The twins looked at him in wonder. Neither of them had known that their old friend knew anything about these things.But Suna, mysterious as he was, didn't explain how he knew any of that. He just grinned and acted like everything was as normal as always.
All together they tried to find all the constellations visible in the sky and once they couldn't find any anymore they made up new ones for fun.
Atsumu laughed and had lots of fun even if he didn't speak most of the time.He felt that wave of gratitude again and was endlessly thankful that he had his little family.It brought a genuine smile to his face.
Kita saw and was relieved to see Atsumu smile again.One of his small, honest smiles, not the big boisterous grin he loved to show on a daily basis.
The kitsune reached over and carded through Atsumu's soft golden hair, before he briefly scratched at the base of his skull.Atsumu closed his eyes, still smiling.
The clan stayed out even as it started to get cold.They barely even noticed because they had formed one big, warm cuddle pile.
Atsumu could have easily fallen asleep.
He was actually dozing off when a distant owl hoot startled him awake again.
Instantly his thoughts flew back to Hinata and he wished he could watch the stars with him too.
Something like guilt crushed him when he realized that Hinata was out there alone while he was safe and sound back with his clan.The poor boy was probably freezing and longed to go home.
Atsumu should have never let him stay this long.
He should have just told Kita and taken on the punishment the leader decided to give him for doing something like this.
Shoyo should be home with his own clan.He should be watching the stars with them too.
Atsumu sat up, his chest feeling tight all of a sudden and he tried to take deep breaths to ease the uncomfortable feeling.It didn't help much and so he mumbled a “I'm gonna get somethin' ta drink” to no one in particular before he tiptoed his way out of the pile and back into the main building.
Atsumu headed straight for the kitchen and downed a big cup of water to try and set his mind straight again.
He wanted to see Shoyo.He wanted it so bad he could feel his heart ache in his chest and tears prick at the corners of his eyes.The more he fought the idea the more it hurt.
But he couldn't disappear now, could he?
The only chance to keep his composure enough to last until he could meet Shoyo tomorrow was to cuddle up to Kita and not leave his side again.
He'd preferred to be with his brother if he was being honest but Osamu was too close to Suna and Atsumu didn't want the other fox to notice that something was not right.He couldn't risk the questions, not when it was such a big secret.Osamu would wonder why he was down too but his brother knew better than to push it when Atsumu was not in the mood to talk.But Suna? Atsumu wasn't so sure.
So he took a couple of deep breaths and waited in the dark kitchen for a while. Once he felt like he could go out again without breaking down he moved towards the door that led to the small garden where Kita often sat and read in his magic book.It would be shorter that way.
“We've been away for a while, shouldn't we go back?”
Atsumu stopped dead in his tracks.
Suna.
He didn't even have to see who he was talking to.He heard his brother chuckle in response before he answered.
“Just a little longer.”
They must be out in the garden and Atsumu risked a quick glance through the little window on the outside wall.There he caught a glimpse of the two shifters.
They sat by the pond. Osamu was sitting comfortably in Suna's lap, his hands resting on his broad shoulders.Suna had his arms linked behind Osamu's waist and they smiled at each other.
“I'm pretty sure they all know what's going on by now”, Suna teased and pressed a small kiss to the silver fox' cheek.
“I don't care. I don't want them to see when I kiss my boyfriend like this...”
Osamu's hands had wandered to the back of Suna's neck so he could easily pull him in for a kiss.Suna complied and pressed his lips to Osamu's lovingly.He tightened his grip around Osamu's body and pulled him down into the grass with him, never breaking the kiss.
Atsumu tore his gaze away and quickly exited the kitchen through the other door.His heart had sunken in his chest and it felt heavy but there also was something like a sting just where his heart rested inside his ribcage.It felt like poison and Atsumu recognized what it was just as he stepped back out of the building.
Envy.
He remembered he had denied it when Osamu had confronted him about his weird behaviour on their hunt but back then he hadn't been jealous or envious.
Now he was.Because there was someone he wanted to kiss like that.Someone he wanted to be kissed by.
Shoyo.
Atsumu's feet had moved before he had the chance to understand his own action and he found himself kneeling at Kita's side next, shaking him by the arm gently.
“Atsumu? What is it?”
The kitsune's golden eyes looked him up and down, he could probably smell the distress coming from the older twin.
“Can I... can I go for a run? I-I know it's the middle of the night but I n-need to clear my head. Please.”
Anxiously and with his hands clasped tightly in his lap he waited for an answer, praying that his leader would allow him to leave.Kita seemed calm as ever but Atsumu saw the worry reflected in his eyes and feared that he would say no.
“Let him go, it's okay.”
Surprised, Atsumu turned around to see Aran looking at him.The older fox must have heard him and Atsumu didn't miss the glance he exchanged with Kita and the small nod that followed.
“Alright”, Kita agreed hesitantly. “But be back by morning, okay?”
Atsumu nodded eagerly.“I promise.”
He leaned forward and nuzzled up against Kita's neck for a moment, seeking out that soothing scent, knowing that it would give him the strength he needed.
Kita briefly stroked his right ear and then Atsumu got up and made his way out of the nest again.The golden fox mumbled a “thank you” to Aran who smiled in return and squeezed Atsumu's hand before the young shifter walked towards the red gates.
Atsumu willed himself to walk slowly until he was out of sight.At the bottom of the stairs he shifted and ran off into the night.
“Why did you let him go?”, Kita asked and he couldn't help the chiding tone coming through in his words.
“Look.”
The black fox nodded his head in the direction of the main building. Kita followed with his eyes and caught sight of Osamu and Suna.They were half hidden behind one of the pillars still but Shinsuke didn't miss Suna's messy hair and the blush colouring Osamu's cheeks a shade darker. They giggled quietly and Osamu leaned up to plant a small kiss to Suna's mouth.
“Ah, I see.”
'He must have seen them.'
“He will be fine”, Aran whispered. “These runs seem to help lately. When he comes back he'll feel better again. You'll see.”
Kita nodded but his gaze wandered back to the gates where Atsumu had disappeared out of sight.The leader would do anything to help his cub but maybe this was something that Atsumu could only do on his own.
He didn't know why the realization hurt at first and he moved over so he could be closer to Aran. Ginjima had fallen asleep between them, probably all tuckered out from his examination, and Shinsuke kept quiet to not disturb him.
“It's weird how much he's grown, isn't it?”
Kita never knew how Aran was able to read his mind and he huffed a quiet sigh in response.
“Out of all the younger ones he was always the most dependent on me. But you're right, he's grown a lot. I suppose it will just take a while to get used to it...”
“And that's fine.”Oomimi had appeared behind Kita and pulled him gently into his chest for a cuddle.The leader's eyes fluttered shut and a brief smile bloomed on his face.
“Yeah... in the morning he will be back and everything will be fine. Sharing his twin is still hard for him most likely... but he can take care of himself.”
He briefly looked up at the stars once more and spoke a silent prayer to the Gods because despite his words he still worried about him deep down.
Watch over him, please.
-
On the other side of the clan grounds Hinata startled awake.His heart pounded so fast he could hear it in his ears and the young crow forced himself to breathe in deeply through his nose and out of his mouth.
What had woken him up?
His eyes cut from one side of the cave to the other but no one was there.Then he heard footsteps outside his hideout and the panic returned.
It was still the middle of the night, who could that be?Shoyo wasn't sure he wanted to find out.But hiding away and possibly going down without a fight wasn't an option either so he grabbed the next best thing – the wooden bowl he and Atsumu used to mix the medicine in – and quickly hid in the shadows by the entrance of the cave.
He wrapped his black wings around his body so he was merging with the shadows and waited, the bowl held between tense fingers.
The steps came to a halt just in front of the cave and Shoyo held his breath.A hand came into view and the crow watched as it came to rest against the stone wall right above his head.
He tightened his grip on the bowl once more, took a deep breath and crushed the bowl down on the fingers as hard as he could.
The intruder yelped and pulled his hand back as soon as Shoyo let him.The crow forced out a quick breath, squared his shoulders and jumped out of the shadows, ready to attack again.
He caught sight of a figure cowering in the moonlight, holding their shaking fingers.Hinata growled and was about to swing at them again but then the figure raised their head.Their eyes met and Shoyo recognized Atsumu but he couldn't stop his movements anymore and a split second later the bowl collided with Atsumu's forehead.
Shoyo had been able to take some force away from the blow but Atsumu still cried out and covered the spot with both hands.
“Atsumu-san!”
Hinata dropped the bowl and knelt down in front of his friend, frantic hands reaching out to touch his arms, his shoulders, his face.
“Oh Gods, Atsumu-san, I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else!”
“Who else would I possibly be?”, Atsumu asked through gritted teeth, still fighting against the pain blooming on his forehead and the pain in his shaking fingers.
“I don't know! But why were you sneaking around like that?”
“I thought you were sleeping!”
“And what, you didn't want to wake me up?”
“Yes! No!”
“You could have just called my name and I would have known it was you!”
Shoyo cocked his head to the side when Atsumu failed to answer something.
“What is going on, Atsumu-san?”, he asked, keeping his voice quiet and calm because somehow the fox seemed upset. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
For the first time Atsumu dared to look up at his friend and he slowly lowered his hands down into his lap.
“I wanted to see you because...”
Shoyo waited patiently for Atsumu to finish that sentence but the fox seemed to struggle with his words.
Atsumu hesitated to say what had been so clear on his mind earlier now that the crow was directly in front of him.But he had to say something and so he resorted to some sort of half-truth.
“You see, we were watching the meteor shower earlier, the whole clan together. And it was nice and comfortable and warm but then... then I had to think of you and that you're out here alone and probably freezing and... I just wanted to see if you're okay.”
For a moment Shoyo was dumbfounded and could just blink at the fox.But then a soft smile appeared on his lips and he reached out to take Atsumu's left hand, the one that was still intact.
“And you ran all the way here in the middle of the night just to see if I am fine?”
He could see Atsumu's shoulders tense but he just nodded without words.
“I'm okay, I promise. It is a little cold but it's only the middle of spring and I still have your blanket so I'll be fine.”
Hinata's smile faded a little bit.“Although I miss sleeping next to all my clan mates...”
'And I miss them...'
Atsumu didn't know what to answer but then an idea came to his mind.
“Would you go and grab the blanket? I want to show you something.”
“Now?”, Hinata asked, surprised.
“Yeah. In fact, we have to hurry if we want to see it. Come on.”
“O-Okay”, Hinata agreed.
He hadn't left this place since the day Atsumu had brought him here after the storm and his heart pounded as he grabbed the thick blanket and tucked it under his arm.
Outside Atsumu was inspecting his hurt fingers in the dim moonlight.
A wave of shame set Shoyo's cheeks ablaze and his stomach dropped with guilt when he saw the digits still shaking lightly.
“I'm so sorry I attacked you. Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
“A little”, Atsumu admitted but he gave Shoyo a smile that seemed genuine. “It will be fine though. It's nothing too bad. Come on.”
He held out his good hand for Shoyo to take and the young crow smiled shyly as the fox pulled him along.
It should have been scary to walk through the forest at night in an area he wasn't familiar with but the moon and the stars provided them with enough light to see all the small paths clearly and with Atsumu's warm hand holding onto him safely he didn't feel unsettled at all.
Atsumu steered them along a path just short of the edge of the forest not far from the river. Both shifters could still hear the water running through it's deep bed.
“Where are we going?”, Shoyo asked after a little while.
“Somewhere we can see the stars”, Atsumu answered and threw a grin over his shoulder. “We're almost there.”
The fox changed directions a minute later and led Shoyo out to a small rocky cliff right next to the river.No trees blocked their sight anymore and the two of them stood there for a while, just admiring the stars silently with shining eyes.
Suddenly Shoyo gasped and pointed into the night sky.“A shooting star! I saw it! Right there!”
Atsumu smiled and nodded.“Yeah, as I said there is a meteor shower tonight”, he explained. “When we all watched it together earlier I just...”The young fox swallowed and glanced at his friend who turned to him then, waiting for an answer.
“I just didn't want you to miss this.”
Hinata's eyes went a little wider and Atsumu had to force himself not to look away shyly. His face grew warm but the crow smiled at him, his eyes sparkling and Atsumu could have screamed with happiness when Shoyo slowly intertwined their fingers.
“Thank you, Atsumu-san”, he whispered, never breaking eye contact.
Atsumu just squeezed his hand with a smile and then looked back up at the stars.If he looked at Hinata for one more second he would probably start to giggle or something embarrassing like that and he would rather avoid that.
Shoyo took a step forward and peeked over the edge of the cliff.It wasn't a huge drop, maybe two to three metres, he couldn't say for sure in the dark but Atsumu gently pulled him back.
“Be careful”, he said, fingers squeezing a little tighter.
“My wing has healed you know? I won't fall”, Shoyo teased but let Atsumu lead the way to an even area on the rocks, a good few metres away from the cliff.
“Yeah but you still need to get home safely.”
He took the blanket from Shoyo and spread it out so they could sit comfortably.
It had gotten quite cool and so they sat close together, their arms pressing up against each other.Shoyo slipped his fingers in between Atsumu's again.
They two shifters shared a shy smile and then they looked up at the stars together once more.
The atmosphere was weirdly electric but not uncomfortably so. Atsumu felt what were unmistakeably butterflies in his stomach and his fingers tingled (although that could have been from Shoyo's earlier attack with the bowl as well).He gave up trying to fight the small smile that kept creeping back onto his face after a while and felt himself truly relax for the first time that night.
When Shoyo leaned his head onto his shoulder after a while Atsumu's heart pounded against his ribs like crazy and he prayed to the Gods that the crow wouldn't notice.After a minute he was brave enough to lean his head against Shoyo's.
They watched the stars in silent company, sharing what little warmth they had while pointing up and showing each other the shooting stars they had caught sight of.
“Aran said if you tell a wish to a falling star it will become reality”, Atsumu revealed when they hadn't seen a new light for a while.
“Really?”, Hinata asked quietly, amazed.
“I mean I don't know. But I made a wish earlier and... I really hope that it will be granted to me.”
Atsumu lowered his gaze down to their intertwined hands and briefly gnawed on his bottom lip.
“I'm sure it will.”
Hinata smiled softly at him when he looked up and just like with Kita's words from before Atsumu realized he believed Hinata too.
“I should make one as well. You'll never know if the Gods grant you what you long for.”
Shoyo waited with baited breath for the next meteor to show up and when it did he quickly shut his eyes and made a silent wish.Atsumu was dying to know what he had asked the Gods for but ultimately he held his tongue.
The crow would have said it out loud if he'd wanted Atsumu to hear.
It didn't bother him though and it was already forgotten when Hinata leaned back into him, one of his wings unfolding to wrap around both of them protectively.Atsumu's tail sneaked around Hinata's waist in return.
Neither shifter commented on it, they just stayed close.Atsumu realized that he didn't even feel cold anymore after a while and buried his smile in Hinata's messy orange hair.
Shoyo squeezed his hand but let out a long yawn next.
“Should we go back?”, Atsumu asked in a whisper.It was the last thing he wanted to do but he also didn't want Shoyo to stay out here with him if he was too tired.He would return home tomorrow and needed his sleep.
“Nah”, the crow mumbled. “It's nice out here. Let's stay a while longer, okay?”
“Okay”, Atsumu agreed easily and pulled the little crow in some more.He wrapped the edges of the blanket around their legs so they wouldn't freeze and smiled when Shoyo let out a content sigh.
Atsumu's eyes drifted back up to the constellations and he asked himself what tomorrow would bring.
Would he dare to tell his clan the truth already?Would he wait some more?What would happen when he'd have to say goodbye to Shoyo for now?
The fox' all-over-the-place thoughts kept him awake and he was only able to snap out of them when eventually Shoyo's head dropped against his collarbone.His ears picked up on a soft snore.
The crow had fallen asleep.
Atsumu's heart soared and he wanted nothing more than to drop a kiss into Shoyo's hair, maybe against his temple or forehead.But he stopped himself.
Shoyo should be awake when Atsumu decided to kiss him.It wouldn't be fair otherwise.
He did bury his nose in the orange strands for a long moment though.He could be a little selfish once in a while, right?
Then he carefully manoeuvred them around so they where lying on the blanket and Shoyo's head was resting on his upper arm.Atsumu didn't want his friend to sleep with his head on the rocks.
Weirdly enough, the thought of going home didn't cross Atsumu's mind even once.Spending as much time with Shoyo as he could was all he could think about.
Shoyo turned in his sleep so he wouldn't lay on and crush his wings beneath him and Atsumu went red as a strawberry when the crow threw a leg over his waist and had one arm coming up to rest on his chest.
He almost expected Shoyo to wake up from all the movement but the crow settled down straight away again and his snoring started back up a moment later.
Hesitantly the fox slung one arm around Hinata's waist and put the other behind his head so he too could rest somewhat comfortably.
He kept watching his friend and couldn't help but feel touched that he trusted him so much that he could fall asleep like that in his presence.At least Atsumu hoped that was the reason and not because Shoyo missed all his clan mates and the physical contact.
Again he asked himself what he would do when Hinata returned home.
Would he be able to cope well?Would they find a way to keep seeing each other?
Atsumu knew fair well that it was more than friendship he felt for Shoyo by now.And he just hoped that Shoyo felt the same way.
They hadn't had much time together but they had grown close quickly and had shared things about their clans, memories from their childhoods and secrets about silly little things.Atsumu had never felt this connected to another shifter before, Osamu being the exception because they were twins obviously.If Shoyo felt the same as Atsumu then he was sure that they would find a way to stay together.Atsumu prayed that it would be that way.
Against all the odds and the countless thoughts still whirling around in his mind Atsumu did find his eyes fluttering shut after a while.
He caught sight of a last little shooting star and made a second wish before he fell asleep.A selfish one but hey, he could be selfish once in a while, right?
'One kiss from Shoyo, that's all I ask for.'
-
When Atsumu woke up next the sun was already rising and he gasped, remembering Kita's plea to be back by morning.
Shoyo startled awake when Atsumu moved and the two shifters looked at each other with wide eyes, their noses only centimetres from one another.
“I need to get back”, Atsumu explained.
Shoyo's expression turned into something disappointed for a split second but then he nodded and got up.
Atsumu followed and they dusted themselves off.Shoyo shook out his wings that were glistening with dew drops that pearled off easily.Atsumu's tails had more or less soaked up all the drops and he tried to shake them off with a growl.
Shoyo laughed at him but he picked up the blanket to fold it for easier transportation.
He waited until Atsumu was satisfied and together they made their way back to the little cave.
Atsumu's heart was heavy and so was Shoyo's.The knowledge that they would have to part ways in just a couple of hours weighed heavy on both of them.The silence was suffocating but Atsumu forced himself to say something.
“I will come by later to bid you off. Wait for me until then, okay?”
“Yeah, I will”, Shoyo promised.
He reached over to take Atsumu's hand like he had the night before and the fox gave him a brief but strained smile.Neither of them looked forward to saying goodbye.
“We'll find a way to keep seeing each other.”
The fact that Shoyo spoke the words so openly gave Atsumu hope and the tight feeling in his chest eased enough for him to breathe.
“Yeah, we will. No matter what.”
Hand in hand they left the small cliff behind, both of them silently hoping that they wouldn't lose whatever it was that was between them.
Neither of them noticed the big primary feather with little orange spots left behind at the cliff, caught up in between two rocks, swaying in the gentle morning breeze.
Osamu's ears twitched when they picked up on the sound of claws scratching across stone and he jolted awake from his half-slumber.
A sigh of relief made it's way past his lips because Atsumu was back – finally - and he stretched until his bones gave a satisfying crack, then he jumped down from the stone statue next to the red gate where he'd dozed off on and waited until Atsumu had reached the top.
At first glance his brother seemed the same as ever, maybe a little tired but it was hard to say because Atsumu was still in his animal form, carrying two pigeons between his jaws.
“Tsumu”, Osamu called but his brother had already seen him, put down his prey and shifted back before he walked over to him.
“Have you been awake all night?”, the grey fox asked, not knowing what else to ask first but Atsumu shook his head.
“Nah, slept a little.”He gave a small shrug but smiled and it did look genuinely happy if Osamu was judging it right.“It's fine, don't worry about me.”
Osamu still wasn't convinced though.
“Are you really fine?”
Atsumu raised his eyes so he could look ap at his brother for the first time that morning.Osamu's eyes were dark and Atsumu swallowed when he noticed the barely concealed worry etched into his brother's features.
“You... you were with Kita-san for so long yesterday and you only do that when something's on your mind...”
Atsumu wanted to object but couldn't because his brother was right.With Atsumu being stunned into silence for the moment, Osamu continued.
“Why don't you ever come to me anymore? Is it something so terrible you can't tell your own brother? What it is, 'Tsumu? Please talk to me. I'm... worried about you.”
The golden fox opened his mouth to try and explain but every attempt to speak failed one way or another.
He knew Osamu was upfront about a lot of things, hell, so was he. But this blunt honesty was rare in both of them.
Atsumu bit his lip.He had thought he could deal with all of that later, once Shoyo was off on his journey home.He hadn't even wanted to think about the crow until he'd leave later to bid him off.
“Listen, 'Samu”, Atsumu started quietly, stopping for a moment to try and think of what exactly he could tell him right now.He glanced around to see if anyone was nearby but the courtyard was still empty at this early hour.
Osamu must have waited for his return since at least sunrise, he realized.
“I'll tell you everything. I promise you, okay?”
Osamu met his brother's gaze for a long minute without speaking.He knew when Atsumu spoke the truth but he also knew that that wasn't all he had wanted to say.
“But?”
Atsumu sighed but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.Osamu just knew him too well.
“But you will have to wait until the evening. Promise me, yeah?”
Osamu wanted to protest, wanted to ask why Atsumu wouldn't just talk to him.But if he really only had to wait a few more hours then he could do that.Even if he didn't understand why Atsumu insisted on that specific amount of time to count down before he could share his weird little secret with Osamu.
“Fine”, he grumbled. “But don't run off again like last night again. I was worried.”
“But Aran and the others knew I was gone and I promised Kita-san I'd be back when the sun's up and I am, aren't I? There wasn't any reason to worry.”
Osamu's lip twitched as he wanted to object yet again but he swallowed down his answer and instead stepped closer before he promptly pulled his brother into a tight hug.
“You better have a good reason for all that, you idiot”, he mumbled into his shoulder.
Atsumu didn't answer but squeezed Osamu tighter.The silver fox wasn't sure if the gesture was soothing or if it was worrying him even more.
He took a deep breath, ready to let go as he caught a whiff of an unfamiliar scent on Atsumu's clothes.
It could have easily been brushed off as the smell of Atsumu's prey because the scent did smell like bird.But it was different somehow. Osamu had caught pigeons hundreds of times before, this was why he was taken aback for a moment.
Something was off.
He almost opened his mouth to ask about it but changed his question into a simple “You smell weird” to see Atsumu's reaction.
It was a stupid idea and he knew he was going out on a limb here but his breath got caught in his throat when he saw Atsumu's ear twitch just the slightest bit and his tail jerk from one side to the other once - telltale signs that his brother was nervous.
“It's probably just the smell of those pigeons”, Atsumu tried to brush him off and suddenly he was very eager to get back to his prey and back into the building.
A dark apprehension got a hold of Osamu and made a cold shiver run down his spine but he nodded, deciding to play along for now.
“Yeah, probably. Go take a bath, I'll save you some breakfast.”
“Thanks 'Samu”, Atsumu answered with a smile.
Osamu could see the relief in his brother's eyes crystal clear - Atsumu believed he had convinced him of the lie about the pigeon scent.
Osamu smiled back and it was surprisingly easy to do so when all he really wanted to do was confront his brother until he finally spilled what he had kept from him.
He watched until Atsumu was out of sight, then he had to sit down by the statue again for a moment.
Could it be that Atsumu...?
No.
Even he couldn't be that stupid, could he?
Osamu shook his head and got up to make his way to the dining room where the other foxes would surely already wait for him.
That ominous feeling from before had settled deep in his chest by the time he'd sat down next to Suna and he couldn't seem to get rid of it no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.
'Atsumu promised to explain later. Calm down.'
It didn't help much though and for the rest of the morning Osamu's stomach was in knots.
He kept an eye on his brother from the moment he joined them at the breakfast table but he didn't seem much different from before.He was quiet for most of the time but then again he was probably tired from wandering the clan grounds all night.
Osamu expected his brother to take a nap after breakfast was over.Atsumu had been tasked with cleaning the bathhouse together with Riseki and since no one liked to do that (because it was exhausting and took so long) he thought Atsumu would try to delay it a little by getting another hour of sleep.He could definitely use it.And since Aran had moved their training lesson to this evening nothing would have stopped him.
But Atsumu went up to their youngest fox right after he had helped put away the dishes and together they made their way out of the dining hall and towards the bathhouse.
Osamu scowled but at least Atsumu wasn't trying to run off into the woods again.He would be occupied for a couple of hours at least and Osamu would try to keep an eye on him. He was supposed to be working in the fields with a couple of the other foxes today so it wouldn't be easy but he was adamant to try.
Osamu knew he had promised to wait until the evening, Atsumu had given him his word to tell him everything after all.But Atsumu had lied to him earlier and Osamu couldn't remember a time when he had done it before. Not in that way. Not like he was hiding something.
Atsumu was a bad liar and Osamu had a bad feeling.And when it came to his twin he couldn't just ignore it.
When he left for the fields he only did so reluctantly and he kept glancing back to the pale turquoise walls of the bathhouse as he followed the path leading away from the temple.
The sun was shining down warm on the hard working shifters and on any other day Osamu would have been happy about it.But as he worked hard to get done as fast as he could and sweat dripped down his neck and back he growled with annoyance more than once.
He knew the other foxes had noticed but no one dared to say anything or tease him about it.Osamu was just as snappy as his brother when he was on edge and their clan mates had learned to keep their mouths shut whenever that was the case.Suna would have said something but he was tasked with something else today and Osamu was kind of glad that he wasn't here with him right now.
The grey fox was grateful that the work in the fields kept him busy but he found himself glancing up at the sky often, trying to guess how much time had passed by the path of the sun.He itched to run back to the temple and make sure Atsumu hadn't disappeared yet again and that itch grew worse with each passing minute.
Once he was sure at least three or four hours had passed he abandoned his work and announced that he would go back to grab some water to drink for all of them.
Oomimi gave his okay and Osamu tried not to run as he made his way up the hill and back to the temple grounds.It must be after noon already but the sun had barely reached it's highest point.Surely Atsumu hadn't been able to finish his task yet.He would be there.
Still, Osamu's heart pounded uneasily as he stepped foot on the courtyard.
It was quiet, only Aran was there, busy spreading out some fresh leafs of different plants to dry in the sun.
He didn't seem to notice Osamu's arrival and the silver fox didn't bother greeting him either.Instead he made his way over to the bathhouse with quick steps.
His ears picked up on the sound of scrubbing against the tiles coming from inside and his anxiety lessened a little bit.
But as he opened up the outside door and peeked inside his stomach dropped.
Atsumu was nowhere to be seen.
Only Riseki was there, scrubbing away at a particularly tough patch of dirt on the blue tiles.
“Heisuke?”
The young fox turned his head, his ears straightening up as he caught sight of Osamu.“Hello, Osamu-san”, he greeted him with a smile. “Is it time for lunch already?”
“Not yet, I'm afraid”, Osamu answered and tried to push his anxiety down. “I just wanted to ask if you know where my brother is. I thought he was supposed to work on the bathhouse with you today?”
“Yeah, he was”, the young fox answered. “He worked really fast and then said he'd have to go out and get one more ingredient for Aran-san. Something about medicine for Kita-san. He promised me he would finish up later and that I only need to take care of my half of the room.”
The first two sentences on their own Osamu would have believed.But something about the rest bothered him.
He couldn't quite place it at first.Why would Atsumu interrupt his work to go run off for something as simple as an ingredient for some medicine?Aran could get it himself if he needed it that desperately and he hadn't looked worried at all in the way he'd sorted his herbs and leafs out on the porch.
No, Atsumu had definitely run off again.Osamu just knew.Call it a twin's instinct or something but he needed to go look for Atsumu right now.
“Has he been gone for long?”, Osamu wanted to know, already stepping back towards the door.
“Half an hour at most, I think. Probably less than that.”
“Okay. Thank you, Heisuke. I will send him back here once I've found him.”
If the youngest fox answered something Osamu didn't hear it anymore.Once outside again he looked around, trying to think of what to do now.
Should he just ask Aran if he really had sent Atsumu out to look for an ingredient?But he rejected that idea almost immediately.
If Atsumu had lied then Aran would know that he had run off under the pretence of fulfilling a task the healer had given him personally.And then he would want to know what was up and possibly look for Atsumu himself.
No, Osamu would try to find him before anyone else noticed his brother was gone.It wasn't so much because he wanted to spare Atsumu the trouble if someone found out he had sneaked off but more because he finally needed to know what was going on.
So he shifted into his fox form and sniffed around until he found the freshest trace of Atsumu's scent.As quietly as he could he followed it.Almost instantly he noticed that it went around to the backside of the temple and from there continued on into the forest.
'Of course', the silver fox realized. 'Aran would have seen him if he'd walked out the temple gates.'
He had no doubt that Atsumu was keeping a secret from the clan now. A possibly dangerous secret at that.One that could only be linked to the missing crow.
Osamu wasn't stupid.There were numerous hints by now and on top of that the increased amount of crows patrolling high above their territory was hard to miss.He just hoped that they hadn't found their crow yet, as hard as that sounded.
If Atsumu was with the missing shifter and a patrol saw them he would have no time to explain anything before the crows had torn him to shreds.Osamu needed to reach his brother before anything like that happened.
He needed to try and help.
He ignored the fact that he had no idea what he would even do if he found Atsumu with the crow.And what if he was wrong after all? And Atsumu hadn't done anything wrong all this time?
Osamu shook off all these questions with a growl and followed his brother's scent as fast as he could.
As he ran, more and more things came to his mind and these things made it very hard to believe that Atsumu was innocent.
Osamu remembered the day Akagi, Riseki and he had been sent out to look for the crow. Atsumu had offered to take over the outskirts for them since he hunted there almost every day.
He also looked back on the day Oomimi had asked him to accompany his brother on his hunting trip. It was the day they had fought so viciously and Osamu remembered that Atsumu had chosen a place more in the center of the forest, next to the river – far away from the outskirts - for them to hunt.
Now Atsumu's scent was leading him straight towards the edge of their territory and Osamu's heart dropped even further.That was probably the place the crow had been all along and the reason why none of them had found out about him yet.Because no one apart from Atsumu went there.
He stopped for a moment to catch his breath before he sat down on his hind legs and tried to think.Should he just barge in and confront Atsumu now or wait for him to explain tonight like he had promised?
He weighed his pros and cons and when he couldn't decide after a few minutes he shook his head with a growl and trotted through the trees towards the riverside.
The air was a bit cooler here and cleared his head some as he jumped down the stones to the riverbank to drink.All the running and the work in the fields had made him thirsty and the fresh water was heavenly.
Then he shook out his fur and sat down, wiping the stray droplets from his snout with a paw.
He would wait for Atsumu to explain.But he needed to do it away from the temple because if Osamu was right and Atsumu had something to do with the missing crow and had kept it a secret they would get into an argument for sure. Osamu would yell and he didn't want his clan mates to witness that.
If Atsumu was clever – and he was – he would follow his own scent back home.It was the fastest way.Osamu would wait for him somewhere in the middle and confront him before he could reach the temple.
With his decision finally made he climbed up the rocks again and was ready to look for a spot where he could wait when a strong breeze brought with it a faint but distinct smell.
Atsumu.
The grey fox raised his nose and sniffed again.Yeah, that was unmistakeably his brother but it was only weak and there was something else too.Osamu could barely pick it out but it smelled an awful lot like the scent that had clung to Atsumu's clothes this morning.
Confused he walked up and down the riverbank until he came to a slight lift, so that the rocks formed a small cliff to his left.
Scents didn't linger long in places like these where there was water and a constant breeze and rocks but a little more towards the edge of the forest he found a small even area that still carried Atsumu's scent.And the other one.Osamu presumed it belonged to the missing shifter.
He remembered now the moment he and Suna had gotten back to their clan mates last night and he'd noticed that Atsumu was nowhere to be seen.
So that's where he'd gone.To watch the stars out here with the crow, Osamu mused.
“Damn it, 'Tsumu”, he thought with a desperate growl. “If Karasuno finds out about this...”
The grey fox shook his head.No, he couldn't think about this now.He needed to make sure he knew what he would say when he confronted his brother later.
Atsumu could still deny everything, although Osamu didn't really believe he would do that.
A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention then and he spied a huge black feather stuck between a couple of stones.He trotted over to get a closer look.
It had looked big from a distance but as he stood in front of it now he noticed just how enormous it was.Osamu noticed a couple of orange spots at the silky tip and if he hadn't been feeling like he'd been thrown into cold water he would have probably thought it was beautiful.
But there was absolutely no way this was from a regular bird.This was the ultimate proof.
Atsumu had been here with the crow.His scent proved it.This feather proved it.
Osamu's head was spinning but he cowered down and carefully pulled the feather free from the stones.If he showed this to Atsumu and told him he'd found it here Atsumu had to tell him everything.
So he carefully picked up the feather between his teeth, trying not to damage it, but he had only taken about three steps when suddenly there was loud screeching from above him.Osamu yanked his head back and saw three crows rushing down from the sky at neck-break speed.
The fox jumped back with a panicked yowl and only escaped the sharp talons of the first crow by a few centimetres.
The crow that had tried to attack him gave another impending cry but stayed where it had landed, then it shifted into it's human form.The other two crows had also reached the ground safely and took on their normal appearances as well.
Osamu was rigid with fear while he was also pretty sure he was shaking violently.The heartbeat in his ears was so loud he couldn't hear anything else for a painfully tense moment.
He stayed there for a few seconds, not moving but his fur raised defensively as his eyes watching every little movement the crows made.
Osamu understood then that they wanted to talk and before one of them had the chance to speak up he too shifted back.As he got to his feet he grabbed the feather and didn't let go of it.
“What do you want?”, he asked and hated how his voice was tinged with obvious fear. “You have trespassed into our territory.”
Osamu wasn't small or weak by any chance but as he mustered the three crows he couldn't help but feel intimidated. The crow right in front of him had very short hair and seemed to be the leader of the group. Another one had raven hair and cold fire in his blue eyes while the last one had light hair but the look he gave Osamu made the fox shiver involuntarily.
He'd rather not get into a fight with any of them.
“That feather, show it to me.”
The crow right in front of Osamu had spoken and was now holding out a hand.Their eyes met briefly and Osamu tried hard not to flinch back at the obvious mistrust reflected in the crow's eyes.
He hesitated for a split second.Apparently a split second too long because the young crow with black hair stalked closer and barked: “Hand it over!”
The crow in the middle pushed him backwards but didn't tell him off for snapping like that.He kept waiting with his hand still outstretched.
Osamu handed over the feather with shaky fingers.
All three crow-shifters huddled together to inspect the feather closely.“It's his”, the black-haired one mumbled, eyes wide and almost unbelieving.“You see these orange spots? It is Hinata's. Without a doubt.”
The leader of the small group nodded and focused his sharp gaze back on the grey fox.
“Where is he?”
“W-What?”
“The crow we've been searching for for weeks! Where is he?!”
Osamu flinched back, his ears pressed flat against his head as he fought the urge to shift and run away to safety.
“I don't know, I found this here a-and then you showed up. I have no idea where he is!”
Osamu knew he sounded desperate but he prayed to the Gods that the crows would believe him. He couldn't possibly explain that he'd wanted to take the feather to show his brother and confront him about it. The whole story was way too complicated and Osamu didn't even know all the details himself yet so telling them anything about Atsumu's involvement in the situation wouldn't help him. Besides, they probably wouldn't believe him anyway judging by the anger shining in their eyes.
“Don't lie to us, fox!”, the blond one spat. “We saw you sniffing around this place as if you were looking for something. This place reeks of you and Hinata. You were here, you must have at least seen him! And then you took the feather to hide it, right? So no one would find out about him being here.”
Osamu's eyes went wide and darted from one crow to the other.His heart hammered against his ribs, panicked.
'They can't tell the difference between mine and Atsumu's scent', he realized with sudden clarity and his heart threatened to burst with fear. 'And now they think I have done something to their friend.'
It wasn't anything new to Osamu that others couldn't differentiate between him and his twin. Not even Kita had been able to in the beginning and even now it was hard for him. Akagi was able to tell, most times anyway.So it wasn't shocking that the crows, who didn't know them personally could not tell them apart.
But the whole situation had suddenly gotten a lot more dangerous for Osamu.
“N-No, that's not how it is!”, he tried to argue but all the crows were closing in on him and Osamu had to take a few steps back.
“Then tell us one reason why we should believe you!”, the leader growled, his voice dripping with venom. “Tell us how it is, we're dying to hear it.”
Osamu opened his mouth but nothing came out (because where the hell would he even begin to try and explain?) and that settled it for the crows.
“We should attack him right here and right now”, the black-haired crow snarled. “As a warning to the kitsune so he knows we'll come back with more of us.”
“He knew from the very beginning. Remember how Daichi said he's been acting weird ever since they first visited.”
Osamu tried not to show how scared he was but he was trembling so hard with fear his teeth chattered.If they attacked him he wouldn't have a chance to warn his clan, warn Atsumu.
His eyes fell down to the feather he'd picked up earlier.The leader was still holding onto that tightly.
He needed it.If he showed this to Kita and told him about the encounter it would look like Osamu had found it by accident and that it was just an unlucky coincidence that the crows had seen him pick it up and came to the wrong conclusions.
Subconsciously Osamu was aware that he did that to keep his brother out of harm's way but this wasn't just about him anymore.This was rapidly turning out to be a threat for all of Inarizaki.He couldn't lose any more time.
Without thinking he shifted and charged at the crow that was holding the feather.He felt horrible as he bit down on his hand but it had the desired effect and he dropped the feather.He bent down quickly and snatched it up between his teeth but he had barely turned around to run away when something crashed into his side and sent him slithering over the stones.
He shook his head and looked up, realizing that the black crow had shifted and was now coming towards him again.
“Just take the feather from him”, the one with the short hair called, holding his bleeding hand.Osamu growled and got to his paws again.His thick fur had saved him from most of the damage but the impact had still hurt.
He realized fighting was a bad idea - he needed to try and run now.He forced himself to cower down and wait until the last second to dodge the attack from the black crow – just as Aran had taught them – and tried to make a run for it.
But Osamu must have missed the other crow, the blond one, shifting too because he was thrown off his feet again after just a few leaps and when he picked himself up again there were two crows towering over him.
His eyes went wide with fear and before he could react in any way one of the crows had rushed forward and used its beak to pinch him hard into the shoulder.Osamu howled in pain and the feather fell out from between his teeth.
He saw the second crow bending down to pick it up and quickly stretched out his paw to try and pull it back towards himself.But before he could reach it the crow who had pinched him stopped him by catching his front leg in between its claws.
Osamu howled again, now angry and bit down on the scaly leg with as much force as he could.The crow cried out and tried to pull back, its claws tearing at Osamu's skin as a result.Osamu let go and and so did the crow - his leg was free.
He tried to jump to his paws but pain shot through his leg and he swayed dangerously, almost losing balance.
He caught himself after a second and looked for the feather again but only had time to close his eyes before the crows attacked him again.
He needed to get out of here, the crows would tear him to shreds if he stayed any longer.
'Forget about the feather. Warn Kita-san and tell him what happened.'
That was the only important thing.
Osamu tried to look for an opening, some way he could escape but the crows had pushed him closer and closer to the edge of the small cliff.One more push and he would fall.
The young fox made a last desperate attempt to break through the crows' defence with pure force, hoping that he could get through and run away somehow.
But they were too strong for him.One hard shove from the bigger crow and he was thrown towards the edge.He howled, panicked, and tried to dig his claws into the rocks, desperate for some sort of purchase.But he was already halfway over the cliff, his hind legs kicking uselessly in mid-air trying to find something to hold onto and with his hurt front leg he simply wasn't able to last long.
He thought he'd seen a hint of panic on one of the crow's faces before his front paws slipped on the wet rocks and he fell into the river below.
The drop wasn't deep at all but the cold water was a shock and the powerful stream flung Osamu's body directly into a big rock.His head collided with the stone and he swallowed a couple mouthfuls of water before he was able to make it to the surface by using the rock as a support.
There was water in his eyes and he was dizzy, coughing up the water he'd swallowed.
Once he was able to see he realized he wasn't far from the cliff at all, the three crows were blurry points not too far away.
The shore wasn't far either and Osamu was a decent swimmer but he needed a long minute until he was brave enough to throw himself into the stream again.His movements were uncoordinated and not very powerful but he made it to the shore and was able to pull himself out.His paws were able to carry him a couple of wobbly steps away from the river before he collapsed on the sandy ground.
Osamu took deep breaths, inhale, exhale and then slowly checked himself over once he was sure he wouldn't pass out.His leg was still bleeding from the claw marks and his head pounded where it had collided with the rock but apart from that and a couple of scratches everything seemed to be okay.
He raised his head and looked over to the small cliff.Two of the crows had just spread their wings and were taking off, the last one, the leader, seemed to hesitate, his eyes on Osamu.
The grey fox was too far away to be able to read any expression - not that he cared much about what was going through the crow's head.
He snarled, showing his teeth and then slowly got to his feet.Shaking out the water from his fur hurt because he could feel every little bruise and scratch but he knew he needed to get home and warn the others.
The crows would fly straight home and tell their leader everything they believed to know and show him the feather as proof that their missing fledgling was in Inarizaki territory.Osamu had to reach the temple before they came back with their leader and more crows.
And so he started his long way home even though every step hurt.He had to be there before the crows returned.Kita-san needed to be warned.
-
If Atsumu and Hinata had been at the hideout at the time Osamu had run into the crow patrol they might have been able to hear them and prevented them from fighting.In fact Osamu had only missed his brother by a couple of minutes.
But Atsumu and Hinata had wandered somewhere further into the woods.It was too far away from the place they had watched the stars last night and so they were oblivious to what was going on.The were headed to a place that Atsumu usually only ever visited alone.Well, until now.
Hinata's eyes were big with wonder as he stepped onto the blooming clearing right behind Atsumu.
“That's the place, isn't it?”, he asked.
Atsumu stopped in the middle of the clearing and smiled.
“Yeah”, he confirmed. “No one knows of this place. No one, apart from us.”
He turned around to look at Hinata and his eyes softened as he watched the crow look around in fascination.
“It's beautiful...”
“Yeah... and it can be our secret spot. We can meet here whenever we have the chance.”
Hinata finally turned towards him and Atsumu beckoned him over.The young crow took his hand once he was close enough.
“Lets meet here soon then.”
Atsumu tried a smile but judging from Hinata's reaction it looked a little too sad.
They were lingering because they didn't want to say goodbye.Both of them knew it. But Hinata had to return home, now that he was ready to do so.
Atsumu had treated his wing one last time, just as a precautionary measure, so Hinata would manage the flight home safely.Everything that was left at the little cave could stay there until Atsumu had a chance to pick it up later.Everything had been taken care of and now it was time to say goodbye.
But they kept lingering as if there was something that kept them rooted to the spot.
“Will you really not be mad if I tell my clan the truth about what happened?”, Hinata asked quietly after a while.
Atsumu shook his head and when he smiled this time he meant it.
“Not at all. They deserve to know what happened, right? Same goes for my clan... I already promised 'Samu I'd tell him tonight. I mean, hell, I'm scared of telling all the others.”
Atsumu laughed nervously and twisted his free hand into strands of his golden hair.
“But I'll do it. And I don't care about what punishments they will give me if I can just keep seeing you.”
Hinata bit his lip but he couldn't suppress a smile.“Oh, Atsumu-san”, he whispered.He hugged the fox close and hid his face in Atsumu's chest.
Atsumu's arms wrapped around his shoulders and one hand found the way into his messy orange hair. The fox slowly carded through the strands and Hinata felt a little less nervous, a little more soothed by the gesture.
“I will miss you”, Shoyo admitted quietly and to his surprise he could feel his eyes starting to water and he quickly tried to wipe the tears away before Atsumu noticed them.
But he did notice and Shoyo let out a wobbly giggle when he felt the fox' thumbs brush away his tears carefully before his hands came to rest on both sides of his face.
When he glanced up he gasped quietly because Atsumu's caramel eyes were shining dangerously too.
“I'm gonna miss ya too, Shoyo-kun.”
“I'll visit you as often as I can”, the crow promised quickly. “And you try to convince Kita-san to come and visit the gatherings, yeah?”
Atsumu nodded a couple of times.
“I'll bug him day and night until he gives in”, he assured his friend with a shaky smile.
Hinata giggled quietly and Atsumu joined in and the silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable but tense in a way both shifter hadn't experienced until now.
“So then... we have to say goodbye for now...”
Atsumu let out a slow breath.
“Yeah, looks like it...”
Their eyes met and both of them got lost in the other's for a moment so long that seemed to last an eternity.
“I'm gonna miss ya, Shoyo-kun”, Atsumu whispered again.
“I'm gonna miss you too, Atsumu-san...”
The weird tension between them rose higher and higher until Atsumu felt like he couldn't breathe.Hinata seemed to be quite the same and the fox caught him swallowing thickly before he licked his lips.
Atsumu's eyes flickered down to Shoyo's lips and then back up.
There was something else shining in Shoyo's beautiful eyes now and for once Atsumu knew exactly what that was because he must look at Shoyo the exact same way right now.
“Atsumu-san-”
But Shoyo didn't get any further because Atsumu had already leaned in and pressed their lips together.It wasn't surprise but relief that flooded through the young crow shifter because Atsumu was kissing him, finally.He'd almost thought the fox wasn't going to.
A warm feeling spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes and he smiled against Atsumu's lips as he kissed back with everything he had.
The fox, relieved and happy that Shoyo had accepted his kiss, only tried to pull his friend closer, his hands wandering from his cheeks down to his neck, over his arms. They rested against his hips for a moment before he decided it wasn't enough and grabbed Shoyo by the back of his thighs to hoist him up.
The crow squeaked against his lips but managed to hold onto Atsumu's shoulders before he pulled back with a laugh.
His lips were a little swollen and his eyes were glistening with utter satisfaction and warmth as he looked down at Atsumu.Atsumu wanted to kiss him again.
But Shoyo had already leaned down and slotted their mouths together once more.Atsumu couldn't help but sigh, especially when he felt Shoyo's hands in his hair, playing with the golden locks, pulling slightly when the kiss deepened more and got a little messy.
A tiny moan escaped Atsumu and his cheeks burned with embarrassment but Hinata refused to let him pull away for another minute.
When they had to part for air both of them grinned happily.
Hinata carded through the shorter hairs at the back of Atsumu's neck and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Will you kiss me like that again when I come to visit you?”, he asked quietly.
“Of course”, Atsumu answered without hesitation. “Anything you want.”
Hinata smiled his beautiful full-teeth grin and nudged his nose against Atsumu's.
“Then... will you kiss me like that once more before I leave?”
“Anything you want”, Atsumu repeated breathlessly and pulled Shoyo in for another kiss.
-
Osamu had no idea how long he had been wandering through the forest, trying to make his way back home.His head was foggy and his steps got wobblier the longer he went on.More than once the shift was about to break but Osamu kept it up with pure willpower, knowing that it would take even longer if he tried to walk on two legs instead of four.Well, three and his hurt front leg, but still.
Somewhere along the way he had realized that he was bleeding from somewhere over his left eye and his left ear wouldn't stop throbbing with pain.The crash into the rock had probably done more damage than he'd realized at first.
He'd been trying to run in the beginning but no chance with that.Trotting along the path he'd come from had worked quite well for a while but once the pain and exhaustion had gotten too overwhelming Osamu had forced himself to walk slower.
He recognized the area where he was now and for the first time he left the path and went around the temple so he could enter through the front gates.Hopefully someone would see him and come to his aid.
Osamu blinked a couple of times and his vision cleared up enough for him to be able to make out the two stone statues at the foot of the stairs that led up to the courtyard.
His heart skipped a beat and he tried to pick up his pace for the remainder of the way.But his body protested and when a sharp pain zapped through his injured paw he fell onto his side wide a muffled yowl. Leafs and dirt got into his mouth and he spit them out before he fought to get back onto his paws.
Only a little more, he was almost there...
Osamu put one foot in front of the other, trying to give his hurt leg a rest by hobbling along on his three good paws.
But he got slower and slower and by the time he was in reach of the stairs he was so dizzy he thought he was going to black out any second.
The stairs were a blur where they wound up the hill in front of him and Osamu lost all hope of making it to the top.He couldn't, not in his physical state.
Along with the realization came the shift and Osamu managed one weak howl, a miserable attempt at a warning call, before he was back in his human body.Exhausted, he collapsed at the foot of the stairs.
For a few long seconds there was nothing but silence and Osamu sighed in defeat.No one had heard him. The crows would be here soon.It was too late.
But then he heard his name being called.It sounded far away but it had to come from the top of the stairs somewhere.
Then again and Osamu recognized who this voice belonged to.
“K-Kita-san...”
Osamu didn't have the strength to raise his head but a heartbeat later Kita was there and Osamu's fear started to subside.
Someone carefully put a hand under his head so it wasn't resting against the cold stone anymore. Kita's icy scent permeated the air around him and Osamu gave a weak sigh.Kita was with him, he was safe.
“Osamu, hey.”The kitsune's calm voice was laced with so much worry that the grey fox almost felt sorry for worrying him by showing up like this.
A cool hand came to rest on his forehead, followed by some mumbled words from his leader and just a moment later the throbbing pain in his head eased up enough for Osamu to be able to open his eyes.
His vision was still blurry but he recognized Kita with his snow white hair and yellow eyes immediately. Behind him was Suna and only now Osamu realized that Rin held his good hand in between his own scarred ones.He tried to squeeze them a little and Suna breathed a small sigh of relief, squeezing back softly.
Aran was there too but Kita used his hand to turn Osamu's head he was still holding so they were looking at each other.
“Osamu, what happened?”, he wanted to know. “Who did this to you?”
Kita's free hand hovered over the claw marks in his lower right arm. Osamu stared at the sluggishly bleeding slashes for a long moment, trying to remember what exactly had happened through the fog in his mind.
“I was... I went...”
Why was it so hard to think?
Osamu screwed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, searching his confused mind for the missing pieces.
He had left to look for Atsumu but when he'd reached the river he'd found that feather...Then suddenly all his memories came back at once - the crows, the accusations, the fight, his fall into the river, the crows taking off to tell their leader about what happened.
Osamu gasped, his eyes opening wide and panicked.
“'Samu, please calm down-”
“The crows! They're coming! They attacked me by the river an' they think we know where their missing crow is... they'll be here soon. Kita-san, you need to warn Inarizaki, you need to...”
His sudden outburst had exhausted Osamu and the dizziness came back like a punch to the gut.His eyes rolled back and his head would have dropped back down against the stairs if Kita hadn't been holding him still.
Everyone was shocked into silence for a horribly tense moment.They exchanged panicked glances and no one knew how to react or what to do.
Kita was the first one to come back to his senses.And he was furious.
How dare the crows attack one of his foxes? And one of his twins too!
He swallowed down a guttural hiss and turned to Aran.
“Get him into the temple and help him as best as you can. I worked a little healing magic on him already but he needs a healer to help him get back to his feet.Rintarou, you come with me. We need to gather the clan as quick as possible.”
Suna nodded but pressed his nose into Osamu's hair for a heartbeat before he let go of him and Kita gently lifted the hurt fox into Aran's strong arms.
Then he shifted into his huge fox form and leapt up the stairs in just a few jumps, Suna – now in his sandy-brown animal form – hot on his heels.
But once they passed the red gates they stopped abruptly and stared up into the sky.
The murder of crows was already visible as a dark spot against the clouds and this time it looked like Daichi hadn't come just to talk.He'd brought at least half his clan, if not more.
Kita shifted back into his human form and looked at Suna.
“Gather everyone, quick! I'll wait here.”
Suna lowered his head and then jumped over to a small hill just outside of the courtyard.
He let out three howls, two short ones and one long one – a warning to all of the foxes and a demand to come back to the temple right now, then he ran off in the direction of the fields.
Riseki arrived first, since he'd been in the bathhouse and the young fox looked scared.His big fearful eyes followed Aran who was striding across the courtyard with big steps, carrying a seemingly passed out Osamu towards the main building.
“Kita-san, what's happening?”, Riseki asked, running up to him.
“A crow patrol attacked Osamu”, the kitsune explained calmly but with a cold fire burning in his eyes. “And now they're coming here.”
He nodded up at the sky, where they crows came closer steadily.Only a couple of minutes and they would be here.
“Do you t-think they want to fight?”
“Maybe, but I will try to talk to them before that. They have some explaining to do.”
Riseki swallowed nervously but stayed close to Kita until the rest of the foxes arrived.Akagi beckoned the young fox over to him once he'd spotted him upon his arrival.
“Shinsuke, what's going on? Suna said Osamu has been hurt.”
Oomimi had spoken once everyone was gathered, minus Aran and Osamu.
“Yes, by a crow patrol. He couldn't tell us very much but they're almost here now.”
The kitsune hesitated with his next words for a long moment.
“I want all of you to stay calm”, he demanded. “I know the crows did something horrible and I know we can fight if we have to. But if there's a chance to solve this without spilling blood I would prefer doing that. We give them a chance to explain. But if we have to we fight.”
“As if they could explain that...”, Suna snarled but Kita decided to overhear him.
The foxes seemed uncertain but neither dared to challenge Kita's authority and so they waited for the crows to arrive.They were very close by now and as the seconds ticked by the tension rose, everyone was on edge.
Sawamura descended first from the front of the formation of crows and he let out a shrill cry so loud that it echoed through all of the forest, so loud that surely the Nekoma clan was able to hear it too.
Kita knew what this was: a challenge.
Anger bubbled up in his chest and within a second he had shifted into his white fox form and let out an evenly deafening yowl so that his clan mates had to shield their ears from it.
If Karasuno's leader challenged him so openly Kita would answer him.
On the other side of the Inarizaki clan grounds Atsumu and Shoyo jumped apart when they too heard the enraged cries echoing through the trees.
They stared at each other, pure fear written all over their faces.
“Daichi-san!”“Kita-san!”
The leader of the crows took on his human form a couple of feet above the ground, landed hard on his feet but immediately kept walking, angry fire burning in his dark eyes as he stalked towards Kita and the foxes in long strides.
His crows landed one by one and shifted too, accompanying him across the courtyard with the same enraged expressions on their faces.
Kita growled lowly but then he too broke the shift and waited for their visitors to come closer.
He had promised to talk first and he would keep his word.
His eyes kept flicking to Daichi's black wings where they were only half folded over his back, making him look even more threatening as the distance between them shrunk steadily.
The kitsune took a deep breath, a pathetic attempt at keeping his fear at bay but his whole clan was right behind him and that fact soothed his troubled mind and lowered his seething anger enough for him to be able to hold his tongue. For now.
“You have some explaining to do, Kita”, Daichi spat as he stopped a couple of feet across from the kitsune.Kita's pupils turned to slits and his foxes didn't miss the crow's disrespectful way of speech towards him but he gave them a subtle warning with a flick of his tails before one of them could say something that got them in trouble.
He had noticed the black feather that the leader was holding in between his fingers and he knew it must play a role in what Sawamura was about to say.Kita just wished Osamu would have been able to tell them more in advance.He felt horribly unprepared for this conversation.
“About what?”, he asked as calmly as he could. “We have done nothing wrong.”
Protest immediately broke out among Sawamura's crows and Kita's ears turned backwards on instinct. He hadn't anticipated that level of hostility and when he met Sawamura's burning gaze it took all he had not to flinch back.
The crow's leader held up the feather so all of Inarizaki could see.
It was black, a little torn and there were some pale orange spots at the tip.
“This feather belongs to our missing crow. One of my patrols saw one of your foxes at the river today where he was obviously looking for something. When he found this feather he took it with him and my patrol confronted him about it. It looked like he wanted to take it so he could hide it so my crows took it from him and brought it to me.”
Suna growled deep in his chest and Kita struggled to swallow down his own snarl.His protective instincts were nothing to mess with when it came to his clan - especially the twins though.It had been that way ever since he'd rescued them.And Daichi just made it sound like his crows had had a nice little chat with Osamu before they took the feather away and left to show it to their leader.
“They took it from him?”, he snarled. “Would you mind explaining to me why he showed up with a slashed up leg then? And why he passed out when he showed up here only minutes ago? Did you gave your crows permission to attack or do you not have them under control?”
Kita knew his words were risky but he also knew his anger was justified.
Daichi turned towards his clan mates and one crow with short hair straightened up at his leader's questioning look.
'He had no idea', Kita realized, eyes going wide in disbelief just before the crow answered: “He attacked first, we were only defending ourselves.”
“He was no threat to you!”
Kita was surprised at his own sudden outburst but he didn't care that he was getting loud. He did spy a fresh looking bandage around the younger crow's hand as he spoke, a clear sign that Osamu had fought back. The kitsune couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for Daichi's hurt fledgling though.
“He was alone! You attacked him on our territory! How dare you?!”
For a moment Sawamura's expression was tinged with guilt. The crow with the short hair and one or two others seemed uncomfortable as well.
Behind Kita Suna's sharp eyes darted from one crow to the next as if he wanted to find out who exactly Osamu had stumbled into and pay them back what they had done to his boyfriend with his own claws and teeth.
“Fine, we might have made a mistake”, Sawamura admitted, his eyes fixed on the black feather. “But this right here is the first hint about Hinata in weeks. And my crows told me that the place where it was carried his smell and that of your fox. They must have met or at least seen each other. Do you know anything about this?”
Kita's anger ebbed away and left him confused. He shook his head in response but didn't miss the lack of an apology on Sawamura's part.
“No”, he said. “And Osamu couldn't say anything about it either because he was barely conscious when he came here.”
A quiet growl had sneaked into Kita's voice without him even intending to.He tried to think straight but it was hard when he still had that picture of Osamu in his mind, laying at the bottom of the stairs, bleeding and barely able to talk.
“He hasn't seen your crow”, Suna called and all eyes shifted to him.
Immediately his tail bushed up in stress and his green eyes flicked from one crow to the next but he continued: “He was with me most of the time anyway. I would have noticed and he would have told me. Besides, Kita-san ordered us to keep an eye out for the missing crow. We searched our territory. He's not here.”
“But he has to be!”Sawamura was almost yelling, desperation lacing every word and for the first time since the crows had arrived there was a real twinge in Kita's chest.
One of Sawamura's youngest had been missing for weeks, they had probably all started to lose hope by now.And now there finally was a sign of him but no one who could tell them where he was.It would drive Kita insane too if their places were switched.
But still, there was not much he could do for them.
“I know you want to find him”, Kita said and forced himself to speak calmly. “And I can only imagine how hard this situation is for all of you but we can't help you right now. We can search our clan grounds again but I doubt we find him.”
Maybe Osamu could tell them more when he was feeling well enough but Kita would not allow the crows to stay until that happened. But searching the territory again would be within the possibilities.
Kita was willing to do this for Karasuno and he hoped Daichi would recognize his goodwill. After that attack on Osamu he didn't have to help them and some of his foxes most likely wouldn't support his decision, he was aware of all that. But if the crows would leave them alone once they had made sure that their missing clan member wasn't in Inarizaki's clan grounds then that was worth it.He didn't want to fight. He really didn't.
It seemed that his calm demeanour had the opposite of the desired effect though because Daichi suddenly bristled with anger.
“It's because you already chased him away, didn't you?”
Kita blinked in surprise, too stunned to speak.
“Or you hurt him. Maybe you killed him and you sent your fox to get rid of all evidence left on your territory.”
Loud protest broke out among the foxes and lots of them demanded proof that they knew Daichi couldn't deliver.The kitsune still wasn't able to form words.
“You knew we would come, right? We know you have been training your foxes in battle, Kita. And we know you only started with that recently . You knew we would find out about you hurting our fledgling and prepared your foxes in case we ever find out and decide to attack.”
Kita could only stare at Daichi.Then his boiling anger bubbled up rapidly and despite his fear he stalked closer, teeth bared and one more accusation away from pouncing on the other leader.
“I gave you permission to patrol the Inarizaki grounds to look for your crow, not spy on my clan!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You're talking nonsense, Sawamura. We have nothing to do with your missing crow!”
“Then why was your fox so keen on taking this feather with him?”
“Well, if your crows wouldn't have attacked him without thinking first maybe he could tell us! I don't know but I swear he didn't mean any harm! If he knew about your fledgling he would have told one of us. Sawamura, please.”
Kita met the other leader's eyes and prayed that he would believe him.What else was there left to do?Words of reason clearly didn't get through to the crow shifter anymore.
Sawamura seemed to hesitate but the mistrust in his eyes stayed.
“You have to understand that I don't know if I can trust your words.”
The words hit the white fox like a punch to the gut but yes, he did understand.
He had never tried to communicate with any of the other clans, had never tried to befriend anyone and had kept his clan away from all the other shifters.He had never visited the gatherings, and the other clans - including Karasuno - knew practically nothing about Inarizaki.
And training his clan in battle techniques so shortly after their first encounter with the crows might have sent the wrong signals.
Ah, looked like his past mistakes did come back to haunt him after all.
“So what do we do?”, the kitsune finally managed to ask, mouth dry.
“Do you swear that none of your foxes know anything about Hinata?”
“I swear it”, Kita answered without hesitation. “I would know if it was otherwise.”
Sawamura nodded a couple of times.
“Okay... then prove Inarizaki's innocence. In a leader's trial.”
Some of the crows looked surprised, others gasped quietly while most of the foxes just exchanged clueless glances.
The kitsune felt his blood turn to ice.Suddenly he remembered the dark dreams that had haunted him for weeks on end only a little while ago. Had they tried to warn him about this day?
Kita swallowed and his first instinct was to decline right away. But Daichi was being serious, he realized and Kita had to admit to himself that it probably was their only option left at this point.The crows and also his foxes were so wound up already... the crows thirsted for blood after the hard weeks they must have had. One wrong word and a fight would break out among the two clans.And despite all their training Kita still didn't want to send his foxes into battle. First of all because it wouldn't be fair. Second because he'd seen Osamu hurt already. He didn't want to repeat that with all of his friends.
“A leader's trial”, he called loudly so all his clan mates could hear. “Is a fight between the heads of two clans and only between them. It is said that the Gods themselves will judge such a trial. If I'm telling the truth and we have nothing to do with their crow's disappearance I will win the fight. Otherwise Sawamura-san will be the victor.It is not a fight to death but it often leads to serious injuries.”
Silence settled over the courtyard for a few tense heartbeats.
Kita didn't want to keep from his clan how dangerous a leader's trial could be but as he explained to his foxes what the trial meant he understood that Sawamura didn't want to fight either.
This was just the only way to spill as little blood as possible.
Just the two of them against each other.
Kita had already half made his decision when a loud “Shinsuke, wait!”, disrupted his thoughts.
He turned around to see Aran hurrying towards him, Osamu was nowhere to be seen.
“Shinsuke, please think this over”, he whispered insistently, grabbing Kita's arm once he was close enough. “A fight? Just to determine if someone is telling the truth? That's insane!”
Kita knew this and he closed his eyes for a moment.“I know”, he mumbled then. “But it's my only option.”
He threw a glance over his shoulder to where the crows were watching the exchange intently.“Sawamura is clearly out of his mind if he thinks what he said is true”, he added in a whisper. “You know I am right. I will win. I am a descendant after all.”
Aran still didn't seem convinced, neither did most of their other clan mates.
“Let us fight”, he insisted. “That's why you wanted me to train the clan, wasn't it?”
“No. Not for something like this. I won't negotiate on this, Aran.”
The older fox' ears turned flat against his head, his expression turning conflicted.
“How is Osamu doing?”, Kita wanted to know then.
“He'll be okay but he's still unsure on his feet. He hit his head pretty hard.”
Shinsuke swallowed but gave a little nod. He'd give anything to be with Osamu right now. He could try to heal him with some more magic. But that had to wait.
“I have to do this. They won't ever believe my words otherwise.”
Aran didn't look happy and the rest of the foxes probably looked quite the same and Kita couldn't blame him but he gave Aran's hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.
“The Gods are watching. I will win.”
These words seemed to show some effect and Aran slowly let go and stepped back.
“Just be careful. Remember what I taught you.”
Kita gave a nod and waited until Aran had retreated into the row of foxes.
Then he turned to face Sawamura again.
“Alright. I take the challenge”, he said loud and clear.
The other leader seemed to be taken aback for a heartbeat but he quickly agreed with a nod.“Then it's you and me. You know how this works right?”
“I do. But I believe none of my clan mates do. Please let me explain it to them.”
The other leader gave a curt nod and Kita turned so he could look at all of his friends.
“A leader's trial is a one on one fight between the heads of two clans, tribes or families. The courtyard will be our battleground. You will stay on this side and the crows on the other. One of you or them will give a signal to mark the beginning of the trial but before that happens Sawamura and I will switch sides so that I stand with my back to the crows and Sawamura will be right in front of you all. It's a rule to ensure that both leaders will fight fair. If Sawamura were to give an attack signal to his crows they could easily overpower me but you could do the same in return.”
Most of the foxes seemed to understand and Kita nodded slowly.
“No one is allowed to interrupt the fight. You'd only bring yourself in danger. This fight starts and ends with Sawamura and me. Do you all understand?”
Some of his friends nodded, some still hesitated.
“We can't make you change your mind, can we?”
Akagi had asked that and Kita gave his friend a sad smile.
“I have to do this. It's the only way. I don't want any of you to get hurt.”
None of the foxes answered and Kita realized in that moment that all of them would step on the battleground to switch places with him without hesitation if he asked it of them. Pride swelled in his chest and he had trouble keeping his voice steady when he spoke next.
“Have faith. I am a descendant of the Gods after all.”
He forced himself to smile and hoped it looked calmer than he felt inside.
“Is there any of you who is willing to give the signal?”
“I am.”
A warm feeling spread in Kita's chest when Oomimi stepped forward, determination in his eyes although his tail moved restlessly.
“Thank you, my friend. You have to say 'May the Old Deities judge this trial fairly and crown the rightful victor'. Do it once we're in position and a couple of seconds have passed.”
Oomimi nodded and Kita turned around after taking a deep breath and despite his fear he fixed Sawamura with a strong gaze.
“I'm ready.”
The crow nodded.
“Everyone step back to make room for us.”
Both clans retreated to the sides of the courtyard, leaving Sawamura and Kita in the middle.
The leaders exchanged a nod and then started moving, walking a big half circle to get to their assigned starting positions.The telltale golden shimmer of the shift surrounded Kita's body and just a blink later he took the last steps in his huge fox form, coming to a halt in front of Karasuno's crows.
Most of them took steps back, clearly intimidated by seeing the kitsune up close like this.Kita didn't spare them another glance and instead looked over at Sawamura.
Cold fear closed around his heart when he was face to face with Daichi's shifter crow form.
He was smaller than Kita by a good portion but the kitsune realized he himself had two disadvantages.
His fear of the other leader's wings and his old battle scar.
If panic took a hold of him mid-fight for either of the two reasons it could get pretty ugly for him.His fear of the feathered wings hadn't been a problem during his and Aran's training sessions and it scared him all the more because he couldn't calculate how much it would actually affect him in a real fight.His shoulder was no problem for now and Sawamura shouldn't be able to figure out his weak spot just yet.Thanks to his still thick winter fur Kita's old scar was well hidden from sight.
The kitsune barely heard Oomimi speaking the words that started the trial.
His eyes were locked on Sawamura only.His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Then time stopped and Kita could only hear his own shaky exhale.
The crow's leader opened his sharp beak and let out a challenging cry.
Kita went for what he hoped was a threatening howl to hide the fact that his paws were rooted to the spot.Sawamura started to spread his wings and Kita couldn't help but cower down a bit.
But suddenly the picture of Osamu at the bottom of the stairs shot through his mind again and his gaze sharpened.Sawamura was in the wrong. Inarizaki didn't have anything to do with their crow's disappearance and Kita would prove it.
White hot anger because his cub had been hurt and the desire to protect all of his clan mates easily pushed the fear aside and just as Daichi had taken off from the ground he leapt forward.
'I have to end this quickly', was all he could think of as he went for the offensive straight away.
Sawamura dodged his first attack with ease.He was hovering in mid-air with the help of his powerful wings and went a little higher as Kita jumped up and tried to go for his leg.
The kitsune tried to retreat once he was back on the ground and the crow's sharp claws missed his ear by just a few inches.
He was in disadvantage as long as Sawamura was able to fly.Thanks to his huge fox form he was incredibly strong but also slow.Slower at least than a bird shifter like Karasuno's leader who could react in the blink of an eye.
He needed to get him onto the ground somehow.If Sawamura was down here with him it would be easy for the fox.
But of course Sawamura knew that too and so he kept flying around, dodging the kitsune's attacks and then immediately attacking in return before Kita could escape his reach.
The first time this counter attack hit, Kita was left with a bleeding claw mark on his back.
The Inarizaki foxes watched in horror but the wound didn't seem to influence their leader's movements in any way. It was just scary because the dark blood instantly dyed his snow white fur a crimson red, making it appear worse than it probably was.
The crows cheered their leader on and Shinsuke growled quietly. He couldn't win like this.He had to go for Sawamura's wings to get him down.
He didn't like the idea and it wasn't only because he was still afraid of their sight.He could seriously damage the crow's wings if he used too much force and what happened if he wasn't able to fly afterwards anymore?He wouldn't wish that on anybody, not even Sawamura.
Maybe it was enough if he caught some of the feathers between his teeth.They were probably going to be ripped out when he tried to pull him down but if it threw Daichi off balance for long enough it would suffice.
Kita shook his massive head and tried to ignore the burn of new claw-marks near his right hind leg. Then he locked his eyes on the crow again and dashed towards him faster than before, gathering enough speed for the jump he needed.
Sawamura was caught off guard for the tiniest second and it delayed his reaction time long enough that the white fox could reach his target.His jaws snapped shut, catching some big feathers between his teeth, just as he'd planned.
As soon as his hind-legs had touched the ground again he yanked his head down hard.He could feel most of the feathers ripping out and he pressed his ears flat against his head to protect them from Sawamura's angry outcry.
The other leader was close enough for Kita to reach now and with a powerful swipe of his front paw he managed to throw him onto the ground.The crows gathered around the place called for their leader to get up again while the foxes cheered Kita on.
The kitsune knew he couldn't show mercy just yet and he kept Sawamura pinned to the ground with his front paws.The crows' leader struggled and flapped his wings desperately so that Kita had problems keeping him down.
'Give up. Please, give up', he thought. 'I don't want to hurt you.'
Perhaps his hesitation to give a warning bite in that moment was Kita's doom.
Sawamura seemed to understand that he was holding back and fought harder against Kita's hold.His claws found the soft flesh of Kita's belly, making the kitsune yelp in pain and step back without meaning to.
Sawamura got out from underneath him with the help of his wings and darted forward to give the fox a hard peck with his beak before he could recover from the new scratches.
He went for his left shoulder and he intended it to hurt but he stumbled back in surprise when the kitsune cried out in pain, his front leg giving in straight away and his heavy body crashing onto the stones with a dull sound.
More than one of the foxes called for their leader and Sawamura could hear the worry in their voices crystal clear.
What had happened just now? Was this a sign from the Gods that he was starting to win?
Kita's yellow eyes were filled with agony as he looked up to meet Daichi's gaze but he growled and tried to get up again.
Everyone was so focused on the scene in front of them that not even Suna noticed when Osamu joined them.Only when the grey fox bumped into him was Suna able to tear his eyes away.
“'Samu! How are you feeling?”, he asked, his hands coming up so hold Osamu by his arms.
Osamu's wide open eyes were fixed on the two leaders though and he didn't seem to have heard the question.Suna noticed that he was shaking.
“Why are they fighting?”, he asked, his voice as shaky as his body.
“Sawamura challenged him”, Suna tried to explain quickly. “Kita-san promised him that we don't know where their crow is but Sawamura wouldn't believe him. This fight is a chance to prove our innocence.”
Slowly Osamu shook his head.
In the middle of the courtyard Kita had managed to get back on his feet but keeping the balance was hard because he could barely put any weight on his left front leg.
'I'm losing', he thought. 'But why?'
His foxes must see it too and Sawamura had caught on as well.
The crow straightened up to his full height and spread his wings.His threatening cry echoed across the place. A last chance for Kita to admit that he hadn't been telling the truth.
But there was nothing to admit and so Sawamura decided to not waste any more time.
He closed the distance between them in record time while the kitsune desperately tried to get into a defensive stance.He stumbled, then caught himself at the last second.But when his vision focused back on Sawamura his eyes were drawn to the huge wings and suddenly a wave of panic washed over him and kept him frozen in place for a second too long.
He felt sharp claws digging into his flank and a painful hack from Daichi's beak just where his scar was hidden under his fur.
Kita did scream this time because it hurt, hurt, hurt.He only noticed that he was on the ground again when he had to raise his head to look up at the crows' leader hovering above him.
Kita heard the them shout and cheer and his foxes yell back at them but he couldn't make out the words if he'd tried.His eyes were locked on Sawamura.
The crow waited.One final chance for Kita to admit he'd been wrong before Daichi would end the battle with an attack so vicious it would leave a permanent scar. A sign of his victory in this trial.
Among all the chaos Osamu was holding onto Suna's shoulders so tightly it hurt.He was dizzy but his mind was racing.He was still shaking all over and felt like he'd faint any second but his eyes were fixed on the two leaders, unable to look away.
“No, this is wrong”, he cried, voice hoarse. “He's gonna seriously hurt him, they'll attack all of us just because of-”
In that horrible moment before Sawamura's final attack Osamu desperately tried to piece together everything swirling around in his chaotic mind.His earlier, confusing memories from when the patrol had confronted him at the cliff, Suna's explanation of the fight, his search for Atsumu earlier, how he'd found his brother's scent at the edge of the forest together with that feather and the scent of someone else.
And then suddenly everything clicked into place in Osamu's mind.
Atsumu... Atsumu!
One quick look around confirmed it.
Atsumu was nowhere to be seen.
“Kita-san! It's 'Tsumu! It's A-”
A violent cough interrupted his shouting. It was so bad Suna had to hold him up so he wouldn't double over.Still gasping, Osamu furiously blinked the tears away to see if the kitsune had heard him.
The white fox had indeed heard his desperate call and even though he couldn't make sense of it in the heat of the battle and in the face of Daichi's last attack he did try to get up again to hopefully somehow dodge or lessen the impact.
It was a senseless attempt because he simply wasn't fast enough with his injured leg and all Kita could do was look up with fearful eyes as Daichi swept down to end the fight.
But suddenly something golden appeared in his field of vision and he didn't have time to understand what it was when it already crashed into him, throwing him back down and away from Daichi with the force of the impact.
Everything happened within the blink of an eye.
Kita recognized the golden something as Atsumu's shifted form just a millisecond before he took on his human appearance, throwing his arms up to protect his leader and calling for Daichi to stop.But it was clear that Sawamura did not have enough time to react, not enough time to stop his attack completely.
He did try, but Kita and all of the foxes had to watch helplessly as his huge claws struck Atsumu's much smaller body.
The hit threw the fox shifter down onto his knees immediately.
For a scary moment there was absolute silence.All the anger on both sides dissipated.The sight in front of the two clans left them in shock and they could only stare.
It was bizarre how small Atsumu looked between the two shifted leaders.
The young fox was clutching his side, eyes wide but staring into nothing.
His clothes were showing ragged edges where they had been torn in two places and then the the smell of fresh blood spread on the temple grounds as crimson dots started to drip down onto the dusty ground.
Atsumu didn't have enough air in his lungs to scream as the pain kicked in.Without wanting to he doubled over until his forehead almost touched the stones, teeth gritted and face screwed up in agony.
“No!”
Osamu had broken free from Suna's hold and sprinted over to his brother as fast as his wobbly legs allowed him to.
Kita vaguely registered that Sawamura had shifted back and was now looking between the kitsune and the hurt fox.
Shinsuke's own eyes were glued to his cubs though.
Osamu had reached his twin and didn't even notice how hard his knees hit the floor when he knelt down beside him.Atsumu managed to straighten up enough so he could look into his brother's eyes.
Shaky hands came to rest on his cheeks and the simple touch was helping Atsumu focus on what he wanted to say.
“I'm sorry, 'Samu... I wan- wanted to tell you... I'm sorry I didn't... it was me...”
Osamu shook his head and leaned down so his forehead rested against Atsumu's.
“I know”, he confessed. “I know...”
Tears spilled down Atsumu's cheeks and Osamu did his best to wipe them away with shaky fingers.
He wanted to add something but was interrupted by a loud, surprised “Hinata?!” somewhere behind them.
He raised his head and caught sight of a crow shifter with bright orange hair, standing at the edge of the temple grounds.Osamu had never seen him but all the crows looked at him in shock.
'This is their lost fledgling', he realized.
The young crow looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening but his gaze cut back to Atsumu just as the golden fox let out a pained little noise.
He swayed and Osamu, unable to keep up his brother's sudden dead weight, had just enough time to soften his fall by getting between him and the ground.
Kita let out a desperate yowl at the sight of his hurt cubs tumbling to the ground together and finally, finally he was freed from his stupor.
His own pain was pushed to the back of his mind as he shifted back and managed to get to his feet.His head was spinning but he made his way towards the twins.Another pair of quick footsteps joined behind him and Shinsuke caught Aran's scent.
“K-Kita-san... I promise, I didn't hurt him on purpose!”
His yellow eyes cut back to Sawamura who looked truly shocked, maybe also scared.The kitsune bared his teeth with a low growl but didn't bother with an answer.He had to get to Atsumu.
But before he had even reached him he saw that the crow with the orange hair was taking hesitant steps towards Atsumu too.He seemed pretty pale and his big brown eyes were staring down at the hurt fox in horror.
A guttural growl came from the depths of Kita's chest.It was purely instinctual just as the sudden shift into his fox form that followed.
Too close, the crows were too close.Too close to his foxes, too close to his twins.
He wanted them gone.Gone.Gone!
Not caring about his own injuries, he leapt towards the intruders with renewed strength.The orange crow was closest to him.
“Hinata, get back here!”
The young shifter's head had snapped up when he'd seen the golden shine of the shift and upon his leader's desperate call he ran towards him as fast as he could.
Kita hissed viciously, blind with rage as he chased the young crow.
'Get away from them!'
Suddenly Sawamura was there. Or maybe he had never moved.He stood between the rest of his clan and Kita himself. Hastily he pulled the little crow into his arms as soon as he was in reach and wrapped his wings around him.Weirdly, he didn't try to run away with him.
Kita came to a sudden halt just inches away from them.
Daichi was looking up at him.His eyes were glassy with obvious fear and he was shaking like a leaf but he kept a tight, desperate hold on his found fledgling, his wings enclosing the small boy as tight as they could.
The white kitsune exposed rows of sharp teeth and inhaled deeply.
The sound that ripped out of his throat next wasn't human.
It wasn't animal either.
It was an enraged cry echoing with the fury of a thousand Gods.
The sound alone brought Sawamura to his knees. Kita heard the fledgling whimper in distress but the other leader still held onto him tightly.
The temperature on the courtyard seemed to have dropped several degrees after Kita's terrifying call. He saw the other crows had all flocked together and stared at their leader with pure horror in their eyes. Not one of them was able to move even a finger though.
The kitsune's eyes darted back to Sawamura and he just stared at him for a few long heartbeats as he battled with his instincts and with what he knew was right.
The overwhelming urge to protect, to pay back what the crows had done to his foxes, to his twins still pulsed through him and he was distantly aware that if he decided to attack them now no one would be able to stop him.
One snap of his jaw and it would be over for Sawamura.
Shinsuke didn't know what it was that held him back him in the end.
Maybe it was that look in Sawamura's eyes, begging him to spare their lives.Perhaps it was the fact that Daichi was just protecting his youngster, just like Kita was.Maybe it was because the little crow had Atsumu's scent all over him.Or it was because Kita knew deep down that it would be wrong.
Whatever it was in the end - it didn't matter.
Kita did look back over his shoulder to the twins.Aran was with them now and that alone soothed him a bit.Suna was hurrying towards them too while most of the others only slowly dared to come closer. With a quiet growl Shinsuke turned back around.
Sawamura hadn't moved an inch and for just a second it filled Inarizaki's leader with great satisfaction to see him and all his clan mates shake with fear.
Shifting back took an awful lot of self control and once Shinsuke had taken on his human form again he felt the shift lingering under his skin, ready to break out again at any given moment.
His yellow eyes wandered down towards the young crow hiding in Daichi's chest. He had his head turned just enough so he could glance up and meet his eyes.
Another growl ripped from the kitsune's throat but he shifted his gaze and caught Sawamura's eyes instead.
“Kita-san-”
“Leave.”
The crow blinked.Behind him the other Karasuno members exchanged surprised glances.
“You... what?”
“Leave!”
Sawamura flinched back but kept staring at the kitsune in astonishment.Kita's blazing eyes just grazed Hinata's small form derisively once more before they cut back to stare Sawamura down.
“You've got what you came here for, haven't you? So leave!”
Anger and fear shook Kita's body and the pain from his wounds started to seep back into his consciousness.Only pure willpower kept the tears from forming in his eyes. He wouldn't show that kind of emotion in front of the other leader.
He was about to turn away because he ached to run to the hurt twins. To help. To protect.But he was still fuming and the fury bubbling in his chest was stronger.
So he leant in closer so only Daichi could hear him.
“If one of them dies you can only pray that the Gods will have mercy on you. Because I won't.”
The kitsune took a step back and he could see by the look in Sawamura's fearful eyes that he believed every word.
Good.
“And now leave!”, he spat more loudly so both clans could hear it too. “If one of my foxes find any of you here after sunset they have my permission to kill.”
With that he finally turned around and hurried after Aran and Oomimi who had reached the entrance of the main building, both carrying one twin each.
A small whispered “Atsumu-san...” no doubt coming from the orange-haired crow made Kita's ears turn flat against his hair.
“Michinari! Hitoshi! Make sure they're gone!”
Two shadows of pale grey and black fur rushed past him to chase the crows away while some of the other foxes were rooted to their spots, no doubt because they had never witnessed their leader that outraged before.
Shinsuke couldn't care right now.
He rushed after his cubs.
The room where Aran usually treated his patients was too small and so he and Oomimi had brought them into the sleeping quarters.
Shinsuke saw the trail of blood on the marble floors as he stepped inside the main building and quickened his steps.
Osamu was bordering on hysterical and Oomimi had to physically hold him back so Aran could lay Atsumu down and take a look at his wounds.The kitsune joined his old friend and he quickly shushed Atsumu as the young fox opened his mouth to try and speak.
“It's alright, we're here”, he mumbled and carded through Atsumu's dirty hair with shaky fingers. “You'll be okay, yeah? Ren.”Shinsuke gave a single flick of his second tail.“Go and get me my spell book. Osamu, come here.”
Aran glanced over to him and Kita acknowledged the action with a flick of his ear.It wasn't the best idea to let Osamu see whatever damage Daichi's claws had done but they couldn't keep him away from his brother for long anyway.
They'd just have to deal with what they were going to see. All of them.
Ren did as he was told and Shinsuke grabbed Osamu's hand to help him kneel down safely.“Talk to your brother, okay? Aran and I will take a look at him.”
Osamu didn't need to be told twice and Kita was endlessly thankful that he was able to follow his instructions without protest.
He gently squeezed Atsumu's neck, hoping that the action felt comforting before he inched closer to Aran who had started cutting up Atsumu's clothes.Shinsuke joined in and just tore the cloth with his bare hands.
He himself was shaking but Aran was calm as ever, an expression of utmost concentration on his face as they finally laid bare what damage Sawamura's talons had done to Atsumu's body.
Two slashes ran across his upper body, the first in a half circle kind of shape from the middle of Atsumu's left shoulder blade down to the side of his ribcage. It was deep and bleeding a lot but Shinsuke knew enough about injuries to see that it wasn't life threatening.
He swallowed thickly when he saw the second slash.He wasn't so sure about this one.
The claw had first pierced him near the middle of his lower back, just above the hip.It had missed Atsumu's spine, thank the Gods, but this mark was even deeper than the first one and had basically torn open his left side up until his soft lower belly.There was just no way it hadn't done any serious internal damage.
Kita tried to meet Aran's gaze but for the first time ever he saw something dark and sad in his friend's eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like helplessness.
“Aran?”
Shinsuke barely noticed the black fox shaking his head.
“It's too deep, I don't know...”
Cold fear bore it's fangs into Kita's heart but immediately his brain kicked into gear and started looking for solutions.
More of the Inarizaki members had gathered by the entrance to the room but apart from Suna, who went and joined Osamu, none of them dared to step into the room.
Kita started picking up torn pieces of Atsumu's yukata.
“We have to try and stop the bleeding”, he said out loud. If to reaffirm it to himself or for Aran to hear he didn't know.But both of them picked up the pieces and carefully pressed them against the wounds.
Atsumu gasped and tried to get away from the pain but Aran and Suna held him in place.
“I know it hurts, 'Tsumu”, Aran apologized with a grimace. “We're sorry.”He turned to Kita.“Can't you do something to lessen his pain?”
The only magic spell that came to Kita's mind was the one he'd used to heal Ginjima's ankle a few days ago but he doubted it worked on something as serious as this.
He tried anyway, stumbling over his words a few times before he got it right.He couldn't see a change in Atsumu's face, no sign that the spell worked, just as expected.
“Kita-san, you have to do something!”, Osamu begged.
Shinsuke turned his head to meet his gaze, words stuck in his throat once again as he saw the agony in the silver fox' eyes. One of his hands was holding Atsumu's head while the other clasped one of Atsumu's lax hands desperately.
Just then Ren was back.
“Here”, he said and handed Kita the old leather-bound book.The kitsune took it and hastily thumbed through the last couple of pages at the end.He knew every spell in there by heart, having read the book hundreds of times but he knew there was one that would might be able to save Atsumu.
It was a rather complex one and Shinsuke knew it was way above his skill level as of now but there was nothing else, no alternative.If he didn't try this, Atsumu would die right before his eyes.
He found it then and quickly read it over again before he nodded to himself once.
He caught Osamu's gaze again.
“I will save him. I promise you.”
The silver fox swallowed heavily and more tears spilled from his eyes but he nodded frantically as if he wanted to believe his leader.
Then he looked at Aran, Oomimi, all of his foxes one by one.
“This is not an easy spell”, he explained with a strained voice. “I will have to bind Atsumu's life power to mine. If I am able to do that he should heal thanks to my magic.”
Kita's own wounds had always healed within a day, two or three if it had been serious, his only exception being his old shoulder injury. Thanks to his ancestors he had an accelerated healing ability and if he managed to bind Atsumu's life power to his own he could transfer it to him.His own wounds didn't matter right now.
Only Atsumu's survival was important.
“Are you sure you can do this?”, Aran asked quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. “This connection sounds like it will be hard to manage and hard to maintain.”
“I know I have only had the chance to train my magic recently”, Shinsuke agreed begrudgingly. “But I have to try. I have to.”
The kitsune knew he would do it, no matter if his clan approved or not.But his chest felt a lot lighter when he saw Aran nod.
“How long will it take?”
“I have no idea”, Shinsuke answered truthfully. “But I can tell you what we have to do. You will have to trace where Atsumu's wounds are on my body using his blood.”
He started pulling at his clothes, trying to free his upper body. Ren quickly came to aid him, grimacing when he saw all the claw marks and bruises Shinsuke had gained in his battle.
His shoulder looked gruesome but he didn't even seem to notice it.
Aran looked horrified but Michinari stepped in before anyone could say something.
“I'll do it.”
Shinsuke sat back on his calves and closed his eyes. The chaos inside of him calmed down considerably, knowing that his most trusted friends were right here with him.
“Once I have spoken the words both Atsumu and I will fall into a kind of trance, almost like a deep sleep. You will have to manage everything while we're out”, he instructed quietly. “Protect Inarizaki. Be there for each other.”
“We will”, Ren promised him and Kita breathed out a silent sigh of relief.
Then Michinari was back and Shinsuke shuddered when he felt two fingers trace the pattern of Atsumu's wounds on his own skin with warm, sticky blood.But he forced himself to stay still and keep his tails out of the way until Akagi was done.
“You're not allowed to touch or wash away the blood traces, it could break the spell”, he added quietly.
Once Akagi had moved away Shinsuke opened his eyes again and took a short, steadying breath.
His clan had gotten closer, forming a close circle around him and the twins.
“I trust all of you to protect our clan grounds and each other”, he said.The room was so quiet that everyone heard him loud and clear and they all nodded.
“You help Atsumu. We will take care of everything else”, Hitoshi said, the others agreed one by one with similar words.
It made Kita proud to be the leader of such a strong clan and for a second he genuinely smiled.
“Thank you. We'll be back with you in no time.”
He shared one last look with his oldest foxes, his eyes lingering on Aran the longest.
There were many things Shinsuke wanted to say to him and he hoped that his eyes had conveyed what he didn't have time to say right now.
He could speak it out loud once Atsumu was safe.
Then Suna pulled Osamu aside so the kitsune could take his place.
Atsumu had gotten sickly pale, sweat was beading at his temple and little shivers wrecked his body every few seconds.
He blinked and Kita thought his eyes went a little wider when he recognized him.
“K-Kita-san, please... please forgive me...”
The words struck something deep inside of Shinsuke and he had to bite down on his lip so he wouldn't start to cry.He took Atsumu's sweaty hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Shh, it's alright.”His voice did betray him though, breaking at the last word.He continued anyway.“You'll be fine. And then you can tell me everything, yeah?”
He reached out with a shaky hand to cup Atsumu's cheek.
But the young fox ignored his words and tried to continue.“It was me...”, he whispered hoarsely. “I hid Hinata in the outskirts of our clan grounds, I lied to you and-”
A cough wrecked his body and he moaned in pain when the movement sent shocks of pain through his whole body.Much to Shinsuke's horror he saw blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.
“Shh, no more talking”, he ordered gently. “Listen to me. I will put a magic spell on both of us. Don't be scared. You will fall asleep once I've spoken the words and once the magic has worked you will wake up again good as new, you understand?”
Atsumu blinked and gave the tiniest little nod, his cheek still pressed against Shinsuke's palm.
“I'm scared, Kita-san”, he whispered.
The kitsune shook his head and this time the tears did fall.
“I am too. But we are gonna get through this together.”
“Together...”
Kita nodded.“And everyone will be right here when we wake up.”
These words finally showed some effect and Atsumu nodded again.
“Okay.”
“It won't hurt for long anymore”, Shinsuke promised and laid down so he was face to face with Atsumu. He reached out so he could hold his head in between both his hands.
“Look at me”, he commanded, letting some magic flow into the words.Atsumu's eyes snapped up wide open and stared into his unblinkingly.Shinsuke soothingly stroked a thumb across his cheekbone.
“Let these words lead you into a deep slumber where you can rest until you are ready to open your eyes again. Let the magic heal your wounds so you will wake up feeling no pain. You will not be alone, even in your dreams. Feel the connection between the two of us and heal.”
Shinsuke felt the Old Magic in his veins stir and come to life as he spoke.Once the last word had left his lips Atsumu's eyes drooped and he was out of it within three seconds.
The skin underneath the blood traces on Kita's upper body started glowing and heated up until it was bordering on too hot.At the same time his own spell started to pull him under.
He raised his head and managed one last glance at the worried faces of his clan.To his own surprise he found himself smiling.
“See you soon”, he breathed.
Then the spell pulled him into comfortable darkness and he felt the soft padding of the floor beneath his head before he fell asleep.
The whole room was deadly quiet for way too long.All eyes were either staring at Atsumu or Shinsuke or were lost somewhere in the distance.
Osamu was the first to break the silence with a quiet sob.Suna – ever at his side – pulled him into his chest to hold him close.
Aran saw that Atsumu's wounds had stopped bleeding, so did Kita's it seemed.So the magic had started to show effect already.
The deep gashes weren't knitting themselves back together magically though - not yet anyway - and Aran felt a wave of anxiety come over him at the massive weight of responsibility lowering down onto his shoulders. He knew he should start treating the wounds as best as he could but it took an awfully long time until he could muster up the strength to get to his feet.
Ren and Michinari looked at each other, something hollow reflected in both their eyes.
Ginjima came closer and sat down at Atsumu's side but he was still shell-shocked too.
Heisuke and Yūto stuck close together, not knowing what to do either.
And while the rest of the Inarizaki foxes were trapped in this difficult situation, not knowing what to do or how to react Shinsuke and Atsumu started to dream.
“There! They're coming back!”
All the crows that had stayed behind at the Karasuno temple came together at the edge of the stone plateau build into the mountain cliff upon the call.
They followed Ennoshita's finger that was pointing down into the valley and sure enough – the murder of crows was visible as distant black spots against the green of the forest's crown.
The five crows anxiously waited for them to arrive.
Something terrible must have happened.The challenging cries from both leaders had been frightening already but that other one...No one knew how to describe it but it had been louder, more aggressive and terrifying, somehow deadly - even from this far away.Asahi still had chills from it.
As soon as their friends were close enough to be counted Shimizu gasped in surprise.
“Nine! There are nine! Hinata is with them!”
“What?! Are you sure?!”
“Look for yourself!”
And sure enough – nine crows were approaching the temple.
Speechless, the friends could only stare as the rest of their clan slowly closed the distance between them.
Did Inarizaki really hide Hinata from them all this time?But that couldn't be true, right?
The minutes until the arrival were hell.Once they were close enough Yachi spied the missing feathers in one of Daichi's wings and saw how hard he was struggling to keep flying.
She pressed her hands over her mouth and waited with baited breath.
Daichi was the first one to arrive but his shift broke when his legs hadn't touched the ground yet and he fell hard onto his hands and knees. His wings weren't strong enough to soften the fall anymore.
Hinata was next.He had stuck close to Sawamura the entire flight but he was still shaking with fear and immediately sank to the ground once he'd shifted back too.He struggled to breathe and his wings ached from the long flight but he barely noticed when he was swarmed by his friends and clan mates.
It should have been a happy reunion.
Hinata had chosen what he'd wanted to say to his friends, how to explain his disappearance.But now he was numb to their touch and deaf to their words.The only thing on his mind was Atsumu.
Atsumu who had been hurt.
Atsumu who had lain on the ground bleeding.
Atsumu who had to be carried away.
Hinata's ears still rung with the echo of Kita's howl.A violent shiver shook his body once again.
He managed to glance over to Sawamura who wasn't looking much better. He was shaking so bad he could barely hold himself up.Shimizu, Suga and Asahi had quickly gathered around him, Suga was trying to talk to him.
“Daichi, hey, look at me. Look at me!”
When Sawamura didn't react to his words Suga grabbed his face in between his hands and tilted his head back, forcing him to look up.The leader's gaze was distant but terrified and Suga swallowed hard.
“We're back home, yeah?”, he tried to soothe him. “Can you tell me if you're hurt?”
“Koushi, what happened?”, Shimizu wanted to know but Suga shook his head at her and waited until Daichi was able to answer.
“I... what if I... that fox... what if he...”
“It was an accident”, Suga replied but his voice was shaky too. “You didn't hurt him on purpose.”
Asahi and Shimizu shared a confused look but luckily Nishinoya came over and helped explaining what had happened while Suga continued to try and calm their leader.
“He challenged the kitsune to a leader's trial”, he started, ignoring the shocked looks both older crows gave him in favour of continuing. “Kita accepted, thinking he was telling the truth when he said none of his foxes knew where Shoyo was. They fought and Daichi would have won but a golden fox showed up out of nowhere and jumped in between them and well... he got hurt by Daichi's claws pretty badly from what it looked like. And somehow suddenly Shoyo was there too.”
All of their eyes wandered over to where Hinata was still being swarmed by the younger crows. He was holding onto Yamaguchi for dear life while Kageyama tried to ask him what had happened.
Shoyo didn't seem to be able to answer.His eyes were wide open but tears streamed down his face and he was sobbing quietly.
“And what happened then? We all heard that terrifying cry.”
Even Nishinoya had to swallow hard at the memory.“That was Kita”, he explained. “I think he wanted to protect the hurt foxes. He went feral. I honestly thought he was going to kill Daichi for a second.”
Now that explained their leader's current state.
“He threatened to come here.”Sawamura's voice was barely more than a whisper.“He said if... if one of them dies he will n-not show mercy...”
His wide eyes met Suga's, then they cut to Asahi, then to Shimizu, desperately searching for help that he hoped his old friends could give to him.But they all gasped in horror at the revelation and were lost for words.
A violent shiver wrecked Daichi's body once more and he had to lean on Suga for support.
“He will survive, you will see.”Suga's words barely reached his ears though.It was a hollow attempt at trying to reassure him anyway.
Instead of answering, Sawamura stared at Hinata over Suga's shoulder.
It should have been a happy day, the day they found him.They should feel relieved and happy.
Instead there was despair and Hinata quietly crying out a name Sawamura had never heard before.
“Atsumu-san... no, no... A-Atsumu-san...”
Somehow he knew that the name belonged to the golden fox he'd struck down.
*
Before Atsumu was even able to open his eyes he knew that he was alone.
Kita's words echoed like a whisper in his ears... it seemed like only a few seconds ago that he had spoken them.Maybe he had.But Atsumu couldn't say for sure.
The concept of time had lost all meaning to him the second his eyes had fallen shut.He was certain that he was alone though.And that his body was hurting.
The last thing he could really recall was the taste of Hinata on his tongue slowly being replaced with bitter copper.'Huh, what a weird thing to remember so crystal clear', Atsumu thought sadly.His eyes stung like he was about to cry and his throat felt constricted but no tear fell and no sound left his lips.He was simply too weak.
Minutes, hours, maybe even days passed before the golden fox could blink his eyes open.It was dark all around him and Atsumu waited until his eyes had gotten used to it.He saw his own hands first then and realized that he was laying on the floor in a patch of grass, in the same position that Kita had hypnotized him in.
His body felt heavy and the ache in his chest and side hadn't let up yet.Slowly he raised his head and turned to look at himself but he was clad in his usual black clothes.When he touched the fabric where it hurt the most though his hand came away smeared with crimson blood.
Pictures of Karasuno's leader and his huge claws flashed in Atsumu's mind and he whimpered at the hazy memories that followed.The pain, Osamu's terrified eyes, the dizziness...
Hadn't it been just a second ago that he had looked into Kita's eyes while the kitsune had promised him they would get through this together?
Where was he then?
Why had he left him on his own?
Again Atsumu felt like crying but found he still couldn't.It suffocated him and only a small whimper for no one to hear was coming from his throat.
Kita-san, where are you?
He wanted to call out for him.But his eyes fell shut again and time passed without Atsumu being able to understand what was happening, where he was or when help would arrive.
-
It had been hours since Kita had spoken the words that had put him and Atsumu into a deep slumber.The moon had already passed it's highest point in the sky and judging by the path it had already crossed Aran estimated it to be around four in the morning.
The early morning air was cool but it did little to clear the chaos in his head.Too much had happened in a too short amount of time and all of Inarizaki were exhausted, trying to understand just what had led to the events of this day.No one was sleeping though.No one dared to.
Every fox wanted to wait until Atsumu and Kita would wake up again, hopefully healed from their gruesome wounds.
But neither of them had so much as moved since they had closed their eyes and Aran sensed that it would take more time.Magic was a tricky thing and considering Shinsuke's difficult relationship with it up until recently it wasn't surprising at all.It would probably take a while.He just hoped that Atsumu could hold on until it that point in time.
Shaking his head to shoo these thoughts away Aran inhaled deeply through his nose and then out his mouth.The quick bath he'd taken before he'd come out here had helped him steady himself a bit again.He'd had to get all the blood and sweat off of him after he'd been sure both Shinsuke and Atsumu were okay for the moment but it had been hard to leave them in the hands of the other foxes.
It had taken hours to treat the two of them and while Aran had worked he'd quickly realized just how much he had started to rely on Atsumu as of recently.The golden fox was still barely more than a rookie but he had a good memory and learned everything Aran had taught him well.
But now that Atsumu was the one in need of medical attention Aran had been on his own again.
Part of why it had taken him so long to treat Atsumu was because he hadn't known what he was supposed to do.
The spell had stopped the bleeding from both Atsumu's and Shinsuke's wounds but they stayed open and vulnerable.In the past few hours they hadn't even started to heal over as they were supposed to. There was a light golden shimmer though, the same shimmer that appeared when Shinsuke shifted into his fox appearance and it had laid upon both their wounds, like a protective barrier.The golden shimmer must be a visible sign of Shinsuke's ancient magic working it's mysterious ways to try and heal the two foxes.Neither of them had moved but their breathing was strong and constant, just as if they were sleeping.
It was too early to say if something with the spell hadn't worked out as it was supposed to.Kita had said it could take some time and Aran and everyone else had to accept that fact.It worried him though that as of now the spell only seemed to keep Atsumu alive, not heal him.
With Atsumu's deepest wound he hadn't been able to do much apart from clean the area around it and wash off the dried blood with water.It was so deep that Aran had felt sick to his stomach the entire time he'd had to look at it and he just prayed to every God there was that Atsumu wouldn't have serious lasting damage from the attack.He had hesitated to treat the other slash too, the one going from Atsumu's shoulder blade to his ribs.
The golden shimmer had seemed like a barrier at first but Aran had been able to do his work as usual without it hindering his movements or disappearing afterwards.
He had decided against sewing the wound shut though.If the spell was working out as if it was supposed to, the wounds would close themselves and should leave behind only a faint scar.
Aran knew because he had read in Shinsuke's magic book.He'd had to.Usually he wouldn't have touched it out of respect since it was probably Kita's most priced possession and since Aran wasn't a magic-user anyway it was useless to him.He had tried to look for something that told him what exactly he could expect to happen but the pages hadn't told him much more than what Shinsuke had already said to them.
The healer took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.This situation was more in Shinsuke's hands than his now, he could only try and do so much from the outside.What he really had to do was trust in his best friend.Just like he always had.Shinsuke would find a way.
“Aran?”
Before the black fox had the strength to turn around strong arms had already circled around his middle and he was being gently pulled back into a warm chest.
“Hey”, was all he managed in return but his own hands came up to hold onto Ren's arms.The physical contact felt nice and Aran allowed himself a moment to just breathe for the first time in hours.
He half expected the younger fox to say something but Ren stayed quiet and for that he was thankful. They stayed outside until the cool breeze made them shudder and Aran turned his head to nudge Oomimi's cheek with his nose, a silent thank you.
“Shall we go inside? Michinari and Yūto should be back any minute now, they've been gone for about two hours now.”
“Nah, let's wait for them.”
Ren nodded in agreement and it took only about five more minutes until both friends could make out the rapid sound of foxes approaching the temple with quick leaps.
Akagi appeared at the red gate, an exhausted looking Kosaku following a couple of steps behind him.Their fur was bathed in different shades of silver by the bright moonlight, making them look like ghost as they approached the main building.Akagi showed an untypically grim looking expression as soon as he'd shifted back into human appearance and his friends already feared that something else must have happened but Michinari just greeted them briefly and said: “They're all gone. No trace of any of them near the borders or elsewhere.”
“Good. They probably won't dare to come back any time soon”, Ren answered.
A quiet growl followed his words.“Oh, I almost wish they would.”
“Michinari...”
Only when he saw his best friend's surprised expression did Akagi realize what he had just said.
“My apologies”, he mumbled with a light bow of his head. “I'm just so...”
“You're not the only one”, Kosaku chimed in. The younger shifter was still slightly out of breath but he stepped up the stairs to join the small group.
“Everyone is tense, there's no denying that”, Aran added. “But now that you're back I think it's time we ask Osamu some questions.”
“Don't you think we should give him some more time? He's been hurt today and then he had to see his brother...”
“I'd love to spare him the talk”, the black fox answered slowly and by the pained look in his eyes everyone could see that he meant his words. “But we need to know something. And he knows something. Even if it might not be much. So let's go and get it over with. The sooner we do this the better, that goes for Samu too.”
The others agreed one by one, albeit hesitantly but they went back inside side by side.
“Did anything change while we were gone?”, Kosaku wanted to know.
“No. I guess we'll just have to... wait.”
It wasn't the words any of them wanted to hear but it was the truth and if they were being honest - hearing it from Ren just confirmed what they'd already thought.
The sight they were met with as they stepped into the sleeping quarters was a shock.Aran had done his best to cover Atsumu's wounds with a light bandage so they wouldn't have to see the horrible injury all the time but part of the padded floor was still soaked with his blood.They'd probably have to rip that part out and replace it, Aran thought as he passed the spot but his focus quickly shifted to his two patients.
Osamu hadn't left Atsumu's side, as expected, honestly.He had stopped crying a while ago but it still broke Aran's heart to see him like this.He had brought the softest pillow to put under Atsumu's head and he'd put at least three blankets atop and around him, leaving his upper body free, so Aran could still look after his wounds easily.
The silver fox had taken one of Atsumu's hands into his own and his eyes were fixed on his brother's face, waiting attentively for any sign that he was waking up.
Suna was sitting close by with his back to the wall but he gave him space which was a bit surprising at first. Osamu did prefer physical touch as a form of comfort above all else whenever he was upset.But then again, all of Osamu's senses were on Atsumu right now and only on him.
Rintarou didn't mind though.Hitoshi had joined him and the two of them held hands, seeking comfort in the simple touch.
Aran hated to disturb the quiet that had finally settled over the temple grounds but it was time for an explanation, now that Shinsuke and Atsumu were out of danger for the moment.
“Samu?”, he asked quietly, crouching down next to him.
At first he thought the silver fox hadn't even heard him and for a split second he was worried that he hadn't treated him right earlier when he'd been in a hurry because of the crows. Osamu's left ear had suffered quite a nasty tear and since his balance had been off from the crash into the rock it was possible that his hearing was damaged too.
But then he raised his head to look up at the healer.The emptiness reflected in his eyes made Aran swallow thickly.
He hated seeing Osamu like this.He hated that he had to ask questions now. But he had to, to start and untangle everything that had happened until they could at least begin to understand why it had come to this.
“Can you tell us what happened earlier? Where were you going before the crows attacked you? I thought you were supposed to work in the fields.”
The silver fox nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I was but... where do I even start...”
He mumbled something unintelligible but the other foxes gave him all the time he needed to sort out his thoughts.Aran sat down on the floor more comfortably, the others followed his example, sensing that this could take a while.Patiently they waited for a few minutes until Osamu seemed ready to speak.
“To be honest I... I thought something has been up with Tsumu for a while now. He was so... so different somehow but I thought it was because he was just getting used to seeing me and Rin together, at first at least...”
He took a shaky breath.
“Remember when we had that fight a while ago and showed up all scratched up with a bunch of prey animals?”
He looked up at Aran and Ren when he asked the question and both of them nodded.
“Well, I... confronted him about it that day... but he assured me that he was happy for me and that it was a bit weird for him seeing Rin and me but that he was just trying to do better after he'd gotten in so much trouble after the storm.And I believed him, at first anyway... I... I got suspicious again the night of the meteor shower...”
He tried to think of how long ago that had been and was stunned because it had only been about twenty-four hours.How could so much have changed in just one day?
“When he came back the next morning there was this weird scent on him... at first I wanted to write it off as the smell of the pigeons he had caught because it smelled like bird somehow but it was... different? And I saw him with Kita-san the night before, I could just tell that there was something on his mind. And he promised me he would tell me in the evening, he promised...”
Osamu took a deep but horribly shaky breath, his tail twitched restlessly.
“But I had this bad feeling all day and when I said I was gonna go get some water I actually wanted to check on him, I'm sorry I lied about that.”
“We're not mad at you”, Oomimi reassured the younger fox right away. Osamu accepted the words with a small nod although his head hung low in shame.
“When I came back here he was nowhere to be seen and Heisuke said he'd been gone for a little while.”
“Yeah, he told me he had to go and get one more ingredient for Kita-san's medicine and that you tasked him with it, Aran-san”, their youngest spoke up.
The black fox' ears twitched in surprise, a second later he started to scowl.He had a feeling he knew where this was going and judging by the tense atmosphere in the room the others knew it too.
“I made sure no one had seen me, then I followed his scent through the forest...”
“You could have told one of us”, Michinari butted in. He kept his tone gentle but his eyes were full of concern.
Osamu hunched his shoulders and wordlessly stared at his brother's sleeping form for a long moment.“I just... I just wanted to protect him... I knew he must have found the crow at this point but I just...”
“You just wanted to keep him out of the inevitable trouble for as long as you could. He's your brother, you wanted to know what was going on first. There's nothing wrong with that.”
Suna had spoken and while the words were obviously meant for his boyfriend, his eyes were looking between the three older foxes with a sharp glint.
'Don't you dare tell him differently', he seemed to say.
Akagi seemed to have trouble swallowing down a response but Oomimi nodded.“Please continue, Osamu”, he pleaded.
“Well, I... I stopped before I could find him and thought about what to do. I wanted to confront him about everything, away from the temple, I mean... I went to the river to drink something because the long walk made me thirsty but then I stumbled upon Tsumu's scent again near a small cliff. Not only his scent but the same one from that morning too, the one that had clung to his clothes. And I... I knew this was proof that he had met the crow and that he had left in the middle of the night to go look for him. It was so much all at once a-and I didn't know what to think anymore. Then I found this huge feather, a black one with orange spots that could only belong to a shifter... and then these crows appeared out of nowhere.”
A sudden violent shiver shook the silver fox' whole body and he screwed his eyes shut. Suna, who had been keeping his distance now came closer again and reached for Osamu's balled up fists.Osamu accepted the touch and squeezed Suna's hands so tightly it must be painful.Suna never complained about it and instead mumbled some quiet, encouraging words into his boyfriend's ear.
They let Osamu take a few deep breaths to get himself under control again.The memory was obviously still vivid in his mind and scared him.
“They... they wanted to know where he was and said they could smell my scent on the rocks and that it was obvious that I had seen him. I- I couldn't explain that it was Tsumu instead of me! It wouldn't have made sense to them and they were so riled up already. I just... just tried to get the feather back as proof to...”
He stopped speaking and thought about why he had wanted to take it with him.To show Tsumu and confront him about it? Or to show Kita-san to warn him that the crows believed they'd had their youngster all along?
He couldn't remember.
“I j-just remember they attacked me after that and I fell into the river and hit my head... everything after that is a blur... I'm sorry... I w-wish I could tell you more...”
Osamu let his gaze drop down to the floor again and exhausted he started to cry silently once again.
“That explains why Kita-san lost the trial”, Ginjima realized. “He swore that none of us knew anything about where the missing crow was. But Atsumu did know.”
A grave silence settled over the room within seconds.All eyes were looking at Atsumu who still hadn't moved a muscle since Kita had put him to sleep.
“Oh, Tsumu, what were you thinking...”Aran stared down at him with a mixture of anger and worry.
Whatever Atsumu had done - he would have paid for it with his life if Kita hadn't been there. Even if Atsumu hadn't jumped in between the two leaders - Shinsuke could have been wounded gravely. And if Sawamura hadn't offered the possibility of a trial it would have been Karasuno's crows against Inarizaki's foxes in a real battle.Atsumu had brought everyone in danger with what he'd done.Even if he hadn't meant to.
The worst thing was - they couldn't even do a single thing until the spell had worked and Shinsuke and Atsumu woke up again.
Protect Inarizaki. Be there for each other.
Shinsuke's words came to Aran's mind again and he tried to take a deep breath.They needed to stick together, no matter what they thought of Atsumu's actions.
“Thank you for telling us, Osamu”, he said first, then he turned to the rest of the clan. “We need to stay and work together, just as Kita-san said. No matter what you might think about the whole deal now. We need to wait for Atsumu to wake up so he can tell us what happened himself anyway. Try and rest a bit now. We will have one or two of us look after Atsumu and Kita and later we switch. Tell me if something changes immediately. Any volunteers?”
Ginjima immediately raised his hand without hesitation, Suna too.
“Thank you. All of you others, try and get some sleep. If everything goes well, both of them will wake up soon and then we'll see from there.”
-
Two long days and nights passed and neither Kita nor Atsumu showed any signs of waking up.Aran checked on them every couple of hours, tried everything he could think of to help aid the healing process from the outside but he couldn't tell if it helped at all.Atsumu's condition wasn't getting worse and his wounds didn't show any sign of infection, thank the Gods, but under the bandages the slashes were still open and vulnerable.
Everyone was getting more nervous with each passing hour but there was not much they could do. The tension was at an all time high but at the same time everyone was exhausted from just waiting for something to happen.It was a dangerous combination, like trouble brewing just beneath the surface and it was only a matter of time until it broke free – in one way or another.
The foxes divided the work that needed to be done around the temple and in the fields among themselves but no one could bring themselves to do more than the bare minimum.Training lessons were long forgotten.They just didn't have the energy for that.
But they all tried to do their best.
Akagi got obsessed with searching the clan grounds for any sign of the crows and he patrolled the border and the path along the river at least twice a day. Neither Ren nor Aran did like that but they couldn't stop him if they had tried (they had) and maybe it was good if Michinari was keeping an eye out for Karasuno - and any of the other clans.
Akagi had been sure he'd seen cats of the Nekoma clan lurking in the shadows on their side of the forest one or two times but they had never tried to talk to him or really showed themselves so he didn't really care about them.Akagi had asked the others to keep an eye on them though, just in case.
His only concerns were those damned crows and he looked for them every chance he could although he was almost certain Sawamura wouldn't show back up again - not after Kita had threatened to kill every crow that set foot into their territory again.He'd be stupid if he came back.
Still, you could never know.The recent events had shown that.And so he kept on guarding the clan grounds, walking the familiar paths and keeping his eyes on the sky above the forest as often as he could.
-
In the night of the third day something happened.
Osamu had dozed off against his will a while ago. He had desperately tried to stay awake for Atsumu for way too many hours now, just in case his brother woke up and needed him but his body screamed at him to rest after the attack and the traumatic experiences that had followed.
He did startle awake though when he heard a rustle and a small, pained noise behind him.
Heisuke, who had been tasked to look after their hurt friends tonight, sat up straighter too and the two foxes could only stare with big eyes as Kita moved for the first time since he'd used the spell that had put him to sleep.
Osamu quickly checked on his brother to see if he was moving too, while Heisuke already called for Aran.Atsumu was as still as ever though, so Osamu focused his attention back on his leader.The other foxes who had been trying to get some sleep in startled awake at the call and asked what was going on.Before Osamu or Riseki could try to answer their questions Aran came barging in through the door, a huge book about all sorts of plants clutched to his chest.
He hurried over and kneeled down at their leader's side, dropping the book next to him carelessly.Osamu shuffled a little closer too to see what was going on.He never let go of Atsumu's hand.
“Shinsuke, can you hear me?”Aran's question was only a whisper but Kita didn't seem to have heard him anyway.
He was twitching every few seconds, his brows were furrowed and he was scowling.There was a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and a distressed little sound escaped him again as if he was experiencing an unpleasant dream.
It was horrible to see, even more so since they could only watch.It couldn't have been more than a few minutes until Kita was calm again but it felt like hours.
Aran watched him closely for a few more minutes but the deep sleep seemed to have returned and exhausted he sat back on his calves.
Ren had sat down beside him wordlessly a while ago and now reached for his hand.Aran took it after a few seconds and let his friend rub slow circles into the back of his hand.It helped grounding him a bit and he took a deep breath.
“He's probably struggling with the spell”, Oomimi realized and Aran could only bring himself to give a curt nod.
A heavy silence filled the room and it was Osamu who broke it first.
He leaned down so he was on eye-level with Kita and whispered: “You need to keep going, Kita-san. You can save him just as you saved me back then. You're doing so well, his wounds have stopped bleeding and he's just sleeping right now. Your spell is keeping him alive. Whatever you're going through right now, you have to get through it, so you two can come back to us, please.”
His last word was tinged with desperation and all the other foxes immediately wanted to reassure him that it would work and promise him that Kita could do it and it wouldn't take long anymore.But how could they when they had no guarantee? None of them could bear to tell something that they couldn't be sure to be true to Osamu's face.Knowing him, the silver fox didn't want their pity anyway.
Osamu turned back around to his brother to watch over him.
-
More days passed.Two more times Kita struggled with nightmares (from all they could tell) but Atsumu's condition stayed the same.
By now everyone was sure that their leader had difficulties executing the spell correctly.Shouldn't it have worked by now? What was happening in the slumber both foxes were stuck in?
Osamu still refused to leave Atsumu's side.The older foxes and Suna too had tried to convince him to go outside for a bit, to shift and go for a run in the forest or do some stretches at least.But the silver fox didn't listen.
He only left for a few minutes when he had to relieve himself and even then he sprinted back to Atsumu's side as fast as he could once he was done.
But since this was a completely new, unexpected and tiring situation for everyone involved they didn't try to bring up any new suggestions again, even though they knew Osamu desperately needed some kind of distraction.
Trying to keep at least some degree of normalcy, the older foxes called everyone (apart from the one who was supposed to keep an eye on Kita and Atsumu) to the dining room for breakfast in the mornings and dinner in the evenings but here too, Osamu refused to go with them.
Oomimi had tried to be strict with him but it had been Ginjima who had asked the older fox to let it slide.“None of us can imagine what he must be feeling right now, seeing his twin brother like that”, he had said. “Let him stay with Atsumu. We can bring him some food.”
In the end Oomimi had agreed but he watched with great worry as Osamu started eating less and less. His bowl was merely half eaten without fail after every meal, as if he was too sad and too exhausted to even finish his food.
He wasn't the only one who tried to talk to Osamu about it but the younger twin had just shrugged every time and said he wasn't hungry much.
Suna had kept a very close eye on Osamu too and it was the morning of the eighth day after Kita had performed the spell that he'd finally had enough.
“Get up, Samu”, he said after he'd come back from breakfast.
Osamu looked up with bleary eyes, lids only half opened and Suna wanted to scream at him to listen to his body and finally get some rest. If he kept going like this it would only get worse and worse.They had to stop it now.
“Why?”, the silver fox wanted to know.
“You need a long overdue bath, you stink.”
Osamu was used to Suna being straightforward with what he said, so he didn't bristle at his blunt words or was offended by them.His eyes darted back to Atsumu though and he stayed put.
“But Tsumu-”
“He will be right here when you come back. This is non-negotiable, Samu, you need to take a break.”, Suna interrupted him before he could finish the sentence. “Hey, Hitoshi!”
The grey fox that had slept in this morning because he'd looked after Kita and Atsumu almost all night raised his head at the call of his name and looked around for Suna.
“Yeah?”, he called with a croaked voice, ruffling his sleep-mussed hair with a yawn.
“You come and tell us when something changes with Tsumu, right?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.”Hitoshi sat up and stretched, but was still a little confused.He rarely had heard Suna talk in such a decisive and serious voice before, it almost seemed threatening and that's why he had agreed without thinking.
“Thanks, we'll be in the bathhouse.”Suna turned back to the silver fox.“I have already prepared a bath for you”, he promised in a more gentle tone. “We won't be gone for long.”“...okay.”
Suna waited until Osamu had managed to get to his feet and gave him the time he needed. Eventually the silver fox did follow him to the door but not without looking back several times.
“Tell us right away if anything changes, yeah?”
Suna could see Osamu anxiously wringing his hands as he turned back one last time to ask the question.Hitoshi reassured him again but Osamu still lingered by the door for another long moment.Suna didn't comment on it.
They made their way to the bathhouse then, Rintarou leading the way with long strides, Osamu stumbling along behind him.
Osamu seemed to relax a little at the sight of the already filled up and steaming tub and he began pulling off his clothes without protest.The tension in Suna's shoulders eased a little as he watched the silver fox slowly sink into the warm water.
“Careful with your arm”, he advised quietly.Osamu wordlessly let his hurt arm rest on the side of the tub and closed his eyes.
Suna had kind of expected him to put up more of a fight but then again, Osamu probably lacked the strength to argue much at the moment.And as much as that helped Suna in this situation it was still unsettling. It just wasn't like Osamu to behave like that at all.And it made the younger fox sick with worry.
He sat on the stone floor beside the tub just to be close to his boyfriend.
Osamu did find that the hot water helped him relax.His whole body ached from the lack of sleep, the uncomfortable few hours spent dozing in hunched over positions and trying to stay awake.His bad mental state didn't help either and he knew that.
He just didn't have the strength to do something against it right now. Everything just hurt.Everything...
The familiar urge to return to Atsumu's side suddenly got a hold of him and Osamu quickly started to scrub at his skin with a bathing sponge, not caring that he missed several spots.He dunked his head underwater once before he tried to get up.His hair couldn't be that dirty anyway.
A strong hand pushed him back down.
Caught by surprise, the silver fox yelped as he lost balance and fell back on his butt, arms flailing. Water splashed over the edge of the tub and onto the floor.
Osamu shook his head to get strands of wet hair out of his eyes, then he looked up at Suna with a sharp glare.
“What was that for?”, he demanded to know, starting a new attempt at getting up.Suna's hand came to rest in the middle of his chest and held him down easily.
“At least wash yourself properly before you go back”, Rintarou answered with a slight growl in his voice. “Your hair is still a mess and let's not even talk about your tail.”
“I don't care! I wanna go back. Now!”
“Atsumu will be okay if you stay away for a few minutes longer, so please, Samu.”
The glint in the silver fox' eyes stayed and Rintarou's own gaze hardened.
“Don't make me get in there with you.”
“Try me.”
Osamu had grabbed the edges of the wooden tub but before he could even make a move to get up, Suna had stepped into the water, still fully clothed and caught Osamu's legs between his thighs, keeping him down with his weight while his hands pressed against Osamu's chest, keeping his upper body pinned against the edge of the tub.
Osamu's eyes were wide with surprise while Suna's were glaring at him sharply and for a few heartbeats both of them just kept staring, one of them unbelieving, the other challenging.
“Let. Me. Go.”
Suna just growled.
“Not before you're finished.”
“Why are you doing this?!”
“Because I want you to take care of yourself!”
“I can't! I can't... it's too...”
Suddenly all the fight left Osamu's body and he slumped against his boyfriend's chest with a sob.
Suna, who feared that he'd been too hard on him, immediately wrapped his arms around him in a hug.“I'm sorry, Samu, I'm sorry”, he mumbled over the silver fox' quiet sniffles. “But I'm worried about you. And staying by Tsumu's bedside all hours of the days and nights doesn't do you any good. It's making you sick.”
“But I can't leave him! He n-needs me... What if he wakes up and I'm not there? I need to take care of him!”
Osamu's fists had come to rest on Suna's chest and a few light punches accompanied his words.
Suna pressed a kiss to his wet hair, then he cupped his face in between his palms and made him look up so their eyes could meet.
“But you can't do that when you're in this state”, he reminded him carefully. “What if Tsumu asks you to cook something for him when he wakes up but you can't do that because you're too exhausted or because you haven't eaten enough? You need your rest, baby.”
A couple of fat tears tumbled down Osamu's cheeks and his bottom lip wobbled but to Suna's immense relief he began to nod slowly.He pressed a small kiss to the tip of his nose and bumped their foreheads together.
“I know things are tough at the moment. I want Atsumu and Kita-san back with us too. And I know you only want to protect Tsumu after what happened. But let us help, please. Kita-san told us to watch out for each other and support each other. So please trust us and let us help too, okay? You're not alone. You have all of us.”
These words seemed to finally get through to Osamu.In the following moment he had already hidden his face in Suna's chest again and couldn't stop the new tears and loud sobs even if he had tried.
But two strong arms held him safely and he just let it all out.
“Try to take better care of yourself, yeah? If not for yourself then for Tsumu's sake. He will need you more than ever when he wakes up.”
Suna wasn't stupid. He'd heard everything that Osamu had said about Atsumu's recent behaviour, about what he had found out. He himself had seen just how energetic and happy but then also distracted and troubled Atsumu had been at times. He hadn't missed when the golden fox had been walking around with his head in the clouds either.
And when the crows had come and the trial had been interrupted Suna had seen how the crow with the orange hair had taken steps towards Atsumu.Whatever their relationship was - they were probably close.
And given how long Atsumu must have been hiding the crow in the clan grounds he would get in serious trouble for it.
Kita was a kind and fair leader but even Suna couldn't imagine how he would handle a situation like this.
So yes, Atsumu would need Osamu's support more than ever.
“I'm... 'm not sure I will be able to a-all of the time...”
Osamu's words pulled Rintarou back into the present and he pressed another lingering kiss to his boyfriend's temple.
“If you're struggling just ask for help. You don't have to be separated from Atsumu for long periods of time either, none of us will force you to, I promise. Let's start with little things, yeah? A walk around the temple grounds, catching some sunlight, a couple of stretches maybe.”
Suna smiled a little against Osamu's cheek.
“A bath.”
The silver fox burrowed further into his chest but he nodded.
“I will try.”
It sounded like a promise.
“That's all I'm asking.”
A short silence followed in which Suna became aware of the wet fabric of his clothes clinging to his whole body.It made him cringe inwardly.
“Hey Rin?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you... please wash my hair for me? A-And maybe my tail as well? I don't think I have enough energy for that...”
Suna smiled genuinely.
“Of course, baby. Mind if I get out of these wet clothes first?”
An embarrassed smile tugged at Osamu's lips as he shook his head and then waited until Suna had pulled off his garments.
The tub was a tight fit for two of them but it was manageable once Suna had pulled his boyfriend into his lap, so they could face each other.Osamu, who was tired after his breakdown earlier, let his head rest on Suna's shoulder and closed his eyes.
“I got you”, the younger fox promised in a whisper.Then he gently started carding through Osamu's mat hair with his fingers, de-tangling the little knots as quick and painless as he could. He washed the silvery strands thoroughly and felt the younger twin gradually lean into the touch.
Once he was done he grabbed the discarded bathing sponge and moved it in slow circles across Osamu's whole body.
It felt weirdly intimate, more than usual somehow.They had been together for a little while now and taking baths together wasn't anything new.
But every time before they had been nervous and excited, stealing little kisses and touches.Now, Osamu felt vulnerable but he also felt safe. He had never felt like this before, ever.
That realization send a little shiver down his spine and immediately Rin pulled him in closer, assuming he was cold and needed more warmth.Osamu smiled, a tiny but happy smile for the first time in days and didn't care to tell the actual reason that had made him shiver.
He did press a few butterfly kisses to Suna's collarbone though.
Once the younger fox had started on cleaning his tail Osamu was getting sleepy.The urge to get back to his brother was still there but he could push it down for the first time in over a week. Hitoshi had said he'd come right away if something happened. And as scary as it was to Osamu he tried to believe it and trust in his friends.
Rin was right.He needed all his strength when Atsumu woke up and that could be anytime for all he knew. So a little rest wouldn't hurt...
He'd dozed off before he knew it and although it was a light sleep there were no nightmares this time.
Unconsciously, he cuddled closer and pressed his nose near the gland on Suna's neck.The younger fox stopped in his ministration once he noticed and reached up to massage the spot for a few seconds. His scent got stronger and Osamu nosed at the skin with a little sigh.
Suna returned his hands to Osamu's tail and continued working slowly. He hadn't seen the silver fox this peaceful in days and he wanted to draw it out for as long as he could. Mostly for Osamu, but a bit for himself too.
At some point Osamu was aware that Suna was done and just holding him close in the too small tub and lukewarm water but he couldn't bring himself to care.
More time passed but eventually Osamu jolted awake again.That picture of Atsumu on the ground, his blood colouring the floor a crimson red had shot through his mind again but Suna was there and he held onto him, seeking out his scent again.
“You're okay”, the younger fox whispered. “Do you want to go back?”
A nod.
“Okay. Let's get out of here.”
When Osamu leaned back to get to his feet first he met Suna's green eyes and stayed put for a long moment.
Rintarou raised an eyebrow.
“What is it, Samu?”, he asked quietly.
But the silver fox just kept staring, almost as if he was hypnotized.Then slowly his hands came up and cupped Suna's face.Osamu's skin was warm, his eyes wide open and he just looked at his boyfriend intently. Suna was sure his cheeks were flushing a light shade of pink under the unwavering gaze but still the other fox didn't say anything.
“Baby? What-”
The rest of the question was silenced by a long, lingering kiss.
Suna was so surprised it took him a long moment before he could kiss back and even longer to close his eyes but once he did he pulled Osamu impossibly close, his arms circling tightly around the older fox' waist.
They hadn't kissed in what felt like forever and just the feeling of Osamu's lips against his took his breath away. It felt so good. So reassuring.He still had him... they still had each other.
Osamu needed a few minutes before he was able to pull away and both he and Suna looked at each other with dazed eyes afterwards, their foreheads coming to rest together.
That unspoken question was still there somewhere in Rintarou's green gaze and so Osamu answered quietly: “I love you, Rin.”
Suna's mouth opened but whatever words he'd wanted to say got stuck in his throat.His wide eyes were fixed on Osamu's.His head was empty except for those four words the silver fox had just whispered.
“It's okay you don't have to say it back-”
But suddenly it was the easiest thing in the world.
“I love you too.”
Osamu's own eyes widened at the confession and he couldn't do anything to hide his surprise. Wasn't that weird? Hadn't he said the same words to Suna just mere seconds ago?His heart pounded so hard against his ribs Osamu was able to hear it pulsing in his ears.
“I mean it”, the younger fox added.
Without warning he leant up and captured Osamu's lips in a another slow, sweet kiss.The silver fox hummed against his lips and let his eyes flutter shut.And Suna did show him how much he meant it with the following kisses.Some were slow and gentle, others demanding and so full of passion that Osamu felt his eyes starting to sting again.
Once Rintarou pulled back Osamu was gasping for air but his lover smiled at him warmly, a soft glow in his green eyes.He had never let go of him.He was still here, safe in Rin's arms.
Suddenly shy and overwhelmed by his feelings again, he hid his face in his lover's neck once more.“I promise you I'll bathe more often if you accompany me”, he joked weakly and Suna grinned.
“Sounds like a deal.”
-
Just like Atsumu Kita too had lost all sense of time once he'd closed his eyes, pulled under by the spell.
But he knew one thing as crystal clear as a dew drop hanging from the tip of a leaf in the morning: something was wrong.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He hadn't had time to think about what would await him in this weird realm in between dreams and reality before he had spoken the words.He'd had to act quickly, that had been all that mattered.
He knew that his body was asleep on the padded floor of the sleeping quarters, right next to Atsumu's.But his mind was awake and racing.And it slowly drove him crazy.
At first it had seemed fine. He had been somewhere in the forest and he knew he had to look for Atsumu. But then this... this darkness had come and surrounded him.It was so thick he couldn't see what was in front of him and it suffocated him slowly, like a black fog that tried to suck the life out of him.He couldn't find Atsumu this way, he had tried. Everywhere he went there was just more darkness and all of his calls were left unanswered. But then something even more terrifying than the pitch black fog had come.
Kita had no idea how many nightmares, dark visions and gruesome memories he'd lived through but he felt like he would reach his limit if it didn't stop soon.
And if that happened the spell would break and all this would have been for nothing.
What had gone wrong? Had he said the spell incorrectly? Was it a mistake on his part? Or was his magic simply not strong enough yet do deal with such a powerful spell?
There were no answers to his questions.
But sometimes, when he was exhausted from all the dark thoughts and pictures plaguing him, there was a little while of silence where Kita could do nothing but curl up in the darkness, weak and shaking.And when he was able to focus just enough he could sense what was going on around him back in the real world.
Sometimes it was a scent.He was sure he'd caught a faint whiff of Osamu before. He'd smelled like he'd recently bathed.
But he had also felt someone carding through the long strands of fur on his tails one time.'Oomimi', he had known instantly.
Other times he felt a faint warmth all over his backside and he knew Aran had cuddled up to him like he often did when they were sleeping in a cuddle pile.One time he had heard Michinari talk to someone in the room. The words had been unintelligible but just the sound of his voice and all the other things he had noticed before had made Shinsuke realize that he wasn't alone.He was still asleep, the connection to Atsumu and the spell hadn't broken yet.
It was the only thing keeping him going.Because most of the things happening in this dream realm made him believe that he was wrong.
He knew that Atsumu was with him somewhere here but he couldn't seem to find him. Not only did all these dark memories and visions keep him from searching for his cub but whenever he called out for Atsumu too he didn't get an answer.He hadn't heard Atsumu's voice calling for him in return either.
Was it already too late?
No.
Kita aggressively shook his head.Everyone was counting on him.He had promised Atsumu they would get through this together.He had promised Osamu he would save his brother.What kind of leader would he be if he couldn't keep his word?
But as he got to his feet again and peered into the darkness all around him he asked himself how long he would be able to last before he either found Atsumu or the nightmares consumed him.
-
“I found the place where Atsumu hid the crow.”
It was like the words had sent an electrical shock through Osamu's body because immediately he was on high alert, ears pinpoint sharp and eyes wide in disbelief.
“Really?”, was all he got out though.
Akagi nodded gravely.
“It's in the outskirts, as we have assumed. I can take you there if you want to. There were quite a couple of things still lying around. I guess Atsumu hadn't had the chance to bring them back before he...”
He didn't finish the sentence but Osamu nodded slowly.
He looked back down at his brother who was still holding on somehow.Osamu still didn't like to be away from him for long periods of time but if they were quick they could be back by evening.
“Do you want me to come too?”, Suna who had been dozing beside him asked sleepily.
“No, it's okay. Keep an eye on Tsumu, yeah?”
Suna blinked, then nodded with a big yawn and sat up.He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand to try and wake up properly.Osamu leaned in and nuzzled against his cheek for a brief second before his gaze dropped down to his sleeping brother.
“I'll be back soon”, he promised and gently squeezed Atsumu's arm. It did take him a few seconds to get up though and he only took the first steps towards the hallway very reluctantly.
He followed Akagi outside where they promptly ran into Oomimi and Yūto. “Where are you going?”, Ren wanted to know.
“I found the place where Atsumu hid the crow. There were some things left there and I asked Osamu to come collect them with me.”
“You have been out for most of the day already, not to mention yesterday and the day before. You should take a break, Michinari.”
The smaller fox' eyes flashed with something like anger.
“I can decide that for myself”, he replied a bit too harshly. “This could be important and I'm the only one who knows where the place is.”
Osamu took a step back in surprise.
Oomimi and Akagi usually were the best of friends.If anyone understood each other without words it was them.Osamu had never seen them like this.
Ren bit back a reply and just sighed.Michinari had become quite... difficult lately. He had trouble sleeping and he obviously took his job of keeping the clan safe very serious. And it was good that he kept an eye out for the crows and made sure that they hadn't come back - it wasn't like Ren and the others didn't appreciate it.But Michinari was actively overworking himself and wouldn't listen to any of their advice.He was almost as stubborn as Osamu had been before Rintarou had talked some sense into him.
Now again, there was that unwavering determination in Michinari's eyes and Ren realized any discussion would be pointless.
“Okay, fine. But Yūto will go with you. And be back as soon as you're done there.”
Akagi gave a curt nod and then led the Osamu and Yūto out the temple gates and into the forest.
Ren watched them until they had disappeared from sight.
The small group took the fastest route through the trees and then along the river but it still took them quite a while.
Osamu's stomach was in knots because he had no idea how he would react to everything he was going to see. For the remainder of the way he tried to focus on the path right in front of his eyes and nothing else.
A couple of minutes later Akagi slowed down, Yūto and Osamu did the same.They followed the older fox through a patch of reed and found themselves at the entrance of a small cave.
“Here it is”, Michinari explained once he'd shifted. “No wonder we haven't found it earlier.”
Atsumu had chosen this place wisely.It was far away from the temple and well hidden from sight.If they had approached the place from the other side they would have missed the entrance to the cave for sure.
Osamu looked around some more because suddenly he felt like his paws were rooted to the ground.
They were close to the river so water wouldn't have been an issue and Osamu spied a couple of plants that looked familiar which meant they probably had some of them planted in their fields too. But surely that hadn't been enough to feed the crow, it was only spring and -
'Atsumu has been on kitchen duty for most of that time', Osamu suddenly remembered.He could have easily taken some of the leftovers to give to the other shifter.
“Osamu?”
The silver fox turned towards Akagi who had called his name and found him and Yūto looking down at him with concern in their eyes.Both of them had taken on their human appearances but Osamu found he didn't want to.
He looked away with a small huff and then slowly got closer to the entrance of the cave.Before he dared to step into it he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to catch any lingering scents that might still be there. Not much was left but he thought he could make out the faintest bit of his brother's smell that was almost buried beneath some other, stronger scent.
One step after another Osamu slowly entered the cave.
The first thing he saw was a couple of books laying around and with big eyes he recognized some of his and Atsumu's favourites from when they were younger. On the right side he could see a small wooden bowl with some dried herbs and leafs in a neat row beside it.There also was a piece of parchment and it showed some kind of instructions for medicine. The letters were undeniably written by Atsumu, judging by the scrawled, messy characters.
The sight made Osamu feel sick to his stomach.
Had Atsumu only tried to learn from Aran because he'd wanted to help the crow?
A sudden anger he couldn't explain grabbed a hold of the silver fox and he snarled loudly.
With blazing eyes he turned to the very back of the cave, where it would be safest for someone to hide and as expected he found more things Atsumu had brought here.
He could see some rumpled clothes beside another book that had a marker in between the pages.Next to it was a blanket.
Osamu could see that it was Atsumu's own blanket and he remembered that he had looked for it a while ago when he'd been tasked with cleaning the sleeping quarters.Back then he hadn't thought anything of it.But now the sight of it here made him furious.
He stalked closer and leaned down so he could sniff the fabric.It still carried a strong smell from the crow and Osamu hissed viciously.
Before he knew what he was doing he had snatched it between his teeth and started tearing at it with his claws.
“Osamu!”
Akagi's call brought the young fox back to reality and he dropped the dusty blanket.He stared at it for a long few seconds and just... waited.For what he didn't know.
Minutes or just a heartbeat could have passed, Osamu wouldn't have been able to tell but eventually he heard Akagi's voice again: “What's wrong?”
A small whimper echoed in the small cave but before Akagi or Yūto could speak another word Osamu had grabbed the old blanket in between his teeth and ran outside into the early evening sunlight.
Home.He wanted to go home.Back to Atsumu.
The journey back to the temple flew by.Osamu had no idea if Akagi and Yūto had followed him but he didn't care.
He only realized he had already arrived when he heard Rintarou softly call his name.
The silver fox blinked and his vision cleared up.
He found himself standing in the middle of the sleeping quarters still in his fox form, panting harshly with the blanket still clutched between his jaws. His eyes were set on his brother's sleeping form.
“Samu?”
Osamu's eyes snapped up and he met Suna's green gaze.Neither said anything for a few heartbeats and slowly Osamu became aware of some of the other foxes staring at him.
He waited until his erratic breathing had turned normal again, then he shifted back and replaced the pillow under Atsumu's head with the blanket he had brought from the cave with utmost care.
His throat felt constricted all of a sudden and he quickly grabbed Atsumu's old pillow for himself and rolled up beside him.He didn't want to talk.He only wanted to sleep until this nightmare was over.
Osamu took one of his brother's hands and held it safely between his palms.
“Wake up, Tsumu, please”, he whispered, his voice so choked up he could barely even get the words out. “You have to wake up.”
Exhaustion pulled him under more quickly than he'd thought possible and he didn't hear Akagi and Yūto coming back only minutes later nor did he feel Suna's fingers carding through his hair and scratching his scalp gently just the way he liked it.
There was only darkness and the knowledge that a part of him was missing as long as Atsumu stayed in that magically induced sleep.
-
The atmosphere at the temple grounds grew tenser and tenser over the next days.
Akagi had told the rest of the clan what they had found and lots of unnecessary discussions had broken out all over again.There were too many harsh words spat back and forth between foxes who were usually the best of friends and too many assumptions made about things that had already happened and that none of them had any control over now anyway.
It stressed Suna to the point he had to retreat into his animal form because it made him feel a bit safer. That had happened after he and some of the foxes had witnessed a particular fierce argument between Oomimi and Akagi out on the courtyard.
Upon hearing that Aran had put his foot down and rebuked the two friends, something he'd never thought he would have to do.He hadn't seen Suna seeking shelter in his animal form since he'd first met him years ago and it nearly made him lose his cool too.Both older foxes had mumbled apologies to all of them once Aran had told them how disappointed he was with them but the tense atmosphere lingered and barely anyone spoke a word after that.
A couple of hours had passed since the incident now and Aran was currently taking a look at his two patients' wounds.
Every time he'd thought he'd gotten used to the sight he was proven wrong.The deep wounds were still a shock every damn time.Aran did his best to block the view of Atsumu's torn open side from everyone else.It was still as gruesome as on the first day, even without the blood. That golden shimmer that acted like a barrier was still there though, so that was good, right?
Aran sighed but applied a cream that should numb the pain around it just as he did every night. He didn't even know if Atsumu was feeling any pain right now but he needed to do something. He'd have to send someone out to go and look for new ingredients for the medicine soon, he realized as he did his work.
The black fox had noticed how much he'd started to rely on Atsumu when it came to treating any of the other foxes that very first night after the trial.To try and balance it out a bit he had shown the rest of the clan the plants and herbs he needed to treat Kita and Atsumu at the moment so they could go and get them if necessary.
Aran himself hadn't left the temple grounds a single time since the crows had fled.He had to be there when something changed.
Somehow he had hoped that Osamu would help him as best as he could (especially because he had been fascinated with learning how to help Suna feel better with his chronic pain and had taken pride in knowing how to help) but now he was glad when Suna could convince the silver fox to go for a walk or do some stretches with him.
He glanced over to the couple.Osamu was sitting by Atsumu's head, Suna, who still hadn't shifted back into his human form, had his head in Osamu's lap. From time to time Osamu fed him a piece of dried meat from a small plate they shared.
They both looked exhausted and sick (as most of the others) and Aran's chest ached.He just wished there was more he could do.
Osamu must have felt the eyes on him because he raised his head and met Aran's gaze.The healer tried a small smile but it must have looked miserable. Osamu blinked slowly and gave a nod which Aran recognized as a gesture of gratefulness.Aran wasn't so sure he deserved it and looked away.
He finished treating Atsumu, covered his wounds with a fresh bandage and then moved over to Kita.
Since the kitsune hadn't been hurt nearly as gravely as Atsumu Aran was less tense treating him.
He avoided the blood markings painted on Shinsuke's pale skin and then quickly checked on the claw marks on his back and stomach, the one near his right thigh and then his shoulder.
They hadn't healed over yet either and the golden shimmer was not nearly as visible as with Atsumu's wounds.Aran had no idea what that meant but it worried him despite the fact that none of the wounds were infected or bleeding.
Just what was this damn spell doing to them?
Aran sighed again and then took care of the wounds the same way he had done the past days... or weeks?... not knowing if it was even going to help.
Once he had finished he pushed the leftover medicine away and carefully replaced Kita's pillow with his thigh.The kitsune loved taking naps like this and it felt soothing to Aran too, having his best friend in that familiar position.
“Hey”, he mumbled after a while of carding through Shinsuke's dull white hair. “I hope you can hear me. Michinari and Ren had an argument today. Hard to believe, I know. But things haven't been easy since you and Atsumu...”The black fox shook his head lightly, not wanting to finish that sentence. “We need you back here with us. It's... it's becoming unbearable, Shin.”
He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to the kitsune's forehead.The tips of Shinsuke's white ears tickled his skin for just a second and somehow it was enough to make tears well up in his blue eyes.He quickly screwed them shut, not wanting anyone to see.
“I'm doing my best, we're all doing our best”, he promised in a hushed whisper. “But we need you. This clan is gonna fall apart without you, without Atsumu. I know you can do it. Didn't you say it yourself? You're a descendant. You were born with magic in your veins. Remember all the spells you could make work recently? I know this one is harder but you have it in you. You have been keeping Atsumu alive with this spell for almost half a month now. Why is it that you can't take the next step and heal him?”
Aran knew he wouldn't get an answer to that until the kitsune woke up.And so he didn't ask any more questions.
Slowly the deep ache in his bones and the crushing tiredness came back and it took barely a minute until he struggled to keep his eyes open.He distantly remembered that he was supposed to look after Atsumu and Shinsuke tonight but suddenly there was a warm hand on his shoulder and he looked up.
“Lay down for a bit”, Ren pleaded and already helped guide him down.Both were careful about Kita and Ren ended up putting the pillow beneath his head again so Aran could snuggle in behind him.
“Try and get some sleep”, he said once he had put a spare blanket over both of them. “I'll have an eye on everyone.”
“Thank you, Ren...”
Aran was so tired he had no problem dozing off right away.
'At least one of us', Oomimi thought.His eyes wandered over to where Michinari was curled up on the other side of the room.He couldn't see his face but he was almost certain that his friend wasn't sleeping.
Michinari was indeed awake.Too many thoughts were whirling through his head and kept him from falling asleep even though his body begged him to.
The argument with Ren was still too vivid in his mind and he felt terrible about it.On instinct, he curled in on himself some more.
His ears picked up on quiet footsteps though and his heart started beating faster, hoping it was Ren who had come to talk it out with him.
But when he looked up he caught sight of Riseki.Their youngest seemed nervous about something and immediately Michinari was alert.
“Hey, is something wrong?”, he asked quietly, sitting up a bit.
The young fox shook his head but sat down across from him.“No, it's just...”
Heisuke's eyes flitted over to the other side of the room for a second and Akagi began to understand.
“You saw us fighting earlier, am I right?”
Almost embarrassed, the young fox nodded.“Yeah... you have never done that since I joined you and I just wanted to see if... I mean...”
Riseki stopped himself and took a short, deep breath.
“It's just... you smell so sad, Akagi-san...”
The words caught Michinari by surprise because he hadn't seen them coming.For a minute he could only stare at Riseki with wide eyes, then he had to blink because his vision had become blurry.
“Yeah...”, he croaked. “I am.”
Heisuke seemed unsure of what to do with this answer at first.He wanted to comfort the older fox somehow.Akagi was usually so easy to get along with and Heisuke had stuck to him more than anyone else when he'd first joined Inarizaki.He wasn't used to seeing him this depressed.
Usually he would have asked if he'd like to join him for a nap and he was tempted to do so because he knew of Akagi's recently developed sleep problems and how desperately he needed some rest.But the older fox looked so troubled that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried.
“Do you wanna play some cards with me maybe?”, he asked instead and nodded over to a pack of Hanafuda laying around on a low shelf.
“Yeah... okay.”
Heisuke smiled a bit and went to grab the cards.Maybe a distraction was just what Akagi needed.
The older fox threw a glance over his shoulder and saw Ren sitting by Kita's and Atsumu's side. Only when he was about to look away he spied Aran lying behind Kita's unmoving form. The black fox was sleeping deeply and something like jealousy struck Michinari, just for a moment.But he knew he was being unreasonable if he got upset about it and so he turned back to Riseki who was busy shuffling and dealing the cards.
A wave of thankfulness replaced the feeling of jealousy as Akagi watched his younger clan mate and he realized that he was lucky to be living together with such amazing friends.Silently he vowed to himself to go and speak with Ren later.Then he picked up his cards and they started playing.
-
Shinsuke had heard Aran's pleas louder and clearer than anything else from before.He couldn't say how long ago it had been since then but he feared that the spell could be real close to breaking now.
'Why is it that you can't take the next step and heal him?'
Yeah, why was it that way? Shinsuke asked himself that exact question every minute he wasn't plagued by nightmares or hazy visions.
Where had he gone wrong?Was he missing something to make his magic work properly?
The more he thought about that option the more Shinsuke found it to be unlikely.He had managed to make other spells work. Was this one really that much more difficult? He had done everything the notes in the book had said.
No - he had done it right.He was convinced he had.
He had gone through everything else, every other thing he could think of and Shinsuke had come to the conclusion that it must be something about himself.Something stopped him from doing what he needed to do.
It wasn't his magic because if anyone had the ability it was him. He knew he was powerful enough for a spell like that, even if he hadn't had much time to train his magic.He may be inexperienced but he knew deep down he was able to save Atsumu.So why was it that he couldn't?There was only one logical conclusion.
'It's because you're scared.'
Startled, Shinsuke opened his eyes.
Just a few feet away from him sat a small, glowing white fox in the darkness.The bright light should have hurt his eyes, given how long he had lain here with them closed but for some reason it didn't.
“Who... who are you?”
The fox blinked and seemed to smile up at him.
'I am a kitsune, just like you. My name is Kita Nariko. I am -'
“My grandmother's grandmother”, Shinsuke interrupted her and promptly apologized for being so rude.
The little fox only chuckled and the sound reverberated weirdly in the young kitsune's head.
“I have seen you once before”, he remembered suddenly. “Back when I first made the journey to this temple and didn't know where to go. You helped guide me.”
'Ah, you see. That wasn't me. That was Shinju, my daughter. Yumie's mother.'
Shinsuke could only stare at her and so Nariko elaborated.
'You see, kitsunes of one family are all linked to each other. Their souls and spirits can communicate even after we have left the mortal world. We all live on with every new descendant that is born.'
She smiled again.
'And you my dear Shin-chan are a very special young fox.'
“But if I am... why can't I make this spell work then?”
'I told you: It is because you are scared. Fear blocks the gateway that keeps our magic flowing. You see, we kitsunes only show ourselves to each other in times of need. All these times you struggled to use even a simple spell we could see though. And every time it was because you were afraid.'
“But... but I don't think I was?”This made no sense.
'Not in that exact moment perhaps', Nariko tried to explain. 'But it was always there. An underlying sort of fear, if you will. And it's more than understandable, Shin-chan. Just think about everything you went through. You had to witness all these battles growing up, the death of your parents, an attack that could have cost you your own life. Then you had to flee and find somewhere safe. We saw it all, love.'
Shinsuke stared at her in disbelief.His whole body had started shaking but he barely noticed.Everything she had described were things he had seen in his nightmares.
“I had to leave everything and everyone behind”, he continued. “I... I had to start a new life somewhere far away, not knowing if I... if we were gonna make it. I kept my clan, my new family away from everyone else because I was scared it could end up like it was back home... I just wanted to keep them safe! Nothing bad can ever happen to them!”
Shinsuke found himself crying now and he angrily scrubbed at his eyes. He had cried enough the past few... days? Weeks? It couldn't continue like this.
'But something bad has happened', Nariko reminded him gently. 'It was unfortunate but it happened. You still have the power to save that young fox though. Don't forget that he is here with you. You put this spell on the two of you, that means he is here somewhere, waiting for you. But it was you who spoke the words, I only came to help guide you.'
“Then please tell me what I can do! Why is it that my spell won't work?”
'Because you're scared, Shin-chan.'
Shinsuke looked at the small shadow of his ancestor helplessly.
“How do I make it go away?”, he wanted to know.
'You don't have to. You just have to face it and not let it consume you. Fear is natural. But in order to save your fox you have to overcome it. Tell me right now Shinsuke, what is it that you're most scared of at the moment?'
The answer was crystal clear.
“What happens if Atsumu dies”, he answered, voice shaking. “What I will do if he dies... what will become of Osamu... what will become of me...”
Nariko nodded her head.
'Are you ready to face the visions about that?'
“No... but I don't have much time left before the spell breaks, do I?”
The small fox showed a sad smile this time.
'No, Shin-chan.'
“Is there no other way? Do I have to face this vision?”
'If you choose not to, you will never be free of your fear. Not here in this dream realm. You see, magic flows easily here compared to the waking world but your doubts and worries manifest more easily too. Do you see this black fog all around us?'Nariko moved around her tail, cutting through the thick mist.'It symbolized your fear, Shin-chan. If you decide to face your vision it can help you overcome everything and you'll be able to find your fox. It will be horrible, the things you're going to see, I have no doubt about that. But if you do not try and get over it all hope is lost for him.'
Shinsuke took a few deep breaths before he eventually nodded to himself.
“Just answer me one question then please: Will the things I see become reality?”
Nariko stayed silent for a moment, thinking about her answer.
'It doesn't have to. You decide what you are going to do, no matter the outcome - always. This blood spell is demanding and magic of this kind needs to be used with care. Usually a kitsune has to be in a calm state of mind when speaking it. The calmer you are when you fall asleep, the calmer you will be when you wake up here. It is easier to keep the dark parts of your mind at bay then. You had no such luck when you were forced to speak the words. But I want you to know that I believe in you, Shinsuke. Me and every other kitsune that came before you. You are stronger than you could ever imagine.'
The words - although they weighed heavy on the young leader – felt somehow comforting too and he briefly smiled at the glowing fox.
“Thank you.”
The fox smiled in return, bumped her head against Shinsuke's knee and then slowly started to fade.
'Remember that this spell comes from you, Shin-chan. This magic comes from you. Everything that happens here is linked to your decisions. It's in your hands. We believe in you.'
Nariko's last words were only a whisper in Shinsuke's head and soon she had vanished completely.The darkness stayed but Kita wasn't as afraid anymore.
'Face your fears and overcome them, then you can save Atsumu.'
Shinsuke closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let the looming darkness in.
Back in the real world the Inarizaki foxes were startled awake by their leader's whimpers.It was the deep of the night and everyone had dozed off a while ago to catch a few hours of sleep but now they were wide awake.
“Shinsuke!”
Ren was the first at his side as he had slept right next to him.
The white fox had his eyes still closed but he had started tossing and turning.His fingers were tangled in his white hair and he was pulling at the strands.
“Shinsuke, what's wrong?”
But the leader didn't answer, didn't hear them. His whimpers became louder and within seconds he was screaming loud enough to be heard throughout the whole building. His fingers had now dug into the soft skin of his cheeks so hard it left behind red streaks. Tears ran down the sides of his face.
Most of the Inarizaki foxes were too shocked to do anything that first moment.
“Hey, hey, stop, stop that”, Aran called then and managed to pull Kita's hands away from his face with great effort. “Help me hold him down”, he said to Ren and Yūto. “He's gonna end up hurting himself or someone else.”
Shinsuke put up a huge fight against his friends, his shaky voice barely managing to bring out more than “no, no, no” between screams.
The Inarizaki foxes exchanged helpless looks but all they could do was wait until it was over and make sure Shinsuke didn't hurt himself or anyone else.And it took a long while this time.
Shinsuke was panting and weak by the end of it, a few bruises painting his pale skin where he had struggled against his friends' hold.
“Heisuke, get me a bucket of cold water and a towel please”, Aran said to their youngest before he quickly checked that Kita's wounds hadn't started bleeding again somehow.
Kita was pale and shivering as if he was cold and Suna showed up with a blanket that he put over Kita right away.
Ren and Aran started rubbing over the soft material with their hands to warm him up.
“Shin, it's time you make that damn spell work. What's taking you so long? What is happening to you?”
Aran didn't get an answer but the part of Kita that was still sleeping was grateful for the warmth his friends provided.
He had no idea how he'd made it through that absolute nightmare of a vision.He felt weak and shaky and cold and it took ages until he was even able to sit up on his knees.
The kitsune felt sick to his stomach.He had seen what could happen now if he couldn't make this spell work in time.He had seen what could become of him, of the twins and his clan, of Karasuno.
And never would he let that happen.Not as long as he was alive and breathing.He would find Atsumu and heal him. Then they would wake up together and their clan would wait for them when they opened their eyes.
Kita had kind of expected to see Nariko again but as he looked around he realized that he was alone.Instead of her showing up though the darkness around him started to lift.The black fog retreated and what was lingering was starting to become grey and see-through. Kita recognized that he was somewhere in the forest.
It wasn't bright daylight but the kitsune could see his surroundings clear enough and understood that his fear didn't block his senses and his magic anymore.Witnessing what could happen had been terrifying but it had also sparked a flame deep inside of Kita's soul - he had no doubt that he could work the magic now.It was just a matter of finding Atsumu.
For the first time since he'd woken up in the dream realm Shinsuke was able to shift into his fox form and he let out a surprised gasp when he saw that he was glowing too, just like Nariko had.But there was no time to think about that now.
He let out a long, deafening howl – a leader calling for his clan mates.
For a few heartbeats there was nothing but silence, then – a weak answer.Another howl, barely audible in the distance, but definitely one belonging to a fox.
Kita started running.
The forest flew by in a blur and somewhere along the way Kita could tell by his surroundings that he was heading towards the outskirts.
He howled again and got an answer almost immediately.
Shinsuke willed his legs to run faster.
He sprinted through the huge trees, jumped over big roots sticking out from the ground and made his way through thick bushes that tore at his glowing fur.
Then he found himself on a small clearing, protected by a huge chestnut tree and surrounded by high grass.
And right in the middle of it was Atsumu.
He was laying on the ground and didn't move but his eyes were wide open and stared at Kita as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Shinsuke hurried over to him and took on his human form so he could kneel down beside him.
“Atsumu”, he whispered, his voice shaking with relief.He had found him.He had found him...
The golden fox looked weak, a shade too pale and Shinsuke carefully brushed away a stray tear that had escaped Atsumu's eye.
“Where were you?”, he breathed.
Guilt crushed Shinsuke's chest and threatened to overwhelm him.He had promised Atsumu they'd get through this together, yet he had made him wait for far too long.
“I'm so sorry, Atsumu”, he managed to choke out. “I'm sorry it took so long. But I'm here now.”
He tried to smile and moved to lay down in front of Atsumu, in the same position they had fallen asleep in.
“It still hurts, Kita-san...”
Shinsuke followed Atsumu's gaze down to his side. He had his bloodied hands pressed against the damp cloth of his yukata right over the spot where the waking Atsumu had suffered the deep slashes.
“Not for long anymore”, he promised.
He reached out and took Atsumu's face in between his hands.Silent tears tumbled down Atsumu's cheeks.Shinsuke wiped them away with his thumbs and leant forward a little more, so his forehead was nearly touching Atsumu's.
“Look at me.”
Atsumu did, without magic that kept his eyes on Kita this time.
And right in that moment, Kita knew it would work.Atsumu was here, alive.That was all he had needed to see.
“Feel the connection between the two of us and heal”, he repeated the last words from the original spell.The last bit of fear in Kita's heart dissipated into nothing as he looked into Atsumu's caramel eyes and finally, finally his magic flowed freely.
Atsumu felt a fresh sort of energy enter his body.Kita grinned softly at the surprised little squeak he let out in response to it but concentrated on keeping up the steady stream of magic.
Within a few heartbeats Atsumu seemed to breathe more easily and the pained expression that had been etched into his features started to fade away.He exchanged a look with Kita who smiled warmly at him and bumped their noses together.
“I promised I would save you.”
Atsumu's pain level decreased quickly and when he tried to take a deep breath he promptly gasped in surprise when his chest didn't feel like bursting on the inhale.
He dared to pull his shaky hands away from his side and grinned brightly when they came back clean and free from blood.Carefully he pulled his clothes to the side to peek at the wounds and the two foxes witnessed the last bit knitting itself back together.
The only thing that was left behind was a faint scar and a barely visible golden shimmer.
“It worked... it worked, Kita-san!”
The kitsune found himself in a tight hug before he could react.But he just grinned and briefly nuzzled Atsumu's ear as he returned the embrace.
“I promised”, he repeated quietly.A sudden tiredness took a hold of him the next moment and when he pulled back he saw Atsumu swaying too.He was blinking heavily as if he was about to fall asleep.
“What is happening?”, he wanted to know. He tried to hold himself up on his arms but Kita carefully guided him back down.
“We're waking up. The spell has worked. We can leave this place now.”
The kitsune took his previous position again and reached out to hold Atsumu's hands in between his own.
“Don't be scared. Everyone will be there when we open our eyes.”
Atsumu nodded, struggling to listen to the older fox because of the growing tiredness.It was paradox, he thought, that he felt so exhausted when he was finally healed and about to wake up.But perhaps things ran different in this dream world and so he didn't question it.
A last whispered “Don't be scared” reached his ears before his eyes slipped shut.
The sleeping quarters were quiet around him when Kita started to come to his senses.He picked up on a couple of light snores and his ear twitched.
Some rustling followed somewhere close by and then Kita felt someone briefly stroking his ears, first the right one, then the left one.Aran was the only one who had a habit of doing that and a tiny sigh escaped Kita's throat, barely audible in the quiet of the morning.
For some reason Aran's reaction to that small little noise was to try and shush Kita.
“Shh, don't move, Shin. We don't want to hold you down again.”
Hold him down again?
“Is he having another fit?”
Ren's sleepy voice spoke up.
“I'm not sure. His ear flicked once and he made a small noise but that's been it so far.”
A beat of silence.
“How long can he keep going?”
“I have no idea...”
Shinsuke tried to chime in to let his friends know he was awake and could hear them but his voice wouldn't obey him fully yet and so only another sound, close to a whimper escaped his mouth.
“Oh no.”
More shuffling and movement followed and suddenly he felt hands turning him on his back.The movement made a zap of pain run through his bad shoulder and he gave a quiet hiss, trying his best to open his eyes.
He felt a hand on his good shoulder that held him down and a growl started to climb up his throat.
“What is going on?”
Osamu.
Any sound that had threatened to come out just vanished.
“Shinsuke is having another fit, keep your distance.”
“Kita-san...”
The sadness in Osamu's voice was the last push the white fox needed.
His eyes started to open.The room was dim but the light still stung a bit so he blinked.
Suddenly Osamu gasped.
“Aran-kun, look!”
Shinsuke carefully blinked his eyes fully open.A shadow fell over his face, blocking the morning sunlight and once his vision came into focus he found himself face to face with Aran.
Something about his face looked different, Kita just wasn't able to tell what is was right away. But those blue eyes were the exact same as always.
“S-Shin?”
“Hey.”
Kita's voice was so rusty and quiet it surprised himself.Aran though – he nearly teared up at the sound of that one little word.
Someone else came into his field of view and Shinsuke recognized Ren. He too looked like he was seconds away from bursting into tears.It was an unusual look on both of their faces, so Kita blinked and tried his best to give his friends a reassuring smile.Then he turned his head to the left where he knew Atsumu was.
The golden fox still seemed to sleep but Osamu was wide awake, his huge dark eyes staring at his leader.He looked shell-shocked but there was also a shimmer of hope in his dull eyes.
“Check his wounds”, Kita whispered.
Osamu immediately got to work, startling Suna awake in the process, who had been napping against his leg in his animal form.The sandy brown fox made an accusing noise but was immediately silenced when he looked over to Kita and saw him awake.
The shift was immediate.
“Kita-san!”, he gasped.Then his head snapped around just in time to see Osamu taking off the bandages protecting Atsumu's wounds with shaky fingers.
He'd gotten so used to the sight of the mauled flesh that he had to do a double take when instead of the gruesome wounds there were only two crooked, long scars left.The weak golden shimmer from before had now lain over the scar tissue protectively and faded before their eyes until it was barely visible anymore.
Osamu's shaky fingers grazed his brother's skin as if he had to prove to himself that he wasn't just imagining this.The skin was smooth, lightly raised or recessed where the scar ran across it.But the wounds were healed.
It had worked.
“Samu?”
That one single word punched all air from the silver fox' lungs.No, not the word – the voice that had spoken it.
It was probably just a few heartbeats but it felt like minutes until he had the courage to turn his head and look down at his twin.
Atsumu's half lidded caramel eyes were looking right back at him.
A wet sob tumbled from Osamu's mouth but he smiled, smiled so bright it could have put the sun to shame.Then all his held back feelings overwhelmed him at once and he started crying.Nearly blind he felt for Atsumu and pulled him up into a crushing embrace.
The touch hurt but Atsumu was thankful for it.He was alive, Osamu was with him and as he looked around with blurry vision he saw everyone else there too, just like Kita had promised.Atsumu buried his face in his brother's neck and held onto him as tightly as he could.
The rest of the clan had woken up by now because of all of the noise and once everyone had grasped the situation the atmosphere in the room changed within seconds.Despair and worry turned into relief so strong it seemed almost touchable.
Kita was swarmed by the older foxes first, then the rest of his clan and he tried to purr loud enough for all of them to hear. He felt someone nuzzling his hair and his ears, small kisses were being pressed to his temple, strong arms wrapped around him and warm hands made sure he felt safe and protected.
In all of this chaos he caught Osamu's gaze.
It was one of these moment where time stopped and the silver fox looked at him with endless gratitude. Kita knew he would never forget this moment for as long as he lived. Osamu tightened the hold on his brother.“Thank you”, he mouthed, his throat too choked up for actual words.
A crushing wave of affection surprised the kitsune the next second and he struggled to shake everyone off of him.
Surprised, the other foxes let go, scared that they had hurt him or that it could have been too much.
They all watched as Kita shuffled his way over to the twins on his hands and knees, his body probably still weak from that draining healing spell.He pulled both boys into his arms and the brothers clung onto him immediately while also never letting go of each other.
A purr so loud it seemed to make Kita's whole chest vibrate with it filled the whole room and although the twins didn't stop crying their bodies reacted to the soothing sound and they started to relax.
Not only they but the rest of the clan felt the effects of it as well and most of them started purring on their own too.
Kita didn't really notice that, he was focused solely on his cubs.He nosed and licked at their glands alternately, inhaling their sweet scents to soothe himself and in turn the twins.
They were here, safe in his arms, no one could hurt them.
The kitsune smiled and started scenting both brothers thoroughly, never letting go of them.
One by one the other foxes joined them and soon enough they were all tangled up with one another in one big cuddle pile. Loud purrs that wouldn't stop rumbling through the reunited family put the foxes at ease and they could breathe freely for the first time in what felt like forever.
The morning sun rose higher and higher while peace and calm finally settled over the Inarizaki temple grounds.
All Inarizaki foxes were so tired and drained of their energy caused by the events of the past three weeks that most of them slept for one whole day and one whole night without interruption after Kita and Atsumu had woken up from their slumber.Some of them even longer.Aran slept close to thirty-six hours in one go since he was the one who had been up and working the most out of all of them.
The twins wouldn't let go of each other and Kita wasn't more than a few inches away from them either. He had to lie down a certain way to minimize the strain on his healing wounds and he couldn't possibly hold both twins the way he wanted to but he had his fluffy tails wrapped around them protectively and slept lighter with their scents in his nose.
The first foxes who had the strength to leave the warm cuddle pile after they had gotten some much deserved and needed rest prepared a huge breakfast for everyone, not caring just how much food they took out of their pantry for once. They all deserved to eat as much as they could after all they had been through. Not to mention that all of them really needed a good meal too.
It was a feast.They all ate in the sleeping quarters, pushing blankets and pillows aside enough to not get them dirty but otherwise staying as close to each other as before.
Osamu made sure that Atsumu tried a bite of everything and Akagi warned him not to overdo it because Atsumu might get a stomach ache because of it – completely ignoring the fact that he was doing pretty much the same thing with Kita.
The kitsune grinned only though and let his friends feed him various foods until his belly was full and he was starting to get sleepy again.
After that truly divine meal most of the pack went back to sleep again.All of them needed time to recover right now.Everything else could wait until they had gained some new strength.
-
The following three days continued in a similar manner.Lots of food and sleep, everyone only doing the most necessary tasks that needed to be done before returning to spend the rest of the time with the clan.
Kita recovered but only slowly and he still slept for about three quarters of the day.The minor wounds he had suffered in the trial had finally started to heal but they weren't disappearing as fast as they usually would.Kita had wondered about that at first but then he had shrugged it off. It probably was just the prolonged use of his magic that had drained him so much that it prohibited his wounds from healing at a much faster pace like he was used to. And so he reassured everyone that he would simply need time to recover.
Still, the near constant sleepiness and the lingering ache from the minor wounds were unfamiliar to him and he often found himself dozing off in the hours he didn't spend in bed.Even when one of the older foxes gave him a gentle sponge bath (they couldn't risk a proper bath because of the still healing wounds yet) he was more asleep than awake.
Atsumu on the other hand seemed to be as good as new.He had recovered remarkably fast and hadn't complained about any kind of pain so far.He was awake from sunrise to sunset after the second day and seemed full of energy.
He had offered to help in the kitchen already but both Aran and Kita forbid him from doing so, claiming that Atsumu still needed to rest a bit more, just in case.Atsumu had sulked for a bit but had forgotten about it when they finally allowed him to go outside into the sun for a while.
He was sitting on the porch next to the big entrance doors of the main building now and had his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.
Despite feeling so much better and being coddled by his brother and close friends Atsumu felt a growing nervousness in the pit of his stomach.
He knew that the clan knew about Hinata, at least to an extend. He remembered what he had said to Osamu and Kita before the long slumber and he had noticed his blanket -that he had originally given to Shoyo- right when Kita had eventually let go of him and his twin after their tearful reunion.So they had found the hideout at some point.
Hinata's faint scent clinging to the blanket did little to calm Atsumu these days.
He knew he would have to talk about everything that had happened once Kita was feeling good enough.He would have to lay everything bare, from the moment he'd found Hinata in the forest until the second he had decided to jump in between the two fighting leaders.
Without really noticing, the tips of his fingers ghosted over the scars on his side once again. They still felt unreal to him, like they didn't belong on his body.It was a foreign feeling and it made him shudder so he pulled his hand away and instead gazed at the orange horizon.As he quietly watched the setting sun in the distance he once more realized that he most likely would have died if Kita hadn't saved him.
It was still hard to grasp for him and he was grateful about the rescue, no question about that.Maybe as grateful as he had been when Kita had first decided to take them in.Back then he had been the one who had saved Osamu too.
Atsumu knew neither he nor his brother could ever repay that debt to the kitsune as long as they lived.
But Atsumu also knew that he had to try. And he would try.And he would start by telling Kita everything. He deserved to know.Afterwards Kita could decide what to do with him, Atsumu swore to himself to take on every punishment the kitsune decided to give him.
Lost in his thoughts as he was he hadn't noticed Osamu coming towards him.
“Tsumu?”
Atsumu blinked and was back in the present.He heard people bustling around in the kitchen, the sizzling of something being fried in oil too. A warm, delicious smell wafted over to him but for a moment Atsumu felt like he might be sick.
“Is everything okay?”
Osamu sat down on the wooden planks too.
Atsumu sighed.“I was just thinking about... uhm, well, it's almost time to talk to Kita about everything, I think...”
“You're gonna tell him the truth, right?”
“Yeah, of course but...”
“You're scared.”
Atsumu could only nod.
Osamu looked at his brother for a little while, saying nothing.He hadn't asked Atsumu about more details yet because he knew it would be hard for his brother to tell the whole story.At the same time he ached to know about the pieces that were still missing. So much was left unexplained.But his brother needed his rest and so Osamu held his tongue, for now.Then he took a deep breath and scooted a little closer.
“Listen, Tsumu. Whatever happens, I will support you. I have no idea what will come of all this. But just know you have me, okay? It won't matter what the others think of you. I know you're loyal and what you did doesn't change anything about that.”
Atsumu raised his head like he wanted to look at his brother but then struggled to meet his gaze at the last moment.
“The others won't see it that way. How will I ever be able to look them in the eyes again once they know the truth?”
He did look up to meet Osamu's dark eyes then, his own gaze helpless and lost.
“You won't know about that until it happens”, the silver fox tried to reason. “Who says it has to be this way? And if it does... argh, you can still stress about that after you tell Kita-san what happened. Maybe that is still a couple of days away. You know he's still very sleepy and probably not healthy enough for a long discussion anyway.”
Sleepy was an understatement but Atsumu didn't point that out.Kita was not only tired but weak too. His steps were slow and a little wobbly and he was out of breath whenever he had walked around the temple grounds for a couple of minutes.One of the older foxes was at his side at all times and it broke Atsumu's heart to see his usually strong leader like this.All because of that stupid spell...
“Yeah, maybe...”
Atsumu didn't really believe his brother's words though.
Telling Kita everything was the least Atsumu could do after the kitsune had risked his own life to save him.
Later, after dinner, he would go and ask him if he felt well enough to hear what Atsumu had to say.
The two brothers stayed out until they heard Ren calling everyone inside.Atsumu had lost his appetite for good now but he let Osamu pull him to his feet and together they went inside.
The table was already filled with various side dishes and drinks but Atsumu had trouble eating even his favourites.His eyes wandered over to the head of the table multiple times where Kita was sitting next to Akagi. His left arm was trapped in a sling so his bad shoulder wouldn't be strained too much and although the rest of his wounds healed he was still exhausted.
He did look better than this morning though and Atsumu knew that he couldn't chicken out now.
Dinner seemed to go on for ages.Aran had already asked Atsumu if he was feeling okay because he had eaten almost nothing but the golden fox had assured him that he was alright.
His ears gave away his nerves though with the way they were twitching every few heartbeats. Osamu tried to give him a reassuring smile but it looked strained too.
Then finally, once Oomimi and Ginjima had started collecting all the dishes and everyone was getting up, Atsumu too scrambled to his feet and with one last glance to his brother he shuffled over to where Kita had just gotten to his feet too.
The kitsune seemed to feel his presence because he turned around before Atsumu could even address him.
“Atsumu, come with me. I need to talk to you.”
The older twin gulped but Kita gave him a wave with the tips of his white tails, ordering him to follow once again so Atsumu had no choice but to obey.
He tried to calm his racing nerves.This was only Kita.He had talked to him hundreds of times before.The kitsune would never be unfair towards him.
Atsumu just hoped he'd understand once he knew everything.
He followed the white fox back inside the sleeping quarters but kept a close eye on him as he slowly moved to sit down in his usual place.
Atsumu stayed standing and desperately tried not to fidget.
Once Kita looked up at him his nerves did calm a bit.There was a spark of indulgence in the kitsune's golden eyes but his voice was serious when he spoke.
“You know you will have to tell us everything about what happened since the moment you found the crow. And you have to do it soon. You know that. Right, Atsumu?”
The young fox swallowed hard around the lump in his throat but nodded obediently when words failed him.
“Good. Tomorrow at noon. Everyone else will be present too.”
“What?!”
Atsumu hadn't meant to be so disrespectful but he'd felt like he'd been punched in the gut by Kita's last sentence.“B-But Kita-san, I thought if I told you then we could-”
“I won't compromise on this, Atsumu.”
The warm glow in Kita's eyes faded away and was replaced with something dark and seething and for the first time ever Atsumu felt like the kitsune was truly mad with him.Immediately he cast his eyes down in shame and his ears turned backwards on instinct, his tail found it's way between his legs.The sinking feeling in his gut only worsened and Atsumu bit his lip hard to keep himself from making any noise, sensing that Kita had more to say.
“You brought everyone in danger with what you did. If Sawamura-san hadn't offered the trial a lot more foxes and crows would have been hurt. I know you never meant any harm but all of the others deserve to know what happened too. You hid a big secret from us, Atsumu. It brought Osamu in great danger and we're lucky no one else got hurt or worse, killed. You could have paid for it with your life, do you understand that?”
Atsumu couldn't repress the sniffle that escaped him but he nodded a couple of times.
“The others will be present. And I want you to be completely honest with us. I will know if you keep something from us.”
“Y-Yes, Kita-san”, Atsumu croaked.
“Good.”
The kitsune's gaze softened a little.
“Are you feeling alright, Atsumu? Are you scars causing you trouble?”
Atsumu felt anything but alright right now but he shook his head at the last question.
“That's good at least.”
The kitsune sighed and leaned back into a stack of pillows.
“Would you please be so good and ask Aran for some more of that pain-numbing medicine? That slash on my back won't stop bothering me.”
“Of course, Kita-san...”
Atsumu quickly bowed his head and tried not to run as he left the room to go look for the fox in question.
He found him in the small chamber where they stored the different ingredients, flasks and bowls with already prepared mixtures.
“Aran...?”
The black fox turned around.His blue eyes seemed a little more cool than usual and Atsumu somehow felt like he had intruded.
“Sorry, am I interrupting you with something important?”
“No. What do you want?”
“I just... uhm, Kita-san asked if you have some more of that pain-numbing cream for him. He said his wounds have been bothering him again.”
Immediately Aran's expression turned into one of worry and he grabbed one of the many bowls from a shelf near the door but then turned around to grab a few other things.
Atsumu, not knowing what to do but not wanting to be in the way either, pressed himself flat against the wall.While doing that though, he accidently knocked over a bowl and a piece of parchment from a nearby low shelf with his tail.
Cursing under his breath he bent down to pick it up again but stopped dead in his tracks when he recognized his own messy characters on the parchment and the wooden bowl he'd used so many times before.
He looked over to the shelf and spied all the leftover herbs and greens he'd used for Hinata's medicine. They were old and dried up now but he recognized them all the same.
“You... you found it...”
It was a stupid statement. Atsumu already knew they had found the hideout.But he hadn't known that they had brought back his ingredients and the equipment too, neither Osamu nor Aran had mention it to him.He knew how this must have looked to the healer though and suddenly Atsumu was scared.
Aran, who had been about the walk out the door, stopped and turned to look down at his disciple.
“Michinari found the place while you and Shinsuke were still asleep. He took some of the others and brought back everything that was left there. So, yeah, we don't know everything yet but all of it was already pretty telling.”
Atsumu had to break the eye contact and looked down at the items on the wooden floor.His chest felt like a hole had opened up in there.
No, no, this was not how it was supposed to be!He and Hinata had promised to tell their clans the truth, they had vowed to!
But everything Atsumu felt right now was fear.How could he speak even one word to his friends , how could he begin to explain what had happened...
They wouldn't understand.Lots of them were probably already judging him.
Aran definitely was, Atsumu could tell by the way he was looking at him right now.
“Aran, I-”
“I don't want to hear it right now, Atsumu. Did you only want to learn from me so you could help that crow? Were you planning on dropping everything once he was gone? Did you deceive me and just feign interest all this time? What were you-”
Aran stopped himself mid-sentence.He'd gotten quite loud and Atsumu looked like a frightened kit, eyes wide and glassy, ears nearly hidden in his golden strands.No.This discussion could wait.He had a patient to take care of.
“We'll talk about all of this tomorrow. Until then I don't want you to touch anything here, do you understand?”
Atsumu once again could only nod.Hastily he put everything back on the shelf and then stormed out of the room without another word.
The black fox watched him until he was out of sight and huffed out an exhausted breath.He hadn't meant to snap like that.Whatever Atsumu had done before – he had also just survived a horrifying situation and was still recovering.
But still, Aran couldn't help but feel betrayed.
For now though he tried to shake it off and made his way to the sleeping quarters where Shinsuke waited for him.
-
That night Kita didn't sleep well.His wounds didn't bother him thanks to Aran's excellent care but unfortunately it didn't protect him from nightmares.
The kitsune woke up drenched in sweat, the pictures of his last dark dream still vivid in his mind.Panting, he slowly sat up and looked around.The room was quiet, no one seemed to have woken up.
Osamu was slumbering not far from him and Shinsuke reached out, carefully ruffling his silver strands, reminding himself that the young fox was safe.Then he looked around for Atsumu who had retreated to the very edge of the nest and was sleeping a good distance away from everyone else.
Kita slowly got to his feet and only then noticed that he was shaking.He clenched his fists.Stupid nightmares.
One step after another he tip toed out of the center of the pile and went to the joint room next door, where they kept all their spare clothes.
He had already picked out new ones but then struggled to pull off the old ones, his bad shoulder and the other minor wounds making it hard for him.Frustrated after a couple of fruitless attempts he felt like crying for the first time in ages.
He rarely felt this helpless but somehow it was even worse now - in the dead of the night when he was the only one awake and no one was there to even see his struggle.
Oh no, he really was gonna cry.His eyes had already started to water.
“Kita-san?”
A surprised little noise escaped Kita's mouth and he was back in the present.
'One of the twins.'
Even after all these years it was hard to tell them apart sometimes.Slowly he turned to look over his shoulder and recognized Osamu standing in the doorway.The silver fox looked concerned and Kita managed to blink the tears away.
“Hey”, he mumbled.
“Hey”, Osamu echoed. “Couldn't sleep?”
“Had a nightmare.”
Kita didn't explain further but Osamu saw how his white shirt stuck to his upper body with sweat, then he noticed the fresh clothes in his hands.
“You need a hand?”, he asked.
“Please.”
Wordlessly the silver fox came over and helped his leader out of his sweaty gown and into the new, dry one.Kita relaxed a little once he didn't feel so physically uncomfortable anymore and expressed his gratitude with a quite mumble and a press of his nose against Osamu's cheek.
The younger fox smiled and closed his arms around the kitsune for a gentle hug.Kita leaned into it without hesitation and only then realized that he really craved some physical comfort.But he also wanted to get back to the others.
These days he had a hard time relaxing whenever his clan wasn't within reach or at least sight.It had always been that way but especially now – knowing that his foxes were save and close by soothed his protective instincts like nothing else.
That longing gaze over his shoulder must have given it away because Osamu let go and gently pulled him along by the arm as he led the way.Kita followed with slow steps.
Back in the sleeping quarters they sat down near one of the walls.Kita felt like he couldn't go back to sleep even if he tried and Osamu, who was wide awake now, kept him company.
Osamu ended up sitting sideways between the kitsune's legs, resting against his chest but careful not to put too much weight on him.His head was on Kita's good shoulder and his nose pressed to the skin of his neck, near his gland.
The kitsune had one hand in Osamu's hair and he carded through the silver strands with slow movements. After a while the younger twin started to purr.
It didn't take long until Osamu felt the tension in Kita's posture slowly bleed away.'Good', he thought and pressed a little closer.
“Why were you awake earlier?”, the kitsune asked after a long while of silence.
“I was worried about Tsumu so I didn't sleep well. Woke up when you got up and walked past me”, Osamu confessed quietly, then glanced over to his brother. “Tsumu seemed pretty down earlier but he wouldn't talk to me about it.”
Shinsuke hummed.Aran had pulled a troubled expression after he had sent Atsumu to get him earlier that day so Shinsuke had a pretty good idea what had happened between them.
“Kita-san?”
The kitsune turned to look at the silver fox still cuddled up to him.There was something hesitating in the way he'd said his name, instantly alerting the older fox.
“Yes?”
“You... you will be fair to Atsumu, right?”
He knew he didn't have to ask this question because already knew the answer.
Kita had been nothing but kind to them for all the time they had lived together. He was even willing to overlook small mistakes the twins made or little fights or squabbles they got into – something he rarely – if ever - did with the others.Osamu knew Kita loved them no matter what.They were family.But then again this situation was so very different from everything that had happened ever since they had lived at the temple grounds together.
“I will be fair to him”, the white fox promised calmly. “But he did a lot of things that he needs to explain and justify. It won't be easy, for any of us.”
Osamu had known Kita would say something like this and so he didn't say anything in return.His gaze wandered back to Atsumu's sleeping form and worry made its way back onto his face and into his eyes.
“What did you dream about?”, he quietly wanted to know, half to distract himself from his worries and half because he remembered that Kita seemed to wake up often during the nights.Osamu was still easily startled by small noises, thanks to all the time he waited for Atsumu to wake up and a couple of times he had heard Kita's little gasps or curses when he'd jolted awake.
The kitsune didn't say anything for a moment, debating with himself if he should tell Osamu. Once he had decided he let out a small sigh.
“When I was sleeping for so long I had to get through lots of bad memories and nightmares from the past. Sometimes I would have visions about the future... dark visions. In the last one I had before I was able to make the spell work I... it was horrifying...”
Kita had to stop himself to collect his thoughts but to his surprise Osamu hummed like he agreed.
“You... started tossing and turning one night out of nowhere”, he remembered. “And then you started screaming. Some of the others had to hold you down because you were just... pulling at your hair and t-tearing at your skin...”
He shuddered at the memory, then glanced up.
“Is it that same dream again?”
Kita could only nod his head.
“It's always the same.”
“What do you see?”
“What would have happened if... if I couldn't have saved Atsumu in time...”
The words only sank in slowly and once Osamu fully understood what they meant an ice cold shutter ran down his spine and shook his whole body.He pressed closer into Kita's chest and was thankful when the kitsune wrapped his tails around him.The warmth helped him stay present.
“What exactly happened?”, he heard himself ask.
“These visions only show possible futures. Nothing is set in stone, we always decide-”
“Please tell me.”
Osamu's eyes were huge and the dim light of the lanterns made them sparkle like the distant stars in the night sky.
Kita wanted to ask why he insisted on getting an answer but he knew as well as Osamu that whatever could have happened – Osamu would have been affected by it heavily. He and Atsumu were inseparable. Whatever happened to one had some kind of impact on the other one.
Kita wasn't feeling entirely well telling Osamu but then again – it couldn't be worse than what the silver fox had already been through.Osamu had quite literally gone through hell and in the end Kita's nightmares were only that: nightmares, not reality.
The kitsune took a deep breath.
“You and I... we didn't survive either.”
Kita expected Osamu to gasp or flinch or look at him in horror, anything.But he just kept staring at him, eyes unblinking and wide open.It should have been unsettling but Kita was remarkably calm as he continued:“His death made me blind with rage and left you broken and in pieces but also thirsting for blood. Without thinking I immediately made my way to Karasuno to fulfil my promise.”
“Promise?”
Kita nodded.
“I said I wouldn't show mercy if either of you got killed because of their actions. So I raced up to the mountain top and you followed me. The others tried to stop us but we wouldn't listen. We attacked the crows recklessly but in the end they took us down...”
Osamu was quiet for a long time and Kita wondered what kind of pictures were going through his mind right now.
“But it was only a vision... it isn't real...”, Osamu whispered but he didn't sound like he believed his own words.
“No, it isn't real.”
Kita pressed his nose to Osamu's temple and closed his eyes. For a few heartbeats he tried to focus on the steady pulse echoing in his ears.
“We're all here, alive and breathing”, he mumbled. “Whatever happens now, we can deal with it. Atsumu is no exception.”
“Yeah... thank you for telling me, Kita-san...”
Osamu tried a smile but for a moment he felt like hiding away.Kita's words had awoken a different kind of fear in him. All the time that Atsumu had been in that coma-like state Osamu had never allowed himself to think about what would happen if his brother didn't make it.There had been no room for it.If he had let that thought get to him he would have gone mad.
But now though... Of course he knew Atsumu was safe and well.But Kita's words made his chest ache as if he had lost something anyway.
On instinct he pressed closer to his leader and curled up against his chest more so that his head was tucked beneath Kita's chin.One of his ears grazed against Kita's cheek in the process and flicked against his skin when his warm breath tickled the sensitive hairs on the inside.
Osamu mumbled an apology, the kitsune on the other hand sat up a bit straighter.
“Has your ear still not fully healed?”, he asked, concern lacing his voice.Only now did he notice that the deep v-shaped split was still scabbed over at the edges, as if it had just recently started to heal properly.
Osamu just shrugged.“Aran said it was like... a psychological thing? Because I didn't eat or sleep much and wasn't able to take good care of myself so it didn't heal well. But it's been feeling better with every day since you woke up again.”His arm looked quite the same (and he had strained it when he had shifted into his fox form that one time) but he didn't say.Kita had enough worries, he didn't need to know.It would only add unnecessary weight to his burden.
Kita was quiet for a moment. He had stopped carding through Osamu's hair and the silver fox started to get anxious.But suddenly the kitsune pulled him as close as he could with his good arm and pressed a soft kiss to the injured ear.
“You must have been so scared...”
Osamu couldn't answer.Tears started to well up in his eyes without his permission and the lump in his throat seemed to grow even more.With nothing else left he could do he nodded and hid his face in Kita's chest.
He thought he was over crying at this point.But apparently he had thought wrong.
He had been scared, so damn scared it had nearly killed him.
Distantly he was aware that the kitsune mumbled soothing words to him but it was all Osamu could do to just hold onto his old friend and try to anchor himself in the present by breathing in his cold scent and focusing on his warm skin beneath his fingertips.
It took a couple of quiet sobs and hiccups but the tears stopped eventually and Osamu did his best to wipe them away completely.Kita had started to purr to help calm him down and gently petted his head once he felt him take a deep, shaky breath.
“Everything's okay”, the white fox mumbled. “We're back and we're all healing. Try to get some rest and don't worry too much. I'll treat Atsumu fairly, I promise you. He is my cub. Just like you are.”
Osamu's lips curled into a tiny smile, just for a second.
“We're family. Whatever happens tomorrow... just remember that, okay?”
The silver fox nodded.“Okay...”, he promised.
“Good”, Kita smiled. “Now let's go back to sleep. Would you like to stay with me? Or do you want to go join your brother?”
Osamu's dark eyes wandered over to where Atsumu was curled up away from the others and while he didn't like seeing that the younger twin sensed that Atsumu needed his space right now.Kita's offer was tempting but his gaze was drawn towards his sleeping boyfriend in the middle of the pile.
“I'll go back to Rin”, he decided quietly.At the knowing look in Kita's eyes Osamu felt his cheeks heat up but then he smiled a soft smile that the kitsune had never seen before.
“He... he was great, Kita-san. I don't know what I would have done without him...”
The quiet confession made something warm bloom in Kita's chest and with the next heartbeat he was overcome with a wave of love and gratitude for Suna because he had taken such good care of Osamu in his absence.
“Go then”, he whispered. “Don't make him wait.”
Osamu nuzzled his cheek once more before he got to his feet.Kita watched wordlessly as the younger fox sneaked back to Suna and promptly wiggled his way into his arms.Suna made a sleepy noise but wrapped his arms around Osamu right away.Within a minute they were both slumbering peacefully in each other's embrace.
Kita smiled at them before he quietly got up too and checked on Atsumu.The golden fox seemed to be asleep but his tail which he was hugging for comfort twitched against his chest restlessly as if he was experiencing a bad dream.
The kitsune knelt down beside him and stayed there for a while.He would have loved to try and soothe the young fox.
He must be nervous as hell about tomorrow.But for once this was something that Atsumu had to go through alone.Just like he had to deal with his nightmare alone.
Kita did lean down to briefly scent him though.He would never deny any of his friends this comfort when they so obviously needed it.
Atsumu calmed down within about two minutes.His breathing got lighter and he wasn't as twitchy anymore even though he was still clutching his own tail.Kita grabbed the blanket that had slipped off of Atsumu's shoulders and re-adjusted it to keep him warm.
“You will get through this tomorrow, Atsumu”, he murmured. “I believe in you.”
Then the kitsune got up and went over to Aran and Akagi, between which he had slept before and settled back in.The by now familiar tiredness had gotten a hold of him again and it had pulled him under before he realized that Akagi had curled into his chest and Aran had come up behind him to snuggle.
-
“Miya Atsumu. You know you are here today to tell us all about what happened regarding the missing crow before the trial. Since Osamu already told us everything he knows we do know a little bit but it is time that you tell us about it in your own words. From the very beginning until the present day.”
Atsumu swallowed.“Y-Yes”, he croaked.
He felt smaller than he ever had in his entire life and his quiet voice no doubt reflected that. It probably was partially because he was kneeling all alone in the middle of the room while all of the other foxes were sitting across from him in one neat row.
Kita was sitting in the middle, flanked by Aran and Akagi, Osamu was at the far right.
Atsumu's eyes darted over to his brother whose tail just wouldn't stop moving from side to side. His fists were clenched on top of his thighs and he looked just as nervous as Atsumu felt. His wide open but tired eyes, rigid posture and messy grey hair only added to that.
Osamu tried to give Atsumu an encouraging nod but the worry was reflected too clearly in the small action. Atsumu appreciated the effort though and thanked him with the flick of an ear before his eyes focused back on their leader.
“Do you promise to answer all our questions truthfully?”
“Yes, Kita-san.”
“Good.”
There was a moment of silence where Kita tried to sort his thoughts. He knew this conversation was important and would take quite a while but he also wasn't feeling well today.There was a stubborn headache pounding right behind his eyes ever since he'd woken up and he hadn't slept too well either.He had refused to push this important moment back any longer though and for a few seconds he just stared at Atsumu.Where should he even begin?
Begin...
“When did you first encounter the crow?”
Atsumu tried his hardest to suppress a wince.No one would like the answer but he reminded himself that he had promised to be honest.Nervous, he took a shaky breath and didn't dare to look into Kita's eyes when he mumbled: “The... evening of the storm.”
Atsumu felt unbelieving surprise and shock ripple through the foxes like a wave and when he dared to raise his eyes he flinched back from all the glaring stares his friends gave him.All apart from Osamu and Suna - even though the latter didn't look too thrilled either.
“Tell us about it”, Kita demanded.His yellow eyes bored into Atsumu's until the younger fox felt like the kitsune could see right into his mind and memories.
“I... I don't know if you remember but me and Osamu got into a stupid fight that day and I just wanted to be on my own for a while... I felt kinda bad though because I knew I would get in trouble for what I had said and for running off like that and... and I thought if I at least brought something for dinner you wouldn't be quite as mad with me...”
Atsumu felt stupid as he said it out loud like this but Kita just nodded and gestured for him to continue.
“I only noticed the storm clouds when I went down to the river and then I wanted to go home right away. On the way back I heard wings flapping though and I thought maybe I got lucky and came across some easy prey but when I saw him... I immediately knew he was a shifter. I told him that he was on our territory b-but he was scared and one of his wings was hurt and he couldn't have made the way back home on his own... so I... I decided to help him. I brought him to a small cave where he was at least safe from the rain and the winds. He said the storm winds surprised him and that he crash-landed here without meaning to... I couldn't help him much in that moment but I promised to come back once the storm was over and check on him. Then I came running back home...”
“Why did you do that?”
Kita's question felt like a punch to the gut and Atsumu blinked repeatedly before he was able to stutter out a “I... I c-couldn't just leave him there...”
Kita's tails twitched, impatient. “That's not what I meant. Why did you hide him? Why didn't you bring him back here?”
“B-Because I wasn't sure if... I thought...”
Atsumu struggled with his words and he felt uncomfortable and hot under all the stares.But the others let him sort out his words, even if it took a long minute.
“I thought maybe you would be mad at me for bringing another shifter to our home. I was already in trouble that day and I was just... scared that this would make it worse.”
Kita was so surprised at Atsumu's answer that he could do nothing but stare at him for a few heartbeats.
“Why did you think I would be mad at you?”, he wanted to know, truly puzzled.
Atsumu's ears started twitching again.“Because he's from another clan? And we have never had contact with any of them before... I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing but I knew you would be disappointed in me and I... I feared that it would make it worse if I brought him here...”
“Atsumu...”
The golden fox looked up when Kita addressed him in that untypically quiet way. He sounded almost hurt and Atsumu was surprised to see a deep frown on his face and a troubled look in his eyes.
“Did you really think I would be mad at you for trying to help someone in need?”
Atsumu was stunned into silence.The question being worded like that...
“Did you truly believe I would punish you for trying to do something good? Have you forgotten our very first encounter? Why would you-”
“Y-You always kept us away from other clans!”
Atsumu didn't know where this sudden outburst came from but he felt like he had to defend himself and his actions.
“We never had contact with any of them! How was I supposed to know how you would react to me bringing another shifter into the temple grounds?”
“Atsumu, do you even listen to yourself? He would never-”
“Stop.”
Oomimi's eyes cut back to Kita who had interrupted him.The white fox was obviously still suffering from his earlier headache judging by the way he was massaging his temple but he also seemed to be thinking hard.
“I know now that it was a mistake. Never trying to befriend the other shifter clans, I mean... I should have handled it differently back then when we first came here.”
Kita still vividly remembered that first encounter with Kuroo but back then he had only seen a threat in him and hadn't even thought to properly introduce himself to him and all the others once they had settled in.Something he should have done, he realized now.
But he had been too focused on keeping his new family safe.He'd gone to too great lengths to protect them from any possible harm so that he'd taken it too far.Something like this would have happened sooner or later anyway.
Had he made too many mistakes?Was this all his fault in the end?
“Shinsuke?”
Akagi's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he carefully shook his head.
“My apologies... Atsumu, please continue.”
“I... I went back the next morning. I packed a couple of things, clothes, some leftover food and s-some medicine against his pain from the cabinet. Hinata was were I had left him the night before and he told me that it was his own fault that he ended up here and so he wanted to solve this problem by himself. I offered to bring him back here and ask if you could send a messenger up the mountain to tell Karasuno that Hinata was with us. But he didn't want that. He said he didn't want to pull all of us into this mess and I... I kind of understood where he came from so I offered to... to bring him to a little cave in the outskirts where he could rest and I could look after him from time to time.”
Atsumu stopped and took a few deep breaths.The whole room was silent, all foxes were waiting for him to continue.An uncomfortable shiver crept down Atsumu's spine.
“But we knew he wouldn't be able to get home with that hurt wing. He was sure it wasn't broken and I wanted to try and find out something about... how to treat stuff like that... that's why I... wanted to help you, Aran-kun...”
Atsumu didn't dare to look up and meet his blue eyes, knowing that he would find nothing but disappointment in them.
“In the beginning at least!”, he added quickly, maybe a little too loud. “I looked through the book you gave me and picked out the treatments I thought would work. I never stole anything from our medicine cabinet! I always picked the ingredients on my own and-”
“You lied to me, Atsumu.”
Aran's voice was cold but controlled and never in his life had Atsumu been so ashamed of himself.
“I thought you wanted to learn. I was so proud of you when you made such fast progress but you didn't intend to use all of that for our well-being.”
“No, that's not-”
“Were you just gonna drop everything once he was back home? Answer me!”
“NO!”Atsumu nearly screamed his answer and was on the verge of bursting into desperate tears.“No, I wasn't! At first it was just to help him, yes. But then it was fun too and I would have kept helping you! I will keep helping you!”
“No, you won't.”
Atsumu's already glassy eyes went wide in surprise.
“What?”
Before Aran could give an answer (a pretty vicious one judging by his angry expression) one of Kita's tails tapped against his lips, ordering him to be silent.
“Enough”, the leader growled. “You two can talk this out later. All of you, be quiet now. Atsumu, continue.”
The golden fox jumped at Kita's words and for a moment he thought he wouldn't bring out another word even if he tried.He was shaking but much to his own surprise he kept talking. His voice sounded strangely distant to himself.
“I... I kept going back to check on him nearly every day when I was out hunting. I brought him leftover food and treated his wing. We talked lots and got along really well... his wing started to heal and it didn't take long until he was ready to leave again.”
“Did you go to visit him the night of the meteor shower?”
Atsumu nodded meekly.
“Yes”, he admitted. “I knew he would be leaving the next day and we... we were all together as a clan, enjoying the night, sharing food and just... I felt horrible when I realized he was out there alone... he should have been with his clan too to watch the stars...”
A picture shot through his mind from that night – Suna and Osamu giggling and joking around in the garden outside of the kitchen. Suna pulling the silver fox in for a kiss.Atsumu remembered the envy that had struck him and quickly decided to leave out the part about his own romantic feelings for Shoyo.They didn't need to know that, it would only make it worse.
“I didn't want to leave him all on his own that night.”
On the other side of the room Osamu winced and squeezed Suna's hand he'd been holding a little tighter. 'You idiot, if you hadn't gone that night it wouldn't have ended like this', he thought.
Well, it was too late now.
“I think you know what happened afterwards”, Atsumu continued. “The next day I told Heisuke I had to go and get something for Kita-san's medicine. In reality I went to bid farewell ... Samu noticed I was gone and went after me...a-and got attacked...”
Osamu had told his brother everything after he had woken up.Atsumu felt horribly guilty for the attack on his twin even though Osamu hadn't blamed him for it.
“But that happened far enough away from the hideout that neither me nor Hinata noticed or heard anything. We only realized what was happening when we heard Sawamura-san and Kita-san challenge each other and then we came here as fast as we could.”
“Wait. Quite a long while passed between Osamu getting attacked and the crows showing up here”, Oomimi pointed out. “What took you so long? You said you only went to say goodbye.”
Atsumu felt hot under the older fox' questioning gaze.
“I did treat his wing one last time so he would manage the way home safely. And then I showed him my favourite spot at the very edge of our territory... I told him we could meet there whenever he felt like seeing me again. And I know what you're all thinking about that but... we became friends. And I didn't want to risk never seeing him again. So I showed him that place.”
He hoped that his words sounded convincing to all of the others and when nobody asked further questions he was a little relieved.
“And when I reached the temple Kita-san was already fighting with Sawamura-san and he was losing the battle a-and none of you did anything! I had to try and protect him! I knew they were here for Hinata but I never thought they would actually attack us...”
Kita nodded slowly.“I know you only had my well-being in mind when you jumped in between Sawamura-san and me”, he said. “But he could have killed you. He would have if I hadn't been able to make that spell work, do you understand that?”
Atsumu bit his lip and nodded wordlessly, shame burning hot like a piece of coal in his stomach.
“Nevertheless, you only wanted to protect me and I am grateful for that.”
Atsumu still didn't dare to look up but the uncomfortable heat in his belly lessened a bit.
“I do understand that you wanted to help Hinata and that you wanted to respect his wish to deal with his problem in his own way. But you should have said something. At the very latest when Sawamura-san showed up here and asked for him, Atsumu. He was worried sick because one of his youngest was missing. Imagine if it had been the other way around and Osamu would have gone missing for example. Would you not do everything to find him and make sure he comes home safe? How would you react when you find out someone else knew where he was all this time and they didn't tell you? I'm not saying Sawamura-san did the right thing when he came here and accused us about knowing all about it but now I do understand him better.”
Atsumu knew all this.Kita speaking it out loud didn't change that.He already knew.
“I know it doesn't make a difference now but... we wanted to tell you. Hinata and I. We would have told all of you the truth. We promised to each other. I said if we want to keep seeing each other we should come clean. Our guilty conscience would have been one thing but we hoped that it could at least help our clans getting into contact with one another if we were honest with you. We wouldn't have to become friends with them, just... just something...maybe...”
“I hardly believe that the crows want anything to do with us now”, Aran mumbled. It wasn't even meant in a malicious way but it still made Atsumu flinch.
“This whole thing has become way too complicated”, Kita muttered.His eyes were closed and he was fighting against his pounding headache.
“I will take on any punishment you deem fitting, Kita-san”, Atsumu mumbled and bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touched the floor.
The kitsune stared at him with an empty expression.He hadn't even thought about that yet.He had been too occupied with his own health and his need to make sure that the twins were okay after the trauma they had gone through.
But Atsumu had nearly paid for what he had done with his life.Wasn't that punishment enough?
Kita's headache kicked up a notch and pain zapped like a lightning bolt through his skull.His hands shot up to hold his head and he had to close his eyes to fight the ache and the sudden dizziness.
“I'll have to think about it”, he pressed through clenched teeth. “There's nothing else we can do right now, I will-”
“Shinsuke?”
The kitsune was swaying and Akagi quickly reached out to grab him before something could happen.
“The gathering is over”, Aran announced, leaving no room for arguments.Obviously this long talk had been to much for their leader.
Atsumu stayed in his spot in the middle of the room and watched as the older foxes fussed over Kita and spoke with him quietly before Aran and Ren escorted him out, to get him to a more quiet place probably.
The scene seemed unreal to Atsumu.The young fox felt numb inside and he didn't notice his brother's presence beside him until he felt a finger tapping his shoulder repeatedly.
He blinked and turned his head to the side.Osamu was there and looked at him with concern.
“Tsumu, are you alright?”
Atsumu stared at him, eyes blank.Then he tore his gaze away and glanced at the foxes that were still left in the room.
All of them had their eyes on him and Atsumu knew he wasn't just imagining the distrust and incredulity in them.
“Tsumu?”
Osamu felt his brother's hand coming to rest on his upper arm but as if the touch had burned him he flinched back and stumbled to his feet.
“S-Sorry, I-”
For a heartbeat Atsumu met his brother's eyes. He saw the hurt, the confusion and the desire to help reflected in them.But there was nothing Osamu could do.
Atsumu felt horrible as he backed away, his body acting before he knew what he would even do.He only knew he wanted to be alone. No one could see him crumbling.Not even his brother.
Atsumu bit back a sob and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a shocked Osamu.
“Tsumu, wait-”The silver fox had taken a couple of quick steps, ready to chase after him but then he was held back by Suna.
“No, leave him be”, Suna mumbled. “I doubt you can help him right now.”
“But... but...”
“Don't worry. He will come back to you on his own.”
Osamu seemed to doubt these words but in the end he sought shelter in his partner's arms.'At least I hope he will', Rintarou added wordlessly.His green eyes were fixed on the door through which Atsumu had disappeared.He tightened his hold on Osamu.
-
Kita felt strange looking in the mirror.He could tell it was him in the reflection but then again, was that really true?He looked so different.
He had always been pale but now his skin was almost ashen, his usually bright golden eyes were only a dull yellow and his white hair – although it had been freshly cut and washed just yesterday – seemed mat.
Shinsuke knew that most of all this originated from the weeks spent in the coma-like state and trying to get healthy once he'd woken up but he had thought he would recover faster.Now that Atsumu was healed and the spell no longer active shouldn't Kita's healing ability help him get better?Or had he exhausted his magic so much that his wounds healed at a normal pace?He didn't know.
Grabbing the edges of the dresser he was standing in front of the kitsune averted his eyes away from his reflection and glanced over to the big bed across the room.
His three best friends were sleeping soundly and their light snoring made Kita feel a little more at ease. He didn't feel like going back to them though.
Too many things raced through his mind and he knew he wouldn't find sleep if he tried. Atsumu's explanations, his friends' accusations and Shinsuke's own questions kept repeating in his head again and again.
The conversation hadn't ended as he'd wanted to but he knew he didn't have the energy to pick it back up where they left off. At least not know. And not with everyone else present.Maybe if he spoke to Atsumu alone...
But then again, that wasn't such a good idea either.Aran had been right when he'd said that he had always been too soft on the twins.He would just be indulgent with Atsumu and possibly make the wrong choices.
He still struggled to decide if he should punish Atsumu.It just didn't feel right to him.Atsumu could have died when he decided to try and protect Kita from Sawamura's attack. It had been stupid of him but also selfless.Shinsuke didn't doubt that Atsumu would have admitted everything on the spot if he hadn't been hurt so gravely that day.
And then Atsumu had suffered so much in the dream-state and no one even knew of it.Only Kita did because he had spent the same endless time there.
As far as he was concerned, Atsumu had paid a high price for his mistake already.He didn't want to punish him further.
The young kitsune shook his head and as quietly as he could stepped out of the private room and slowly made his way to the little garden.
It was night and the building was quiet.Only the soft sound of rain hitting the roof was audible in the darkness.
Once Kita had reached his favourite spot he sat down by one of the wooden pillars and leaned back against it.His eyes wandered up to the stars and he looked at the clouded night sky for a long while.
The moon peeked out from behind a dark grey cloud for a moment and Shinsuke saw that it was almost full. It's bright glow reminded Kita of the ancestor he'd met while he had desperately looked for a way to save Atsumu.
“Nariko, if you can hear me... please give me a sign. I don't know what I should do. Atsumu is safe but so much has changed now...”
Not knowing what else to say Kita went silent but kept his eyes on the moon until it disappeared again.
One thing he only realized then was that he would have to speak to Sawamura again - sooner or later.Memories of the moment he had threatened the other leader came back and the kitsune was surprised when he recalled his own harsh words.
He didn't know if he regretted them because while his words had been brutal they had also been true.He would go to great lengths to ensure the safety of his foxes and the things he had seen in that last vision only made him believe that he really would have attacked the crows if Atsumu hadn't survived – just like he had vowed to Sawamura.
But Atsumu was alive and so was Osamu.
And at the very least Sawamura and the whole of the Karasuno clan deserved to know that.Shinsuke didn't even want to imagine how the crow's leader must have felt after Akagi and Ginjima had chased them all away.
The uncertainty and the guilt must have been a horrible burden to bear and Kita knew he would have to make sure that the crows knew that they didn't have to fear an attack from Inarizaki.
That was only fair considering everything that had happened.
Because after all, Inarizaki did have something to do with their fledgling's disappearance. Karasuno hadn't been completely wrong.But they couldn't have known that it was only one fox who kept a secret.Kita hadn't known either.
It could prove more difficult than Shinsuke had thought at first though.
There was no way the crows would welcome them with open arms.No matter who was going to show up they would probably think they were getting attacked.
So deep in all of his thoughts Kita hadn't noticed the door to the patio being opened again.
“Shinsuke, there you are.”
The white fox jumped at the sudden voice and sighed when he recognized Aran coming towards him.
“Why are you out here in the middle of the night?”
“I was just-”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“Aran-”
“We should get back inside, you'll get sick if you-”
“Would you just shut up for a second?!”
Kita hadn't meant to shout but it had just broken out of him.
Aran was so taken aback he immediately froze. All the words he had wanted to say died in his throat and he could only stare at his best friend with a hurt look in his eyes.
Shinsuke felt a twinge of guilt upon seeing his expression but he didn't apologize.
“Please, just... stop. Please stop being so... so overly protective. It makes me feel horrible... and weak...”The kitsune didn't dare to meet Aran's eyes and focused on his own intertwined fingers instead.“I know I'm still not healthy but I can't bear this any longer...”
“I'm sorry, Shin...”, Aran apologized quietly. “But I'm just... concerned.”
Kita screwed his eyes shut and shook his head lightly.
“I know”, he mumbled hoarsely. “And I know it's not fair of me to be asking this of you...”He swallowed heavily, trying to keep his tears at bay.
“It's just all too much right now, isn't it?”
Kita nodded and used the hem of his nightgown to scrub at his eyes and nose.He had half expected that Aran would snap back at him.That he was so understanding now was what brought the young leader to tears in the end.
“I have no idea how I should go about things from here on”, he admitted. “Maybe if I was feeling better I could think straight but the spell has weakened me so much I feel like I can't concentrate on anything! And I don't feel like it's getting better either! I've never felt s-so helpless in my life a-and I don't know what to do... I don't know, Aran...”
Shinsuke had hidden his face in his hands while he had spoken and jumped when he felt Aran sitting down beside him.Strong arms pulled him in and a moment later Shinsuke found himself sitting in Aran's lap, facing him.The black fox carefully cupped his cheeks and lifted his head so their eyes could meet.Silent tears streamed down Kita's pale cheeks and Aran gently wiped them away with his thumbs.
“Breathe, Shinsuke”, he whispered. “Do it with me, come on.”
Aran inhaled deeply through his nose and out of his mouth.He repeated it until Shinsuke was able to follow his instructions and then they kept going until Shinsuke's tears had stopped falling and his body wasn't as rigid anymore.
“Very good”, the healer mumbled and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Just keep doing that for a while, yeah?”
Kita nodded and closed his eyes while he tried to focus solely on his breathing. After a few minutes he felt himself getting tired.All the crying and shouting had tuckered him out.
“Do you wanna go back inside?”
Kita nodded and blinked his eyes back open.He was fighting a yawn as he met Aran's blue eyes and for a few heartbeats he couldn't tear his gaze away.He didn't know why but it didn't bother him either.
The black fox smiled at him softly.“Listen, Shin. I can't give you the answers you need but I am always here for you to support you. And if I am fussing too much or something just... just give me a sign, okay?”
Shinsuke nodded.“Okay...”, he agreed. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. Let's go, yeah?”
“Uh-huh...”
Shinsuke slowly got up and followed Aran back inside.Halfway on the way to the private rooms where they had left Ren and Michinari the kitsune reached out to grab Aran's hand.
“Can we go back to the sleeping quarters? I wanted to go check on everyone anyway before I go back to sleep and... I think I would sleep better with everyone around me.”
“Yeah, of course. Mind if I accompany you?”
Kita shook his head and hand in hand they wandered through the hallway until they came to a stop at the doors that led inside the sleeping quarters.They stood open, which wasn't all too unusual, but immediately at first glance Kita realized that someone was missing.When he counted it wasn't just one but two of his foxes that hadn't turned in for the night.
Before he had a chance to look who it was he picked up on quiet voices coming from outside.They were barely audible from here and only because everyone else was sleeping soundly had he noticed them.
Without a word but a heart full of worry the kitsune let go of Aran's hand and followed the sound of the voices.The big double doors at the entrance to the main building weren't closed all the way either and the kitsune slipped out without making a sound.
The voices were coming from the shrine and although Kita couldn't see the speakers he recognized them easily by their voices.
-
Osamu was finally sleeping soundly but only when Suna had checked that he really was out for a third time did he dare to get to his feet.
The younger twin hadn't wanted to go to sleep until his brother had been back but Suna had managed to convince him to give Atsumu some more time.Osamu hadn't liked that but he knew Suna was just looking out for Atsumu in his own way. He had gone to sleep reluctantly (because he knew he really needed some more rest) and Suna had stroked his boyfriend's grey hair until he'd finally drifted off.
Now he took a deep breath and left the sleeping quarters with near soundless steps.The truth was: he wanted to talk to Atsumu himself.
Suna immediately picked up on the golden fox' quiet sniffles once he stepped outside.It had started to rain lightly and Rintarou shuddered but braced himself and ran the short distance across the courtyard and towards the Kita family shrine, where Atsumu was quite obviously hiding.
He hadn't seemed to notice Suna's arrival. The younger fox could see him cowering in the shadows of the unmoving kitsune statue, hugging his knees and hiding his face in them.
“Tsumu?”
Atsumu gasped and raised his head a little too quickly, resulting in him hitting the back of his head against the statue behind him.Under any other circumstance Suna would have laughed at him but now it just hurt to see Atsumu this worked up.Especially when he whined tearfully and held the pounding spot.
“It's just me”, the younger fox tried to calm him.
He watched Atsumu wordlessly for a few seconds, then he sat down across from him.
The older twin only glanced at him briefly as if he wanted to ask what he was doing here or maybe to tell him to fuck off and leave him alone.Rintarou couldn't say for sure but a sad smile tugged at his lips when Atsumu said neither and wordlessly hid his face in his knees again.His golden ears were pressed so far down into his hair they were barely visible and he reeked of misery and pain.
Suna had grown awfully familiar with this smell only recently.
“You know... Samu and you... you show your pain in very similar ways.”
Atsumu's left ear perked up a little bit and he sniffed, then peeked over to Suna.
Rintarou kept his voice deliberately low and gentle as he continued speaking.“He was quite the same when you and Kita-san were trapped in that wicked spell. He was terrified but desperately clung to the small spark of hope that Kita-san could save you.”
Atsumu seemed to fully listen now and Suna knew he had to choose his next words carefully if he didn't want to screw this up.
“He watched over you day and night, Tsumu... but he was torn on the inside. I could see it in his eyes.”
The younger fox tried a more genuine smile but if anything it just looked even sadder than before.
“And now you look at me with that same expression. I can't bear to see you like this too, Tsumu.”
The words struck something deep inside of Atsumu so hard that a cold shiver ran down his spine and with a sudden clarity he remembered something he had lost sight of a while ago: Suna was one of his best friends.
Atsumu had distanced himself from him ever since he'd known about his relationship with Osamu. Not completely of course but noticeable enough that Suna would have been blind not to see it.
And yet - here he was.Speaking to him in a way that reflected their close bond and reminded Atsumu of all that they had been through the past years.
A fresh wave of tears threatened to spill over and Atsumu desperately tried to bite back a sob.
It broke Suna's heart to see Atsumu struggling so hard to keep himself together but there was one more thing he needed to ask.
“Tell me, Tsumu. Who are you crying for? For yourself? Or for Hinata?”
Suna witnessed Atsumu crumbling right before his eyes within mere seconds and his heart ached because he had done this, his words had caused this.Atsumu was full on sobbing and tears streamed down his face and for a horrible second Suna thought the older twin would tell him off or chase him away.
But then Atsumu looked at him with teary eyes, trying to choke back his sobs and say something. It was unintelligible gibberish and after another useless attempt he just opened his arms and regarded Suna with a pleading look.
Suna didn't hesitate and scooped Atsumu up in his arms.“I'm sorry, Tsumu...”, he mumbled as the golden fox scrambled his way into Suna's hold properly, hiding in his chest and crying openly. “I'm sorry I had to ask.”
The golden fox sniffed loudly and swallowed, then shook his head profusely.
“N-No... Y-You're right, T-Tarou... it's j-just... despite all the... the shame and g-guilt... despite everything I did...”He shook his head again.“I don't c-care about that right now... it's just that above everything else it just h-hurts... it fucking hurts...”
Atsumu didn't know how he found the courage to look up but he did and he held Suna's green gaze without blinking, despite the tears blurring his sight.
“I... I think I love him, Tarou...”
Suna didn't break the eye contact, didn't avoid Atsumu's sad gaze even once.Instead he just nodded and let Atsumu hide in his embrace as he started to cry again.
Because he didn't know what else to do Suna started to play with Atsumu's hair that same way he usually did with Osamu's in hopes that it could help soothe the older twin too.
For a while it was quiet and the sound of the rain and Atsumu's sniffles seemed to be the only things existing in the world.
“I... didn't want to a-admit it to myself before... because I knew it would h-hurt enough when he eventually had to go home but – b-but I think... I love him.”
Atsumu's voice was strained and cracked more than once as he spoke.Suna just squeezed him tighter in response.He knew Atsumu needed to get this out.So he let him talk.
“And I couldn't even tell him... And now... now I'll probably n-never see him again.”
Atsumu's hands twisted into the fabric of Suna's clothes, his forehead pressed to Suna's collarbone.The younger fox let his chin rest atop of Atsumu's head while he continued carding through his golden strands.
“I never thought loving another person could hurt so much...”
Suna closed his eyes and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.Yes, it did hurt sometimes. He had learned that recently too.
“Is it supposed to feel like this?”
Suna tensed at the question, at the way Atsumu had asked it so quietly.
“Is it supposed to hurt so much?”
“I just think it does sometimes, Tsumu...”
The golden fox sniffed but glanced up at his friend shyly.
“You know, I felt angry towards your brother back when you and Kita-san were trapped in the spell. He didn't want to leave your side, ever and I had to watch as he became more sick each day. He didn't sleep, didn't eat and wouldn't listen to any of us at first. I was angry but only because I was so worried about him. And because I was scared about you. We had a fight when it got too out of hand and it wasn't easy talking some sense into him. After all he was just scared about you too. Because he loves you.”
Suna tried to show Atsumu a sympathetic smile.
“It wasn't just us. Oomimi-san and Akagi-san got into a fight because Akagi-san would patrol the clan-grounds day and night without looking after himself.”
He paused for a moment, looking for the words to describe what he wanted to say next.
“But then when Kita-san woke up, when your wounds were healed and both of you were finally back with us... I have never felt all of us be so... so connected. Like the clan was whole again, you know? There was nothing but relief and love in the temple that morning.”
Suna hugged Atsumu tighter as he thought back to the horrible weeks spend with him just sleeping, just out of reach while Kita fought for his life without anyone else being able to do anything but hope that he would make it.
“It may hurt sometimes, it may be suffocating sometimes... but that just proves our feelings are real, doesn't it?”
Atsumu's eyes welled up with tears once again and he could only nod.The sight hurt and Suna gently tucked Atsumu's head back under his chin.
“W-What should I d-do now, Tarou?”, he sniffled miserably. “I caused this massive fallout between our c-clans... what if I can n-never see him a-a-gain?”
The thought alone hurt so much that Atsumu started sobbing again.He had been so happy when he had befriended Shoyo. He'd finally felt like he had belonged with his clan. He had been over the moon when he and Shoyo had first kissed on that faithful day. He had felt like he had found his place.
Now everything was in shambles.
Karasuno and Inarizaki hated each other.Atsumu had most likely lost all of his friends' trust.After today he wasn't sure he could look any of them in the eye ever again.
But despite the burning shame deep inside of him, beside the crushing guilt of what mayor problems he had caused for both clans and the danger he had subjected his family to...
Despite all that he wished that it was Shoyo holding him right now.
Another fresh wave of tears made the golden fox curl in on himself and Suna could only hold him as sobs wrecked his shivering body.
He had no answers to Atsumu's question.But he knew the whole truth now.
The rain kept on falling around them.
Just a few feet away from where the two young foxes had had their heart to heart Kita and Aran had heard everything.
Kita's instincts urged him to rush over to Atsumu and try to soothe him.But he knew if he showed up now it would just make everything worse.Atsumu couldn't know that he heard everything.It could prompt him to do something stupid in the heat of the moment – maybe try to run away or something.
No. Kita wouldn't risk that.
He felt his heart aching for his cub.Atsumu's distant sobs quickly became too much for him to bear and Kita wordlessly tugged at Aran's sleeve, pulling him back inside behind him.
Kita stopped in the middle of the entrance hall, not knowing what to do now.Aran beside him glanced back over his shoulder, then he let out a quiet sigh.“What do we do with him, hm?”
It was clear that he wasn't really expecting an answer but for some reason an idea started to shape in Kita's mind upon hearing them.
“This... this could change everything...”
The words startled Aran simply because he hadn't expected Shinsuke to say anything and he stared at his old friend in confusion.
“Come again?”
“I don't know yet... it's just a thought but...”
Kita kept mumbling under his breath, impossible for Aran to decipher.When the kitsune eventually got quiet and stared at the marble floor, lost in thought Aran cleared his throat.
“Uhm, Shin?”
Shinsuke jumped but looked up and met Aran's worried gaze.
“Ah, my apologies. I think I have an idea of what we can do. But we'll have to discuss it with Ren and Michinari first.”
He started making his way towards the private rooms where they had left the two friends.
“Come on.”
“Now?”
Shinsuke didn't answer and Aran rolled his eyes with a deep sigh but quickly followed him.
-
The rain had mostly stopped when Suna led Atsumu back inside the temple.The poor fox hadn't stopped shivering for what must have been at least an hour and so Suna had suggested a bath to warm up before they would return to the sleeping quarters and try to find some rest.
Atsumu had only slowly followed him and as they passed the room where the other foxes were sleeping he stopped.
Suna regarded him with a questioning gaze.“What is it, Tsumu?”
Atsumu fidgeted, twisting the hem of his sleeve between his fingers.
“Samu?”
It was all he got out but it was all Suna needed to hear.
“Want me to get him?”
A nod.
“Do you wanna wait here?”
Another nod.
“Okay. I'll be right back.”
Suna squeezed his arm and gave him a brief smile before he slipped inside the room and was out of sight.
It didn't take even a minute until he re-appeared with a recently awoken Osamu in tow. The silver fox looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a bush – hair and tail messy, clothes rumpled and eyes wide.
Atsumu immediately latched onto him.His twin had no idea what was going on but he held him safely and slowly they followed Rintarou to the bathhouse.
They had to light a couple of lanterns because it was so dark in the room and once it was bright enough to see, Suna got to work on the big fire so they could heat up water for a bath.
Osamu sat down with his brother and just carded through his hair while Atsumu had his arms wrapped around his middle and his face smushed against his chest.He obviously didn't want to talk yet, judging by his body-language and the thick suffocating scent rolling off of him so Osamu just kept him company.
Atsumu felt disconnected from reality for a long while.The only thing he was sure was real was his brother and he tried to focus on him as best as he could.
Eventually the bath was ready and he faintly registered Suna asking him if they could undress him and help him into the water.He nodded at the first part but wouldn't let go of his brother.
“It's okay. I'll join ya”, Osamu promised him.
Atsumu started to come back to his senses when he had already been sitting in the tub for a while.Osamu was busy taking care of his hair while Suna sat just outside the tub with his sleeves rolled up and was working on cleaning Atsumu's tail.
“Hey”, Osamu mumbled as he noticed Atsumu's now cleared up gaze. “Back with us?”
Atsumu nodded but closed his eyes and rested his head on Osamu's shoulder.He was exhausted.
“You don't feel like talking, am I right?”
Atsumu really didn't feel like it but he knew his twin deserved an answer.An honest answer.
He blinked his eyes open but didn't look up to meet Osamu's worried gaze.
“The crow... his name is Shoyo... and I... I love him...”
Osamu froze for a heartbeat but then found he wasn't that surprised at all.This confession had been a long time coming.It fit Atsumu's recent behaviour, why he hadn't talked to Osamu before and why he had hid away right after the discussion earlier.
It made sense.
“So that's what's been going on with you lately.”Osamu said it softly, without judgement.Like he understood.
Atsumu sniffed and didn't even try to fight the tears.He simply nodded and no more words were exchanged.
The three of them returned to the sleeping quarters when the sun started rising.They quietly lied down a good bit away from everyone else with Atsumu in the middle, Suna cuddling him from behind and Osamu shielding him from everyone else's eyes by laying down face to face with him.
Suna threw a blanket over them and was the first to doze off when the warmth lulled him in.Atsumu would have betted that he wouldn't be able to find sleep but somehow he did and to his relief it was a dreamless sleep.
Osamu slipped into more of a dozing state, as he often had when he had waited for Atsumu to wake up again so it was no wonder that he heard someone coming closer first and startled awake.
When he looked up he caught sight of Kita.The kitsune knelt down and softly stroked his hair once with a small smile.Osamu yawned and leaned into the touch briefly.
“My apologies if I scared you”, the leader whispered. “But I have something to tell you.”
He reached for Atsumu and gently shook him awake even if his heart told him to let his cub rest a little while longer.
The golden fox jumped at the touch and his eyes were wide open in an instant.
“Shh, it's just me Atsumu.”
Atsumu stared at the kitsune with a fearful gaze and he swallowed.
'He is probably expecting his punishment to be announced', Kita realized as he looked into his eyes and a sad expression replaced his earlier, more neutral one.
“Is everything okay Kita-san? You look tired. Have you slept at all?”
“Not really”, the leader answered but the look he gave the silver fox at his question was warm. “But there was something that wouldn't let me sleep and I need to talk to both of you about it.”
The twins exchanged a quick glance, then they focused back on the kitsune, waiting for him to elaborate.
Kita took a deep breath.
“You and I, we need to do something.”
“Take care, okay? And if you need help you call, just like we discussed.”
“I know, Rin. You told me like a hundred times already.”
A sigh.
“I know but since Kita-san absolutely won't budge and is adamant on doing this, I... just... hah...”
Suna glanced up to look deep into Osamu's eyes once more.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“I will be.”
Warm hands came up to cup Osamu's cheeks and Suna's gaze had something pleading in it all of a sudden.
“Promise me”, he demanded.
“I promise you.”
The silver fox gave him the best smile he could muster and squeaked in surprise when Suna surged forward and kissed him.It was desperate and the kiss lingered, as if Suna feared it could be their last one.Osamu kissed back lovingly and grabbed his boyfriend's hands to squeeze them.He did however feel his cheeks heat up and knew he must be blushing despite the seriousness of the situation.
No wonder though - since Suna had never kissed him in front of all the others before.
And he meant all of the others.
The whole clan had accompanied him, Atsumu and Kita to the border that separated their clan grounds from Nekoma's.
Kita had decided to take the twins up the mountain with him to set things right with Karasuno.
Osamu didn't understand why Kita had made this decision so suddenly and while Suna couldn't help repeat the same things to Osamu over and over again he thought he knew the reason Kita wanted to leave now despite his bad condition.He wasn't stupid and had picked up their leader's and Aran's lingering scents at the main building's door last night when he brought Atsumu back inside. They must have heard what the golden fox had said, maybe not everything but enough.Why else would Kita want to leave so quickly?He had never been able to see any of the twins suffer.
So yeah, Rintarou got it but he didn't like it and neither did the rest of the clan – not even the older foxes.Some had dark or scowling expressions, some seemed to be indifferent about what Kita had decided to do.
“Shinsuke, please. Think this over once again. You're not fit enough for a journey like this.”
Aran had said similar phrases the whole morning already.Suna did understand him though.
His own worried gaze found their leader in the crowd and he frowned as he took in his appearance.He was a pale and his eyes bloodshot, his left arm was in a sling to help relieve some of the pain from his bad shoulder and after the long walk here he seemed like his legs could barely carry him anymore.
But Kita's golden eyes showed a decisiveness that hadn't wavered since he'd made his announcement, no matter how often the older foxes had pleaded their friend to re-think his decision.
“I already have”, Kita repeated once more. “But we have to do it now. Too much time has been lost already. We need to sort things out with Karasuno.”
“Then go visit Nekoma first”, Akagi begged now. He didn't want to fight in front of all their clan mates but he wouldn't give in without one last attempt to bring Kita around. “Ask Kuroo-san to travel up the mountain for you. I'm sure he can convince Sawamura to come down to the temple. He won't say no if he sees the condition you're in and he knows the crows better than you do. I can't imagine he will be thrilled if you three get caught travelling through his territory without permission either and at least he won't be at risk getting attacked by the crows.”
Michinari's suggestion wasn't all too bad and under different circumstances Kita would have seriously considered his words but this time he shook his head.
“No. I can't ask him to do it in my place. Sawamura needs to see that we are willing to talk. He needs to see that the twins are alive and well. I can't use someone else to call him down to us. He might think it's a trap or won't show up at all. We need to take that first step.”
Kita saw the resistance in his best friends' dark eyes and crossed arms and he sighed.
“Listen, I know this is me asking a lot of all of you again-”
“A lot?”, Aran asked loudly and in disbelief. “We couldn't protect you when the crows came here because you insisted on fighting against Sawamura alone! And we couldn't do anything when you tried to save Atsumu either! We were forced to watch from the sidelines all this damn time and couldn't do a single thing to help! At least let us come with you! You can barely walk on your own! I know the twins are strong but they are still recovering too and they aren't strong enough to protect you should the crows decide to attack. Please, Shinsuke. You said to us we should protect the clan. So let us protect you. Take us with you.”
Kita swallowed heavily.Ren, Michinari and Aran all looked at him with desperate, pleading gazes and it hurt so much to look into their eyes that Shinsuke wanted to give in.
“I can't”, he croaked, throat tight and aching. “The more of you that accompany us the more likely Karasuno will think it's an attack. They will think one of the twins didn't make it and that we came to avenge them. It has to be me and the twins and just us. I know it's not ideal but it's the only way I see that this can work.”
Aran huffed angrily and looked away, Akagi kept staring at Kita with his huge eyes but his expression was unreadable. Ren was the first one to finally give in.
“Fine. But if you're getting worse you tell the twins and you come back here immediately. We can find another way if we have to. If someone other than the crows see you - you run. And if someone attacks you you call for help, just like we discussed.”
“I promise”, Kita answered right away. “I'll try to convince them to come down to the temple with us. That way we can talk about what happened together and I'll be here if my condition gets worse. To make peace with the crows we need to hear Hinata's side of things too, don't forget that. Only when we know everything can we think about what to do with Atsumu. I can imagine that Sawamura-san has had that same thought too already. I know the way up the mountain is long but I promise you that we will turn around and come back if I feel like it's getting too much.”
The kitsune hated speaking out loud that he wasn't feeling well but admitting it had the desired effect and Michinari seemed to give in too.
“Alright. Just... please take care of yourself. No more doing things on your own, okay? If you feel worse again please come back.”
“I promise.”
Michinari smiled a little bit.The kitsune mirrored it but when he looked over to Aran his best friend had already turned around and was walking towards Atsumu.
The golden fox had been standing at the edge of the group on his own ever since they arrived.He was obviously nervous and his eyes darted from one fox to the next as he waited anxiously until Kita and Osamu were ready to go.He squeaked when Aran suddenly showed up with an expression as dark as the night.
They hadn't exchanged another word after Atsumu's trial and the young fox swallowed nervously as he looked up at his old friend, fearing that he would yell at him again.
But Aran just remained silent for a long moment.When he spoke he sounded tense.
“You protect Shinsuke with all you got, you understand?”
Atsumu only managed a jerky nod in response, his voice would surely crack right away if he tried to speak now.
“If he gets worse you come back here immediately. If something happens or any of you get hurt on the way then... remember what I taught you.”
Atsumu opened his mouth to answer but found he didn't know what to say.Instead he nodded again. He wasn't sure if Aran was referring to all the combat moves he'd taught him or if he was talking about the many hours he had spent teaching Atsumu about various treatments and medical related things.Maybe both, probably the latter.
Atsumu's heart did a little jump and for a moment he dared to hope that not everything between them was broken.
“I... I will do my best. I swear.”
He knew that these words meant nothing.He had to prove that he meant them but for the first time since his trial he looked into Aran's eyes again.He hoped that Aran could see his determination.He would set this right.
Aran held his gaze for another heartbeat, then he turned around and walked back over to Kita.
“You should go. It's a long journey and I don't want you wandering around in unknown territory at night.”
A nervous ripple went through the gathered foxes.
Osamu was the first to shift.He shook out his silver fur and then stepped in the middle of the crowd so he was standing next to Kita.Atsumu followed his example and for a moment he felt weird in his shifter form because he had spent weeks in his human appearance without taking on his fox form once.
He felt a little better when Kita reached up and tickled the fur around his jaw for a moment.“I know you're nervous, Atsumu”, he mumbled. “But try to concentrate on getting us up the mountain first. One step after another.”
Atsumu gave a slow blink to show that he understood and Kita gave him a small smile, then he turned to the rest of his clan.
“If everything goes well and we can talk to Sawamura he will hopefully agree to come down here and talk things out with us. I know it's dangerous to go with just the twins but Karasuno needs to see that they're okay. And since I am the leader of this clan it is my responsibility to speak to Sawamura first. You all know I said something horrible to him after the battle and he needs to know that we do not plan on attacking them. Once he knows this I'm sure he will agree to talk about everything.”
“Please take care.”
Ginjima was the first to break the silence after Kita had stopped speaking.
“All of you.”
Atsumu glanced over to Hitoshi only to find him looking right back.He seemed worried and the golden fox had to swallow hard again but the short eye-contact made a spark of hope light up in his heart, just as it had happened with Aran just a minute ago.
Maybe he hadn't lost all of their trust yet.
He nudged him in the side with his nose – just for a brief second but he could have cried with joy when Hitoshi stroked one of his ears in return.
“We will”, Kita promised.
The leader wasn't well enough to shift yet and there was also the risk of his wounds opening up again if he tried so Atsumu and his brother would take turns carrying him.
He cowered down so Ren could help Kita up on his back.The kitsune had never been particularly heavy so it wouldn't be a problem for Atsumu to carry him around for a while.His fresh scars didn't even twinge once when he straightened up again.Kita settled in easily and grabbed a hold of the thick fur on Atsumu's neck with one hand.
Atsumu looked over to Aran who was busy fixing a bandage around Osamu's leg, the one that had suffered the slashes a while ago.
“If there's any pain it will be at a minimum”, Aran assured him. “Let me take a look at it again once you're back.”
Osamu growled good-naturedly and gave Aran's ear a small lick.
The gesture seemed out of place at first but Atsumu understood that his brother wanted to soothe their old friend.He shouldn't worry too much, he had done enough of that in recent weeks.
Once Aran had stepped back Suna took his place.
Osamu carefully pressed his massive head against his partner's body and Suna closed his arms around it for a moment.
“Come back unharmed”, he whispered.Osamu gave a gentle huff in response.Suna smiled.
Then he pressed a kiss to Osamu's snout and let him go.
The grey fox trotted over to Atsumu and Kita and waited for their sign to go.
But Kita seemed to hesitate, just for a moment.The young leader's heart sank as he looked into all of his clan's unhappy faces.
He knew this wasn't what they wanted, hell - he didn't want it either.But it had to be done.And he had to stand by that.
“If anything happens we'll call for you, so don't worry too much, okay?”He tried to smile. “I will make sure to send you a message once we arrived at their home. I'm sure everything will go just fine.”
Aran opened his mouth to say something but then he stopped himself and avoided Shinsuke's golden eyes for a second before he caught his gaze again.“Just... be careful, okay?”
Kita nodded and managed to smile a little bit this time.“We will be.”
He and the twins had gone over the plan a million times already.Kita was nervous but he had to believe that everything would go smoothly.If he worried too much he'd just feel worse and worse and he couldn't risk that with the physical state he was in.
He looked at all of them once again, at Suna and Aran who had founded Inarizaki together with him and the twins. At Michinari and Ren, who had joined them next and had become some of his closest and dearest friends. Then Ginjima who had been shy at first but had settled in quickly and was one of the most considerate people Kita had ever met. Kosaku who was still quiet at times but always worked hard. And last Riseki, who was still getting used to his new family but always made sure to ask for help whenever he needed it.
They all meant the world to Kita and he hated it so much that he had to leave them here when all he wanted was to take them with him. But he couldn't guarantee for their safety and wasn't willing to risk more pain and hurt. He ached to hug them all tightly though and he wanted to tell them things were going to be fine - but that would feel too much like a good-bye and so he didn't. A small tear escaped his eye.
He wiped it away wordlessly and held onto Atsumu's fur tightly.
“We'll be back in the evening if everything goes well. Wait for a sign from us.“
The rest of the clan nodded and Kita finally nudged Atsumu in the side with a knee.“Let's go.”
Osamu's eyes stayed on Suna even as he took the first slow steps towards the Nekoma border.
Kita could feel that his clan mates all had a thousand things on their minds they wanted to tell right now but he didn't look back as Atsumu took the lead and stepped into Nekoma's territory.There was no turning back now, no running away from this task.It was on them to take the first step towards peace.
He allowed Atsumu to walk slowly at first so he could get used to his shifter form and the added weight he had to carry.Osamu trotted along just a couple of steps away, always close, always keeping an eye on them. If Kita reached for him he would most likely be able to graze his fur.
After a few minutes he tightened his grip in Atsumu's golden coat.“Faster, you two”, he said. “I'd rather avoid Nekoma seeing us crossing their territory if possible. Only slow down once we have reached the other end of their clan grounds.”
The twins gave matching growls and Osamu took the lead with big leaps.Atsumu fastened his pace more gradually but soon he was running alongside his brother just as fast.
Kita checked their surroundings constantly for any sign of Nekoma's shifters.They would be lucky not to run into any of them and he had decided that they would just make a run for it should they come face to face with them.He just hoped that they'd get lucky and stay undetected.
He didn't know much about Kuroo and his clan but they surely wouldn't be thrilled to find three foxes roaming around in their forest.
Kita's stomach hurt just at the mere thought of what could happen and despite the fact that his whole body already ached - he really wasn't fit for this journey - he encouraged the twins to run even faster.
Osamu eyed him sceptically but then saw the urgency in Kita's fearful eyes.
He gave Atsumu another sign and took the lead once again so Atsumu could safely follow his path.
As they continued on their way both brothers couldn't help but look around curiously from time to time.
Nekoma's territory wasn't too different from their own for the most part. Osamu spied a small lake through the trees halfway through their clan grounds and Atsumu saw a high, rocky cliff that must catch the sun for most of the day and he couldn't help but think that it probably was a nice place for sunbathing.
He was brought back into the present when Osamu slowed his pace and threw a look back over his shoulder to see if Atsumu had noticed his change in speed.He waited for his twin to catch up and together they stopped at the edge of a small river.
It didn't seem to be deep.Hell, they probably wouldn't even have to swim but Osamu hesitated before he tentatively tested the water temperature with one of his paws.
He remembered the last time he'd been in a river too vividly and wasn't keen on repeating that experience.
Kita seemed to have noticed his hesitance.
“Atsumu, you two go side by side, okay? Osamu, stay to our left, that way the stream won't be affecting you too much. The water looks quite shallow, we should be on the other side in no time.”
The silver fox shook out his fur, trying to rid himself of all his anxiety and together with Atsumu he bravely stepped into the cool water.
He was pretty sure he held his breath all the way to the other side but Kita had been right.The water barely reached up to his belly and they didn't even have to swim.
Kita kept a nervous eye on their surroundings as they crossed the river.He knew they were very visible to everyone that came by.For one second he was sure he'd seen a cat with red and brown fur hiding in between two bushes but when he blinked it was gone.
Still – his fluffy tails bushed up and when they finally reached the riverbank he didn't even give the twins time to shake out their dripping fur before he urged them on.
Soon the terrain changed and Kita noticed that they were starting to move uphill.Atsumu's leaps got shorter and every time his paws hit the ground Kita felt the impact in his body stronger than before.
His legs were hurting the most because with only one arm it was difficult to keep his balance and he was pretty sure the cut on his thigh had started bleeding again.But he grit his teeth and waited until he was sure they had left Nekoma's territory before he asked the twins to slow down.
Osamu must have caught the scent of his blood because once Atsumu had stopped in the shadow of a big tree and cowered down Osamu immediately shifted and helped Kita off his back.
The kitsune's legs nearly gave in once his feet touched the ground.Without Osamu's arms to support him he would have fallen flat on his face.
“Kita-san!”
Atsumu was with them in less than a heartbeat and together with Osamu he carefully sat their leader down on the dusty floor.
Kita waved them off as he tried to catch his breath but the twins weren't fooled.
“You're bleeding”, Osamu pointed out and kneeled next to the kitsune. He'd spied a dark, damp patch of golden fur on Atsumu's back when he'd helped Kita down already and he wasn't surprised to see the fabric of his light trousers smeared with blood on his inner thigh.
“It's not too bad”, Kita insisted after a quick inspection. “Let's just take a small break before we tackle the rest of the way.”
Osamu didn't seem convinced but the long route had exhausted him too and so he didn't protest and let himself fall next to Kita.
Atsumu alone stayed standing and looked up at the sky. He estimated it to be around noon by now, probably a little later already.
They had left the Inarizaki temple early in the morning but it had taken a while to reach the Nekoma border by foot and then they had taken quite another while until they had been ready to depart.
Atsumu's eyes shifted to the summit and suddenly he felt his stomach drop. How would the crows react to them once they saw them? How would Kita and Osamu react to them? What about Atsumu himself? His heartbeat picked up as he thought about meeting Hinata again and he desperately hoped that the young shifter would be the first one they ran into. But he knew the chance of that happening was slim.
“How can we find the Karasuno temple?”, he asked, trying to forget about his fears and about Shoyo to focus on the task at hand instead. “Do you think it will be at the very top of the mountain?”
“No, I doubt it”, Kita answered. “It would be too dangerous at the very top, even for a bunch of crow shifters. Think about storms, lightning or heavy snowfall. It has to be somewhere in the upper third but it's probably somewhere more sheltered. I can't tell you for sure. But it is on this side of the mountain. If we can manage to find a scent we can try and follow that. Otherwise we will just have to keep our eyes open.”
“It could take a while for us to find them. Do you think you can keep going until then?”
Osamu asked the question Atsumu didn't dare to.Both twins nervously waited for an answer.
“Yeah, I think so”, Kita said after a moment. “They could spot us before we even see them too, so don't worry too much about how we're going to find them. We will.”
Before the twins could argue further Kita slowly got up and announced that their break was over.This time he went over to Osamu and waited until he'd shifted before he let Atsumu help him climb onto the silver fox' back.
If he was completely honest with himself, he didn't know if he could hold out until they found the crows. He knew he wasn't in any shape – neither physically nor mentally – to complete this journey. He'd had his own doubts even after he had tried to convince his three best friends about his plan last night.
He remembered their conversation in vivid detail and the words kept coming back to him. It had been a long, frustrating discussion that hadn't led to an agreement in the end.But once everyone else had fallen asleep and Kita was the only one still awake, debating with himself if this was a good idea – that's when something happened that convinced him to try.
He'd seen a glimpse of a small glowing white fox right next to him on the bed, just for a heartbeat, like an illusion.But Kita had known that it was a sign of his ancestors right away.
'You're doing the right thing. Don't be afraid.'
These words had echoed quietly in his head, spoken by a hundred voices at once.
And right in that moment Kita had known he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating things. His ancestors were watching over him, just like Nariko had promised him.
He could have cried tears of joy but instead he had gotten up straight away and had looked for the twins to tell them about his plan.
It was still a leap of faith for Kita, of course it was.But he had decided to do it anyway.
The knowledge that he was going in the right direction kept him going even as his body was coming closer to reaching it's limits the longer he and the twins travelled up the mountain.
The air changed once the vegetation wasn't as dense anymore and soon Osamu was breathing heavily and gasping for air. Kita wasn't much better, only Atsumu seemed to have less problems with it.
The kitsune called the golden fox back and asked him to slow down once he'd gone too far ahead.Now side by side the three kept going.But as the sun rose higher it also got warmer. For a late spring day it was unusually hot. There rarely was any shadow now and Kita missed the trees' high crowns that protected the cool, damp forest floor from the sun back home.
The terrain got more rocky and dangerous too. Sometimes there were only narrow paths that they had to cross slowly and in their human forms.Kita's throat felt dry and raw by now.He would have given anything for a couple gulps of water.
They had started to look for the temple a while ago but hadn't seen any signs of it yet.If everything went on much longer Kita feared that they'd have to wait until the worst of the day's heat was over before they could go on.
They found a tiny little patch of shadow underneath a lonely tree on a small plateau after another half hour and without even discussing it first they sat down for another break.Kita let himself sink onto his back and closed his eyes.His breathing only slowed down gradually, the air up here was just too thin for him.
“It can't be that far anymore, right?”Atsumu's eyes were fixed on the dark grey of the mountain top as he asked the question.
“How can they even survive with the air being so thin?”, Osamu grumbled, sounding annoyed. He angrily stared up at the sky from his place on the ground as if he was willing the sun to stop being so warm.
“You'll be fine, Samu. I'm sure if we-”
A sudden deafening crow interrupted Atsumu's sentence.All three foxes whirled around and saw three dark shadows darting towards them from the sky.
Shit, shit, shit.How had they not seen them coming?!
Kita's body reacted before his mind had a chance to catch up.He grabbed Atsumu and dragged him onto the ground harshly before he held both twins down and pressed himself flat against the rocks too.
The crows' claws missed them by just a hair's width.One of them had grazed a rock just next to Osamu's arm, resulting in a nasty clack sound and the silver fox flinching with fear.
Kita growled lowly and got to his feet. The only thing on his mind was to protect.“Stay down!”, he barked over his shoulder and then stepped forward, the golden light of the shift already surrounding him.
The twins gasped in horror.
“Kita-san, no!”“You're not strong enough for a shift!”
Kita knew.But he had to try.Anything to keep his family safe.
He took a deep breath for a warning growl but it got stuck in his throat as he tried to change forms.He could feel the magic pull as usual but it stung and then... nothing.
Confused, Kita looked down at his still human body and didn't understand.Then, from one second to the next he suddenly felt... empty.No air in his lungs, no strength in his limbs.Like an invisible arrow had struck him and stolen away every last bit of energy in his bruised body.
The golden light vanished.Kita's knees buckled.The twins scrambled forward to catch him as he fell to the floor.
“Kita-san!!”
They made it just in time and carefully laid their leader down on the rocks, the crows forgotten for the moment.
Their focus was solely on the kitsune who was struggling to breathe properly. His wide open golden eyes flitted from one twin to the other and were showing nothing but panic.
“Fuck...Tsumu, look!”
The golden fox ripped his gaze from Kita's face and followed where his brother's shaky finger was pointing.
The slash on Kita's nape had started to bleed again and Atsumu quickly realized that most likely all of the other wounds that Aran had spend so much time taking care of were too.
They shared a quick glance.Should they call for help?
“Hey! What are you doing here?!”
At the aggressive call both foxes' heads whipped around and they caught sight of the three crows – now back in their human forms standing a good bit away and watching them with hawk eyes.
Atsumu desperately tried to keep his cool and was about to try and answer them when suddenly Osamu started growling like crazy.His transformation happened so fast Atsumu could barely blink before his brother was cowering defensively over their hurt leader and yowled angrily at the crows.
This reaction perplexed Atsumu so bad that he could only stare at his twin in shock for a good few seconds.Then he looked at the other three shifters but they were just standing there and made no other move to attack.
“Just tell us already, foxes!”, the tallest of them called then. “What are you doing up here? Did you come to attack us?”
“No!”, Atsumu called in his panic but didn't know what to follow up with.He tried to find the right words but his mind was pure chaos.He couldn't hear his own thoughts over Osamu's growls and Shinsuke's desperate gasps for air.
The silver fox' eyes cut over to his brother for a half a second and he didn't hesitate to make a decision.
They had promised to call for help if they needed it.And now was the time.
He opened his mouth but before a even a single sound could escape him his jaws were snapped shut again and held closed by strong arms.Osamu struggled against the hold viciously but once he recognized that it was Atsumu keeping him from calling their friends he stilled.
His eyes showed confusion and he gave a long hiss through pressed fangs.
'What the hell are you doing, Tsumu?'
“Don't. Don't call them. They would take too long anyway. I got this, okay? Trust me.”
They stared into each others eyes for a tense moment, communicating silently.
Osamu wanted to trust his brother, he wanted to.But there was so much at risk and Osamu had almost lost both of them just mere weeks ago. The risk was too high.
“Trust me”, Atsumu whispered again, dark eyes serious but weirdly calm too. “Just this once.”
Osamu hesitated but then Kita whimpered quietly and Atsumu slowly let him go.Osamu cast a long look at his brother and gave him a weak nudge with his snout.'I hope you know what you're doing.'
Then the silver fox cowered down next to Kita and tried to soothe him as best as he could.
Atsumu broke out in a cold sweat as he slowly turned to the crow patrol.He knew it was on him now.Originally Kita had promised he would do the talking but now that duty was Atsumu's to carry out.He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
The crows still waited impatiently but they seemed to have lost their aggressive stance.Atsumu took a steadying breath and dared to take a few steps towards them.
Slowly he raised up his hands.
“We didn't come to fight. We came to talk.”
Atsumu looked at each of Hinata's clan mates more closely, trying to find out if Shoyo had told him about them before.The one closest to him had grey hair, not unlike Osamu's and a prominent birthmark beneath his left eye.
“You're Sugawara – san, right?”, he managed to ask. Atsumu remembered some of Shoyo's stories from back home, one involving the older crow with silver hair.
The crow froze for a second – obviously he hadn't expected Atsumu to know him by name – then he stepped closer to eye Atsumu more intently and he went pale when he recognized who he was.
“You're Atsumu.”
The golden fox nodded.
The three crows stared at him in shock.
“But you...”“How are you...”“We saw how bad you were injured...”
None of them managed to finish their sentences.Kita whimpered again and Atsumu impatiently shook his head.There was no time for explanations now.
“We will tell you everything but we need your help first. Kita-san came to talk and he only brought me and my brother so Sawamura-san could see that we survived with his own eyes. Kita-san has not been well but he insisted on coming here to set things right. I swear he didn't want to attack you earlier, it was probably just instinct and-”
“Hey, hey, calm down. We will help you, alright?”, Sugawara interrupted him gently.
Atsumu stopped speaking and nodded, his heart pounding nervously against his ribs but there was relief there too.He hadn't screwed this up so far.
Sugawara turned towards his tallest companion.“Tsukishima, please fly back home and tell Daichi what happened. We'll try to hurry and be with you soon.”
The blond boy only gave a curt nod before he shifted and quickly disappeared between the rocky hillsides.
“Do you think he can walk?”Suga nodded over to where Kita was still laying on the ground.“The pathways to our temple are quite narrow. You could have problems in your shifted forms.”
Worry was glazed over the crow's dark eyes and Atsumu had to admit that the answer was probably no.“I will ask him”, he said.He rushed over to his leader and kneeled down beside him.
“Kita-san, do you think you can keep going? Just a little bit longer? They agreed to take us to their temple. Once we're there I can treat you. We'll be safe there.”
Kita's tired eyes met Atsumu's for just a heartbeat, then he had to close them again.He shook his head weakly.“Not on my own”, he breathed. “You'll have ta carry me. That failed shiftin' attempt was too much...”
Osamu leant down and gently groomed Kita's white ears.'I will do it' the gesture said.
Atsumu nodded in agreement.
“We'll keep you safe”, he promised, then stood up again.
“We'll manage somehow”, he called to Sugawara. “Just lead the way.”
The grey haired crow gave a nod and Atsumu helped Kita onto Osamu's back as gentle as he could.He could see that Kita was gritting his teeth hard and Atsumu apologized as he carefully undid Kita's arm sling.“I know it hurts more without it but try to hold onto Samu somehow okay? Lean forward so you're lying down, it's gonna be easier that way.”
The kitsune agreed and the small group wasted no time getting to move.
Sugawara led the way, while the other crow – Narita – walked at the end of the group and kept an eye on Kita, who did his best to keep a solid grip in Osamu's grey fur.
Atsumu walked right behind Sugawara and repeated the warnings the crow gave him to his brother so he knew where to be careful and where he had to thread slowly.
The path that Sugawara led them on didn't wind up so much uphill anymore as more into the heart of the mountain.The narrow paths were all rocks and small plants hiding in the shadows. They were twisting from one side to the other and Atsumu asked himself if they could have ever found the right way on their own.More than once he saw little paths become dead ends and he shuddered as he realized how easily they could have gotten lost here.
“We're almost there”, Sugawara then called from the front of the formation. “Be careful with this last part and watch your step. Don't look down. Keep your eyes on the path.”
When they rounded the next corner the path got even smaller. The hillside to their right got steadily lower in height too until only the left side of the path was protected by a rocky wall.Atsumu slowed down and only took step after step once the protecting wall on their right had turned into a terrifying drop.
Sugawara led the way with confidence and Atsumu for the first time ever wished that he had wings too.Osamu looked even more terrified than him since he carried Kita's added weight.
Narita hovered close by just in case anything happened but paw-step after paw-step Osamu braved the dangerous path.He only dared to breathe again once the way got broader again.
“Look, over there.”
The twins' eyes followed Sugawara's finger and both stopped dead in their tracks to marvel at the sight presented to them.
Before them lay the Karasuno temple.
The main temple was standing in the middle of a big granite plateau. A couple of other stone islands were connected to the main building via small bridges.A waterfall thundered down one side of the cliff and on the rocky island closest to it Atsumu spied something that looked like a bathhouse.
The area was protected from the sun by the high mountain walls on one side so that half the complex was dipped into shadows already.Atsumu thought that it probably looked even more amazing in the light of the rising sun.
But even now it simply was breathtaking.
Atsumu could have looked at it for much longer but he quickly remembered why they were here and that Kita was still hurt so he hurried after Sugawara and towards the main temple.
He could see a couple of crows hurrying around the place now and for the first moment it was dizzying watching them fly around or run across the narrow bridges connecting the different plateaus.His gaze shifted and then stayed on a crow with black hair who waited on the courtyard in front of their temple.He recognized him faintly and realized that this must be Sawamura.
He gulped and one hand flew to his side where the deep scars were branded into his flesh.The blond crow who Sugawara had sent away before was there too and Atsumu heard Osamu growl lowly again.
It slowly dawned on him that this probably was one of the ones who had attacked his brother by the river.His own gaze hardened but he didn't make any noise, just straightened his back and stepped foot onto the granite plateau with his head held high.
Atsumu was trying to think of the best way to address Karasuno's leader already but when he looked back over his shoulder he saw that Kita had heaved himself up into a sitting position with shaky arms.Atsumu rushed over.
“I need to speak to him first”, the kitsune insisted before Atsumu could even open his mouth. “What kind of leader would I be if I left that duty to you? Help me down.”
Osamu cowered down and Kita grabbed onto Atsumu's shoulder for balance as he climbed off the silver fox' back.It hurt to see the kitsune struggle with even such a simple task but Atsumu knew if he tried to intervene and help Kita wouldn't appreciate it.
Once Kita was standing Osamu shifted back.He gave Atsumu a nod and Kita, now flanked on both sides by the twins, bravely stepped up to Sawamura.
The leader of the crows seemed to be at loss for words at first.His eyes were wide with shock.Obviously he hadn't expected to see Kita again. At least not like this.All three foxes knew that he had thought that if he was ever going to see him again it was on a battlefield.Then his eyes shifted to Atsumu and once he recognized him an audible gasp tumbled from his mouth. He didn't seem to find any words – he only stared at Atsumu in disbelief. The stare made the older twin uneasy and his ears started twitching but he looked back at Sawamura decidedly as the seconds ticked by.
Kita didn't wait for a greeting anymore and bowed lightly, simply because he couldn't manage much more or the dizziness would actually make him sway.
Sawamura quickly copied the action and the twins looked at him with satisfaction in their dark eyes when he dipped into a low bow before the kitsune.
“Sawamura-san”, Kita greeted him quietly. “Please excuse our sudden emergence. We didn't mean to cause any trouble for your clan. We are here to talk. I promise we came with good intentions and don't plan on attacking you. As you can see the twins are fine and it's time to finally talk about everything that happened. As you know there are always two sides to every story. We need to know Hinata's point of view too so we can solve this situation between our clans.”
The kitsune met Sawamura's eyes but the crow's gaze cut over to Atsumu again, then to Osamu and back to Kita.It was no surprise to him that all the questions Sawamura wanted to ask were reflected in his eyes so clearly as if he had spoken them out loud.
What happened to you?How was Atsumu able to survive?
There was more but Sawamura was able to pull himself out of his stupor and his vision cleared up.
“Yes, of course, Kita-san. Follow me.”
The kitsune sighed quietly, relieved and glad that he had this first instance behind him.Sawamura ruffled his black wings as he turned, the long primary feathers nearly grazing Kita's legs.
The white fox should have known that he was about to see the crow's wings up close but the sight caught him completely off guard.He flinched and gasped when the sudden movement sent a shock of pain through his body.Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He stumbled backwards and blindly reached out to grab onto something or someone and his fingers ended up tangled in Atsumu's clothes.
“Kita-san!”
The twins were there instantly and the kitsune desperately clung to both of them.His throat felt tight and breathing was hard again, his fingers hurt where they were digging in the twins' flesh.Shinsuke screwed his eyes shut and harshly bit down on his lower lip to prevent any noise from spilling out.
For a moment he had forgotten about his wounds and poor health.Now one sudden move had him close to passing out again.
He couldn't show how weak he truly was in front of the crows.It went against all of his instincts.He needed to be strong.For his clan, for the twins.
He couldn't break down now when they were so close to finally making peace.He couldn't.He couldn't...
“Kita-san, breathe. You need to breathe.”
Osamu's words barely got through to the him.
“Kita-san, please look at me”, Atsumu pleaded but the white fox shook his head. The gesture was so untypical for Kita – like a petulant little fox cub - that it left Atsumu dumbfounded.“It's his wings, right?”, Osamu asked quietly. “He got to close, didn't he?”
The kitsune nodded and only dug his nails deeper into Osamu's arm.With the way he had started to shake it wouldn't take long before he would truly pass out.All the stress was way too much, everyone could see that.
“Kita-san, please hold onto Samu for a moment, okay?”
Osamu gave his brother a confused look but pulled the white fox closer as Atsumu stepped up to Sawamura.He was aware that everyone around them was watching them intently and Atsumu felt hot under all the stares but he tried his best to shake it off.
The crows' leader had watched everything with huge worried eyes too and he looked helpless in a way Atsumu hadn't expected.He couldn't take that into consideration right now though.
“Sawamura-san, we need a moment to rest”, he pleaded. “Kita-san has not been feeling well for days and the journey up the mountain seems to have been too much for him. Can you show us where we can rest for a while? And it would be good if I could get some things to treat him, his wounds are causing trouble again.”
It felt weird to talk to Sawamura about all of this so openly but Atsumu figured that anything else wouldn't help him.He needed to be honest.For Kita's sake.
Atsumu knew the kitsune wanted to be brave and show everyone that he could deal with the situation despite his physical state.But right now he obviously couldn't and that worried Atsumu more than he let show.
Kita needed some help first.Then they would see about everything else.For a moment he wondered if he had made a mistake when he stopped Osamu from calling for their friends earlier.But Sawamura interrupted this train of thought before it could go too far.
“Yes, of course. Asahi!”The leader called out to a crow with long dark hair.“Get some water. Koushi, we need something for him to lie down.”
Another crow, a young woman with long black hair that shimmered the faintest shade of blue in the sunlight had come up next to Sawamura.“Tell me everything you need to treat him”, she said to Atsumu. “I will get it for you.”
Atsumu nodded and recited a list of ingredients for a medicine he had made dozens of times before.The woman repeated everything back to him and hurried into the temple once Atsumu confirmed everything with a nod.
The golden fox had halfway turned back towards Kita and his brother already when Sawamura addressed him again.
“Atsumu-kun. What is wrong with him?”
Sawamura briefly glanced over to Kita and Osamu. The silver fox had trouble calming the kitsune down on his own and he felt helpless as he watched.
“It's not just the journey that exhausted him so much. And neither the wounds from our fight. I didn't hurt him that bad, did I?”
“No, it's...”
Atsumu hesitated to share what had really happened, just for a moment.It brought back memories of the pain, the endless days spent in that weird dream where the only thing he'd been able to do was wait and hope that he wouldn't die.
“Kita-san used a blood-binding spell to save me”, he admitted quietly. “But it took way too much out of him and he hasn't been recovering from it properly.”
“A spell...”
Atsumu nodded.
Sawamura didn't say anything for a few seconds and when Atsumu looked up at him the leader seemed to be thinking hard.
Then he called over two of his clan mates who had been hovering nearby.
“Tsukishima, Kinoshita. You have to go and find Kuroo and bring him here. Tell him what happened and that I need him here. Since he's a descendant too maybe he can help.”
The two crows shared a surprised glance but didn't object and immediately left to fulfill their leader's request.After a moment of hesitation Sawamura waved over another crow and Atsumu recognized Nishinoya, the one that had visited them together with Sawamura all this time ago.
“Shiratorizawa, right?”, the small crow asked before Sawamura could even make his request.The leader nodded.“Tell Ushijima-san what happened too. Maybe Kuroo can help on his own but I would feel better if he was here too.”“Got it.”
Nishinoya shifted and took to the skies, flying in a different direction than his other two clan mates before him.
“Thank you, Sawamura-san”, Atsumu said and tried to smile to show that he meant what he had said. He wanted to add something else but then heard Kita gasp again and his face fell.He quickly bowed and then went back to Osamu.
Kita was still clinging onto the grey fox like his life depended on it and Atsumu gently nudged his arm.“Come on. You will feel better soon. Small steps, okay?”
Together the twins led the kitsune towards the main temple.Sugawara and the girl with the black hair had just emerged from the building and the one with the long hair was hurrying towards them too.
Within a minute they had laid out a mat in the shadows of the temple, the girl had given Atsumu the ingredients he had asked for and Osamu helped Kita get down.Asahi went over to put down the bucket of water he had gotten for them but upon noticing him the kitsune jumped again and curled into Osamu's hold more.
Asahi seemed just as startled as Kita and stumbled backwards.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”
“No, it's not your fault. Kita-san doesn't deal well with seeing your wings up close. Please just step back.”
Confused, Asahi did as he was told.All the other crows kept their distance or retreated a couple of steps too upon hearing Osamu's words.
Atsumu tried to take a steadying breath.'I'm sorry we had to reveal this weakness of yours to them, Kita-san', he thought. 'But it's for your own safety. You're not good right now. But I'll try to help as best as I can. I promised to Aran-kun and to myself as well.'
But as he kneeled down next to the kitsune his courage quickly left him.
Shinsuke was still struggling to calm down and he was obviously in pain too.Atsumu needed him to stay still to treat him.
Osamu glanced up at his brother helplessly, not knowing what to do either.
“Kita-san, I have all the things to treat you”, Atsumu tried to explain. “But you need to calm down first. Can we help you with that somehow? Should we ask for a separate room away from prying eyes?”
“No... I don't think I can... get up right now...”
“Drink something first, Kita-san”, Osamu suggested. “We know warm weather has never been something you particularly enjoy. It's no secret that the sun is your mortal enemy.”He tried to make it sound like a joke and Atsumu doubted that this tactic would work but to his surprise Kita huffed and it sounded like he was amused, even if just for a second.
“Water sounds good”, he then agreed and Atsumu picked up an empty cup that Asahi had brought together with the bucket.He filled it up while Osamu carefully pulled the kitsune up into a sitting position and once Kita had taken the first few sips he seemed to relax a little.He requested one more cup, drank half of it and then gave the rest to Osamu who greedily gulped it down and almost choked on it.
Atsumu had started to dunk some clean bandages into the cool water and wrapped them around Kita's wrists and ankles.“They will help you cool down”, Atsumu explained as he worked.And physical touch was a good way to keep Kita grounded when he was feeling stressed but he didn't say that out loud.The kitsune knew that himself.
Kita mumbled some words of gratitude and closed his eyes as he leaned back against Osamu's chest.He was much calmer already and Atsumu counted that as a win.He still wished that Aran was here to assist him since he knew how to handle Kita best but he had to go through this alone now.
“Okay, which of your wounds hurts the most, Kita-san?”, he asked once he was done with the wet packs.
The kitsune had to think for a moment because they all hurt if he was being honest.But then he tapped against his thigh, near where the blood had dyed his clothes a dirty red.“This one.”
“Okay. I'll mix the medicine now, just try to relax until then.”
The white fox hummed.“Osamu, can you help me lay down? I feel a little dizzy.”
“Of course.”
Osamu made sure that Kita was comfortable and let him use his thigh as a pillow.He let his fingers play with the white strands of Kita's fringe but made it so that his palm was in front of his closed eyes and the gland on his wrist was near Kita's nose.
Atsumu noticed this and when he looked up Osamu met his eyes with a small smile.'I'm still here too', he seemed to say.
Calmed down by the reminder that he did have help Atsumu turned back to all the herbs in front of him.His mind was empty as he stared at them though and for a long minute he didn't even move, just kept his eyes on the different berries, blossoms and leafs he had used so many times before.He wrecked his brain and willed himself to just remember how to use these. He knew how. He knew he knew. So why...?
The nerves made his fingers shake and he quickly clenched his fist before anyone noticed.He knew the crows were watching them and suddenly he felt hot.
'Come on, you can do this', Atsumu said to himself. 'It's one of the first things you learned. You know all the steps. First you have to...'
But his mind blanked out after that.Fear closed around his heart and taking a breath was suddenly ten times harder.
“Tsumu... Tsumu.”
Osamu's voice pulled Atsumu out of his own head and his eyes snapped up to look at his brother.But he wasn't looking back at him.His wide, dark eyes were fixed on something behind Atsumu.
Confused the golden fox turned around to see what was going on.
His eyes fell onto a lonely figure standing at the edge of the granite plateau right away.Their wings were only half folded, as if they had just arrived, making them seem transfixed in the movement.The sun was right behind them and blinded Atsumu for the first moment. Then he caught a glimpse of fiery orange hair that seemed to be ablaze thanks to the rays of the early evening sun. Atsumu gasped, then his breath stuttered and got caught in his throat.His heart stopped.Then it beat twice as fast as before.
“A-Atsumu-san?”
There was disbelief in the quiet voice.
“Shoyo-kun...”
Atsumu's body was frozen in place for just a heartbeat.His eyes stung dangerously but slowly he managed to straighten up.Before he could get to his feet and storm across the place though his eyes cut back to Osamu.
The silver fox still looked worried but he tried to smile and nodded softly.Atsumu's chest ached and the tears were close to falling but he smiled brightly, then he looked from his brother to Kita.
The kitsune looked deep into his eyes with an unreadable expression and Atsumu didn't dare to break the eye contact although he wanted nothing more than to jump up and run across the place and into Shoyo's arms.
Kita seemed to be looking for something and Atsumu started to get fidgety as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened.But then the white fox' serious expression changed into something more gentle.
Slowly he raised a hand until the tips of his fingers reached Atsumu's chest.He gave him a weak push and even though he couldn't conceal the fear in his eyes completely the corners of his mouth lifted into a brief smile.
“Go”, he breathed.
Atsumu broke out into an honest but wobbly smile at the same time the first tear slipped down his cheek.
The next second Atsumu jumped to his feet and ran across the place towards Shoyo.His vision was so blurry with tears he could barely see but Shoyo called out his name and a moment later they collided, Shoyo all but jumping into his arms. Atsumu caught him safely but stumbled back a couple of steps from the impact before he managed to steady them both.
Slender arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and strong thighs around his hips, Atsumu's arms easily found their way around Shoyo's waist and squeezed him hard.It was painful, almost violent but both Atsumu and Hinata relished in it.This was nothing in comparison to the pain that the sudden and brutal separation at Inarizaki's courtyard had caused them all these weeks ago.
Atsumu felt all of that torment melting away as he was finally able to hold Shoyo again.
They still fit together so perfectly, like two pieces of a whole.Atsumu promptly hid his face in the crow's neck as the thought crossed his mind.Partly because he didn't want Shoyo to see how hard he was crying, partly so he could finally inhale his sweet scent again.
Hinata had dug his nails so deep into Atsumu's shoulders that it drew blood but the fox didn't care.The only thing that mattered was that he was here.With him.
He didn't even notice that Hinata was crying just as bad as him at first but once he did he tried to shush him through his own tears.
“H-Hey, I'm here, Shoyo, I'm here, okay? I m-made it. Ya don' have ta worry a-about me any-any more.”Hinata sniffed loudly and Atsumu felt him furiously wiping away his tears before he leaned back in his hold. Atsumu looked up at him.Shoyo's cheeks were flushed red and wet with tears, his eyes glassy and his smile wobbly but Atsumu marvelled at his beauty all the same.
Shoyo didn't seem to be able to form words right now.He just nodded jerkily, more tears spilling down his cheeks but he broke out into a big smile.
Atsumu felt shaky hands cup his cheeks and he too grinned happily before Shoyo smashed their lips together in a desperate kiss full of unsaid feelings.The golden fox melted into it right away, not caring about all the unbelieving eyes staring at them right now.He had waited and longed for this moment for weeks on end and so he took his sweet time.
Their kisses gradually got less desperate and more loving until Atsumu just pecked Shoyo's lips a couple of times.Then he smiled up at him and looked deep into his eyes. Those dark, brilliant eyes that he had come to love so much.
There were a thousand things on the tip of his tongue and Hinata seemed to have too.Both of them struggled to decide on the first things they wanted to say.
After a couple of heartbeats Shoyo just smiled and slowly unfolded his wings before he wrapped them around their bodies.
He leaned in to give Atsumu one more small but loving kiss, then he just hugged him close, hooked his chin over his shoulder and closed his eyes for a few seconds.
Kita tensed up as he watched the young crow's wings enclose his cub's body but then he noticed Atsumu's expression.He was smiling, his eyes were closed. He looked... peaceful. So full of contentment and happiness. He had rarely ever seen that look on the young fox.
And right in that moment Kita knew that everything would be okay.
A smile made it's way onto his tired face and he laid back down more comfortably.“He really does love him...”, Osamu mumbled, his eyes still fixed on the unlikely couple.It wasn't surprising given that Atsumu had already confessed his feelings for the crow to him.But seeing them like this now made Osamu realize just how strong his brother's feelings truly were and how safe he felt in Hinata's embrace right now.He couldn't help but smile.Atsumu deserved some happiness after all he had gone through.
Atsumu let Shoyo down after a long moment but didn't let go just yet.
“What took you so long?”, the crow wanted to know. “We didn't hear anything for so long and I thought you...”
“It's a long story”, Atsumu sighed. “And I will tell you all about it but first... can you help me with something?”
“Of course.”
Atsumu smiled.“Come on. Oh, and please keep your wings as close to your body as you can, yeah? Kita-san easily gets nervous when he sees them and he's very vulnerable right now.”
Shoyo nodded, their hands found each other and together they walked back to where Osamu and Kita were still watching them.
Hinata seemed to be shy at first, judging by the way his cheeks had darkened a shade (well, everyone had just witnessed them kissing and he hadn't told his clan everything about Atsumu's and his relationship either, not yet at least) but he deeply bowed to the two foxes.“Hello. My name is Hinata Shoyo. It's... nice to finally meet you. Atsumu-san has told me a lot about you.”
It was a weird feeling for Shoyo to be face to face with Atsumu's brother and have a nearly picture perfect copy of his face looking right back at him.It was kind of intimidating and not just because the silver fox' eyes were so intense.An uncomfortable shudder crept down Hinata's spine.
But Osamu just nodded and said: “Hello, I am Osamu... as you probably already know.”Hinata's lips curled into an amused smile, then he turned to the kitsune who watched him with wakeful, golden eyes.
“Hello, Kita-san”, he said quietly. Atsumu noticed that Shoyo was shivering the tiniest bit. Being in the presence of a kitsune – even in such a weakened state – must be quite overwhelming if one wasn't used to it. But the young shifter hid it well and continued: “It's an honour to finally meet you properly, even if I wish the circumstances were different.”
“I wished for that too”, the kitsune mumbled. “But we're here now.”
The last words Shinsuke had growled into Sawamura's face right after Atsumu had been injured in the trial suddenly played on his mind again. He remembered Hinata's big terrified eyes too and his expression turned into an apologetic one.
“I hope you can forgive me my harsh words from before. I was just worried for my family.”
Shoyo shook his head.
“I never blamed you for that. And neither did Daichi.”He glanced over at his leader who had slowly stepped closer again.
The atmosphere was weird, sort of tense because none of the crows really seemed to know what to do.But Sawamura nodded in response to Hinata's words.
“Shoyo is right but let's talk about all that when you feel better again.”His eyes shifted to Atsumu.“Is there something else you need to treat him?”
The golden fox tried to swallow his rising nervousness back down again.“No, I have everything, it's just, uhm... w-with Shoyo-kun's help I think I can. You see, he helped made this medicine a couple of times and I-”
“Daichi, please, can I help him?”, Hinata interrupted his rambling with a serious voice.The two crows shared a long look but ultimately Sawamura gave in.
“Fine. But be careful, yeah? You're not a healer.”
Shoyo nodded dutifully and then turned back to Atsumu.“Alright, let's do this.”
Atsumu nodded but as he looked back down at all the different leafs his mind blanked again.Shoyo noticed and gently nudged his arm, then pointed at a bunch of marigold.
“We always started with this one, remember?”
Atsumu blinked.A memory flashed in his mind – he and Shoyo had double checked with Aran's book again because some flowers had looked pretty similar to each other and they had wanted to make sure they got everything right. They had argued back and forth for a bit but they had done every step of the process together until they were sure they had done everything according to the instructions.
“Yeah”, he mumbled. “And then this one?”He showed Shoyo a ribwort leaf.
“Exactly. How about I take care of them while you clean Kita-san's wounds with some water and then disinfect them with some yarrow extract?”
Atsumu nodded, his tail briefly swished against Shoyo's leg, a silent thank you.
Together they started working quickly and in almost perfect harmony.
Both Osamu and Kita could only watch in silent awe.The kitsune barely felt any pain as Atsumu carefully cleaned his wounds with a wet cloth. Osamu could see that his brother's movements slowly became more natural and gentle as he worked.The worried expression faded from Atsumu's face too and he didn't even flinch when Kita hissed as he started to disinfect the slashes with the extract.
“I'm sorry, Kita-san”, he mumbled but kept going. “It will feel better after that though. This plant has a styptic effect, that means your wounds will stop bleeding sooner. This will help when we put on the medicine later.”
The kitsune just grit his teeth and let Atsumu keep working.
The treatment seemed to stretch on forever for Kita when in reality it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes.
Sawamura had started pacing restlessly and kept throwing looks towards the valley where his clan mates had disappeared earlier.
Osamu kept looking around too.He didn't know much about Kuroo and even less about Ushijima but the prospect of being face to face with such powerful shifters filled him with equal parts excitement and anxiety.
Atsumu was just busy bandaging the last of Kita's now treated wounds when there was movement at the edge of the mountain.
The two crows Sawamura had sent out to go get Kuroo slowly floated towards the edge of the plateau.Osamu could see that both of them were carrying one other person each on their backs.
Their wings swirled up dust as they landed heavily near the edge.The two newcomers climbed off and Osamu could see that one of them, a tall figure with spiky black hair, cheekily ruffled the feathers of the crow that had carried him.A pair of black ears were nearly invisible in between all the messy strands and a long black tail came up to tickle the crow under his beak.
“Thank you, Tsukki”, he teased with a grin but didn't wait for an answer because Sawamura came hurrying towards them.
“Kuroo, I'm sorry that this came so suddenly but-”
The cat shifter raised a hand.
“Don't apologize, we were already on our way up here.”
“What... wait, really? Why?”
Sawamura sounded perplexed but Kuroo nodded and looked over to where the foxes and Hinata were all crowded together.
“Inuoka saw them when they crossed the river in our territory. He said there were only three and that one of them was hurt.”His sharp eyes shifted back to Sawamura.“And after everything you told me it wasn't hard guessing where they were headed to.”
The other shifter that had arrived together with Kuroo now stepped up beside him.He had sand-coloured short hair and barely reached up to Kuroo's shoulder.
“And knowing that there were only three foxes we knew they weren't going to attack you. Especially if one of them is injured.”
“I sent Nishinoya out to Shiratorizawa”, Sawamura admitted. “To look for Ushijima-san and ask him for help too. I thought it would be safer. I don't know much about magic and I know you're more than capable of helping but Kita-san seems to be really bad and I guess it's better if we have one more descendant here to-”
“Daichi, you did the right thing”, Kuroo interrupted him and briefly squeezed his arm. “Calm down. I will do whatever I can.”
Atsumu saw how the crows' leader took a deep breath and only then he realized how horribly tense he must have been the whole time.The presence of the black cat and his definitive words obviously helped calming him down.The golden fox wondered if they were close friends.
He didn't have time to think about it though because now Kuroo and the other cat came over.He and Hinata shuffled out of the way, assuming that Nekoma's leader wanted to talk to Kita first.
Both cats looked at them curiously though and Atsumu heard Hinata greet the smaller one with a quiet “Hello Yaku-san!” while Kuroo eyed up the kitsune with barely concealed interest.He knelt down before him and bowed his head.
“Kita-san”, he greeted him with an easy smile. “It's been quite a while.”
“Yeah, I guess it has been”, the kitsune answered, voice scratchy and rough.
Kuroo's smile dimmed a little as he fully took in Kita's appearance.
“How are you feeling right now?”, he asked.He didn't have to – he could see that the kitsune wasn't well.
Kita didn't answer right away.Thanks to his exhaustion he needed a moment until he was able to see through Kuroo's question. Normally he would be annoyed by it. He preferred it when people were being honest and outright said what they wanted.But now he was comforted by Kuroo's words.
The other leader gave him a chance to tell the truth. Kita could also play it down and say that it wasn't as bad. Kuroo would know it was a lie but the kitsune realized that Kuroo must respect him quite a lot.'It's okay if you're not feeling good right now' was basically what he was saying. 'It's not shameful to admit that. But if you want to put on a brave face for the sake of your clan mates I won't stop you either.'
Kita decided right then and there that he liked him.
He sighed.“Terrible”, he finally admitted but his lips curled up into the tiniest smile.
Kuroo saw and nodded.“Are you in pain right now?”, he wanted to know.
“Yeah... Atsumu and Shoyo-kun treated my wounds but they still hurt.”
The cat shifter hummed.
“Mind if I work some magic to relieve your pain?”
Kita shook his head.“Please”, he added after a second of hesitation.
Osamu was ready to back away but Kuroo stopped him.“No, you can stay. This will be quick.”
Kuroo closed his eyes, pressed his palms together and inhaled deeply through his nose, then exhaled slowly out of his mouth.
When he opened his eyes again the amber was glowing and for a moment Kita wondered if his eyes did that too whenever he used magic.
Kuroo reached out and gently tapped against each of Kita's bandaged wounds with the tip of a finger.Every point he touched lit up in a golden light for a second and like a drop of water that rippled the surface of a lake a golden ring spread from the glowing point and faded more the bigger it got.It took all the pain with it immediately and Kita couldn't help but gasp in wonder.
The spell hadn't taken away his fatigue but he felt worlds better already.
The cat smiled, knowing his spell had shown the desired effect.
“How... how did you do that? That was amazing”, Kita wanted to know.The question surprised Kuroo, judging by the way his eyebrows raised.
“This is a beginner level spell”, he answered slowly. “I just assumed you were too weak to do it yourself.”
The words felt like a blow to the kitsune's gut and effectively silenced him for a few heartbeats.“You know, I...”
But before he could truly think about what to answer a loud warning cry reached the Karasuno temple.Nishinoya had appeared in the sky, alone.
He swept down and immediately shifted upon landing.“He's coming”, he called. “Everyone, get away from the edge!”
Atsumu turned towards Shoyo, confused as to why they had to do that.But before he could open his mouth a strong wind swept over the plateau, accompanied by a whooshing sound, almost like an oncoming storm.
The twins cowered down on instinct, Osamu leaned over Kita's body with a growl.
“Over there!”
Atsumu turned his head into the direction Nishinoya was pointing but wasn't prepared for the absolutely massive beast of a shifter he caught sight of.
It's wingspan was easily the size of the courtyard back at the Inarizaki temple and Atsumu was certain that one flap of these powerful wings could sweep him off his feet.
A second, way smaller shifter followed the first eagle as they circled around the Karasuno temple once, slowly losing height until they landed at the edge of the plateau.
Another gust of wind swept across the place and dragged at everyone's clothes.Atsumu had to close his eyes until it had stopped.
When he opened them again the two eagles had taken on their human appearances.The taller one – obviously Shiratorizawa's leader and a descendant – intimidated Atsumu, even from the distance.
He could make out a serious expression, sharp eyes and dark hair that showed a dark green tint in the early evening sun.
The other one had ash-blond hair that was bordering on grey with the tips coloured a darker grey. He too had an aura of confidence around him and something told Atsumu that he shouldn't ever mess with either of the two.
“Ushijima-san, thank you for following my request”, Sawamura greeted him with a deep bow.
Both eagles mirrored the gesture.
“It's no problem, Sawamura-san. After all, I have to admit I'm curious to finally meet the kitsune in person.”
He looked over to where the three foxes were huddled together.It was barely possible to catch a glimpse of the white fox because two tense looking fox shifters were blocking him from sight.
“I can't do much to help you”, Sawamura admitted. “They came here to talk but Kita-san is hurt. I don't know to what extend but one of his foxes mentioned that he used a spell and that he hasn't recovered properly since he used it.”
Ushijima nodded.
“Leave it to us. I'm sure we can figure out what is going on.”
Sawamura nodded gratefully.“Thank you.”
He watched as the other leader crossed the plateau and after a moment of hesitation he followed him. He needed to hear what had happened after Kita's foxes had chased them away after the trial. For weeks he had struggled with sleep now, always anticipating an attack, always fearing that he had killed the golden fox.
He just needed to know, for his own peace of mind.
Kuroo greeted Ushijima and then made room so he could meet the other descendant.
Kita's golden eyes were wide and he tried not to show that he had started to shake again as he took in Ushijima's mighty presence.Logically he knew the eagle would never attack him but his instincts told him that he should run and hide.He couldn't fight if it came down to it.He needed a safe place to retreat to.
“Greetings, Kita-san. I am Ushijima Wakatoshi, leader of the Shiratorizawa clan and a fellow descendant.”
The last two words branded themselves into Kita's mind immediately.A fellow descendant... just like Kuroo was too.The words comforted the kitsune right away.
They were just like him.Direct descendants of the Old Gods.They would never hurt him.
His fear faded quickly once he realized that but it still left him dizzy and he had to take a deep breath to collect himself.“Hello Ushijima-san”, he answered quietly. “I'm Kita Shinsuke, leader of the Inarizaki clan. It's an honour to meet you.”
The eagle slowly nodded his head.“Tell us about what happened to you”, he pleaded.
“Straight to the point, as always”, Kuroo teased with a grin. “But he's right. Sawamura could only tell us about what happened during and shortly after the trial. He said something about a hurt fox and that he feared that he possibly could have killed him.”
Hinata felt for Atsumu's hand as the memories of that day came rushing back and Atsumu grabbed it and gave it a comforting squeeze.'It's okay. I'm here.'
Kita nodded slowly and took a moment to go over the events in his head again.
“Atsumu was gravely injured when he interrupted the trial. He wasn't there when it started and only saw that Sawamura had already cornered me when he arrived. You can all say that it was stupid of him to jump in between us but he only wanted to protect me.”
Kita knew he didn't have to tell them this but he felt like he had to protect Atsumu in some way.No matter what foolish decisions his cub had made in the past – he had been selfless in that moment and Kita wasn't going to make that look like a bad thing in front of the other leaders.
“But when I saw him there bleeding on the ground, just after his brother had been hurt too, I... I lost it and I said horrible things. But I also knew Atsumu needed help or else he would die. I knew my usual magic wasn't strong enough to heal him but I remembered a spell that was written down in my old magic book. It was a blood-binding spell that should allow him to heal through my own enhanced healing ability. I knew it was risky but if I hadn't done it he would have died.”
Both Kuroo's and Ushijima's gazes followed Kita's and locked onto Atsumu.
“Can you show us where you were hurt?”, Kuroo asked.
Atsumu, unsure of what to do, glanced over to Kita but the kitsune nodded, his eyes calm.
Still hesitant Atsumu pulled at his clothes until he was able to reveal the deep scars on his side, ribs and back.Kuroo's eyes darkened and even the stoic eagle-shifter's face showed a small frown.
“That looks deep, even from the scars”, Kuroo stated. “I probably would have done the same, Kita-san.”Ushijima didn't say anything but he agreed with a small nod too.
“I followed the steps in the book, spoke the words and then we both fell into some kind of sleep.”
“And the healing process started right away?”, Kuroo wanted to know.
“Well, a part of it, I guess? Osamu, could you describe it to them?”
The silver fox jumped and gulped as he looked up at the two other leaders with wide eyes.“The- the bleeding stopped but the wounds didn't close or start to heal right away. Our healer did what he could to help from the outside but ultimately we knew it was on Kita-san whether... whether Tsumu would survive or not.”
“That sounds like something blocked your magic from working properly”, Kuroo stated, eyebrows furrowed.
“Fear.”
Surprised, Kita's gaze shifted to Ushijima, who had struck home with his answer.There was understanding in his dark green eyes and Kita felt himself nodding.
“Yeah”, he admitted. “I was struggling with the spell. I know now that one should be in a calm as possible headspace before using such a difficult spell but obviously I wasn't...”
Atsumu felt a whine rising in his throat at the words and he had trouble swallowing it down. He could imagine the crushing fear Kita must have felt quite well and he knew he shouldn't feel guilty about it now but he would have given everything to just crush the kitsune in a big hug and apologize over and over again for what he had done.But he stayed where he was, just squeezed Shoyo's hand a little harder.
“So... how long did it take until you could make your magic work?”
“It was about three weeks, I think.”
Kita's stomach dropped as the two other leaders stared at him like he'd grown a second head.He felt his ears twitch and wondered if what he had said was bad somehow.
Kuroo and Ushijima exchanged a look of pure disbelief.“Three whole weeks?”, Kuroo repeated.
“Yes.”
“No wonder that you're still this weak. Keeping up a blood-binding spell for weeks is... is nearly impossible, even for a descendant.”
Ushijima's words took a few heartbeats to sink in.“But I did it...”, Kita mumbled, the words coming out unsure.
“You did”, the eagle confirmed and when Kita met his eyes there was a newfound, deep respect in them. “I believe you don't know how strong you really are.”
Those were the same words that Nariko had said to him.Kita almost had to smile.
Kuroo just kept staring at him as if he couldn't believe that Kita had managed to fulfill this... this miracle.It shouldn't be possible... if Kuroo had tried to keep a blood spell up for weeks it would have killed him, he was sure of it. So why...?The white fox looked up, probably because he sensed Kuroo's stare and caught his amber gaze for just a second.But that one second was enough. Something in Kuroo's mind clicked and he understood.
He kept his mouth shut though and luckily Ushijima spoke up again before Kita noticed that he was still staring at him in shock.
“How long has it been since you have woken up again then?”
Kita counted the past few days in his head.“About a week I would say.”
“You should be feeling better than that though if it has been a week already”, Kuroo argued.He thought about everything for a moment.His gaze fell onto the bandages littering Kita's body.“Are these all wounds from the trial?”, he wanted to know.
“Yes, they haven't been healing properly until now. I tried to shift earlier but I wasn't strong enough for it and unfortunately it reopened all of them again.”
Ushijima's expression had shifted into a deep frown as he tried to make sense of all the information.
Everyone jumped when Kuroo suddenly gasped.
“You!”, he pointed at Atsumu. “Have you been in any pain since you woke up?”
Startled, Atsumu shook his head.“No, I haven't.”
“That's unusual”, Ushijima said slowly. “Scars from such deep wounds will usually cause you trouble. That means-”
“Yeah, exactly.”
Kuroo looked dead serious all of a sudden.“Kita-san, give me your hand”, he demanded.Confused the kitsune obeyed and hissed when the cat-shifter pricked the tip of his index finger with a single claw.Osamu growled angrily at the cat.
Kuroo ignored their protest and let a couple drops of blood fall into his palm, then he turned to Atsumu.
“You too.”
The golden fox anxiously glanced at his brother, then at Kita but both of them didn't know what to do either and so Atsumu gave in hesitatingly.
Kuroo repeated the procedure with him and let the red drops drip into his other palm.Then he pressed his hands together and closed his eyes.“Show yourself.”
Kuroo blinked his eyes back open, opened his palms and gave them a quick sharp blow, accompanied by a short whistling sound.The blood drops had turned into some sort of red dust that now swirled through the air before their eyes.
The foxes made big eyes when the dust slowly formed a line from Kita's chest to Atsumu. The particles moved and went right through Atsumu's clothes.The young fox squeaked and quickly pulled his top aside just to witness the particles settling on his new scars.
The kitsune watched in shock as more and more little specks of red floated from his chest over to Atsumu. It took only a few seconds until most of his scar tissue was covered with ruby specks.
Osamu was the first to make the connection.
“The spell is still active.”
Kuroo gave a grave nod.“Yes.”
Atsumu's head snapped up.His fearful eyes met Kita's golden ones.The kitsune stared back at him with the same anxious gaze.
“How did you not break the spell?!”, Kuroo suddenly spat. He snapped his fingers and the visual representation of the ongoing blood spell vanished into thin air.For a second he even bared his fangs at the the kitsune.“Don't you know how dangerous this is?! How did you miss the obvious paradox that he is in no pain at all while you continue to suffer?! Has no one ever taught you about all this?!”
The black cat snapped out of his anger once he looked into Kita's sad eyes and immediately he regretted his words.Everything that Kita had told them so far was evidence enough that he hadn't had anyone to guide him, at least not in recent years.Kuroo remembered the first time he had stumbled upon Kita and the twins all this time ago. He had wondered then, about what a kitsune was doing here, hurt and alone with just two young fox shifters in tow.
He didn't know about Kita's past but he could guess that it hadn't been quite a happy one.
“My apologies”, he mumbled, head bowed low. “That was insensitive of me.”
“It was”, Kita answered but he didn't sound mad. “But forget about it. Can you help me? Us? How do I break this spell? It's only going to get worse if we don't do something, right?”
“It will keep weakening you, yes. The spell prioritizes Atsumu's health before yours. You see, when you spoke the words to the spell you wanted Atsumu to survive and heal as fast as possible. And when the spell isn't broken up properly once the goal is reached it just keeps going. That's why you're not healing properly and that's why Atsumu isn't in any pain. The magic spell is still focused on taking his hurt away and heal him.”Kuroo turned to Atsumu.“That cut on your finger should be gone by now.”
The golden fox looked down at the digit and saw that Kuroo was right.
“That's why you were as good as new once you two had woken up”, Osamu added. “I was wondering about this at first but didn't question it. I was just glad that you were okay.”
Atsumu's head reeled from all this new information.He looked back on the past couple of days and found more evidence of what Kuroo had said. The fact that he hadn't even been out of breath as they had made their way up the mountain for example.
Atsumu could feel the fur on his tail spike up and an uncomfortable shudder crept down his spine.
“But what can we do now?”, he wanted to know. “There has to be something, right?”
Ushijima was the first to speak up.
“Well, usually Kita-san should do it but I doubt that he is able to right now.”
“Why not?”, the kitsune wanted to know.
“Are you kidding?”, Kuroo laughed. “You can't even heal your own wounds. A blood-binding spell is a powerful thing and to break it up you need your full concentration and you need to be in at least decent shape both physically and mentally. If I hadn't blocked your pain I doubt we could even hold this conversation right now.”
Kuroo's words may have been harsh but Kita had to accept that he was speaking the truth.
“So what do we do?”
“We can do it for you”, Kuroo offered. He exchanged a quick look with Ushijima. “But it's a complicated spell and it won't be a pleasant experience for you. If we do it our spell will let us see everything that happened from the moment you decided to speak the words until now. We will know everything, even the things you two saw while you were in trance.”
“It's an invasion of your privacy on a very personal level”, Ushijima added. “You have to decide if that's okay with you.”
Kita hesitated and stayed silent for a long while to think things through.The thought of sharing these deeply private things with someone he had just met didn't sit right with him. It felt wrong. And yet...
“There really isn't any other way, is there?”
“You could always try to wait until you feel stronger again and then try it on your own but the spell is going to wear you out the longer it goes on. So, realistically, no. There is no other way.”
Kuroo spoke gently but with certainty and Kita found himself nodding.
“Please excuse the question, Kita-san”, Ushijima spoke up. “But given that you haven't broken up the spell before, I suppose you don't even know how to do it, right?”
The kitsune had to nod.“That's right”, he acknowledged quietly. “The book didn't say anything about that. I wonder why... and well... obviously no one had taught me about this before...”
“Then we will do it”, Kuroo said once again. “If you want to we can hypnotize you. That way the procedure won't be quite as uncomfortable for you. And it wouldn't make any difference to us, so, it's up to you.”
“I think that would be good”, Kita answered at the same time as Atsumu let out a panicked “No!”
All eyes cut to the golden fox who was visibly distressed all of a sudden.
“No”, he repeated more quietly but with fear lacing his voice. “No, I don't want that. Kita-san, please don't let them do that! I can't go back into that nightmare, p-please! I don't-”
“Tsumu, hey, calm down”, Osamu interrupted him before he could get even more worked up. “They said it's up to you. You don't have to say yes. Right?”
He turned to look at the other two leaders with a sharp glint in his eyes.Osamu didn't care that he was being disrespectful.He had his family to protect and if he had to he would go head-to-head with even the strongest shifters on this mountain.
But the two leaders didn't seem fazed at all.“Right. You can be awake if you want to. But I have to warn you: this won't be fun. If you're sure you can take it though, then we won't be hypnotizing you.”
Atsumu nodded and squeezed Shoyo's hand tightly.
“I can take it”, he promised but he sounded small when he said it. “I don't want to be in that weird in-between state... never again...”
Kita cast his eyes down as he felt a wave of guilt rising in his chest.He had only done what was necessary to save Atsumu. But whether he liked it or not – it had done a great deal of psychological damage to his cub as well. He wondered why he was only realizing this now.Probably because he had been focused on other things and Atsumu hadn't brought it up yet. That's why seeing him react so badly to even the idea of hypnosis hurt all the more.
But there was no time to lose anymore.
“Right. How do we do this then?”, the kitsune wanted to know.
“We will prepare everything”, Ushijima said. “You two relax as best as you can until then. We will start once the sun has almost disappeared.”
“Okay.”
He and Kuroo made their way over to Sawamura, followed by their own clan mates, leaving the foxes and Hinata alone.
The twins shared a glance, unsure of what to do now.In the end Osamu just shrugged.“You heard him, we should try to rest.”
“I'll get you another tatami mat”, Hinata said and was up and inside the temple before any of the foxes could say anything.Atsumu saw that some of the younger looking crows followed him into the building and he could only imagine all the kinds of questions they had after witnessing Hinata's and his reunion earlier.
Osamu made Kita drink another cup of water as they waited.
Atsumu's eyes followed Kuroo and Ushijima as they prepared everything for the ritual on the big plateau.Their companions flitted around them, carrying all kinds of things that Atsumu couldn't recognize from the distance.He saw Kuroo drawing strange characters and symbols on the stone with something that looked like a piece of coal though.
Sawamura and the older crows stood close by and Atsumu got the impression that the crows' leader was nervous. He was fidgeting, watched the other leaders work and constantly asked if they needed anything else.
'He probably feels out of place', the young fox realized and really, who could blame him?
Atsumu picked up on faint but excited chatter then and turned to see that Hinata had re-emerged from the main temple. As expected, he was surrounded by his clan mates all asking him questions and Atsumu laughed quietly when he caught Hinata's expression: obviously he was trying to stay calm but realistically he was probably about to snap at them to be quiet. A faint blush had spread on his cheeks too and Atsumu was about to get up and save his friend from the embarrassment.
But Shoyo quickly came towards him and none of the other crows dared to come too close to him.Atsumu noticed one though, a tall young shifter with raven hair and dark blue eyes that had dared to come a little closer than the others.
His expression was unreadable but once Osamu noticed him too, he started growling again and Atsumu noticed his brother's tail swishing from left to right as if he was about to charge at the crow.
“Osamu, behave.”Kita's words, accompanied by a hand settling on the grey fox' knee, were enough to make him stop growling.“We're guest here. Put your resentment aside.”He nodded but his challenging gaze stayed fixed on the crow.
“Just go, Kageyama”, Hinata said to his now startled clan mate. “I'll tell you guys later.”
Kageyama seemed to hesitate.His eyes went from Hinata to Atsumu and finally to Osamu.The he gave a quick nod, turned on his heel and left them alone.
“What's his deal?”, Atsumu wanted to know.“Don't mind him”, Shoyo mumbled. “They're all just curious about you. I didn't... didn't exactly tell them everything...”
Hinata didn't meet his eyes as he said this but Atsumu's noticed that his blush had darkened a little.A smile tugged at his lips.“Don't worry about it. I didn't either. Only to Samu and Suna.”
They dropped the topic then and Shoyo insisted that Atsumu lay down too until it was time to start the ritual.Atsumu didn't feel tired at all and it was hard to relax.He felt nervous, scared of what would happen, even without the hypnosis.
Kita had dozed off thankfully, now that he wasn't in physical pain anymore, and Osamu did his best to distract Atsumu from his thoughts by just talking about random things and engaging his brother in a conversation. It took a few minutes but then it showed effect and Atsumu didn't seem so tense anymore. Hinata joined in on the conversation once he realized what Osamu was doing and when he started playing with Atsumu's hair the golden fox seemed to have forgotten about his worries.
The sun sank lower and dipped the Karasuno temple in orange light.Long shadows crept across the plateau and a cool breeze shooed the lingering warmth on the stones away.
The atmosphere was almost pleasant by now. Kita dozed peacefully for the first time in days, thanks to Kuroo's spell. Atsumu enjoyed having Shoyo by his side again.Only Osamu couldn't shake off the cold feeling that had taken a hold of him a while ago.
His eyes snapped over to Kuroo who had started lighting torches with a murmured fire-spell. Yaku and Semi, the other eagle shifter, carried them to their respective holdings that were assembled along a large circle on the floor.
The smoke stung Osamu's sensitive nose and his eyes were fixed on the flickering lights and so he jumped when Ushijima suddenly showed up out of nowhere.Kita startled awake too and looked up at his fellow leader.
“We're ready.”
|
Beating the living daylights out of each other feels like a turning point.
Broken and bleeding, Anya remains motionless as the stubborn young sky Omega drops the knife and collapses on the ground beside her. She was wondering whether the girl would follow through with what was clearly her primary instinct and kill her, but Clarke seems to have come to the realization that only a worthy warrior might reach, and that is that at this point, loathe though they may be to admit it, they need each other. Besides that, she was able to defeat Anya in battle without taking her life, and for that alone, honor dictates that her adversary remain alive.
Anya cannot deny that she’s impressed. The Skaikru are a weak bunch, mostly children, passionate and determined yet untrained and impulsive, but Clarke has proved herself capable beyond the level of her people. No matter the clumsiness of her plans and sloppy strategies, she has managed to fell a great warrior — not only fell her, but do so fairly. Anya has never yielded to anyone, certainly not a yongon; not an untrained girl hardly past the threshold of adulthood. Certainly, she is uncommonly exhausted and incapacitated by injury, malnutrition, and blood loss, but the fact remains that Clarke beat her fair and square. The accomplishment warrants a measure of respect.
And so Anya is content, for the moment, to lie sprawled on her back on a rough bed of pine needles in a state of utter exhaustion, surrounded by the charred remains of her three hundred warriors, letting her blood seep into the dirt. She feels no bitterness about the latter, despite knowing that losing more blood at this point is bordering on dangerous. After the horrors of Mount Weather, watching her own blood dampen the ground beneath her body is cleansing; far better that it return to the earth from which it was made than to fuel whatever inhuman experiments are being conducted by the Maunon.
Just thinking of it causes her insides to curdle. Those are her people that are being tortured within that mountain, exploited and abused in the most horrendous of ways. She wouldn’t ever have imagined it; could not have imagined it. The reality is far too horrible for an unknowing mind to conceive of; the Kongeda are a just and civil people despite the brutality of their battles — none of the twelve clans would ever think to treat their fellow people with such total disregard for their humanity.
It must be stopped. Anya cannot allow herself to rest knowing that her people are being so brutally abused. She is sick at the thought of her fellow humans being drained and discarded like garbage, only to be eaten by the ripas who were once their kinsmen. Anya is a high-ranking Alpha who has fought hundreds of battles in her lifetime, has seen children slaughtered and has drawn the sword against them herself. She has watched villages burn and seen traitors gutted, taken part in the most vicious and bloody of conflicts, but nothing she has witnessed so far in her life has prepared her for this. Never did she think that the reality would be so gruesome.
Lexa will lose her mind when she hears of it.
Despite her horror, though, the young heda will be stronger than Anya. It is what she is counting on. Lexa will be appalled, no doubt; enraged, and just as heartsick, but she will channel her fury into calm and productive action. The planning that will need to be involved will require a level of detachment that Anya cannot accomplish. It is why the years when she stood in as regent before Lexa’s ascension were her darkest; she doesn’t have the requisite knowledge, the steadfastness. Anya was trained as a warrior and a leader, but not as a diplomat, not a negotiator. That is Lexa’s duty and her forte.
It is why she must return home with as much haste as her wounds allow.
She planned initially on bringing Clarke with her, on depositing the sky Omega in front of her Commander as a prize, payment for the damage that the Skaikru have wrought. Now, though, her priorities have shifted; she must return to Tondisi as swiftly as possible, unhindered by an unwilling prisoner. Besides, after their battle today, Clarke has technically won the right to her own freedom. On an ordinary day, Anya wouldn’t allow it, but after what she has seen, the fate of her people within the mountain is of more importance than the payment of the Skaikru for their crimes.
She must make her way home. Now.
The Alpha steels herself for the pain that standing will bring, bracing her body for the agony of movement with more wounds than she can count. Fortunately, none of them seem grievous. It’s the blood loss, above all else, that has her body weakened, and she resents the fact that it won’t be something as easily powered through as an injury. Nevertheless, it must be done, and she prepares herself to stand.
Before she can move, however, Clarke speaks beside her, and the action startles Anya back into stillness.
“We need an alliance.” The words are simple but sound firm, as though this is something that the sky girl has been considering and has already decided upon. It’s enough to actually elicit a frown of confusion from Anya, who turns to stare at her companion and finds sky-blue eyes boring into her own. For a moment, they stare at each other in silence, Anya fighting to comprehend through the haze of blood loss.
“What?” she asks finally, and finds that she can’t keep a tone of incredulity out of her voice.
“We need an alliance,” Clarke repeats, and yes, Anya heard her the first time, but she can’t stop herself from raising her eyebrows in disbelief. They’ve tried and failed to form an alliance once already, and the act ended with fayagons and Clarke burning three hundred of Anya’s men with rocket-fuel fire. The request of a redo is ludicrous.
“And why on Earth would we do something like that?” Anya responds coldly. “I would have thought it should be perfectly clear that we are not destined to work together — or did I hit your head so hard that your pretty little brain stopped working?” Clarke’s eyes narrow, and they may be lying, bleeding, four feet away from each other, but Anya gets the feeling that Clarke wouldn’t hesitate to engage in battle with her again. Despite herself, she feels a little flare of respect for the Omega’s determination. Perhaps this sky girl is a more than worthy opponent, after all.
“Do you remember seeing your people get drained of blood and their bodies eaten by reapers, or did I hit your head so hard that your memory has suffered?” Clarke counters with equal coldness, and accompanies the words with a very pointed steely glare. Anya lets out a huff to disguise the wince she displays, her chest tightening with the memory.
“Of all the things that you have injured, skai prisa, my head is not one of them,” she replies. It’s a half-hearted insult at best, and the weakness of the attempt speaks to her exhaustion. “I am merely impressed that you would dare to suggest an alliance when the last attempt you made at forging peace ended with you burning three hundred of my people.” It’s Clarke’s turn to flinch, though her eyes remain solidly on Anya’s even as her expression turns distraught.
“I’m sorry for that,” she says quietly. Her words are low, but Anya detects the sincerity beneath. It’s infuriating at best. She opens her mouth to snap back, but Clarke continues, her voice louder and a little stronger. “We were at war, and I had to defend my people, but I don’t like taking lives,” she continues, and Anya reluctantly notes that her mournfulness and confidence are in equal measure. It is true that both the burning and the attack by the Trikru were acts of war; had Clarke not made the decision that she did, the Hundred would not have survived. She may regret the loss of lives, but her confidence in the necessity of her actions is steady. Begrudgingly, Anya recognizes that such a balance denotes a strong leader. It is the sort of decision Lexa might make, though the weapons of the Trikru would not inflict death on such a scale.
“That may be,” Anya says cooly, “but I doubt that an alliance would be successful after such acts of war. Alliances between clans are complicated and difficult to uphold under the best of circumstances, and I would hardly describe your people’s relationship with ours as the best, skai Klark.” Beside her, Clarke’s eyes flash with irritation.
“Are you even listening to me?” she exclaims in frustration. “Your people are being tortured, Anya; they’re stuck inside that mountain and you and I are the only ones who know the truth. Both of our people are trapped in there, and like it or not, I’m a valuable asset to you. I’m the only one who knows what they’re doing and how they’re doing it; I understand their ways and their technology, and you don’t. You can’t fight Mount Weather with grounder weapons alone, and I can’t fight it without them. We need your people’s knowledge of the ground, your warriors, and my people’s technology. You can’t do this without me, Anya, so if you want to save your people, I suggest that you listen to me.” She’s glaring at Anya with barely controlled fury, and Anya glares right back. Were there not four feet of empty ground between them, Anya wonders if Clarke would hit her again, so great is the rage sparking within the sky girl’s eyes. Skaikru or not, Omega or not, it appears that Clarke is a force to be reckoned with.
That’s another thing that confuses her — she hasn’t had the time to pay the proper attention, but while it’s clear to her that this skayon is an Omega, it is equally clear that she is the natural leader of her people. It’s not that she doesn’t expect Omegas to be capable leaders; Trikru pays no attention to status when considering strength or ability. However, from what Anya knows of the Skaikru, they treat ranking rather differently. Her scouts reported that all of the Omegas from the drop ship — some thirty of them in number — were treated rather poorly and appeared to be at the bottom of the food chain. She wonders how Clarke was able to gain her people’s support and lead them without resistance. Her actions are that of a Skaikru Alpha, though her scent is powerfully Omega.
That’s another thing. Unless Anya has scented her wrong — and she’s reasonably certain that she hasn’t — Clarke is not only an Omega, but an unmated one. In fact, many of the Skaikru appear to be so. Anya doesn’t understand how it can possible that an Omega well past the age of her first heat could possibly remain unmated. Her own people, while they don’t necessarily find their mates in their first years of adulthood, will often seek the help of Betas through their heats and ruts; it is extremely difficult to get through such things on one’s own in the early years. Anya herself hasn’t done so in years, but then, she is no yongon, and capable of controlling herself. It isn’t ideal, but she deals with it, and she wonders how it is possible that these young, untamed sky children do the same.
Apparently they have much to learn about one another.
She supposes, too, that as much as she hates to admit it, Clarke is right. They need each other. An alliance with the Skaikru won’t sit well with her people, but neither will the knowledge of what is being done to them inside the mountain. Rescuing her people takes precedence over the war with these sky-born enemies, and Clarke has a point; to do so will be nearly impossible without good knowledge of the mountain’s technology. Clarke and her people can offer that, and Clarke, as their leader, will serve as the go-between.
Turning her head back to gaze up at the trees arching above them, Anya lets out a huff.
“The Commander was my second,” she relents, sensing Clarke’s eyes on her temple. “I can get an audience.” She keeps her eyes fastened on the sky, which is beginning to darken slightly with the evening in approach. Beside her, she senses movement, and turning back, sees Clarke offering her a small smile.
“Good,” Clarke says firmly. Then, pushing up with a groan off the pine needles, she struggles to her feet. Once up, she brushes off her pant legs and turns to Anya, extending a hand. “Let’s go. It’s almost evening.” Anya stares up at her, incredulous.
“Go where?” she asks sharply. “Certainly not back to your people. I need to reach my heda and give the news of the Maunon’s doings. I will not be taking any detours.” Above her, Clarke lets out a little snort.
“My people would shoot you on sight,” she says with a wry smirk, “and probably me too while they’re at it. I look like one of you, all covered in mud like this. No, we’re going to your people, but we’re not going tonight.” Her hand is still extended, but Anya ignores it, furious.
“Of course we are going tonight!” she counters angrily, struggling to push herself up onto her elbows. She’s almost thwarted by a surging pain in her ribs and has to fight hard not to fall back to the ground. “My people must be rescued immediately! Already it is too late for some. Every minute we waste is another life lost.” She’s still struggling to gain a little support from her arms. She flails a little with one hand in the air, and Clarke snags it and wrenches her to her feet.
They almost both go over. Somehow, Clarke has strength enough to pull Anya with enough momentum that she is ripped upright, but the moment she is standing, her legs fail to take her weight, and she stumbles hard into Clarke. The Omega staggers backwards with the impact as the warrior falls against her, but has the good sense to use her hands, gripping Anya’s upper arms hard and bracing with the strength of her own upper body. The uneven distribution of weight causes them both to stumble, but digging her heels into the ground, Clarke just barely manages to keep them upright. Given a moment, Anya’s legs regain some of their strength, and she rights herself, pulling away from the Omega with a jerk.
The contact doesn’t last, but it’s just long enough for Anya to register the sensation of warm curves pressed into her body. She pulls away quickly, but the feeling of Clarke’s small, strong hands on her arms lingers like a stinging slap to the face.
When she dares to bring her gaze back upward from the ground, Anya finds that Clarke is staring at her, a light flush of color having risen in her cheekbones. There is a moment of silence in which Anya attempts to regain her balance, and then —
“We’ll be walking only a little ways tonight,” Clarke says definitively, “and then tomorrow we will continue on the way to your camp.” Anya opens her mouth to protest, but Clarke cuts across her sharply. “No. Look at yourself, Anya; you almost fell just trying to stand up. You were starved for days and had your blood drained multiple times, and then we jumped off a waterfall, almost drowned in a river, each got hit in the head multiple times, ran to the edge of Mount Weather’s reach and through half of grounder territory, and then tried to kill each other. Neither of us are in any shape to be making a long journey tonight. We can’t stay here at the drop ship, because I have no doubt that the Mountain Men will be back here looking for us, but we need food, shelter, rest, and first aid.” Her voice isn’t unkind, but her words make it clear that she will not be accepting alternative suggestions.
“And where do you suggest we find that?” Anya counters waspishly. She’s bracing her feet wide apart for balance, but finds that she’s bent half over just the same. Clarke is right. As much as she wants — needs — to find her people and spread the news of the Maunon’s doings, she can’t do it tonight. There isn’t a way to keep her body going for a trek of that distance, especially at night. She’s careful not to agree too heartily, though; the sky princess may be right, but that doesn’t mean that Anya can’t be cranky about it.
Of all things, Clarke actually smiles.
“I know a place.”
By the time they reach the bunker, Anya is exhausted. It isn’t even a long walk, but the events of the past few days have taken an immense toll on her body. As Clarke stops and begins to dig through the leaves on the forest floor, revealing the steel door of the bunker, a wave of exhaustion overcomes her, and Anya bends over, bracing her hands on her knees as black spots fill her vision and she tries not to black out. The forest spins, and suddenly, despite the deep breaths she’s drawing through her nose, her knees give way and she begins to fall.
Before she can hit the ground, arms are around her, dipping beneath her own arms and supporting her weight. As she continues to stagger, Clarke’s concerned face fills her vision.
“Whoa there,” she murmurs, her voice low in Anya’s ear as she holds the Alpha upright. “Let’s get you inside.” Anya lets out a muffled groan, suddenly struggling to keep herself alert and coherent.
“‘M fine,” she grumbles as Clarke kicks open the metal door, revealing a ladder. A huff of laughter against her hair alerts her to the Omega’s amusement.
“Cute,” Clarke retorts flatly. “No you’re not. Now stop putting on a brave face and let me help you out.” Anya grumbles again.
“No,” she argues grouchily, but acquiesces to Clarke supporting her weight as they move over towards the ladder. She’s able, fortunately, to regain control of herself for long enough to stumble away from her companion and shakily descend the ladder. Once she’s down, however, she steps away, and in doing so, the pain of her injuries immediately makes itself known and she sinks to the floor with a groan.
A clang announces that the bunker door has swung shut, and a moment later, Clarke drops from the top of the ladder to the floor beside her, holding a lit match aloft.
“You’re fine, huh?” The blonde’s words are laced with dry amusement. Anya grits her teeth, wanting to reply but suddenly finding herself incapable of anything except for focusing on holding her body together. Clarke takes her silence as the response that it is, and moves across the bunker to a low area that Anya can see contains a small metal bunk and several sets of shelves. “That’s what I thought.” There’s a rustling, and two candles flicker to life, sheltered within lanterns of metal cut in different shapes and patterns. A moment later, Clarke crosses back to where Anya sits, her arms filled with an odd assortment of items that Anya can’t quite make out. With effort, the Omega leans down and deposits them on a nearby table before offering Anya a hand. “Come,” she instructs. “You can lie on the cot while I tend to your injuries.”
Anya doesn’t protest, taking the offered hand and allowing herself to be pulled shakily once more to her feet. At this point, she figures, accepting help is necessary. She knows that she is injured, her body weak from hunger and blood loss, and Clarke is a healer. Of all the people to be stuck with, she supposes she has lucked out.
While she remains standing, Clarke gestures to her jacket.
“You should probably take that off,” she says. “I know your wrists and stomach were where they had the IVs, and your arm is still bleeding from where you ripped the tracker out.” Wearily, Anya complies, removing her shirt as well for easier access. When she’s done, she stands only in her chest bindings and lace-up pants, body trembling with the effort of movement.
Nearby, she can hear Clarke’s sharp, quiet intake of breath. At first, a flash of concern rises in her chest — perhaps her injuries are worse than she thought — but a quick glance down at her own abdomen tells her that this is not the case. A moment later, understanding clicks, and she fights back a smirk at the realization that Clarke is not reacting to an injury, but to the sight of her nearly bare form. Anya won’t fault her for it; she is aware of her own attractiveness. It also serves to amuse her somewhat — it’s perfectly natural, after all. No matter the earlier conflict between them, she is still an Alpha, and a strong one at that, her body lean and powerful; no matter her actions or personality, Clarke is an Omega, and the presence of a powerful Alpha is a natural draw.
For a moment, they stand there, the weight of their statuses suddenly making itself known to both of them. Then Clarke gives herself a little shake, and the moment is broken as she appears in front of Anya with her hands once more full of supplies.
“I’m going to need you to lie down on your back,” she says softly, and though her words are firm, Anya notices an underlying shakiness that wasn’t there before. Smirking lightly, she obeys, moving to the bed and lowering herself onto it with a quiet hiss of pain. Clarke steps up beside the low bunk, and in the dim, wavering light cast by the lanterns, Anya can see that her arms contain an assortment of cloths, ointment tubes, and a small case that appears to contain a needle and thread. In the other hand, she holds the brightest of the lanterns, which appears to be fueled by some sort of oil, for it emits a much brighter, wider light than the rest.
“Okay,” Clarke lets out in a rush of air, and pulls up a chair to sit beside the bunk. “I’m uh — I’m going to need to stitch up your arm where you . . . bit it, but I’m going to need to disinfect it first. That’s going to sting a bit.” She seems apologetic but confident in her words, and Anya averts her eyes to the bottom of the bunk above her, swallowing.
“Do what you must.” She keeps her words cavalier, but thinks that she doesn’t quite manage to keep the tension out of them.
“Okay,” Clarke murmurs again, and this time the word is almost a whisper. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Clarke is barely keeping herself from shaking.
It’s a combination of many things: for one, it’s been a while since she’s eaten, too, and they have been running all over creation since midday. Her head hurts, and her rib and shoulder, too, where Anya caught her with her knife earlier when they were fighting. For another thing, she’s shaken by what she’s seen today; she’ll admit that. She knew that the Mountain Men were up to no good deeds, but the reality of what they’ve been doing to the grounders has her sick to her stomach.
Along with that, though, it’s Anya.
Certainly, half an hour ago, they were brawling in the middle of the delinquents’ camp, fighting to the death. But Clarke won, and Anya paid her a compliment, of all things, and said that she fought well. In the past half hour, something seems to have altered between them, their dynamic shifting from antagonistic to something a measure more respectful, perhaps even closer to admiration. Now they’re in a bunker together, and Clarke is faced with the fact that she’s facing an Alpha; not only that, but a half-naked Alpha whose warm, smooth skin she is stitching up.
It’s a bit of a conundrum.
Alphas don’t usually faze Clarke. In fact, prior to landing with the drop ship, she had very little contact with them at an age when status mattered. She got thrown into solitary at the age of sixteen, the age when, had she not been on suppressants, she would have first gone into heat. After that, she was alone until the drop, after which she has been far too focused on survival to think about anything remotely status-related. Even without that being the case, the fact is that there simply weren’t any Alphas on the drop ship who would have caught her interest.
Now, though, she’s sitting less than a foot away from a wounded, half-naked Alpha, and she finds that it’s enough to set in motion parts of her that she’s unfamiliar with.
Anya is beautiful.
Sure, her skin is filthy, her hair and body covered in the mud that they painted themselves with earlier; her body is littered with wounds, smeared with blood, and her hair matted and dirty. Still, Clarke finds that that hardly matters. Her hands brush against skin as she draws the needle, accidentally trailing the planes of defined abs. Anya’s skin is warm, golden, her body lean and strong.
She is also weak, however, with hunger and blood loss. As Clarke works, moving on from stitching up the site where the tracker was buried and wetting a cloth to wipe the blood from her skin, the general’s body trembles with exhaustion. Bruises mark the spots where IV needles pierced her skin, and as she passes the damp cloth near them, Clarke suddenly finds that her hands are trembling.
How dare they have hurt this woman? Anya is so strong, so sure, so commanding and powerful. To have see her locked away in a cage like an animal, her blood drained from her body, abused, exploited, causes a surge of black fury to rise like a tidal wave in Clarke’s chest. How dare anyone have touched her, harmed her, have made her so helpless? A wave of snarling protectiveness rises within her, and suddenly, she feels the urge to lay her body down across the warrior’s and shield her, followed by an intense desire to seize the Mountain Men by their throats, one by one, and choke the life out of their bodies.
“Klark?” Anya’s voice breaks through the sudden storm of anger, and Clarke comes back to herself to find that she has stopped passing the cloth over Anya’s skin, her hands shaking with rage against the warrior’s abdomen. Laying the cloth down, she sits back in her chair, fingers gripping the edge of the bunk until her knuckles turn white.
“They took your blood.” Her voice breaks out, and the words shake with fury. “They took it from you, and made your bodies weak, and starved you; they kept you in cages — they treated you all like animals, and I want to kill them.” She dares to glance up, and finds Anya staring at her, eyes holding a measure of surprise. A moment later, they darken, and the woman nods.
“As do I,” she says lowly, and her words are soft; hard and even. “I want them to suffer for the torture they have brought my people.”
“They will,” Clarke responds fiercely. “We will bring such pain to them that they will wish they had never set foot outside.” For a minute, they hold eye contact, determination etched into the lines of both their faces. Then another involuntary shudder wracks Anya’s body, and Clarke moves back, the moment breaking. “But first we need food,” she says more matter-of-factly, “and rest. Your body needs to recover from the blood loss, and it can’t do that without nourishment.” Anya nods, using her arms to push herself up from the bed.
“Very well,” she acquiesces, as she manages to raise herself up with a grunt of exertion. “Let us eat, then, and rest. We will start for Tondisi at sunrise.”
It has been days.
Days without food, days without sleep; days in which her tall body has been cramped inside a cage as small as though it was fashioned for beasts. There is no light here, no way to mark the passage of time, but cycles of the sun are as ingrained in Anya as her instinct to fight, and she senses that it has been at least three, perhaps four or even five. Almost more than anything else, it is the lack of windows that has her so deeply distraught. Anya, like all of her people, is a being of the outside, of the earth and the air and the light. It, above all else, is almost the most deeply tragic aspect of their torture.
And torture it has been. The moment the intake doors closed, the Trikru were shocked back into consciousness with metal rods. Anya fought them as they removed her clothing, but they only hurt her more, slamming their blunt weapons into her back, her knees; her neck, until she fell to her knees upon the frigid cement. Then came the boiling water, scorching her skin and blistering it bright red, which did not make her scream, and then the second, unidentifiable powdery substance, which did.
Then they were lead to this room, the room of cages, where two of their number at a time are strung up to be drained almost to the point of death, and then returned to their cages to await another round. The Maunon draw their lives out as long as possible, stealing every possible drop of their blood, until their fragile, beaten bodies can produce no more. Anya has been up once already. From what she has seen, no one has survived more than three repetitions. Her turn will come again soon.
She is in pain; tremendous pain. The agony of the burns and the needles rips through her flesh like fire with every movement, and the tiny confines of the cage have caused her muscles and joints to cramp viciously. Her body is exhausted, aching all over, bruised and battered beyond anything battle has ever brought. It goes against her very deepest nature to be locked away like this and to allow herself to be subjugated. She is an Alpha, a strong one; being mistreated has her soul breaking, crying out for her to act.
Painful, too, is her need to protect, a need she cannot meet. Her people need her. There are Omegas here; not many, but some, and each time they are dragged from their cages to be drained her deepest instincts scream at her to take action, to rip away the bars in her hands and defend them. She wants to save them all. By not doing so, she is failing them all. She has failed her people as their general.
She has failed Lexa.
As she thinks it, another of her people is taken down from the hanging wires, and one pulled from a cage to take their place. She has seen the boy before; it will be his third time up. His cage was the one beside hers. They often go in order.
She will be next.
Anya is ripped from sleep with a tortured cry, sitting bolt upright on the bunk so fast that she slams her head into the metal above it. With a groan, she falls back onto the pillow, but her body remains tense, hyperventilating as she takes in her surroundings. There are no windows, and for a horrible moment she thinks that she remains in the mountain still.
But no, she does not lie cramped in a cage, but stretched out on the mattress of a metal bunk, a thick wool blanket pulled up to her elbows. Two lanterns remain lit on the little table, casting a shadowy light, and by it she can see that the bunker around her remains unchanged.
So, too, does the woman at her side. The bunker holds only one bed, and after some grouchiness, she managed to convince Clarke last night that they might as well both get some rest. Clarke is curled beside her beneath the blanket, brought half awake by Anya’s screams, flipping over and mumbling to herself incoherently.
Regardless of knowing that she is safe, the sight of the bunker isn’t quite enough to quell the vivid memory of Anya’s dream. When she squints her eyes shut against the candlelight, she can see the bodies hanging, blood draining away; her bones seem to ache with the lingering feeling of needles and cold bars against her skin. Bright and clear against the backs of her eyelids, she can see the fearful, agonized face of the boy beside her as he is brought again to be strung up like an animal for slaughter.
Her entire body is trembling.
“Jok.” The hoarse whisper escapes Anya’s lips in a gust of air. Shivering with a coldness that feels to be bone deep, she presses her wrists to her eyes shakily, noting with frustration that they are wet with tears when she pulls them away. Somehow, against her clammy skin, the salt water feels like blood, and another flash takes her back so that suddenly she is upside down again, body convulsing as her lifeblood drains away. Almost as quickly, her mind jerks her back, and she is once again lying flat on the bunk with the blankets clenched in her fists, shaking uncontrollably. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The word breaks into a scream before she can stop it, and then she is crying without control, without permission, sobs wrenching past her throat with a force that makes her muscles ache.
A sleepy grumble beside her alerts her to the fact that Clarke is half-awake and pushing up off the mattress. Anya doesn’t turn her head, another cry jerking past her lips without her permission, but she senses that though Clarke is perhaps awake, she is hardly aware of what is going on. It doesn’t help, even with the knowledge that her companion isn’t alert to her surroundings. Anya is a fighter, a warrior; she doesn’t show weakness. She can’t show weakness, and yet here she is, sobbing openly in her bed like a child afraid of the dark. The shadows are closing in again, the bars of the cages seeming to loom nearer in the air in front of her; the wires tighten about her throat, it’s getting hard to breathe; she can’t see or hear or take a breath, and the air is cold, so cold, and her body is going to break —
And then there is weight, soft, warm weight, above her. There is something on top of her, an unidentifiable source of pressure weighing her down. Somehow, it doesn’t feel threatening, and Anya feels a tiny corner of herself float back into her body, aware of this abrupt external stimulus that is real. It is heavy, but not so much that it restricts her breathing. Soft, and seeming to emit its own heat.
Then it begins to rumble, some small part of it emitting the sound and letting the vibrations of it radiate down into Anya’s bones. They settle there, rocking her body back into stillness, into awareness, and suddenly, she is brought back in full with the force of her comprehension.
Clarke.
Somehow, in her half-alert state, the Omega has managed to maneuver herself onto Anya so that her entire body rests on top of the Alpha, pinning her down. The pressure is full-body and grounding. Clarke has her arms threaded under Anya’s body, their legs tangled. Her head is tucked into the Alpha’s neck so that her lips just barely brush her collarbone. Through her shock, Anya registers again the vibrations stirring down into her bones, and she realizes that the Omega is purring.
“Klark,” Anya whispers. She’s unsure of whether Clarke knows what she’s doing, whether when she wakes she’ll be upset. Instincts can take hold, especially when sleepy, when one’s guard is down. She doesn’t want the girl to feel uncomfortable with something her Omega instincts prompted her to do. For that is what this is: Anya knows that the Omega woke to find an Alpha in distress, and that instinctively, her nature urged her to provide comfort.
Instead of a coherent response, however, all that Anya receives in reply is a sleepy mumble.
“Shhh, ‘s okay.” Clarke’s words aren’t exactly clear, but they’re enough to Anya to catch their meaning. She tries to move, her body still little shaky and tense, but Clarke shifts her weight back down to plant herself more firmly across the Alpha’s body. Anya braces to move again, wanting to protest, but then Clarke tucks her head deeper into the crook of her neck, letting her purring grow louder, and abruptly, Anya’s body relaxes of its own accord.
The tension bleeds from her muscles, her mind quieting as she absorbs the sensation of the Omega’s protective weight. Despite her reservations, she finds herself melting deeper into the contact as her Alpha instincts stir. Almost automatically, she buries her nose in Clarke’s hair and inhales, breathing in the heady scent of Omega. This is the place her inner Alpha wants to be: wrapped in the embrace of an Omega intent on comforting her.
This — the comforting heaviness of another’s body, the soothing, healing-inducing purr — is a feeling Anya hasn’t experienced for over seven years. In all that time, she hasn’t been near enough to an Omega to touch, except in battle. She hasn’t complained; she knows her story isn’t that uncommon. In their world, people die, often long before reaching the limit of the lifespan that the human race once achieved. There is sickness, infection, injury; there is death by the hands of the ripas or the Maunon. There is miscarriage, death in childbirth, starvation, winter. There is war. Death is a basic and accepted fact of life. It is common, arguably even expected, to suffer the loss of one’s mate.
That isn’t atypical. It’s what Anya has done — and hasn’t done — in the interim that sets her apart as unusual. Most often, when a mate is lost, the remaining half of the union will move on to seek physical comfort in others. Even if they don’t find a mate again — though they usually do — they often choose to suffer through their heats and ruts in the company of Betas, or to take a single companion to live with in a semi-committed state. Life is too short, too unpredictable, to stay alone. One is allowed to mourn for their mate but is expected to understand that such things happen, and to move on accordingly. Besides, the human race must be continued. Children must be born, must be raised and trained and protected. It is the way.
Since the loss of her first mate, Anya has let no one near — no one save Lexa, which she hardly considers as counting. Lexa was suffering after losing Costia, and Anya is her mentor, her friend; of course she provided her with comfort, both emotional and physical. It’s rare enough for Heda to take a mate, rarer still to lose one. Lexa will not take another in her lifetime, and it is for that that Anya gave herself to help the younger Alpha through the pain. Her heart was still raw with the loss of her own mate, so the shared comfort proved beneficial for them both. Sharing a bed with another Alpha was not the same as having an Omega, so neither of them felt disloyalty or discomfort.
But it was rare and unexpected enough for Anya to take a mate in the first place, not for her ranking as general, but because of her personality. She is closed, cold; a fighter unswayed by emotion. Her boundaries are firm and unshakeable, and other than her old mate, only Lexa has ever been able to break them. Anya does not desire the casual company of others to fill the aching hole in her heart. Certainly, her body has its urges, and her soul has not felt whole since losing her mate, but she will not tarnish herself with the company of Betas or a temporary lover. She is lonely — painfully so — but she doesn’t like the thought of meaningless sex exchanged in the dark of war tents. She has a deep well of love to give, but it is so deeply buried that she does not have the energy to give to any but those who matter the very most.
She hasn’t known physical contact other than from Lexa in seven years, and certainly not from an Omega. And oh, it is different. Lexa, as needy as she was back in the days when they shared a bed, didn’t indulge in contact like this. She took the comfort she needed — that Anya willingly gave — but they never cuddled. It wouldn’t have felt right. Now, Clarke is curled into her, nestled close, her entire body occupied with providing Anya with comfort, with making her feel safe.
And despite Anya’s reservations, it works, and with a final sigh of resignation, she falls into a deep and quiet sleep.
They set out not long after daybreak, when the sun is just beginning to throw cracks of light between the tree trunks and the bright leaves, throwing spangles of light onto the forest floor. Anya finds that while her body is aching, the puncture wounds in particular causing dull pain to radiate across her muscles, she isn’t nearly as badly off as she would have expected. Certainly, eating must have helped; before the smoked meat and root vegetables that Clarke provided them with last night, yesterday marked a minimum of four days without food.
Anya isn’t over the shock of it, the abject horror of the situation she found herself in not twenty-four hours ago. She knew, as all others did, that the Maunon were killing their people, but she never imagined this. The treatment her fellow people have endured at the hands of the mountain is beyond torture; it is nothing less than pure evil. They are draining the lives away from her people to save themselves and treating them like wild animals in the process. She knows that they think the Trikru savages, and likely the Skaikru do as well, but to realize that they are being treated no better than a beast found in the wild . . .
It makes her want to double over and vomit.
Anya tried to help them; she did. When she realized that escaping her cage and attacking their captors was a futile endeavor, she tried to soothe her companions’ pain as best she could. Every time they were taken from the cages screaming, every time they were returned to them with their bodies broken, she did her best to calm them. She spoke sweetly to those in the cages adjacent to hers, used her remaining strength to project calming Alpha pheromones in as wide a range as she could. All the while, she plotted attempts at escape, all futile, but it kept her mind alive.
Of course, near the end, she was unable to help as much. After her second draining, there came a point at which simply willing herself to stay alive was the most difficult task she was ever faced with. Watching each new one of her people succumb made her more determined yet at the same time made it that much more difficult. She was almost close to giving in when Clarke stumbled into the room in her crinkly yellow gown with eyes filled with horror and disgust. She was relieved, but oh, it was so hard to leave knowing that her people were being left there to die.
Nothing has ever been so important as reaching Tondisi. Lexa’s fury will be a sight to behold when she hears the news. She will know the right things to say to break the news to their people. More importantly, though, her rage will be channeled into war; into strategy and ferocity and determination. Lexa will avenge their fallen kinsmen and keep the living safe.
Lexa will keep her safe.
Anya doesn’t like to imagine Heda’s reaction when she learns how Anya was treated. It has been years since they have been lovers, but they have not lost affection for one another. In that, there comes a protectiveness over each other that has not diminished in the years since they shared a bed. They are each other’s closest companions.
Lexa will be furious at the fates of their people, but more than that, she will be furious at the suffering her former mentor has endured.
Anya has to get to her now.
She has chosen the shortest possible route back to Tondisi, but it’s going to be tough going regardless. Already, they have trekked a good eight miles, but many more still remain. The journey will consist of three phases: first, the Trikru territory surrounding the drop ship, then the area around Mount Weather, and finally, another stretch of Trikru terrain surrounding that. There will be little danger from the Maunon in the first and last portions of their journey, but venturing back into Mount Weather territory has Anya deeply uneasy. They will attempt to skirt it at the furthest possible boundary without extending the length of their journey by too much, staying far enough at the outer reaches so that they are more likely to pass through without detection. At close to midday, they are nearing it now, passing through the final part of the drop ship’s territory.
“How far did you say we have to go?” Clarke’s voice reaches her through the silence they have so far mostly upheld, more for safety’s sake than anything else.
“Tondisi is half a day’s ride on horseback, more if you are going anything less than a canter,” Anya explains as they clamber over a stack of boulders, the uphill slant so severe that they are forced at times to proceed forward on their hands and knees. As she reaches the top of the next rock, Anya halts for a moment to turn back and note how far behind her Clarke has fallen. “Though at the rate you are moving, we are not likely to be there before dawn tomorrow,” she adds dryly. She can’t help it; she’s used to moving much faster. Admittedly, Clarke isn’t as far back as she could be, but they’re still moving at a snail’s pace compared to what Anya could be moving at were she alone and uninjured. She understands that Clarke isn’t used to the ground, but honestly. Their predicament is urgent.
“Hey,” Clarke retorts, a little resentfully. “I told you, we didn’t get that much exercise on the Ark. Too much oxygen waste. I get that you’ve been running marathons through the woods since the day you were born, but I grew up in zero gravity, okay? I’m sorry my muscles aren’t as godlike as yours.” Anya lets out a snort.
“I am not godlike,” she contradicts. “I am merely not slow like you.” Clarke stops at that, reaching the top of the boulder below the Alpha with a grunt.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she counters. “You told me to move faster, and I did. This is as fast as I can go. I haven’t even been complaining, and believe me, I could be. Is that not enough for you?”
“No,” Anya retorts shortly. She’s standing fully upright now, surveying the next stretch of land. The forest floor beneath them is smooth, unmarred by undergrowth. The clear ground makes for faster going, but overall less coverage. There could be any number of threats between them and the next grouping of small shrubs that offer refuge.
“Seriously? I’m trying my damn best here.” She doesn’t need to look to know that Clarke is gawking up at her in disbelief. She doesn’t want to look; she doesn’t need to see the sky girl gaping at her like a yongon in her first round of brutal training.
“Try harder,” Anya snaps back, and finds her voice is harsher than before. Below her, she senses rather than sees Clarke wince a little in response. Immediately, Anya feels a small twinge of guilt; she didn’t mean to sound so nasty. She knows Clarke is trying, and realistically, with the Omega’s combination of injuries and inexperience, she shouldn’t even be able to keep up the pace she is currently moving at. Despite that, Anya finds that she can’t help feeling waspish. She’s hungry, tired, and in pain, and deeply stressed on top of that. She can’t be expected to fully hold herself together.
It’s not fair of her though, and she knows it. Clarke has risked life and limb for her in the past twenty-four hours, putting her own safety in jeopardy to save Anya from the Maunon for no reason other than not wanting the grounder to suffer at the hands of the mountain. That, and she has also proved herself in the past day to be a determined opponent and far more capable than Anya ever intended on giving her credit for. She also comforted Anya through her nightmares and made it possible for the warrior to get some sleep, even though Clarke woke after she did and probably doesn’t even remember doing what she did. Anya knows that she at least owes her a little more than angry words. She can feel Clarke’s eyes on her, boring into the back of her head, and resigning herself, turns to face her with her mouth opening to apologize.
What she isn’t expecting is to receive a face full of pine needles that smack into her forehead and land in her open mouth. Spluttering and spitting them out, she recovers her composure quickly, only to see Clarke risen up on her knees on the boulder, glaring at her with her arm drawn back from having just thrown the clod of needles and dirt.
“Seriously?” the Omega bursts out. Her eyes are flashing angrily, their sky blue bright and furious. Anya winces at the pitch of her voice, but recognizes that this is not the moment to chastise, and holds her tongue. “I have saved your life at least twice in the past twenty-four hours. I rescued you from that cage you were in, found the tracker in your arm, stitched you up, fed you, and found you a safe place to spend the night. I even purred you to sleep, though god knows why I did that, and all you have to say to me is try harder? You clearly don’t think I’m worth anything except for some prize for your commander after I killed half your army, so I don’t doubt that you’re going to kill me as soon as we get to where we’re going! Why am I even helping you? You’re infuriating!” The last part is nearly a screech, enough to startle a nearby bird from its perch. The sound of wings taking flight is thunderous in the silence after Clarke’s outburst. The Omega’s chest is heaving, her blue eyes snapping as she continues to glare at Anya. She may be untrained, may be smaller than Anya by a good half a head, but in this moment, up on her knees with her expression fierce and her eyes burning with fury, Clarke makes a threatening figure.
“That was not half our army.” The words are out of Anya’s mouth before she can register them, and she groans inwardly as she realizes their stupidity.
“What?” Clarke snaps irritably. Her arms are folded across her chest, and it’s making her shoulders tense. The split second before her reply doesn’t allow Anya’s brain any time to come up with a reasonable response, and instead she finds herself cringing inwardly as words continue to spill from her without thought.
“Three-hundred men — that was not half our army. The Kongeda army is three-thousand, five-hundred, and eighty-one.” Clarke’s expression is painted with disbelief.
“Everything I just said, and that’s the detail you choose to focus on?” she says incredulously. After a moment, she shakes her head with a low sound of disgust. “You really are unbelievable.” Now it’s Anya’s turn to feel irritation rising in her chest. Maybe it’s stress, maybe it’s confusion at the fact that they seemed to share a moment of camaraderie last night, while Clarke was tending to her wounds, where they were on equal footing. It was a moment where Clarke almost seemed defensive of her, and today she’s back to arguing with her like they’re enemies once again. Whatever it is, Anya finds that she is suddenly out of patience. She understands Clarke’s frustration, she truly does, but this sort of petty arguing is getting them nowhere.
“You are acting like a child,” she huffs out. Clarke’s eyes snap back to her, enraged.
“I’m acting like a child?” she spits out. “Oh, that’s just cute. How, pray tell, do you figure that?”
“You are behaving one way and speaking another!” Anya exclaims, feeling her frustration rise. “You risked your life yesterday to save your enemy, and then today you act as though you have done nothing of the sort and I am the greatest burden to your plans. You tell me that we must work together, and then continue to treat me as though I am your enemy and have coerced you into accompanying me to my village when traveling together was your suggestion in the first place!”
“You’re the one who’s been complaining that I’m not moving fast enough!”
“I must reach my people and give them news of our kinsmen’s fates inside Mount Weather; if that is not your priority, you do not need to accompany me! I shall survive just fine without you!”
“I saved your life!”
“I know you did!” Anya’s voice has almost risen to a shout. Immediately, she schools herself. This isn’t safe. They really need to tone it down, and fast — they’ll be lucky if their volume hasn’t already attracted every enemy in the area. Reigning in her frustration, Anya forces her voice to lower. “I know you did,” she repeats, and finds her tone slightly calmer. “I know — and do not mistake me, I am grateful. But for you to suggest an alliance, and then act as though I have done you some great offense — it does not speak well for the stability of a union between our clans, Klark,” she says softly. She’s trying to be reasonable, and can only pray that Clarke listens. They don’t have time to be stopping like this, but it seems that they will get nowhere if this antagonistic tension between them isn’t resolved. If Clarke were of Trikru, she would smack her about the head and be done with it, but she senses that with this skayon, such behavior would only add to their disagreement.
Fortunately, Clarke seems to be smart enough to let Anya’s words reach her, and after a few moments in which she continues to glare from tense eyes, something in her seems to give. She lets out a sigh, her posture softening somewhat. Her shoulders drop, and she averts her eyes.
“You’re right,” she acquiesces quietly, so that Anya has to lean in a little to catch her words. “I’m sorry, it’s just — ” she cuts herself off there, averting her eyes even further. Anya watches her for a moment.
“Just what?” she prods patiently. She is relieved to see Clarke turn back to her. The Omega’s eyes are still challenging, the set of her jaw still stubborn and determined, but her gaze has lost the cold edge it had a minute ago.
Clarke sighs.
“It’s just that you were my enemy, first of all, up until last night,” she explains with a wave of her hand. “Then I beat you in our fight, and you . . . complimented me on my fighting, or whatever, and we agreed to make an alliance. So I guess I can trust you, but I’m not about to throw myself in whole hog until I know for certain, right? Our people are still technically at war; I’d be stupid to let my guard down.” She shrugs, like she isn’t sure if Anya will take her word for it. The grounder, though, has to cede that she has a point.
“You are right,” Anya says with a nod. “I understand.” Clarke’s eyes squint up at her contemplatively.
“Yeah, I guess you do,” she relents after a moment. “You’ve kind of been behaving the same way with me, haven’t you?” she points out. Anya didn’t consider that, but she finds herself giving another nod.
“I suppose I have,” she agrees. It’s Clarke’s turn to nod, now.
“Right,” she says determinedly. “But this clearly isn’t going to work unless we trust each other, so I think we’re both going to have to figure out how to ignore that, aren’t we?” It’s another good point, one that has occurred to Anya in passing but that she’s been pushing down in favor of other priorities, like speed. It amuses her a little that they’ve gone from shouting to diplomacy with such swiftness, but she keeps a smirk carefully off her lips. She doesn’t want to antagonize Clarke any further — at least not at the moment.
“We are,” she confirms instead. Biting her lip, Clarke nods again.
“Yeah.” There is a pause while both contemplate this latest development. For Anya, it isn’t too hard to consider. Though they may technically be enemies, she believes she knows enough of Clarke to understand that the Omega has a sense of honor. Even if she doesn’t, deception isn’t exactly Skaikru’s forte; for all their bravado, their war tactics are embarrassingly amateur, even childish. Most of even the youngest sekens would fight better; she would have nothing to fear even if she didn’t trust Clarke’s word to hold.
She senses, though, that Clarke is holding something back. Though her words were final, the matter technically resolved, her shoulders have remained tense, and she chews her lip as though biting back words. Anya decides to prod her a little — they might as well air out all their issues while they’re at it, or this really isn’t going to work.
“Is there something else?” she prompts. She keeps her eyes on the sky girl, watching the Omega’s eyes flit back to the side like she’s uncertain of whether to speak. “We should discuss all concerns we might have, for the sake of maintaining a strong alliance.” She hopes the words are enough to catch Clarke’s attention, and it appears that they are; Clarke turns back to meet her eyes carefully.
“I — yes.” Her response seems a little hesitant, so Anya makes an effort to appear receptive. At the sight of the eyebrow that she quirks, Clarke sighs, and continues. “It’s also that — it’s that you’re an Alpha,” she points out, “and I’m an Omega, and we keep challenging each other, and it’s exhausting for me. And I know Octavia said that grounders treat status a little differently, and it’s not like I actually think you’re going to do anything, but . . . Omegas weren’t treated the best on the Ark, so I can’t help being a little wary. I also — I’m a healer, and a diplomat. I help people; I don’t fight them, so challenging isn’t my strength. I’m not used to it.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to be fighting you the whole time; I’d rather be getting to know you better, but then you get grouchy with me, and I can’t help it. I feel . . . defensive.”
It’s the first open acknowledgement either of them have made of their statuses, and somehow, Anya finds that it makes her suddenly hyperaware of her own Alpha side. Nevertheless, she forces herself to ignore it, pushing down the sudden surge she feels. She opens her mouth once, then closes it, uncertain of how to respond.
“I am not certain I understand what you mean when you say that Skaikru did not treat their Omegas well on your Ark,” she finally says hesitantly, “but I can assure you that whatever the state of our alliance, it is uninfluenced by status, and will remain so. Your friend Okteivia is correct; designation has no influence on the roles taken by our people. I do not . . . see you differently because of it,” she finishes evenly. Then she straightens her shoulders, continuing to meet Clarke’s eyes. “I apologize for shouting at you and making you feel as though you had something to defend,” she adds. “It was an unconscious reaction to stress, but I now see that I was doing it. I will try to prevent myself from doing so from now on.” The blue of Clarke’s eyes is deeper than it was when they were sparkling with fury.
“Thank you,” she says sincerely after a moment. Anya inclines her head. “I guess that means I can go back to saving your life instead of fighting you?” Her eyes are twinkling mischievously. Anya huffs.
“I sincerely hope not,” she grumbles. She straightens up, surveying the area once more for danger and preparing to continue. They need to keep moving at a quick clip if they hope to reach Tondisi before midnight; as it is, it will likely take them until after nightfall. Having concluded that there is nothing lying in wait for them in the next set of trees, Anya twists her body to reach the last boulder that lies above her. In the next instant, she falls back as pain rips through her side, taking her so by surprise that she is unable to stifle a low cry.
Clarke is by her side in an instant, small hands going to brace against Anya’s ribs in an attempt to steady her. Through the surging pain, Anya registers the feeling of the Omega’s chest pressed into her back, warmth and soft curves molding into her to provide support and keep her upright.
“Shh, stay still.” Clarke’s words are low, their timbre throaty and soothing. “Tell me where it hurts.” Anya swallows against the pain and wills herself to brush it away and regain a little composure. It will not do to have an injury thwart them at this stage.
“It is nothing,” she says carelessly, and attempts to pull away, grimacing as she is unable to disguise the pain the movement causes. Clarke’s hands, however, catch her before she can move too far and pull the Alpha back into her body.
“I don’t think so.” The healer’s voice is firm. “Where does it hurt, Anya?” Recognizing the futility of protesting, Anya gestures with the arm that is on the opposite side from the stabbing pain.
“Side, lower left,” she grunts. She opens her mouth to say again that it is nothing, that they need to keep moving, but her thoughts are arrested by Clarke pulling up her shirt to her lower ribs and pressing warm fingertips into her skin. Anya’s eyes fall closed with a groan of pain.
“Shit,” Clarke hisses out. “Your stitches ripped. I’ll have to redo them. Make yourself comfortable; I need to dig the needle out of my pack.” Anya’s eyes fly open again; she cranes her to glare at Clarke over her shoulder.
“It can wait,” she denies with a shake of her head. “We need to keep moving.” Clarke lets out a derisive snort; a moment later, a tiny thud of impact lets her know that the Omega has cuffed her lightly about the head.
“I don’t think so, hard-ass,” she says firmly, stepping back to swing her rucksack off her shoulders. “You want to walk a couple dozen miles over rough terrain with your blood gushing and your spleen hanging out? Be my guest. But you’re on your own — I don’t need to be around when the panthers smell your raw flesh and come looking for their lunch.”
Anya grumbles aloud to herself, swearing under her breath in Trigedasleng as she carefully turns her body around and lowers herself to a rock.
“Fine,” she mumbles grouchily. “But this had better not take all day.” Clarke pauses before her, needle held aloft between her fingers, and raises a single eyebrow.
“I’d watch what you say to the woman who’s holding the needle that’s going into your flesh,” she warns. There’s a hint of amusement in her eyes though, a vague twinkle of mischief that suggests that though she’s only half joking, she wouldn’t actually do anything to hurt Anya.
Grudgingly, when she thinks about it, Anya admits that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt Clarke, either. Not presently, at least — though without any anesthetic left for this ordeal, that truce might be short-lived.
There’s a glimmer in Clarke’s eyes, though, that suggests that she might be fairly evenly matched.
The prospect of sneaking through Mount Weather territory is nerve-wracking, to say the least. The area is wide, an expanse of land consisting mostly of forest and several ravines spanning the width of several miles outwards and roughly seven in the direction they are headed. Their plan is to stick to the outermost edge, where ground patrols sweep through less often and they’re less likely to get noticed on the radar. Certainly, it will pick up their movement, but with their party being only two in number and out of the way of security cameras, they’re likely to be relatively inconspicuous. Hopefully they will be marked as two animals traveling together, and no one will spare their little blips a second glance.
For Anya, however, the notion of what faces them is worrisome. They have at least seven miles of dangerous terrain stretching before them, not to mention the fact that both of them are injured and underslept and haven’t eaten since dawn. It’s largely unfamiliar territory to her, too, and they’ll have to move carefully in order to avoid detection.
The combination of all of these factors means that they will be moving at a much slower pace than Anya would like, particularly when considering that the sun has now reached its highest point and is already beginning to descend in the other direction. She would put the time at early afternoon, which isn’t fantastic timing considering that they’ve been on the road since shortly after daybreak and have only managed to cover twelve-odd miles since the sun was low in the eastern sky. If they aren’t delayed for any reason they should make it to Tondisi not long after sundown, but it will be cutting it close, and she would rather they not have to travel in the dark.
This is the fastest route, but the fact remains that Anya would prefer to remain a good twenty miles out of the mountain’s range for the rest of her life. Since such a feat isn’t possible, she will have to block out her fears, but the prospect is a daunting one. Passing back through this territory means putting both of them at risk, and Anya can’t — won’t — allow herself to be caught.
She will not let them torture her again.
Anya halts when they reach the crest of the next rise, waiting a moment for Clarke to catch up. The descent before them marks the beginning of the mountain’s confines, and she wants to take a moment to assess the route that lies before them.
Clarke steps up beside her, wiping her brow on her sleeve with a huff. She is breathing hard from the ascent, but Anya has to admit that she is faring much better than expected. Since their argument this morning, the Omega has made a concerted effort to speed up as much as possible, and though it isn’t much, it has made a slight difference. She has even managed to keep pace with Anya when they are moving across flat ground despite the difference in the length of their strides.
Anya has to admit that she is the tiniest bit impressed by the Omega’s determination.
Clarke halts beside her, surveying the land below them with a frown of concentration.
“This is it?” she asks, and Anya nods.
“The mountain’s land begins here,” she affirms. It’s hard to keep the tension out of her words, but she does her best to bite back the tremble that the cold feeling in her chest tries to bring to them. Instead of lingering on it, she does her best to focus on the logistics of the task at hand. Beneath them, the forest floor spreads out, the undergrowth fortunately slightly thicker than it is where they’re standing. Hopefully it will provide them with some cover.
“Why don’t — ” Clarke begins to speak, but then cuts herself off with a hum. Anya turns to her companion to assess her state, and finds that the Omega is watching her. Her face is contemplative, tilting up towards Anya with eyes focused hard on her face.
“Why what?” Anya finds herself prompting. Clarke squints at her, then appears to make some unknown assessment, and her brow relaxes.
“Why don’t we move side-by-side,” she suggests after a moment. “It’ll make it safer so that they can’t take us by surprise with one of us hanging back.” There’s something odd to her offer, a quirk of the eyebrows that Clarke can’t quite seem to smooth out. For a moment, Anya is almost offended. Does this sky girl really think that she is so knowledgeable as to be giving orders related to strategic formation? Anya has been learning how to move undetected through the forest since before Clarke was born.
There’s still something a little strange about Clarke’s posture, which is angled towards her and slightly tense, but Anya ignores it. She’s not about to take orders from this goufa. Indignant, she opens her mouth to protest.
Then the sweet, subtle wave washes gently over her, and the realization hits at the same time as the calming pheromones.
Clarke, who is now observing her with her sapphire eyes anxious, is trying to give her an out. She has sensed Anya’s fear and unwillingness to re-enter Mount Weather’s range, and instead of making the warrior appear weak by calling her out on her fears, is providing a neutral and strategic reason for them to stay together — for Anya to not be alone. Rather than moving through the trees single file, where one of them could be taken out by a tranquilizer without the other noticing, what Clarke is suggesting means that they will have constant eyes on each other, close enough to physically touch. It’s strategically smart for safety reasons, but also means that Anya won’t be left alone with her fears.
It’s more considerate than she would have expected; sweet, even. Perhaps she has underestimated this sky Omega.
“Right,” Anya says abruptly. She only grants Clarke a nod, careful to keep her face stony. “We will move through together. But remain on alert, skai prisa — if they come for us, I do not need to be faster than they are; I only need to be faster than you.” She throws in the last bit as a vague attempt at being threatening; she has a reputation to uphold, after all, and she doesn’t want Clarke to think she’s going soft. The tiny quirk of bow-shaped lips that follows, though, lets her know that Clarke is well aware that she doesn’t mean a word of it.
“Noted,” Clarke agrees with a tiny smirk. “Though I do have a name, you know, if you’d care to use it.” There’s a teasing glimmer in her eyes that Anya doesn’t quite feel prepared to deal with. To acknowledge their open banter would mean acknowledging that they are not merely mortal enemies cooperating under an uneasy alliance, but rather people who may actually stand a chance of getting along. It would mean admitting that were the circumstances different, Anya could see Clarke as being someone whose presence she actually enjoys. Anya can’t afford that kind of investment; neither of them can.
Not yet, at least.
“I would not care to,” Anya replies shortly, and then she’s pushing through the undergrowth before Clarke can formulate a response. Despite facing the other direction and being unable to see, she’s almost positive that Clarke is rolling her eyes.
Traveling side-by-side, it turns out, allows Anya a unique opportunity.
The pair have been moving quietly through the woods — though quietly, she supposes, is relative for Clarke, who isn’t exactly clumsy but can’t seem to figure out how to not step on sticks — and are a little over an hour into Mount Weather’s territory. Anya has been on high alert since they stepped into it; her body is tense, her shoulders rigid with anxiety. In any other circumstance, the slightest sound would cause her to startle, but Clarke is making so great a ruckus walking through the dead leaves that the Alpha doubts she would be able to hear the Maunon’s approach even if they were running at them full speed over a gravel bed. Despite her annoyance and natural inclination to hush her companion at every step of the way, Anya finds that the blonde’s complete inability to navigate nature doesn’t anger her the same way it did twenty-four hours ago.
Actually, now that she’s considering it, Clarke doesn’t anger her the way she did before; in fact, Anya has to admit that the Omega’s presence doesn’t anger her at all. Of course, this truce between them is an odd one; Skaikru is not a group that Trikru would form a peace treaty with under normal circumstances. Then again, the arrival of Skaikru itself threw all notions of normal out the window. Such an alliance is greatly unorthodox, but also greatly necessary, and in the face of what the Maunon are doing, Anya finds that she’s grateful to have an ally who is equally aware of the truth of the atrocities that are being committed within the mountain.
And besides that, Clarke is . . . unusual, to say the least. She’s a bit blundering, certainly, and painfully impulsive and untrained. However, Anya can’t deny that the Omega is strong. In the past weeks, from what she’s heard, Clarke has been faced with any number of catastrophic events, and has navigated them with determination, if not with grace. She has shown herself to be a true leader among her people, to be diplomatic and cautious but ruthless when the situation calls for it. If nothing else, she is deeply persistent. Lexa would call it a fighting spirit, Anya muses with inward amusement.
It’s not exactly rare for an Omega, but it is a little unusual. Anya understands that such behavior would not necessarily have been brought out had Clarke remained in space, but the fact is that there were ninety-seven others who could have stood up for the job, and none did — none save the several boys that Anya’s scouts reported, and they clearly seem to have lost out. If Clarke did not have the wherewithal to defend her people with difficult decisions and necessarily brutal acts, if she were not a successful leader, she would not be walking here beside Anya today.
For Anya, it’s an intriguing vantage point. She hasn’t really had an opportunity before this to truly assess her companion. The longest they’ve been still for together was in the bunker, and then the lighting was low and Anya too preoccupied with the pain in her body to do much evaluation. There was that moment on the bridge, true, but much has changed since then; at that point, all that Anya was doing was judging the weakness of a threat, rather than assessing the woman in front of her.
It makes her roll her eyes at herself, but the first thing that strikes her is that Clarke is incredibly beautiful. She’s smaller than Anya by several inches, her body much softer and sturdier. She is curvy in the way that Omega women often are, in the way that Anya has always found attractive. It’s not an appropriate thought for Anya to be having, probably, especially not considering that they were actively trying to kill each other not twenty-four hours ago, but the fact remains true regardless.
Clarke is attractive, and Anya, despite her brusque attempts to ignore it, isn’t blind. The fact that Anya is forced to acknowledge is that if the Omega were of Trikru, and had run into her on the street, Anya wouldn’t deny the attraction. She’s having a hard enough time ignoring her Alpha urges as it is. Being out here in the wilderness, injured and unarmed, has her instincts on overdrive. Like all grounders, she has been taught since birth to follow her instincts with the justification that they exist for a reason.
Right now, she wants to reject the fact that she is in pain and showing weakness in order to be strong for Clarke, wants to defend the Omega instead of arguing with her. It doesn’t happen often. Anya spends nearly every day surrounded by people of every status, with many Omegas included, and yet she has always managed to keep her cool and keep her Alpha urges at bay, at least on the battlefield and during training. They will get nowhere in battle if all the Alphas are distracted by trying to protect the Omegas instead of focusing on offense — it’s why the Azgeda, brutal as they are, don’t allow Omegas to train as warriors. Anya, though, has never had a problem with it; she has never once allowed an Omega to distract her.
It’s why her draw to Clarke is so unsettling — because she is drawn to this sky Omega; there is no doubt of that. Something about Clarke calls to her, causes her deepest instincts to stir. Anya can’t tell what it is, but she also can’t deny to herself that she feels something towards this girl. She could pretend it’s just admiration, maybe, for Clarke’s determination, or gratefulness at having her life saved, but no. It’s more than that, more complex than that.
She doesn’t quite know what to make of it.
Glancing sideways, Anya sees that Clarke is focused, her eyes trained on the trees up ahead, which are close enough together to potentially conceal an enemy. As a result, she is neglecting to watch where she puts her feet, and Anya sees that there is a root several paces ahead that she will likely trip over if she isn’t warned. They’re tracing the edge of a ravine to their right, maneuvering through the thinner undergrowth up on the crest of the rise. It’s wide enough for them to walk comfortably side-by-side, but not enough that they have much room to spare between their bodies and the steep decline on the other side. Another fall is the last thing they need, so Anya opens her mouth, intent on warning her.
“Klark — ” she begins, and then finds the rest of her words drowned out as several things suddenly occur in quick succession.
BANG.
There is a shockwave of sound so loud that it is impossible to trace its origin; a moment later, a whistle and a thud plus the explosion of nearby bark chunks into the air announce that a bullet has lodged itself in a tree right at Anya’s left shoulder. Anya ducks and yelps, and Clarke, already too far ahead and startled by the sudden blast from nearby, loses her footing and trips over the root. For a moment, she remains miraculously balanced, one leg suspended in the air like one of the puppets the Trikru children play with. She hovers there for a moment, teetering on the edge of the ravine, and time exists in the gasping moment between heartbeats.
Then another shot rings out, followed by a volley of several, and they all miss, but the sound causes Clarke’s body to jerk. Anya lunges for her, but it’s too late; Clarke tips, Anya follows, and then they’re airborne, bodies suspended as they go over the edge of the ravine.
The fall seems like it takes forever, but really, only about ten seconds elapse between the time that Clarke loses her balance and the time that they come to a halt at the bottom of the gully.
Clarke’s body smashes into the ground with a force that rips the air from her lungs. The instant she hits, the tumbling begins, and she is unable to do anything to stop her momentum as she rolls down the steep side of the ravine, occasionally free-falling for a second or two as her body careens off the edge of a boulder or a ledge. Her limbs are tossed about wildly, smacking into trees and rocks, and her neck feels like it’s being snapped back and forth almost to the breaking point. She can hear Anya above her, even catches a glimpse of her at one point as her back crashes into a tree, momentarily breaking her momentum.
And then it’s over, just as suddenly as it began.
Clarke sails the final few feet of the descent and lands, hard, with a crunch in what feels like a gravel pit. A moment later, a sharp squeal, the grinding of small rocks, and an equally hard thud of impact announces that Anya has landed nearby. A strangled whimper follows.
For a moment, Clarke is still. She’s landed on her stomach with her cheek pressed into the stones beneath her, and for a moment, everything is so still and silent that she wonders if it’s possible that she’s dead. It’s the wrong moment to think of it, but she has a split-second of the thought that after everything they’ve been through, this would be a pretty anticlimactic way to die.
Then Anya whimpers again, and reality reasserts itself.
Clarke sits up so quickly that her head spins, but she ignores the sudden dizziness in order to take in their situation. They’re at the bottom of the ravine, which from the looks of it is a good seventy or eighty feet deep, and roughly fifty yards across. There’s a stream running through the center of it, which explains the gravel bed. Clarke scans the trees above them nervously.
There were gunshots — she supposes that the bullets came from the trees that were ahead of them while they were walking, but in the confusion, there wasn’t really a way to pinpoint their source. The fact that someone hasn’t already come down here after them is encouraging. Nevertheless, she’s not going to assume that they’re safe. They’re not exactly hidden out here in the open on the gravel bed, but they should probably lay low and be quiet for a few minutes in case someone comes looking.
Then the sour stench of Alpha fear reaches her, accompanied by a pitiful whimper, and Clarke decides that she doesn’t give a damn.
“Anya?” she calls out, and winces upon hearing that her voice is almost a croak. She gives a slight cough. A strangled gasp comes in reply, and ignoring the pain in her neck, Clarke whips around.
Anya is about two yards from her, but she’s up and kneeling, and judging by the hoarse choking sounds and the way her belly looks to be going concave every second, she’s hyperventilating. She’s kneeling up tall, like she tried to stand but was arrested by the force of whatever pain she’s clearly enduring.
“ — Anya?” There is a loud clatter of gravel as Clarke struggles to her feet. Quickly, she stumbles across the bit of ground between them and drops back to her knees in front of the Alpha. “Anya, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” There is no reply; Anya’s eyes are open but unseeing, blank, as though she’s lost in her own mind.
Quickly, Clarke stumbles forward, pawing through Anya’s jacket to make sure that she hasn’t gotten shot, figuring that she’ll risk getting yelled at for touching her without permission. Fortunately, Anya’s skin has no new blemishes save a scrape and bruise or two from the fall. However, she hasn’t ceased to hyperventilate, and her body is tense and trembling. The waves of panic pouring off of her have a scent that makes Clarke’s spine ache. It makes her deeply uncomfortable, and the moment she registers how powerful it is, all she wants to do is soothe the panicked Alpha at her side.
She thinks of the sound of gunshots and the Mountain Men, hears Anya’s frantic gasps for oxygen, and puts two and two together: the Alpha is having a panic attack.
Knowing that makes the situation a little easier to approach. Clarke has been trained for this over and over again in her medical classes on the Ark. She knows how to get a panicking person to breathe with her, to re-orient them and get them to focus on their surroundings in order to bring them out of it. She has been drilled relentlessly, and has even put her training into practice on several occasions with some of the Hundred on the ground.
Then the scent of the Alpha’s fear washes over her again as Anya trembles, shoulders convulsing weakly, and all of Clarke’s training blows right out of her mind as something clicks inside her and her instincts seize control.
She’s moving before she even registers it, re-adjusting herself so that she’s kneeling too, behind Anya this time, though standing up on her knees so that she’s taller than the Alpha. Anya is hunched over, her body twitching almost uncontrollably with spasms of fear and adrenaline. It’s hard to watch her like this, seeing this powerful warrior brought to her knees, terrified, by the guns of the men who held her captive and tortured her for days on end. Clarke can’t stand it.
Her hands move without her command, coming to rest on Anya’s hips almost as though as a trial. When the Alpha doesn’t respond, something twists tight in her belly; a jolt fires through her body, and then she’s leaning in without a single thought other than the urge to protect. Without hesitation, Clarke scoots forward and wraps herself around Anya’s back.
The moment her skin makes contact with the back of the old bomber jacket, the rightness of the gesture clicks in. The leather is warm with the heat of Anya’s body, and Clarke presses closer; she lets herself melt into the woman beneath her and drape herself over her protectively. Instinctively, she buries her face in dirty-golden hair and noses into the side of the Alpha’s neck, purposefully nuzzling Anya’s scent gland as she releases a powerful rush of calming pheromones.
The effect is almost instantaneous. Clarke can feel Anya’s body react, feel her muscles grow looser beneath the Omega’s touch. Her head bows, exposing the back of her neck, and she melts back into the body behind her as her breathing calms. It takes about a minute from the time Clarke first touches her for Anya’s body to slowly lose its shakiness, the Omega giving off soothing pheromones all the while. Clarke can feel them flood the air between them and the way they burn into Anya’s blood, can feel how the Alpha curls into the offering and lets herself unfold in a way that she surely wouldn’t if she had her wits about her.
Clarke’s instincts are somewhat soothed by Anya’s decreased fear. However, they don’t vanish completely. An Alpha in distress must be calmed and protected, reassured of their strength, and her inner Omega will do anything it has to in order to ensure that Anya feels safe. As Anya molds her body instinctively into the form behind her, Clarke presses in closer. She manages to wrap her arms around the Alpha, crossing them over her chest to form a protective brace. Tenderly, she continues to nuzzle beneath the warrior’s ear.
Pressed in close like this, nose brushing the Alpha’s jaw, Clarke receives a powerful blast of Anya’s scent. It’s heady; earthy and primal. The way that Clarke’s body responds is pure animal. She can feel something electric rush through her blood, touching every part of her body. The more she warms Anya with her own presence, the more she pumps out pheromones meant to ease her into a feeling of safety, the more that her own body reacts to the feeling.
It’s another minute later that Anya finally stirs and appears to gain some semblance of her senses back.
“Klark?” It’s a shaky mumble.
“Hey,” Clarke coos softly to her. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Anya takes a shuddery inhale as her shoulders regain a little tension. Then abruptly, she stiffens, her body growing hard beneath Clarke’s. A moment later, she twists, and Clarke moves back to give her space. The warrior’s eyes fall on hers in panic.
“The gunshots — ”
“It was a trip wire — it must have been,” Clarke explains the conclusion that has built in her mind, half on-alert, since they fell. “They would have followed us otherwise. We’d be dead already.” Slowly, Anya nods. For a moment, they sit there unmoving, absorbing the good fortune of their close call. Then something dark falls over Anya’s face and constricts the lines of her features.
“They will have been watching these woods since our escape,” she says grimly. “The trip wire . . .” she trails off.
“They know we’re here,” Clarke finishes for her, and again, Anya nods.
“They know that we are here,” she confirms, and Clarke can feel that both of their stomachs sink at the prospect. Anya, though, is up and moving a moment later, standing with a slight stumble as she scans the line of trees on the opposite side of the ravine. “We will have to move outside the boundary line,” she says firmly. Below her, Clarke struggles to her feet.
“It’s well past noon already,” she points out. “Probably it’s close to three at this point, maybe four — circumnavigating Mount Weather’s territory instead of cutting through will add on another five or six miles at least. We’ll have to spend another night out here — that will mean that we won’t reach Tondisi until late tomorrow morning.” She’s expecting Anya to deny it, or perhaps to propose another way. The warrior, though, merely nods. The movement is tight; her shoulders are drawn up high and tense, and looking closely, Clarke swears that she almost sees the woman’s eyes sparkling with tears.
“We will.” When she speaks, her words are tense but steady. Clarke watches her carefully.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly after a moment. “I know that you want to reach your people as soon as possible to let your commander know what’s happening inside the mountain.” Again, Anya nods steadily. Then, abruptly, she turns the motion into a shake of her head. Body still stiff, she turns back to lock her gaze onto Clarke’s, and her eyes are dark and unreadable.
“I will not go back there,” she whispers. “I cannot, I — I will not endure that again.” It’s instinct more than thought that prompts Clarke to take a step forward. Slowly, she closes the distance between them so that they’re not quite close enough to touch, but close enough for Anya to feel her presence regardless.
“I won’t let them,” she says firmly. She’s not actively releasing pheromones anymore, but the warmth of her Omega body is swaying in its own right; she can see Anya lean in closer as she speaks. “I won’t let them take you, Anya; I swear on my life.”
She doesn’t know where she’s found the conviction behind her words, but it’s there regardless. Somewhere in the last five minutes, without even really meaning to, Clarke has made the decision that whatever might happen to them next, she will not rest until Anya is safe and cared for back among her own people. At this point, it looks like it’s going to take them a little longer than both of them would like, but Clarke is going to see it through. Her inner Omega feels more present and powerful than ever, and after almost eighteen years of being caged, Clarke isn’t going to hold it back any longer.
She’s going to protect Anya and get her home safely, no matter what she might have to do in order to make that happen.
There’s the whistling of an airborne knife, an unearthly shriek, and the deer drops to the ground and lies where it falls. For a moment, it continues to shiver, attempting to struggle to its feet, and then something within it seems to cave, and the animal falls back and moves no more.
Anya approaches it at a light jog, Clarke breathing a little heavier behind her. The light is fading slowly from the forest, the dark thickening, but the animal is still easy enough to see. The deer is dead. From up close, they can see that the animal is a yearling, a young buck with tiny nubs of antlers. It is small for its age, but heavy with autumn eating, and the meat it yields will be more than enough to sustain the two of them.
By now, it is nearly nightfall. They’ve been walking for a number of hours, having moved beyond the border of the mountain’s territory closer to the nearest Trikru villages. It’s slightly slower going this way, especially with the new injuries they both sustained from their fall. It wasn’t enough to severely hurt either of them, but they’re both achy and stiff, and since the time the sky began glowing golden and rosy in the west, they’ve both been feeling their exhaustion.
The plan is to find a place to safely pass the night. Unfortunately, they’re not quite close enough to any Trikru villages to ask for shelter there without going out of their way and losing precious time. It’s doubtful that any villagers would be willing to take in a member of Skaikru, anyway. Luckily, though, Anya is somewhat familiar with this area, and if memory serves her correctly, these woods are relatively safe. There are fewer panthers here than elsewhere due to the presence of the villages, and paunas only exist closer to Tondisi. Sleeping on the ground won’t be very comfortable, but they’ve endured worse in recent days, and with a fire blazing through the night, they should be able to safely sleep until dawn.
Anya can’t berate Clarke any longer for her inability to travel stealthily through the forest. The death of the deer proves that. Of course, she’s still terrible at it, and if human ears are listening their position will be given away in a heartbeat, but she’s become quiet enough that Anya was able to make this kill. It is a necessary one; there wasn’t enough food in the bunker to last them all day, and by this point, both of them are ravenously hungry.
Anya kneels beside the deer and stretches out a hand to brush its flank. Bowing her head, she lets the words pass her lips in a murmur.
“Yu gonplei ste odon.” Her fingers close around the handle of the hunting knife, and with a jerk, she pulls it free. Blood trickles from the wound, brushing her knuckles, and she turns to stand and face her companion. Clarke is watching her with eyes glinting in the last light.
“Do you know how to skin a deer?” she questions, already knowing the answer. A shake of the head is her response. “Build a fire, then,” she instructs, knowing that Skaikru have learned how to accomplish this much, at least, in the weeks since their landing. She receives no verbal response, but as she shifts her attention back to the fallen animal, movement in her peripheral vision informs her that Clarke has set about gathering dead limbs from nearby trees.
Maybe it’s her hunger and exhaustion talking, but Anya can’t help thinking that if they are able to cooperate to make their dinner while on the run, they should at least be able to form some sort of shaky alliance between their people. Clarke’s spirit shows through her cooperation, and maybe they didn’t get off on the best footing, but the sky girl has proven in the past day and a half that she is more than willing to learn to work with them — or with Anya, in any case, which can at the very least bring Lexa’s attention to their attempted alliance. If Skaikru really can lend their knowledge of Maunon technology, perhaps there is a chance that they can defeat this greatest enemy together.
They have to.
Anya admires Clarke for her attempts at peacemaking. Whatever flaws the Omega might have, no one could say that she isn’t determined. Her persistence is admirable, as is her strength, which is unexpected. The fact that she was able to defeat Anya in their fight yesterday was . . . unprecedented, to say the least. It had everything to do with Clarke’s raw strength and determination, and her victory was not secured because some part of Anya couldn’t stand to hurt her further and let her win to gain the Omega’s trust and give her the upper hand.
At least, that’s what Anya’s telling herself.
It’s not something that the Alpha has allowed herself to consider that deeply. She doesn’t know why Clarke affects her so greatly; only that she does. Because she does. There is something about this Omega that calls out to her and stirs her greatest instincts. When they fought yesterday, she drew blood and caused the Omega harm, and instantly, her body was screaming at her to stop. To hurt an Omega is the opposite of what her instincts urge her to do. No matter Anya’s battle training, no matter her harsh lessons to herself to ignore status whenever possible, to not allow herself to be affected, there was no way to ignore it. Hurting Clarke went against her deepest instincts as an Alpha, and immediately after, Anya had to fight the urge to protect, to gather the girl up in her arms and bandage her wounds and ease her pain with healing purrs.
Clarke cannot possibly know enough of grounder culture to be aware that sparring is something of a common mating ritual among them. Often, through sheer tension and irritation with each other, Alphas and Omegas fall into battle. It is never serious, never meant to end with death, and most often, if the pair is a desired one, the Omega emerges victorious. It is tradition, instinct, for an Alpha held down by an Omega to yield and bare their throat if they desire to bond. If not, they will stand their ground and not allow a defeat.
Part of Clarke’s victory yesterday was indeed due to the fact that Anya was weak and shaky with hunger and blood loss, but the Alpha is lying to herself if she doesn’t acknowledge the fact that part of her gave in on purpose.
Wrist-deep in the belly of the dead deer, Anya shakes herself. This is madness. Seven years of being alone and unaffected by every Omega to try to gain her affections, and it’s this impulsive, unreasonable, maddening sky goufa that seems to have caught her inner Alpha’s attention. To give in would be utter insanity.
Nevertheless, the simple, terrifying fact of the matter is that no matter her famous restraint, no matter how ill-advised this companionship already is, Anya isn’t sure how much longer she’s going to be able to fight it.
She pauses, entrails hanging from her hands as the memory of Clarke pressed to her earlier, nuzzling her neck and pouring out soothing Omega pheromones, overtakes her.
Anya is lonely. She has been alone for so many years, and though she would not have it another way, at times it has been pure torture. Alphas are not meant to be alone, not like Betas can sometimes be without feeling the deep-seated loneliness and yearning for a mate. It is what she is made to do; to protect and provide and serve, to give an Omega everything they need and desire. She is wired for it. She has been suppressing that urge for years, but it’s also true that in all that time, no one has caught her interest long enough to hold it. That this sky girl has done so has implications that Anya isn't quite willing to consider.
She could pass this sudden need off as loneliness, but Anya knows better. It’s not solitude, or pent-up Alpha instincts, or even plain sexual frustration that has her drawn to this particular Omega.
It’s Clarke. It’s Clarke and everything she stands for, everything she is and everything she represents: peace, stubbornness, hope, courage, persistence. It’s those deep eyes and soft curves and nurturing instincts and strong, healing hands. It’s the way this girl risked her life and freedom to save the life of a woman who was at the time her enemy, at best someone she barely knew. It’s the determination Clarke has shown in wanting to form an alliance, to get Anya back among her people and join with them in seeking vengeance for the evil that has befallen them.
Most of all, beyond all of that, it’s the way that Clarke seems to be drawn to her, too. All throughout their time together, Clarke has been protective of her. She has sheltered Anya and healed her injuries, and comforted and reassured the Alpha when fear and nightmares strike. Such actions require tremendous energy. An Omega doesn’t use their pheromones on just anyone; that sort of action is reserved for people who matter.
It has been an eternity since Anya has mattered to anyone like that.
She knows that such behavior is instinct, particularly to an Omega, but she can’t help but wonder about its origins. In her political qualities, Clarke is the most Alpha-like Omega that Anya has ever met. While she allows emotion to have an impact on her decisions, those decisions are still sound, strategic, and logical. Surely, her self-control is through the roof when need be. So why is she allowing herself to display such openly Omega actions when it comes to Anya? Why would Clarke, who has had to indifferently brush aside the deaths of friends and family in order to survive, allow herself to indulge in base urges with an ex-enemy with whom she is attempting to forge an alliance? Why would her self-control fail her now, of all moments?
The only explanation that Anya can possibly forge is that it wouldn’t. But that would mean that Clarke is behaving the way she is on purpose, and why she would do that . . . that brings up an entirely different set of questions. Certainly, the impulse to care for an Alpha in their time of need is deeply rooted in an Omega’s biology. However, so is the inclination to protect oneself from an Alpha one is unfamiliar with, particularly one as strong and influential as Anya, and particularly one with whom one is attempting to form a political alliance. Biologically speaking, Clarke should be afraid of her at worst, cold and standoffish at best.
That she isn’t says something that Anya can’t quite reckon with.
When the object of her many conflicting emotions returns a few minutes later with an armload of kindling, Anya decides to push aside the matter for now. They have to build a fire and gather water, butcher the now-skinned deer, cook dinner, and prepare a place to sleep beside the fire. Duty calls for now, so distractions will have to wait.
It doesn’t mean that Anya will stop thinking about it.
“Will you tell me about the clans?” Clarke’s voice is soft and curious from where she sits near the fire pit, arms draped around her knees in the way that Anya has observed the Sky People do when they are feeling comfortable with their surroundings. Anya is seated several feet away, settled back against a tree. Her ribs have begun to smart again where all of their movement today has tugged at her stitches, and she finds herself needing relief from the burning ache.
It has taken a surprisingly short time to prepare the fire. All things considered, Anya is impressed with Clarke’s ability to create and maintain a flame. The hundred sky children have only been here for several weeks. Nevertheless, she supposes that someone would have to have learned; the group wouldn’t have survived in the numbers that it did if no one could tend a fire. Whatever war crimes they might have committed, Anya can’t deny that the survivors of the hundred on the drop ship are resilient.
Having set the fire up suitably, they are left with nothing to do but wait for coals to form so that they may cook their dinner. The deer has been completely dismembered, and now the meat lies in hunks ready for cooking upon a slab of flat rock. The entrails have been discarded someplace far enough away that they won’t attract predators in the night. Now, they are left to sit and watch the fire settle into hot embers in the little pit that Anya dug out.
“What would you like to know?” Anya isn’t exactly surprised that Clarke is expressing interest — the Omega is a curious thing — but she wonders why. Clarke shifts slightly to angle her body more towards her companion’s. Her eyes flick up to meet Anya’s, and they reflect a small amount of firelight that gives them the impression of blue and gold flames.
After a moment, Clarke shrugs.
“Anything,” she grants easily with a lift of her shoulder. “It occurred to me that I don’t know much about your people at all, and if we’re going to form an alliance, I should at least be familiar with your customs.” It is a good point, and pragmatic, as Anya has come to expect of her. The Alpha exhales, letting her eyes focus on the flames that lick upwards into the night air. Clan culture, of all things, is something she can talk about. Nevertheless, there is a lot of information she could give, and she’s not entirely sure what kind of knowledge Clarke seeks.
“There are twelve clans,” she begins, figuring that’s as good a place to start as any. “Our three biggest are Trikru, Azgeda, and Floukru — the Boat People, I suppose you would say. Each has an ambassador to the Kongeda, which was formed by our current leader, who was my second before the Conclave that chose the new Commander.”
“What’s his name?” Clarke breaks in softly. Anya’s eyes flick to her.
“What?”
“The Commander — what is his name?” Clarke repeats, and Anya can’t repress a small chuckle. Only Skaikru would assume that the Commander is a man.
“Lexa,” is her pointed response, “though you are never to address her as such. To you, and to everyone else for that matter, she is Heda. Heda is always paid the highest degree of respect. She is our strongest and wisest Alpha, and has led us well for more than eight summers now.” Her words are serious, but accompanied by a small grin of amusement. Clarke blinks in surprise.
“Oh,” she says. “She must be older than you, then, to have been leading for so long. Is it common to take a second who is older than you?” Another chuckle escapes the Alpha.
“Not hardly,” Anya says drily. “Heda is scarcely of twenty summers, though age has no bearing on her wisdom or her influence.” Clarke’s eyes have gone wide in the firelight. Anya fixes her with a small smirk out of the corner of her eye, but it’s one that turns curious after a moment’s study. “And you, skai prisa?” she asks. Clarke snaps her attention onto her.
“What about me?” she asks in puzzlement. Anya narrows her eyes inquisitively.
“How many summers have you seen?” she clarifies, and recognition fills Clarke’s eyes.
“Oh!” she responds, shifting her body slightly in the dirt. “Well, I was born in October, so I guess it would be autumns, not summers. And Monty counted six weeks since the drop the other day on the drop ship calendar, and it was September when we left the Ark, which means that my birthday was actually about a week ago. So . . . eighteen,” she finishes. Anya answers with a thoughtful hum.
“Eighteen autumns,” she replies with a slight smile. “Young, but not a yongon any longer.” It’s true; most Omegas experience their first heat and Alphas their first rut by their fifteenth or sixteenth summer, marking them as fully-fledged adults. Clarke lets out a tiny snort.
“Certainly not,” she says derisively. “I stopped being one of those the day my mother sent me down here to die.” Anya winces inwardly at the thought. Privately, though she knows it is important to Clarke that the rest of the Ark people join the Hundred, she hopes that they never do. For their sake.
Beside her, Clarke seems to shake herself, and then fastens her gaze back on Anya with a spark of curiosity in her eyes.
“What about you?” she asks. “How many . . . summers have you seen?” It’s Anya’s turn to let out a little cough of a laugh.
“The year’s first frost marked my twenty-seventh,” she says with a light tone of amusement. “Quite a few more than you, skai goufa.” Clarke sits up straighter at the nickname, her brow pinching.
“Hey,” she complains. “That’s only nine years. It’s not that much.” Anya chuckles.
“I suppose not,” she grants. “It makes a great deal of a difference in ability when it comes to battle, of course, but sixteen summers make one fully grown. You are long considered an adult by my people.” Clarke lets out a grunt, and shifts again, moving closer to the fire to warm her hands. It is nearly time to add the meat to the coals.
“By my people’s laws, I only just came into adulthood,” she replies. “So in a way it’s better than I’m down here,” she adds flatly. “If I’d stayed on the Ark, I would’ve been dead a week ago.” Anya stares.
“What?” The cool shock must be evident in her tone, for Clarke looks up from warming her hands and meets her eyes.
“I thought I mentioned that we’re all criminals,” she reminds the Alpha wryly. “There aren’t enough supplies on the Ark, so anyone who commits a crime over the age of eighteen is executed, but kids get off for a couple years. They just throw you in jail instead, and then when you turn eighteen, your case is re-evaluated. If they decide you’re guilty, you still get executed.” Anya continues to stare, struggling to process the information she just received. Of course, what Clarke is describing is pragmatic to an extent, but she’s bothered nonetheless. It makes sense that there is neither space nor supplies for adult criminals, but children? Surely the Sky People are more civilized than that.
“So you could have been found innocent,” she points out calmly instead of all the other things that are piling up inside her. “They might have let you live.” Clarke lets out a cold laugh.
“No, they wouldn’t have,” she says flatly. “They couldn’t afford to; I was too dangerous to them. My dad realized that the Ark was dying and thought the people had a right to know, and got floated for it. I found out what was going on and said I would tell everyone for him, so they threw me in isolation for a year so that I couldn’t tell anybody. They would’ve had to execute me, because they knew that if they let me out I’d just finish what my dad started.” There’s a cold sort of fire in her eyes, something fierce, and abruptly, Anya feels a surge of admiration. The revelation explains everything — Clarke’s determination, her protectiveness; her sense of justice. This is a woman who would have died in the effort to aid her people.
“I am sure he would be proud of you,” is all that Anya can muster up as a response. It earns her a small, tight smile.
“I hope so,” is all that Clarke says. There’s something final about her tone, and Anya recognizes that that’s all she wishes to say on the matter. The Alpha settles back, feeling the burn of the stitches in her ribs as she shifts. Clarke has given her a lot to absorb and reflect on.
In the silence after she speaks, both of their eyes are drawn to the fire, where the coals have begun to gather and glow red-hot.
It takes less time than Clarke expects for the meat to cook. It fills the air with a wonderful scent along with the woodsmoke, and Clarke can tell that the odor has been absorbed into her hair and will linger there for days. It’s a pleasant change from the cold, dried roots and berries they had at the drop ship, and an even better change from the Ark. Food never smelled so good in space.
She voices it as Anya leans forward to remove the meat from the spit, and the Alpha throws a glance at her as she settles back with the stick on which are strung several large chunks of venison.
“You did not have meat on your Ark?” Anya’s nose is wrinkled in a frown. “What did you eat?” Clarke wrinkles her nose to match; she hasn’t been on the ground long, but she already knows that she could never go back to an Ark diet — not after tasting real food.
“It was a synthetic protein paste, mostly,” she says with a curl of her lips. “We had some real vegetables from Farm Station, but not many.” She cringes a little at the memory. She also notices Anya’s face contorting with displeasure at the thought. The Alpha grimaces.
“That explains why you Skaikru are all so underfed,” she says with a nod of assurance. Clarke frowns and starts to protest, but then closes her mouth abruptly. Anya’s right. All of the delinquents are skinny, the youngest ones too small for their age. From what she’s seen of the grounder warriors, that doesn’t seem to be an issue here. Anya, certainly, though slender, is by no means scrawny. All of the grounders that Clarke has seen so far seem to be well-built.
As she watches, Anya takes a knife from her pocket — one they took from the bunker last night — and begins to cut up the chunks of venison on the spit into slightly smaller pieces. There’s a ridiculous amount of meat considering it’s just the two of them, and the Alpha divides it into pieces a little larger than can fit into both of Clarke’s hands. The meat is nicely grilled, not quite charred black on the outside, and a dark pink in the middle. The Alpha finishes slicing it and straightens up.
Then Anya takes the largest, tenderest hunk of meat off the spit, and offers it to Clarke.
For a moment, Clarke remains frozen, gaping.
“For me?” Her voice is shaky. Anya’s stare is puzzled, and slightly irritated, like she thinks that Clarke must be being purposefully obtuse.
“What do you mean?” the Alpha questions, and Clarke is glad to hear that she manages to keep her voice steady and the bite out of her words. “Of course it is for you.” Clarke shakes her head. A drop of juice drips from the meat and falls, steaming, onto a stone below them with a sizzle.
“You’re an Alpha,” she says with a shrug by way of explanation. “You get the best food, and the most.” Anya’s eyes are wide with shock.
“What?” Clarke flinches at the harshness and volume and turns slightly away. Immediately, Anya seems to recognize her mistake, and her posture loses a little of its aggression. However, when Clarke’s eyes flicker back to her, the lines of her lips are still tight, her eyes wide with shock and outrage. “Who told you that?” she asks sharply, and Clarke’s eyes drop to the ground. The piece of meat is still between them, held aloft in Anya’s outstretched hands.
“No one told me,” she counters with a shrug. “It’s just how it is. Alphas are strongest, so they get the most food, the most comfortable beds; the biggest and best of everything. It’s the way.” Clarke doesn’t miss the low growl that slips from Anya’s lips at the words. It’s an easy truth to speak aloud; it’s the only truth she’s ever known. Suddenly, though, she finds that the ears that are listening make a difference. Somehow, the words that have always been true don’t sound as right. Something about the forest seems to reject them, like there is something in the open air and trees and dirt and fire and Anya — strong, caring Anya — that belies the law that is as old as time.
“Maybe that was the way on your Ark,” Anya says finally, and her words are a low, shaky growl, “but you are on the ground now. Your people had their way of doing things, but you are among my people here, and here, Omegas receive the very best that the spoils of this earth offer. Omegas are given the richest foods and the warmest seats by the fire and the finest furs to line their beds, because to be an Alpha is to yield to the stronger ones who give us life.”
Clarke is stunned. There is no way, simply no possible way, that what she is hearing is correct. It’s all too good to be true. Never in her life has she heard Omegas referred to as the stronger sex. Of course, she could wrangle it if it were twisted into Ark terms, as she could imagine it being — Omegas, in Anya’s words, might be given the warmest seats by the fire, but it would be for their protection as the weaklings of the clan who are unable to fend for themselves. But Anya has made a point to upend that long-held truth as well. The stronger ones who give us life, she called them.
It’s a complete reversal of everything Clarke has been taught for eighteen years, and a split-second is nowhere near long enough to process it.
However, a moment later, her stunned, loud thoughts are interrupted when Anya pushes herself further into her personal space. The Alpha has straightened up from where she was crouching, and is standing over Clarke with the juicy, fragment meat still in her outstretched hands. Somehow, even though she is doing nothing whatsoever to assert dominance, her figure positioned above Clarke in this way feels imposing. Her mocha eyes are troubled, and there is a determined set to her jaw.
“You should eat it,” she says with a nod of her chin that feels like a physical nudge. Clarke only stares, still trying to process what she has just heard. It’s not that the food doesn’t look appetizing; it’s that after so long of being taught one thing, suddenly being told the opposite is a little like having her world upended, and suddenly she doesn’t know which way is up. She continues to gawk at Anya until something in the Alpha’s expression seems to give a little, and her shoulders drop slightly as they lose their tightness. “Please?” she says softly, and then something inside Clarke is melting as an unidentifiable part of her caves.
She swallows, and hesitantly extends her hands and accepts the meat, her fingers shaking.
“Thank you.” She manages to whisper it, and keeps her gaze averted, fastened on the piece of food. Anya’s eyes hold something uninterpretable.
“You are welcome, Klark,” she murmurs, and then steps back to the rock to retrieve her own dinner.
In Clarke’s peripheral vision, she can see Anya glance down at her hands hanging loosely by her sides, where the juice of the venison still lingers on her palms.
From the way the Hundred have presented themselves from the moment of their arrival, Anya deduced that they were not among those on the Skaikru’s Ark who were treated best. She also assumed, judging by their clothing, machines, and the simple fact that they fell out of the sky, that they were a modern people like the Maunon who had knowledge of tek and Old Earth sciences.
She was right to think that Skaikru and the Maunon have commonalities. They have one striking, critical shared trait: their habit of cruelly exploiting those considered underlings and dispensable.
As she chooses her own food from the spit, Anya has to turn away from Clarke to hide her body’s shaking. Her diaphragm is trembling, all of her muscles tight and clenched as she struggles to keep her inner Alpha reigned in. In this moment, it is taking every ounce of her control to not set her own food down, stride back over to the fire, and gather Clarke in her arms and hand-feed her until she is satiated.
Were it not for the fact that she is still desperate to reach Lexa and the rest of her people and bring war to the mountain, she would bring Clarke straight home and care for her, laying her down upon a bed of soft furs and feeding her the best, most nourishing foods from the village until her body grows strong and healthy with weight heavy in her hips. To not do so takes every particle of strength she has over her own urges, and that power is swiftly dwindling. The only thing actually preventing her from acting on her instincts is her fury and sickness over what has happened in the mountain, and her need to prevent it from ever happening again.
Now, it seems, she has a new bout of mistreatment to be sick over. To send a group of unarmed, untrained children down to an unknown world is bad enough, but to live by the rules that Clarke is describing — Alphas get the best of everything! The idea is inconceivable. It is gut-wrenchingly wrong; something in Anya’s heart twists at the thought. An Omega, though more than capable of self-governance and self-protection, should receive nothing less than the best that a clan has to offer. They bring life to the clans and joy to its Alphas; they are nurturers and protectors and fierce fighting spirits.
That the Skaikru doesn’t recognize that speaks to how long they have been trapped in the sky. It is clear that they have been in space for so long that they have lost touch with the earth and the innate, primal understanding of their nature that comes with it. Already, she has observed the Hundred gaining it back in bits and pieces. That, at least, is something to be hopeful about.
Anya is pleased to see that despite her protests, Clarke is wolfing down her portion of the food with vigor. It’s been a long day, and with the kind of energy they’ve had to exert running back and forth from enemies, it’s a wonder that the Omega is still on her feet at all. Anya, too, is feeling the weight of exhaustion. Her shoulders and knees are heavy with it. At the moment, all she wants to do is lie down and rest, but she knows that she has to eat, and to watch Clarke for any sign that the Omega might need something else.
She’s growing antsy in anticipation of their arrival in Tondisi. There, she’ll be able to hand over the reins to Lexa for this war and feel safe back among her own people. She’ll also be able to get Clarke into a warm tent with good food and proper clothing. Lexa will take care of them both — sweet, strong, attentive Lexa, who Anya has a feeling in another world could be just as drawn to this Omega as she is, if not more. As it is, she’ll be furious when she hears of the Skaikru’s treatment of their Omegas.
And the Maunon’s treatment of Anya.
Anya hasn’t let herself think about it a great deal during her waking hours. Her days inside the mountain were undoubtably the worst of her life, and, she thought, the last. It’s a sheer miracle that she managed to escape at all, and she knows that without Clarke’s assistance, she would most definitely be long dead by now.
It’s a sobering thought. No warrior is invincible, and the frequent losses among all of their people bring death a little closer than it probably was in the days of Old Earth or on the Ark, but Anya is one of their strongest. The Alpha has been winning battles since the age of six, effectively creating a path wherever need be and never once failing her Commander as general of the Trikru army. She is virtually unbeatable — except, apparently, by a weak little space Omega in the middle of a mud puddle, though for the moment she’s choosing to ignore that. Clarke is a different case altogether.
That’s an unbelievable understatement.
The understatement, for now, is sitting back on her heels close to the fire, apparently absorbing its warmth as the night air grows chilled. She appears to have finished her dinner, which was a generous portion, but Anya can sense that she isn’t quite fully satiated. Regardless of whether she is or not, the Alpha can’t help herself from wanting to feed the Omega until she’s too full to move. That, and to wrap herself warmly around the smaller body and physically shield her from any dangers the nighttime forest might harbor. Damn Alpha instincts.
There’s a little bit of meat left on the spit.
“Klark.” Anya says it to get her attention; when the Omega glances towards her, her eyes narrow in confusion.
“What is it, Anya?” The weight of her full attention suddenly feels more significant than when she wasn’t looking at her, and Anya swallows, but holds up the little cut of meat.
“You should have the rest,” she offers as nonchalantly as possible. Clarke gives her a look like she knows exactly what she’s thinking, and Anya thinks that she probably does. Clarke may be new to interpreting grounder Alpha actions, but she has intuition of her own to help her navigate them, and she clearly isn’t stupid.
“You don’t have to feed me till I’m stuffed just because I just told you I’ve been undernourished all my life,” she says wryly, and ouch; no, she definitely isn’t stupid. Anya feels slightly affronted at being so blatantly called out, but she keeps a hold of herself regardless. Keeping her face carefully composed, she straightens her back and meets the Omega’s eyes solidly.
“Actually, I do,” she says easily. Clarke opens her mouth as if to protest, but Anya cuts across her before she can get the words out. “Klark. Please. I understand that you are not used to being treated well by Alphas, but if you are to remain on the ground, you will have to get accustomed to it. I will not sit idly by and do nothing while you could be more comfortable. It may be difficult for you to grasp, but caring for Omegas is what Alphas do. It is the way.” The repetition of her own words doesn’t go over Clarke’s head, and the Omega allows a wry grin.
“You’re not going to let this one go, are you?” she asks, and there’s something half-teasing about her words. Her eyes, though, are serious, and she studies Anya with a look in her eyes that’s almost knowing. Anya meets her gaze and stares back just as steadily.
“No,” she says quietly. “I am not.” The words come out lower than she intends, and suddenly, the air feels thicker between them. For a moment, there is silence but for the soft crackling of the flames, and the space between them seems warmer than just the heat of the fire could render it. Somehow, it feels like the three feet of forest floor between them spans mere inches, and yet somehow it still isn’t close enough. For a moment while they hold eye contact, it feels like neither of them are breathing.
Then Clarke blinks and glances back down at the fire, and seeing that it has died down a little, uses a nearby stick to prod at the coals.
When she turns back, Anya is so close to her that she jumps. In the quiet between them, the Alpha can hear her heart racing from being startled. She holds a small piece of meat in her hands, one of the better morsels that she sliced carefully from the bone.
“Just one piece?” she murmurs. “For me?” She doesn’t miss the way that Clarke’s eyes jump from her face to her lips and back again when she speaks the words. For a moment, the Omega seems to be hesitating, uncertain.
Then, slowly, she nods, and a soothed warmth fills Anya’s chest. She scoots closer, and before the blonde can protest, she leans forward and presses the bite of meat to Clarke’s lips, urging them to open.
Clarke seems to respond before she even knows what she’s doing, opening her mouth automatically and allowing the Alpha to feed her. As she closes her mouth, her lips brush smooth fingertips, and Anya feels her eyes snap to sky blue at the sensation of soft lips beneath her touch. She sees heat blossom beneath Clarke’s skin at the recognition of what has just occurred, and a moment later, Clarke pulls back several inches to stare at the ground with burning cheeks.
“That’s not fair,” she whispers, and Anya takes a small measure of satisfaction in noting that her voice is shaking. It’s hard to restrain her amusement at the petulant response.
“What is not fair?” she replies curiously. It’s hard to keep from sounding like a placating elder speaking to a sulking yongon.
Clarke’s hands are busy drawing lines in the dirt with the fire stick.
“That — what you just did,” she persists with a measure more of a childish whine in her tone. “‘Just one piece, for me, Clarke’ — you know that being an Omega makes me want to please you, and then you feed me like that and it’s all so sweet and nurturing, and of course I’m going to do anything you ask when you give me those pretty doe eyes and that little coaxing plea to do it for you, because you’re an Alpha and a good one at that, and you know damn well that my Omega instincts are just going to kick in and try to take control.”
“What if I want them to?” The words are out Anya’s mouth in an unintentional rush, and she should probably cringe, but the moment she hears them, it hits her how true they are. She wants Clarke to be able to give in to being an Omega without fear; with joy. As such, against her better instincts, she doesn’t supply any further explanation. There is a moment of silence. Beside her, Clarke is open-mouthed.
“What?” she breaks the silence after a moment in disbelief. She sounds stunned, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Anya doesn’t give her any reprieve, instead choosing to hold eye contact as steadily as she can.
“What if I want them to?” she repeats. The second time, she finds that the words have more confidence.
Clarke appears to be lost for words.
“That’s — Anya, I . . .” she trails off with a cough, not seeming to know how to respond. She looks a little uncomfortable, if the red in her cheeks is any indicator to go by, and Anya backs off, realizing that she may have gone too far.
“Never mind,” she dismisses it smoothly, with a casualness that doesn’t match the tightness in her belly. “It is nothing.” Brushing her palms on her pant legs, she rises to her feet. “It is, however, late,” she adds, and there’s a businesslike tone back in her voice that feels like it’s slipped in automatically with the loss of closeness. “We should get some sleep if we plan to rise early and make it to Tondisi before noon tomorrow.”
With that, she moves to the tree where she laid her pack she made up in the bunker this morning, and gingerly lowers herself to the ground. A thin blanket from the bunker serves as a cover. Once she has located a sufficient place to lie without knocking herself with a root or a stone, she pulls the pack towards her and arranges it as comfortably as she can beneath her head as a makeshift pillow.
As soon as she’s settled, her gaze falls back to Clarke, who, she sees, has taken her at her word and made up her own bed several feet away. Though her pack looks to make a significantly less comfortable pillow, she is close enough to the fire to absorb some of its warmth. A moment later, she too has settled, and Anya allows her eyes to close in satisfaction at the determination that they are safe enough for now.
“Good night, Anya.” Clarke’s quiet voice reaches her on the same breath of air as the strong scent of the needles on which they’ve made their bed. Anya grunts, weariness already overtaking her as her body sinks into the hard ground.
“Reshop, Klark.” Silence falls over them, broken only by the light whispering of the breeze in the treetops above them. It’s a peaceful night, if a bit cold, and Anya revels in the feeling of the air against her cheekbones and the scent of pine and earth in her hair, the press of the dirt against her back. After days locked in a cage anticipating death, believing that her last sight would be white concrete walls, the open air is paradise.
Clarke, she knows, grew up within steel walls, so the ground must have been a shock to her system at first. Now, though, after roughly six weeks on the ground, she too appears to be ecstatic to be back out in nature. Anya is desperately, painfully aware of her own upbringing, of growing up in the dirt and grass and trees and water beneath the open sky. The land runs through her blood. Then again, it must have been horrible for Clarke, who finally got to experience the freedom of Earth, to be shut up again in a steel bunker.
Maybe it stems from different places, but she supposes that they’re equally relieved. It’s another thing to add to their list of similarities. Two days ago, Anya would have balked at the notion of herself having anything in common with this skai goufa. But things are different now; Clarke has saved her life — on more than one occasion. She’s reassured Anya, and fed her, protected her, healed her; she’s proposed an alliance with an enemy on the basis of her interactions with Anya.
Circumstances have undoubtably been altered. In the space of fewer than thirty-six hours, they have gone from enemies to allies. They have even, dare she say it, grown friendly with one another. And yes, some of it is undoubtably due to the fact that both of them have behaved in ways traditional of their status, which has helped to foster trust and companionship. When she thinks about it, though, Anya can’t help but feel that there’s more to it than that.
Neither of them has done anything untoward, and there is nothing about their behavior to suggest that there is anything more to this companionship than a simple alliance.
But Anya remembers the fascination with which Clarke listened to the explanation of the clans, her bright-eyed interest in what Anya has to say. She thinks of the way the Omega has handled her, so carefully, so attentively, while treating her injuries. She recalls the look in Clarke’s eyes as Anya held the bite of meat to her lips, and the odd flutter in her own chest that accompanied it.
It may be true that neither of them have done anything so far but act in the manner of companionable allies. But whatever the circumstances, Anya cannot deny that as Clarke’s lips brushed her fingertips, something in the air was immeasurably altered. It is likely that whatever it was will go ignored — there is a war to wage, after all — but the shift that took place felt almost physical.
It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but something has changed between them.
Clarke awakens to a rustling; cracking her eyes open, she sees Anya getting to her feet, and takes the sudden rush of cold air against her side to indicate that the two of them rolled close to each other in the night. Huh. Clarke doesn’t exactly find the realization surprising, but it’s interesting considering . . . whatever that was last night.
Before she has much time to contemplate the thought much further, however, Clarke is startled as something soft hits her in the face. Grumbling, she removes the backpack to find Anya staring down at her with an eyebrow quirked expectantly.
“The sun rose twenty minutes ago,” the warrior informs her without preamble. “We should be walking already.” Clarke blinks up at the sky, which is only just beginning to turn rosy.
“Good morning, Clarke,” she says pointedly. “Did you sleep well? I did, Anya, thank you; good morning to you too.” Anya doesn’t seem amused. In fact, there’s a tension about her face that suggests desperation, and if it were anyone else, Clarke would wonder if she were about to cry.
“We need to go,” Anya insists, and her words are as tense as her jaw. “We have already lost a night of travel, and every second we spend delaying is another potential life lost. We must reach Tondisi before noon.”
“Okay, okay.” Clarke tries to alter her tone into something soothing rather than irritated, sensing that now is not the moment for teasing. “Let me roll up my blanket and I’ll be ready to go, all right?” With that, she rolls over, and within a minute or so is on her feet with her backpack on her shoulders. She’s ready to start off when she notices Anya wincing, holding a hand to her side. Instantly, Clarke is beside her, lifting up the bottom of the Alpha’s shirt to take in the sight of blood-soaked bandages. “I’m sorry,” she coos, “I should have remembered to change your bandages last night. You must be so uncomfortable.”
Anya keeps her face impassive.
“I will be fine,” she dismisses stiffly, but Clarke, it seems, is having none of it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she counters. “It will only take me a minute, and I won’t have you walking around in bloody bandages all day; you’ll give yourself an infection if you don’t already have one.” Anya stares at her, her expression carefully blank. Then, after a moment, something in her eyes seems to soften.
“All right,” she allows. Then she drops her gaze purposefully to Clarke’s midsection. “But you will change yours, too. I will not let you forget your own health when you are so attentive to mine,” she says firmly. Clarke studies her, letting her eyes rove back and forth across the Alpha’s face. Though it is arranged into a careful expression of nonchalance, it’s clear to her that Anya is concerned.
“Okay,” she grants easily. “I’ll do mine right after yours. Arms up?” she prompts with a little nudge to the elbows. Obediently, Anya raises her arms, a slight wince betraying her discomfort.
It only takes a little longer than the promised minute to strip the old, dirty bandages from Anya’s ribs, clean the wound gently, and replace the blood-caked strips of fabric with clean ones torn from the bottom of Clarke’s blanket. Despite the rather alarming amount of blood on the bandages, she is relieved to discover that Anya’s wounds don’t seem to be showing any signs of infection. As she gently wipes them clean, she finds that her hands linger, her fingertips brushing against the warm skin.
The small puncture marks in Anya’s skin are the Mountain Men’s doing, as is the place where the tracker was ripped from her skin. However, the wound in her side, the deep one, was caused by Clarke’s knife, and the small cuts on her face by her knuckles. As she cleans them, smoothing away the dried blood between sharp eyebrows while Anya watches her steadily, Clarke feels her chest tighten with guilt. She knows that things between them were very different two days ago; after all, Anya was just as eager to kill her as she was to kill Anya.
Now, though, things have changed, and Clarke can’t help the surge of emotion that rises in her at the thought of having harmed this Alpha — this fierce, kind Alpha who in the past twelve hours alone has treated Clarke better than any other Alpha ever has in her eighteen years of life. She knows that striking out was an act of self-preservation, but now her hands shake at the thought of hurting this woman who now her instincts only scream at her to defend.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” The words escape her in a whisper. Clarke’s throat feels suddenly tight as her fingertips shake against the warrior’s temples. She casts her eyes downward, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.
Warm hands catch her wrists, and Clarke’s gaze flies back upwards to find Anya watching her with soft eyes.
“And I, you, skai prisa,” Anya responds smoothly, and her words are like a cool balm on the pain in Clarke’s chest. “But your apologies are unnecessary. You were fighting for your life, and you fought well. I only hope that you know that you have nothing to fear from me now.” Her eyebrows are raised imploringly, and suddenly, Clarke finds that it’s difficult to hold eye contact. Anya’s gaze feels like its x-raying her, like if Clarke lets her look for too long she’ll see more than she ought to see.
“Nothing but your irresistibility,” the Omega mutters under her breath as she steps away, and she sees a slender eyebrow lift in response.
“What?” The set of Anya’s lips is amused, like she knows exactly what Clarke said despite the low volume.
“Nothing,” Clarke says quickly. Stepping back further, she clears her throat loudly in an attempt to dispel its tightness. “Never mind, Anya. I’ll just re-wrap my bandages and then we can go, okay?” She feels a little desperate to maintain an aura of calm, but from the way Anya’s smirking, she’s pretty sure it’s clear that she’s failing spectacularly. Whatever — it’s fine. Clarke is fine.
“All right.” Anya’s lips quirk into the tiniest of grins, and it registers that this is the first time Clarke has seen her display any semblance of a smile. It’s small, but something about it makes the Omega’s stomach tighten.
Clarke is definitely not fine.
To Anya’s great relief, the morning passes largely without incident. The mountains make for hard going, particularly with both of them injured, but they manage to make decent time.
Anya is glad. She has spent the majority of the past two days focused on her all-consuming need to reach Tondisi and relay the news of their peoples’ demise to Lexa and the rest of the Trikru army. The Coalition ambassadors from the other eleven clans will need to be summoned, and a war council formed. They will also, she realizes, need to communicate with the rest of Clarke’s people who have managed to remain outside the mountain, as she does not presume the Omega to have all of the requisite knowledge of Maunon technology on her own.
No; this war will require cooperation from all sides, which, given recent events with the Hundred and not-so recent history with some of the other clans, may take some time. That is part of why it is so important that they get this process started immediately. The math is simple: the more time they waste, the more of their people die, and Anya is already haunted by enough ghosts to last a lifetime. She also won’t deny that she’ll be enormously relieved to be back in the company of Lexa, if for purely selfish reasons. Her time in the mountain has left her fearful and deeply troubled, but being near Lexa will help to assuage that; Anya will of course lead her army into battle, but there is simply no conceivable way that Lexa will allow that sort of harm to come to her again.
By the time they come to the creek that marks the outer reaches of Tondisi, the sun has nearly reached its highest point. They’ve been walking for hours nonstop, and Anya is surprised and impressed that Clarke has voiced so few complaints. It occurs to her that perhaps the Omega is simply quiet in her exhaustion. The journey has not been easy, and it especially must not have been so for this skayon who is injured and has so little experience with forest terrain. Nevertheless, Clarke has remained upbeat as far as the circumstances allow, so that by the time they come to the small river, the only complaint Anya has heard so far this morning is one about a snake that surprised them farther back along the path.
At the sight of the river, though, Clarke balks, and her face grows pale.
“Um, Anya,” she says cautiously as the warrior studies the best way to cross. “Do we have to — is there a bridge we can use?” Her casual words have an uneasy edge to them, but Anya doesn’t really register it. Busy calculating the shallowest route, she shakes her head.
“Not here. The nearest bridge is a good five miles east; it would put us well off-track. The fastest way is straight through — it is only a mile and a half from here to the gates of the village,” she explains distractedly. “To swim will be much faster.” She expects to hear some kind of acknowledgement, so when her words are met with nothing but stiff silence, it occurs to her that something is wrong. Having chosen the safest route across, she turns back to see Clarke staring at the river with an expression of fixed horror. “Klark?” she questions curiously. The Omega’s eyes snap to her face.
“That can’t be safe!” Clarke protests disbelievingly. “There are monsters in the water — I know, I’ve seen them; one of them almost killed Octavia. It would have taken her if Jasper hadn’t jumped in and pulled her to shore!” She looks so terrified that as much as Anya wants to find her fear amusing, she can’t bring herself to be so mean.
“I understand,” she acknowledges with a nod instead. “The water snakes are very large, and they can kill you, yes, but they lurk only in the deepest waters. This section of the river is much too shallow for them,” she explains. The water is indeed shallow here, enough so that the bottom — and its absence of monsters — is easily visible. Slowly, Clarke nods, though she doesn’t look much persuaded by the reassurance. “This is the narrowest part of the river, as well,” Anya adds to help ease her mind. “Do you see how deep the sand bar extends into the current? It will not even be necessary to swim very far.” Again, Clarke’s face appears to grow tight.
“That doesn’t exactly help,” she counters ruefully. Anya cannot stop herself from raising an eyebrow.
“Why not?” she wants to know. Clarke is biting her lip. For a moment, she seems to deliberate, drawing the toe of her shoe back and forth through the gravel like a small child.
“I uh — I can’t swim,” she admits quietly, and her cheeks flare with embarrassment. “None of us from the Ark can.” From the way she holds her shoulders, it’s clear that she’s expecting chastisement. It’s a fair expectation — after all, Anya spent their entire escape two days ago berating her for being clumsy, slow, and inept.
What she clearly doesn’t expect is the shrug that Anya gives.
“That is fine,” Anya says nonchalantly. “I will carry you, then.”
Clarke blinks.
“You’ll . . . what?” she parrots, and Anya lifts her eyebrows at her pointedly.
“I said I will carry you, Klark,” she repeats. “I believe the water is shallow enough that I will be able to stand the entire way, even if you will not.” Then she pauses, a thought occurring to her. “Unless . . . that is not agreeable?” she adds.
She has never seen anyone react so fast as when Clarke shakes her head.
“No, no! That’s fine! That’s — more than fine that’s — yeah. Okay. Thank you,” she concludes, blushing wildly at her failed attempt at coherence. Anya has to fight to restrain a chuckle at the Omega’s fumbling. Whatever the sky girl’s ferocity, she has noticed that Clarke tends to grow easily flustered.
It’s almost cute.
“All right, then,” she concludes. Without further ado, she toes off her shoes and shrugs out of her jacket, leaving only the mesh wrapping from the mountain as covering. A moment later, her pants follow, and she bends over to tie the items into a bundle. From this position, bent over, she can’t see Clarke’s startled expression, but she can hear the Omega spluttering.
“What — what are you doing?” Clarke stammers, and Anya glances up at her with a significant look.
“Removing my clothing — what does it look like?” she replies evenly. Clarke’s eyes are wide.
“But — why?” she protests. Her expression is twisted with wild confusion, and Anya cannot help but smirk as she rises back to her feet.
“I do not speak for you, but I would rather not make the rest of this journey in sopping wet clothes,” she explains with a meaningful eyebrow raise. “But if you would, then by all means, remain dressed.” She tries her hardest to restrain her smirk from growing visible, but she has a feeling that she’s doing rather poorly, if the blush in Clarke’s cheeks is anything to go by. The poor girl appears frozen, and her eyes dart back and forth before settling somewhere roughly a foot above Anya’s head. She doesn’t move, staring determinedly at the wall of trees across the river, and for a moment, Anya thinks that she might actually remain fully clothed, after all.
Then as she watches, Clarke swallows, and slowly leans over to unlace her shoes.
It only takes a moment before the Omega is straightening up, bare but for her underwear and odd sky chest binding, and suddenly, Anya is the one who can’t seem to find a safe place to look. She feels a little ridiculous fastening her gaze elsewhere; Anya isn’t a virginal yongon, for spirit’s sake, and they’re going to be touching in a moment anyway. Nonetheless, she can’t seem to get her eyes to stop straying, and it feels . . . not inappropriate, but certainly not like a good idea.
“ . . . All right,” she decides, still struggling to keep her gaze restricted to appropriate locations. “You will carry the clothing bundles, and I will carry you, and with any luck we will keep them at least partially dry,” she explains. She chances a glance back at Clarke, and finds the blonde staring directly at her, eyes wide.
So much for propriety.
“Klark?” Anya raises her voice when her words garner no response. At the sound of her name, Clarke’s eyes snap up to the Alpha’s face, and Anya can’t restrain a chuckle. It’s clear that Clarke hasn’t heard a word she’s said. “The clothes?” she prompts with a nod towards the two bundles. The Omega follows her line of vision, and her cheeks flush deep red.
“Right,” she says sheepishly. “Sorry. I got . . . distracted. By the water,” she tries to clarify when Anya merely grins in response. The Alpha lets out a snort.
“Whatever you say, skai prisa,” she says lightly. “Now, are you going to get in my arms or not?” If possible, Clarke’s cheeks grow even redder at the question.
“I — yeah, okay,” she breathes out heavily. “I mean, yes.” As Anya continues to grin at her, she gathers up the two bundles of clothing and draws a deep breath. She locks eyes with the Alpha. “Shall we?”
At Anya’s nod, she moves forward, and the two of them step into the water.
It’s cold at this time of year, and Anya can feel goosebumps break out the moment the water hits her flesh. They’re only in up to their ankles here, but already, she’s anticipating the cold dunk. She knows she was right earlier — at the deepest part of the river here, she should still be able to stand, so as long as the current isn’t too strong, she’ll be able to hold onto Clarke with no problem. Of all the crossings they could have come to, this is one of the easiest.
Ignoring the chill, Anya wades out until the water is nearly at her waist. When it reaches the bottom of the bandages guarding the cut on her ribs, she pauses, but only for a moment. Their bandages will get wet, which isn’t ideal, but there isn’t a great deal that they can do to prevent it. Once they have reached the village, Nyko will be able to tend to them.
“All right,” she calls to Clarke, turning to beckon her farther out. The Omega is still only up to her knees, and clutching the clothing bundles to her chest as she shivers.
“Cold,” she grumbles through gritted teeth. Anya presses her lips together.
“You will be thankful, then, for the dry clothing once we reach the other side,” she says pointedly. “Now get out here and get in my arms so that neither of us freeze for any longer than we have to.” A moment later, it hits her how her words sounded. Judging by the look on Clarke’s face, she’s not the only one who’s noticed, but Clarke doesn’t appear to be in any mood to tease. Wading out a little further, she manages to get close enough for Anya to be within touching distance.
“So . . . how do we do this?” she asks awkwardly through a shiver. Anya rolls her eyes. A few minutes ago, she would have been more tolerant of the Omega’s apparent discomfort, but she’s cold, and tired, and the water seeping through her bandages hurts. She wants to get to the village now and end this nonsense.
“Simple,” she tells her. “You wrap your arms around my neck, and your legs around my waist. I carry you. You do not drop the clothing. It is not difficult.” Her words aren’t quite snappish, but they’re brusque enough that Clarke seems to sense that this is not a moment for dallying. Obediently, she moves closer. For a moment, she seems to hesitate, her eyes darting back and forth between the two shores.
Then she takes a deep breath, appearing to steel herself, and moving quickly through the water, she reaches Anya and latches on.
The moment their bodies are touching, Anya realizes her mistake. It’s not an issue of balance, or of strength; she’s more than strong enough to keep them both afloat, despite the pain of Clarke’s knee digging into the stitches in her ribcage. They will make it safely across.
No, it’s the simple fact that the very instant Clarke presses her bare skin to Anya’s, an electric thrill runs through her body, and every other thought leaves Anya’s mind in a rush.
Clarke is warm, the sensation a sharp contrast to the icy chill of the water. She is warm everywhere: in her arms, wrapped around Anya’s neck, in her face tucked against the Alpha’s throat. She’s warm where her ankles are hooked around the small of Anya’s back, and most painfully of all where the juncture of her thighs presses into Anya’s abs. The weight of the Omega in her arms feels right, the press of her body stirring up parts of Anya that have long laid dormant. It’s wonderful, it’s torturous, and Anya doesn’t ever want it to end, which means that it needs to be over as soon as humanly possible.
Despite the sizable distance, it seems like seconds before Anya is stumbling into shallower water and up onto the bank. The moment her feet hit dry earth, she drops Clarke away from her and steps back on unsteady legs.
This is worse than she thought.
Despite her urge to contemplate it, though, Anya swiftly puts it out of her mind. There will be time later to consider again just exactly how inadvisable this is, but now is not the time. Now that the final barrier is out of the way, Tondisi finally seems within reach. They only have a little over a mile to go before they reach the guarded walls of the village. Were it not for her rather deplorable condition, Anya would run the entire distance.
As it is, she dresses at top speed, trying not to watch as Clarke struggles to force her wet body into her clothes. She’s still hopping on one foot trying to get her shoe on when Anya has finished and crossed her arms, waiting impatiently. The minute she’s ready to go, the warrior takes off, leaving the Omega to follow her as best she can through the wall of the forest where the prickers are the thickest without getting whacked in the face.
Despite Anya’s hurry, it takes a little longer than she would like for them to reach the hillock that marks the boundary of the village. They’re both exhausted, after all, and carrying Clarke through the water took a little more out of her than Anya would care to admit. Her ribs are smarting, her shoulders are aching, and there’s definitely a blister forming on her foot. On top of it all, the days and nights of food and sleep deprivation and blood loss are catching up, leaving her woozy and weak on her feet.
It’s all right now, though. They’ve made it. There are friends and allies here, and weapons, and people who can share in her misery and help plan a siege against the mountain.
And there’s Lexa.
With that last, joyous thought rising in her mind, it’s like a weight lifts off of Anya’s chest. She straightens up from where she’s leaning against the back of a tree, and with the thought in mind that she will see Lexa in just a few minutes, Anya seizes Clarke’s hand to drag her with her, moves out from behind the supporting tree, and steps forward.
The arrow is embedded in her shoulder before she can take a second step.
Anya stumbles back with a high-pitched cry, but before she can even fully register what’s happened, there’s a dull rip of impact, and Clarke is doubling over beside her with an arrow in her thigh and letting out a yelp to match.
Rapidly, Anya steps back, scanning the trees around them for enemies as a shout echoes from somewhere nearby. Then another arrow rips by her, embedding itself in a nearby tree, and she realizes where they’re coming from and why in the same instant.
This is no enemy attack; these are Lexa and Indra’s sentries, posted on guard at the gates to Tondisi. At this distance, they are too far away for them to recognize Anya, and no wonder they don’t stop to second guess it. She led her soldiers into battle against the Hundred a week ago, she their finest warrior, and hasn’t been seen since. As far as they are concerned, she was either burned in the drop ship fire or taken along with the Hundred by the Maunon. In either case, she will have long been assumed dead; they can’t see her from this distance anyway, but knowing what they know of her demise, they won’t be looking very closely. She has arrived at the perimeter of a major Trikru village wearing clothes taken from the mountain, accompanied by the known leader of the Sky People.
It’s a wonder she’s not dead already.
Mind scrambling to find a way to let them know it is she who has returned, Anya ducks to avoid being hit by the next volley of arrows. She successfully manages to get low enough to avoid contact, but it’s too late. A sharp cry announces that Clarke has been hit again, this time in the upper arm. Fury and panic rise in tandem in Anya’s chest, and she moves up to where Clarke is bent double. In her slightly blurred vision, she can see several of the archers descending from the wall, and though she doesn’t want them to improve their accuracy, she hopes that they can get close enough to identify her before they fire a killing shot.
“Get down, Klark!” she orders as she swerves to the side to avoid getting hit again. “They do not know you are with me, they think you are the enemy — get behind the tree so they cannot aim at you.” Clarke whimpers, and for a moment, Anya thinks she’s going to have to drag her to safety. But then the Omega is moving, twisting her body out of the way of another shot — but she’s moving in the wrong direction, towards Anya instead of away from her where the tree can form a shield.
Already in motion, Clarke turns abruptly and folds into Anya’s front before the Alpha can stop her. Without hesitation, she presses inwards, burying herself in Anya’s chest. Her head tucks beneath her chin, nestling their fronts together as her arms come up to curl against Anya’s chest and shoulders.
For a moment, Anya gapes in furious bewilderment, unable to believe that after all of this, the stupid sky girl isn’t even going to try to defend herself, instead relying on her injured, exhausted companion to do all of the work.
Then Clarke’s hand moves to curl into a fist over the Alpha’s heart as the arrows fly faster, tucking her head in deeper to block the front of her throat, and understanding comes to Anya with a gut-wrenching tug to the heartstrings. A small, harder-to-trace flutter in her belly follows.
Clarke is protecting her.
Anya can feel the hitch in her own breath with the realization. Clarke has strategically positioned herself in front of the Alpha so that Anya is protected from a direct hit — if someone takes a shot at her throat, her chest, or her stomach, Clarke’s own body will block the arrow’s impact. It’s the realization of the significance that has Anya’s chest fluttering. What Clarke has done is an ancient Omega instinct, deeply rooted in unconscious commitment and a desire to protect one’s Alpha. She’s only ever seen it in battle between bonded mates, and only rarely at that.
Some things are animal instinct, but other acts, like this, are even more deeply ingrained. In moments of danger, one’s most inner self takes control. Clarke may not be aware of what she’s doing, but her Omega is.
“Hod op!” The shout rings out down the gully. Through her bleary eyes, Anya can see that the archers have lowered their bows. One in front — she thinks it’s Indra — is holding her hand up in the air to signal the others to stop. “Emo nou laik Skaikru!” The woman takes the rest of the short distance up the hillock at a jog until she is close enough that Anya can make out her face.
Indra.
“Indra,” Anya chokes out, and in the moment the words escape her lips, she becomes aware of just how bad of shape she’s in. The pain from the arrow in her shoulder is immense, and all of her previous exhaustion is hitting her like a wall. Difficult to support, too, is the sudden weight of Clarke, who seems to have gone partially limp in her arms. A quick assessment, more based on an odd sixth sense than visual information, informs her that despite her fears, the Omega has not been critically hit. Likely, the shock of her wounds and the sudden takeover by her Omega instincts has driven her into a state of shock.
Anya doesn’t feel too far off, herself.
“You’re alive.” Indra’s words are a statement more than anything else. “Keryon, Onya, we thought you dead. Heda is coming; we must get you within the walls now. Who is this with you?” Anya’s head lolls backwards a little before she can stop it.
“Klark,” she gasps out, and finds that the word uses up most of the air in her chest. “Do not — harm . . .” she fumbles, the world suddenly going grey at the edges. Indra stoops low to grab her beneath her armpits.
“Do not pass out on me now, Seken,” she orders gruffly. “Tristan! Get down here, now! Help me bring them through the gates!” A scuffling, and the tall, bald-headed warrior is beside them, peering into Anya’s tunnel vision worriedly. Without further words, the two steady Anya and begin to pull them down the short hill. When Clarke is pulled from her arms, Anya lurches, her hands scrabbling at empty air.
“Nou!” The exclamation is her own, but to her ears, it appears to come from far away as the rest of her senses begin to fade. “Bash nou em op . . . Indra, do not — do not hurt her — ” Anya manages to mumble, and she’s reasonably confident that Indra has heard her. She’s struggling not to lose consciousness, but her eyes are closing of their own accord, and she doesn’t think that she can hold on for much longer.
There’s a shout, and the sound of a crowd parting as the gates to the village grind open. The world dips, then sways, and Anya knows she is about to black out.
Then cool fingers are grasping her chin, tilting her head upwards, and she can make out the blurry outline of small, pretty features and charcoal warpaint as green eyes narrow in concern.
“Anya?” Lexa’s voice calls to her worriedly.
Anya’s eyes roll back in her head, and everything goes black.
|
They’d given up the house in Palawan, of course, since Raquel had followed the details of Plan Paris and given as much truthful information as possible to the judge in order to gain their trust.
A cove on a small semi-private island off the coast of Nicaragua was their home now. The sun shone as brightly, the air was as humid, the fresh fruit as delicious and the tropical storms gathered just as often in the Corn Islands as it had in Palawan.
It hadn’t been easy to relocate and then settle as quickly as they did after the second heist wrapped up - but luckily the caretakers Sergio had contracted years in advance had been able to safely deliver Raquel’s mother, daughter, many of their sentimental possessions and even their cat from their time in the Philippines via cargo plane to meet Sergio and Raquel in a port town in Morocco, where they had then boarded a ship headed for the Caribbean.
The reunion between mothers and daughters had been sweet - there had been so many moments when Raquel had been sure she would never see them again. Paula had slept with her mother for the entire journey by boat, sometimes with Sergio sharing the bunk with them, but mostly he sat in a chair beside them, watching them sleep, praying to any gods listening to help him be worthy of their love. Sergio knew that Paula could never safely see Alberto again, for many reasons, and he felt deeply the weight of that responsibility to be a father figure to her. He felt the weight of the decision that Raquel had made in his favor. And while every inch of him ached to be as close to Raquel as possible at all times, he could not begrudge her this time to dedicate to reestablishing her relationship with Paula, after all the young girl had been through, with no say on her own behalf.
Raquel ached to be near him in the same way, so even though she spent every possible moment with Paula and let her share the bed, she could often communicate clandestine plans to meet Sergio in inventive places around the ship to whisper tenderly to each other, hold each other close, make love when possible.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this pleasant interlude, Inspectora?” he’d murmured into her ear between hot kisses one afternoon, after closing the door to the storage room where she had whispered to him to meet her.
“I heard what you called me this morning to the Captain,” she had teased, one hand behind his neck to draw him closer to her lips while reaching her other hand for the belt that held up his pants.
“Ah . . . what’s that?” Sergio asked, his mind trying desperately to reel back through all the conversations he had had that day, but caught off guard by her haste. He tried to control his breathing while reaching for the hem of her sweater and pulling it over her head. She growled as her hand was pulled away from its target for the moment, but then reached back down to quickly unbutton her pants to pull them down and then reached for his, resuming her ministrations, feeling him grow harder in her hand.
She grinned into their kiss. “‘Mi mujer’ you said. You’re surprisingly adorable sometimes.” She kissed him again, moving her mouth from his lips to his jawline, his neck, up to the sensitive spot behind his ears. “You’ve never said that to me . . .”
The weight of her words hit him and he stilled under her touch. “Um.” His stillness against the pressure of her kisses pushed him up against the door. She pulled back to look at him.
“What?” she asked. “Do you not remember saying it? Because I happen to have excellent hearing and I know I heard it at least twice.”
“Well.” His eyes darted around the room for a moment. “Well, yes, I did say that in reference to you.”
Raquel pulled back to look at him, confusion and amusement warring over the features of her face even as her eyelids were heavy lidded with desire. “Sergio, do you think I have a problem with you calling me this?”
“Well - “
“Or is it - ” she shifted her mouth away from his body. “Do you have a problem with you calling me this?” she asked, more seriously now, pulling back and placing her hands firmly at her side, angling her head up to look at him. “Did you not - was it a mistake?” she asked, her voice cracking a bit.
“No, no no no, it's not that, it's not,” he said quickly, realizing he’d given a strange reaction, shaking his head and reaching to smooth her hair behind her ears to look her in the eyes and hold her in place. He could see the shadow of a tear forming in her eye and he placed a hand on her waist. “Raquel, I only am embarrassed because . . . well, of course I think of you so closely, as my partner, my other half, my - “
“Wife?” she supplied in a whisper that was a question and an accusation in one..
“Yes, as close as that. But you know that I have never had a proper relationship. I have never said to anyone, have never been in, well. As you know. I have never . . . proposed to you . . . and . . . I haven’t asked your permission to call you such, and so I am sorry that I said - that I presumed - I hope that you aren’t upset, because I know that you are fully capable of being on your own, but - “
Raquel moved her fingers over his lips to stop him from speaking further, trying to take away some of his stuttering embarrassment. She shook her head at him, her expression full of feeling.
“Stop - Sergio - I’ve left everything to be with you. I’d leave it again. Call me what you want. I liked being called mi mujer. Because I do feel that - in all the ways that are important. Okay?”
His eyes still darted around the small room. “So, it’s okay? Because I can think of other words, but they don’t seem enough, or there are other words, but not that I would share with - with the world, just - just when talking to you,” he stammered.
Raquel smiled softly at him; this complex man, who has spent so much of his life in a hospital bed, too smart for his own good, his heart and mind constantly aching for something better for the good of the world, his whole family dead long before their time. “You can call me what you want. If our lives weren’t what they are, I’ve love to hear you sing it from the rooftops that you thought of me this way. Or maybe just play me something on the piano.” They grinned at each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes for long minutes before leaning in to express what they were feeling with deep kisses. "Just make it worth it, mm?" she asked.
“Vale," he nodded. "I can - I will do that." He leaned in to kiss her again, pressing and pulling her to him as close as he could.
"But what shall I call you?” she asked, pulling back as they both gasped for air. “What do you prefer?” her hands slid back around him, grasping at the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head, then reaching for her bra. Her lips found the skin behind his ears, pressed into his beard, ran down his neck. She felt his growing hardness against her thigh and leaned her body into it, grinding slowly as her mouth and hands continued to roam over the exposed parts of his skin she could reach. “Professor - Sergio - mi amor - what should I call you?” she asked again, undulating her hips against his.
“Yours,” he whispered, overcome with love for her, her understanding, intelligence, the chemistry that coursed through them. “I am yours.”
His arms went around her body and he spun them quickly so her back was to the door before he hitched his arms under her legs for leverage. Hands scrabbled to remove and adjust clothing.
There were no coherent words for a long time after that.
|
“Your village is beautiful.”
Jin slowed down his steps and turned to the tall, blond alpha that had been hovering behind him for the duration of the walk. They had split into groups after the Jeon Pack had dropped off their packs and livestock. The cabin they were using was a massive piece of work, lavishly decorated and extremely comfortable and accommodating. Namjoon somehow had a hard time believing that this pack was stretched for resources, but he wouldn’t question it. He was just happy that he got his own room. He loved Yoongi and Hoseok, but the tent they were forced to share was small and cramped.
And the village was beautiful. At the front of the village, the cabins were small and sparse. Attached to most of those snow capped cabins were wood fences with the villages livestock; goats, pigs, even a few yaks and reindeer for special occasions. On the very edge grew the fields of wheat, fruits, and vegetables. The farmers that lived there practically shoved provisions and food into the arms of any of the Jeon members they could reach.
Further in to the village, the cabins got bigger, the trees used were thicker and the colors richer. This was where the forge and the kitchens were. These were the only two buildings devoid of snow, the roofs shimmering with heat from fires and smoke billowing out from the chimneys. Namjoon and Jin’s group had stopped at the forge for quite some time. Even before the new Head had taken Jeon’s place, the Jeon Pack had been more inclined to use force rather than words to make a point. That wasn’t to say that the Jeon Pack were war hungry mongrels, but they did enjoy their steel. Even the omegas ogled at the swords and axes decorating the walls. Namjoon thought that they were pretty, but he wasn’t sure if they were actually useful. One of the Kim betas tried to give Namjoon a gorgeous longsword, but Namjoon graciously declined, gesturing to his own sword. When the beta insisted, Namjoon just shook his head and gave the beta a pat on the back and told him that his craftsmanship was second to none, his dimpled smile making the beta blush a pretty red. When Namjoon turned away he caught Jin’s eye, and it was his turn to blush.
Jin had been smiling at him, his brown eyes warm. When their eyes met, Jin winked at Namjoon, making Namjoon’s ears burn.
They continued further into the village, the cabins becoming massive, the wood deep browns and blacks. Namjoon was surprised to see that the houses were becoming sparse again, most of them almost one hundred feet apart. One of the omegas in the group asked where the Heads Household was, and Namjoon noticed Jin’s back tense, and he frowned when his sweet apple scent went sour. He had just realized how comfortable he had been in the omega's presence, how he had felt less antsy, less clumsy. Yet with the scent changing, he felt irrationally annoyed at the omega that asked the question. He shot a very un- Namjoon like glare at the omega, and she at least had the decency to look ashamed.
Jin just turned and smiled at the group, his hands folded over his flat stomach. “It’s further in, but I’m afraid it looks just like every other one of these council houses,” he looked at Namjoon again, and this time Namjoon winked, a small reassuring smile on his face. “Now, I think we should all go back to your cabin so that you can get ready for the feast the omegas have been preparing for you!” Jin walked back through the Jeon group, the omegas and betas parting for him, some even bowing slightly. They waited for Namjoon, the only alpha in the group, to pass before they began walking back to the cabin.
“Thank you,” Jin said, snapping Namjoon back to the present. “Believe it or not, nothing much has changed here for the last twenty years of my life,” his eyes sparkled, and he tilted his head so that Namjoon would walk beside him instead of behind him, a sign of trust and mutual respect. “The cabins are all the same and the kitchen has had the same food and kitchen head for twenty years. We just have the most anal retentive omegas you’ve ever seen, so everything stays clean and orderly.” Jin smiled as Namjoon laughed. Jin’s eyes grew soft as he shifted his fingers through his short hair, still not quite used to the length. “Though, I suppose you all want some sort of normalcy and sameness in your pack, after all of what’s happened to you.”
Namjoon sighed and looked down, his chocolate eyes a little sad, a little tired. “Yes, this will be a good change of pace for my people.” He glanced back at his pack, his family. “I’m just glad to see that everyone here is so welcoming and kind to outsiders like us.” He tried to pat Jin’s broad shoulder, only for Jin to flinch away from the touch. Namjoon put his arm back down, and tried to play it off like nothing happened, but Jin looked upset.
“I-I’m sorry, I just-” Jin tried to say, but Namjoon cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t worry about it. In fact don’t even think about it.”
Jin nodded and smiled at Namjoon, and Namjoon swore his heart was going to burst. They walked in comfortable silence for a time.
“So…” Namjoon started. Jin hummed to show that he was listening. “What’s for dinner?”
…
Jungkook was grumpy. While Namjoon got to prance around with Jin and the omegas, he was stuck with the other three alphas and the rest of the betas. He wouldn’t have minded so much if the alphas would step off and stay away from Jimin. As soon as they had broken off into the two groups, the other alphas had swarmed the young omega, asking him stupid questions like how he braided his hair so nicely, and if he’d always had such nice skin.
Jungkook didn’t think it would have bothered him so much if Jimin didn’t seem to be loving the extra attention. He patiently answered all of the ridiculous questions, laughed at the moronic jokes, and smiled a pretty smile at the absurd compliments the alphas paid him. Jungkook even thought he saw Jimin blush once, and it made his blood heat up, and his temper flare. He was about to march over and claim what he thought he made perfectly clear was his, when he looked at Taehyung.
More at the way Taehyung was looking at the alphas and Jimin.
The beta was beyond tense. His back was ramrod straight, and though he was keeping his features neutral when looking at the alphas, Jungkook could see an almost invisible frown when he looked at Jimin. Jungkook stared harder, and noticed that Taehyung would pull the omega closer to him with their interlocked arms when the alphas got too friendly. Jungkook would have his work cut out for him when he asked Taehyung for permission to court Jimin it would seem.
He jumped when he felt someone poke him, rather hard might he add, in the middle of his back, right above his tailbone. He whipped around, and glared at Yoongi, the only omega who stayed in Jungkook’s group. “Stare any harder and maybe Jimin might actually acknowledge you,” Yoongi grumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He wasn’t in the best of moods. He was tired of walking, and of just being awake in general.
Jungkook looked around. “Where’s Hoseokie? Isn’t he usually glued to you like Jimin’s beta is to him?” Jungkook snapped back, his face flaring. He didn’t need Jimin’s attention, he just really, really wanted it. Yoongi quirked an eyebrow, and used his thumb to point behind him.
“He’s with the other betas. He feels bad that some of them got separated from their partners, so he’s sticking with them to keep their spirits up.” Almost on cue, riotous laughter broke out behind them, and Yoongi smirked. Hoseok could even make a rock smile if he tried hard enough. Jungkook shook his head and trained his eyes back onto Jimin.
Yoongi adjusted his black cloak around his narrow shoulders and frowned at Jimin’s back. “He seems really uncomfortable,” he muttered. Jungkook looked at Yoongi, his eyes wide.
“What do you mean?” he flung his hand out at Jimin, “He seems to be enjoying all of this,” he finished bitterly.
It was Yoongi’s turn to look at Jungkook, “Why would he be pulling his beta closer like that if he was loving it?” Jungkook blinked, and then turned his attention back to Jimin and Taehyung, this time watching Jimin.
One of the alpha’s swept his hand across Jimin’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, and Jungkook was astonished to see that Jimin seemed to tense up, almost imperceptibly. Then he watched as Jimin pulled Taehyung closer, his unlinked hand coming up to rest against Taehyung’s arm. Then Taehyung turned to frown at Jimin. Jungkook had gotten the order mixed up.
“Do you have a sixth sense or something?” Jungkook asked, though he didn’t sound like he wanted an answer. He was fuming. How could these idiotic alphas not see that Jimin didn’t want them around?
Yoongi jabbed Jungkook in the side. “Hey, big guy, you didn’t see that he was uncomfortable either.” Jungkook startled, looking down at Yoongi with big doe eyes. Maybe Yoongi was able to read minds, but Yoongi just rolled his eyes. “You said that outloud.”
Jungkook snapped his mouth shut, and his eyes whipped to Jimin. Jimin was still walking, but he was looking back at Jungkook. Jungkook was sure he was turning into a tomato with how red his face had to be. Omegas had wicked hearing, so there was no way that Jimin hadn’t heard him. He scratched the back of his head and nodded to Jimin once, hoping to be charming. Jimin’s face was unreadable, and he turned back around when Taehyung nudged him.
Jungkook rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. Great. Now Jimin must think he was a stereotypical alpha that just wanted all of his attention to himself.
“Well, you do,” Yoongi quipped.
“Did I-”
“Say that outloud?” Yoongi finished, nodding. “It’s a nasty habit of yours, brother,” he stepped back so that Hoseok could catch up to him. “You should really work on that.”
…
“And this is where we will having a feast for your welcoming,” Jimin finished, with a flourish of his hand. The table was a massive piece of black wood, curved and slanted. None if the edges were straight, and it barely fit under the ginormous tent. There were smaller, less worn tables set to the sides, benches tucked underneath. The only real chairs were the two for the Head Alpha and the Head Omega at the head of the biggest table, and three on either side of the table. All of them had ornate swirls and carvings on the armrests and legs. One at the head of the table had a luxurious gray fur blanket draped across the back. The one to the left of it had a burnt rose dyed wolfskin blanket, and the one across from that one held a thick black bearskin one. It was obvious that the three omegas of the Head family sat there. Even the next head beta had a red sash tied to the back of his chair, marking his territory.
The Kim Pack’s omegas and some betas scurried around, placing plates and candles on the table. Cups and goblets were being filled with wine and the bowls were being filled with cold carrot soup.
Jungkook’s mouth watered. He could smell the meat cooking from the kitchens, and the soup looked vibrant and fresh. His pack hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks, and even he was going a little insane from the lack of vegetables. His gawking was cut short when one of those stupid alphas asked another stupid question.
“Do you eat here all of the time?”
Jungkook rolled his eyes and looked to Jimin, sure that Jimin would snap this time. Throughout their tour of the village, Jimin had gotten less and less patient. He started to give short answers, and stopped laughing at the jokes, and he hadn’t smiled in the last half an hour. In fact, the only time he laughed was when Jungkook asked him if he actually knew how to use an ax when they were at the blacksmith. Jimin had laughed at Jungkook’s face when Jimin had thrown the ax in a perfect arc, nailing the target directly in the middle. The other alphas didn’t walk as close to Jimin after that. Which only meant that Jungkook got to walk closer the him.
“No, we eat in our homes most of the time,” Jimin grit out, his jaw working angrily. Taehyung touched Jimin’s side, and Jimin took a deep breath. “Now, the meal will start soon, so please feel free to take a seat at the big table.”
Jungkook looked around, and was about to sit near the end of the table where the rest of his pack were when he felt someone grab his sleeve. Then he was hit with a soft vanilla smell, and he felt Jimin’s small body lean against his arm, and his breath across his cheek. He held his breath, not daring to look at the omega, though his eyes and heart ached to.
“No, no Jungkookie…” Jimin said. He tugged Jungkook to the head of the table. Jungkook couldn’t help but watch the sway of Jimin’s hips, and the blond hair blowing behind him. Jimin dropped Jungkook’s hand and dragged out the chair with the red sash tied to it, and switched it with the one with the black fur. Then he spun around and touched Jungkook’s chest lightly, his tiny hands lighting a fire in his ribcage. “You’ll be sitting up here, with me.”
Jungkook knew that his face was red, and his eyes wide, but he grabbed Jimin’s hand nonetheless, tilting his head to look at Jimin. He leaned in close and breathed in Jimin’s sweet, sweet scent. “Whatever you want, sweet one.”
…
The feast was… interesting.
Jin had the most surprising development of the night, with bringing Namjoon, an alpha, up to sit next to him. They seemed to have become rather close during the day. Jin had come to the feast, absolutely gushing about Namjoon’s raven bowing at him like he could understand him. Jungkook noticed that no one made physical contact with Jin except for Jimin touching his hands from time to time. Not even the omegas serving Jin would reach out to touch his shoulder if they wanted his attention, and Namjoon seemed to know to keep his distance. Jungkook decided that he liked Jin. He seemed kind and gentle, but Jungkook didn’t miss the fire in Jin’s eyes, or the intelligence in his words.
At the same time, he decided that he didn’t like Taehyung. The beta was glaring through Jimin at him, and Jungkook couldn’t get a word out of him. He had tried, but he couldn’t even get Taehyung to pass the carrots much less get him to say anything. It wasn’t even like Jungkook was a bad guy, so why was Taehyung so aggressive? Jungkook scowled to himself. Whatever, he wouldn’t let a beta, or anyone, for that matter keep him from courting Jimin.
Speaking of the omega.
Jungkook was sure that if the armrests weren’t in the way, Jimin would be sitting in his lap. The omega was leaning to his left, his arm on Jungkook’s armrest, and his caramel scent driving Jungkook up a wall. He and Jimin didn’t exchange but a few pleasantries here and there, but every so often Jimin would sweep his foot forward and nudge Jungkook’s own. Once the wine and food had started to set in, Jimin seemed perfectly content to leave his leg locked with Jungkook’s, their ankles touching. Jungkook hadn’t really noticed when, but he had started to share his armrest with Jimin, their arms squished together, but their hands not touching. Jungkook would have intertwined his fingers with Jimin’s, but every twitch he made was met with a growl and a glare from Taehyung. As the night continued with loud laughter and a few more personal introductions, like Yoongi as Jungkook’s adopted older brother, Jimin began to grow bolder as his face got redder.
Jungkook was talking with Jin about their livestock gifts when all thoughts in his head seemed to stop coming. He tried to form a coherent sentence, but it was suddenly very difficult with the way Jimin was tracing his fingers over Jungkook’s arm, small patterns, up and down. He felt Jimin sigh against him, and he thought he could actually hear his brain short circuit. His arm burned and tingled where Jimin had touched, and his tongue disconnected from his mouth. Jin just lifted an eyebrow at him, and turned to talk more to Namjoon, a soft smile coming to his face. They certainly seemed to have hit it off.
He settled back in his chair and looked at Jimin. Jimin almost immediately looked up from Jungkook’s arm, their eyes meeting. Jungkook thought that another sarcastic comment was coming, but to his surprise, Jimin just smiled at Jungkook, his eyes turning into crescents. Jungkook felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He smiled just as gently back, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Jimin giggled, “Bunny…” and Jungkook snorted.
“Why do you think I wear a rabbit cloak pin, sweet one?”
Jimin laughed a musical sound, and reached up to fiddle with the pin, his eyes softening. “I thought it was some sort of family insignia,” he mumbled, smoothing it back out and going back to tracing patterns on Jungkook’s arm.
Jungkook shook his head, “Nope. Everyone said that my family took after rabbits instead of wolves, so I thought it would be appropriate to carry one with me always, to remind me what I am.”
Jimin snorted and traced his finger from the crook of Jungkook’s elbow to his wrist, and Jungkook fought off a shudder. He was suddenly glad that the Heads had left hours ago “What?” Jungkook asked, using his other hand to tip Jimin’s head to meet his eyes.
Only the corner of Jimin’s mouth lifted in a teasing smirk. He leaned into Jungkook. “Trust me, Jungkookie, you’re all wolf.”
Jungkook felt the blood rush to his face and… other places, but he held Jimin’s gaze. He bumped his forehead against Jimin’s, barely registering the fact that Taehyung was growling rather loudly. “Well, do you know what every alpha wolf needs?”
Jimin hummed, his head tilting to the side.
“An omega princess at his side.”
It was Jimin’s turn to blush. He brought his hand to Jungkook’s cheek, petting his cheek bone with his thumb. “Well,” he breathed, his hot breath ghosting over Jungkook’s lips. He smelled like wine and vanilla and oh so intoxicating. “Good luck finding one Jungkookie.”
Jungkook took Jimin’s hand in his, and looked at him in his eyes, and edge of seriousness leaking into his voice when he said; “I think I already did.” His lips barely grazed Jimin’s when Jimin was suddenly pulled backwards, and Jungkook was pushed back into his chair. Taehyung dragged Jimin to stand behind him as he growled at Jungkook, his free hand pressing into Jungkook’s chest, crushing him into the chair.
“Taehyung, stop it!” Jimin shouted, pulling at Taehyung’s arm. Taehyung barely moved, his teeth bared and his eyes shining gold. Jungkook couldn’t help it when he growled back, his hand coming to Taehyung’s and ripping it off of his chest before standing up and staring down Taehyung. He was so close to Jimin, only for him to be ripped away by this beta. How dare he?! Jungkook took a step towards Taehyung, and Taehyung snapped at Jungkook, but didn’t back down. If it were any other beta protecting any other omega than Jimin, Jungkook would have been impressed by Taehyung resilience, but as it was; it was Jimin. And Jungkook wanted him. He wanted him now. He grabbed the front of Taehyung’s coat and pulled the beta forward, barking out at him, his voice deep and guttural.
Jimin yanked and pulled and yelled for Taehyung to stop, but the beta wasn’t going anywhere. He grabbed Jungkook’s rabbit pin and pulled on it, making Jungkook’s cloak to fall to the ground with a heavy thud. Jungkook snapped at Taehyung, bashing his forehead against the other’s, but Taehyung didn’t budge. What a fool. Jungkook reared his fist up.
“That’s enough .”
All eyes snapped to Jin. The alpha and the beta dropped each others shirts and stepped away from each other immediately, and their eyes fell to the ground, their heads bowed. Where the alphas had the ability to perform an Alphas Command, an omega with enough skill could enact an Omegas Guilt. It was nowhere near as strong as a Command, and it didn’t affect omegas. It made alphas and betas alike bow their heads in shame and it helped stop what they were doing for a moment to get to the bottom of many situations. Many stupid wars had been avoided by an Omegas Guilt, and Jin had just used it to stop this stupid fight.
Strained silence filled the air before Jin stood up and grabbed Jimin and Taehyung’s arms. “I think we should call it a night,” Jin nodded at Jungkook and Namjoon, who just looked worried as all get out. “We have a wonderful sports festival planned for tomorrow, and I am sure we would all like to get some sleep for it.”
With that, he pulled the other two behind him. Taehyung tried to grab Jimin’s hand, but Jimin shied away. He looked back at Jungkook, and dipped his head in a sad goodbye. Jungkook nodded back, his heart dropping. He bent down and picked up his cloak, before looking at his pack. “Jin is right. We should all get some sleep if we want to show this pack what we are made out of.” He turned and left without another word.
The rest of the pack sat in silence for a moment before Yoongi coughed.
“Was is just me, or was that beta partner really hot?”
|
step out, step out of the sun, i
f you keep getting burned
He felt a little warm, but that was probably just the excitement. This was the day he had been waiting for since the beginning of the semester, when he found out this was happening. An FBI agent, a prominent one, was coming to lecture at his class. He had dreamed about joining the FBI since he was little, and now he was going to get to learn directly from an agent. The unit chief of the behavior analysis unit, no less.
He got dressed quickly; he needed to make a good impression. His clothes were still mostly secondhand, but he'd had to replace just about everything over the last few years when his growth spurt finally began in earnest. He'd shot up to 5'10" and judging by the growing pains in his knees and hips he probably had a little left to grow. He was only fifteen, he could probably get a little taller.
He had his own single room now that he was out of undergrad and getting his first doctorate; Nate had long since dropped out of Caltech and transferred to a state school, closer to the beach. The room was still pretty sparse, but the money he made as a TA for Dr. Parr and manning the front desk of his dorm on night shifts allowed him to splurge on a minifridge and a coffeemaker from a thrift store. The university had supplied him with a laptop too; he didn't use it much but it was useful for catching up on Doctor Who and Star Trek on the weekends.
He opened the the fridge and scanned its contents, then closed it. He wasn't hungry for breakfast right now, though, his throat felt a little sore.
He took the elevator downstairs and unlocked the chain on his bike. The tires seemed a little wobbly under him, but maybe that was the growing pains keeping him from balancing. He had to keep adjusting the seat to fit as he grew.
He got to the psychology building in record time. A few stragglers were getting to their eight AM classes a little late; he dodged them on the steps and headed towards Dr. Parr's lecture hall. The talk wasn't going to start until nine, but he wanted to get there early. Just in case.
He flipped on the lights and took his seat at his little desk on the side of the classroom. Despite the AC in the room, he still felt hot. Maybe it was just the bike ride, it was unusually warm for March in California. He pulled one of his math textbooks out of his messenger bag and got started on some extra work.
"...can't thank you enough for coming, I think my students could really benefit from hearing you speak…"
Spencer's head shot up and his pencil dropped from his hand. Dr. Parr walked into the lecture hall, accompanied by a stranger. He stood up quickly, a little too quickly, but he caught himself on the desk. Suddenly he felt nervous, a little shy.
"Oh, Spencer, you're here already," Dr. Parr said. "I don't know why I would be surprised."
The stranger smiled at him. "Local high schooler coming to audit a class?" he said.
"No, this is my teaching assistant, Spencer Reid," Dr. Parr said. "Spencer, this is Agent Jason Gideon, he's the unit chief-"
"Unit chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, yes, hi," Spencer said eagerly. "I've really been looking forward to hearing you speak."
Agent Jason Gideon looked from him to Dr. Parr, faintly amused. "Your TA?" he said. "Pretty impressive to be getting your undergrad so young." He tilted his head. "How old are you? Fourteen?"
"Fifteen, sir, and actually I've already gotten my undergrad," Spencer said. "Dual majors in psychology and sociology."
"Spencer is a doctoral candidate in mathematics at the moment," Dr. Parr explained. "There was a bit of a battle between departments to see who would get him for their TA, and I won, but barely."
"I'm on track to finish my doctorate next spring, and then I'll probably go in for a doctorate in engineering," he said. "Or maybe chemistry. Maybe both. Probably both, I'll-"
"Spencer," Dr. Parr interrupted, and he closed his mouth abruptly. She shook her head. "Sorry, Agent Gideon. He does that a lot. We keep him for his genius, not for his social skills. Or lack thereof."
He blushed red all the way up to his ears. Agent Gideon didn't react. "Can I get you anything?" Dr. Parr offered. "Coffee, water-"
"No, thank you," Agent Gideon said. "Class starts at nine, correct?"
"Yes, so…" She checked her watch. "About twenty minutes to go. You're sure you don't want anything? I can have Spencer run out and get you-"
"It's fine," Agent Gideon said, waving his hand.
A student walked in and stomped down the stairs, a paper in their hands. "Sorry, Agent Gideon, I'll be right back," Dr. Parr said. "A couple of my students haven't been so pleased about their grades on their latest papers."
She crossed over to the student; Spencer rocked up on the balls of his feet. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he strike up a conversation? Should he go back to his desk and sit down? Should he keep standing there in silence?
"So sociology, psychology, mathematics, chemistry, and engineering, huh?" Agent Gideon said. Spencer jumped, startled. "Quite a combination. What field are you hoping to work in?"
"Well, um...the FBI, actually," he said. His mouth went dry. "I was thinking...I've done some research...maybe even the Behavioral Analysis Unit."
He waited for Agent Gideon to laugh at him, to brush him aside. But he only smiled- a kind, thoughtful sort of smile. "Really," he said, his tone even. "My department."
"I've read all your books," Spencer said. "And your mentor's, Max Ryan. And David Rossi's, I know you worked with him for a long time. I've learned a lot."
Agent Gideon sat down on the edge of Dr. Parr's desk. "What did you learn from them?" he said.
Spencer's eyes lit up. And he talked. Agent Gideon didn't stop him, or interrupt him, just added to the conversation here and there. His skin buzzed with nervous energy. He'd never been allowed to talk so much without someone cutting him off.
"Agent Gideon, I'm so sorry, is he bothering you?" Dr. Parr said. Spencer stopped midsentence.
"No, he's fine," Agent Gideon said. He checked his watch. "Five till nine. Suppose I should get ready?"
"Yes, absolutely," Dr. Parr said. She turned to Spencer. "Remember, this is for the undergrads. Let them ask the questions. You're just observing."
"Yes, ma'am," Spencer said. He was grateful to be a TA, but Dr. Parr had an excellent knack for reminding him that he was a child in a grown-up's world. He scurried over to his little desk against the wall.
Agent Gideon's speech was everything he'd hoped for. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from blurting out questions a few times, but he still learned a lot. Agent Gideon was an excellent lecturer- concise, informational, clinical in description but with a sense of empathy for the cases he discussed. He was calm and quiet, but the students in the lecture hall stayed silent, listening to his every word.
At the end of the lecture most of the students lingered to talk to Agent Gideon, some of them holding out his book to sign. Spencer hung back, watching. He probably shouldn't try to talk to him again. He shouldn't press his luck.
The last student left and Dr. Parr moved to talk to Agent Gideon. Spencer busied himself with his math work. The next class wouldn't start till later, he had some time to get some extra problems done. It wouldn't take him long, although sometimes the numbers seem to swim across the page and he had to blink rapidly and rub his eyes before they fell back into focus.
He sensed a presence over his shoulder and set down his pencil. "Trigonometry, huh? Never my favorite, personally."
"Oh, Agent Gideon, I-"
"Just Gideon is fine," he said. "You have a little time, Spencer?"
"Um...yes, I don't have another class until eleven," he stammered.
"Would you like to get coffee or something?" Gideon asked. "You looked like you had some questions."
Spencer brightened. "Yes, sir!" he said. He scrambled for his messenger bag. "That would be amazing."
They ended up at the Starbucks in the student center. Gideon even bought him his coffee. The latte was sweet, but it felt sour in the back of his throat. Gideon let him ask questions, as many as he wanted, and didn't stop him. He was kind, Spencer realized. It was a specific sort of kindness, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Gideon took a sip of his coffee- venti, hot, black, one sugar. "So you're interested in becoming a profiler when you grow up," he said.
"Yes, sir, I do," he said earnestly. "Do you think I have any potential?"
Gideon took another sip of coffee. "Why do you want to be a profiler?" he asked.
Spencer sat back. "I don't know if I've thought about that," he said truthfully. He drummed his fingers on the side of his paper coffee cup. "I guess...I want to use the skills I have to help people. It's the most useful thing I can think of. And it seems interesting. I like challenges."
Gideon didn't say anything. He scrutinized him, making direct eye contact. Spencer resisted the urge to squirm a little under the intense gaze. Gideon folded his hands. "You are exceptionally bright, exceptionally talented," he said. "You have gotten where you are with hard work and dedication...but very little support. Everything you've earned, you've earned on your own." He smiled. "Is that a fair assessment?"
Spencer blinked. "Uh...yes, I...I think," he stammered.
"You have an eidetic memory, an astronomical IQ, amazing intelligence," Gideon continued. "None of that would matter if you weren't the kind of person you've become."
Warmth spread down to Spencer's fingertips. No one spoke to him like that, ever. "So you think I could be a profiler?" he asked.
The bells in the quad chimed and Spencer scrambled to his feet. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry, I'm late, I have to go-"
Gideon held out a hand and Spencer stopped. He stood up, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a business card. "Keep me updated," he said. "I'd like to know how your academic career progresses." Spencer took the business card, his fingers trembling. "The earliest age you can enter the academy is twenty-three. But when you turn eighteen, if you're still interested in joining the FBI...give me a call, okay?"
"Okay," Spencer said, his voice small. "Thank you, uh...thank you, Agent Gideon."
He smiled at him again. "Just Gideon," he said. He squeezed Spencer's skinny shoulder. "Good luck, kid." He paused. "And don't work yourself too hard, all right? Give yourself some time to rest when you can."
Spencer nodded, and Gideon walked past him, out of the coffee shop. And then he thought of the right word. Fatherly. Gideon's kindness seemed fatherly. At least, the fathers he read about in books. Certainly not his own.
He rode the high of meeting his hero for the rest of the day; staying up well into the night working on extra credit. That meant he woke up for his first class groggy and grumpy, but it was worth it. He was going to do it. He was going to make his way into the FBI if it killed him. And it was the last day before spring break, and he needed to put in an extra push before he was out of school for two weeks.
It didn't dawn on him that something was wrong until his third class of the day. He was sitting at his desk in Dr. Parr's hall, and his pencil fell out of his hand. He frowned. He picked it up again, and his fingers shook. And he realized he was cold. Maybe it was the air conditioning, and lack of sleep. He settled for pulling his cardigan out of his bag and burrowing into it.
His next class was across campus, but even leaving the chill of the lecture hall and riding his bike across campus didn't seem to warm him up. And he was having trouble balancing, the bicycle wheels tilting drunkenly. Maybe he did need to rest. Maybe he could sleep during spring break.
The fever hit at the beginning of his fifth class. And it hit hard.
He usually sat in the front, but something told him to sit in the back. It was ten minutes till the end of class, and the overwhelming sense of wrong hit him like a mack truck. He tugged at his shirt collar. It felt too tight, but also he was freezing. And his throat was so sore he didn't want to talk for fear that no sound would come out.
He left class in a daze, stumbling last out of the door. There was only one more class left. Only one, but it was two hours long. But he needed to go. He had never missed school. Ever. After a moment of hesitation, he took the stairs up to his next class.
The last class was advanced trig. He sat in his usual seat, set out his pencils, turned to the right page in the textbook. His throat was sore now, painfully sore, like he was swallowing sandpaper. And his body couldn't decide if it was hot or cold now. But he forced himself to focus.
He started shivering in the last thirty minutes of class. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck, soaking into his hair. Almost there, almost there, he thought. You've never left school early before.
He bolted the second the professor ended, dismissing them with a cheerful "have a great spring break!" His throat was on fire now. He knew it now, he was sick, he was going to spend his spring break trying to fix this as fast as he could.
Most places on campus were shutting down, preparing for students to leave. Spencer rode his bike to the Walgreens down the street. He could order in food if he was hungry- he was definitely not hungry at the moment, and the latte he'd had in the morning was not making him feel better- but he needed some kind of medicine if he was going to pull through this.
The lights were bright white in the drugstore, way too bright. He squinted, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at the crown of his head. Get in, get out, go home and go to sleep. That was the plan.
He stared at the jewel-toned bottles of liquid medicine lining the shelves, scanning the different kinds. The words blurred; he rubbed his eyes and tried again. He picked up the best option, along with a bottle of ibuprofren and some Gatorade, and lined up at the register.
The cashier scanned the ibuprofen and the drinks, then stopped. "I need your ID, honey," she said, bored.
He fumbled in his wallet and handed it over. She looked at it, unimpressed, and handed it back. "You gotta be eighteen to buy this," she said, and she put the bottle behind the counter.
His mouth dropped open. "But...but I need it," he said.
"You're only fifteen, you need a parent or guardian to purchase it for you."
"I...I don't have a parent or guardian," he said. "Not here, anyways, my mother's in Vegas and-"
"Sorry, I can't do anything about it," the cashier said. "You could always go to the minute clinic, they might be able to prescribe something for you."
He glanced over at the clinic. "I guess," he said.
She held up the plastic bag. "You still want this?" He nodded and handed over his card.
There was one mom with a snotty-nosed kid in line at the clinic; he filled out his paperwork and sank into a cracked vinyl seat to wait. He stared blankly at a display of ace bandages and arm braces, feeling the cold prickles of fever running up and down his body.
The nurse practitioner called him back, took down his height and weight, checked his blood pressure and temperature. "Let me see your throat," she said. He obeyed, wincing a little. "I'm going to take a throat culture. Hold still."
The cotton swab down his throat felt like murder and he nearly gagged. The nurse didn't acknowledge it, just took the culture and left the room. He sagged on the examination table, the thin paper crinkling underneath him. Maybe now they could just get him some medicine and he could go back to the safety of his dorm room to sleep.
The nurse knocked but didn't wait before entering. "Well, you've got strep," she said. "Pretty nasty case. We'll put you on an antibiotic." She handed him a small plastic cup with a couple of pills and a paper cup of water. "Take this now, the pharmacy's filling the rest of the prescription."
He took the pills and chased it with the water. Part of him had hoped that it would feel soothing on his throat- no such luck. He grimaced as the nurse left the room. Strep wasn't bad. Was it? He couldn't remember if he'd had it before. His mother wasn't very good about taking him to the doctor when he was sick- never mind regular checkups. Usually he would just take medicine from the bathroom cabinet and hope for the best.
He felt...itchy. That was unexpected. He scratched at his arms. The sensation ran up and down his body. Maybe it was another side effect of his fever.
He exhaled slowly. No, he couldn't remember the last time his mother took him to a doctor. Maybe when he broke his arm when he was five and they had to get the cast taken off.
Now his throat itched. Really itched. He scratched at his neck, but the itch wasn't external. He coughed, but he couldn't get any air in his lungs. The cough got stuck in his chest.
His eyes widened. He couldn't breathe. His throat was closing up, and fast.
Spencer grabbed at his throat. Panic bubbled in his chest. He tried to think critically. Anaphylaxis. Setting in fast. Prognosis was good, but only with prompt care.
"Help," he called, but no sound came out. "Help me!"
He slid down from the examination, ripping the thin paper, and his knees buckled. His lungs were tight, squeezed dry. The last thing he saw was the door opening, and then everything went black.
He woke up on the floor. The linoleum was ice cold on his burning skin. His heart was still beating too fast, but his lungs had relaxed enough to let air escape. Something throbbed in his right thigh like a beesting.
"All right, there we are. Much better."
He blinked. "Anaphylaxis," he mumbled.
"You're right, sudden onset anaphylaxis," the nurse practitioner said. "You're allergic to the antibiotic. Lucky we caught it so fast."
"Which...antibiotic?" he said.
"Carbenicillin."
He took a steadying breath, the deepest one he'd managed so far, and stared at the white fluorescent lights on the ceiling. "Beta lactams," he said hazily. "Penicillin, amoxicillin…"
"Next time, inform medical personnel before they prescribe anything," the nurse said sternly.
He dragged his hand over his face. "I didn't know I was allergic," he said. "I've never gotten tested."
"We had to use an epi-pen on you," the nurse said. "You'll probably bruise up later so don't be alarmed. Lucky we caught it fast enough, that could have caused some real damage. Come on, let's get you up off the floor."
She raised him up to a sitting position and he used the examination table to pull himself up to his feet. "We're getting you a different antibiotic, and an albuterol inhaler in case you experience more respiratory distress," she said. "Where's your parents? They may want to take you to the emergency room."
"My mom's in the car," he said. He'd gotten much better at lying over the years. "She'll take me."
The nurse nodded. "Just sit here for now, call her and have her come inside so we can fill her in on what happened," she said.
She left. He didn't sit down, he clung to the side of the examination table with too much adrenaline coursing through his veins. The fever and the dizziness and the pain in his throat and the tightness in his lungs crashed through his body. How was he going to get out of this one?
The nurse opened the door and held out his paperwork. "Take that up to the pharmacy, the prescriptions should be ready," she said. "Where's your mother? I'd like to go over this with her."
Before he could come up with a lie the other nurse practitioner stuck her head in the room. "Hey, could you give me a hand?" she said.
"It's the epi-pen kid, I"m waiting for his mother."
"It's really quick, it'll just take a few minutes."
"Fine," the nurse said. "Stay here, I'll be right back."
The second she left he grabbed the papers and his plastic shopping bag and hobbled over to the pharmacy. They were ready for him and he was out of the store with the white paper sack full of his new prescriptions before the nurse could catch him. His bank account took a bit of a hit, but at least he was still on his mother's insurance from her university or it would have been a lot worse.
He straddled his bike, glancing over his shoulder, half expecting the nurse to come chase him down, and pushed off the sidewalk. This was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had to get home somehow.
The dorms were nearly empty; nearly everyone had already left after their last class of the day. He wobbled into the elevator and pushed the button with his elbow. Almost there.
It took half a dozen tries before he could get his key into the lock. He stumbled inside and dumped his belongings on the floor, relief sinking into his shoulders. His fingers fumbled at his shoelaces, but once he kicked off his sneakers he crawled into bed, still fully clothed.
Spencer pulled the blankets over his shoulders and tugged his flip phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial, let it ring three times, hung up. Dialed again, let it ring once, hung up. He waited.
His mother called him back about a minute later. It was the only way she would allow the phone to stay connected in the house, if she could tell if he was the one calling. "Spencer?" she said, her voice sharp. "Why are you calling?"
"Hi, Mom," he said around the soreness in his throat. "How are you?"
"You know I'm busy," she said. He could hear incessant clicking of her hands on computer keys; he could picture her fingers like spiders. "I have to get this book done, and quickly. I'm behind on my deadline."
There was no deadline. The publishing company hadn't asked for her submissions in months. "I'm sorry," he said anyway. "I wanted to call because-"
"Keep it quick, Spencer," Diana said. "You know they're tapping the phone lines."
He pressed his hand to his forehead. He was so cold, but his skin felt so hot. "I, um...I met an FBI agent yesterday," he said. "He thinks I could-"
"I have to go," Diana said abruptly. "They're listening, Spencer. You know better than to call when it's not important."
"I know, Mom, I'm sorry, I'm sick-"
She had already hung up. He rolled over onto his back, his forearm over his eyes and his phone falling from his fingers. It would be fine. There was nothing his mother could do anyway, no help or comfort. He just had to ride it out alone. He could do that.
He could do that.
|
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A Trembling Peace
+
Before the war, most of Robin’s subjects had never seen her face. As the Mage Grandmaster, she was little but a cloak and a sword and a legend, a phantom wrapped in lightning and just as fleeting. Only the League and her retainers regularly saw her unhooded. Little by little, the war eroded such formalities, but as the missives flooded town declaring the new acting Queen was last the army’s chief tactician, the city churned with a clamor of shock and disbelief.
Robin did not want to tell them, at first. She could have taken the same veneer she did in Ferox, the mask of a minor princess, and let the Grandmaster die. But lies were her father’s trade, and she was determined to scrub as much of his influence clean, lest he rise suddenly from his grave. That day she and Chrom proclaimed the peace in their lands, she decided Her Eminent Shadow and Her Highness would be one and the same. After all, her people deserve to know the power she came from.
More than her power, they need her trust. Every three days, she takes a small retinue through the city to meet the citizens and hear their concerns. She sits with them in their homes, their shops and markets, their meager gardens facing the River Plegia. They tell her of their struggles, and she collects their stories like beads glided along a thread. Some days, when they are eager to impress her—that, or they fear her, which always leaves her more than a little unsettled—they show her a bit of their toil. Robin makes an eager apprentice. It is one thing to learn the craft of metalwork from a book, but another to learn from a blacksmith’s corded hands.
Other days, the people come to Robin. These are often the ones who hate her, and though she endeavors to reason with them, in most cases, their interactions end in the stranger’s banishment from the palace. Some hate her because she is a woman, and some because they lost their homes or livestock to the crossfire of her magic, and others still, to Robin’s amusement, because they believe a worldly mage-Queen is a defiance against Grima.
If only they knew.
Robin’s fate is but an itch in her side, these days. There is another black cloud looming over her, rising to a torment as the Plegian League reassembles at the center of the Great Hall.
After Robin assumed power, much of the League tried to flee. It’s taken near a month to round them all up, but now they stand before her in all their pride and cowardice, unsure of whether to curse or beseech her. Robin takes her eyes off their guilty faces, focusing instead on the gaps between them. Without Gangrel and her father, she is calmer, less concerned over her stature and voice, but Mustafa’s absence sets an ache in her heart. She would have named him her successor, had he survived the war. Instead, she must now choose from a member of the League—if there are any left after the day’s trial.
“I do not ask you to grovel,” Robin says to them, although she should, for all they’ve done, “but I will request the courtesy of a bow.”
Of the nine members before her, only four of them kneel. Those still standing comprise Gangrel’s royal council, sworn to even his corpse. They must know Robin killed him.
But not alone. Chrom’s sword, too, had pierced Gangrel. Chrom carried her pain, embraced her as she wept. Clasped her hand as they hailed the dawn of a new continent. Is she wrong to believe this would also be far easier with him at her side?
She flinches. This is hardly the time to be thinking about the Prince of Ylisse.
“I see only a few of you are interested in compliance,” Robin says. “Which is quite in line with your behavior in the absence of your King and Grandmaster.”
She nods to Henry, who lounges near the stairs, and he walks over and hands her a scroll. She unravels it slowly; a few mouths fall agape as the scroll’s edge nearly brushes the floor.
“To call your trespasses ‘crimes’ would be an insult to the innocent people caught in your cruel games for power—what you did was a collective abomination,” Robin says, each word lit with anger gathered from her people’s stories. “But they are crimes, nonetheless, and so, for those of you whose names appear on this scroll, the punishment will be your exile.” She pauses, searching their expressions. The morning sun leaves nothing hidden. “I see relief. You thought I would send you to your death? I am your Queen, not your Executioner.”
“You aren’t our Queen,” snaps Lord Garash, a pudgy-faced noble from the northern Sands. “Master Validar is King of this land. You are nothing but a useless vessel.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Validar is dead,” Robin replies. Just saying it feels like throwing sand on his coffin. Gods will it, my words are true. “Now. The reading of your crimes against the citizens of Plegia.”
And so, Robin reads, though the words on the page are not enough. Between the litanies of transgressions, she tells them of the plight in the Midmire, the empty houses of the people who fled for the coast, the widows and widowers weeping for the lives of their wrongly trialed spouses. By the time midmorning spools into noon, Robin has bled herself of stories, and only two members of the League remain with their innocence.
The first is Lord Vendar, the half-Feroxi General who served under Aversa in the war. The second is Lady Eduina—the small, timid cousin who replaced Lady Daiada. Robin smiles at them. They are outsiders, and they are perfect.
“We have much work to do, the three of us,” she says once the others are gone, escorted away by fleets of palace guards. “The League lacks for twelve members. This puts a heavy burden on our shoulders, but it also gives us the rare chance to build something new. Something better. I propose these next twelve will be elected from their twelve respective regions of Plegia. The League must speak for the whole of the people—not just those who have yoked them.”
Vendar drops to one knee. “Aye, my Queen.”
Eduina echoes him. She looks much like her cousin: dark skin, dark eyes, sculpted curls of violet hair. Only where there was malice in Daiada’s gaze, in Eduina’s, Robin sees a tangible fear.
“Rise, both of you,” Robin commands, and they obey. “We’ll convene again this evening. In the meantime, take the heat of the day to rest.”
Vendar leaves at once, but Eduina stays behind, wringing her hands.
“Do you long for home? In the Tundralands?” Robin asks her.
Eduina shakes her head. “I don’t care much for the cold,” she says. “And I’m with child. Will that be a problem?”
“Not at all,” Robin says. “For all I care, you can nurse your baby on the floor of this Great Hall.”
Eduina lets out a weighty sigh. “So, you are merciful.”
“You have a strange view of mercy, milady. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Robin says, then stalls. There aren’t many nobles in the Tundralands—Eduina’s family could know of her mother’s. Eduina could be her own family.
Robin won’t ask. Her mother is dead, and she must learn to bury her.
“You really should rest for the afternoon,” Robin tells her, instead.
As Eduina scuttles off up the stairs, Henry rejoins Robin at the center of the hall. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and she leans into his side. “You sure are causing quite the stir.”
“I don’t have a choice. You’ve seen me, Henry—how many hours have I spent studying my histories, peeling apart the governments of kingdoms yet and past? I can only act on what I know is right,” she says. “And even then, so much is out of my hands. No amount of planning and calculation will make this feel like anything other than a shot in the dark.”
“Don’t sweat it too much. I have faith in you,” Henry chirps. “I bet Prince Chrom does, too.”
“What does he have to do with any of this?” Robin asks. She rolls her eyes, but it’s forced.
“Oh, nothing,” Henry says, adding a nonchalant wave. “Anyway, now that that’s all out of the way—want to come train with me?”
A weight rises from her shoulders. “That’s just what I need,” she says, voice breathy with relief.
Henry makes for the stairs, and Robin follows, chasing the tail of his cape. When he reaches the main corridor, he breaks into a run, his bright laughter reeling over the walls, and Robin lengthens her strides to match his pace. If she has ever run like this—really run, pumping her arms and grinning with abandon— it hasn’t been since she was a child. Her laughter joins Henry’s, and the magic calls up in her veins, and for the first time in memory, Castle Plegia feels like a home.
+
Chrom dreams that Emmeryn is alive. She does not remember him, or anything for that matter, but she accepts his kindness with the same gracious smile he’s always known. She comes home to Ylisstol, and she basks, her tired body hungry for the sun. Strangely, Robin is there, and they sit beneath a window, the two amnesiacs, talking of absolutely nothing and giggling all the while.
He wakes with a fist mired in his nightshirt and doesn’t sleep again. When morning breaks, he passes through the halls and up the small flight of stairs to Emmeryn’s old rooms. He hasn’t come this way since those Plegian brigands destroyed it—he half expects the doors to be locked, but the handles turn and click. He pushes them open to a flood of light, the sun shining full and golden through the eastward windows.
The servants have done their best to wash away the death: fresh green bedding, new tables and chairs, empty crystal vases waiting for those first precocious daffodils of spring. At first blush, the space is warm and inviting, but no fire has burned in this room for months, and Chrom can see his breath when he walks inside.
One day, when he deems it right to call himself Exalt, these chambers will be his. But even then, he’s not sure he’ll ever have the strength to sleep within them. When he looks around, all he sees is a place for ghosts.
Outside, the labored cranking of wooden wheels. Chrom turns to find Phila in the doorway. He hasn’t seen her in days—even with her wheelchair, she doesn’t leave her new chambers, much. Some days, he passes her door and hears Lissa or Cordelia with her, but he’s never had the nerve to intrude.
She rolls into the room and stops at Chrom’s side. Looks around, moving her head slowly, her expression unchanged. The right side of her body is patterned with the scars of her fall; even the worst wounds have faded to a raw scrim of pink.
“This doesn’t look like her,” Phila remarks.
“It doesn’t look like either of you,” Chrom says, his gaze entangled in the gaudy lace doilies on the bedside table.
Phila goes to the window, and Chrom isn’t sure whether he should follow her. “I wanted to tell you—I’m going home to my parents in Themis. And I don’t know that I’ll ever come back. At least, not for a long while,” she says. Chrom frowns, but this doesn't surprise him. “Don’t worry. I’ve already appointed Cordelia as the permanent Captain of the Pegasus Knights.”
Phila plucks one of the vases from the windowsill and runs her thumbs over the grooves. A nervous tic. “I hope they believe me.”
“Huh?”
“When I go home and tell my family it was all true, how wonderful your sister was, I hope they believe me.” She sets the vase down and wheels to the edge of the bed, runs a hand over the new silk bedding. “I don’t know how I can stand to be in here. But if there’s any reason, I think it’s because I have no regrets.”
Chrom sits on the edge of the bed, facing her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean no secret unspoken, no feeling unconfessed—Emmeryn knew all of me,” she says. “And perhaps she left the earth with a part of me, and perhaps I will never love again for having lost her, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. There is nothing more I wish I had told my wife, except that I love her, and that much she already knew.”
She looks at Chrom with tears shining in her eyes, yet her mouth curves a soft smile. “I remember something,” she says. “Emm always said she’d buy you and Lissa the most indulgent, ridiculous gifts when you married. I suppose I’ll have to see to that promise.”
Chrom’s face heats. “Married?” he sputters. “You’ll have a while to save your coin, then.”
“Well, I certainly never expected to fall out of the sky that day,” Phila says. She sets a hand over his. “What I mean to say is, even though I’m leaving, I will always be your family.”
He closes her in an embrace. She feels so much smaller than he remembers, her muscle weaned and shoulders bowed, but there is a strength, too, a tension that settles only as her head meets his shoulder.
“Lead us well, Chrom,” she whispers.
“I don’t know that I can,” he says. “Not when I can’t be her.”
“No, you cannot,” Phila says, separating from him. “But you do not have to be her to be good.”
+
Robin knows her father is coming back. Near every night, she dreams of the morning where she walks into the throne room to find him sitting there, hands splayed over the armrests and contempt in his smile. He makes her kneel. He makes her weep. Then, he takes the crown from her head and the heart from her ribs, and Grima rushes in to fill the empty.
But as the weeks go on, her father does not return, and the nightmares make themselves scarce. She dreams her first sideways, nonsensical dreams, full of absurd problems and laughable dangers that dissolve into the air upon her waking. She recounts what she can of them to Henry, and then laughs as he tries to piece them together into stories.
Still, her sleep isn’t always peaceful; too often, it is the faraway Prince who disturbs it. She knows better than to fight herself. Chrom has only worked his way into her head because she is waiting so desperately for his next letter.
It arrives on a rare cloudy day, when the sky is the same mottled silver of a tarnished coin. Robin returns from a brisk walk around the castle grounds to find it sitting on the corner of her desk, placed there without notice or ceremony. Across the room, Henry grins as he knifes through a pomegranate.
Robin thumbs the edge of the envelope, and a tiny thrill runs through her. “When did this arrive?”
“Zaya brought it up with breakfast,” Henry says. He gestures to the tray of fruit and iced breads perched on the sitting area table. “You should eat, first.”
“You know I very well can’t,” Robin says, shaking the letter. She paces over to Henry, plucks the juice-slick knife from his hand, and slices the envelope open.
Dear Robin,
It is not every day that I’m tasked to read a letter from a dead woman, but I thank the gods and all the stars they govern that you are still alive and with us. I am far from the border, now, but I have already heard word that Plegia fares far better under the hand of its Queen.
I apologize for how long this letter may have taken to get to you—winter flooding has made a terrible muck of the south country, and snow still addles us from the center on north. Even then, the letter may have arrived more quickly, had I not spent so much time deliberating just what to say to you, after finally unsealing that letter. Perhaps the lack of battle has given me too much time with my thoughts.
Ah, you must grow anxious of all this prologue. Well, I’ll put it simply: I have faith in you, Robin. This curse that plagues you, be it Grima’s true darkness or another of your father’s vile manipulations, can be broken. You must believe that. We have already turned the tide of fate for our countries—who is to say we cannot do the same for your heart?
If it is your imperative to disband the Grimleal, I swear, you will have the aid of Ylisse. But it seems the more pressing matter is you yourself. Whatever I can do to help you overcome this curse, I will. You are my ally and friend, and I would be cruel not to use the resources at my disposal to assist you. That is to say, I will certainly be consulting my books. And of course, I promise to bring any questions to my favorite professor.
Do write soon. I wish to know how you are in your own words, rather than the grapevine whispers of travelers.
Yours,Chrom
P.S. I don’t believe you’ve met my sister Lissa, but she sends her regards. And Frederick sends a curmudgeonly scowl that makes him look far older than he truly is.
P.P.S. Your secret is safe with me.
“Henry, he’s at it again,” Robin says. She flops on the sofa beside Henry. “Always wanting to play the hero.”
“What did you tell him, anyway?”
“That I’m the Fell Dragon, Grima,” Robin answers plainly.
A pomegranate seed rolls out of Henry’s mouth. “You did?”
“In my defense, I should have been dead when he read it,” Robin says. “But I’m alive, and now he knows, and to no surprise, the fool Prince thinks he can rescue me from my own blood and bone. Is he really so used to miracles?”
“Lady Robin, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Believe it or not, I trust him,” Robin says. “And if he breaks his oath, he knows what’s coming to him.”
“A big, bloody death!” Henry exclaims. “Sounds like fun.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Robin murmurs. She’d once yearned for the Prince’s death—now her stomach sours at the thought of it. His people need him. His sister needs him. Perhaps, deep down, Robin needs him too. But she’s not willing to surrender on that front, yet.
Henry’s smile turns sickly sweet. “Aw. You miss him.”
“What makes you say that?” Robin exclaims, a blush racing into her cheeks. The letter flutters into her lap.
“You’re staring out the window with this sad, dreamy look in your eyes,” he says. He hands her a pastry. “Here. Have something to eat.”
“I don’t miss him.”
Henry grabs another fruit from the tray. “Take an orange, too.”
Robin palms the orange; the stippled skin is cool against her fingers. She squeezes it like a ball. “I’m just worked up about the elections,” she says. “There’s also the emissary arriving from Rosanne tomorrow, and the meeting with the Feroxi trade commission. What’s next? The Grimleal come crawling out of their temples to give me more headaches?”
“Oh, you can handle all that,” Henry says. “Tell me more about the letter. Does the Prince want to whisk you away to Ylisse?”
“He’s not that stupid,” Robin says. “I don’t know what to say. Do I thank him? Do I tell him how ridiculous he’s acting? I know he wants to help me, but it’s impossible.”
“Hey. Doom and gloom is my specialty,” Henry says. “What is it you still want with him, anyway? I mean, I think I know the answer, but—”
“—his friendship. Despite everything, my own better judgement included, I want him and I to be friends.”
“Then it sounds like your first order of business is writing him back,” Henry says. He nudges the orange. “But first, breakfast.”
+
At night, the royal library feels crammed to the brim with secrets. Chrom wanders the rows between shelves with a single candle in hand, shining it to the spines. There is no rhyme or reason to the books’ assembly: alchemy texts abut biographies of Exalts past, cookbooks nestle with combat manuals, a row of Arcthunder tomes shares a shelf with Ribald Tales of the Faith War. It could take him weeks to find any book that can tell him anything about the Fell Dragon.
Fatigue tugs at him from the shadows. Long dealings with the Council and trips into the city have made him weary, but Robin’s plight keeps him restless for answers. Some days, it’s like those weeks after Ferox all over again, her presence commanding his dreams and idle thoughts.
He can’t help but think that if Emmeryn had lived, he would still be in Plegia, working with Robin to build the peace. Would she have told him of her curse, then?
A flash of peeling gold steals him from his daydream. A slim purple volume juts out of a shelf; there is no title on its spine, just a steady march of six eyes, so like the markings on Robin’s coat.
He pulls the book and glimpses the cover. The Recollections of Forneus. The book is crumbling at the spine, the pages brown with age; it looks as though it’s as old as Ylisse itself. He holds it tightly closed as he takes it to the nearest table.
He turns to the first page. The foreword is in an unfamiliar script, but a note is scribbled there in Greater Archanean. Can a god be made from man?
That certainly sounds like Robin’s curse.
The next page bears more illegible script. There are hasty translations in the margins, but only for a handful of lines. My dream began with a beetle on a stone. The people were hungry and dying. The doctor laid a sheet of mutton over her sunken body, and I wept.
“Since when did you become a reader, milord?”
Chrom jolts. Frederick stands on the other side of the table, the sparse light intensifying the stern set of his face.
“Hello, Frederick,” Chrom says, playing at calm.
“Do you know how late it is, milord?”
“We don’t keep many books about our western neighbors. We should change that.”
Frederick sighs, two fingers pressed to the notch between his brows. “What nonsense does Her Highness have you chasing after?”
“It’s not nonsense!” he exclaims. “I’m just curious about some things, is all.”
“You certainly put in a lot of effort for her.”
“Emm would have wanted me to reach out my hand to her. And so, I have.”
Frederick sets his candle down and sits across from him. Folds his arms. “Have you given any thought to Duchess Praeta’s proposal today?”
Chrom has to wrack his mind to remember. “You mean the one about the gala?” he tries, and Frederick nods. “I think spring will be a good time for it. We can celebrate the peace in conjunction with the Naga’s Moonrise festival. We’ll all be due for some folly, by then.”
“You know, Duchess Praeta has a daughter. She’ll be twenty come May.”
Chrom blanches. “Oh no, Frederick. I know where you’re going with this conversation, and I don’t like it.”
“All I’m saying is the Council has their expectations,” Frederick says. “I thought you might want to know why they’re so eager to get you out and social.”
“Well, to be frank, I don’t have time for all that.”
Frederick lifts an eyebrow. Oh, no. “But you do have time to entertain the acting Queen of Plegia?”
“Robin is different. I made a promise to invest in our alliance during our dealings in Plegia, just as she made the same,” he says. An idea shimmers, warming his chest with a flash of giddiness. “That’s it! I’ll invite Robin to Ylisse for the gala.”
Somehow, Frederick’s expression sours further. “I concede an invitation would be good for diplomacy. But it would be terrible for your head.”
Chrom closes the book, pressing a puff of dust from the pages. “Frederick, when have I ever troubled you so about a friend?” he asks, then gives the knight no time to answer. “Never, because your best friend is a horse, and a trusty one at that.”
“I simply advise you to be careful. Robin was your enemy not long ago. Her sudden care for you may be something for her own gain.”
Chrom shakes his head. “It’s not like that. Not in the slightest.” Robin has entrusted him with her deepest secrets, the pain of her heart—those are hardly pieces played in a game of wits. “Trust me, we’ve moved beyond our feud.”
“Now that I think about it,” Frederick starts, tapping his chin, “Her Highness is likely in the same predicament as yourself.”
“Of course she is. The war has wounded both sides of the mountains.”
Frederick clears his throat. “I mean the Plegian nobility, whatever’s left of them, anyway, is surely scrambling to find her a spouse.”
Chrom feels an unwelcome dip in his stomach. He can’t imagine it. Robin, married off to some random Plegian noble—he knows she's prone to loneliness, but would that truly make her happy? Not to mention she planned to strip several noble families of their power, given the League’s atrocities while their King was away. He strains to envision her arm entwined with a stranger’s, their lips on the curve of her cheekbone, but even a hazy flicker fills him with something like nausea.
“That’s absurd, Frederick,” he says. “The poor woman has to rebuild a kingdom all on her own. How could she possibly entertain the idea of marriage?”
“Your face is red,” Frederick says, glib. “Or perhaps it’s just the candlelight.”
Chrom rolls his eyes. “Did you come here because you needed something?”
“Only to advise you turn in for the night,” he says. “But I’ll leave you to your books.”
Frederick picks up his candle and rounds the corner, headed for the library’s exit. Chrom reopens his book to the second page, but his own thoughts drown out the scrawled translations. He can’t shake it. Why does the idea of Robin being married bother him like this? Perhaps it’s because she’s so independent, so headstrong, he can’t see her tied down that way.
But Robin deserves to be loved, if that’s what she wants. In spite of everything she’s done, the weapon she was forged to be, he is wrong to look at her and think she shouldn’t have a partner to cherish her.
He shouldn’t worry himself like this. If her curse is as real as she believes it to be, then when they break it—and they will break it, together—Robin will have whatever life she wants.
+
“Excuse me, Captain Chrom? I have a letter for you!”
Chrom disengages his sword from Lon’qu’s and looks across the training ground. One of Cordelia’s new trainees, a teenaged girl with a curly ponytail, stands at the fence, waving an envelope above her head. Lissa and Maribelle—their spectators for the day—shoot her matching looks of confusion.
“Is this a yield, Captain?” Lon’qu asks him.
Lissa leans over the fence. “Yes, it is! Get him!”
Chrom scoffs at her. She’s been rooting for her surly bodyguard over her own brother all morning, and if she’s trying to rile him up, it’s working.
“It’s not a yield,” he tells Lon’qu, who seems unimpressed. Chrom claps a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll pick this up again come the afternoon.”
“Boo you, Chrom!” Lissa calls as he starts towards the fence. “Ruining our entertainment.”
“She speaks only for herself, Your Highness,” Maribelle says.
Chrom returns Falchion to its scabbard. Lissa will get him back, someway. At least it’s still too cold for the frogs to emerge from the ponds around the castle.
He paces over to the young Pegasus Knight, and a flash of grief and nostalgia coils through him. Anise never should have been on that battlefield.
“What’s your name?” he asks her.
“Shaina, sir,” she says, poised and confident. She holds out the letter, and there is his name, dark and striking in Robin’s telltale hand. “Captain Cordelia intercepted the courier this morning. She said this was very important to you.”
Chrom winces. Since when did Cordelia know about Robin’s letters? Perhaps she heard something in passing from Lissa, or Phila—or worse, Frederick.
He tries not to worry about it, may his racing pulse betray him. “Thank you, Shaina.”
The girl skitters off, and he treks the other way, out of the training grounds and towards the stables. He can hear Sumia and Stahl puttering around, chatting as they feed the horses, but otherwise, he is perfectly alone. He steps under the mangled shade of a cherry tree and breaks the letter’s seal.
Dear Chrom,
It appears we’re getting regular post out of Plegia, now, with the war over, so I imagine this letter will reach you in a somewhat timely manner.
First, I cannot deny you the knowledge of the comfort your last letter brought me. As you and your family are Naga’s own Blessed, I had partly expected you to cast me aside, once you learned my truth. But only partly. If there is anything I learned on that wretched battlefield, it is forgiveness, and no one has taught me better than you.
However, I must ask you not to worry yourself over my dark affliction. For now, you and I both have countries to lead in healing.
That said, if it won’t be a trouble, I’d like to continue writing you. I’m sure I’ll have important things to share, from time to time–such as the fact that my plans to replace the League have borne fruit–but more than that, I’d like to simply speak to you as a friend. Won’t you do the same? I’d love to know of all the idle things that go on around the palace at Ylisstol.
I hope you’re taking care of yourself, Chrom. It is one thing to repair a broken country, but a harder thing to do so with a grieving heart.
Yours,Robin
P.S. If you could share my well wishes with any of our shared acquaintances—Gaius, Tharja and Olivia come to mind—I would be grateful. Henry’s, too, though between you and me, I think he’s most interested in Olivia. They were awfully sweet to each other when she was in my camp.
P.P.S. For your intelligence: the Grimleal have suppressed themselves in their temples. I have gone to parlay with them, but they refused to show. If I might be bold, I think my father’s passing has thrown a wrench in their prophecies.
Chrom beams down at the letter. She’s all right. Well and safe. There is still a melancholy tint to her words, but even that has softened. He turns to his side, half expecting her to be there, smirking as he devours her words, but there is only a low-grown branch of the tree, gnarled and newly pink with buds.
Oh, Robin. Why must you be half the world away?
|
Steve Rogers’ eyes didn’t flick up at the sound of the overhead bell.
He knew exactly who was walking through the door of the shop. The smell of his aftershave and the sound of a pair of takeout coffee cups sloshing around in a tray gave him away.
Biting back a quip about how he’d sure taken his time rolling out of bed, Steve accepted the offered coffee set down by his keyboard, along with a kiss on the cheek, thinking that was that. He had a lot of work to do, after all. Up-keep, schedules, following up with clients.
But Bucky Barnes clearly had other plans. He had barely stepped through the door and set down Steve’s coffee when his muscular arms wrapped themselves around the other man, caging him against the front counter where he was trying to work. Arms so big they engulfed him. Steve found himself subconsciously leaning into the warmth.
A distraction. Anytime Buck was in the shop, he was a serious distraction to his typical workload. Paperwork got forgotten, emails abandoned…
Bucky took the opportunity to rest his chin in the crook of his neck, that familiar scrape of stubble dragging across his cheek as he murmured, “Mm, how’s your schedule looking?” and tracking every click of the keyboard from his perch on Steve’s shoulder.
The typing stopped as Steve thought about his answer, accounting and scheduling checking slipping out of his head at the familiar rumble in Bucky’s chest.
“Just that flash appointment. Why?”
Bucky offered him a flash of teeth in return, a teasing smile. “The one you’ve been chatting with all week?”
“Wasn’t all week,” Steve grumbled, internally cringing at how sore he sounded.
“Sure, Stevie.”
Bucky hummed, dropping the subject as his hands slid down from Steve’s waist to his front pockets. Too close to the strain against the material. Steve straightened up, trying to stay firm and get back to work, but it was hard— difficult, rather. Bucky knew just which buttons to push along with all of Steve’s tells.
Even if he was only stretching the truth, there were no secrets between these two.
Never were.
“Well, I’m guessing that means a long lunch back home is out of the question?” Bucky asked with a bit of a lilt, outstretching his fingers in Steve’s front pockets.
“You’re such a nuisance,” Steve chuckled, a little too breathy to be assertive as his body subconsciously leaned into the contact. “So distracting. Don’t you have a whole back room to clean today?”
“I think you’ve earned a bit of a distraction,” Bucky mused against his neck. “I think you’ve been working too damn hard lately, Stevie.”
Steve sighed, rubbing at his face with his palms, “Just trying to keep the shop afloat, Buck. It’s been—”
“A rough couple’a years. I know, I know,” Bucky griped, turning his tone down a pitch as he added, “But we’re fine now, Steve. We’re in the green.”
Giving up on his original plan, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist instead, head leaning against his shoulder blades as he breathed him in. And Steve was grateful for the comfort, for the partnership— knowing it took both of them to keep things going.
Knowing they still had a road ahead of them.
“Just gotta keep it that way, Buck,” he added, mostly to himself.
Steve Rogers had owned Howlies Tattoos on Park for the last five years, a little box of a place in Brooklyn. There was gold metallic lettering scrawled across the front windows, along with the custom signage Steve had drawn up that sat above the door.
Old-school, Bucky had called it. And he would know, considering the classic tattoo style was his bread and butter.
Those first few years were rough— with just him and Buck as the shop’s artists. Barely scraping enough appointments to get by and paying utilities with the last of his savings as they got on their feet and established a solid client base. They added a few more artists to the roster and a few more chairs and stations to the floor. The walls were covered in art of all sorts, in colour and black and white— original art too, including a few of Steve’s own that he couldn’t bear to part with just yet.
They’d seen a lot in his time owning the shop, done all sorts of tattoos. But in all his time owning the shop, never once had he met a woman like Darcy Lewis. She was the only client that morning, and Steve was the only artist officially on the clock. Bucky would hang around for the day doing inventory in the back, and Nat would be the next one in, but she wasn’t due for a few more hours.
The wind seemed to change the day she stepped into his tattoo shop.
They’d only seen each other’s Instagram profiles, messaging concepts back and forth. It hadn’t been all week, like Bucky had implied. Just figuring out the minor details, tweaking the design slightly, gauging her pain tolerance. And, sure, maybe trying to fish some information out of her because Darcy’s profile was private beyond the tiny profile picture. All red lips and dark hair and a giant smile. But people always looked their best online, only showed their best self.
So Steve was left wide-eyed at the gorgeous woman in front of him, wondering how she looked like she had walked out of his phone screen and into the store.
“Hi. I have an appointment with you, I think. Darcy Lewis?” she said, pulling off her tote bag and plopping her phone inside. “So long as you’re Steve Rogers, that is. Not a whole lot of photos of you online.”
It started as just comments back and forth. Then came the mutual follow as the little jokes emerged and the tags started. Sure, it was his business profile, and it wasn’t exactly setting an appointment, but Steve started to look forward to Darcy’s timeslot.
And then to see her…
It was like time slowed down as he took her in. Those bright blue eyes, red lipstick and swirls of dark locks framing her face.
How did she manage to look better than her online persona? Darcy Lewis in real life looked like something out of the movies, not the new ones, either. The ones the local theatre in town liked playing on weekday nights. The golden age of film. Whatever it was, he was hooked on that wide grin and sea blue eyes the moment he saw them.
“Darcy! Yes, welcome,” Steve greeted before reaching down to grab a binder from under the cash. “I like to let the work speak for itself. And, speaking of, I have your design right here.”
She’d reached out to him about a flash he’d done a few weeks back. An old-timey pocket watch in traditional linework, coloured in bronze tones and framed by green foliage. There’d been a little back and forth about the details— setting the time to 11:11 and adding an inscription etched into the cover, but she had been the first to claim the piece, hopping into his DMs only a few minutes after he posted it.
Steve wondered off-hand how she’d found him, tucking the question away to get out of her later.
“That’s the one,” she smiled, showing off a tiny gap in the middle of her two front teeth.
Steve stared a second too long, chuckling to cover his flub as he added, “I’ll go print a stencil. Feel free to take a seat on the chair on the left. I’ll be right back.”
Steve hunched over his monitor as he brought up the design, sending it to the printer and slumping into the rolling chair beside it as he waited for it to print. He could hear the rustling of boxes and paperwork in the backroom, remembering that Bucky was there too.
Even if it did feel like they were the only two in the shop.
“You always slouch like that? You seriously need a tune-up, dude.”
Of course, Bucky took that exact moment to come out from hiding in the back, probably at the sound of a new (female) voice. Steve could see his partner’s face crack across the room, just out of view of Darcy, but his low snicker carried into the small space. But he ducked back into the room after a peek at her, shooting Steve an approving eyebrow raise.
Steve shook his head at the both of them ganging up on him, huffing a laugh.
And to her credit, Darcy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she looked pretty pleased with her dig, and Steve watched her wait for a response with her gap-toothed smile. Steve was ready to get an earful about his poor posture and practices, the corner of his mouth lifting as he grabbed the stencil and got to his feet and crossed the room to her chair.
And so began the game of twenty questions, he supposed.
“Lemme guess, you’re a chiropractor?”
Whoever this Darcy Lewis was, she was a bit of a spitfire. He could feel it in the lilt and the accusatory yet playful tone. He could even see it in her stance— the hand on her hip, cocked towards him, the disapproving stare.
“Doctor Lewis, physical therapist,” she clarified with a click of her tongue. And as much as Steve was ready to tease her about the title, she didn’t give him much a chance to step in, eyes raking over his form. “Seriously, though, when was the last time you worked on your back?”
And suddenly, somehow, Steve was excited at the prospect of a couple hours of back-and-forths with her, wondering —maybe even hoping — she’d keep that mouth up under the tattoo gun.
“You can work on your back?” he managed to reply, only half-joking as he watched Darcy’s mouth hang open in front of him. He could tease too, after all, adding in explanation (or maybe defence), “Hey, this ain’t exactly the kind of job that includes health insurance.”
Sputtering a laugh, Darcy nodded with that wide grin still on her face, “Fair enough.” The left strap of her tank top was tucked underneath her arm as she looked back at him, “Stencil time?”
She seemed a little more comfortable now, that ghost of a smile tugging on her lips as she stared at him expectantly.
Right, it was his turn to talk.
Steve nodded, “This your first tattoo?”
Darcy blushed, her head dropping down, hair curtaining her face as she chuckled nervously, “No, but don’t ask me what the other one is.”
Or where, he assumed. Judging by the pink dusting her cheeks and trailing up into her hairline, she was more than ready to change the subject as she uncomfortably cleared her throat.
“You wanted it on your shoulder blade, right?” Steve asked, reaching back to touch his own.
Darcy nodded, slipping her arm out of the sleeve of her tank top and showing off her bare shoulder, “This one.”
Pressing the stencil against her skin, he was relieved he picked the right size, watching the ink transfer as he pulled away the paper, “Take a look at in the mirror over there and tell me if that size works for you.”
She appraised it for a few seconds, flexing her arm a little to gauge the movement before turning back to him, “It’s perfect.”
Steve patted the chair in front of him, “Alright, if you could lie down on your stomach for me, Darcy. Wherever in the chair is most comfortable for you.”
Her elbows hung off the chair, hands stacked under her chin in wait.
“This is generally where you ask if this tattoo has any meaning, right?” she asked with a nervous laugh. “I’ve uh, seen enough reality tv to know.”
Steve just smiled in response, laying the stencil against her shoulder to transfer the linework, “Well, does it?”
“Nope,” Darcy said with a smile and a popped ‘p.’ “Just thought it was pretty.”
Steve desperately tried to ignore the flush on his face at her words, watching as her eyes tracked his as he cleaned up in the outline of the tattoo with a marker.
“So, how long have you been doing this for?” she asked over the crinkle of the hygiene covers and packaging.
“Ever since I was eighteen. Legally,” Steve said with a smile, rolling over his table, inks and implements at the ready. “Did some stupid stick and pokes as a kid. Y’know, getting my feet wet or whatever. Ready for the first line?”
Darcy snorted, “Hit me with it.”
He picked a short line, watching her expression just as carefully as the tattoo gun. Her eyes snapped shut, creased forehead as she winced, but she didn’t budge under him.
“Alright, only 400 more of those to go,” Steve joked, letting her laugh settled before pressing down on her skin again.
This was his favourite part. The hum and tick of the machine in his grip, the precision and the delicacy, wiping away the excess and watching the colours shine through. Darcy was quiet for a couple of minutes, probably getting used to the sensation, shooting another question his way as he eased off of her to grab something from the table.
“You always been an artist?” Darcy asked over her shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at his work.
“A tattoo artist? For almost ten years now,” Steve replied, eyes locked to the ink under his gloved hands.
“An artist artist too,” Darcy clarified, almost insistent. “You know, you could sell prints of your flash. You’d probably make some decent money.”
“That’s a good idea, actually,” he hummed.
Bright, proud eyes stared back at him— ocean blue, “I’m full of ’em. And that’s not even my strong suit. You should see what I can do with backs.”
And there was that playful ribbing again.
“Y’know,” Steve started, an idea springing to mind. “I do do barter tattoos occasionally, if you don’t mind being the first to work out the kinks… in my uh, back?”
He internally cringed at the bravado slipping away as the sentence went on, becoming more and more unsure by the second that he didn’t just cross several professional (and possibly personal) boundaries.
But Darcy didn’t seem put off. In fact, her eyes seemed to light up at the prospect, flicking up over her shoulder as he eased off her skin.
“Really? You’d trade a tattoo for a few sessions?”
Steve shrugged, “Figure it’s more than worth the money, what with the return on investment and all. Plus, it’d be nice to not hobble out of bed in the morning.”
The smile slipped off Darcy’s face, “Please tell me you’re exaggerating about the hobbling.”
“Slightly?” Steve said, knowing full well it was a lie. He could almost hear Bucky laughing at him from the back room. “Would that deal be contingent on it being an exaggeration?”
“No, I’ll save my ‘disappointed in you’ talk for our appointment, then,” Darcy chided, unable to keep the smirk off her face. “You probably don’t want to hear about my work while you’re tattooing me.”
“You could read me a storybook, and it’d probably be more fun than half of my appointments,” Steve replied quietly, getting back to work with a boyish grin.
Darcy blew out a breath, trying not to disturb his work as she replied, “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Nah, just the pretty ones that can keep him on his toes,” Bucky chirped from across the room.
Of course, he’d pick right then to step into the conversation— officially, at least.
Steve could see Darcy’s blue eyes track the man closing the gap between them, a box of register rolls in his grip from what he could tell from his peripherals. Without looking up at Bucky, he chided him, “You hush up over there. Can’t be making us look bad in front of our client.”
“Sure, no problem, pal. You can do that well enough yourself,” Bucky shot back as Steve took a seconds-long break to let Darcy get her chuckles out. Offering a bit of a wave, he added, “I’m Bucky, by the way. Bucky Barnes.”
“It’s alright. I can handle a little teasing,” Darcy said, soothing Steve before turning back to the other artist. “Nice to meet you, Bucky. Family name, or?”
“Funny story, actually.”
“Stick around long enough, and you’ll hear it, I’m sure,” Steve rolled his eyes a little as he shifting on his rolling stool, readying his tools again.
And boy did she hear it— the same story Bucky told to every pretty girl he met. Some of the guys too. Steve wasn’t entirely quiet, adding in some more colourful flourishes his friend might have left out to save face. But he would have been happy to sit back and watching them have a go at each other, the blush creeping across Darcy’s face with every little jab Bucky or he managed.
Maybe that’s why the appointment seemed to go by quickly, wiping it down so Darcy could sneak a peek at the raw finished product in the mirror. He might have ducked his head down, a little embarrassed at her excited little squeal about how perfect it was.
He’d been wrestling with himself those last five minutes, wondering how many lines it would cross to ask her out at the end of this. Take her out to dinner or out dancing, something better than poking holes into her skin. And those little looks she offered him didn’t help, nor did the way her eyes lit up when she stared back at him, gracious as ever, as he finished wrapping up her shoulder.
“You need the payment up-front?” she asked with a wicked grin as he walked her to the front desk. She gestured out the door, “I can always get my table out of my car.”
Bucky’s eyebrows, which he could spot over Darcy’s shoulder, seemed to shoot up into his hair, but Steve tried to play it cool. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this like he was sparring with someone. Every word that came out of her mouth was so unexpected, so vibrant, that he couldn’t help trying to draw out any kind of reaction just to see what would happen.
“Nah, I trust you. You have one of those trustworthy faces.”
Real memorable, too, he smiled to himself.
He watched her eyes light up at the line, that gap hidden behind her hand that flew up to her mouth to hide her chuckle and blush.
“Well, uh, here’s my card,” she said, flipping through her wallet until she happened across a business card. Pulling a pen out from her bag, she used her tote bag as a table, scribbling another number on the back of the card. “Call me to set up your first appointment, and we can go from there.”
“Thanks, Darcy,” Steve smiled.
Darcy’s expression, on the other hand, dropped to a more stern look as she locked eyes with Bucky across the room, now sweeping up. “You’re next, mister. Don’t think I didn’t see you slouching, too.”
Bucky smirked, “You’re going to have to wear me down some more, doll. I don’t take my shirt off for just anyone.”
With a snort, Steve shot back, “Yes, you do. I live with you; I should know.”
And neither Steve nor Darcy could ignore the flush that crept across Bucky’s face at the accusation. She was giggling as she said one last goodbye and pushed open the door of the shop.
The pair were silent for a few seconds, as if taking in the exchange. Locking eyes, Steve’s face did all the talking, asking the doubt-lined question Bucky knew was coming.
“You better call her,” Bucky said before clarifying. “For the sake of your back.”
But Steve wasn’t about to let this go— let him go that easy. Not when they’d both been front row at Darcy and him making eyes between the other.
“And the other thing?”
Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky, looking for some sort of tell, any sign of discomfort or hesitance.
Sure, they’d had the talk. The wondering about what it would be like to add another to their relationship, or exploring openness on either side. And they’d worked it out and agreed, but all those things seemed like hypotheticals, though. Abstract concepts that felt so different in practice.
So Steve found himself wondering if the fantasy would always just be that, willing to ignore the spark if Bucky didn’t feel it either.
“Do whatever your heart says is right, Stevie,” Bucky said in a low voice. “I’d have to be deaf, blind and dumb to not sense there was clearly a connection between you two.”
Steve: How do we do this? Do I come to your office?
The tentative text had come in a few days after Darcy Lewis walked out of the shop— after Bucky had given him the green light and go-ahead. And still, even after his encouragement, it had taken Steve Rogers three days to take her up on the alternative method of payment.
He’d only just worked up the courage to finally add her on Instagram after she tagged him in a post about their tattoo session, relieved when Darcy instantaneously accepted his request like she’d been waiting for it. And each time she popped up in his feed in those next 72 hours — including some shots of her still-healing tattoo — he felt himself hovering over the message button on her profile.
Maybe Steve would ask her how it was healing up, whether she’d been keeping up with tattoo balm and keeping herself out of the sun. There were so many opportunities to strike up a conversation, especially with someone he seemed to spark with during their session.
But somehow, he just couldn’t find the words, didn’t quite know how to make it anything but awkward without her reassuring smile on his face.
“You message that girl yet?” Bucky asked him (seemingly) every day— which almost made him wonder just how much skin he had in this game too. But he tucked it aside and shook his head like a chump as Bucky continued, “What the hell are you waiting for?”
Eventually, Steve broke down after Bucky’s umpteenth reminder to a shop full of artists and clients that he was looking more and more like an old man with that posture of his. It was a targeted jab, underlined with another round of griping about having to watch them ‘making googly eyes at each other for several hours.’
Bucky’s words, not Steve’s.
At this point, Steve was pretty sure Bucky was just trying to get him out of the shop for a bit, to stop being such a ‘downer,’ with all those little remarks about working himself the bone adding up quick. So he did it. He sent the first text to the number printed on her business card.
Darcy: I’m pretty mobile, so I can also come to you if you’re more comfortable with that?
As much as he dreaded having to scrub the apartment of all the loose clothes, workout gear, and art supplies that seemed to litter every surface, Steve did prefer the idea of stripping down in the safety of his place. After all, he’d have to tell her about all his injuries, all that old scar tissue lingering underneath relatively unmarred skin. And that, in itself, was a hell of a conversation starter.
Speaking of downers…
Steve: Maybe my place is better for the first one? If you don’t mind.
He’d heard the reassurances a thousand times, that he just had to be himself, be upfront, take a chance. And Steve was all about taking risks— he’d staked his life on it more than a couple times, but this felt different. Like he was wrong for wanting it to work out when he already had someone to go home to. When other people were worse off and not actively trying to date their clients.
God, this was way too much baggage for something that wasn’t supposed to be a date— definitely wasn’t a date.
It was a barter. They were bartering. Terms were normal.
Darcy: Not at all. How’s your Tuesday looking?
Steve couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as his eyes scanned the following message, smiling as he scrolled through his schedule. Free and clear after 3pm. He texted Darcy as much, confirming his address in their flurry of characters.
Darcy: UM. You can’t afford a physio appointment, and you live in Cobble Hill? 🤔 Darcy texted back after a few silent minutes, quickly adding. Sorry, I don’t mean that you’re cheap. I just don’t end up on that end of Brooklyn all that often.
Steve: It was my parents’ place, Steve texted back, deciding against a second message with more of an explanation with a few presses of the backspace button.
He gnawed on his lip as he wondered if she’d even be able to read between the lines, hoping she wouldn’t feel bad about her text. She shouldn’t. It was playful enough, and they’d been trading light jabs back and forth easily. The question was whether she’d drop it or if she’d think less of him, but thankfully Darcy was as graceful as ever.
Darcy: Sorry. Physically extracting foot from mouth. Should be good by Tuesday at 3:45pm. Apology baked goods in tow.
Steve: Apology baked goods? Steve texted back as the words toppled out of his mouth in an awed murmur as he typed them, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
But Darcy didn’t give anything away.
Darcy: See you Tuesday 😉
Steve was starting to wonder if flustered was Darcy’s default mode. Don’t get him wrong. It was more adorable than anything. A little pink in her cheeks, slightly too tousled hair and an apologetic grin written all over her face as she showed up to his place with a giant table under one arm and a pastry box under the other.
“Did you need help with that?” Steve asked, swinging open his front door and watching as she maneuvered through the doorway.
Darcy huffed, a little out of breath and handed him the pastry box, eyes narrowing when she realized it wasn’t what he’d been expecting to ‘help’ with. “It’s my job. I do this every day, Steve.”
He added a serious case of ’pride’ to his mental running list of Darcyisms, ready to piece her together like a puzzle if necessary. It almost seemed to not fit— the confident and dazzling smile from their appointment and this obvious wall of nerves between them now. But Steve had to remember that he was in her workplace now.
Even if her workplace was currently his living room.
“A brought a few things from my favourite bakery as a ‘sometimes my filter takes a vacation’ consolation prize,” Darcy explained as she unfolded the table in the open area of the living room Steve had guided her to.
“It’s nothing, really,” Steve assured her, not wanting her to feel bad about the whole thing. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still,” Darcy insisted. “And I wouldn’t exactly call this nothing— your place is gorgeous.”
It was lived in, and very clear there were two men living here, with their mish-mash of personal trinkets and decor.
All Steve could do was shove his hands in his pocket with an unsure “Thanks,” not really knowing what to say to that.
He didn’t miss the way her eyes swept across the room, taking in everything from the prints on the wall to the framed photo of Bucky and him in their fatigues on the side table, untouched so long there was a layer of dust sitting on top of the frame. There weren’t a lot of mementos from their times overseas, not that either of them wanted to remember most of it, but anyone who looked hard enough would know that they served.
“Bucky at the shop today?” Darcy asked over her shoulder as she set up her station. Steve was a little dumbfounded at the question but didn’t even have a chance to ask her how she’d known before she added, “You mentioned you two lived together back at the shop.”
“Uh, yeah. He’s got a couple of appointments this afternoon, so I thought it’d be a good time,” Steve replied, still taken aback.
He silently added a keen memory to the list in his head.
Darcy hummed and rubbed her hands together before setting them on her hips, “Alright, so I do have to ask if you’ve been injured before. Breaks, tears, sprains, aches, pre-existing conditions. Basically, anything that I might find along the way, recurring or not.”
“Is it easier if I show you?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t going to be much of a show anyway to the naked eye, at least— the damage was beneath the surface.
Darcy nodded, a little wide-eyed, as Steve turned his back to her as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. There were more noticeable marks, the white and dark pink scrapes and the ridged bullet holes that had long healed. But most of them were camouflaged now, between sprawling art in black and white etched on his skin— well, mostly black and white. He could guess that was where her eyes would linger, on the red, white and blue circle behind his heart.
But most of the pain points were far from obvious.
“Tore something in my left arms overseas— think I dislocated it at some point, and I’m not really sure if it ever healed,” Steve explained, blindly crooking his arm behind his back to point out the problem area. He tried to keep his tone light, factual, but it was hard not to feel the way it seemed to blanket the room in awkward tension. “Probably didn’t help that my right arm was broken at the time, and so I just had to keep going for a while.”
“Define a while,” Darcy asked, voice a little shaky, smile long gone.
She almost looked afraid to know the answer, her red-painted smile looking more and more forced by the second. Maybe it was just her work mode, this more straight-faced version of Darcy. It didn’t seem to fit the girl who’d spent a morning sassing him as he drew on her skin.
“Coupl’a days.”
Steve was happy to leave it at that, tossing his shirt onto the nearby couch as his heart thumped against his ribs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to tell someone about that day, and he wasn’t looking forward to the piteous look probably plastered across Darcy’s face.
When his eyes landed back on Darcy, he didn’t miss that she looked a little stiffer than she did before, straightening up as she turned back to him, avoiding his gaze.
“Listen, I’m sorry if I made you feel obligated to do this,” Darcy started, holding her hands up in surrender, missing some of the lightness in her tone. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I’m happy to pay for the tattoo in cash if this is weird or invasive. It was a stupid idea anyway. Sometimes I don’t even think before I—”
But all Steve could do was cut her off with a chuckle, “You’re a rambler, huh?”
Darcy’s mouth snapped shut, all the words fell out of her brain at Steve’s interruption, frozen in place and waiting for Steve’s reaction. “What?” she breathed, blue eyes staring up at him.
Fear. That was definitely fear there. Not that it wasn’t expected. Steve just didn’t know whether it was fear of getting herself in too deep or fear of hurting him. Maybe both. But this awkwardness, this weird situation they’d found themselves in, was what he had been afraid of himself.
“I probably should have figured after your appointment,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, trying to think of any way to talk her down, make this feel more normal. “Listen, I promise if you’re good, I’m good. Bucky says I’m starting to look like I’m ninety— and he’s one to talk— so my shitty old back could definitely use a tune-up if the offer’s still on the table?”
The worry seemed to fade from her blue eyes. And, after a second of sussing him out, the tension seemed to lift from the space between them.
Darcy nodded and patted the table with a half-smile, “We’ll start out with some stretches first, just to get a sense of your range of motion, and then we’ll get to the good stuff.”
Steve could’ve breathed a sigh of relief as he hopped onto the table and felt her small, cool hands on his wrists, guiding him through the motions. He was just glad they were back on track.
Darcy quickly found all his problem areas, watching for the winces that came with his shoulder and arm injuries, seeing just how different they were between each of his arms, and how minor adjustments pointed out some spots he hadn’t realized were still sore.
“Alright,” she said once she’d run him through the gamut. “If you could lie down there and pop your head through the hole, we’ll get this show on the road.”
The table creaked a little as he got into position, feeling oddly exposed as he lay on his stomach.
“If you’ve ever uncomfortable, let me know. More pressure, less pressure— any kind of feedback helps,” Darcy explained from what sounded like across the room. “It’ll be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t be painful.”
“Got it, doc,” Steve quipped, finding it hard not to fidget on the table as Darcy readied the last of her equipment. But he took the little huff of a laugh as a win.
Darcy peppered in little jokes and tidbits about her life as she worked on him, happy to fill the silence with the warmth he’d come to know. And Steve was glad to listen about her cat, Alpine, and her roommate, Jane, who had a big, burly Nordic boyfriend who Darcy adamantly assured was a giant teddy bear. It not only saved Steve from having to salvage what had been a rocky start, but he was eager to listen to her, learn more about her life.
Darcy could’ve read him the dictionary, and he would have been at ease— more than he had been alone with another person in a long time.
Since Bucky.
Steve offered a little, mentioning that Bucky had done most of the tattoos covering his body, which seemed to intrigue her. But he could tell there was still a bit of tension in the air— some unknowns or questions, he’d guess after their flirty first appointment. And frankly, he was still wondering whether he’d be crossing a line by asking, by opening up to the possibility.
But Steve wasn’t one to ignore a chance, no matter how slim, so the words seemed to topple out of his mouth before he could think about the potential consequences.
“Since we got all the awkward baggage stuff out of the way so quickly,” Steve started as Darcy moved across the room, hearing the jingle of her reaching into the nearby bag to get supplies. “I was wondering if maybe, you wanted to get a drink or something? Obviously not as payment— and only if you want to—”
“Jesus, Rogers. And you call me a rambler,” Darcy snorted, the jingling ceasing. “You ask all your clients out to drinks?”
He huffed out a nervous breath, “Nah. Just you.”
Darcy didn’t respond right away— Steve hadn’t really known what to expect, but it wasn’t her hands back on his skin, promptly kneading away some of the tension between his shoulder blades. But every second that passed felt like a decade to him as he waited for an answer.
Every few seconds was punctuated by a suppressed groan from Darcy’s motion, but stuttered to a halt as soon as she hit the sweet spot that made him hiss.
“That’s the spot, huh?” Darcy asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell me if this is too much.”
In reality, it was perfect. Steve almost said as much out loud, but his brain was elsewhere, wondering if she was stalling for time to think or ignoring the question entirely. Maybe he’d made this too awkward— maybe this was a bad idea after all, and Buck’s gut feeling was totally wrong—
“So, I have to ask before I answer,” Darcy murmured quietly, still taking her time to work out the knot. He nearly held his breath in wait, listening as the nerves crept back into her tone. “Wait, I can ask you something, right? I feel weird making this so personal after I basically made you air your trauma in front of a total stranger.”
Steve shook his head as much as he could through the hole, “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You had to know what kind of damage you were dealing with, and I offered the information. Free will, and all.”
Darcy’s hands left the warmth of his back. Wiping them on a nearby towel, she straightened up and sucked in a breath. “Well, thank you for trusting me with that.”
She sounded sincere, if a little hesitant. Maybe even a little sad if Steve listened close enough.
“Your question?” Steve pressed, curious as ever.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, ending a shake of her head as she pushed a loose curl of hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “It’s silly.”
“Darcy.” Steve popped his head out of the hole to look up at her with an encouraging smile, resting his chin on his forearms, and he assured her, “I promise I won’t laugh— there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”
She sighed, hands on her hips as she put some distance between them— probably so he wasn’t craning his neck quite as much, undoing her hard work.
“It’s about Bucky,” she started, not meeting his eyes. “Are you guys together, or?”
Steve sucked in a breath of his own. He’d expected that question, though maybe not so soon. Perhaps he had been a little too confident that she hadn’t seen anything unprofessional between the pair while she was in the shop, but maybe Darcy was sharper than he’d given her credit for. Maybe there was more chemistry on display than they’d realized.
But either way, Darcy sure was perceptive, with Steve mentally adding that to the puzzle in his head.
“Yeah, we’re together. Have been a long time,” he replied levelly, observing her expression carefully.
It wasn’t like he would lie to her; that wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.
Still, Steve cringed a little as the words hung in the air, bracing for impact and listening for the inevitable disappointment in her tone. And while there was a lull in the conversation— he could practically hear the cogs in her brain turning—
“So, how does that work?”
His head nearly snapped off his shoulders at the speed it flicked to gauge Darcy’s expression— to make sure she wasn’t trying to disguise some sort of disgust or fear. But those clear blue eyes stared back at him, business as usual, waiting for an answer that was probably more vague than she deserved.
“However we agree to.”
But it was concise, to the point. Consent was a big thing to underline for all parties involved.
Darcy played with the towel in her grasp, twisted it and unfurling it over and over again as she thought it over. She was nervous. That much Steve could tell. But he wasn’t sure if it was because of the question she wanted to ask or the fact that he’d just asked her out on a kind of unconventional date.
“Do you guys agree to date other people too or?” Darcy asked, her face quickly flashing from panic to a frown as she second-guessed herself. “Sorry, that was way too personal—”
“No, no,” Steve chuckled, pushing himself upright, so he wasn’t tweaking his neck in the process. So she could get a gauge on his facial expression too. “It’s alright. We’ve talked about it— the possibility of it, if we found someone that clicked, but we’ve never actually done it.”
“Brought in a third or dated other people?”
It was then that Steve realized just how much he talked between the lines, hoping that he wasn’t just reading the situation completely wrong. Hoping he wasn’t, y’know, making a total ass of himself, or anything. That he wasn’t just giving her fodder for her next girl’s night out— something about the creepy and terrible tattoo artist that was just looking for a threesome.
Not that this was that. Not at all.
“The first one,” Steve admitted, a little bashful. “Not that you have to— I mean, I’m not expecting…”
Darcy hummed, nodding as she went to go grab some resistance bands she’d left in her bag across the room. And for a second, Steve wondered if he’d said too much, if he’d freaked her out entirely, and this was just her nice way of letting him down easy— of just getting back to business.
Which is maybe what he should have kept this whole thing at.
“I’m not scaring you off, am I?” Steve started, ready to walk everything back if it was going to make things uncomfortable for them. “I know it’s a lot… and I— I haven’t done this before.”
But then there was that laugh again, that bright sound bouncing off the walls of his Brooklyn brownstone and filling it up with more light than most days could provide.
“No— no, I mean. I’m just being silly here,” Darcy tried to wave away. “But I mean, even if we hit it off, is he—? Would Bucky even be into me?”
Is that what it came down to? His eyes narrowed slightly, softening as he spotted the blush creep across her cheeks, bringing out the blue of her eyes as the hope crept into her gaze.
“He gave me the go-ahead. Said I’d be stupid not to take you up on this,” Steve shrugged, not wanting to speak on behalf of his partner. “But you are his type.”
“And yours?”
Steve could feel the corner of his lips lift, a breathless chuckle escape as he replied, “And mine.”
The pink tinge trailed all the way into her hairline as she threw her towel into a plastic bag. The last piece of today’s puzzle: Darcy Lewis was open-minded. Maybe even a go-getter.
“Then, I don’t see why drinks would hurt,” she offered with a gap-toothed smile. “But I can’t say the same for the last part of this appointment, sorry to say. In fact, you might not be too happy with me tomorrow, but I promise it’ll be better in the end.”
Frankly, Steve didn’t need her assurances. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Darcy she had a trustworthy face at the shop. The pounding in his chest was starting to wane at the more confident tone, happy she hadn’t just blown off his request or walked out.
Instead, she gestured for him to get back into position, settling her hands back on his back for one last round.
“How about Friday? Seven-ish?” Steve asked through the table.
He could almost feel the smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
“It’s a date.”
“You sure you don’t need me to chaperone?”
Bucky Barnes was wearing a smirk he’d been saving for just the occasion, sprawled across the bed as his partner struggled to find something suitable in their closet.
It was no secret Steve had been a ball of nerves the whole week leading up to this, and it seemed to get worse every hour closer to their date. Bucky had already watched him run through six different options in the last ten minutes, quietly talking himself out of each of them before ending up right back where he started.
Steve shot him a look, still wearing the towel he’d put on after his shower. And Bucky’d be lying if he said the view wasn’t distracting.
With a sigh, he pushed himself off the cozy comforter and grabbed a simple blue button-up and a pair of jeans from their closet, holding them out in offering to the blond with the furrowed brow.
“Thanks,” Steve breathed gratefully, shaking his head. “My mind is just….”
He trailed off, still looking a little dazed. A little love struck by Bucky’s guess. Darcy had been all he talked about for the last few days, and even if they hadn’t done anything beyond barter, banter and flirt, Steve Rogers had been practically glowing all week.
“Mush?” Bucky offered to Steve’s chuckle. “Who knew you were such a masochist, running after a girl who can beat you up.”
“She did not beat me up,” Steve grumbled, good-natured. “Honestly, my back’s never been better.”
Bucky was pretty sure he’d never seen him happier either— or more nervous as he did now. All bitten pink lips and flustered red splotches on his face. Paired with his slight limp in the two days after they’d seen each other, Bucky was pretty sure the man was in pretty deep already.
It was kind of adorable.
“Calm down, Stevie. You look like you’re in high school, about to meet your prom date’s dad,” Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arm around the blond’s waist and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Pretty sure there won’t be a shotgun on the other side of the door.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Steve joked, getting a grin out of Buck, who squeezed his ass in return, eliciting a yelp. “Hey!”
“Sorry, shouldn’t bruise the merchandise, I guess,” Bucky snorted with a wry grin as Steve took one look at the time and hurried off to get ready.
Bucky almost offered him a drink to settle his nerves. Something strong and smokey, but it would have been wasted on him. Steve had all the refinement of a frat boy as far as alcohol went, so it wasn’t worth sharing the good stuff with him. So, instead, Bucky sat back down on the bed and watched Steve flit around the room in silent panic.
He only intervened when Steve’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of his dress shirt, swooping in to help him out and give him a once-over. This particular blue button-down was one of his personal favourites, the colour akin to Steve’s eyes… or something equally cheesy.
But either way, Bucky knew that a good-looking man in a well-tailored shirt went pretty far, as far as dates were concerned. He knew from experience.
“I see how it is, punk. Saving the good stuff for the pretty girls,” Bucky murmured with a lilt, smiling at the huff of a laugh he’d managed to get out of him. “You don’t dress up like this for me.”
“Oh, please,” Steve huffed with an eye roll, but Bucky could see the lump in his throat as he stared down at him, unsure as ever.
Smoothing out the fabric of Steve’s shirt, Bucky took in just how beautiful he was like this. Flustered and hopeful, blue eyes searching for any ounce of doubt in his partner. Part of Bucky wanted to push him back against the bed and have his way with them, undo both their hard work.
But instead, he tried to quell his obvious nerves, patting his palm on Steve’s chest with one last reassurance, “Y’look good, Stevie. She’ll swoon; you’ll see.”
There was still that pink flush sprinkled across his cheeks, that hesitant tone as Steve bit his lip and looked back at Bucky. “What if I’m the swooner?”
“You always were a hopeless romantic, Steve Rogers,” Bucky smiled, getting up on his toes to press a calming kiss to his lips. “And if Miss Lewis is worth her weight in salt, she’ll see that as an asset. Endearing or something. Dames love a man in touch with his feelings.”
And there was that flash of teeth, that teasing Steve smile that made Bucky’s chest warm.
“Better me than you then, huh?”
Bucky put on his best hurt face before nudging Steve with his elbow, “Punk.”
“Jerk.”
The doorbell overhead broke their little moment, with Bucky hurrying to grab the door without a word. If anyone was going on a date with his boyfriend, he was sure as hell going to be the first to suss her out. He pried it open and nearly stuttered, his brain grinding to a halt at the vision in a red dress at the door.
Soft dark curls framed her face, lips painted just as brightly as her outfit as she grinned at him, not even blinking at the fact that it wasn’t her date answering the door.
Maybe she was more open to this thing than he gave her credit for.
Still, she wasn’t going to leave without a bit of ribbing.
“By my count, you’re an hour late,” Bucky said, staring at the clock on his phone as he held the door open with his left hand. “And where’s the pizza?”
“Hilarious. I’m here to pick up my date,” Darcy announced with a grin, cocking her hip and leaning it against the inside of the doorframe. “How’s it going, Bucky?”
“Just peachy. Spent the last hour talking your date here off a ledge.”
“Don’t tell her that!” Steve whispered harshly in the background, loud enough for Darcy to hear apparently.
She broke out into giggles, hiding them behind her hand as a flush brushed across her cheeks.
“Now, be honest with me, sweetheart. You gonna treat him alright? Do I have to read you the riot act?” Bucky joked, watching that mischievous glint light up her blue eyes.
Darcy offered a little faux two-finger salute in response, pairing it with a wink, “Promise I’ll bring him home before curfew and everything.”
Bucky practically had to tear his eyes off her, lest he come off as some sort of creep. But he glanced over his shoulder to find Stevie listening intently to their conversation as he slipped on his shoes.
“Between you and me, you can keep him, doll,” Bucky murmured, just loud enough for Steve to hear.
With a playful pout, Darcy replied, “I thought we could share.”
That made Bucky bust a gut, hunched over laughing as Steve’s flush deepened. He was practically purple up to his ears at her deadpanned joke— a response Bucky had only ever been able to get out of Steve himself.
Darcy didn’t look a bit sorry at Steve’s embarrassment, eyes glimmering and gap-toothed smile firmly in place. This girl was just full of surprises, and Bucky almost wanted to invite himself on this so-called date, just to see what other things came out of that beautiful mouth.
“I like this one,” Bucky smirked in response to Steve’s exasperated look, crooking his thumb in Darcy’s direction. He squeezed Steve’s hand just out of sight of Darcy as he slipped past, leaving them with one last warning. “You two be good now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
But of course, Steve had his own answer for that, whipping his head around just to quip, “That’s a very short list, Buck.”
“Wiseass.”
Steve pretended not to hear him as he turned to Darcy, “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said, looking a little caught off guard at the compliment. Something told him she was much more used to banter than Steve’s sweetness. “Are we cabbing it?”
“I thought we’d walk, actually. Since it’s nice out?” Steve offered.
“Sure, saves me having to argue about paying for cab fare, since something tells me you don’t believe chivalry is dead,” Darcy joked, and Bucky couldn’t help but snicker. They started down the steps, Steve outstretching his arm so she could latch on, avoiding any wobbling from her heels. “You do this a lot? Walk?”
“Perks of Brooklyn,” Steve said smoothly, and Bucky could have sworn he shot a wink over his shoulder.
He watched the pair for a while from the door, how close they walked side-by-side as they headed towards the restaurant Steve had absolutely made a reservation at. Preparation was key with Steve Rogers— Bucky was more into winging it. Opposites attract, and all that.
Their voices drifted down the street as they did, and Bucky could catch bits and pieces.
But eventually, he gave up and called it a night, turning off the porchlight and settling into a sitting chair with a good book.
It was nearly midnight when he heard a pair of familiar voices. They rang out from all the way down the block.
OK, sure, maybe Bucky had taken up residence on the top step of his stoop, reading by porchlight. But he’d waited a few hours before camping out, watching a little TV and sneaking in a cocktail. And yes, maybe that was a little too close to a parent anxiously waiting for their kid to get home on time, but it was more curiosity than fatherly worry.
Bucky wondered just how far that spitfire would be able to push Steve’s buttons and get him to let loose a little. Honestly, he deserved a chance to blow off steam, dance with a pretty dame, maybe even flirt a little.
Or, at least try to.
Bucky scrambled to his feet at the sound, mostly so he wouldn’t look curmudgeonly, or exceptionally nosey— he was only a standard amount of nosey, as far as he was concerned. He slipped into the same spot in the doorway that he’d seen them off from, trying to listen in to the parts of the conversations he could make out through the dark.
“Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but shouldn’t I be the one walking you home?” Steve’s amused voice sounded out between scuffed footsteps. They echoed out into the night, heavy-footed and a little off-kilter.
Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the fact his partner was likely pleasantly drunk.
“I’m an equal-opportunity dater, Mr. Rogers,” Darcy shot back, the smile evident in her tone.
Bucky was just glad they’d clearly both had a good night, based on the boozy flush and goofy grin on their faces as they came into view under the streetlights.
“Well, well, well,” Bucky Barnes chided, standing in the doorway with a signature smirk on his face, tone playful as he opened the door wider, leaving enough room for Steve to slip by. “Look who finally decided to show up.”
He didn’t miss Darcy nearly jumping out of her skin at the sound of his voice, momentarily pulling away from their joined hands with a squeak. The breathy chuckle that followed had Darcy’s hand over her heart, shooting Bucky a dirty look and a wry grin, “Scared the shit out of me.”
They stopped at the foot of the stoop, fingers brushing before she laced her fingers through his again— a good sign in Bucky’s book, especially for a typically reserved Rogers. Steve spun her in place to face him, drawing his thumb across her knuckles as their eyes met.
“Thank you for dinner,” Darcy offered, squeezing his hand. “Indian was a good choice.”
Bucky’s heart thumped in his chest just watching them, and part of him wondered if he should give them a little privacy for goodbyes. But Steve didn’t seem put off by his presence, gaze drifting down to their joined hands as he smiled.
Steve’s head bobbed as he replied, “Well, you were great company. Thank you for joining me. Maybe we can do this again?”
“Maybe soon?” Darcy offered, staring up at him through her eyelashes.
Something about seeing them together warmed the pit of Bucky’s belly— but he brushed it off as residual nerves.
He could practically hear Steve’s breath leave his lungs as he offered a soft, “Absolutely.”
When it was clear there wouldn’t be a goodnight kiss— Bucky knew Steve was too much of a gentleman for that— he offered his own solution to end the night on a good note.
“How about you let me have words with your date here, pal? Make sure she’s got the right intentions and all.”
“Ah, the true prom night experience,” Darcy joked as Steve shook his head in exasperated disbelief. “Steve might have mentioned you offered your uh, chaperoning services.”
“I’ll text you,” Steve promised with a breathy chuckle, ducking down to sweep Darcy into a hug before heading up the stairs. “Be nice,” Steve added into James’ ear as he pressed a kiss to his cheek and slipped inside.
Bucky slumped into the doorframe with his arms across his chest, as he sized her up. She wasn’t in her heels anymore, he realized, flats sitting just below where her ankles crossed and the milky white expanse of her legs began.
He knew he’d been caught peeking as soon as his eyes caught hers again, but there was something intriguing about the look on her face. Part tease, part challenge and part curiosity as her eyes seemed to sweep over him right back. Equal opportunity indeed. But the thing that made him gravitate towards Darcy Lewis was the fact that no matter where or when he’d seen her, she always seemed to look like the cat that ate the canary.
Like she was keeping a secret or waiting for him to reveal his.
“He treat you alright? No way he let you pay for dinner, right?” Bucky started after clearing his throat, eager to break the silence with a few more jokes at his partner’s expense.
Darcy leaned her back against the post at the bottom of the stoop, smiling sweetly, “He was a perfect gentleman. Probably the opposite of you, huh?”
There it was, that little bit of playful defiance in her, that telltale glimmer in her eyes that said Darcy was just as much trouble as she was betting Bucky was. It made him stand a little straighter, throwing him off of his usual game, even here when she was down the stairs. They’d barely spoken, and still, somehow, this whole interaction just felt like a game of chess.
Thankfully Bucky was good at thinking on his feet.
Bucky huffed a laugh, “How’d you guess?”
“Just a hunch,” Darcy said with a twist of her lips. “I can also sense you’re a pretty decent artist there yourself, Mr. Barnes. Here I was, assuming you were just the hired help.”
It was that challenging tone that made him want to find out how to really made her tick.
“Is that right?”
He furrowed his brow, putting on his most doubtful tone as he tried to hold back the smile that was threatening. As much as he wanted to turn the tables and find out more about her, Bucky wasn’t about to stop her from gassing him up.
“Alright, so maybe I cheated on that one,” Darcy admitted with a huff of a laugh and a slump of her shoulders. “I, uh, saw a bunch of your handiwork during Steve’s session this week.”
Now he could lay it on thick.
“You’re tellin’ me you’ve seen it up close, and you’re only callin’ it pretty decent?” he shot back with a flash of teeth, watching her mouth twitch as she held back a grin of her own.
She shrugged and offered half-heartedly, “It’s not bad, I guess.”
“Hm, not bad, huh?” Bucky challenged.
There was a beat of silence as they sized each other up— a silent game of chicken. Bucky knew how to play quiet. Where Steve was always happy to fill it in to avoid the awkward, Bucky was happy to wait and see what it managed to dredge up.
“Alright, so the real question,” Darcy started, looking a little less confident than before.
Bucky braced himself for the worst, not knowing what the hell they’d covered during dinner.
“Do you two have any matching tattoos? Steve wouldn’t tell me,” Darcy admitting, biting her lips like she knew she probably shouldn’t have asked. Still, the curious side of her added at his hesitance, “You must, right?”
“Used to.”
Bucky was happy to leave it at that, hoping Darcy would nod in understanding and move on, but apparently, she was more perceptive than he gave her credit for.
“The shield?” she asked, eyes lighting up.
Of course, she’d seen it— it was an eyesore of a thing, done in shaky, bleeding lines when they were practically babies, right before they shipped off.
It used to mean a lot— mean something to an entire group of people, even. But now, with his half long gone, it was just a series of coloured circles, alone and meaningless. Closer to a bullseye, a target on Steve’s back now than it was to its original purpose.
It was bittersweet seeing it on him, these days.
Sure, Bucky and Steve were free now, free of their former lives. But it still had its claws in them in some ways. The kind that flashed before them whenever their eyes drifted shut— at least, in Bucky’s case.
He nodded, voice a little gruffer as he confirmed, “Yeah. How’d you figure?”
“It was the only colour piece on his whole back.” Her smile drooped a little as she said it, seemingly catching on to Bucky’s change in tone.
Clearing his throat, he tried to offer a friendlier face— it would be impossible for her to know its painful history, after all.
“Yeah, Steve’s kind of a stickler for themes,” Bucky said, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stared back out at her.
She must have been cold by now— part of him wanted to offer her a jacket, the other wondering if that was too forward. But she was already shifting from foot to foot, catching glimpses down the street like it was almost time to go. But of course, she had to leave him with one last parting shot.
“So, the only question left, James Buchanan Barnes, is when are you gonna let me work on your back?”
Barking a laugh, Bucky managed to volley back, “What? You just want to see the rest of Rogers’ doodles, don’t you? Collect the whole set?”
She flushed a little at the implication, cocking her hip as she tried to get them back on track.
“Just trying to save you from yourself, Buck. And your bad posture,” Darcy shrugged, tone playful, if not a little chiding. “But, if you wanted, we could do drinks instead?”
Something about his nickname on her lips sounded so right. He couldn’t bring himself to correct her— didn’t see the need.
“Sounds like my kinda medicine,” Bucky said, though he had other kinds of ideas— some that didn’t involve them both tipsy. “But how about brunch? What are you up to tomorrow?”
The last thing he wanted was for Darcy get the wrong idea about him. Bucky Barnes could play the gentleman occasionally. Possibly prove her initial assumptions wrong. Sure, it was a little hasty— maybe Steve would think it desperate. But something inside Bucky didn’t want to let this girl slip away out of their grip— his grip.
“Pretty sure I could clear my schedule,” she offered, noncommittally.
“Hope you can.”
He really did.
Darcy pursed those red-stained lips, a little purple-tinged with wine, as she peeled herself off the railing. “Well, ask your boy for my number and text me the details,” she called up to him. “Goodnight, Buck.”
She had already turned to make her way back to the subway before he got his response out, stunned by her nerve and a little distracted by the view.
“Night, Darce.”
Bucky was starting to regret hazing Steve the night before.
It was somewhere around 8am, and he was already a mess of nerves and self-doubt, wondering if he was just trying to keep up some ill-devised charade in order to not screw things up for Steve. And himself of course, but it had looked like Steve made good headway last night, and it had been so long since they’d felt like—
“You doing alright over there, Buck?” Steve asked with a knowing grin.
Following his gaze, Bucky suddenly realized the button he’d been working on was two notches above where it should be. Struggling to right his shirt, he (poorly) covered his nerves with a breathy huff, “Swell.”
It took him a minute, after he’d pushed back his ego a bit, to register how shaky Steve’s smile had been, how tired he sounded. Bucky’s stomach sank as he spun back around to take him in, furrowing his brows as he realized, “I should be asking you how you’re doing.”
In his rush to make a good impression, he’d seemingly blew past the fact Steve had been up half the night— too focussed on making it out the door in a pretty package.
Forgetting his shirt, for now, he crossed the room and tipped Steve’s chin up with his thumb to meet his gaze. The exhaustion hung heavy around Steve’s lids, red ringing those sky blue eyes of his. Judging by the deep lines on his face, Steve had maybe gotten three hours of sleep, tossing and turning well before that— not that he’d ever say as much out loud.
It wasn’t uncommon, but this hadn’t happened in a while. And out of the two of them, Steve was generally better at getting back on track.
But they both had their days. Bucky knew that much.
Steve offered a half-hearted smile, “I’m alright, Buck.”
“Stevie…” Bucky sighed, sliding his palms over Steve’s broad shoulders and looking down at him apologetically. “Let me reschedule this Darcy thing. We can just hide in here and catch up on sleep—”
“You’re not going to reschedule on Darcy because of a shitty night’s sleep,” Steve told him, narrowing his brows and peeling Bucky’s hands off of him. “And no offence, pal, but you can’t really help me staying home anyways. It’s all up here,” he added, tapping his temple.
‘Bad brain days,’ as Steve called them. It was the only way they knew how to describe the dark clouds that seemed to sprout overhead, following them around until it was a full-on thunderstorm up there.
Still, there were small ways he could help, things he could take off Steve’s plate to make it easier.
“I could make you something to eat?” Bucky began to offer, but his partner wasn’t having any of it.
“You’re worse than my ma was,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. He plastered a half-hearted smile on his face and told him seriously, “Go woo the girl, Buck. Show her your gentlemanly ways and prove you’re not just a snarky brute.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Bucky murmured after a moment, searching his face for any doubt. Pressing a kiss to Steve’s sandy blond hair, he instructed, “You get some rest, alright?”
“I thought I was the one giving orders,” Steve mumbled into the covers, but he quickly sunk back into bed without another gripe.
Bucky got back to his feet, closing the bedroom door behind him just in time to hear the doorbell ringing downstairs.
A slightly impatient three knocks followed on the door in quick succession.
“How’s that for timing,” he muttered to himself, bounding down the stairs and pulling open the front door. “Pretty and punctual, huh?”
“What can I say, I try?” Darcy offered with a glittering smile.
Another dress, he noted. Sapphire blue like her eyes, with tiny white flowers and filigree in the same sort of silhouette as last night. It was classic— Darcy was classic, all slightly undone hair and wide blue eyes. He held the door open for her, waving her in and watching as her gaze drifted across the photos and prints hanging on the wall by the entrance.
“Is Steve out and about? It’s a good day for it.”
As if it had been perfectly timed, a creak in the floorboards upstairs gave away that Bucky wasn’t the only one home, with Darcy’s bright blue eyes flying to the ceiling.
So much for avoiding the topic— that guilt crept up the back of his throat.
“Steve isn’t feeling well,” Bucky offered, as throwaway of a comment as he could make it.
Not that he wasn’t one for honesty, but it wasn’t exactly his story to tell.
“Oh,” Darcy breathed, face creasing slightly as if she felt bad. She seemed to think about it for a second, offering in the next breath, “If you want to stay home and take care of him, his health comes—”
Bucky assured her with as confident a smile as he could muster, “Sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head about that lug. I got the all-clear from the man himself. Told me if I didn’t take you on this date, he was going to, and I quote, ‘kick me out of the house himself.’”
Darcy didn’t entirely buy it, based on the tightness around her eyes as she nodded, but she seemed fine to take him at his words. For now.
With a twist of her lips, she shot back, “If you say so.”
Her eyes drifted out towards the bright rays of sunshine seeping through the front picture window. He liked the way her hair looked in the sun, bringing out the hints of red and gold hidden in the dark locks.
“Ready to head out?” Bucky asked, reaching to scoop his keyring off the kitchen counter.
But Darcy’s mouth was hanging too far open to offer an answer.
He followed her stare down to his left hand, which is when the fact she’d zoned out seemed dawned on her. Her eyes bolted straight back to Bucky’s blues guiltily, realizing she’d lingered on it too long, and her lips mouthed words she couldn’t quite form in time.
“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— I didn’t notice before—” Darcy sputtered, backing away like she’d seen more than she was supposed to.
Bucky’s gaze followed hers, flipping the keys in a palm that wasn’t skin-coloured. A mix of gunmetal and black detailing peeked out from the end of his sleeve, and had he not been wearing a shirt, trailed all the way up to his shoulder-blade.
“It’s just a prosthetic,” Bucky explained quietly before offering a tense smile. “Thankfully, I’m actually right-handed, ‘else I guess I’d have to find myself a new gig.”
Darcy looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, mouth stuck halfway between the two.
“Sorry. I’m the worst. Jesus. I’m such an asshole.”
Bucky’s brows furrowed, trying to read her face for more insight. Asshole was about the last thing he’d ever think to call her. A little headstrong and occasionally filterless, sure. But Darcy wasn’t worthy of that title, as far as he’d seen.
Darcy shook her head, letting out a watery laugh, “I somehow managed to force you and Steve out of your traumas before the first date. I’m starting to think that’s a record.”
Ah, a mouthy one— it all made sense now, why he (he, here being Bucky) seemed to gravitate towards her. Steve was also a little shit when he wanted to be. As far as Bucky was concerned, they were just two peas in the same pod.
And he had a type.
“Well, mine’s kind of obvious, to be fair,” Bucky chuckled, adding the rest before she could feel too bad about only noticing it now. “Probably could’ve gotten it out of me sooner if you hadn’t been staring at my ass.”
For a second, it looked like Darcy was going to fight him on the point, until her lips twisted into a smile, “Well, it is a really nice ass.”
“Really? Out of both of ours, I think I prefer Steve’s, myself. But yours isn’t so bad, either.”
There was that little spark as she huffed a laugh, the gentle flush returning to her cheeks. Bucky could have breathed a sigh of relief, worried the hiccup might have snuffed it out.
At least he wasn’t totally hopeless in the romance department. Bucky had been out of the game for so long that he wasn’t sure he still had it. Half of him expected to run her off within the first five minutes, but at least this wouldn’t be why.
“Are we good to go?” he asked, outstretching his hand to guide her out, just to be sure.
Darcy took it quickly, lacing her fingers between his. “Peachy.”
“Then, let’s head to brunch.”
Bucky held her hand as Darcy crossed the threshold, walking her down the stairs.
“Such a gentleman,” she noted with a twist of her lips.
It wasn’t lost on him that she didn’t let go of his hand, even as they hit the sidewalk. Bucky tried not to crowd Darcy as they walked side-by-side down the road, but the way she occasionally brushed his elbow or leaned in closer to make room for others didn’t escape him. There were the tiny tugs on his grip, her thumb tracing invisible lines on his hand. It felt natural.
So, naturally, something had to muck it up.
“Funny meeting you like this.”
Or someone. A flash of red hair and a glint of teeth stood out in the crowd just as Bucky registered the words and curious tone.
“Nat?”
Of course. Leave it to the nosiest member of the shop family to just happen to find him out and about on a date with a pretty girl. It was like she had a sixth sense or tapped his phone or something.
Christ, how he wished it was Sam he was running into on the street instead.
Wilson never would have done this to him.
“The one and only,” she added as they ducked into an alcove to remove themselves from the flow of traffic. “Who’s your friend here?”
Well, that was straight to the point. Bucky cringed, hoping Darcy wasn’t about to read into this too far. Nat seemed almost too comfortable asking that question, which might bring up the awkward ‘ex’ line of questioning— which definitely didn’t apply here.
Darcy squeezed Bucky’s hand a little harder than usual, eyes darting between the pair curiously.
“Uh, Darcy, this is Nat,” Bucky offered. “She’s an artist at the shop. Nat, Darcy.”
As limited a description as that was, it wasn’t that he couldn’t have written gospels of what he knew about Natasha Romanoff. No, it was more so that he wasn’t about to give any more information to his colleague, realizing Nat probably knew the answer to the question she’d asked anyway. That was just how she rolled.
“Oh, I think I’ve seen your work online,” Darcy offered with a tentative smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Bucky was too busy shooting silent daggers at Nat to watch for Darcy’s reaction, dramatically unlocking his phone and checking the time to get out of this apparent ambush. “Hey, we’re going to miss our reservation if we don’t head out soon.”
“Hm, Bonafini?” Nat guessed, correctly, of course, only feeding into Bucky’s earlier hunch.
“How did you know?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself. He laced in some outward playfulness for good measure, but his narrowed eyes did all the talking for him.
Jesus, Nat. Who was this woman, just going around, putting thoughts in peoples’ heads? Bucky was not looking forward to having to explain this particular social interaction. Not when Natasha Romanoff seemed to know a few too many details to be a co-worker.
How the hell did she always manage to dig this shit up?
Nat smirked, “Just a hunch. Well, enjoy, you two! Nice meeting you, Darcy.”
“Nice… meeting you,” Darcy attempted, but the redhead was gone in a flash, leaving her to look quizzically at Bucky.
He offered her an apologetic look as they slipped back onto the sidewalk, back on the path to their destination. Honestly, the best sign was that she hadn’t pulled her hand away from his grip or ran down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
Still, he felt the need to apologize.
“Sorry about Nat. She’s a little much.”
Darcy huffed a laugh and swung their joined hands, “There are worse things in life than protective friends, Buck.”
At least she had seen through that, he thought to himself. Although, Bucky might have swapped ‘protective’ for ‘meddling’ in Nat’s case. But Darcy Lewis seemed more perceptive than he gave her credit for, and for that, he was thankful.
“Oh yeah? You got any of your own I should worry about?” Bucky asked with a grin. “Or maybe some evil exes to battle?”
“A few, but nothing you couldn’t handle,” she said, coughing something that distinctly sounded like ‘probably’ under her breath.
“Oh, really?” Bucky challenged with a grin, pulling Darcy closer against him as she giggled.
They were seated quickly, and Bucky was thankful he’d made a last-minute reservation, seeing the swath of people waiting impatiently on the sidewalk for a table. It was a nice place, playing to the hipsters and old money alike with bright, clean decor and locally sourced food.
“Well, this is a lot better than my typical morning-after dates,” she said approvingly, sipping at the freshly-poured coffee. Darcy stopped mid-sip, nearly sputtered as her face flashed realization as to how that must have sounded, “I mean, not that it is ‘typical...’ or that this is a morning-after. I’m, uh, glad we can learn a little more about each other.”
“Are we playing twenty-one questions or just whatever comes to mind?” Bucky queued up, raising a brow as he half-heartedly perused the menu.
He didn’t care what they ate— it could have been a cold bowl of oatmeal at this point. No, he was much more interested in the brunette across the table, dodging his eyes and using her menu like a shield. A flash of blue eyes here, a bright magenta smile there, and Darcy could have had Bucky wrapped around his finger before he knew it.
That was half the fun, as far as he was considered: the chase and all the learning that came with it.
Darcy peeked over the edge of the paper, “How about just keeping it at a free-for-all? I feel like we’d lose count.”
Bucky wouldn’t have— snipers had a good head for math, but that wasn’t was surprised him. It was an open-ended offer—a kind of best and worst-case scenario for him. On the one hand, he could learn more about her, offer some facts about himself and have a great conversation— but no rules, no limits? That was a recipe for potential disaster if they landed in the wrong line of questioning.
Still, Bucky was pretty sure he could work with that.
Most of what he knew of Darcy Lewis was through Steve’s accounts— he’d had to fill in some of the blanks his partner never would have thought to check for. Those tricky, topsy-turvy kind of conversations Steve would’ve never broached.
“So, Doctor Darcy Lewis, huh?” Bucky started pensively as he slumped back in his seat.
She winced a little at the title, and he wondered if she was bracing herself for what she thought was an inevitable question. He wondered how many times people asked her about the title, if they even acknowledged it at all.
But Bucky was on another train of thought entirely. It had dawned on him the minute she’d opened her mouth that morning, but he hadn’t said it then.
“You’re not local.”
“No,” Darcy snorted, the rigidity melting away slightly as her eyes glimmered. “Definitely not.”
Point one for him.
Bucky considered himself a pretty good guesser. With his time abroad and travelling around the country, he’d probably met someone from every state. And even among those, he’d run into a whole host of accents running around battlefields.
So, with nothing to lose (except his pride), he took his best first shot.
“Mid-west?” he asked, trying to narrow the scope.
“Try middle of nowhere,” Darcy shot back with a breathy huff and a laugh that bordered on indignant. “Got the hell outta there as soon as I could.”
Every syllable was laced in resentment— making her journey to the Big Apple sound more and more like an escape rather than an upgrade. He wasn’t about to push her on that, a little worried it might be a sore spot if he dug too deep.
“What about you?” she asked.
James smirked, “Brooklyn through and through.”
“Shocking,” Darcy deadpanned, devolving into giggles.
His eyes dipped down to follow hers, finding one of his many Brooklyn-themed tattoos: the city’s name in a classic script stretching out from the base of his pinky.
“Not just that—” she clarified with between giggles. “That much I could have guessed by your accent alone. What about you?”
Ah. In the philosophical sense. James shifted in his seat slightly, his dread of open-ended questions settling into his bones. He cleared his throat, “Well, what do you want to know?”
He supposed he owed her some form of openness, something beyond the flirty banter and funny one-liners. That was what a gentleman would do, right? Be open and honest? Entertain even the strangest questions?
Either it had been much too long since his last date, or this was turning out to be a stranger date than he’d intended. Either way, James wasn’t used to being this honest with people.
“Did you and Steve meet in the army?” To his quirked brow, she explained with a flush, “Educated guess.”
Interesting that she was looping the conversation back to Steve— clearly, their date had gone as well as they’d hoped. And sure, if she was even considering this, Darcy should know what she was signing up for.
“We actually grew up together when we were real young,” Bucky admitted, voice softer than he would’ve liked. He cleared his throat and placed a grin on his face, “So I’ve known what a little shit he is for more than a couple decades.”
That seemed to get a smile from her, long enough for the waitress to return and take their order. When she was out of earshot (and not a moment sooner), Darcy turned back to Bucky, clearly on the same pre-interruption train of thought.
“And when…”
Darcy snapped her mouths shut like she’d thought better of it, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. Bucky frowned slightly, trying to figure out some way to assure her.
“Trust me, sweetheart. There’s no such thing as a bad question on this side of the table.”
She looked at him before tilting her head in concession, knowing he had a point. Throuples weren’t exactly common, public practice as far as practically anyone was concerned, but still, they were here, having brunch like it was just a regular date in the city.
It kind of put things into perspective.
“When did you figure out you wanted to….” She dropped her voice to a notch above a whisper, “branch out?”
Bucky chuckled, incredulous that this was the question that had tripped up the girl who’d had no problem putting Steve in his place. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he wasn’t Steve or because being on this date, this morning, with him was making it all feel real.
“This isn’t exactly typical first date banter, is it?” Darcy asked with a guilty grin as if to answer his wonderings.
She really was a vision, though, especially with that flush reaching up into her ears. It lost in the dark brown frizz above her ears, coaxed out by the humidity.
Bucky’s lips twisted into his own wry smile, “This isn’t exactly a typical first date.”
“Fair point.”
“But, I think we just felt it— like there could be more, like love isn’t finite?” Bucky’s dropped off, and he scoffed at himself, shaking his head in embarrassment, “God, that probably sounds like some cheesy bullshit.”
“No,” Darcy offered quietly. “No. I think I get it.”
There was a flash of recognition in those wide blue eyes, and Bucky offhandedly wondered just how much research she’d done into the whole thing. It wasn’t as if there was a manual or even best practices, but it didn’t seem like they’d scared her off yet.
Not entirely, thought Darcy did look like she was bracing for his turn at asking questions.
“I’ll go next, I guess,” Bucky started, her gaze flying up to meet his. “How about something easy, like, what’s your family like?”
Darcy visibly gulped, quickly covering it with a polite smile.
Bucky immediately regretted asking.
“I uh… It’s just me. And my dad, I guess. But not like me and my dad, because Tony Stark isn’t exactly a father…” Darcy’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, hand flying in front of her mouth as if to stop herself from spilling more. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Your dad is Tony Stark? Famous engineer Tony Stark? With the giant tower in Manhattan?”
Bucky’s hand cupped his lips, visibly wincing as he swore at himself under his breath. He’d wanted to keep his cool, to not make this more awkward on Darcy than it was. But somehow, like his subconscious was just hellbent on making things uncomfortable, the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.
The fork Darcy had been fidgeting with clattered to her plate, the whole scene coming together as Bucky realized what he’d done.
All signs pointed to ‘wrong question, dumbass.’
“That’s the one….” Darcy trailed off, moving on to playing with her napkin to avoid the conversation, if not sink into the floor.
Honestly, Bucky was right there with her, clearing her throat and finding some way to backtrack enough to make their breakfast palatable again. He couldn’t even wonder what Steve would do to save the situation since he never would have gotten himself into a mess like this in the first place.
Bucky sat back in his chair a little, trying to add a little space between them in case she needed it.
“I uh, I’m starting to think this whole foot-in-mouth thing is contagious,” he chuckled nervously, heart fluttering as the corners of her lips picked up. “I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to bring that up. I swear I’m actually pretty good at parties.”
Darcy blew out a nervous laugh, “Somehow, that’s not hard to imagine.”
The rest of brunch would have looked like a success. They picked at each other’s plates, got maple syrup all over their faces, and shared some laughs and anecdotes. Like all was forgiven, like Darcy had brushed it off and moved on.
But, to Bucky, it felt like there was something else at the table with them. Some unseen force dragging it all down. Buck couldn’t help but see something just beneath the surface, something tugging her interest to the exit door, that let the smile slip off her face too quickly.
He wasn’t sure if it was her family connections or his prosthetic, or maybe even Natasha that’d rattled her. And honestly, he didn’t want to bring it up, dredge up something on a hunch when he barely knew the girl— this whole situation was confusing enough as it was. So Bucky didn’t put up a fight when Darcy offered to walk him back to his door. He just smiled and went along with it.
The grand finale was also outwardly warm; she held his hand all the way back to their brownstone. But Darcy didn’t come to the door. Instead, they stood on the sidewalk in the mid-day sun, hands still interlaced.
“Thank you for the walk,” Bucky offered with a flash of teeth. “Makes me feel a lot safer. Y’know, this is a pretty rough part of town.”
It wasn’t, but his parting words were a bit of a challenge. Bucky licked his lips and looking up to see if she’d take the bait, but Darcy didn’t meet his gaze as she replied.
“Happy to help. Thank you for breakfast.”
She pulled him in for a hug and a promise that she’d text. But up close, after a guarded look and a tight smile, Darcy Lewis left Bucky confused at the foot of their stoop, looking down the sidewalk after her.
Trying to figure out how exactly that had gone so wrong.
The only sound in Darcy’s ears were her own footsteps, padding along the concrete as she took the quieter streets offered when the road forked. But still, the echoed scuffs on pavement seemed to bounce off the buildings towering above her, so she listening in—anything to distract from the thudding in her ears, the tightness in her chest.
And anyway, it was broad daylight; she could stand to take the long way home for once.
All she could wonder, all through that pensive walk home, was what the hell had she been thinking?
From top to bottom, the entire morning had been a swirling, all-consuming disaster. The awkwardness of Steve upstairs when she stepped inside to meet Bucky at their home was palpable. It felt like something was missing— like she was trying to fit herself into a blank spot she didn’t quite fit.
Then there was the run-in with his colleague with the spider tattoo, engulfing her hand and making to crawl up her arms. Her eyes felt like x-rays, boring into her soul like she knew too that Darcy didn’t belong.
All culminating in the conversation at brunch. The way the words just seemed to bubble up and escape her lips before she could think better of it. The way he honed in on her family, or lack thereof, leaving Darcy to wonder whether he knew something more than he was saying…
Jesus, she realized. She’d been the one to bring up her father in the first place.
She squeezed her eyes tight as if flinching and picked up her pace. Like she could just run from this problem. Like it wasn’t going to hang overhead like a dark cloud.
The more she thought about it, the more Darcy Lewis would have let the ground swallow her whole, if it could.
“Darcy, is that you?”
Jane Foster’s voice called out from a few doors down from where she’d eventually turn. Darcy hadn’t even noticed she’d been walking so fast, figuring she’d have another ten minutes alone with her thoughts, at least.
“How’d your date…go?” Jane’s tone thudded to a concerned stop.
Darcy knew her friend couldn’t read her like a book, the opposite actually, so she was a little surprised that Jane managed to catch onto her mood so quickly. It must have been written all over her face.
Wait. Did she really look that bad off?
“It was fine.”
A total lie. One meant to save Jane from the gory details, so she could go back to her happy relationship and not get dragged into this storm. Jane would likely assume as much, knowing if Darcy wasn’t offering up information, there was no use in digging further.
As expected, Jane frowned slightly, “Alright. Well, if you need anything….”
It wasn’t an empty offer, at least. Darcy knew that much. Jane wasn’t big on feelings and emotions, but comfort and friendly company she could do. Darcy nodded, managed a half-smile and slipped into her apartment building without another awkward word. Her body steered her to her apartment door as if on autopilot.
Her brain was still trying to catch up to what had happened— what she’d done.
She just didn’t get it.
In all her life, all twenty-five years of it, Darcy had never once spilled her guts that quickly, not to anyone. Not to friends or family or even her therapists. But something between the two of them — the three of them? — hung in the air like a secret anytime they were together, spurring the blush on her cheeks, that too warm feeling and the loose lips.
Now all she could feel was the steady thrum of nerves, a little regret maybe, as she wondered how this would all play out. She might not have known the boys as long as each other, but enough to know that at least one of them wasn’t just going to let this go.
Not without finding out the truth. Her truth— not that it was some big sec—
Scratch that, definitely a big secret. A big, fat, tabloid payload kind of secret.
Darcy abandoned her keys on the kitchen counter, ignoring the envelopes marked past-due shoved under the door. She dropped onto the couch, hearing the springs squeak loudly in protest before setting her head in her hands.
How the hell was she supposed to explain this to her family… her father?
Part of her wondered if she should be worried about them going to the press. Because according to them, Tony Stark didn’t have a daughter— he didn’t have any kids, despite a rowdy decade between the ages of 19 and 29.
Which is where (and when) Darcy came in.
She could have chanced it, spilled her guts and explained it, but she quickly backed off at brunch after it slipped, hoping he would let it go. To his credit, Bucky didn’t seem eager to ask her anymore on the topic, probably sensing the awkward tension—
God. It had been such a good couple of dates, too.
She hadn’t laughed that much in ages. Even as worried as she was, as much as she was trying to convince herself out of the whole ordeal, she couldn’t get that dimpled, scruffy smirk out of her head. Or the bashful blush that crossed Steve’s cheeks the night before after a glass of wine (or two) too many.
Darcy was afraid to tap into her text messages— afraid something she wasn’t ready to deal with would get left on read and provide an answer on her behalf.
“No, this is stupid.”
They were so happy together— Steve and Bucky worked together. By choice. Like they were two parts of the same whole, and…
And she couldn’t be the one to fuck that kind of love up.
“This will never work.”
And to think, he’d sat across from her and offered to fight her evil exes…
No. Definitely too good to be true. Definitely bound for doom and destruction. Case closed. Because that was just how life worked for Darcy Lewis.
Might’ve taken her twenty-five years to figure it out, but it was true.
The following week was a blur, a practiced dance wherein Darcy Lewis avoided her phone like the plague and threw herself into work instead. Dodging text messages like they were live grenades. Steve’s petered off after the first few days, but Bucky kept trying. Once a day, a little check-in, like clockwork.
Ding.
It was easy enough to ignore when she wasn’t in her bedroom staring at the ceiling and trying to will herself to sleep. When she didn’t hear the banging and the screaming and the music from all of the surrounding apartments, in her shoebox of a place and flipped on her phone to try to escape it.
Only to find their name sitting in her notifications tray.
Hoping they would give up, enjoy each other, take the hint, she took as many appointments as she could, a few new clients and vacation coverage too.
Anything to keep her hands busy and her mind focussed on the task at hand. Otherwise known as anything to help her pay down her college loan debt and maybe get her someplace considered liveable.
Though today it would play her workplace. It wasn’t her preferred place of business; she avoided it when she could. Her work was a mobile operation first and foremost, taking her to office buildings’ meeting rooms and the occasional house call.
But today, for the right amount of money, it would have to do.
The doorbell rang overhead, and Darcy shuffled to the door and pried it open, the only name on her appointment book today already on her lips.
“James, righ—?”
She halfway through a thought about splurging on a can of WD-40 for the creaking hinges when everything ground to a halt. Darcy’s eyes nearly bugged out of their respective sockets at the sight in front of her.
Bucky Barnes stared back a little sheepish, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“How did you—?” Darcy sputtered, trying to do the math on just how creepy taking on a fake name was on the serial killer scale.
“James Buchanan Barnes at your service,” he offered.
Darcy snapped her mouth shut, realizing it’d been hanging open and cleared her throat.
Well, clearly there were some information gaps on both sides— all three sides. And now he was here, at her apartment, doing the one thing he probably wanted to do least with someone he barely knew.
Needless to say, this was the last thing she’d been expecting.
After all, Darcy had been hesitant even to let Steve walk her home after that first date. She’d blamed it on an awkward roommate situation, but, in reality, her place was a 400-square-foot disaster masquerading as a place to live. Honestly, she was lucky to have a living room insulated from her neighbours, thanks to a bathroom and her measly bedroom, lest he hear the thumps, screams and pounding bass of next door.
Of course, her secret shame hit even harder after seeing their place.
And then that fumble at brunch— he probably had sky-high expectations after that, with a rich ‘father’ and all.
Fuck. How the hell was she going to explain this?
“If this is too much, too weird or out of line, I’ll leave right now and forget your number if you want me to,” he offered, just loud enough to hear over the pounding in her ears as her mind raced through the options.
Shut the door in his face? No, he didn’t deserve that. Tell him the appointment’s off? He clearly has some reason to be here to offer to do that, to go shirtless and show his scars…
“No,” Darcy said decidedly, speaking with her heart before her head could think it through. “No, please stay. Come on in.”
Waving him in, she held the door open as he stepped over the threshold. She could almost read the expression on Bucky’s face as he looked around. Something along the lines of ‘doesn’t she make good money?’ Or ‘doesn’t she have a rich dad?’
Well, the truth was, student loans were a bitch, and this place allowed her to pay them off a little quicker. And, as for her father… They weren’t always on the best terms. Their relationship had been fraught with complications— hot and cold as far back as she could remember. And as much as he’d wanted to pay her debts, to buy his way into her life, she was too stubborn to take it from him.
A genetic trait, she was told.
But Darcy Lewis didn’t want anything from him. Not his company, not his name, and definitely not his money. Genetics, blood was where it began and ended between them, as far as she was concerned. And Jesus Christ, that was so not first date conversation, Darcy Lewis, she admonished herself.
What the hell were you thinking?
She stopped halfway through the room set up with the table, spinning on her heel to face him, not wanting to drag this out any longer than they had to. The living area featuring a tiny kitchenette was as safe a place as any, far away from prying eyes.
“So, why did you come?”
Bucky reached back to rub at his neck, clearly expecting a softer segue to the meat of the conversation. Letting out a huff of a laugh, Bucky shook his head.
“Well, we both know Steve wasn’t going to be the one to do this— he’s too sheepish on a good day,” he joked before the smile slipped off his face. “No, honestly? I feel kind of responsible? Like I musta screwed something up on our date— pretty bad, in fact, if you’re not returning either of our messages.”
Darcy bit her lip. She hadn’t meant for it to go this far. For him to somehow take this as his fault instead of royally hers.
“Unless there’s something else?” Bucky looked kind of hopeful at the thought.
Darcy slumped against the wall behind her, leaning into her heels as she stood and weighed her words carefully. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what her gut was trying to tell her— it didn’t exactly spit out an error code or anything— but she was willing to try.
“After Steve’s date,” Darcy shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t think she was comparing them. “It was good to check-in at the end of the night with you at the door, you know? Kind of like acknowledging that there’s more than just the two of us involved? So, to not have him there kind of left me wondering….”
She trailed off, watching those blue eyes of his watch hers, concern blooming across his face as he nodded.
Suddenly bashful at how touchy-feely her explanation had gotten, Darcy shook her head and quickly added, “Maybe it’s stupid, but I’m a little hazy on the boundaries, and that makes me feel—”
“Like you’re taking advantage?”
Darcy shook her head, “More like I’m walking on eggshells.”
It felt sneaky— as much as they’d tried to tell her they were alright with this arrangement, whatever this arrangement was, it was hard not to feel that way. And her part of the equation didn’t exactly help with any of that. Darcy Lewis was walking on eggshells anytime they got near to a conversation about family, parentage, legacies…
She was part of the problem too, but it was hard to say as much out loud without getting into it.
But Bucky didn’t look put off by her admittance, eyes softening as he asked, “Well, how do you feel right now?”
“I feel like I probably do owe you a session for coming all the way over here and listening to my rambles….”
Darcy’s eyes widened as her words sank in, gaze locked on his left hand before she could stop herself. Bucky’s raised brows, even with the quirk of his lips made her face burn, that guilty feeling creeping in.
First, she made it feel like this whole thing was his fault, then she ghosted him, and now she was bringing up a sore spot.
Apparently, Darcy was on a roll with saying the wrong thing.
“I— I shouldn’t have— I should have known better. I mean, at the shop, you said you don’t take your shirt off for just anyone, and I didn’t even think about why—”
“Darcy, it’s fine—”
“I still feel like I should apologize,” Darcy said, biting her lip.
“Darce, I promise I was just kidding around back then. Really,” Bucky insisted, shoving his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. “My arm… it happened a long time ago. I was a very different man.”
She tried not to read into his sad smile.
The space between them felt almost cavernous, but she knew it was his way of giving her room to breathe— unsure exactly what was going through their mind, what was happening between them.
“But there’s something else, isn’t there?”
Her eyes widened at his question, catching the way his lip curled up slightly. His tone was what she hadn’t expected: Not accusatory or frustrated, just curious. Soft, cautious. Very un-Bucky Barnes as he’d first presented himself. Frankly, Darcy was just happy she wasn’t the only one feeling this heavy weight hanging over them.
After all that fumbling through small talk and happening across awkward tidbits, it was her time to share.
“I’m just— I’m just worried I’m going to ruin what you two have because….” Darcy took a deep breath, avoiding his eyes. She knew it sounded nuts, that she was overanalyzing it— it’s what she excelled at, truly, in social life. But she soldiered on anyway, “What you guys have, it’s real. Like really real. Even the most bitter, jaded, anti-love person in the world would have to admit it.”
“You calling yourself bitter?”
Darcy had always assumed Steve was the sensitive one. Always eyeing inflections and gestures and somehow always knowing how to make things easy and comfortable. But Barnes was more perceptive than she gave him credit for.
“I like to think I’m a realist,” Darcy sulked before smoothing out her expression and looking back to see two pairs of sky blue eyes staring back at her. “You know that feeling, that flutter in your stomach when you see people in love? That’s what I have every time I see you two— I just… I couldn’t ruin that.”
Bucky almost seemed to look relieved at that, straightening up slightly and walking forward a couple steps. Darcy’s heart thumped against her ribs as he did, gazes locked.
“Well, I can promise you’re not ruining anything. Relationships like this… there’s no rulebook for them,” Bucky explained with a half-hearted smile and a breathy chuckle. “So, sure, sometimes it feels like a dance where you just keep stubbing each other’s toes. But eventually, it clicks, and it just flows, you know?”
It did, didn’t it? Somehow, against all odds, they’d managed to find something here—the flutter in her chest, the twisting in her gut, that twinkle in his eye. Darcy had a hard time trying to convince herself that something wasn’t worth at least a shot.
At least a shred of honesty.
“My family’s a little complicated,” Darcy started. “I think I owe you both an explanation… Especially about my dad….”
“I’m more worried about your side of the bargain with that one,” James murmured, less than a foot away now. Looking down at her in understanding and a flicker of concern, “I mean, that’s a lot—” Of money, Darcy completed in her head, face screwing up as James went on, “—to live up to.”
“Huh?” Darcy couldn’t stop herself from saying it, face screwing up as she scrutinized him.
“Well, as his only daughter, you’re like, his world. Is he going to be sitting on the balcony with a shotgun when you bring us home?”
When, not if. Darcy didn’t miss that distinction, her throat feeling tight.
She also didn’t miss the fact that Bucky Barnes clearly hadn’t googled her— he’d just taken her at her word. There was no doubt or hesitation in his voice as he spoke to her, clear as day.
Alright. Maybe this was worth a shot. Maybe this wasn’t as big of a mess as she’d assumed.
“And if you’re still up for it, I think maybe we should all three of us talk a little. Figure some things out,” Bucky continued, “But no pressure… I’ll— I’ll just head out and give you some space.”
It was then that Darcy realized the real reason their last attempt at a date didn’t work— really, why it hadn’t stood a chance, to begin with. They had both been pretending to be people, to be things they weren’t really. Putting on their best face instead of their real ones. Hiding behind one-shots instead of talking out the wrinkles.
Relationships, real ones, had issues. They had arguments and caveats, and learnings.
They couldn’t just gloss over everything and pretend it was alright.
“Buck.”
He was was already halfway down the hall when she chased after him, reaching out to grab his hand to get his attention. Spinning on his heel to meet her voice, his eyes flicked to her hand on his wrist before his gaze met hers. Those big blues were wide enough to know Bucky hadn’t expected Darcy to stop him.
And something about him and that hopeful look on his face made every word she was about to say slip out of her head in an instant.
“I— Uh… Dinner, tomorrow?” she managed to sputter out, too nervous to pull her hand away, afraid it might give him the wrong idea. As if asking for a date for the next day wasn’t enough proof of her desperation.
Bucky’s mouth curved into a soft smile, his fingers twining with hers. Darcy’s heart skipped a beat or two along the way.
“Our place? Or is a restaurant more comfortable?”
It was better than hers. Better than worrying about being heard out in public. She could tell from the way he bit his lip that he really did think he’d screwed up their last date.
It was Darcy’s turn to chuckle, face hot at his concern, “Your place is fine.”
Bucky’s smile lit up, squeezing her hand gently as he gave her one last scrutinizing look, wondering if she’d reneg on the deal.
“Alright, then, Darcy Lewis. See you tomorrow. Seven sharp.”
Truth was, Darcy couldn’t have said no. It wasn’t because of the trouble he’d gone to, or the sweet and gentle side he’d shown her. It wasn’t even that smile or the dimple in his cheek. It was the way he listened to her, the way that told her he understood.
That kind of grace and humility (wrapped up in a really hot package) was hard to find.
And plus, really, when it came down to it, what was the worst that could happen? Because if these boys thought the craziest thing they’d heard was someone consenting to a polyamorous relationship, they were in for a bit of a ride.
The kind that people called sobering. Darcy called it disastrous, which was practically her middle name at this point.
“I’ll be there.”
Something about the next day felt different.
Maybe it was the way the sun crept through the crack in Darcy’s blinds as she threw off her sheets, or that, for the first time, at least a couple of weeks, she woke up without a weight on her chest.
Maybe it was that she didn’t dread picking her phone up off the nightstand, and her usual trudge to the kitchen quickly spread the smell of freshly brewed (instant) coffee throughout her apartment, fuelling a day of errands and apartment cleaning.
Or maybe it was the flutter of familiar butterflies in her stomach, knowing that tonight she’d break down the invisible wall she’d put up and set all of her cards on the table. Like she’d no longer have to put on a show— not a shield or a mask. The Darcy Lewis of tonight had one foot firmly in her comfort zone while the other was free to explore.
After all, that was what tonight was about, right? Exploring each other, opening up.
And probably the scariest: being honest.
“Christ, it’s supposed to just be dinner,” Darcy tried to convince herself, even as her heart told her quite firmly that it was something more.
It was as if she was stepping into their Brooklyn brownstone and showing them who she really was, sitting down and explaining and hoping they would still look at her that same, earnest way.
Darcy’s stomach in knots, a bottle of wine in her grasp (never one to come to dinner empty-handed, after all), her feet started walking back towards their place before her brain could catch up and convince her otherwise. Her hand seemed to knock all on its own as she waited in anxious silence, fingering the hem of her shirt.
Steve and Bucky answered the door together with bright smiles, and she wondered offhand if yesterday’s talk had something to do with it.
“Darcy! Come on in,” Steve greeted as they backed into the hallway, giving her room to slide by without the awkward pause of wondering whether a hug was appropriate considering the circumstances.
There were just so many layers to tonight that Darcy had a hard time putting one foot in front of the other as she approached a button-down-wearing Bucky near the kitchen. She handed him the bottle of wine with a bashful smile.
“Thank you for having me. I realized on the way over that I kind of invited myself over.”
Darcy knew she had a tendency to do that— to bulldoze her way through things without much thought, the type of things that most people would take days to mull over.
“No complaints from us, doll,” Bucky offered in return as he held up the wine bottle. “Should I pour us all a glass?”
“Yes, please,” Darcy couldn’t say fast enough as Bucky readied a corkscrew and Steve plucked three glasses off of the counter.
As much as a glass of wine would have normally comforted her— something to hide behind and fidget with and bide some time with between answers— somehow, she wasn’t as nervous as she’d assumed she be by now. Maybe it was because there was no long time no see’ or gentle ribbing about missed texts. There was no mention of her ghosting them at all, actually. There was no staring or prying, or pushing.
Just three adults humans having dinner and maybe talking about a potential polyamorous relationship—
Was that all? This had the potential to be a very long night, and Darcy wasn’t sure whether it was the good kind of long or the bad. Time would tell, she assumed.
“To good company,” Steve announced as he slid a full wine glass into Darcy’s grasp.
Sometime between Bucky prying the cork from the bottle and the trio’s ‘cheers’ as they clinked the lips of their glasses, she finally noticed the smell wafting over from the stove.
“Um, I’m sorry, but that smells incredible,” Darcy said, a little startled. Her stomach was already rumbling at the smell of garlic, onions and freshly chopped tomatoes still simmering on the stove.
Bucky looked bashful, “I hope it’s worth the wait. I got a little behind on cooking.”
“That was my fault,” Steve explained, his hand drifting to his partner’s lower back with a wry grin. “Bucky’s very particular about his pasta, and we realized a little too late that we weren’t fully stocked.”
Something about seeing them touch each other, the little tender circles traced with fingers and the familiarity of the pair they didn’t often express in public made Darcy’s face warm. It was much too soon to blame it on the wine.
She wasn’t sure what this feeling was, but it was hard to take her eyes off them.
“Particular, huh?” Darcy chuckled. “Didn’t realize you were a part-time chef, Buck.”
He flashed a grin, “Only in the privacy of our home, doll. I don’t cook for just anyone, you know.”
“Well,” Darcy practically flushed, taking a sip of wine to cover her fumble. “Consider me flattered, then.”
Still, as playful and complimentary as the men were, there was an unfamiliar air in the room. ‘Treading cautiously’ was an understatement as they carefully navigated around each other. Darcy sat there, waiting for someone to break the invisible wall that had seemed to form between them as the silence stretched on a little too long.
“Well, I was going to wait until dinner,” Steve started as they all huddled around the island, Bucky’s eyes flicking over to the stove every other beat to check on dinner. “But, do you want to talk about what happened?”
“You mean my total shut down?” Darcy asked with a chuckle, too nervous to let her eyes take in their reactions.
Steve reached across the counter and gently set a hand over Darcy’s fists, eyes soft. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching them, though her fingernails were starting to leave little crescents in her palms.
“Hey, there was a lot at play, and we weren’t exactly perfect either,” Steve assured her in a low voice. “It’s totally normal to have hiccups, especially with something so new.”
Hiccups. Right.
Her face flamed at just how delicately the two of them were handling her.
“You don’t have to be so nice about it,” Darcy mumbled, eyes dropping to the white granite. The hurt in her tone wasn’t directed to them— more to herself and how she’d handled the situation. “I was the one in the wrong; I completely locked you out. I just… I struggled with the why, I guess.”
She regretted the words almost as soon as she’d said them. Only a couple sips into her glass of wine, Darcy couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. She hadn’t exactly been planning on completely spilling her guts this evening, but somehow all the feelings seemed to bubble up on their own.
Awesome, she thought, her inner monologue dripping with sarcasm. Great start, Darcy.
“The why…?” Bucky asked, brows furrowed, turning back from the sauce he’d been stirring.
Darcy cleared her throat, the words sounding clumsy, even in her head, “Why you even still want to see me. Why you’re even interested. Or even why you haven’t asked more about my family….”
The pair shot each other a silent look from across the kitchen, one Darcy couldn’t quite translate.
“We figured you’d tell us when you were ready,” Steve said, his thumb trailing over her hand as he tried to catch her eyes. “But as for why you… I guess it just clicked. At the parlour, on the dates. Kind of like a spark, you know?”
“We hope you feel that way too,” Bucky added gently.
Darcy gaped, setting her wine glass down on the counter a little too hard as she sputtered, “I did— I do. I guess… I guess I’m just not used to that… To communication or maybe this level of openness….”
Or maybe she’d just never felt anything like this with anyone else before— that spark. The perfect word for it. There was a reason she’d managed to dredge up things she hadn’t said out loud with anyone else before with these two. Something about them that drew them all together like magnets.
“There’s always going to be things that are harder to talk about, and even some when we’re not ready to talk. Just like with any relationship,” Bucky said, surprising Darcy with just how candid he was being. “The key, I think, is just letting the others know.”
“Like with checking in with all three of us after a date,” Steve chimed in, reaching over to grab Bucky’s hand.
Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Like that.”
Darcy’s stomach lurched, that familiar sense of intruding returning with the way they looked at each other.
“I don’t want to make things complicated—”
“Hey, you feeling safe and secure and happy isn’t complicated,” Steve said, squeezing her hand and drawing her eyes up from where they’d been locked on the floor. “Trust us, OK?”
“We don’t want to lose the smart and gorgeous spitfire sitting in our kitchen if we can help it, doll,” Bucky added with a flash of teeth.
It was hard not to get sucked into the earnest looks they both offered as each man gently clasped her hands. Realizing they were still balled into fists, Darcy relaxed them, feeling the warmth as they curled their fingers into her palms.
“I-I don’t want to lose you either,” she said softly. “There’s something here, you know? I just… I want to know all about you guys too. The real you. It doesn’t have to be fancy dates all the time.”
Dates could be perfect and honed— a place where everyone put on their best face. But if they were going to be real— if this was going to be real— imperfections had to slip through too. All the messy, unwieldy bits that built a healthy foundation.
That was what Darcy was missing in all of this, she realized. The truth and the grit of it all.
She didn’t have the most practical experience in healthy relationships, but she knew that much. Even if it was only in theory (according to some cursory internet research she might have done on polyamory). Which is why they were here, in their home, without fancy clothes and without the added stress of onlookers.
“I think that’s more than fair,” Steve said. “I want to be honest with you— we should have been honest with you the other day when you were over with Buck.”
Darcy’s heart hammered in her chest, and she took a fortifying sip of wine as Steve gathered his words.
“Sometimes I get what we call a ‘bad brain day.’ It’s not always caused or triggered by something; it just happens. I go to therapy when I can. Sometimes it takes a couple of days to get out of the funk, but… it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry if it made things awkward with you and Buck.”
Logically, Darcy knew that Steve had been to war— that he might have even left a piece of himself there like many other had before. But it was hard to see him as anything other than the talented, hardworking, if not bashful, man she’d met at the front desk of the tattoo parlour.
And it hurt her heart to know there was a struggle beneath the calm facade.
“Steve,” Darcy breathed, her thumb tracing over the skin of his hand. “You don’t have to apologize for that. Thank you for trusting me with that… I, um. I’m really sorry.”
He shook his head, offering her a half-smile, “Not your fault. But that’s on us. We should have had this talk from the get-go.”
“I’m sorry we put you through that, Darce,” Bucky added, his voice low.
The words hung in the air as they all exchanged glances, a silent agreement that this was the turning point, that things would change from here. That they’d learned.
Steve huffed a laugh and sniffed before declaring, “Now that we’ve got all the awkwardness out of the way, how about we eat?”
Darcy nodded, but her stomach twisted, knowing she still had some awkwardness to unload on them. But, looking at the table full of food, of steaming hot pasta and a charcuterie board that was definitely what she’d consider a meal in itself, Darcy decided she could probably make it through the main course before she got deep into her own internal drama.
“Can I ask you something?” she started, as the boys filled her plate high and she reached for her cutlery. “How did you know this was what you wanted?”
“It’s kinda hard to explain,” Steve started, an almost wistful smile on his lips. “But it always felt like there was more love to be had— like we work best together, but there was almost a— not a void….”
“We know each other like we’re ourselves, at this point. And we always kind of had this feeling that there could be someone who’d walk into our lives and just… fit,” Bucky added. “Like it would just feel right.”
There was that look again, fleeting but unmistakably warm, like they were silently deciding what to add or what to leave out.
“And, I mean, we both dated,” Steve clarified like it was a given.
Bucky huffed a laugh, eyes glinting with a mirth she hadn’t seen since their date. “But no one like you.”
Darcy’s eyes stung, and she had to set down her cutlery before she gave herself away entirely. The floodgates were ready to open, thanks to the two glasses of wine she was already deep in and the mess of emotions she’d found herself in, just listening to them and seeing their interactions up close.
She couldn’t lead them along anymore— they deserved to know what they were getting themselves into with her around.
“You two have been so gracious when you could have written me off, and I… I should be honest with you,” Darcy started, every word feeling heavier in her mouth. Her eyes sullenly found Steve’s, ignoring the concern already blooming on his face, “I assume Bucky told you about my dad?”
“Darce, you don’t have—”
With a firm shake of her head, Darcy cut him off. “No, I think I should. It’s on me. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, to begin with, since I’m kind of a secret, and well, we don’t really talk.”
Steve and Bucky didn’t urge her on. They simply watched her take a deep breath and get to it.
“I was a mistake— his mistake from his party days. My mom loved me, and she was a good mom, you know? She never asked him for anything.”
Throat tight, Darcy’s voice broke off there as she struggled to find the words to say next, hoping this wasn’t going to be the sob story that put a wedge between them. Hoping they’d look at her the same way once she was done telling it.
“When did you find out?” Steve asked, filling in some of the blanks on his own.
Darcy was almost grateful for it, though the next part of her story hurt a bit to say out loud. “I was sixteen when my mom died, when the birth certificate came out in the wash.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky said quietly.
She shook her head, “He just wanted to sweep it under the rug, offering money, but I didn’t want anything to do with him. I turned him down— haven’t really talked to him since. I… I don’t know if I could.”
The silent fury behind both of their eyes said it all, along with the muscles that hopped in Steve’s jaw. If Darcy didn’t know any better, it looked like both were fighting the urge to wrap her up in a huge and tell her things would be alright.
God. This was just supposed to be dinner, she realized— not some lapsed Catholic confession across the dinner table.
So, as if to comfort them, she reached across the table towards their hands, her breath hitching in her throat as they immediately intertwined their fingers.
“So, uh, that’s my awkward truth. I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about a shovel talk or anything,” Darcy huffed a breath that could have passed for a laugh any other day.
She felt terrible about the heavy note that left that on, especially after such a beautiful meal, but Darcy also felt a lot lighter. Like that simple truth, that secret that had weighed on her for a decade now was one of the things that had been holding her back in relationships. That somehow, it’d closed her off from these kind of connections.
“Since we’re being honest,” Steve started, cutting in, to the other two’s surprise. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you since that first day.”
Darcy’s heart thudded against her ribs, “There is?”
Steve nodded, fighting a goofy grin as he asked, “What and where is your embarrassing tattoo?”
Both turned to him, slack-jawed and smiling like they couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth. It was the type of quick thinking, conversation turnaround that Darcy would have expected out of Bucky’s mouth, so needless to say, both she and Buck looked a little proud.
Darcy clearly had a lot to learn about these boys, and she was glad they were making it easy.
“What?” Steve asked to the bewildered silence, the smile stretching. “You don’t really have to answer if you don—”
Darcy let out a watery laugh, pulling her hand away long enough to tug off the ring on her middle finger. She rubbed at the skin there, holding it up for them to see, knowing she’d have to explain it anyway.
“It’s a, uh, finger moustache.”
The sound that came out of Bucky’s mouth was unearthly, somewhere between a squawk and a trumpet, “That’s the big secret shame of a tattoo? Really, sweetheart?”
Her face flamed as she tried to justify it, “Listen, they were really big like 10 years ago or something.”
But they all ended up a giggling mess anyway, wheezing as they laughed with her, offering stories of some of the weirdest client requests they’d had during their time at the shop.
Bucky brought out the tiramisu for dessert— not homemade, but authentic from an Italian bakery a few blocks away. They laughed and traded tales like they’d known each other for years. And Darcy couldn’t get the goofy smile off her face the whole evening.
She tried to help them with the dishes at the end of the night but was pulled into an impromptu dance by Bucky, who effortlessly spun her around the kitchen as she giggled in protest.
“You’re our guest doll. You’re not allowed to get your hands dirty,” he insisted, bringing their joined hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“Don’t want you thinking we’re bad boyfriends or something,” Steve added, still as soon as the words left his lips.
But Darcy didn’t notice, responding with no hesitation, “You’re the opposite of bad boyfriends, Stevie. Thank you both for tonight.”
Later on, when they were tangled together on the couch, and the TV was just a buzz of background noise, Steve cleared his throat. “I was thinking about what you said, about being real and these not always having to be dates. How about we try this over again?”
“What are you thinking?”
Even Bucky looked surprised at his question, leaning in closer to Darcy like he was waiting for the answer too.
“Our friend’s having a little get-together at his place next weekend. You can meet our friends and see us… y’know, in regular, everyday life,” Steve sounded less and less sure with every syllable, but Darcy figured this whole thing couldn’t exactly get any weirder. “Maybe some of our coworkers, too.”
Bucky seemed to see where he was going with it, adding a little more confidently, “There is a bit of overlap there, and it’s not like we told anyone who you are—”
“Clearly,” Darcy joked, watching their expressions flounder slightly, settling into smiles as her tone set in.
It was thoughtful, them worrying about her secret getting out. And as much as she would have been happy to be tangled in their shared warmth forever, it was a good step towards a real relationship— meeting the friends, being seen out in public together.
“But sure. I’d like that.”
“Sam’s it is, then,” Steve murmured against her temple.
“D’you think she’s nervous?”
Even though he was the one asking the question, Steve Rogers was pacing across the hardwood, fidgeting with his hair in the full-length mirror. He wasn’t nervous; that wasn’t it. There was just one piece that was refusing to lay flat, to his great frustration, but he knew that every time he toyed with it, he was just giving Bucky more ammunition.
“As nervous as you, Stevie? Doubtful.”
Case in point.
Steve’s brows furrowed as he tried to convince Bucky he wasn’t just projecting. “I mean, our friends are a lot on a good day, never mind a few drinks in. Are you sure—?”
“It’s going to be fine, OK? Don’t you start on me too,” Bucky assured, shoving his hands into the back pockets of Steve’s pants and tugging him closer until they were hip to hip. “I popped in to check on Darcy yesterday, and she was totally fine.”
Something about him being right up against his chest smothered his heart into something resembling a steady beat instead of a hummingbird. How Bucky Barnes was able to bring him back down from being all riled up was a secret for the ages, but one Steve had always been thankful for. And he was even more grateful that he could play that role for Darcy too.
Sure, they’d been texting back and forth and checking in, but between the shop and his own schedule (therapy sessions didn’t happen by themselves, unfortunately), Steve hadn’t had a moment to even consider how much of a wreck she might have been all week.
“It’s normal to be nervous,” Bucky continued with a dopey smile, knowing exactly where his thoughts had carried him. It was almost uncanny.
Steve huffed an incredulous laugh. “When did you get so wise?”
“Well, according to you, I’ve always been a wise-ass,” Bucky snickered before his expression softened. “Plus, this is kind of our equivalent of meeting the parents when you think about it.”
It wasn’t like either of them had parents left to meet. Oh, to have to explain this one to his ma. Something told Steve she would have been understanding after a fair bit of good-natured prying and heckling. He was sure she would have been just as charmed by Darcy as they had both been the first day she waltzed into their lives.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Steve breathed after a few more seconds of thinking it through. He snaked his arms around Bucky’s waist, his breath hot on Steve’s face as he asked, “What’d I do to deserve you?”
“Well, one of us has to be the sap,” Bucky murmured, his lips twisting into a wry grin. “And it wasn’t about to be me, Rogers.”
Steve was just about to argue against his point when the doorbell rang.
“I’ve got it,” Bucky assured, lifting on his tip-toes to peck Steve on the lips before patting his chest. “Finish messing with your hair and meet us downstairs, yeah?”
He was bounding down the stairs towards the door before Steve could get a word in edgewise, staring at the unruly curl that decided to make an appearance again.
Steve chuckled and shook his head, “Jerk.”
“Hello, gorgeous.”
Bucky Barnes couldn’t hold back a whistle as Darcy crossed the threshold into his and Steve’s brownstone. It was too hard with her dressed like that, with her dark, loose curls falling down her back and her outfit cinched at the waist, showing off her curves. Even the scent of her perfume drew him in— a combination of citrus and spice that he’d only ever smelled on her.
“Hiya, handsome,” she quipped with her signature gap-toothed grin.
Bucky took Darcy’s hand and spun her around in the hall, his whole self warm at the giggle she let out as her skirt flared around her thighs. Darcy pecked him on the lips in thanks, her hand lingering against his chest as those deep blue eyes found his.
It might have been a while since he’d dated a woman, but he knew better than to mess up her perfectly drawn make-up. He had a thing for those red lips of hers, so he couldn’t be the one to ruin them.
At least, not yet. Not this early in the night.
“Wow. We are a lucky couple’a guys.”
Steve seemed to be just as appreciative for the company as he strode in from the kitchen, eyes wide and lips curving into a fond smile at the sight before him. Darcy’s head snapped towards him, a tiny pink tinge creeping into her ears.
It was kind of adorable.
“No fair! It’s two against one. You two are gonna make me blush,” Darcy murmured unconvincingly, swatting at Steve’s shoulder with a feather-like touch. “I wasn’t sure if it was too much, or—”
“It’s perfect, doll,” Bucky murmured in assurance, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
“You nervous?” Steve asked softly as Darcy crossed the room to greet him too, sweeping her into a bear hug.
Bucky mouthed a, ‘You think?’ to Steve, unsure why he’d be asking the obvious.
Didn’t they just have this conversation upstairs?
As expected, after settling into his hug like a heavyweight, Darcy groaned into Steve’s chest. Even Bucky could tell that was a resounding affirmative.
Steve let out a breathy chuckle and rubbed circles into her back, “We’ll be right there with you.”
“And most of ’em don’t bite,” Bucky added, unhelpfully, according to Steve’s sharp glance. With a shrug his added, “I wasn’t about to lie. She already met Nat.”
He could have sworn he saw Darcy stiffen at Nat’s name, burrowing further into Steve’s hold. Bucky could feel the glare burning his skin, even from across the room.
“What Bucky means is that they’re going to love you—” Steve murmured into the crown of Darcy’s head. “They’re just a little protective, is all,” Steve assured, expression more uncertain than his voice let on.
Small mercies, Bucky thought to himself as Darcy seemed to soften in his hold. She had been a ball of anxiety yesterday during his visit, flustered as she walked him through a couple potential outfits. But clearly, Steve was helping to quell the nerves as they stood in the front room of their brownstone.
It was then that Bucky noticed the white paper bag in Darcy’s grasp, white knuckles gripping the handle. “What d’you have there?”
“Oh,” Darcy said, shifting out of Steve’s hold to open it up, looking guiltily between them. “I uh, baked? I couldn’t decide what to make, so I just did a platter of cookies and little treats.”
Steve gaped, “And you were worried?”
Darcy’s brows narrowed at Steve’s incredulous tone.
“Our friends appreciate good food and bribes, but mostly good food,” Bucky explained with a chuckle, reaching for Steve’s arm, the one wrapped around Darcy’s waist. “That was a good idea, Darce.”
That seemed to put a little more colour into her cheeks, at least.
“Should we get going?” Steve asked after checking his phone. “Sam’s a stickler for being on time.”
Sam’s apartment was only ten minutes away, so the trio walked shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk.
Too flustered to think, Darcy grabbed whichever arm was offered to his first, Steve slowing to keep her pace. He didn’t know it, but her grip on him was the only thing keeping Darcy Lewis upright as she tried not to let her thoughts run away with her.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Steve mumbled as they waited for the crossing lights to flip to ‘walk.’
Darcy wasn’t sure if Steve was projecting his own nerves— they might have only been out a few times, but she could read him like a book— or if he was worried she would devolve into nausea or something. Honestly, nothing was off the table as their hurried footsteps echoed against the concrete and buildings towering above them.
“Just don’t want to mess this up, you know?” Darcy asked with a fading smile. “I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
“A smart and sexy man once told me that it’s normal to worry,” Steve offered, his eyes flicking over to Bucky, who was definitely eavesdropping on their conversation. “And there’s nothing to mess up. You’ll find out soon that they’re just as weird as we are.”
Darcy was just about to protest (she wasn’t that weird, right?) when they stopped in their tracks in front of a row of houses.
“This is the one,” Bucky explained, already halfway up the stairs and reaching for the doorbell.
Sam— or who Darcy assumed was Sam— met them at the door, warm, brown skin and a bright gap-toothed smile greeting them. “Hey! You made it. And you must be Darcy.”
There was no turning back now.
“That’s me!” she offered breathily, taking Bucky’s offered hand as she bounded up the stairs behind him. Steve wasn’t far behind, his grip settling on her hips as they crammed into the doorway.
“So it’s all official?” Sam looked between them all nodding before breaking into a broad smile, “Congrats, you three.”
Steve and Bucky were already stripping off their jackets, handing them to Sam as he hung them in the coat closet. Darcy’s gaze dropped down to the white paper bag in her hands, “Oh! This is for you.”
“That’s sweet of you. Homemade?”
“I stress bake?” Darcy replied with an uncertain giggle, and Sam’s expression softened.
“I’m looking forward to it, then. Thank you so much for coming. It’s uh, nice to finally put a face to the name,” Sam explained as he took her coat. “You know those two won’t shut up about you.”
Steve and Bucky were already nodding and hugging the people assembled inside, watching Darcy between smiles… probably to ensure Sam wouldn’t let any embarrassing stories slip. Either that or that she wasn’t running out the door yet.
“They’re kind of adorable,” Darcy chuckled, fighting back the inferno that had settled on her face at the thought. “Your place is beautiful.”
“That’s all Riley,” Sam explained with a fond smile that made even Darcy feel warm and gooey inside. “Anyway, I’ll introduce you two, but in the meantime, make yourself at home.”
Darcy understood now why Steve and Bucky didn’t hover when it came to their host. If Sam was any indication, she should probably stop thinking about defensive strategies and just treat this like any other party.
OK, maybe not any other party (they probably weren’t super into tequila anyway), but like a regular social event. In public. With strangers.
The living room was warm— much warmer than it should have been— as the trio stepped into Sam Wilson’s apartment. He was among the only non-shop staff of the bunch, along with his partner, Riley (who was also all smiles and lovely), but Darcy didn’t want to ask outright how they knew the boys. After several foot-in-mouth situations, she had a feeling it was personal.
“Hey, Barnes. You’ve been hiding this poor girl away or something?”
Clint Barton was a little loud and a lot of mouth, but his dimpled smile gave away his softer side. Unlike the rest of the shop staff group, he was actually a piercing artist, and boy, did he have a lot of stories.
So many of which were not appropriate for mealtime, including the one that finally caught Bucky’s attention ten minutes later, inviting him into the tail-end of what had been a rollercoaster of emotions.
“The lady’s trying to eat her charcuterie, Barton.”
Clint devolved into a nipple piercing fiasco. One so bad it left Darcy’s mouth hanging open as she reached to soothe her own breasts at the thought.
“Welp. Today I learned I’m definitely not getting my nipples pierced,” Darcy said with a grimace.
Clint shook his head with a chuckle, “A true loss for humanity.”
Bucky elbowed him in response.
Steve quickly joined their little circle as Darcy learned more about their friends. She hadn’t missed the fact that neither of them strayed very far from her. They were always within arms’ reach or touching her in some way. A hand on her hip or at the small of her back. Tiny reminders and check-ins so she didn’t feel like she was up the creek without a paddle.
“I’d apologize for Clint, but I don’t have enough shame to spare for the both of us,” Riley quipped over the lip of his beer bottle. “It is really nice to finally meet you. Steve and Bucky wouldn’t stop gushing over you.”
Staring blankly, looking for some sort of sign that Riley was joking, Darcy sputtered, “Oh, I….”
She’d thought Sam was kidding earlier, just teasing the boys a little in front of her.
Realizing she might not have known, Riley’s eyebrows flew up, “I mean. Not in a creepy stalkery way. More ‘they’re head over heels’ for you.”
“This guy giving you trouble?” Steve asked, dropping his voice a few levels to sound tougher.
Darcy all but snorted as Riley mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key as Steve settled in beside her. Maybe ‘towered over her’ was a better description. Whatever it was, to Darcy, it was safety.
Despite their hulking size, Darcy had never felt uncomfortable or trapped with either of the men. If anything, it was an excellent way to hide in situations like this— a safe spot when she was overwhelmed with new names and faces. And now, pressed between them both, laughing and pulling (somewhat embarrassing) tidbits and factoids out of their friends, all she could feel was the warm thrum of anticipation, the way her heart skipped beats in her chest.
“Want a top-up?” Steve asked into her ear, pecking her cheek as she nodded.
She needed at least one more drink before Clint got around to his other horrifying story, after all.
Darcy smiled and seemed to take it all in stride, but she knew her nerves were written all over her face. Even Natasha appeared to be a little off, keeping her distance until Darcy had been handed her second dink and Bucky and Steve were distracted by Riley’s whisky collection.
“I’m glad you came out,” Natasha murmured quietly, avoiding Darcy’s eyes as she watched the boys fawning over bottles.
“Me too,” Darcy offered, not really sure what to say.
Natasha cleared her throat, shaking her head, “Listen. I wanted to apologize for our first meeting. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“Uh,” Darcy stammered, trying desperately to get a read on the redhead. “You didn’t.”
Which was, in fact, a total lie.
Natasha’s mouth twitched into a smile as her green eyes finally found Darcy’s, “I wouldn’t admit it either, I just… I’ve known the boys a long time, and they’ve been through a lot. Did Steve tell you about the shop?”
Darcy stared back blankly, the noise and chatter around them turning into a background hum as she focussed her attention on Natasha. She’d never looked this serious, even when she was imperceptibly interrogating them on the way to brunch, so Darcy wasn’t about to brush her off as an awful person so soon.
After all, Darcy had put Jane’s boyfriend through a seven-point background check when they’d started dating, so she could understand being protective.
“They almost lost the shop last year— it was looking really bad,” Natasha said, just above a whisper. “Bucky was going through physio, and Steve had his own things going on… So, they don’t really need any more surprises, you know?”
Still trying to catch up, Darcy nodded. She could understand not wanting to see her friends go through that kind of heartbreak and stress again, especially under their somewhat unusual circumstances.
“But I think you might be a good surprise,” Natasha said, her eyes dropping back down to the beer bottle in her grasp. “So, keep it up.”
Pushing off the wall she’d been leaning on, Natasha crossed the room towards Steve as Darcy was left digesting what had just happened.
Had she really gotten an apology from the shop’s infamous Black Widow?
Darcy spotted a familiar mop of brown hair sitting on the stoop, looking out onto the street. A little concerned at Bucky being out there on his own, she decided to check on him. She knew either of her boys would have done the same for her.
The front door creaked open as Darcy plopped down onto the steps of Sam’s stoop beside him.
“What are you doing out here in the cold with no jacket? Everything OK, doll?” Bucky murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist as she slid neatly into his side.
He was warm and smelled faintly of beer and the remnants of a joint. Wishing she could wrap herself up in it, Darcy nuzzled into his shoulder. It was better than any jacket she could have worn.
“I was just about to ask you that,” she murmured with a smile. “But, yeah, actually. Everything is more than OK.”
That seemed to placate him, his fingers weaving through her wavy hair as they stared out into the city.
“Saw you were talking with Nat,” he started, ever the snoop. “What’d you two talk about?”
But she knew better than to dodge his questions, and it wasn’t like there was anything to hide.
“You guys, mostly, and how much the shop went through last year.”
Bucky was quiet, a little too soft, and Darcy wondered if maybe she’d made it awkward. The trio hadn’t explicitly talked about it, but there were enough hints dropped between the pair that Darcy could have drawn her own conclusions.
“I think she was trying to rationalize why she was so protective of the hulking hotties that can totally look after themselves,” Darcy chuckle with a fond smile.
Bucky snorted, “Yeah, Nat has a hard time with feelings sometimes.”
And, for once, Darcy didn’t, looking up at one of her beautiful boys with a soft smile.
“What?” Bucky asked, flushed and half-lidded as he looked down at her.
Darcy assumed it was mostly the alcohol but wondered if there was something more, too.
“You’re cute is all,” Darcy grinned and shrugged. “Like ‘heads snapping around doing 180°s when you walk by’ kind of cute.”
“What are you on about over here?” Steve joined the party, settling down and wrapping an arm around Darcy’s shoulder, his fingers brushing Bucky’s arm.
“Darce is just inflating our egos a little,” Bucky replied with a smirk.
“I’m serious!” she giggled, nearly spilling her drink with her emphatic hand flourish. Not that she was drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and relishing in the boys’ combined body heat. “Between you and Steve, it’s a good thing I’m not a jealous woman.”
“I think she’s trying to say she’s good at sharing, Buck,” Steve added with a glimmer in his eyes.
Out of sight, his fingers traced circles on the bare patch of skin below Darcy’s hemline. Her heart missed a few beats along the way, that familiar electric feeling pulsing through her as she sought out his blue eyes in the dim light.
Bucky chuckled, rough palms overtaking Steve’s and drifting down her leg as if they’d choreographed it. “What a coincidence— so are we.”
Darcy caught each of their hands with her own, and both boys turned to her, eyes wide in concern. She laughed.
“I’m not stopping you, but if we’re going to continue, well, sharing, we probably shouldn’t do it on Sam’s stoop.”
Both boys shared mischievous grins, hopping to their feet and offering a hand up to Darcy.
“Let’s get you home, then.”
They rushed through goodbyes, blaming their leaving on work in the morning, but the trio couldn’t even attempt to keep their hands off each other as they walked home. That was the first night Darcy stayed over at their brownstone, twined between her boys and a mess of twisted sheets.
But if opening night was any indication, it wouldn’t be the last.
After surviving Steve and Bucky’s version of ‘meeting the parents,’ the trio settled into a comfortable routine. Well, as comfortable as it could get when all three of them were working appointment-based jobs.
Their weeks were filled with haphazard texts, snuck in between clients and appointments.
Darcy had been picking up as many extra shifts as she could. It was getting increasingly difficult to pin her down, and Bucky was a little worried about burnout. But she’d stop by the shop with coffee and pastries in hand when she could, flashing a bright smile and assuring them she was just in demand.
He didn’t buy it but also didn’t want to press.
So sometimes he and or Steve would sneak out and buy her lunch, even if she only had thirty minutes to spare at a time— just to make sure she’d eaten something other than instant noodles. Not that either of them needed an excuse.
They’d do pretty much anything to see that gap-toothed smile or hear her breathy giggle.
But no matter how chaotic the week was, from Saturday night to Sunday evening, Darcy and the boys were inseparable, even if Natasha teased them for practically running out the door at 5pm.
They’d promised each other that they’d spend time where they had it, come hell or high water.
The latter had actually happened once in the last few months, and poor Darcy found out first-hand that flooded subway stations were, in fact, no fun.
“There weren’t even alligators,” she’d moped as Bucky and Steve gathered towels and a change of clothes, holding back chuckles before sending her to the shower to warm up. So, of course, she had to add to the always-eager duo, “I thought that was your job?”
With that gap-toothed smirk of hers, and the mascara and make-up running down her face from the rain and her hair already in wet ringlets… Bucky Barnes, like Steve, didn’t need much more convincing than that.
An hour or so later, in the safety of Steve and Bucky’s bed, he traced the lines and pigment on Darcy’s back, revelling in her every goosebump and shiver. “It healed really well,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. A reminder of the first time they’d met and all the things yet to come between them all. “Apparently, Rogers here does decent work.”
“So I’ve been told,” Steve offered with an eye-roll, blond hair still dripping water from their shower to bed shenanigans. He slumped onto the bed and scooped Darcy up only to plop her under the covers, “Now, I think we have some catching up to do on our relaxing weekend.”
Sure, sometimes their Sundays were spent waiting for a repair person at Darcy’s apartment or less-than-glamorous shopping trips for toilet paper and other essentials. But if there was time they could be together— barring emergencies or medical appointments— they’d take every second they could get.
Still, to Bucky Barnes, it always seemed to feel like there was something else at the table with them at those dinners— that something was indescribably off.
He’d asked Steve about it one Monday morning, a few months or so after the party and several Netflix (and sometimes chill) nights between them. He’d spent most of the night before tossing and turn, his brain trying to piece things together on his own.
All Steve could offer in return was an unsure nod, but the familiar feeling that something was missing still hung in the air, even when it was just the two of them. He was halfway through his bowl of cereal when Steve’s pensive look turned worried.
That was never a good sign.
“Darcy has been a little more stressed than usual,” Steve offered an hour later, clearly having mulled it over during their morning routine. “Is this because of work, d’you think?”
As much as they’d hung out with the group since, and everything seemed to be copacetic, all Bucky could think of was that fateful conversation between her and Nat. Bucky had never wished he’d learned to lip-read so bad in his life, watching her and Nat talk. Alone.
It had been so hard to get his expression back in order as Darcy walked away from her conversation with Nat. From what he could see through the front window, there were no tears or frown lines in sight, so Bucky could only assume it hadn’t been totally terrible.
And he didn’t want to worry Steve about a hunch— it probably wasn’t even a good one.
Something definitely felt like it changed after the party, but Bucky couldn’t pin it down to something negative. Was it because she couldn’t reciprocate? With only Jane and Thor as her closest friends and them already on speaking and hang-out terms, the boys wouldn’t have the same sort of initiation that she had.
Bucky lowered his voice as if it would chip away at the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach, “Do you think she misses having a family… to, y’know, do these things with?”
He didn’t have to say much more than that— Steve’s eyes flashed recognition immediately.
They’d never really stopped to think or to wonder. They had the luxury of swapping stories with their friends at the shop, and Bucky had his siblings, but what about Darcy? Did she have someone to go to, just to decompress, vent… or even share things with?
Even Bucky missed it sometimes, being able to call his Ma and have her ask how Steve was doing. He was thankful she at least got to see them together and give her approval before she passed. Bless her.
But Darcy would never be able to do that.
“Can someone miss something they’ve never really had?”
Steve probably hadn’t meant to make it sound as dramatic as it did, but Bucky couldn’t think of a way to better describe it. Neither of them would know. They’d both loved their families and had what most would consider a pretty good childhood. The grief they could understand— the ebb and the flow of being reminded of something or someone that was no longer around.
But what was it like to miss out on all those experiences that most other children had?
“Doesn’t Nat know someone high up in Stark? Maria something?”
After an entire morning spent spiralling, Bucky Barnes quickly switched into problem-solving mode, pacing their front hall like he was thinking up a battle plan.
Steve was decidedly warier.
“Isn’t that kind of meddling?” Steve asked, chewing his lip.
That stopped Bucky dead in his tracks, looking back to catch Steve’s eyes.
A beat passed.
“Yeah…” Bucky said, drawing out the word as he thought through just how bad of an idea it would be.
Not with their headstrong girl, who had no qualms with dressing them down for overstepping. And the last thing he wanted to do was push her away when she might have needed them most. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“D’you think Nat said something to her?”
Now he was getting it… sort of. Bucky still wasn’t sure that was the root of it, but he couldn’t deny there was some kind of influence.
“Yes, but I don’t think that’s the issue.”
Why were they so stuck on this? What was it that was the squeaky wheel in this scenario? What had even tipped them off?
“Maybe it’s us.”
Steve’s words felt like an anchor dropped into his gut as it all clicked into place.
“What?” Bucky breathed.
“Maybe we’re the ones being weird. I mean, if you think about this like a normal relationship—”
“Oh, we are so far from that, Rogers—”
“Then we’d be at the, what? The ‘I love you’ stage?” Steve continued, ignoring Bucky’s jab. His look turned serious as he added, “I’d argue we’re already there.”
And Bucky wasn’t about to disagree with him.
Sure, maybe it was a little nuts to drop that specific ‘l’ word in the first few weeks of a relationship, but neither one of them would have blamed the other if it’d slipped out. If anything, it was a conscious decision not to say it yet, worried they’d scare her off or something.
But Bucky knew that he’d never felt warmer than that in his whole life. Just them, stacked on top of each other like flapjacks. The gentle rise and fall of their chests. Fingers laced in the dark.
There was nothing like it.
So much so that he knew that if they could have it all the time— that feeling, that warmth— he’d never want for anything else in his life.
In that instant, it made all the sense in the world.
If they were already ready for the three little words, the next obvious conclusion would be…
“The move-in stage,” Bucky offered, his eyes snapping to Steve’s in broad realization.
No wonder it all felt so off. Watching Darcy walk home after every night, trying to convince her to spend the night when she could spare them, trying to talk her into letting one of them accompany her before she shooed their chivalry…
Waking up in bed without her there just felt odd these days— even worse when they considered what kind of shape her apartment was in.
They’d never said the words out loud, not even when Steve and Bucky were alone, but they were both on edge every time she was home, alone. They might linger over their cell phones a little longer, hoping for a text to reassure them that she was safe and sound.
It would be a hell of a lot less worry if she lived with them.
Steve paled in shared realization.
So maybe it was Steve and him at the root of this weirdness.
“Shit.”
Bucky nervously rubbed at the back of his neck, “Shit, indeed.”
Across town, Darcy Lewis was coming to a very different realization.
It was like every single thought in her vacuous cavern of a skull just led right back to Steve and Bucky.
Bagels in the window? Bagels with Steve and Bucky after a lazy morning of grocery shopping for dinner— not that she could afford to grocery shop right now.
The whiff of coffee from a nearby cafe? Steve and Bucky swinging by her place for surprise mid-day caffeine like the sweetest boyfriends ever because, again, coffeeshops weren’t a luxury she could justify right now.
Every time she passed a signature Brooklyn brownstone, Darcy could only think of her boys, shoving back wonderings of how the hell she was going to survive the rent increase she’d just been served notice for.
And even now, in the middle of a meeting for a charity she’d been volunteering at for the last decade, Darcy’s thoughts just kept circling back to them.
This fundraiser, these four walls, were supposed to be the one place she didn’t worry, after everything that had happened within them. All the years, successes celebrated, and losses mourned. And yet, here she was, worried about rent, about the boys, and about whatever the hell she was going to scrape together to wear to this event.
She had never felt like this before, thoughts all a-jumble and mismatched.
Priorities out the window.
Was this like some kind of illness? Some sort of stupid puppy dog obsession or infatuation?
Infuriatingly, the more she thought about it, the more she realized her feelings ran a lot deeper than that. Probably had for a while. The question was what to do with them. Because it wasn’t like she had any experience dealing with this kind of icky, gooey feeling, and the boys and she had been limited to a handful of hours together a week.
If she didn’t find something soon, Darcy was pretty sure she was going to combust.
It had been so bad that she’d even ended up spacing out, pen drifting absently across an empty notebook page during the meeting. She’d at least assumed she’d get away with it, too, until another volunteer hadn’t pulled her aside at the end, once the others were otherwise occupied.
The chatter melted into a dull buzz, blue eyes staring down at her in concern.
“You OK over here, Darcy?” Sharon asked, kneeling down beside her chair and setting a hand on her knee. “I know it’s a lot with your mom’s anniversary coming up, and… I just want you to know we’re here for you. And I miss her too.”
And yes, Darcy remembered faintly. There was always that stressor, too.
Darcy’s face flamed, and her hands instinctively reached up to hold back a familiar prickle in her eyes. “I’m OK,” she tried to assure, clearing her throat.
Part of her felt more guilty that she hadn’t been thinking about her mom, that she was too busy being some lovesick teenager.
Sharon seemed to give her a once over, judging whether she was trying to sweep it under the rug. Out of everyone in today’s group, she had known Darcy the longest— since Darcy’s mom had brought her to these meetings, practically kicking and screaming like a stupid teenager, for some volunteer hours to pad her college applications with.
That’s all the Lung Cancer Research Foundation was supposed to be for her.
In the end, after Darcy’s mom had succumbed to her own battle, one that had ended much too soon, Darcy had wound up finding a community instead. One that came together to celebrate those lost and fight for those who still had a chance. One that took so many burdens off of her already heavy shoulders. So once she was on her feet again, she volunteered to organize their annual charity gala just like her mom used to, in her honour.
So, needless to say, Sharon wasn’t going to settle for some generic, nothing answer.
“I swear it’s nothing. I’m just running a little short on sleep, you know? But thank you. It, uh, means a lot,” Darcy added, finally meeting her eyes.
“Alright. Don’t work yourself too hard, OK?” Sharon murmured before adding, with a smirk, “And don’t let those boys of yours keep you up all night.
Darcy fought back a blush as Sharon patted her on the back and returned to the front of the room.
Sharon was also in the handful of people who knew about their unique relationship. Jane wasn’t much for girl talk, but Sharon and tequila made for some exciting after-work nights and stories that probably shouldn’t have left her brain (or bedroom).
“Oh, and one last reminder,” Sharon said in her announcer’s voice. “We’re still looking for more sponsors and donations for the silent auction. Most of the funds we raised in all of last year came from this one night, so let’s make it count.”
That’s it.
This was what she’d been looking for— what had been ruminating in the back of her brain. She’d been looking for a way to not only spend a little more time with the boys but also draw locals’ attention to the shop. To build them up in the community and maybe get some free press out of it too.
Natasha’s words about the dire financial situation were burned into her skull, and Darcy Lewis was ever the problem solver.
Two birds, one stone.
She could open up a little about her life, and do something nice for them. A little project, just to make sure they were feeling the same way about her (read: absolutely crazy for— though she’d settle on pretty obsessed with too), and then say those three little words she’d put a temporary embargo on.
She’d just have to figure out a way to tell them without sounding like it was coming out of left field.
Pulling together her notes and pamphlets, Darcy said her goodbyes to the group and hurried home. If she was going to pitch this to them, you bet she was going to give them the best damn pitch they’d ever heard in their lives.
Everything else would figure itself out…
Right?
Steve Rogers didn’t know what to expect when Darcy texted. His brain was still somewhere between balancing the shop’s books, combing through the company email inbox and waiting for a few supply deliveries as he stared at the phone in his hands.
Darcy: Are you two free tomorrow night?
Steve: Depends. What’re you thinking?
Darcy: Dinner? Your place?
It was hard to turn down an evening with his girlfriend, especially with their barely coordinated schedules. But this wasn’t like her, springing something like this on them out of the blue, so his heart was racing a little faster than usual as he rounded the corner to tell Buck.
“Do you have any appointments tomorrow?”
“Just got a date with the stock room. Why?” Bucky asked, flashing his teeth enough to show the dimple in his cheek.
Steve had to remind himself why he was there for a second.
“Uh, Darcy’s wondering if we can do dinner?” he managed, flashing his phone screen for proof.
“Well, Nat and Clint are on the late shift, so I think it’s fine?” Bucky’s lips twitched as he added, “You’re the boss man, though, Boss Man.”
He had half a mind to ask him if he thought it was weird, out of character or the like, but then there was that playful smile and the way his voice softened a little at the thought of Darcy. Hell, Bucky’s whole face seemed to change at just the idea of spending some extra time with her.
Steve couldn’t snuff out that light on a baseless worry.
If Bucky wasn’t concerned, then he probably shouldn’t be either, Steve decided. Not that he wouldn’t do enough worrying for the both of them. But anyway, it was probably all a coincidence and just a case of Darcy wanting to sneak a little extra time with them.
“We’ll order in.”
They ended up getting Chinese from a place they liked around the corner, picking a bunch of dishes off the menu to set up their own buffet across the kitchen counter. The doorbell rang fifteen minutes early, and prying open the door revealed Darcy, carrying a bag that seemed to weigh her down on one side, with a determined look in her eyes.
“Darcy,” Steve greeted, opening the door and standing to the side to let her in.
All she could offer was a wary smile.
All nerves, Steve noted, careful not to let his face slip. Not a good sign.
She would have flown right past him too if he’s let her, wrapping an arm around her waist and spinning her into an awkward hug as he soothed, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry,” she breathed with a sheepish smile, tilting up to look at him. From this angle, he could see the frizz forming at her roots, the nervous smile she pasted on as she explained, “I just… have a lot to tell you.”
Bucky looked just as confused as Steve felt, wine bottle stuck in mid-air as he watched the exchange with raised brows. Snapping back to Darcy, Steve smiled, “Of course, sweetheart. Let me just take your jacket.”
He didn’t miss that she refused to let go of the heavy bag as she stripped out of her wool peacoat. Instead, she bypassed him and Bucky with quick hugs and plopped it on the couch, immediately rummaging through it and producing two heavy stacks of stapled paper.
“Did you bring us homework?” Steve offered playfully, waiting for her expression to soften.
Bucky chimed in, “Or is this some kinda contract?”
Steve could feel the weight of it in his hands as he and Buck settled onto the couch in front of her. He stared blankly between the piles and Darcy, who, instead of smiling at their stupid attempts at jokes, seemed to be getting more flustered by the second.
“I was in the middle of that meeting yesterday, and it just clicked. That this might be a really good opportunity for the shop, so….”
But he almost didn’t notice; his eyes were locked on two of the words on the front page.
Lung cancer.
His stomach dropped to the floor, eyes flashing to Buck, who had a similar look of realization on his face. This certainly explained why she was wound so tight. He hadn’t even stopped to think of the date, how close it was to the anniversary of her mom’s death and what she must have been going through.
How did he miss this?
Darcy, on the other hand, was still on her feet in the middle of the living room, already rambling through a speech that sounded rehearsed enough to be practiced. Her standing and pacing were setting them all on edge, primarily out of concern for her.
“This is our sponsorship pitch deck— I didn’t want you to miss out on the full explanation because it doesn’t really make sense without all the data and details, and I’m typically not the person who gives this presentation, but—”
“Darcy.” Bucky rose to his feet, and Darcy’s blue eyes became dinner plates as he murmured, “Slow down, sweetheart. You want us to help with your fundraiser, right? The one you volunteer for every year for your mom?”
Bucky set a soft hand on Darcy’s forearm as her mouth snapped shut, gently guiding her to the couch to sit between them. He let it lingered on her knee, rubbing soothing circles into her jeans. Steve scooted a little closer, close enough to add his body heat to the fray, with just enough space to let her set the limits as far as contact went.
Eyebrow upturned, she frowned slightly, “I’m sorry. I know it’s kind of a lot, and I probably should have given you a heads up, but it’s still a few months away. We’re just trying to get prizes in order so we can start to advertise and encourage people to come out—”
“Darce…”
“—and I know this — you know, like us — is new and fresh and kind of a big ask considering, but—”
“Darcy.”
She stopped as Steve piped up, lipstick-lined mouth snapping shut as she squeezed his hand.
“We’re happy to help you, sweetheart. You don’t have to give us a full business pitch, OK?”
With a nod, her eyes dropped to her lap, tracing her fingers over the dark lines on both of their hands. Steve was just glad her breathing started to steady, and he tried to get his own heart rate in order as she leaned her head on his chest.
Pressing a kiss into her hair, he asked, “Where is this all coming from?”
“Nat told me a little bit about what happened… last year, and I just want you guys to do well and have the opportunity to make a name for yourself in the community,” Darcy offered quietly, like a kid in the principal’s office, caught. “I believe in you guys.”
“Darcy…”
Steve almost didn’t know what to say, to think those worries had been heavy on her shoulders— the same ones that kept him up at night more than he liked to admit.
She offered a weak smile as if to soothe them, “And plus, it’s a good excuse to spend more time together, and the party’s pretty fun. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Darcy,” Bucky reached over, tipping her chin up with his thumb. “Of course we’ll do it. You don’t have to convince us, doll.”
The glimmer in her eyes got a little bigger, a wary smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she breathed, “Really?”
“What were you thinking, as far as prizes?” Steve asked, squeezing her a little.
He would have tried anything to get a Darcy Lewis giggle out of her, for the nerves to settle and for the three of them to sit here together without all the pretext. The truth was, he didn’t need an excuse for Darcy to come over— if anything, this felt more natural than just he and Bucky at home.
But now wasn’t the time to go bringing that up. Not when Darcy was still practically buzzing with nerves in their hold.
“Maybe donating something for the silent auction. Some art, or store credit for some sleeves, or an original tattoo commission. We can iron out the details...”
“It’s perfect, Darcy,” Bucky assured, eyeing Steve over the top of her head. “It’s a really nice thing to do.”
“OK. Um, well, good?” she huffed, a raspy chuckle escaping. “I had budgeted a lot more time to convincing you.”
“How about we take our time back and have a relaxing night in, alright?” Bucky closed the gap between them, with Darcy in the middle, soaking in the feel of them together at last. “You’re looking a little tired, baby. How about you spend the night?”
“Yes, please.”
She snuggled into his chest while Bucky and Steve had a silent conversation that they’d probably have to reheat dinner at this rate, but it was worth it for their peace of mind.
Steve smiled, kissing the crown of her head as he laced his fingers with his lovers. Left for Darcy, right for Bucky. Content at last.
“You know you always have a spot in this bed,” Steve reminded just above a whisper as Darcy finally melted into them in relief.
Not our bed, because she could have read that as his and Buck’s. No, as far as he was concerned, this was their bed. Because every time they slept without her in it, it just didn’t feel the same. It felt like something was missing.
But that would be a conversation for another night, when Darcy had less on her mind.
Tonight, all they needed was each other.
The weeks leading up to the gala seemed to pass by in a blink, in a haze of last-minute errands and emergency meetings.
One night, Darcy was safe and snuggling her partners in bed after a successful fundraising pitch, and the next, she was racing around her bedroom like a madwoman, hairspray in one hand and her oxblood dress in the other. How she’d found it at a secondhand shop, she’d never know, but the red satin number was something straight out of the 1950s. Which is probably why she didn’t feel too guilty about the price tag.
And it was a good thing, too, because tonight, there wasn’t time for doubt or racing thoughts.
She’d dropped off Steve and the shop’s donations and business cards last week, spent last night confirming the entire menu (for the third time), and most of the volunteers were already at the venue to help with set-up. All Darcy had left to do was to get ready while keeping one eye on the clock, not wanting to keep the boys waiting as they readied themselves across town.
Her phone pinged with a text message from Bucky, letting her know they were five minutes out.
Though, from Bucky, that likely meant two.
So, taking one spin in front of the mirror for good measure, Darcy huffed in concession. “It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
Patting herself down and opening her clutch, Darcy made sure she had everything she needed — concealer, house keys, metro pass, lipstick, check — and pried open the door to find Steve and Bucky already standing at the base of the stairs.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Bucky whistled before he swept her into a hug.
Hands pressed against the black silk lapel of Bucky’s jacket, Darcy let her touch linger. A little stunned at just how good these boys — her boys — looked their well-tailored suits. Steve’s was royal blue, classic and slim, and both had tattoos peeking out beyond their cuffs, soft smiles on their faces.
Her boys never failed to make her blush. “You don’t look so bad yourselves.”
Steve twirled her into his grip, his blue eyes wide and sparkling as the skirt of her tea-length gown spun around her. She landed in his arms with a breathy chuckle.
“Nervous?” Steve murmured as he let her go, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Nervous was an understatement. Darcy was running on all of three hours of sleep — a standard for the last three weeks — as she and the rest of the volunteers scrambled with the last-minute details and complications that always seemed to plague event planning.
Never mind that her dress had cost more than her entire closet combined, and her bank account barely had enough to cover her subway fare at the moment. It embarrassed Darcy to admit how relieved she was when the boys walked over and call a cab from her place since she’d “take the longest to get ready anyway.” Though she was pretty sure it wasn’t by much.
She could only imagine Bucky was still fidgeting with his hair as they rushed out her door.
These were the everyday worries and concerns burned into her brain, along with an impending lease renewal that she’d been putting off thinking about. But as far as she was concerned, those worries would be Future-Darcy’s future problem.
Present-Darcy had a show to put on, after all.
“I’m better now,” Darcy assured him, squeezing Steve’s hands as she looked up at him through her eyelashes.
Something in the clear blue eyes shining back at her, that soft smile that only Steve Rogers could give — well, only to her and Bucky…. Whatever it was, it sent warmth and comfort through her, that maybe, just maybe, she’d make it to the other side of tonight in one piece.
Maybe even raise enough funds to beat last year’s record donations.
And maybe her boys would get a bit more foot traffic from the locals, a little more interest in what was behind the gold, glittering letters in the window.
That’s all she could hope for tonight.
“You’ve got the address, Buck?” Steve asked, and Darcy realized she’d zoned out, not even seeing the yellow cab pull up to the curb in front of them. Bucky waved off Steve’s question and slid into the cab first. Steve smiled down at Darcy, “After you.”
The boys might have had to help her in and out of the cab (it wasn’t every day she wore a dress this voluminous, after all), and it might have been an extra cozy (and slightly handsy) ride with three of them in the backseat, but they landed in front of the hotel unscathed. Flushed and a little flustered, but nothing a drink or two couldn’t fix.
Darcy checked them all in, getting the boys their name badges that designated them as minor sponsors and part of the silent auction. She took her time sticking Steve’s on his lapel, still giddy over how handsome they both were. All those years with just herself made it hard to believe she could love two men so much.
When she turned to work on Bucky’s, she noticed his eyes were locked on a nameplate he probably hadn’t expected to see.
“Did you know about that?”
His tone was softer than she’d expected, jaw locked like he was holding back a sharper comment.
Darcy couldn’t blame him. The longer she stared at it, the more the knife twisted in her gut. ‘Tony Stark’ engraved in a platinum-coloured nametag — fitting, for a platinum-level sponsor. A platinum-level asshole, more like. But there wasn’t time for thoughts like that tonight.
Darcy’s eyes locked on the floor. “I, uh, was actually the one who suggested we send Stark Industries an invitation. It’s good PR or whatever. They always send money, but no one actually shows up.”
Disappointment clung to her words, deep-set and years in the making. Why did it still hurt after all these years? Even as Bucky pulled her into his side, hugging her closer, she couldn’t shake the feeling.
“Darcy? We need another set of eyes on the guest speaker's itinerary if you can spare them. Susan’s running a little late.”
“Coming,” she called back before she’d even plucked a champagne flute off a tray. So much for that drink. Turning to Steve and Bucky, she warned, “You boys play nice, now.”
And she could only hope the stress didn’t seep into her expression as she turned to follow her fellow volunteer.
It must have been almost an hour later when Darcy found Steve and Bucky again. She was breathless, mind whirring as she bee-lined to their hulking forms. Susan had turned up ten minutes ago, but then catering messed up and served one appetizer they had definitely nixed the month before. All the way through crisis control, the sinking thought that Steve and Bucky were abandoned, bored and restless, played in her mind on a loop once they’d left her sights.
All she could hope was that they wouldn’t be too annoyed that she wasn’t a better date.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Bucky crooned, chuckling into his own as she blew across the banquet hall towards them.
“I’m so sorry,” she replied, reaching for one of each of their hands in apology.
Steve’s brows furrowed. “For what?”
“It’s stupid—” she mumbled before whiffling away the visible doubt and trying to slap on a rueful smile. “I’m sorry I’m making you waste a Saturday watching me run around like a chicken with her head cut off.”
“Darcy…” Bucky soothed, his free hand rubbing circles in between her shoulder blades. “Why do you think we wouldn’t want to be here? Free food, free drink, beautiful company?”
Darcy blinked.
She hadn’t really thought about it like that, that this was their way of supporting her. It had always seemed like some sort of chore, some project she’d lassoed them into. To Darcy, their involvement was a (slightly selfish) excuse to have them around more. One that required work and organization on their part.
And until now, there had been a whole lot of apologizing and worrying about leaving the boys bored whenever she was pulled away.
Steve stepped a little closer, so she could feel their heat on either shoulder. Where Bucky soothed with snarky comments, Steve could see right through her fluster, taking her into his arms to block out as many distractions as he could.
“We’re always here, sweetheart. A built-in cheering squad—”
“—and crowd control, if it comes to it,” Bucky joked, cracking his knuckles.
Her cheeks warmed, pin-straight mouth curving into a smile. “OK. Um, thank you. I just know you did a lot of work for me, for this, and….”
It was hard to know what to say, how exactly to express just how grateful she was. Not just for their donation and their interest, but the way they’d been silently helping her out. Darcy knew those impromptu lunches and coffees and meet-ups weren’t spontaneous. She could see the worry in their eyes, hear the concern in their tone when they asked if she’d gotten any sleep last night.
Or when they offered for her to stay the night, to make sure she did sleep, at least for a while.
Bucky squeezed her close. “What were you really worried about, huh? We’re here, you’re here. Hell, half of downtown Brooklyn is here, and the hall looks great.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was just using you,” Darcy said as Steve furrowed his brow. She chuckled, “Y’know, as extremely handsome arm candy or something.”
Steve grinned, “Extremely handsome, huh?”
“Maybe a little,” Darcy said, the blush creeping up into her ears.
“Well, we’ll always be here to support you, sweetheart. This is a nice thing you do for the community every year,” Steve murmured, holding her a little tighter. “It’s a beautiful way to remember your mom while helping others.”
“And next year, I’m sure the rest of the shop would love to attend and donate their time too,” Bucky added, trailing his thumb across her knuckles. “Although, maybe we shouldn’t leave Barton alone with anyone important — not with the kind of stories he tells.”
“You know we can’t let him out in public,” Steve confirmed with a grin.
She stared at her boys, smiling, as she blinked back sappy tears. Somehow they could always melt the worry from her mind, always there when she needed them.
Darcy could only hope they felt the same way about her.
“Thank you,” she told them again, eyes a little more watery than she’d like. Darcy knew there were no words to say just how much she appreciated them. Though she was determined to try tonight when they were alone, in the dark of their bedroom.
That would probably be the closest she could get to returning the favour.
“I guess now’s a good time for that drink, huh?” Bucky added, cutting into Darcy’s less-than-appropriate thoughts.
She nodded, and without even meaning to, navigated them towards the rows of posters and clipboards for the silent auction. Attendees sipped on their drinks in flashy, fancy dress and scribbled down bids between sips. Bucky plucked a champagne flute off a nearby tray and handed it to Darcy, keeping his shorter tumbler of whisky close to his chest.
Darcy had only managed a quick sip before a voice floated above the hum of the crowd.
“You must be the artists.”
Sharon Carter smiled at the trio as Darcy tried not to choke on her champagne. This would be the actual test, the first time someone outside their immediate circle (aside from the shop family and Jane and Thor) interacted them all as partners, out in the big, scary, real world.
“That’s us,” Bucky managed as Darcy cleared her throat, all three sets of eyes landing on her expectantly.
“Steve, Bucky, this is Sharon,” Darcy introduced, watching them shake hands. “She’s one of the lead coordinators for the gala. She’s been volunteering since my mom took part.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Steve offered. “You did a great job with this-- We’ve never seen a tighter operation outside of the army.”
“Well, I wanted to thank you personally for your donations. They’ve been earning a lot of buzz tonight,” Sharon said, looking pleased with the compliment. “Have you two seen your display yet?”
Bucky shook his head, his elbow nudging Steve’s affectionately, “We were just going to head over there now.”
“You should go see it all up close.”
“I’ve only been avoiding it because Buck’s been trying to convince me to bid on the giant basket of chocolate all night,” Steve joked with a knowing grin.
“It’s for a good cause?” Sharon called out after them as the boys disappeared into the crowd.
Darcy knew enough about Sharon to know that nudge was her subtle way of carving some distance between the three, likely in search of some gossip — or, worse yet, leading into a sappy moment. Considering Darcy had already been on the verge of tears (there was no way the champagne helped that), she wouldn’t last too long if Sharon busted out the anecdotes.
Sharon turned back to Darcy, whose blue eyes tracked Steve and Bucky as they wove through the displays. “We’re already past last year’s record, and a good chunk of that is thanks to the shop’s donations.”
Darcy practically breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad.”
But even from here, she could tell it wasn’t just Steve’s art that was quickly gathering attention. A small crowd formed around the boys, and Steve and Bucky snuck glances back at their girl. Darcy was pretty sure she overheard an old lady calling the boys’ fine specimens,’ and frankly, she had to agree. Still, she snickered into her fist, watching the crowds admire the display, packed to the brim with Steve’s art in vibrant splashes of acrylic, pencil and oils.
“You have it bad, huh?” Sharon said, primarily to herself.
“Maybe,” she murmured off-hand, still watching them from across the room. Realizing she’d waited a bit too long for the follow-up, Darcy’s eyes snapped to an amused-looking Sharon as she admitted, “Yeah, alright. Totally head over heels.”
It was the truth.
She braced for a shovel talk or even concern, but if Sharon Carter looked anything in the haze of the golden banquet hall lights, it was happy. Relieved, even. And Darcy suddenly wondered how long Sharon had been waiting for her to be this at peace. To find her people.
“But, for what it’s worth, you three look like you’re glowing. I think this is happier than I’ve ever seen you. And I know your mom would be proud to see you here, like this,” Sharon murmured into her ear with a playful grin. “So, you just let me know if those boys need a talking to in the future. Aunt Carter to the rescue or whatever.”
“No fair. You’re not supposed to make me cry.” Darcy’s lower lip quivered as she shot back a watery laugh, swiping at her eyes. “And you’ve always been more of a big sister, I think.”
Sharon chuckled and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight. It felt a little like home, her heart warm and the music loud. And if she squeezed her eyes shut and filtered out the chatter, it almost felt like her mom was there too, watching over them.
“Thank you, Sharon.”
The blonde shook her head, “No, thank you. We couldn’t have done tonight’s numbers without your quick thinking. And it looks like the boys are getting their press time.”
Darcy followed Sharon’s gaze across the hall. One of the official event photographers was talking to Steve, likely asking for a shot of Steve and Bucky. It wasn’t hard to see why. The pair looked like they could have walked out of a men’s fashion magazine in those suits.
Knowing this was their moment, Darcy hung back as they posed in front of their display.
“Darce,” Steve called out, cutting through the chatter and waving her over. “Come over here, sweetheart.”
Sharon hip-checked her for good measure as she crossed the floor, weaving through the well-dressed crowd and taking Steve’s outstretched hand. He quickly swung her to the center of the photo, squeezing their interlaced fingers in reassurance.
“This is your big shot,” she murmured, a slight flush from the unexpected photo-op creeping up her cheeks.
It, of course, had nothing to do with the fact both men had looped their arms around her waist, tucking them into one of her favourite spots.
“Tonight is your success, too,” Steve murmured into her temple. “And we’re proud of you.”
“Real proud,” Bucky added, pressing a kiss to her opposite cheek.
They barely noticed the flash of cameras as he did, laughing as Steve swatted Bucky and tried to redirect their attention to the waiting photographer. He snapped a few more shots and handed Steve his business card before letting them see a sneak peek at the images.
“We’re definitely framing that one,” Bucky told them said as he peered at the screen.
And Darcy would have been lying if she said the candid image of them, huddled up and laughing as Bucky snuck a cheek kiss that made her heart clench in all the right ways.
It was hours later when they came up for air, after they all got their dances in (Bucky took the opportunity to show-off a little with Darcy). The drinks were drunk, and the music toned down to levels appropriate for the clean-up committee (which, thankfully, Darcy wasn’t part of).
With little in the way of words, Sharon shoved a box full of leftover sweets from the dessert table into Bucky’s hands on their way out. Steve almost fought her on it, but it was hard to argue with the giant basket of chocolates in his arms. Because of course Bucky had gotten his way in the silent auction.
“What?” he asked to Steve and Darcy’s amused expressions at the white pastry box in his grasp. “Wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
With one last glance around the banquet hall, the trio wrangled their things, said goodbye to the rest of the volunteers and headed towards the elevator bay.
None of the three noticed the now-empty table of nametags as they swept out of the building in a champagne-coloured haze.
Sunlight streaked through the crack in Bucky and Steve’s blinds, landing smack-dab in the center of Bucky Barnes’ face. He scrubbed at his eyes with a tired groan, every muscle in his body a little sorer than he remembered — but not in a bad way. That much he knew.
Speaking of knowing, it took Bucky a second to remember where he was, exactly.
Flashes of the night before danced in his head: champagne, tiny desserts, and dancing, with just them three. The entire room seemed to melt away in Steve and Darcy’s smiles, their secret (and not-so-secret) looks, and the passing touches and squeezes. Enough so that their clothes disappeared just steps in the door, and the room — their room — much hotter than when they’d first arrived.
Still a tangle of limbs and sheets, Bucky felt like he was catching his breath, basking in the relief and bliss, even though they’d dozed off hours ago.
His wonderings and trailing eyes must have stirred the others as Darcy’s face crumpled before exploding into a content yawn. Steve was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Darcy’s arms stretched up to the headboard, and she croaked, “Good morning, lovers.”
Her feet stuck out to complete the stretch, a little like a cat.
Steve chuckled, drinking her in. “Mornin’, Darce. Sleep well?”
“Mhm. If only I could always wake up like this,” Darcy murmured dreamily into Steve’s pillow, which she’d somehow ended up with in the middle of the night. He’d been stuck sharing Bucky’s, but neither was complaining. “What I wouldn’t give.”
Bucky leaned over to brush his lips across the tattoo on her back. A pocket watch for the girl who’d walked into their shop at just the right time. He smiled into her shiver. “Well, why can’t you?”
Darcy sat up, leaning back on her elbows at that, blue eyes darting between them. “What?”
Bucky was a little surprised at the shock in her voice, his heart thumping against his ribs as Steve shot him a look. The one that told him he might’ve opened his big fat mouth a little too soon — that maybe they weren’t prepared for this conversation yet. But he recovered quickly, nuzzling his nose into her hair as he murmured, “I’m probably stepping all over Stevie’s whole speech or something—”
“It was not a speech,” the blond insisted.
Steve narrowed his brows, but his smile was firmly intact.
“—but maybe it’s time, doll. If you want it, that is,” Bucky went on, sticking his tongue out at Steve before turning back to Darcy, who was too preoccupied to see the gesture. “Make us the happiest men every day. Let us wake up to you every morning. Move in with us.”
He could see the cogs turned behind her eyes, feel Steve’s fingers digging into the arm he’d draped across the bed as they anxiously awaited her response.
It had been a long time coming, even them figuring out that this was the missing piece. That their lives were better with Darcy in it, and not just on a need-to-know or scheduled basis. They wanted the rumpled looks and the drool on their pillows, the nights that got a little too hot between them (not in a fun way), and even the snide, pre-caffeinated remarks over the morning paper.
Bucky Barnes knew one thing, and he knew it well:
When it came to Steve Rogers and Darcy Lewis, he wanted it all. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Darcy breathed. The slight wobble in her lower lip made Bucky’s heart skip a beat, wondering if maybe this was too fast or they were pushing too hard. “This… this isn’t about my lease coming up, right?”
Bucky eyed Steve, knowing that was part of the answer — a small one, but he wasn’t sure how much the lug would guiltily admit to, the soft-hearted bastard. Of course, their girl would push away any chivalry on their part, not needing any heroes to help her along. She was fierce and independent, a fire they could never smother. Not that either of them ever wanted to.
It was a part of her, one they loved, cherished, and honoured, even if it meant butting heads sometimes.
“Darce, we’ve been talkin’ about this a long time,” Steve assured. “Buck and I realized something was missing; all those mornings we woke up without you.”
“We won’t tell you how long it took us to figure it out,” Bucky said with a smirk. “Your boys are a little dense sometimes.”
“But your lease, the timing? It changes nothing, as far as we’re concerned.”
Steve, the asshole, could keep his expression from wobbling either, blue eyes misty as he assured her. It was enough to make his chest tight, his heart too big for his body as he took in the way they looked at each other. And the way they looked back at him.
Bucky cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice level. “We love you, Darce. And we want to share our lives, our whole lives with you.”
With one last glance between them, Darcy grabbed one of each of their hands, squeezing tightly as she blinked back tears.
“I love you two, too. I—I’m so grateful to the universe or whatever force brought us together because I can’t imagine the last few months without you,” she said with a watery chuckle. “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.”
She kissed them breathless. First Steve, then Bucky, fingers twined into his hair as she pulled them closer. Bucky held her eyes a few more seconds, cataloging the smile she couldn’t seem to shake, even through the happy tears.
“Say you’ll move in with us, doll,” he breathed against her lips.
And she grinned and nodded and they promptly engulfed her in a celebratory dog-pile of sheets, hugs and affection.
It was later that night, after a couple of shared showers and some lazy couch time between the boys, that Darcy’s phone rang in her palm. She stared at the screen a little too long, keeping it out of view of the boys before excusing herself to the fire escape to take it.
One deep breath before she hit accept. “Hello?”
“Hi, kiddo.”
Darcy froze, every cell inside her body skidding to a halt at those two words.
Out of all the voices she’d expected on the other end of the line, this one wouldn’t have even made the list. Anderson Cooper and Oprah Winfrey were more sure bets than this one.
“Tony?”
Her pulse thudded in her ears, voice a little screechier than she’d intended as she tried hard now to drop the phone down to the concrete patio below.
“Yeah,” his breath hissed on the other end of the line. “I know you don’t owe me the time of day, but I was thinking of you. I, uh, might’ve seen some photos from the event last night. Great job on that, by the way.”
Mind still working to piece together exactly why he’d call and why now, Darcy gave it her best shot to find his angle. “Are you worried I’m going to give you away or something? Run off to the press and sell you out?”
The event had garnered a lot of attention, more than she and the other organizers had expected. And there wasn’t much other reason Darcy could think of that he’d even bring it up.
“Wha—? No. No,” he breathed, sounding more disappointed in himself than her assumption. “I guess I deserved that, huh?”
She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of confirmation.
“Right, well. Truth is, I might have taken up that invitation they sent me and stopped by. And I might have, hypothetically, seen you and your friends looking so happy, and I guess I was glad.”
Eyebrows firmly narrowed, Darcy stared out into Brooklyn and sighed. Was this some kind of long overdue fatherly talk that he’d fantasized about? Was he bored with his piles of money and just trying to play house or something? Or was his guilt about her mother and the way he left them out in the cold impeding his sleep?
This whole thing was getting more confusing by the second.
“Is that why you called?”
“No, I uh….” The line was silent for a few beats. “I owe you an apology.”
The breath inexplicably vanished from her lungs, and it took everything inside her not to asking identification-confirming questions. Y’know, just to make sure Tony wasn’t abducted by aliens or something.
Figuring this might be the only time she could call him on it, she clarified, “A lot of apologies.”
He huffed a shaky breath on the other line that almost sounded like a laugh.
“A lot of apologies, yes.”
Decidedly abducted by aliens, then. That was the only explanation.
“It’s no excuse, but when that all happened — when your mom passed and the thing with the will…. I had a lot of people in my ear that didn’t have my or your — especially your — best interests at heart. And I’m sorry. I really, royally screwed that up.”
Darcy didn’t know what to say to that. There were so many years she could have used that, that bit of hope or context, maybe. Still, there were others, when she was angrier and practically venomous at even the sound of the Stark name, that she wouldn’t have been able to even hear it.
But now….
Now, finally feeling like she had some semblance of home, some light at the end of the tunnel, Darcy Lewis was in a different place. One that warmed her heart and made her feel safe. Maybe even safe enough to take this risk. Because honestly, this entire conversation felt like she was taking a step off a plane mid-flight, free-falling into unknown territory and unsure if her parachute would even deploy when she pulled the strings.
And maybe that’s why she finally asked the question she’d been holding onto for years.
“Why didn’t you ever come… before?”
“Where?”
“To the fundraiser,” Darcy mumbled, chewing her thumbnail. “You said you finally came.”
She wasn’t sure why that tiny detail was so important to her, that he’d finally come for once, but it was, and she wanted to know.
“I figured you do that for your mom, and that’s probably the last place you’d want to see me.”
And Darcy knew in her gut that he wasn’t wrong. Even if she could hear the resignation in his tone, the regret, the years spent wondering whether he made the right decision before realizing he probably hadn’t.
“I did really love her, you know,” he breathed, barely audible over the crackle of the line. “I wish she hadn’t loved me— not then. Not when I was—”
“Super fucked up?” Darcy supplied with a biting edge to her tone, all those years alone seeping into the conversation.
Tony nodded numbly. “Yeah. That.”
She wasn’t about to absolve him, but maybe this was a step. An expected one, to be sure, but a step in the right direction. “So, why are you here… now?”
“I didn’t want to make the same mistake with you — not seeing what I have, not being there, not willing to take the time….” Tony’s voice cracked, his eyes falling to the floor. “I had a health scare recently, and I realized there are some people you can’t throw money at and hope they don’t hate you because you’re too scared to make the wrong move.”
The tears started then, slowly trailing down her cheek. Darcy didn’t notice them until they hung from her chin, threatening to fall before she quickly swiped at them.
“Not you, Darcy,” he added. “I couldn’t put my own child through what my father did — worse, even.”
It was hard to find the words to say. Darcy didn’t answer the phone to comfort her father for being absent during her life — there was no excusing it. But she could use it to understand the type of man he might have been, might try to grow from, even.
Because as hard as it was to admit, people did change sometimes. Under the right circumstances.
A sniffle snuck out while she least expected it, and her free hand shot up to her mouth to cover the noise.
“Darcy? You there?”
She sighed and steeled her expression before speaking into her phone as if he could hear her resolve. “They’re my boyfriends, you know.”
She could practically hear the crack of his neck as he replied, “What?”
“You called them my friends, from the gala. They’re my boyfriends.”
Maybe that had been a bit too far, but Darcy couldn’t let him into her life if he couldn’t accept that simple fact. Call it an ultimate test of wills or determination of whether he was actually worth her time, but that was her line.
Tony Stark could play with her heart and mind; he could give her hope and potentially tear the rug out from under her, but in no way was he allowed to screw with her loves.
That wasn’t fair to them.
“Like, both of them?” he finally asked in a small voice.
Darcy didn’t hesitate. “Yep.”
“At the same t—? No, you know what? I don’t want to know,” he muttered to himself. For a second, she thought that was the end of the conversation. “They make you happy?”
“More than anything or anyone else,” Darcy replied, her voice small now, too.
“Then I’m really happy for you, Darcy. That’s all I wanted for you… For you to be happy.”
“And maybe not hate you?”
Tony huffed a laugh and shrugged in concession. “Maybe a little of that, too, yeah.”
The weeks following the gala were a whirlwind of paperwork and moving boxes, of trips back and forth between her shoebox and their brownstone. Bucky was holding down the fort at the shop today since his prosthetic had given him some grief over the past week. But Steve wouldn’t have had it any other way, being there to grab boxes that Darcy definitely shouldn’t have been attempting to carry out of her grasp before she could realize he only took the heavy ones.
She would have told him off otherwise.
“Is this the last of ‘em?”
Darcy didn’t answer right away, eyes locked on a framed picture of her and her mother. Steve knew the scarf covering her mother’s head meant it was taken during chemo and the way Darcy’s hands shook as she held it twisted his gut.
“I wish you could have met her,” Darcy said.
Her voice shook with the words she couldn’t say, the sniffle covering the threatening tears, as Steve wrapped an arm around both her shoulders. “Me too, sweetheart.”
“She would have loved you. Asked me how the hell I bagged not one but two male models.”
“I wouldn’t have corrected her either,” Steve said with a smile, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
Darcy offered a broken laugh. “I wouldn’t have either. Not at first, at least.”
Before Steve could even think to ask the next inevitable question, she turned to him with a fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while. Maybe since that first day she’d walked into the shop and set his universe ablaze in a beautiful patchwork of colours he never could have imagined without her.
“I’m alright,” she assured him. “And I’m ready. That’s the last of it.”
They threw the last two boxes into the back of the pickup truck he’d rented for the occasion, holding hands as he gently wove his way through Brooklyn traffic.
Throughout the drive, he couldn’t help but think there was something she wasn’t saying — like there had been something on the periphery of the three of them she was still figuring out. But Steve knew better than to push her. He knew Darcy was resilient and more sensitive than most gave her credit for.
So he wrapped his arms around her in the house they now shared and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Welcome home, Darcy Lewis.”
Darcy stood on the fire escape, in the exact place she had when she’d taken that fateful phone call and spoken to her father for the first time in almost a decade. Hand hanging over the railing, heart pounding her chest, words failing her.
New York looked different at this time of day.
When the sky went red and purple just before the sun disappeared into the horizon — or the Hudson, depending on where you were standing. It had never been home to Darcy Lewis, though it’d housed her since she and her mother stepped foot on the cracked concrete.
Those were the early days when mom could walk independently, not gasping for breath outside the hospital for a fresh air walk. NYC was where her treatment was — best Doctor in the country, she was told.
Darcy didn’t know it then, but it was all set up and paid for by Tony Stark himself. Couldn’t step one foot into her life her entire existence but had no problem handing out pity money. The realization came after a teary will reading and shuffling around the system so much she didn’t know which borough she was in most mornings.
And it still left a sour taste in her mouth.
“You OK out here?” Bucky stepped out onto the balcony, wrapping an arm around Darcy’s waist. “You’re freezing, doll. Steve, grab a blanket?”
She had bottled up all the emotions from that phone call, days before, now. A lifetime of memories lost to a terrible disease, found and dropped by a father she never knew, and against all odds, she came out the other side — all of it bubbled to the surface here and now.
She waited until Steve was there, too, draping a knit shawl over her shoulders and taking her other side. Clutching both of their hands, she squeezed and sighed, “My dad called.”
They both froze, stock-still, part rage and part shock in each of their expressions.
“It gave me a lot to think about,” she admitted, eyes dropping away from the fiery looks. “It’s just a lot. I played my part… I went to school, kept my head down until I turned 18 all on my own — that was our agreement, and that was that.”
She’d never expected him to want to come waltzing back into her life. But she shook her head as it dawned on her.
“He’s the reason I moved here, actually. I would have never met you if he hadn’t been a part of my life.”
Steve broke first, tugging her into his side as Bucky took the other and sandwiched her between them. They were silent, letting her take her time, find her words, however long it took.
And Darcy couldn’t have been more grateful.
The boys just held her, staring at the sides of her face as she set her attention solely on the city in front of her, lest the tears slip and they see the real storm roaring inside of her.
“Brooklyn was like the furthest I could get from him without losing a piece of mom, you know? So, I just kinda landed here.”
“With us.”
A watery chuckle bubbled up from her chest. “Yeah, with you. I told him about you, you know. Both of you.”
Darcy peeked over enough to catch a grimace cross Bucky’s face, and she could have laughed so hard she cried. Instead, she devolved into wracking sobs as her boys reached for any inch of skin she had left. Safe between Bucky and Steve, she let out all the nerves and anxieties that had built up over what seemed like half her life.
All while apologizing for getting mascara on their t-shirts.
She pulled herself together long enough to get to the critical part — the one that involved them.
“We’re, um, going to have dinner in two weeks. Him and me. I know it’s sudden, but I figured I’ll need at least a few weeks to process, so….”
“We’re here for you, Darce,” Steve assured into her hair. “No matter what.”
Bucky pressed a kiss to her temple, “Even if you did lie about there being no chance of your dad meeting us at the door with a shotgun.”
All Darcy could offer was a wet, hiccupy laugh as she sputtered, “To be fair, he seemed to accept it. He asked if you made me happy.”
“Oh, god,” Bucky said dramatically, looking over at Steve. “We’re doomed.”
“Hush, you,” Darcy giggled, swatting his chest playfully. “For the record, you both make me deliriously happy.”
Bucky caught her hand and held it over his heart, that warm look in his cool greys. The one that told her all the words he didn’t have to say out loud.
“Love you.”
But Steve couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth at the sight. That quiet kind of love that lived in split seconds. Darcy’s eyes flicked over to him, bright and still shining with unshed tears. He would have worried it was too much, had he had the chance.
Had Darcy not replied without missing a beat.
“Love you two, too,” she said, sure to look at both men before wrapping her arms around Steve’s neck and pulling his head down for a kiss. “So much.”
They stayed out there long after the day cooled down to night, wrapped in a blanket with few words between them. Nothing but love, hope, and dreams.
Side by side.
|
“Heeeeey~”
A grunt comes from the other line, “Stiles? Why are you calling at three in the morning?”
“I lost my shoes, but it’s ok I have a pop tart. The strawberry one, I love strawberry pop tarts.” Stiles giggles, stumbling over something and then straightening himself again.
“Are you drunk? Where the hell is Jackson, I thought he was supposed to be with you at that party.” He can hear movement on the other line of Derek getting out of the bed.
“Jackson? I don’t know a Jackson-wait, wait, wait. Ummm, is he blonde?” Stiles looks around and then says softly, “I don’t know where I’m at.”
“Fucking hell, Stiles don’t move. I’m going to kill that fucking idiot, Stiles I’m coming to get you. Just, just stand right there and don’t hang up.” Derek tells him.
A jingling of keys has Stiles flinching at the loud noise and blinking when he gets a spout of vertigo. “I think I’m gonna throw up, Derek, I don’t want to throw up. I really liked this pop tart.”
“Then just focus on one thing, do you see a stop sign anywhere or street lights? Focus on that and see if you can find the name of the street.” Derek says calmer than he probably sounds.
“Mmmkay.” Stiles swivels his head back and forth, before finding a bright red stop sign. “Derek, Dereeeeek, guess what I found?”
“A stop sign?”
“Yes! You’re such a smarty wolf, Derek. My smarty wolf.” Stiles giggles, falling down onto his ass on the soft grass beneath his feet. “Derek, I’m wearing zebra socks. That is so cool.”
“Yes, baby, your zebra socks are very cool. Now can you tell me what street your on?”
Stiles taps at the bottom of his chin and glances around again, when he spots the stop sign once more he giggles and then squints.
“Ummmm, Wright Street! I’m on Wright Street, well actually I’m sitting on the grass, but Derek, I got so
tired
of standing.” Stiles finishes off his pop tart and leans back against the grass. “The grass is really soft.”
“No, no, no, Stiles do not go to sleep. Ok, just uhh, tell me-tell me about your classes so far? How was your test?”
Sitting back up, Stiles bounces his leg as he starts to ramble about his classes. Mostly he talks about his web development class before getting excited and telling his boyfriend that he passed with flying colors. Which is when Jackson dragged him out for drinks, stating it was the only way to celebrate a good test score.
“But I didn’t really want to go to a party. I just wanted to go home and have hot sexy times with my boyfriend.” Stiles whines, “Derek, can we still have sexy times?”
“When you are sober, then we can absolutely have sexy times.” Derek chuckles, and then goes quiet. “I think...yeah, I think I see you sitting on the grass. Are you wearing a black shirt?”
“Maybe.” Stiles giggles, “What are you wearing, Sourwolf? Please tel me, you’re shirtless. I want to lick your abs.”
The rumbling of an engine has Stiles sitting up from being startled, and he sees a black Camaro park right across from him. A tall man gets out of the drivers side and hurriedly comes over to his side.
“Stiles? Hey, how are you feeling?” Derek presses a hand to his forehead.
“You’re not Derek.” Stiles smacks the hand on his forehead away.
“Yes, Stiles, I’m Derek. Your boyfriend.” Derek pushes Stiles’s hands away, taking his phone so he can put it in his back pocket.
“No way, my boyfriend is hotter. Way much hotter. You? You look hot at best.” Stiles shakes his head when he feels arms snake around his waist and lift him off the ground and over a broad shoulder. “Holy shit.”
“Try not to throw up, I really hate cleaning vomit up.” Derek growls but even to Stiles’s drunk ears he can hear that Derek doesn’t really care if he vomits or not. The man just worries about Stiles’s health and safety.
“You’re such a worry wort, my Derek is a worry wolf. Derek, hey Derek.” Stiles leans over to slap Derek’s chest while the man settles him into the car. He giggles when the older man tries to put the seatbelt on him and struggles as Stiles keeps moving around.
“I should have brought rope.” The man growls under his breath, and then grunts after the seatbelt finally clicks in place. Stiles sighs when he feels lips press against his forehead and shivers at how warm Derek’s skin feels against his own.
“No, I only have kinky sex with my boyfriend. And you’re not as sexy as him.” Stiles shakes his head, slouching in his seat and starting to fidget with the radio.
The music is loud, or at least he thinks it’s loud. Stiles isn’t sure at the moment.
A sigh settles into the car along with Derek, the man glancing over at Stiles before starting up the car. Stiles shifts in his seat, his eyes immediately zoning in on a leather jacket that had been placed in the back seat. Looking back at Derek, Stiles twists around like one of those springs you use to play with as a kid and snatches up the jacket. Bringing it to his nose he sniffs the leather jacket and a smile blooms over his face.
“Derek.”
“Yes, Stiles.”
“I want to suck your dick.” Stiles states like it’s a national holiday. “I love your dick so much. It’s so amazing. I would compare it to other dicks but you’re the only guy I’ve been with, unless you count the porn I’ve watched and they are nothing compared to your dick.”
“Stiles.”
And uh-oh, that’s Derek’s growly voice in which he’s blushing and wants Stiles to shut the fuck up. Giggling, Stiles curls up with the leather jacket in his arms and stares out the window, giving himself a bit of vertigo from all the flashing lights passing by them.
He must have fallen asleep because suddenly Stiles is being jostled awake as Derek carries him up the stairs to his loft.
With as much casualness as he can muster up, Stiles slaps his hand against Derek’s face.
“No! No carrying me! I am not a princess Derek, I will not be treated as such.” Stiles yells, although it sounds more like a cat howling when you step on its tail.
“Stiles,” Derek snarls, “Swear to god, you do this every time you get drunk because you know I won’t hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me. You’re a marshmallow,” Leaning forward, Stiles smacks a wet kiss against the Alpha’s cheek, “My marshmallow. Big grumpy marshmallow.”
“Yes, yes I am.” Derek opens the door with one hand, and carries Stiles over to the bed he left downstairs in case they want to have sex and don’t feel like running up the stairs.
“Mmmm, are you gonna sex me up, babe?” Stiles bites on his bottom lip, watching with hooded eyes as Derek pulls of his shoes and socks.
Derek unbuttons his pants, looking up and smiling at Stiles, “No.” and then yanks his pants off. Quick and efficiently from years of yanking off Stiles’s pants so they can fuck.
“Nooooo.” Stiles whines when hands pull off his shirt, “But I want your dick. I miss you and your dick, and abs. And your ass. And your-“
“Baby, we can fuck as much as you want when you’re sober. But until then, I think it’s time for you to sleep.” Derek says softly, stroking his fingers through Stiles’s hair. Stiles leans into the soft touch like a giant cat.
Lips press against his cheek and Stiles smiles lazily as Derek strokes his fingers through Stiles’s hair until Stiles finally falls asleep.
_________
“My mouth tastes like I ate a rat.”
“Good morning to you too, love.” Derek smirks over his cup of coffee as Stiles stumbles into the kitchen.
Pushing Derek’s hands away, Stiles sits on his boyfriend's lap and wraps his arms around the man so he can get some cuddles. Whining when Derek runs his back.
“Remind me to kick Jackson’s ass after this. I seriously think the pack just tries to get me drunk so they can get a laugh out of it and hear me talk about our sex life.” Stiles buried his face against Derek’s throat.
“Don’t worry, I already chewed him out. I’m sure it must have been a great wake up call for him to hear his Alpha roaring at him.” Stiles can feel the smirk on Derek’s face.
“Mmmm, big strong boyfriend gonna protect me from bullies?”
“Of course,” Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’s cheek, “I’ll protect you from anything and anyone. Because you’re mine.”
“Good. Cause I have no plans on letting you go.”
Derek chuckles, and goes quiet for a moment before stating, “So I’m hot, huh.”
Leaning back, Stiles glares at the Alpha, “You.” He points at the man’s face, “You are not allowed to hold anything I say against me while I’m drunk. Now shut up and keep cuddling me, I need morning cuddles before I go and beat the shit out of Jackson.”
|
Sam prided himself on understanding people, on getting to know them and sympathizing with their mental states and physical pains. He would have said he knew Bucky very well; they'd bonded while running around Europe and America hunting down super soldiers, a bonding that included having some difficult conversations.
Then life calmed down as much as it ever had since Steve yelled, "On your left," and the Avengers Initiative was newly reformed with limited oversight by a select committee of the United Nations. Sam was firmly entrenched as the new Captain America, the White Wolf as his second-in-command, and Sam found himself wondering if Bucky was just naturally a caretaker or if something else was squirreling around in his cyborg brain.
Bucky being a caretaker actually seemed a logical option, even if that wasn't a trait most would associate with a dangerous ex-assassin. Steve's stories of their youth often revolved around Bucky making sure he ate or chasing away bullies even as Steve was staggering back to his feet with fists clenched. Steve being enhanced as a super soldier didn't stop the caretaking; even while Captain America was throwing his shield to smash Hydra bases across Europe, Bucky was at his side in every battle, and confiscating chickens from farmers to make sure Steve had a hot meal afterwards.
Sam had dismissed Bucky's caretaking of shrimpy Steve as normal for anyone with a smaller friend. He'd seen the few historical pictures of young Steve, who could resist helping someone who so desperately needed it? And being a good second-in-command...Sam had been military; he knew soldiers functioned best when they looked after their own.
Then Bucky started taking care of him, in small, not showy ways, sometimes with a grumpy attitude or a snarky comment and Sam began wondering. Not that much caretaking was needed. The bad guys seemed to have taken a breather, none of them anywhere near Thanos' level of evil or even with the Flag Smashers' global popularity. Sam and Bucky had easily tackled and arrested their first overpowered villains without even needing to call in the others. ("Not an alien, android, or a wizard, just asses with weapons," Bucky had gloated over the comms.) Then suddenly he was by Sam's side with a bottle of Gatorade, a pastrami sandwich, and a side salad.
"A side salad?" Sam had asked, mostly to be difficult, though he was touched by the gesture. "No chips?"
"You need electrolytes and protein, and the salad is good for fiber. There's nothing nutritional about chips."
Sam took a huge bite of the sandwich and chewed happily. He made flying and throwing the shield look easy—at least, he hoped he did, he trained freaking hard—but he burned a lot of calories to do so. Afghanistan had taught Sam to ignore a rumbling stomach, but that didn't mean it wasn't nice to have a reason to appease it. "I didn't take you for a nutrition guy."
"I have depths," Bucky grumbled, biting into his own sandwich, looking like that admission was irritating more than anything else.
"So you do," Sam agreed without argument, still engaged in eating. The security team for the Avengers Initiative had already collected the bad guys and confiscated the illegal weapons, taking both to secure locations. The administrator and her assistant were surveying the property damage, arranging to get the debris cleaned up and the street restored. Sam himself had spent time wandering around the bystanders, making sure they were okay, no one was hurt, and even posing for a few photographs and scrawling a couple of autographs when requested. Once bullets, laser bolts, and masonry had stopped flying through the air, people loved to get close to an Avenger.
Bucky had catered to the crowd too, Sam realized, always several feet away from him, but definitely making sure everyone who had been close to the fight was standing and capable of functioning. Sam had glanced over a few times and even seen Bucky's sweetest smile flash reassuringly. They'd both learned lessons from Zemo and his need for vengeance.
"I'm glad we're doing this better," Sam said, resting the sandwich on his thigh and digging in the paper bag to find a biodegradable fork. They were both sitting on the concrete sidewalk, backs resting against a building, not the most pleasant of places for a meal, but Sam found himself strangely content, watching the clean-up crew restore life to its normal New York franticness, grateful that he and Bucky had been able to handle this one without the others and that the Avengers were no longer whooshing away without a backward glance.
Bucky agreed with a laconic, "Yeah."
The White Wolf looked fine in the new outfit, dark gray with white accents, that clung to every muscle of his super soldier body. Sam had teased him that it should be completely white, but Bucky had just given him one of those 'are you kidding me' looks. Bucky was really good at saying so much with one look.
Sam resolutely focused on his food, pushing aside his appreciation of Bucky's appearance, how his short dark hair was slightly disheveled from all his running around and punching bad guys. That's how his hair would look if Sam ran his fingers through it, and why was Sam even thinking that way about Bucky's hair? Sam was absolutely not going to wonder how soft it would feel. Absolutely not.
Bucky was a friend, rapidly becoming the best friend Sam had ever had. He was absurdly attractive, loyal, intelligent, complicated, and amusing, perhaps even more so in his grumpy moods. But he was also a man from a different era, who had been tortured and controlled for decades, denied any kind of personal life and made to commit horrific acts. He seemed to be adjusting to his new normal, but Sam knew how much he'd struggled, and would never want to make life more difficult for him.
Like thinking about Bucky's body, that was just wrong, Sam told himself. Wrong. People flirting with him or trying to set him up on dates only seemed to make Bucky look uneasy and disappear. Besides, hitting on co-workers was generally considered bad form, especially for a team leader, and who even knew if Bucky liked guys? He seemed to like Sam and Sam's family, but that undoubtedly started as a result of his friendship with Steve, then was solidified by their adventures together. That didn't mean Bucky had any secret yearning to get into Sam's pants. Sam took his realization that Bucky was hot and resolutely sealed it in a mental box, not to be opened.
The sudden appearance of meals or the occasional snack kept happening, like Bucky was determined to prove that his skill set included knowing every amazing deli in each borough, or finding a decent local restaurant in any new city. Good American basics like burgers and fries appeared as often as bizarre new fusions, but all of it was delicious. When the other Avengers joined them, he always brought food for them too, but Sam liked to think his tastes and preferences received a little extra attention.
So Bucky was reverting to natural caretaking tendencies or maybe he thought being helpful to his teammates was part of his making amends for past deeds, really the reason didn't matter. The man appeared to be enjoying his self-appointed task; indeed, life in general seemed to satisfy him. He was engaged and motivated, his smiles came easily, and his occasional grumpiness mostly appeared fabricated for effect. If he'd been a patient, Sam would have graduated him out of the program as a full-fledged success. Go forth and live your life, stop by and say hi occasionally.
Other things happened to make Sam's life easier, though it took a while for him to notice when his paycheck jumped. Life as an Avenger was beyond busy most days; he put his bills on autopay and didn't check his bank balance regularly, but there it was, a definite unexpected improvement in his finances. He immediately went to the administrator, because he knew this fiasco, your boss messed up and six months later wanted the money repaid with interest, like anyone would have put the extra money into savings.
"Oh no, that's what it should be," she assured him, smiling and earnest. "Mr. Barnes had a really long talk with Ms. Potts about your leadership role. Poor Ms. Potts, I think she wants to do right by the Avengers because Mr. Stark was so involved, but it's still painful for her. She's not always focused on the details."
"Bucky...got my pay raised?" Sam was pleased to even be getting paid regularly, those years of being on the run with Steve and Natasha and then not existing for five more had not exactly been good for his credit rating. When a raise might come hadn't even crossed his mind, though he remembered mentioning to Bucky that he wished he could help Sarah more with the family business and expenses for his nephews.
"He made a really good presentation about how you do so much extra, not just the missions but all the PR as Captain America and the coordination with the military and liaising with the UN. I understand Ms. Potts was very impressed with his thoroughness."
Appreciation of Bucky going to bat for him warred with disappointment that Sam hadn't been involved. The White Wolf, ex-Winter Soldier, doing a presentation that involved...what, persuasive talking points? Had he done a Powerpoint? That would have been fascinating to watch, possibly the deadliest man in the world trying to be convincing in a way that didn't involve weapons, not even a perfectly thrown knife. He might have restrained his grumpiness, maybe even smiled. Or maybe he had been himself, gave his speech, ended with, "Sam needs a raise," and stared at her with his laser beam eyes until she capitulated. Sam wished he knew.
"Hey, I hear you got me a raise," he said to Bucky at dinner that night, both of them eating at the Avengers headquarters. It was often just the two of them, Thor off in space, Scott and Hope tending to head back to California regularly, Peter eating with his Aunt, etc. But Bucky had no family and Sam's was all in Louisiana. Having the other Avengers around was always entertaining; they were a fascinating and eclectic group of people, but Sam loved just being with Bucky, kicking back, calm and peaceful. "Thanks man."
Bucky shrugged. "You do a lot. You deserve it."
The flatness of the statement somehow made the sentiment more warming. He's a friend, Sam reminded himself, just a friend, even if he was the sole person in this world who cared for Sam in such a proactive, helpful way. Bucky had been a caretaker for Steve and now for Sam. Or he was making amends or just keeping busy or whatever; obsessing on Bucky's motivations wasn't necessary to accept his friendship. "Still, it is very much appreciated. I can help Sarah out more."
"How's she doing?" Bucky asked, giving a little bob of his head, always interested in Sam's family. Sam turned the conversation to his nephew's latest escapades. Young boys had a lot of energy, which could frustrate Sarah but made for amusing stories.
Thankfully Bruce was around when Sam first got seriously hurt. The suit was as indestructible as Shuri could make its advanced blend of plastics, but Sam was vulnerable, and some sort of weird vibro-sword had sliced open his cheek, just under the cowl, leaving him dripping blood as he stood panting at the end of the battle, that sword now in his grip. (And he was totally keeping it, screw the protocols about dangerous weapons. Being the team leader had to have a few perks.) For the first time, Bucky hustled him away as soon as the security team arrived to collect the prisoners, ignoring their normal practice of personally checking on the surroundings and any bystanders. Bruce's huge form made him a disconcerting doctor, but his hands were gentle as he cleaned the wound and delicately sealed the deep cut. "There," he said, finishing up. "You'll be fine in no time. Get some extra fluids and rest, not that any of you guys will ever listen to me about taking care of yourselves."
Bucky had kept an eye on Bruce's work and stepped forward as soon as he was done, beginning to unbuckle Sam's suit. "Now let's get the blood off that jacket so it stays as pretty as those cheekbones."
"Oh, my cheekbones are pretty?" Sam asked in a teasing fashion, even as he let Bucky manhandle him out of his jacket. Bucky's eyes met his, the blue-gray burning hot, and oh—maybe Sam liked being called pretty, especially if it hadn't been said in jest but out of a genuine attraction.
Maybe Bucky didn't like strangers flirting with him, but Sam could? Maybe Bucky wouldn't mind if Sam thought he was hot? The thoughts were exhilarating to contemplate, even as Sam reminded himself: best friend, traumatized, don't hit on co-workers. Bad Sam, bad.
Then Bruce said something, and Peter and Rhodey rushed in to ask about Sam's wound. Bucky disappeared with Sam's jacket as the conversation became a little meandering and disjointed as it often did in the Avengers tower. Everyone fell into casually having dinner together, Bucky returning in a few minutes to help out in the kitchen, a little quiet, but also teasing with the others, not appearing to pay Sam more attention than anyone else.
Sam headed to his floor to go to bed that night, still thinking about Bucky's look, how his eyes had been so intense. Could Bucky have been hiding an attraction to Sam under his helpful veneer? Bucky had grown up at a time when homosexuality was illegal, and between his time in cryo-freeze and blipped, not really spent a lot of time adjusting to modern attitudes. Maybe Sam should start sounding out Bucky's attitudes more, because if he was attracted to Sam... Sam fell asleep that night with his hand wrapped loosely around his dick and images of Bucky in his thoughts.
Sam wasn't surprised when an email arrived the next afternoon, informing all of the Avengers of the procedures to reach the new on-call doctor whenever Bruce was away on his frequent scientific activities.
"You talked to Pepper," Sam confronted Bucky in the common area, waving his phone with the email open at him.
Bucky grimaced, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I know Bruce was usually with the Avengers before but he isn't always now. Captain America can't exactly go hang out at Emergency. It'd be bad for our image," he added, like PR was the only concern on his mind.
"So that's all, you thinking about our press? You going to start managing our social media accounts too?"
"I might. Look, the government had Steve promoting war bonds. Everyone loved his squeaky clean image. They embedded a photographer with us when Captain America started destroying Hydra bases. It's not exactly new to think about how heroes appear to the public."
"So that's all that was, getting it organized so we'd always have a doctor, you wanted to make sure I didn't have to sit around a waiting room and look vulnerable?"
"I talked to Pepper, that's all."
"Yeah?" Sam leaned against the wall, shoulder tilted down, opposite hip cocked up, one leg crossed in front of the other. Bucky wasn't looking happy, like he didn't appreciate being questioned, but he wasn't trying to escape either. Maybe it was time to push things out in the air a bit. He and Bucky had certainly shared hard truths, it had only made their friendship better, why was he dancing around understanding Bucky's motivations? What did he mean to Bucky? "Because it seems like you keep doing things to make my life easier."
"When your life is easier, mine usually is too."
"Oh, is that what it is?" Sam arched his eyebrows at Bucky. "You just being self-centered?"
"Sure, why not?" Bucky shrugged carelessly.
And Bucky was...so full of shit. Maybe. Hopefully. Because that look in his eyes after blood had been dripping down Sam's cheek hadn't seemed platonic. It had seemed...more. Sam really, really, really wanted it to be more. "Because it seems to me like maybe it's more than you just being an amazing person."
"Amazing?" Bucky's face lit with his sweet smile. Sam loved that smile. Then Bucky shook his head in denial. "I'm just trying to do good."
Pushing away from the wall, Sam stood up straight, a muscle in his back twinging as he did, and he winced involuntarily.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, one hand automatically massaging his back, an old song echoing in his brain, I want you to want me, and how did one say that to an 106-year-old possibly straight guy? "The wings are heavy. I don't suppose you give massages too," he asked, mostly as a diversion, beginning to unseal that 'Bucky is hot' box, wondering how much damage hitting on Bucky would do to their relationship and the team if he was wrong.
Bucky's eyes dropped to the ground, hiding anything that the blue-gray depths might reveal. And then he stepped closer, their toes almost touching, and the thumb and first finger of his metal hand clenched on Sam's shirt, tugging once. "I could give you a massage. If you didn't mind—" His head tilted toward his hand.
"I wouldn't mind," Sam said carefully. No, he wouldn't mind Bucky touching him at all, with either of his hands. It felt like that moment when he stepped out of a plane, that excitement of starting to fall before his wings extended and caught him. Please Bucky—want. "But you don't need to do that for me. You're not under obligation."
Then Bucky looked straight at him, and how did blue-gray blaze so hot? "It would be very much for me. If that was okay."
Sam's throat dried up and he had to swallow hard to speak. Those eyes— Oh, this was game on, there was nothing at all self-sacrificing or noble in that look. "You want to do that for you? Put your hands all over my naked body." Because there was no freaking way Sam was letting Bucky give him one of those half-assed clothed massages his Titi thought was the height of indulgence. "If you would enjoy that, I wouldn't mind it at all." He looked at Bucky's hand, the shining vibranium. "I bet you have a really firm grip, could really...dig deep into my muscles. Make me feel so good."
Bucky licked his lips, gave an unusually hoarse, "Yeah," followed by, "I would. Make you feel so good. And you'd feel so good under my hands. I want to do this."
Okay, that had to be enough of a signal that Bucky was really interested in him and not just being a good friend. Sam cupped Bucky's face with his hands, moving slow as he leaned forward, their lips meeting in a kiss that started awkward but Sam tilted his head a bit, and it became pure bliss, gentle and yearning. Sam moaned in the back of his throat.
Then Bucky pushed him away, taking a shaky breath. "Go strip and lay down on your bed, Sam. I've got to find a few things and I'll join you."
And then he just walked away, leaving Sam spluttering, staring at his back, because they could be having sex against the wall in the common room right now as far as Sam was concerned, Bucky putting his hands all over Sam as he stripped him naked, who really cared about the massage? Bucky was a 100% certified tease. But no, he'd asked to give Sam a massage, Bucky who'd been giving and giving and not asking for anything, so maybe Sam should get with the plan.
Besides, starting anything in the common room was just asking for the most embarrassing person possible—Peter, definitely—to walk in on them.
Skipping the elevator, Sam took the stairs to his floor two at a time, pulling his clothes off before he even entered his bedroom, tossing them at the hamper, kicking his shoes into the closet. He rolled the covers down to the foot of the bed, flopping on his front, punching the pillow up before wrapping his arms around it and cuddling it to his head. Then he thought about the fact that he was fully naked and maybe he should at least drape the sheet over his lower half. Cover his butt with a towel?
No, he decided, let Bucky look. Let Bucky look and then touch and then do anything else Bucky wanted to do, which Sam very much hoped included railing his ass to the bed.
The door clicked open, and there was a satisfying noise like a strangled cough. Sam tilted his head over his shoulder to see that Bucky had changed clothes, wearing a plain T-shirt and soft loose pants, both in the same gray as his uniform. He looked good, because he always did. "Is this how you wanted me?" He twitched his hips once, wiggling his ass. He knew it was considered one of his finest assets and he wasn't ashamed to bring Bucky's attention to its rounded fullness.
"Yes. That's how I want you." Bucky fiddled with the light, bringing it down to a soft glow, setting his phone on the dresser with peaceful instrumental music playing. He applied lotion on his hands, leaving the bottle by his phone.
Sam shut his eyes, deliberately relaxing his muscles. This was how Bucky wanted him, and Sam was willing to let Bucky do whatever he wanted. Hands splayed wide on his back, one flesh, one metal.
"This is okay?"
"This is excellent," Sam reassured him.
It seemed unlikely that Bucky had ever gone to some upscale spa for rich people, but he knew the basics, his hands sliding smoothly up and down Sam's back, warming Sam's skin and beginning to knead his muscles, finding the sore knots and working them out. Sam let his thoughts drift, enjoying the attention. Bucky's flesh hand was warmer, but the metal fingers could really dig into the problem areas.
"I never had sex a lot," Bucky said after a bit. "The 40s, well, good girls didn't put out and sex with guys, that was dirty and illegal. Then I was a weapon all those years and even after I was free, I barely knew where to start and I didn't trust myself close to people."
"But you thought about it," Sam said, letting his voice be relaxed and sleepy. Bucky had never brought up sex, and though Steve had said he used to be a charmer, he didn't show that trait much. "You've thought about both men and women."
"Yes," Bucky admitted softly.
So he was bisexual, and knew it at a time when most people found the concept revolting, if they even accepted its validity. "I like men," Sam offered. The lotion must be lavender, the smell was light and pleasant in Sam's bedroom. The sheets under his body were soft and cozy, Bucky's hands so firm and powerful as they turned his muscles to jelly. Sam let himself drift, enjoying Bucky's touch.
Bucky didn't say anything for a few moments, his hands continuing their magic. "I hoped," he finally said.
"I really like you, Bucky," Sam admitted, keeping his face half buried in the pillow, watching Bucky out of the corner of his upper eye. "A lot. Even when you've driven me crazy, I've liked you. I find you really attractive. But you've been traumatized, and I never wanted to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. And you sorta work for me, we're not really supposed to fraternize."
"You've only ever made me uncomfortable when I needed to be challenged," Bucky said, and Sam was pleased to hear how calm and thoughtful he sounded. His face looked contemplative and focused. "You're good at calling people on their bullshit."
Sam gave a little whimper as Bucky's thumbs pushed into a particularly sore area, not really sure if he'd describe it as calling people on their bullshit. He was a therapist; he believed in asking questions and helping people understand their issues so they could lead healthier lives, that was all.
"I don't care about those workplace rules," Bucky added. "Pepper and Tony married and she kept running his company, I don't see that she could say anything."
None of the other Avengers were likely to say anything either, except a few would gossip like old hens, superheroes could be the nosiest damn people. And the public would be delighted, except maybe the jealous fans or the homophobes, but they didn't concern Sam. "So do you want to date?" Sam asked carefully. "Because that would really work for me, but right now, it already feels like we're a little past that."
Bucky was silent for a moment, and his hands had shifted up to Sam's neck. Who knew he had such tension in the nape of his neck? "Date. Fuck." Sam wasn't sure if that last one was a swear word or being used as a verb. Bucky cleared his throat. "Yes, I would like to date you. I'm attracted to you too. And I would like to have sex with you. That's okay these days, right? Starting off with both?"
"Yes, it is, and I'd very much like to date you and have sex with you too." And spend the rest of my life with you, he added to himself, stunned at that realization. How many times had he told Bucky that he hated him, how often had he teased him to provoke a reaction or wanted to shake him? Yet he couldn't imagine living without Bucky by his side. Would that be too much to say? Was he moving too fast? Or was it what Bucky needed to hear, to know how much he was valued and wanted?
"Okay, good. We're agreed." Bucky's voice was definitely relieved as his hands worked down Sam's spine, resting on his ass. "This okay?"
"More than," Sam reassured him. He would have to keep remembering that despite his seeming confidence, the aggressively militant way Bucky carried his body into battle, that the damage to his psyche would take a long time to heal. Sam knew how long it had taken him to recover from Afghanistan, and his service had been minimal compared to what Bucky had endured. Regular verbal compliments, that should help, and Sam was more than ready to give them.
Bucky's fingers curled around the curve of Sam's ass. "You have such a great ass. So pretty."
Sam's ass, Sam's cheekbones...Bucky apparently thought Sam was pretty. Sam had to admit he liked hearing Bucky's appreciation of his body. "Your ass is gorgeous too. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on it."
"That could be arranged," Bucky said faintly. "But this is my turn."
"Later's fine," Sam agreed. "So are you gonna touch mine more than you're doing now? Because I'd like that. Your fingers feel really good."
Bucky didn't respond much immediately, only slightly flexing his fingers. "My first few arms were horrible. I suppose they were advanced for prosthetics at the time, but that wasn't saying a lot. Heavy, awkward. Brutal."
"That must not have felt very good," Sam said, and shit, add some amount of body dysphoria to the list of Bucky's issues, and Sam kicked himself for never having thought about how Bucky's changing arms would have messed with his sense of self. He'd been so focused on becoming Captain America that he'd been letting Bucky take care of him, and not thinking of how much he could reciprocate.
"Not that I thought that much about my body. I had a mission, and I did it, and I got frozen again. That was my existence. Any time I started to remember anything, my brain was wiped again. But the arms improved over the years, becoming more functional. This one from the Wakandans is the best of all. I can feel so much. The fingers are very sensitive. Your skin is so soft." His fingers tightened, squeezed, flattened, kneading Sam's ass. It was not at all the touch of a professional masseuse, instead a heady blend of reverence and groping. "You feel so good."
"What you're doing feels really good." It felt great in fact, Sam's dick ready to poke through the mattress. "So this sex you didn't have much of—"
"I've had sex," Bucky interrupted him. "Even in the 40s, I had sex. I just—not that much. I know more about killing than making someone else feel good."
"Okay." Sam made his voice soothing, not wanting to have wounded Bucky's pride. "I gotta say, you are making me feel really good now. And I'm perfectly ready to help you experiment or explore in any way you want to. I'm here for you." That would be actually really hot, introducing Bucky to new positions or acts or toys. As Avengers, they were too well known to walk into a sex shop, but Sam would be delighted to curl up in bed with a laptop and lead Bucky on a web tour of 21st century sexual options.
"I'm not delicate," Bucky said, clearly miffed.
Fuck, trying to navigate this conversation felt a little like walking through a minefield, but Bucky was worth it. Maybe challenging Bucky again would be better than sympathizing. "Then are you ready to rail that ass you're admiring?"
For a second, the fingers of Bucky's metal hand tightened a little too much, making Sam wince, but they instantly relaxed, smoothing over his skin. Sam felt a gentle touch on his skin, looking over his shoulder to see Bucky kissing the spot, his lips on the dark curve of Sam's ass. Would that one squeeze create a bruise? Sam hoped so. He'd like to see Bucky's marks on his body, maybe make a few of his own on Bucky's paler skin. Bruises would show better on Bucky, but they'd also heal faster.
"Yeah, if you want that."
"I do." Sam spread his thighs, wiggled his butt again, in a 'come on, get with it' signal, but Bucky was the most contrary person in existence, instead beginning to massage Sam's thighs.
"Let me finish this."
Sam gave a sigh, feeling comfortable enough to tease. "You are the most difficult person in existence, you know that?"
"Yeah, but I'm worth it, right?"
Looking over his shoulder again, Sam waited until Bucky glanced up, his hands still moving. "Absolutely." There was enough light that Sam could see how Bucky's sweatpants were tented in the front. He gentled his voice. "I hope that you know that you can talk to me about anything. I thought we'd already worked past that."
"You've been busy lately." Bucky bit his lip. "And distant."
"I'm sorry," Sam said instantly. "I've been trying to be professional. I realized I was attracted to you, and I tried to squash it."
Hurt flashed in Bucky's eyes, his mouth turning down. "You didn't want to be attracted to me?"
"You've barely been allowed to have your own life. I didn't want to impose my wants on you."
Bucky's expression instantly lightened, his mouth curling into a smile. "You know that's stupid, right? Impose on me all you want, I'll let you know if it's ever a problem."
It wasn't stupid, but they could talk more later. Sam pushed himself up, twisting on the bed, and hauled Bucky into a kiss, the kind of deep, toe-curling kiss he'd wanted to give him for a long time now. For good measure, he cupped Bucky's dick with one hand, rubbing teasingly on the fabric-covered length. Bucky was definitely big, and Sam's dick hardened more at the thought of how good he'd feel, stretching Sam wide.
"Yes," Bucky moaned into Sam's mouth, his arms bracing on each side of Sam as he leaned forward, using his own bulk to push Sam back down to the bed, rearing up slightly to stare down at Sam's naked body. "I changed my mind, I'll finish the massage later. Condoms?"
"Only if you want to, we're both clean."
"Then no." Bucky kissed one of Sam's flat nipples, then the other, his lips following a trail down the middle of Sam's torso, down to his dick, heavy and erect. "I want you every which way I can get you. Forever," Bucky swore, before his lips closed over the tip of Sam's dick, his tongue swirling over the head.
Sam flopped back with a groan, feeling like he should be touching Bucky, but too absorbed by the pleasure swamping his body. If this was Bucky's idea of not having a lot of sex, Bucky with experience was likely to kill him. Bucky's head bobbed, his mouth steadily sinking down, taking Sam's dick further into his mouth. That tight wetness—fuck, Bucky must be trying to deep throat him. "Please," he said, clawing at Bucky's shoulders. "Come up here, kiss me, please—"
The request brought obedience, Bucky bringing himself to lay over Sam again, their lips sharing kisses. Sam didn't even try to get Bucky's shirt off, going right for his sweats, shoving the waistband down his slim lips. "Please tell me you know how to prep me. No, fuck, I'll do it, I've got lube in my dresser," he said, waving toward his nightstand.
Teeth nipped sharply at one of Sam's ear lobes, making him gasp. "No, I'll do it," Bucky said, his voice intent with desire.
Bucky fumbled a little as he found Sam's lube and squirted some on his hand. His fingers were blunt and forceful, but felt fantastic, slowly stretching Sam to accept him. Sam was hyped enough not to mind the slight burn; it only sweetened his anticipation. He slid the palms of his hands up and down Bucky's back, under the T-shirt he still wore, admiring the strength of his muscles, unabashedly doing some groping of his own. He'd seen Bucky shirtless a few times, and had tried not to look, but his memory filled in the smoothness of his chest, the perfection of his flat nipples. Bucky's ass was round and firm, cupped in his hands.
"It's okay?" Bucky asked again and again as his fingers invaded and stretched Sam, their lips sliding wetly together, and Sam kept reassuring him, "Yes, yes, yes."
Sam brought his legs up, wrapping around Bucky's waist, as Bucky slicked up his dick and positioned himself. Then Bucky pressed in and Sam took slow, long breaths, because yes, Bucky was massive and even with prep, Sam's opening felt pushed beyond capacity.
Bucky thrust forward steadily, easing off for a moment before resuming his drive until he was fully seated in Sam's body, his balls against his skin. "Sam," he breathed, resting on his elbows, looking down. "Fuck, sweetheart, I hope that feels good for you, because it feels amazing to me."
"It feels good," Sam reassured him, feeling a weird thrill at the endearment. "And you know what would feel better? If you stopped resting and put those super soldier muscles into fucking me."
Bucky grinned wickedly. "So you're saying orgasm denial is the worst thing to tease you with."
"Either the 40s are more sophisticated than I thought or someone's learned the Internet is for reading about sex." Sam dug his heels into Bucky's body, using the strength of his legs to make his point. "Now fuck me."
Bucky moaned at the pressure but pushed back, withdrawing, and then slammed in, his entire body one smooth working machine. And then Sam had to whine as Bucky stopped, transferring his weight to his flesh arm, yanking at his t-shirt with the metal arm, ripping at the fabric. "I want to feel everything." Sam helped, tearing at the shirt, shredding it further and tossing the remnants to the floor. The muscles of Bucky's bare chest were as well-defined as Sam remembered, his skin beautiful and flawless except for the scars around his prosthetic. Sam wrapped his arms around Bucky's torso, tugging him back down to resume the kissing.
With their lips meeting in sloppy kisses, hot breath mingling, their chests rubbing together, every inch of Sam's body felt pleasured and alive. Bucky's stiff dick in his ass created sparks on his prostate, swamping his nerves. And Bucky—Bucky showed no sign of tiring, his hips thrusting, his balls slapping against Sam's skin. Sam felt adrift, along for the ride, pulled into a whirlpool that was spinning faster and faster until he was yelling, arms clenching Bucky closer, his dick spasming against Bucky's lower abs, spurting come between their bodies.
Sam's entire body sagged with exhaustion, his muscles collapsing on the bed. He could only watch as Bucky thrust a few more times and unloaded his come into Sam. Bucky's eyes fluttered shut as he gasped for breath with the power of his orgasm, the ecstasy on his face making him even more beautiful to Sam's eyes.
With the weight of Bucky's body resting on his, Sam's mind began to work again, and he let himself think porny thoughts he'd stomped on before, like did the super soldier serum shorten Bucky's refractory period? If Bucky was ready before Sam, that worked fine in Sam's opinion. He wanted to get his mouth on Bucky's dick and drink his come down. Even though he knew he wouldn't be getting it up soon, Sam gave a happy sigh as he contemplated the pleasure of pulling out some toys and making Bucky writhe on the bed while he watched.
Groaning with satisfaction, Bucky pulled out and they slowly shifted to their sides, facing each other, heads resting on pillows as they looked at each other. Bucky sat up to yank off the sweats that were still puddled around his calves, tossing them to the floor. His expression was relaxed and happy as he laid back down, and Sam knew his face showed a similar satisfaction. "You okay?" Bucky asked, almost in a whisper.
"Oh yeah." Sam stroked the side of Bucky's face, his thumb rubbing at the cleft of his chin. "For someone who hasn't done that all that much, you did really well. Like, really, really well. You get much better and you're likely to break me."
Bucky's flesh hand lazily touched Sam's face in return. "I thought—I was surprised that you didn't want to fuck me."
"Oh, I do," Sam assured him. "If you ever want that. This just seemed the best way to start."
Bucky's eyes were soft and a bit amazed. "So we're really going to be dating. And having sex."
"Yes. And you know we're going to be talking regularly, right? I'm going to make sure you're good with everything." He'd been tactful and hesitant, trying to be a good team leader, giving Bucky space, but that wasn't necessarily how he and Bucky worked best.
That got him a grin and a roll of Bucky's eyes. "You keep starting conversations by pressing our knees against each other's dicks, I don't think we're going to get much talking done."
Sam smiled at the memory of their 'couples' therapy' at the Baltimore jail, how he'd jerked their chairs around and slotted their legs together. "Clothed and across the room from each other, check."
Bucky dropped a light kiss on Sam's lips then rolled out of the bed. "I still want to finish that massage. Let me wipe you down first." He headed to the attached bathroom, Sam happily watching him walk, the faint swing of his hips. For a moment, the instinctive polite denial rose to his lips, 'you don't have to do that.' He silenced the words. Bucky wanted to take care of him, and Sam was going to let him.
And enjoy taking care of Bucky in return.
the end
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