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Ray misses him.
It’s not like Norman has given him any reason to hope for a friendly encounter, yet he yearns to hold him in his arms again.
It’s not sexual.
In fact, Ray really wants to avoid sex as long as he can, for he now experienced that dealing with the after-filth all alone is unbearable.
“Ah…” As the flashbacks of that night hit him back, Ray ignores the heat that sneaks up from his chest to his cheeks. To prevent it from spreading, he quickly pins his fringe behind his forehead with one of the hairclips gifted by Emma earlier.
A brief thought runs through his mind. He wonders whether Emma has foreseen that a moment like this would come where Ray decided to see the world instead of hiding behind his fringe. If she did, hell, Ray appreciates her intelligence once again.
Ray misses him.
It’s not romantic either.
Ray knows. He’s not an idiot.
He knows that what he feels for Norman is not what he feels for Norman . It’s nothing but the image Ray created in his head for his entire college life , where he admired him from afar without daring to speak a word to him. Perhaps, the attitude Norman displayed in public might have played a role in Ray’s clouded image of this golden boy, yet it didn’t change the painful fact that Ray’s assumptions are not even close to the reality.
Until now, it didn’t have to be, either.
Ray was completely fine with their mismatch.
Until now.
Truth to be told, Ray didn’t plan things to turn up like this. He never thought Norman would find out his identity and be interested in him in that kind of way. Perhaps it was his timing that went wrong: Leaving a one-week long gap between his kiss and his suicide was really a stupid thought.
But it doesn’t really matter.
A strange sense of peace weighs on him. Ray isn’t used to this, but it reminds him of the time he was introduced to antidepressants. Though, he is sure that he hasn’t taken any right now. He simply does not have any.
Ray doesn’t want to purchase them again.
He just... Doesn’t believe that he can take them one by one. They would only lead to a failed suicide attempt in which he would wake up to a deeply traumatized Emma and probably Isabella.
Or worse, he could get addicted again, walking around like a zombie that has each and every one of his senses numbed.
It’s not the addiction that Ray is afraid of.
As much as the therapists try to convince him that the antidepressants are for his own good, Ray knows that they are not.
Because Ray’s different.
Not in a beautiful or unique way. Neither is it about his mental illness. No, Ray is the last person on earth to compliment himself. But some things are just facts that he can’t change.
He’s extremely intelligent.
It creeps on him like a curse.
It has always been like this, from as long as he can remember.
Perhaps, if he wasn’t the only one who always stood out in a bunch of brains of all ages, and if he wasn’t hated for that, he could have felt a little less abnormal. If he resisted the urge to read books and socialized with his peers instead, he could have had more than one friend, at the age of twenty-two. Perhaps he could even fall in love in a more healthy way instead of obsessing over a guy who wasn’t even aware of his presence.
It doesn’t really matter.
His intelligence is the only thing that has brought him so far in life. Despite everything, it allows Ray to overcome almost any technical difficulty, in fact, he’s probably scoring the first in his department. Computer science is not a big deal to him, really. He is already beyond what is being teached in college, the only reason he attended is… because… what else he could do?
If the antidepressants cloud his thinking abilities again, Ray is gone. At least, he is always offered scholarships, but he makes the most money by accepting the little hacking jobs where crazy people pay him to hack their partner’s phone or laptop. It’s easy-peasy for Ray to hack the devices of ordinary people and he even finds amusement in watching the drama.
But… Never once in his life had he used his skills to track any of people he loves. No, that’s inaccurate, for he only has two people he loves; so let him say that he never did it to anyone he knows.
It makes him feel extremely filthy to even think about invading their privacy.
But it doesn’t really matter either.
Because none of this helps the fact that Ray misses him.
But here is one thing that matters— one little thing that Ray feels proud of up to this day.
He never used his skills on Norman, neither.
Not on the days he liked him on first, not on the days he questioned whether he was taken, not on the days he could kill to learn his sexuality. Not on the days he knew that he was taken, not on the days he heard his numerous breakups. No matter how much he yearned for Norman, Ray would never forgive himself if he went that far with his disgusting skills.
Sometimes, he yearned to be the average guy with the average worries.
“Oh boy.” Ray chuckles to himself as he logins to the Instagram account he created to stalk him. It’s not a big deal, really. Norman has more than two thousands followers, he can’t keep the track of him.
As always, he clicks on Norman’s profile.
As always, his face lightens up with a small smile.
But this time, he smiles differently. Ray can’t notice it himself, but if one were to look at his face, they’d see a reflection of his mother’s compassion.
Norman’s pictures look like professional photoshoots, and his stories resemble those of CEOs. His friend group is nothing less— all of them are little Normans in their own way. Though, Ray knows, no, everyone knows that Norman is always the leader.
An unspoken rule it is.
It is just difficult to believe that he is the same person Ray met up two days ago.
One week ago, he would easily believe that Norman was as cool as how he looked here. But… While Ray still thinks he is cool, he can’t get that brief moment out of his mind, where Norman’s eyes fit the entire galaxy in them after he found out about Ray’s motorbike.
It was the first— no, only time Ray didn’t feel an overwhelming fear while looking at him. It was the first time Ray really wanted to kiss him because of something Norman did, not because of something he seemed to be.
Especially when he kissed him so childishly after that—
Ray flinches when someone touches his lips. Ah, of course. His own hand it is, brushing ever so gently on the spot Norman gave his last kiss. Just a really tiny peck on the lips before he headed to his car.
If Ray wasn’t delusional, he’d say that Norman almost shied away.
“Ah, no, oh god. No. Could you just stop? Stop?” Ray scolds himself, but he is unavoidably smiling. Norman is so cute and… and…
And, Ray misses him so much.
He can’t help but wonder what Norman is doing right now. It’s weekend, so he is probably at some meeting, has already escaped to a short vacation, or maybe just partying again.
Ray feels sick to think about it.
But, it’s okay.
Right now, he doesn’t want to willingly trigger the thoughts that will get him sickeningly jealous over someone he doesn’t possess.
All he wants to do is to enjoy this brief silence of his mind before the storm hits again.
For once in his life, Ray doesn’t check Norman’s stories.
He’s worried that he might see him with someone else. Partying. Drinking. Hanging out. Anything.But... Ray is disgustingly shameless enough to think it is okay as long as Ray doesn’t have to see that.
Norman’s probably sleeping with others.
Oh, he most certainly does.
Besides, Ray is fully aware just like every damn person in universe that Norman has a lovesick crush on Emma, which he explicitly displays given any chance.
It doesn’t concern him at all though, for… Emma would never do that, right?
Not only that Emma’s already taken, but she would never… sleep with his crush, right?
Ray snorts at the thought as he closes the app.
“Of course not.” |
When Jiang Cheng was seven, his parents offered him dogs for his birthday. Three little puppies he swore he would love and take care of forever. He named them Jasmine, Little love and Princess. Little did he know that forever would only last a few months and that his seventh birthday would be the last he'd remember being happy. When he looked back on all those years, the infamous CEO of Jiang Corporation could only laugh at his younger self naivety. Now with everything that happened in his life, he looked at this particular memory with a bittersweet feeling. After all, it only got worse from there. But at seven, surrounded by the unconditional love of his three new friends, he didn't care. If he had known, he surely would have burned the happiness into his soul, to remember later what it felt like. The birthdays he had had after never quite felt like that again.
At first, he didn't even notice how happiness would fade and turn into jealousy to finally vanish into complete hollowness. Now, at 28, he was well aware of it. That's why each time his lover asked for his birthday plans, Jiang Cheng would change the topic immediately, dismissing the matter completely as if it were nothing. Because to him, it truly was nothing. He wasn't even trying to hide it. Birthday parties, celebrations or whatever they were, weren't for him. And he would not insult Lan Xichen by thinking the man was oblivious to his unease on the subject. It wasn't the first time that his lover brought that matter up and Jiang Cheng knew that it wouldn't be the last either. It was already a lot that his traitor of a brother went ahead and spilled the information. If it was up to him, nobody would know and he would spend the day without doing anything remarkable as he did these last twelve years. So truly, Jiang Cheng didn't want to snap at his lover. But he was already really tired and remembering his past never did him any good. So he snapped, removing his hand from Lan Xichen's, putting it back on his side of the table.
"Why do you keep pressing the subject? Is it so hard to respect my wishes? I do not want to have a stupid birthday party of any kind. Didn't Wei Wuxian tell you that when he sold me out?"
Jiang Cheng regretted his outburst as soon as he shut his mouth. He didn't even have to look up at his lover's face to know that he was disappointed and saddened because of him. How he could bark so harshly at Lan Xichen was yet another proof that he was a terrible human being and as such, he did not deserve the efforts put in the organization of a party. Usually, at this point, Lan Xichen would relent and change the topic. This time, however, he could just not let it go. He needed to know why his lover was so adamant about his refusal, why he didn't want to change his mind. Deep down, he knew something was off with him. No one could read his lover better than him. So he had to push, to uncover the truth behind the sorrow he could see in those deep blue eyes.
"I don't want to force you, Wanyin. I just want to understand."
"There is nothing to understand. I don't like birthdays, that's all there is. I don't see why you are making a big deal about it. Birthday celebrations are lame and unnecessary. It's a waste of time, energy and resources for things that don't matter."
"But -"
"Let's just say it's a Jiang thing, okay? Us, Jiangs, do not celebrate birthdays."
There, right there, he knew Jiang Cheng was lying. He was lying and wasn't even trying to hide it. They started seeing each other two years ago but the Lans were on good terms with the Jiangs, always have been. Even more after the wedding of his baby brother to Jiang Cheng's own adopted brother. So of course, he already went to the Jiangs' big house. There were pictures on the wall. Photos of happy children smiling at each other, playing in the sand at the beach, swimming in a pond filled with lotus. Wei Wuxian, as eager as he was, had dragged them inside the living room, excited at the prospect of showing his childhood memories to his husband. Jiang Cheng was lying because he saw the photo album with his own eyes and he could distinctly recall pictures of Jiang Yan Li dressed up as a princess, ready to blow on eleven candles...or Wei Wuxian in a rabbit costume opening gifts wrapped in red paper. Even then, the lack of Jiang Cheng had surprised him. It's not as if he weren't on any of them but he definitely wasn't the central element and past a certain age, he just disappeared from the album altogether. When he thought back on it now, he couldn't help but think that his hate of birthday parties was linked to what he saw...or didn't see, actually.
"Then what about your sister's birthday? Or your nephew's? If I remember correctly, you were the one who almost threw a tantrum when you heard they were behind on the preparations and even for mine, you prepared so much -"
"It's not the same."
Lan Xichen frowned as he watched Jiang Cheng play with his food. He knew the younger man was trying to go for his standard « You're annoying me » look but to Lan Xichen, he just looked dejected. And as much as I wanted to know the reason behind the sorrow, he also knew when to push and when to relent. Ever the reasonable, Lan Xichen sighed and nodded, taking his lover's hand back in his and squeezing a little.
"It's okay. Let's eat, you've worked hard today too."
It wasn't that Jiang Cheng wanted to keep Lan Xichen in the dark...It was...well. That's what he was going for. Jiang Cheng didn't want him to know how utterly insignificant he was. He knew their time together was already running out. Soon enough, Lan Xichen, his Lan Huan, would uncover the supercherie and find out what a terrible man he was dating. He would open his eyes, finally, and leave. So it was selfish but by not telling him, he was winning them time. He knew he'd have to let him go eventually but for now, he wanted to make the most of their time together. Selfish and petty, that was all he was. His younger self wasn't so different. He kept asking when he shouldn't have and when he was punished for being greedy, he still had the gut to be surprised. It took him time to understand. Years and years but at long last, he understood. Some people mattered and some didn't. He didn't because he was a terrible man.
A few months after Jiang Cheng's seventh birthday, his father brought another boy into their home, announcing he would stay with them from this day on. Jiang Cheng wouldn't have minded. He didn't at first. It all started when he was forced to give up his dogs. It wasn't fair that he had to abandon his dogs, his only friends because a stranger was afraid of puppies. He had been mean to him for a short period. They fought against each other, the silence treatment was involved at some point. It even took a desperate tentative from Wei Ying to run away for Jiang Cheng to calm down. He had been a terrible brother and a horrible kid even then. So of course, months later, he understood his mistakes when he saw his father hug the boy, wishing him a happy birthday. They both looked so happy. It was the first time Jiang Cheng saw his father be that happy. And Jiang Cheng was sincerely happy for his brother too. His father had told him that Wei Ying was an orphan, that he lost his mother and his father and that Jiang Cheng had to treat him as a family because they were the only family he had left. Jiang Cheng hadn't been envious. Wei Ying deserved it. He was always smiling, always making his father smile and his sister laugh. Wei Ying was kind and soft and smart. He was his best friend, his big brother and Jiang Cheng had learned to love him even when they had nothing in common. So when his brother's birthday came along and he was his father hug the boy, Jiang Cheng was sincerely happy. He wasn't envious even days later. When he ran to his father, smiling and eyes filled with unrestrained hope, extending his arms, expecting a birthday hug only to get a pat on the head and an awkward smile. He hadn't been a really good son nor a good brother. He didn't deserve a hug. He knew his father was cautious with hugs. Maybe next year, he would earn one.
A year passed and even if his mother screamed at him a lot, Jiang Cheng thought he deserved a hug. He had been a good son and a good brother. He even defended Wei Ying when his mother was too harsh on him. Jiang Cheng didn't know why but his mother didn't like his brother, she was always screaming at him. That year, Wei Ying turned ten years old and he would turn nine days later. They were coming back from playing outside and when they went through the door, they were welcomed by people shooting happy birthday, his father, his sister, Wei Ying's friends, even his mother was there, in a corner. Confettis flew all over them, banners of best wishes were hung around the living room and at the center, the table was overflowing with gifts. Jiang Cheng played and smiled and laughed hard that day. He had been happy. Happy and excited for his own birthday to come. During the week leading to his birthday, he looked around the house for clues that would indicate any surprise reserved to him. It was okay if the party wasn't as big since they already celebrated his brother's birthday, he would be happy with just a little celebration. When he couldn't find a lead, he only concluded that they were very good at hiding gifts and very good at acting. On the day of his actual birthday, he tried to act innocent, but on the inside he was restless. All-day long, he waited and waited and waited, when his mother caught him sneaking into his father's office, she looked at him as if she knew what he was doing, she looked really sad too, not even angry, but she only sighed turning her back on him. The day went on, without any party in sight. His father was late, still at his office in the city. When he came back, Jiang Cheng ran to him. It was okay if he couldn't have a party after all. Wei Ying already had one, it was pointless to organize two parties in a row. Jiang Fengmian patted his head, wishing him a happy birthday, a dog plushie as a gift and then, they had dinner. Jiang Cheng didn't eat, only a little just to pretend. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. He still smiled, because he was the birthday boy, but it didn't reach his eyes anymore. He could feel the gaze of his mother on him, so he tried to act like everything was okay. She still called him in her office right after. He went there fully expecting to get scolded. However, she only asked him to sit at the place opposite, on the sofa occupying the room. She pushed a bowl of soup towards him. She still looked strict but the crease between her brows softened. He was her son, so of course, she saw when he didn't eat, of course, she saw the disappointment in his eyes. Yet she couldn't offer him kind words, she wasn't soft nor affectionate but she loved her son. At least, unlike his husband, she could offer him her presence. They ate in silence. Nobody knows it but the original recipe for the lotus root and pork rib soup came from her. It was different from his sister's version, way spicier...so spicy that even Wei Ying would cry. So Jiang Cheng cried but nobody could tell if it came from the sorrow or the spices.
When Jiang Cheng turned ten, his father wasn't at home. He was on a business trip. Jiang Cheng waited all the same. He spent his day sitting next to the phone, waiting for his father to call. His mother called him in her office and they ate soup. It was less spicy but they still didn't talk. When he was done, he took his place next to the phone. He knew the hours weren't the same where his father was currently staying but when he wasn't there for his sister and his brother's birthdays, he did call. So he waited, and waited and waited and waited some more. He waited even when it became clear that there would be no phone call. Maybe it was his fault for being too greedy in the previous years. He should have been happy with a pat on the head. Instead, he had wished for a hug and then a surprise party and now, he had nothing. Jiang Cheng fell asleep on the sofa that night, only to wake up in his bed.
At eleven, Jiang Cheng forsook the idea of birthday parties. He decided that he would take what he got and that would be okay. He'd be okay with just a bowl of soup made by his mother and a pat on the head from his father. After all, he wasn't kind enough or smart enough or funny enough. Needless to say that he had tried. But trying wasn't enough and when he was there, her mother always screamed and his father never smiled and sometimes he would be mean to his brother because that was who he was: a bad person who didn't deserve hugs for his birthdays...or any other occasions for that matter. He just wasn't enough, he knew. Thankfully, he still had his brother and his sister and they would always spend the day with him.
At twelve, Jiang Cheng concluded that he didn't deserve to have a brother as kind as Wei Ying. He also finally understood why he never got to have birthday parties like everyone else. He wasn't hiding, he swore he wasn't. But leaving hadn't been an option. In his father's office, he could hear his brother pleading his case. Wei Ying was planning a party for his birthday. Jiang Cheng remembered how warm he felt at the moment, how much he loved his brother and how guilty he felt for the way he behaved against him sometimes...when he was envious and stupid. He also remembered his father's words and he understood. His father had said that the only things worth celebrating were the things that mattered. Jiang Fengmian had said that he, Jiang Cheng, was the heir. That he would inherit the company and as the future CEO, he couldn't afford to waste money, time and energy on a child's whim, that he couldn't be spoiled. He also said that they would organize a party for his fifteenth birthday where he would be introduced as Jiang Fengmian's heir. At twelve, Jiang Cheng understood that he didn't deserve his brother's kindness and that he didn't matter, not really. Only Jiang Wanyin, the future CEO of Jiang Corporation mattered.
At thirteen, Jiang Cheng forgot he was already fourteen, a bowl of soup for the sole reminder.
At sixteen, Wei Wuxian got called into their father's office. When he came out of it, he was smiling so brightly, Jiang Cheng nearly pucked. But his brother had reasons to be happy. He got offered a new car and driving lessons. I could drive Lan Zhan around, he had joked. On the same day, Jiang Cheng was also called in his father's office. Wei Wuxian, as the optimist he was, swore that his little brother would receive the same gift. Jiang Cheng knew he shouldn't have listened to him, but somehow his hopes were rising. Only to be turned to ashes minutes after, for when he stood in front of his father, it was only to be reminded that he would be introduced to the board in a week. So, at fifteen, they celebrate Jiang Wanyin's birthday. He didn't even try to smile and they soon conclude that he was the proud son of his mother.
And then the years have passed. He blinked and he was eighteen. Blinked and he was twenty, freshly named CEO of the Jiang Corporation after his father's early retirement due to a bad deal done with the Wen. Blinked again and he was twenty-eight soon to be twenty-nine.
Lan Xichen was ready. After weeks and weeks of preparations, he was finally ready. These last few days were hell to survive. Avoiding Jiang Cheng, lying to him wasn't something he was used to doing nor did he ever want to do it again. But it was important. Sometimes, life asked for sacrifices and if a little time away from the man he loved could secure his plans, then it was worth it. Jiang Cheng was worth it. He knew from Wei Wuxian that throwing him a surprise party was a really bad idea. Actually, for once, his brother-in-law wasn't keen on his plan and he kept warning him about it. And maybe he should have listened to him. It took only five minutes for everything to be ruined. Five minutes and one text message from his beloved. Lan Xichen couldn't help but stare at the letters displayed on the screen. Let's break up? What did he mean? How could he ask him something like that? Why ? Where was it coming from? What was he supposed to do now? Just accept it? No! He couldn't break up with the man he loved on a whim. Badly shaken, completely lost, Lan Xichen drove right to Jiang Cheng's loft. When he arrived, he ran up the stairs, struggling to find the keys in his pockets. He was probably being loud since Jiang Cheng appeared at the door. He looked tired almost lethargic and his eyes were red while his skin was disturbingly white.
"What?"
Lan Xichen tried to smile, he really tried but even with years of experience, he couldn't conjure it up. He could feel his heart beating way too fast and his hands were shaking still. Yet he still pushed through, finding hope when Jiang Cheng let him in. Maybe he had a chance to change his mind. He was well aware of his lover's stubbornness. Usually, he found it endearing. He loved everything in the man in front of him. If they were to truly break up, he was sure he could not live with it. "
Why ?" he asked, helpless, trying hard not to sound too desperate, not because he was ashamed but because he needed to be understandable.
"Weren't you going to? You kept avoiding me. You were always on a trip, always to busy to answer your phone. Just to send me this? “Let's meet tomorrow, I need to tell you something” Wasn't it what you were going to tell me? That you wanted to break up? Here, I made it easy for you."
Lan Xichen laughed. Was it all a joke? How could he deduce that he wanted to break up with him on a simple text? It had to be a joke. It had to. Lan Xichen knew about the insecurities of his beloved. He knew them and yet, he went on and created a stupid misunderstanding. But breaking up? Just for this? It had to be something else, something more? What if Jiang Cheng was tired of him and took this opportunity to leave him?
"See? You have nothing to say."
"No, that's not what you think, it's not -"
"It's fine. I knew it wouldn't last. I'm not blind and neither are you. You should be with someone better, someone kinder and brighter. I-I'm not a great person to stay around and not the best lover one can wish for. But it's okay, A-Huan. Two years...it's a lot for someone like me. Thank you for the time we had."
Each sentence was like a stab in his heart and Lan Xichen felt the tears rolling down his face. He was the only blind man, how could he look at himself and miss out on the wonderful man he was? He wanted to take him in his arm and to reassure him, to tell him that he didn't want someone better, that no one could ever compare to him. But he was frozen in place, he couldn't move nor say anything. Somehow, he knew he had to fix this. All of this started because he didn't listen to his brother-in-law. A misunderstanding, this was all it was. And he knew how to fix it. But for this, he needed to get a grip on himself. He breathed, in and out, in and out. Without warning, he placed his hand on each side of his lover's face, forcing him to look straight at him.
"You're obviously not in your right mind. I will leave and come back tomorrow. I swear I will. And I'll explain everything to you, why I acted the way I did. But know this. I love you A-Cheng. Now and forever."
He kissed his forehead, fighting against himself not to kiss him again and again.
"I'll be here, tomorrow. Wait for me."
Jiang Cheng didn't sleep at all that night. He could still feel Lan Xichen's lips on his skin, he could still hear his voice, telling him that he loved him. He could still see the tears rolling down his handsome face...all because of him. Yet another proof that Lan Xichen deserved better. Not someone as gloomy as him, he never smiled whereas his lover was so bright he rivaled the sun. Jiang Cheng truly loved Lan Xichen, that's why he had to let him go. It was always like that. He was meant to have a limited stay in the life of the people he loved. His father forgot he was there when he brought back Wei Wuxian. Then Wei Wuxian met Lan Wangji and A-Li met that stupid peacock and founded a family. All in all, he was okay with it. It was lonely but at least they were happy. So despite the older man's reassuring words, Jiang Cheng still doubted that he would stay. Things always look better in the morning, surely he would accept their break up and he'd come back only to confirm it. For now, Jiang Cheng chose to think about something else. Today, he'd be even busier than the other days. He had to visits business partners and worksites, driving for hours, spending time with men he could barely stand. When he came back to his place, he was exhausted. So exhausted he nearly forgot the promise Lan Xichen made the day before. But the lights were on. Only it looked like nobody was there. Jiang Cheng thought he'd been right. His ex-lover came to retrieve his things and must have left forgetting to turn off the lights. Good thing that he forbid his heart to hope, the fall wouldn't be that hard. Jiang Cheng was aiming for his room, too tired to even eat but he had to turn off the lights. When he entered the dining room, he stumbled upon a romantic setup, candlelights, and food on the table and when he raised his head, deep blue met golden hues and the soothing voice of Lan Xichen welcomed him.
"Welcome home, A-Cheng."
Jiang Cheng was at loss for words. And Lan Xichen took advantage of his stupor to make him seat opposite him, pushing a bowl of soup towards him. Lan Xichen could read the exhaustion on his beloved's face. The bags under his eyes were deep and he looked like he lost some weight while Xichen was away, attempting the impossible. He swore to himself that he'd make up for it, for every night these past few weeks Jiang Cheng went to sleep thinking he was growing tired of him. Lan Xichen waited for the younger man to taste the soup. He drank slowly at first, eyes watering, but soon enough he was done with his bowl and when he raised his head, he was crying.
"I hope you loved it. Your mother nearly killed me for this."
"You went to see my mother?"
Lan Xichen smiled and took Jiang Cheng's hand, kissing each one of his fingers.
"I told you I would explain myself, didn't I? Can you go and wait for me in the living room?"
Jiang Cheng nodded, still a little lost but he moved anyway, sitting on the couch. He didn't know what to think about this. Why did he go to see his mother? Why was he leaning awkwardly on the doorstep of their room?
"Close your eyes and do not open them before I tell you to."
Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow but complied, too curious to know what was going to happen next.
"I know you said you didn't want anything and I know I should have handled the situation differently. I'm sorry if you thought I stopped loving you. I never did, A-Cheng. I love you, I don't want anyone else but you. I don't care about anyone else but you."
Jiang Cheng could hear his lover approaching but he was louder than his usual self, almost clumsy which only made Jiang Cheng even more curious. He was almost tempted to cheat and take a peek when he felt the couch sink next to him.
"Okay, now open your eyes."
In front of him, three puppies were looking at him, trying and failing to climb on his legs. The three of them were wearing a collar. Each one displaying a different name. Little love, Princess and Jasmine. All this time, Lan Xichen was trying to attempt the impossible. He had to go through Madam Yu to learn more about his son, about his birthdays. He had to taste her soup, thinking he would escape unscathed but Yu Ziyuan's soup had nothing to do with Jiang Yanli's recipe and he nearly died right there. But he survived it and so he won the right to hear about his lover's life. His mother-in-law entrusting him with a photo album filled with Jiang Cheng only. Finding the dogs was even harder and the main reason for his prolonged absence. Of course, they weren't the same puppies but they were the descendants of the dogs Jiang Cheng had to give away. He suffered for months, following trails that lead to nowhere but in the end, it was all worth it.
"Happy Birthday, A-Cheng. Let's celebrate it each year from now on."
Jiang Cheng was crying or maybe he was laughing but most importantly, he was happy. Without thinking, he kissed Lan Xichen, thinking that from now on, he wouldn't mind celebrating his birthday each year with this man. |
The celebrating in the banquet hall would go on for hours, and there was no chance of him and Erik sneaking out together, not tonight, with Erik and Emma the center of every toast. Charles excused himself even earlier than usual, his gaze flicking at Erik's and away again as if it hurt.
He made it to his own corridor, at least, dim and empty, before the sobs took him, and he had to lean against the wall to stay upright.
It was ridiculous of him to react so strongly. It wasn't as if Erik wanted to do this – everyone in the hall could probably see that. Emma Frost was a punishment, not a lover. Somehow it still stung to think of Erik marrying someone else, every flickering image – the wedding flowers, their joined hands, the ritual kiss – digging into him like a blade.
But oh, how much more he hurt for Erik, forced to – He couldn't even think about what Erik might be forced to do. Live, anyhow, with Emma Frost like an ice cube in his bosom. If they couldn't be together, Erik might at least, someday, have found comfort in some other companion... and the pain of that would have been catastrophic, but he could have borne it, to see Erik happy. He told himself he could have borne it. But this...
With effort, Charles quieted himself, swallowed the pain down and down until he could smooth his face over it and keep walking. He had children to attend to.
Moira stood up the moment he opened the door, color draining from her cheeks. "Charles, what happened?"
"I... I'll tell you presently. Don't worry yourself. I should see to the children."
"Do you have enough milk for Raven tonight?" She held out the fretting baby, and Charles took her eagerly.
"Where are Angel and Armando?" he asked, settling Raven to nurse.
"I had pallets set up for them in Raven's room. You can barely walk through, of course, they'll need a room of their own tomorrow. I doubt very much whether they're asleep, though."
They were not, Charles saw when he stepped through the door; dark eyes shone in the sliver of light that came through with him.
"Hello, children," he called softly, closing the door and turning on a dim touch-light. "Do you remember me?"
The children eyed him warily. Though there were indeed two pallets, the little girl had left hers to curl up with her brother, who kept a protective arm over her.
"Do you understand me?" Charles asked. "Do you speak our language in Wakanda?"
"Yes," Armando said. "Many languages in Wakanda."
"Good." He sat in the rocking chair, pulling a blanket over his lap. "Are you warm enough?"
A nod.
"Do you… understand what happened earlier? When I said I would be taking care of you now?"
Another nod.
"Do you understand why you two have been sent here?"
"To learn," Armando said. "A prince needs to understand other kingdoms, not just his own. A princess, too. Mama and Baba said. But we don't have to stay forever, it's just a five-year c-conc – contract. And we get to visit in six months. And we can write every single day."
"That's right." Charles kept his smile gentle, no hint of internal aching – why had Sebastian dragged these poor creatures here? "I'll help you write to Mama and Baba tomorrow. How old are you, Armando?"
"Seven."
"And you, Angel?"
She held up five fingers, the thumb of her other hand stuck in her mouth.
"King Sebastian wanted Angel to come," Armando said. "But Mama and Baba said not without her brother to protect her and look after her. That's my job." He tightened his arm around his little sister.
Why had Sebastian wanted a little girl, alone and helpless? Charles felt chilled despite the blanket. "I'm sure you'll do splendidly, Armando. I can tell you're good at your job."
The boy smiled shyly.
Charles switched Raven from one side to the other, and Angel sat up, thumb falling from her mouth. "Mtoto!"
"Baby," Armando corrected, nudging her with his elbow.
"Baby," she said obediently. "Can I see?"
"Yes, do." Charles drew back Raven's wrappings so they could see her face. "This is Raven, my daughter. Be very, very gentle when you touch her, she's brand-new."
Angel carefully patted the baby's head, a smile slowly spreading across her face, while Armando contented himself with a brief stroke of her cheek.
"Are you her father or mother?" Armando asked.
"Mother. I'm to be your mother, too, while you're here. Moira and I will take care of you."
"Who is Raven's father?"
Charles's voice locked in his throat for a long moment before he was able to say, "King Sebastian."
"King Sebastian is your husband?"
"Yes."
Armando looked at him, wordless, and the uncertainty and distrust in his eyes were unmistakable. This boy was afraid of Sebastian, and frankly it would not do to disabuse him of that caution.
Charles gave the only other comfort he could. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm going to look after you."
The little boy's shoulders relaxed a few degrees. After a minute they were persuaded to go back to their shared pallet, and Charles stayed with them, rocking Raven and singing softly, until he was quite sure they slept.
Before Erik's return, Moira had spent the night on a pallet in the side-chamber with Raven as often as not. Tonight she volunteered to sleep on the couch, rather than leave Charles alone with three children to mind, but Charles sent her on to her own room. It was vanishingly unlikely that Erik would be able to come tonight; failing that, Charles didn't he could abide human company.
Charles changed to his nightclothes and sat drowsing on the couch with a book, unable to tolerate the too-empty bed, for perhaps an hour. Then the door opened.
"Expecting someone, my pet?" Sebastian slurred.
Charles closed his eyes. He should have known this was coming.
"Well, Charles darling? Aren't you going to welcome me home?" Sebastian staggered into the room and leaned over him.
Charles ducked under Sebastian's arm and got his feet. "Not in here, Sebastian." He kept his voice calm, matter-of-fact; a demand would get him backhanded, and a plea would be worse, make Sebastian feel powerful and aroused. "The fosterlings are in here, we'd wake them."
He half-expected Sebastian to just laugh and throw him down on the bed, but to his surprise the man actually looked disconcerted at the thought of being interrupted by the children. "Fine, then," he growled, taking hold of Charles's arm. "Guess we go back to my place this time."
Charles had never seen Sebastian's rooms before, and he had little chance to survey them now, with the king pawing and groping at him, tearing at his clothes. Charles got a fleeting impression of rich colors and a sparkle of crystal, and one mercifully-brief glimpse of an obscene tapestry, before Sebastian shoved him down to the floor.
"Whoops," he panted, "I can't be so rough with you now, can I? Wouldn't want to unseat my heir before he even gets properly started." He rubbed a hand roughly across Charles's now-bare stomach, like enthusiastically petting a hound. Charles swallowed and looked away. "Oho, not at your eager best tonight, are we? What a shame, I was looking forward to hearing you moan like a whore. Guess I'll have to settle for making you cry, won't I, sweetheart?"
He pulled Charles to his feet and crushed him against the wall, clawing and pinching at Charles's buttocks, his rank drink-soured breath burning across Charles's face. Sebastian was not much for kissing, thank heaven, but that didn't make his teeth any more pleasant on Charles's neck.
Once upon a time, in the early days of their marriage, Charles had survived these sorts of things by imagining Erik in Sebastian's place. That was how he'd earned the epithets 'whore' and 'slut' and 'bitch in heat' – this was before he'd learned not to fight, and watching Charles shift from kicking, biting prey-animal to enthusiastic participant was endlessly amusing to the king. "You hate me, but you love this, is that the way of it? You know what that makes you, Charles. Let me tell you all about what you are."
He didn't try to replace Sebastian with Erik anymore. He didn't want to imagine Erik treating him like this – it wasn't really possible to imagine Erik treating him like this, now that he knew so well what a tender, almost worshipful lover Erik really was, and besides, the consequences if he shouted the wrong name did not bear thinking of. No, the only option was to set his teeth and endure. It would be over quickly, as drunk as Sebastian was tonight. I wonder if he'll even notice I'm not prepped...
To his surprise, though, Sebastian didn't manhandle him toward the bed, but rather the glass doors onto the balcony.
"Sebastian, what – People will see – "
"Exactly," Sebastian growled, "they'll all see, every one of them, watch me take you, show them you're mine..."
Charles resisted, as he hadn't bothered to do in years now, tried to fight off Sebastian's grasping hands, dug his feet into the carpet. He could hear shouts outside, merrymakers that had spilled out of the banquet hall. There was no telling who was out there. Erik could be out there.
"No!" Charles fought more fiercely the closer they got to the doors, hampered by the knowledge that if he provoked the king to true violence, the child might pay the price. "No, Sebastian, please. Please—"
Sebastian laughed and shoved him through the doors.
The night air was cold and damp against Charles's skin, where most of his clothing was torn away. He didn't dare look at the crowd below the balcony. Had the noise level suddenly dropped a degree, or was that only in his mind? Then Sebastian was on him again, forcing him down to his knees, wrenching an arm behind his back – Charles couldn't help crying out, and now there was a definitely a change in the tenor of the hubbub below.
"Touch me," Sebastian said, close in his ear, and Charles shuddered, realizing what was being pressed into the hand pinned behind him. "Come on, whore, do your job!"
Charles kept his fingers splayed far apart, his palm cringing away as much as it could. Sebastian tightened the angle of his arm, surely his arm would break any second now, but he'd rather ten broken bones than play this sick game even one more time—
A sudden shout from below drew Sebastian's attention for a moment, and Charles used that moment to throw his head back as hard as he could, into Sebastian's face.
It was hard to say whether the wet, crunchy crack was Sebastian's nose or Charles's arm. Both, most likely.
The pain was like a blinding light in the middle of his brain. Charles was dimly aware of screaming, of Sebastian staggering back from him with a curse – then lurching forward again, blood gushing down his face, and reaching for him. Instinctively, Charles scrambled away, a stumbling half-crouched movement that threw them both off-balance.
His shoulder hit the wooden railing of the balcony, and there was another crack, loud and messy enough that he thought he'd surely broken another bone.
Until he began to fall.
***
"Charles. Charles, I'm so sorry." The voice was choked with pain, and muffled by the blurry veil that seemed to encase Charles's head. But it was still a voice he would know anywhere, and answer through any difficulty.
"Erik?"
"Charles!"
He felt a hand on his cheek and struggled to open his eyes. His head hurt so much, and his arm, everything hurt and the inside of his head felt swampy and off-balance...
"Charles?"
Finally he dragged his eyes open, and there was Erik, and though he could not quite bring his face into focus he could still tell that Erik was distraught. "Erik? What happened?"
"You fell. From Sebastian's balcony." The words seemed to cost him something.
The railing, yes, the railing had given way. Memory of the minutes before trickled in, and he flinched from them. "Am I hurt? It hurts..." He gasped suddenly, hands going to his belly - one hand, anyway, the other arm hurt too much to move. "The baby - Erik, the baby, did I lose the baby?"
"No, Charles, the baby's all right." That was Moira - he turned his head, which was a mistake, an explosion of pain and stars and dizziness - Moira was seated on his other side, Raven in her arms. "There's no sign of miscarriage. You're only a few days along, after all - he's a handful of cells surrounded by comparative miles of padding. He's fine."
Charles let out a near-sob of relief, and let himself rest in that reassurance for a moment, and in Erik's warm grip on his hand.
Until the knowledge trickled in, like cold rain, that he'd been wrong about one thing. His entire body didn't hurt.
"Erik." He heard his own voice from far away, raspy, an octave higher than usual. "I can't feel my legs."
He'd been very lucky, the doctors told him, as such things went. The injury was far enough down the spine that he'd retained sensation in his torso, hips, even traces of the tops of his thighs. He still had full digestive and sexual function. He could maintain his own balance. It was even possible that someday - not now, of course, not with a broken clavicle and dislocated elbow, but someday - he would be able to walk, after a fashion, swinging his dead legs along between crutches.
Charles tried very, very hard to be properly grateful for this, but other thoughts kept interfering. Thoughts like never running and playing with his children. Never again straddling Erik's lap on the couch. Being dumped out of his chair, helpless on the floor, the next time Sebastian came for him.
Not that that was likely to happen soon; they'd both gone through the railing. Sebastian was in his own room here in King's Hospital, just down the corridor, with five broken ribs, a near-useless shoulder, and a concussion to match Charles's, not to mention a broken nose. At all hours Charles could hear supplicants outside the windows, praying for the healthy recovery of their King and Prince Consort. They sent gifts, flowers, cards; Charles chose a few every day to respond to personally.
The days passed in a grey blur, helped along by the pain medication. Moira brought Raven and the fosterlings to see him, usually several times a day, and he didn't have to try too hard to muster good cheer for their sake. Armando and Angel, desperate for solid footing in their constantly shifting situation, had refused to be moved from the room they'd slept in their first night; Charles finally gave in and told Moira to have a bunk-bed brought in. Moira said they were a surprising amount of help with the baby.
Erik was at his side every moment, watching him with a desperate, agonized expression that Charles wanted to flinch from. He didn't want Erik's pity. He needed Erik, more than anyone, to see him no differently. He clung to Erik's hand any moment they were alone, or only with Moira, and Erik clung right back.
"Should you be here?" Charles asked at last, reluctantly, as they prepared for bed one night.
"I'm your bodyguard," Erik said. "The king has one, too. That railing may have been sabotaged, after all."
He appeared to be going for a teasing tone, but it failed miserably. Did he actually believe it had been the work of an assassin?
"Erik, that's ridiculous," Charles said, yawning and settling into his pillows. He curled an arm around Erik's waist, tugged him closer in the darkness. Even in hospital, royalty gets nice big beds, how nice. "It just broke. I fell against it fairly hard, you know."
When Erik didn't reply, Charles felt an uneasy something brush through the cobwebs in his brain. He opened his eyes. "Erik?"
"The railing was weakened," Erik said, suddenly hoarse. "It would have broken under almost any touch."
"And how," Charles said, "do you know that?"
Erik was silent for a long, long moment. What he finally said was, "You told me Sebastian never took anyone out there."
Charles felt as if all the breath had been crushed from his chest. His arm pulled away from Erik's waist seemingly of its own volition, and Erik let out a strangled gasp as if the loss physically hurt him.
"Charles, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I never meant – you know I'd have rather died—"
"You did this." Charles's own voice seemed alien to his ears, leaden and expressionless. "You did this to me."
Another choked sound, and Charles felt unsteady fingers brush over his cheek – hesitant, pleading. Charles didn't brush them away – but he didn't lean into them either.
For all of his body's stillness, his mind was whirling, half-coherent thoughts battling for precedence – I told him not to, I told him not to – murderer – could have killed me – killed the baby – if Sebastian ever suspects – you could at least have gotten it RIGHT –
"I need you to go," he said faintly. "I need you to... not be here right now. I need you to go." When Erik didn't move immediately, his voice rose to a near-shout. "Go!"
Erik slid away and out of the bed. In the darkness, Charles felt his hands tucking the covers carefully back around him, felt a brief, light kiss to his temple. Then footsteps, and the door closing, and the room was dark and silent as any tomb.
A tear had dropped to his skin during the kiss. It seemed to burn there for the rest of the night. |
It all started when they were stupid and snotty adventurous kids.
Oikawa had been looking through a box of his father's old movies when he found something so legendary he couldn’t even contain his excitement. It was an alien movie. The Alien movie to be more precise.
His excitement was not so surprisingly short lived because that movie was way too intense for seven year old Tooru. Even though it scared him shitless, he still couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea of extraterrestrials. (Sometimes he regretted smuggling the movie into his room. He figured his mind would have been more at ease if he ended up watching that stupid documentary on lions like he was planning to).
Regardless, Oikawa spent the next month babbling about it to his parents. When more suitable material for him to watch was found, he snagged his friend Iwaizumi after they played and forced the poor kid to sit through marathon after marathon.
Iwaizumi was amused to say the least, but it wasn't exactly his thing. Iwaizumi was more into action and superhero movies, not sci-fi. But it made Tooru happy, and that was the most important thing to him.
For Oikawa's 8th birthday, Iwaizumi got him a handful of green alien charms and a book on astronomy. He had said that if he was going to get interested in space, he might as well like the actual thing and not some ‘fictitious green men’. That earned a pout and a short cry from Oikawa (he was a really ugly cryer, jeez). Iwa reluctantly apologized and promised to watch more alien movies with him if he would just “shut the hell up and stop crying already!”
Of course Oikawa perked up right away.
Throughout the next year, if Oikawa wasn't hanging out with Iwaizumi or practicing volleyball, he was obsessing over aliens. He did consider Iwaizumi’s words though and decided to learn more about the natural habitat of his elusive (and very real) green men.
It got to the point where Oikawa would always be lounging around in his favourite alien pajamas (which Ms. Iwaizumi had so kindly bought for him). He was always in need of new green pencils, because he wouldn't stop drawing Iwa and him as aliens.
His obsession had tapered off somewhat by the time he became 10. He never took his alien movie posters down and never got rid of his old pajamas though. He never gave away the alien plushy Iwaizumi got him for his 9th birthday either. (He treasured it too much. Besides, Iwa-chan had got it for him).
He just stopped talking about it all the time.
Instead he talked about space. About the vast nothingness and the stars and nebulas that lay scattered amongst it. He talked about the insignificant size of them and their planet compared to the sun and galaxies that Oikawa had no right knowing about as an 11 year old.
Iwaizumi was impressed to be honest. A phase of Oikawa's had turned into a genuine interest, and if Oikawa was happy, then Iwa was happy. (Besides, it was a lot better to hear the kid say he wanted to be an astronaut than a pokemon trainer or alien wrangler. It was a lot more probable too).
Overtime, Oikawa's blatant love for space had dissipated too, but Iwaizumi never missed how his eyes lit up at the very mention of the topic.
He still kept his alien posters, except now the space between them was littered with print outs of nebulas and stars and planets. Oikawa had managed to tack up a few volleyball posters too, but those were mainly from sports magazines he had snagged on the way home from school.
Needless to say, Oikawa's room looked like an utter disaster.
There was nothing charming or nice about it. Not even the occupant of said room could make it better with his dumb hair and even dumber alien head boxers. Iwaizumi had seen those about ten too many times in the changeroom after volleyball practice, and Oikawa didn't even have the audacity to be embarrassed.
Iwaizumi had to be embarrassed for him.
When Oikawa’s 14th birthday rolled around, Iwaizumi had decided he was going to do something special. His gift was going to be better than alien themed objects or the volleyball gear he had gotten Oikawa in the past. It was going to be the best present shitty Oikawa had ever gotten because Iwaizumi was going to take him stargazing.
He could already imagine the look on Oikawa's face, and it brought a bashful smile to his own. He would never admit it, but seeing Oikawa happy made him happy. It also did stupid things to his heart.
Stupid things he would never admit to.
The setup required to pull off his incredible gift was a lot more work than Iwaizumi bargained for. He needed to find an ideal spot for stargazing. One where there wasn’t too much light and wasn’t too far away from where they both lived. Iwaizumi needed to be able to sent up a tent too. He figured that if they'd be up half the night looking at the stars, they might as well sleep there too.
After a lot of debating, Iwaizumi decided on a park a few blocks down from either of their houses. They never really hung out there, so he figured why not.
Now that it was the big day, Iwaizumi had to put his plan into action (if he could even call it a plan). He hung out with Oikawa like normal, was extra nice to him (which definitely wasn't normal), and even offered to buy him lunch. The offer didn't last long though, because before he knew it a short and cute girl was shoving a bunch of things at Oikawa only to run away a moment later. The stuff she gave him consisted of homemade bento, a chocolate box, and a couple letters that were clearly from different people.
So Oikawa got a free lunch and a few confessions on his birthday. So what? That was normal for a guy like Oikawa, right? It’s not like it made Iwaizumi's heart clench or anything. His stomach definitely didn’t curl either when Oikawa so graciously read all his letters aloud.
There was no reason for that to be happening anyway. Iwaizumi didn’t like Oikawa that way. That was stupid. He just wanted the day to be over already so he could give Oikawa his birthday present already. That was all.
Like normal, Iwaizumi was staying over at Oikawa's. They had been halfway through their pizza dinner when Oikawa spoke up, his head tilted and eyelashes batting.
"Iwa-chan? Did you not get me a present this year?" God, his expression matched that of a needy puppy. Iwaizumi wanted to wipe it away with the dirty napkin he was crinkling up in his hand.
"I did, Assikawa. But you have to wait to get it." Iwaizumi grumbled and promptly shoved the rest of his pizza into his mouth.
Oikawa pouted, which Iwaizumi ignored. He ignored the way he incessantly nudged Iwa under the table too. And he most definitely ignored how the look Oikawa was giving him made his heart beat speed up and his face flush.
Now that it was late and dark enough for the stars to be seen, Iwa quickly tied a blindfold around Oikawa’s eyes without another word.
He didn't listen to him complain and completely dismissed the others shout of, "Ow, Iwa-chan! Not the hair!" Instead he grabbed Oikawa's arm and unceremoniously dragged his flailing best friend out the door.
They were about halfway there when Oikawa stopped complaining. He grumbled something under his breath and let his hand slide into Iwa's, their fingers clasping together. It was easier to be lead this way, according to Oikawa. Iwaizumi didn't care. He was just glad that Oikawa was blindfolded so that he couldn't see the blush spreading to his friend's ears.
They hadn't held hands since they were kids, and lately Iwaizumi's heart had been... doing things to him. He ignored it all like normal. It wasn't important.
What was important was that they were there and it was time to reveal his big surprise.
Iwaizumi could see the tent at the corner of the park and the blue blanket laid out in the middle of the small field. He marched Oikawa over to it and stopped, prompting Oikawa to stop too.
"You can take off your blindfold now." And let go of my hand. But that didn't happen.
"Oh, finally. It's not nice to kidnap your friends, you know. On their birthday of all days too." Oikawa was muttering to himself as he pulled off the blindfold. Iwaizumi just rolled his eyes.
"...Iwa-chan. Why are we in the park? I thought you said we were too old for the monkeybars." Oikawa's gaze had drifted over to the playground, and Iwaizumi rolled his eyes again. Of course he’d miss everything Iwaizumi had set up.
"We're not here for the monkeybars, Stupid Oikawa." He then pointed Oikawa's attention to the tent and then to the blanket at their feet. Oikawa was still confused, so with an exasperated sigh Iwaizumi pulled him down to the ground.
They got settled on the blanket and Iwaizumi used his free arm (why were they still holding hands anyway?) to point up at the sky. "I brought you here for this."
Oikawa’s eyes followed the path of Iwaizumi’s strong arm and when he finally looked at the sky, his breath caught in his throat. Above them, dozens upon dozens of bright stars faded in and out against the black sky.
It was a beautiful sight. Oikawa hadn’t seen that many stars before, and he couldn’t help himself from smiling widely. The next thing he knew he was giggling, his right hand covering his mouth while the other gripped Iwaizumi's even tighter.
He had seen the stars before, but not like this and not with Iwa-chan.
Iwa on the other hand didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the stars. He kept his gaze on Oikawa, his gaze tracing the contour of his cheeks and the angles of his nose and jaw.
No wonder so many girls swamped him. He was gorgeous. (He would never admit to thinking that out loud). Iwaizumi felt lucky though, because he knew none of those girls could ever see this. They could never see an uninhibited Oikawa Tooru, grinning widely, genuinely, at the vast expanse of star while he held hands with his best friend.
This became a yearly occurrence.
Iwaizumi would take Oikawa to a new place every year to stargaze on his birthday. Oikawa had somehow managed to wordlessly find his hand in Iwaizumi's every time, not that Iwaizumi minded. He had gotten used to ignoring how he got flustered by the simple action.
Now it was Oikawa's 18th birthday.
This would be the last birthday they would celebrate for Oikawa before they graduated high school. It would also be the last time they went stargazing before the uncertain shadow of university loomed over them and consumed them whole.
Everything was going to be fine though. Iwaizumi just had to believe that no matter what happened and no matter where they ended up.
That day they ended up with their team.
They practiced like normal. (Oikawa worked extra hard, the praise and birthday wishes from the girls watching them having gone to his head). Spent another Oikawa Tooru Birthday Lunch like normal. (Confessions included). And had a small party with their teammates and friends after school in the gym. That was new, but it was welcome nonetheless. (Hanamaki and Matsukawa even worked together to buy Oikawa some new alien pajamas).
Finally, after scarfing down as much pizza and sugary drinks as they could, Oikawa and Iwaizumi finally had some time alone.
"So where to this year, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa drawled as they walked to Iwaizumi's car, their shoulders brushing a lot more than Iwaizumi would have liked. Well. He did like it, he just didn’t want Oikawa to know that.
"You'll see. But I doubt you'll like sleeping in the middle of nowhere so we'll be coming back here after."
Oikawa pouted but got into the car without another word. If Iwaizumi was taking him somewhere remote, he had no doubt that the sight was going to be spectacular.
After an hour of driving and listening to Oikawa sing off-key to shitty k-pop songs, they arrived at Iwaizumi's desired location. It was a huge field far from the city. Iwaizumi pulled off the highway, parked in the grass, then yanked Oikawa out of the car. They walked for a little, and once again Oikawa slotted his hand against Iwaizumi's calloused one with a hum.
Iwaizumi never asked why Oikawa did this before, so he didn't now. He moved onto laying out a blanket and getting comfy with Oikawa next to him instead.
Like all the years before, Iwaizumi found himself watching Oikawa more than the night sky above them. He could get lost looking at the stars, but he preferred to get lost looking at Oikawa's face.
He was beautiful like this, breathtaking even. It was dark, but the wonder and happiness in Oikawa's eyes shone brighter than all the stars that Iwaizumi could see. He watched Oikawa's thin lips pull up into that soft genuine smile of his. He listened to his slow and reassuring breaths as he relaxed completely.
Oikawa really was beautiful, and with the way Iwaizumi’s heart was pounding against his chest, he realized he really did feel that way about him. He loved him.
Next to him Oikawa shifted, and that quickly reminded Iwaizumi where his eyes were supposed to be. Moments passed, and then he heard Oikawa gasping as a thick streak of light shot across the sky before fading into the rest of the stars.
Oikawa’s hand was now holding onto Iwaizumi's with a crushing grip, and from his mouth tumbled forth a giggle so childish Iwaizumi hadn't heard one like it since they were 14.
"Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan, did you see that?" His eyes were impossibly wide as he turned to Iwaizumi, the brown of his iris having completely disappeared.
"If you're talking about the shooting star, yes, I did." Iwaizumi couldn't help chuckle lowly as he watched the amazement take over Oikawa. He was so unbelievable happy, and Iwaizumi had to turn his head away to keep himself from smiling too much.
"Aaand? Did you make a wish, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa hummed and propped himself up a little bit to look down at his friend. His expression was that of complete bliss and also complete gratitude, almost like he was thanking Iwaizumi for making the shooting star appear.
At the back of his mind, Iwaizumi was thanking whatever gods he could think of for making that happen. He had never seen a shooting star before and he sort of doubted Oikawa had as well, considering how ecstatic he had looked. Iwaizumi was going to have that face (and the sight of the shooting star) stamped into his brain for as long as he could.
But his more prevalent thoughts were that he needed to do something. He needed to at least say something, right? He needed to do something before their friendship spiraled down hill and their lives would become a mix of "when are you free?" and "we haven't seen each other in a month".
"Of course not, Trashikawa. Did you? Wait let me guess, you wished for your aliens to be real?" Iwaizumi quirked a brow at Oikawa as he looked at him. The teasing words put off the weight that was settling on his shoulders and constricting around his heart.
"That's not what I wished for, Iwa-chan. But they are real! And one day they're going to come and abduct you for being so mean!" Rolling his eyes, Oikawa huffed and settled back down against Iwaizumi.
"Alright, then what exactly did you wish for if it wasn't aliens?" Iwaizumi was looking at Oikawa, but Oikawa was looking at the sky again. He probably hoping to see another shooting star.
Oikawa was quiet for a while, and the silence stretched between them until all Iwaizumi could hear was the pounding of his own heart. He felt his palms get sweaty and his fingers twitched. He really wished that Oikawa was too deep in thought to notice.
It seemed he was, because when Iwaizumi looked over, he saw that Oikawa's face had fallen into something serious and thoughtful. When he spoke up, his voice was surprisingly quiet yet steady. It was kind of like how he got before a match.
"This," Oikawa started, raising their joint hands a little. "To keep being a thing." It was such a simple statement, but Iwaizumi felt like a dam had been opened in him.
"What?" Iwaizumi sat up this time, his brow furrowing at Oikawa as his heart rate picked up even more. "What do you mean?" He couldn’t possibly mean what Iwaizumi’s wishful thinking was hoping for.
"What I mean, Iwa-chan." Oikawa sounded almost exasperated as he sat up, having no regards for personal space as his nose was almost touching Iwa’s. "Is that I wished for us to be together, forever." There was more confidence to his words, and he tipped his head forward, hoping that his somewhat dense friend was getting his implications here.
He was. He definitely was.
Swallowing hard, Iwaizumi lightly bumped their noses together. He didn’t trust himself enough to speak, knowing he’d just say something stupid and ruin the moment the two of them had been waiting for. Still, he couldn’t stay silent, so he just mumbled something low enough for Oikawa to hear.
“Kiss me.” It wasn't a question or a request. It was more of an order and Oikawa was more than happy to comply.
Iwaizumi was still frozen despite what he said, so Oikawa just sighed and moved forward, pressing his lips against Iwaizumi's in a light peck. It took Iwaizumi a moment to respond and he felt like a robot coming to life. A warmth had spread throughout his body, spurring his muscles and gears to to move forward, to kiss Oikawa once more.
Iwaizumi was quite uncoordinated at first, and his chapped lips fumbled awkwardly until Oikawa had nudged him into some sort rhythm. He slid his hand out from Oikawa’s and brushed it up his arm before cupping the edge of his jaw. Iwaizumi let out a shaky exhale as Oikawa pulled him even closer. His hands were resting on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, digging into the muscle somewhat desperately.
Iwaizumi was the first to tilt his head, the first to deepen the kiss as Oikawa just responded to it eagerly. He nipped at Iwa's lower lip before sliding his tongue along it, silently asking for something more. For some reason, that made it finally dawn on Iwaizumi how much Oikawa wanted this. How much Oikawa wanted him.
The thought hit Iwaizumi hard and he pulled away with a quiet gasp, moving his arms to grab Oikawa before he could speak or question why he moved. He held onto the other tightly, his chest heaving slightly and his voice coming out hoarse. “Stupid Oikawa. I’m not going anywhere.”
|
Law got off from work and was walking down the main street in downtown Grand Line City to get to his apartment. Walking past the multiple stores, he turned his attention to a particular store and saw some people come out happily with bags. Law closed his eyes, ignoring the temptation of entering the store himself. He continued on his path and sighed when passing the store. He saw multiple people hand in hand and couldn’t help but sigh softly. It was a little chilly this time of night, but nothing was as chilly as walking into the empty apartment knowing no one would be there to greet him. Law hated this, every single day he had to endure this.
He walked into his apartment and set his keys and work ID on the entryway table while he kicked his shoes off and put on his slippers. He walked further into the darkened apartment and got to the living room, which was connected to the kitchen by an island countertop. He looked to the bare wall behind his black leather sofa. The white was screaming at him, urging him to hang something. Law reached out to touch the wall
You’re such an embarrassment.
Law had tears form and he brought back his hand. “I have to be normal…” Law muttered to himself and sighed as a tear fell. He wrapped his arms around himself as he looked down. After a few seconds, Law shook off the tears and walked to the kitchen to make dinner. After eating, he went straight to bed and did nothing else.
Getting up, drinking coffee, getting ready for and leaving for his normal 12 hour shift at work, going home, eating and sleeping. This has been his routine for the last 5 years. It’s incredibly boring but it’s normal. Normal, like how Law needed to be just to be accepted. Law wasn’t happy, by no stretch of the imagination, but… that’s normal.
One day, one faithful day, Law woke up to realize he was out of coffee. His stash has been depleted… he thought he had at least one more bag. Law didn’t let that get to him as he calmly took out a list to write what he needed from the grocery store tonight.
He continued on his normal routine but decided to leave early to get some coffee at a local café on his way into work. The one directly to the left of… that store. Law shook his head and continued to get ready for his day. Law, leaving early, took a shortcut down an alleyway. Walking, he can hear the sound of the wind which was normal for alleys like this, no wind could escape except from the other side. However, he heard some commotion on the room of the building next to him. Law didn’t have enough time to process what he heard when, all of the sudden, a man jumped from the building’s roof and landed next to a dumpster around 10 feet from him.
“OW, SHIT!”
Law was in shock for all but 5 seconds when his doctor mode wanted to kick in and go and see if he was ok. His legs didn’t move since his rational mode was making a probability that this man was probably, literally, attempting to jump him
“Oh no! Sir, are you ok!?” a little kid ran from the opposite side of the alleyway to the man
“I’m fine” he said sitting up and the little boy gasped
“No you’re not! You’re bleeding!” the boy yelled
“I’m used to it, here” he said, giving the boy a toy, a toy that Law recognizes as the protagonist to the Sora, Warrior of the Sea comics.
“Thanks so much” he said and was on verge of ears
“Hey, don’t let those guys get to you. Remember that your soulmate will accept who you are” the teenager said and the boy nodded
“Thanks so much mister! Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yep”
Law, with a heavy heart due to the teenager’s words, watched the kid thank him and leave. “You really ok?”
The guy jumped and turned to see Law, “Shit you scared me! Wait.. you saw the whole thing didn’t you?”
“5 more steps, you would have landed on me” Law said
“... I’m sorry” he said but laughed a cute ‘shi shi shi’, “I aimed for the trash, but the wind knocked me to the right”
“Ah. Well you are bleeding pretty badly, you should get that checked out at the hospital before you bleed out. From here, it looks like you might need some stitches”
Luffy instantly shot up to his feet, “Sure thing!” he said in a weird tone mixture of happy and fear as he bolted down the alleyway
Law watched as the boy turned as he left the alleyway and had furrowed eyebrows. ‘Well, that was weird.’ Law thought continuing on his way to get his much needed coffee. Getting to work with his cup of coffee, he clocked in. An hour into his shift, his department had been pretty slow in the morning, so he was given another job in another department that was busy. That’s how he could actually maintain a 48 hour a week schedule as a surgeon, by helping out with the busiest sections. He was well rounded as a doctor. He does have quite a few surgeries during the day usually though. The amount of morons hurting themselves is ridiculously high in this city. He took his job’s file and looked in it before smirking. No way.
He walked into the room, “Hello, M-”
“Hey! It’s you! What are you doing here!?”
Law looked from the file to the teenager from earlier, who was cutely kicking his feet while sitting on the doctor’s chair. Another person was standing next to him
“I’m a surgeon. There is nothing going on in my department so I’m filling in this department at the moment.” Law said and the other guy looked confused and then a look of realization fell on his face
“Oh, you’re the one who told him to come here”
“...An hour earlier. By the looks of it, he didn’t” Law said, seeing Luffy’s bloody arm and face. As this department was swamped, they would have taken in an emergency case like this the second they come in.
“I made him come here. I woke up to him sitting on the couch bleeding away while playing video games. Made him come straight here.”
“You soulmates?”
“No, I think I’m the only one of us that haven’t met them yet” the friend said he said sighing, “I’m Usopp and this is one of my best friends Luffy”
“Ah, sorry for assuming. I’m Dr. Trafalgar Law” he said and Luffy tried to say his name a few times but happily landed on ‘Traffy’
“...Er… Luffy has a hard time with long names so he makes nicknames for him to remember, please don’t mind him” Usopp said rubbing the back of his head, “But that’s a lot better than the nickname he gave to Bartolomeo”
“Rooster head!” Luffy exclaimed happily making Law break out in a small smile
“Well, anyways I need to do my job so can I please ask for you to step out as I check my patient?” Law asked and Usopp as he is not really comfortable with people lingering when he works on patients
“Oh sure, I just stayed to make sure Luffy actually stayed here” Usopp said before leaving and what he said caught Law’s attention
“Do you hate doctors?” Law asked
“Kind of”
“Ah”
“But I think I like you, so you’re good” Luffy said giving a toothy grin. Law smiled feeling his heart skip a beat before he went into professional doctor mode. He looked through the medical records before checking on Luffy’s vitals before moving to the cuts on his upper right cheek and left forearm
“It looks like you will be needing stitches after all, you wouldn’t mind that will you?”
“... Just get it over with” he said in a tone of ‘I hate this so much’
“Ok” he said setting up the little table before washing his hands and putting on surgical gloves. He got out some local antiseptic, “This is to be used to numb the area, so you won’t feel a thing”
“Ok” Luffy said in a tone that made Law stop his task of getting the local anasthasia onto a cotton ball and looked to him. Luffy looked like he was antsy in anxiety
“Hey, would you mind telling me why you jumped in the alleyway like that?” Law asked and Luffy happily talked about his morning not even realizing Law began to stitch after applying local anasthasia. He had met a boy who was crying because a group of bullies threw his newly bought toy on the roof saying ‘men with that is an embarrassment’. Law stopped a flinch from that word and continued to do his job as he was listening to the story. Luffy talked about saying he would help him get the toy and soon, realized that getting up on top of the building was a lot easier than it was to get down, so he jumped
“So you told him his Soulmate would accept him?”
“I mean whose soulmate wouldn’t?” Luffy asked and Law couldn’t help but think of his, he shook the thought away
“So what happened when you went home?”
“Apparently I scared the shit out of Usopp. He freaked out. It was hilarious even though he made me lose the game I was playing”
“Ah, well” Law said backing up starting to take off his gloves, “All finished”
“What, really!?” Luffy asked, looking at his wrist and face in a mirror, “How did you do that so fast!?”
“I didn’t. You were just distracted by that story of yours”
Luffy thought about it and smiled, “You did that on purpose”
“Maybe” Law said smirking
“Thanks” he said, “Wait, will this scar!?”
“Uh… most likely” Law said hoping it’s not going to be like that last patient he had in this department a few days ago… the person freaking out over having an ungodly looking scar on their body. Better than bleeding out if you ask a rational person.
“COOL!!”
Law was taken back at the outburst but smiled when he continued
“Look! It’s going to turn into an X shape! Awesome! Wait until I tell Ace!”
“Hold still, I need to wrap them” Law said and Luffy held still when the doctor did just that. Law let back in his friend and gave them instructions on what to do with the wounds, “Ok, so keep these wrapped up like this for the next 24 hours. After that, wash them daily. Then come back in a week later for the stitches to be removed”
Law gave them a note that had the instructions he gave and Usopp took it, “I’ll make sure Luffy does just that, thank you so much”
“Thanks Traffy!”
Law smiled, “It’s my job.” he said before getting a page on his beeper, “Well speaking of my job, I’m called in for surgery, You two know the way out”
“Yep!”
Law and Luffy went on their merry ways, neither of them knowing that this was the stepping stones of them both being more directly involved in each other’s lives.
TBC
|
A week has passed since the Avon incident. After informing the Melodia kingdom that [y/n] has been saved, [y/n] and Katakuri returned to Komugi Island.
[y/n] recovered thanks to Katakuri who keeps a watchful eyes on her, making sure she won't stress herself out. The whole island had recovered too. A bountiful harvest awaits the lands and more sweet flour buds sprouted.
Big Mom was in a really good mood because of that. She even invited [y/n] for a tea with just the two of them.
If she we're to be honest, the woman wasn't that bad when in a good mood. Also, despite of her terrible personality, there was something noble about her goal.
She told [y/n] she wanted to create the place where all the races and species could live in peace and harmony.
[y/n] heard about the fishmens predicament and the terrible treatment they receive from humans.
If what Big Mom's dream happen, then humans, fishmen and other species could coexist without a bad blood between them.
[y/n] has always been open minded but her acceptance over her mother in law's goal might be because of her fondness to her husband.
She never thought it was possible but it seems that she have finally fallen in love to her husband, quite badly.
She used to fear him and were relieved when he was away but now, whenever he was away, she couldn't help but to feel lonely.
Chiffon and Lola caught her on one of her episodes one time and when she told them she miss Katakuri so much, the two run away to find their older brother.
[y/n] was so embarrassed but elevated at the same time when Katakuri came back, questioning her why his sisters told him to hurry home.
Back then, she has no appetite and it causes Katakuri trouble. But now, she eats just fine as long as Katakuri was there to watch over her to make sure she eats.
Sleeping at night was hard too. She kinda developed an insomnia. When he was not there to sleep beside her, she'll think of him till morning. If he was there, sleeping beside her, all she would do was to snuggle closer to him, enjoying the warmth. She wanted to spend her night awake on his arms since at morning, he'll be up and away again.
One day, [y/n] saw the chef bring Katakuri's snack to a room. It was time for his snacks.
As [y/n] watched them, an idea struck her.
She smiled and asked one of Katakuri's men to bring her to Big Mom's Palace.
"Chiffon! Lola!" [y/n] called out to the twins. They we're with their other sisters Praline, Galette and Smoothie.
"Nee-chan? This is surprising, are you with nii-san?" Galette asked with a surprised look.
[y/n] smiled and shook her head. "I came alone. Katakuri-sama is having a snack. I don't want to bother him so I asked one of his men to bring me here."
"Ahh... Merienda is very important to nii-san," Smoothie nodded.
"It is for all of us," Praline said with a chuckle.
"Is there anything you need, nee-chan?" Lola asked.
"Ah, yes! You two are good at making sweets, right?"
The twins nodded. "Well, yeah. But why are you asking?" Chiffon asked.
[y/n] smiled. "Can you teach me how to make a doughnut?"
Every afternoon, [y/n] would visit the twins and they would teach her.
It mostly end in disaster though. Back at Melodia, she never bothered to work on the kitchen since it was the chef and the servants job. She have no idea how everything works in the kitchen.
The twins we're patient though, teaching her tirelessly. When she told them it was for their brother, the sisters, including Smoothie, Praline and Galette teared up muttering about 'precious love' making her blush in embarrassment.
Sometimes, the three would visit to watch their lesson and to tease her whenever she mess up.
It was tiring but also fun. That lesson also made her more closer not only to Chiffon and Lola but also to the other three.
Seeing how much she loves their brother probably made them accept her.
Charlotte Linlin don't care that much about her children but her children cares about each other, [y/n] was certain of that.
Three more weeks until she finally perfected the doughnut.
One day, she shyly asked the chefs if they could allow her to be the one to make Katakuri's donuts.
The chefs hesitated at first but when she told them she wanted to do something for Katakuri and that Chiffon and Lola personally taught her, they conceded. They we're still around to make sure she won't mess up though.
The chefs watched her work and nodded with a smile seeing that she was doing well.
After finishing the doughnuts, they told her they will bring it later to Katakuri.
Thanking them, she was about to leave when Katakuri's large figure appeared to the kitchen's door.
"K-katakuri-sama?" she look up at him in surprise.
"What are you doing in the kitchens?" he asked.
The chefs exchanged smiles when she look down to the ground, cheeks reddening.
"Lady [y/n] is the one who made your doughnuts for today's merienda, Katakuri-sama." one of the chefs reported.
Katakuri raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you know how to make one."
"I... I asked Chiffon and Lola to teach me," she said in a small voice, nervously.
Katakuri stepped inside as his eyes landed to the doughnuts. He took one and turned around, making sure no one would see him eat and ate the donut.
[y/n] stood nervously, watching his back.
"This is delicious," he said, sounding surprised. He turned back and look at [y/n]. "It's delicious," he repeated.
[y/n] smiled in relief. "I'm glad."
She couldn't see it but he was actually smiling under the scarf.
"Want to take a walk outside?" Katakuri asked.
[y/n] nodded her head happily. "Yes!" she run towards him and grabbed onto his arm. She loved doing that.
Katakuri led her out of the kitchen.
Watching them from behind we're the smiling chefs, glad that unlike when she first arrived at that mansion, their lady was now lively and happy.
TO BE CONTINUED
|
“Why the hell were you in such a hurry?” Severus demanded as soon as they’d stepped through the Floo at Grimmauld Place.
“He would have told me,” Regulus muttered to himself, already turning away from Severus.
“Regulus!” Severus growled. Regulus froze in the doorway and spun on his heel to glare at Severus.
“What?” He snapped, his dark eyes flashing.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Severus demanded. “You insisted that we go to that gods-be-damned lawn party—you hate those things, but you insisted. Then we’re there for all of a half hour when you’re dragging me backwards through the Floo.” He paused, his chest heaving and he stared at Regulus. “What the hell happened in a half hour, Regulus?”
At those words, Regulus’ ever-perfect posture seemed to falter, and his shoulders slumped. A confused, pained look flashed across his face.
“I… I’m not sure,” Regulus admitted. “That’s why I came home.”
“Regulus…” Severus was at a loss. He wasn’t sure how to comfort Regulus because he wasn’t quite sure what had happened.
“I need to know,” Regulus muttered. “I must be sure.”
Then he turned on his heel, again, and strode from the room. Instead of calling after Regulus, Severus followed him as he made his way through the house—heading for a room that both wizards usually avoided. Severus chewed on his lower lip, but he forbore to say anything aloud. If whatever had happened was making Regulus go into that room… he wasn’t quite sure what that meant.
Silently, Severus followed Regulus into an unused parlour—a room that Regulus hadn’t stepped foot into for over 20 years. Without pausing, Regulus moved to the far wall where Walburga Black had affixed the Black family tapestry with a permanent sticking charm. Severus watched as he leaned forward, seemingly searching for something. Alarm jolted through him as Regulus dropped to his knees in front of the tapestry. With shaking hands, he traced something on its surface.
“Bloody, buggering fuck.” Regulus’ harsh whisper rang out in the stillness of the parlour.
“Regulus?” Severus scowled at the subdued tone of his own voice but ignored it in favour of worrying about Regulus. “Love… won’t you please tell me what’s going on?”
“My idiot brother has sired bastards,” Regulus ground out between clenched teeth. “Twins. They are the spitting image of either of us at that age. Anyone with half a brain will look at them and know exactly who they are.”
“Forgive me, love, but… I don’t understand,” Severus admitted. “Why are you so upset?”
“He should have formally recognized them,” Regulus snapped. “Named him as his heirs. It’s obvious the fathead is never going to marry anyone. We should have started on their instruction already!”
“Okay…” Severus said slowly. “What can we do about that?”
Regulus stared up at Severus from his place on the floor in front of the tapestry. A slow smile spread over Regulus’ face. A smile that made a little shiver go down Severus’ spine. Regulus held out a hand imperiously, and Severus helped him up. Once Regulus had regained his feet, he leaned forward and pressed a hard, swift kiss against Severus’ mouth.
“You are brilliant, Severus,” Regulus whispered against his lips, his breath ghosting across Severus’ skin. “Absolutely brilliant.”
The heavy weight of expensive vellum parchment was not unknown to Hermione. Most pureblood families seemed to have a never-ending supply of the stuff, and they used it for all manner of invitation. Once, Blaise had sent her an invitation that had been sealed with wax that bore the impression of his signet ring. She’d opened it cautiously to see—scrawled in emerald ink—Coffee?
This particular letter did not look like an invitation. There were no cunning illustrations that chased around the border picked out in green and silver. There was no family seal, or anything else she recognized. It was a solemn piece of stationery, as was the owl that delivered it. Hermione turned it over and frowned at it.
Beautiful script flowed across the vellum parchment: Prewett & Fawley. One slender brow rose of its own accord as she stared at the missive in her hands. Why had she received mail from a snooty, pureblood solicitor’s office? Carefully, she broke the seal.
“Bloody, buggering fuck,” she muttered as she scanned the letter’s contents.
Going to that stupid lawn party had been a disastrous choice. She had known that before she’d gone. Meeting Regulus had been the most unfortunate thing that could have happened. But this. This was beyond the bloody, fucking pale. If Reggie wanted to play, then he had chosen the wrong witch.
Standing sharply, she pushed away from her desk and marched to Lucius’ office. His secretary looked up from her desk in surprise as Hermione marched toward her.
“Is he free?” Hermione demanded.
The secretary blinked at Hermione in confusion, and normally Hermione would have been more patient, or more polite, or more something, but at the moment all she could feel was a blinding rage toward the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and their solicitors.
“Yes, Miss Granger,” the secretary managed to get out. “Do you want me to—” she faltered into silence as Hermione barrelled past her desk and burst into Lucius Malfoy’s office.
“I need the week off,” Hermione snapped with no preamble whatsoever. She could feel her hair shift about her and she heard the crackle of her magic as it sparked among her curls.
Lucius sat back in his chair and stared at her for a moment. Then he steepled his fingers below his chin.
“Your eyes are glowing,” he told her calmly. “Did you know?”
“They do that sometimes,” Hermione retorted. “Can I take the week, or not, Lucius?”
“That all depends,” Lucius continued in that same, calm voice.
“On what?” Hermione growled.
“If I give you the week, am I going to lose the best researcher I’ve ever had to Azkaban?” Lucius asked pointedly.
A smirk twisted Hermione’s lips.
“Oh, Lucius,” she sighed and shook her head at him. “It hurts my soul that you assume I would be caught.”
Lucius blinked at her. “You know, I’ve heard Draco and Blaise arguing about the way you had changed since Castor and Pollux, but I never saw it.”
“You weren’t meant to,” Hermione countered impatiently. “Can I get the week, Lucius?”
“Take the week,” Lucius agreed after a moment. He narrowed his silver-grey eyes at her. “And do make sure that you don’t caught, Miss Granger.”
Hermione snorted at that and rolled her eyes at him. Then she turned on her heel and marched out of his office.
The offices of Prewett & Fawley had existed in some form since 1540. Hermione had read up on them as much as she could before her scheduled appointment. She tugged at the formal witches’ robes that normally hung in the back of her closet, unworn except for the most ridiculous affairs that Narcissa had insisted she attend. A quick glance at Castor and Pollux showed that both boys were still wearing their formal robes and had managed not to smear mud or worse all over each other.
“Remember what I said?” Hermione’s voice was sharper than she had meant it to be, and she winced as soon as the words left her mouth.
“Best behaviour,” Castor offered solemnly.
Both little wizards watched her unblinkingly. They had been unusually quiet, and it only made her nerves wind tighter as she waited for them to become impatient and cranky.
“Right,” Hermione agreed. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. No matter what Regulus thought was going to happen today, no one was taking her boys from her. No one. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered as she opened the ridiculous door with its over-the-top, ornate knocker.
“Can I help you?” An elderly witch sat at a desk in an empty waiting room.
“Hermione Granger,” she informed the woman stiffly. “I have a 10 o’ clock appointment with Marius Prewett?”
“Ah yes,” the witch murmured as she peered at the appointment book in front of her. “Go on in. They’re expecting you. It’s the green door on the left.”
Of course, it was the green door. Hermione huffed under her breath and marched over to it. She took another deep breath, letting her spine stiffen and her face smooth out into a calm, collected mask. She rapped on the door with her knuckles and then turned the knob when she heard a muffled voice acknowledge her.
Smoothly, she swept into the room, pausing so that Castor and Pollux could flank her. She had taken the time to treat her hair so that it fell into perfect, thick curls—highlighting the similarity to her sons’ hair. She allowed one, slender brow to arch elegantly as she looked down her nose at the solicitor. She assumed that was who he was since Regulus was the only other person in the room.
“Marius Prewett?” She asked in an icy voice that she had perfected after hearing Narcissa use it on some cow who had insulted Hermione at a party.
“Miss… Granger… I presume,” Marius Prewett replied. He blinked and then squinted at her. “Is that an alias?” He asked. He turned to frown at Regulus. “I thought that you said the girl was Muggleborn.”
“That was what Narcissa told me,” Regulus muttered. He frowned at Hermione and then frowned at the two little wizards that stood perfectly still on each side of her. They frowned back at him.
Meanwhile, Hermione turned and sat down stiffly on the settee. Castor and Pollux followed her and crawled up next to her, one boy sitting on each side.
“What, exactly, was the purpose of this… this meeting?” Hermione asked in that same cold voice. “If you think that because I’m listed somewhere as a Muggleborn, that you can just swan in and take my sons, then you have another—”
“Wait!” Regulus protested and held up his hands. “Please. I have absolutely no plans to take your sons. I just… I want to have them formally recognized. Obviously, Sirius has made no move to do so, and they are… what… five years old? I want to make sure that they are educated properly so that they know their place in wizarding society.”
Hermione fought against the urge to slump in her seat. She wanted to put her head in her hands and groan, but she’d never seen Narcissa Malfoy do anything like that—not even when Draco got caught in a fountain in Paris with some model.
“Does your Patriarch know what you’ve done?” She asked. She rather doubted it, but she needed to know.
“Of course not,” Regulus scoffed, confirming her suspicions. “He would have tried to stop me.”
“Mr. Black,” Hermione sighed.
Both boys tilted their heads at that and narrowed their eyes on the man who was seated across the room.
“Miss Granger,” he countered in a strained voice. “At least let me recognize them.”
Hermione shook her head. “You should really speak to your Patriarch, Mr. Black.”
“Do you already have some sort of arrangement?” Regulus demanded. He waved a hand at the boys. “How can he not recognize his own sons?”
“Mr. Black, I met your Patriarch for the first time roughly six months ago,” Hermione informed him coolly.
“No.” Regulus shook his head.
“Yes,” Hermione insisted. She raised her wand in the air. “I can swear an oath on the matter if that would ease your mind.”
“That is not necessary, Miss Granger,” Regulus protested. He ran a hand through his own thick curls, staring at the three of them seated on the settee. “I don’t understand.”
“I admit that the resemblance is… startling,” Hermione agreed cautiously. Her lips twisted in a ghastly facsimile of a smile. “If I weren’t their mother, I might suspect as well.”
What she might suspect, she very carefully did not say.
“Who is their father?” Regulus demanded.
“Their father?” Hermione’s voice rose an octave.
“Yes, their father,” Regulus continued with a deep frown. “Where is the man?”
“He is… not available,” Hermione said cautiously. Mostly because he thinks I’m dead.
Regulus turned to Marius Prewett and raised an eyebrow at the solicitor.
“Well, Marius?” Regulus asked. Marius shrugged in his chair.
“It’s unorthodox, but…,” here he paused and waved a hand at the boys. “No one would question it.”
Regulus turned back to Hermione and leaned forward with a determined look on his face. Hermione remembered that look rather well. It had resulted in singed eyebrows for her and a nasty burn on Severus’ forearm. Reflexively, she leaned back in her seat, trying to put more distance between them.
“Let me recognize them as Blacks,” he demanded.
“Mr. Black, as I’ve already told you,” Hermione huffed at him, irritation colouring her tone.
All of them startled wildly when the door burst open, slamming against the wall. Hermione had moved automatically, positioning herself in front of her sons. Her wand was in her hand, and she had cast a spell she’d crafted herself that would stun her victim before she even realized it. She stared at the slumped form of Sirius Black, sprawled on the floor of Marius’ office floor, and then lifted her gaze to see Severus Black still standing in the doorway, watching her with a calculating expression.
“Oh, bugger,” she muttered.
“Mummy,” Both Castor and Pollux cried and stared up at her in surprise.
"I know," she muttered at them.
“Ollie,” Severus whispered in surprise. His glittering eyes swept the room and settled back on her. “Ollie… what the hell have you done?”
Hermione sank back down on to the settee as her legs were no longer willing to support her. She glanced at Regulus who was staring at her with an expression of shock. Hurt shone from his eyes.
“Ollie?” Regulus’ voice was incredulous. He frowned at Severus and then turned to stare at Hermione. “No. You… you didn’t. Not even you were that… that stupid, that Gryffindorish.”
Automatically, Hermione’s spine stiffened, and she lifted her chin.
“My name,” she bit out between clenched teeth, “is Hermione Granger.”
|
The two woke up very comfortably to Law’s alarm. The blurriness from their faded and they realized that, at some point in their sleep, they both had shifted and slept in each other’s arms. The two blushed and sat up and apologized in unison before laughing
“At least it wasn’t like last time, where we were completely naked and don't remember a thing” Luffy said
“Hmm? Why’s that?”
“Cause we didn’t drink, it would more likely be sleep sex instead of sleepwalking” Luffy said smirking and Law laughed
“That’s great!” Law said stretching the sleep off from his shoulders and got out of bed, “Well, I’ll make coffee”
“Ooh! Ok, I’ll get breakfast ready, since you don’t like bread, would you like those precooked sausages we brought? And those yogurt fruit and oats things we got! And we got bananas” Luffy said looking through the food they got. Law, as he was making the coffee, was looking at Luffy rummaging through the bag of food they have. He… remembered that one single time he said he didn’t like bread? Law’s heart was beating faster and harder. Luffy looked to Law when he didn’t answer, “Traffy?”
“Oh” Law snapped back to reality instantly, “Parfait sounds good but we need sausage to just have some more protein”
“Ok!” Luffy said getting out the parfaits, “The mini fridge is next to you so can you get out the sausages?”
“Sure” Law said, taking out a few of sausages, for them each, from the fridge and gave then to Luffy
“Thank you!” Luffy said taking out a pocket knife, much to Law’s concern
“What are you doing with that?” Law asked
“A surprise~!”
“Just be careful” Law said
“I will!”
After making coffee, Law turned to Luffy when he announced he was done. Law brought over the coffee to the side table and sat on one of the chairs next to the table. Luffy brought over paper plates with the parfait containers and sausages on them.
“Here’s breakfast~!” Luffy said placing the plates on the table. Law looked at the plate silently, “Traffy?”
Law looked to Luffy, “You’re so damn adorable”
On the plates were the sausages cut to look like octopi.
Luffy grinned, “I’m glad you like them!”
“I haven’t had these since I was a little kid.” Law said, picking one up and eating it. “Brings me back memories of when Cora-San was my older brother in the program and he made these one day, when mom and dad forgot to pick me up from school. It was my birthday and they forgot that they promised me a night…” Law said silently, remembering how his parents just forgot him at school on his birthday, so he called Cora-San and he came and brought him into the big brother program main lobby and called his parents. They said for him to take him back to his place since they were busy and Cora-San did just that and made his birthday feel good. He smiled at remembering Cora-San tripping and both him and Doflamingo laughed as the cake he made fell on his head. “I’m glad they did forget, cause Cora-San made it enjoyable. If they remembered it, all it would be was me sitting at the table while they gush on and on about their golden child and what she did”
“Ah, your family sound suckish”
“Yeah, but what they did wasn’t as bad as…” he sighed, “I’m glad Cora-San was still in my life after everything”
“I might not have been part of your life as long but I’m in your life after knowing that” Luffy said and Law had a tear form as Luffy was right. He knew all his past rejections from his family and from his ex and is still choosing to be in his life. It wasn’t even a “potential soulmate needing to live with you for a full year” thing, it was more than that. At least Law felt himself hoping
“I'm glad.” Law said and they silently ate their food, until Luffy picked up his sausage and was moving it on the plate like it was an alive octopus
“Has anyone ever told you not to play with your food?” Law asked in a light tone and out of curiosity
“Sanji. Like all the time” Luffy said and Law thought about it and could see that.
“Well, how about a battle?” Law said, picking his last octopus sausage and Luffy grinned. An amazing battle of spicy meaty proportions has started. Eventually, Law’s octopus had a missing leg
“I’ve won this” Luffy said
“Tis but a scratch” Law said
“A scratch? It’s arm’s off”
“No it isn’t”
“What’s that then?”
“It’s had worse”
Once all of Law’s octopus sausage lost all its arms, Law kept up with the fight
“Enough, it has no arms left”
“Yes it does”
“Look!”
“It’s just a flesh wound.” Law and Luffy looked at each other and laughed, “Did we just make a Monty Python skit with sausage?”
“We sure did” Luffy said and both said how great that was before they both gasped, “Shit, what are we doing? We have to go soon” Luffy said and Law nodded and the two ate, at a quicker pace. They quickly got ready with showering and hygiene before getting into their kigurumis.
“I’m bringing more water for us to drink, as you were so thirsty yesterday” Law said as he made sure to pack at least a few extra water bottles in his backpack. He swung that over his shoulders and Luffy and he got their room keys, wallets, and convention passes before making their way out of the room
They were waiting for the artist alley to open by taking pictures of cosplayers, just the same as they did throughout their time yesterday. Soon enough the artist alley opened and Luffy and Law saw 3 new stands. They went to almost every stand, including the new ones, and got more from them, from keychains & pexi-glass standees & more posters. Soon enough the exhibitioner’s room opened
“Hey, Traffy? I’ll take our stuff to the room, you get the figure” Luffy said
“You sure? After we get the figure we could go to the room” Law said
“No, We might risk not getting the signature and risk losing our stuff” Luffy said which Law did agree the risk isn’t worth it. “Here”
Luffy took Law’s stuff and gave him 20 $20 bills, “What is this for?”
“I was planning to get myself one of those Levi figures for the autograph too, so that’s the money for it”
“I could buy you one” Law said and Luffy shook his head with a smile
“Nah, I got my own money, so you don’t have to” Luffy said grinning widely before skipping away with all their items to put in their room. Law watched him skip merrily away and then to the money in his hand
“Astounding” he muttered softly as Luffy knew he was rich and he still gave him money to get him something. Luffy was truly astounding. This, the money in his hand given by Luffy, just made him fall that much more
TBH
|
It’s not like he has a choice.
No matter how much Killua likes him, no matter how much he enjoys his company, it’s not -
It’s just not realistic.
Illumi is on to him. And that is not a position Killua wants to stay in.
Besides, maybe - maybe he’s right. Killua’s made it this long without
real
friends. Sure, he’s known Canary and Ikalgo for a while. Sure, they talk at lunch sometimes and sure, they copy each other’s homework. But that’s it. Killua doesn’t feel drawn to them the way he does to Gon. He doesn’t feel the need to connect with them beyond...whatever casual pseudo-friendship they have. They’re classmates. They go to the same school. That’s all.
But
Gon
…
Killua just really wants to… to be around him. A
lot
.
And Killua isn’t used to wanting
anything
. So this whole
situation
is a fucking problem.
The logical thing to do would be to get the fuck outta dodge. The logical thing to do would be to forget all about Gon and his weird friends. The logical thing to do would be to bite his tongue and listen to his older brother because he knows best and Killua doesn’t know anything.
But so far, none of Killua’s actions relating to Gon have been logical.
Logic. Math.
Right
, the task at hand.
“I don’t
get
this,” Gon groans and yeah, that sounds about right. Fitting that Gon has an aversion to things that make sense. Of course he doesn’t understand.
Maybe whatever affliction he has is contagious. Killua can’t seem to think or behave rationally, either.
Dammit.
He glances up from his notes. Somehow they had gone weeks without realizing they’re in the same study hall, but they’re making use of it now, huddled in close and rubbing shoulders as they share a calculus textbook. Gon forgot his. Typical.
He looks at Gon, but thinks better of it immediately. The look on his face, his freckles - it’s all too distracting; not at all conducive to learning formulas. For the first time in his life, Killua just wants to get his homework done. He clears his throat.
“Let’s take a break,” he hears himself say by accident, because what the
fuck
, taking a break means - means talking to him about things that
matter
-
Wait, no - things that
don’t
matter. Things that are completely irrelevant, but do something confusing to Killua’s sanity, anyway.
Fuck
.
“Okay,” Gon sighs, his forehead thunking against the desk. He deflates, somehow different; less excitable than usual. He’s been like this all day, the sun in his eyes clouded over and dull. Killua doesn’t let himself worry, doesn’t reach out, doesn’t ask.
That’s the plan, anyway. But it’s tempting.
So tempting, in fact, that Killua fucking fails miserably.
“You alright?” he asks and cringes at the concern in his voice; at his desire to pat Gon on the head and say
There, there
. What the
fuck
is going on?
Gon sighs, cheek pressed up against his wooden desk, eyebrows scrunched. “Yes,” he says unconvincingly, glaring at the wall behind Killua’s head. Killua sighs and decides to drop it. The last thing he wants is to bother Gon.
Or waste my own time trying to keep up an uncomfortable conversation
, he tells himself, but...
Killua thinks. The negative energy coming from Gon is palpable, thick in the stale library air, and while Killua shouldn’t really cast the first stone when it comes to being in a shit mood, it doesn’t…
It just doesn’t feel right. Seeing Gon like that.
Killua glances off to the side when he says, “Calc is sort of shit, huh.”
Gon huffs. “At least Killua’s good at it,” he mutters, still glaring at the wall like a pouting child.
Killua crosses his arms. He’s just making conversation,
geez
. “Alright,” he says, laughing a little incredulously, “who pissed in your cheerios?”
He looks down at Gon expectantly, watching the boy’s expression go slack in bewilderment. Distantly, he feels a vague sense of relief at seeing the creases between Gon’s eyebrows smooth out. Gon looks up at him and snorts suddenly in puzzled laughter, finally raising his head off the desk. The cheek he’s been resting on is slightly red, like half of him is blushing. Killua files that thought away.
“I’ve never heard that expression before,” he admits. Killua takes quiet pleasure in watching the clouds in Gon’s eyes part, the rays of the sun coloring his irises once again, and likes to think he’s the reason for it. He feels his lips stretch into a hesitant but giddy smile, as they so often do around Gon.
“It’s fitting, huh?” Killua snickers. He pokes Gon’s red left cheek, the flesh warm and soft, and says, “Your face earlier made you look like someone
literally
pissed in your cheerios.”
Gon giggles charmingly and swats Killua’s finger away. He rubs his cheek with his shoulder and smiles so bright something sweet and painful lodges sharply right through Killua’s chest like an arrow. “I’m fine,” Gon insists and this time Killua believes him. “It was just - “
Gon’s own phone cuts him off, vibrating urgently in his pocket. He blinks curiously and fishes it out. Killua suddenly remembers that he never responded to any of Gon’s texts from last night; didn’t even read some of them. Suddenly guilty, he drops his gaze back to his textbook, reading the words but not absorbing them, pretending to be busy.
“Huh,” he hears Gon say after a moment. “Hey, Killua.”
Killua bites his lip. Is Gon gonna bring it up? Did he suddenly remember that Killua was totally ignoring him last night, too?
“What’s up?” Killua asks casually, not looking up from the pages of his book.
“Wanna go to a party?”
“What?” Killua asks, whipping his head around and eyeing Gon quizzically. A chorus of scattered voices around the room shush him in unison and he lowers his head and voice sheepishly. “A party?”
Killua can’t remember the last time he was invited to something. Is there some kind of catch? Is he gonna have to bring money for booze or something? Will there even be booze? What do people even
do
at parties?
Gon just shrugs, carefree as always. “I just got texts from Leorio and Kurapika,” he explains quietly, waving his phone for emphasis. “Someone from APUSH is throwing a party. They’re inviting, like, everyone.”
Killua’s mind reels. He twirls his pen between his fingers, he fidgets in his seat. “Um,” he says, “When?”
“I dunno, I’ll ask,” Gon replies and is about to type out a message to his friends when he suddenly looks up in realization and says, “Wait, I can just add you to the group chat.”
“Group chat,” Killua echoes. Oh god. It was hard enough ignoring texts from just Gon. Now he’s gonna have to dodge messages from Gon’s friends, too.
“Yeah!” Gon says with a smile, unbothered and enthusiastically tapping away at his phone. Soon enough, Killua receives a notification that he has been added to “
horse dreams
”.
This is the worst day of his life.
Cringing, he enters the group.
leoreo:
hey hey hey
Kurapikachu:
Hello, Killua.
Kurapikachu:
I’m sorry about the group name.
leoreo:
i’m not
Killua sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Gon, who is grinning excitedly from ear to ear. Killua turns his attention back to his phone and types.
killua99:
it’s cool i guess
killua99:
don’t wanna know where it came from
Gon snickers. Killua makes a face. “This is weird. It’s like we’re texting each other, but we’re sitting side by side.”
Gon laughs. “But this way we can talk to Leorio and Kurapika, too,” he reasons.
Killua doesn’t have an answer, so he looks back down at his phone screen.
leoreo:
alright, so. party info dump:
leoreo: starts friday 8pm at pokkle’s house, which means we probably shouldnt show up until like 9 since we’re cool like that.
leoreo:
i can give you all a ride in my super sweet new car
Kurapikachu:
It’s a hand-me-down van.
leoreo:
she’s a beautiful lady and i love her very much
Killua allows himself a faint laugh, glancing to his side to watch Gon do the same, his brown eyes bright and shiny with mirth. The exchange in the chat stops being funny once Killua considers the implications of Leorio’s offer.
He wants to give everyone, including Killua, a ride. Which means having Killua’s address. Which means parking in front of his house. Which means his family,
Illumi
, will see that Killua’s… that he…
… Sort of totally failed at not interacting with people, at sticking with family - the
one thing
his brother had asked of him. It should be easy. Killua… Killua
hates
people. Doesn’t he?
He swallows hoarsely. Head spinning, he types:
killua99:
i have to check with my parents
leoreo:
boooo.
Kurapikachu:
Alright. Just let us know when you can.
leoreo:
ohhh shit shit tesxher teacherscoming bye
The conversation ends there. Killua sighs, relieved that he won’t have to talk about it anymore for now, but still with a crawling sense of dread prickling his skin. He pockets his phone and crosses his suddenly cold arms. He glances to the side, expecting to see Gon typing a message of his own to his friends or amusing himself by holding a pencil between his nose and upper lip or something, but accidentally meets his thoughtful eyes instead. He almost flinches at the shock of it, but manages to control himself at the last second.
Gon tilts his head to the side a bit in question. “Are your parents strict?” he guesses and Killua laughs.
So much for not having to talk about it anymore.
Killua isn’t sure how to describe his parents honestly. They’re the red hot sting in his cheek, they’re the ache in his neck from looking down for so long. They’re the noisy floorboards Killua’s learned to avoid. They’re the long sleeves Killua wears even during summer.
And they’d be
furious
if they knew about Gon.
“No,” Killua says instinctively, because
strict
is too kind a word, but then corrects himself, because Gon wouldn’t understand that, saying, “I mean. Yeah. They kinda are.”
Gon hums, thinking and tapping his forefinger against his chin. Finally, he says, “Would you have to sneak out?”
Killua blinks rapidly like a camera shutter. He never even considered - ...
Could
he even?
Killua is good at keeping his head down, generally, but is he good enough to
sneak out
? Is this worth the risk?
Why does he feel like this is worth the risk?
“Maybe?” Killua tries, looking away. Why doesn’t he just say no? It would be so much easier if he could just say no. Why does Gon make that so hard? Why does his family make
everything
so hard?
Why does he want to go to a stupid party so bad? Why is this so important?
Gon’s expression twists like he got unlucky with yet another miscellaneous plant he decided to shove into his mouth. “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he says, mapping out his thought process like it’s something Killua has even the slightest chance of following, “But I
do
want you to have fun. Do you like parties? Do you want to go?”
(
He wants me to have fun. He wants me to
have fun.)
As if it matters what Killua likes or wants. He swallows.
“S-Sure,” Killua answers, mentally kicking himself so hard he physically flinches. He’s in the shit now.
Dammit.
“Great!” Gon shouts, but immediately gets shushed by the librarian tapping her acrylic fingernails against her desk. He chuckles sheepishly and bows his head in apology. Killua laughs weakly under his breath.
Gon turns to him, beaming. Any remnants of his pissy mood earlier melt away in the warmth of his boyish grin. Killua melts a little, too.
A party? Are you sure, brother?
yeah i’m sure
i mean i already agreed so
What are you gonna tell mom?
And Illumi?
i’m not gonna tell them anything
I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…
neither do i
The week passes by too fast in a blur of laughter at lunch and muscle and bone after school - the two times of the day that stick in Killua’s memory, vibrant as if someone had painted them on the insides of his eyelids so he can relive them every time he blinks.
The only trouble is it only takes one blink of the eye for the week to be over, and suddenly it’s Friday and Killua has no idea what to do.
“It’s not his birthday or something, right?” he had asked Gon yesterday, chewing on his thumb nail. “I don’t have to bring him anything?”
“Relax,” Gon had laughed, which only made Killua more nervous, “You don’t need to bring anything. Just show up.”
(That alone might be too much to ask.)
… His parents or siblings have never checked on him at night before. If he makes sure they see him right when he gets home and then just heads up to his room, they’ll assume he’s there for the rest of the night. Right? Right.
Everything is fine.
There’s a tree outside Killua’s bedroom window. Years ago, Killua and Alluka found a nest of baby birds in its branches and listened to them cry and squawk until they were ready to fly.
Now Killua is going to use it to escape his own bedroom.
He has done this exactly once before, when he was five and emotional and Milluki had been picking on him. He managed to climb all the way down, prepared to leave and never come back, but as soon as his feet touched the ground, he met Illumi’s eyes across the yard. After a short staring contest, Killua bit back his tears and walked over so Illumi could lead him back inside with a large hand. Killua still remembers how the gesture must have looked kind to their neighbors, like Illumi was a gentle guide rather than a prison warden.
He can still feel the phantom touch on his shoulder; the minute but clearly intentional curling of Illumi’s stony fingers into his flesh; the wordless warning not to try this again.
Killua shakes his head. Taking a deep breath, he pushes his window open and looks outside. It’s past eight, so the whole neighborhood is dark, except for the yellow street lamps; umbrellas of light illuminating stretches of sidewalk beneath them. Killua squints into the distance, trying to determine which way he has to go to meet Leorio and the others. After his eyes adjust to the dark, he throws one last glance over his shoulder to the fluffed pillows shoved underneath his covers to vaguely resemble his sleeping form. Nodding in reassurance to himself, he climbs onto the window pane and grasps the closest tree branch with both hands.
He’s a little out of practice when it comes to tree climbing, but he makes it, even if his fingers stick together with sap by the time he reaches the ground. He wipes them off on his jeans, scurrying across the yard and not daring to even breathe before he knows he’s out of sight and earshot.
He told Leorio to wait a couple blocks away, just to be safe. As he makes his way to their meeting spot, he keeps glancing over his shoulder, eyes scanning through the dark in search of figures that aren’t there. He faces forward. His pace and his breath quicken.
Finally, he makes it. He spots Leorio’s shabby minivan and waves at the people inside. Gon sees him first, excitedly smacking Kurapika and Leorio’s shoulders to get their attention. By the time they all spot him, Killua is already sliding one of the doors to the back seat open.
“Yo,” he says calmly with a wave right before Gon hooks an arm around the back of his neck and yanks him inside. He sputters and socks Gon in the shoulder after he manages to shove him off.
Gon laughs. “Yo!”
Kurapika waves at Killua absentmindedly without turning around, focused on their phone screen, while Leorio meets Killua’s eyes in the rearview mirror with a grin. “Ready to party?”
Killua kicks the back of Leorio’s seat. “Just drive,” he says, his uneasiness slowly dissipating.
Leorio does just that. On the way to Pokkle’s, Kurapika plays a garage band playlist, making the shitty van a beacon of music and light filtering through the darkness outside. Killua finds himself laughing more than once and tries not to think about how much he wants this to last.
Killua, though he wouldn’t admit it, has never been to a party before. Given his aversion to social events and crowds and people in general, he never thought to change that before Gon had invited him to come.
He’s beginning to think he should have stuck with his no-party-policy.
Pokkle’s house is roomy, but it’s hard to tell with the mass of dancing and drinking bodies inside. The air is heavy with sweat and smoke and the sharp smell of alcohol. It’s nothing like the glasses of wine Killua sips from at family events. Nothing about this is anything like
anything
.
When Killua tries to take a steadying breath, his lungs seem to fill with something that’s distinctly not oxygen; something that tastes like shit and feels like poison.
“This was a mistake,” Killua says grimly, but his companions don’t seem to hear him over the music pulsing through the house. They push him through the door and into the fray. Killua stumbles and is about to panic when he feels Gon put a steady hand on his shoulder. Killua meets his eyes unsurely, head pounding from all the noise. Somewhere behind Gon’s head, there’s a table full of used red solo cups that are vibrating from the sound of the blown-out speakers and threatening to spill. Killua’s eyes flit back to Gon’s. He just smiles.
“C’mon,” he shouts over the music. “We should say hi to everyone!”
“But I don’t know anyone here,” Killua argues, blushing in shame. This was such a
stupid
idea. He snuck out for
this
? Sighing, he glances around, looking for any familiar faces. Kurapika and Leorio have already disappeared. When Killua is about to abandon his search, he spots a familiar hairdo in the crowd. His squinting eyes recognize it as Canary’s.
“Wait,” he says, turning to Gon and jerking his thumb in Canary’s direction. “I know her.”
Gon brightens and smacks Killua’s shoulder companionably. “Great!” he says. “I’ll come - “
A meaty arm around his neck cuts him off as the person it belongs to gives him a ruthless noogie that Killua’s not sure even Gon’s gravity defying hair will be able to withstand. Gon sputters, hands scrambling at his assailant's arm until his face clears in realization and he shouts “
Knuckle
!”
Killua watches as Knuckle laughs, releasing Gon. He says something Killua doesn’t quite hear over the shitty Chainsmokers song ringing in his ears and before he can do anything to stop it, Gon is being dragged away and swallowed up into the crowd.
Welp. That happened.
Killua sighs and carves a path through the mass of people to where Canary is still propped against the wall, passively scanning the room with made up eyes and an unimpressed frown tucked behind her red solo cup. It looks like she’s about as enthused to be here as Killua is; maybe even less so. He smiles a little in relief and, after a few minutes of squirming through the crowd, slides smoothly against the wall next to her with his hands in his pockets.
“Yo,” Canary says without even looking at him.
“‘Sup,” Killua returns, sighing as he leans his head back against the wall. He raises it again when he realizes the wall is practically rattling along with the music. He sighs again.
“Just people-watching,” Canary says easily, taking another sip from her cup. “You?”
Killua rubs his sweaty palms off on his jeans, watching a drunk girl he doesn’t know completely butcher the song that’s playing. “Wondering why I snuck out for this shit,” he confesses in a shaky breath.
Canary hums. She turns her back to him for a moment and, when she faces him again, she’s holding two cups instead of one. “Drink this,” she tells him, “You’ll feel better.”
Killua takes the cup, looking into it skeptically. “What is it?”
“Liquid courage,” Canary says.
Killua gives her a look. He raises the cup to his nose and sniffs cautiously. It smells...fruity. “No, for real, what is it.”
“Apple vodka and apple juice,” Canary tells him. “Tastes like green jolly ranchers.”
“Huh,” Killua acknowledges, running his finger along the edge of the cup. He sighs. “I guess I might as well have some fun if I’m stuck here.” Slowly, he lifts the cup to his lips.
“I guess so.” Canary smiles at him, raising her cup in the air. Killua mimics her.
She says, “Cheers,” and they both drink.
It doesn’t hit him at first, but then once he lets his guard down it hits him all at once when he tries to get up from the couch Canary and him migrated to after the first drink and almost eats shit.
“There it is,” Canary laughs, crossing her legs and leaning back leisurely. He flips her off and she grins at him.
“I’m,” Killua starts, still swaying precariously - or is the room the thing that’s spinning? Realization hits him and the corners of his vodka and apple juice-soaked lips quirk into an awed smile. “I’m drunk,” he says, delighted.
Canary giggles into her cup. “Congratulations,” she says and downs the rest of her drink. Killua takes another drink himself and it’s like dousing the fire on his cheeks with gasoline. The house was warm to begin with, stuffed wall-to-wall with dancing bodies, but now it feels unbearable. He wipes sweat from his forehead and flops back down onto the couch next to Canary. He considers rolling up his sleeves, but…
No. Better not.
“It’s hot,” he states instead, leaning his head back against the sofa and exhaling blissfully. The universe spins behind his closed eyes.
“What is?” Canary asks, giving him a sidelong glance, “Gon Freecss?”
Killua sputters, body jerking upright. He spills the rest of his drink over the front of his shirt, hissing in annoyance. “
Fffuck
you,” he says, spitting at Canary by accident. She grimaces, wiping her cheek, then sighs.
“Yeah, like,” she continues boredly, propping her elbow on the back of the couch and resting her cheek in her palm, “aren’t you two butt buddies these days?”
Killua opens his mouth to protest, but he can’t come up with the words in time.
“I guess I can’t totally blame you,” she reasons thoughtfully, “He
is
pretty cute.”
“That’s not,” Killua starts, squinting at her and shaking his head incredulously. She stares him down in that way only Canary can, eyes dark and probing. Killua sweats. “You’re misinterpreting - He’s just - I’m - Fuck you,” he settles on.
Canary smirks. “I’m good, but you should ask Freecss, I’m sure he’d say yes.”
Killua’s face twists bitterly. “No, for real, fuck you. He’s my - “ he stops. “He’s not - It isn’t like that.”
Canary scooches closer in interest. “So what’s it like, then?” she pries, nudging him in the side. Killua’s lips tremble in frustration.
“I don’t
know
,” he grumbles and slumps further against the sofa, practically horizontal. He realizes how incriminating it sounds but feels too buzzed to care. Besides, it’s the most honest answer he can give and he can’t find it in him to lie to Canary. “Is Ikalgo here?” he asks, hoping she won’t make a big deal about his obvious attempt at changing the subject.
No such luck. “He’s smoking outside,” she says and then, grinning, tells him, “and you ain’t slick.”
Killua sputters dismissively, waving her off. He really is horizontal now, his chin tucked into his neck and making it hard to breathe. He pushes himself upright with sleepy legs and manages to stand after only two failed attempts.
“I hate you,” he tells Canary easily, but she just grins. “You bitched your way out of my - my company.” She raises a smug eyebrow at him as he raises his forefinger and thumb in the shape of an ‘L’ that he presses to his forehead - though, he will realize later, he uses the wrong hand.
“Later, hater,” he says and sticks out his tongue as Canary hides her laughing face in her hands. Killua spins on his heel, almost bumping into a couple making out against the wall, and marches off to find - well, he’s not sure what. But he’s sure as hell determined to look. He slithers through the crowd feeling dazed and heavy and decides the first order of business is to go somewhere with less people. Outside seems like his best bet, so he stands on the tips of his feet and peeks over the laughing heads of the people around him. He can see into the kitchen from here and notices an open door to what he assumes is the backyard.
He stumbles out of the living room, but doesn’t register the step leading into the kitchen and would eat shit if it weren’t for the person in front of him breaking his fall. He instinctively grabs onto their forearms to steady himself, looking down and muttering, “Fucking steps,” under his breath.
“Oh, Killua,” he hears the person say and realizes immediately that it’s Gon. Of course it’s Gon. It’s always Gon.
Gon grabs Killua, palms against his ribs, and steadies him. Killua looks up and becomes acutely aware of how warm he is. Gon smiles apologetically.
“I’m sorry about Knuckle,” he sighs, gesturing behind him to where Knuckle is sitting on the floor with what is presumably Pokkle’s dog and sobbing uncontrollably. Killua’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “We haven’t hung out in a while and he can be persistent.”
Killua looks back at Gon, briefly enamored by how he is so clear cut when everything else is blurred and smudged at the edges of Killua’s vision like a vignette. Even the music that seemed deafening earlier is drowned out, its melody faded into simple bass while Gon’s sheepish giggle is clean and bright in his ears. When Gon is around, everything else becomes background.
“‘s fine,” Killua says absently, unknowingly tipping closer. Gon looks down in alarm at Killua’s feet tripping over themselves even as he tries to stand still and loops one of Killua’s boneless arms around his shoulders.
He walks Killua into the kitchen and pushes the back door open with his foot, saying, “Let’s go outside.”
There are people out here, too, but not many. There’s a few scattered over the back porch, earthy smoke billowing out of their mouths while others settle for nursing beers, and a few in the grass below, looking up at the stars and talking about nothing. Kurapika and Leorio are standing under a tree, Kurapika propped against its trunk while Leorio leans in to whisper to them over the rim of a red solo cup, their foreheads almost touching. At first Killua thinks Gon and him are going to join them, but instead they flop down on the porch steps. Gon sighs into the humid night air, head tilting back and eyes closing. Killua’s arm is still around his shoulders and Killua looks at his own hand like it isn’t even a part of his body.
“Are you having fun?” he hears Gon ask and darts his eyes back up to Gon’s, tongue numb and face slack.
“Yes,” he says and while it isn’t quite the truth, it isn’t quite a lie, either. “I had vodka juice.”
Gon’s eyes widen in interest. “Oho,” he laughs slyly, and
that’s
a look Killua hasn’t seen him wear before, so he might be staring a little bit, “Is this your first time?”
“Uh,” he says, taking a moment to remember the question even though Gon
just
asked it, “Yeah. It. I’m. It’s good.”
Gon laughs, loud and open, and Killua wishes he could laugh like that; that he had the capacity for joy that Gon does. He swallows dryly and looks up at the scrubby clouds in the night sky, milky gray in the moon’s light.
“I’m really glad you came, Killua,” Gon says after a moment and when Killua looks back at him, he’s smiling -
Again
. It shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore, because that’s just what Gon
does
, and yet every time it happens, every time his lips part and his cheeks dimple in happiness, it makes something in Killua’s chest pinch uncomfortably. Maybe that’s what’s so startling about it - It’s so unbelievably
easy
for him to be happy; it’s his default state. Killua doesn’t know anyone else who’s like that. He wishes he could be like that.
“Gon,” he says, the word heavy and round and comfortable in his unpracticed mouth, and licks his cracked, uncoordinated lips, “You, um.” He stops, juggling the fragmented concepts in his head and trying to string them into a coherent sentence.
Gon cocks his head to the side in question, smiling patiently. “Hm?”
Killua can’t look at him, so he squeezes his eyes shut. His arm is still around Gon’s shoulders, damp with sweat against Gon’s shirt, but somehow moving it feels too daunting a task, so he freezes instead. “You’re,” he says, clearing his throat, “you’re cool.”
Killua isn’t even looking at him, but the same way you can still see the sun in your eyes when they’re closed, he can still tell that Gon is smiling. “Aw, Killua,” he giggles, patting the hand Killua has on his shoulder, and for some reason that’s what urges Killua to push the remaining words on the tip of his tongue out, even if they trip over each other on the way.
“I - I mean it,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at Gon intently, “You’re so
happy
and good and you make people feel good and I just wish -- “
He stops to take a heated, sobering breath that isn’t quite sobering enough and tries again, “I wish we could be friends.” He chances a sidelong look at Gon, heart pounding in his chest so hard it’s difficult to breathe, and watches his face scrunch in honest to god confusion.
Not exactly what he was going for. Not that he actually knows what he
was
going for. He bites his lip.
Suddenly, a puff of a laugh shoots past Gon’s lips, and another, and another, and another after that until he’s leaning on Killua for support (Which doesn’t go so well; Killua just leans to the side with him, pliable like dough) and laughing breathlessly in Killua’s ear.
Killua is just about to ask why he’s laughing, because this whole situation they’ve found themselves in is anything but funny to Killua, but Gon beats him to the punch and says, “I can’t believe I was so worried.”
Killua squints his eyes at Gon quizzically. Gon just shakes his head, still shaking with laughter. After a while, he catches his breath and leans over again, arms slowly enveloping Killua. Killua bristles instinctively, but can’t keep up the facade that he isn’t enjoying this for long and surrenders himself to the safety of Gon’s arms, sinking into the warm sensation like bath water.
“We
are
friends,” Gon laughs into Killua’s ear, so close that it sounds like his voice is coming from Killua’s own head, and holy
fuck
Canary was really onto something with this whole alcohol thing.
Also,
What?
“We are?” Killua mumbles into Gon’s shoulder. Joy and dread bleed together in his gut and he doesn’t know which will drown out the other.
“Of course,” Gon says back softly, cheerful as always. Killua shudders. “I really like you, Killua.”
“O-Oh,” Killua stammers. His arms, previously limp at his sides, cautiously loop around Gon’s waist. Gon holds him tighter, chuckling to himself, and Killua closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how long they stay there, stuck together on the porch steps while scattered voices whisper and giggle amongst themselves in the dark around them and music hums from inside the house, but he does know that it isn’t quite long enough.
“Kurapika, you have to let go,” Leorio sighs as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket. He’s probably the only one at the party who didn’t drink, so he’s giving everyone a ride back home. Kurapika has their arms wrapped tight around his waist like they’re a human belt, burning forehead pressed against the back of his neck.
They were less reasonable with their alcohol intake.
Gon half-laughs, half-sighs as Killua leans on him with one arm around his shoulders. Killua is dizzy and exhausted like it’s been weeks since he’s slept.
The four of them are standing outside in front of Leorio’s car, ready to leave, but their designated driver’s new Kurapika-shaped growth is making that difficult.
“C’mon, Kurapika,” Gon says, a little frustrated. “We gotta go.” His arm rests comfortably across Killua’s back, hand on his waist. Killua is fine right where he is, but says nothing.
Kurapika whines, squeezing Leorio tighter and making him grunt uncomfortably. They bury their face in Leorio’s shoulder, mumbling as if in sleep, and Leorio glances to Killua and Gon a little helplessly.
Gon just shrugs in response.
Leorio sighs in frustration, finally prying Kurapika’s arms off and turning around to face them. Kurapika looks up at him in a daze. Killua has never seen anyone look so out of it before. Is that what he looks like right now?
“Is that what I look like?” Killua asks drowsily, glancing up to look at Gon, but since his head is tucked into his shoulder, all he sees is the line of his jaw.
Gon vibrates in laughter; Killua can feel it. “A little bit,” he giggles, patting Killua on the back. “But it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Killua smiles. “You’ve got me,” he mumbles to himself. Gon holds him a little tighter. Killua glances back over to where Leorio and Kurapika are standing - or, rather, where Leorio is standing and Kurapika is swaying.
Leorio steadies them with one arm and uses the other to open the passenger’s door. “Get in, blondie,” he says, soft and gruff at the same time. Kurapika tugs on the front of Leorio’s shirt.
“No,” they grumble stubbornly. “I wanna stay right here.” They tip their head forward until it lands in the crook of Leorio’s neck. Leorio sighs. Slowly, he shifts his arms and bends his knees, literally sweeping Kurapika off their feet and cradling them against his chest. Kurapika squeaks, formerly droopy eyes going wide in alarm.
“L-Let
go
,” they demand, pounding a fist against his shoulder half-heartedly and Leorio scoffs.
“As you wish,” Leorio agrees, bends down, and drops them in the passenger’s seat of the car. Before Kurapika can protest, he slams the door shut. Through the window, Killua can see them gape in outrage before crossing their arms turning away.
Leorio dusts off his hands with a huff before turning to Gon and Killua. “Please tell me you’re not gonna make me do the same thing with you two,” he says tiredly, grimacing at the very thought. Killua and Gon shake their heads in unison and dutifully climb into the back of the van.
There’s no music when they drive this time, but Killua’s okay with that. After a few minutes on the road, Kurapika gets over their mini tantrum and is back to being almost unsettlingly cuddly, reaching for Leorio’s hand and raising it to cup their cheek when they reach a stop light.
“You’re killing me,” Leorio laughs weakly, but doesn’t pull away, even when the light turns green. Kurapika smiles. Watching feels almost voyeuristic, so Killua looks away.
He’s not used to comfortable silences like this; nobody talks for the whole ride, but Killua doesn’t feel anxious. He relishes it, temple pressed to the cool glass of the car window, bleary eyes squinting against the passing streetlights. He doesn’t register when the car finally stops in his neighborhood. It takes Gon’s hand on his knee for him to break out of his trance.
“Killua, we’re here,” Gon says softly with a rueful smile. Killua’s heart sinks.
“Oh,” he says. “Okay.” He fumbles with the seat belt, fingers boneless and slippery, so Gon reaches over and helps him. “Thanks,” Killua says, blushing.
“No problem,” Gon giggles warmly. He pauses, considering his next words, and adds a shy, “I’m glad you came, Killua. Hanging out with you was really fun.”
Killua nods dumbly, suddenly unable to summon coherent speech. “Yeah,” he settles on, but it sounds half-swallowed. Gon seems to get it, though, and smiles a little brighter.
“You sure you can make it to your house by yourself?” Leorio asks, fixing Killua with a stern look in the rearview mirror. Killua watches himself nod a little to firmly - his head keeps spinning even after he stops moving - and immediately invalidates his assurance by tripping as he gets out of the car.
“Shit,” Killua says, taking a deep breath and focusing on standing upright before he attempts walking again.
Leorio sighs and rolls down his window. Kurapika is snoozing in the passenger’s seat.
Lucky.
“Look,” Leorio says firmly, “Text me when you’re in the house. I’ll wait out here until then, okay?”
Killua is oddly touched by his concern and simply nods again, slower this time. “Okay,” he says, “Thanks, Leorio.”
Leorio smiles tiredly. “No problemo,” he sighs. The window starts rolling up, but just before it closes all the way, Leorio says, “Don’t forget to drink water, okay?”
Killua scoffs. “Yes,
dad
,” he jokes, grinning.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Leorio says and the window shuts. Gon waves enthusiastically from the back window seat where Killua was sitting before and Killua waves back lightly before turning and making his way towards his house. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and sees that it’s already past 3am. He feels guilty for keeping Alluka up so long and texts her an apology.
almost at the hosue
soryr forn being late
love you
let me in thru the cellr?
*DEEP SIGH*
Sure thing, alky
Killua grins as he slips his phone back into his pocket and stumbles the rest of the way to his house, walking around it and into the backyard where there’s a short stairwell leading down to the outside door to the cellar. He texts Alluka again when he gets there so he doesn’t need to walk and she silently opens the door for him and ushers him inside. She leads him to her room by the hand and closes the door behind her.
“Okay,” she says eagerly as Killua flops down onto her bed, sinking into the thick pink comforter and sighing at the familiar scent of the detergent, “Tell. Me.
Everything
.”
Killua grumbles incoherently in response, closing his eyes against the harsh light of Alluka’s desk lamp. “Turn off the lights,” he mutters.
Alluka huffs. He hears her march across the carpeted floor but only opens his eyes to look at her after he hears the click of the lamp’s power switch.
“It was fine,” Killua says simply, remembering he’s still got his shoes on and weakly kicking them off. He also remembers he’s supposed to text Leorio and pulls out his phone again.
“Just ‘fine’?” Alluka asks suspiciously, jumping up onto her bed and rolling next to her brother. She watches him send a text to the group chat Gon added him to earlier that week.
killua99:
home
killua99:
thanks for drivnig leorio
leoreo:
great, and no problem
leoreo:
goodnight dude
jan-ken-gon: sleep well killua!!
killua99:
yeah
Killua smiles up at his phone. Alluka hums next to him.
“You’ve gotten popular, huh?” she muses, patting Killua’s head. Killua slips his phone back into his pocket and rolls onto his side, curling up against Alluka.
“I’m selling out,” he jokes and falls asleep to the sound of Alluka laughing.
|
Lance’s POV
They both stumbled back into the room, a slightly awkward silence between them. Lance was at a loss for words and he didn’t feel like embarrassing himself by saying something stupid. He slid his jacket off and stepped into the bathroom to quickly change.
His heart was beating a mile a minute. He took longer to brush his teeth than usual, his mind circling around what just happened. I wanted to kiss him. He rinsed out his mouth with water.
Lance wasn’t an idiot when it came to ‘reading’ the room as some would say. But he still found himself leaning over the sink wondering if Keith wanted to kiss him back. It felt like he did but Keith wouldn’t…he couldn’t like Lance.
He reached for his phone.
Lance (01:23): Hunk EMERGENCY!!! Text me ASAP!!!!
He frowned and sent another text, he didn’t want to send his friend into a panic.
Lance (01:24): I’m having problems with a BOY!!
He chewed on his nails, pacing around the small room before his phone lit back up.
Hunk (01:25): Boy problems you say?? Do tell? Do I know this boy?
Lance could feel the smirk through the text and scoff to himself.
Lance (01:26): ….yes it’s Keith. I swear to god we almost just kissed but I’m not sure
It took Hunk longer to respond. Lance wanted to pull his hair out but he opted to step out of the bathroom and lay down in his bed. Keith was already wrapped up in his blanket but he was doing something on his phone.
Say something damn it. Lance quickly scrambled his mind to form a coherent sentence. “That was fun tonight. I mean I had fun.” God, why am I so awkward?
Keith looked at him, giving a very small, but existent smile. “I had fun too.”
Lance’s phone lit up again and he found himself checking it faster than he should.
Hunk (01:37): Spill. The. Tea!
Ughhh he takes forever to respond to that? He quickly started typing back, trying to get every detail he could down.
“Are you mad at someone?” Keith peered at him with his violet eyes.
Lance met his gaze, “I…no?” He wasn’t really sure where that question even came from.
“You’re just typing really aggressively.”
Lance frowned at himself, “sorry just telling Hunk a story.”
Keith gave him a nod and placed his phone down on his desk, turning off his light before he rolled over.
Lance turned off his light and went under the covers with his phone to continue his mini paragraph to his best friend. He pressed send and clutched his phone to his chest.
Lance (01:42): Okay so ALL throughout break Keith and I have been talking….like every night! And I really have liked our phone calls…..like a lot. And I think I might like Keith? In more than just a roommate/friend way but I stg he doesn’t like me back. Like I know he likes guys and I’m a guy but Idk if I’m his type y'know? But ANYWAYS so both of us are already at the garrison bc I had to come back early and Keith decided he wanted to as well and we watched movies and shit and I HELD HIS HAND almost the entire time and he didn’t say or do anything!!! Then we went to the roof and looked at the stars and then we laid next to each other and stg it felt like we were abt to kiss. Like not to be cliche or like a romcom but the atmosphere just felt right?? And I wanted to kiss him SO BAD but I wasn’t sure what he wanted so I just said ‘lol let's go inside’ and HUNKKKKKKKK WHAT DO I DOOOOOOO
He closed his eyes, should he have leaned forward? He didn’t want to kiss someone without their permission but he could have opened the door for it. Maybe Keith would have leaned in too. He shook his head, Keith didn’t like him. Keith couldn’t like him. Lance was too broken for other people to like.
He checked his phone and read Hank's response before unlocking his phone.
Hunk (01:53): OooHHHHHH you held his hand????? Smoothhhhh Lance McClain. I think you should just ask him like ‘can I kiss you, in like a gay way, not a homie way?’ the worst he will say is no
He rolled his eyes and typed back quickly.
Lance (01:54): Or he could get really mean???? Or make rooming together awkward or just call me gross
Hunk (01:55): …Keith doesn’t seem like the ‘mean’ type and sure it might be awkward if he says no but he doesn’t seem like the type to make it a permanent awkwardness
Lance (01:56): You don’t know him as I do
Hunk (01:57): I don’t not know him. He and I have and do talk and he has a hidden side that I don’t think any of us knows so he might surprise you
It took Lance a couple of minutes to think of what to say. He couldn’t really think of a proper response to Hunk but he found himself typing another text.
Lance (02:00): I just really wanted to kiss him
Hunk (02:01): Then it doesn’t hurt to ask
Lance placed his phone on his desk and curled into himself. He knew he could never ask Keith. So he forced his eyes closed and hoped that he could have that dream from last night repeat itself.
---
Keith’s POV
Keith woke up before his roommate did, which was the natural order of things. He rolled onto his back and placed his hands behind his neck. He didn’t feel like working out or even getting dressed so he allowed himself to just lay in the quiet.
His sleep was uneventful, he had no dreams about Lance but he was on his mind when he went to bed and as soon as he woke up. He fought back a sigh, why can’t I be better at emotions?
If he could go back to last night on the roof he would make himself lean forward. He wanted to take that leap and just feel Lance’s lips on his. He closed his eyes and fought back a sigh. He couldn’t jump to this idea, he hadn’t even told Lance he was trans yet.
He rolled over and found himself staring at the other boy. He had a soft look on his asleep face, his neck twisted weirdly as he laid on his stomach and his right arm hanging off the bed.
All Keith wanted to do was snuggle under Lance and just hold him. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find safety or comfort in those couple moments he was physically close to him.
He began to get lost in his own head. How should I tell Lance? He thought back to how he told Shiro, which was a bit more dramatic than it needed to be. Too many tears and dragging the statement on.
He had asked Shiro if they could talk after school and as soon as Shiro stepped into his bedroom Keith found himself crying. Shiro was shocked, to say the least, never having seen Keith cry and awkwardly comforting him and Keith rambled about how sorry he was. When he was able to finally say the words ‘I’m trans,’ he thought he was going to puke. Shiro didn’t really have a reaction, he just stared for a bit before smiling and asking what he should start calling Keith.
Coming out to his parents was a bit more straightforward. Shiro was there to support but Keith found that he was just able to say ‘I’m trans and I want to be called Keith.’ His parents had more questions than Shiro did but Keith didn’t mind, they just wanted to understand.
But coming out to someone after he already socially passed? How did he do that? What would Lance say? He didn’t seem transphobic in any way, had never outwardly questioned Keith so he might be unaware but yet; he did pack his binders for him. Did he know or did he not know?
He found himself chewing on his inner cheek, did he even have to come out to Lance? He had heard stories of people being hurt or killed if they didn't disclose their identities. He hated how coming out was more of a conversation of safety than ‘I want to’.
He groaned to himself, all he wanted to do was talk to Shiro.
“Morning mullet,” those two words pulled Keith from his inner dread and he refocused on the tanner boy wrapped up in blue blankets. He had a soft smile on his face and his eyes were laced with tiredness.
Lance frowned before he adjusted his body so he was more on his side, “is there something on my face?” He started wiping around his mouth and ran his hand through his short hair.
Keith blinked, “no?”
“Then why are you staring at me?”
“Oh,” Keith adjusted so he was on his back again, “sorry I was lost in thought.”
“Oh yeah? And what was that mullet of yours thinking about?” Lance wiggled his eyebrows at Keith in a friendly manner.
You, “nothing major. Just how I’m going to readjust to school after…” he trailed off. Hoping that Lance would understand
“Hey man…it’s going to be okay. And you have me if you need,” Lance sat upright. “Oh and Hunk! I don’t know how close you are to him but he’s like a rock of a friend. Super supportive and can keep a secret like it’s his job.”
Keith turned to look at his roommate. He had a bigger grin on his face and god has he always looked that cute with a bedhead? “Thanks,” was all he could muster to say.
Lance was fidgeting a bit, his hands moving in almost a nervous pattern. Keith watched him stand from his bed and go into the bathroom. He managed to grab his phone and saw he missed a call from his mom. He sat upright and dialed her number back; she picked up on the second ring.
“Keith?”
“Yeah mom,” he cleared his throat a bit, nervousness bubbling up in his stomach.
“Takashi woke up this morning for about an hour, no episode either. The doctors are saying he can be moved back home by Tuesday as long as things go well. He asked for you, I told him you were back at school.” Her voice was pretty neutral but did have a bit of a positive turn to it.
Guilt immediately consumed Keith and he felt his breath hitch a bit. I wasn’t there for him. He tried to rationalize that when school was in session he wouldn’t be there for him either. But the guilt still sat in his stomach like he swallowed a ball of lead.
“Keith? Are you listening?”
“Sorry I was…I’m just trying to wake up still I guess.” His voice was weak and all he wanted to do was scream. This situation was just exhausting him and he wasn’t even dealing with the “adult” aspects of it.
“Well, how about you call me later or tomorrow and we can talk more?” Her voice was gentle and he closed his eyes as she spoke. Trying to find the same comfort he found in it when he was younger. The comfort he found in Lance now.
“Yeah sounds good, love you.”
“I love you too baby, just take it easy.”
Keith nodded, more to himself, and ended the call. He realized as soon as he put his phone down his lack of response may be considered rude and found himself pulling his knees to his chest. He rested his forehead on his knees and sighed. He never worried about being the “perfect” son, his skills just naturally were always there. He didn’t really have to study, he picked up on new things very quickly and he was just on top of school all of the time.
But so was Shiro, and Shiro was impressive at everything he did. He was one of the best pilots the Garrison had ever seen, he was just exceptional. He was the “perfect” son, he made their parents proud. He made Keith proud. Keith didn’t want to replace him. He couldn’t be Shiro.
“You okay?”
Keith could only muster a small shrug, not even bothering to lift his head at the familiar voice.
There was a pause before Lance responded, his voice mimicking the way a parent would soothe a small child. “Can I sit with you?”
Keith gave an awkward nod from his position. A couple of moments later the bed sunk down next to him and he felt Lance’s arm against his side. They sat like that for a bit, Keith not having the energy to lift his head or move. He just wanted the situation to finally be over. He was at max emotional capacity.
“Did something happen?’
“Shiro is going home Tuesday. Well, a hospital where my parents live.”
“That means he’s doing good right?” Lance sounded hopeful and Keith nodded.
“He has a long road to recovery but yeah.”
Lance leaned into him a bit more, “so what’s got you down?”
“Dumb stuff.”
Lance scoffed, “mullet, nothing is dumb. I won’t push you but it’s okay to tell people.”
Keith lifted his head, meeting those blue eyes again. “I can’t replace him.” He barely heard his own voice, he was surprised that Lance even heard him.
“Shiro?”
“Yeah. I can’t be like him. I’m not…like him.” He tried to lower his head back down to his knees but was stopped by hands. Soft hands, hands he was able to hold most of the night. Lances hands.
“Who said you have to be like him?
Keith wasn’t sure how to respond. Realistically, no one told him that but himself. Yet, even if he could phrase that answer he was too focused on how Lance’s hands felt on his face. How gentle he held his jaw and cheeks.
Lance pulled his hands back slowly, maybe he realized the position they were in. “I am sorry for what happened to Shiro. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you and your family are in. But he’s still here and you are still Keith. Shiro is who he is and you are who you are. You can’t be like Shiro and no one can be like you.”
Keith found himself nodding at the words, which were surprisedly inspiring. “You’re right, just dumb thoughts.”
Lance shook his head, “they’re not dumb.”
Keith found himself staring at Lance’s lips a bit too long, all he wanted to do was close the distance between them. Tell him or kiss him do something damn it!
A low grumble filled the room, followed by Lance's laughter. “Someone is hungry.”
“Guess so.”
Lance stood from the bed, Keith immediately missing the closeness. “Let's go get some food!”
---
The cafeteria was busier than he thought it would be. He knew people were coming back from break but he didn’t expect so many so early. Wait, what time was it? He checked his phone as he waited for Lance to sit down at the table. It was already past 1 pm.
He sighed as he twirled his fork around the noodles on his plate. It was some resemblance to spaghetti, he didn’t really look at the menu items he just grabbed them to avoid the people in the line. He still wasn’t great around a bunch of strangers.
Lance placed his tray down across from him and sat down with a smile on his face. “They had my favorite jello!” He picked up a small plastic cup on his tray filled with bright red jello.
Keith found his own smile forming on his face, he’s even cute when he’s showing me jello. They ate in silence for a bit, but it was comfortable. Keith did find his eyes scanning the room and the door every couple of seconds. Waiting for Shiro to walk in and wave at him.
“Hunk! Pidge!” Lance stood from the table, the same way he waved at Keith all those weeks ago.
The two people waved back and made their way to the line for food.
Lance sat back down in his chair, “is it okay if they sit with us?”
Keith nodded and focused on his noodles again. Pidge and Hunk were cool, he actually liked both of them. Pidge reminded him so much of Matt and Matt was Shiro's best friend, maybe he was even more Keith wasn’t sure. Pidge was someone he knew he could trust and would have his back.
Hunk? That was someone Keith found he wanted to spill all his secrets to. They had only started talking a bit more during the break. He was a good direction and the conversations they shared entertained him for hours. A brief thought flickered across his mind, leaving him at a loss for words when the two people in question sat down.
He couldn’t focus too much on the conversation flying around the table, but he was honestly happy to just see Lance smile. He wasn’t sure what battles he faced on his own, but ever since that day of seeing his wrist, Keith began to notice the moments where that stress left his body and he relaxed.
“Keith?”
He blinked up at the table, his eyes falling on everyone in a pattern of movement. “I’m sorry what?”
Hunk flashed him a wide grin, “I just asked if you’re happy to be back.”
His eyes flickered to Lance who seemed a bit tense at the question directed at him and he placed his fork down. “I think so. Break was…stressful but a routine would be nice again.”
Pidge gave him a sympathetic glance, no doubt they were aware of the situation. Did Hunk know? He fought back a sigh and took a sip of his drink, why couldn’t everyone be told and he could just continue on?
“Hey,” Hunk looked at his two other friends, “could you two go get us desserts?”
Lance and Pidge shared a mischievous grin and nearly bolted from the table. As soon as they were alone Hunk leaned across the table, setting his elbows on the surface. “Hey Keith, I just want to let you know that if you need someone to talk to I’m all ears.”
He mumbled a small thanks, the same thought from before racing through his mind. You can tell him, just say it. You have to tell someone. Why did Hunk have this effect on him? He wanted to spill his entire life story to the boy sitting across from him. He managed to lift his eyes and connect them with Hunks, who were filled with softness and support. A look he had seen in Shiro and his mother multiple times.
“I’m trans.” He wanted to slap himself in the face, his right hand actually moving to cover his mouth as he let his eyes fall down to the table. Shit shit shit.
Hunk didn’t say much, in fact, he didn’t say anything for about a minute. “Well, thank you for trusting me with that.”
Keith looked at his friend again, who was glancing around the room, clearly making sure no one could hear them or were walking over to them. “What would you like to be called? And what pronouns do you want to use? Also, can I use these around others or in secret?”
A small chuckle escaped Keith’s lips and through his hand over his mouth. “Sorry um,” he dropped his hand. “I use he/him and I’m a guy. Keith is my name. I just needed someone to know I guess.”
He could see everything click into place as Hunk studied him a bit longer. “I see, do you want more people to know?”
Keith shook his head, catching Lance and Pidge making their way back with bowls and plates in their hands, clearing lost in conversation about something. “No, I don’t really want to…” He trailed off, hoping Hunk would understand what he was indicating as the other two reached the table.
Hunk gave him an understanding wink and soon desserts were being passed around the table. Pidge and Lance switched spots so Lance slumped down in the seat next to Keith. He pushed his left leg into Keith's right, getting his attention.
“You okay?” His voice was low and Keith gave him a small nod. Lance smiled in response and joined in the discussion at the table. Keeping his leg pressed against Keith.
---
Lance’s POV
Just breathe man, in and out. Inhale and exhale, he tried to remain focused on what Hunk and Pidge were discussing but he found his attention slipping.
His leg felt on fire but he found he couldn’t move it from where it was pressed against Keith. It wasn’t even his idea to switch spots with Pidge, they suggested it! He thought he was doing a good job hiding his feelings for Keith but Pidge picked him apart like some science project.
“You like Keith right?”
Lance looked at the younger person, mouth hung open. “What no, why would I like him? Have you seen his mullet?!” He started grabbing at random desserts.
Pidge rolled their eyes, “buddy it’s all over your face. You’re smitten with him.”
Lance bite his inner cheek, am I really that readable? “Well don’t tell him, I only recently came to the conclusion I had feelings for him.”
Pidge loaded a variety of cookies onto a plate, “I won't, I swear. But Lance?” Pidge waited for the taller boy to make eye contact with them. “He’s smitten with you too.”
And that is how Lance ended up sitting next to the boy he wanted to cover in kisses. They stayed in the cafeteria for a bit longer before Hunk and Pidge announced they were hosting a movie night at their dorm again. “Shay is going to be there! And Rover.” Hunk spoke excitedly as they all walked out of the cafeteria.
“Who’s Rover?” Lance asked as he walked behind his best friend.
“Oh nothing really, just a robot I built,” Pidge gave him a smug look.
“A robot? I can’t wait.” Keith joined in with a smile on his face and Lance found himself staring a bit too hard at the curve of his lips.
“Our place at 16:00 then! So like in 2 hours!” Hunk said loudly as he and Pidge turned down their own hall.
“See you soon!!” Lance called back with a wave as he and Keith went their own way to their dorm.
Lance bumped into Keith a couple of times as they walked up to their room. At first, it was an accident but it soon turned into just a playful bump. Keith even joined in himself a couple of times. Keith unlocked the door and Lance followed him in, suddenly unsure of what to do.
Lance hated being bored. As much as he hated homework he hated not having anything to do. Growing up in such a moving household resulted in him not really knowing how to relax. Plus he didn't have the attention span for more movies until later (even then he mainly was going because Keith looked excited to go). He could play a video game? Was that enough stimulation though?
He sat down on his bed and pulled out his laptop. He could try a video game but they were only fun when others watched him play. And he really couldn’t play a game on his laptop and watch YouTube or something else at the same time. He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.
“Do you ever get bored but nothing seems stimulating enough?”
Keith gave him a shrug for a response, “I tend to get focused on one particular activity so unless I have no interest I’m usually okay to entertain myself.”
Lance laughed, “we’re like opposite sides of the pool.”
“I suppose so. Nothing sounds interesting?”
Lance ideally tapped his fingers along the keys of his laptop, not hard enough to press the keys, more just feel them. “I want to play a game but it feels…lonely? I don’t know.”
“So you need more activity than that?”
Lance felt his face go flush with embarrassment. “Uh yeah sorry I know it’s weird.”
Keith didn’t respond for a couple of moments, focusing on whatever text message he was typing. “It’s not.” He stood from his bed and waited by Lance’s, waiting for approval before getting on the bed. He found home on the right side of Lance and leaned closer to look at his computer. “So what kind of games do you like to play?”
Lance opened his gaming file and scrolled through the shortlist. “I like simulation games, they’re kind of mind-numbing. But I also like horror games.”
“Gas station simulator?”
“Hey! Don’t hate it until you try it.”
Keith furrowed his brows, leaning in a bit closer to look at the mini icon. “What do you even do?”
Lance gave a playful sigh and allowed his body to relax next to Keith, totally not touching, not in the slightest. “You run a gas station obviously.”
“Oh…seems fun.”
Lance hover the cursor in front of a game he had only gotten halfway through before Veronica left for school the first semester. “This game, from what I’ve played, has been fun. It’s more horror though.”
Keith tilted his head to the side a bit, indicating for him to continue.
“You’re basically a young girl in this yellow rain jacket and the world is like…super big compared to her and you’re navigating through this weird place while giant people are trying to catch you.”
“That does sound interesting. Did you wanna play it?”
“It’s not multi-player though so I was going to pick something else.”
Keith shook his head slightly, “I prefer to watch.”
Lance smiled and leaned into Keith even more. “Okay mullet.”
---
Keith’s POV
He wasn’t lying when he said he preferred to watch, it was something he did with Shiro. Video games were never really his favorite but he liked watching other people play. The game wasn’t too scary but a couple of moments did make both of them jump and scream slightly. Along with a chant of “go go go go!” as Lance tried to avoid the scary adults in the game.
Keith was trying to pay attention to the game, he really was but he found his eyes wandering each time he wasn’t consciously putting them back on the screen. He was watching Lance.
Watching the way his lips curled into a smile. The way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The commentary he would say as he made his way through the game. How every jump scare made him get closer to Keith. How the adrenaline made him tense up as he narrowly avoided the bad guys.
Keith could have sat there forever, just allowing both of them to relax. Not allowing the world to throw any more hardships or curveballs at them. Just letting them be Keith and Lance.
Eventually, it was time for them to head over to Hunks and Pidges and Keith silently mourned the distance between him and his roommate now. Did they say Nyma was going to be there? Keith didn’t think Lance and Nyma were close anymore, he had always seen her with another guy but what if Lance and her reconnected?
His stomach dropped as they walked down the halls, Lance talking about something random that Keith couldn’t bring himself to listen to. He loved listening to Lance too. At first, he would admit that Lance annoyed him but their phone calls have made him hang on to every word. He could listen to Lance read from a phone book and still be entertained and entranced.
But he had forgotten about Nyma. Or maybe another girl was in the picture that he wasn’t aware of. Maybe there was someone else that had Lance’s attention and Keith was just blissfully unaware. He didn’t know Lance all that well, maybe he was just overly affectionate with all of his friends. Maybe that’s all he would ever be for Lance; just friends.
Hunk pulling Lance into a hug pulled him from his inner crisis and he gave a small smile at Pidge who waved at him from their nest of green blankets. They piled into the room, almost the same setup as last time. Shay had made a small area for her and Hunk to sit in, asking Keith how he had been while Lance grabbed a can of soda from the fridge.
Pidge was sitting on a beanbag chair that must have been brought from their house, which left the bed to just Lance and Keith. No Nyma, which Keith couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He climbed onto the bed first, deciding he wouldn’t need to bolt this time.
He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Lance sat down soon after, offering a sip of his soda which Keith denied.
“Okay, we are going to watch, drum roll Hunk,” Pidge stood in front of the project while they spoke.
Hunk started a slow drum roll that picked up every couple of seconds with his hands on the floor.
“Star Wars Episode 1”
Keith felt a smile tug at his lips, Star Wars had a special place in his heart. He had gotten copies of the first three episodes handed down from his biological parents. He had watched them when he was older but couldn’t bring himself to watch the other ones past that, before? He really didn’t understand the order of them.
“Psst mullet, do you like Star Wars?” Lance leaned over to him, attempting a whisper that everyone obviously heard.
“Yeah.”
He leaned back without another word and the movie started. The movie was passed with little commentary or disruptions but Keith still couldn’t focus. He was in the middle of a war with himself. He wanted to reach over and hold Lance’s hand, he wanted to lean against him, snuggle up to him and breathe in his scent. He looked down at Hunk and Shay who were cuddling very close to each other, his eyes darting over to Pidge who was watching the movie, holding a small robot in their hands.
Lance leaned closer to him and Keith reminded himself to breathe. “Hey.”
Keith forced himself to meet his eyes, whispering his response back “yeah?”
“Do you know anything that is going on?”
Keith found himself rolling his eyes, but there was no malicious intent behind the action. “Have you not been paying attention?”
Lance released a small sigh, “no, not really.”
“Lance!” Keith still tried to keep his voice to a whisper but at least let a smile appear on his face.
He put his hands up in surrender, “sorry I’ve been thinking about other things.”
“Hey, stop chatting you two!” Pidge had propped up their knees and turned to face the bed, a wide grin on their face.
Both boys mumbled sorry's and returned their eyes back to the projector, only looking back at each other when Pidge returned to their original position on the floor. Lance pulled out his phone and started typing and Keith felt that feeling from an earlier return. Who could he be texting at this time of night? He knew it wasn’t too late, just past eight but it was still a Sunday, Keith stopped his train of thought. He sounded like a parent.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he reached to grab it, seeing a text from the person sitting next to him.
Lance (20:14): Other IMPORTANT things than watching this movie
Keith found himself smiling and quickly sent a text back, muting his phone before placing it on his upper thigh faced up.
Keith (20:15): What important things?
He watched Lance read the message but he didn’t start to type right away. He closed his phone down, watched the movie for a bit, picked up his phone, and typed message after message, deleting each one once he reached the end. His face twisted up in what looked like confusion and anxiety.
He finally sent a message but Keith hesitated to look at it. Maybe something happened to Lance or his family? What if his sister is sick? Oh, what if his mom fell down the stairs and we’re making him watch Star Wars? He clicked on the message and let himself read it.
Lance (20:22): …You?
His body flared up with emotion and he couldn’t pick one to focus on. He was confused because was he really that interesting that someone needed to think about him? He was also flustered. He tried to push that emotion away since that text could mean anything. Lance could just be worried about him because of the situation with Shiro. Keith realized he was staring at the one-word text a bit too long and typed an automatic response back.
Keith (20:28): Oh. Thanks?
Lance (20:29): Nothing bad….I’ll explain after we get back to the room
Keith gave him a nod and put his phone beside him, trying to focus on the last bit of the movie as his emotion swam through him. Lance doesn’t like me, we’re just friends. Just friends.
---
“Okay, the movie did get better towards the end.” Lance walked with his hands in his pocket as they made their way back to their dorm.
“You mean when you started paying attention?”
“Oh shush mullet,” Lance gave him a playful shove with his shoulder and they walked in silence after that. “You seemed more comfortable tonight. I mean compared to last movie night.”
Keith grimaced at the memory of seeing Lance and Nyma together and how he stormed out of the dorm. “I felt more comfortable.”
“And why’s that?”
Keith paused, his body stopping in the hallway. Lance took a couple more steps before he stopped and turned towards him, giving him a look of confusion. “I didn’t really know everyone there and it was overwhelming.”
“Are you closer to all of us now? I thought you only talked to Hunk outside of me.”
Keith shook his head, “just you two, you more than Hunk. It just...I felt more comfortable.”
Lance took the answer without question and continued to walk, going slower until Keith caught up. They made it back to the dorm, Keith reluctantly explaining the parts of the movies that Lance didn’t pay attention to. Keith sat on the edge of his bed, he couldn’t bring himself to really relax and he found his finger twitching with the urge to fidget.
Lance stood by the door, facing it, his hands balling up into fists then relaxing then fists again. He turned to face Keith, his skin slightly touched with a hint of pink. “So um, I’m just….I don’t really know how to say this.”
Keith gave a small nod, placing his hands by his outer thighs.
Lance walked towards him so he was only a foot or two away from Keith, moving to stand in front of him. “I was thinking about you because….well you’ve been on my mind a lot.”
“Because of Shiro?” Keith’s voice was weak but that made the most sense. Shiro was hurt and he was related so of course people would be concerned.
“No...well I mean yes I’m worried for you and your family but I’ve been thinking about you because…” his voice trailed off.
Keith waited, his own emotions were screaming thoughts in his head. Hope-filled his body, maybe Lance did like him back? But what if he did something to make Lance mad? He wasn’t sure which emotion to believe. He needed Lance to explain.
Lance met his eyes, his own blue eyes filled with slight determination and he took a step closer. “I’m not good with words and text didn’t seem proper…can I just show you what I mean?”
Keith nodded, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me chanting over and over in his head.
Lance took another step, stopping when his legs bumped into Keith's knees, and he leaned forward some. His right hand very slowly moved up to touch Keith’s cheek. “Is this okay?”
Keith could barely nod, his own heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. His cheek felt on fire but he found himself wanting more of that burn. He forced out a small “yeah.”
Lance leaned forward a bit more, “push me away if I do something you don’t like,” and then he closed the distance. |
Mrs. Evans was watching the news when Kendra joined her on the couch. The mother patted her daughter's hair.
"How're you doing, sweetheart?"
"Okay. I'm just bored. I want to get back to work."
The older woman smiled. "I know I said it before, but I'm so proud of you. The woman you've become, from excelling at the firm to sticking to your guns...You reminded me how to be strong."
Kendra hugged her. "Thank you, mom. How's dad?"
Mrs. Evans shook her head with a resigned sigh. "Still not talking to me. He leaves for work before I get up, and he's slept in the basement the past week. He's hurt. And a jackass. Let's change the subject," she brightened. "Have you heard from Keith?"
Kendra nodded. "Really briefly. He just called to let me know when he made it in town, and then a few nights ago. He's been different since the night him and dad talked."
"Different how?"
Kendra blushed. She didn't want to say she and Keith hadn't fully made love since that night. From the look her mother gave, chances were she already knew. "Distracted. No, I take that back. He's been crazy focused, just not on me. I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. I just want to get back in my groove. That's where my head is."
"I'm sure. Hey Kenny, I got a call from the police department today. They'll be sending a patrol car around a few nights a week to watch the house, said it's related to your case."
Kendra sat up straight. "Do they think there could be some retaliation?"
"Sure sounds that way," Maria replied. "What I want to know is how they even knew you were home."
Two familiar mug shots flashed on the TV screen, catching Kendra's attention, and she turned to focus on the broadcast. "Mom? I think it might be a moot point now."
++++++++++
Keith spent the next week preparing a place fit for Kendra. He rented a beautiful historic 3-bedroom in Beacon Hill and paid rent upfront for a year to offset his lack of credit. He had no possessions worth holding onto, so he didn't bother going back to clear out his rented room. He just called Raul and told him to take whatever he wanted. Movers brought Kendra's possessions over, which he lovingly unpacked. He contacted Millville High and enrolled in the two online courses needed to complete his high school diploma and simultaneously enrolled in community college. At night, he settled into a huge new bed, the only furniture in the house that didn't come from Kendra's place, and sifted through her box of letters.
He tried, at first, to make himself wait, to put them in chronological order so that he could go through them methodically, but found he preferred to randomly select them to read. It gave him a strange kind of peace to fall asleep surrounded with piles of her letters each night. The letters weren't always rosy. Sometimes, Kendra had written him in anger, demanding to know why he'd taken such drastic measures, or why he never wrote back to her. She blamed him, it was clear, for separating them. Sometimes she wrote about the guys she was dating. She never gave much detail, but he couldn't help the uptick in his body temperature at these missives. A sense of loneliness was ever-present, something he could relate to because he'd felt it himself. Keith often cried, or paused in his reading to press a letter to his lips. He wondered how different he'd have been if he'd had this lifeline to her love while incarcerated. Instead he'd become hard, calculating, which was how he'd survived. But now, he craved to reopen those parts of himself he'd walled off. He wanted to weave the disjointed strands of his life into something that made sense, a stronger, smarter version of himself that would make everything he'd been through worth it. Make him someone worthy to stand beside her.
Out on the streets, all looked clear. Cody and Bam's murder got a few mentions on the news, but police were busy with a dozen suspects. Any number of people wanted those rats dead. Finally he felt safe to call Kendra about coming back to the city.
"Will you move in with me? You said not to ask while we were in bed. Well, you're not in bed anymore." Keith tried to keep the tension out of his voice. He realized his 'surprise' was a bit stalkerish, especially if she said no.
"What about my lease? It's not up for four months."
"I can take care of that," he replied. "I don't want to go another day without you. Just say yes."
At the need in his voice, Kendra's breath hitched—she'd missed him, too. And not just the mind-blowing sex; she'd missed his smart mouth, and the sense of security his presence provided. He was the towering shadow she could always rely on.
"Yes."
Keith whooped in joy and gave her the new address. "I'll take care of everything," he promised.
++++
Kendra walked back into the law offices of Kent, Stavros and Burn, breathing deeply. A short, swarthy, distinguished older man waited by her office.
"It's good to have you back," Michael Stavros clapped her on the back. "It hasn't been the same without you."
Kendra smiled at her mentor. "Four weeks and you're falling apart?" she joked. "So what's the scoop since I've been gone?"
Michael's eyes twinkled as he filled her in on the gossip on their clients and the office, but Kendra was distracted by Niall passing by. He stiffened visibly and though she knew he'd heard her voice, sped up as he walked past her open door. Michael, who missed very little, drew his eyebrows together.
"Having trouble with your hero?"
"Who called him that?"
"He did! Over and over. To hear him tell it, he burst into your apartment and took the assailants down himself."
Kendra rolled her eyes. "Not quite. But he did drive me home to my folks."
"So you're back together?"
"Who said we were ever together to begin with?"
Michael just shook his head. "Niall is a brilliant litigator, but he's not the most discreet. Anyway, it's none of my business. Now," he looked around, "I know you've got a lot to catch up on. Take your time—no one's going to throw you in the deep end right away. They'll have to go through me."
Kendra smirked. "Only cause you want first dibs."
"But of course!" He patted her on the shoulder and exited.
Kendra's paralegal brought in stacks of briefs and files that other colleagues had taken on, and she didn't look up from her desk until she heard a knock on her door at 7 p.m.
"It's good to see you back," Niall said. He'd put on some pounds and looked a little disheveled, like he hadn't been sleeping well, but he was still a handsome enough man. "You wrapping up? I'll wait."
"Thanks. I didn't realize it had gotten this late! I've got to get home." Kendra finished scribbling some end-of-day notes and prepared to walk out with Niall.
"Makes sense; it's safe now. I know you heard about those guys getting offed."
"I did. I'd planned on trying to get the witnesses back on record."
"Guess your boyfriend had a more permanent solution in mind."
Kendra's neck snapped back. "What you're implying is baseless and tasteless, and borders on slander."
"Hey girl, don't get mad at me," Niall retorted. "You know what kind of guy he is." He could barely suppress a grin; he liked getting her riled up.
Kendra just stared at him for a moment, the wheels turning in her head. "I'm really starting to see what kind of guy you are," she replied. "You go on without me. I've got one more thing to look at before I leave."
She arrived just by cab just before dusk. When she got to the Victorian-looking building, Kendra had to double-check the address. The house was painted a delicate yellow with pops of green, traditional but decidedly unstuffy. In the driveway was an older Saab, the kind of car mid-career family men drove on weekends to go camping with their kids. There was even a front porch with a swing. She climbed the few steps up, noting the almost undetectable motion detectors and sensor alarms, and knocked. The door swung open.
Keith leaned against her couch in a sharp gray suit, sporting a shaggy, expensive haircut. He looked like sex and money. She gave a low whistle as they drank each other in.
"When did you do all this?" She made a gesture that indicated the house, his hair and everything.
"I had a couple interviews today. I didn't want to tell you unless I got an offer," he said, coming in for a closed-mouth but lingering kiss.
God, his lips, Kendra groaned internally. They were so soft, yet strong, and he tasted like fresh mint. He was suave but retained a little danger in his suit; it gave her all kinds of ideas. But first she wanted to see the rest of the house. She pushed away and had to fight him a bit to separate, which made her smile. He'd missed her too.
"Okay, okay. Why do you have to be so delicious?" He stole a last kiss. "You like?"
She took a small, languid walk around the living room—and him. The suit she wore skimmed her shapely curves. Damn, my girl's a boss, Keith admired.
"Oh yeah," she smiled. Keith had chosen well. Natural light spilled in through the tall, arched windows, dressed in billowy sheers. Her furniture fit well here, better than it had at her old place.
He grinned, flashing freshly whitened teeth.
"Jeez, babe, it's like you went to Handsome Boy Modeling School while I was gone," she exclaimed. "Here I am missing the simple, rugged guy that works with his hands."
Keith stepped close. "We can get hands-on," he murmured, relishing the warmth of her body and the way the tiny pulse in her neck beat faster. She gave a teasing smile.
"Show me around first."
Keith gave her the tour, trying to stop imagining ways to christen each room.
"That's the study, and this is our bedroom. That spare room with the California walk-in closets is your dressing room," he added, hoping she'd be pleased. The built-in was like something out of a dream: every piece had a place, even her jewelry and accessories. The main room had a pair of deep velvet sofas, a small table and, off to the side, a bar and tea cart. Book shelves and a wall-mounted flat screen completed the retreat. He couldn't have cared less when the realtor lady showed it, but she'd promised that the lady in his life would love it. Kendra stretched and stooped, marveling at the convenience and lay out.
"Baby, it's wonderful!" she gasped. "I am never gonna get anywhere on time, I'll have too much fun getting ready!"
Keith opened his mouth to respond, but his belly beat him to it with a loud grumble. He laughed. "Hey beautiful, what say you slip into something more comfortable and we go out to dinner?"
Her nose wrinkled in mischief. "What say you slip into something more comfortable and we order delivery?"
"Hell yes." Keith was unknotting his tie before she finished her sentence. He'd had big plans for the evening, but so long as they ended on the right note he was ecstatic.
Kendra didn't waste any time. She shed her blazer and wriggled the blouse over her head, giving Keith a private moment with her beautifully hung breasts. Her silky bra was an exquisite match to her spiced chocolate skin. He hadn't touched her in weeks, and she needed him to take her there. She'd missed the things his long, lean body could do, and that day in her father's study had made her hunger worse, not better. She hated how weak she was for him, how badly she needed him to split her open and pull her feelings out in the open. She raised her chin for a kiss and when he bent to her, she tugged hard on his golden brown hair.
"Ow!" He grinned into her lips and smacked her backside. "What did I do?"
"More like what haven't you been doing."
"I'm sorry, K. Let me make it up to you." Keith pushed her skirt down her sculpted legs and helped her step out of her heels. He unsnapped her bra, but when Kendra hooked her thumbs in her silky, spiced chocolate colored panties, he stilled her hands.
"Uh-uh, leave them on for a bit. I need to concentrate for a second."
"Evil," she muttered, even as her tummy fluttered.
"I'll be peeling them off you soon enough." He pulled her into his arms. "Do you trust me, baby?"
Kendra nodded. "Of course," she replied.
"Good, I want to ask you something." He was suddenly serious. "I love you, K, and you've never said it back, but you love me, too. I feel it every time we touch."
His tone spooked Kendra. He was right, she hadn't said it, and she resorted to a tactic that often worked with Niall: distraction. Kendra let him continue uninterrupted, wordlessly bending her knees until she was eye level with his heavy cock.
"Wait," Keith said, but she was already leaning toward it, engulfing him. With a groan, he walked deeper into her mouth, until her back pushed against the seat of the settee and his crown lodged in the top of her throat. Her saliva coursed around it as she continually swallowed.
"I can't believe how good you feel," Keith moaned. He'd missed her welcoming lips, but not enough to skip what he needed to say. "I know you heard your mom, when she said the letters were meant to be a wedding present. But you never asked me about it."
Kendra sucked him harder, which he took as encouragement even though it made him dizzy.
"You're a smart girl, probably the smartest person I know. You already know what I'm about to say." Keith waited, and when Kendra didn't answer he pulled out past her tonsils with an obscene squelch. She tried to grip him and he grabbed her hand.
"Stop, I'm trying to talk to you."
"I know," she said slowly. "I'm trying to stop you."
Keith didn't flinch. He pulled her up onto his lap, face-to-face. Her legs parted, making way for his engorged nature, but he wouldn't be deterred from his true goal. "Be my wife, Kendra. Let's put down roots together and grow into the people we were meant to be. I'm the opposite of what you need right now, but I'm working to change that. I'm working to change a lot of things. I can take care of you."
Their bodies locked in on each other and Kendra began the slide into oblivion. She easily took the first half, but those last five inches were a beautiful battle her body would relive in shivers over and over the whole day after. His hands were on her rump in a sensual massage that alternately widened and narrowed her opening, and she snaked her waist in time with his movements. She was falling under his spell and she hated it. Their lovemaking always unearthed feelings in her; this time, it was anger.
"Marry you, huh?" She started fucking him harder, wringing his dick in her canal. She wanted him to cum, not from pleasure but because she willed it. Keith fucked back up into her, bouncing her on his lap like a car with hydraulics. He tried to pull her close in an embrace, but she wasn't having it. She leaned away, deepening the angle of penetration, pimping the weight and shake of her breasts as they spun in circles. The position offered a hot visual but less intimacy and Keith picked up on it, even as his libido responded. Why was she running away?
"That's right. Marry me. Get this raw day and night," he bent forward sharply and whispered in her ear. He was mashing her clit, supporting her back, and Kendra had to trust him to hold her almost horizontal as he pumped her full of his cock. She did; Keith would never let her fall. Tears sprang to her eyes. She was so wet, she gushed on his lap with every thrust, yet she scrabbled her nails across his shoulders, caught between pulling closer and pushing him away. That indecision made Keith blow. He had her on the knife's edge, grinding into her mercilessly. He'd spent everything on this one shot, burned all his bridges, mined his emotional depths, because he knew Kendra was worth it. Now, it was starting to look as if she didn't think he was. He pounded her soft body like she stole something.
"I don't want—" Kendra stopped, choking up.
"What don't you want? An ex-con on your arm? A white baby? Spit it out, princess!"
"I don't want to be strung out on you! Weak for you. Dependent on you, caving into whatever you say. I won't be like Maria and Dad!" Kendra burned with embarrassment at her outburst. She hadn't meant to say it aloud.
Keith gripped her weight and stood, wrapping her legs around his waist. Firmly seated inside her, he carried her to the windowsill and rested her bottom on the ledge before slowly pulling out of her.
"You're not Maria. Your mom is a wonderful lady, but she'll never be as strong as you are. You're loyal, faithful, in the old sense of the word. You had more faith in me than I did in you. You kept writing with no word from me. You kept loving me. You saved my life three distinct times and stayed strong even when my dirt almost ruined your life. Let's make a deal." Keith pulled a small black velvet box from the teacart and cracked it open, lifting out a square-cut emerald in a simple platinum setting. He bent down on one knee.
"Your love makes me a stronger man, a better man. I think I do the same for you. We're incomplete without each other. If I don't support you the way you need, lift you to where you want to be, you walk away from me, no harm, no foul. Give us a year, baby. I swear to God, I'll give you my all. I'm asking—fuck it, I'm begging. You said you trust me; take my hand and jump with me. Marry me."
Kendra's hand couldn't stop shaking. Not when she slid the ring onto her finger. Not when she gripped the window sill. And not when Keith dug back into her from behind, pushing her happy cries into the night air.
|
Rick was fucking me with the biggest cucumber he had been able to find in the supermarket. He said he had thought about what it would be like to shove it in the cute little cashier at the checkout.
I winced as he shoved the fat vegetable deep into my open pussy stretching my labia far beyond what his cock did.
"Do you like that baby?" he asked.
"Yes." I said not wanting to ruin his fun.
Rick's birthday was coming up and I so wanted to get him the Seiko watch he had admired. The watch was three hundred dollars, somewhat beyond my budget.
Joyce Fuller my next-door neighbor lived life to the fullest. Her husband was a salesman, on the road most of the week. Joyce knew Carl had women when he was gone but she didn't care, she was getting all the dick she could while he was away.
Joyce is a North American Indian, tall and beautiful like Cher. She is fucking every guy she has a chance to, the telephone repairman, the carpet cleaning guys and most of the pizza delivery kids.
Joyce has always told me I was crazy not getting laid on the side. When I mentioned to her about the watch I wanted to get Rick she said she knew a guy who would gladly give me the money to get into my pants. I laughed and dismissed the thought.
"What's this guy like?" I asked her later as my curiosity got the better of me.
"He's a nice guy and got a great dick!" Joyce smiled.
"He wouldn't tell anybody?" I asked.
"It would be your secret." Joyce assured me.
"Shall I give him your phone number?" Joyce asked.
"O.K." I agreed.
I felt as if I were asking for a million dollars. "Three hundred dollars and you can have me for three hours to do whatever you want. Just don't leave any marks." I told him on the phone.
Sight unseen Robert agreed to my terms and we arranged to meet at the downtown Holliday Inn.
I had never prostituted myself before and didn't realty know what to expect. I knew he would want to fuck me and likely for me to suck his cock but what else?
Not wanting to draw attention to my wickedness I dressed normally for my appointment. I wore a plaid knee-length skirt and pale blue pullover. Pantyhose with matching blue silk bra and briefs. I did not look like a hooker at all.
I met Robert In the hotel lobby at 2 pm. He was a good-looking guy perhaps five years older than me and nicely dressed. There was one thing Joyce had forgotten to mention, he was as black as the Ace of Spades!
I did not even know any colored guys never mind having been in bed with one. I was not personally against blacks, as I had never had a reason to think about it. Robert seemed very polite and clean as he introduced himself to me.
Robert told me he was a technical sales rep for a large injection molding equipment manufacturer and traveled across the area. He said he had a wife and two kiddies at home about a hundred miles away but only got to see them on weekends.
There were two guys in the elevator with us as it whisked us up to the forth floor. I couldn't help thinking they knew I was going up to fuck the black stallion accompanying me. Relieved we exited the elevator at our floor and went down the hall to our room.
It was a nice room dominated by a large bed in which I knew I would soon be naked fucking my first black man. There were a few awkward minutes while I decided what was expected of me next.
"Why don't you get ready?" Robert asked.
Shyly I went through to the bathroom to disrobe. I stripped down to my panties and bra before rejoining my date.
I could tell by the look in Robert's face he approved of Joyce's selection. I was no beauty queen but for my age I still turned a few heads.
With my shiny auburn hair and ample 38C breasts I promised an afternoon of delight to relieve Robert's pent-up emotions. He had three days of accumulated cum to drain into me.
Have you ever been with a black man before?" Robert asked.
"I have only been with my husband." I assured him.
I was like a virgin to Robert. Thirty-two years old and had never shared my pussy with another man. I envisioned the thoughts rushing through his head.
"Take off your bra." He ordered.
Submissively I reached behind and unfastened the bra and brought it forward allowing my pale white freckled tits to spill out into his view.
"Very nice!" he said, "Come over here."
Robert sat in a wing back chair in front of the window. I walked to where he sat and he filled his hands with my bare breasts. I looked out the window and could see everyone going about their errands as I stood almost naked with my tits in the hands of a colored stranger.
My breasts felt unexpectedly good in Robert's big hands. Gently he squeezed the as his lips swallowed my left nipple. His thick lips sucked on my teat as he slid my panties down over my hips.
Robert's fingers explored my bush easily finding my wet tissue. I felt his fingers searching around the inside of my womanhood. No man other than my husband had ever known me in this way.
I felt embarrassed standing naked with this man's hand inside of me. He persisted working my vagina with his fingers, stretching it and pulling it in every direction.
Suddenly I felt something other than his fingers inside of me. I looked down and saw he had shoved a large dildo into me. The dido was larger than the cucumbers Rick shoved in me and was covered with a maze of small rubber knobs designed to excite the interior of a vagina. The huge rubber cock took over from his fingers.
I felt silly squatting in front of him, the knobby dildo sliding in and out of my increasingly wet pussy. I begin to moan as I became aroused.
Suddenly I needed to be fucked. I needed Robert's real cock inside of me, bringing me to my orgasm.
"Fuck me Robert." I pleaded as the knob studded monster prepared me.
I needed a cock, it didn't matter if it was my husband's or not, it didn't even matter that it was black.
I rushed over to the bed and sprawled across it on my back, legs open enticing Robert.
"Come and get it!" I teased.
Robert was not ready to take me yet.
"I want you to do something for me." He asked.
Robert wanted to watch me suck another man's cock. He would call the desk complaining that the toilet wouldn't flush and when they sent someone up to look at it I would suck them off. Whoever happened to show up would put their cock in my mouth.
What was I to do?
"No, no, stay naked." Robert said as he put the phone down.
In a few minutes there was a knock on the door.
I was embarrassed lying on the bed naked when the bellhop came in. He was a young lad, about twenty and apparently undisturbed at the sight of a naked woman. I guess in the hotel business he had seen it all before.
As he started to the bathroom to check the offending toilet Robert stopped him.
"I'm afraid I have brought you here on false pretenses." Robert said, "My woman here wanted a cock to suck on."
The young lad looked upon my nakedness and smiled.
I realized Robert's intention was to humiliate me in front of this stranger. Gleefully the bellhop produced his erect cock for me to suck.
I do not have a particular dislike for sucking cocks, I do not particularly like the taste of cum but the circumstances bothered me. Normally I would have told them both to get lost but after all I was prostituting myself.
His cock was not that big and I easily fit it into my mouth. It was not at all unlike sucking my husband's cock.
"Work it Baby, make him cum!" Robert urged.
My fingers encircled the bellhop's cock jerking him into my mouth as my tongue caressed his meat. His cock was hard and throbbing in my mouth.
My other hand cradled his balls and that was when he shot. One, two, three spurts of thick stringy cum filled my mouth. Desperately I tried to prevent any of his jism from escaping my mouth, allowing his salty snot to roll down my throat.
"Bravo!" Robert cheered.
"Stick around." Robert said after I had guzzled the bellhop's cum.
I still had the itch in my pussy that needed scratching. Thankfully Robert was getting his cock out.
It was beautiful, about ten inches of sleek black cock with a purple sheen. It looked powerful and streamline with a slight upwards bend near the head. I imagined how it would feel inside of me.
Finally I am going to get fucked I thought forgetting about the bellhop who had just cum in my mouth.
I lie back on the bed and spread my legs once more to accept Robert. Robert carefully covered me and guided the head of his cock to my opening.
My pussy lips spread as he entered me, slowly and smoothly his cock slid into me. He felt so good.
I moaned softly and placed my ankles on his shoulders as he filled me with black cock.
My pussy spasm around the stranger within me. It was not my husband's cock, but it was a cock! I gyrated my cunt as it gripped Robert's cock.
My hips writhed as the black cock soothed my itch. My ass swiveled like a top on Robert's dick. Robert had a grip on my hips and was driving his black snake further into me than my husband had ever been.
"Oh yes!" I moaned as the bellhop stroked his cock back to life.
The bulbous head of Robert's cock was in that sweet spot when every movement excited my cunt. Unashamedly I drove myself down onto his shaft driving his further and further into me. I was ready to cum for him.
"Now!" I moaned as my hips bucked beneath him.
Robert answered my prayer sending a gusher of his hot cum flooding my cunt. The warm liquid triggered my orgasm.
The spasms took possession of my body causing me to thrash uncontrollably as Robert drained is balls into me. It was divine with my cunt clamping onto his ejaculating cock like a dog with a bone. Blackness overcomes me as I passed out from my ecstasy.
I don't know how long I was blacked out but when I came to the cock was still hammering my pussy. It was no longer Robert's cock in me; it was the bellhop's. Robert had given my soaked puss to the bellhop to use.
I was cumming again, for the first time in my life I was having a multiple orgasm. I shuddered as the bellhop spilled his jism into me.
"Would you like that engraved Mam?" the clerk asked.
"Yes, please engrave "precious moments" on the back." I answered.
|
Anthony had known he was different from a young age.
He was smaller than all the other children, and unlike them he couldn’t play in the snow as long. He always got cold and sick. It didn’t make any sense. How could he be so similar and yet, so different?
When he was old enough to ask why, and smart enough to understand, his parents sat him down and spoke to him.
He learned that his parents were not his true parents. Edwin and Ana had found him abandoned in the snows of Jotunheim as a baby. He was close to death, and it was a miracle he had been found at all. They had brought him inside, kept him warm and, unable to have children of their own, Ana had cast a powerful glamour on him.
Anthony was not of the Jotnar, he was an Aesir and the planet’s greatest enemy.
He’d been angry and upset, but he’d hugged his parents close; because they were his parents, and they swore that they loved every bit of him, even the Asgardian parts.
As Anthony grew older, he understood why his parents had sworn him to secrecy; if anyone learned what he was, his parents would be killed and so would he.
Anthony never breathed a word, and he always wore the necklace his mother had given him that day. It helped secure the glamour that made him look Jotun and kept him protected from the cold.
He had only removed it once, wanting to know what he looked like. His skin was pale pink and his eyes were brown; there were no other changes. His hair still grew and looked the same. Anthony saw no reason to look again; his race had abandoned him, and his family was of Jotunheim.
Anthony remained short for a Jotun, and he never overcame the chill of the planet. He also had no magic and could not shapeshift. It made him odd and it meant he would be unlikely to make a good match. Anthony hadn’t minded. He crafted inventions that would help him remain undetected. It was all he needed. He didn’t need a lover who might discover his secret.
His parents suggested he leave Jotunheim. They could find a hidden pathway and send him to another planet where he could live without fear of discovery. Anthony refused; he wouldn’t leave his parents.
Anthony was managing fine with no one the wiser; for five hundred years, he lived happily with his parents.
But, one day when he was exploring the landscape and seeking a new animal to hunt for a pelt (the winters were getting colder and the invention used to warm his bed was short-circuiting) that he ran into another Jotun.
Literally.
He’d been running, trying to catch a fleeing füürving and had been leaping over a snow mound. The other Jotun had been walking up the other side and Anthony made a sound of shock, but it wasn’t enough to keep them from colliding and rolling down the side.
They landed with a heavy thump at the bottom of the drift.
Anthony shook the snow from his eyes and hair. He lifted up into a sitting position, already apologising.
“I am sorry! I was chasing the füürving and I didn’t look. Mother always says I need to pay more attention. Are you alright?”
The Jotun was frowning, his black hair was a mess and as Anthony got a better look at him, Anthony realised with a smile. “Hey! You’re almost as short as me!”
The Jotun was almost two heads taller than Anthony, but considering most were twice as large as him, it was unbelievably exciting.
The other Jotun also seemed surprised and intrigued. “I thought I was the shortest on the planet.”
“No,” Anthony laughed ruefully. “That still belongs to me.” He continued to smile. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was enjoying the day,” the Jotun replied. “No other reason.” He tilted his head. “But why are you hunting a füürving?”
Anthony didn’t hesitate to lie. “I wanted to gift it’s pelt to my Mother.”
The Jotun smiled faintly. He also pushed himself from the snow and Anthony did the same. “Would you like some help?”
Anthony, so rarely offered time with others who found him so strange, leapt at the chance. “I would love it!”
The Jotun smiled, but there was something guarded to his eyes. His voice was cautious as he said, “I am Loki.”
Anthony didn’t know why he was hesitant, but he replied easily, “I’m Anthony.”
When nothing more followed, Loki smiled, the expression full of delight. “Excellent. Let us hunt a füürving!”
He gestured for Anthony to start walking, and Anthony easily fell into step with him as they took off into the frozen tundra.
In hindsight, a hundred things could have gone wrong; Loki could have robbed him, murdered him or stolen the pelt from him.
Loki did none of those things. They spoke the entire time, laughing and sharing anecdotes. Loki was fun and intelligent. He had three brothers who were all larger than him. He was by far the better mage, but it still left him at odds. Anthony understood and spoke of his own shortcomings and why he was seen as less.
They got along well, Anthony liked him, and together they managed to bring down the füürving. Loki’s magic came in handy as he floated it back for them. Anthony asked if Loki would stay for a meal since his parents would cook the füürving and it was as much his spoils as Anthony’s.
Loki smiled and agreed. Anthony had been excited, thinking, for the first time, that he had finally found a friend. When he returned home, he called for his parents, they came out smiling only to freeze when they saw Loki.
“Mother, Father this is-”
They dropped to their knees in a low bow. Anthony looked at them, feeling flabbergasted. He turned back to Loki who had a small, apologetic grin, yet mischief sparked in his eyes.
“I am sorry, Anthony. Did I not mention I was King Laufey’s son?”
Anthony’s eyes had widened and he planned to bow as well, but Loki waved it off.
“Do not let it concern you. I enjoyed being nothing more than ‘Loki’ to you, and I would like to do so again.” He turned to Anthony’s parents and requested. “Please, rise. Anthony invited me as a guest, not a prince.”
Prince, Anthony thought, staring at the Jotun beside him.
His parents rose slowly, and while they tried to relax, they remained ill at ease. Likely because their most dangerous secret was standing beside the prince, hidden by little more than a glamour. Anthony’s hand curved around his necklace protectively, yet Loki hardly seemed to notice.
He spoke politely and offered to help with skinning the füürving. Anthony’s mother accepted the pelt with a smile and a kiss to Anthony’s cheek. They both knew she would return it to him once Loki left.
The prince stayed for dinner and was pleasant company; speaking to Anthony's father about the bitter winter, and his mother about the cooking. He thanked them all for the meal and left with a polite nod of his head and a shimmer of green magic.
They all breathed a sigh of relief and Anthony apologised for the accident. Luckily, his parents understood and forgave him. They were all grateful Anthony hadn't been discovered.
Anthony never expected to see the prince again.
But, Loki returned, not two days later.
Anthony had been pushing away snow from the back of the house, using one of his many inventions. He didn’t know Loki was there until the prince announced himself.
“Surely magic would be easier?”
Anthony jerked and looked up to find the Jotun sitting on a branch of the nearby tree. He eyed Anthony with curiosity and amusement.
“I am sure it would, Prince Loki,” Anthony said. “But I do not have any.”
Loki frowned. “Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Treat me like a prince.”
Anthony's eyebrows furrowed. “But, you are a prince.”
“Yes,” Loki agreed. He shifted and from one moment to the next he was on the ground directly in front of Anthony. “But I liked being just ‘Loki’ to you.” He looked hopeful. “Can we return to it?”
Anthony chewed on his bottom lip. A thousand worries running through his mind; yet, it wasn't the one he expected that slipped from his lips.
“How would I treat you then?”
“Like a friend?” Loki asked, his gaze filled with a yearning that Anthony could understand; it was a feeling he had felt all his life - looking out at the other children and finding no one who would wish to spend their time with him.
He knew it would be a mistake to make friends with the Jotun who, with one look at his pale skin, could sentence him to death.
But, Anthony had wanted a friend for years and he already liked Loki.
It was why he smiled shyly and said, “As my friend, will you help me clear the snow?”
Loki grinned with excitement and delight. It was so nice to look at, and Anthony found himself flushing and glancing away.
Anthony knew this would only lead to trouble, but he simply couldn’t say no.
His parents were worried about his friendship with Loki. They feared the revelation of his secret, but they knew how happy he was and didn’t want to ruin it. They worried, but they didn’t try to interfere.
Anthony tried to forget the weight of the necklace around his neck as he spent time with the prince. Loki was mischievous and witty. They could talk for hours and they often went walking through Jotunheim. They both preferred the wide expansive of snow over the bustling city.
Loki didn’t like to be so near the castle where expectations were high and no one quite understood him. They all loved him, but Loki was unusual and he found it hard to foster friendships.
Anthony, by comparison, avoided the city for fear of being discovered. His parents lived far from Jotunheim’s capital, and they preferred it that way; it was all the safer for raising their adopted son.
It meant that they spent their time in the isolation of Jotunheim’s wilderness or walking around the nearby village where Anthony had grown up. They didn’t venture towards the capital and Loki and Anthony were able to spend long days and evenings learning one another.
They camped inside the ice caves, they pushed back the snow around Anthony’s parent’s house. They threw balls of ice at one another and laughed until their bodies hurt. Anthony had never felt so happy. He’d never been so grateful that he took a chance and accepted Loki’s friendship.
But, three decades into their association, everything changed.
They had spent the day together, and were on a snow drift, similar to the one where they had both collided so long ago. They were lying with their back in the snow, staring up at the tranquil blue sky.
Anthony heard Loki shift, but he didn’t look away from the peaceful blue stretching out above him.
“Anthony?”
“Mm?” he hummed.
“I want to ask you something.”
Anthony waited, but when nothing followed, he twisted his head in the snow to look at his friend. Loki was closer than he thought. The other Jotun had shifted to lay on the side, his head rested in his hand, his elbow in the snow. His blue skin was darker than Anthony’s but his eyes were a fairer red. Anthony didn’t know how that happened; was it his glamour that made his skin pale? Was the brown of his eyes what made his own darker? Was it just a coincidence of the spell?
Regardless of the answer, it didn’t make Loki any less beautiful.
He smiled at his friend. “Ask me, Loki. You can ask me anything.”
Loki bit his lip, chewing on it nervously. Anthony brought up his hand, touching Loki’s shoulder, hoping to offer comfort and support.
His touch, however, seemed to galvanise Loki into action, but instead of talking he bent down and before Anthony could do more than widen his eyes, Loki’s soft blue lips were pressed against his own.
Anthony gasped, and his heart flared with sudden unexpected warmth. It was as if a piece he hadn’t known was missing or had chosen to ignore suddenly slotted into place.
Because, Anthony always moved a little closer to Loki, always leant into the other Jotun’s space. He smiled when he saw the prince, he felt an ache in his chest when Loki was forced to leave. He thought Loki was the most handsome Jotun he had ever seen and, slowly and without his awareness, he’d been falling ever so softly for his friend.
And Loki, had been falling for him.
It all passed through his mind in a second, a single moment of realisation before he was raising his hands and leaning into Loki’s touch. He kissed the prince back and felt Loki shudder with relief. The kiss deepened and Loki leant a little more towards him. Loki’s hand touched his chest, catching on the cord of his necklace and-
Anthony’s eyes snapped open and he pushed Loki away. The movement was instinctive and Loki hadn’t expected it. The other Jotun landed in the snow with a confused splutter while Anthony sat up and let out a panicked gasp. He grabbed his necklace and looked down at his skin—still blue.
“Anthony?” Loki asked, sounding annoyed and confused.
He looked at the prince with wide eyes. He so desperately wanted to lean in again, to press his lips to Loki’s and apologise – but he couldn’t do it. Anthony was an Aesir, and he was Loki’s hated enemy. If Loki found out, the prince would hate him and would call for his death and that of his parents.
Anthony might adore Loki, but he couldn’t take the risk.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry, Loki. I, I c-cant.”
Loki’s eyes widened, hurt flaring in his gaze, but Anthony didn’t see more. He hurried into a standing position and rushed down the snow drift.
“Anthony!” Loki cried.
Anthony ignored him, but Loki was not so easily swayed. He heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow and before he could get more than a few feet away, Loki’s hand was on his shoulder and he was forcing Anthony to face him.
He was frustrated, and pain laced his voice as he asked, “Anthony, what do you mean? Why can’t we?”
“I’m sorry,” Anthony said, misery in his voice and expression.
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Loki whispered, hurt still abundant in his eyes. “Tell me why.”
“I can’t,” Anthony hissed. “I should never have done this, Loki. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, and it hurt to say, but the words were no less true, “You shouldn’t come back.”
“What?” The word sounded punched out of Loki, his grip tightened on Anthony’s shoulder. “No. Anthony, please! You can’t! You’re my friend! You’re my…” his jaw trembled, “you’re my everything.”
Anthony’s eyes widened, but Loki just cupped his cheek again. He also leant close, pressing their foreheads together. “You make me feel like I belong, like I am understood. You make me feel happy and I do not want to lose you.”
“Loki…”
“You kissed me back, I know you did!” Yet, a moment later he slumped forward. “But we do not have to do that. We can stay friends. We can pretend it never happened.”
But, Anthony was already shaking his head.
He knew the truth now. He knew how he felt, and nothing could erase that. Anthony also knew that he couldn’t stay around Loki forever. Sooner or later, something would happen. He didn’t want his friend to hate him. He didn’t want Loki to think he had been lied to.
Anthony knew he should pull away, but instead he raised his hands and cupped Loki’s which were pressed to his cheeks.
“I never meant to hurt you, but I can’t do this. I am so sorry.”
It was the hardest thing in the world, to yank away from Loki.
“Anthony!” Loki yelled, sounding desolate and desperate. He reached out for Anthony again, and Anthony tried to avoid him.
He moved the wrong way and Loki gripped the wrong thing and the force of two opposing movements was all that was needed for a cord, centuries old, to snap. The necklace holding his glamour was ripped from his neck to be held in Loki’s hand.
And, like something from his nightmares, Anthony stared in horror as his skin turned from Jotun blue to Aesir white while Loki watched on with shocked red eyes.
“You’re…”
“I can explain,” Anthony pleaded, his hands raised defensively and his eyes pleading for Loki to listen. When Loki didn’t start attacking him or shouting that he was a traitor, Anthony let the truth spill out, “I was abandoned as a baby. I would have died. Mother and Father couldn’t condemn anyone to that, even their enemy. They… I…” Anthony was trembling. “I have lived here my whole life. Jotunheim is my home. It is all I have ever known and the only place I want to be. P-Please Loki, please don’t hurt them for raising me.”
Loki’s hand had fallen to his side during Anthony’s words, the necklace still clasped in his hand and a confused furrow on his brow.
“They found you abandoned?”
“Yes,” Anthony said. “They do not know how I arrived here, but they think I was left here to die.” Anthony could feel the bite of the snow and he was starting to shiver, but he didn’t lower his hands. “They knew I would be killed if they told anyone about me. They gave me protection and told me when I was old enough to realise I was different.”
“What they did was treason,” Loki murmured. “They hid an enemy of Jotunheim.”
“I was a baby,” Anthony hissed. “I knew nothing of the Aesir! I still know nothing and I want nothing to do with them! This is my planet, my f-family, my h-home.” Anthony’s teeth were chattering and he finally lowered his arms if only to wrap them around his bare chest for warmth. “I am s-sorry I l-lied to y-you. I c-couldn’t t-tell you.” Anthony closed his eyes. “You are my e-everything too, but I am from a race of m-monsters.”
Because, even if his parents had never told him the stories, he had heard enough. The Asgardians had stolen the Casket of Ancient Winters, had burned their villages to the ground. They had done everything possible to steal the heart and soul from the people of Jotunheim.
The Aesir hadn’t just fought a war, they had done everything in their power to destroy the Jotnar.
Anthony hated them with all of his being, and if the Aesir ever returned, he would stand and fight beside the Jotnar. He would die as one of them and be proud to do so, but he knew Loki might never believe that.
But, before he could slump even further, he felt a soft touch to his shoulder, followed by a burst of warmth. He jerked his head up, his eyes wide as he looked at Loki who stood only inches away from him. He looked worried as he held up the necklace.
“Does this keep you from experiencing the cold?”
Anthony blinked, expecting numerous questions, but not that one.
“Why does it matter?” Anthony asked, feeling miserable. “Should you not be glad to see the cold harm me?”
“I would never want to see you harmed,” Loki told him fiercely.
Anthony blinked. “But… But I am-”
“A Jotun,” Loki insisted. “Raised here, if not born here. You carry our planet in your heart, if not on your skin.”
Anthony was already shaking his head. “But, I am a traitor. I am-”
Loki stopped his words by bending down and pressing his lips to Anthony’s. He gasped. They felt so much colder than before, and yet, it just reminded him of the snow and Anthony leant into his touch, craving more of it.
But, Loki pulled back too soon. He was smiling. He also used a hint of seidr on the cord of the necklace before he was gently dropping it around Anthony’s neck once more.
Anthony looked down, seeing his blue skin slowly slide back over his body. He touched the raised markings with relief, and Loki’s hand soon joined him. The prince’s fingers skimmed his chest before catching his hand and holding it in his own.
Raising his gaze, he looked into Loki’s soft features, filled with just as much affection as before. It didn’t make any sense.
“How can you still care for me?” Anthony whispered. “You know what I am now.”
“I have always known what you are,” Loki told him. “My friend, and a Jotun as strange as I. You are the one I care for more than any other. The fact that your skin is white at times doesn’t matter to me.”
“But what about the King? What about the others? What about-”
“We will keep it from them for now,” Loki told him, squeezing Anthony’s hand. “When the time is right and I can be assured of your family’s safety, I will explain.”
“But, Loki-”
“No buts,” Loki insisted. He leant down and kissed Anthony’s cheek. “I have heard enough of your insistent ‘can’t’s’ for a day.” He was smiling as he said it, and he leant their foreheads together once more. He smiled. “Trust me, Anthony, and I shall find a way to make things work.”
Anthony bit his lip, debating what to do, but looking into Loki’s hopeful eyes, Anthony found he could only do what he had done in the past; give in.
“Alright,” he agreed.
And when the reward was Loki’s wide, delighted smile, Anthony knew that just like everything else Loki had ever proposed; Anthony would hope for the best while following Loki anyway. |
Harry was really not sure what was happening. One thing was certain, he didn’t like one bit of it.
It had all happened so fast. There had been screeching. A phoenix had been writhing in pain. Five pairs of hands had rushed forward in confusion to hold the bird down, trying to help the screaming creature. And then before Harry could blink the floor vanished under his feet and he was thrown hurtling into madness.
The world spun around him in a storm of golden flames. There was no up, no down, no sense of where he was. Harry scrambled as he fell, trying to find something, anything to hold on to, buffeted by the winds whipped up from the vortex around him. Familiar shadows flew in and out of the flames, whipping past before he could identify them. Somewhere, carried by the wind, he could hear screams and yells. He was screaming too, for Ron and Hermione. They had been with him, but now he couldn’t see them anywhere.
He kept falling, spinning faster and faster until the flames blurred into one long wall of light and he could see no more.
It was a while before Harry registered that he had stopped moving. He lay still, wherever he was, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Listening for the roar of the flames, he heard only his heart beating in his chest. The world had gone quiet.
Harry slowly opened his eyes. The flames were finally gone. It was dark, too dark to really see where he was, but he could make out a slanted ceiling above him.
He remembered that he’d been in the hospital wing with Ron and Hermione. Ron’s leg was still broken, and Ginny and Neville had joined them. And then… something had gone wrong with Fawkes. But as he fumbled to understand what exactly had happened Harry felt the memories float beyond his reach, like a dream slipping quietly away.
A wave of drowsiness washed over him and in that moment Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. His head was so heavy, as though it had been filled to the brim with water. His eyes drifted shut. He was so tired, he wanted so so badly to sleep…
A harsh rap on the door jolted him awake.
“UP!”
---
It was snowing outside. Ron blinked at the window in confusion. Why was it snowing?
His first thought when he’d woken up in his own bed was that he’d been sent home. Except that made no sense. Madam Pomfrey could heal broken legs easily, and there were still a few weeks of lessons left. Plus he couldn’t feel any pain in his leg. Ron sat up in his bed and made to stand up, testing the weight of his leg. It seemed fine. Ron rolled up his pyjamas to examine it. Expecting to see a mess where the giant dog had bitten him he was surprised to find his skin smooth and unmarked.
So… He was home. His leg was fine. And it was snowing. In June. And was it just him or did everything in his room seem… bigger?
The smell of bacon and eggs cooking downstairs wafted through the door. His stomach growled at the scent but he ignored it, his mind was buzzing too loudly with questions. He could hear the usual cacophony of shouting and protesting coming from the kitchen. Ron hesitantly made his way to the door and peered his head out into the landing. It sounded as though Fred and George had broken something downstairs, and now Mum was in the middle of a lecture.
Ron hovered for a moment, figuring it might be best to wait until Mum had finished before he interrupted to ask why he was home and, most importantly, why was it snowing in June, when he heard a distressed gasp from Ginny’s room.
“Ginny?” he asked uncertainly. He stumbled to her door, sending the home-made ‘Ginny’s Room’ sign clattering as he shoved the door open to see Ginny standing wide-eyed in the middle of her room. Ron gaped at her for a moment, taken aback by how tiny she was. Then he saw the tears streaming down her face.
“Ron, I- I think I lost time again” her voice trembled. The terror raised in her voice and Ginny burst into sobs. “The last time like this was with Riddle, but I don’t know how- I thought it was over-”
Ron hurried over and quickly drew his sister into a hug. He could feel her shaking violently in his arms, so he held her closer. Questions of how and why could wait for now.
---
It was important, Hermione thought, that she remain calm. Try to figure out what exactly had happened, and then she can think about her next best move. Panicking was not going to help in this situation.
Except the situation was that she was looking in the mirror and seeing her younger self staring back at her. Hermione gaped in astonishment at how much rounder her face looked, how tiny her mouth was, making her front teeth look all the more too big. The last time she’d looked in this mirror she could see most of her torso. Now her shoulders only just about came into view.
In the corner of the room, folded neatly in the armchair by her bookcase, was a green dress and a soft white cardigan. Hermione slowly reached out to touch the cardigan, rubbing the soft fabric between the fingers. Both it and the dress looked brand new. She remembered getting these clothes. They had been a Christmas gift from her granny years ago. If her memory was correct then that meant she was in her 9-year old body.
It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. She must be in some sort of dream. Time Turners could turn back the clock but they did not make you younger. And they were never, never used to go this far back.
Hermione tried to piece together what had happened. She and Harry had gone to visit Ron in the hospital wing. They’d been talking about Sirius and Buckbeak, wondering how far they had managed to get away, when Ginny and Neville turned up and they quickly changed the conversation. And then…
The phoenix. Hermione’s hand flew to her neck, to where the Time Turner should be. It was gone. It was more than gone, she realised in horror. The chain had been cut by Fawkes’ talons as she tried to help calm the screeching bird. The tiny, fragile hourglass had shattered to pieces on the floor just as the phoenix burst into flame.
Don’t panic, she told herself again. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. But Hermione was panicking. Because something had just gone terribly, horribly wrong. |
Harry Potter was stressed.
He had managed to get from King’s Cross station to Hogwarts without a meltdown, but just barely.
The news of being “sorted” had pushed him to a breaking point.
He eyed the hat warily.
He did not like new. He did not like experiencing the unknown, at least not when he couldn’t learn about it first. He did not like change. He did not like crowds. He did not like it when they jostled him, poked him, touched him. He had tried to stay on the outside of the group, but he kept being pulled back into the middle by Ron. He didn’t want to complain. It was nice to have a friend, but he wished Ron had taken him more seriously when he said he didn’t like being touched.
His nerves were making him hypersensitive to the noise in the room, and his ears were starting to ring with all of the shouting going on.
“Why is everyone shouting?” he asked Ron, who just gave him a weird look.
“No one is shouting, Harry,” Ron whispered. “It’s just people whispering. You alright, mate?”
Harry shrugged and nodded, which seemed to satisfy Ron.
At that moment, the hat started to sing. Loudly. Off key.
It was too much for Harry to handle and his hands flew up to cover his ears. He sighed with relief as they dampened the noise. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit more. The room was awfully bright, after all, and there was so much to look at all at once.
He started to hum under his breath, willing the sorting ceremony to get over faster. The humming helped cancel out even more of the noise, and helped sooth his overtaxed nerves. Without realizing it, he started to rock back and forth on his toes, the gentle motion calming him even further, lulling him into a safe place.
He was vaguely aware of names being called, and he felt the crowd around him thinning out, but it was still too much noise, too much new, too much change for Harry to stop the self-comforting behavior.
Suddenly, he was aware of two things: the noise had stopped completely, and strong hands were grasping his shoulders.
His eyes flew open in shock.
Oh no.
Everyone was staring at him.
He heard snickering, and his face colored slightly. His eyes immediately sought the floor.
Great, he thought, wringing his hands in a desperate bid to relieve the anxiety. His first few minutes at a new school and he had already painted a target on himself.
A hand lifted his chin, and he found himself looking at a severe-looking man dressed all in black.
Severus Snape had watched the boy from the moment the group of first years stepped into the Great Hall. He had seen the boy’s face go from uncertain to anxious to overwhelmed, and had watched with quiet curiosity as Harry struggled to handle the massive amount of sensory overload.
Upon learning that The Boy Who Lived had accepted his place at Hogwarts, Snape had, like all Hogwart’s faculty, been made aware that Harry Potter was a bit different than the other students. The boy, his primary school records said, was Autistic. Unfamiliar with the term and dissatisfied with the dry clinical language in the boy’s file (what on earth was a 32 on the CAR Scale?), Snape had planted himself in a muggle library for a week to learn about these “differences.” If he was going to protect the boy, he was going to know exactly what to expect. He now considered himself somewhat of an expert on the subject, but still found himself lost when it came to knowing how to help Harry integrate into his new world.
What he did know was that whatever difficulties the boy had in other areas of his life, Harry had a prodigious aptitude for chemistry, a skill set that Snape was sure to carry over into a love for potion making. At only 11, the boy was, according to his school records, preparing to take the A-Level chemistry course. He also knew Harry was, based on a read-between-the-lines look over the incident reports included by the school, bullied relentlessly and mercilessly, and as such was very withdrawn and unsure of himself.
Snape saw a bit of himself in the boy, despite Harry’s strong resemblance to his bastard of a father, and took a sort of perverse pleasure in the irony: the son of a bully was the target of bullies. For all his rabid animosity towards that man, however, Snape knew that he could never--and would never--let Harry come to harm, and had promised as much to Dumbledore.
Remembering those words, Snape watched as Harry was no longer able to handle the newness, the changes, the noise, the unknown. When Harry started rocking back and forth, Snape sighed. They should have known this would happen. That the boy had managed to get to Hogwarts without incident was impressive.
He glared at the back of Professor’s MacGonagall’s head. She had completely ignored the boy’s distress, and only seemed to realize something was wrong when he failed to respond to his name being called. The longer Harry failed to make his way to the sorting hat, the more people began to realize something was wrong. He watched as the kids around Harry stepped back and stared at him, uncertain as to what was going on.
Snape was certain not one of them had any experience with Autism, and he could see the uncertainty turn to fear. Before the fear could be acted upon by some of the more cruel members of the student body, Snape found himself walking across the floor, stopping in front of Harry.
The boy startled when Snape grabbed his shoulders. A few students dared snicker, and Snape could see the shame and resignation in Harry’s eyes. He knew Harry wouldn’t maintain eye contact, and he wasn’t about to force it.
“Harry,” he started in a calm, low voice only Harry could hear. “Harry, it is okay. It’s loud in here, isn’t it?”
Harry nodded, his eyes downcast.
“It’s your turn to be sorted now, do you know what that means?” Snape asked.
Harry shook his head.
“It means you are going to sit on this stool,” Snape said in that same low voice as he led Harry to the front of the room.
“And Professor McGonagall will place the sorting hat upon your head like this.”
Giggles and snickers erupted from the room as Snape had Professor McGonagall place the hat on his head, to show Harry what would happen.
Snape shot a scathing glare at the student body, who immediately shut up.
“Okay,” Harry said, gritting himself for the hat’s unpleasant voice to accost his ears.
He felt the hat placed on his head and--yep, there was the voice. Harry was surprised to note that the hat was no longer screaming off-key.
Thank goodness for that, he thought.
You’re very welcome, Mr. Potter.
Hmm, difficult. VERY difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?
Harry thought desperately of the colors he had spied on the wall: green, red, yellow, blue. He was sure no one would understand, that he would be laughed at, the same as always, but he just could not be green. Not green. Not green. Not green. I can’t wear green. Green hurts. Green is a hateful color. Not green.
Not Green, eh? Are you sure? That rules out Slytherin. You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that. No?
Please, please. Anything but green, anything but green. Harry knew he was being irrational, but he just could not stand the color green.
Well if you're sure, better be... GRYFFINDOR!
The Great Hall erupted in a cacophony of noise, and Harry, badly startled by the outburst, bolted from the stool to the corner of the room behind the faculty table. He stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes again, humming, hands wringing themselves into and out of different patterns.
The school gawked.
Snape sighed again, and then made his way to the frightened boy.
Behind him, he heard Professor McGonagall call out another name for sorting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. |
“Finnegan.”
“Yes.”
“The git who was always blowing things up?”
“Or catching them on fire.” She hesitated, biting her lip before continuing on. “He did amazing things using both of those
talents
at the Battle of Hogwarts.”
“Yes,” Malfoy drawled, eyes cast to the ceiling as if the Gods themselves might grant him more patience. “And what has he done since then?”
Theo, lovely Theo, who always knew what to say and when to say it, decided to chime in. “He stitched my arm back on after it had been nearly severed by a Death Eater.” Theo paused. “Wait, now that I think about it, it was you that fired that slicing hex. Fuck you, Malfoy.”
Hermione sighed.
“It’s not my fault you and Pansy have been glamouring yourselves. I thought I was just killing some unimportant Order member.”
Theo glared towards Draco as Ginny wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. “Well now you know it was your unimportant
best friend.”
Malfoy stared dumbfounded at Theo for a moment more before turning his eyes on Hermione.
“You’re telling me that blithering idiot is a healer.”
Hermione nodded. “A field healer. He duels and heals, depending on where he’s needed.” She paused, mouth open. “As will Blaise.”
Draco threw his hands up and then gestured wildly at the limp figure that hadn’t moved since he’d been placed on the thin cot nearly four days ago. “Maybe we’re worrying over all this for nothing because I’m pretty sure you killed him in your duel.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Apologies, but when someone is hurling Unforgivables at you with the speed and accuracy of a trained fighter, you tend to aim for the jugular.”
"And whoever healed him must be daft. Clearly they did something wrong.”
“
Nothing
was done wrong! He was healed with plenty of time and
accuracy
by a skilled witch.”
“Your bind diagnostic states otherwise,” he muttered.
Hermione’s eyes widened and she charged forward, shoving her finger into his chest. “
You’re
the one who came up with the idea to bind Zabini.
I
convinced the Council.
I
created a watch schedule to ensure there’s someone always here and
I
came here to cast the diagnostic, check his vitals and even had the decency to update you on what’s happening.” She crossed her arms over her chest once more, with even more attitude this time. “You get to tell Seamus.”
Malfoy’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. He let out a laugh but Hermione’s face remained.
“I think I find myself speaking with way more Gryffindors than I ever bargained for, thanks. Not interested in adding another to the list.”
Hermione clenched her fists. He was so
infuriating.
She could punch him, right here and right now. Ginny would pretend to be looking the other way and judging by the hurt expression still marring Theo's Face, he’d probably just cheer her on.
She drew her wand and pointed it at Zabini’s temple. “Shall I just kill him now, then? Which spell would you prefer, contusion or mucus?”
Malfoy’s shoulders heaved as he breathed heavily through gritted teeth. His eyes were wild; swimming with anger and for the first time in ages she could see it. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. The man who had captured, tortured and killed
dozens
of Order members. She reminded herself she should be scared, terrified even. She could feel his hatred flowing through his veins and into her mind, clouding all reasonable thought.
Maybe she was infected. Maybe she could follow through with her threats towards Blaise and then turn it on him, say it was his fault.
Maybe she wasn’t scared of him because he wasn’t the monster here.
She lowered her wand and took a step back, turning towards the door and stumbling away from Malfoy.
“Tell Seamus by sundown or I apparate Zabini’s unconscious body back to the place we dueled.”
She slammed the door behind her.
---
Hermione was sitting on the floor stretching when Malfoy sauntered in hours later.
The moment she had landed back in Grimmauld place she had apparated once more, landing at the cabin that now held too much space in her memory.
This was supposed to be Malfoy’s cabin. A place where they would come and meet, exchange information and then not associate with each other again. A blip on the radar of her brain.
Nothing was ever that easy.
Theo was never supposed to be housed here for werewolf transformations. She looked towards the stairs that led to the porch and all she could see was Ginny handcuffed and pretending to hold it together.
She ran.
Miles, probably a dozen or so. She was great with directions after spending months in the woods and dueling had left her in great shape. It wasn’t the first time she used running as a coping mechanism. It was healthier than the drinking Ron reverted to, or the potions that she sometimes caught Lavender stealing from their stores.
So when Malfoy found her sitting on her hard floor, sweaty, sore and exhausted, all she could manage was a furrow of her brow before she stretched out her left leg and reached out her fingers towards it.
Malfoy, though he had invited himself in, chose to lean against her wall closest to the door. He eyed her, taking in her bedraggled appearance with a smirk before speaking.
“I went to Finnegan.”
“I’m shocked,” she deadpanned.
“Surely you’re at least a bit surprised.”
Hermione sat up straight and rolled her shoulders back. “Not in the least.”
Draco looked away, bringing his hand to his chin in contemplation. “Well, I at least thought about not doing it.”
“Liar.”
Malfoy scowled. “You’re being swotty again.”
She tapped her chest and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I just know you, that’s all.”
He paused. “What an unsettling thought.”
The room settled into an uncomfortable silence. One she was desperate to break.
“You care for Zabini.”
Malfoy stiffened, eyes shooting to glare at her.
“What are you on, Granger?”
“I just mean that you’ve gone through all this effort to ensure his safety, not only now but after the war as well.” It was obvious, but she
knew
not to say it out loud. Malfoy was less in touch with his feelings than Voldemort himself.
“Pardon me for not wanting to watch another schoolmate enlist into their own homicide.”
“Apologies, but from my side of the war it seems as if you
enjoy
killing Hogwarts alumni.”
“If they’re in my way then they’re dead,” he spat. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Hermione stood up, placing her hands on her hips to contain their shaking. “So which is it then? Are you a heartless Death Eater cutting down resistance fighters or are you a teenaged boy that was pressured into the wrong side of the war before you even knew what you would have chosen?”
“Why can’t I be both? Or neither? Why do you have to squeeze me into one of your boxes of good,” he waved his hands at one side of the room, “or evil,” he flung his arms towards the other side.
“Well those are the two options, aren’t they? You’re with the Light or you’re with Tom.”
Or maybe,” he began, voice level rising from the seething whispers they’d started at to near yelling levels, “even those who had no say or care in this war were forced to play a part.”
Hermione scoffed, hands flying to her temples to stave off the oncoming headache. “Teenaged boy that was pressured into the wrong side of the war it is.”
Malfoy stepped forward to close the tiny space that was left between them. They could never sit still when they were fighting. They were circling each other in a spiral, starting on opposite sides of the room until they inevitably met in the middle.
“I didn’t ask for this, Granger.”
“Your mum just spring it on you one morning then?” Her voice was cruel, even to her own ears and her impossibly high standards, but the thrum of his anger seemed to fuel her. “‘Good morning love, tea this afternoon, piano lessons at two, and, oh, by the way, the Dark Lord will be here this evening to brand his slave mark into you’.”
“Well he certainly didn’t write me into his schedule book,” Draco yelled. Hermione felt her anger, unchecked for the first time in ages, rise to unrivaled levels. At least, so she thought. A mini explosion went off in her chest. Suddenly Draco was standing there, hands on his hips, his feral eyes beating into her. She spoke before he had a chance.
“You had time! You could have come to the Order, you could have disappeared. You made the active choice to stay.” She was shaking with repressed rage, bubbling ever closer to the surface.
“You expect a sixteen year old to run away from his parents and everything he’s known, everything that his family has stood for?”
Hermione's eyes lit up with a spark and despair flooded her chest, traveling to his through their tether. She wanted him to know. Wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain she’d been containing for nearly eight years. “I gave up
everything
important to me outside of this world when I was fifteen, excuse me if I hold everyone else to the same standards when it’s a matter of life and death.”
“And my parents would both be dead if I hadn’t stayed. Am I supposed to feel bad about wanting to save them because they picked the wrong side?”
Hermione swallowed and wavered.
Wrong side
, he had said. It was the first time he had even insinuated he was with the Light. She couldn’t think about the implications of that, not right now.
“Well good news Granger,” he began, voice raspy from screaming, “I do feel bad. Everyday.” He turned away, looking out to the sunset through her window, hands gripping the edge of her dresser so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I know I was— am— a coward. I know I should have gone to the Order sooner. And I know that I’m bound to the Golden Girl, Brightest Witch of Our Year, Hermione
fucking
Granger and I’ve done
nothing
to deserve it.” He punctuated his statement with the tapping of his boots—so loud in the now silent room— as he stormed away, slamming the door on his way out.
---
Draco was sitting in the living room staring out of the open window and contemplating stealing one of Theo’s muggle cigarettes that he swore by. His shoulders tensed when he felt her presence heading down the stairs.
He wasn’t ready to face her. His shattered shields still lay in the recesses of his mind. He was too vulnerable. Briefly he considered jumping out of the window before the word
coward
flashed behind his eyes. He grit his teeth, but sat back.
“I understand it’s a hard concept for the Gryffindor to grasp, but unless I’m reaching out to you, I'd prefer that you stay out of my mind.”
Granger stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her ankles crossed. A smirk spread across her features.
“If you think you haven’t been broadcasting your every thought for the past four hours, then maybe you should go back to Occlumency for beginners.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I might have a copy in my room.”
“Well maybe my shields would still be up if some swotty know it all with big hair would leave me alone.” It was a weak insult. He loved her hair. She probably knew it too. It seemed like she knew everything.
She opted for silence, crossed the room and sat beside him. Her face was a mask, but her hands fiddled nervously in her lap. He turned to her with a raised eyebrow.
She sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap.
“I’m not really sure how to go about this.” She took a deep breath. “For so long it was how I coped.” She began rolling up her pant leg and Draco drifted his eyes down to her now exposed calf.
“Only Dean knows about
all
of these. Probably because he brandishes several of the same words, so I trusted him and told him every time. He’s seen most of them too, except for the ones closer to more intimate areas,” her voice was so low. He fought the urge to lean in closer. “He doesn't have quite as many as me, though.”
Draco grabbed the underside of the window seat he was in. It was rough and he could feel wooden splinters digging into his fingertips, but he didn’t relinquish any pressure. The pain grounded him in a way he needed when his Occlumency was failing him.
“I’ve always been a toy to the Death Eaters. Always,” she whispered, still rolling up the material until it bunched at her midthigh. “They capture me, underestimate my intelligence and I escape. You’d think they’d learn by now, but I’m grateful they haven't.
“It started here.” She pointed to her wrist, where he knew Bella’s handiwork to be. He didn’t look down.
Coward.
It was her voice still, but she wasn’t the one sending the words.
“It was the worst moment of my life, at the time. We had been lucky to avoid snatchers and rapers before then. I look back at the incident now and laugh, because if I’d only known what was coming…” she drifted off, finger slowly moving over the word he refused to read.
“You were there.”
His eyes snapped up to meet hers. Her voice was calm and he found he couldn’t respond.
"You were there, during the worst moment in my life thus far, and you did nothing to help me.”
His legs tensed with the urge to stand up and leave. He could go away, so far away that not even Granger could find him. He could cast wards and spells and drink potions that could keep him hidden forever.
Coward.
He sat back forcefully. Not this time.
He tore his eyes down to her wrist. An angry, puckered
mudblood
stared back at him, as if it was freshly healed and not years old. He swallowed against his dry throat, but didn’t look away.
“I was so angry and so embarrassed to have been that helpless. It was awful. My first cruciatus, actually.” She drew her wrist away and his eyes were burning. “But not my last.”
His breath hitched but he righted it immediately. Steady breathing meant a steady heart rate. Maintain control. Don’t let emotions take over.
He hadn’t known. He looked at all the scars on her exposed leg and began counting, but stopped after he reached fourteen, averting his eyes to the ceiling.
All those times she’d been in the manor and he hadn’t known.
“If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to be crueler than that. You see my nerves are shot from all the cruciatus curses I’ve had to endure. Maybe you could try your hand at an Unforgivable every now and again and let me know how you fare.”
Not for the first time since he’d switched loyalties, he felt ignorant.
“Most of the time they gave me several in one go. They would surround me with their enchanted knives and pass me around like I was a fucking joint. And I let it happen because I knew if I fought there then I wouldn’t make it out alive. I exercised patience in a way a Gryffindor shouldn’t need to.”
Her arms were wrapped around her chest and for the first time since she’d told him about her parents, she looked vulnerable.
“I couldn’t blame Bellatrix because of how much she frightened me. I couldn’t be angry with her because that meant I’d have to think about
her
every time I looked at my scar. My mind couldn’t cope with that idea.” She began rolling down her pant leg and Draco suppressed a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t know the other snatchers that well, and even though they were the ones that caught me they were so stupid they couldn’t identify Harry Potter. So I reasoned I couldn’t possibly be mad at wizards so nonsensical.”
She met his eyes once more and he vowed to hold her gaze. “So that left you. You were there, but you hadn’t touched me so I didn’t fear you. But I knew you. Well enough to realize that if the roles were reversed, I would have never let that happen to you.”
He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, maybe to refute her statement, but most likely to beg for forgiveness. She cut him off with the raise of her hand before anything could tumble out.
“It’s no matter, really. You would have been dead if you moved an inch and the same stands for me if we had switched places. That’s the difference between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I suppose.” She shook her head and twirled a curl around her finger. His eyes fell to watch the motion, entranced. He really did love her hair.
“Gryffindors don’t think when it comes to situations of adrenaline. Ron and Harry were downstairs screaming for me the whole time. I’m sure you heard that. We just act and if we were in your place, we wouldn’t have been able to see the bigger picture and we would all be dead.
“You made a smart decision that night. I know that. But I couldn’t let my mind accept that. I needed it to be your fault. I needed someone to blame and you were the safest bet. We were on opposite sides, I would never see you unless it was on the battlefield and you were there, doing nothing.”
She leaned back against the window, eyes closed and lips pressed together in a tight line. Occluding. He could practically see it.
“But you showed up, and then I binded you. We’re attached and it feels so right that sometimes I forget. I forget that I hate you and that it’s your fault.”
Her eyes were still closed. Her brow furrowed so harshly a crease appeared on her forehead.
“Slowly, over the past few months I’ve started to realize the problem isn’t that I’ve forgotten, but merely that it was never you I should have blamed in the first place. You were just the easiest person to put my trauma on.”
His head was spinning. His instincts told him to reach out and silence her, let her know they would get through this together. She could blame him. He blamed himself anyways, what was the burden of one more disappointment?
“But now accepting that means accepting that you weren’t responsible for any of these.” She gestured to her legs. “And now I have to put a face to the actual people who did this to me.”
She shook her head and a single tear leaked out of her eye. “So I’m sorry. Because out of all the truly horrible things you’ve done, I’ve never hated you for them. But this, this thing you had no control over, I
despised
you for it for years.”
He grabbed her wrist and flipped it over, looking at the scar once more. He placed his other hand over it firmly.
Her body shook with sobs.
“I can’t forgive you for it yet. And I’m sorry for that too.” Her voice was wet with tears.
He shook his head. “Occlumency will do that to you.” It was excellent for compartmentalization but a person could only hide their emotions for so long.
“I have to go through all those memories and remove you from them. I had placed you there in lieu of the actual people.”
“That’s ingenious.” It really was.
She had her hands balled into fists and pressed lightly against her lips. Her words were muffled when she spoke again. “But going back and reliving them is hard. It might take a while.”
“Don’t do it.” His voice edged on begging but he didn’t care.
She shook her head. “I have to. I’m ready to move on from what you didn’t do and focus on what you’re trying to do now.”
It was silent for a moment. They sat like that for a while before he decided on the appropriate words.
“You’ll let me be there while you do it?”
She hesitated. “It could take months for me to complete them all.”
He tightened his grip.
“Granger, I’m not going anywhere.”
|
Jon knew, even before he was fully awake, that he was back on Winterfell.
They had ridden hard the day before, just to be there sooner. His men were ready to have the protection of the walls around them and Arya wanted her bed. Jon himself just wished for something different.
He’d been so tired when they arrived that he barely remembered the whole affair. He had some flashes, as if he’d drunk too much ale, even though he knew he hadn’t. He remembered the gates, the tub…
Sansa.
She was the brightest flash in his memory. He remembered her linking their arms together, telling him that food waited for him on his chamber.
Then…
No. Certainly he was wrong. He’d been alone when he entered the tub, of this he was absolutely sure. Was his imagination running wild?
He thought he remembered Sansa washing his hair, his back… But he had to be wrong. She’d never touched him outside of the few times they…
He’d probably been too tired and had fallen asleep and dreamed.
He wasn’t delusional, because he knew he was at Winterfell. Only here he could sleep in peace, the quiet sounds of normal life around the keep were calming to him, he could feel the weight of Ghost’s body against his shin, and the bedsheets smelled of rosemary.
But today… They also smelled of roses.
Like Sansa.
The thought was what made Jon finally open his eyes, and the vision that greeted him made him wonder if he was still sleeping.
It was Sansa. There. On his bed.
He was lying on his side, facing her who was mirroring his position. He had one of her hands secure in his, but it was the only place where they touched. Her other hand was gently tucked under her face, her breathing steady. Jon noticed, by the light coming into the room that it was still early and they had another hour before the sun fully came up.
Looking at her Jon noticed that she wasn’t wearing her nightgown. She was actually completely dressed on her normal clothes, like she’d fallen asleep there by accident. Even her hair was still braided, even though it had fallen apart a bit.
She was still the most beautiful sight Jon had ever seen.
Which still didn’t explain what she was doing on his bed; she’d never slept there before. Even when they bedded it was on her room, and after he’d return to his cold and empty bed and wonder when things had become so complicated.
Probably around the time he found out she was his cousin and had to marry her less than a moon’s turn after.
Not that he felt forced to marry her, even if Daenerys had pressured him into it. He’d accepted it because he wanted to protect her and Winterfell. He just never expected the feelings that came after. He didn’t expect to actually love her.
The feeling crept up to him slowly, even though he supposed he already loved her somehow before. Not like he did now, but he imagined even complicated feelings had to come from somewhere.
And he’d been so stupid, saying this should be nothing but a marriage of convenience. He’d believed that would be what she wanted and that it would make this easier for both of them.
It didn’t. It made everything so complicated, so messy. He didn’t want a marriage of convenience, not with her.
But how could he go back on his word now? Sansa had agreed to it, which meant it was what she wanted, and he’d never force anything else on her, because the Gods knew that she –most than anybody else –deserved peace.
He wished he could have protected her from this marriage as well. Sansa had earned the right to marry or not, she suffered too much in the hands of so many men that Jon thought it was cruel to make her marry again.
The joke was on him, since now he was the husband.
However, he’d never force himself on her. If she wanted to keep this marriage perfectly polite and unconsumed he’d do it, for her.
The problem was that they needed an heir. Daenerys was sure she was barren, so she made Jon her heir for the Iron Throne. She’d wanted to marry him to someone else, then also marry Sansa to another man, but Jon wouldn’t have it.
He agreed to marry anyone Daenerys chose, as long as Sansa could remain at Winterfell and only marry if she so desired.
Then Dany made the last offer: Jon could marry Sansa and have children with her or she’d marry both of them to other people.
He talked to Sansa and made it clear it was her choice and he would fight for her and protect her it didn’t matter what she chose.
“I know, Jon.” She’d replied. “And that’s why I choose you.”
And that had been the end of it. Daenerys made him Prince, he and Sansa were married for political reasons, even if he loved her more than he thought he’d ever love someone again.
Jon had accepted that, as a man of the Night’s Watch, he’d never have a wife or a family, but in the few delirious moments when he allowed himself to dream about marriage, he always imagined he’d love this woman and that she’d love him back.
Now, the mere thought of demanding Sansa’s love, made him feel beyond selfish.
But in this –almost- morning, she was here. Right in front of him; eyes closed, breathing deeply, eyelashes fanning her cheekbones. He wanted to touch her, feel her skin under his hands, but he wondered what would happen if she woken up and saw him there.
Why was she there anyway?
He didn’t even realize he was staring at her until she opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Jon froze for a second, like a child caught doing something wrong. He didn’t know what to expect from her, but it certainly wasn’t the smile he got.
“Jon.” She sighed, a dreamy, sleepy smile on her lips.
He wanted to kiss that smile on her mouth. He wanted to whisper that he loved her, then prove it with his touch.
He was a stupid man.
Jon just wanted to hold to the illusion a bit more. “Hey, sweet girl.” He whispered, afraid that his voice might break the spell.
She rubbed her eyes with the hand that wasn’t still in his. “This is new.” She murmured.
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it too much.” She yawned and Jon’s heart hammered in his chest.
Jon tried to think fast of something else to say, but Sansa was more awake now. The sleepy smile fell away, as she noticed more of what was going on around her. Suddenly she sat on the bed, fully focused, her hand leaving his.
Jon missed the contact immediately.
“Jon.” She gasped, her hands going to his chest. “What am I…” She looked around once again, like she wasn’t sure of what she was doing there. “I guess I fell asleep…”
Ghost had raised his head, probably guessed there was some human drama happening and climbed out of bed. The direwolf went to lie by the fireplace, leaving his master and mistress to sort themselves out.
Jon sat on the bed, finally noticing he was shirtless. He resisted the urge to cover himself with the furs, like he was some kind of maiden.
Jon cleared his throat. “I thought I had dreamed. About the bath.” He clarified when she looked at him confused.
Sansa blushed under his gaze, her eyes going to her lap. “You fell asleep inside the tub.” She finally told him. “I worried you might drown.”
He snorted. “That would be a story told for centuries. The Prince that came back to life, defeated the Others and drowned on his own bathtub.”
Sansa giggled, then covered her mouth, like she was embarrassed by it. Her hands went to the bodice of her dress. “No wonder I am so uncomfortable.” She murmured more to herself.
“I was wondering about that as well.” Jon admitted, his eyes drinking her in, even if she would not look at him.
“You wanted to talk.” She informed him. “You grabbed my hand and asked about Winterfell. I guess I just fell asleep at some point.”
“I am sorry for imposing on you, My Lady.” He murmured, his eyes falling to the bed.
He saw from the corner of his eyes Sansa stiffening. Somehow, he’d said the wrong thing; he had no idea of what, though.
“Not at all, My Lord.” She quickly got out of the bed. “I will let you rest more.” She curtsied to him and Jon felt it like a slap. “I will see you later, My Lord.”
As she left his chambers closing the door behind herself Jon wondered how things had gone wrong so fast; from waking up to her smile, to an empty, cold bedroom.
He truly knew nothing.
XxX
After Sansa left his room Jon had been incapable of going back to sleep, so he decided to start his day, even if it was so early.
He dressed alone –he didn’t need a valet to put his breeches on –and went down to the kitchen. The servants were already working, preparing the breakfast. Jon –used to the many years he had sneaked around Winterfell’s kitchen –got himself a bit of food and took to his solar.
One of the servants asked him why he didn’t just ask one of them. Jon realized it hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask for someone else to do something he could do himself.
Jon entered his solar and looked at his table. Sansa had left it perfectly organized for him, even though she knew better than anyone else he would make a mess of it in less than a day.
He put his food down, and let his eyes take everything. The supply of feathers, ready to be used; the inkwells, the extra paper… All within easy reach. There were letters he needed to answer, ledgers he needed to check…
Sansa made his life so much simpler with the way she took care of him.
Even though he’d planned on working and catching up on the business he couldn’t focus; he kept replaying the brief interlude from earlier.
Sansa on his bed.
Her hand on his.
The smile on her lips.
He’d called her sweet girl and she’d said she liked it.
Was he missing something? She’d seen perfectly happy to be there until she fully woke up. Jon kept trying to remember the night before, but he could only remember flashes, and –even then –he wasn’t sure if they were dreams or not.
Her hand on his face, on his chest, his back… Had he really stood naked in front of her?
His wife had never seen him completely naked. Actually, she’d never touched his skin either, much less his chest or back.
And by the Gods, did Jon want it.
Their beddings were always so… Practical. There was no passion, barely any feelings. Jon wanted to touch Sansa, feel the heat of her skin, kiss her lips, her throat. But she’d gone through so much! How could he demand that of her?
She had a lot of things taken from her and Jon wouldn’t ask for anything she wasn’t willing to give on her own free will.
But…
It was a stray stupid thought. And still…
Did Sansa know she had the choice of giving? Did she know that if she wanted Jon would worship her body and her heart?
Did she have any idea of how much he wanted to be a good husband to her?
Jon didn’t think that she did.
And that… That changed everything. |
Not Really An Endingby Moonbeam
Harry knew, the moment before Valentine shot him, that he was going to die. He had faced death before but each time his thoughts had been on escape…or calm acceptance of a life well spent keeping the world safe. This time, staring at an insane American genius, he thought of moments missed with a man who was a hair more than half his age. Harry thought of the fact that the younger man would probably be watching at this very moment and he could do nothing as the bullet was released and Harry's muscles twitched with movement.
Then all he knew was pain as the image of Eggsy faded from his vision.
/\/\/\
Eggsy closed the computer and slipped down onto the floor, pulling JB close, and allowed himself a few minutes to pet his dog – the dog that stopped him from being able to go with Harry. The dog he'd allowed to get under his skin because Harry had pried his barriers off and made him want something more than he knew he deserved.
Then, before he could allow himself to wallow anymore he stood up, tucked JB under his arm, and walked towards Kingsman.
/\/\/\
Eggsy kissed the Princess once, on the lips, and then continued down the corridor opening each cell in turn until there was a gaggle of well-known faces surrounding him. He took a deep breath, the only anonymous face in a sea of front cover worthy people. He slipped back and away, knowing that there would be a range of different people coming for the hostages – that Merlin was taking care of it. Eggsy took his glasses off, sliding them into his breast pocket and walked back to the plane slowly, dragging his feet across the floor and his fingers along the rough walls. He didn't really feel anything.
He had been ignoring it, so focussed on stopping Valentine, but now there were no more 'bad guys' – Valentine was dead, his supporters blown away, and his henchmen dead. And Arthur – the conniving old fuck was dead too. Eggsy hadn't thought about it at the time but Arthur had known and had sent Harry to his death. Eggsy wished he could go back and kill the fucker again but he knew he couldn't; he'd just have to make do with the knowledge that he'd avenged Harry.
This hadn't been his plan when he'd seen the older man leaning against the wall – then he'd thought about old guys who liked a bit of rough. Later, he'd wondered what he might be able to turn that pint of Guinness into…then he'd been pretty fucking turned on when his possible bit of fancy turned out to be a fucking badass motherfucker who won a fight with a fucking umbrella. Walking through Kingsman he wondered if it would be appropriate to push Harry into the cupboard and mess the other man up a little bit – sliding into that body honed to be a killing machine and making Harry let go while speared on his cock.
Now, he missed the sly humour and that half a smile much more than he regretted missing out on seeing what Harry looked like, pressed back into a mattress while Eggsy worked out how to fuck himself on another man's cock.
He made it back to the plane. Merlin was talking to R…Lancelot.
"We will be there presently," Merlin told Roxy and then signed off. He turned to look at Eggsy over the top of his glasses. "I thought you were making time with a princess."
Eggsy shrugged. "We going to get Roxy?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Merlin nodded and stood up to go into the cockpit. "After Lancelot's retrieval, home or Kentucky?"
Eggsy froze but didn't turn around. He sucked in a heaving breath and kept walking towards the bathroom hoping to wash the blood off. "Kentucky."
"Very well, Eggsy."
Eggsy almost thought he'd heard another name but he ignored it and walked into the bathroom, scrubbing his skin clean, and looked for something else to wear. There was a cupboard – Galahad written across the gold label. He found a pair of tartan sleep pants that were softer than his sister's favourite blanket. He slipped them on, they were a little tight at the waist, too long in the leg, but they were just what he needed. He collapsed onto the bed at the back of the plane. He didn't expect to sleep but he couldn't remember anything else until someone was shaking him awake.
"Ha-" he remembered and bolted upright to see Roxy standing over him with pity in her eyes.
"We're about to land in Kentucky," she told him, stepping back.
"I'll change," he said, stepping past her quickly.
"Eggsy…"
"Leave off, Rox, I'm fine, yeah?"
"Yeah," she said unconvincingly.
Eggsy changed back into his own clothes; they were both a welcome comfort and something that didn't quite feel right anymore. He shook off the thought and walked through the plane to find Roxy sitting next to Merlin; assisting him in flying the plane.
"When do I get pilot lessons?" Eggsy asked.
Merlin twisted around and stared at him silently.
"I already have my pilot's licence," Roxy told him.
Eggsy shook his head and looked at Merlin. "Don't know what that stupid fucker was thinking."
Merlin smirked at him and went back to flying the plane.
"Twenty minutes out," Roxy said. "You need to go and strap yourself in, Eggsy."
"Aye, aye, Cap."
"Get strapped in, Buck."
Eggsy couldn't resist the laugh that burst out of his throat as he walked back into the plane and sat down, doing up his seatbelt while they called to the tower and descended.
/\/\/\
Eggsy took the lead as they walked into the police station without really thinking about the fact that Merlin was the one who actually had an idea what he was doing.
"Can I help you?" The woman behind the desk asked, obviously sizing him up.
"Yes," Eggsy said, sliding his mobile across the counter. "We're looking for this man."
"Who is he?" she asked, peering down at the image on the phone.
"His…"
"Brother," Merlin jumped in, "he was going to that horrible church where all of the people died and I think-"
"He was lucky, shot in the head but he's still alive."
Eggsy's world swam away from him for a minute and he gripped the counter tightly. He came back to the moment when the cop was explaining where they'd taken Harry.
"Thank you," Eggsy heard Merlin say politely to her.
"He's a lucky guy," she offered, "only one still alive."
Eggsy nodded and followed Merlin out of the station. He slid into the car and watched the foreign city stream by outside of the window. Followed the sway of Roxy's hair through the hospital and then stopped, frozen, outside of the door to Harry's room. Someone shoved him in the middle of the back and then he saw Harry…half saw Harry. There was a thick white bandage covering half of his face and the rest was a strange pale that Eggsy had never seen before. He could hear the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor. He tracked the rise and fall of Harry's chest for several breaths and then reached out and rested his hand directly over Harry's heart – feeling the heartbeat, feeling his chest move, and finally breathed.
"You're a fucking arse, mate," he said sitting down next to Harry. "Making me think you're dead. Such a bastard move. Or was this your way of making me prove myself because I have to tell you, I don't think you're going to be fucking pleased when you wake up and find out what I did to that fucker Arthur. He's dead – killed him myself, didn't I? You'd best wake up soon, you old man. I don't want to have to start stabbing you in the leg to move you along. They might frown on it…"
Eggsy trailed off and just sat next to Harry, waiting.
/\/\/\ |
How he hated Saint Denis.
He always had. Cities in general were never quite his cup of tea, but Saint Denis held a special place in his heart as perhaps the most accurate representation of hell one was likely to find on earth. Memories that were far too fresh drudged up as they rode through the impoverished hollows, all too aware they were a suspicious lot. Old wounds ached. People stared. Though being this far out, folk hardly seemed to care. Far more concerned with keeping their heads down, on getting their work down.
He drew Dakota to a stop, turning towards the others as they caught up with him. They'd ridden hard; through the night, stopping only to let their mounts breathe. As it was, Dakota had worked up a sweat, his head hanging low. He loved to run; but even this was too much for him. Arthur whispered an apology, one that was sweetened with a peppermint. A bit of praise.
“You done good, boy.”
Taima and Bob looked just as worn. As did Charles and Sadie, but they drew up alongside him, somber as ever. Steadfast and determined. Sadie the first to speak; the first any of them had said since leaving camp.
“What's the plan?”
He pursed his lips, turning away. There was no plan. How could there be one? It was nothing more than a jumbled thought that had spurred them this way, and even now there was no telling if they were right. If this hunch of theirs even made sense. And even if they were, how would they go about proving it?
“We should do this without taking lives, if we can. Needless murder will only draw attention,” Charles put in. More a plead than anything else. The man could kill; would kill, if needed to be. But he preferred to not. Preferred a more peaceful outcome whenever possible.
They used to do that. Once. Back in the early days when it had been just him and Dutch and Hosea. They'd cause quite a stir, humiliate folk, but kill? Nah, killing was something they only did when necessary.
It hadn't been necessary. Not for a long while. And he could feel that inkling grow, wanting to grasp it once again. Enough that he found himself nodding. Agreeing.
“And how we supposed to do that?” Sadie wondered thinly, “we gonna catch ourselves a lawman, get him to spill—whatever it is he's got to spill, then turn him loose? Make him pinky promise he won't go an tell nobody? You lost your mind, or somethin'?”
“And you think we can take one in the first place?” Charles challenged. “City's too busy, there's too much going on. We even look at one wrong, we'll be overrun on the spot. The law...they look after there own.”
“What’re you suggestin’ then?”
“Split up?” Charles offered up weakly. “Let's poke around, see what we can find. Don't engage with anyone, don't cause trouble, just...watch. Look, Micah helped cause this mess—chances are one of these boys are pissed off at him. I say that we give it some time, keep an ear to the ground. See what we can find.”
“And here I came ready for another shootout,” she remarked slyly, letting out a laugh at his eye roll. “Calm down, I ain't being serious. It's boring, sure, but safe—I can handle safe. What're you thinkin', Arthur? You've been awfully quiet.”
He hadn't said anything. Hadn't engaged, his mind racing over what Charles had said. Sure the law would know something; that much they'd figured out before even leaving camp. But getting that information had been a problem that had pestered him on the entire ride over. Wanting and wishing for the moment that Dutch
had
come, on the account the man would have already dredged up a plan.
But he wasn't here. It was a strange, mixed affliction he couldn't rightly sort out. So he banished it instead, lifting his head. Meeting their gazes. Words heavy on his lips.
“I...I ain't sure we gotta do any of that.” he stated plainly.
Arthur didn't much like the idea of wandering the city. Not after all they'd done. Not with each and every one of their bounties posted for all of the city to see. Most folk were too busy or too dumb to notice a wanted criminal, but with plenty of law about, they'd be looking. They'd be keeping track.
Just like Charles had mentioned. They looked after their own.
“What do you have in mind?” Charles wondered, breaking that silence once more.
“Go right to the source,” he explained, “we know them Pinkertons came on down here from Annesburg. Chances are, they holed up at the police station down the way… They sure been workin with the cops enough, it only makes sense. I figure we… we walk in, take a look around, see if we can’t find somethin’ worthwhile ‘fore we go and tear the city apart on a hunch.”
“Go back to jail?” Sadie asked, incredulous. “We just got you the hell outta there—”
“Ain't like I'm suggesting to be arrested,” Arthur cut her off with a growl. Did she really think he was that dull?
“Course not,” Charles agreed, “but it's too dangerous—that's right in the heart of the city. They'll be all over that area like a swarm of bees.”
“Not if you cause a distraction,” Arthur offered. “Draw them on out; long enough for me to slip on in. Sides' that—what if the fool got himself caught? John could be sitting in jail, at this very moment, while we go on bickering. Gotta check it out, at least.”
He was met with silence. Charles and Sadie both staring him down. The wheels turning in their head. Arthur could see it, even from here. How they were mulling it over. Weighing the pros and cons of it all.
If John were in jail, it'd make their lives all that much easier. He'd get the fool on out of there, drag him back kicking and screaming if he had to. If not, then there sure as hell was gonna be something he could figure out. What better place than locked in the desk at the station?
And who better than him? He'd been in that damn place more times than he wanted to count. Picking up bounties, delivering bounties, and of course his most recent visit could not be forgotten. For the others—he doubted they'd even set foot inside.
A fact he all but shared with them.
Charles let out a sigh, followed by a nod. Relenting. “It could work.”
“I don't like it,” Sadie protested. Her voice sharp when Arthur tried to argue. “Look, Arthur—I ain't about to go back and explain why we let you go get yourself hanged.”
“Ain't no one getting hanged,” he bit sourly. He wanted to believe it too, though doubt of his own lingered in his mind. “I just… I wanna be sure, ‘fore we do anything rash.”
“Sadie and I will draw them out; you get in, and out, quick as you can,” Charles encouraged. “Fifteen minutes, and we'll meet by the old stockyard?”
“Sure,” Arthur nodded, turning Dakota. “Give me a few minutes to get ahead of you two. Cause some noise, and then get. You hear?”
“Loud and clear, boss,” Sadie bit back, a sly grin on her face. It was Charles, though, who took things more seriously.
“Stick to the shadows; don't want to be recognized before you even get there.”
He waved a hand, dismissively as he rode on. They both were acting as though he hadn't been running with his head down for twenty goddamned years. He knew a thing or two about avoid detection. Every trick of the trade racing through his head as they plodded on down the streets. His eyes, ever vigilant. He turned Dakota, more often than not. Steering him down side alleys and back onto less traveled roads each time he spotted a flicker of blue.
Or a shimmer of red.
His thoughts of the Pinkertons being here all but proven as he kept a running tally in his head. Nearly a dozen already, and he hadn't even reached the station yet. Though when he did, his heart was hardly beating. Arthur stilling Dakota under him, almost forgetting to breathe as he watched. There was a group of them. Five or six, lingering just outside those doors. Talking idly, shooting the breeze. Surely there were more inside too.
He was a damn fool. Thinking this would work. A slight tremor in his hands as he clutched the reigns, trying his best to not convince himself to abandon it all. To ride away and call it all off before it began.
Too late.
It was too late.
All that proven by the shouts off in the distance. The lawmen perking up at that. Ambling at first, then running as the shouts only heightened. The lot of them racing away; all except one that turned back, ducking inside the station. Arthur's breath catching at that, even as he slid from his saddle.
That tension easing as he saw the lawman race back out. Another few right on his heels. Now was the time. He had to move. And move he did. A deep breath gathered up as he sprinted across the street. Halting right before he reached the doors, pushing his way in slow.
It was quiet. Empty—the foyer all but abandoned. For the moment, at least. If Charles and Sadie were smart, they'd already have fled. Had gotten to safety. The law would chase their tails for a moment. Only for a moment. That moment was already dwindling; he could feel the time ticking away with each stuttered breath that hitched in his chest.
Christ, he couldn't lose it now. Arthur clutching onto what little sanity he had left, forcing himself to stand tall. His eyes sweeping over the cells first. A few prisoners here, fewer than when he was last here. Not John. A sigh of relief, though it hardly did anything to soothe his fears.
The desk stood before him. Arthur stooped before it, working to break the lock. Sorting through the desk one drawer at a time. Taking far too long, moving far too slow. Paper after paper pulled free, eyes racing over the faded words. Bounties that had been completed. Ordinances that needed updating. Something about the governor.
All of it boring. All of it useless. He moved to the next door, digging through yet more papers. There had to be something here. There just had to be—there!
The folder sat in the next door. Fresh and undisturbed, a poorly rendered sketch of one of their badges gracing the cover. And below it, in small letters, was a warning.
Confidential.
Confidential material was always the best, he mused with a grin. He pulled the papers free, skimming the content inside. Faces of him, of all of them, staring back up at him. Dutch, Hosea, Bill, Javier—the whole of the gang nestled just inside. Promises of their bounties, as well additional motivation from Cornwall himself. A drive to vanquish the Van der Linde Gang.
He swallowed heavy, flipping through the pages. Reading the hastily jotted notes, on where'd they been. On where'd they been seen. Valentine. Rhodes. Saint Denis—a mention of Van Horn. Hosea—that was where they'd taken Hosea. Where the bastards had—
Arthur shook his head, flipping the page once more. He couldn't get distracted. Couldn't be waylaid. Who knew how much time he had left? He pushed himself, reading all the faster. Skimming the words for any mention of him. Of any mention of Micah.
And there.
He paused, reading the page. A full entry of the man; where he'd been born, who'd he ran with. Behind it, more papers. Letters, he realized. Reading what the man had penned. What the man had betrayed. Locations. Jobs. Information in exchange for freedom. For a pretty payday that was promised his way.
Arthur's eyes fell on the last page. The last entry to have been added to the folder. A plan put into works, an attempt to salvage things, it seemed. Keeping the man safe in feeble hope he might be of use in the future. And now...Arthur knew where.
Quickly, quietly, he slid the folder back in place. The desk left as it was before he even came. Arthur made his way back to the door, pausing as he passed by the keys. Eyes flicking back to the prisoners who watched him warily. Some of them the same fools that had been here when he'd been taken in. There was no telling what they'd done, if anything. The law seemed all too eager to punish anyone nowadays.
And he reasoned, that prisoners slipping free would occupy the law all the more. Mind made up he snatched the keys off the desk, letting out a whistle before he tossed them. The prisoner, a disheveled man, scrambling to catch them, the gratitude in his voice easy to hear.
“Go on, get the hell out of here, 'fore they come back,” Arthur warned them.
It was all he said before he crept out slowly. Holding his breath as he ran back across the street. Dakota snorted irately as he all but threw himself in to the saddle. And not a moment too soon—he could see the law trudging back. Worn and weary and empty handed.
Good—it meant that Charles and Sadie had gotten free. And now it was his turn. With a click of his tongue he set off, hurrying without seeming as though he was in a hurry. The old stockyard sat outside the city, filled to the brim with rotten carcasses and aging bones.
A place no one wanted to go. A place they could hide in secret, undisturbed. A place, where the could make plans.
|
When John arrived, he has a small smile on his face but a nervous tremor ran through his stomach. After all, last time... The kiss... That one amazing kiss that had his heart racing.
John shook his head (he can’t think about things like that. He’s here for Alex) and knocked on the front door, shifting from side to side and twirling his fingers just for something to do. He can’t rid himself of the nerves, even if he does rid himself of the thoughts.
After tidying the flat for the thousandth time, Sherlock took a look at himself in the mirror. He had never been a vain person, all he ever wanted was to look his best which, in this moment, he was.
When he heard a knock at the door, he slowly moved to go let John in, his heart pounding in his chest all the while.
He walked down the stairs one at a time and tried not to think about the kiss…. The kiss which reignited a fire inside of him that had been cold and frozen for over 10 years, one that would burn for John alone.
John waited as patiently as he could and when the door opened, he beamed at Sherlock and entered, pausing awkwardly for a moment as he's unsure how to greet Sherlock. A friendly hug? No, too intimate. A handshake? Too formal.
He settled with saying "Hi" and side stepping around him into the building. The air had a cold bite to it today.
“Hello, John.” Sherlock said as calmly as possible. He closed the door as quietly as possible as Mrs Hudson usually took a nap around this time and he does not want to wake her. “I have already made most of the furniture except for the bed and wardrobe because they need to be assembled in the room. If we paint all of the walls today then I can sort out all the furniture once it has dried.” Sherlock babbled as he walked up the stairs into his apartment.
"Paint?" John asked with a smile. "Well, I'm glad I didn't wear my best jumper" He jokesd, tugging lightly on the end of his coat. "Shall we?" He asked, pointing towards his old room. Alex’s room, he corrected himself.
He felt a bit weird still. He could hear that his voice was slightly higher than usual and maybe even shaking a bit. He couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at Sherlock or looked around the flat, memories (recent and otherwise) hit him with intense force.
“Yes. We need to try and get it all done today.” Sherlock state, leading the way to John’s old room. John’s old room… he forgot about that. How could that slip his mind? He was moving his… their daughter into John’s old room. It was rather weird just to think about it.
How did this happen…?
John followed Sherlock and didn't notice the other man's moment of thought, too lost in his own thoughts about how they were really starting to sort everything out despite the awkwardness that had settled between them.
He walked over to the sheet that was laid out and spreads it further before he stripped out of his jumper and put it aside so it didn't get covered in paint. As he said, it wasn’t his favourite but he was fond of every jumper he owned.
“I bought some overalls if you wish to wear them so you don’t get paint all over you?” Sherlock asked, pulling said items out of a box and showing them to John.
He placed them on the floor and began to take the paint and brush out of the box, taking off the lids of the paint and stirring them with a large wooden spoon.
John gave a shrug. "I think I should be all right. This top is nothing special and those overalls look a bit big for me"
He walked over to Sherlock as he spoke and gave the man a small smile before he crouched down to pour the paint that Sherlock had stirred into the roller tray.
“Well I’m going to use the overalls.” Sherlock stated, picking up one of the overalls and putting them on over his clothes. Once he is finished he walked back over to John and handed him a roller silently.
John nodded and accepted the roller with another smile. Being nervous made him smiley, oddly enough. He moved over to the section of the wall he'd decided to paint and began.
It's quiet for some time and John felt it a little awkward. Okay, that's a lie. The awkwardness was practically suffocating him. He just wanted to get along with Sherlock and not have this awkwardness hanging over them constantly.
John suddenly got an idea and turned to Sherlock as fast as possible. "We should put some music on!" He grinned before his eyes widen.
In his haste to turn and talk to Sherlock, he'd forgotten about the generous amount of paint on the end of his roller. That generous amount of paint that was now covering Sherlock's side, having been propelled by the speed at which John turned.
Sherlock looked down to where John splattered him with the paint. He looked back up at John’s face which was now looking extremely shocked.
“It’s a good thing I wore the overalls then.” Sherlock admitted, no emotion in his voice as he says it but once he has, he is laughing so hard that he has to hold onto his sides after a few minutes because they hurt so much.
After containing his laughter to minimal giggles he paints a stripe across the length of John’s t shirt slowly, taking in the look on john’s face.
John gasped in shock at Sherlock's action but when he looked down at his t-shirt he can't stop himself from grinning. He looked up and pulled a mock serious face.
"Well, I can't let you get away with that" He teased and with those words he rolled paint up Sherlock's chest, purposely going on to his exposed skin at the top of the overalls.
He stuck his tongue out after as a way to show his childish victory. It's hard not to smile though and soon he's failing at keeping his own giggles in.
Sherlock looked down at his stained overalls and laughed with John, putting down his paint brush so he doesn’t have to worry about it falling on the floor. He then sat down with his back against the dry wall, trying to slow his laughter down.
“I have a stitch.” Sherlock muttered between laughs, drawing his knees up towards his body.
John continued to giggle and he moved to sit beside Sherlock. His giggles fade after a few moments and he ended up just smiling at Sherlock.
That umbrella of awkwardness seemed to have been replaced with a childish, giggling ray of sunshine.
He looked down at his paint brush, realising that he was having more fun than he'd had in a long time. Maybe even since he was last with Sherlock. John knew that Sherlock would be the only person he ever truly loved so it made complete sense that he had this much fun with Sherlock.
“I’ve missed you… missed this.” Sherlock whispered quietly, hoping that John didn’t hear what he just said.
It was embarrassing but true. So unbelievably true that it made his chest ache. He wanted John back more so than ever. Even though he’d been rejected, sort of, just a few nights ago by him.
John let out a breath and looked at Sherlock once more. He can’t stop the large grin from spreading over his face, almost threatening to split his face in half with its size and intensity. John reached out before thinking and took Sherlock's hand, squeezing. He knew that he was going against his rules. He told himself that he wouldn’t do anything like this before he was sure Alex was happy and he knew what she wanted.
He couldn’t exactly just let Sherlock say all this and not reply, though, could he?
"I missed you too." He whispered. "I miss everything about you and what we had"
Sherlock sighed quietly, squeezing John’s hand also. “Everything was so good, so simple back then. I could say that I loved you without any fear that you would reject me.” He brushed his thumb across John’s knuckles, focusing on the movement of his fingers as they moved across the ridges.
Last time they were together was after the three of them went out to dinner and Sherlock was terrified that this will end the same way. The idea of John running from him once again was horrifying.
John swallowed, his throat feeling as though it's about to close. He wanted to cry. That was something he refused to do, however. Sherlock had never seen him cry and he never planned on letting the other man see him in such a pitiful state. That being said, he’d been very close to crying the last time they were alone.
"Sherlock, I... You can still say it. It you want to... I, uh, won't reject you." John suck in a breath and spoke more confidently. "I'm determined to keep you in mine and Alex's life"
Sherlock took a shaky breath, letting his lungs fill with air before releasing it roughly. “I… I love you. I love you and I love our daughter. Even though everyone that isn’t Lestrade tells me that I should hate you for leaving me, I don’t because you are the best and wisest man I have ever known so… of course I forgive you.” Sherlock turned his head and looked at John lovingly, his breaths shaky and his eyes glassed over.
John nodded, trying to keep himself together. Sherlock could quickly break him with words like that. And those eyes… John felt as if he’d kicked a sad puppy while it was bedridden.
After everything. Him leaving him, keeping Alex a secret, making it awkward when he did come back into his life, kissing him because he felt down and then getting up and deserting him, telling him to forget the kiss. After all that, Sherlock still loved him and he forgave him.
John didn't think. He just acts. He surged forward and pressed his mouth against Sherlock’s own in a kiss that could only be described as desperate. Unlike their last kiss, however, it wasn’t because John was feeling like a failure as an Omega. This time is was because Sherlock still loved him and he still loved Sherlock.
Sherlock encouraged the kiss, letting his lips dance across John’s and capture them time after time. He let all of his worries go so he could focus on this one kiss with the man he loved. The man he has loved for over a decade. All his mind said in that moment was: ‘John, John, John’.
His hands work their way down John’s body, over his chest and stomach, gripping on his hips for a while before making their way to his arse where they kneed and pull so that John moves and straddles Sherlock’s legs.
"Sherlock, slow..." John pulled back out of the kiss, blinking at Sherlock as his mind absorbs the situation. "Slow down..." John tried again, watching Sherlock closely and trying to think what to do. This could quickly get out of hand.
Sherlock moved his neck back slightly so he can see John’s face. “What?”
Sherlock wanted this even if it was sudden. He wanted his mate back, his old life back. He was sure John did too. There’s no way that this kiss can be mistake for John’s emotions being all over the place. And even if that was the case, it would mean he was trying to handle the emotions he felt because Sherlock told him how he feels.
John was shaking now, his hands trembling. He broke the rule. "This is... We need to think about Alex. She - She comes first. We just can't do this. Not now, maybe not ever"
John spoke faster as he got further into what he said. He stood, climbing off of Sherlock and standing, shaking his head. This was selfish of him. He was supposed to be here today to help Sherlock organise the room for their daughter. This was not about them.
“So it wouldn’t benefit Alex to have her parents living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, being there for her 24/7? Because I think it would help her a lot. You still love me John. I know that you’re scared but you can’t use Alex as an excuse to shut me out again.” Sherlock started to pace across the room. “I thought I had proved myself to you, shown you that I could be a good father to her.” He suddenly stopped and closed his eyes at let his head hang between his tensed arms.
"You're a great father, Sherlock. You’ve proven that. But we're a mess. I'm a mess, more accurately. I got cheated on less than a week ago and kissed you then as well!" John threw his arms up in frustration. "I... I do love you but I can't do this again. Not in this state. Something will happen. We'll fight. Alex will get crushed... I just can’t bear the thought of hurting her again"
“But how do you know that unless you give it a chance?” Sherlock stood up straight and crossed his arms looking at John seriously.
He didn’t want Alex hurt either but it was clear that the girl wanted them both around. She wanted them to be a family. Living together and happy.
They’d fight, yes, but all parents do. They wouldn’t argue in front of her if and when they did argue. They’d love each other, no matter what.
How could John not see any of this? He was being annoyingly narrow minded and set on unlikely negatives.
"I'm not risking it unless I'm sure. I want to be sure Alex is happy too. She comes first" John replied, shaking his head and staring at Sherlock for a moment before he turned on his heels and walked out the room, exiting the flat a minute later.
The only sign he'd been there at all was his jumper in the corner that he'd removed to start painting. |
Ever since treating Severus's small boy, Poppy Pomphrey had been unable to get Harry out of her mind. She had tried to confront Albus directly about her concerns—or rather her implacable fury towards his relatives—but had been quite unable to track down the elusive man's presence.
Thus, it was with a clear conscience that she had decided on a different course of action. As both the school's healer and a previous member of the Order of the Phoenix, it was not a difficult task to determine the location of Harry Potter's relatives.
After wrapping herself up warmly in a heavy cloak, she made her way to edge of the Forbidden Forest and disappeared, only to reappear in a deserted lot nearby the Dursley's residence. It was already dark by the time she arrived, but she made her way quickly enough through the unfamiliar streets; her trek fueled by her determination to see justice done.
A tabby cat with odd markings around its eyes was the first thing she saw when she finally got to the house in question. She was torn between just petrifying the stupid animagus, or just ignoring the other woman while she went on with her business, but her internal dispute quickly became moot when the transfiguration professor opted to take things into her own hands—er paws.
"What are you doing here?" A very human Minerva hissed at her from a dark shadow next to the house.
"Paying my regards to the monsters in question," Poppy answered in a hostile voice.
Merlin help me, if Minerva's here to defend them, I will blast my way through her as well! She raved silently to herself.
"I am the Deputy Headmistress, if you will recall, Poppy. This is my job—not yours!" Minerva said, stepping decisively in front of her.
"Oh do grow up already," Poppy said nastily. "I'm not here to fight with you. So either put up or shut up!" She hissed out in a cold voice, quickly reminding the other woman why it was that the students had nicknamed her the "Dragon Lady."
The woman that met the two witches at the front door was thin and bitter looking. Poppy couldn't help but feel just that much sadder for the pain that the small boy had suffered under her "care."
"What are you doing here?" The woman spat contemptuously towards Minerva.
"We've come to check on your nephew," the woman at Poppy's side said with far more cheer than was warranted.
Petunia's face crinkled in distaste at Minerva's request. Poppy didn't need to be a mind reader to know that the woman loathed the boy.
"I don't know about how things are where you lot are from, but here in the normal world, we do not conduct business after dark!" She made to close the door in their faces, but Poppy stopped the flimsy piece of wood easily with her foot.
"Our worlds may not be the same, but I know good and well that slamming a door in someone's face is considered beyond rude!" Poppy hissed dangerously.
"You're all a bunch of freaks! I don't give a damn what you think is considered normal!" The woman spat back, trying once more to shut the door in their faces.
Poppy fired a single blasting curse and blew the door off of its hinges. Behind Petunia, she could see a large man clambering forth, blustering something about 'payments' and 'charges.' From beside her, she felt more than heard Minerva fire off a stunner to the man, dropping him on the floor like a heavy bag of cement.
The mediwitch saw Petunia's mouth opening to scream and she deftly cast a silencing spell on the horrid woman, and followed it up shortly after with charm that stuck the horse faced twat to the wall.
She flicked her wand towards the door and placed it back in its frame, not caring enough to bother with fixing its hinges.
Poppy turned towards Minerva and gave a smirk worthy of a Slytherin.
"I'd say that some justice needs to be done here," she said, her dark eyes belying the cheer in her voice.
Minerva looked at her critically, her lips pinched tightly together as she contemplated Poppy's suggestion.
"They starved him, Minerva. They beat him and harmed him—Lily's child, Minerva! Lily!"
When the other woman's eyes narrowed in fury, Poppy knew that she had won the argument. Now, the only thing left to do was to make these muggles miserable.
It wasn't very hard, especially for two well practiced adult witches.
Poppy charmed the kitchen floor to always show footprints, regardless of how many times it had been washed.
Minerva then cast a charm that caused the toilets to work in reverse every two or three flushes.
In response, Poppy made the eyes in all of the photographs constantly follow the house's residents around. She specifically made it only work for the inhabitants so that they could never show anyone else.
Minerva, with a grim smile, cast a curse over the refrigerator to make all of the meat taste like dog food. Poppy added onto the curse by adding a charm that made everything else only taste like brussels sprouts.
Minerva cast a charm on all of the chairs to make them randomly bite their occupants.
Poppy made all of the house taps only run blue water. It was perfectly safe, but the Dursleys wouldn't be likely to find that out.
Minerva charmed both Petunia's and Vernon's keys to get up and wander off from wherever their owners had last put them.
Poppy cursed Vernon with impotency and then cursed Petunia with a horrible rash that only appeared in the most embarrassing of places.
Minerva cast a charm on both Vernon and Petunia that caused them to constantly receive uneven haircuts. At the last moment, she felt sorry for the people cutting the hair and modified the spell so that the uneven hair was only visible to the Dursleys themselves.
Poppy cast a moving curse on two of the kitchen chairs that caused them to squeak when moved across the floor. After thirty-six hours, the curse would move onto the other two chairs and then move back again after another day and a half.
Minerva cursed Vernon with indigestion.
Poppy cursed Petunia with constipation.
Minerva cursed their telly to only show infomercials.
Poppy cursed their light bulbs to only work half the time—usually during the day.
Minerva changed the color of the carpet from beige to neon orange. Poppy changed all the walls to bright blue. Minerva cursed the phones only to let out squeaks for the first five minutes of all phone calls. Poppy cursed the front yard with weeds, while Minerva talked the neighborhood cats into constantly bringing "presents" to the front step of the Dursley's home.
From leaky faucets to bathtub rings, Poppy and Minerva attacked the Dursley's home with all of their pent-up fury towards what had happened to Harry while in their house.
Dawn was beginning to pink the sky when they finally deemed the house finished, but before they left, they modified the Dursleys' memories of that evening and then released them to go to bed for a bit. Neither woman felt it necessary to mention the strange wet spot that they would find in the middle of the bed.
Finally, they added one more charm to the wretched home that caused all of the home's problems to follow the Dursleys if they ever decided to move.
With that task done, the women nodded to each other and then apparated back to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. |
Jason knew he fucked up.
He cursed, groaning in pain as much as he could groan, what with the blood seeping from his neck and fire in his chest making it agony to inhale.
He only hoped it was broken ribs, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. The warm wetness he could feel gathering beneath his armor suggested that hope was foolish.
Careless.. stupid.
He is going to die.
Again.
He knows it by the dull, cold numbness spreading up from the agonizing throbbing in his legs and his twitching fingertips applying pressure to his neck. By the dark blurring edges intruding on his vision of the ugly Gotham skyline. By the awful gasping noises he was making with every painful attempt at an inhale. He had felt this way only once before, a lifetime ago in the Ethiopian desert, alone with a clown and a crowbar.
He shivered. The fact that his thoughts traveled back to that particular night made it clear he was in a bad way. Usually he was better able to block out the intrusive flashbacks.
Fuck.
Frantic whispers break through his disjointed awareness.
“ -bleeding real bad -”
“- the Red Hood! Helmet’s off but-”
His body jerked in panic, sure enough feeling the cold breeze on his bruised and bloody face, unhindered by the helmet. He can’t remember taking it off. He can’t remember much of anything really, besides the overpowering sense that he fucked up.
After a moment he felt the small pressure from his domino mask still on his face. Some of the tension left his battered body in the wave of relief.
“ turn him over, oh shit, his neck- ”
He felt warm blood dripping through the weakening pressure of his numbing fingers on the wound. It wasn’t immediately fatal, bleeding sluggishly, the knife having missed his jugular by some miracle. If properly wrapped and stitched he could walk away from it. If it were his only injury he would be relatively fine but –
“ … is that a pipe?”
Ah. That would explain the raging flame burning in his abdomen.
Small hands grasp his face gently. Jason vaguely wonders if he is hallucinating. He feels a slight tug and suddenly a wave of pure agony radiates from his abdomen. Losing all of his senses completely to the pain, he vaguely registers that he is screaming.
“- idiot you’ll kill him!”
“ already dead you can’t lose that much blood -”
“- It’s not all his -”
The tugging stops and Jason’s mind feels sharper from the shock of it. He knows he is in Crime Alley, bleeding on the cool pavement. He had fallen- been pushed - off the roof of.. of ….
Christopher Malone. An ambush. A bloodbath. And Jason had walked right into it.
The wannabe crime boss had thought it was ok to set up shop in Jason’s territory and use desperate street kids as drug runners, getting them addicted to the stuff too. Jason had been disgusted and enraged at Malone’s audacity. It was well known by now that Park Row was under the Red Hood’s protection. He swore it would be the last mistake of Malone's life.
But Jason’s intel was wrong. That was the only explanation. Either his sources had been fed wrong information themselves or he had been sold out, betrayed.
If that was the case they better pray he dies tonight.
The meeting in the warehouse was supposed to be between Malone and his small group of trusted lieutenants. Of course Jason expected the usual hired thugs as security as well, but they could be easily handled.
He was wrong.
The meeting was a front. Instead of the handful idiotic thugs Jason was expecting, he had been met by a swarm of well trained, heavily armed hired guns. No way they were Malone’s. Malone was too small a fish to have that kind of military grade firepower at his disposal.
No, this had Black Mask written all over it. Black Mask and Malone had made some sort of alliance and Jason had been none the wiser.
Stupid.
Laying in the growing puddle of blood, numbness creeping up his body, Jason wondered why he had been forced back to life just to die again in such a meaningless way. He had not accomplished anything. The clown was still alive. Bruce still hated him. His “family” still shunned him like he was just another criminal. He thought he would have more time. More time to make them see that what he was doing worked, that it was necessary.
Would they even mourn?
Self-pity won’t get you anywhere.
At least Jason could go out knowing he took his attackers to hell with him. None survived. He made absolutely sure of that. Never let it be said that the Red Hood went down easy. He pitied the first responders to the scene. He hoped the new Robin lost his stomach over it.
Hah.
Though, considering the little demon was a trained assassin himself, he was probably already well used to death.
Jason managed a small frown at that thought at the same time he realized the whispering voices above his head had quieted.
The small hand remained on his face, occasionally running through his hair in a soothing way. He blearily forced his eyes to open, only managing a pained squint. He could make out a small shape coming in and out of focus to his right side. It was a girl, her mop of dirty blond hair falling into her face, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She looked vaguely familiar, but Jason couldn’t quite place her face.
The blonde girl’s dark eyes widened at his attention; her hand movements halted. “You’re hurt bad,” said the girl in a low voice, “James just went to go get help.”
Jason felt another presence to his left, hovering but not touching. He turned his head, meeting the eyes of dark haired boy, younger than the blonde, blinking back at him owlishly.
Not hallucinations then.
But why are they here? Any half rational Crime Alley street rat should be running as far as they could from the grisly sight of the Red Hood choking on his own blood. The GCPD could very well already be on their way. They also had no way of knowing that the people who did this to him weren’t still around. Even if Jason knew that they were slowly cooling bullet-ridden corpses, these kids certainly did not. And even though he took care of everyone in the warehouse, that didn’t mean Back Mask wouldn’t send more reinforcements.
Jason felt a wave of irritation at their lack of self-preservation. He wasn’t worth the chance that these kids be passed off to the incompetent social workers populating Gotham’s CPS, or the chance that they end up in the hands of one of GCPD’s many corrupt officers. There was no telling where they hell they would end up. No, he didn’t want to be responsible for that.
“ Leave... leave me,” he forced the words past his lips. His voice was weak and his throat burned at the attempt.
The girl’s dark eyes narrowed and she put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t talk,” she said, “I ain’t leaving.”
Jason squeezed his eyes shut. Damned if he was going cause this girl harm just because he was stupid enough to get himself into this situation. “Not… safe,” he gasped out.
Speaking was a herculean effort. Jason’s many injuries flamed in protest.
“No,” The girl’s voice was harsh now, bringing his attention back to her. “You don’t leave us. Ever.” Her hand had resumed petting his hair. “You saved me before, from the bad man, remember? He had me and he was gonna hurt me.” Her gaze was begging him to understand. “You stopped him! You’re always here when we need you.” The girl’s brow was furrowed, expression serious.
“Not like you can make us leave anyhow,” the boy to his left chimed in, tone challenging.
Little shits.
Jason slowly began to realize why the girl seemed familiar to him. He had seen her face before, younger and more terrified. Among a small group of other children being herded toward a van with blacked out windows by a smiling creep. Trying to get away, panicking, only to find the man had cornered them in.
He recalls the blinding rage.
Jason had left the man with shattered kneecaps, screaming in agony as he put two bullets in his groin, before finishing him off with a third to the brain.
God. Had this girl been there when he…?
If she’d had any sense she would have booked it to safety immediately after Red Hood got his hands on the creep. However, considering she was by his side right now when she definitely shouldn’t be, he suspected that may not have been the case.
Jason tried to pull away from her grip and her piercing eyes. Her touch burning his already sore face.
“Get away,” he growled. “Now!”
He made an attempt to push himself into a sitting position with the one hand not staunching the blood still dripping from his neck. His abdomen screamed at the movement and his vision flashed white, but he managed to draw himself up and against the wall of the shadowy alley, away from the two children. As his vision cleared, he felt his body shaking uncontrollably, his breaths coming in quick, wet, pants.
He blinked the gathering sweat from his eyes and saw the girl had moved from her position at his right side, and was frantically waving to someone at the entrance of the alley.
The other kid who went for “help?” Nothing short of a goddamn miracle would help Jason at this point.
“Please..” Jason tried again, his voice worryingly more slurred now, “ get ‘way.” His vision was dimming but he registered a new figure heading toward him quickly, much larger than a child.
One of Black Mask's men come to finish him off?
He snarled and went for his bloodied knife in his thigh holster, finding his fingers uncooperative. The knife clattered onto the pavement, slipping from his grasp. All his energy had been spent getting to the wall. Pathetic.
Strong hands braced against his shoulders. He knew the figure was talking, but his mind was spinning and he was in agony and he couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t realize his eyes had closed until cold fingers pried one open and he was met with a flash of light.
“Really bad B -“
It was harder to breathe now, the fast panting turning into slower shuddering breaths.
“- pupils responding but - ”
He couldn’t follow the words. He must have passed out too because when he opened his eyes again he found himself being held up by strong arms, his head lolling against a warm chest.
“Jesus Christ, Hood.” a voice was saying, a painfully familiar voice. “Please, please Jay don’t die.”
Was that…Nightwing?
Jason was brought in closer to the chest at his back, head resting on Dick’s shoulder. “Red Robin please hurry,” Dick’s voice said from above his head, a slightly hysterical edge to his tone.
Jason heard the squeal of tires and a shout from the street. In the next second, Dick had him in a bridal carry, walking him forward toward the sound.
Jason forced his eyes to open, difficult as it was, taking in the sight of Red Robin opening the side door of the batmobile, urging Dick forward with an outstretched hand.
“Doc Thompkins is on her way to the cave, we need to keep him stable –“ Red Robin’s eyes met Jason’s bleary gaze, and the words seemed to die in the younger teen’s throat.
Dick followed Tim’s gaze, seeing Jason was now conscious.
"Please try to stay awake, don’t pass out on me again.” Nightwing's voice was urgent, forceful, like he could command Jason to stop bleeding by pure will alone.
Hah. So he does care. Jason supposed that was nice to know even if he wouldn’t be able to appreciate it for very long.
At least he wouldn’t die alone this time.
Jason was pulled into the backseat, still in Nightwing’s arms. The movement jarring his abdomen where the fucking pipe was still embedded. How had that even happened? He guessed it must have been in the fall.
He was jarred again, letting out a strangled scream, unable to stop the pained tears from gathering in his eyes.
“Drive, Tim!” Dick commanded, but they were already off.
Blood dribbled down Jason’s chin. He felt it wiped away by shaking hands. “No little brother, you don’t get to do this.”
Jason heard a sniff, felt something wet drip onto his forehead.
...Was Dick actually crying?
Jason’s vision was swimming, the voices in the car were washing over him.
“Put pressure on his neck,” Red Robin grit out from the front of the car, “He’s lost too much blood.”
Jason wondered why his Replacement, Tim, even cared. Why was he helping? With their history, he should want Jason dead.
“And don’t let him fall asleep,” the younger teen continued, “he’s going into shock.”
A sharp pain lit up his right cheek. Jason’s green eyes opened to a pair of baby blues staring back. “Stay. Awake.” Dick gritted out. “You are not dying today Jason.”
Jason’s body shuddered as he broke the eye contact.
“Fck’ you, Dick” he slurred out weakly.
Dick just held him closer in response.
|
“You have to be joking Mycroft.” Sherlock finally growled at his brother. What was he supposed to do with a kid?
“I wish that I was brother mine.”
“What about his aunt? It says in the files that a Harriet Watson filed the missing persons report.” Lestrade offers.
“No that is not an option I am afraid.” Mycroft shakes his head. “It seems that Harriet Watson was a recovering alcoholic. When her brother disappeared she fell back into her old habits. So that leads us back to you.” Mycroft smiles at Sherlock’s discomfort.
“Grandparents?” Sherlock inquires in one last attempt to save himself and Hamish the trouble that was sure to come if he had to take care of him. Mycroft just shook his head. “Fine. You better have every last one of your men looking for his father then. If you are going to subject the child to me you at least owe him that.”
“I assure you that we are doing everything we can.” Mycroft replies.
Sherlock looks down at the boy in his arms. Hamish seems to have calmed down enough to listen to what is being said. Sherlock pats his back trying to soothe the child even more.
“Now you can take him by his Aunts house to pick up some things, apparently her brother and nephew were living with her before they disappeared. She no doubt will want to know he has been found.” Mycroft continues.
“No.” Sherlock replies in a huff.
Mycroft and Greg both stare at him in mild astonishment. Hamish peaks at him from his chest tears still glistening in his tired eyes.
“What do you mean no?” Mycroft says dangerously.
“I mean no Mycroft. Not today. He has just been returned to civilization. He is tired, scared and confused. I think he has probably had quite enough to deal with. We will go by his aunts on another day but not today. Although you should probably go by her house and explain the situation so we don’t shock her whenever we do show up.” Sherlock says adamantly looking back down at Hamish. It seems that Hamish as finally run out of tears and looks as if he is ready to fall over in exhaustion at any moment. Sherlock looks up at his brother once more.
“Have one of your minions get some clothes,” Sherlock pauses looking at Hamish once more. “Probably get a kids blanket as well. Make sure it’s green. Get him a stuffed elephant too. Children like to hug animals right?” Sherlock questioned looking back at Lestrade and his brother. Mycroft was staring at him in amusement and Greg looked as if he might have a heart attack at any moment.
“Green brother mine?” Mycroft questions.
“It’s his favorite color.” Sherlock snaps.
“How do you..??” Greg finally utters.
“No wonder you need me to solve most of your cases Lestrade! Could it have escaped your notice that he is wearing green now? He was also wearing green in the photograph that was at the apartment. Clearly he likes the color.” Sherlock pauses taking in Greg’s excellent impression of a fish, his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch a good number of flies. “As for the elephant if you look at the photograph again you will notice a stuffed toy in the boys arms, an elephant clearly. Not only that but there is a picture of a cartoon elephant on the boys shirt. A horrible likeness really, not at all accurate to the real thing.” Sherlock finishes. He looks back down at Hamish and is startled to find the boy sitting up and staring at him. Hamish smiles tiredly at him before laying his head back down on Sherlock’s chest.
“He smiled at me! What does that mean?” Sherlock asks still staring at Hamish. When people smiled at him before it was usually because they were making fun of him. When Mycroft smiled at him it usually meant Mycroft was plotting something. Sherlock searched the little boys face; he didn’t appear to be plotting anything. Sherlock jumped as Lestrade started laughing. He looks up at the laughing inspector.
“He likes you Sherlock.” Lestrade explains still laughing. Sherlock looks back down at the boy who appears to be falling asleep.
“Why?” he questions looking up. Lestrade just shrugs and continues to laugh. Sherlock frowns at him.
Sighing Sherlock tightens his hold on the boy and stands up. He nods at his brother once and leaves the office, Lestrade still laughing. He makes his way back out to the street ignoring the stares from the officers yet again. When he finally settles into the cab the little boy has fallen into a deep asleep, his body relaxed for the first time since he had first come into Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock looks at his watch, 3:15 should he wake him up? Surely 3:15 isn’t a normal bedtime for 3 year olds. Sherlock decided against it, Hamish clearly needed the sleep.
They finally arrived at 221B and Sherlock carefully opened the door trying not to jostle Hamish too much. He stepped in closing the door softly.
“Sherlock your home!” Mrs. Hudson calls from her door. “Who is this dear?” She asks as she spots Hamish in his arms.
“Hamish.” Sherlock replies moving towards the stairs.
“Why do you have a child Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson questions, eying him suspiciously.
“Mycroft.” Sherlock says by way of reply. She nods and turns to go back into her apartment. Mrs. Hudson is well acquainted with his brother and knows not to question further. Sherlock pauses at the stairs and looks over at her. “Mrs. Hudson, what do children eat?”
“Oh Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson smiles briefly. “I’ll bring some dinner up in a bit.”
“Thank you.” Sherlock responds before making his way up the stairs.
“Just this once dear, I’m your landlady not your housekeeper.” She calls to him before disappearing behind her door. Sherlock rolls his eyes at her statement knowing full well the old woman would more than likely bring up food everyday without being asked.
He stepped into his own flat and walked over to the sofa. Carefully he placed Hamish down to sleep, gently prying the little hands from his coat. Leaving the sleeping child briefly he went to his room to see about a blanket. Frowning he dismissed his own comforter which was much too big to be practical. He searched his room for a smaller alternative. He left his room in a huff after finding nothing that might work besides a towel of questionable cleanliness. Sherlock walked back and stared at the little boy who was curled up on his sofa. He shrugged off his coat and placed it over the little boy. Hopefully Mycroft’s minions would arrive soon.
He grabbed his laptop before sitting down carefully next to Hamish. Time to do some much needed research. Sherlock absorbed himself in his computer occasionally glancing down at Hamish to make sure he was all right. Sherlock barely acknowledged Mycroft’s assistant when she came in and placed a few bags on the floor and then left.
When the little boy started squirming and sniffling Sherlock thought he might be waking up. Sherlock set his laptop down and looked down at the little boy. Hamish’s eyes were still closed but his movement had increased and he had begun to cry and call out.
Nightmare then Sherlock thought. He carefully pulled the little boy into his lap and patted his back again.
“Hamish, wake up. It’s just a dream Hamish. Hamish can you hear me?” Sherlock says to the little boy. It seems to work because the little boy stops struggling and screaming. Hamish continued to cry into his shirt, his hands clutching at the fabric. Sherlock just sits and tries to comfort the boy who slowly begins to calm down.
“Yoo-hoo Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson comes in carrying a tray of food. Hamish stiffens at her voice and turns to look at her.
“Hamish this is Mrs. Hudson. She lives downstairs. She brought you some food to eat.” Sherlock tried encouraged the boy. Mrs. Hudson smiled waiting for Hamish to give her some sign. “She makes the best cinnamon biscuits that you have ever tasted.” He added.
“Oh Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson blushes.
“The worst she can do to you is over feed or talk you to death Hamish, other than that no need to worry.”
“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson gasps giving him a frown. The little boy looked at him and smiled again.
“Shall we see what she brought to eat?” Sherlock asks him. The little boy thinks for a moment before nodding. Mrs. Hudson encouraged by this brings the try forward and sets it on the table.
“I brought some cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup. Tomato soup always makes me feel better.” She adds with a wink.
“No biscuits Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock asks hopefully.
“Maybe later if you behave Sherlock.” She tuts. “Make sure he eats Hamish.” She says to the little boy before turning to leave. Sherlock rolls his eyes before placing Hamish next to him on the sofa. He brings the table closer and gestures for Hamish to eat.
The little boy stares at the food for a moment before taking a sandwich and biting into it. Sherlock turns to grab his computer again but stops when he feels a small hand patting his leg. He turns to look at Hamish who is handing him one of the other sandwiches from the plate. Sherlock looks at it debating on the best way of saying no.
Hamish frowns at him and turns to look at the door that Mrs. Hudson just left through. He looks back at Sherlock with a look that Sherlock takes to mean ‘eat this or I will cry and make her come back up here’. Now it’s Sherlock’s turn to frown at the little boy. Clearly he had underestimated the boy’s intelligence. After another minute Sherlock takes the offered sandwich and sniffs it. He takes a bite of it, not really tasting the cheesy mess. Hamish smiles at this happily and continues to eat his own sandwich. Sherlock watches in fascination as the little boy reaches out and dips his sandwich into the soup on the tray before taking another bite. Curious Sherlock does the same and finds that the plain sandwich is much improved by the taste.
After Sherlock finishes his sandwich he sits and watches Hamish’s slow progress. The little boy has moved to the edge of the sofa and has begun to eat the cooled soup, every now and again taking another bite of his sandwich. Children are extremely messy eaters, Sherlock decides watching as more soup sloshes down Hamish’s shirt.
Sherlock stands and grabs the bags that Mycroft’s assistant left and brings them to the sofa.
“Lets see what my brother a sent for you shall we?” He says to Hamish who has paused in his meal to watch him. Sherlock pulls out a few changes of clothes for the child; pants, shirts, trousers, socks and small little trainers. He sets them aside and reaches into the bag again pulling out pajamas and a soft green blanket. There is also a coat and scarf for the little boy as well. At the very bottom there was a plush stuffed elephant. Sherlock pulled it out and showed it to Hamish.
Hamish smiled at him again and reached for it. Sherlock handed the toy to him watching as the little boy pulled it to his chest and rubbed his face into it, his meal forgotten.
“Are you still hungry?’ Sherlock questions. Hamish shakes his head and continues to snuggle with the toy. Sherlock takes the tray into the kitchen for Mrs. Hudson to claim later. He looks at the clock, 6:15. According to the websites he looked at earlier now is a good time to get the little boy ready for bed. He walks back to Hamish who has pulled the blanket towards him petting the softness in awe.
“Why don’t we give you a bath and then maybe Mrs. Hudson will bring us some biscuits?” He asks the little boy. Hamish looks up at him considering this for a moment. He nods slowly and puts his stuffed toy on the sofa carefully. Sherlock grabs a spare set of clothes from the couch and holds out his hand. Hamish grabs it following him to the bathroom.
After 20 minutes of trying to get the boy clean Sherlock has had enough. The Internet article had not said that it would be this difficult. Clearly the article hadn’t factored in the hyper activeness of little boys. The bathroom floor ended up with at least a gallon or two of water. Sherlock himself had wet hair and water all down the front of his shirt and trousers. When finally Hamish seemed clean enough Sherlock quickly dried the boy off and helped him into his pajamas.
He leaves Hamish cleaned, dressed and relatively happy on the sofa while he goes to change his own clothes. When he returns he finds Mrs. Hudson sitting on the sofa beside a smiling Hamish. She’s blabbering away at the little boy, the tray of biscuits and milk forgotten on the table. Sherlock reaches down and grabs one before Mrs. Hudson has a chance to blink.
“Sherlock.” She warns.
“I ate a sandwich earlier. Hamish can attest to it.” Sherlock replies with a sniff as he moves to sit on the other side of the little boy.
“Is he telling the truth dear?” Mrs. Hudson asks of the little boy. Hamish nods and smiles up at the detective. “Well alright then.” She acquiesces before handing a biscuit to Hamish.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock inquires with a sneer.
“Now Sherlock mind your manners.” She says with a smile as she gets up to leave. “Don’t stay up too late boys.”
Hamish turns to him when she leaves still munching on his snack. Sherlock looks around the flat for something to entertain the child with. He turns on the telly and flips the channels until he finds a nature channel that is talking about animals in Africa. He looks down at Hamish who has turned his attention to the screen still quietly munching on his biscuit. Sherlock leans back into the sofa and tunes out the program retreating to his mind. He makes sure not to zone out entirely so that he can keep an eye on the little boy.
Thirty minutes later he looks down to find that the little boy has curled against him clutching the elephant in his arms. Hamish appears to be fast asleep, his little hand curled around a forgotten cookie. Sherlock tugs the cinnamon biscuit out of his hand and places it on the plate then leans over and grabs the folded up blanket and gently tucks it around the little boy.
Sherlock leans back and closes his eyes. Looking after this little boy was going to be tedious he decided. |
The Midgardian God
Chapter 2
There is something missing and Loki does not know what it is. He has everything one could ever want and more. Yet, he still feels sadness in his heart. Maybe it has something to do with how he perceives his self-worth in the eyes of others.
The people of Asgard respect him as their prince but mutter to themselves about him. They think it dishonorable to use his tricks to win battles, the way he speaks as he destroys someone with his words and the dark cunning lurking in his eyes. All these things he could ignore. Let them be content in their gossip, because Loki knew deep down that they envied his intellect and skill. No, what truly vexes him is the talk of how different he is to the rest of the royal family. They are all golden in appearance while he is dark. It makes him feel alone.
Thor, his brother, is favored by all and next in line for the throne. Loki cannot help but feel like a shadow hidden behind his brother’s greatness. He was strong, kind and driven. The gleaming star of Asgard and the apple of their father’s eye; it was never spoken of, but Loki could see how much Odin All Father favored his eldest child. Frigga, their mother, held them both equally in her heart and that at least brought solace to Loki’s bitter soul.
Because of this, Loki was certain he would make be a good father. All these things would not happen to his child. That is when the thought strikes him; a young one with dark hair and green eyes drift into his mind’s eye. The magical knowledge that would be passed from him and the happiness he would feel swelling in him as he imagined the child growing into something great. The sadness in his heart recedes and Loki realizes that this is what has been missing. A family of very his own!
So Loki begins to think. He did not have a beloved to help bear the child nor would he ask anyone of Asgard to do so anyway. The orphaned children o Aesir knew of him and Loki did not wish to deal with the poison that the people had whispered to them. No other realm seemed worthy of him. Well, all except Midgard, but the people there were weak things. The only good quality that interested Loki was the magic that some wielded there. This alone was the reason that he finally decided that was where he would find his child.
It took many days of searching before he found what he was looking for. He was in the form of a small bird which was easily hidden and made for better observation. A young boy was sitting on a chained seat at a recreational establishment for children. The boy was exuding an abundance of magic.
He was small for his age and wore clothes not for his size and stature. His head held black flyaway hair; his small face had a button nose that held a pair of glasses. His eyes though were what really grabbed his attention. They were the brightest green that he had ever seen. In all, he looks like a version of himself as a boy.
Loki watches the boy for many days. He has to be sure of the child’s but the more he watches the more he realizes that this was his child. The boy was quick in mind and body. Many a times his cousin would lead his friends in a chase to try and catch him but they were always unable to do so.
His guardians were cruel and hateful. They placed him in servitude and belittled him with how unworthy he was of their home, the clothes they gave him and the food they allowed him to eat. Loki had seen enough. It was time to acquire his child and bring him home.
The woman was all fake politeness when she opens the door. He greeted her cordially and gave the excuse of looking for her husband to discuss business. He was lead into a room that seemed to be where they lounged for both comfort and entertainment.
An overweight man stood with confusion but greeted him none the less. He was offered a seat and refreshments which he declined. The large man turned off what he learned was called a T.V. “So what can I do for you Mister…?”
“Loki Odinson, I have come here today with a request that I am sure you will agree to.” Replies Loki.
The big man raises his eyebrows with interest but doesn’t say anything as the wife places a tray of food and drink on a small table. She makes her husband a glass before offering to do the same for him. Once everything is done she prepares to leave. “I believe your wife should be here for this as it is her blood relative I wish to speak about.”
Both their eyes widen before the man lets out a furious roar and stands. “Your one of those freaks, aren’t you? Well I will have none of that in my house! Get out!”
A silver dagger flies past man’s head and imbeds itself into the wall behind him. The mortal quakes in fear but holds his ground. “I will not be threatened in my on home!”
Loki gives him a cool look before turning to the room. “I wish to adopt the boy. I know he means nothing to you so parting with him will not be a problem.”
She glances at her husband while wringing her hands together nervously. “Don’t you think we would we could? When Harry was left to us we were told to keep him least something bad happen.”
Loki doesn’t feel she is lying but know he is curious. Who would order a child into the care of people who clearly don’t want him? “Do you know who placed him in your care?”
The mortal woman nods her head. “My sister’s headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, he didn’t actually speak with us. He left a letter with Harry when he placed him on our door step.”
“Where are his parents?” asks Loki
“Dead, they went and got blown up and we got saddled with the little freak!” Loki moves before any of them sees it and grabs the mortal man by his throat. He gags and claws at Loki’s hand in a futile attempt to get free.
Loki watches the man’s face change color and smirks when the man begins to plead with his eyes. “You will leave this room. I tire of your stupidity. I you wish to live you will do this as soon as I release you.”
The man wheezes an affirmative and Loki lets go. The man falls to the ground, gasping and coughing for air before crawling to his feet and staggering out of the door.
Loki smirks at the female before sitting gracefully. “Now then, I would like to hear more about Albus Dumbledore and Harry’s parents.
Loki did not wish to travel his hidden passages with Harry so they had to travel to a spot were Heimdall would open the Bi-Frost. Walking did not seem to bother him. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. The child was curious about his surroundings and was constantly swiveling his head this why and that to get a better look.
“You do not get to go many places.” It’s a statement not a question.
Harry looks him sadly. “No, my relatives usually just leave me with a babysitter.”
“You do not need to think of them further Harry. They will no longer be a part of your life.” Loki says, and Harry looks at him with happiness.
They reach their destination but Loki does not call Heimdall. Instead Loki sits in the grass and motions Harry to do the same. “I have much to share with you but some cannot be explained until you see it.”
“Like what?” Harry asks curiously.
Loki gives Harry a mysterious look. “What would you say if I were to tell you I came from somewhere not of this world?”
Harry eyes him skeptical. “I don’t know. I mean we can do magic, but to come from someplace other than Earth? It sounds a little crazy.” The last part is said sheepishly.
Loki chuckles. “It would be a little hard to imagine considering that you are from Midgard and have no knowledge of these things.”
“What’s Midgard?” Harry asks.
“Midgard is the realm when are in now. I am from Asgard which is what you will soon call home.” Loki replies.
Harry’s gaze wanders to the sky. The sun is shining against a blue back drop with white clouds dotting it. Loki does not know what he sees but Harry turns back to him with a wide grin. “What’s it like?”
Loki sighs. “It’s is a place full of light and wonders. There is a stone wall that protects the city in which we live. The buildings are old but beautifully crafted. A fortress towers over all. The castle of the Odin All Father; the king of Asgard, and your soon to be grandfather.”
“What…!” Harry shouts.
Loki gives Harry a small smile. “Yes, you are correct in your assumptions little Harry. Odin is my father. I am a prince of Asgard.”
“That…that means….” Harry says with shock.
“You will in indeed be a prince.” Loki says with amusement.
Harry hesitates before he asks another question. “Will he like me?”
Loki’s eyes meet Harry’s steadfastly. “I can think of no one I know that will not love you.”
Before Loki knows what’s going he’s being hugged with all the strength the child can muster. Harry doesn’t cry but Loki can feel how overjoyed he is and can’t help but return the hug. After a few moments Harry pulls away. He looks a little embarrassed but happy none the less.
“Now, I could explain about Asgard or…” Loki trails off.
“Or…” Harry says.
“Or I can show you.” Replies Loki.
Harry laughs. “I think I would like very much to see it.”
“Well then…” Loki rises. Harry follows and is puzzled when his adoptive father doesn’t move.
Loki gives him a sly grin and places an arm around his shoulders. “Ready?”
Harry nods his head in agreement. Then Loki looks to the sky and shouts. “Heimdall open the Bi-Frost.” A light shines down from the sky and then there gone.
|
He was grabbing her everywhere as he fucked her ass good. Finally when she heard him yell her name that she felt him explode deep inside of her. As he calmed he leaned on her kissing her softly on her back as he eased his cock from inside of her and they headed for the shower...
The following even John took Linda dancing and for drinks. The place was really crowed but the music was great.
John then heard one of her favorite songs by the BeeGees "How deep is your love." and he pulled her to the middle of the dance floor. As soon as he pulled Linda into his arms it was as though they were the only two people on the dance floor.
He then ran his hand down her back to her ass and felt how smooth her dress felt before he realized she had nothing on under it. You could not tell because the dress was black.
John pulled her to him and kissed her deep and passionately. He broke it for a minute to stare deep into her eyes. As the dance went on and she felt his hardness against her and his kissing her had her moaning that she wanted him inside of her and did not care if she was swollen and sore. She needed to be one with him she whispered in his ear.
They continued the dance and his cock was rock hard as she slightly parted her legs and it seemed to fall right into place between her thighs.
John watched her and saw that her moaning was starting to get a little louder and did not want her to be heard. He then looked into her eyes and he saw the look that she was about to explode right then and there if she did that she would have cried out or screamed if he did not do something.
So John stopped the dance and quickly took Linda by the hand and picked up the check off the table and paid the bill.
He thought the both of them would explode but they made it back to her room. She excused herself for a moment and returned with a bucket of ice. They started kissing again and tearing each others clothes off. They stood naked before one another. She pulled him over to the sofa where she sat and pulled him standing between her legs.
She gently pulled him to her by holding on to his thighs and when he was close enough she started to tease his cock that was sticking straight out with her tongue. She licked the head lick it was a lollipop and was sucking it in between. She would then stop and lick the whole length of the underside of his cock starting to drive him crazy.
He watched his vanilla cock going in and out of her mouth while her dark brown lipstick was all over the length of it.
He closed his eyes while pumping slowly in her mouth. She then stopped for a moment and then she reached over and grabbed a handful of ice chips and put them in her mouth. The next thing he knew he jumped and opened his eyes wide. Linda was sucking his cock with a mouth full of ice cubes. It was cold but in between the cold he would feel a warm part of her tongue licking and sucking his cock.
Finally he got used to the coldness of the ice and the warmth of his tongue and enjoyed what she was doing to him. The ice soon melted as she swallowed the water from it along with the pre-cum that oozed from his cock.
Not long after that he started to swell in her mouth and he grabbed her by the hair and started to fuck her mouth like it was her pussy. She almost gagged but had control and had his entire cock down her throat. She sucked him hard but slow until she heard him moan loud and his body stiffen and then felt him let his load loose into her throat and she swallowed every bit of it. After he calmed she sucked his sensitive cock until it was clean.
They took the bowl of ice with them and went and got into bed. They laid on their sides facing each other and holding each other kissing. John thought to himself this was some woman. Not only because the sex was great but she was an all around great person. Could he end this vacation without ever seeing her again?
His thoughts were broken into when he felt her stroking his cock that was semi hard. As she stroked him she kissed his neck and his chest while running the fingernails of one hand through it. She sucked his nipples softly and planted many kisses on them.
Finally when his cock was hard as a rock again he kissed her and rolled on top of her. He spread her legs wide with his and reached over to the ice bowl. He covered her mouth with his in a kiss and the next thing she felt was him shoving ice cubes deep inside her tight pussy.
The shock of it made her jump but he kissed her hard and held the cubes deep inside of her. He then made his way down between her legs and pulled his hand out that was holding the ice inside of her and the next thing she felt was his warm mouth all over her pussy and his warm tongue poking inside her pussy. It did not take long before she started to moan.
When he felt that she was close to cumming he pulled his tongue out of her even though she protested and he moved on top of her pushing her legs even wider open with his and the next thing she felt was his long hard thick cock being shoved inside of her sending the ice further up inside of her. She screamed at the sudden penetration. John kissed her long and hard as he drove into her with all his might. Finally he threw his head back and growled like an animal and exploded with a fury inside of her.
When he calmed and pulled out he straddled her chest and had her suck his cock clean once again.
He then rolled off to the side of her and pulled her close to him and that is how they fell to sleep.
When they woke the next morning and were having breakfast they discussed what it was they would do for their last night together. John knew he had to think fast because he was not about to let this woman walk out of his life...
|
Charles will never have his day in court. He will never stand before a jury and rattle off accusations, clinical descriptions of traumas that the mind shouldn't have to bear. Kurt Marko, in the eyes of the law, will remain an innocent, and anyway it doesn't matter anymore, now that he is dead and gone and the only things left behind are the bruised and steely memories of two men who had a sister once.
Instead, the letter will come in the mail, formal, from the solicitors. And when Charles opens it he will go pale, and still, and for a moment his muscles will forget his circumstance and he will go quietly and perfectly rigid, bracing himself against the flow of memories and hatreds and resentments that he thought he had buried long ago-
Kurt had been sick, he must have been, nobody does those things without a reason, addiction is a disease of the brain, and it wasn't mother's fault-
The apartment is hot, and Charles is sticky with sweat and an absurd fear, because the dead will lie quiet in their graves, and it didn't matter anymore.
Why would he leave him money?
Was it penance? Regret, after all those years of sound and fury and, later, indifferent coldness.
You're not my father
And thank Christ for that, you're a fucking brat just like your mother
just like your mother- just like your mother- just like your mother
(Parents, they say, don't tell their children fairy tales to scare them with monsters. They do it to teach them that monsters can be slain.)
He breathes deeply, remembering the exercises suggested by Dr. Adler. In, out, clinging desperately to each drift of scent, grounding himself in the present and away form that shabby house that had been beautiful, once.
And suddenly he is furious, inexplicably, all-consumingly furious, because how dare he? Did he think that, somehow, that made it okay? That it erased the years- Charles had lost far, far too goddamn much of his life to worrying over that man.
(He never blamed mother, even if she was just as cruel, in her own way, the highs and lows of hypomanic states and irrational anxieties blurred through pills and drugs and alcohol, her beautiful face pale and ashen in her bed, her nightgown worn and faded and slightly rancid. He loved her. That was crueler than hatred.)
He sets the letter on the side table, pulls his shirt over his head (he doesn't hide his scars, not from Erik, and anyway they are old and not half so dramatic as they seem like they should be- faded silvery lines and pebbled flesh and some melted puckers where young flesh had come into contact with hot iron. If you didn't know they were there, you'd never see them. Erik knew they were there.)
and balls it up beneath him to form a slightly damp pillow.
When Erik arrived, Kurt in tow, who was babbling happily with fragments of real words strung together with abstract conjugations and conjunctions- which was more than he had hoped, more than he had dared believe in, and the almost-normal childspeak cracked through the fog of apathetic anxiety and he made a noise.
It wasn't a whimper. Just a noise.
"Charles?" Erik asked, taking a cautious step towards him. "Charles, are you- all right?"
Charles shrugged, and did not open his eyes. Erik glanced at him with worry.
Kurt had no such compunctions, and flung his small, chubby (and wasn't that a relief? Charles was taking every goddamned pound that boy gained as a personal victory, thank you very much, children are remarkably resilient)
body alongside his, prodding at his side.
"Charles?" Kurt asked, "What wron', Charles? You cry?"
Charles smiled slightly, a cracked, tense smile. "No, Kurt. I'm not crying."
His lip twitched.
Erik leaned down and scooped Kurt up. "Alright, mouse, let's leave Charles alone for a while, ok? Why don't you go- look at your trainset, or something?"
The happy assent he received from Kurt was like music to Charles ear. Kurt was okay. They were okay.
(Those who do not learn from history, they say, are doomed to repeat it. They fail to mention that those lessons suck balls.)
Erik sits down beside him, and the ancient futon creaks ominously. He glances down at the small man.
"I'd invite you to come here," he says at length, "But you seem to be sweating like a wildebeast."
Charles cracks his eye open at last. "Yeah, you're really not good at this sympathy thing, are you?"
Erik raised an eyebrow. "You have to tell me what I'm being sympathetic about, then."
Despite himself, Charles smiled. Then- "On the table. Look. I can't-"
Erik frowned and grabbed the letter. Reading it, he frowned.
"I didn't think the fucker had made another will."
"Nor did I," Charles said, sighing. "The cleaning service found it beneath some of his old papers. It's still valid- signed and dated, after the original statement to the lawyer declaring Cain his sole heir. It's not much, but I- I don't- I can't quite-" Charles stopped, sealing his lips against the tortured fragments.
Erik scratched his beard absently, and Charles felt the comforting scent of motor oil and cleaners and the outside and Ivory soap drift over him like a blanket.
"What are you going to do?"
Charles is silent.
"What do you need me to do?"
Charles glanced over at him. "Could you- put your arm around me? Just for a moment?"
He blushed and tried to feel less like a twelve year old girl. It wasn't working very well.
Normally, at this point he would laugh it off as a joke, brush by it with some charming self deprecation.
He doesn't.
Erik smiled at him, softly and without malice, and tugs the younger man over onto his lap, holding tightly as though they both might break.
Later, after Kurt has been fed and put to bed and Charles has cleared his head with several cigarettes smoked in succession, Erik will approach him from behind and Charles will not jump, and the harsh and rough skin-on-skin contact will break and remake him, and Charles will feel open and exposed and not at all frightened, because Erik is shattering next to him, and when the pieces get put back together some may end up switched, but its all the same, in the end.
Even later, Charles will call the solicitor and be every inch the professional, and he and Cain will get gloriously, extravagantly drunk, and in the morning he will sober up and walk to the bank and open two accounts, one for Kurt's care and one for himself, for school, and he will not feel guilty about it.
(Secretly, late at night, he will download the online application to graduate school at Columbia, and it will sit in his desk drawer amongst unmarked papers and confiscated rubber tchotchkes for several weeks before he dares to fill it out.)
He will meet Erik at the door of his therapist's office, and catch a glimpse of the fearsome woman in white, before taking Erik by the (rough, calloused) hand, and walking with him in the daylight to a pizza joint, and he will realise, somewhere, without thinking about it, that he has grown up. |
“Thor,” Darcy said patiently to his forehead, “Thor, I can’t feel my ribs.”
Thor grunted, and the grunt sounded apologetic but he still didn’t put her down for a few seconds. She was smiling as she found her feet again, because Thor gave the best hugs, and it was almost worth her growing concern that her spleen had just become closely acquainted with her spine. “Well met, friend Darcy! I hope you will forgive me my exuberance, but it has been many moons since last I gazed upon you, and I found myself overcome with the joy of seeing a familiar face in this strange land of the New Town of York.”
“It’s good to see you too, big guy,” Darcy said, and the only reason she didn’t end up face down on the roof of Stark Tower was because she saw the shoulder clap coming and braced herself accordingly. As it was, her knees buckled a little and Thor had to steady her.
It was pure chance that she had been on the roof when Thor had arrived. There were blueprints that Pepper needed, and that Tony had misplaced, and Darcy had gone to find them. The blueprints remained unfound. Thor, on the other hand, was very much found and made the best attempt of any Avenger yet to actually get Darcy to pee herself by stomping into the wrecked penthouse and lifting her a good two feet off the ground by way of greeting.
“And the Lady Jane?” Thor said, with an adorable and completely failed attempt at casualness. “If you have travelled hither, surely it was in her company? I know you to be a most stalwart and loyal companion, and do not believe that you would be easily parted from her side.”
Darcy checked her watch. Three and a half minutes. The big guy had actually held out pretty long before asking about Jane. “Aww, that’s sweet.”
And – it was a relief, too. Darcy hadn’t really read anything into his failure to visit the last time he had made it back from Asgard – there had been a world to save, after all – but that hadn’t kept her from worrying a bit that his no show was the godly equivalent of he’s just not that into you. Jane hadn’t been in a particularly happy place after Thor had gone; Darcy didn’t want to think about what her boss would have been like if the continued separation had been his choice, rather than a matter of circumstance.
“Yeah, Jane is here,” she continued. “If you want, I can take you to her. She’s in the lab, but I have this feeling that she’ll be willing to take a break if I tell her who landed on our doorstep.”
Thor’s brow wrinkled with concern. “I do not wish to disturb her in her scholarly pursuits. Truly, her wisdom is as great as her beauty, and I hesitate to distract her from—.”
A throat cleared behind them.
Darcy turned, and even if she hadn’t recognized that throat clearing, Thor’s booming, “Man of Iron! Hail, and well met!” would have told her who was waiting behind her.
“JARVIS told me,” Tony said in response to Darcy’s raised eyebrow, lifting a hand as he spoke to wiggle his fingers in a little wave at Thor. Thor seemed content to beam at him without hugging, which made Darcy feel a little smug. “I take it no introductions are needed?”
This time, the shoulder slap came out of nowhere and Tony had to lunge forward to save Darcy from kissing concrete. “Lady Darcy and I are already well acquainted, Howard’s son!” Darcy was standing a little too close to miss Tony’s grimace at that, but he let it pass. “Although she cannot match the skill of the Lady Sif or the ever-formidable Black Widow in battle, she is a brave and honorable shieldmaiden, who once felled me with her portable lightning.” A pause. “I was mortal at the time, of course,” he added hastily.
Tony smirked. “Shieldmaiden?”
“Shaddup,” Darcy said, and pushed away from him.
That did nothing to clear the smirk from Tony’s face, and he gestured for her to proceed him inside. “Come on. I suspect the, ah, Lady Jane is getting a bit antsy. By which I mean, ‘she’s probably chewing on my lab equipment by now.’”
“I do not believe such a thing to be healthful. Let us go to her immediately, friends.”
Darcy hid a smile and led the way inside. Behind her, she heard Tony ask quietly, “Your brother?”
“The All-father’s judgment upon him was harsh, but just.” Thor sounded somber now, and Darcy kind of wanted to flick Tony for leeching some of the infectious joy from the Asgardian, even if she understood the necessity. “I do not believe Loki will be permitted to stir from behind Asgard’s walls until long after your children’s children have fought many fierce battles and turned gray with age and stooped with the weight of their own wise years. You need not fear his enmity in your lifetime.”
“Well, there’s that,” Tony muttered.
Erik, Jane, and Bruce were all in the lab. It didn’t particularly surprise Darcy when Jane went flying through the air and basically attached herself to Thor’s mouth.
A few long moments passed.
“Don’t you think we should give them some privacy?” Bruce asked.
Another moment.
“Personally, I’m thinking we should make some popcorn and settle in to enjoy the show.” Tony said, and followed it shortly thereafter with a decidedly amused, “Darcy?”
“Shut up. There’s something in my eye. And also, I am blinded by feelings. This is a perfectly natural response. Stop judging me.”
An finally, Erik: “Okay kids, I think that’s our cue. Out. Shoo. There are sides of Jane that I most definitely do not need to see.”
It was contented group that Erik herded around Jane and Thor and out the door. Tony was smirking, but it was softer than he usually managed. When he caught Darcy looking, he shrugged. “What? I like a good happy ending. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
Erik waved to them and started down the hall, wearing what Darcy chose to interpret as the smug expression of a man who had a surrogate daughter-type person capable of snagging the hottest piece of Norse ass around, and who knew he would one day call the King and Queen of Asgard his surrogate inlaw-type people. Once he was gone, Darcy reached out to pinch Tony’s cheek. He yelped and slapped her hand away, but he was still smiling.
“Aw, Tony. You have layers! You have a soft, gooey center of loooove. I never would have guessed it. I still don’t quite believe it. My mind, it is blown.”
“Yeah,” Tony said, “I’m going to need you to sign a gag order on that one.”
Darcy smiled.
“Seriously. See the legal department.”
Darcy... actually couldn’t tell if he was in earnest or not. From the utterly satisfied look on Tony’s face, he knew that she couldn’t tell. “And on that note, I’ve got to go see a lady about a horse.”
“Please tell me that you and Pepper don’t actually do anything involving horses.”
“Please don’t pretend that something of an equine nature wouldn’t be the most action you’ve seen since getting here.”
“You have no way of knowing that.”
“JARVIS knows all.”
Darcy considered that briefly. “Tony Stark,” she said after a moment, “if you’ve been watching me in the shower, I will kill you flatter than dead.”
“As gratifying as I’m sure that sight would be, Betty,” Tony said, casting a leering glance down her body even as he began to walk backwards down the hall and away, “Pepper would do the job of flattening me dead for you.” He grinned at her. “I make no promises about streaming to the internet, though.” He gave her a jaunty little wave and disappeared around the corner before she could think of a suitable retort.
“Oh, he’s in an excellent mood,” Darcy said. “Yay.”
“On the bright side, Tony in a good mood probably means less explosions.”
She arched a brow at Bruce. “Really? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Tony in a good mood means massively more explosions, with clear skies and a high chance of naked bungee jumping off to roof of Stark Tower.”
“...point. Also, I think I lost a few IQ points in an attempt to expunge that mental picture from my brain, so thank you for that.”
Darcy chuckled, because Tony’s continued attempts to live life as a complete and utter troll were not enough to keep her from feeling relaxed and pleased just about everything and everyone around her. Jane was getting laid, Jane was happy, all was right in Darcy’s world; even grumpy scientists who couldn’t seem to give her cleavage the time of day got a free pass right now. “Let’s neither of us pretend you couldn’t afford to lose them.” She hooked a companionable arm through his elbow, and felt him tense almost immediately. Right, no touching. Before she could extricate herself, however, the tension in his arm and shoulders drained away, like it had never been there or, more to the point, like he had forced it not to be there. He still didn’t look exactly comfortable, but since he had made an effort she did too, pasting on an expression that was so cheerfully oblivious a five-year-old would have been ashamed to wear it. “Come on, Doc. My suite is going to be hostile territory tonight – eventually Jane’s going to remember that her delicate little machine babies live in that lab, and stagger back to our place with her hot little bit o’ god lovin’ – so you get to take me home with you, you lucky dog. I hear the Chinese takeout place down the street calling my name, and there’s a Greta Garbo marathon on TMC tonight.”
She sort of held her breath, because yeah, there was no way in hell that was going to work.
Much to her surprise, it did. Bruce smiled, and while it sat a little stiff and crooked on his lips, it also wasn’t the I’m-mocking-you-and-also-myself-inside-my-giant-brain smile that she usually got out of him. “I had noisy roommates in college,” he offered, after a moment. “Noisy, enthusiastic roommates. I can see how you might want to avoid that.”
Darcy beamed at him. “Precisely.” She thought about that for a moment. “Of course, I’m pretty sure that in college I was the noisy, ent—.”
“Please don’t finish that sentence.”
He looked a little pink in the ears, and his arm twitched beneath her hand.
Okay, so apparently dirty jokes were off limits too. How on earth he managed to survive sharing a lab with Tony, she would never know. Still, he allowed her to nudge him down the hall and toward wherever Tony had him squared away downstairs, so – progress. Maybe.
*
Bruce spent most of the night working, but he did it at the coffee table in front of the TV, and he let Darcy order Chinese take-out to her heart’s content and didn’t seem to mind when she talked at the screen (not her fault; that was how her dear old granny had taught her). He sat on the far side of the couch from Darcy, which she figured meant he had reached his touching quota for the day, but he also didn’t seem particular shy about reaching across her to claim another eggroll.
It wasn’t really that different from having a low-key evening in with Jane, except Bruce didn’t talk much and Darcy didn’t usually try to surreptitiously catch a whiff of Jane’s cologne when they were hanging out. He seemed relaxed though, more so than she ever saw him except when he was really absorbed in something in the lab, and she had a hard time deciding if that was because of the setting or because he had mad skills for tuning out her presence in favor of the Stark Tech tablet he was writing on.
She dozed off a little bit after midnight, Garbo’s Marguerite Gautier a quiet murmur in the background. She woke up on someone else’s couch for the second time since arriving in New York, and crept out in spite of protests from her still sleepy brain that really, it wouldn’t hurt anything to check and see if the good doctor slept in the nude. There were boundaries, and then there was Darcy, and after that came the boundaries that even Darcy had to recognize. Being a creeper at sleeping folks was up there somewhere pretty high on the list.
The blanket had covered her from neck to feet and, unlike the last time she had gone couch surfing, she hadn’t woken up with pieces of ridiculously soft cashmere afghan in her nose. Her glasses and a chipped Culver University mug filled with water had been sitting on the coffee table. Bruce was much better at tucking people in than Tony was.
*
“Oh my god.”
Darcy covered her eyes with a hand.
“Good morrow, Lady Darcy! It is a fine morning in Midgard! The birds sing and the sun shines brightly down upon us! Would you like to feast with me upon these fine earthly delicacies, which my Jane calls Pop-Tarts? I believe they are filled with delicious S’more, and I have missed them greatly in my absence.”
“Thor,” Darcy said, “I want you to know that this goes against every one of my deeply held personal beliefs, and that it kind of wounds my soul to even say it, but please, put on some pants.”
*
There was a young man on the news that morning, one of the people some local station was interviewing in some kind of everyman/woman-on-the-street series. He looked like any one of the guys who had been in Darcy’s program at school, shaggy hair and jeans that were holding together on willpower and pocket lint alone, and he was frowning.
“Look, I’m not suggesting that they did something wrong by saving us, or that they’re awful, horrible monsters,” he said. “I’m just saying that having a group of people who operate outside of the law isn’t usually a good thing, you know? Especially when one of them can zap you in the head with lightning and another one is basically an enormous, green, angry eighteen-wheeler. I don’t see that ending well for anyone.”
*
Getting into Fury’s office hadn’t been easy, and Darcy really and honestly expected to be thrown out on her ear once she explained her reason for being there.
The slightly mad glint in Fury’s eye said otherwise.
“Ms. Lewis,” he said, “I can honestly say it would be my pleasure.”
*
It was three in the morning, and Tony had so far resisted all attempts by Darcy to cajole, threaten, or bully him to sleep. She had finally retreated to a corner of the lab, and was flipping idly through a two-month-old issue of Rolling Stone she had found on one of the tables.
“GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP,” Nick Fury’s voice boomed, echoing angrily through the lab.
Tony screamed. It was very satisfying. Darcy smiled without looking up from her magazine.
After a quick survey of the room proved that Fury had not, in fact, somehow come in without Tony realizing it (not outside of the realm of possibility), he turned an accusatory stare toward Darcy.
“You should know,” she said serenely, “that it’s on a fifteen second—.”
“GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.”
“—loop.”
“I don’t know how you got JARVIS to agree to this,” Tony muttered. “Mute! Mute!”
“GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.”
“Think lower tech, Tony,” Darcy chided. “JARVIS never would have agreed to help me with this. However, the thing about never neatening up your lab is that it becomes difficult for you to—.”
“GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.”
“—figure out where the person who does clean up after you hid the iPod speakers.”
“I hope you realize,” Tony said, “this means war.”
“Looking forward to it,” Darcy said. Her smile was the smile of a woman who knew that she had won this round, and that she had been suitably avenged for all thirty-seven of those moldy coffee cups. She watched as Tony fled the lab.
“GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.”
“Planning on it, Director Fury, sir,” she murmured, before she tossed the magazine aside and followed Tony out.
*
“You’re fired,” Tony said experimentally the next morning.
“Ahahaha, that’s cute,” Darcy replied.
Tony sighed.
*
“Pay up,” Darcy told Clint, and settled into their usual booth at the bar three blocks from Stark Tower and two from SHIELD Central.
“I told you Fury would do it,” Natasha said as Clint rifled a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it over to a triumphant Darcy. “He has a mean sense of humor.”
“I was actually betting on Teresa,” Clint said. “I didn’t think she’d let Darcy through the door.”
“I’ve won her heart with café-au-laits and ham and cheese croissants,” Darcy explained.
Clint looked intrigued. “That works?”
“Better than you’d think.”
*
When she met Captain America, it was mostly by accident.
She had a day off – the first real day off she’d had in like a month, which was really all her own damn fault for spending every waking minute at SHEILD or in Lab #12 – and since she was pretty sure it had been a week since she had seen actual, real sunlight unfiltered by the windows at Stark Tower, she decided to take advantage of the gorgeous July day. She was living in New York City, and yet she hadn’t done anything even remotely resembling exploring the town Jane had so unceremoniously relocated them to.
The area around the tower still looked depressingly like a warzone, albeit one that was rebuilding: chunks of concrete and bricks torn loose from the surrounding buildings had been pushed onto the sidewalks to clear the way for cars, leaving only a thin strip of space for foot traffic. Half of the buildings Darcy passed still had blown out windows, scorch marks, or giant holes carved out of their sides. There were memorials like the ones Darcy remembered sometimes seeing at intersections set on almost every corner, pictures and flowers and candles with the occasional teddy bear that made Darcy try pretty damn hard not to think about what kind of disaster victim would have stuffed toys set out for him or her. Grand Central Station still looked hollowed out and sad, although Darcy had seen on the news the other day that repairs were far enough along for New York’s most famous transit hub to be back in service.
There were also people. Lots of people. Many of them were in suits or heels, obviously on their lunch break or hurrying back and forth to meetings, preoccupied with their daily tasks because three weeks after the fact, even an alien attack wasn’t an excuse to phone in sick to work. Many of the restaurants and shops that lined the street were open, their window displays neatly arranged even when the glass was missing; one clothing store had even incorporated the damage into their display, a plastic mannequin leaning out over the jagged edge of what had once been an enormous pane of window glass and raising her hand in a stiff, jaunty wave to the street. A taquería on the corner had a similar idea, with a sign posted inviting customers to enjoy their newly installed drive-through and an arrow pointing cheekily toward a gaping hole in the wall, through which Darcy could see the kitchen staff clearly. According to a police sergeant Darcy had seen interviewed the night before, there had been a surprising lack of looting following the attack. When the reporter speaking to him had tried to attribute that to people sympathizing with the victims or a sense of togetherness brought on in the face of a common enemy, the sergeant had smirked. “Togetherness. Yeah. I kind of like to think of it as New York showing its collective middle finger to those fucking aliens. They couldn’t bring us down. We’re not about to bring each other down.”
A hotdog vendor by the side of the road had posted a hastily written sign, which read ‘FREE LEMONADE FOR RELIEF WORKERS AND VOLUNTEERS. :)’ Darcy looked at it for a minute, and sort of thought, well, why the hell not? That wasn’t exactly the relaxing day off she had planned, but she thought that doing something physical after so many days cooped up might feel good – that it might feel good in general, and a whole lot more useful than making recordings of Director Fury to scare Tony to sleep.
She quickly found out that there were two parties of relief workers at work: the official workers, many of them belonging to government funded organizations or otherwise drawing a paycheck from Uncle Sam, and the less official, “fuck that, who needs help with what?” workers. Darcy gravitated toward the second group, and might have had some trouble figuring out who was in charge had thirty seconds of observation not allowed her to pinpoint a plump woman of middle years who wielded a megaphone like it was a weapon.
“I want to help,” Darcy said simply.
The woman grinned, for all the world like slapping drywall into place and hammering down nails was the most fun anyone could possibly ever have. “Awesome. I’m Grace. I shall call you Volunteer #204 until you have earned a proper name. Grab a t-shirt and find someone to tell you what to do.” She gestured toward a young man standing by a huge cardboard box, and then went off to yell at someone else.
“They’re so we can pick each other out in the crowd,” the young man said apologetically as he offered her a t-shirt from the box. “And so that Grace knows who to holler at when she wants something done. One of the local shops printed them up for us.”
Darcy took the t-shirt, and started laughing.
It was bright green, and it read in enormous dark green letters: THE HULK SAVED MY CITY. I’M GOING TO FIX IT.
A quick glance inside the box showed that there were equivalent t-shirts for all the Avengers: red for Iron Man, yellow for Thor, blue for Captain America, black for the Black Widow, and (Darcy couldn’t wait to mention this to Clint, she really couldn’t wait) vivid, eye-scalding purple for Hawkeye.
“Sorry,” the guy said, chagrined.
“No, no,” Darcy replied, pulling the t-shirt on over the tank top she had worn out that morning. “It’s brilliant. I love it.” Tony was going to have an almighty sulk when it came out that Darcy hadn’t chosen an Iron Man t-shirt, but whatever. “Now, what can I do?”
It turned out that there was a lot to do. Rubble needed to be loaded into wheelbarrows and carted to a central location where it was out of the way until the official aid workers could get rid of it. Windows needed to be boarded over until they could be replaced. Glass and dust needed to be swept up, and walls needed to be plastered over and painted. After a couple of hours, Darcy had sweated through her new t-shirt and her hair was plastered to her forehead, and she probably looked (and smelled) disgusting, but damned if she didn’t feel glorious.
Of course, she was also in imminent peril of being smushed to death beneath the door she was trying to help a fluttery little old lady shopkeeper lift into place, because that? That had not been her most brilliant plan in the history of ever.
“Goddamnit, 204!” she heard Grace yell through the megaphone, and she wondered a little distractedly if the woman was single and how she felt about men with eyepatches and interestingly covert careers. It would be a match made somewhere in Darcy’s worst nightmares. “Too heavy! Too heavy! Steven, give her a hand.”
Someone was behind her, and suddenly the door felt a lot lighter in Darcy’s hands. Like, ‘nearly weightless’ lighter. Steven must be buff.
She turned to look over her shoulder.
Her first thought was: totally buff.
Her second thought was: hey, she recognized that dude. He was the dude who had been sitting with Tony and Pepper at the SHIELD memorial.
Her third thought was: not only did she recognize that dude, she recognized that alarmingly angular and manly jaw.
Darcy had watched a lot of WWII era newsreels while she was working on her thesis. The combination of context and a familiar lantern jaw meant that it really only took her a minute to figure things out.
“Holy shit,” she hissed. “You’re Captain America.”
He almost dropped the door. Darcy let out a squeak that completely lacked any kind of dignity, and didn’t even really care because Captain America had just almost dropped a freaking door on her, and that would be a really terrible and weird way to die. What the hell would the obituary even read?
They (by which she meant ‘he’) managed to steady the door, and he cleared his throat. “Steve is fine, ma’am.”
He said it pretty firmly, which Darcy translated as, “For the love of this fine country of ours and also adorable puppy dogs, kindly do not out me as Captain America in front of all these nice people.”
Which, okay, she could handle that. She worked for Iron Man and had a manicure appointment with Black Widow next Tuesday. She grinned up at him and said, “Darcy. I’m pretty sure we have a couple of friends in common, and I am very pleased to meet you.” She looked down at his chest and snickered. “Iron Man saved your city, huh?”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s true.”
They got the door into place while the shopkeeper hovered over them. By the time they were done, Grace was standing behind them and shaking her head like she had never seen two more disappointing specimens in her life. “Take ten, kids. Steven, you stick with this one for the rest of the day, because she’s obviously a hazard.” Which was totally not fair, but Darcy wasn’t about to contradict Grace if it meant that she got Captain America as her own personal co-pilot.
They got lemonades from the hotdog vendor and settled on a MTA bench that had somehow managed to avoid being completely demolished. “What are you even doing here?” Darcy asked. “There haven’t been any Captain America sightings since Loki was defeated, and believe you me, I’ve been looking. I sort of figured you’d blown town. Or that Fury had you locked in the basement somewhere. Whichever.”
Steve – and yeah, it was definitely ‘Steve’, because Darcy had a really hard time picturing Captain America with grime painted across his t-shirt and his face, slurping on a lemonade – looked uncomfortable. “I was supposed to leave. Fury wanted us to lie low for a while. I couldn’t. There was too much left to be done here.”
“That’s cool,” Darcy said, mostly because she couldn’t quite wrap her head around anyone who saved the world and then couldn’t bear to leave before repairs were finished. She couldn’t really laugh at it either, although anyone who was that much of a boyscout should have earned a snicker at least. Mostly she just felt like kind of a bad person by comparison. “Uh, do you want a hotdog? My treat.”
Steve smiled at her. “I would love a hotdog.”
*
It turned out that Captain America could eat a lot of hotdogs.
*
Steve walked Darcy to the tower at the end of the day. She offered to take him to a movie the following Monday.
“The Film Forum is doing two-for-one Hitchcock,” she said. “You might like it.”
He turned pink all the way up to his ears. “Darcy, I’m flattered and all, but—.”
Darcy started laughing. Steve looked nonplussed.
“I’m not asking you out,” she said. “That would be weird. You were, like, my Granny Lewis’ first crush. It would be like dating my grandpa. My enormously tall, somehow ridiculously young and hot grandpa, but my point still stands.”
“Thanks,” Steve said, his voice a little wry but the smile on his mouth real.
“You said you used to go to the movies a lot, and you seem like a cool guy. That’s all. Natasha and I go out for beers and get mani-pedis, and I’m not trying to get into her pants or anything. Although don’t think I haven’t considered it, because damn.”
Steve looked confused. Darcy played a little game where she tried to decide what had caused that look: the term ‘mani-pedi’, the idea that Natasha liked girl things (a lot of people seemed to stumble over that one; Darcy had no idea why), or the implication that Darcy might hit that. He was super old, after all. It was possible that maybe Darcy should avoid talking about her occasional enjoyment of lady bits until he’d had a chance to acclimate to the modern era.
“Natasha’s a very beautiful woman,” he said after a moment, seriously enough that Darcy had to bite back another laugh. He bounced back quick, at least. “And I think I’d like going to see a movie with you. I tried to go once, but – well. Hitchcock is good. I saw Secret Agent in the theater when I—when it came out.”
“Can’t go wrong with Peter Lorre,” Darcy said agreeably, and was rewarded with another smile.
*
Darcy went up to the lab even though she looked like death and felt not much better after a day of what was, essentially, moving heavy stuff around. She probably could have skipped it, because Jane at least had been otherwise occupied recently by massive amounts of godly sex and Thor made sure she was kept well fed on poptarts and coffee, but Darcy knew that if she gave Tony an inch, he would take a mile.
Bruce was the only one in the lab.
“Pepper just got back into town,” he said. “I think you’re off the hook for tonight.”
“Muh,” Darcy said with relief, and collapsed into the chair next to him. She leaned forward until she could press her forehead against the icy cold chrome of the table, and wondered if it would be poor form to fall asleep in the lab. Probably. At the very least, it was a bad idea, because Tony and Jane would totally take her falling asleep in the lab as permission for them to fall asleep in the lab. Neither of them would sleep in a bed ever again.
Something was touching her head.
Darcy froze as she tried to figure that one out. It took her an embarrassingly long moment to realize that what was actually happening was that Bruce was petting her hair.
It was nice. Soothing. Completely unexpected.
Completely frustrating, because she was pretty sure she didn’t have the energy to press her advantage and see if he’d let her upgrade hair petting to something a little more interesting. She could move slow! Hand-holding. Closed mouth kissing. Something.
After a moment, Bruce’s hand withdrew.
Darcy grumbled a protest.
“Nice t-shirt,” Bruce said. |
Mandy explained to him a couple of days later why he had to keep his mouth shut, why he shouldn't tell anyone that he didn't remember, why he should pretend.
She said that if he told the hospital he couldn't remember, they would have kept him there and not only did she think that he was better off at home – because Milkovichs didn't do therapy – but they also couldn't afford the hospital bills if he stayed there any longer. She also told him not to tell anyone else because the person she knew as her brother wouldn't like anyone to see that weakness; but also, people would ask him what had happened and why he couldn't remember and he would have to come out. She said she'd rather have a brother who couldn't remember than a dead brother.
It made sense to him, sort of, but more than that, he just didn't want to do anything to upset Mandy. She was nice to him, she looked after him, taught him about himself, she deserved him to do this for her. As far as he was concerned anyway.
Sometimes he didn't know whether she preferred him or the old him; but he thought that more than anything she was just glad she had someone there. Because he couldn't remember anything, Mandy made it her mission to fill up his head with as many memories as possible.
They got drunk on a baseball field that for some reason made Mickey think of sex and Mandy passed out so he had to carry her back home.
They snuck into the movies and had a popcorn fight until they got kicked out.
They had a horror movie marathon and Mandy hid behind a pillow for most of it, Mickey just jumped rather a lot and couldn't work out why sometimes he wanted to laugh.
They tried to make a cake for some random reason but in the end just ate the mixture because they knew it would taste better than the cake ever could.
She also woke him up at one in the morning once to have a shots competition because she was bored; Mandy threw up first, Mickey threw up five shots later.
They had a water fight whilst it was snowing and both of them had the flu for the next week.
She taught him to shoplift and showed him all of the places he'd used to like to go, which to be honest were random and out of the way, places you'd go to get high without anybody noticing. She also did coke with him once and laughed at him when he got into a fight with the couch cushions for no reason whatsoever.
They had Thanksgiving with just the two of them, Mickey got some chicken fillet things and lied to Mandy telling her they were turkey. Mandy made too much mash potato and later on when they got high, it turned into a food fight with the left over mash. It took them two days to clean all of it up, because they kept finding it in random places.
He decided to tidy up the house a little and they lined all of the empty cans up underneath the El and shot at them with two of the many guns in the house. Mickey couldn't work out how he could remember how to shoot a gun, but not things about growing up with Mandy.
Mandy taught him how to act in public so that nobody would guess that he wouldn't remember and it felt like he was putting a mask on every time he walked out of the house. Mandy had said it was okay if he ignored people he didn't know, or if he didn't use their names or just looked at them strangely, because everybody in this neighbourhood thought he was a dick. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel about that, it made him a little sad to think that everyone hated him. In the end, it didn't really matter because nobody seemed to want to talk to him anyway.
She laughed at him for enrolling in community college, but in the end she did the same thing and he made sure to laugh at her right back. He studied something to do with engineering, but in the end knew he'd just carry on working at the construction site he'd landed a job at. Mandy did a course in hair and beauty or some shit.
She bullied him into letting her pierce his ear one night when he was drunk and more than a little bit high, so he let her. He thought it looked stupid, just a little black stud in his left earlobe, but he left it there because Mandy seemed pretty damn pleased with herself every time she saw it. He couldn't work out if that was because she'd successfully pierced his ear or because she'd managed to bully him into letting her do it.
They spent a lot of time when they weren't working, or at community college, either drinking, smoking or playing video games. It made Mickey feel like an eternal teenager or something, but it was fun so he didn't complain. He thought it was weird because he didn't really like the idea of getting high all the time, but he did it because it was practically instinctive to do so.
Mandy was always telling him he freaked her out when it was just the two of them and he forgot to be a dick. He'd asked her to pass him the salt one night they'd been too lazy to cook and had gotten fish and chips. She'd corrected him saying, "You're supposed to say, 'oy bitch, salt, now'."
He couldn't imagine himself saying that, so he'd just shrugged and put salt on his chips in silence.
They'd cleaned out the house properly one day because they lost the Xbox controller and Mandy was screaming at him to find it and they had found it, but before that they'd found a mouse. Mandy had screamed some more and Mickey had laughed and picked it up because it was weirdly docile. He'd chased her around the house with it for a while and she'd put him in a headlock and he didn't know why it was instinct to twist her nipple, but it was. In the end, he'd managed to convince Mandy to hold the mouse, she'd named it Bert and they'd stolen a cage from this random pet shop down the road and now they had a pet mouse that Mandy said she'd never thought would happen ever. She told him they'd never had a pet before. He thought that made their lives sound kind of sad, but he kept that to himself.
She cried sometimes when she got the post and he'd come into her room even though she'd told him to piss off and had hugged her. He found out that she had a friend in the army who she missed a lot. She said it was her best friend and had mumbled something out about a boyfriend so he supposed that they'd been a couple at one point. He didn't know why the thought of the army made him feel, but it did.
One of the things that he did now that freaked Mandy the fuck out, was that he liked to read. He didn't tell her it was because he liked to fill his brain up with information so that he didn't have to think about the empty space that was his memories. It felt like there was a black hole in his mind, he wanted to fill it by any means necessary. So he read.
He was in the library when someone actually spoke to him, a frown on their face.
"Mickey, what the hell are you doing here?"
He didn't know the person standing in front of him, but he pretended that he did. He put that mask on that for a second he'd forgotten he had to wear. "Getting a book, what the fuck does it look like?" he asked, making himself scowl, partly because the words tasted strange on his tongue, the harshness of it alien.
The guy in front of him snorted, "Yeah, but can you actually read?"
"Fuck off," he muttered because he didn't know what else to say. He didn't know who he disliked more at that moment, the guy in front of him, or the guy that this stranger thought he was.
The guy rolled his eyes, "Come on, you have to admit it's weird."
Mickey just stared at him, because he didn't have to admit to anything and they both knew it. "Mick, are you fucking done yet?" Mandy appeared beside them, her expression bored as she leant against the bookcase playing with the hem of her too small skirt.
"I told you not to come," he said, rolling his eyes at her.
She didn't seem to be listening to him anymore. "Hey Lip," she said and her smile was definitely flirty.
The name didn't ring any bells in his head. "I'm going to book this out," he said and Mandy just waved him off, already completely engrossed in this new guy, Lip or whatever. Five minutes later, they were still flirting.
"You coming or staying?" he asked her.
"You going to buy me a McDonalds?" she countered, chewing her bottom lip and looking at him with wide pleading eyes.
He stared at her for a minute, "Are you going to steal my chips again?"
"Probably."
He shrugged, he'd been expecting that answer, "Kay then."
Mandy grinned and bounced forwards to peck the guy Lip on the cheek before bumping against Mickey as they moved towards the library door. The librarian told her to be quiet when she tripped up slightly and squealed, she swore at the librarian in response and Mickey thought it was highly likely that he wasn't going to be let back in again. |
Arya was getting tired of always being mad at her sister. It was exhausting but there was just no way around it. If only Sansa would stop doing things that deserved it. After she got back to the hotel from their failed lunch date she was just itching to let off some steam.
Her phone dinged with a text. Probably Sansa, trying to apologize, as if that actually made anything better. In her mind she shook her sister by the shoulders, telling her that her stupid words don’t mean anything if her actions say something else.
To her surprise, her father was there in the suite, papers and folders strewn out around his computer on the dining table. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her.
“Hey, how was lunch?”
She glared at him. “Ask Sansa.”
Ned cocked his head and looked at her, concerned. “I would, but I feel like I’ve hardly seen her since we’ve been here. Is everything alright?”
“Peachy keen,” Arya replied, really not wanting to have this conversation with him right now.
Her father sighed and looked closely at her. To avoid his visual interrogation, Arya pulled out her phone and looked at her text, running the risk that it would make her even more upset. It was not Sansa, but the nice boy she’d met a few days ago.
He’d texted her only once before now, not abusing the privilege of having her number, to say how nice it was to meet her and that hoped he’d be able to see her again.
The guys and I are going to watch the game, same place as before. You know how they are. I could really use your company…
It was clever of him, not to ask her on a date, and she found herself agreeing with him that he certainly needed her to go. She texted back, not saying she would be there but asking what time.
Watching the game in the dingy bar was surprisingly not so bad. Hot Pie and Lommy were rooting for different teams and things got very heated, culminating in them throwing peanut husks at each other. Gendry determinedly remained neutral, proclaiming that he was Switzerland. He was attentive to Arya but not smothering, and appeared to have not said anything to the others about her family.
As they all stumbled out of the bar into the evening, Gendry waved the others along and hung back with Arya. He was looking curiously at her and she waited, one hand on her hip, for him to speak.
“Do you have dinner plans?” he finally asked.
She shrugged. “Nope. I'm all on my lonesome.”
“Can I get you something to eat? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”
Arya put on a serious face. “That would really be a tragedy, you don’t want to see how I get when I’m hungry.”
He beamed and offered his arm to her, as if she was some kind of girly girl like her sister. She made a face and shook her head at him, then took his hand instead, inwardly pleased with the shocked look on his face. His hand was warm and solid and strong.
“Where should we go?” she asked.
“I think I know a place you’ll like,” he said, as they both started moving down the sidewalk. “It’s a favorite of mine, not far from here. You like breakfast food?”
“Most important meal of the day – can’t hurt to have it twice.”
They sat side by side at the bar in the little diner, over plates of pancakes and bacon drenched in syrup. Arya became annoyed with Gendry’s growing awe at how much food she could put away.
“Something bothering you?” she asked.
“No, I’m just impressed. I hate it when girls hardly touch their food.”
Arya shrugged. “I have a high metabolism, I’m pretty active.”
“What do you do?” he asked.
“Lots of martial arts, kickboxing.” She shoved another huge bite of pancake in her mouth. “And I teach self-defense to the rich girls.”
The corner of Gendry’s mouth twitched. “The other rich girls you mean?”
Arya glared at him. “I’m not like them.”
“Oh, I know that.” He shook his head, wide eyed. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
She brushed aside the comment, which was probably intended as a compliment but stung Arya a little. She knew she was different. In a society where everyone wanted someone like her sister, sweet and polite and pretty, she was reminded all too often of the areas in which she was lacking.
“What about you?” she asked instead, nodding towards his arms, amazed with herself that she hadn't noticed before how toned they were.
“Oh,” he said, shrugging. “My job’s pretty strenuous, I get a good workout there.”
Arya was slightly surprised to find herself genuinely interested in his life. “What do you do?”
He looked away from her. “Metal fabrication, welding. Nothing glamorous.”
“That’s cool,” Arya said, and meant it. “I think it would be awesome to learn to weld.”
Encouraged by her response, Gendry leaned in closer. “I could show you some other time if you want. I have a small workshop of my own, not anything fancy but it does the job.”
“I think I’d like that,” she said. “Shut up so I can finish my food, and then let’s go.”
When their meal was finished and paid for (separately, as Arya insisted) he drove her farther out in the city to an industrial looking area, and pulled up to a small garage.
“I rent this space,” Gendry told her, pulling the small garage door up. “For my side projects.” He stopped her before she could go inside. “Look, this is pretty personal, and I wasn't expecting company.” He looked into her eyes for several long seconds. “I hope you don’t think it’s stupid.”
Arya frowned at him, not understanding. He stepped aside and they both went into the garage. Arya’s mouth gaped open as he flipped on the lights and she started to look around. It was fantastic. The place was filled with metal creatures, animals made from metal odds and ends, gears, springs and other scraps. In the center of the room was the most impressive one, a large bull looking ready to charge.
“This is wonderful,” she gasped, looking at him in amazement. “You did all this? I can’t believe you thought I’d say it was stupid.”
“I just hoped you wouldn’t. And thank you.”
“Do you sell them?” she asked, her hand running down the back of a large cat.
Gendry nodded. “Sometimes. I’ve done a few shows and people seem to like them.”
Arya walked to the bull in the middle of the room to inspect it closer. “This one I love,” she announced, after giving it a good look over.
He smiled. “The bull is kind of my trademark, I’ve done several of them and they’re good sellers.”
Arya was no artist, a lot of art was too stuffy and fanciful for her taste. Somehow this, though, with the hard scraps of metal, discarded and then salvaged and combined into something new, really appealed to her. They had all been broken things, and now were part of something their original creators never would have imagined, different than they were ever intended to be.
“I’m glad you showed me,” Arya said. “You should try to find a place in New York to show them, people there would just eat this up.”
He didn’t say anything, but moved closer to her and touched her arm. The proximity made her strangely uncomfortable, and she couldn’t quite think straight.
Arya had lots of friends who were boys; she had always seemed to fit in with them better than with other girls. As she and they got older, however, they started to see her more as a girl and were disappointed when she didn’t fit the mold. She’d made the mistake of trying to date a few of them, and it would go okay for a little while but then they always seemed to want her to be something she wasn’t. She didn’t take well to people trying to change her, and consequently nothing had ever been even remotely serious. This boy though, he seemed to actually like her, and she certainly had made no attempts to hide who she was. He was nice, and dependable, and creative, and not like her at all.
“Have you ever made a wolf?” she asked suddenly.
The question had the intended effect as he dropped his hand and thought. “No,” he said, “just a few dogs.”
“You should make a wolf,” she told him. “I like them. They’re like my spirit animal or something.”
He smiled. "Then I will. Maybe I can send you a picture when it’s done.”
That didn't sit quite right with Arya for some reason. “Maybe I can come see it.” Before he could say anything she continued, “Do you draw?”
“A little, why?”
“Because,” Arya replied, “I want to get a tattoo of a howling wolf, right here,” she reached around and patted her left shoulder blade.
“And you’d like me to design it for you?”
“Why not?” She shrugged.
He nodded solemnly. “It would be an honor.”
She smacked his arm. “Well if you’re going to be like that – “
He put his hands up in defeat. “I’d be happy to, if you'd like.” She nodded. “Let's sit down and you can tell me what you want.”
The following afternoon found Arya yet again with Gendry, walking into a randomly chosen tattoo parlor with his sketch clutched in her determined hands.
The artist made only a few hard bargained tweaks to the design and before Arya knew it she was whisked away to the chair, Gendry tailing her in support. He'd kind of gotten roped into being her companion on this trip; she didn't really have anyone else so he would have to do. Not like she could do this with her father or sister. Her mood brightened when she saw how heavily he blushed when she removed her shirt. Looking away, he told her she was going to do great, and promised to feed her again afterwards.
It was Arya’s first tattoo. She’d had this one in mind for years, but was always worried that the artist wouldn’t be able to execute her vision the way she wanted it. Having Gendry sketch it out first, and seeing that what he came up with from her description was exactly what she had in mind, finally made her able to move forward with it. Somehow too, it helped that he was there with her, a steady presence holding her hand.
The artist washed up and put on gloves, then began his work. It didn’t hurt much after the first few minutes, it was more like a strong tingle. She smiled at Gendry and let go of his hand, as if telling him she was okay and that he could relax. She settled in to the sensations on her back, focusing on how it felt. It was a nice distraction, to just feel this mild pain and nothing else.
Her design was not huge, and was done in one sitting. The artist showed her the final product and she was more than pleased. A large grey and white wolf stood strong, head back, forever suspended in a howl. Arya thought the wolf’s eyes looked lonely, but its stance was strong. The tattoo was bandaged and Arya replaced her t-shirt.
Outside, as they meandered down the street, Arya took Gendry’s hand again. It was starting to feel familiar and comforting.
“That was amazing,” she said, leaning down on his arm to pull him closer to her. “Now every time I look at it I’ll remember who designed it for me.”
He looked at her but didn’t say anything, just smiled at her with those pretty eyes.
Outside the restaurant, again randomly chosen for its location just a block away, she stopped and pulled him around to face her. Determined, she started moving towards him and he stumbled backwards into the wall, which halted his retreat.
Her head wonderfully clear after the hours spent in the tattoo parlor earlier, Arya finally thought she knew what she wanted. Not for the future maybe, or even tomorrow. But right now, in this moment, she wanted to know what Gendry’s mouth felt like on hers.
Since he was unable to escape, she leaned in close, body brushing up against him from her chest to her hips. She grabbed him behind the neck with both hands and pulled him in, lips pushed hard against his, open and forceful. He responded gently and she gradually softened her approach in kind. He wrapped his arms around her low back, carefully avoiding her new tattoo. Arya slowly pulled away, giving him one last quick parting peck on the lips. With a wink, she grabbed his hand and pulled him onward towards the restaurant.
“I’m still hungry,” she told him.
As they went inside, Gendry still in stunned silence, Arya thought now that maybe this trip wasn’t such a disaster after all. |
The entire school was buzzing with the news: Ladybug had been seen on a rooftop the previous night with Chat Noir, hanging out for several hours.
She was back, and now- well, akuma attacks were going to go back to normal, right? Or would Coccinelle get assigned a different Miraculous and become part of the regular team?
And Marinette was left cringing from her desk, wondering if- despite how much she had enjoyed her rooftop picnic- it hadn't been a very good idea.
Maybe they should have chosen a different rooftop, one that was higher or more secluded or something. Maybe she should have gone out with a different Miraculous, so she couldn't be so easily identified as Ladybug. Maybe they shouldn't have gone out at all.
Except Marinette had enjoyed seeing Chat Noir again and spending more time with him. And if she had gone out with a different Miraculous- well, she would have chosen the Horse or the Snake, probably, since those were the ones she had used most recently, but neither would have been a great choice. The superheroes didn't want to give away that there was an active Snake user, and she would have had to detransform and recharge if she had used the Horse as her main Miraculous during the picnic. And as for the location- well, she wasn't limited by where she could go, but Chat Noir had been. If they had wanted to meet in a significantly less busy part of Paris- even less busy than their rooftop had been- then they would have had to go way out.
If they had been older, she would have just used Kaalki to meet up with Chat Noir on the first rooftop, then Portaled them out to a more remote location so that they wouldn't be seen for sure. But they weren't old enough for repeated power uses yet, so if they had wanted to do that there would have been a lot of re-charging Kaalki required. Which- well, it was fine during battles, but probably not so fine when they were just hanging out for fun.
Maybe she could have asked her mom to use the Horse for the night and be the transportation for her and Chat Noir- except no, that wouldn't have worked, either. Her mom had to go to bed early because of the bakery, and while she and Chat Noir maybe should have finished earlier so that they could go to bed at a better time, her mom's involvement would have required them to finish really, really early.
"I'm glad that she's back!" Rose told everyone as they waited for class to start. "I like Coccinelle, of course, she seems really nice, but I'm just used to Ladybug. We've seen her around more."
There was agreement all around the room. Marinette ignored it, pulling up the Ladyblog on her tablet and going through all of the photos that Alya had been able to find that people had taken of the "Ladynoir rooftop date". It looked like no one had gotten any photos (or seen) her use of the Horse Miraculous, and since they had been sitting the whole time, there wasn't any sign of her crutches or cast.
Or, well, almost no sign. If she looked really closely, Marinette could see the top of the Ladybug-patterned cast on her leg in one of the photos. But not much of the cast was visible, and if she hadn't known to look for it- well, then Marinette probably wouldn't have known it was there at all.
So it wasn't as bad as it could have been. If news got out about Ladybug's injury- well, that would be worse than them just being spotted, right?
"All right, everyone settle down," Ms. Bustier called as she stepped into the classroom. "I know we're all excited that Ladybug is back, but it's time to learn now. Put away your phones, please, you can look at the photos over break."
There were a few noises of complaint, but everyone listened. Marinette put her tablet to the side and looked up, doing a quick glance around the room to see how people were reacting. There was excitement on most everyone's faces, happiness that the city's second superhero was apparently back. Chloe didn't look thrilled, but that was to be expected. And Adrien-
Adrien didn't look thrilled by the news, despite the fact that he was definitely a Ladybug fanboy. Marinette hid her own frown as she watched him, trying to puzzle out what he might be thinking. He looked more worried than excited, which made Marinette wonder why.
Surely he would want to see Ladybug back in action, right? The news that she had been spotted out and about should have been an exciting thing for him. But it wasn't, apparently.
Odd.
Marinette kept wondering over it during morning classes, but it was just a mystery she couldn't solve. She almost wanted to ask Adrien about it- after all, they were friends, she should be able to ask him a simple question without fretting over it too much- but if he had seen the cast, or had seen other photos that gave away more of her injury, then she didn't exactly want him mentioning that near Alya. Not when she still hadn't figured out how she wanted to address the whole thing yet.
After all, Ladybug wouldn't be able to come back for another week and a half at least. The chances that Hawkmoth wouldn't attack before then was... pretty much nil. The public would be wondering what was going on and why Ladybug still wasn't coming out, unless the superheroes made some sort of announcement.
Ugh. Dealing with announcements and press releases and whatnot was definitely not her favorite part of being a superhero.
By the time lunch rolled around, Marinette was all too eager to get home and brainstorm with her parents and Tikki about what she and Chat Noir could say about Ladybug's presence back in Paris. With a few quick excuses to Alya, Marinette step-hopped home and headed up to the kitchen. There, her mom was standing in front of the stove, frowning at her phone.
"We have a problem," Marinette announced, dropping her backpack at the table and hopping her way forward to the kitchen counter. "People spotted Ladybug with Chat Noir last night, and now everyone thinks that I'm going to be back."
"That's not the only news," Mrs. Cheng told her, turning away from the stove and passing her phone over to Marinette. "Someone spotted you out with the Horse during the akuma attack. They hadn't posted the pictures right away, but now they have and there's been a lot of speculation about the 'new' Miraculous holder."
Marinette groaned. She had been hoping that she wouldn't be spotted like that. It wasn't a huge problem, necessarily, but it was just one more thing that they would have to explain. "Did people see the crutches with the Horse? And the cast?"
"Crutches, yes. Cast, no. The angle was wrong for that." Mrs. Cheng gave the soup on the stove a stir, then turned her attention fully to Marinette. "So I suppose we'll have to make some sort of announcement, right? I mean, we could always not, just in the interest of not giving Hawkmoth any more clues about your identity, but I doubt the public would let any of this go that easily."
"Right. It would honestly be less hassle if we can think of something to say right away. The longer we go, well..." Marinette thought back to all of the run-ins that she had had with the press before, the way that they responded to what the superheroes had to say. "The more they'll question whatever they'll say eventually."
"So Chat Noir and I should address it by the end of the day, probably," Mrs. Cheng finished. "And- Tikki, what is it?"
Tikki had been vibrating mid-air, clearly dying to say something. "Chat Noir is trying to call. Can- can we go somewhere he won't recognize and transform? He probably wants to check in on what we want to do."
"We can use your dad and I's bedroom," Mrs. Cheng decided after a moment's thought. "Chat Noir hasn't ever seen it, so it should be plenty safe as long as we don't stand near any family photos."
Marinette nodded, leading the way towards the door while her mom turned off the stove. A couple minutes later, they were transformed and in front of a carefully blank baby-blue wall. Coccinelle called Chat Noir back, and he picked up right away.
"I'm assuming that you've heard the news about Ladybug and a Horse user being spotted, right?" Chat Noir asked right away. "Everyone's wondering about it now."
"Yes, and Ladybug said that it would be a good idea to make some sort of press statement today, so that people would actually believe what we tell them," Coccinelle told him. "Or they'll be more likely to believe us, at any rate."
"There'll be conspiracy theorists no matter what we say, honestly." Chat Noir glanced to the side, then back at them. "I looked up what we said when you first took over for Ladybug, just to make sure we wouldn't end up with contradicting stories, and we said that Ladybug was getting 'some much-needed-rest'. And there's been some wondering about how much rest a superhero really needs- as if literally anyone else in Paris could actually decide that- and a lot of speculation that Ladybug was going out of the city on vacation, so I was wondering if maybe we could say that Ladybug got injured on her trip? That way, the dates really won't line up with your injury, Vipera. If anyone uses that information to try to figure out who Ladybug might be, it should lead them in the opposite direction."
Vipera grimaced briefly, unable to help herself. Anything about made-up trips reminded her of Lila, honestly, and that wasn't exactly a comparison that she wanted to be making. But Chat Noir was right- it would throw off the timing between her injury and Ladybug's, and since the crutches had been seen but the cast hadn't, they didn't have to say that she had broken her leg.
Maybe she didn't like the comparison, but keeping her identity secret was far more important.
"We could say that she had a bad sprain," Coccinelle suggested, almost as though she was reading Vipera's mind. "After all, it's- what? A little over a week until the cast comes off? So if she just sprained her ankle and then is trying to be careful and make sure that it's at 100% before coming back out, that timing is pretty good."
"We'd probably just want to 'accidentally' imply a sprain, rather than outright saying it," Vipera told her. "Because we've never confirmed anything about our personal lives to the press before for identity reasons, so if we say 'Ladybug sprained her ankle', then people will question that. But if we just mention a minor injury and say that she- er, I- asked Coccinelle to extend her time as a superhero a little bit more to make sure that I'd be coming back at 100%, people can draw their own conclusions from that. Minor doesn't suggest a broken leg, and there's only so many things that crutches can mean."
Chat Noir nodded approvingly. "I like that! A sneaky little bit of manipulation. I think it's a believable amount of information. Like, normally we wouldn't say even that much, but we kind of have to in this situation and everyone know that- or, well, they expect it, at any rate."
"Yeah, what people expect and what people need to know are sometimes two completely different things," Vipera sighed. "From some of the stuff I've seen, people seem to think that I should have handed out a day-by-day itinerary to everyone in Paris so they wouldn't be 'left in the dark'. Which is just- do people even think about what they're saying before they say it? Did no one consider the whole secret identity thing?"
Chat Noir laughed. "I know, right? I've seen those posts, too. Thankfully there aren't many of them, and some are clearly kids who don't know to take Hawkmoth seriously, but the others? The grown-up adults who think that we should hand them an exhaustive list of information about our lives? What are they thinking?"
"They're not, and that's why they wouldn't make very good superheroes," Coccinelle responded tartly. "I would love to meet one, actually, and read them the riot act. They need to actually use their brains every once in a while. They're not just for decoration, after all."
Vipera muffled a giggle. She'd like to see that too, honestly. Those poor souls wouldn't know what hit them.
"Okay, I think I wrote all that down," Chat Noir said after a pause. "About what we want to say, that is. I can do a press release later today, after school. I'll let the Mayor know. I can probably manage it on my own-"
"I will not leave you to the press vultures on your own," Coccinelle informed him tartly. "I'll be able to pop out. Just call when you're heading out for the conference and Tikki will let me know. And you will be in trouble if you try to do it yourself, young man."
Chat Noir laughed. "Okay, okay. I just didn't know if you would need to stay at work or not and I wanted to give you that option. But I'll call you for sure."
"Good boy." Coccinelle glanced at Vipera, then back at her yo-yo's screen. "I think that's all we have to discuss ahead of time, unless either of you have any concerns to bring up?"
"Maybe we could mention that Ladybug has been helping the fights go smoother, too," Chat Noir suggested. "I know we were talking about letting on that she's been assisting near the end of her time off, but not exactly how. Would now be a good time to bring it up?"
"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Coccinelle decided. "It will probably provide a fairly natural opportunity to mention it, which is exactly what we'd like."
"Calling another press conference to bring it up would just be strange," Vipera agreed. "And it's only a little more than a week left, so it shouldn't be overly early. Not that Hawkmoth can actually really counter Second Chance- or, well, I don't think he can, especially when I'm not even out on the battlefield. But then it can just be a passing comment, instead of having a ton of focus on it."
"That's a good point," Coccinelle agreed. "So yes, we'll look for a place to work it into our comments! Anything else?"
There was nothing else, and then they ended the call. Coccinelle detransformed, heading back upstairs to finish up lunch prep, and Vipera followed her, still transformed and hopping along on her crutches. Right before she reached the door, her lyre let out a quiet chime. Vipera paused, puzzled, and then pulled her lyre out to check it. A message from Chat Noir had popped up, a small notification in the corner of her screen. Frowning- they had just talked, why on earth would he have to send a message so quickly?- she opened it.
Chat Noir: I'm sorry about this whole mess! I know you hate telling more lies than we need to and we would have gotten away with the resting thing if we hadn't done the picnic. That was a bad idea on my part, I definitely didn't think it through.
Vipera sighed. It wasn't his fault at all, really. She had agreed to the picnic, after all, and they had both enjoyed themselves. It was just unlucky that someone had spotted them and that it had blown up as much as it had. Propping herself up against the wall, she messaged him back saying as much. He was not allowed to blame himself, and that was that.
If he kept blaming himself... well, her mom knew where to find him. If she couldn't knock some sense into Chat Noir and get him to stop taking on the blame for things that weren't his fault, then no one could.
Marinette followed the press conference from the comfort of the bakery's front counter, her attention divided between the video feed on her phone and the customers coming up to the counter. Chat Noir had taken the lead, since he was the permanent superhero and the one that people would be most likely to trust, and he was doing really well.
Neither of them particularly liked public speaking, especially considering that there were always going to be people who would pick apart what they said to try to twist their words into something else, but Chat Noir tended to avoid it more often than Ladybug. While he was fine with the attention, the speaking part, well...
It was clearly not his favorite part of being a superhero. But he had stepped up to the plate this time, only being a little obvious about glancing above the crowd instead of actually at it. And he wasn't hesitating over his words at all, delivering what was presumably a practiced spiel rather smoothly.
Or at least it was smoothly from what Marinette could tell. Considering that she had been a bit distracted by customers needing her attention, he could have stuttered or stumbled over his words at some point and she wouldn't have noticed.
Once the conference was over and Mrs. Cheng had returned to the bakery, Marinette made her way upstairs to watch the footage properly on her computer. The Ladyblog had coverage of the impromptu press conference from several TV channels linked in one post, and Marinette clicked on the first one. It took a minute to load, and then she pressed play. On-screen, there were a few seconds that simply showed an empty platform, and then Coccinelle and Chat Noir landed in the middle of the stage.
Just like she had thought, Chat Noir's delivery was near-flawless, and Coccinelle only stepped in to help him along in a couple places. And when questions opened, he didn't flinch away at all.
Even though the questions were- well, for lack of a better word, they were aggressive.
People wanted more details, of course. They wanted an exact date when Ladybug would be healed and back. They wanted to know how she got injured, and when. Some were questioning why Ladybug had gone on a trip and left Paris in the first place, and if that was really a responsible thing for a superhero to do and if Ladybug was taking the superhero thing as seriously as she should be.
Marinette just kept herself from snapping at the screen at that. Not taking the superhero thing seriously? The 'superhero thing' dictated her entire life! She couldn't even go on a field trip without considering her superhero duties, having to think about how she would get the alerts and how she would get back to where she needed to be (particularly if their trip took them out of Paris). The first thing she had thought about after her leg broke was how it would affect her superhero life. When she had use of both legs and a bit of free time, she would go out searching through shops in Paris to make sure that she had a good supply of potion ingredients on hand, just in case. She had to think about where she could store the Miracle Box long-term so that it would be secure and safe, and that was on her mind almost all of the time now. Sketches of hidden compartments and complicated locks were tucked alongside her fashion designs, along with scribbled thoughts on logistics. And whenever she could, Marinette would pull out other kwami from the box and talk to them about their powers and how they had been used in the past, just to get a better idea of what tools she had on hand.
Not taking it seriously. There was no way that she could possibly take it more seriously. But the vacation lie was a necessary one, and besides- well, Chat Noir had well and truly called those particular reporters out on their absolutely ridiculous claims.
Really, it was ridiculous for people to expect Paris' defenders to never take a break, he had told the crowd of reporters and cameras. Why should he and Ladybug be required to shoulder all of the stress of protecting Paris from supervillains and never get a vacation, or even an extended break? Overworking and stress could wear down on them, but a vacation- well, it was a good way for Ladybug to get refreshed, right?
Besides, Chat Noir had added before anyone could voice their objections, hadn't Ladybug done a good job of setting things up to keep going in her absence? She had picked out Coccinelle, and decided who got what extra Miraculous and got those Miraculous to the fights before the battle even started- and kept an eagle eye on the fights in live time to help them out, noticing things before Coccinelle and Chat Noir did and warning them. Which, if anyone had noticed, resulted in the fights being a whole lot shorter.
And that particular revelation had made the crowd stop their grumbling and sit up straight. There was another flurry of questions- if she could get the Miraculous there and spare the time to watch and monitor the fight, why not just come back herself, at least before she got injured? Was the mysterious Miraculous user in brown Ladybug? How was Ladybug so much more effective when she wasn't there in person?
Coccinelle sent an icy glare at the asker of that last question and they promptly shut up, no other answer needed.
"Yes, Ladybug used the Horse to deliver Miraculous," Chat Noir confirmed, clearly none too thrilled at some of the questions being asked if the lashing of his tail was any indication. "And she could spare the time to watch and provide vital information to us during the fights because doing that shortened them. If she hadn't been doing that- if she had been, y'know, taking a complete vacation like she deserves after protecting the city nonstop for over a year- then Coccinelle and I would have been having a much harder time. It wouldn't have been smooth sailing like it has been, so I thank Ladybug very much for taking time out of her break to make sure that Paris would stay safe in her absence."
With that, Chat Noir gestured for an end to the press conference and he and Coccinelle waved before taking off, not giving anyone any time to fling more questions at them. It was a tactic that they used rather often, actually, since often the press wanted to ask more probing questions than they wanted to answer.
More personal questions, really. Questions about things that might give too many clues about their identities, because that was what the public was most curious about. And trying to evade those questions time after time- well, it wasn't fun. It was exasperating that the reporters insisted on trying to pry, and neither of the superheroes wanted to come off as impatient and snappy. And if they slipped up and gave away any information...
Well, one slip once might not be so bad. But those small slips could add up fast, and so it was better to just finish saying what they needed to say, thank the reporters for coming, and then promptly take off.
"Your mom said to just let her borrow the Miraculous if any of those reporters start stirring up problems for you once you come back," Tikki told Marinette, suddenly appearing next to her shoulder and making her yelp. Tikki ignored that. "She's sure that you can handle yourself, but she's perfected her Parental Icy Glare and if people think that they can bug teenagers into giving them an answer, then they'll have to deal with Mama Bear."
Marinette giggled. "Unfortunately for her, there's not a Bear Miraculous. Not in the box I have, at least."
"Oh, you- you know what I mean!" Tikki complained. "She'll make sure that no one bugs you. And then if they get upset or she has to be really snappy, it won't be you that people will get upset at."
"I don't exactly want the city upset at my mom, either, but I get what you mean," Marinette sighed. She glanced back up at the screen. "Well, that's done. Now, all we have to do is wait and hope that people don't question our story too much."
If the mood at school was any indication, Paris had bought the superheroes' story hook, line, and sinker. And for the most part...
Well, most people weren't too worried. Coccinelle and Chat Noir- with Ladybug's help- had been doing a fantastic job during the akuma battles, enough that Hawkmoth had noticeably cut back on the number of akuma attacks. Marinette's theory was that Hawkmoth didn't want to give Coccinelle and Chat Noir practice with the weak akumas and thought that it might be to his advantage to only akumatize people if they promised to be a strong akuma. That way, Coccinelle's lack of experience might work against her. It wasn't working that way, of course, but Hawkmoth never let failure put him off from trying the same thing over and over and over again.
Others, though, were concerned. Not about the safety of Paris, really- clearly the setup that the superheroes had now was working- but about Ladybug's safety.
"It's bad enough that she got hurt on her first vacation after over a year of constant akuma attacks, but now that she got spotted out and Coccinelle and Chat Noir had to clear up what was going on and now- well, now all of Paris knows that she was traveling out of the city and when, and when she got injured- and that it was a leg injury!" Alya was telling her audience at school. "That's a lot of information. A lot of potentially identifying information. Hawkmoth might be able to figure out who she is from that!"
"Okay, I don't think there's nearly as much info out there as you think," Alix told her. "Yeah, so Ladybug got seen recently, sure, but who says that that was when she got back to the city? I'd say it's more likely that Ladybug went on a short trip- because really, who goes on a trip longer than, like, a week in the middle of the school year, when there's no holidays? Maybe two weeks, if it was a really big trip- and got injured then. A broken leg, probably, or- well, or a broken foot or ankle, that could happen too- and she's just been staying in the shadows since then. Or she did take a longer vacation and did have the injury more recently and will be out a while longer." She shrugged. "She might decide to stay out longer than she needs to just to throw off the timeline, too. There's a lot of stuff that Ladybug could do to make sure that her identity isn't quite as compromised."
Marinette blinked. Alix had been putting a lot of thought into this, she could tell. Maybe that wasn't a huge surprise, though, considering that she knew that she was going to be getting the Rabbit Miraculous and had probably spent a bit of time contemplating how she would both keep herself from spilling that information and how she would keep her secret identity secret once she actually got the Miraculous and had to vanish to help with- well, akuma battles if they were still going on, and whatever other superhero duties called. She had probably been keeping a close eye on the situation as soon as Coccinelle showed up, maybe even studying the contents of each interview as much as Alya to try to pick up on what was being said- and what deliberately wasn't being said.
Maybe Alya was the self-appointed Ladybug expert in the class, but Marinette would put money on Alix being the one who got more out of the superhero interviews. She had always been pretty good at reading between the lines.
"I hope you're right," Alya sighed. "I just worry, you know? If Hawkmoth finds out who she is- well, Chat Noir made it pretty clear that the reason why they've been doing so well is because of Ladybug's help, and if Hawkmoth attacks her and they don't have her help anymore..."
She trailed off, and several of their classmates exchanged worried looks.
"Ladybug is smarter than that, though," Nino chimed in, "She knows the risks more than anyone in Paris. They would have thought to talk ahead of time to make sure that they wouldn't give away too much. And honestly?" He shrugged, glancing around the room. "She's clever. Everyone is assuming that her injury was to her leg or ankle because of the crutches when she used the Horse, but who's to say that the crutches weren't just a prop? Maybe she actually broke an arm or a rib and she's trying to throw people off the scent. No one actually got pictures of her actually moving around on the crutches, after all, just her standing there with them."
There were murmurs of agreement around the classroom at that, and Marinette hid her smile. That was a very clever thought, and honestly, it was one that she maybe should have thought of herself before venturing out into public view at all. There was no real way to encourage that line of thinking without it being obvious, though, which was a little unfortunate.
Nino's comment wouldn't be forgotten, though. She would keep it as a thought in the back of her mind, an idea as to how they could throw people off of their scent in case Chat Noir was ever injured and they had to come up with a cover story for him, too. Hopefully they would never need to use it, but, well. they were superheroes. It never hurt to be prepared. |
“Why do you look so down, Levi-bro?” Isabel asked as she plopped down on the couch next to me where I sat staring dejectedly at my phone. She had a bag of Doritos clutched to her chest, and she munched obnoxiously loud on a handful as she stared at me with big questioning eyes.
I didn’t even have the strength to yell at her for getting crumbs all over the place.
“He’s moping because Eren is still giving him the silent treatment,” Farlan muttered from his spot, sitting far too close to the flatscreen as he played a redundant shooting game I can’t be bothered to remember the name of. “And he’s also mad cause I kicked his ass at Smashbros earlier.”
“Shut up and play your stupid game,” I snapped.
“See? His words don’t even have their usual bite,” he snorted.
“I see. Well, maybe Eren’s just busy or something, has he not texted back at all?” Isabel asked me.
“Just clipped one worded answers, like he can’t be bothered to talk to me. He even said I could keep Lee. He doesn’t want it,” I said. “He doesn’t want the goddamn penguin I worked so hard to get his dumbass.” No I’m not whining. Or pouting. I’m Levi Ackerman; I don’t do either of those.
Farlan snorted again. “Worked so hard for? You took the game down in a matter of seconds. And it’s just a stuffed animal.”
My hands curled into fists. I wish you were a stuffed animal, motherfucker. I’d rip off your head and stuff your own fluffing up your ignorant ass.
Isabel rolled her eyes even though Farlan couldn’t see as he busy staring intently at the TV screen and mashing buttons on a wireless controller. “You don’t understand, Farlan. He won it for Eren, it’s their penguin. It’s a reminder of what could’ve been, I mean I’m pretty sure he was flirting with you there for a sec at least…”
“So you’re saying the penguin is like their child?”
“Course not, where’d you get that from? That’d be weird. I bet Levi would rather have a cat anyway.”
“But he hates Yuki already,” Farlan said.
“True. But who wants a penguin for a child? You’d have to move to the North Pole.” Isabel shook her head at the thought. “You’d have to live in an igloo.”
“Izzy, penguins don’t live in the North Pole,” Farlan told her.
“They don’t?” She looked positively astounded at the news.
“I’m pretty sure-”
“Will you two fuckheads shut up!” I yelled, causing the both of them to snap their attention to me. “Who gives a fuck about a shitty penguin won at a shitty midway booth? I just want to fucking know why this fuckhead is being a...fuckhead.” Shitty fuckhead.
“Maybe he’s playing hard to get,” Farlan suggested.
“Shut up, Farlan, no one even does that.” Isabel rolled her eyes.
“How would you know? I’m smooth as fuck, chicks flock to me-”
“Your last girlfriend broke up with you because you forgot her damn birthday,” she countered.
Farlan looked annoyed as he threw his controller down and turned to glare at her. “That’s an honest mista-”
“She told you the day before, and handed out invitations to her birthday party a week in advance. You showed up and brought your jock friends with you. You helped crash the party, destroyed the cake, and then asked what the occasion was.”
“I thought it was the typical rager, okay? I didn’t mean to-”
“Your ‘friends’ also broke a 5,000 dollar vase and flooded the upstairs bathroom.”
“Who the fuck buys expensive shit like that anyway? What’s the point of a vase anyway? It just sits there. The shit was ugly anyway, I did it a favor!” Farlan huffed.
“Not the point, dumb-”
“Didn’t I tell you two to shut up? Unless you actually have something intelligent to say, which might I add, you rarely do,” I interjected before they could get into a spat and piss me off even more.
“What I said was intelligent! Eren is probably just busy with something. Maybe relatives are visiting cause it’s close to Thanksgiving?” Isabel reasoned.
“Maybe you’re overthinking it...and whining like a little bitch,” Farlan muttered the last part under his breath, though I still ended up overhearing it.
I shot him a dirty look. “Farlan, shut up. You both are literally no help at all. Useless fucks.”
“I’m not useless, I can scream in three different languages,” Isabel stated proudly.
“That’s not even a thing that’s possible…”
“Hey, Mikasa!” Farlan shouted, making me jump and almost fall off the couch. I looked up in shock, watching as Farlan waved enthusiastically at Mika who was trying to creep past the living room.
“You piece of dung, you’re in the same fucking house, why are you shouting?” I have an urge to kill and it’s rising by the second.
“Hi,” Mikasa’s voice was flat as she walked past, not bothering to spare Farlan even a second’s glance.
I cringed as I head the front door slam. I hate when people do that shit and I’m already irritated, so the next person to make another unreasonably loud noise is going to get punched in the face.
“She looked really pretty today,” Farlan commented.
“You’re a creep.” Although I’m sure he already knows this.
“Mikasa’s been going out a lot lately,” Isabel mused, staring after Mikasa with curious narrowed eyes and a hand to her chin.
“So? She’s probably with that bitchy blonde friend of hers,” I said. Can’t you see my mind is elsewhere, Isabel, I don’t give a shit.
“Are you sure? And isn’t it convenient that Eren started acting strange the day after the carnival?”
“I don’t know.” What is this brat getting at?
“It’s just that, he was with Mikasa for a while that night, do you think she actually made a move?”
“No-”
“And she was wearing more perfume than usual-”
“Isabel, how do you even know that?”
“And she’s wearing a push up bra today…”
“Wow, and here I was thinking Farlan’s the creep.”
“For the last fucking time, I am not a creep.”
“I’ll believe that when you stop salivating over my little sister!” I snapped, “and Isabel, what are you trying to get at?”
“I think Mikasa’s hooking up with Eren,” Isabel stated.
Wha? That’s…”Bullshit,” I spat.
“But-”
“Quit talking mess-”
“But, Levi-bro-”
“I hate messes!” I jumped to my feet and started to walk away. I’m tempted to put my hands over my ears to block out Isabel’s drivel. She doesn’t know shit, and the visual she gave me is not appreciated. She’s making me paranoid for no reason. There is no way Mikasa could’ve…
“I’ll get proof! I’ll get to the bottom of this, you hear me, big-bro!? Mikasa’s gonna talk, I’ll make her,” Isabel declared.
“Yeah, yeah you go do that.” I ignored her as I walked away. “I’m gonna go take a nap or jump out the fucking window or something.”
I woke up to an earsplitting screech.
It’s not a pleasant way to wake up, I’ll tell you that. I sprung up, clutching at the bedsheets with one hand pressed over my heart. My bleary eyes shifted across the room as I tried to perceive a threat, wondering if I’d just imagined the sound when I found nothing out of place.
But then the screaming continued, and it seemed to be coming from the hall. I got out of bed and went over to the closed door, opening it a crack and cautiously poking my head out.
“What the fuck did you do to my hair dryer!?” Mikasa was yelling, face reddened with rage as she glowered at Isabel. Well, I guess it was red. It was kinda hard to tell beneath all the white powder covering her face.
I threw open my bedroom door. “I am trying to take a fucking nap!”
They both ignored me.
“Baby powder, obviously,” Isabel said in answer to Mika’s previous question.
Mika looked ready to punch her. “Why would you-”
“I think you’re overreacting, it’s just powder. I wanted to put hair dye in your shampoo but I don’t think it’d work on your hair.” Isabel shrugged, “But what can ya do?”
Mikasa was making a growling noise deep in her throat that she didn’t seem to be aware of. “I did nothing to deserve this!”
“You refused to answer my questions,” Isabel said.
“Because your ‘questions’ were idiotic. I don’t see why you’re trying to butt into my life,” Mikasa snapped.
“And I don’t see why you’re being such a bitch!”
“Excuse me!?” Mikasa scoffed, seemingly offended.
“You’re not excused!”
“Is this the beginning of a bitch fight?” I sighed.
“Nothing I do is any of your business!”
“You’re obviously hid-”
“Hey, hey, both of you, shut your fucking FILTHY PIEHOLES!” I banged on the wall just for emphasis.
“Levi-bro, Mikasa’s being a bitch.”
“Uh, what? Please, as if. Big-brother, Isabel’s tormenting me!”
“I do not give a fuck-”
“But-”
“Not a single one! Now go to bed,” I ordered, crossing my arms as I gave them the best glare I could muster. Anyone who chooses to defy me gets a broken limb.
“But I haven’t even eaten dinner yet!” Isabel whined.
“To bed! You're both grounded!”
“But-”
“Ground-ed!”
“You know, Mikasa, you um...you’re teeth are green,” Farlan commented over breakfast.
Mikasa continued to nibble on a piece of toast as she answered, “I know.”
“Well, uh...what happened?”
“Isabel happened,” she said in the same bored tone.
“Isabel put food coloring on Mika’s toothbrush,” I explained. “They’re both imbecilic brats and I hate them,” I sighed and blew on my steaming mug of coffee. “Where is Isabel, by the way?”
“I don’t know, possibly avoiding Mikasa now that I think about it,” Farlan said.
Mikasa scoffed. “I don’t see why, it’s not like I’m gonna punch her. She’ll bite me again and I’m not risking getting an infection…”
“Again?” I raised an eyebrow in question.
Mikasa sighed, put down her bread, and held out her arm, showing off the bite mark embedded in the flesh of her inner wrist.
I felt an odd mixture of disgusted and impressed. “That’s...nice,” is what I settled for.
Farlan whistled, “no, that’s impressive.”
Mikasa didn’t look amused. “Well, I’m certainly not impressed. And I’m leaving to go shopping with Annie, so tell Isabel she can come out of hiding.” She stood up and left the dining room.
“Wait, brat, take your dirty fucking dishes!” I called after her. Goddamn it.
“I was not hiding from her,” Isabel grumbled as she walked into the dining room moments later.
“You shouldn’t eat that for breakfast.” I gave a pointed look at the package of Oreos she set down on the table.
She just narrowed her eyes at me as she tore the packaging and maintained eye contact as she brought a cookie to her mouth.
I was just gonna roll my eyes at her and turn back to my now cold plate of scrambled eggs, but she let out a whimper all of a sudden and I watched in horror as her green eyes watered with tears as she blanched and hunched over, making sounds that reminded me of Yuki puking up a hairball.
“Blech! Bleh,” she spit out the food in her mouth before beginning to hop up and down with her face scrunched in disgust, “Ew, ew, ewwwww!”
“What the hell are you doing hacking that shit up all over the floor!?” I yelled.
She was now scrubbing her tongue with the sleeve of her hoodie. “That’s so gross!”
“What the hell, are they poisoned or something?” Farlan gasped.
Isabel shook her head and finally stopped scrubbing at her mouth. “The white cream part of the cookie was filled with toothpaste. Who would do such a blasphemous thing!” She cried.
Farlan started snickering while I, on the other hand, started worrying about cleaning that fucking unsanitary mess of spit, chocolate, and toothpaste on the floor.
“This better not be the start of some goddamn prank war,” I grumbled under my breath.
“This has turned into a goddamn prank war,” I groaned.
Over the past couple days, the pranks have just been escalating. From tampered food, to plastic covering doorways, to cat shit in beds, beds being moved outside, messing with the TV with the use of a remote control app- honestly smartphones nowadays are amazing- confetti cannons and glitter bombs going off everywhere making it look like a unicorn shat and vomited at the same time, and hell even bugs in the fucking shower- bugs!
I’ve finally had enough. I am going to lose my mind if I keep having to check the toilet paper for itching powder and the sugar container for salt. And this!
“This isn’t even realistic looking,” I muttered as I stared down at the gigantic plastic spider sitting in the middle of the hallway.
“Isabel!”
“What, Levi-bro!?” She yelled from downstairs.
“Get your ass up here!” I yelled back.
I heard her groan in exasperation. “What’s up?” She asked when she got upstairs.
“Did you put this here?” I pointed at the big ass arachnid.
She shook her head. “No, I already put cockroaches in the shower, why would I do something as lame as a fake spider?”
“That’s weird, Mikasa knows you’re not afraid of bugs,” I said. There’s no way she would do this lame prank either. I bent down to pick the thing up off the floor. “Huh, maybe it is a bit more realistic than I’d thought…” It’s like it’s eight eyes are staring straight at me.
“Um, Levi, I don’t think that’s fake,” Isabel said.
I turned to face her in confusion. “What do you mean?” It was at that moment that I felt something prickling at my hand. That feels like…I looked down in horror to see the very real huge ass spider crawling up my arm, it’s spindly legs scurrying up my arm in the most unpleasant of sensations.
“A-a-ahhhhHHHH!” I flailed my arm and jumped back as fast as I could. I think I heard the little bastard screaming along with me as he went flying across the hall.
“Levi-bro, are you alright? You screamed like a girl,” Isabel told me.
I glared at her as I placed a hand over my pounding heart. Fuck, now I have to wash my hands and that things probably still alive and blocking the way to the bathroom… “I did not scream,” I stated. That was just a...sound of surprise. Anyone would be surprise to find a big ass spider just fucking...ugh! I suppressed a shudder.
“Don’t worry, it probably scuttled away,” Isabel reassured me.
“That’s worse!” I snapped. That means it could be anywhere.
“It’s just as scared of you as you are of him.”
“Whatever. Fuck. If it weren’t for your shitty prank war I could’ve avoided the fucking heart attack. Why did this prank war even commence, by the way?” It’s pointless really, not to mention downright childish….
“Mikasa started it! No one said she had to get me back for the blow dryer mishap. She could have just walked away and played the bigger person, but no, she had to go and retaliate with-”
“Why’d you start it anyway!”
“Hey, don’t yell at me! I was trying to help you. I just...I might have asked her some things,” Isabel admitted.
“About?” I prompted.
“I just asked if she had said anything to Eren. If she knew why he was being cold to you. She didn’t tell me anything, just told me to get out of her face, so then I asked if she had actually made a move like she said she had. She still refused to answer. Then I just plain out asked if her bitch ass was seeing Eren behind your back, and she kicked me out of her room! Can you believe it…” Isabel huffed, “I still think something’s fishy…”
I rolled my eyes. “And I think you’re being unreasonable.”
She just sighed. “Whatever you want to keep telling yourself, Levi. I just don’t want my big bro getting hurt.”
I snorted. “Who’s talking about getting hurt? I-”
“Have feelings like a normal human being, even though you try to act as if otherwise. Give it up, Levi-bro.”
“Quit trying to be smart, it’s not befitting of you.”
“Kids, come downstairs for a moment!” I heard my mother call.
“What does she want?”
“Oh, is the turkey ready!?” Isabel grabbed my hand and tugged me downstairs eagerly.
We found my mom in the living room with Mikasa and Farlan. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why aren’t you dressed nicely?”
I looked down at my torn black jeans and plain black hoodie. “Should I be?” I asked in confusion.
“Is the food ready yet?” Isabel asked.
“No, but we’re waiting on the Jaegers anyway so...” mom trailed off.
“What?” Since when are they coming?
“I’m so used to having a big gathering for Thanksgiving and I was worried it was going to be lonely this year with just us-”
“I’m here too!” Isabel piped up.
“Yes and we love you, but you can’t replace Uncle Kenny and his hilarious stories-”
“Mom, Uncle Kenny is a fucking drunk who always passes out in the most random places and last Thanksgiving he almost fucking cut dads ear off with an electric carving knife,” I reminded her. Honestly, he’s embarrassing and I claim no relation to him.
“You hush. He just likes wine, we all like wine...especially on Thanksgiving. Anyway, the Jaegers agreed to Thanksgiving dinner with us and I quite enjoy both Carla and Grisha’s company, so Levi, go put on a dress shirt or something and refrain from cursing so much,” she told me, smiling all tight-lipped and fake.
“Sure thing, Old hag.” I sighed as I stomped back upstairs. That spider’s little bitch ass better not pop out at me.
The Jaegers arrived soon after I followed my mother’s instructions and slipped into something ‘presentable.’
Mom still had a few things to prepare for dinner- honestly how long does it take to... She and Carla went into the kitchen, laughing obnoxiously and cracking open the first bottle of wine for the night.
Grisha and my dad bonded over the television, watching sports or whatever the fuck.
Isabel, Farlan, Mikasa, Eren and I went to hang out upstairs in one of the spare rooms that Isabel was occupying for the time being.
As expected, Eren was still avoiding me. He didn’t speak to me unless I asked him something directly and he barely glanced my way. It’s grating on my fucking nerves.
“Who wants to play Cards Against Humanity?” Isabel suggested, “I think Levi has the bigger blacker box edition stashed in his closet.”
“Sure.”
“Mhm.”
There were vague grunts of agreement and Isabel went off to find the card game.
“I gotta take a shit,” I announced before walking out of the room. Truthfully, I just couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Eren who was, for some reason, trying very noticeably and desperately to avoid me.
I went to the bathroom but I didn’t shit. I just washed my hands two times in a row and stared at myself in the mirror for about five minutes. Now I hate admitting to being insecure, but fuck doesn’t everybody get a little insecure sometimes? I mean, what does Eren not like about me? He doesn’t like me right, otherwise he wouldn’t be ignoring me…
A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts.
“Levi-bro, did you fall into the toilet or something? You’ve been in there for a while.”
Fucking Isabel. “I’m battling some constipation, for your information, so if you would please go the fuck away, that’d be great,” I said.
“Leviii,” she whined and started pounding on the door again.
I let out a begrudging sigh as I turned out the light and opened the door. “Quit whining.”
We went back to the spare room where Farlan was busy dealing out cards to imaginary people.
“Where did those two brats go?” I asked.
“Mikasa said something about showing Eren her room, or something.” Farlan shrugged, continuing to count out white cards.
“I have a bad feeling about this information,” Isabel muttered.
Goddamn it Isabel, now I do as well. “Agreed.”
“Wait, Levi, are you sure you wanna do that? What if you walk in on something…” Isabel started protesting as I stomped out of the room and down the hall, heading for my sister’s room.
“Kids’, dinner’s ready!” Someone called from downstairs.
“Perfect excuse.” I nodded to myself. I stopped in front of Mikasa’s closed bedroom door and listened a moment for any noises. Well at least I don’t hear any fucking moans or anything. I mentally counted to three before I turned the doorknob and banged the door open with a loud cry of, “DINNERS READY, FUCKHEADS!”
Mikasa let out a screech and Eren toppled out of the bed and onto the floor. They were both shirtless, and for about half a second there, I had the unfortunate displeasure of witnessing them sucking each other’s faces off before they startled at my throwing the door open.
About another half second passed before I gathered my wits and slapped a hand over my eyes because hell yeah Eren’s half naked, but so is my sister.
I backed out of the room blindly and almost fell backwards onto Isabel, who let out a yelp when I accidentally stepped on her foot.
“Um...dinner is ready, guys. You should hurry up cause I really want to eat,” Isabel awkwardly muttered, most likely to Eren and Mikasa. I wouldn’t know, my eyes are still burning.
“Come on, Levi.” She pulled me along by my arm. I stumbled along blindly.
Dinner was awkward. Awkward as hell.
For me, at least, that’s for certain. I refrained from looking at Eren. It made me want to gag on my food whenever my eyes met Mikasa’s. Isabel was making things even more awkward by glaring not so inconspicuously right at Eren. Farlan, that jackass, was blissfully oblivious as he gobbled down his food.
The old asses at the tables were too busy laughing and spilling liquor all over the place to notice the tension between the rest of us that was probably palpable at this point. Seriously, get me the electric carving knife and I’ll cut that shit straight through right here right now.
“Levi, can you pass the cranberry sauce?” Farlan asked over a mouth full of what looked like stuffing.
I looked up from my plate where I was pathetically pushing my peas around just to scowl at him. “You already have a shit ton on your plate.”
Farlan sighed. “Isabel, can you please pass the cranberry sauce.”
“Sure.”
I rolled my eyes and twirled my fork around on my plate as I desperately tried to shrink into my chair and disappear.
A giggle caught my attention, prompting me to raise my eyes to see Mikasa smiling at something Eren had said. They were chatting quietly amongst themselves and watching the way Mikasa was lightly rubbing Eren’s arm was about to make me puke.
My hand clenched tightly around my fork. This bitch….
“Levi, are you okay?” Isabel whispered to me.
I think Mikasa heard her because she turned away from Eren to smirk at me, fucking smirk at me. And then she turned back to Eren muttering something about, “Eren, you have mashed potatoes on your cheek,” only to fucking lick said cheek. “There, I think I got it,” she giggled.
Last fucking straw! I barely even registered what I was doing, it was just like whoops all of a sudden there was some of Carla’s chicken broccoli casserole in my hand and whoops there it goes, flying across the table at a brutal speed and making impact with Mikasa’s head.
Mikasa let out a screech that sounded something akin to a pterodactyl from Jurassic Park.
“Levi!” My mother shouted. “Mikasa, don’t you dare-”
But Mikasa had already retaliated with a mushy hand full of pumpkin pie aimed right at my head.
“Levi-bro, no!” Isabel dived across the table and took the hit for me.
“Isabel!” I gasped as the slimy brown desert splattered across her front . “Why would you be so stupid!? Can’t you see I’m not worth it?”
She gasped for air, taking her last dying breath, “Give her hell for me, big-bro.” Her eyes fell shut as she slumped against the table.
“No!” I cried in pure outrage.
“Levi! Take this weapon, it’s the most powerful thing here,” Farlan tossed a can of whip cream to me.
I saluted him. “Thank you, soldier.”
I managed to duck underneath the table just as a handful of mashed yams came flying past.
I popped back up in time to see Eren get a face full of cranberry sauce delivered by Farlan. Farlan was snickering loudly, until Eren retaliated with numerous attacks of green bean casserole.
“You’re dead.” I popped off the cap of the whip cream and aimed it straight at Mikasa, never taking my eyes off her.
“Well see about that.” Mikasa challenged my glare as she held up the fully intact cherry pie she had in her hands.
She charged at me first, and I danced out of her way, pressing down on the can’s nozzle with no mercy, letting streamers of white cream fly everywhere.
She dodged my attacks and kept coming at me with the pie up and ready. I shook my can furiously, regrettably noting the light, empty weight of it. “Shit, I’m running out of ammo,” I muttered to myself.
I looked around for more supplies, but everything was compromised. There wasn’t any hope in sight.
Not even Farlan could help me, he was engaged in what looked like a wrestling match with Eren. He had Eren in a headlock but suddenly threw the boy to the floor before running off into the kitchen.
“Which one of us is dead, Big-brother?” Mikasa taunted. Oh crap, the pie is advancing, the pie is...this is it. This is it for me. Tell my mother I love her- even though she’s insane- and tell Farlan he can have all my video games and the secret wad of cash in the bottom of my sock drawer, and dad...dad’s alright but Mika’s always been a daddy's girl so he’ll probably be fine with losing me instead.
“Levi, think fast!” Farlan shouted, suddenly barreling in from the kitchen.
I stared at him in bewilderment as he threw another can of what looked to be whip cream at me.
It didn’t make it that far though, choosing instead to drop to the floor just a couple feet away, and both Mikasa and I locked eyes for a second before we both dove for it.
It was just in my grasp before Mikasa pulled me back and made a grab at it, but I kicked her and sent the can rolling out of her hands. We scurried after it again, and ended up in mess of flailing punches and kicks. I ended up managing to pin her to the ground, hand tightly clasping the can of whip cream as I held it above her victoriously with the nozzle aimed right at her face.
“Any last words?” I asked.
“Fuck you,” she spat.
“Such shameful words to wish to be remembered by,” I sighed, shaking my head in mock disappointment. I pressed down on the nozzle and didn’t let up until the can was empty and hissing air and I could no longer see Mikasa’s face under all the whip cream.
“Bon appe-fucking-tit.”
Our parents were too drunk to properly yell at us, but they made us promise to clean the dining room and that’s a-ok with me, in fact I couldn’t wait to get it done. The place looked like a fucking war zone.
Unfortunately, I’m too exhausted for that right now.
“Thanks for avenging me, Levi-bro,” Isabel giggled.
“That was really something, wasn’t it?” Farlan chuckled.
“Shut up and go to sleep,” I told them.
We were camped out in the living room since it’s their last night here and Isabel wanted to make a pillow fort.
“Just admit it was fun,” Isabel whined.
I snorted. “Of course it was fun, did you not see what I got to do to Mikasa’s face?”
“I still smell like that goddamn green-bean casserole,” Farlan said.
“Didn’t you say cranberry sauce got into your asscrack?” Isabel asked.
“Yeah, that was a real surprise, I almost slipped on it in the shower.”
My face twisted in disgust. “Great. I might have to puke now.”
“Where are you going?” Isabel asked as I got up.
“To puke, where else?” I deadpanned. Really, I just needed to say a few things to Mikasa.
She was sitting up in bed, combing her damp hair when I barged into the room.
“You should learn to knock, big-brother, what if I was naked?”
“I’d go permanently blind, and it’d be equally disgusting for the both of us,” I answered the rhetorical question with a bored tone. “Move, fleabag.” I pushed Yuki off from where she was sitting on Mikasa’s desk so I could plop my ass there instead.
“What do you want?” Mikasa asked as she threw her comb at me.
“You know what this is about,” I said.
“Hmm, does it start with an E and end with a REN?”
“Don’t test me, brat.”
Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Look, I won fair and square, okay? Eren just likes me better than you, what else can I say? I’m sorry. He’s my boyfriend now, so kindly butt the fuck out,” she spat.
I dug my nails into the side of the desk. Hoh? This bitch thinks she’s actually won? “Mikasa, let me put this to you slowly so that you can understand...you. haven’t. won. shit,” I enunciated each word with bite.
“What does that mean? Of course I have.” Mikasa scoffed.
“It means, Mikasa, that the games not fucking over!” I snapped.
“Says who?”
“Says me!”
“You can’t do that; Eren’s perfectly happy as my boyfriend, don’t be a homewrecker, Levi!”
“Boyfriend?” I scoffed. The word tasted bitter on my tongue. “Then why’d he tell Isabel when she asked, that you guys weren’t anything serious?” Because honestly it’s the only hope keeping me going right now.
“Bullshit! He didn’t...say that,” Mikasa murmured, voice faltering towards the end.
“You don’t sound so sure of yourself there, sis,” I taunted.
“Shut up! Get out of my room.”
“Fine, but remember what I said. Game’s not over.”
“Get out!”
I left the room chuckling to myself. Oh this is far from over. |
Early Tuesday evening Davos was interrupted by a knock at his office door from a uniformed police officer. He was trying to put his notes on the gambling ring and circuit fights into some semblance of order.
“Pardon me, Detective, but we arrested a subject in Flea Bottom today that you might be interested in.”
Not looking up, Davos continued transferring his written notes into the computer.
“Oh? What’d he do?”
“He’s a bookie who runs a small gambling table in Flea Bottom. He was taking bets on some fight when we arrested him. My sergeant says that you’re the one working the investigation on those illegal fights - he figured you might want to talk to this guy.”
“Maybe. What’s his name?”
“William Sanders. Goes by Billy.”
That got Davos’ full attention. Billy was one of his informants from Flea Bottom.
“I’ll see him. Move him to Room 2.”
A short while later Davos entered the interrogation room where Billy was being held. A short, slender man with a thin face and close set eyes, Billy looked up and gave Davos a lopsided grin in greeting. He slouched back in his chair, and kicked his feet up on the table.
“Detective D, it’s been a while.”
“Hello, Billy. What have you been up these days?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.”
Davos sighed. He always had to warm Billy up to get him to talk. Something out of place caught his eye.
“Nice watch, Billy. The only people I know that wear a watch like that are far above my pay grade. Where’d you get the money to buy that?”
Billy grinned. “Business has been good lately. Really good.”
“Huh. I bet. Isn’t it your business that landed you in here today?”
“Maybe. What of it?”
“Seems to me you and I had an agreement, Billy, if you recall. You help me; I help you. So help me out. The arresting sergeant said you were taking bets on some fight. I remember telling you last time we met up that I needed information on those fights, yet here we are, and you haven’t told me anything. I might just have to send your paperwork over to the Prosecutor’s office. I know you don’t have your own attorney - you’d have to rely on the public defender.”
Billy swung his feet off the table and sat up. He huffed.
“Fine, have it your way. I made a fair bit of cash on the last fight. What made it sweeter is that I actually got to see it. The semi-finals, man, and it was freakin' awesome!"
"Is that so, Billy? I'm so happy for you, I'm sure that must have made your week. But if you don't provide me with some useful information, I don't think you'll be quite so happy with me. I need a bit more than 'it was freakin' awesome.' So tell me where this fight occurred."
"I dunno. They put a hood over me in the car. Anyway, don't tell nobody, because we wasn't s'posed to bring in a camera phone, but I managed to record some of that fight. It was intense. And it was packed. Felt like we were watching those Roman gladiators - the crowd was nuts.”
Davos stepped out and asked the officer on duty to bring him Billy’s belongings. Snagging the bookie’s smartphone, he re-entered the interrogation room.
“Show me.”
“Check this out. They call the bigger fighter Silent Stef. He’s the reason I made so much money."
Billy started playing a video he had recorded. The venue was dark, but Davos could tell that hundreds of people had been in the audience, cheering and waving their arms. He focused on the fighters themselves. He couldn't see their faces clearly, but both men were quite tall and solidly built. One moved in a manner familiar to Davos.
“Forward that video to my phone, Billy.” The man acquiesced, and a moment later Davos’ phone buzzed indicating the file had been received. Then Billy started playing the video again.
"This is the good part. That young guy, his name’s Jared, I know him from Flea Bottom. Anyway, he hit Stef real hard above the eye. Bled all over the place. The big guy got real mad after that, and he knocked Jared out cold. They say Jared had a concussion, broken ribs, busted nose and jaw and a burst spleen. It's been over three weeks and they say he's still in the hospital. Stef fucked him up."
“Which hospital, Billy?”
“I heard he was over at Research Med Center. I dunno how Jared can afford that med bill, ‘cause he ain’t worked in months. Place he worked at went bankrupt and let everyone go.”
“Tough times, Billy, tend to breed desperate men. Now show me the rest of this video.”
Davos watched the rest of the recording which included the brutal conclusion to the fight. He winced as he watched Stef hit Jared three times in quick succession. The low punch on the ribcage must have been how Jared ended up with a burst spleen and broken ribs. The next two punches delivered powerful blows to the head - the first broke Jared’s nose and snapped his head back. The second strike behind the jaw sent the younger fighter crashing to the mat where he lay unmoving, face covered in blood.
Davos clenched his jaw as the winner of the fight paced around his prone, defeated opponent. Stef’s aggressive, dominant posture demonstrated his satisfaction in delivering such a horrific defeat to the younger man. The raw violence of the fights had to be put to an end, Davos thought. Too many young men like Jared would end up paying a terrible price if the circuit fights continued.
Davos got right in Billy's face, scowling. He was done playing nice.
"Billy, tell me everything you know about this Stef fellow."
"I don't know much, Detective D, I swear. I ain't ever met him. Jared is the only one I ever knew that fought, and I didn’t even know it ‘til that night when I saw him in the ring. I just arrange small time bets, that's it."
Billy's eyes had grown wide, but Davos knew he was holding back at least some information.
"Oi! You can do better than that, Billy. Do you really want to head over to County?" Davos nodded his head towards the door of his office, indicating the holding cells down the hall.
"Now, tell me everything."
Billy's pale blue eyes reflected honest fear. "OK, here's what I know. They call him Silent Stef. He's older than the other fighters and he don't talk to no one. He's fuckin' cold, man, cold. It's like this guy fights just because he likes it. He gets his kicks out of it, they say. But ain't nobody seen him smile or laugh."
"Where does he train, Billy? Who's his trainer?"
Davos might have found his one big break, if he could get Billy to open up just a little more.
"No way, Detective D, I can't tell you that. I'd be floating in the bay."
"Tell me or head to County. You think they won't know that you've been talking to me, Billy? You won't be safe in County."
Billy shook his head, sweating. But Davos knew he had him. "Fury Road, man, Fury Road. The owner is called Bear. That's all I got."
“Are you sure about that, Billy? When’s the next fight?”
“I dunno, I swear. There’s no set schedule for these things. Usually the word gets out less than a week before it happens. All I know is that Silent Stef is gonna fight in the big finale. There’s a lot of money riding on that last fight, and right now the odds on the street are in his favor.”
“What else do you know about the finale?”
Billy bit his lip and looked away for a moment, frowning. His shoulders hunched in, and his voice was quiet.
“I heard that it’s going to be worse than the regular fights. Bare-knuckles. Supposedly it’s really rough. No separate rounds, no rules, no one can tap out. It’ll just be one long fight until one of them is unconscious. Or dead. And there’s some that got money ridin’ on Stef delivering a deathblow.”
I have to stop this, somehow. With this information the investigation into the circuit fights just became Davos’ number one priority.
“Who is financing these fights, Billy? There has to be someone with deep pockets behind them.”
“I don’t know any names, just something about a bird. That’s it, honest.”
“Well, that’s a start. Good job, Billy, good job. I'll be sure to clear your paperwork. See you around."
As he turned to leave the room Davos paused and looked back at the young street bookie.
“One more thing, Billy. The instant you hear word of the final fight, you tell me, got it? You give me the break I need, I’ll take care of you. That’s been our agreement, and I won’t go back on it.”
Davos returned to his desk and his stacks of files. The only name he had to go on was Stef. It had to be an alias, and a shortened one at that. It would take him some time to find any reference of a fighter named Stef, but it was the only solid lead he had. That, and Fury Road. A visit to the club might be in order, but he wanted to find any files and references pertaining to this Stef fellow first.
******
The next morning Davos searched all of the police department’s databases, computerized arrest records, and digitized files, but only found one reference that might pertain to his subject. A cross-reference in the computer record on Fury Road included a list of the gym’s members, one of which was Stefan Esterman.
He could not find any other record of Stefan Esterman. Not even a driver’s license or birth certificate. The next step was to order all physical files pertaining to the illegal fighting from the archives warehouse. It could take days for him to review all those boxes of files, but he had no other choice. The only reason a complete computer record of Stefan Esterman didn’t exist must have been due to clerical error.
The first delivery of files, some ten boxes worth, would arrive at the station later in the day. Davos opted to take a break from searching computer databases and visit the hospital. Sometimes old fashioned boots on the ground detective work trumped digital searches.
By the time Davos reached the hospital he had already learned some useful information concerning the young fighter named Jared. His full name was Michael Jared Grayson, age twenty-one. The young man’s mother had died when he was only sixteen, forcing him to drop out of high school to work. He had one arrest for petty theft but no other criminal records.
At the hospital Davos approached an acquaintance in the accounting department. Joe used to work in Records at the police station, and had often helped Davos with information searches.
“Hey Joe, I need some help on case, but I’m pretty sure privacy regulations would prevent your manager from giving me the info I need. Can you help me out?”
Joe glanced around first to be sure no one was listening. From what Davos could see, the office was largely deserted.
“You’re in luck, Davos. Everyone went out to a going away party. I’ll help you, but this is strictly off the record, or I’ll get fired. I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t pertinent to a case. What do you need?”
“Tell me how a destitute young man from Flea Bottom, lacking a steady income or health insurance, could possibly afford medical treatment here, at the most elite private hospital in King’s Landing. It doesn’t make sense.”
Joe entered Jared’s information into his search screen, but shook his head.
“This is weird, Davos. Whoever arranged for his care and payment is anonymous; all we have is a private account number from the Iron Bank in Braavos.”
“Well, we both know that’s a dead end. Braavosi banking laws prohibit the sharing of client or account information with anybody. Thanks for the help Joe. Here’s a couple of tickets to the KLU basketball tournament this weekend. Marya and I can’t go.”
Joe took the tickets gratefully, and gave Davos one last tip. “I don’t have any other info, Davos, but go see my friend Manny in Admissions. I think he could help you out. I’ll let him know that you’re on the way.”
Manny in the admissions department gave Davos a little more information, but none that could lead him to the underground fight circuit.
“Why wasn’t Jared brought to City Hospital? Isn’t that the public hospital? That’s where most people from Flea Bottom go.” Davos himself had spent a few nights in that hospital’s ER during his impoverished youth.
“Mr. Grayson was originally sent to City Hospital, Detective, but in addition to his other injuries he also exhibited signs of brain trauma. Once an MRI confirmed intracranial swelling, they transferred Mr. Grayson to our location as we have an advanced neurosurgery unit.”
Davos felt alarm creep in. “Does Mr. Grayson suffer from brain damage now?” Please say no, please say no.
“Beyond symptoms of a severe concussion, no. In fact, we released him last week. A home health care group sends nurse practitioners to his apartment once a day now to check on him, deliver his meds and meal shakes. They may be able to tell you who has arranged for that aspect of his care.”
“And one more thing, Detective. I helped you out as a favor to Joe. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention me as the source of this information.”
“You got it. Thanks again, Manny.”
Relieved, Davos left the hospital and drove into Flea Bottom. He reflected on the blatant hopelessness of the residents as he drove through the narrow, pothole ridden streets of his former neighborhood. The contents of sidewalk trash barrels spilled over onto the pavement below, and more than one rat could be spotted scurrying along the gutters. A few businesses seemed to be open, lights on behind the iron grates protecting the windows. Many other storefronts had been boarded up, as their operators had simply run out of cash.
Fans sat in windows of the many apartments on the upper floors of the old wood and brick buildings. The heat and humidity hung over the streets like a heavy blanket, accentuating the stench of the nearby landfill, but most folks could not afford air conditioning. Men and women sat sweating on doorsteps in grungy tank tops, smoking cigarettes or sharing drinks from bottles hidden in brown paper bags. Some stared vacantly at his car as he passed. No one smiled or laughed.
Davos turned down an even narrower side street and parked near a closed-down café. Then he just sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts. If hadn’t busted his ass in high school to earn a scholarship to KLU, he might still be living here in Flea Bottom. No doubt he’d be scraping for odd jobs much as his uncles had done, maybe working small time bets like Billy. Or even getting into the underground fight scene like Jared.
That scholarship and his improbable friendship with Stannis Baratheon were what had propelled Davos out of poverty. He recalled the miserable summer between his sophomore and junior years. His uncles and cousins had needed extra help for a cargo shipment they were unloading, and promised to pay him well. What they hadn’t told him was that they had smuggled the goods illegally. When the police busted them at the docks he and his relatives were all arrested. For his one phone call, Davos only knew of one person he trusted. Stannis.
Stannis hadn’t asked Davos any questions, he just sent a lawyer to the station. Davos didn’t even know the cost of the legal fees; all he knew was that Stannis’ lawyer had kept him out of prison and got him off with just a misdemeanor. For that alone Davos would be forever grateful; thanks to Stannis his future hadn’t been squandered.
Moping would not help him find answers. A glass door on the left opened to a dimly lit stairway leading to the apartments above. Davos looked at the list just inside the door, then trotted up the dirty stairs to the second floor. Jared’s apartment was located right over the front of the café.
He knocked on the door and waited. A moment later a young man opened the door just a crack, leaving the security chain in place.
Davos displayed his badge through the narrow opening. “Michael Jared Grayson? My name is Detective Seaworth, with KLPD. I’m conducting an investigation and would like to ask you a few questions. May I come in?”
The man studied his badge, nodded, then undid the chain and opened his door fully. Inside Davos could see that his apartment was basically one large room, with an efficiency kitchen lining one wall and a small table tucked up under a window. Meal replacement shakes and several bottles of prescription medications were scattered across the table’s surface. Jared retreated to his couch and sat down gingerly. Picking up a notebook and pen, he started writing.
JAW WIRED. CAN’T TALK.
Davos studied the healing man. A fading green and yellow bruise still cast a shadow across a portion of his face and jaw. He wore no shirt as the apartment’s air was absolutely stifling, even though a fan blew air from the window. Purple, green and yellow bruises liberally dotted Jared’s torso. An incision on his left side indicated the spot where doctors had removed his spleen.
“That’s all right, Jared. Do you mind if I call you Jared?” The injured man shook his head.
“Very well. Jared, my name is Davos Seaworth. I’m a detective with King’s Landing Police Department. No need for alarm, you aren’t in trouble. I’m just hoping that you can help me.”
Jared tapped the paper in annoyance as he regarded Davos with a scowl.
“I know your jaw is wired shut; I don’t need anything but a few answers. Can you do that for me?”
Jared looked at Davos for a moment, then nodded.
“Good. Just look at this picture for me.”
Without saying anything else Davos displayed a still photo of Stef taken from the grainy fight video. He simply wanted to gauge Jared’s reaction.
Jared did not disappoint. His eyes grew wide and sweat immediately started to drip down his face.
“Is this the man that put you here, Jared?”
Jared looked at Davos and then looked out the window, unwilling to answer. Davos reached out and gently gripped the young man’s shoulder and made sure he paid attention. He spoke softly, with sympathy and understanding.
“Jared, I know about the underground fights, and why you were there. It’s tough to pay the rent when jobs are hard to come by. I know; I grew up in Flea Bottom too, and my own Da couldn’t always find steady work. I’m not investigating you, lad, and nobody will know that I’ve been talking to you. But I need to know. Is this the man you fought in the circuit? Is he the one that inflicted these injuries on you?”
Jared held Davos’ eyes and nodded decisively. Davos felt his own pulse rise. “Can you write his name for me, and describe him?”
Looking down Davos watched as the young man printed out the letters one a time.
STEF.
More words appeared.
TALLER THAN ME, A LOT OLDER TOO. BUZZED HEAD. DARK BLUE EYES. DARK HAIR. GASH OVER EYE, PROBABLY HAS A SCAR NOW. TRAINER STITCHED HIM UP.
Davos was about to take the notepad when Jared continued writing.
NOT HIS FAULT. MY CHOICE TO FIGHT. NO JOB AFTER SHOP WENT UNDER.
“So you’d rather work an honest job?”
Jared nodded, and pointed to another table that Davos hadn’t noticed before. Exquisitely crafted, it looked out of place in this dingy studio apartment.
“You’re a carpenter? That’s some fine workmanship. You have real talent.”
Getting up, Davos made to leave when the mess on the main table drew his attention. He turned back to Jared.
“How are you getting those meal shakes and meds, Jared? You can’t travel yet, can you?”
NURSES VISIT EVERY DAY.
“That’s good to hear. But who pays for that? And how about your rent and expenses?”
Jared shrugged his shoulders. RENT PAID FOR 6 MONTHS. DON’T KNOW WHO DID IT.
Davos handed Jared his card.
“Keep my contact info. If you need anything, text or email me.”
Davos returned to the police station, determined to put the pieces of his puzzle together. He reviewed the notepad of Jared’s written conversation, just to keep it fresh in his memory. Jared’s description of Stef stood out. Dark blue eyes. Buzzed head. Gash over eye. Stitches.
Another memory came to mind, unbidden, of Stannis meeting him at the café a few weeks ago. His friend had a bruise on his cheek and stitches above his right eye, and only a few days growth of beard. His hair also had been cut close to the scalp by clippers.
Keeping that day in mind, Davos sent the video of the fight to his computer and watched it in high definition on the large screen. The absolute brutality exhibited in the ring sickened him as much as it had seemed to excite the crowd. With each heavy blow the spectators cheered louder.
He focused his attention on the larger man, Stef. Again and again Stef landed heavy punches on Jared. Each time the younger man was knocked back Stef seemed to gain strength and energy. Davos couldn’t see his face clearly, but the older man’s rage became evident after Jared had landed the punch above his eyebrow, causing blood to flow freely down Stef’s face and onto Jared’s shoulder. The noise of the crowd drowned out all other sounds.
Near the end Davos noticed something that he hadn’t paid attention to during his first viewing with Billy. A split second turn of the winner gave Davos a good view of Stef's face in profile. The picture was still grainy, but clear enough to make Davos hit pause and study it.
Davos did not like what he saw, but it was all starting to add up. Jared’s description of Stef, the video of the fight plus Stannis’ facial injuries were too much of a coincidence. He desperately wanted to doubt himself and what he had seen.
It tore him up to think that Stannis, the man who had pulled him up out of a hellhole existence, might now be involved in the violent criminal underworld. Stannis, who had arranged for an attorney and kept him out of jail. Stannis, who had paid for the rest of his tuition when KLU revoked the scholarship. Stannis, who had written a glowing recommendation when he applied to the police department. Stannis, who had been his best friend for half his life, yet now was suspect in a criminal investigation.
His friend had been under increasing pressure for the past few years, but somehow he had missed all the signs. Then the blood test at the station came back positive for Spike. Davos had swapped the results, hoping it was just a fluke in the test, refusing to believe his best friend had resorted to illegal drug use. But when he and Stannis had met at the café a few weeks ago he had recognized the classic symptoms of withdrawal in his old friend - irritability, inattention, inability to sit still.
The confirmation came when Stannis had started dipping tobacco. His old friend had always frowned upon people’s use of tobacco, yet now he himself used it. And the way his eyes had dilated even though it had been sunny had been another sign that the snuff delivered more than just nicotine. Why would Stannis start using Spike? And did he even realize he was taking it?
Davos also worried about Stannis’ growing romantic interest in Sansa. He had seen enough men hopped up on Spike to know they behaved very aggressively, and unfortunately women often felt the brunt of the drugged men’s actions via assault and rape. Stannis himself had shown signs of aggression. Davos was no fool; he knew that Stannis had the capability and strength to injure nearly anyone. He feared that Sansa might inadvertently be in danger from Stannis himself. Davos’ duty to protect the innocent meant that he needed to confront his friend, and soon.
Before any confrontation, Davos had to dig through every file, every database, every sheet of paper referencing the circuit fights. Regretful yet resolute, he started to dig through the boxes of files piled up in his office.
Late that evening Davos finally opened the last box of files. The manifest on the outside, like all the other boxes, did not indicate any subject with the name of Stefan Esterman. This box’s manifest, however, did indicate that files for both Fury Road and a subject named Bear were contained within. Davos hoped he would find something of value.
As he dug through the files, Davos reviewed each of the photos, fingerprint cards, statements and notes contained inside. No one captured in this particular sweep from three years ago had been particularly cooperative. After he reviewed and replaced the last file, Davos noticed that a file had slipped down so as to lay flat in the bottom of the box.
Unlike the other files, this one did not contain a fingerprint card. Inside lay a single sheet of paper with three photos stapled to it and the name ‘Stefan Esterman’ printed at the top along with a birthdate. Underneath the name was a handwritten note to find the subject’s fingerprint card. One photo was a full length picture of the subject. The other two were classic mugshots, one a side profile and one full frontal.
Davos caught his breath as his best friend’s haunted, angry eyes stared back at him from the three year old photograph.
Making sure his door was closed, Davos slipped the file containing Stannis’ photo into his bag and then slumped down in his office chair. He rubbed his burning eyes and just sat there for several minutes, looking at nothing.
Eventually his gaze rested on a photo of himself and Stannis. It had been taken the day they graduated from King’s Landing University. With arms around each other’s shoulders, black caps askew, both men grinned without reservation for the camera. Would that he could turn back time to that happy day.
Blowing his nose, Davos grabbed his bag and departed for home. A conversation between them was paramount. Not only did they need to discuss the fighting, but Stannis’ apparent drug use as well.
Davos sat behind the wheel of his car after he parked, barely registering his arrival at home. Somehow he had missed all the signs of anger, loneliness, and alienation in Stannis. He leaned his head against the driver’s side window, wondering if he would be able to save his friend or their friendship. |
Gwyn
*
‘Today is going to go a little differently to what we’ve done previously,’ Augus said.
Gwyn looked over the room where Augus intended to try and break his heartsong of surrender. It still contained a saltire cross, the chests of drawers he’d come to associate with Augus’ expression of dominance. There were still beams in the ceiling designed for bondage and suspension, and spelled hooks in the walls where someone could be tied and restrained and fastened.
As far as Gwyn was concerned, it all looked identical to what he’d come to expect from Augus. Except that instead of being told to strip and lean against a cross, they were currently sitting opposite each other at a table, and Augus had brewed them both tea. With no sugar. Gwyn frowned at it, but he’d had a big meal earlier in the day – because Augus had said there was no way he would go ahead with this undertaking if Gwyn wasn’t at least fed in the first place.
‘First,’ Augus said, ‘who’s managing what in the palace? How do you know you have the time to do this and it’s not just desperation to get it done?’
Gwyn traced the rim of the saucer upon which his mug rested, and then placed both of his hands flat on his brown pants.
‘Zudanna is taking lead in military matters, and the majority of the remaining Generals are happy to listen to her. The few that aren’t were happy to defer to Mu, who is in turn at peace with listening to Zudanna. We still have our scouts out in strategic locations following Albion’s movements, and so… Albion will need at least a week to assemble a decent force, and then – since not all of those fae could teleport, let alone teleport all of their supplies – they would need time to be moved through portals. So for now, I know I have at least a week without Albion drawing us into a large-scale war. Small scale battles I trust Zudanna to handle.’
Gwyn looked nervously over to the cross. The more he thought about it, the more he saw sense in what Augus had said before. How would Augus break a heartsong of surrender by demanding Gwyn’s submission? It would have been an easier undertaking when Gwyn’s heartsong had been triumph, and even that hadn’t been easy.
‘What else?’ Augus prompted.
‘Gulvi is Queen-in-Waiting and has exceptional understanding of our contacts, merchants, more. I’ve sewn up a few open issues that needed to be resolved. There is, I think, no better time for this.’
‘What heartsong do you want instead of this one?’ Augus said. ‘You know that some Mages have been able to change their heartsong simply by willing it over time? Obviously it’s not so simple for most of us, but I still think that-’
‘Wildness,’ Gwyn said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ve had it before. I lost it too soon.’
‘Ah,’ Augus said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. ‘It’s what I’d ideally like for you as well. But Gwyn, you’d have to change a great deal if you wanted to keep it. You had cabins and the woods and the wilderness and far less responsibilities back then and you still lost it.’
Gwyn nodded, because that was all true. ‘But maybe…’
‘Maybe?’ Augus said.
‘Maybe…’ Gwyn bit the inside of his lower lip, unable to articulate something he hardly understood himself. ‘Maybe this time it would be different.’
Because if Augus stayed…he was always so much better at seeing the things that Gwyn missed, the signs of self-neglect when they became too extreme. Because Augus had brought him back from the brink when he’d been dangerously close to collapse. Because it wouldn’t be the first time Augus had done it. Yet it was a terrible thing to expect from someone else, and Gwyn couldn’t expect it, it wasn’t fair, and because he understood that one day Augus would walk away, and Gwyn would just have to accept it.
‘Perhaps,’ Augus said, watching him too closely. ‘You’re not going to like what I have to do, to break this heartsong.’
He stood, gestured for Gwyn to do the same.
‘I might not like it,’ Gwyn said, ‘but I asked. I said you could do whatever it took, I didn’t say it lightly.’
‘No, you said it out of desperation,’ Augus said. ‘Take off your shirt. I need to check the state of your heartsong. It may be too strong for this. In which case, I’ll just enjoy my time with you and send you on your way.’
There was a smile in Augus’ voice, but his expression was troubled.
‘Do you not want to do this?’ Gwyn said, as he removed his shirt and left it draped over the back of the chair.
‘In truth?’ Augus said, walking up to Gwyn and turning him, everything detached and clinical, ‘no, I don’t. Just because I can see the merits of why it needs to go, doesn’t mean that I want it gone. There is a part of you that has always wanted to sink so deep, to let go of everything. That part of you let me drown you in the lake. Gives you something that you so often cannot give to yourself. But…I suppose, if you’ve had it once and you gain another, that doesn’t mean that it won’t remain inside of you, influencing you. Just as loyalty, justice, triumph and wildness have all done the same.’
Hands pressed into Gwyn’s back, lukewarm and cooler than his own skin, making him shiver. Augus placed his ear over skin, like he was listening to Gwyn’s heart, but in truth he was doing far more than that. Whatever energy that Augus carried within him to make healthy wetlands spring from poison and char, was the same energy he could use to sense someone’s heartsong. Gwyn felt nothing at all.
Augus inhaled sharply. ‘It’s already destabilised. And I think for some time. Are you simply unable to hold onto a heartsong?’
Gwyn stared ahead at the floor and shrugged a shoulder. He’d never wanted it as a heartsong, so he couldn’t say he was particularly upset to hear that it had destabilised. Nor was he surprised.
‘No wonder you asked me to remove it,’ Augus said, his hands rubbing Gwyn’s back carefully. ‘All right. I have to say you don’t seem particularly nervous.’
‘I’m not,’ Gwyn said.
‘Ah well, let’s do something about that, shall we?’ Augus walked around to face him and there was a mischievousness on his face that Gwyn both liked and caused dread to bloom inside of him. ‘I imagine you can guess what the next twelve hours are going to involve, because I need to tire you out to make you cooperative.’
‘I’m being perfectly cooperative,’ Gwyn said, and then closed his eyes. It wasn’t going to matter either way.
‘Stand over here, let’s get you into ropes.’
Gwyn made a faint grumbling noise and grudgingly walked to where Augus had pointed. It was going to be a long day.
*
After the first few hours passed, Gwyn already felt like he was going to break a lot quicker than Augus thought he was. Predicament bondage was the order of the day, and it was all hideously familiar to what Augus had put him through centuries before, when Gwyn had visited him the very first time in his underwater home. Though there were differences now that Gwyn couldn’t help but notice.
The first being that instead of suspending both of Gwyn’s arms above his head, he’d first carefully and securely roped Gwyn’s bad shoulder and arm across his torso so that the shoulder wouldn’t feel too much strain. Every sure loop of the mildly scratchy rope pulled tighter, until finally Augus started in on Gwyn’s other arm.
Back then he’d been in the prime of his health. He should still be in the prime of his health, but with months of not being able to train as concertedly as he’d like, not being tempered in battle as often as he used to be, not eating as much as he should…he was fit, but he didn’t have the endurance or stamina that he used to have. It was startling, he was Court status back then, and technically King status brought with it greater physical strength, made almost all attributes stronger.
Gwyn stood on tiptoe in the centre of a soundproofed room in the Unseelie Court, surrounded on all sides by stone walls and glowing baubles of magelight. His arm was roped above his head, anchored to a beam. Already, he was feeling the twitching and shivering in his muscles that meant that even if he wanted to keep going, his feet would just give out.
He didn’t want that either. There was a scratchy, annoying piece of rope tied at the base of his balls, applying constant pressure, already a dull ache. He knew that if he sank to the bottom of his feet, the rope would stretch from where it was tied and pain would crawl all through his spine, up the back of his throat, even into his fingers.
‘There are plenty of other ways to tire someone out,’ Gwyn said, glaring at Augus, who was measuring out herbs into dosages for Julvia and not even keeping an eye on him. ‘For example, I could just train for a few hours. It wouldn’t hurt.’
‘I want it to hurt,’ Augus said, not looking up. There was a pause, and Gwyn thought he was smiling then, even though he was looking down. ‘You want it to hurt.’
‘Not like this,’ Gwyn said, feeling off balance, wishing he could wrap his fingers around the rope that had him bound and brace himself further against it.
‘True enough,’ Augus said, looking up at him and smiling benignly as though a sadistic thought had never crossed his mind. ‘I want you tired.’
‘I haven’t slept for-’
‘Look at you,’ Augus said, smiling sharply and putting the measuring spoon down, his eyes flashing. ‘Bad-tempered, talking back, grumpy, rude. Am I not paying you enough attention? You were always sensitive to that.’
‘No, I wasn’t-’
‘Shh,’ Augus said, still smiling, walking over in a way that made Gwyn wonder if he should have just kept his mouth shut for another ten minutes. ‘I thought you wanted the heartsong gone?’
‘I just don’t see how this benefits anyone but you,’ Gwyn said.
Augus’ eyebrows twisted together, his eyes grew wider, and when he reached Gwyn he placed both hands flat on his naked chest. ‘Sweetness, don’t you want to do things that benefit me? Hm?’
Gwyn stared at him, his mouth going dry. He wasn’t sure what to say. It scared him, sometimes, to contemplate that he would endure almost anything if Augus asked him to, if he thought it would make Augus happy. That he had endured a knife sliding between his ribs and something that Augus called gentleness and more because Augus had asked him to.
‘Gwyn?’ Augus prompted, and Gwyn blinked at him and thought perhaps that if he nodded, he would give something of himself away. It might be something that Augus already knew, but that wasn’t the point.
Augus smirked. ‘I’m quite certain that if I made it a firm question – ‘don’t you want to make me happy?’ You’d find yourself very hard-pressed to say no. You’d put up with almost anything, wouldn’t you? It’s quite frightening, I think, to know that about yourself. It’s not brought you much happiness in the past, that loyalty, that desire to do well by others.’
Gwyn rolled his eyes to cover the way his cheeks were reddening, and took a deep breath, trying to ignore what Augus was saying.
Augus walked behind him, opened a drawer, and Gwyn bit his top lip while Augus couldn’t see the nervous gesture. Then, he heard the sound of something being removed and the sound of the drawer being slid shut carefully – Augus always took such care with the furniture around him – and then he heard a rattle of metal objects contained in a box.
A sense memory stole through him, sharp and visceral, even though it wasn’t a sound he’d heard for centuries. His heart beat faster, dread welled and he felt a horrible tension wind through him.
‘Augus,’ Gwyn heard himself say, ‘you can’t be serious.’
‘So you remember, do you?’ Augus said, entirely too pleased with himself.
‘They were punishments. I haven’t done anything that warrants-’
‘You’re bellicose, quarrelsome and you complain.’
‘You haven’t given me any rules,’ Gwyn said, the hand above his head – tingly now – trying to grip on something to brace himself and finding nothing but air. Augus had roped his palm so that he couldn’t even bring his fingers together. ‘I haven’t broken any rules.’
Augus was standing so close to his back that Gwyn could feel his skin responding. Then he could feel Augus’ breath on his neck, steady and calm.
‘Gwyn,’ Augus said, very softly, ‘don’t you want to make me happy? Don’t you know how it pleases me to see you wearing them?’
Gwyn couldn’t stop himself from growling, even as a swooping sensation fell through him, made him feel like he was drowning. And hadn’t it felt good in the end, letting himself be drowned by Augus? Giving into him, even as his lungs had screamed for air?
‘Fuck you,’ Gwyn said, the words coming from some abrasive, resistant place. The place that was still bewildered that he’d ended up with a heartsong like surrender in the first place.
Augus laughed, the sound gusting across his back, and it wasn’t a dark, sinister laugh, but something delighted and real.
‘Did I touch a nerve?’ Augus said, pleased. ‘Is it so hard for you just to say yes? This is the worst pretence I think I’ve ever seen you maintain, of all the facades you have. That you don’t just want to roll over for me and do whatever I say. Do you think I’ve forgotten that you want to be collared and leashed for me? Hm?’
Augus was still talking so that every word fell upon his neck and tense shoulder, ghosting across sweat and cooling it. Gwyn’s entire body began to shake, his endurance wavered. Gwyn closed his eyes to even think about that crushed collar, the way the metal had just bent under Augus’ boot, destroyed.
‘I think I preferred it when you were breaking my heartsong of triumph,’ Gwyn said, finally.
‘Now you’re just lying,’ Augus said, pressing his lips to Gwyn’s neck. Gwyn shuddered when he felt the wooden box press against his flank, Augus nudging it against him deliberately. ‘You were suicidal back then. You’re not now. Things are already improved for you, sweetness.’
‘Not if you use those clamps,’ Gwyn said.
Augus scraped his teeth over Gwyn’s skin, just hard enough to be a threat, but not hard enough to cause pain. Then, a click, as the box was opened. The clinking of Augus’ fingers trailing through them. A few seconds later, Gwyn felt cold of metal trace over his skin and risked going on one foot to kick backwards at Augus.
‘Why is it,’ Augus said, after nimbly stepping out of the way, ‘that people who are tied up in compromising positions often feel like they have any basis on which to negotiate with me?’
Gwyn had only just gotten his leg back under him when Augus kicked it out from beneath him, aiming behind the knee joint. The shock of it left Gwyn on one leg and losing his balance, nearly falling to the flat of his foot. Pain yanked through his balls and then up the back of his spine, a strangled sound choked out of his throat.
Seconds later, the first clamp was attached to the sensitive flesh of his armpit. Gwyn panted, trying to focus on getting both legs beneath him, standing on tiptoe, when the second clamp was attached, and then another. They were alligator clamps with high tension in the springs, they clutched and bit angrily at him, and the pain built and built until finally it peaked. From there, the section of sore skin would go strangely numb and aching, and Gwyn didn’t yearn for it. He remembered what it would feel like once they were removed.
‘It’s special for me to see you like this,’ Augus said, adding more clamps down the side of Gwyn’s flank, pinching up already taut skin that resisted his fingers and fought against the teeth of the clamps so much that Gwyn knew there would be tiny little cuts in his flesh.
Gwyn ground his teeth together. ‘So special that you kept yourself busy doing something completely different?’
‘Ah,’ Augus said, trailing the back of his hand down Gwyn’s torso, even as he held a clamp in his fingers. The skin on skin contact sent warmth shivering through Gwyn’s body, he closed his eyes, not sure what to think. ‘You’re a creature of contradictions at times like this, aren’t you? Do you think I wasn’t aware? Of every twitch in movement? The way you look so splendidly frustrated when you can’t get comfortable? Do you think I can’t feel the glare you direct my way when you don’t think you’re getting enough attention? After all, you’re a King, aren’t you? They expect worship, don’t they?’
‘I didn’t mean-’
‘Shh,’ Augus said, placing the clamp against Gwyn’s lips. ‘New rule. I don’t want you to interrupt anymore unless I ask you a question.’
Gwyn leaned his head back and raised his eyebrows at Augus. He opened his mouth to disparage, then went utterly still when Augus’ hand dropped and the clamp trailed along his flaccid cock. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He knew he could be argumentative, but he was being far worse than usual, and he knew, he knew that Augus would respond to that. He closed his eyes, couldn’t watch, hated the feel of those fingers on his sensitive skin.
‘Did you think I wasn’t listening out for every shift in your breathing? The evenness that means you’ve mastered yourself well, the breaks and hard exhales that mean you’re unravelling because of the ropes that I placed upon you? Do you think, now, that I am not hungry to know how you will react to me when I do something you’re dreading?’
Skin pinched up at the base of his cock, and then Gwyn felt the horrible grip of the clamp. Pain shot through him. Gwyn’s eyes squeezed shut. He forgot about the ropes, tried to move away, came down on his heels and was met with a shaft of additional pain that sliced all the way up the centre of him. He cried out, and Augus had his hands on his hips and was already helping him back into position. Gwyn couldn’t control his breathing. It was all confusion. He was so much better at this once, wasn’t he?
You surrender too quickly. No mystery as to why. No wonder Ifir doesn’t want to follow you.
‘Shh,’ Augus said again, pressing his clothed body close to Gwyn’s and licking over his collarbone, then biting into the top of a pectoral, tongue hot against him.
The pain was a horrible echo, fading slower than it should because the clamp on his cock reminded him of how sore the rest of him was.
‘Why do you think that I went from someone who became too bored to see clients more than once – at least most of them – to someone who wants to tie you up for days, for weeks, to break you and re-break you? I know you likely fear that I will get bored, but let us observe the months preceding us, instead of the future. How many times have we spent together? I don’t become less interested in your reactions. How you flush red first at your cheeks and then your ears and your neck, or how those muscles that you trained for combat and killing twitch if my breath touches you.’
Gwyn blinked his eyes open and stared at Augus, his mouth dry. Another clamp was cold and sharp against his skin, and Augus circled it around Gwyn’s nipple, the flesh pebbling beneath his touch.
‘You’re not comfortable with this, are you?’ Augus said, eyes never leaving Gwyn’s.
‘The clamps?’ Gwyn said, because he couldn’t say anything otherwise, as though Augus was stealing all the words from Gwyn’s chest. ‘I don’t like the clamps.’
Augus smiled, knowing, and then shrugged eloquently, rising up on tiptoe and pressing his lips to Gwyn’s, his mouth closed, his lips chaste.
‘That’s really all you’re uncomfortable with?’ Augus said against his mouth. ‘Think carefully, Gwyn. If you’re honest, maybe I’ll stop telling you just how much I like to pay attention to you. Do you want that?’
Gwyn didn’t know what he wanted. Augus looked at him like he expected an answer. Gwyn didn’t know if he liked all the things that Augus was saying. It was so much…more than those times when Augus would just say baldly untrue things, like that he thought Gwyn was beautiful when Augus looked like that. But now Augus was saying these small details that seemed like they might be true. If they were true, maybe Gwyn did want to hear them.
‘I don’t know,’ Gwyn said.
‘Is there something you do want? I should let you know that I’m not going to untie you or stop placing clamps on you until I want to.’
Gwyn seized on the question, remembering what Augus had said earlier, a raw wound in his heart.
‘I want to make you happy,’ Gwyn said, his voice quieter than usual. ‘Would that…be good?’
‘Is it what you want?’ Augus said, watching him like Mikkel sometimes did, like they could both flip through his thoughts and come to their own conclusions.
‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, his cheeks burning.
‘Even if I wanted you to suffer for me?’ Augus whispered. ‘Even if I attached every single one of these clamps to your sensitive skin until you could no longer stand on tiptoe? Until your body was no longer yours, but mine?’
Gwyn’s heart beat harder than ever, and it wasn’t only the pain causing it. His bad shoulder throbbed even though it was stabilised and secure. He balanced not on the balls of his feet, but on the fulcrum of Augus’ words.
‘How can you break the heartsong if you’re asking me to give this to you?’ Gwyn said, confused.
‘I asked myself the same question,’ Augus said, something troubled moving across his features. ‘But I know what I’m doing. I’m not asking you to give this to me, I’m asking you if you want this, if you want to please me. Even if it will hurt you. Even if you will want to beg for it to stop before eventually begging me to stop. Even as you know that I will be thrilled and aroused to hear all of it. That every cry or moan you give to me won’t kindle compassion in me, but the desire to see you flayed open so that I might do whatever I wish to you and know that I can eventually make you love it, if that is what I wish.’
Gwyn had to close his eyes against that stare, had to minimise the affect those words were having on him. There were people in the world who would hear something like that and run in the opposite direction. Here, instead, a yearning that gaped apart inside of him, his cock twitching despite the clamps.
‘Yes,’ Gwyn said, refusing to open his eyes.
Augus gave a long exhale, and Gwyn was too busy trying to decipher it when more clamps were attached to the other side of his flank. As Augus worked, he would sometimes stroke parts of him, a hand smoothing down his belly, patting at his upper thigh, rubbing beneath his jaw. Each touch began to feel hypnotic, even though the bites of pain brought him back to reality, reminded him that his fatigue was growing greater.
He fought sinking to the balls of his feet for as long as he could, until his entire body was trembling and Augus was hushing him even though he wasn’t making any noise.
‘Settle,’ Augus said. ‘Settle onto your feet for me. It’s only pain, Gwyn. It’s not going to harm you. Look how much you’re bearing for me already.’
For you, Gwyn thought, everything else becoming hazy. But it was hard to draw full breaths and every clamp would cause an individual blaze of pain when it was removed. He’d lost count of how many Augus had attached to him. His skin felt tight all over.
‘Settle,’ Augus encouraged. ‘Your legs are shaking. Just…relax your legs. Here, I’ll help you shall I? So you don’t go down too fast?’
Two firm hands around his hips, holding him in place, then pulling him down. Gwyn wanted to take the terrible strain off his legs, but the rope around his balls was already merciless and Gwyn’s spine ached in anticipation of how it would hurt.
‘Even if you don’t want to do this, you want to serve me, don’t you?’ Augus said, his voice too soft, too understanding.
Gwyn made an inarticulate sound and his head fell forwards as he let Augus pull him down towards the ground where pain waited, pushing its way into him until he was wetly crying out against Augus’ shoulder, wondering how on earth this could get anyone closer to having a heartsong broken.
It wasn’t until the pain eclipsed most of his thoughts that he realised it didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t up to him to know. Augus knew.
*
Hours passed in various states of pain before Augus untied him. By then, the clamps had burnt through his resources, the removal of them having him begging Augus to stop halfway through. Augus had only made a sympathetic noise and kept going, relentless, until Gwyn was sure that the pain couldn’t keep peaking, was sure that he was bleeding badly even though he wasn’t bleeding at all.
He leaned into Augus when the ropes were removed, thinking that if things were different, if it was only a few months earlier, he would have fought to hide this. To be strong. But hadn’t being underfae proved what lay in the heart of him? Hadn’t Augus already seen what he was anyway?
Gwyn turned his head absently towards Augus’ neck and then clung at the sleeve of his shirt.
‘Augus,’ Gwyn murmured.
‘A few steps over here,’ Augus said, walking backwards, a hand around Gwyn’s waist drawing him onto a rug. ‘Now down with you,’ Augus said, not seeming to care that Gwyn was getting sweat all over his clothing. ‘Lie down. That’s it.’
Gwyn lay on his back upon plush material, and his eyes followed Augus as he wandered about the room. Augus returned with rope again and looked over Gwyn’s bad shoulder critically, before carefully raising that arm above his head. Gwyn let him, wincing, but Augus only left his hand a little above his head and still resting on the ground, not stretched all the way up above him. It was instead crooked at a right angle above him. Then, Augus took his other arm and placed Gwyn’s hands together, looping the rope in a figure eight around his wrists and securing his hands in a resting position above his head.
Augus’ lips were soft and firm when they brushed over Gwyn’s lips, his tongue almost tender even as Augus licked his way into Gwyn’s mouth like he belonged there. Gwyn’s eyes closed, his hands twitched. Augus shifted so that he was leaning over him, braced on his own arms, changing the angle of the kiss until his tongue slid against Gwyn’s just so, until their noses were snug against each other. The kiss was deep, thorough, warm. Gwyn sighed through his nose, shivered.
Minutes later, Augus pulled back and hummed when Gwyn’s lips followed him, his neck arching. But Augus had pulled back too far, and Gwyn blinked his eyes open instead, looking up at him.
‘Do you remember when you used to think that I would ruin you?’ Augus said. ‘How afraid you were? That I could take charge of you and you still always worried – at least a part of you – that I would somehow use that to destroy you?’
‘I still…sometimes do that,’ Gwyn said.
‘But not always, now. I need you to understand something…everything I do today, it’s to a purpose.’
‘I know,’ Gwyn said.
‘I don’t want this heartsong to go,’ Augus said, looking away, lips slanting into a grimace. ‘If we had the luxury of living our own lives the way we want, I could send you floating so often. You could find so much peace, Gwyn. So much.’
Gwyn stared at him, swallowed. Wished that his arms were free. ‘It will always remain,’ Gwyn said, finally. ‘My first heartsong was loyalty. Can you…look at how I’ve…’ He had to close his eyes. ‘Can you look at how I’ve been with you, and say it is not still there?’
‘And will I still have that loyalty after I do what I have to do today? You may not understand.’
‘If it’s to break the heartsong, I’ll understand,’ Gwyn said.
‘So you say,’ Augus said dubiously, though there was a smile in his eyes as he stood up and walked to another chest of drawers. Gwyn watched him go, his body twisting to keep Augus in view. He didn’t even think about getting up off the floor. ‘You know, it cost me a small chunk of the treasury to get another one of these. Who knows where my first ended up. I wonder if you’ll remember…’
Augus turned with a round stone cylinder in his hand, it was dark grey, polished, had a rounded end and looked like an oversized pestle for an oversized stone mortar, or a kind of thin stone club.
Gwyn’s gut felt like molten lead, his breath escaped him on a huff. He hadn’t seen one of those again since the first and only time Augus had used it on him, and he felt something huge and hungry roar through him, blasting away his thoughts.
Augus laughed softly as he walked back over and knelt beside Gwyn, rubbing the tool between his hands. The pistillum. Gwyn remembered it well. Perhaps he should have been horrified, but all he remembered was that before it had become unbearable, there had been hours of the most delicious pain he had ever known, would ever know.
The stone rod was placed, rounded tip down, between Gwyn’s pectorals.
Instead of a flash of pain, something dull and slow pooled through him in lapping waves that lulled. It felt like over-stretched muscles, the fatigue from training. He didn’t need to pit himself against it because it was so slow-building it was easy to tolerate. He didn’t need to fight it because even as it built and spread through his muscles and nerves, it was never aggressive. It was a bruise that widened and expanded, even though his skin never looked bruised after its use.
By the time the pain was large and shocking, Gwyn was adrift in it, his eyes closed and his mouth open and no longer caring how hard he was breathing or even that pleasure was daring to curl through him at it.
Augus left the stone against him for chunks of time – ten minutes, twenty, longer – and then removed it and drag his bluntened claws down Gwyn’s skin and dragged him back from that deep, restful place with sensations that felt too good. Gwyn groaned, shivered, twisted into those claws and the touches. Then the pistillum would return, placed into his armpit, or his flank, or his belly. At each interval Augus would pet him, rub soothingly at his scalp, scratch gently across his chest or thumb at his nipples, stroke firmly at his thighs.
It was getting harder to think beyond the wells of pain that Augus was drowning him in. There weren’t sentences or words but the textures of his own breath in his mouth, his racing heart, sweat cooling on his body, the hunger for all of it – the pain that he should dread and didn’t, the touches that came afterwards that usually threw him off balance and now seemed to be exactly what he’d always wanted. A hand cupped his cheek gently and he turned into it, lapping at Augus’ palm, tasting his skin, feeling the grooves of flesh against his tongue. Fingers feathered through his hair and Gwyn tilted his head back, seeking a stronger touch, then groaned deeply when Augus massaged the top and sides of his head.
‘Oh,’ Augus said quietly. ‘Do you remember that I once said you could go so deep for me?’
Gwyn nodded, though he didn’t truly care about what Augus was saying. Augus had moved the pistillum again, placing it just above his half-hard cock. Gwyn was aroused, finding some deep, throbbing resonance with the nature of the pain.
‘Do you know how beautiful you are?’ Augus said, the words so very careful, as though Augus was handling broken shards of glass.
‘Am I?’ Gwyn said.
Was that even possible? Did it matter?
‘Do you think I am?’ Gwyn said, his voice deeper than usual, the words hard to come by. He reached for them and only the barest of sentences was there. Even the texture of his own voice humming through him added to that bruising, swelling pain until it radiated out from his pelvis all the way to his jaw, pulsed behind his eyes.
‘I do,’ Augus said. A pause. ‘Does that scare you?’
Did it? Augus was rubbing his thumb over Gwyn’s lips, then knuckles were coasting along his jaw, the point of his index finger traced the delicate cartilage shell of Gwyn’s ear. He shivered. Was he supposed to be feeling scared? None of it was frightening.
‘No,’ Gwyn said.
Lips met his, and Gwyn opened his mouth to the kiss even as his hips shifted, feeling so heavy that it was like the lower half of his body was made of stone.
‘Do you believe me?’ Augus said against his mouth. ‘That I think you’re beautiful?’
That was a harder question. Why Augus even thought now was the right time to ask these sorts of questions, when Gwyn had almost no shreds of workable language left to him, was something he couldn’t fathom. He felt a dull concern in the back of his mind. Did Gwyn believe him? He wanted to. He wanted to be able to give that to Augus. Especially now.
If Augus knew how much Gwyn wanted to give to him…
‘I want to,’ Gwyn said, so earnest that he felt young and foolish and naïve all at once. But instead of mocking him, Augus’ hands – neither one needed to hold the pistillum in place now that it was resting in the natural dip of Gwyn’s pelvis – burrowed into Gwyn’s hair and massaged at his scalp, kissed his cheek and then his eyebrow and then his lips. If that was Augus’ reaction, then Gwyn’s response was fine. He sighed and the minute tension that had found him rolled free.
‘You look after this Kingdom,’ Augus said, like Gwyn had any interest in following complex conversation, ‘you look after us. But you’ve still managed to find the energy to grow. I saw that in you when I first met you. That very first time. That it didn’t matter what the world was doing to you, or what you were doing to yourself, you would still fight for something better. Even as you believe so fiercely that you don’t deserve it, you fight for it.’
‘I always…took the things I shouldn’t,’ Gwyn said, unsure if what he was saying was making any sense. ‘I want a lot of things.’
‘Do you?’ Augus said, smiling against his cheek. ‘Like what?’
‘You,’ Gwyn said, unable to stop the way his lips twisted up. ‘Like that.’
‘What else?’ Augus said, even as the pain kept building. Gwyn was breathing deeply to accommodate it, and Augus reached down and rubbed at his chest, reassuring circles. ‘What else do you want?’
It was hard to think beyond the ‘you’ that he’d uttered, but he stretched further in his mind and saw images and half-started dreams that never went anywhere.
‘Forests,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘Hounds. Good food. People who…know me and then still…like me.’
His forehead furrowed. He couldn’t think that there was anything wrong with what he’d just said, yet uneasiness had flittered inside of him. But then there were lips on his and they were moving to the underside of his jaw, licking over his pulse.
Gwyn’s voice cracked when he felt fingers curl around his cock.
‘You’re doing so well,’ Augus said, shifting away from his face. ‘You’re being very good for me, Gwyn. So good. I’ll return the favour, shall I?’
Augus shifted the pistillum so that it was pressed just a little higher into his gut, pain blossoming in a new location. Gwyn’s whole body was covered in sweat and the rug was so soft beneath him, and then Augus’ hand was moving up and down, fingers coasting over the head of his cock. Gwyn became fully erect so quickly that it was a taut ache in his gut layered on top of the pain the pistillum sent through him. He whimpered and knew he was close. Too close. It wouldn’t take long at all.
‘I don’t think I’d be able to do this with anyone else,’ Augus said, as he nudged Gwyn’s legs further apart. ‘I wouldn’t even have thought to try it until I met you.’
Gwyn didn’t bother trying to decipher what Augus meant.
Augus picked up the pistillum again, even as his hand kept moving on Gwyn’s cock. The worst of the pain in his gut eased away slowly, and then Gwyn shuddered when he felt the pistillum nudge beneath his balls and press hard into his perineum, the stone warmed from body heat and causing a sharper, deeper pain to bloom. It wove complicated patterns of sensation through his spine, behind his eyes, into his balls, his cock, made him feel like he was being filled by something even though he wasn’t.
His throat hurt from the harshness of his gasps, from the arousal that spiralled tight and thorough until it was the beginning and end of his awareness, drowning sound and minutiae until all he knew was the hugeness of it, the knowledge that it couldn’t keep expanding forever and that eventually it would burst.
He wasn’t aware of the sounds he was making when he started to come, nor the way Augus kept the pistillum in place and kept his hand moving, milking every last drop from him, wringing him out, his flesh now slick from his own spend.
The pistillum moved away, was placed back on his chest. Augus’ hands didn’t overstimulate for once but instead painted wetly up his side, before two come-covered fingers rested just inside his open mouth, poking gently at the tip of his tongue.
Gwyn licked without thinking, warm and drifting and unable to remember the last time he’d felt like this. Even the tips of his fingers and toes felt good.
Time moved past him, the pistillum was shifted a few more times, keeping him in an ocean of sensation. Eventually, when Augus moved it away, Gwyn could only lay insensate until an arm moved behind his shoulders, until Augus’ voice sounded and vaguely, Gwyn realised that Augus was asking him to sit up.
Coordinating his limbs was almost impossible. He staggered to his feet, his joints feeling like they’d liquefied, leaned heavily against Augus. Arms wrapped around him and Gwyn sagged, and Augus was saying something and Gwyn got the gist of it somewhere, tried to focus on where Augus wanted him to go. Then, Augus helped him while Gwyn moved with his eyes half-shut and his arms roped and still drifting. He was grateful and felt a measure of peace that he couldn’t recall. Even as Augus tied him to the upright saltire cross, retying his arms. Even as Augus dragged fingernails down his spine and then up the backs of his thighs.
Then, Gwyn only knew that he was floating and that Augus wasn’t touching him, and for once, Gwyn didn’t care about that either. He felt connected and anchored and good. The cross was stable beneath him. Everything was the way it was supposed to be, and he couldn’t imagine that there was anything he could do to improve the situation. He had left it all up to Augus, and Augus had more than proven himself.
Augus who was now standing so close to him, facing him, a hand roaming his body with slow, deliberate intent.
Gwyn forced his eyes open and thought that if he died tomorrow, or in an instant, he wouldn’t even care. Not if he got to have this.
‘Augus,’ he said, like that in itself was enough. But it wasn’t. Gwyn couldn’t find sentences, so instead he could only find a handful of words to convey what he felt. Words that he didn’t think he would ever say out loud while Augus was there. But his reasons for hiding them were no longer valid, didn’t matter when he felt this good. ‘My anam cara.’
Augus blinked at him, eyes widening, pupils dilating. Then, strangely, his face twisted into sadness and he stepped forwards and stood on tiptoe and pressed his forehead to Gwyn’s, holding his head in place, the grip in Gwyn’s hair desperate and firm.
‘Gods,’ Augus said. ‘I hope you let me do this to you again. I hope you can trust me enough for that, after this.’
Gwyn nodded, because of course he would. Of course he would trust Augus enough to let this happen again. It was so good to give himself to Augus like this. His skin tingled from it. It felt like he was buzzing, suspended in a state he couldn’t describe and didn’t need to.
Augus nodded, took a shaky breath and slid his hand slowly from Gwyn’s hair and then stepped back, walking slowly around him. Gwyn caught a glint of silver before closing his eyes again, too uncaring to even wonder at it.
‘I hope this works,’ Augus said behind him. ‘I hope it doesn’t. That you’ll forgive me.’
A hard, brutal shove against his bad shoulder, a blaze of pain so bright that Gwyn shrieked.
The broad, long knife followed the path of the arrow that had wounded him when he was underfae. It cleaved to the path that Kabiri had forced all the way through his shoulder to the other side of it.
Nothing at all but the sensation of falling very far, very fast. Something cracked inside of him, more forceful than the pain that had wrecked him, worse than the clamps being removed, worse even than the knife.
Gwyn’s mind snapped with white-hot fury. His light exploded. |
Chapter Twelve
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Things had begun to heat up considerably (Molly had finally managed to get her hands under his shirt and his chest felt glorious under her fingers.) when the front door slammed shut and Mrs Hudson trilled her usual "Ohh-hoo!" greeting. Even before they heard her coming up the stairs, Sherlock had rolled off Molly and on to the floor, very nearly overturning the coffee table in the process.
He was up and standing behind his chair, dressing gown closed and tied for once, by the time she made it to the top of the landing. Molly had barely sat up and smoothed down her hair, although she did have a smiling greeting for the landlady when Mrs Hudson stepped through the door, arms loaded down with several grocery bags.
"Since I was out anyway, I thought I'd pick up a few things for you two. I know Sherlock hasn't been to do the shopping in ages, and I'm sure you're getting tired of take-away by now, Molly." Mrs Hudson hauled the groceries to the kitchen table and began to unpack the bags.
Molly had hurried to help the older woman while Sherlock mumbled something about changing for dinner. He quickly disappeared down the hall to his room. Mrs Hudson finished emptying a bag, and then reached out and grabbed Molly's hand.
"I've got horrible timing, don't I?
"Oh, no. We weren't . . . I mean, we were. A bit. But not-" Molly stammered, clearly flustered and feeling uncomfortably like a teenager who had been caught making out in the sitting room by her boyfriend's parents.
"We were. And yes, your timing is horrible." Sherlock called from his bedroom, and Molly flushed bright red.
Mrs Hudson grinned in response. "You could have shut the door, Sherlock."
"You would have knocked and barged in anyway." He stepped into the kitchen and finished buttoning his shirt.
"I wouldn't," Mrs Hudson denied with a mischievous twinkle in her eye that told Molly the older wasn't being completely honest.
Molly didn't know where to look. Her gaze kept being drawn to the tempting expanse of pale skin that was rapidly being covered by the dark blue material. She was very conscious of Mrs Hudson watching her as she, in turn, watched Sherlock. Molly grabbed a box of chocolate digestive biscuits and crammed it into one of the cupboards.
Mrs Hudson shoved a pint of milk at Sherlock. "Make yourself useful. So you're going out for dinner, then?"
Molly's head snapped up. That was the first she'd heard about going out to eat.
"Mmm, yes." He looked at Molly as Mrs Hudson gathered up the empty bags. "You may want to change. Though I personally find you wrapped in my silk dressing gown to be rather . . . appealing." He smirked, and she was reminded of him saying he'd fantasized about to draping her in silk earlier.
Molly snorted when she realized that's exactly what he'd been doing each time he left the same gown out for her.
"But you may want to change into something a bit less casual than your pyjamas."
She took his advice and dug out one of the outfits she'd brought along for work. It wasn't anything special--just a pair of khakis, a paisley shirt, and a plain jumper--but it was better than the sweatpants and vests she'd packed for hanging around the flat.
Somehow Sherlock managed to hail a cab instantly. It was an almost supernatural feat she'd seen him perform many times in the past. If Molly needed a cab, she was routinely forced to bounce up and down on the pavement, waving her hand like a loon for several minutes. If she was lucky, a cabbie would take pity on her. If she wasn't, well, that's what the Tube was for.
He opened the door so she could slide in, and leaned through the open driver side window to give their destination to the cabbie before following her inside. Sherlock had just settled next to her when Molly realized the man behind the wheel looked very familiar.
"Soter!"
The cabbie turned and gave her a brief nod in greeting. "Miss Hooper."
Molly turned to Sherlock with narrowed eyes. He shook his head and offered a quick denial, "Not me."
Soter spoke up from the front seat. "Wrong Mr Holmes, Miss Hooper." He gave his full attention to pulling the cab into traffic and left her to direct her confusion toward Sherlock.
"Why would Mycroft still have his men hanging around? I would have thought he'd have more important things to deal with."
Sherlock glanced out the back window as he shrugged. "I imaging Anthea has something to do with it." He turned back around to face front and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm under the impression that she has grown fond of you."
Molly blushed and made herself busy watching the pedestrians and other cars go by.
They pulled up in front of an unremarkable building with a small sign written in Chinese over one of the three doors facing the pavement. After they got out of the car, Sherlock handed a few bills to Soter (who took them with a grin). As Sherlock held the restaurant door open for her and gestured that she should go in ahead of him, she saw the cab pull farther down the street to an empty parking spot and the TAXI light switched off.
The restaurant was busy. The menu was predominantly written in Chinese, with the names of some of the dishes written out in English to the side. Sherlock asked if she had any preferences, then offered to order for them both if she'd like.
The food was amazing. Molly vaguely remembered John mentioning going out for Chinese with Sherlock in his blog, not long after they'd first met, and she wondered if this was the same restaurant.
Every so often, she caught Sherlock looking up when the door opened. His intense stare would take stock of the new customer and then quickly dismiss them. She fully expected him to pay attention to their surroundings, that was what he did; but other than the brief examination of the people coming in and out, he remained uncharacteristically focused on her.
He listened when she talked. Offered her bites from the variety of dishes spread across their small table. Watched her mouth as she ate. He stuttered to a halt in the middle of a scathing discussion about Nestor--the Yard's current incompetent forensic scientist, who somehow managed to make Anderson look like a genius--when she licked traces of sauce from her lips. By the time they were ready to leave, Molly wanted nothing more than to lean across the table and kiss the stuffing out of him.
Sherlock led her outside, pausing in the doorway to scan the pavement and street before waving a hand for a cab. Soter pulled up almost immediately.
They arranged themselves in the back of the cab, and then Sherlock put his arm around her shoulders to pull her against his side. She saw him glance through the rear window again as they pulled into traffic.
"Do you think Chapman followed us?"
"Doubtful, but it never hurts to be vigilant." Sherlock relaxed against the seat and stretched his legs out as much as he could. "I seriously doubt he'd risk coming after you in public like this. Not to mention that I'm with you. He'd be a fool to try another abduction while I'm at your side."
Molly nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder for the rest of the ride home.
No, not home. Baker Street. Mustn't forget the difference.
She thought about Chapman and what Sherlock had said. How Chapman wouldn't dare try to abduct her again while she was staying at Sherlock's flat.
Molly frowned. That wasn't quite right though.
Chapman hadn't tried to kidnap her. He'd wanted her to call Sherlock and lure him to her place. He hadn't want to take her anywhere, at all. He wanted to keep her there, use her as bait. And then, when she lied and said Sherlock wouldn't come, he wanted to use her as some sort of warning or punishment for Sherlock to find.
Sherlock slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face so he could press a soft kiss against her forehead. "Stop worrying, Molly. You're safe now." His mouth drifted lower, brushing against her lips once, then twice.
Molly whimpered when the tip of his tongue teased at the corner of her mouth.
Soter coughed in the front seat. Sherlock huffed and pressed his warm cheek against hers. "Wrong time, wrong place."
She waited as Sherlock made sure the street and pavement was clear before offering her a hand out of the cab. He unlocked the door to 221B, then hurried her in.
The muted sounds of a telly drifted out from Mrs Hudson's rooms.
Sherlock pressed a finger to his lips, and took her hand to lead her up the stairs.
"Tea?" he asked as soon as they were in the sitting room.
"No, I'm good. Thanks." Molly hung up her coat and rubbed her hands together, unsure of what to do now.
He slipped his scarf from around his neck. She watched the material slide free, exposing the long expanse of his throat and the hint of chest visible above the unbuttoned vee of his shirt.
Oh God, he's gorgeous.
Sherlock finished hanging up his Belstaff and titled his head to study her. "You're nervous. Why?"
"I haven't the foggiest."
"Right." He dug through a small pile of paperwork near his laptop and pulled out a remote. "Let's see what mindless garbage is on the telly. Chair or sofa?"
"Chair or sofa what?"
He plopped into his chair, knees spread wide as he made himself comfortable. "Chair." Sherlock patted his thigh with his free hand. "Or sofa?" He tilted his head toward the other piece of furniture.
She knew what he was doing. He was giving her a chance to put some space between them, to calm her nerves.
With a gulp and an embarrassing lack of finesse, Molly crossed the small room and settled down on his lap. Sherlock pulled her legs up across both of his so that they dangled near the arm of the chair. He tucked her head under his chin as he clicked on the telly.
The programme was mostly white noise as far as she was concerned. Instead she concentrated on the feel of his chest under her cheek, his heartbeat against her ear, the firmness of his thighs under her legs. His breathing was slow and steady, other than the occasional huff as someone on the telly said something particularly moronic. Molly's fingers played with one of the buttons on his shirt, almost but not quite slipping it through the hole.
"Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" She felt his head move, shifting to the side enough that he could look down at her.
"When you asked about having sex this evening?"
He squirmed underneath her and she could see him begin to drum the fingers of the hand not around her waist on the arm of the chair. "Are we back to that? I thought the moment had passed, when we went over everything earlier today."
Molly lifted her head to look him in the face. "Again, Sherlock, clinically asking someone out of the blue if they wanted to have sex later isn't a 'moment'."
She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so piqued in all the years she'd known him. And that included the few times she'd seen Sally Donovan do her best to rip him down with her pathetic insults about his methods and personality.
"It wasn't out of the blue. There was a clear line of thought that lead up to it."
No, she'd been paying attention through the entire conversation leading up to the sex thing, and there hadn't been so much as a hint. "Okay, walk me through this line of thought, then, because I must have missed the important bits."
He started to speak several times, then frowned. His brow furrowed, and she desperately wanted to reach up and soothe the creases. "I told you how terrified I was when Geoff called to tell me that you'd been attacked."
She rolled her eyes. "No, sorry. And Greg should have asked me before calling you, anyway. I could have told you I was okay, so you wouldn't have had to worry."
"Hmm. Did I mention how, when I read the report and saw that there were blood samples that would need to be processed, my first thought was that Chapman had hurt you? And that I knew if I saw him at that moment, there wasn't a force on heaven or Earth that would keep me from wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing until his beady little eyes popped out." His hands flexed, then curled into fists.
She whispered, "No." Her arms wrapped around him, trying to offer reassurance that she was fine.
He pulled her closer, seemingly needing to feel her touch as much as she needed to give it. "What about my utter knee-weakening relief that you weren't hurt?"
Molly shook her head.
"So I probably didn't tell you that realizing I wanted to kill a man for daring to hurt you was a pretty obvious clue that you mean more to me than a mere friend. That it must mean you were on that list of people I would gladly suffer for if it meant keeping them safe."
"Nope." She was starting to smile at his growing frustration.
He tilted his head down to see her more clearly. "When I finally looked at you, as you were explaining that you'd broken his nose, you had that fierce look in your eyes that said you could and would defend yourself. Chasing shortly behind that immense feeling of relief was the most inappropriate urge to drag you into the nearest room with a lock, press you against the door, and snog you senseless." Sherlock shrugged. "That's when I admitted that not only did I care for you, greatly, but I loved you and wanted you. Both in my life and in my bed. That's when I finally gave myself permission to do what I'd been wanting to do for so long, and I kissed you."
"Oh, wow." Molly bit her lip and reached up to touch his jaw. "That's actually romantic."
"I thought so. Just as I thought I'd clearly explained all of it prior to asking if we'd be having sex."
She shook her head and brushed her fingertips against his lower lip, fascinated by their shape and texture. "Well, there's the problem. You didn't actually tell me any of that. I'm sure you can understand my confusion now."
"A bit, yeah."
He nipped at her finger. Molly squealed and nearly toppled off his lap.
After her giggles faded away, her expression turned serious once more. "So, back to you asking?"
"Hmm?"
"About sex. Asking if we were going to have sex because you had to prepare."
Sherlock sighed and leaned his head back against the chair cushion. "Why are we still talking about this?" His head lifted just enough so that he could eye her down the bridge of his nose, and he smiled rather devilishly. "I vote we stop talking and start doing. What do you think?"
She lightly smacked him in the chest. "What did you mean by that, needing to prepare?"
His head fell back again. "Right. Well, as I explained and we discussed in excruciating detail earlier, I haven't had intercourse in close to two decades. I do remember the feeling being . . . intense. Extremely intense, in fact." One of his hands moved to rest against her thigh, and he began to gently knead the flesh there. "Therefore, it isn't difficult to deduce that I would be in danger of ending things before they had a chance to really begin if I didn't take matters into my own hands prior to engaging in sexual congress with you. Literally."
Molly stared at him for a long moment as she processed everything he'd said. "You wanted to masturbate before we had sex to decrease the odds of premature ejaculation."
"That's a rather blunt way to put it, but yes." He sat up straighter and tried not to look embarrassed. He failed magnificently.
"That's oddly sweet." Even as the words slipped past her lips, Molly grimaced. "What is wrong with me?"
"I'm sure we could come up with a list. The first item would most likely be that you love me, if that helps at all."
"Strangely enough it does, actually."
Sherlock leaned in to kiss her. There was no hesitation this time, just heat and bone melting desire. The hand on her thigh slid upward to cup her arse. Molly knew she needed to slow things down. There was something she wanted to say before she lost her head completely. She let him kiss her one more time before pushing away from his chest with both hands. His arms loosened to give her the space she wanted.
"Before things get out of hand, I need you to know that I'm not ready to have sex with you."
He arched a brow and the side of his mouth tilted upward in a lopsided smirk.
"All right, parts of me are completely ready. However, mentally . . . I need a bit more time. I've only just found out that you care for me-"
"Love you," he firmly interrupted. "Not merely 'care' for you."
Her insides began to melt again. Molly struggled to strengthen her crumbling resolve. "I need time to adjust to the idea of us being, well, an 'us' before I can even consider taking that big of a step with you." She bit her lip and studied his face, hoping to get a clue as to what he was feeling. "I'm sorry."
With an impatient gesture of his hand, Sherlock waved away her apology. "Don't be. I'm at an advantage in that I've known how you felt about me long before today." He took one of her hands in his, and rubbed small circles against her skin with his thumb. "We don't need to rush into anything."
"Are you sure you're all right with waiting?" She knew there were some men who wouldn't be.
"I'd be an arse of the first order if I wasn't. How many years did you wait for me to stop ignoring my . . . feelings." There was so much disgust encapsulated in that final word that Molly should have been insulted. Instead, she rolled her eyes in amusement.
The telly continued to ramble on. Molly glanced at it briefly, but didn't register anything that was happening on the screen. She worried her lower lip as she wondered if she was making a huge mistake. Here was Sherlock, ready and willing to make another of her dreams come true (the first being his declaration of love); and she was wibbling about like an uncertain virgin on her wedding night.
Sherlock shifted, repositioning himself and Molly so that they were both a little more comfortable. "You should know," he began in a deceptively conversational tone. "Even though I am prepared to engage in intercourse--that I want to make love with you--I do have some reservations of my own."
Surprised, Molly jerked her head back around to look at him. Sherlock eyes were on the telly even though he continued to speak to her. "Small ones. Tiny, really. But they exist. Mostly I'm afraid I'm going to fail to please you, especially after such a long build up. What if the reality doesn't live up to your fantasies and you decide I'm utter rubbish at it?"
He finally turned his attention back to her. "I haven't had a chance to do any real research on the matter, and John refuses to leave his laptop here unsupervised any longer; therefore, my technical knowledge in this area is limited and out of date."
"Technical knowledge?" Molly grinned. "That's what we're calling it?"
"Hush." Sherlock's lips tilted into a boyish smile. "I just wanted you to know that I understand, and am more than willing to wait until we're both ready."
"Thank you." A tiny part of her continued to wonder how she'd managed to be so lucky. Surely everything that had happened that day was part of a dream, and she was going to wake up at any moment.
"You're welcome. Now quit squirming, I'm trying to watch . . . whatever this is, and you're distracting me."
She liked knowing that she could distract him. Probably liked it a little too much, honestly.
They watched the telly for awhile longer. Well, she watched it and Sherlock zoned out after a bit. She imagined he was sorting through something important in his head, possibly in regards to one of his cases. Molly thought about asking if he'd like her to get up and sit somewhere else, but she couldn't quite bring herself to give voice to the suggestion. Every so often his fingers would twitch against her thigh or she'd feel a little tug on her hair as he played with a lock.
As one programme switched over to another, she caught herself yawning for probably the second or third time. She'd just begun to consider sliding off his lap and leaving Sherlock to his thoughts when he picked up the remote and shut off the telly.
"Time for bed." Once Molly was up, he took a moment to stretch out his legs and then stood.
She hesitated, unsure of where she should go. They hadn't really talked about the sleeping arrangements for the night. She'd started out on the sofa that first night. Sherlock had crawled into bed with her the night before, but she didn't want to assume that meant they would be sleeping together now. Since they'd agreed not to have sex, would they both be more comfortable if she took the sofa?
Sherlock solved her dilemma by grasping her hand and leading her down the hall to his room. He must have assumed her uncertainty came from worrying that he was going to try to seduce her, because Sherlock was quick to offer reassurances. "Just sleep. Nothing more. Not tonight."
Molly wanted to tell him that she didn't need to be reassured, that she trusted him to be as much of a gentleman as he usually was, but her mouth went dry at the sight of him popping open the buttons of his shirt with one hand as he pulled open a dresser drawer with the other. Sherlock toed off his shoes and then dug out a pair of deep green pyjama bottoms.
He turned to find her standing next to the door, mouth open in what was surely a very unattractive manner, watching his every move. His shirt hung open, the ends pulled free from his belt. Her hands tingled at the thought of touching every bit of that newly exposed flesh. Or, better yet, pressing open mouthed kisses from his throat down to his navel.
The pyjama bottoms were waved in her direction. "The things I do for you, Molly Hooper. I hate wearing anything to bed."
She remained frozen in place for several moments after he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the toilet flushing forced her into action, and Molly scrambled to change into her own pyjamas. There was a huge contrast between the expensive material of his bottoms and the well-worn comfortable cotton of her vest and shorts. After a quick glance at the door, Molly dug through her things until she found the nice camisole and short set she'd packed. Even though they weren't going to be doing anything, she still wanted look pretty for him.
Sherlock knocked on the door and asked if she was done changing before entering the bedroom.
They shared a weighted look as they moved to stand next to their respective sides of the bed. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed, but this was different. This time they were doing it simply because they wanted to. There were no nightmares or houseguests taking up the sofa, no more convenient excuses that didn't hold up to the harsh light of day.
He pulled down the covers and flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. "Come to bed, Molly."
The temptation in his voice and words was more than she could resist, even if she'd wanted to. She slid into the bed, her heart pounding in excitement even though she knew nothing was going to happen. His arm reached out and pulled her close. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to have him spooned behind her. He generated so much heat that she knew there was no possible way she'd get cold in the night. Sherlock pressed a soft kiss against her hair, and Molly hummed in contentment.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
For the second morning in a row Sherlock was still in bed with her when she woke.
Even though she'd woken up at least once to find that they'd separated in the night, he was once again curled around her. His chest was pressed against her back, his arm thrown across her side. His hand-- His hand!--was on her stomach, under her camisole.
She could feel his fingers, lightly calloused from years of violin playing, painting small circles against her skin. It reminded her of the night she'd confessed about her reoccurring nightmare of his fall, only a thousand times more intense.
He mumbled something against her hair, possibly her name.
"Sherlock?" Molly whispered. "Are you awake?"
The fingers stopped moving. His voice was rough with sleep when he grumbled, "I am now."
She waited, holding her breath, for him to withdraw his arm and get out of bed.
Time seemed to stand still as neither of them moved. Slowly, as if he was afraid she was going to protest, his hand opened until his palm was flat against her stomach, just above her belly button.
He groaned, his mouth close enough that she could feel his hot breath against her ear. "You are so soft. So warm. How is that possible?"
Molly hoped the question was rhetorical because there was no way she could form a coherent answer.
His fingers began to ghost against her skin once more. Not circles this time. Shapes and swirls that seemed to spiral out in an ever increasing pattern. Her skin prickled at the sensation, her belly involuntarily tightened under his touch.
"Is this all right?" His fingers paused momentarily as he waited for her answer.
Molly knew that if she asked him to stop he would, but that was the very last thing she wanted. She nodded.
The feeling became almost too much, moving from innocent to erotic in the span of a heartbeat. She tried to turn, but his arm tightened to prevent her from moving. She could feel Sherlock shake his head behind her. "No. If you turn around . . . We agreed to wait last night and I want to honour that." He swallowed hard, and when he spoke again she could hear a husky quiver in his voice. "But I want, oh God, I want to touch you. May I? For just a bit longer?"
As if there were any chance that she would deny him at this point. "Yes. Please."
Those tempting fingers continued to caress her. They brushed against her navel, then upward in a lazy arc.
Slowly the contours of the body curled around hers began to change. She could feel him hardening. Instinct had her moving, trying to increase contact with his body. They both groaned when his groin briefly nudged against her bum.
His hand slowly drifted, still creating swirls and patterns, as if he was giving her every opportunity to stop him. The first touch of his fingertips against the underside of her breast made her gasp. Sherlock hesitated a moment, then completed his upward journey with a feather-light brush against her nipple. An involuntary shiver raced through her body.
She pushed against him, flattening her back against his chest and pressing her arse against his erection.
Sherlock moaned her name, and ground his arousal against her. She knew that he needed the friction as much as she did.
He covered her entire breast with his hand and gently squeezed. Her budded nipple rubbed against his palm. "Perfect. So perfect. It's as if you were made to fit my hand."
She bit her lip as old insecurities reared their ugly head. "Not too small?"
He released her so fast that she couldn't do anything more than whimper at the loss of his touch. Sherlock impatiently brushed her hair aside so that he could press his mouth against the sensitive skin behind her ear. "I was so fucking jealous when I said that." She could hear the disgust in his voice and knew that it was directed entirely at himself.
His hand delved back under her camisole, and quickly returned to her breast. Molly whimpered at the firm caress. She squirmed, trying to relieve the building pressure between her legs, and Sherlock ground himself against her arse again.
"I didn't realize it, wouldn't admit it, but that's what it was. Jealousy. You were mine, even then, and I just couldn't let myself see it."
He plucked at her nipple and Molly's hips bucked. "Fuck, Molly," Sherlock panted against her neck. He scrapped his teeth against her throat, then sucked hard at the sensitive flesh. He was fully hard, and neither of them were even bothering to pretend that he hadn't begun to rhythmically thrust against her.
His hand moved, abandoning her breast to slide down her belly once more. It continued its torturous path past her stomach and downward to encounter the waistband of her shorts. Molly held her breath, anxious to see what he would do. Sherlock gently bit her earlobe as those long, clever fingers dipped beneath the elastic band. They brushed against the curls there, then lower still until his palm was pressed against her pubic mound and his middle finger rested against her pudendal cleft. That talented finger nudged against her clit, and Molly called out his name without a single thought to what Mrs Hudson might overhear.
Suddenly he was gone. He rolled off the bed as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Molly turned to watch him find his footing. It was obvious from the tenting of his pyjama bottoms that he was still aroused. Impressively so.
Molly ached to reach out to him. She wanted nothing more than to untie the drawstring of his bottoms and touch him in the same way that he had so recently touched her.
He looked so contrite, nearly panicked, that she thought she might have laughed if she weren't dying for him to come back and finish what he'd started.
"I am so sorry. We talked about this, and agreed, and I . . . I need a shower." Sherlock bolted for the bathroom before Molly could tell him that she'd changed her mind. She didn't want to wait.
She wanted him.
Now.
Molly threw her head back against the pillow and drummed her fists against the bed in frustration. |
Peter wanted to die. He wished that he could say that he was an expert on his healing ability and knew how it worked, but all he knew was that he could take more hits. He didn’t know how fast he healed, he didn’t know if he could still get sick, he didn’t know a lot about his healing. What he currently knew was that he had taken a lot of hits during the fight with a group of robbers. He knew that his ribs were broken, knew that it felt like someone was raking a knife through his lungs, knew that if he twisted the wrong way his vision would go white and he would stumble blindly, hoping that he was dodging the next hit.
He also knew that Karen was trying to tell him something, probably how to get out, but he couldn’t focus long enough on her voice before the robbers were on him again. Everything was too much and he wanted to get out, but he could barely force himself to dodge hits let alone subdue the criminals and escape. He had his powers for almost a year and had been spider-man for almost as long, but this was the first time that he was scared he may not make it out of a battle. He could barely focus on anything and he didn’t know what to do. Before he had taken the hit to his torso, he had webbed up two of the robbers. He knew there were two more somewhere in the bank. He ducked behind a column and took a minute to breathe. He could do this, he was spider-man and there were hostages who were sitting in the lobby scared out of their minds and they couldn’t fight back. Not like he could so he swung back out and spotted the robbers hiding like he had. He ran, dodging bullets and webbed them both to the columns feeling a bullet rip past him grazing his arm.
He walked to the hostages and untied them, sending them out to the waiting cops and stumbled towards the back entrance. He knew that the people of Queens appreciated him, and he knew that most civilians loved him, but he wasn’t too sure about the cops. Ever since the Daily Bugle started publishing pieces about him the cops didn’t seem too keen on him anymore. He knew that he was technically a vigilante, but everyone generally called him a superhero, so the animosity from the cops stung a little.
He shook his head putting his hand on the wall, sliding it as he walked to keep his balance. He was pretty sure he had taken a hit to the head at some point in the fight because his head was fuzzy and thinking for too long about anything made his head throb. He pushed open the door and flinched back at how bright it was reaching up to cover his eyes. He walked forwards, sighing in relief when the sun disappeared, replaced by the darkness of the alleyway he had found himself in. He heard the door slam behind him and flinched at the sound before looking up. The building next to the bank was tall enough for him to swing off so he could get home. He knew that swinging was going to suck with how badly his ribs were twinging uncomfortably with every move he made and considered just sitting and waiting on the roof before trying to make his way home.
He looked at his arm where the bullet had grazed him and it was almost healed, so he figured he would be fine if he left it alone. He knew that small cuts and grazes healed in a few minutes. He knew that being shot took at least a day. He knew that broken bones only took a few hours, but they hurt like a bitch the entire time and he knew that painkillers didn’t even make a dent in his metabolism, so he was just gonna need to wait out the ribs. He started the slow crawl up the wall, wincing with every move before he made it to the roof. He knew that May got home around eight and looked at his phone hoping it was only four or five so he could wait until his ribs healed. He almost screamed when he saw that it was seven-thirty, cursing his luck as he started crawling faster.
He had ended up a little further from his apartment than he usually patrolled when Karen alerted him to the robbery in progress. He needed to swing fast if he wanted to beat May home with enough time to clean up. Even though May knew what he did now, he didn’t want her to see him covered in dust, dried blood, and sweat. He got to the top of the building and without letting himself think about it he started running and leapt off the building. He flailed in the air for a second as he tried to power through the pain, shooting out a web and beginning the swing home.
He was gasping by the time he got home. He landed on the roof and crawled down, changing back into his normal clothes, grabbing his backpack as he jogged to the front of the building. He wanted to cry he was in so much pain and almost let himself when the doors to the elevator closed. He checked his phone and saw it was seven-forty-five and cracked a small smile. He walked out of the elevators and unlocked the front door, walking to his room and he thought about collapsing on the bed and passing out, but knew that May would be worried if he was sleeping that early.
He slung his backpack into the corner of his room and grabbed a change of clothes before going to the bathroom. When he took off his shirt and finally looked at his chest, he balked at how bad it looked. There were bruises littered across the entirety of his chest and he distantly thought that these might take longer to heal than just a few hours. He hopped in the shower and despite wanting nothing more than a nice hot shower, he knew that cold was better to help with his ribs. He let out a gasp as the cold water hit his back and felt his entire body tense for a second. He grabbed a rag and gripped it to keep from screaming, he didn’t want to deal with the questions from the neighbors.
When he finished his shower, he changed and threw his clothes into his room before going to the living room, turning the TV on to a random movie. He felt his eyes glaze over as he watched the movie, waiting for May to get home when his phone dinged with a message. He almost laughed when he read the message from May. She was pulling a double and wouldn’t be home until early in the morning. He wanted to laugh, scream or cry and he couldn’t decide which one to do, so a weird mix of the three spilled out from him. He turned off the TV and walked back to his room, falling on his bed and promptly passed out.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When he woke up, he thought that he would be fine, but he felt worse. Every breath he took felt like he was taking them through a straw. His chest spasmed with pain every few minutes and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know much about how he healed, but he knew that usually a broken bone would be healed by now. He looked at his phone and groaned when he saw that it was almost noon. It was Saturday and on Saturday’s Happy picked him up and took him to the tower. He grabbed a hoodie, refusing to look down at his chest and a pair of jeans, dressing quickly. He grabbed his headphones and headed downstairs.
The ride to the tower was silent and he noticed Happy looking at him with confusion and concern. When they got to the tower, Mr. Stark was waiting, which was strange because usually he just went up the elevator and met him in the lab. He slowly got out of the car, slipping out his headphones at the same time.
“He-Hey Mr. Stark. What are, what are you doing down here?” He tilted his head in confusion and walked towards the man.
“Happy said it seemed like you weren’t feeling so good, so I thought we’d watch a movie or something, whaddya say kid?”
“If that’s okay with you, that sounds awesome!” Even though he felt like he was dying, he was excited. He was getting closer to the man, but they were always in the lab, so it would be nice to just sit and watch something with him.
Mr. Stark grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly pulled him close to him, bumping his shoulder against his. Normally he would laugh and push the older man away, but instead he felt his ribs explode in pain. His body locked up and his eyes rolled back into his head and he heard Mr. Stark yell his name as he fell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He expected to wake up in pain lying on the concrete outside of the tower. He did not expect to wake up to a beeping noise and no pain. He blearily opened his eyes and looked around, noting that he was laying in a hospital bed. He saw his mentor sitting next to his bed, fiddling with a hologram model of his suit.
“Hey,” he tried to say. His throat was drier than he thought it would be and he coughed. When he was done coughing, he looked up to see that his mentor holding a glass of water out. He grabbed it and started drinking when his mentor started to talk.
“I swear you’re givin me grey hairs kiddo. When you passed out, I damn near had a panic attack before Happy snapped me out of it. I grabbed you and ran up to medical where you had an emergency surgery. Yesterday during that robbery you stopped, one of them got a lucky hit in and broke the first rib on your left side, which due to some bad luck, caused a piece to fracture off and pierce your lung.
“Thanks to your enhanced healing you didn’t die while you slept. Your lung healed around the bone, but this caused I’m assuming massive amount of pain, but honestly kid, you’re lucky you’re not dead” Mr. Stark rubbed a hand down his face.
“What I want to know, is why you didn’t tell me about this?”
“I, well, I didn’t think it was that bad?”
“You’re kidding me, right? Helen said the amount of pain you were in had to be insane, and you want me to believe that you didn’t think it was that bad? And why didn’t Karen tell me?”
“Well to be fair, I thought I just broke my ribs. The pain wasn’t even too bad until this morning.” Peter was twisting his hands anxiously. He had a pretty good idea now what Karen was trying to tell him during the robbery. “And I think Karen was trying to ask if I wanted to tell you, but I kinda couldn’t hear her because I may, or may not have been concussed?” He looked at his mentor and would have laughed if he weren’t in a hospital bed after having emergency surgery.
“I’m changing her code again. Anytime you get a life-threatening injury, Karen is going to alert me regardless of what you want. I have a heart condition you know?”
Peter couldn’t help but let out a laugh at that, smiling when he saw a small smile creep onto his mentor’s face. He really needed to make a list of what his abilities could do, maybe then he could stop worrying Mr. Stark, but for now, he was content to laugh at his mentor and how protective he was. |
Oh fuck!
Is all Darcy can think as she tries to wrap her head around what just happened as the suit, with her still stuck inside, flies through the clouds heading to her ‘date’ with Tony Stark aka Iron Man aka a FUCKING Avenger.
Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck! What is he going to do to me? What if SHIELD managed to keep hardcopies of photos of me and he recognises me? Because I know there isn’t a single picture of me online. Holy fuckballs what if Hawkeye is with him? I only met him briefly in New Mexico but a spy who’s literally known for his eyesight will definitely put two and two together. Faaarrrrrccccckkkkkkk!
Darcy is so worked up from what happened at the Temple and the Avengers not only finding her, but finding her before she got the suit off (she had hoped they would find it once the Warlord had it), that her years of meditation training don’t come all that easily as she is forced to figure out a game plan. It has been a long time since she has been in the espionage business and in living the life of a millennial she has almost forgotten everything she was taught about how to process information and make plans under pressure from the Red Room. At least she knows that the virus she set up will either delete or blur all photos posted online to social media or other websites. With the selfie craze taking over the generation nowadays there is only so many times she can be the one taking the photo of the others or turning her head at the last minute before they get suspicious.
Darcy never scored top marks with her poker face, her eyes being to expressive of her emotions. So while her inner monologue of anxiety is ranting and she manages to keep her face impassive behind the mask, her eyes are telling the whole story to those who are watching. Her eyes get decidedly more jittery as the clouds clear and she can see the tall buildings of Hong Kong appear under her. If it were under any other circumstance Darcy would be enjoying the ride and the view.
The suit lands her at an empty outdoor seaside cafe towards the outskirts of Hong Kong. Tony Stark is sitting comfortably at a little table with 2 chairs and a pot of tea, watching the boats in the harbour. The suit walks her to the table and sits down across from him. The face panel slides up but doesn’t let her out.
“Thank you for making the time to meet me today little miss bandit, I know you must be quite busy.” Tony says somewhat dryly, he hasn’t even looked at her yet.
Darcy stays silent, thinking that it might be her best plan at this point.
But then Tony leans forward and pulls her mask the rest of the way off, she tries to dodge away, but she can’t move her head, stuck in the suit like she is.
“Annchi huh? You don’t look like an Annchi, more like an Emma or a Hannah. Funny, a little birdie is telling me your name is actually Darcy Lewis, assistant to Dr Jane Foster,” Tony says as he takes a sip of his tea and then makes a face dropping it back down on the table. Darcy now knows that Hawkeye is definitely set up somewhere with his sniper scope aimed on her face. Tony’s penetrating gaze never wavering from her eyes now he’s looking at her and not the boats. Darcy gets the feeling like he’s categorically going through all her features and engraving them in his memory. “So tell me Darcy Lewis, how’d you do it? How’d you fool my AI?”
“If I tell you...” Darcy has to pause to take a gulp, her trainers would be disappointed in her but the analytical part of her mind thinks it’s only a good thing for Stark to think she’s scared and out of her depth, even if it’s actually the truth. Darcy tries to make her voice sound more confident, “If I tell you how I did it. If I give you my tech. Will you let me go?”
“Sure I will, I’m only interested in how you did it.” Is his reply as he leans back and links his fingers behind his head. “You’ve returned my property to me in relatively the same condition so no harm no foul.”
“You don’t want to know why I did it?” Darcy says quietly, looking down at the table to make Stark think she is contrite.
“I know why you did it little miss crook.” Tony half smirks at her, “and if it’s any consolation I admire you for it. Now tell me how you fooled my AI into thinking you were Pepper!”
“I programmed the interface into my watch, it will be easier for me to just show you.” Darcy says, trying to move her arm, hoping he is distracted enough by the idea of new tech he will let her out of the suit.
“Oh gimmie gimmie gimmie!” Tony says as the suit abruptly stands up and disassembles around her. Darcy gets out immediately and takes the watch off handing it over to Stark who almost does a little dance on the spot. She is watching the suit reassemble and move off to the side, like a sentry watching his post. Darcy is careful to keep her front to Stark and the suit as she doesn’t want either of them to realise that she has her glocks tucked securely into holsters in the back of her pants under her shirt. She wouldn’t use them against Stark but she would use them to stop the suit if it tries to take her captive again. She knows there is someone else close by keeping watch, she can feel it now she’s out of the suit, but she hopes they are focused on her front and not her back.
All Tony really cares about is the Pepper interface, he seems to have completely forgot she’s there as he coos over the watch, muttering quietly to himself as he turns it over studying it.
“So… um… can I go then?” Darcy asks after a few minutes of him ignoring her.
“Yeah, yeah.” He gives her a distracted wave as he continues muttering to himself.
“Great! Um… OK bye!” Darcy says awkwardly, but just as she’s turning to leave she feels a rustle in the wind and movement against her neck.
“Stark may have said he would let you go but he wasn’t speaking for the rest of us.” A smooth female voice almost whispers in her ear. And before Darcy realises it she’s acting on instinct and twirling quickly into a crouch on the ground, pulling her guns out of their holster in her waistband to point at the Black Widow, who looks unimpressed and already has guns pointed back at her. They are so close their hands are almost touching.
Darcy can’t hold back the, “Oh fuck it’s the Black Widow!” Semi-fangirl-sequel, semi-resigned-groan that escapes out of her mouth, and a light pink blushes across her cheeks.
The Black Widow was infamous in the Red Room, the single most perfect asset to ever be produced. The trainees were brought up on stories of her missions. When she went rogue the instructors were in an uproar for months. But no one could ever bring her back, they stopped sending other assets after her when they would always disappear too. Shortly after they stopped hunting for the Black Widow they changed the training program so the girls didn’t have to kill each other, punishments were no longer death or as painful and they were allowed to build friendships with each other. Darcy guessed the hope was that with the friendships it wouldn’t seem so bad so the trainees wouldn’t go AWOL like the Black Widow, and also so the Red Room had a larger pool of assets to utilise.
Tony was staring at them, shocked out of his focus on her watch. “OK for that I’m going to have to offer you a job at SI… and I’m going to have to
insist
you take it.” Tony says as the women continue to stare at each other. A quinjet appears out of nowhere hovering gently next to them and the platform opens up as Tony walks towards it. “Come along Lewis, I’m sure the benefits package will make you a very happy little miss kleptomaniac.”
Darcy is focused on the Black Widow, who raises an eyebrow at her with a half-sardonic look on her face, as they are still pointing their guns at each other.
I might as well see what he’s got up his sleeve. It’s not like I have a chance in hell against the Black Widow in hand to hand combat anyway. And I can’t risk having to defend myself against her and them realising my abilities.
“Well, why the fuck not?” Darcy huffs as she goes against all her training and shifts, opening up her back to the Black Widow, as she places her glocks in their holsters and turns to follow her new boss up into the quinjet, the Black Widow following close behind her. “Time for Alice to go back down the rabbit hole.” Darcy chirps as the platform begins to raise behind her.
|
As Tabby walked down the side street, the world started to slowly drain of colour and life, as if it were a painting in reverse, the layers of detail peeling back. She squinted, rubbing at her eyes, but as the grey descended, the background noise dampened and disappeared, all her senses confirming what her eyes had told her. The birds had fallen silent, the sudden absence of ambient sound was almost deafening in sheer force of realisation.
Whirling round, she already knew that she was totally alone. The streets had gone from busy to empty, and the only thing that remained was a slight breeze, pushing eerie echoes between buildings, and moving leaves that made nary a whisper. The sun shone harshly, a white mass in the sky devoid of warmth, covering everything in a snow-like dust.
Something terrible had happened, apocalyptic, in the blink of an eye and the certainty of that horror nearly crushed her against the pavement. Whatever had happened, she remained untouched, the sole witness to something that was never meant to be seen. A knot of terror began to form as she strived to push her emotions down, to deaden them, to stop the panic rising-
Was it a bomb? There aren't any bodies, there's nobody- not a trace- nothing…!
The white void in the sky got bigger, near blinding her, so sharply bright it felt like it might pierce her very heart, and her eyes struggled to make out the shadows that might still tell her where buildings and roads lay, the light reflected from every surface utterly disorientating.
Am I even moving? Did I turn?
"Step…" a hideously familiar noise rang inside her head, barely contorting itself into words she knew by heart.
No, no no no!
"... into the light…"
I have- be small- FUCK!
"... my child."
No, I- Mammon!! Where-? He'd be here, he would-
Tabby woke with a start, shaking in fear, the dread of the nightmare still clinging to her as she panted for air. For a moment, she couldn’t see anything, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, willing herself to adjust to the darkness once more.
Not real, not real, not...
As she calmed down, she saw that the room was exactly as it should be, the darkness a comfort after the blazing, terrible light. She looked over to see that Beel was peacefully snoring on the couch, a reassuring presence, but-
Fuck, not again.
House full of devils and I'm still haunted by childish nightmares.
She waited a little longer, making sure the panic had fully receded, and slipped out of the bed as quietly as she could, picking up the bear hoodie and her boots. Everyone would be asleep, but she could go to the library and read, or-
The music room.
~~~
>> Mammon: Hey, Tabs - you know what time it is?
>> Mammon: It's the middle of the night in the Devildom. I dunno what the time difference is between here and the human world, but you'd better be sleeping!
>> Mammon: I mean I'm not, but I should be. Can't get to sleep tho. So if you ain't asleep, we could not be asleep together?
>> Mammon: Um, I mean we could hang out. If ya want. Either way.
>> Mammon: <mischievous sticker>
Mammon grinned as his phone lit up with her response, grabbing his jacket as he stealthily left his room. He'd considered it pointless to even try getting to sleep, reasoning that sleeping through classes was preferable to subjecting himself to more horrible dreams.
It was this exact reason that lay at the heart of his night time hyperactivity, needing something to fill his time with, but he'd mostly stayed home of late.
Luc's been stressed enough with this exchange, I don't need more reasons for him ta be yellin' at me. Hopefully he's going easier on my human though…
Lack of sleep might have been the cause, but it was infinitely preferable to spend his extra time awake working on his schemes to try and earn more money. He had huge debts hanging over him most of the time, and responsibilities to pay for. Forcibly staying home was not something he or his bank balance remotely approved of.
But somehow, even some light thievery or gambling didn’t seem as appealing as getting extra time with his human. The Avatar of Greed wanted more of that than anyone else, and given Tabby was staying with one of his brothers, he needed to maximise his opportunities where he could.
He kept himself to the shadows, leaning slightly into his powers as he moved, zeroing in on the window that led to freedom. From years of running from consequences and hiding his treasures, Mammon knew every possible escape route in the House of Lamentation, and while this was technically a dead end and arguably part of the house itself, he didn't want to take any chances by tripping over himself and raising any noise.
The demon jumped nimbly though the window, silently, landing on the short strip of roof which was just as narrow as he remembered it.
This is way too dangerous for a human! Fallin' from this height could kill her… She ain't got nine lives, dammit.
He climbed the tiles and landed gently on the flat part of the roof that had to be-
Above her room?
Mammon smiled as he saw she was laying on her back, looking up at the starry sky, and he flopped down beside her. He made a quick assessment, noting she was wearing some kind of top that had ears attached to the hood, and that she looked fairly relaxed.
“Come here often?” he quipped, gazing up at the stars himself as she chuckled.
The varied rooftops of the house all sloped away from this point, giving them an unimpeded view of Diavolo’s handiwork.
“I wanted to see something familiar,” Tabby said softly, “though the stars are different here.”
Did Diavolo put any old star patterns up? I can’t remember… humans have so many.
“Yeah, they ain’t the same,” he confirmed. “Diavolo did a pretty good job though, when we first arrived the sky was just dark - no moon, no stars. He put ‘em all there not long after. I think it was ta try and make us feel more at home.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” she smiled, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice how often he was looking at her instead of above. “The Celestial Realm has stars then?”
“Only if ya go high enough. It’s always day there, like it’s always night here. But if ya got some serious air, ya could see the stars as clearly as in the human world. Some kind of projection maybe. Lucifer used to love going up to see the stars, it was kinda his thing. So really, Diavolo painted the sky for Lucifer."
"It's hard to imagine Mr Shouty-pants doing any stargazing."
Mammon snorted a laugh.
"You've not really seen the right sides ta him. He's an uptight git, and a pain in the ass, but I followed him from the Celestial Realm straight ta hell an' I'd do it again, without question. Lucifer is… complicated."
Tabby was quiet for a moment.
"If the stars you could see from the Celestial Realm were the same as those in the human world, why are the Devildom ones different?"
"I reckon Diavolo could have replicated the others," he nodded, "but he wanted ta make his own constellations. See that one there-”
He traced the shape with his finger as she shuffled closer to look along his arm, making him smile.
“-that one is for the twins. Made Belphie smile a lot when he saw that one.”
“I can see it!” she grinned. “I like that there are constellations after all… I guess they don’t have to be the same to be familiar.”
Mammon only knew a little about human constellations, mortals always putting stories to everything they saw and experienced. It was one of the things that had always fascinated him the most about the human realm, that their imagination far outstripped both demons and angels.
The reminder of her being human popped a sudden question into his mind.
“So, I could see my way out the window pretty clearly,” he mused, “but please tell me ya used a light or somethin’? If ya fall off the roof, Lucifer will kill me.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Tabby laughed, and he felt his insides flutter a little. “I’ve got good night vision, no need to worry.”
He was about to protest that of course he wasn’t worried, but his mind was too busy trying to puzzle out what she was saying. He had a rough idea of how well humans could see, and he was pretty sure his human would have needed a light to see in this level of darkness.
She doesn’t lie though, of that I’m very sure. So what gives?
“I didn’t think humans could see in the dark that well,” he said quietly, intending to change topics.
“My mum always said that if I ate all my carrots I’d be able to see in the dark. Maybe that’s it.”
He chuckled at her light tone, and figured there was probably a degree of variance from one human to the next. But the mention of her parent did bring up an issue he hadn’t considered.
She’s definitely feelin’ a bit homesick, lookin’ at the stars. I know Belphie must be, an' as much as I love going to the human realm, I bet I’d wanna go home after a few days, though I guess it’s more that I’d miss my brothers. She must have a family, an' maybe someone special she loves too...
“Is it home yer missing, or the people in it?” he asked, aiming for casual but swallowing hard.
“The place, definitely,” she said, a little hesitantly, and Mammon breathed a small sigh of relief. “And by that I just mean the human world… I think I mentioned before that I moved around a lot.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Kinda hard for me ta imagine. Feels like I’ve been livin’ with my family for an eternity!”
He sensed Tabby tensing up a little, and he held his tongue, wanting to give her space to speak. Mammon knew he was a motormouth by reputation, but he was a good listener when he wanted to be, he just didn’t often want to slow down for anyone.
“I…” she exhaled heavily, and he murmured a small noise of encouragement. “I don’t have a family-”
Shit.
“-Not since I was a kid. I guess that’s why I miss bits and pieces of the human world rather than a home or anything like that. Nobody to miss me, y’know?”
“I’m sorry-” he began, but his human interrupted, her voice warm.
“It’s okay, it was a very long time ago.”
Mammon smiled as he realised she was repeating his own words from earlier in the day.
“Well, if nobody’s missin’ ya, they’re idiots,” he said quietly.
Tabby smiled and he grinned as he looked back up at the sky, glad he hadn’t fucked up too much by bringing up family matters. Rationally, he knew it was more likely for humans to have lost those close to them, their mortality so very fragile. He tried to push the reminder of her own short lifespan from his mind, not willing to let his thoughts travel down that path.
He heard her moving the zipper on her hoodie, and he glanced across, amused she had put her bear ears up.
“First yer a cat, now yer a bear - I can’t keep up!”
She giggled, moving closer to him, and he blushed furiously.
“It’s Beel’s! Apparently it shrunk in the wash, so he wanted me to have it-”
Wait- that’s what happened to Beel’s favourite- and he GAVE it to her?! Why’s he givin’ her gifts? What-
“-he realised I’d not packed enough cold winter clothes I think, which is very sweet. Though even if I’d known where I was going, I probably wouldn’t have expected it to be so freezing.”
Mammon’s mind was spinning down an all too familiar path of self-hatred. He could have easily got her more clothes, from pretty much any place in the entire Devildom.
I’m a fucking model for fucks sake, and I never TOLD her - I didn’t bring her ta my shoot today even though I wanted to… I’m such an IDIOT, and now Beel’s gonna be her number one demon, an-
“You okay, wolf?”
He looked over at her, and realised just how close she was, her eyes shining in the dark. Her left eye, the one he’d thought was grey, was so light it looked like shining silver, while the other reminded him of the green-eyed cat Satan had once smuggled home.
“I’m fiNE,” his voice broke slightly, and he coughed to clear his throat. “Ya know me, when my two brain cells stop workin’ I’m doomed.”
“The Great Mammon only has two brain cells?” she smirked, and he nodded with enthusiasm.
“Two GREAT brain cells!”
~~~
Tabby laughed, equally amused by the joke and the fact that the demon was blushing deeply, fighting against being too flustered. She wasn’t sure how much of it was down to any potential attraction versus their growing friendship, as from what she’d gathered, the latter was fairly new to him.
Or jealousy over Beel perhaps? He is very possessive of “his human” after all, which makes sense for an Avatar of Greed.
His bumbling chat messages had made her smile, and she found his presence on the roof beside her incredibly calming. It was here that she’d ended up, when all other methods of inducing sleepiness failed, and as she had gazed at the stars she’d wondered whether she actually wanted to sleep at all. Reliving an old nightmare was bad enough to do just once, and she really didn’t want another rerun.
She had tried to find the few constellations in the sky she knew of, before realising the stars here were alien. And in fact, likely weren’t real at all given the utter stillness of them all. When Mammon had appeared with his wolfish grin in the dark, she couldn’t help but feel happier.
Opening up had always been hard for her, but despite the guardian demon’s tsundere ways, he tended to drop a lot of the act when they talked about more serious matters, and somehow she always ended up smiling instead of experiencing her usual instincts to keep everything locked down and hidden, to distance herself and push him away.
Maybe that’s what demons do… charm their way into your heart without you even realising. But I don’t think that’s what this is. He’s just different when his brothers aren’t around. Or maybe it’s more specific to me?
That sounds a lot like wishful thinking.
“Hey, I never asked,” Mammon spoke, and she blinked, blushing a little as she realised she’d been gazing at him instead of the stars, “did ya find anything at the top of the stairs?”
Oh. Oh, crap.
Tabby’s mind raced as she tried to work out what to do. She couldn’t tell him, that much Belphegor had seemed genuine about. But then Mammon was different from his brothers… but she didn’t know him that well, and the consequences could be dire. He’d surely be impacted emotionally by it all, and his life had already been turned upside down by being assigned as her guardian.
But I can’t lie to him. I won’t.
“I found…” she hesitated slightly, and he met her eyes, curious. “Lucifer thinks I found nothing, which is what he needs to believe. I did find something, but I’m not able to talk about it.”
“Oh,” the demon looked a little crestfallen, biting his lip. “That’s okay.”
“I don’t like not being able to tell you, wolf,” she said softly, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand as his eyes widened in surprise, “but I’m kinda stuck. And it sucks. But I will tell you as soon as I’m able.”
She reluctantly pulled her hand back, the brief contact making her blush, but Mammon caught her hand with his, holding on gently, and she relaxed her arm with a shy smile. The demon looked as surprised at himself as he had been at her initiation, and she held her breath. He looked thoughtful before huffing a small laugh, and giving her hand a delicate squeeze.
“That sounds reasonable ta me, kitten,” he grinned as he looked back up at the sky, his hand warm around hers.
Tabby felt certain her heart was beating wildly enough to be heard for miles around.
~~~
Luke hadn’t reappeared overnight, and Tabby felt as on edge as Beel looked during their day’s classes. Simeon had even thanked them for looking after the young angel, and while she wasn’t tempted to reveal the truth, it annoyed her to have even more guilt heaped upon her shoulders.
Running low on sleep, she was fluffing simple questions and even getting lost between classes, as her thoughts pinged between the missing angel and the demon in the attic, neither of which she could speak freely about. The most effective way to block those concerns out was to think back on her time with Mammon on the rooftop, but that only made her featherbrained in a whole different way.
Mammon make brain go brrr, hah.
Eventually she made it through the day, and Beel walked her home, the large demon looking glum.
“We can search as soon as we get back,” she murmured, and he nodded.
“We need to find him before anyone else does. Now that he’s missed a day at the academy, it won’t take long for others to start looking for him.”
Shit. I didn’t think of that.
After a quick change, she stealthily searched her half of the House of Lamentation. Or rather, she attempted to do it covertly, but her insomnia impeded her dexterity stats resulting in-“You two look busy searching for something,” drawled Satan, leaning against the doorframe of his room as she picked herself up with a sigh. “What could you possibly have misplaced?”
Tabby was too tired to think of anything remotely useful, and glanced behind her, seeing Beel approach.
“We’re looking for a dog,” the large demon shrugged, and Satan relaxed his position.
“I knew it!” he smirked. “Well, I assumed a cat, but a dog is just as likely. Fine, I won’t say anything to Lucifer, but you’d best find it quick. Cerberus doesn’t like competition.”
“Cerberus?” Tabby asked softly as she walked back down the stairs with Beel. “The three-headed dog?”
“You’ve heard of him? He’s Lucifer’s pet. Only, he’s more of a monster. A very, very big monster. He’s devoted only to Lucifer-”
Yikes.
“-I don’t get it. If he’d left this building he would have been at class today. But we’ve searched the whole house!”
She walked over to the notice board as Beel unwrapped a snack from his pocket, evidently intent on keeping his power under control around her. The only new notice was a bogus one, advertising what looked like a Mammon scheme, but as she bumped against the table beneath the board, she realised she’d never looked properly at the dollhouse that occupied this space.
There was a very good reason for that, and the reason was that dolls were creepy as hell. Tabby crouched down regardless, reasoning that a dollhouse didn’t necessarily have dolls inside, and she saw that it was in fact a perfect scale model of the House of Lamentation. Every room was represented, including those she hadn’t yet seen inside - Satan seemed to live in a second library, while Asmo had a very appealing boudoir and a truly enormous bathroom.
“Huh,” Beel leaned over, dropping crumbs on her head, “that’s weird. I never noticed that room before, look-”
He pointed to a room that in the real House of Lamentation did not exist.
“-Just before Mammon’s room. It’s small but… this dollhouse is meant to be an exact replica.”
“You think maybe that room is really there?” she asked. “If so, maybe it’s where the closet spat Luke out…”
“It’s a stretch, but we don’t really have any other ideas,” sighed Beel. “Let’s go stare at the wall.”
Tabby followed him up the stairs, trying and failing to hide a yawn. She wondered idly where the other demons were.
Probably caught up in extracurricular stuff maybe? Lucifer is probably working. Mammon scheming. Satan’s in his room, and Levi is probably doing the same. I’d hear Asmo if he was home…
“Oh!” Beel jabbed his finger at the wall in excitement. “Look here-”
There were words hidden within the pattern of the wallpaper, slightly strange looking but as Tabby focused, they seemed to become more legible.
Hm, “When the morning star dwelt in the heavens, its light shone down upon this one, sparkling brilliantly, the eighth of the eight.” When Lucifer was in heaven… but who is the-?
She realised Beel was reading the words aloud, and stopped to listen as he interpreted the beginning as Lucifer.
“-the eighth child of eight, our sister, Lilith.”
As he spoke her name, a door appeared in the wall - still blending in with the wallpaper, but with a golden handle. The demon opened the door without hesitation, and she followed him inside.
~~~
Mammon was revelling in his peak smugness mode, airly brushing off the fact Beel had walked Tabby home, though still concerned at how tired she had looked.
In other circumstances, his jealousy would have either forced him to grumpily intervene, or condemned him to hide away and feel sorry for himself, but he was still riding high from the previous night and the fact that he, the Great Mammon, had held his human's hand.
That such a small gesture was having such a huge impact on his mood was hastily skipped over. He wasn't about to give his brothers further ammunition to insult him with, so his protests would remain public. Even when it was just him and Tabby, he struggled to fully let go of that defense mechanism, but she had an uncanny knack of stepping past his walls.
He was no shut-in like Levi, and in fact Mammon tended to get more romantic and lustful attention than he really wanted. His success as a model hardly helped, but his disinterest was mostly rooted in boredom. The demon had been alive a very long time, but when it came to his love life, romance had never really been a factor. Either his reputation as a masochist simply resulted in more abuse, or his ability to see the avarice in others, when surrounded by demons or greedy mortals, meant that thievery and money-making provided far greater thrills.
Until one human had appeared, his human, with a smile that made him fumble his words, and a kindness he wasn’t sure he’d ever believed truly existed.
For now, he was focused on keeping his own negativity at bay. Friendship was more than he had realistically expected, and he wanted to revel in that experience rather than constantly reminding himself he could step no further.
It's more than enough. It is enough. I'm a demon. A dumbass demon. It has ta be enough. I-
His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yo, yo-"
"Shhh," Asmo sounded panicked, "get your ass to the tomb immediately! Luke's here and we need to get him out before Lucifer arrives!"
His brother hung up and Mammon was already out the door, running as fast as he could.
SHIT!
~~~
|
Zabini gained consciousness exactly one week after the initial raid. Hermione was on watch when it happened.
He awoke with a gasp. He took in his surroundings with the gracefulness of a cat that just had a bucket of ice water poured on it. When his eyes landed on her form, sitting cross legged in the corner with parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, he legitimately hissed.
“Ah, Zabini,” she greeted with a nod of her head.
“What the fuck, mudblood.” His voice was gravelly and, in other circumstances, Hermione would have handed him the pitcher of water that was on the bedside table, right out of his reach.
“Now now, Zabini. That’s no way to speak to your comrades.” Hermione, truly, knew better than to antagonize someone that had just woken up in an unfamiliar setting.
She just didn’t care.
Blaise’s eyes flashed. Hermione could practically feel the anger coming off him in harsh waves that rivaled the ones she had built a sea wall against in her mind. Clearly he had never specialized in Occlumency.
“The first thing the Order will do after your ceremony is teach you how to control your emotions. Can’t have you running about angry and tossing harsh words like Malfoy in second year.”
Zabini was up, charging towards Hermione as if his bed had just caught fire. It hadn’t, but if that had been the case it would have been because Hermione
chose
to, not because she couldn’t reign in her emotions like the man in front of her. She used legilimency to probe out to him.
No walls. Not even a speed bump. She could take his mind and tear it into pieces before he even knew what was happening. It wouldn’t even take three minutes.
Hermione watched as he stumbled and fell to the floor as she pressed against his most recent memories. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even uncrossed her legs. If this was intimidation, she was starting to wonder how he’d made it this far into the war.
“Draco will destroy you once he finds out where I am.”
Ah, that’s right.
“Malfoy’s going to come save you, then? Big, bad Zabini is so quick with his silver tongue but can’t fight his own battles?”
His index finger came up and prodded the air in front of him. He let out a small yelp when the wards that protected her from him zapped out with blue magic.
“Can’t put up much of a fight when you’ve taken the cowards way out.”
Hermione scoffed before picking back up the documents she was working on. Ron had asked for these by sundown and Hermione
always
turned in her assignments on time.
“Your insults have no nuance. You’ll have to try harder than that to get to me.”
Zabini opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione held up her hand to stop him.
“You should just save it,” she snapped, charming the quill to write on its own. “Malfoy will be here momentarily.”
His brows furrowed in confusion. “Draco? Coming here?”
Hermione watched the quill as it slid across the parchment, finding peace in the scratching sound. “Isn’t that what you said would happen?”
“I said Draco would destroy you. Not that he’d come to this shack and do it.”
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “Semantics. What does destroy even mean?”
It took Zabini five minutes to describe all the different ways Draco would tear her limbs apart, six minutes for Malfoy to appear in the doorway, and ten minutes for Blaise to figure out Hermione had been stalling.
“Wait,” he began, holding a hand out at Draco as he attempted to delve into the explanations of what all
this
meant. “Granger never cared about you killing her. She was just trying to get me to keep talking!”
Hermione raised an invisible glass in mock cheers. “Ten points to Slytherin.”
“Blaise,” Draco cut in before he could retort. His voice was sharp, barring no arguments and Zabini’s head immediately snapped to attention.
Malfoy was a leader. A Death Eater of high rank. He demanded respect from those around him.
She’d just never seen anyone actually give it to him.
“Why is the mudblood still alive?” Blaise was still standing on the other side of the wards, hands shoved in his pockets. He was eyeing Draco questioningly, a look of suspicion on his face. His mind may be poorly hidden, but he was every bit the observant, cunning man she had remembered from school.
Hermione and Malfoy exchanged glances. His shoulders had tensed at the use of the slur and Zabini had noticed. His expression was guarded now, distrust etched into his features.
“Blaise, sit down.”
As Draco recounted all the details of the last few months, Hermione studied Blaise. As time went on, his fists clenched tighter and his feet began tapping louder and louder before it became a constant echo in the room.
He was mad, furious more accurately and he was doing nothing to hide it. His emotional maturity level tapped out at about twelve.
Malfoy, to Hermione’s surprise, was the perfect picture of poised emotionless. He explained everything with clinical precision, not leaning in one direction or the other except when explaining that they
had
to side with the Order.
“It’s either that, or we die.”
Blaise scoffed, eyes averting Draco’s to meet with Hermione’s. “And you chose the Order?”
Draco’s eyebrows raised and— was that a smile? What about this was he finding
funny?
“Blaise,” he began, a hint of laughter slipping through his lips. “Self preservation?” He gestured to himself in an up and down motion.
“I guess I’m just having trouble believing it. People said it for years, and I defended you. But you’re nothing more than a coward.” His voice was filled with hatred, but Malfoy still didn’t flinch. His expression was empty. Hermione reached out through their tether and found only static. He was fully Occluded.
“You’re as much a part of the Order as myself and Granger now.”
“I never thought I’d see the day. A Malfoy, a blood traitor. What would your father say?”
“I’m sure when he realizes I’ve saved his sorry life from being the Dark Lord’s minion until he dies, he’ll thank me and praise me as the son he’s always wanted.”
Blaise attempted to pick up the lamp (Hermione’s muggle influence) from the side table and huffed in frustration when it didn’t budge. (A sticking charm, also Hermione’s influence.)
“You can kill me. I’ll not be a part of anything that the mudblood makes are in on.” He was eying the lamp suspiciously, running his hands over the blue base and staring at the lightbulb until he was forced to look away, blinking quickly.
“It’s electricity,” she spoke for the first time since Malfoy entered.
Blaise shot her an annoyed glance. “I’ve no use for muggle appliances. I want it out of here.”
Hermione sighed and turned to Malfoy. He was dressed in his normal black Wizarding robes, as if he had just come from a meeting with the Death Eaters. He probably had, Hermione realized. She wondered what type of excuse he had fabricated to make it here so quickly.
“He’s not responding well,” she stated.
“Don’t you think I can see that?” His voice was void of any venom, but she could feel his frustration ebbing into their bond.
“Her mudblood cunt must have gold trimmings.”
Silence. Draco didn’t even turn to look at him. His eyes stayed trained on Hermione. She watched as his Occlumency fumbled; could practically
hear
as Zabini’s words took down each brick in Draco’s mind, one by one.
“Maybe if I stay you’ll let me have a go. Might be worth it after all.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. She watched the muscles work, tensing so tightly she feared his teeth might crack.
“Go. Get. Them.”
“Draco—“ his shoulders tensed at the use of his first name, but she carried on. “You’re not thinking clearly. Go take a breath and we’ll continue on.”
Go meditate. You need Occlumency for this.
“Granger. Go get them.” And for some reason that Hermione couldn’t exactly explain, she got up and walked out of the room. She knew, could tell by the tone of his voice that this wasn’t a decision made by emotion. He was angry, furious if the quivering of his shoulders was anything to go by, but that played a minimal part in the decision he’d just made.
Hermione apparated back to Grimmauld, pulled Pansy out of Neville’s embrace and tried not to flinch when she walked in on Theo and Luna in an intense conversation.
When she was back at the safe house in Scotland with a stoic set of Slytherins in tow, Hermione hesitated on the porch steps.
This would be an intensely private and intimate moment. Blaise had turned to hatred and hurt because of the supposed deaths of these two.
Hermione thought back to her Hogwarts days. Blaise was always there, standing behind Malfoy and every now and then laughing at one of his horribly crafted insults, but he was never cruel to her. He was more of an enigma back then, and though Hermione had never exactly figured him out she felt sure that he had never been like
this.
So while part of her wanted to afford him the privacy to fall apart without prying eyes, another part, the more stubborn and just one, pictured his lips turning into a sneer around the words
mudblood cunt,
and she decided that he’d surrendered the option of privacy and respect once he’d opened his mouth.
She entered the small room first, watching Zabini roll his eyes and continue to pace the room. He was just about to open his mouth— probably to toss another poorly thought out insult— when Pansy bumped through the door.
She walked slowly, as if approaching a scared and defensive animal. Honestly, the similarities didn’t stop there, so maybe she was onto something.
Blaise watched with an intensity so strong Hermione almost dropped her eyes.
Almost.
His expression changed from anger into confusion— his brows furrowed and his mouth popped open softly— and then back into anger. He turned towards Draco.
“What game are you playing at?”
Theo entered then, with much less nuance. His hands were in his pockets and he looked every bit the Slytherin Prince Hermione had him pegged for before she truly got to know him.
“Get your knickers out of your ass and have a seat, Zabini.”
Blaise, to Hermione’s surprise, listened.
Great subordinate,
she noted.
He was wiping his hands absentmindedly on his torn pants. They were covered in blood; they hadn’t bothered to change him since the night Hermione brought him here. Maybe they should, now that he was conscious.
He looked positively shell shocked now, eyes blown and mouth shut. His gaze flickered from Pansy to Theo, back to Pansy before settling on Draco.
“You knew?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Hermione cringed at the sheer sadness in his words. She almost envied his willingness to shamelessly let his emotions show.
Draco crossed the wards for the first time and took a seat next to him on the cot. He patted him on the back softly.
“Just for a few months now. Only since I joined the Order.”
So the three of them sat there, talking about what had happened and how and why Blaise wasn’t included.
“Blaise,” Pansy began in her best attempt at a soothing voice, “you wouldn’t have come. Think about yourself three years ago and tell me you would have wanted to be here.”
Blaise had averted his eyes to the floor, the fight apparently gone out.
“I’m not fighting for the Order.” His words were strong, even as he sat slumped over and refused to look at anyone.
“So you’re going to sit here and tell me you still believe in all that blood superiority bull shit?” Pansy threw her hands up angrily.
Blaise turned towards Draco and raised a brow.
“Answer the question,” he bit out.
“What’s it matter, truly? It’s not as if I’m about to start fighting for the other side now.”
“And why not?” Pansy challenged.
Blaise glared at her. “Pans, in sixth year you tried to hex Granger with a joint locking spell.”
“Yes and she blocked it because she’s a talented witch.” Pansy crossed her arms. “Maybe that was when things started to change for me.”
“Well, nothing’s changed for me.”
Pansy sighed, dropping her hands to her sides before standing up.
“You should send him back,” she told Draco.
“We’re not sending him back after all this. We’re binding him to Finnegan.”
“What if he won’t stay?” Theo asked. He’d been quiet nearly this whole time. Hermione eyed him wearily. He’d always seemed exhausted since that first full moon night. He’d been taking wolfsbane since the waning of the moon, but during the second full moon he’d insisted his wolf wasn’t responding well to it. The next one would be coming up shortly and they hadn’t convinced him to continue taking the potions.
“You stayed. Pansy stayed. Blaise will too.”
“We all wanted to be here. We can’t say what will happen if we bind an unwilling person.”
“It’s already been decided,” Hermione said. “The binding will happen tonight.”
Theo’s jaw tightened. He stood and walked swiftly and silently out the door. Pansy hopped to her feet and turned to Draco.
“The best thing about the Order is that everyone here is passionate about what they’re fighting for.” She pointed a finger towards Blaise. “If you let him in then we’re doing it just because you can’t accept what path he’s chosen.”
“The only reason he ever became like this was because
you
faked your death instead of just abandoning.
Your
inability to pick a side and stick with it is what caused this.”
Pansy scoffed and cocked one hip to the side. It was hard to note similarities to the old Pansy and the one standing here. She was dressed in worn denim jeans, strapped sandals and a practical pink jumper. She was still stylish but it held none of the arrogance and overdone obnoxiousness that it had back at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn’t seen her in heels since her second day at Grimmauld as she limped off the practice field. Her bright red lipstick had been replaced with soft pinks.
But standing there in a face off with Draco, she was even more fearsome than she had been back then.
“So now you’re better than me because you’re playing double agent? It’s not my fault I made up my mind before you, but what you’re doing doesn’t make you any better than me.”
“Don’t act so noble Pansy!” Draco was shouting now. “You came here for yourself and
not
the muggles.”
“If I wanted to disappear off the map I could have easily done that. Why didn’t I do that if I didn’t want to fight?”
“I don’t know Pans, why’d you do it?”
“Because I can!” She was screaming, red faced and spit flying. Her shoulders heaved as she tried to reign in her anger. “I can be here. I can fight. I fucked up and I needed to fix it so I did. It’s the same reason you’re here.”
Draco sneered but after a moment averted his eyes. Pansy took a step toward him and tried to catch his eyes.
“A world where the Order loses is a world lost. It doesn’t matter about blood purity. Tom will go after women next and then the poor. He will seek out anarchy until there’s no one left.”
Draco was silent for a moment before he loosened his shoulders. “I just can’t believe you figured it out before me.”
Pansy huffed out a laugh, dropping her head and shaking it. “It should have been sooner, but I was in denial.”
Hermione watched the whole exchange silently. For the first time she truly thought she understood the bond between Draco and Pansy. The snogging in fifth year and the moans behind tapestries in sixth year had suddenly never felt so insincere. This, right here, was exactly what they meant to each other.
Blaise watched on in raptured silence. Hermione was sure he had actually gone into shock and was currently incapable of speaking, but she was having a hard time feeling too sorry for him.
She felt Draco’s conflict through their bind and after a loving embrace with Pansy he turned towards Hermione.
“Do you really think this could work?” he whispered, glancing at Blaise.
Hermione took him in. She remembered how old he had looked when they had first rendezvoused at his cabin. She had attributed it to the war but now she was beginning to suspect it was just an act he had staged to try and intimidate her because here, in this tiny room that reeked of antiseptic charms, surrounded by his closest friends— two of which he had thought to be dead and the other he thought was too evil to make a comeback— he had never looked more youthful.
His eyes struck her with how silver and bright they were for the first time. They weren’t just eyes for her to look into to check for deceit— they were
Draco’s
eyes. Deep and sincere and looking at her like his world might fall apart if she weren’t standing by his side. And she knew that feeling because she had felt it that night during the raid. The empty space where Draco was supposed to be ached. Even the thought of it caused her heart rate to increase. She had risked her life by waiting and searching for him but she couldn’t imagine any words or sense that would have convinced her to leave.
Having him here, asking for advice and looking at her with so much vulnerability made her feel important. And not in the you’re-a-vital-part-of-the-Order important, but in a way that, for the first time in ages, she wondered if she didn’t— couldn’t— have a happy ending at the conclusion of this war.
“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. And then she mustered up all her Gryffindor courage and did the bravest thing she’d had to do all war.
She let down her walls and took his hand.
“But we’ll find out together.”
|
Two pale hands wrapped themselves around the children's midsection, paying no mind to the annoyed grunt of the officer. Henry watched as Michael's shoulder's tensed and Evan's eyes began to water, the small boy's hands curling around his father's shirt. Henry tried his best to ignore the protective surge in his chest, but could you blame him? After all, the only thing he could see William's hands doing was holding that blood-stained knife, pulling it in and out of the stomach of six children, his daughter included.
After a second, the officer pulled William away, and Henry willed himself to look to the side as he heard the watery hiccups that pulled from Evan's throat. But instead of seeing the stained walls of the pizzeria, he saw the ambulances, pulling five body bags into a coroner's car. Henry held down some bile, bringing up a hand to rest on Michael and Evan's shoulders. A set of brown teary eyes looked up at him, the small brunette holding a fredbear plush to his chest. But Michael's blue eyes stayed on the ground, his shoe kicking a rock idly.
"C'mon kids, I'll bring you to my place." He said, quiet to not spook them. His hazel eyes flit up for a moment, and he saw a grinning William, watching Henry lead his children to a car. Henry refused to scowl or even glare, redirecting his eyes to the children in front of him. He would not hold a grudge with William, no matter how much he loathed the man, because any distractions could make him fail again. He'd failed Charlotte and Elizabeth and those five children, he wants to at least try his best for William's two remaining children.
The two kids allowed him to bring him to his car, climbing into the backseat without hesitation. Henry followed, sitting down in the front and starting the car. His first action was cranking the AC, trying to get rid of the stench of hot leather that lingered in the car. Sighing, he pulled out of the parking lot. Usually, he'd have to stay as he was the co-owner of Fredbear's Family Diner but seeing that the two Afton children had no living relatives as William was an only child and Clara's parents wanted nothing to do with her after she had married William, Henry, the godfather of all of William's kids, was the one to be held responsible for them. So, the police had thought it'd be best he took the kids back to his house.
Henry cleared his throat, rolling down the window a bit. "My wife, Helen, she should have dinner prepared by now. You're going to stay at my place until the police find you somewhere to stay. I hope you don't mind sharing the guest bedroom." He says, eyes flitting up to the rearview mirror. Evan was staring back, and nodded, bringing a hand to rub at his crying eyes. In turn, Michael mumbled an 'Okay' but continued to look at the window, but, beneath his fingerless gloves, Henry could see his fingers shaking as he picked at a hangnail.
As he pulled to a stop in front of his house, he was not expecting the six-year-old boy in his car to break down in tears, wailing loudly. Michael spooked a bit, looking at his brother as if he had just fallen from the sky. Calmly, Henry left the car, making his way to the young boy's side. Wordlessly, he pulled the sobbing boy to his chest, rubbing circles against his back in an attempt to calm him. The boy held onto him as if he was a lifeline, and Henry watched as a scowling Michael left the car, leaning against the driver's door.
Unfortunately, Evan had been watching his brother, only growing more upset at his departure. "I'm sorry," The brunette cried, burying his head in Henry's chest. "I didn't mean to annoy him! I just...I miss daddy! What did he do that made the police take him?" Evan's chest heaved, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as Henry was harshly reminded of the boy's never-ending anxiety and asthma. Cursing under his breath, Henry dug around in his compartment box, looking desperately for the inhaler that had once been his own daughters. As far as he was aware, Charlotte and Evan had the same medicine. Shit, he'd have to stop by William's house to grab their stuff.
He all but shoved the inhaler against Evan's lips, the boy taking it in shaking hands as he pressed down on the pump with his free hand. He rubbed his hand against the boy's back, unaware of Michael's concerned eyes that rested on his brother. "Come on, let's get inside before it gets dark." He said soothingly, holding the boy's trembling hands as he guided him into the house. Michael followed a couple of steps behind, only looking up to take off his shoes inside. Evan did too, following Henry to the kitchen where the soft chatter of the news played from the radio.
Helen looked up, her eyes softening at the sight of the two boys. She put down her knife from where she was chopping carrots for dinner. She scrambled over, wrapping her arms around her husband in a tight hug. "I hear what happened at the pizzeria, oh gosh, I'm so sorry." She said, the last part directed at the two children. She kneeled in front of Evan, her hand gripping onto Michael's wrist. William's wife had at least raised her kids right, as Michael and Evan both nodded politely at her. "You two can stay as long as you need, Henry and I wouldn't mind at all. To be honest, I wouldn't mind you living here either, I think it'd give me a lot more peace at night."
Evan gave her a wobbly smile and took his hand from Henry's to give her a half hug. Helen hugged back gleefully, letting the six-year-old tug at the graying strands of black hair that rested on her nape before pulling back. Her warm eyes turned to Michael. "Don't worry Mike." She eased, the nickname falling off her tongue easily. They both ignored the quiet gasp it drew from the pre-teen, but Henry could already see the guilt welling up in Helen's eyes. They were both aware that 'Mike' had been a nickname that Clara (And occasionally William) had both associated with their oldest, and Helen frowned at the fact she had brought up old memories. "Everything will be sorted out, I promise." She finished, taking back her hand.
"Now, I'll go finish dinner." She turned to Henry, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Why don't you go show the boys to their room? I'm sure Henry already said so, but it only has one bed. As soon as we can arrange it we'll get a bunk bed or two twin beds for you two." Helen stood, walking back to the kitchen where the smell of ginger soup and roasted vegetables sat on the stove. Henry brought up a hand, motioning for the two brunettes to follow him. Down the hallway, just across from Henry and Helen's room and next to Charlotte's old room, was a medium-sized guest bedroom. It was rather plain, a set of grey and black sheets were thrown on the king-sized bed, an empty dresser and closet along with a desk with a cheap computer and an organizer. Attached to it was a half-bath, complete with a toilet, sink, and medicine cabinet.
"It's not much but it'll do. But if you ever need something else don't be afraid to ask, Helen and I would be delighted to accommodate your needs." Henry says, turning on the light. Evan cocks his head, hesitantly climbing onto the bed. "Tomorrow we can go get you clothes and other things you might need, but for now I can buy some pajamas from the local Walmart or something." Michael sighs, plopping down in the desk chair. Henry watched the two siblings, Evan fiddling with the small hands of his fredbear plush and Michael picking at the rips in his jeans, both refusing eye contact.
Sighing, he left the room, leaving the door open a crack as he headed back into the kitchen. He all but collapsed into the island stool, his wife raising a brow at his exhaustion. "Last I checked Evan and Michael weren't very talkative, what's gotten you in such a foul mood?" Henry gave her an unimpressed look and she winced, bringing a manicured finger to her lips. "Sorry, bad choice of words." She sighed, stirring the soup. She glanced over her shoulder, pursing her lips. Helen had always looked young, but since Charlotte's murder, she looked like she had aged twenty years for someone only age forty-five.
Helen rubbed at her face, her brows pinching. "It's surprising. William had always seemed so harmless, and to think he killed those kids and..." Her voice halted as she kept her eyes from tearing up. "Charlie." She shook her head, turning back to the soup. "Never mind, it's in the past and there's nothing we can do about it now. Let's just...keep our eyes on Michael and Evan." Henry nodded, rubbing his temple. After a moment, his eyes turned back to the door, only mere feet between them and the two children.
Not counting Evan's tantrum earlier, they had both been acting relatively normal, if not a bit quieter. As Helen said, they weren't the kids to be bursting with joy (That was their sister's job) but they weren't the mute type either. How well they were taking this was a bit shocking, it was as if they had already been aware of William's killings, or at least how much of a monster he was.
But, that couldn't be right, could it? |
Cissa—Everything is prepared. I cast a few auguries, coming up with a far sooner date than I'd expected. I see little point in waiting for another alignment in the spring, so I'll be performing the ritual as soon as possible.There's a café in Charing, at the corner of Diagon and Penning. Meet me there, midmorning five days from now.—Canopus
Canopus—I'll be there. How will I recognise you?—NBM
Cissa—Good point, hadn't thought of that. Getting ahead of myself a little, it seems. I'll conjure myself up a purple scarf. I should be plenty conspicuous.—Canopus
Hazel—I hope you'll forgive the informality, given we've never actually spoken before. My son speaks of you enough I almost feel I know you personally.I have news of great import, and it cannot wait, urgent enough I decided to contact you directly. While your unexpected circumstances may not be considered newsworthy on the Continent, it is not so here in Britain. Only the discretion of the staff at Beauxbatons has prevented the news spreading. Now, finally, someone talked. I don't know who, but I am all but certain the damn Prophet has it. I haven't gotten explicit confirmation, but why else would a reporter come asking me questions about you? Very odd questions at that.I expect the story to break any day now. I'll do what I can to hold the Wizengamot back from overreacting too much, so far as I can without making myself and my son targets.—Mirabella
Blaise—Thank your mum for the warning for me. I tried writing her a letter, but it felt weird using her first name, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to address a letter to bloody lilin royalty.—Hazel
Hazel—Warning for what? I did send it, but it felt weird not having any idea what I'm talking about.Also? You're adorable. And apparently I don't count as "bloody lilin royalty" which, fine, you're still adorable.—Blaise
Creature Blood in House PotterGirl-Who-Lived Attending Beauxbatons as Lilin
Hazel read only the headline. She crumpled up her internationally-delivered copy of The Daily Prophet, then set it aflame without bothering to reach for her wand. (The rest of their sept that'd shown up for dinner barely blinked this time, used to her by now.) She didn't need to read the article — she knew from the very first word exactly where it was going.
Albus tore through the article like a man possessed, feeling with every word his stomach sink ever lower, his blood turn ever colder.
I feel I should inform you Albus is being a massive cunt.—S
More than usual, you mean?—L
A bit. I might have cursed him about twenty minutes ago.—S
Oh my god, Severus.—L
He'll live. It's fine.—S
What the fuck did he do? I mean, you'd gone this long without cursing him...—L
I've stopped myself by a hair more times than I can count. But no, he didn't do anything.—S
Aw, Sev. I didn't know you cared.—L
Whatever it is you're thinking, I'm sure I'm going to hate it.—S
He said something awful about Hazel, didn't he? That's so sweet.—L
Hardly. It wasn't even truly about Hazel. He remembers the pregnancy, you see. He was speculating aloud you might have been involved in some nefarious lilin plot to infiltrate the Wizengamot.—S
He said something awful about me in the process, I take it. Still sweet, but less unexpected, I guess.—L
The old berk tries to use your memory to guilt me into line at every opportunity, but then has the gall to insult you to my face. It's almost breathtaking, sometimes.—S
Really, Dumbledore, so silly. Hasn't he learned by now I've owned your soul since we were six?—L
I know I shouldn't leave that sort of comment unanswered, but I know you'll persist in your self-aggrandising lunacy no matter what I say.—S
Love you too, Sev.—L
Speaking of love, have you fucked Vector yet?—L
I know I shouldn't leave that sort of comment unanswered...—S
Hazel—I need you to confirm for me whether the recent news is true or not before I can plan a response.—Holly
Hazel—Oh. Warning for that. Got it.Expect letters from the girls. They're being silly.—Blaise
Holly—It's true. I mean, yes, the part about me being a lilin is true. I'm sure there was all kinds of wild speculation in there presented as fact, can't say what since I didn't read it.I didn't know myself until partway through my first year at Hogwarts, and I honestly have no idea how it happened. I mean, there's no such thing as a half-lilin, and I definitely am one, so my parents would have had to have been lilin. But my father was pureblood, his parents purebloods back centuries, and my mother was muggleborn. I have no more idea what's going on than anyone else.I don't know if that helps, but it's all I got.—Hazel
Hermione—I'm really not the person to ask. I didn't even find out I'm a lilin until about a year ago now, and I haven't learned all that much about them since. You have Blaise right there, ask him all those questions, he might actually have answers.But I can say my motivations in starting to talk to you in the first place did not include some secret desire to have my wicked way with you and suck out your soul, or whatever the hell it is those books say, I wouldn't know. Blaise, well, I can't speak to the first part, besides perhaps pointing out there's this whole puberty thing that hasn't happened yet, but I'm pretty sure he prefers you, you know, alive?Just because something's in a book doesn't make it true. I mean, how long have you known me and Blaise now? You might want to try weighing your personal experience against the xenophobic nonsense some old shite centuries ago vomited all over a page. Just a thought.Kind of funny, when you think about it. Just a few weeks ago, you were the one accusing me of racism — because, ironically, my proxy didn't vote for a racist law with an Orwellian name. Now here you are, quoting some twat saying I must be an evil soulless monster just because of who my parents were. That's some impressive hypocrisy right there, Hermione.You haven't offended me, I'm harder to offend than that. I'm just saying, might want to watch this jumping-to-conclusions problem you have, if only just for talking to people way easier to offend than me.—Hazel
Tracey (go ahead and show this to Daphne too)—Yes, my being a lilin (it's true) is why Blaise was all creepy at me for a bit there last year, and why he forced his friendship at me.Yes, it was Blaise who told me in the first place. How the hell did you guess that?This one's for Daphne: I'm pretty sure my succession is still valid. My father did go out of his way to make sure I was legally his heir. As far as I'm aware, there's no rule against a lilin inheriting a Noble House. They can't start one, that's why Lady Zabini technically isn't a lady, but I'm pretty sure they can inherit one that already exists. I wouldn't be surprised if someone in the Wizengamot tries to change that soon, though.Oh, by "my father" I meant James, in case that wasn't obvious. I keep forgetting I might have to clarify that for people now. I mean, he was in every way that means anything, even if I don't really remember him at all, it's completely absurd to me that people are going to say I'm not his anymore because now it turns out I didn't grow out of his sperm. Which was always a thing before, people just didn't know it's a thing, but for some reason that matters, and I really don't understand why. It's so dumb.Anyway, also yes, it is part of why I decided to transfer to Beauxbatons. Not all of it, but part of it. You might have noticed I didn't have a very good first year. When people found out, which was inevitable, though it would have taken longer if I'd stayed, it would only get even worse. Beauxbatons is perfectly cool with lilin, they even have their own dorm, nobody barely gives it a second thought. And not just the school, everyone around here, really. Camila's parents didn't hesitate at all about me sleeping over, a "dark creature" unsupervised in their daughter's room. Though, they are muggleborns, so maybe they shouldn't count. Still.I mean, just imagine how your grandfather would react if we were still sharing a room. Yeah, there's just much less to worry about over here.Why would I not want to be friends anymore? Nothing's changed on my end. I understand your family (both of your families, actually) might be awful about it, but that really affects you more than me. Sort of bitchy of me to put it that way, but it is what it is. I'm good if you're good.I'll have to ask Andi and Ted about Christmas. Ted is muggleborn, so.—Hazel
When Narcissa walked into the little café, it was as the very picture of aristocratic grace and self-possession. She made sure of it. It was a work of some effort to keep her face impassive and her posture impressive, her gait smooth and steady. Normally, she needn't any thought at all, habit branded into her over a childhood of unending habituation, but she was rather more...unsettled than usual.
The gaping stares fixed on her at least managed to distract her from her own nervousness somewhat. It seemed nobody, not staff and not patron, had expected to ever see anyone like her here. Not entirely unreasonable, of course — this place was...well, it fell rather short of her usual standards, she'd leave it at that. But she'd long gotten used to people staring at her, she found herself more amused than anything. Until she snapped back to what she was doing here, and the idle warmth abruptly freezed back into anxiety.
Standing just a few steps in from the doorway, ignoring the looks she was getting, the frantic near-flailing of one of the waitstaff making for her, she scanned the few occupants of the rundown café. It wasn't a very large place, the rickety, randomly-placed tables probably not even numbering a dozen, so the woman hadn't even reached Narcissa yet when she spotted h—
She blinked, her lips parting just slightly before she caught herself. That... No, that couldn't be... She meant, she was supposed to be— Canopus was a boy. A young man, really, but definitely male. But, that...
Sitting at one of the tiny, two-person tables, squirreled near a back corner, was an unnervingly...familiar-looking girl. Looked to be, perhaps, fifteen years old, though her guess could be a little off — with her features half-hidden behind a curtain of curly black hair, it was hard to tell. She was wearing casual winter robes of an almost appallingly simple cut, a pale blue lined with gold, though they didn't seem to sit quite right on her. Almost as though tailored, but tailored badly. (Or, perhaps, conjured by someone who didn't know what they were doing well enough to get the measurements exactly right.) There was something vaguely familiar about her, unsettlingly familiar, something in the sharp curve of her cheek, the form of her lips, enough Narcissa might have noted her anyway.
Even without the scarf wound about her neck, draping over her chest, a deep, royal purple lined here and there with gleaming silver.
Shaking herself — internally, of course, not a hair twitched — Narcissa forced her feet to move again. If a step hitched here or there, if her eyes were narrowed in the slightest of frowns, well, she couldn't really help that at the moment. She was perhaps two steps away from the empty chair when the girl glanced up from the book Narcissa could now see spread open on the table, head tilting enough her hair fell back, and—
Narcissa's heart jumped into her throat, a hard single kick, freezing in place as the skin of her arms and neck tingled.
Bella.
Except, of course, it wasn't Bella. It was the eyes that drew Narcissa out of it first, the corners slightly too rounded, the colour a deep, vibrant blue, so similar yet so different. As her heart sank back to its proper place, as she started breathing again, she saw that, while the girl looked enough like Bella for her momentary upset to be perfectly understandable, she looked different enough she couldn't really be mistaken for her. The nose was all wrong, the slope of her brow. Similar, yes, but not the same.
The girl nodded at her, glanced to the empty chair. Her voice flat, cool, she said, 'Have a seat, Cissa.'
Oh, thank Myrddin, she didn't sound like Bella at all. Not even really like...well, her father, she supposed, yes. Good, that was good. Narcissa felt at this rate it wouldn't take much before she had a heart attack. Drawing a long breath through her nose, she took the last few steps, and smoothly settled herself in the waiting chair. Perhaps somewhat less smoothly than she would like — really, she was pleased she'd managed to not collapse so far. She hesitated for a moment, tongue feeling all too dry and clumsy, before saying, 'Forgive me, I'm a little taken aback at the moment. You're not quite what I expected.'
'Believe me, I understand completely.' In a few quick, easy motions, the girl first poured a glass of ice water from a pitcher, filled a cup with coffee from a steaming pot. The faint glow covered by glass and porcelain, the girl drew runes into the surface of the table, one, another, another. Just before they collapsed, the paling springing into existence with a subtle lurch, Narcissa caught enough to make out it was a rather thorough privacy charm. Sliding the glass and cup toward Narcissa, the girl muttered, 'I can't imagine it'll take more getting used to for you than it will for me.'
'It was unintentional, then.' Narcissa couldn't help a faint pinch of disgust at the thought of actually drinking the coffee, but drew it toward herself anyway. It wouldn't do to be rude, after all. Especially considering who exactly had poured the thing. She didn't expect any response to be as...profound as she might ordinarily have feared, now well into the process of assuming the identity of her neph– niece — even ignoring that, their previous conversations had muted the worst of her concerns in any case — but there was no sense playing with fire. Honey would make it tolerable. Hopefully.
The girl let out a huff, and... Was she pouting? Well, it was obvious that was what she was doing, just, the juxtaposition of who this was and the fact she was wearing that particular expression was so surreal Narcissa could hardly process it. 'Yes, it was unintentional. Apparently, when using a pair of samples from sources of opposite sexes as a seed, one must tailor the ritual to favour one sex over the other. In the absence of such measures, it seems the odds are fifty-fifty. The only word that seems appropriate is, oops.'
Narcissa almost snorted. She didn't, of course, but it was a near thing. Struggling for words for a moment, then struggling to hold back a wince at a sip of the strong, bitter coffee, she finally said, 'I don't suppose it can be corrected.'
'It could. I'm sure you're aware blood alchemy rituals exist to change a person's sex. However, even if we could find someone of appropriate skill and discretion to do it for me — such a ritual would be far too complex for me to perform on myself — it would be a long, involved, uncomfortable process.' The girl raised her shoulders, dropped them in a soft, apathetic shrug. 'I've decided to just accept it and move on.'
'If that's your decision.' It didn't make any difference to Narcissa, she'd just been surprised. If she were perfectly honest, it was probably better — the matriarchal houses could fall behind them pretty easily if they played it right, and it was more in line with House Black tradition anyway. They hadn't been matriarchal for some centuries, but they had been originally, was the point. Also, this way it was far less likely they'd have to worry about the Lestranges poking their noses in, she'd been wondering about that.
Come to think of it, she thought she might still have some of Bella's things packed away somewhere. It was hard to tell for sure, seated with a table in the way, but she couldn't be that far off...
'Though, you'll need a different name, I suppose.'
She winced. 'I was thinking of going with Carina. But it's not just the name, all of the documentation and letters and the like we'd started on will have to be redone as well. And it will take some...adjustment, before I'm properly presentable.'
Narcissa ticked up a questioning eyebrow. It was obvious Carina certainly couldn't conjure her own clothes, but most people didn't do that for most any purpose anyway. She was slouching a bit, true, but from memories she'd seen that was out of character anyway, she'd assumed that was a conscious indulgence, a transient mood. It didn't necessarily mean—
And Carina gave her a look, sharp enough Narcissa nearly jumped. 'Remember, I was not raised in the Noble Houses. I did manage to learn to emulate good breeding, but I learned only from observation, a few pointers here and there from Andy.' Lord Candidus Malfoy, she decided after a second, Lucius's grandfather. She knew they'd been...well, perhaps "close" wasn't the right word, but something not entirely unlike that. 'And even by the end, I know I still made a fool of myself now and again, but I could mostly properly comport myself. As a man. I have absolutely no idea how to do it as a woman.'
...Oh. Well. That was a very good point, actually. 'True. You should be able to avoid any formal appearance until the summer, at least, and that should be more than enough time. The documentation we should get settled before the year is out. There are a couple things we can sort today, though.'
Carina raised an eyebrow, sipped at her coffee. She didn't even twitch, Narcissa couldn't imagine how she could drink this trash, it was awful. 'Oh?'
Despite her better judgement, Narcissa felt her lips pull into a smirk.
'You realise I'm going to murder you, of course.'
Narcissa just smiled. The words themselves, how smooth and matter-of-fact their delivery, were threatening enough, but she knew Carina didn't mean them — her plans still relied on Narcissa's cooperation, if for no other reason. And from what she could tell, Carina was far less volatile, far less dangerous to just be near than was...well, her father. She wouldn't want to make her too angry, of course, but this should still be far under the threshold where she started risking her life. It wasn't a real threat.
Really, the almost petulant scowl spearing the shop girl's back, Narcissa was reminded far more of Bella. Which, well, being reminded of Carina's "mother" too much was uncomfortable itself, but she'd take it above her "father" any day.
But she stripped the amusement from her voice anyway — no sense rubbing it in. 'If you mean to be taken seriously as a Lady of the Wizengamot, Carina, you will need to learn to dress like one. Besides, is that conjured robe all you have? Not enough to be getting on with even if you never leave the manor, is it?'
Carina turned her scowl up at Narcissa. She didn't speak for long moments, long enough Narcissa spotted the seamstress already rushing through the shop toward them. 'You're very lucky I actually like you.'
Narcissa barely managed to hold back her surprise. That wasn't news, exactly, Carina had written so much to her before, but it was still, just, surreal, to hear her say it. She couldn't even imagine those words coming out of the Dark Lord's mouth.
... Maybe she should be more diligent in not thinking of Carina as...as her father. It would certainly be less confusing that way.
'After Andy during fourth year, this makes you the second person I've ever let...dress me.' The last words were said with an impressive degree of humiliation, Narcissa almost blushed just hearing it. 'Of course, Andy was also undressing me, but we're not to have that sort of relationship, now, are we?'
Narcissa had absolutely no idea how to respond to that statement. She was so floored, the revelation of what exactly that had been, she completely failed to stop the shock from showing on her face. Carina had long enough to smirk victoriously up at her before the tailor was upon them.
She wasn't going to have any trouble passing for Bella's child. Not at all.
Rhiannon, as Narcissa knew the young apprentice seamstress was called, lead the pair of them toward the back of the shop, hands waving and prattling on excitedly. She did have an excess of energy, this Rhiannon. Once they were past a divider, hidden from outside view, she had Carina take off her shoes, while asking them exactly what they were looking for today — Narcissa could see gold glimmer in her eyes when she said Carina was in need of an entire wardrobe. Then she had Carina step up, gamely ignoring the glower the girl was giving her own reflection, and asked her to please remove her robe.
For a short moment, Carina hesitated, staring at Rhiannon, glancing at Narcissa behind her through the mirror. Then she shrugged. One hand rising to about her navel, she gave a brief, casual wave. A wandless charm of some kind, obviously, canceling the conjuration.
And, quite suddenly, Carina was standing there completely nude.
Narcissa let her face fall into her hand, shaking her head to herself. 'Mother Mercy, Carina. You couldn't pick up anything along the way?'
Apparently ignoring Rhiannon as she fluttered about, Carina let out a thin sigh. 'Because I would know what I'm doing so well, of course.'
The thought was a bit absurd, really, that Carina wouldn't have bothered acquiring any real clothes at all. But, well, when Narcissa thought about it, it hadn't been that long, had it? What, only a day or so? She hadn't had a lot of time to go shopping. (Not to mention, that was a good point, Carina probably wouldn't know what she was doing.) And, more to the point, the need to actually have clothes might not have occurred to her until the last moment. Carina hadn't had need of any for almost fifty years now. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility certain basic human things might just slip her mind sometimes.
Understandable, yes, when she thought about it, but still weird.
Before long, Rhiannon had tracked down a simple shift — it was hardly considered appropriate for a seamstress to be poking around at someone wearing nothing at all, after all. Still looking slightly unsettled, Rhiannon all the same went along with her usual babbling. 'Carina it was, right? The Lady says you're her niece, but I didn't think there were any other Malfoys.'
A thought suddenly occurred to Narcissa: they were probably going to have to obliviate Rhiannon. Carina needing clothes this badly didn't fit their story at all. Narcissa usually just bribed seamstresses when they became privy to something they shouldn't know, a few sickles more than enough to buy their silence, but that likely wouldn't do it in this case. Damn. Oh well.
Anyway, Carina didn't seem likely to answer, blankly glaring at the top of Rhiannon's head as she slung the tape around her, marking her waist, her hips. So Narcissa answered for her. 'She's a Black, not a Malfoy.'
Rhiannon hitched in her measuring for a second, just a second before moving on. 'I didn't think there were any Blacks left either. I mean, pardon me, my lady, but...'
'Bellatrix.' Carina's voice came sudden, sharp, enough Rhiannon jumped, the tape falling from where she had been holding it against Carina's hip. Or maybe it was the name itself, people could be silly about Bella. 'My name. Bellatrix Carina Alexis Black.' An eyebrow ticking up slightly, as she stared down at the startled seamstress, voice low and drawling, 'Does that answer your question?'
But Rhiannon didn't reply, her mouth working in silence. Probably realising the only person who would name a child Carina's age Bellatrix was...well, Bellatrix herself. Also, if her father had been Bellatrix's husband, she would be a Lestrange. Narcissa knew well enough what conclusion most anyone would jump to. More than that, she even followed what Carina was doing — she was using the poor hapless seamstress as a test case.
Though, Narcissa didn't entirely understand why everyone jumped to the conclusion that Bella and the Dark Lord had been involved. She didn't even think it was true. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate — she suspected there might have been...encounters, in the past. It had been all too obvious Bella was rather enamored of the Dark Lord, ever since she'd been a teenager, and it was even more obvious she was, how to put it, less than impressed with Rodolphus. (Not that Narcissa could blame her for the latter, she didn't like him much either.) As far as she could tell, judging mostly by what she could read of Bella, any...physical relationship they might or might not have had had been over and done with by the time Narcissa was leaving for Hogwarts. Carina appeared far too young.
But, however sure Narcissa might be they had never been involved, or at least hadn't been involved any longer, speculation about them had continued to spread. It was assumed as fact among all the Blacks and Lestranges. It seemed a majority of everyone in the damn country, Death Eater or not, was convinced, hardly thought to question it. Which she found rather absurd, but that was neither here nor there.
No, that wasn't why Narcissa was holding her breath. She wasn't concerned Rhiannon wouldn't buy the story. She was concerned she would. She wouldn't need it spelled out for her. Rhiannon was a smart girl. The exact particulars of family law varied house to house but, in patriarchal houses, it wasn't unusual for the child of a woman married into the house and a man not her husband, not a member of the house, if the child weren't somehow legitimised, it wasn't unusual for her to be considered not of the family. Normally, such a child would then have no house at all, but the Blacks, rather famously, were once one of the more powerful of the matriarchal families — as was also not unusual in matriarchal families, any child of any woman born a Black was a Black, even if her mother had married out.
That Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter was Carina Black strongly implied the father was not Rodolphus Lestrange. Given this was Bella, there was someone the majority of Britons would automatically assume was the father instead. The problem was...
Well, if Narcissa had to pick the two people most widely despised in recent British history, they would be Bella and the Dark Lord. And her countrymen did have a nasty habit of holding children responsible for the sins of their parents.
She'd been concerned, was still concerned. She wasn't sure posing as the child of Bella and the Dark Lord was the best idea. Narcissa had suggested some other Black, anyone — there were plenty enough eccentric characters in her recent family tree, it wouldn't be difficult to concoct a story people would believe. With the only Black still living locked away in Azkaban, it didn't matter where in the family they put her. But Carina insisted. For some unfathomable reason, she had insisted on framing herself as the child of the Dark Lord. She hadn't thought of Bella at all, actually, it had been Narcissa's idea for her to claim House Black. But Carina (though it hadn't been "Carina" then, of course) had argued they couldn't choose any other woman as the mother — if a Black did have a child with the Dark Lord, it would be Bellatrix, it being anybody else would draw suspicion. Narcissa had argued to change the father then, but Carina was persistent, had refused to change the plan once she'd drawn together one she liked.
So Narcissa watched Rhiannon, kneeling where she'd been taking measurements until the revelation had startled her out of her work, staring up at Carina's impassive face. Her own gone somewhat pale, mouth working silently. For long moments she watched, holding her breath, heart pounding hard in her throat, knowing, just knowing, that they had made a fatal mistake already. If people reacted too badly, if they wouldn't even give Carina a chance—
Rhiannon let out a sudden breath, shaking her head to herself. 'Myrddin, I never would have thought... I mean, I had no idea you existed, is all. You'd think people would talk about that...'
The faint trace of a smile pulling at her lips, when Carina spoke again her voice was somewhat warmer. Not warm, exactly, but less cold anyway, the sharpness from a moment ago vanished. 'Cissa thought it wise to keep me to herself until things calmed down a bit.'
At that, Rhiannon burst out a gasping laugh, her cheeks puffing out with the breath. 'Well, I should say so!' Then she started, scrambled to pick up the tape she'd dropped, her cheeks pinking a bit as she got back to work. She hesitated almost immediately, glancing sheepishly back up at Carina. 'You don't... I mean, sorry to ask, but, do you, you know...remember at all? Him, I mean.'
Carina's face was so absolutely still Narcissa just knew she was restraining an amused smile. 'No, I don't. I'm not certain I ever even met him. I don't really remember my mother either, for that matter. I get the feeling she had little interest in my existence.'
Despite herself, Narcissa had to fight the urge to laugh. It's just, if Bella ever did have a daughter, Narcissa wouldn't be at all surprised if, well, she had little interest in her existence. She wasn't exactly the mothering type, her sister.
'Oh, well...' Slowly at first, Rhiannon got back to work, finally finished the last few measurements, stood to go take them down. 'It's probably better that way, when you think about it, isn't it?'
While Rhiannon was off ruffling through a pile of cloth, Carina turned to look at Narcissa through the mirror, a satisfied smirk on her face. 'Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself just yet. I'd at least wait to see how the Prophet spins it before congratulating myself.'
The smirk drained away, replaced with an expression more thoughtful. 'How long do you suppose we'll have? I can't imagine we can keep my existence secret for long.'
Narcissa shook her head. Theoretically, it was easily possible to hide someone indefinitely — in fact, their story depended on it. The more contact someone had with the outside world, however, the more impractical it became. And Carina wasn't exactly planning to sit around the manor knitting. 'Longer than I would have expected before, but I can't guess how long. They're rather obsessed with the Potter girl these days.'
'Ah, yes, Hazel Potter.' Somewhat to Narcissa's surprise, Carina's voice and face suggested only mild curiosity. Which, really, she shouldn't be surprised anymore — she'd already known Carina found the whole debacle with the Girl-Who-Lived and the true Dark Lord to be interesting, but ultimately inconsequential. She simply hadn't expected it, it still caught her off-guard. 'How did that happen, anyway? I know her father couldn't have been. You and Evans were in the same year at Hogwarts, yes?'
'I was a year under her, actually, though we did run into each other from time to time.' And if that wasn't a way to put it. 'But I have no idea. For all that I would otherwise be unsurprised to learn someone like Evans was lilin, I know for a fact she was not.' Anyone whose time at Hogwarts had overlapped with hers should know that, especially if they had also met Bella. She meant, the other Bella. Her sister and her confusingly-named lilin friend — though that word felt a little too thin to define their relationship — were rather older than Narcissa, but not thatmuch older than her, not so much she couldn't remember what an actual teenage lilin felt like. Evans had had an aggravating personality and an absurd degree of magical talent she could easily expect to see in a lilin, but the feel of her was entirely wrong. Magic shifted around lilin in a way that was recogniseable, and around Evans it simply hadn't.
That was what she would say should anyone challenge her on the claim, anyway. She certainly wouldn't admit the real reason she was so certain — after all, the company she mostly kept wouldn't react at all well to learning she had, to put it mildly, intimate knowledge of both mudbloods and lilin. Or, to being reminded, in any case. She wasn't the only woman in her social circle to have entertained a spate of rebellion in her youth. They generally did each other the courtesy of pretending such indiscretions hadn't occurred.
For that matter, they generally did each other the courtesy of pretending such indiscretions were confined to that oh-so-rebellious youth. Some things simply weren't spoken of, and certainly not in the present tense.
Carina just nodded. 'All the more interesting for it, I suppose. The girl will be worth watching.'
'They're going to try to strip House Potter from her.' Narcissa couldn't be more specific than that, couldn't predict which way the attack would come from, who would be leading it. But she knew it would happen. A lilin suddenly ascending to the head of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? No, something would be done about it, it was inevitable. That she was the Girl-Who-Lived only made it almost personal, the sense of outrage, of betrayal just that much more intense.
'True.' Carina broke off momentarily, watching Rhiannon return with an armful of robes. With a faint look of distaste, Carina threw the first over her head, stood still to let Rhiannon pick around with it, all the while clearly attempting to hold in a glare. But Rhiannon stayed meek and silent, surely used to customers talking around her by now. 'Are they likely to succeed?'
It would probably be a bad idea to let her amusement with Carina's discomfort show. So, forcing her face as blank as possible, Narcissa shook her head. 'I can't say. They might, they might not. Her greatest vulnerability is a rather small target.' Carina blinked at that — of course, she wouldn't be up to date on this sort of thing. 'The avenue with the greatest chance of success would be for a cousin to make a claim on the lordship. However, given how severely the House has shrunk over the last two centuries, finding someone both closely related enough and whose eligibility for the title is unimpeachable under Potter family law would be complicated. Not impossible, but complicated. I can think of only three potential candidates, off the top of my head, but one is approaching a marriage that will render her ineligible, and the other two are unlikely to go along with such an effort, considering their personal politics.'
'Hmm. It'd be unfortunate if they do succeed. From what Draco has told me—' Narcissa held in her momentary confusion. Draco and Carina had never spoken, Narcissa must have mentioned it at some point. '—the Lady Potter sounds entertaining, if nothing else. She would certainly make our shared time in the Wizengamot more lively.'
Narcissa smiled. 'I suppose I can't argue with that. Are you suggesting we support her defence, when the time comes?'
'I don't see why not. If we can do it without overly risking our momentum elsewhere, of course. The Lady Potter would not be a bad ally to have, any of her supporters who might lean our way politically even better.'
She wasn't entirely wrong. Or even mostly wrong. Carina was planning a bit of a political shift from, that is, her father's time, but she hadn't swung so far the Light would want anything to with her. But, the Girl-Who-Lived wasn't exactly Light, was she? Everyone had assumed she would be, if only due to Dumbledore's patronage, but her proxy had almost immediately joined the more moderate Bones–Longbottom alliance, her voting record leaning somewhat Dark even among them. That Potter herself would lean Dark actually wasn't unthinkable, when she thought about it — even having died when her daughter had been so very young, Evans must have had more influence on her than anyone had expected.
Really, this new scandal was only going to push Potter further toward the Dark. While the pureblood nationalist Dark would predictably be less than welcoming, the traditionalist Dark likely wouldn't give a damn whether Potter was human or lilin or any other being under the sun, it made little difference to them. The traditionalists were far less influential than once they'd been, but they did still exist. Of the current factions in the Wizengamot, they would be the most supportive — after the nationalists, those most fervently opposed to a lilin heading a Noble House would be the Light themselves!
She'd already realised this, shortly after the news had broke. The Light was going to, inevitably, vilify and persecute their own little hero, in the process shoving her into the arms of their enemies. It was going to be magnificent.
So, there was nothing to say but, 'I'll look into it.' |
When Ian miraculously got the job as a sales rep at the little paper company he just stared at his new employment packet in disbelief.
"Dental Mickey, we have a dental plan now." he looked at his husband in amazement and waved the packet around in the air.
Mickey just laughed at kissed the top of Ian’s head on the way into the kitchen.
"Proud of you man." Mickey mumbled later that night into the sweaty curve of Ian’s elbow when they finally settled down to sleep.
Ian’s plan of action from that moment on had been to blend in as best as possible. He wasn’t ashamed of his Southside roots, or the tattoos on his chest and ribs, but he really did not want to give them any reason to fire him.
Emily had just turned four and Yev was ten and starting to get into that age where everything he wanted for his birthday and Christmas was fucking expensive as hell.
They needed this job, and they definitely needed the health insurance considering Yev had started coming home with bruised arms and cut lips and Em had this weird cough every winter.
The first morning Ian came down the stairs in a pair of pressed black slacks and a white button down shirt Mickey wolf whistled from his perch at the bar.
"Damn firecrotch, you clean up good." he grinned predatory wide as Ian circled around the kitchen table to give him a kiss.
"Don’t start, I have to leave in 20 minutes."
"Plenty of time." Mickey smirked when he reached to pull Ian in between the v of his legs.
Ian laughed and kissed him again, “For you maybe.”
Mickey scrunched up his nose in a way that was totally adorable and not at all intimidating no matter what Mickey said.
"You ain’t funny so stop trying to be."
Ian just laughed and kissed him once more before pulling away at the sound of Emily and Yev coming down the hall from their bedroom.
"Who died?" Yev asked seriously as he looked Ian over.
"No one, new job starts today."
"Papa looks good!" Emily squealed when Ian took her from Yev and swung her up into his arms.
"I look good huh?" he asked as he tickled her sides.
After a few minutes he passed their still giggling daughter over to Mickey.
Sometimes it still shocked him how much they looked alike. Sure she had Ian’s red hair and freckles, but she had Mickey’s blue eyes and nose and even at four she still bit her lip just like Mickey. Mandy had volunteered to be the surrogate and it was obvious any time his husband held their daughter that she was definitely part Milkovich.
The first morning Ian took Yev and Em to school like normal. He kissed Emily on the forehead and tried to give Yev a hug but his son ducked out quickly.
"Papa I’m too old for that shit."
Ian just rolled his eyes and patted his son on the head, “Yeah yeah, course you are. Be good, dad’s picking you up today. I get off work at five.”
He waited until Yev got into the building with Em before driving away.
They settled into a routine after that and before Ian realized it he had been with the company for a year and some change.
On this particular Monday morning his cubicle mate Matthew leaned over the partition and dropped a huge folder on his desk.
"New project, boss says if we buckle down it won’t take us the entire night." Matthew sneered in disgust.
Ian grimaced, their boss was always pulling this shit. Dropping huge projects on them with 24 hour deadlines.
"Look, I really don’t want to stay here all night and I know for a fact you’ve been living off ramen for a month." Matthew laughed, patting his slowly rounding stomach with resignation.
"I can’t promise much better but you want to come work on this at my house? We just moved a few months ago so it’s still a bit of a mess and the kids can be loud as hell but I’ll call Mick to grab some food on the way home. Beats sitting here anyway." Ian was already typing out a quick text to Mickey before he looked up at his friend.
When he finally did Matthew was clutching a set of imaginary pearls and looked like he was about to dramatically faint.
Ian’s eyes widened in confusion, “What?”
"I’ve just been invited to the inner sanctum."
"Oh fuck off!" Ian laughed as he started gathering his stuff.
"No seriously, do you know what people say about you? They say you are probably the perfect husband with the perfect wife and perfect kids and perfect home where everything is perfect perfect perfect!"
"I’m gay." Ian responded, nonplussed by the wife comment.
"Yes I know. But the old bitty receptionists think I’m just spreading nasty gossip when I try to correct them. Can I take photos? I bet you do have a perfect home with a perfect husband and kids." Matthew sighed faux wistfully before breaking down into a fit of laughter.
"You are in for a really rude surprise." Ian smirked as he waited for Matt to finish getting his stuff and follow him out to the building.
Matt followed him home and parked behind Mandy’s little beat up bug.
"This the new house?" Ian nodded.
It was a little two story with a wraparound porch, only barely out of the Southside but they loved it. Em and Yev had their own rooms upstairs and Ian and Mickey were in the downstairs master to avoid any accidental noise from traveling.
Ian still blushed in embarrassment from the time an 8 year old Yev had come into the apartment kitchen and begged Mick to stop yelling Ian’s name every night when he was trying to sleep.
When they entered the house Yev and Mandy were both standing on the couch and shouting as their avatars battled on screen.
"Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" Yev collapsed on the couch in defeat while Mandy did a wobbly victory dance on the cushions.
"Ian, your son’s video game skills are weak!" she crowed as Yev flipped her off.
Ian shook his head sagely, “I don’t know where we went wrong.”
Yev just tilted his head back and stuck his tongue out at his pops.
"Hey who is this?" Mandy hopped down from the couch and stood in front of Matt.
"Work friend. Got a huge ass project dumped on us last minute so he came over to work on it. Matt, this is my sister-in-law Mandy, and that’s my son Yev."
Yev saluted from the couch before turning back to Ian, “Dad called about 10 minutes ago and said he was picking up Em and some barbeque so he’ll be home soon.”
"Thanks kiddo. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything." Ian ruffled Yev’s hair as he walked by.
Matt took a seat and sighed, “Already this is better than expected. I can’t wait to tell everyone how normal your home life is.”
Ian barked out a laugh, “Is this normal? Who knew?”
They were engrossed in their work when Mickey and Emily busted through the door about 20 minutes later, laden down with huge bags of delicious smelling food.
"Papa!" Emily squealed, dropping the bags just barely out of Mickey’s way so she could leap into Ian’s lap.
"Thanks so much for the help Em." Mickey called sarcastically as he barely made it to the counter without dropping any of their dinner on the floor.
"Of course daddy!" Emily grinned and Mickey was helpless but to smile back.
"How was school today munchkin?" Ian smiled as his daughter started a lengthy ramble about bunnies and dinos.
Mickey ducked his head and pressed a kiss to Ian’s neck as he walked by to get the plates and introduce himself while Emily held his husband’s attention.
"Matt yeah? Mickey." Mickey shook his hand with a tight grip, exposing the bottom of an intricate tattoo sleeve.
His suspicions were confirmed when Mickey later rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves to reveal each pale arm covered in tattoos. Ian must have caught him staring because he just grinned.
"Mick owns his own tattoo parlor. Can’t help but sample the merchandise." they both laughed when Mickey shot Ian the finger over his shoulder.
"Bitch, you love ‘em. And don’t act like you don’t have tattoos." Mickey scoffed.
Matt raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Ian Gallagher, golden boy of the office has tattoos? Say it ain’t so!”
"What’s this about golden boy?" Mickey looked positively gleeful when he spun around.
"Somehow your husband has convinced everyone in the office that he is a very respectable goody two shoes. The receptionists would probably die if they knew the truth." Matt smirked as Mickey practically fell to the floor laughing.
"Yeah yeah laugh it up chuckles." Ian grumbled.
"Well come on, let’s see ‘em!" Matt gestured impatiently.
Ian rolled his eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his two tattoos. The one on his ribs with the eagle and rifle and the messy signature over his heart.
"What’s that one?" Matt pointed at the almost illegible scrawl.
Ian flushed, “Mick’s signature.”
"That is so fucking cute. You two are so fucking cute." Ian just laughed, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.
"Do you have his signature on you?"
Without a word Mickey pulled down the front of his jeans to show off Ian’s neat handwriting in the hollow of his right hip.
"So cute." Matt laughed loudly when Mickey flipped him off once again.
"If you want some of this food I’d stop throwing the word cute around unless you are doing about my cute as hell daughter."
Matt smiled and kept his mouth shut, even if cute was the best word for them. He bit his lip to keep from smiling every time Mickey walked by and without thinking would reach to touch Ian’s shoulder or neck.
Mickey kept the kids in the living room until bed time when he silently brought Ian a nondescript pill box and a glass of water. He kissed his husband once before going to bed with a grunt.
It was a long time before they were done and Matt ended up crashing on their couch since they the little clock on the microwave read almost 4am. He waited until Ian’s bedroom door clicked shut before pacing around the room.
The walls mostly had photos of Yev and Emily doing various things, but there were also photos of Ian and Mickey from their wedding and even much younger. They were always standing close together, even in the ones where Mickey was scowling you could tell they adored each other.
He went to sleep a little awed by this whole family. They kind of were the perfect family. When he woke up the next morning, his back aching, and his mouth fuzzy from morning breath, the two men were already in the kitchen.
Ian’s back was to him but Mickey was leaning against the island with a cup of coffee in his hand. Ian was talking about the office picnic next weekend and how dumb it was and Mickey just kept watching him with this stupidly fond look on his face.
"If you want me to go with you, you just have to ask firecrotch."
Ian paused before surging forward and kissing his husband, just barely managing to keep from jostling the mug between them.
"I want you to go with me."
"So we’ll go." |
There are many people that are a part of my “family” – in a nontraditional sense. However, I would like to preface this paper by asserting that I do not consider all of the people I am about to mention members of my family. But, I will describe them in this assignment according to your directive, Andrews. [1]
Mother and Grandfather are family. However, though they raised me for the first decade of my existence, for the most part, they are absent from my life.
The next member would be Pennyworth, I suppose. Pennyworth is the family butler, but most people would assume that he is more than that – and they would be right. He is a solid man, quite calm and capable. He performs all of the housework in the Manor, but he also ensures that everyone in the family keeps on schedule. He keeps us organized, and often serves as something of a peacemaker; he makes sure none of us kill each other – or ourselves, for that matter. When I initially met him, I dismissed him and underestimated his value due to his position. As much as I hate to admit it, I was wrong, and I have come to greatly respect Pennyworth.
The next members are Gordon and Brown. Their positions as “family” are tenuous at best, but I suppose they deserve mention. I do not see Gordon as often as I do Brown, and I do not have much of an opinion of her personally. However, I acknowledge that Gordon is an invaluable asset and that perhaps we would not be so successful without the work that she does. Brown, for some reason that only makes sense in her highly illogical brain, saw fit to insert herself into my life. I cannot get rid of her. I had plans to attempt it, but Grayson prevented me from acting on those plans, so she remains a menace. Now, it is too late, and she has become my teacher, of a sort. She instructs me in “popular culture.” She forces me to watch movies and television shows so that I can “start getting references.” She introduced me to social media, which, I will concede, has been helpful; social media is a useful platform for gathering information. Brown is a nuisance, but her relentless determination has served her well and I have begun to grasp facets of today’s youth culture that were previously lost and me – and she is not a complete waste of space. We have found that we enjoy watching nature documentaries and “reality” television together.
Then, of course, there is Father. Father is an excellent man. He is strong, talented, and in possession of an unyielding moral code. He took control of his life and channeled his emotions into work that makes life better for everyone in Gotham. I admire him, his commanding presence, his strength of character, and his knowledge that what he is doing is the right thing. I aspire to follow in his footsteps and one day succeed him – and to make him proud when I do.
My “siblings” come next. Cain is my only sister. Cain is quiet, thoughtful, and intelligent. She is a dignified and compassionate individual, and cares very much for everyone in our family. She has experienced much in life, but, somehow, has come out stronger for it. Better. I admire that about her. In addition, she is very capable – one of the most skilled individuals I have met in my life. And she puts her skills to good use. I enjoy working with her more than most members of my family. I believe we work well together, and she has a professionalism that I appreciate. I respect her immensely.
Todd is something of the black sheep of the family. He went rogue and engaged in a number of fights with both myself and the rest of the family. However, he has been inducted back into the fold – mostly thanks to Grayson’s efforts. He is fairly vulgar – prone to coarse language – almost as though he has nothing better to say. I do not believe I will ever understand it, considering he is a very intelligent and well-read individual. He smokes cigarettes; I believe it to be an addiction. I expect it will lead to lung cancer and his eventual death – entirely pathetic. He deserves a better death than that, but if that is how he would prefer to die, he deserves it. Todd is also someone I find myself relating to, much to my displeasure. Though I ascribe to Father’s methods, before Todd came back, I understood his reasons better than most in the family, I believe. And now, that is something we both carry on our shoulders; I have a high opinion for the fact that he does not let his past define him nor slow him down.
Drake is an idiot. It is sheer luck that he’s still alive today, despite my best efforts. And, though I no longer wish him dead, he remains one of the stupidest individuals I have met. To this day, I will never understand how he has survived; I assume his existence is one of the great mysteries of the world. He really is quite the contradiction. On one hand, he is vastly intelligent, creative, in possession of a surprising number of leadership qualities, and a matchless asset to the company. On the other, he does not seem to possess a sense of self-preservation. He does not sleep or eat according to the needs of an individual of his height, weight, and age. He has a weak immune system – as he well knows – but ignores it more often than not. He also frequently forgets to take his medication. The next time I find him passed out in his room running a fever, I intend to stab him myself and just get it over with; his suicide is taking too long.
Grayson is the eldest, and he takes his role very seriously. If there is one thing that everyone in my family can agree upon, it is that Grayson is a ridiculous individual. He is talkative, overly fond of puns, and has bad taste in fashion and too much energy – Grayson never seems to sit still. He is overly affectionate and insists upon implementing “family bonding activities”, and often conspires with Pennyworth to force us all into cooperation. However, Grayson is also loyal, compassionate, kind, and dependable. In spite of often ludicrous attitude, he is a good person – capable and intelligent as well. I have found that he is a good role model and he is responsible. He cares for each of us, and protects us – even when we would prefer him not to. I trust him more than any person in the world.
The last members of my family would be my pets; I have four. Titus is my dog. He was the first pet I received – a gift from my father. I was not fond of him at first, but I have grown to appreciate him and have trained him to attack Drake – and others – on command. Pennyworth is a cat that Pennyworth gave to me. He has recently begun to take the initiative of suffocating Drake in his sleep. It has yet to work, but I reward him with treats for his attempts regardless. I have a cow – Bat-cow, named after the Batman, whom I admire greatly. Bat-cow was going to be slaughtered, but, after rescuing her, we took her in; she is the reason I am now a vegetarian. I, unfortunately, have yet to train her to do anything useful. My final pet is Goliath. I see Goliath less often than the others, as Goliath does not live at the Manor. The fool is a coward, but still useful on occasion.
That is my family. I have heard it said that you cannot choose your family. Mine is a family primarily of choice – though not my own – yet that statement remains entirely applicable.
[1] You said, “Write about your family. Describe them. And remember, family doesn’t just have to be people related to you by blood. Family means people that are irreplaceable, people you can’t see your life without. Pets too; pets can be family!” As much as I dislike or am indifferent to majority of the people I mention, they all fit that definition. |
Dean showed up the next day with dirty, worn wrinkles creased into his clothes and into his face. He hadn’t been missed, wasn’t even on the schedule yet. So Dean waited outside and lit a cigarette while the Superintendent penned him in. He leaned against the chain link fence where Tom had pointed out all those kids the day before and took a deep drag. Quiet out, too early for the inmates to be in the yard.
Last night had been rough. Dean returned to his motel room with its peeling walls and the mattress that creaked like an old man’s bones, kept up by images of his past.
They had been happy once: his dad, his mother and him. They had a good old slice of that American dream. Been a family, middleclass and happy. It was like something from a friggin’ fairy tale. His mother had had long golden hair and a smile like the sun. She would always cut the crusts off his pb&j and sing “Hey Jude” till he fell asleep.
Mary Winchester was an angel and Dean missed her violently. He thought after 15 years the hole in his chest would ache a little less, he was still splitting apart. A little more every day, and they don’t make a glue for that.
Mary had died when he was about four. She was sick, real sick. He remembered her hair losing its sheen. The softness in her voice turning raspy. The light in her eyes going out with each trip to the hospital. The smell of antiseptic and death hanging in the air as he tried to ask when mommy was coming home. Seeing her hooked up to machines was something he still tried to forget.
When Mary died, his father’s face flatlined. As far as Dean was concerned, the real John Winchester died that day too. A bereft, emptied shell that had been possessed by demons at night: that was his new father. John drank constantly, started to stumble into Dean’s room when he was about eight. He accepted it as punishment for letting his mother die, because so many awful things couldn’t keep happening to someone who didn’t deserve it right? So it went on and on like an old record on repeat until he was thirteen, until Dean finally ran away for the first time. Didn’t go far, just to a friend’s house and crashed for a few days. But it was his first taste of freedom. And on his sixteenth birthday he took his dad’s 67 Chevy Impala and never looked back.
Life since then had been a Johnny Cash song: Baraboo, Waterloo, Kalamazoo, Kansas City, Sioux City, Cedar City, Dodge City, what a pity. He’d been everywhere, man. Running as fast as he could, man. He never told anyone what his father had done, could forget about it himself if he drank heavily enough. Drifted through towns like tumbleweed, no direction, no intention except to sleep with every girl that would spread her legs and left them the second they started to care. Because nobody could touch him. Dean had the control he'd never been afforded as a kid, so he held everybody at arm’s length while all that anger and pain wormed itself into his gut, buried itself deep. Until it finally exploded in the face of some kid inside Douglas County Youth Services.
And it had felt good.
Dean took another drag from his cigarette, long and slow just as Bobby Singer emerged from the youth center, headed towards him.
“Look who decided to drag their ass out of bed today,” the old man grunted, stared at Dean’s cigarette, distracted.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Dean smirked.
“You’ll have plenty of time to feel sorry for yourself, where you’re going.” Bobby slapped a file against Dean’s chest. “Solitary, congrats.”
Dean caught the manila folder with both hands, his cigarette pinched tightly at an angle in the corner of his mouth. “What?”
“The SHU, you numbskull,” Bobby kindly clarified. “Long hours of sitting on your ass and reading skin mags. Aren’t you lucky.”
Dean flipped through a stack of logs categorizing inmates, meal intakes, etc. Fucking paperwork. “Yeah, lucky,” he muttered.
“Welcome to the good life,” Bobby mused. He nodded at Dean for a cigarette and Dean thumbed one out of the pack. Bobby lit it and leaned next to him on the fence.
“Nasty habit,” Bobby said, exhaled smoke. “Been meaning to quit. One of these days.”
Dean smiled, conciliatory. “But not today.”
“Not today,” he agreed. “In fact today I’m gonna go home and open up a new bottle of scotch.”
Dean shrugged his brows, impressed. “Nice. Celebrating?”
Bobby adjusted himself against the fence. It rattled. “Yup. Ten years ago today my good old dad died. I like to commemorate the event by enjoying the hell out of myself.”
Dean wasn’t sure if he was allowed to smile. “Damn.”
Bobby nodded sagely. “He was one mean, nasty sonofabitch, Dean. Beat both me and my mother to hell and back. But I’m still here, and he ain’t.” Ding, ding, ding! The victory bell sounding. Bobby the last man standing. “Tried to ask him why on his death bed and he just tol’ me I deserved it, being an ungrateful brat, for how hard he worked. Worked himself to death just for me and if he had to do it all over again he’d have just left my mother at the altar like he’d wanted. I’d never exist. World would be better off.”
Dean scoffed, a common thread that wove itself through the heart of this country: apple pie and shit dads.
“But that’s it, you know, I was done with him. Had this anger in me, balled up like a fist while he was alive. I was out to get anybody, didn’t even matter what for, they could’ve just looked at me and I wanted to punch ‘em out. And then when he died it just left me,” Bobby made a motion with his hand, like water breaking before a birth. “Thirty-five wasted years of my life son, carrying someone else’s crap.”
Dean watched Bobby, forgot about the cigarette burning slow and hot in his hand. “Is there a point to this?” he muttered. The muscles in his leg spasmed with the urge to run. Only ever felt comfortable when he was on the move.
“Point is we all get dealt a bad hand. Some worse'n others. But we're still here so we got to make something of it.” Bobby threw the cigarette on the ground, crushed it with his foot. Dean watched the embers burn bright and die. “Figure it out,” Bobby concluded, left him there with an empty imperative. It was the sphinx asking Oedipus a riddle. Pointless. Should have asked him who was going to fuck his mother, been a lot more helpful.
Dean finished his cigarette. Smoke filled his lungs, liked the burn.
The Special Housing Unit (referred to as the SHU) was at the east end of the youth center. Tucked back behind everything else, it was one long hallway with 6 blue-framed wrought ironed doors each labeled H-1, H-2, etc. Every door had both a trap hatch near the bottom for food, and a window hatch that could be opened or closed from the outside. Between each pair of doors there was a clipboard adjacent to the cell. The clipboards listed the name and number of the inmate, the reason for their stay in solitary, the approximate duration of their stay, and any medical needs or notifications.
Across the hallway, behind a long pane of glass was an office littered with stacks of even more paperwork, a set of computers, some filing cabinets and a coffee maker. Inside the office there was another corrections officer, an older woman with her hair pulled back into a tight tail. Dean stepped inside the office.
“You the new kid?” she asked, pointed at the revised schedule and read his name. “Dean Winchester?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Ellen Harvelle,” she introduced, didn’t look up. “Okay kid, here’s what you’re going to do.”
Ellen explained his job in a neat, clipped tone. Dean was to monitor the ’youths’, place them in the appropriate cells and move them when they were eligible to leave. He was responsible for reporting behavior that should be reprimanded (the severity of the behavior would merit different punishments) and for reporting any medical emergencies. It also meant delivering meals 3 times a day.
“One of the youths’ll bring a cart from the cafeteria.” Ellen explained, looked at her watch. “In about an hour. You serve each kid a tray through that hatch, give ‘em about 30 minutes. Then collect the trays and put ‘em on the cart that comes to you. Push it outside the door, some one’ll come by and collect it.” Ellen looked him up and down, wrote him off as a snot-nosed brat, probably said it the same way Bobby did behind his back. “Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. Ellen’s dismissal made him want to impress, so he tried to think of something good. “Any medical stuff I should know, about the kids?”
She pushed past him, out of the office and stood in front of cell H-2. Dean followed. Ellen took the clipboard off the wall and handed it to him, the word suicide in big letters. Ellen opened the window hatch of cell H-2 and Dean glanced inside. It was a long narrow cell with white-washed walls, a silver toilet and a thin uncovered mattress. Seated on the mattress was a kid draped in a thick black blanket, holes in the sides where his arms hung out.
“That’s a suicide tunic,” Ellen said. “Concept’s self-explanatory but he’s what we would categorize as high risk. That means you need to keep your eyes open and make sure he doesn’t try anything. No utensils from the cafeteria, no pens. His bed doesn’t even have sheets, just in case. Got it?”
Dean glanced in at the kid again, sitting miserably like a sack of potatoes. He nodded, put the clipboard back. “Yeah.”
Ellen closed the window hatch. “Every kid’s different. And outbursts are normal, but if they ask to see a nurse you can’t deny them.”
Dean absorbed the information. Ellen was hard at every angle, wondered what fire she’d been molded in to make her that way.
“Anything else?” She was anxious to leave.
Dean scanned the clipboards, went from cell to cell and was surprised to find a name he recognized: Sam Wesson. Dean pulled the paperwork and pointed to some scrawling on it. “What’s this?”
Ellen sighed, studied the tally marks under ‘hunger strike’. “He was only out for 12 hours, that’s his file from his last stint in solitary. Been known not to eat.”
Dean frowned. “What do you do about that?”
“Nothing,” Ellen confirmed. “Just report it, they eat eventually. Superintendent reviews the files at the end of the week and determines how long their stay is dependent on behavior. He was in for a long stint because he wouldn’t eat. Super called it an inconsiderate waste of resources. But that kid knows he’d be punished for it. You ask me he wants to be in there.” A sigh, a distant look. Someone who had given up on solving problems and dedicated themselves to managing the waste.
Then Ellen nodded and handed off a pair of keys to him. “You take your breaks when you want ‘em. Just remember anything that happens here is on your watch. So good luck.”
Dean accepted the keys, cold metal on a coiled loop. “Yeah, thanks.”
She was out the door before he finished his sentence. Three seconds later and someone shouted. “Is that bitch gone yet?” Dean turned and looked into cell H-1, some kid snarling like a pit bull. “Fuck her, and fuck you!”
Good start.
Dean shut the hatch, shut himself inside the office, a glass pane and cold white walls. For a second like he was in a cell himself. Dean took a deep breath, shouldn’t think like that.
There were two computers to his left. One monitored the doors, an automated system; the other displayed a series of security cameras. None inside the cells and Dean was grateful for that, didn’t want to see some kid pissing out of the corner of his eye.
He spent a few minutes flipping through the stacks of paper left on his desk, didn’t bother reading any of it. He shoved everything into a few stacks regardless of what it was and found a skin mag tucked away in the desk. Smiled, thought of Bobby, guessed he was right. Dean flipped through the magazine, his eyes glazed over like the glossy spreads before he threw it to the side, wasn’t bored so much as agitated. Drummed his fingers on the desk.
Sam Wesson. The name came to him again. Dean glanced at cell H-6. That kid that was caught up in the fight? That just finally got out of solitary? Got sent there because of something awful that happened to him to begin with? Didn’t make sense. Dean ran his fingers through his hair, spun around in his chair, glanced up at the clock. Still forty minutes before lunch, before he had anything to do. Unless suicide boy tried something.
Out of his chair, into the hall again. Dean checked in on cell H-2, opened the window hatch and peeked in. No change. Closed it. Opened it. Nope.
Dean groaned and glanced to his right again. Cell H-6 drawing him forward like a magnet. He peeked inside just to confirm. It was the same kid alright, all gangly limbs and shaggy hair, sitting on a hard mattress, no suicide tunic though. Sam jerked his head up, looked straight at him. Cut lip, bruised eye. Dean shut the hatch, stood there like an idiot who’d got caught peeking into the girl’s locker room.
There were two other kids in that fight. He didn’t know their names but could probably recognize their faces. Dean looked into the other occupied cells: H-3 and H-4. H-5 was left empty. Not them.
Didn’t make sense to Dean. So he stood in front of Sam’s cell again. Hesitated, and opened up the hatch. “What happened to the others?” he asked.
“...what?” Sam, less skittish than before, examined him slowly. Sharp intelligent eyes that belied a cunning from someone forced to grow up too fast. Was already cutting Dean apart and trying to figure him out.
“The other two,” Dean clarified. Was tired of being eyed up by everyone and then dismissed. “The ones that kicked the crap out of you yesterday. Where are they?”
Sam scowled, expression like curdled milk. “How should I know?”
“Well. They’re not here.”
Kid rolled his eyes, bored with him already. “…so?”
“So they threw you in here as punishment,” Dean pressed, irritated. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”
Sam watched him through narrowed eyes, measured voice, gave nothing away. A perfect poker face. “I guess.”
Dean couldn’t understand his apathy. The kind of apathy that lets you lie there and take a beating. He knew Sam’s blood ran hot, somewhere deep. Dean had seen it firsthand, tried to find it just so he wasn’t alone. “Huh.”
Sam’s eyes darted in the dark, a spark of light. “What?”
“No I mean…I get it.” Dean shrugged, made it seem like he was going to leave.
“What?” Pressure behind the question. He had the kid’s interest now.
“You’re scared of ‘em,” Dean concluded. “Suppose I would be too, skinny pencil-neck like you.”
“Go away!” Sam moaned.
A little flame, but quickly smothered. None of the fire from yesterday, and none of the fight. “Fine.” Dean grunted. Shut the hatch but couldn’t stop thinking about Sam on the floor with blood on his face.
Thirty minutes later another kid in the same orange shirt and gray sweatpants left a cart of trays. It was a curry, maybe, some kind of meat and a yellow sauce mixed together with rice and dumped indiscriminately on the tray.
“Room service,” he joked, slipped the food through the trap hatch like Ellen had shown him, sans utensils for suicide boy. Another twenty minutes and he picked up the trays again. But Sam hadn’t touched his food, just like Ellen warned. He glanced at Sam’s clipboard again, the tally marks indicating every day he didn’t eat, rolled up and added to his punishment. Punishment for what, he wondered. Blood on his face, blood.
Dean threw open the hatch again. “The last time you had food served to you it was someone else’s leftovers shoved in your face. You sure you don’t want to eat?” Wasn’t going to get any cooperation this way but he was pissed and mouthing off, didn’t really care.
“Go. The fuck. Away.” Sam growled, didn’t look at him.
A spasm in his muscles, the urge to lash out. But then. “Fine. I’ll have it.”
Sam shot him a look, confused. “You want prison food?” like Dean was slow.
Dean stood tall and arched his shoulders back. Not that Sam could see his gesture through the narrow window. “No,” he said. “But it’s not going to look like you starved yourself on my watch.”
Dean closed the hatch again, picked up a plastic spoon and stubbornly shoveled the paste into his mouth. Just to prove a point. But he didn’t realize how hungry he was, hadn’t eaten for about a day. No money except for five bucks and he was saving that. Had fed himself on tap water, cigarettes and a bag of chips he’d stolen from a convenience store.
“I didn’t say you could do that!”
Dean chewed slowly, glanced at the talking door. Sam’s voice closer now. “Gonna do something about it?” he challenged through several inches of iron.
Sam’s frustration leaked through the sides. “You’re a real loser, you know that? Can’t afford anything else so you’ve got to steal my lunch? ”
Dean paused. Surprised some kid in juvie could make him feel more white trash than he already was. “It’s not like that.” Couldn’t think of a better come back. Hated how exposed he felt and retreated back into the office. Half-finished food, like sand in his mouth. Threw the rest away and put the empty tray back on the cart. Pushed it out into the hallway and walked back into the SHU, footsteps echoing.
“Maybe you saw that fight and thought I was some weak punk but I don’t give a fuck what you think.”
Dean paused. Cell H-6 talking to him again.
“I’m not afraid of those kids,” Sam insisted. “And I’m sure as hell not afraid of you!” Dean took a step closer to the door as Sam continued. Heard the anger that he had wanted, felt like shit about it now. “I know guys like you. Okay? There’s plenty of you. You’re bullies cause your moms didn’t hug you enough or something. But I don’t care. You’re weak. You’re scared. Not me.”
Dean remembered the way Sam screeched at Tom’s touch. The hate buried deep. Sam was lying to himself, the same way Dean had been for years and years. “Not you huh?”
“No. I’m better than you.”
Dean opened the window again. Sam’s face framed in the opening; surprised he had summoned Dean from behind the iron hatch. He stared at the kid, thought of all the ways he could defend himself, straighten this little snot out. But it fell flat. Dean sighed. “Look, kid. I’m just trying to get you out of here alright? You didn’t do anything wrong. You shouldn’t be stuck in a cage. End of.”
Sam’s ire clouded, he stepped back. Re-evaluated Dean. “You’re the new guy right?” Sam asked quietly. “What was your name?”
“Dean,” he answered. His ID a weight around his neck.
“Dean,” Sam said, tasted the shape and sound of it in his mouth. “Well, Dean.” Sam leaned in closer, as close as the glass would allow. Then sharp and high like a cat he hissed: “Go fuck yourself.”
Sam spit at the glass and Dean jerked back in surprise. Then Sam pulled off his shirt --not as skinny as Dean first thought, muscles, lean but taut, could have at least taken one of those kids but he didn’t why not?—and draped the shirt over the window hatch.
Dean gaped at the blacked-out window, Sam’s spit dripping down in the corner. He slammed the hatch closed. Fucking kid.
The Impala revved down a dirty Kansas street, 50 miles per hour in a 30 mile zone. It was a fifteen minute drive from the detention center to the motel room Dean was renting on nothing but charisma. It was a short drive, too short. Not enough time on the road. Dean was dying to get back on an open stretch of highway and let this place eat his dust. Five bucks wouldn’t get him far but it could, he could. The option hung low over his head like the setting sun. A flock of cackling geese wheeled and turned, lost its formation, righted itself through some internal compass and headed north. Dean drove towards his motel, in the long run didn’t know where he was headed.
In his rented room Dean discovered he wasn’t alone. A familiar woman sat on his bed. Brunette, long legs and designer clothes.
“I let myself in,” she purred, slid off the cheap sheets. The necklace she was wearing cost more than a month in this dump. It glowed seductively in the light of a halogen bulb screwed above their heads, no covering. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
“Don’t have much choice do I?” Dean grunted, tossed his dad’s leather jacket on the back of a chair. He couldn’t stop Bela Talbot even if he wanted to. Didn’t know anyone that could. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s that?” She laughed, approached like a cat and kneaded the front of his shirt with her acrylic nails. Too familiar with him, but he didn’t mind the touch, wanted it actually. Long fucking day. “I chase you down, halfway across the country, and you can’t even say hello?”
She kissed him and Dean didn’t resist, tasted her pink lipstick and the French perfume he could never pronounce.
“Hey,” he said after she pulled back. She smiled at Dean like he was a dog that had obeyed a command. She’d made it sound like she was there just for him, but Dean knew better than to trust Bela.
Bela Talbot was orphaned at a young age, a car crash that killed both her parents. It was okay, she said, because her father was rotten to the core, touched her. Mother knew about it and did nothing, they deserved to die. It was a shit thing to have in common, not that he ever told her. Bela’s family was filthy rich but the fortune she was to inherit had been all tied up in a trust fund until she hit eighteen. Dean met her at a mall, shoplifting. Liked the easy way she smiled. Had to chase her down after she lifted his wallet.
She was a lit fuse and they exploded together.
Life was one big thrill for Bela, stealing, smoking, inhaling, running away from everything because nothing could catch her. Even Dean was a thrill, some poor kid from Kansas in an old car. Just another pretty jewel she picked up because she could.
Dean was jealous of her. She had no ties, she could go anywhere, and everything she had was new. Dean still had his dad’s car, his leather jacket, and the guilt of wanting his father to be a distant memory. Bela felt like real freedom. He told her that once and she laughed at him, laughed and laughed, left him the second she turned eighteen. Laughed and laughed.
“I’m in town for a few nights. Business. Thought you might like it if I stay with you,” she said.
“And if I say no?”
She kissed him again, pressed her body against his and he relented, gave in to familiar memories. He picked her up, laid her on the bed. She tasted like the highway at night. |
Request by Angel_Demon_Princess
Can you do something Taehyung centric, with him being an omega and hiding it for whatever reasons… Like for example, the rest of bts are all alphas or betas (idk, just no omegas for some stupid reason) and the manager decided to have him go on suppressants because he was really old fashioned and didn’t want an omega to mess the group or something? And basically, it all comes out ofter some alpha decides to go after him and the others get mad and then it’s revealed somehow?
Word count: 2900
Taehyung knew that becoming an idol came with a price. He just hadn’t imagined that this was the price he would be made to pay.
Auditioning was risky, especially for a big company like SM, JYP or YG. Even if you had successfully passed the auditioning process and became a trainee the chance of debut were slim to none. Taehyung didn’t believe in himself enough to even try for a company as big as them. A smaller label would be the way to go but even that carried its own risk. While it wasn’t easy to pass the auditions the opportunity to become successful was also at risk. He had risked it for his dream and he had made it. He thanks his best friend for showing him that grainy video of an up and coming rapper that had recently signed with Bighit, a small and not yet recognised entertainment label. He had been the inspiration for him auditioning. He may not see it in himself but he could see when others had talent. And boy did this guy have talent.
He was a bundle of nerves, stumbling over his words with an accent so strong that he questioned whether or not anyone could understand him. He hadn’t thought he had done very well but it had seemed that the judges had seen something in him, something that had fit with whatever their plans had been. After an hour of deliberation with Taehyung sitting out on the hall sweating buckets did he receive the news that he had been accepted into the company. He was an official Bighit trainee. He was ecstatic. His dreams had seemed so much closer than what they ever had been.
There was only one unexpected hurdle that had found itself lodged in his way.
It was a well-known fact that the companies were only given the basic information of the person auditioning such as their name, age, place of birth and any skills or specialties listed by the individual. The designation of the individual was not to be revealed until after the individual had been accepted as a trainee to discourage any bias towards their performance at the audition. Even in the 21st century the bias, especially towards Omega’s still existed. Taehyung just happened to be in that category. He hadn’t had any real problems with it before. A few snide remarks here, some teasing words there, but that had been it.
A week after he had been accepted he had packed his bags and said good bye to his family. His brother and sister had cried and so had his mother when she had wrapped him and a crushing hug. His father didn’t cry but he could tell that he wanted to. He had said goodbye to his grandparents the day before. It was only when he could no longer see his house did he let his own tears fall for he had not known when would be the next time he would see them but he knew it would be no time soon.
The drive was uncomfortable to say the least. The man tasked to pick him up rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t speak but would look back at him in the rear view mirror with something akin to disgust in his eyes. It unsettled Taehyung. The man – that he identified as an Alpha – had a sour scent that just didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t think about it too much, mind to occupied with his impending future.
He was confused when the car came to a stop. They were nowhere near the city, why would they be stopping in practically the middle of nowhere. He flinched when something was thrown from the front seat into his lap. Picking up the small box shaped object he lifted it close enough for him to read the text, dropping it in surprise at what he found on there.
SUPPRESSANTS
Taehyung turned towards the man with wide eyes not believing what he had just given him.
“I don’t…”
“Starting right this instant you’re going on suppressants.” The man told him.
“What, no! I can’t.” Taehyung yelled. “I won’t!”
“You can and you will.” The man hissed, turning around in his chair to grab the collar of Taehyung’s jumper, pushing him hard into the back of the chair. “The other trainees don’t need a whore like you to distract them from their training. The boss has high hopes for these ones and I don’t need a weak little Omega like you screwing it up.” He growled.
Taehyung trembled, frightened to his very core. The Alpha’s scent was making him want to cower, bow his head in submission and make himself appear as small as possible. Never before had he had an Alpha use their dominance against him. He whimpered, finally nodding when the Alpha’s grip tightened on his jumper.
“Good.” He says. Turing back towards the front he passes a bottle of water to Taehyung who flinches and he can see the Alpha’s mouth form into a smirk seemingly pleased by the affect he has on the young Omega. Opening the box with shaking hands he quickly swallowed one of the pills, washing it down with water. However the water can’t wash away everything. He can still taste the bitterness of shame. He closes his eyes tightly and clenches his fists, thinking about how much this would mean for his family financially in efforts to justify why he had given in so easily.
Just like it had been before the rest of the ride had been silent.
~X~
Any chance of him ‘neglecting’ to take his suppressants was quelled when it was announced that the man – who he now knew as Jongwoo – was to be appointed their manager, who he had found was old fashioned in his thinking (no surprise there!). He didn’t believe that Omega’s should play prominent parts in society. Rather he viewed them as house wives whose only job was to prolong the dominant partners’ line. Taehyung felt sick just thinking about it.
Taehyung had been surprised when nearly immediately after his arrival at the company he had been placed into the debut team consisting of six other guys including the very man that had convinced him to audition at the company. Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin and Jeon Jungkook were all Alpha’s though Jungkook, the youngest had only just come into his designation. The boy was shy and not quite comfortable in his skin but Taehyung knew it wouldn’t be long until he flourished, the awkwardness of adolescence disappearing. Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and Park Jimin were all Beta’s though with Yoongi’s attitude most would assume he was an Alpha. Yoongi didn’t take no shit from anyone. Taehyung had found it hard to approach the brash Beta at first but he soon realised that the man wasn’t as tough as he first appeared.
When news came that they would be debuting in June of 2013 it was met with the excited chatter of everyone. They had managed to gain themselves a respectable fan base, nothing large but certainly enough to get them going. Preparations began with more time spent practicing and with that came the added presence of their manager. Taehyung could always feel the Alpha staring at him, watching his every move and it made his skin crawl. He had yet to miss a day where the Alpha wasn’t somewhere in the vicinity of himself and Taehyung knew he was keeping an eye on him making sure he didn’t ‘mess up’. He had thankfully been able to keep the fact the he was an Omega a secret, his members assuming from the new scent the suppressants gave him that he was a Beta.
Their debut came and yet and soon years had gone by. They were on the rise, their album ‘The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Part 1’ taking off like no tomorrow. All the while Taehyung had managed to keep his secret on the down low. Taehyung had always thought it was weird as to why he was made to take suppressants. Even other groups from bigger companys then their own didn’t seem to have a problem with Omega’s in their groups. Why would he be any different? He was too scared to speak it out loud though. He was sure the manager would punish him for even asking.
The members had noticed Taehyung’s discomfort around their manager and had made it their mission to keep him away from their 4D member even though they had no idea as to what the reason may be.
“He does anything to you, you tell me right away and I’ll do something about it, okay?” Namjoon had told him, voice hard. The Alpha was protective of his members like they were his own children and there was no way he was going to let anyone harm them.
Taehyung had nodded and Namjoon had smiled at him. Taehyung had smiled back though he tried his hardest for it to seem genuine. He wanted so badly to tell him that he was already too late but he just couldn’t. This secret could affect more than just him but the entire group as a whole. So he kept quiet. His secret was still that – a secret. The guilt remained.
~X~
Fan signs were something he had always enjoyed. Interacting with his the fans brought him happiness. It wasn’t every day that you were able to meet your idols. Even though it was impossible to remember every single fan he had seen at them he tried to make each encounter unique. He tried to treat them as if they were a friend that he hadn’t seen in a while. It was difficult but in the end it was worth it when they smiled at him and looked so grateful that he had noticed them, even if it was only for a few moments.
Everything had seemed to go on as usual. He had lost count of the number of fans he had seen, the number of photos and posters he had signed and the amount of times he had to tell a fan not to hide their face when a male fan had found himself in front of him. It wasn’t too unusual to see male fans at their signs though they were still heavily outnumbered by the female fans. It was bound to be just another encounter when he froze at the strong Alpha scent being projected his way.
Looking up he sees the Alpha staring directly into his eyes, pupils dilated and nostrils flaring. Taehyung swallowed. He was scared. He could detect the faint scent of arousal and it had his hair standing on end. Seokjin who was sitting beside him had noticed the encounter but before he could do anything the Alpha had jumped the table pushing Taehyung back in his chair, the both of them tumbling to the floor.
Screams broke out but Taehyung payed no mid to them as he tried to push the Alpha off of him. He started to panic when the Alpha didn’t budge and nearly cried out when suddenly the weight was lifted off him. Taehyung laid there stunned, breathing hard and eyes glued to the ceiling. He was dimly aware of being pulled up and marched out of the room, the weight of Namjoon and Seokjin on either side supporting him.
In his distress he hadn’t even noticed the sweat scent that he had started to emit but the others had and they looked at each other in confused wonder. Yoongi had his lips pressed into a thin line, clear distaste in his face. He knew why Taehyung smelled like that and he didn’t like it, not one bit and he knew by the look on Namjoon’s face that he was well aware of it as well. They were angry, furious, but Taehyung’s welfare was what mattered to them the most in that moment.
As fast as possible they walk Taehyung to their dressing room and making sure that no one else is in there they lock the door. Taehyung doesn’t need an audience.
Taehyung only comes to when he feels a bottle being pressed into his hands and with shaky hands he takes a large gulp the action none too similar to from the situation years ago. He still rattled but no as much as what he had been before. This wasn’t something the happened every day. Sure, they were used to being crowded in airports but to have someone physically attack them…now that was something entirely different.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jimin asked, placing a concerned hand on his back and rubbing soothing circles there. Taehyung nods and exhales shakily.
“I think so.”
“Are you hurt?” This time it’s Hoseok and Taehyung smiles. It’s so much like Hoseok to ask if someone is hurt.
“No, I’m okay.”
Jungkook had been strangely quiet and Taehyung looks over to see him standing awkwardly near the door twisting the ends of his shirt in his hands.
“Come here Kookie.” Taehyung directs opening his arms for the young Alpha. He hesitates for moment before practically falling into them. He sniffles but doesn’t cry. Jungkook is quite sensitive when it comes to seeing his hyungs hurt. Jungkook buries his nose into Taehyung’s neck and frowns.
“Hyung, you smell weird.” He says and Taehyung stiffens.
“We’ll talk about this but not right now.” Namjoon says and Taehyung just knows that he knows. “My priority right now is getting you home.” The ‘then we’ll talk’ goes unsaid. Taehyung thanks the heavens that the managers things are kept in the dressing room as Yoongi rummages through his bag and throws the car keys in Seokjin’s direction. He was not someone he wanted to be in the presence of.
Somehow they make it out without anyone spotting them and before long they’re pulling up to their dorm. Wordlessly they walk inside and situated themselves in the lounge room.
“Talk.” Namjoon orders though it’s not in an unkind way. He just wants answers. Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook looked confused and he knows the explanation he’s about to give is more for them than the others. He’s pretty sure the others have already worked it out.
So he talks and talks and talks. He doesn’t leave anything out and by the end of it everyone is angry though angry is putting it mildly. They look pissed the fuck off. Yoongi is practically seething. No one stops him when he gets up and head towards the front door, slamming it on the way out.
“I’m going to kill him.” The usually sunny Hoseok states.
“Not if Yoongi gets there first.” Jimin comments as he tries to reign in his onw anger.
“Do you think someone should go after him?” Taehyung asks worried. He doesn’t want his hyung going to jail.
“He’ll be fine. He’s not stupid enough to do something brash. He just needs to let off some steam.” Namjoon says and Teahyung hopes he’s right.
That night they sleep together on the floor in the lounge room. It’s not until 2am that Yoongi comes back to see them all huddled together. Making sure not to wake them up he joins them. He has a lot to tell them when they all wake.
~X~
The next morning they had found out where Yoongi had gone. As it had tuned out Bang Pd-min had no idea what the manager had made Taehyung do. As soon as he had found out he had promptly fired them man. He had felt guilty that he hadn’t realised it sooner. The boys were like sons to him and to have one of them taken advantage of made him furious. Sihyuk had ordered Taehyung to go to the hospital for a check-up and there it was revealed that the effects of the suppressants over the years had started to wear down, his body building up an immunity to the drugs which partially explained why the Alpha had attacked him in the first place. He had be able to smell he, as weak as it had been.
Of course it hadn’t excused what the Alpha had done but Taehyung didn’t want him to be punished for what had happened. No one had gotten hurt. Yoongi had told him that he was to kind for his own good but he couldn’t find himself caring. The next issue to deal with was the media. It was the talk of the town and every news outlet had their own take of the events. Taehyung didn’t want the fact the he had been forced on suppressants revealed so instead Bighit had released a statement saying that Taehyung had presented as an Omega late.
The news was met with varying opinions. Some believing it and others not. It did happen though not too often. His parents had been called before the news had been released and the whole situation explained to them. Sihyuk had paid for his family to come down to the city. Despite the explanation they wanted to see Taehyung and there were more things that needed to be talked about.
Things had taken a while to die down but soon a sense of normalcy returned to them. People still talked but it didn’t bother them. He was still Taehyung and that’s all that mattered.
|
“Good morning, Cullen,” he heard from behind him as he worked to put a saddle on Thane. He turned to see who it was before turning back to his work.
“Marella,” he greeted stiffly as he ran his hands over Thane’s neck before feeding him a piece of apple. “What do you want?”
“I…I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night,” she said. “I had a little too much to drink, and I guess the reminiscing with Mia about Honnleath, and then seeing you again just made me a little…nostalgic for times past.” She walked further into the stable. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I know Mia had hoped, but since you’re married and all…” she trailed off.
“Thank you for your apology,” said Cullen. “I do appreciate it.” They stood awkwardly for a moment before Cullen went back to brushing his horse.
“I was hoping you would let me make it up to you,” said Marella. “If you and Ellana would like to join me for dinner- perhaps tonight?”
“I don’t think we will be around,” said Cullen. “We’re going to scout some locations for our clinic today- I’m not certain we’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Oh,” said Marella. “Well, another time. Do you have any idea how long you will be in town?”
“At the moment, no,” said Cullen. “We’re not on any timetable. I didn’t want to cut my visit with my family short if I didn’t need to. We have several locations to look at- and since Patrick is helping me look, we’ll go around his schedule.”
“Well, maybe another evening then,” said Marella. “I was wondering, will Ellana be going with you to all the locations? Maybe I could spend some time with her- have some tea, or something.”
“We haven’t discussed it,” said Cullen. “She knows she’s always welcome to come along, but there are times she may want to stay here to keep Rosalie company. We’re playing it by ear, I guess.”
“All right then,” said Marella. “Just let me know sometime. I really am sorry Cullen. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“Your apology is accepted, Marella,” said Cullen. “I’ll talk to Ellana and let her know you would like to spend some time with her.”
………
The first location ended up being a possibility- Patrick had taken them through the buildings on the land and pointed out the problems and how much it would take to repair it. Cullen marveled at Patrick’s expertise and hoped that wherever they settled, that Patrick and Rosalie would agree to help- he could really use Patrick’s skill. After looking over the map, they decided they wouldn’t be able to reach the next site until dark and headed home.
Cullen and Ellana arrived at their cottage to find Ben waiting for them. “Mia was hoping you would consider coming over for dinner tomorrow evening,” he said to them. “She’s…embarrassed about what happened the other day and wants to make it up to you.” They stood awkwardly for a moment. “Look,” Ben continued, “she spent months trying to track you down- years. Maybe she’s disappointed that her childhood dream isn’t coming true, but she still wants you in her life. Give her a chance.”
Cullen sighed. “All right, Ben. We’ll be over tomorrow night.”
………
It was evident to both Cullen and Ellana that Mia had gone to great effort to make a nice dinner for them. She accepted the wine they had brought quietly, and they all stood around self-consciously, trying to find something to say. “I’m sorry, Cullen, Ellana,” Mia finally said to them both. “I didn’t mean what I said.”
Ellana stole a look at Cullen and saw him soften a little. For his sake, she could forgive. She knew that he wanted his family back in his life, and even though he hadn’t said anything, he had been very hurt by what had happened. “It’s all right, Mia. Let’s start over,” she finally said. She felt Cullen relax a little beside her. Over dinner, they talked about the clinic, Mia asking several questions and showing some interest. Ben added a few pieces of advice here and there as well. Cullen left the dinner feeling hopeful that Mia had come around and would stop trying to force her way on them, a sentiment that Ellana shared, but she was still wary. It wasn’t the first time someone had called her a knife-ear. She had heard it many times in her life, even as the Inquisitor- in fact, it had been Cullen who had stepped in front of her when a few soldiers threatened her at Haven, not knowing who she was. After one of the soldiers was foolish enough to make a move anyway, Cullen cuffed him, sending him reeling before turning and gently putting his hand on hers. She had pulled her daggers, waiting for the attack to happen, and with Cullen’s calm demeanor, soon re-sheathed them and felt herself settling down. She had admired him already after watching him help his soldiers when they first met, but his actions that day made her really take notice.
“What do you think?” Cullen asked as they walked home. “Does she really want to start again?” He sounded hopeful. After years of being alone, Cullen found himself in unfamiliar territory- a wife, his siblings back in his life, a few children eventually- and he found that he desperately wanted it. He wanted a large noisy family having dinners together, squabbling and making up, laughing and playing, helping each other when needed. It was the life his parents had wanted for all of them, and he could see why Mia had dreamed of it.
“I hope so,” said Ellana. She heard the hope in his voice- and recognized it as the same longing she had in the early days before her clan had been wiped out. She assumed that if she didn’t die, that she would go home after the war, find another hunter to marry, start a family and live with her clan. That hope had been dashed early on, and eventually, she found herself hoping to find the same thing with Cullen’s family. She knew that she could have gone to another Dalish Clan- Keeper Hawen from the Exalted Plains had invited her to join them, and Loranil, the elf from their tribe that she had recruited to the Inquisition had spent most of his time looking at her with “lovey” eyes, as Sera kept calling it. Her heart already belonged to Cullen by then, so she had taken no notice. “I’m not certain I trust her completely yet, Vhenan, but that will come with time, I suppose.”
Cullen put his arm around her as they walked. “That’s all I can ask of you, Love,” he said. “Thank you for giving her another chance.” They walked along quietly for a while. “I feel like this life together is all about me, sometimes,” Cullen said. “We’re here with my family, looking for a place to start my clinic. I know we’ve talked about this, but I can’t help but feel like you’re being left out of everything.”
“I’m here with you, Cullen,” said Ellana. “If you remember, the clinic was my idea. Since I can’t have my family anymore, I’d be happy with yours. Rosalie already feels like a sister to me, and Branson and Nicholas are very friendly too. Hopefully, Mia will accept me eventually.” She saw Cullen get ready to speak and stopped him. “I know what you’re thinking. All I’ve asked is that we settle somewhere near a wooded area and that after we get the clinic running, that we maybe travel to visit our friends. Don’t forget; I’m a Comtesse in Kirkwall now,” she teased.
“Maker’s Breath, I forgot about that,” laughed Cullen. “It could be a few years before we’re to that point, but we will go visit our friends- I promise.” Ellana smiled. She knew that some of their friends would come by- Bull, Sera, and Dagna, Blackwall. Some though, could not leave their lives as quickly- Varric, Cassandra, and even Dorian. She could talk to Dorian through the sending crystal he had given her, but it was not the same as being together. She missed her friends. He looked at her as they walked along. “I love you, Ellana. So much.”
“I love you too, Vhenan.” She tightened her arm around his waist. “That will never change.”
………
“So, I heard Mia apologized,” said Rosalie. She and Ellana were sitting at the table in Rosalie’s house having some coffee. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“She did,” said Ellana. Then she hesitated. “She’s never apologized before? About anything?”
“Not that I recall,” said Rosalie. “That’s why Branson moved away. Mia wasn’t responsible for Annie’s death, but she wasn’t very good about it either.”
“Then why would she apologize to me?” asked Ellana. “Having an elf for a sister-in-law is probably worse than a noble one. If she doesn’t mind Branson being gone from her life, then why not Cullen too? Particularly as it is deliberately going against her wishes as well?”
Rosalie looked troubled. “I don’t know. Cullen told me that Marella apologized too- did he tell you about that?” Ellana nodded. “I’ve known Marella all my life- she was nice enough- but spoiled. She was popular with the boys and loved to steal other girl’s suitors. She was married for a while- I never knew the whole story about that, but her husband ran off in the middle of the night. Some said it served her right because she stole him from another girl in the first place, but I think there is more to it than that.”
“What happened to him?” asked Ellana.
Rosalie hesitated. “He left her a note saying they were no longer married, and that he was joining the Inquisition.”
“Oh,” said Ellana. “Well, that’s awkward.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Rosalie. “She can’t blame you. Just…don’t trust her. She and her little group of friends are not very good people- as you may have noticed the other night.”
“I did,” sighed Ellana. “I suppose if I can handle the gossiping fools at Halamshiral, I can deal with a few childish bitches.” She sighed again. “Are you going along tomorrow? Cullen and Patrick are going to scout another location- maybe two depending.”
“I was going to stay here,” said Rosalie. “I have some chores I need to finish- and I need to get in the last of the garden. You’re not going?”
“No,” said Ellana. “I have some chores as well- laundry doesn’t do itself anymore, I guess. And I need to run to the Apothecary for some ingredients I need for my pain draught. I don’t use it often, but I would hate to be without if I need it.”
……..
“Are you sure you don’t want to come along?” asked Cullen. “I don’t want you to be excluded from this.”
“Cullen, we’ve talked about this- you know my requests,” said Ellana. “I have some chores to do, I need to get some supplies, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m leaving Maximus here,” said Cullen. Ellana gave him a look. “Indulge me, Love. I’ll feel better knowing he’s here. We should only be gone for the day.” He fingered her blade that was in its sheath near the door. “We’ll do some training when I get back, yes?” he asked her. “You’ve come far, but we should keep fresh.”
“We should,” said Ellana. “Go ahead, Vhenan. I’ll be okay. All those tricks that Lila showed me about hanging laundry will be put in full practice today.” Cullen kissed her and headed to the stable.
………
Ellana considered the mornings work a minor accomplishment- the cottage was tidy, and laundry had been scrubbed and hung with minimal swearing, and only one item had to be rewashed because she dropped it. After a quick lunch, she got ready to go to town to pick up her supplies, debating about whether or not she should carry her blade and wear armor, or just wear what she was wearing. People didn’t usually walk around South Reach wearing a blade, and she didn’t want to offend anyone, but after years of fighting bandits, Red Templars, apostates, and Venatori, she felt more secure when she could defend herself adequately. She finally opted to take a chance and wear what she was wearing plus a shawl for extra warmth, choosing to hide a dagger in her boot so she wasn’t completely unarmed. Whistling to Maximus, she started out for town.
………
She was greeted by Marella as she left the Apothecary. “Hello, Ellana,” she said brightly, looking from Ellana to Maximus. “I’m not certain if you remember me. I’m Mia’s friend Marella.” She held out her hand, which Ellana shook. “I was hoping that maybe we could have some tea, spend some time together? I could tell you stories from when Cullen was a little boy.” She smiled winningly.
In spite of her hesitance, she agreed. They went to the little tea shop and had a seat. Marella watched Ellana point to Maximus to stay outside and smiled. “That’s a big dog. Where did you get him?” Ellana explained about finding Maximus in Orlais and how Cullen had been training him ever since. “You must have so many fascinating stories from your travels,” said Marella. They spent the next hour talking and sharing stories before Ellana looked at the time.
“I should be going,” said Ellana. “I’m not sure when Cullen and Patrick will be back, and I want to start something to eat.” She looked at Marella. “Thank you for inviting me. I enjoyed talking to you.” She got up and after calling to Maximus gathered up her package and left.
She was aware of the man following her as she walked along, and grew concerned when a few more joined him. Some things from the war still came naturally to her, and she remained sharply aware of her surroundings. She saw a few more men lurking behind trees up ahead and came to a stop. She didn’t recognize any of the men, but she didn’t want to assume they were bandits- from the way they were dressed, and their lack of weapons, she didn’t think they were. They surrounded her, looking threatening. “What are you doing here, knife-ear?” the man who was clearly their leader asked her.
Ellana didn’t respond, watching the men warily. “I asked you a question, Rabbit. What are you doing here?” He advanced on her, looking at down at her, grinning evilly.
“I’m going home,” Ellana replied calmly. She looked around at the men surrounding her, calculating her options. She knew she had the means on her to defend herself, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone, and she wanted to try to be done with violence if she could help it. Maximus, who was still standing by her side, started growling quietly. The leader glanced at the dog but took a step closer to Ellana.
“Home?” he said sarcastically. He looked at her again. “Your kind isn’t welcome around here, Elf.” Ellana stayed quiet, hoping they would get bored and leave. “Nothing to say, Elf?” Her lack of response was infuriating him. His friends came closer, not giving Ellana much room to move- she’d been in worse positions. The leader grabbed her roughly by the arm- a hard, bruising grab that she felt down to her bone. It was then that she realized that he had grabbed her good arm, leaving her unable to reach her weapon- and she felt a brief moment of panic. She and Cullen had started her training to compensate for her missing arm, but they had not discussed a situation like this. Maximus had gone from a low growl to outright baring his teeth and snarling at the man who had his hands on Ellana- but she had not released him to attack.
“Let go of me,” Ellana said steadily, hiding her fear and taking up her role as the Inquisitor again.
“Or what, your Worship?” he asked derisively. “I know who you are. The big hero. It doesn't matter what you did. You’ll never be anything more than a crippled slant-eared little whore.” He grabbed her by the chin with his other hand. “Consider this a warning. Get out of South Reach. We don’t want your kind here.” He struck her across the face, knocking her to the ground, sending Maximus into a snarling frenzy. She stopped him from attacking, knowing that if he did, this man would come back with a guard, demanding Maximus be put down. The man looked at her again. “I meant what I said, Elf. Don’t get comfortable here.” He leaned down and snatched the package out of her hand and walked off, his friends following, leaving Ellana behind.
She struggled to get up, Maximus standing close to her to support her as she stood. She could feel the blood dripping down her face, mingling with her tears. She patted Maximus and slowly started her walk to the cottage before she stopped again, feeling the terror growing within her. She looked around, trying to find a place she felt safe, and slipped into a heavily wooded area, collapsing against a tree as the memories threatened to overtake her. It was something that started happening shortly after the battle at Adamant Fortress- starting with nightmares and gradually turning into flashbacks. As time went on, she had learned to recognize the triggers and how to manage them so they didn’t control her, but there were still times when she couldn’t help it. She curled up, still fighting the memories and the cramps and pain that lanced through her missing arm before giving in. |
Stiles and Scott skipped lunch to hunt down the headquarters for the school newspaper. They found it in an office connected to the computer lab.
"It's empty," said Scott as they entered, pointing out the obvious. There were a few desks with computers and printers. A large bulletin board took up most of the wall on one side. There were papers and photos and news clippings pinned all over it. The thing that caught Stiles attention though was the bare spot on the middle left. As it was the only visible part of the entire board it was obvious someone had just taken something down. Moving on, Stiles saw that one of the computers was turned on. Stiles leaned down to peer at the monitor. It was a story on the fat content of school lunches. Stiles snorted. That's why the only section anyone read was the sports section.
"Stiles." Scott lifted up a plaque with the word 'editor' engraved on it.
"Oh yeah, that must be Grady's desk. Anything there."
The computer was turned off and the desk itself was clean, only a pencil cup with some pens in it. It was a little too neat, Stiles thought, considering the haphazard mess that filled the rest of the office. Like maybe someone purposely cleaned up. Stiles bent down to boot up the computer.
Scott looked nervously around. "What are you doing?"
"I want to see what Grady was up to. Maybe whatever story he was working on got him killed."
Just as Stiles pressed the button and stood back up, the door opened. A girl walked in juggling a sack lunch, coffee cup, and notebook filled with loose papers. Her hair was thrown up in an untidy bun. Her brown eyes widened and she nearly dropped her coffee. She recovered, dumping everything onto the nearest desk. She whipped around, her startled expression morphed into anger. "What are you doing in here?"
"Nothing," yelped Scott. Smooth.
Stiles smiled. "We were looking for Stan Grady. Is he around?"
The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No. What do you want?"
"Oh it's not important." Stiles got an idea. "He was doing a story on a friend of ours." He watched for her reaction. "Derek Hale."
She froze unnaturally still, then took a deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. "Sorry, I don't know anything about that."
"Okay, well you look busy. We'll let you get back to work," said Scott taking Stiles' arm, "Come on, if we hurry, maybe we can still grab something to eat from the vending machine before class starts." Outside he leaned over to Stiles and whispered, "She was lying."
It didn't take wolfy senses to figure that out. "Yeah, I know. Question is, why?" If only he'd had time to look through Grady's computer. "We're going to have to go back."
Scott looked behind them. "Now?"
"No, tonight."
"Tonight?" Scott looked pained.
"Problem?"
Scott looked down at the floor. "I sort of have a date with Allison."
Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. "Scott, you see Allison every day. You can't cancel one date with her?"
"What do I tell her?" Scott looked at Stiles imploringly. "That I can't come over because I have to break into the school with you. Because that went so well last time."
Stiles threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, go have your make out session with Allison. I'll get someone else to help."
Scott looked skeptical. "Like who?"
Stiles was annoyed by Scott's skepticism, like he was the only person in the world Stiles could turn to when he needed help committing a minor felony. Too bad it was true. Stiles struggled to think of a name. "Like... Derek."
"Derek?" Scott's skepticism did not fade.
"Yeah, Derek. It was his house the murder took place. He has a vested interest in finding the killer. Or he should."
They entered the cafeteria. Scott pulled out his wallet and fed a dollar into the vending machine. "You really think he'd help you?" The machine rumbled and a packet of cheesy crackers fell.
Stiles leaned against the machine as Scott bent down to retrieve it. "Yeah. I think Derek might actually like me."
Scott laughed as he stood up. He stopped when he saw Stiles' expression. "Wait, you're serious?"
Stiles watched the machine eat his dollar, and then jabbed at the buttons. "We had a moment."
"A moment? What are you talking about?"
Stiles picked up his candy bar, then leaned back against the machine as he ripped the wrapper open. "I don't know how to explain it. We just..." Stiles waved his candy bar while trying to come up with the right words.
"Oh my god," exclaimed Scott.
Stiles whipped his head around. "What?"
"I know that look. You like him. You like Derek Hale! Like like him." Scott's eyes were incredulously wide.
A few heads turned towards them from the table nearby and Stiles grabbed Scott's arm leading him away. Trust Scott to finally be observant at exactly the wrong time.
"Stiles, it was bad enough with Lydia... But Derek?"
"What about him," Stiles asked defensively.
Scott sighed, looked at Stiles with what seemed like pity. "I just... don't like seeing you get hurt."
Stiles crossed his arms. "You think Derek would hurt me?"
"I think that you set yourself up to be hurt by falling for people you know you can't have."
Stiles felt the words hit his ego like a punch. Even his best friend thought Derek was out of his league. The bell rang. Stiles started to walk away.
"Stiles?" Scott called after him.
Stiles didn't wait. "I've got to get to class."
* * *
"No."
"Oh come on, Derek. It'll be like the easiest caper ever. We break in, check Grady's computer and then leave. What could go wrong?"
Derek was sitting in the chair next to Stiles' bed, with a book in his lap. He stared at Stiles like he was an idiot. "We could get caught."
Stiles' scoffed. "Not a chance. Between my ninja-like stealth and your super wolf senses we'll be fine. Besides, the place will be empty."
Derek's expression did not change. "You do remember what happened last time you talked me into breaking into the school? I almost died."
"So?" Stiles took a step back as Derek bared his teeth. "I just meant that there's no way that would happen again. It’s not like there's another crazed alpha on the loose." Stiles hoped.
Derek tossed the book aside. "I'm not going to do it."
Stiles shook his head. "Fine. I'll do it myself." He grabbed a thumb drive off his computer desk and threw it into his backpack. He jumped when a hand clamped down onto his wrist.
"You're not going there alone."
Stiles was not going to let the alpha intimidate him. "You can't stop me."
There was gleam in Derek's eyes as he leaned closer and growled. "I could." Stiles matched Derek's steely gaze and did not back down. Eventually Derek sighed, letting go of Stiles' wrist. "Fine, I'll go with you."
Stiles tried not to let his surprise show and played it cool. "That's the spirit. Besides what else were you going to do tonight? Brush up on your AP Chemistry?"
"If you had something more interesting than comics to read..."
"Those aren't comics, they're graphic novels."
Derek's eyebrows rose. "Those things aren't novels. They're pictures with words. Like storybooks. For kids."
Stiles gasped, clutching his heart. After the room stopped spinning he looked at Derek with pity. "I'm going to forgive you for that, because you have obviously never read Watchmen or anything by Frank Miller."
Derek's blank expression confirmed that Stiles was right.
Stiles arranged a mental list of graphic novels to introduce Derek to while they drove down to the school. Hellblazer perhaps? That would certainly correct him of the assumption that comics were just for kids. Never mind that Stiles started reading those when he was a kid. Who let him get those anyway? Apparently his father had been of the same mind as Derek in thinking that all comics were for kids. But hey, it’s not like they scarred his young impressionable psyche. Much. Although, Stiles supposed it might explain why he took all this werewolf stuff in such stride. And why he wasn't drooling in a padded room somewhere.
Stiles pulled into the school parking lot and parked the jeep facing the school. The headlights died as he cut the engine, it was dark out and shadows played against the asphalt and brick walls. He had a sudden flashback to the night Peter Hale had hunted them through the school. He remembered the look on the janitor's face as something yanked him back. And the knot in his stomach as he waited locked in a classroom while his best friend faced off against a monster alone.
"Stiles?"
Stiles jumped, and then flushed with embarrassment. He undid his seatbelt and jumped out of the jeep. Leaning back in, he raised a brow at Derek who was still in his seat, staring at Stiles. "What are you waiting for?" He slammed the door and ran up to the double doors. The old lock and chain had been replaced with a shiny new one. He felt Derek come up behind him. Derek stared down at the lock over his shoulder. Stiles looked up, smiling. "No worries, I've got my dad's bolt cutters in the-"
Derek grasped the door handle, yanked, and it broke off from the door. The chain clanked as the handle fell.
"-backseat. Okay, never mind." Stiles pulled open the door and gestured for Derek to enter first. Inside, Stiles asked. "Hear anything?"
Derek tilted his head. "No."
"Good." He grabbed Derek's arm and pulled. "Let's go sleuth. Paper's this way." Stiles led Derek to the Bugle's headquarters. It was empty and dark, like the rest of the school. Stiles flipped on the light switch, blinked as his eyes adjusted to the new light. Everything looked just as it had at lunchtime.
He slid into the desk chair at Grady's workstation, turning the computer on. It beeped as it began to boot up. Stiles tapped the desk impatiently. The chair tilted slightly as Derek gripped the back, leaning over Stiles' shoulder. Stiles shifted uncomfortably by the sudden nearness. He tried to ignore the warm breath hitting his neck as he moved the mouse to click on Grady's document folder. He clicked on the sub-folder titled school articles.
"Huh."
"What?" Derek's voice was low and Stiles' could feel his gaze on him as he tilted his head.
"It's empty." Stiles tried running a search for Hale, but no results were returned. He checked the recycle folder, but whoever had deleted the files knew what they were doing. Stiles ran a hand over his buzz cut. "Nothing."
"What does that mean?"
"That means, someone beat us to Grady's computer and deleted his files."
"Can you get them back?"
Stiles leaned his head back, so he could properly give Derek a withering look. "I could, if I had a crack team of digital forensic technicians. Or possibly just Danny." That was an idea...
Derek stepped back, folding his arms. "No."
Stiles swung the chair around. "What do you have against Danny?"
"Nothing. I have a problem with you pimping me out to your friends."
"Hey if I could charm Danny into doing what I wanted with my own good looks and sparkling personality, I'd do it myself," Stiles sighed, "But I know for a fact that he doesn't find me attractive." Stiles scrunched up his nose. "I'm not even sure he likes me." This really baffled Stiles, because hey he was a likable guy.
"How do you know?" Derek's tone was sharp.
Stiles' eyebrows rose. "That Danny doesn't find me attractive? I asked him."
Derek turned his head away, but before he did, Stiles would swear that he saw Derek's eyes flash red. Weird. When he turned back, his face was its usual (human) sour face. He kicked the chair Stiles was sitting in. "Time to go."
"Fine, just let me turn this off." Stiles swung the chair back around. While they had been talking a screensaver had popped on. A photo of Grady and some girl floated around, bouncing off the edges of the screen. She looked vaguely familiar, but Stiles couldn't place her. He shook the mouse, clearing the screen and shut the computer down. Before the screen even had a chance to go to black, he was yanked out of the chair by his jacket. "And we're going..." Derek dragged Stiles all the way back to his jeep. He released Stiles roughly.
"I knew this would be a waste of time." He yanked the door open, practically pulling it off its hinges.
Stiles winced. "Hey, easy! And it wasn't a waste of time. Someone is trying to cover something up. Someone with access to Grady's computer."
"So what? That narrows it down to anyone who goes to your school?"
Stiles shrugged. "It's a start."
* * *
The next day at school, while walking to his locker, Stiles spotted his dad talking to the principle. Scott wasn't around to ease drop for him, but he found out what they must have been discussing anyway when there was an announcement made during his last period about Grady's death. "There will be an assembly tomorrow during second period and a grief counselor on hand." The teacher's eyes narrowed. "That does not mean you can just skip class. You must notify your teacher first and bring back a pass from the counselor."
As soon as the bell rung Stiles rushed to Scott's locker. "You heard?"
Scott pulled out a couple books, throwing them in his bag. "About Grady? Yeah. Not that we didn't already know." Scott swung the locker door shut. He followed Stiles out to the parking lot while they talked.
"Yeah, but now everyone else knows too, including intrepid girl reporter Mandy Glossip. Of whom you have last period with, right?" Scott nodded but was apparently not taking Stiles' cue. "So? What was her reaction?"
"Oh, um." Scott bit his lip. "Not sure, exactly. She rushed out of class really fast."
"And you didn't go after her?" Stiles threw up his hands. It was like he was the only one who actually cared about finding out what happened. They stopped by the bike rack.
"Well there she is now." Scott pointed across the parking lot. "She looks... mad."
Stiles followed Scott's gaze. Sure enough, there was Mandy's short frame storming across the asphalt towards some kids hanging out around the back of a pickup truck. Stiles recognized them as the school's token emo/goth/potheads. A girl, wearing a black tank top and ripped jeans with red streaks in her dark hair, slid off the bed of the truck. Stiles' memory pinged and he realized she was the girl with Grady in the photo. She flung her cigarette aside as Mandy came to a halt before her. Mandy pointed a finger at her while yelling something that Stiles couldn't quite catch over the rumble of cars and students.
"What's she saying?"
Scott tilted his head. "She's saying something about 'it' being the other girl's fault." The girl in the black tank top crossed her arms. She stood a head taller than Mandy. "The other girl says she doesn't know what Mandy's talking about." Mandy lifted up her phone to the other girl's face showing her something on its screen. Whatever was on the screen got her attention and her arm swung out, knocking the phone from Mandy's hand. It went skidding across the ground. Mandy pushed the girl in retaliation. The other girl pushed back harder, forcing Mandy to stumble backwards and Stiles could see things were going to get ugly fast. Scott must have had the same thought because they were both running towards the girls at the same time. Scott got there first. He stopped in front of the girl in the tank top. Mandy tried to get around him, but Stiles pulled her back before her fist could make contact. Unfortunately said fist swung back instead, hitting Stiles on the head. Stiles lost his grip on her as his hands moved to clutch his head. Scott managed to stay between the two, keeping them apart.
Stiles was nearly doubled over as his head throbbed. While he blinked away watery eyes, he noticed the phone on the ground. With everyone else distracted by the fight, Stiles picked it up unnoticed. The screen had a couple scratches from its fall but Stiles could still read what was on it just fine. It was a text message from Grady. "Talked Al into going. Last chance to share byline?" Just below was Mandy's reply, "Not for all the Pulitzer’s in the world."
Stiles had no idea what it meant, but it was dated the day Grady died. The phone was suddenly snatched from his hands. He looked up to see Mandy, but she wasn't even looking at him. Her gaze was locked on the other girl. "This isn't over!" Shoving her phone into her purse, she stormed off. The girl in the tank top waved off her concerned friends and climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck.
Scott walked over to Stiles. "You okay, man?" He made a face as he glanced up at Stile's forehead. Stiles touched his temple and winced. He was already getting a bump. Great. Now he was going to have to explain to his dad that he got hit by a 5'1 girl.
"I would say that my dignity hurts worse, but I'm in too much pain."
Scott guided Stiles, who seemed to have lost some of his equilibrium, to his jeep. "Maybe I should drive you home?"
Stiles shook his head, which in hindsight wasn't such a great idea. Ow. "No, don't worry about it. You probably have another 'study' date with Allison to get to."
Scott looked sheepish. "I can cancel." And he meant it, which in itself made Stiles feel a little better.
Stiles leaned back against his jeep. "I'm fine. I just need a minute for the stabbing pain to let up and to stop seeing double."
Scott gave him a look. He then snatched the keys from Stiles' hand. "I'll text Allison that I'll be late."
As Scott drove him home, Stiles told him about the text that was on Mandy's phone.
"Do you think he was talking about going to Derek's?"
Stiles tapped his chin. "Maybe. I wonder who Al is."
"I heard Mandy call that girl she was fighting with 'Alexa'."
"Huh." Stiles stared at the dash board and his leg bounced restlessly as he thought. "So if Grady was meeting Alexa at the house that night, then she could have been the one to kill him." Stiles' eyes widened a bit. "Did you by any chance smell anything... wolf-like about her?"
Scott glared at Stiles from the corner of his eye. "You know that's not how it works. Werewolves smell almost the same as any human when we're not in wolf form. There's no way I could pick that up with so many other people around."
"So no weird vibes? No wolfy senses tingling at all?"
Scott scrunched his nose. "Her clothes did have kind of an acrid smell, but I think that was probably the pot and cigarette smoke."
"Okay, well, let's assume for a minute that there's nothing at all supernatural at work here. That it's your every day run of the mill murder. According to my dad, the motive for most murders is either love or money. Since we can probably exclude money..." The jeep came to a stop and Stiles was surprised to see they had arrived at his house. Scott offered to stay over until Stiles' dad came home, but after some convincing that Stiles wasn't going to lapse into some kind concussion induced coma, Scott took off happily to meet Allison.
It felt dumb sending Scott away, when Stiles had been complaining that they didn't get to hang out much anymore, but the throbbing in his head hadn't gone away and all he really wanted to do was crash in his bed and suffer in peace for a while.
* * *
Stiles trudged up the stairs to his room. He dropped his bag as he entered. He started towards his bed, but it was already, quite inconveniently, occupied. "You're here."
Derek looked up from the magazine in his lap. He sat cross-legged on the bed. He put the magazine aside and stretched his legs over the edge. His toes curled as his bare feet hit the floor. "Where else would I be." His irritated scowl changed when he looked at Stiles. Derek jumped up, grabbing Stiles by the shoulders. "What happened?" He tilted Stiles' head back. With Derek hovering over him so close (personal space was not a concept known to Derek) Stiles' eye line was level with Derek's mouth. It was a nice mouth. Good shape. Soft looking. Just a hint of white teeth flashed as Derek's warm breath brushed Stiles' face. Stiles wondered how Derek's lips would feel against his. Would his stubble scratch or feel good against Stiles' own smooth skin. Stiles licked his lips, then blinked as he realized what he was doing and decided regaining his personal space bubble was a good idea before Derek heard his racing heart or smelled his flaring hormones. Stiles batted Derek's hand away as it reached up to prod at the welt. He moved out of Derek's grasp and sat on his bed.
"There was a fight in the school parking lot-" The sentence was left hanging as Derek rushed out of the room. "Okay." Stiles scooted back on the bed, putting a pillow between his head and the wall. He was ready to close his eyes and give himself over to the relentless throbbing pain when Derek reappeared in front of him with a damp towel wrapped around some ice. Stiles stared at it dumbly. Derek grabbed his hand placing the icepack in it and moved both up to Stiles' temple. "It'll help with the swelling."
Derek sat on the bed next to Stiles. Stiles rested his eyes, letting the icepack do its work. After a few minutes Stiles heard Derek say, "Why were you fighting?"
Stiles opened his eyes to glare. "I wasn't." He started from the beginning, ending with his conversation with Scott on the way over. "...Jealousy! That had to be it. Grady going out with Alexa sent Mandy into a jealous rage, she followed him out to the Hale house and-"
"Snapped his neck?" Derek said dubiously.
Stiles tried to picture Mandy standing on her toes in order to reach and grab the much taller Grady's head. "She brought a step stool with her? And is hugely stronger than she looks?" Stiles slumped. "I've got nothing. But she was totally acting weird when she caught Scott and me near Grady's computer."
"What about Alexa?"
"She's scary enough looking. And probably tougher. But what's the motive?"
"Does there have to be a motive?"
"Well Derek, normally when one person murders another there are reasons behind it. Usually stupid reasons, but-"
"No. I meant the why doesn't matter, if you know the who."
"I think its Mandy. But I don't know how to know for certain."
"I do." Derek waited for Stiles to look at him. Stiles raised a brow expectantly. "We ask her." Stiles was about to say something snarky, but Derek cut him off. "We ask her and I can listen to her heart beat to tell if she's lying."
"Oh my god!" It was so simple. Why hadn't Stiles thought of it? "That's right. You're like a human lie detector. We could have this wrapped up by tomorrow afternoon and have you back in your own place before dinner time." Stiles felt a weight lifting off his shoulders. They could have this thing solved. His dad wouldn't have to work another late night and Stiles could go back to worrying about mundane things like homework, lacrosse, and full moons.
"Unless of course she didn't do it."
Stiles’ newly uplifted mood deflated. He set the icepack down and shook his head. "No. She did it. She had to do it."
"Why is this so important to you?" Derek stared at Stiles with honest curiosity. When Stiles took too long to answer his brow furrowed. "Do you really want me back in my house that badly?"
Yes , because Stiles was tired of walking around with his stomach in knots. And no, because it’s Derek. And as nervous as he made Stiles feel, Stiles knew that with him around he was safe. His dad was safe. Because Derek was an alpha. And for whatever reason, Stiles slept better knowing Derek was near. The nightmares that had haunted him since Lydia was attacked and Peter had kidnapped him didn't dare touch him.
"You know," Derek continued, "It's not like last time. I'm not being hunted. I can go somewhere else." Derek started to move off the bed.
Stiles grabbed his arm. "Don't." Derek looked down at the hand gripping his shirt sleeve. Stiles let go. "Don't go." He looked away, unable to put his reasons into words.
"Okay."
Stiles looked up in surprise. Derek was smirking as he settled back down on the bed. Stiles didn't trust that smirk.
"How's your head?" Derek asked innocently.
"Better, I think. How does it look?"
Derek looked at him thoughtfully. "Come here."
Stiles leaned forward for Derek to get a better look. Derek gently ran his hand across Stiles' temple. Stiles' skin tingled where he touched, but not in a painful way. His hand moved down, skimming lightly over his cheek to his neck. Stiles tilted his head back to catch Derek’s gaze. A question was lost, before it was even fully formed, when he felt Derek’s hot breath against his lips. It was sudden, like a car crash, Stiles had no time to process what was happening until Derek's lips were on his. Even then Stiles wasn't entirely certain Derek hadn't just slipped and their lips collided in a freak accident. But Derek wasn't jumping away. In fact Derek was pressing harder. Then he was nipping and sucking and, yes, Stiles thought, this was definitely a kiss.
Stiles' hands flailed a bit before they found purchase on Derek's shoulders. And wow. Stiles was touching Derek without the death glare of doom. Or, well, he could have been giving Stiles the death glare of doom, but his eyes were closed so he couldn’t tell. Didn't care. Stiles moved his hands, because the touching felt good and he wanted to feel more. He moved his hands down Derek's back, fingers curling in as he went, which would have probably left scratch marks if his fingernails hadn't been so short. He found the hem of Derek's shirt and hiked it up so that his hands could roam a little more freely against Derek's skin. Derek was hot all over; his skin, his mouth... was that a werewolf thing? Or just a Derek thing? Either way it felt really good.
Derek moved from Stiles’ lips to his neck. Stiles smothered the urge to giggle. Apparently he was ticklish there. Thankfully Derek moved up to nibble and lick at his ear and wow, Stiles had never really gotten the whole ear/tongue thing, but now he did.
Derek paused a moment and then whispered in Stiles’ ear. “Your dad is home.”
“What?” Stiles gasped somewhat incoherently as his brain refused to compute while his body was in overload.
Derek leaned back. He looked pained. "Your dad is home."
In his mind, Stiles heard a voice scream, ‘Nooooooo!’
|
“REY!” The Empress of the Galaxy’s head peaks up at the call of her name. The voice is so familiar- like someone from another life. It instantly soars her heart into high hopes.She whips to her other side, looking past Kylo to where the call came from. He turns as well, but it takes his body a few extra seconds to get all the way around. “REY!” With the other call her heart stops, recognizing the voice moments before she finds its face. Her gaze settles on the bright eyes of a Resistance Pilot. He is almost smiling, waving his arms over his head so she can spot him in the crowd. As soon as they make eye contact, however he starts pushing past members of the crowd, until the only thing between them is the small metal fence of the parade line and a handful of troopers. “Poe?!”Rey can’t believe her eyes. Her heart goes from its full stop to beating faster than she thought possible. She rushes past Kylo, breaking through the line of troopers and wrapping her arms around the handsome brunette. He matches her embrace in stride, his arms even tighter around her.“What are you doing here Poe?” her free hand goes straight to her saber. This is it, she thinks, they’re here for her. And though It is not the kind of approach she would have taken, she could see how this provides a distraction for the rest of the resistance to weasel their way through the crowds and take out who they need. “Courscant’s a big city.” He answers, as she takes the saber from her belt. Her thumb hesitates over the activation. Her whole body starts to freeze. This is it, isn’t it? “I was just on some business. I didn’t realize you were going to be-“Kylo clears his throat and the sound comes menacingly out of his voice synthesizer. Poe’s eyes land on him and he releases Rey at once. Rey tuck the saber back onto her belt before he’s got a clear view of her, suddenly feeling like an absolute nerf-herder. Poe watches her shoulders sink with guilt. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you.” He says, pulling away. Rey understands it isn’t smart for him to stick around. It wasn’t smart for him to call to her in the first place. And she wonders why he would have even done it? Maybe just adrenaline? Joy at seeing an old friend? She should let him slink back into the crowd but her fingers snatch his wrist before he can get too far away.“How is Finn?” She asks. The last time she had seen her friend from Jakku he had been in a stasis pod, and though she hasn’t given him much thought her heart still burns about it. He rubs the back of his neck, looking at his feet.“Up and fighting.” Poe reassures her, with a pat on the shoulder. Rey wonders how long he’s been awake, if he watched her wedding, if he’s been the only one pleading for her recue. “And The General?” Kylo stiffens next to her. He’s so close that Rey can feel it, even if she wasn’t she’d be able to feel the current of nervousness that shoots through the force. Poe looks at him while he talks to her, obviously aware he’s overstayed his welcome.“As stubborn as always.” He almost whispers, looking at her again. “What about you Poe?” She doesn’t realize that shes trembeling until her voice comes out so shakey, and then Rey swallows the spit in her mouth down a tight throat and does her best to keep steady. But it’s a lot harder than it seems and though she keeps her hands still her feet shake against the ground.Of course this wasn’t a rescue.“I’m hanging in there. Are you?”She nods.Of course they wouldn’t be here. “Lady Rey-“ Phasma’s voice breaks the silence. The silver plated captain reaches a hand out to her. Rey breaks eyes with Poe for just one second, to look at the choice before her.They wouldn’t make it ten feet, even if she decided to betray the resistance this way and run. Even if she wanted to sign the death warrant of her friends and family, she wouldn’t get ten feet before Phasma stopped her, and if she didn’t- Her eyes pick up and look directly into the dark visor behind her- Kylo would. Rey looks back into Poe’s face, doing her best to keep together.Of course this wasn’t it-“Rey-“ Poe starts, but his voice cracks and he has to begin again. He takes a deep breath and grabs her hand. “Rey, They are- they’re keeping you.” It isn’t what he wants to say. Its not even comforting, but Rey appreciates his honesty. Its an apology in its own way. It’s the admittance that she might be here forever. That she will be here forever. She only nods to him, and pulls herself out of his grip. “I know.” Rey places her hand in Phasma’s. “I knew from the start.” She admits. Because really, deep down she knew when Snoke got his hands on her he wouldn’t let go till she was dead. She knew that this fake marriage to Kylo Ren would be the trap that caught her for good. Even if she didn’t want to admit it, she had always known. “Don’t be such a stranger.” She nods at him. Both of them know she has no choice but its the best goodbye he can muster. Rey is the first to turn her back, allowing Phasma to lead her back to the protective cover of the troopers. Ren glares the pilot down for an extra moment before following. Rey’s eyes don’t leave Poe Dameron’s back until he has faded far off into the crowd, and even then she keeps herself hyper focused on the little dot that is his force signature. If they dare hurt him she’s prepared to shove her saber through Kylo’s chest at the moment. She keeps her thumb on the activator, just waiting. After a good few beats the little bleep fades away into the bustling of the city’s living force. A few tears slide down Rey’s cheeks once she’s sure he is gone. She doesn’t want her friends to see her like this, but its not like it matters, the sky is littered with cameras and surely this is playing somewhere within the resistance base. Part of her hopes Leia scolds Poe on return, telling him how stupid and reckless and cruel this was of him to do. She buries her eyes in open palms, trying her best to keep her sniffing quiet. She slides one of her forearms across her tears, wiping them away and doing her best to stand tall. Rey knows she’s ruining the fine silk sleeves of her gown, but she does not care. She knows the galaxy is watching their Empress break down and that’s the only thought that has her doing her best to keep it together.Next to her Ren places an arm around her waist, and pulls her slightly into his side. It is meant to be a comforting gesture, she can feel his intent rustling around, but it only makes her break out into a sob. He’s so warm and lovely, and he’s trying so hard but the fact that she fits here, that him comforting her almost works, makes her fall apart.This was it.Poe had basically just admitted her worst fear to her. Exhausted, she lays her head against the chest medal’s on Ren’s dress uniform, trying her best not to think about how intimate it is. She can’t think about how much she’s come to depend on him now. She can’t think about the fierce kisses and shared loneliness. She just replays him slaughtering her friends in her head, to keep away the nicer, betraying thoughts.Rey is just going to have to find her own kriffing way out of this. Her shoulders shake as a strangled sort of noise comes from her throat. She turns her face away from the cameras and further into Ren’s cloak. She doesn’t want to be in this crowd right now, doesn’t want to be seen. She defintily does not want to be taking so much comfort in the scourge of the universe either, but he seems to be the only thing keeping her from flinging herself off a cliff.--“Emperor Ren-“ Phasma’s voice sounds a little panicked as she bursts into the meeting room. The entire team stops and looks straight to her, all a little shocked at her urgency. “We can’t find her.”Kylo wastes no time speculating. At once he throws himself into the force, feeling for the signature he knows like the back of his hand. Hux sits straight up in his chair, throwing an arm out to point at one of the lackeys at the back of the room.“Report to the Supreme Leader. The girl is gone-“ Ren growls, and holds his own fist out, stopping the particular lackey from moving an inch.“No.” Kylo bites. “She hasn’t gone far. “ He can almost feel her, just a couple blocks away, and he curses her through the bond for being so stupid. But his thoughts hit a wall between them and he realizes shes got every one of her guards against him up. Hux scowls, but nods his head in concession.“If she isn’t back by the morning Ren, I’m giving the orders.” Kylo lets a snarl rip through the back of his throat, before pushing past Phasma and marching out of the room altogether.--"What will it be?"Rey's eyes drag around the cantina she's found. It's small and greasy, hidden between alleyways and cast in red light. There are creatures at every glance, some use the large dance floor, some laugh with their friends, most just sit and drown their worries. That’s the part she found most appealing, the thing that made her walk through the swinging doors in the first place.
"Something strong. " she bites, gaze falling to her hands on the plastic covered Bar top. She almost doesn’t feel them. Every part of her body is weirdly empty, like she hasn’t felt since she was last in the sand. "I need something strong. " The tender nods and starts mixing something together. She sees him grab at least four different liquor bottles and wonders just how forgetful she’s about to become.
"You come here a lot?" He asks, shaking a canister. "You look real familiar.”Rey shakes her head. 'No I'm the Empress of the Galaxy' it almost leaves her lips, but she bites it back with a bitter smile. That wouldn’t be the wisest answer. There are people who are probably all over this city trying to get her head on a platter just for the association of the first order, not knowing this isn’t her choice and she has no real power. Hell, there might even be people trying to kill her because she doesn’t want the position just as well…
"Just one of those faces, you know?" She settles on. The bar tender raises an eye brow, like he doesn’t fully believe her- which he would be stupid too honestly, and sets her drink down in front of her. Rey takes a large gulp and her nose wrinkles up. He may ask too many questions but the man sure knew how to make something strong. Another customer walks up to the bar across from her and the tender leaves her be.
Rey can’t help but let her thoughts drift to them. She wonders if Master Luke knows they’re leaving her here, if he and Finn had fought for her at all. Bitterly she wants to say no, they just left her. She wants to believe no one cared for her too much, because that made it all easier. It makes the resentment she feels justifiable. It makes her feel less of the dark gooey oil that currently covers her limbs and feels her heart.
Rey really wants to destroy something. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this close to the darkside, not even when being tortured by Hux, not even choking Kylo Ren to her mercy . The thought of them hating her keeps her just out of its reach, because if she starts thinking about the way she loves them, and all the things shed do for them-Well, they clearly don’t return it.
It isn't until Rey is on her second of the abnormally blue drinks that the seat next to her squeaks.
"Have you decided to run off for real this time?" Rey sighs. She knew he was coming. It would be stupid of them to leave her alone, but she had hoped to be a little more intoxicated by the time he found her.
"You know I couldn't do that to them.” Even after all of it, even after being left to this creature, she still wouldn’t be able to betray them.
"No of course not." Ren draws in a breath, letting his lips twist up in a bitter smile. "I expected you to pull that saber on me and escape as soon as I handed it to you. But you've stayed so long for what? Them...?"
Rey just nods, refusing to even look at him.
"They're not coming back for you.” He only says it because he feels like she hasn’t actually accepted it yet. She shakes her head and takes a large gulp of the ugly blue drink in front of her.
"I know.” She sighs, finally looking up at him. And maker he wants to ring every one of their necks when he sees the heartbreak in her eyes. “Believe me I'm painfully aware of it.”
"Then why keep them safe?"
"Because I love them.” Love? Ren mulls the word over in his head. It is familiar to him in the same way you recognize something through water- blurry, unsure, but it is there. It’s the short moments the dead boy experienced with his mother in the quiet. It’s the quick electric heart beat he’s hand when he accidently touches the scavenger. They don't deserve her love, he thinks leaning his elbows down onto the bar top. Not if they would leave her to rot with someone like him.
"I should've expected an answer like that from you.” His voice is even as he stands up. For a second he hesitates before holding his arm out. "Lets go home.”
"I've had a rough day.” she sighs, refusing to look at him once again. "I need some time.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but closes it without speaking. He turns back around and sits onto the stool. He will sit here silently as long as she needs him too. He doesn't know why, and for the first time he's blaming the blood spell, but the scavenger needs this, and he doesn't want to be the one to take it away.
He's going to end up ruining her life so much more- even more than he already has. So, he thinks, for now he'll let her have this. |
It starts with the absence.
Which, at first, swamped under the heaps of blueprints and manuscripts, Chu Wanning didn’t really put much focus on.
Eyes burning red as he works tirelessly through the day and deep into the night, he often pays little to no attention to his surroundings or to his health. When Mo Ran leaves for the day to run errands, with no one to remind Chu Wanning to replenish his system with fluids and food, he would just let his stomach acid digest itself.
Until Mo Ran found him sitting alone in the dark one day, bones stiff and unmoving, almost in a vegetative state as he had worked himself into overdrive. Chu Wanning has a thin face and did not want anyone to think he needed assistance with mundane things like eating or drinking. So everyday Mo Ran would prepare healthy meals at least three times a day, gently guilting his husband into thinking that he was the one feeling lonely eating by himself so Chu Wanning would be forced to eat with him. On days when Mo Ran was not home the entire day, he would send loving reminders to heat up the little lunchboxes he prepared through the communication haitang flowers they had set up.
Seclusion in Nanping Mountain with his significant other was both a gift and a curse.
Chu Wanning is able to work comfortably, absorbing the serenity of the outskirts and nobody to question him about his detonating health, his disease.
For the past few months, he has been experiencing a dull ache in his body that gradually stiffens his bones by the end of the day. Symptoms of headaches, nausea and extreme fatigue would accompany them, hindering most of his daily life. He can feel the pain clawing at his muscles, dull but sharp that makes his head spin.
Bad, but not hopeless. Elder Tanlang told him when Mo Ran had forced him to pay the healer a visit. However, after many tries and consultations, medicine and spiritual healing could not cure him.
Chu Wanning is not sick. He’s just tired from work and developing muscle ache is part and parcel of getting old.
Mo Ran seems to believe differently, constantly fussing over every tiny movement from his beloved and developing an acute awareness for every small sigh that he makes, deeming him in need of assistance.
More than usual, Mo Ran would make sure his Shizun exert the least amount of motor movement as possible. Not like Chu Wanning had been doing any heavy lifting in the past, but even getting out of bed or doing the dishes by himself are not allowed.
The seamless domesticity feels almost too natural that Chu Wanning does not have the time to over analyze it as he pours all his focus on the piling workload instead. He can ignore the tiredness creeping up his spinal cord.
Tonight is no different, the harsh winter wind threatening to break down the protective barrier around their house. Yet, Chu Wanning continues to ignore it, just like he ignores the throb in his empty stomach or the strain in his arms as he drafts blueprints for a new machine. The candle burning in their room flickers weakly in the darkness, an indication for the night’s age. What Chu Wanning can’t ignore is the absence of a second body bustling around in the background. The lack of Mo Ran’s heavy footsteps, his whistling as he attended to various tasks around the house, fussing over Chu Wanning every hour, hangs over him like an itch he can’t reach.
At first, it was unnoticeable as Mo Ran would be back within an hour or two, hoarding an assortment of treats to appease Chu Wanning. “I missed you and they reminded me of you,” he mumbled against the Beidou Immortal’s hair when they were pressed together in an embrace after being parted for an hour too long.
An hour turned into half a day. Meng meng needed help with the new disciples, he told Chu Wanning at dinner; stir-fried noodles, assorted vegetables, fried tofu and ginger fish Mo Ran had managed to prepare in a short amount of time. Any other day, they would just have a small meal with two dishes as Chu Wanning preferred to be simple. But Mo Ran wanted to apologize for leaving him alone all day. After dinner, he made sure to take care of his Shizun in the way he knows best, coaxing him into a writhing and whimpering mess with his skilled mouth alone before fucking into the wet heat over the course of an hour. The same mouth kissed Chu Wanning desperately yet gently stroking the exhaustion and stress out of him while he’s balls deep inside the hungry channel. With such careful pampering, Chu Wanning almost forgets about the scorching pain in his bones.
It’s not like Chu Wanning needs to know his husband’s whereabouts round the clock. But It’s also not like Mo Ran to not return home after an entire day, three days in a row. So when he hears the door finally open and latch shut from the living room, he resists the urge to storm out to interrogate.
“Baby.”
A quiet tone calling from behind him, before the smell of oakwood overwhelms his senses and a pair of arms wrap around him, soothing his throbbing head. Chu Wanning puts down his reading glasses and lets his disciple nose along his neck and nuzzle all over the exposed skin like a dog marking his territory. Chu Wanning briefly considers slapping his face away for re-scenting him.
“You’ve worked too hard again,” Mo Ran tells him, kissing the tender skin. He sounds a little disappointed, Chu Wanning doesn’t know if it’s directed at himself or at him.
“I remembered to eat this time,” Chu Wanning says quietly.
Mo Ran gently tugs him around to face him. Chu Wanning only has a millisecond to see that Mo Ran’s hair is damp and bits of snow dots his eyelashes before cold lips press onto his, kissing him soft and sweet. A cold hand comes up to gently cup the back of Chu Wanning’s head as Mo Ran sucks his tongue into his mouth. They kiss for a long time, savouring the taste of each other until Mo Ran is forced to release Chu Wanning’s red lips from between his teeth.
“Are you trying to freeze me to death?” Chu Wanning snaps, but his hands covers Mo Ran’s larger ones, passing heat energy through his palms.
“Shizun is always warm,” Mo Ran brings their hands together to kiss the knuckles that connects slender fingers. “Will you let me draw you a bath?”
Mo Ran knows Chu Wanning has not left this table since dawn, fingers calloused from writing and eyes tinged red from staring at scrolls all day. It makes his heart ache. Chu Wanning is naturally a workaholic and perfectionist. No matter how much Mo Ran tried to convince him not to accept too much work, he would simply refuse, not wanting to use his condition to dismiss any work or receive special treatment. Mo Ran thinks if only he were smarter, more capable in the academic field like his Shizun, he would be able to receive a higher income to treat his lover better.
A pair of phoenix eyes locks onto his, silently searching for a moment before nodding. Mo Ran wonders what he’s searching for. He doesn’t ask though, just gives him a bright smile that makes his eyes turn into crescents and hopes it answers whatever Chu Wanning needs.
Once the fresh bath water is ready, the shameless disciple scoops Chu Wanning up and lowers them into the steaming tub, arranging him on his lap. His face turns red instantly, both from the steam and from being carried.
With a soft washcloth, Mo Ran starts washing his back, the other hand gathering his hair into a bun. Chu Wanning sits still, dazed, body warm and throbbing, mind turning into liquid. Every so often, he feels lips on his bare shoulder blades as if easing the pain blooming there.
“How was your day?” Mo Ran asks, rough hands now rubbing circles into his sore neck.
It’s a struggle for Chu Wanning to direct his attention away from the distracting hands on his body. “Finished modelling the last parts of the practice weaponry master for the first year disciples. Started on another project that I neglected a few months ago”.
Mo Ran makes a humming sound, by now there is a purple bruise forming on the side of Chu Wanning’s pale neck. He bites back the soft noise threatening to spill from his mouth, “what about you? Where did you go all day?”
He hears Mo Ran drop the washcloth into the water and turns him around so they’re facing each other. Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Chu Wanning thinks. It was beyond the forces of earth for someone like Mo Ran to be with an insignificant being like him. How can he possibly be lucky enough to marry Mo Ran? He’s inexperienced and awkward and short-tempered and unskilled in matters related to love and pleasure. It makes him sick with humiliation how much dependence he had grown on Mo Ran over the years. Chu Wanning was used to being alone, to the numb sting of loneliness, but as soon as he allowed himself to experience one ounce of affection from Mo Ran he became addicted to it, unable to grasp the concept of being lonely anymore.
He memorizes the way Mo Ran’s eyes stare at him and forgets what he even asked a second ago.
“I love you, Wanning.” Mo Ran tells him easily.
The words thrum through his veins, feeding the warmth spreading through his blood. His heart starts rabbiting in his chest like every other time Mo Ran tells him he loves him. He’s getting better at reacting to it, though. He never tried to run or pull away from him anymore. He cannot stand the hurt that clouds Mo Ran’s features whenever he thought he was being rejected.
Its just. He knows Mo Ran is wrong. Even though they’re married, Chu Wanning has not been able to bring himself to say those three words back to him and he hates himself for it every time he sees the expectant look on Mo Ran's face when he can easily tell him how much he loves him. But Chu Wanning knows he’s mistaken. Maybe he just thinks he loves him, always believing in this distorted view of Chu Wanning he formed inside his head. Loving Chu Wanning is not possible. He is the farthest thing from lovable, not a single feature worthy of love.
Its okay, you don’t have to say it back. I’m telling you because you deserve to know you’re loved. Mo Ran told him in the midst of his internal hysteria.
It still hits Chu Wanning like a ton of bricks every time he hears Mo Ran say “I love you”. He can never get used to it. And every time, he just blushes a deep red or turns away from him, or he’d mask his embarrassment and awkwardness with anger.
But lately, the words jump to his lips on their own accord and he feels the weight of them on his tongue, imagining the look on Mo Ran’s face when he could finally say it back. Now is one of those times. He’s sitting naked in Mo Ran’s lap in the lukewarm bathwater, watching red lips moving to form the words I love you.
Mo Ran isn’t sure if Chu Wanning heard it, as he is just staring blankly at his face. So he repeats, “Shizun, I love you”. Because he needs him to know.
Eventually Chu Wanning’s brain catches up with him and he swallows down the words and forces a small smile. Mo Ran doesn’t say anything and moves forward to close his lips around his pink ones, but Chu Wanning catches the slight disappointment in his eyes.
Maybe the reluctance to put his heart out open and bleeding on the table stems from the fear of Mo Ran leaving him one day. After all a flawed object like him doesn’t deserve to be the receiver of love, a raw human emotion. It was incredibly sinful and selfish to admit to needing his love, like roots absorbing water, taking without giving. It goes unsaid that he trusts Mo Ran completely, whole heartedly, after all they’ve been through in two lifetimes. So Chu Wanning felt he needed to be honest about everything else, and had no rights to ask Mo Ran about things he does not wish to share, even if it might hurt him.
“You’re so pretty,” Mo Ran whispers into his mouth, “please be naked for me all the time.”
It’s difficult to let his internal turmoil fester when Mo Ran starts saying things like that. The raised hand is caught before it could smack his disciple, Mo Ran grins and licks Chu Wanning’s mouth open, coaxing him with his tongue.
“Have I taught you no sense of shame?” Chu Wanning tries to retort weakly, skin tinging with familiar arousal.
Mo Ran just hums and sweeps his hands beneath his thighs and stands up abruptly but carefully, stepping out of the tub while kissing him. Chu Wanning tries not to yelp and presses his knees into Mo Ran’s sides, “Mo Ran!”
“Shizun,” Mo Ran starts walking to their bedroom, “forgive this disciple’s indecency.”
Indecency your head, Chu Wanning thinks. Only deciding to say it now as if he hadn’t sank his canines into his neck ten minutes ago.
Before he can say anything else, he’s being transferred to their bed. They’ve been thoroughly dried with one of Mo Ran’s spell so they don’t have to worry about wet sheets on top of other liquids tonight.
“What are you doing,” Chu Wanning asks dumbly even though he’s pretty sure he knows. Mo Ran likes fucking him in bed, likes to be able to pin him down into the mattress and hover over him like a possessive dog over a piece of meat.
“I’m putting you in bed,” Mo Ran murmurs, hitching his legs over his waist and pecking his lips.
“I’m in bed now,” Chu Wanning says dazedly, like he can’t believe they’re like this and this is his life now. Master of machine and weaponry, mathematics genius, the powerful Yuheng of the Night Sky by day and brainless by night.
Mo Ran’s cock feels like it’s been hard for hours, Chu Wanning can tell by how it’s pressing hard into his inner thigh without even looking at it. But he’s still doing nothing about it and staring at Chu Wanning like he hung the stars. “I’m looking at you.”
“Can you look faster.” Heat blooms on his face.
“Shizun is unfair. Not when you look like that.”
It’s rare for the Yuheng elder to be the one to initiate things, even if it was indirect, so Mo Ran wastes no time and slides a finger into him. Chu Wanning inhales and arches up into it, easily wet and loosening with every pump, eyelashes flickering.
Mo Ran adds another and this time he urges deeper, dragging the inner walls until he nudges against the nub that makes Chu Wanning’s breath hitch, releasing a soft moan.
“Could finger you all day,” he breathes as he watches Chu Wanning’s lips tremble every time he rubs the spot, “so beautiful like this.”
The digits stretches him open, exploring, committing every spot to memory. It was getting difficult to stay quiet. They’ve had sex almost every night, so it doesn’t take long for him to be ready for the monstrous weapon by now. Still, Mo Ran likes to be entirely careful, or he likes being able to make him come from his fingers alone, Chu Wanning is sure it’s more of the latter.
“Please, Mo Ran- ah-“
“Baby,” Mo Ran’s cock twitches, “so good for me, just a little more.”
Once he’s decided he’s wet and open enough, Mo Ran quickly kisses him and lines himself up, rubbing circles into the wet hole and eases the head inside.
Chu Wanning gasps even though he expected it and clutches Mo Ran’s shoulders.
“How do you always feel so good,” Mo Ran starts moving, slowly at first, still rationally aware of the fragile body, then once he sees his lover showing no signs of pain, he tilts his hips up and thrusts hard and fast, sweat already dripping down to his eyes. He almost loses his mind when Chu Wanning wails suddenly, desperate. He surges forward and captures his lips, swallowing the sobs while his cock spears him again and again, feeling the hungry clench of his hole.
“Mo- Mo Ran, ah- slow-“
At this point there is a blur between Mo Ran and Taxian Jun. The force of his hips slapping wetly against the reddening cheeks, the harsh pants diffusing together. “Wanning…Wanning…Taking me so well, baby. Fuck. Do you feel good? Do you like it?”
“Feels good,” Chu Wanning whimpers and squeezes his thighs around Mo Ran’s waist when he starts feeling them sliding off from the sweat. He clenches around the thick shaft relentlessly shoving into him to make sure it feels good for Mo Ran too.
A long groan escapes from the man above him. His scalp goes numb from the feeling. It’s unbelievable. His Shizun, the light of his life, the sun of his existence, his precious baobei. He loves Chu Wanning so much he feels it in his bone marrow, coursing through his bloodstream. Sometimes it overwhelms him so much he wanted to rip their bodies apart and sew their split halves together so they can be one whole.
“I love you,” he tells him shakily, overcome with emotion, “Wanning, I love you so much.” Chu Wanning responds with a particularly loud moan when the pace turns rapid, his fingers digging into the broad shoulders that pins him down. He realizes he can feel Mo Ran’s heartbeat. Delirious, his mouth unable to close, forming an O as he weakly mouths Mo Ran Mo Ran Mo Ran.
Then a sweet, broken cry fills the room as Chu Wanning comes between them, thick white fluid spurting against his chest. Mo Ran continues to fuck him through it, milking him until the last drop and it became too sensitive. It doesn’t take long for him to follow after, snarling as he climaxes and shoving himself as deep as he can, sinking his teeth into the same bruise on his neck.
For a while, Mo Ran is unable to distinguish his body from the one beneath him, surrounding him, dissolving into him. Merged together like moulded clay, hearts pulsing against each other. His love for this man crashes over him like waves over and over, fused within his cells, numbing his whole being. He can feel the lump in his throat choking off his air and stinging the back of his eyes at the sudden burst of emotion.
Like this, pinned under Mo Ran, defenseless and lost in pleasure, Chu Wanning doesn’t try to cower away from embarrassment, doesn’t flinch when being called beautiful, doesn’t avoid eye contact when he’s being told he’s loved.
To leave his beloved alone at home all day, to be separated from one half of his soul- drives Mo Ran insane. It takes everything in him to step away from the luring warmth every morning, knowing that he couldn’t touch Chu Wanning until night falls.
“You’re so beautiful, please don’t leave me,” Mo Ran whispers, lips moving against lips.
Chu Wanning’s eyebrows press together a little, but he doesn’t look like he’s fighting the urge to argue. Mo Ran doesn’t break their gaze as he kisses his lips with a level of desperation, tongue slipping alongside his. He doesn’t stop kissing him until Chu Wanning falls into a state of unconsciousness, lips pouting red, shining under the moonlight.
Slowly, Mo Ran eases himself out of the leaking hole, petting Chu Wanning gently when he releases a whine from the sudden emptiness. He bends over him to retrieve a damp cloth and a glass of water. With careful hands, he cleans him up softly, wiping away the thin layer of sweat.
He then gets out of bed and walks to their tub where their strewn clothes lay, digging through his sleeves for something. When he returns, there is a tiny vial in his hand containing clear liquid. He pours it into the glass, the liquid mixing well into the water without a trace.
Carefully, he climbs back into bed and puts his other hand under Chu Wanning’s head.
“Wanning,” he whispers, scared to alert his sleeping husband, “drink some water before you sleep.”
Chu Wanning blinks his tired eyes, gaze unfocused as he lets Mo Ran put the cold glass to his lips.
“Thank you,” he says quietly and lays back down, immediately curling his body towards Mo Ran. “Sleep, too.”
Mo Ran feels his heart turn warm. He places the glass on the floor before turning to gather the tiny frame into his arms, feeling the faint breath of Chu Wanning against his collarbones.
Under the blanket of snow that casts a layer of darkness over their home, Mo Ran watches him, feeding the image to his hunger, and it’s enough motivation for him to endure what he has to do until the end. |
Several weeks after their argument, Gabriel and Sandalphon decided to share quarters.
Gabriel wasn’t so sure about the idea at first. “Don’t you think it’s too soon? We’ve been together for only about four months.”
“Almost five.” Sandalphon corrected him. That was the first time he suggested it. “And I have already waited for you to notice me for two thousand years. That’s a long time. I am more than ready to share everything with you.”
Gabriel bit his lip. In the life span of being more than six thousand years old, five months were a mere blip on the radar. But Gabriel had no idea after how long it was normal to move in together. But if you counted the two thousand years, it was probably a really long time.
Still, Gabriel hesitated. He liked his privacy. Heaven was an open place; no door ever locked, even to the essential areas, so complete was the faith in the angels’ ability to do the right thing at all times. The only place an angel could, therefore, hope to be alone only with themselves and the God Almighty was their personal adobe. It was implicitly understood that entering the angel’s room without express permission was rude. In Gabriel’s case, only a handful of angels were invited inside on his explicit invitation.
Admittedly, Gabriel didn’t use his modest room all that much. It was a place where he stored his suits and few trinkets he collected over the years. Once a week he took a nap on a hard bed, sleep being the easiest way to clear his mind from the stress of his position of responsibility. But lately, he found himself actually spending more time there.
“I don’t understand why you don’t want it,” complained Sandalphon the next night. They found a less frequented corner of Heaven and watched the stars, Sandalphon nestled against Gabriel’s chest. “I thought things between us are great.”
They were. The last few weeks were honestly best so far in their relationship. They didn’t fight at all, they paid each other special attention and went on little dates like this, just basking in each other’s presence. Sandalphon didn’t bring up the possibility of sex again and Gabriel was relieved that he understood. Yet still, something pulled Gabriel from committing to such a big decision.
He desperately wanted to ask for advice, but Uriel had already made it clear that they were not interested in his relationship problems. Several times. Loudly. He decided to write to Michael. She might be busy, but she might take pity on him. He added his letter to the official missive from Heaven and hoped for a swift response. But no reply came after a week, so Gabriel assumed that just like Uriel, Michael wasn’t interested in helping him with his love life.
“I love to spend time with you.” proclaimed Sandalphon, after they left a performance lesser angels prepared of the music currently popular on Earth. Gabriel denied adamantly that he liked it in any way, but Sandalphon just gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t you like spending time with me?”
“Of course I do,” Gabriel assured him.
“If we lived together, we could spend more time together. We wouldn’t have to spend precious time trying to find each other all over Heaven just to enjoy each other's company.”
“We can call each other,” said Gabriel dryly.
“Gabriel, please, there are rumours floating around. Again. That we are fighting. We can’t have angels doubt our leadership. This would be a clear statement that everything is as it should be.”
Sandalphon had a point. Even months after the Armageddon, Heaven was in a fragile state. Just a short while ago there was a protest organized by the Powers, demanding to know the new plan. Gabriel was worried that should nothing happen, angels would once again start Falling left and right and that honestly scared him.
“Alright.”
“Alright?”
“I will move in with you.”
Sandalphon’s face radiated so much happiness, that any doubt Gabriel had about the decision evaporated.
Of course, the whole endeavour wasn’t without its hurdles. First, they had to decide where to live. None of them wanted to leave their quarters and move to their partner’s. So they compromised and moved to new ones, slightly bigger. Still, without miracles to adjust spatial dimensions - which would be frivolous and Gabriel hated frivolity - their combined possessions wouldn’t quite fit. Between Gabriel’s suits and Sandalphon’s weapons he didn’t keep with others in the armoury and sealed boxes he claimed contained research for work, something would have to go. That something turned out to be a huge part of Gabriel’s wardrobe.
“You have so many clothes anyway. Some of it is hundreds of years old. Seriously, I wonder why you didn’t do some spring cleaning already.”
Sandalphon graciously offered to go through his suits with him and help him sort what he would keep and what would go. Gabriel had great trouble deciding. Each article of clothing just left him sentimental.
“It might come into fashion again,” said Gabriel, eyeing the dark blue suit that was in fashion in the seventies. The eighteen seventies that’s it. It came with a top hat.
“Gabby, if you ruminate over each article of clothing, we will be here until the next Armageddon. Just throw it all away, make a clean cut and get a fresh start. You can always get some new clothes.” and to emphasize his point, Sandalphon vanished some of the medieval cloaks. Gabriel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The one laced with silver thread was a fine craftsmanship. “Come, I will get you new clothes. So many new clothes that you won’t know what to wear first.” Gabriel supposed Sandalphon was right. The chances that togas would be one day popular again were truly remote. In the end Gabriel was left with several current suits, his running clothes and old purple shirt Sandalphon claimed brought out his eyes. He was a bit upset though when he discovered they accidentally threw out the outfit he wore during the Annunciation. That one had big sentimental value.
A few nights after the move, when Gabriel was still finding his feet in his new circumstances, Sandalphon invited a couple of friends for what he claimed was a house warming party, an honored human tradition when the couple finally moved in together. Except most of the invited angels were Sandalphon’s friends and angels working under him and Gabriel felt like an excess wing. He had to endure a fair amount of good-natured ribbing for finally making Sandalphon the happiest angel in Heaven and he had to resist an urge to throw the quartermaster out by his wing. Gabriel felt as if someone invaded his sanctuary, no worse, he felt is if demons stormed the Throne of Heaven.
After the whole ordeal, Gabriel took Sandalphon aside.
“You should have told me you were bringing others around. Some warning would have been appreciated.” As it was, Sandalphon showed up at the door with other angels in tow and expected Gabriel just roll with it.
“I live here too, Gabriel,” said Sandalphon, offended. “I have the right to bring our friends around. You want me to live here with you like some kind of hermit?”
“They were all your friends.” cried Gabriel.
“Well, I would have invited your friends too....but that’s right, you don’t have any.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? So name them? So I can invite them next time.”
Gabriel opened his mouth and paused...He wanted to say Uriel and Michael, but...
But Uriel has always been a loner, always so distant from others. They hardly ever initiated a conversation that wasn’t about work and they seemed to suffer Gabriel’s presence rather than enjoy it. And Michael, only the Almighty could see inside Michael’s head. Sometimes Gabriel had an impression she would be capable of stabbing them in the back without regret. He shut his mouth.
Sandalphon's face clearly said There you have it. He put his hands around Gabriel’s waist, pulling him closer. “You are really lucky that I love you. No-one else would be able to put up with you as I do.” Gabriel felt like someone twisted a knife in his gut. But Sandalphon must be right because as far as he searched his mind, he couldn’t come up with a name of someone who would miss him if he suddenly disappeared. Except for Sandalphon, of course, who now kissed the side of his jaw.
“Yeah,” Gabriel answered dully. “I am really lucky to have you.”
The next day Gabriel took care to leave the office early when he knew Sandalphon was still working. He wanted some privacy to preen his wings.
Sandalphon appeared just as Gabriel was finishing and cleaning the preening oil off his hands.
“You are preening again?” he scoffed. “Don’t you think it’s a bit excessive? You do it every other day.”
“I just like my wings well-maintained,” said Gabriel. His wings were his pride and joy and he was a firm believer that the better the wings were groomed the better was the performance in flight.
“It’s vain and sinful,” said Sandalphon. “Like you are some kind of demon. I heard that they groom their wings all the time too.”
“I am nothing like demons.” protested Gabriel.
“And you always make a mess. I am tired of finding your feathers everywhere.”
“I always clean up after myself.”
“Then what’s this?” Sandalphon picked on the purple feather from under the bed. Gabriel coloured guiltily.
“So I missed one. Sorry.”
Sandalphon sat next to him on a bed and kissed him on the cheek. “Apology accepted. Just be more careful next time. You don’t live alone anymore. You can’t leave your scraps lying around.”
“I will,” Gabriel assured him. He might be cohabiting for only a few days, but he was already learning that he needed to have a bigger consideration for his partner’s comfort and space.
“Why you don’t let me do it anyway? It would be easier for you. You wouldn’t have to bend so awkwardly to reach your scapulars.”
Gabriel couldn’t find the argument to refuse Sandalphon’s offer. Maybe it was vanity, but he just liked grooming his wings himself, even if it was indeed hard to reach his scapulars. He only went to professionals if he had some important appearance coming up.
But for angels wing grooming was the intimate thing and letting someone else do it, to let them touch the most sensitive and fragile part of your body and let them sit at your back, was a sign of trust and by extension, love. Sandalphon would probably take the refusal the wrong way. And maybe he would be right to. It’s not like he had any right to doubt Sandalphon’s capabilities. His wings were always fine. Gabriel himself didn’t understand the strange misgiving he had about it. He should be overjoyed that his loved one offered to groom his wings.
“Next time I'll let you do it.” he murmured.
So three days later Gabriel found himself sitting on the bed, Sandalphon behind him, running his hands through his feathers, cleaning them and straightening them.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
Gabriel made an agreeable sound in the back of his throat. It was not unpleasant. Sandalphon was efficient, plucking the loose feathers quickly and carefully, maybe he was even a little bit too careful trying not to hurt him. But his attentions left behind the strange tingling feeling in his wings that spread to his back. He squirmed.
“It will be done soon,” Sandalphon assured him, misunderstanding his reaction. He ran his hands through his primaries slowly, one by one, making sure they were all lined up and without any blemish. “Here, done.”
Gabriel leaned around, giving Sandalphon a kiss. “Thank you. Would you like me to groom you too?”
“Would you, really?”Sandalphon smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
So they exchanged their positions. Sandalphon stripped of his shirt and unfurled his wings. They were shorter, less powerful than Gabriel’s but no less impressive for that. They were mostly in the shades of brown, but his primary and secondary coverts were tipped white, creating an effect of a thin white stripe across his wings.
Gabriel smeared his hands in preening oil and set to work, starting from the top, sinking his hands into soft plumage, removing dust and dirt, positioning them in proper direction. After a while, Sandalphon sighed contentedly.
“Is it alright?” Gabriel asked worriedly.
“It’s perfect.”
Gabriel couldn’t but notice that the longer he spent grooming him, the more Sandalphon squirmed and even moaned, his fist tangling in the sheets.
“Is that really that nice?” he asked. He knew that wing grooming felt nice, especially if done correctly, but he himself never experienced such a strong reaction. Were Sandalphon’s wings that sensitive?
“Oh, Gabriel, pity you don’t make an effort. It feels so nice it travels right down.”
Gabriel turned bright red at the implication. “You…”
Sandalphon craned his neck to look back on Gabriel with a pleased smile.“Come on, why did you offer to groom my wings, if you didn’t want to do just that? See, I knew that you would come around.”
“I just wanted to return the favour.” said Gabriel weakly, feeling trapped. Did he send a wrong message to Sandalphon, again?
“Gabby, you must know that preening, especially the way you were doing it, really causes...well, it makes you hard.” Sandalphon waved in the direction of his unseen lap.
Gabriel didn’t know that. He made an effort only when he went to Earth; it was a policy. And he never groomed his wings on Earth. He never had a chance to discover this little tidbit of information.
“I didn’t mean to…” he started.
“What did you mean then? You got me all turned on, you can’t stop now.”
“I am sorry.” cried Gabriel. “I already said that I don’t want sex.”
“Please, this is hardly sex. This is just some fondling, just like kissing...or grooming. And you have no problem with that, do you?”
“No, but…”
“Gabriel, you need there to be penetration for there to be sex. You don’t even have an effort. Really, what will it do to you to just to touch?”
Gabriel desperately wanted to bolt, but some unseen force had him frozen on the spot, Sandalphon seated between his legs, taking his right hand to his own gently.
“It would make me really happy, you know?” murmured Sandalphon, opening his pants with one hand. “And what will you lose? It’s no different than when you touch me on the arms and legs.” Sandalphon pulled on his hand, sneaking it around his body. As if a trance, Gabriel’s fingers enclosed around Sandalphon’s swollen member.
Gabriel never held an erect penis in his hand. He hardly ever touched his effort when on Earth and he had certainly never gotten aroused. Now he found that it was strange, especially when he knew what it was. It was hard but kind of soft on the surface, but not too unpleasant to touch.
“You love me right?” asked Sandalphon, leaning against his chest with his wings still opened. “You want to make me happy?”
“Uhmm.” Two emotions warred inside him. An utter mortification and a desire to please Sandalphon, to prove that he did love him.
“Then touch me.”
Sandalphon guided his hand, moving it up and down along his length. Sandalphon, Gabriel discovered, was not that long, but he had pretty impressive girth. His finger and thumb barely touched each other.
“See, I knew you loved me.”
Sandalphon released his hand and Gabriel continued to pump him on his own. He discovered that it was not so bad, especially as he couldn’t really see what he was doing. Sandalphon was right, it was no more different than touching him on the arm, or a chest or putting his arms around his waist.
Sandalphon groaned, arching into his hand and soon his cock was twitching in Gabriel’s hand and ejaculating all over it. Gabriel withdrew it, looking at the thick white liquid in bafflement. He couldn’t really believe that he just did that.
Sandalphon turned around, his softening penis flapping between his legs. “That wasn’t that difficult, was it?” he kissed Gabriel fully on the mouth. “You made me so happy. I loved you so much.”
Sandalphon’s words made it seem worth it.
Gabriel held his come covered hand in the air, away from his body. “Let me.” Sandalphon miracled the mess away and pushed Gabriel to lie on his back, snuggling closer to him and kissing his cheek.
“You don’t really feel any different, do you?”
Mostly Gabriel felt like in a dream. “I guess so.”
“I wish you made an effort. I could show you how good is this, you would see how happy you made me.”
Gabriel’s swallowed. He imagined Sandalphon’s beefy fingers on his effort or at least tried to. For a moment he was tempted but then a cold dread settled on him. Touching someone else was one thing, it seemed to be alright, but him...he was afraid that he would like it. And that it would turn him into a mindless creature of lust.
He rose. Sandalphon whined in protest; he had already laid his head on Gabriel’s shoulder comfortably. “I am going to wash my hands.”
And if he spent a long time in the washroom, well, that was just good hygiene.
Time dragged on. Sandalphon had seemed to adjust to their new living situation all at once. Gabriel, on the other hand, had some problems getting used to it. Now that they shared quarters, Sandalphon insisted they go back “home” every night. And since the first time Gabriel touched him, he started to press again for sex. Gabriel already gave in twice, wanking him, but Sandalphon wanted more. He wanted Gabriel to make an effort too. His argument was always the same. They already did it and nothing bad happened. He wanted to make Gabriel happy, to show him how much he loved him. They will share something special, just the two of them.
Gabriel found himself easily distracted these days. He was slipping on paperwork and had to stay in his office longer to complete everything, but he couldn’t find himself to care anyway. Each day Sandalphon, already done for a day, came to sit in his office. He either just kept him company, but sometimes he offered to help him if it was too hard for him. Gabriel did his work for millennia and he didn’t need any help.
“But that’s it,” said Sandalphon, once. “Maybe the Armageddon failed because you did it wrong. You should at least let me check it after you.”
Gabriel refused. Sandalphon left in a huff and radiated unhappiness until Gabriel went and apologized for rebuking his well-meant attempt to help him and make his life easier.
Gabriel’s corporation itched to be alone at least for a moment, and although there were some less populated places in the city angels occupied, courtesy of half of them falling, Gabriel couldn’t get rid of the feeling that someone was always watching. He knew he was being paranoid if there was someone in the vicinity it was usually some lone janitor or an office worker on his way somewhere, and he never mentioned it to anyone. He knew others would think he was losing his mind, like these poor angels who had to be wiped clean after the War. He didn’t want to end up like them.
Eventually, he decided to leave for a run on Earth. Sandalphon was tied in a meeting, so no-one appeared to stop him or insist that they accompanied him. Gabriel neglected his workout lately, he was so busy with his relationship. Sandalphon always wanted to come with him and Gabriel started to feel guilty for dragging him down to Earth and making him sit on the bench, doing nothing.
Instead of a park in the city, he went to the trail in the country. The more difficult terrain required he paid more attention to where he was stepping and so no unwelcome thought invaded his mind. He was out of shape, that was apparent when he started running. He was out of breath sooner, he couldn’t run as fast, his legs cramped when he pushed beyond his limits. Yet he pressed on.
Only when the sun was setting beyond the horizon did Gabriel stop, covered in sweat, his muscles burning with exertion. He returned to Heaven, pleased with his day.
“Where have you been?” Sandalphon’s voice sounded cold when he let himself into their shared quarters. He was sitting on a chair, tapping his foot, arms crossed on his chest.
Gabriel spread his hands to show his running outfit. “I went for a run.”
Sandalphon raised to his feet. Agitation and tension emanated from his body in waves. “Is that so? Alone? Why didn’t you tell anybody?”
“I have been going alone for years. I don’t need anybody to hold my hand.” The good feelings Gabriel had from the enjoyable run suddenly vanished like a smoke in the wind.
“You need it when I am sitting here out of my mind with worry. I almost had the Host mobilized to look for you.”
“Just because I went for a run? Don’t you think you are acting a bit like a fool?”
It happened so fast that Gabriel realized it only when the pain erupted in his face and he was forced to take a step back. He pressed a palm to his throbbing cheek in shock, staring at Sandalphon, who had his hand still raised. For a moment he was stunned. Sandalphon could have hit him again and he wouldn’t have found a will to defend himself.
“You hit me,” he stated after a moment. He was surprised by how normal his voice sounded.
“Don’t call me a fool,” growled Sandalphon.
“You don’t get to do that! We are not in the training yard!”
“Well, if you spent more time training, you wouldn’t be such a soft target.” mocked Sandalphon. “You wouldn’t need to be constantly protected and you could go wherever you liked.”
“I don’t need to be protected. I can take care of myself!”
“Prove it then! Hit me back!”
Gabriel, adrenalin still coursing in his veins from his workout, found himself suddenly angry at Sandalphon. Not only for hitting him but for not having trust in him. He was not a child and he managed to exist without him for thousand of years. He hurt him and Gabriel wanted to hurt him back. His hands clenched into fists and he had to fight the urge to strike Sandalphon with all his might. Red in the face he turned to leave, already opening the door. Sandalphon rushed to him. He caught him by the wrist, pulling him back. Sandalphon blocked his way.
“Let me go or I’ll…” he said with a raised voice, red in the face.
“Gabriel, calm down. Everyone will hear you.” Sandalphon took a step towards him. Gabriel took a step back. “Look, I am sorry I hit you.”
“Well, you should be.”
“I am,” said Sandalphon with feeling. “But you can’t do things like this. Do you know how I felt when I couldn’t find you anywhere? You weren’t here, you weren’t in your office, I was so scared I thought I might die. And then you come back, all happy, no clue what you just did.” Sandalphon looked to be on the verge of tears. “I just lost it. I didn’t mean to hit you. You know that I would never intentionally hurt you, right?”
Sandalphon reached for his face. Gabriel jerked aside.
“I am truly sorry. How many times do I have to apologize? You must understand, you lose control too sometimes. When you hit me in the baths, I forgave you too. You know everybody can lose their temper sometimes. I know you wanted to hit me back.”
“I didn’t,” said Gabriel through gritted teeth. “I just went for a run,” he added with emphasis.
“I know. Just...let me make it up to you. We can go flying. Or watch The Sound of Music. Just don’t be angry with me. I couldn’t stand it. I love you. I would be nothing without you.”
Gabriel couldn’t stay angry in the face of Sandalphon’s tears. And it was true that he too almost lost control of his temper. And it was true that after that incident in the baths Sandalphon had forgiven in him almost at once.
“I forgive you,” Gabriel grunted.
Sandalphon smiled through his tears. “Let me.” He ran a thumb over the raw spot on his cheek and the stinging gradually disappeared.
“I won’t do it again. Just promise me, you won’t do anything to upset me like this again. I worry for you, you know that.”
“I promise.”
And when Sandalphon gave him a lapel pin in the shape of a lily that he actually liked, he accepted it graciously. |
Aside from teaching Luca how to read, Robert had never attacked any project with the singular focus and determination that he did studying for quals. It was immediately clear that he’d been far too optimistic about his ability to pass with the same ease he always had his classes. A quick memory and a knack for inference would only get him so far. This test required bone-deep knowledge.
Robert begged off sparring with Francis and Dalton in order to stay up with Val in the library, bent over books of law too ancient and unwieldy to check out. He even started going to class, to Val’s combined relief and alarm.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Fitz?” Val asked more than once.
As for what Hugo thought about Robert’s sudden transformation, he was barely in the flat enough to notice. That wasn’t entirely unprecedented; Hugo always had a girl on the line, or several, and Robert was vaguely aware that he had friends outside of school. But there was something off about the hours Hugo was keeping, the furtiveness with which he answered Val’s perfectly innocent questions about what he’d been up to.
Robert had been raised by criminals. He knew when a man had something to hide. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what exactly it was Hugo was hiding.
He found out anyway when he tossed Hugo’s room for the Blackstone Commentaries. There on his desk, not even hidden, was a pamphlet. Robert knew immediately what sort of pamphlet, even before seeing KENEVER: TRUE KING OF SOLAS printed on the cover. The sort that could get a man taken apart by the interrogator’s knife and the pieces of him strung up in Bromley Square.
Robert’s immediate instinct was to burn it. He fumbled out his lighter and caught the corner with a lick of flame. Then—“Oh, scald the damn land!”—he threw the pamphlet on the floor and stamped it out.
He didn’t know what instinct drove him to save the stupid, dangerous thing. The same instinct, he supposed, that directed him to tuck it into the inner pocket of waistcoat.
He located the Commentaries, half-buried under a pile of overdue work. There was a half-smoked pack of cigarettes on the windowsill, which Robert confiscated as restitution for emotional distress.
When Robert went to Val’s room to collect him for class, he was face-down on his desk snoring. They’d been up all night working through a particularly tricky bit of maritime law. Val had clearly taken his last few meals in his room; plates and cups were scattered on every available surface. Yesterday’s paper was spread over the desk. From the stains, Val had apparently been using it as a tablecloth.
Robert made a point of never reading the newspaper, but Hugo’s stupid pamphlet seemed to exert a prickly, insistent pressure against his chest. Robert knew that he wasn’t being watched, but still, he tried to look disinterested as he looked over the headlines.
He needn’t have bothered. It was nothing but the usual propaganda. Kenever’s beastly Dogs of Guye waylaid an innocent merchant’s caravan; their deaths were avenged by the patriots of the Royal Regiment. Hip hip hooray.
Val stirred and stretched. He wasn’t surprised to see Robert; they were in and out of each other’s rooms all the time. Yet another reason Hugo should’ve known better than to leave that bloody pamphlet sitting out.
“What do you make of it?” asked Robert without looking up from the paper.
Val cracked his neck.
“What do I make of what?”
“What’s happening on the border with Guye.”
“Kenever’ll be defeated by this time next year,” said Val, yawning. “Isn’t that what everyone says?”
“Yes, but they were saying it last year, too. And the year before.”
“I didn’t think you cared about politics, Robert. Isn’t that Hugo’s area?”
You have no idea, Robert thought.
Aloud, he said, “I suppose it’s part of a gentleman’s education, isn’t it? Knowing what’s going on in the world?”
Val rubbed the back of his neck.
“I wouldn’t know. My father’s a grocer. You can take the paper if you like, Fitz, but only on the condition you don’t try to talk to me about current events. I get quite enough of that when I’m home.”
“I take it your parents don’t use their newspapers as napkins?”
“Gods, I wish they would,” Val groaned. Then, quickly, he added, “Not that they’re sympathizers, of course. Just, well—romantics, I suppose. My father’s one of those who talks about Cathar Lough like it happened yesterday.”
“Yes, my Aunt Mina had a print of the Battle of Red Beck tacked up in her bedroom.”
Robert didn’t add that Aunt Mina had been half in love with Kenever. She’d cried for weeks when he was exiled to Guye. Robert hadn’t known whether or not she was a sympathizer—hadn’t wanted to know, really—but even as a ten-year old boy with no understanding of politics, he’d had his suspicions.
“You know, Fitz, that’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned having family,” said Val, propping his chin on his hand. “I didn’t think you had any relatives.”
Robert went hot and cold. Stupid to bring up Aunt Mina like that. Argent would be furious if he knew. But Val wasn’t looking at Robert smugly, as Adrian would be, knowing that he’d scored a point. He looked—well, happy. As though he was glad to find that Robert was human after all.
Robert ruffled Val’s hair.
“Keep it under your hat, then.”
The Royal Pelagic Body is authorized to promulgate guidelines governing fair use of all waterways subject to the Channel Law of Charles XCII, as amended. In the event of fraudulent conveyance by means of a waterway under the discretion of the Royal Pelagic Body, a public hearing is waived pursuant to section 1043(e) of the Civic Charter of Lyonesse on the grounds that it would not serve the public peace…
The man thrusting into Luca interrupted his internal recitation by coming. Luca bore down automatically, rolling his hips. Kyrkos shuddered and made a noise like he was dying. He collapsed onto Luca’s back. Lady, he was heavy. His beard felt like steel wool as he dropped kisses along Luca’s spine.
“Ah, lad, you’re a fiend,” Kyrkos groaned. “You’ll be the death of me.”
He flipped Luca around and rolled over so that Luca was on top, straddling him. A moment too late, Luca remembered that he should have some expression on his face—naughty, slutty, that was what Kyrkos liked—but fortunately the man was too busy running his hands over Luca’s body to notice. Kyrkos pushed two fingers inside Luca’s hole, feeling the slick path he’d made for himself.
“How is it that you can take so much cock and still have such a tight little ass?” he sighed.
It wasn’t a question that required an answer. Luca doubted he was that tight, anyway; Kyrkos was his fourth client of the day. Still, he tried to look appreciative as he clenched around the invading fingers. Men didn’t have to say nice things to a whore, especially not one they’d already used.
With a pleased groan, Kyrkos pulled his fingers out and wiped them on Luca’s thigh. Luca took the man’s hairy hand and brought it to his mouth to lick clean. Under the familiar tang of semen was another flavor: peppery, metallic. Gunpowder.
“Ah, that’s a picture.” Kyrkos leaned back, grinning. “I just hope the whores in Akleio are as gifted as you.”
Luca brought Kyrkos’s wet fingers to his nipple.
“Akleio, sir?”
“Mm.” Kyrkos rolled the nub between thumb and forefinger. “The King’s got business in Thesselon. I’ll be gone a month, maybe two. I hope you won’t be lonely without me.”
Luca pouted.
“I will be lonely, sir. No one fucks me like you do.”
Kyrkos made a pleased growl. He dragged Luca down for a deep, claiming kiss.
“How much time do I have left?” he panted, reaching between Luca’s legs.
Luca gasped as three fingers breached him at once.
“T-twenty minutes, sir.”
Kyrkos flipped Luca over. His back hit the bed hard enough to knock the breath from him. He didn’t even have time to inhale before Kyrkos was pushing his knees to his shoulders.
“Then I’ll have one more for the road.”
After Kyrkos had fucked his way through another orgasm and departed with a promise to return as soon as he was able, Luca scrambled to scrub down and turn the sheets over. When he checked the time, he only had five minutes until his next client. That was cutting it fine, but the book was under the bed, and there were so many pages still to read, and Luca was weak.
He made himself keep half an eye on the clock. It was difficult; Robert’s book was very complicated, and Luca could only puzzle out the meaning of each sentence by paying close attention. It helped to remember that this was a book of rules, and it therefore existed in relationship to everything else he’d ever read or heard about the world.
Luca found it deeply satisfying to see codes and instructions laid out with such well-ordered precision. There had always been so many rules governing his life, but no one had ever written them down for him. He wished they had. Then he wouldn’t have had to be punished so much.
Luca tucked the book back under the mattress with one minute left. When the door opened for the next client, he was waiting on his knees with his arms folded behind his back.
Seeing who it was, Luca didn’t even have to force his smile. Lord Fulke, as old and thin and paper-dry as the pages of Robert’s book.
“Father of Hosts, my dear, you grow lovelier each time I see you,” said Fulke, leaning on his cane.
“Thank you, my lord. May I take your coat?”
“Such hospitality.”
As he divested Lord Fulke of his overthings, Luca saw how stiffly he held himself, his posture hitched unnaturally to one side.
“How is your back today, my lord?”
“All the better for you asking. I do seem to have developed a bit of an ache just here.” Fulke gestured to the place almost apologetically. “My wife blames the hours I spend hunched over my desk. Perhaps you could…?”
“Of course, my lord. I’d be glad to.”
Luca helped Fulke out of his vest and shirt and onto the bed, resting on his stomach. He saw the trouble spot immediately: a pinched muscle keeping Fulke’s shoulder-blade in torsion. Luca took a vial of oil from the bedside table and warmed it between his hands before straddling Fulke’s narrow hips. It was always so strange to be over a man like this, as though Luca was the one who was going to—no, he couldn’t even think it.
Luca slid his forearms down Fulke’s back, using the light, blunt pressure to relax him. Then he went to work with his hands, carefully loosening tight muscles until Fulke was slack enough for him to begin on the knots in his bad shoulder. When the tender point released, Fulke moaned.
“Oh, Father of Hosts, that’s glorious. You have the hands of an angel, my dear.”
Usually when men told Luca that, it was because he was doing something else with his hands. It felt good to be useful for something that wasn’t being fucked.
But the one sort of pleasure gave way to the other, as it always did with Fulke. When he turned over, his cock was making a concerted effort at lifting up from his belly. Luca took the half-soft organ in his hands, coaxing it to fullness before bringing it to his mouth. Fulke liked it when Luca held his cock in his throat. Not sucking; just being a warm wet hole for him to fill.
Fulke sighed, his hand coming to rest on Luca’s hair. He stroked softly, murmuring sweet nonsense. Luca leaned into the touch, shivery with gratitude. Fulke was always so gentle with him, so kind. Luca could stay like this for hours.
But it was only a few minutes before Fulke went soft. Luca pulled back, working the cockhead with his soft palate. When that didn’t work, he used his tongue, laving every inch of skin before moving lower to trace the seam of Fulke’s balls. He almost sobbed in frustration when Fulke pushed him away.
“Please, my lord, let me try again, I can do better, I can do anything you want—”
Fulke waved his hand.
“Really, my dear, there’s no need for that. You are the most beautiful boy in Lyonesse, but you’re not a miracle worker.”
Luca smiled weakly.
“I would work miracles for you, my lord.”
Fluke chuckled. He gestured for Luca to lay down next to him.
“You’d make me a young man again, with a cock like a battering ram?” Fulke stroked Luca’s chest, absently pinching a nipple. “Well, perhaps I’d thank you for it. Or perhaps not; those were, as I remember, rather exhausting days.”
He ran his hand lower, over Luca’s stomach, between his thighs. Luca opened his legs immediately, but Fulke only kissed his forehead and rested his hand on Luca’s hip.
“Besides,” Fulke continued, “I can leave the work of young men to my son Samuel now. This is his second year at University. A more dutiful boy I couldn’t have asked for. Indeed, I sometimes think he’s a little too studious. No boys or girls for him, just his books. I’ve offered to make him an appointment here—or even with a woman if he’d prefer; there are places where the girls use those Erminian sheaths, for all they’re illegal. But he says, ‘Father, I haven’t got time. I’m studying for such and such a test, and I have a paper to write.’”
Fulke chuckled fondly. It gave Luca a warm feeling to see the pride on Fulke’s face. He looked like Luca’s father used to when he talked about Luca’s brothers.
“At least I don’t have to worry about the family line,” Fulke went on. “I look at poor Argent with that bastard ward of his and give thanks to Melita that my son won’t die a wanton degenerate and leave me without any real heirs.” He sighed. “I do worry, though, about the influences at the University nowadays. One does hear things about seditious elements. Sympathizers, even. These Keneverites—they’re like cockroaches, breeding in the dark.”
Luca had gone stiff at the mention of Argent’s ward. He was so tense that when Fulke patted his hip, it took a concerted effort to lean into the touch instead of flinching away.
“How lucky you are, my dear, that you don’t have to worry your pretty head with the dull business of state,” said Fulke.
“Yes, my lord. I’m very lucky.”
“Now. Why don’t you take a look in my vest pocket and see what you find?”
Luca crawled to the foot of the bed, where Fulke’s clothes were folded on an end table. He made a show of shaking out the vest and reaching into the pocket. His fingers closed around a velvet jewelry box. Inside were a pair of earrings: laurel leaves, exquisitely wrought in gold and pearls.
They’re beautiful, Luca thought. And then: I’ll never be allowed to keep them.
“A Bacchanal present,” said Fulke. “Here, let’s see them on you.”
Luca took off his dangling earrings with their gaudy glass gems and replaced them with the laurel leaves. He pulled back his hair and turned his head from side to side so that Fulke could admire his gift.
“Ah, they were made for you,” said Fulke, settling back in satisfaction. “You honor the gods with your beauty, my dear.”
“Thank you, my lord. You’re too good to me.”
Fulke crooked a finger and Luca climbed over the bed to sit astride him. He leaned forward so that the ends of his hair brushed the loose skin of Fulke’s ribs and sunken chest. When Luca rocked his hips back, Fulke’s cock twitched under his ass.
“It seems you can work miracles after all,” said Fulke, raising his eyebrows.
Luca rocked back again, letting Fulke’s cock slide into the cleft of his ass. He could feel the head rubbing against his hole, getting slick with lube. Fulke hissed, gripping Luca’s hips with surprising strength. Luca leaned down, arching his back. He reached back to push his cheeks together, making a tight channel for Fulke to rut into. He couldn’t get hard enough to fuck Luca properly, and his few attempts had ended in disaster, but he seemed to find rubbing off on Luca almost as satisfying as the real thing.
“How does that feel?” Fulke panted. There was a note of pleading in his voice.
In tones of breathless excitement, Luca told Fulke how good it felt. How much he loved it, needed it. How he wanted Fulke’s hard, hot cock all the time. “I dream about it,” Luca said, and it wasn’t even a lie. Before Robert, Luca had often dreamed of being bought by a man too old to hurt him.
Fulke squeezed his eyes shut as he came. He mouthed a name—his wife’s, probably; he called Luca by it sometimes. A little semen dribbled out of his cock. Luca knew from experience that Fulke would be too oversensitive to want it licked up. That was another nice thing about his visits; Luca never had to use his mouth to clean him after.
“What a marvel you are,” Fulke murmured, embracing him. “Truly, my dear, you could bring the dead to life.” He sighed contentedly. “As much as I’d love to bask in the afterglow, I wouldn’t want to keep your next client waiting. Depriving a man of your company would be criminal.”
Luca helped Fulke back into his clothes. There were more layers than last time; it must be getting cold outside. He thought of the snowball Robbie brought him once, a delicate crystal latticework that went to water in his hands. Robbie said that in the winter the snow covered Lyonesse like eiderdown. Maybe when Robert owned him, Luca would be allowed to see it. Maybe he’d even keep Luca in a room with a window so that he could see the sky whenever he wanted.
But no, that was probably too much to hope for.
“Do you know, my dear, I think I shall speak to your master about making an appointment for Samuel after all,” said Fulke as Luca fastened his jabot. “He deserves to enjoy himself.”
Master Boq would like that. He was always exhorting his whores to bring fresh custom to the Harlequin. Maybe he’d even be pleased enough to let Luca keep the earrings.
When Luca opened the door for Fulke, one of the house slaves was running down the hall. That was odd; the only people who should be up here during service hours were clients and Bagoas.
Fulke furrowed his brow.
“Is something amiss?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, my lord,” said Luca.
Another house slave went running by, trailed by one of the low-ranked boys. Eamon, that was his name. Under normal circumstances he never would have never dared set foot on this floor. Luca grabbed him and half-shoved him at Lord Fulke.
“Eamon, will you please see his lordship out?”
Eamon bowed hastily.
“Yes, of course. An honor, my lord.”
As they departed, Eamon cast a speaking look over his shoulder—eyes wide, mouth set in a grim line. He jerked his head in the direction the house slaves had been running in. Tris’s room.
Luca wasn’t allowed to leave his room during service hours. But as long as he was touching the doorframe, that didn’t count as leaving, did it? He inched as far down the hall as he could with one foot still planted on the threshold and craned his neck to see into Tris’s room.
He’d almost managed it when the Beast emerged, ducking his head to clear the doorway. When he saw Luca, he grinned like a wolf catching sight of a rabbit in a trap.
Luca froze. The small voice of reason told him that the Beast couldn’t do anything. Luca was protected; Robert had paid good money to make sure. But the Beast was so close, it would only take a moment for him to cross the hall and push Luca against the wall and shove his cock into him dry and Luca would only have himself to blame because he should never have left his room.
The Beast said something to someone inside of Tris’s room. The next moment, a trim man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a ruined face stepped into the hallway.
Luca stumbled back until he hit the doorframe. He should kneel, he knew, the Pig was a lord and it was against the rules to be standing without permission. But Luca could not make himself move.
The Pig was watching him, mouth twisted into something like a smile. The pox had taken most of the flesh from his face, leaving behind a wasteland of craters and blistered scar tissue. He wore a brass nose attached the bridge of his spectacles to hide the gaping hole beneath. There was padding under the placket of his breeches for the same reason. The pox attacked soft tissue; it had taken almost everything between his legs. He didn’t even have enough left to rub on Luca the way Fulke did.
And yet, contrary to popular opinion, I can still feel pleasure, the Pig had said during their first session. This, for instance—and he’d turned the key of the metal thing inside of Luca so that it opened like a claw—this I find immensely pleasing.
And he had seemed pleased when Luca screamed. He was even more pleased with the noises Luca made when the Beast fucked him after. And when the Beast shoved his fist into Luca past the wrist, the Pig’s breath had stuttered, his eyes rolled back, and he sighed with such deep satisfaction that it was as though he’d come just from watching.
You are beautiful like this, whore. We are going to have so much fun with you…
Luca tasted iron. He realized distantly that he’d bitten his lip. His fingers were in his hair, yanking strands loose.
Robert doesn’t want you doing that, Luca reminded himself. He didn’t like it when Luca hurt himself. He’d said so, and that meant it was a rule now.
Somehow the thought of Robert broke the spell. Luca could move again. He backed into his room on dangerously weak legs. The moment the door shut behind him, he felt a wave of nausea so acute he doubled over. He almost didn’t make it to the basin before throwing up.
Once his stomach had emptied itself, Luca washed out his mouth and rebraided his hair with trembling hands. His bitten lip was already puffing up; he could tell that sucking cock would be agony. At least the men always liked it when his mouth was red and swollen. They took it as an invitation.
Luca realized that he was rocking back and forth on his knees. He forced himself to be still. Whereas capital offenses are deemed the gravest threat to the public peace, any person suspected of such a crime is subject to questioning by agents of His Majesty, his guilt being thereby established; the methods of which, at the interrogator’s discretion, include, but are not limited to, the excoriation of the body…
When the door opened, Luca thought for one awful upside-down moment that it was the Pig. But no, it was only Delegate Parry, late as always, his red hands still reeking from the canned fish he’d had for dinner. Luca was so relieved that he didn’t even have to force himself to respond to the man’s touches with the required eagerness. He made Parry come twice, first in his ass and then all over his face. He licked up the spill as though it was honey and smiled so wide his split lip bled.
After the end of evening service, Luca went to find Bagoas. There was a bar of light under the door to his room; Luca could hear the scratch of pen on paper. He knocked lightly enough that Bagoas could pretend not to hear if he didn’t want a visitor.
From the other side of the door came a sigh. Then, “Come in, Luca.”
Luca opened the door and slipped inside. Bagoas was bent over his massive accounting ledger. His elegant face was drawn. There were deep circles under his eyes.
“I suppose you’re here for the gossip?” Bagoas said without looking up.
“Yes, but you don’t have to tell me.”
Bagoas rolled his eyes.
“Gods forbid you hear some rubbish secondhand. I know how the boys talk.”
“Not to me,” Luca blurted out. He heard the longing in his voice and flushed.
“No, I suppose not,” said Bagoas, looking at him with something like pity. “Still, I may as well tell you. Councilor Bors and his slave broke Tris’s leg.”
Luca’s hands flew to his mouth. He could feel the echo of it in his own body: the dry snap of bone, the white-hot lance of pain. And for it to be the Beast who did it while the Pig watched…Luca couldn’t imagine. It must have been horrible.
“Poor Tris,” he breathed. “Is the master going to sell him?”
“I think I talked him out of it. Tris brings in a considerable amount of money when he’s not incapacitated. And Bors has paid for a doctor.” Bagoas smiled bitterly. “Indeed, my lord has been quite lavishly generous in atoning for the mishap.”
“B-but—” Luca swallowed, tried again. “But, sir, if he damaged someone—damaged Tris, he’s second whore, surely the master wouldn’t let him—”
“Bors is a Council Lord with a bottomless purse, Luca. Nothing short of a death will bar him from the Harlequin.” Bagoas sighed. “And even then…”
“I saw him kill someone once,” Luca blurted out. “The Pig, I mean. Another boy at the fuckhouse. Master Jorin made me watch. He was wearing a mask, but his scars—I saw his scars.”
“Yes, I wouldn’t be surprised if Councilor Bors has sent any number of boys to the bottom of Marlebone Quay.” Bagoas rubbed his forehead. “But this is nothing for you to dwell upon, Luca. You’re first whore, and protected by the clientage of Argent’s ward. Besides, I’ve convinced the master that Bors and his slave should only be allowed to make appointments with the lowest-ranked boys from now on.” His mouth tightened. “At least until they’ve proved themselves capable of some semblance of control.”
Luca felt his stomach plummet.
“But sir, Asher—”
“I told you not to get attached.”
“Oh, but please—I’m first whore now, there must be something I can do. I’ll do anything—”
“Can you make him obedient? Sweet-tempered? Respectful? Can you get him to stop hiding when he’s supposed to be working? Convince him to charm the clients instead of showing his teeth? To please them instead of lying there like a dead fish?”
“I’m trying,” said Luca in a small voice.
“Either you haven’t tried hard enough or that boy is a lost cause.”
“But—”
“Keep pushing, Luca, and I guarantee that you will not enjoy the results.”
Luca’s teeth closed on his lip before he could stop himself. The split throbbed. Lady, what was wrong with him? He knew better than to talk back. Becoming first whore really had spoiled him. Or perhaps it was Robert, treating him so much better than he deserved.
Forgetting your place, hole? I taught you better than that.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered. “I won’t question you again.”
“Good.” Then, with the clear intention of changing the subject, Bagoas said, “Those earrings are new.”
Luca touched the fine gold leaves, pearls smooth under his fingertips. He nodded.
“Here, let me see them.”
Bagoas took Luca’s chin, tipping his head to the light.
“Beautiful work. A favor from Lord Fulke, I take it?”
“Yes, sir. He’s very generous.”
“Yes, he’s quite fond of you.” Bagoas let go of his chin and sat back. “Luca, you know that these are far too valuable for a slave to wear.”
Luca dropped his eyes. Of course he knew. Stupid, wanting to keep them. Slaves weren’t allowed to want things. This was a lesson; he should be grateful.
Bagoas sighed, as though taking the earrings was as difficult for him as giving up them was for Luca.
“Better give them to me now, so you don’t get attached. I’ll take them to the master tomorrow.”
Luca unhooked the earrings and placed them in Bagoas’s outstretched palm.
“Yes, Bagoas. Thank you, sir. I’m sorry for—” For being vain and greedy and willful and stupid. “I’m sorry.”
Bagoas waved a hand. “Go. Try to sleep. You have your appointment with Fitzrobert tomorrow; we can’t have you falling asleep while his lordship takes his pleasure.”
The prospect of seeing Robert so soon made losing the earrings seem ridiculously unimportant. Luca tried not to let his excitement show. If Bagoas found out that Robert was more than just another client—Luca didn’t want to think about it.
The last thing Luca saw before he closed the door was Bagoas with his eyes shut, massaging his temples. |
‘I paint my nails black,
I dye my hair a darker shade of brown,
‘Cos you like your women Spanish;
Dark, strong and proud.
I paint the sky black,
You said if you could have your way,
You
’d make it night time all today,
So it suit the mood of your soul.
Oh, what can I do?
Nothing, my sparrow blue.
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don
’t have a clue.
Sun and ocean blue,
Their magnificence, it don
’t make sense to you.
Black beauty.
’
-Lana Del Rey
- Alec -
Sleep was the absolute last thing I wanted, but it was what everyone thought was best. The bed was itchy and hot, covers were cloying and damp with my sweat. It creaked and moaned. I despised it. Even with Jace curled around me, I hated it.
I knew what was happening. The Silent Brothers had told me.
Your body will crave this substance. It will twist and seek it out, hurt you when you do not provide it.
Yeah, I fucking knew what was happening.
My stomach hurt so bad, it was making me tremble. Heart pounded irregularly, ribs felt too tight and my head thundered like I was hungover.
‘Fuck,’ I breathed, turning my face into the pillow.
Jace woke, his sleepy breathing pattern broken.
‘You OK?’ he asked, turning his face to mine.
‘Yeah fine,’ I said, moving away. ‘I’m sorry, you’re covered in my sweat.’
He sat up, blinking the sleep away. ‘Oh, hey, doesn’t matter. Are you feeling all right?’
‘No,’ I said honestly, because there was no point in denying it.
‘Oh, fuck,’ he said quietly. ‘What can I do?’
I closed my eyes. I knew very well what I wanted him to do. Go get me that bag he found on those junkies in the park and give it to me.
‘Get me some water, please?’
‘Sure,’ he jumped up almost comically fast, dashing off to my en suite.
‘Actually, don’t worry,’ I said, throwing off the sheets. ‘I’m just gonna get up and have a shower.’
‘You sure?’ he asked and I heard the distinct sounds of him taking a leak. ‘It’s only like 3:30 in the morning. Did you sleep?’
‘Some,’ I lied. ‘I just want to keep busy, you know?’
‘I get it,’ he said, turning on the shower for me. I went in the bathroom and saw him sitting perched on the closed lid of the toilet, brushing his teeth. ‘I’d wanna be busy too.’
‘You gonna sit there while I shower?’
He shrugged. ‘Any reason I can’t?’
I stripped down, noticing in my peripheral vision that he politely looked away when I peeled off my bottoms. I stepped into the shower. The water was hot and it felt good, soothing my aching muscles.
‘Feel better?’
‘Yeah, a lot actually. I could stay in here all day.’
‘We can, if you want.’
I laughed, squeezing shampoo into my hand. ‘I think I might prune.’
‘We can alternate, y’know, if we don’t both fit.’
God fucking damn it, withdrawal from drugs and being kidnapped for four days apparently did fuck all to stop my mind going straight to a bad place when Jace said we could spend all day in the shower.
I viciously scrubbed the shampoo through my hair, clawing at my scalp harder than necessary. It didn’t help. He was right there, on the other side of frosted glass and even with frosted glass he was very clearly going to see how turned on I was.
I carefully lowered the temperature of the water to cool.
‘How are the other people doing?’ I asked, the cold water helping my situation, but immediately wiping the relief gained from the heat.
‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘Luke is handling it. You want me to find out?’
‘No, we’ll hear about it sooner or later. Pass me a towel?’
He flung it over the top of the shower doors. I wrapped it around myself and stepped out.
‘You look better,’ he commented.
‘I look like shit,’ I said, watching myself in the mirror. Without the bandages, the track marks were clear as day. Vile, purple marks littered around the crooks of both arms. New cuts that were healed, leaving only small scars. Broken ribs left dark clouds of bruises that would take longer to vanish. The substance was still in my system and it was apparently messing with my rune’s ability to heal.
‘You look,’ he said, wrapping his arms around my middle, looking at our reflection. ‘Beautiful. Get dressed, I’ll be out in a minute.’
He stripped off, stepping in the shower without hesitating. I watched him in the reflection, unable to make myself turn away the way he had. His bruises and cuts had all healed. He was the beautiful one, as always. Naked, he took my breath away. Fuck.
This was going to be a long day.
Breakfast was a nightmare. Worse than them arguing, Mom and Dad were making some monstrous effort with each other to be civil for my sake.
‘Pass the syrup, please, Karine?’ Mom asked clipped and polite, with a smile that could have frozen water.
Karine, to her credit, didn’t detect the tone or didn’t care. ‘Bien sur,’ she said, obliging, licking the same syrup off her thumb. ‘Alec, you are seeming,’ she paused, conferring with my Dad in French, grasping for the word of her choice. ‘Pale? Pale. You are pale, Alec. Will you not come out into the sun with me today? We can go kill things.’
Jace and Izzy bit down smiles, Max shook his head also grinning. Dad didn’t seem too impressed, so I raced to the rescue.
‘Killing things sounds great, thanks. Are there things to kill…during the day?’
‘In France, there are many, yes. Not in New York?’
‘Not so many,’ Izzy said, sipping her coffee. She hadn’t eaten anything again. I frowned, but wasn’t stupid enough to point it out in front of Mom or Dad.
‘The demons in Paris are uh, how you say…c’est quoi? Ah, bold! Yes, they have large balls.’
Max snorted into his juice.
‘Perhaps another day,’ Mom said blandly. ‘There’s an official assignment from the Clave.’
We all looked up at that. ‘Oh?’
‘We can discuss it after breakfast.’
Dad cleared his throat. ‘Actually, there’s also something I’d like to discuss with you after breakfast, too, if that’s OK, son?’
Son? What the fuck now?
‘Yeah sure,’ I sighed, pushing away the mush cereal and cold toast. ‘Get in line, huh?’
Dad walked with me to HQ, Mom went ahead and Karine hung back with the others. My hands were shaking a little, so I curled them tight into fists and waited for whatever he was about to lay on me.
‘Listen, what I said yesterday…that was out of line.’
I glanced sideways. ‘What?’
‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was cowardly and undeserved. I have no doubts in you whatsoever, Alec.’
‘Right.’
‘Also, I wanted to give you your birthday present. We didn’t get to do anything and, well - here you go.’
We stopped in the hallway. He handed me a set of keys.
‘I don’t drive, Dad.’
‘No, I know. It’s not a car.’
I shot him a look. ‘OK? So, what is it? A house?’ I joked.
‘No,’ he said, looking reasonably pleased with himself. ‘It’s an apartment.’
‘…what?’
‘It’s your apartment. Bought and paid for, your name on the lease.’
‘Dad…what the fuck?’
He winced at my language, but didn’t rebuke me.
‘Look, it’s for all of you, really. I know you’re not going to come and stay with Karine and me in France and I know I’m not exactly an ideal Father to you all. But I also know how these walls can weigh you down. We’ve always lived here and if you take over, this will become your home all over again if you want, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a place of your own.’
My throat was tight. ‘This is too much, I can’t.’
‘Like I said, it’s for you all. Izzy, Jace, even Max. You can all use it. Live there, stay there…whatever you want.’
I looked down at the keys. There were three sets of two, each with different coloured caps.
‘Dad, how can you afford this?’
He shrugged. ‘Divorce is finalised, assets are all divided. Karine, you know her whole family own, like, at least four castles in France. They’re pretty much royalty. I don’t need the money.’
‘I still can’t—’
‘Alec,’ he said, cutting off my protest. ‘It’s nothing compared to what you kids deserve and what you actually got. I’m an asshole sometimes. This is my way of trying to be nice. Just take it, OK?’
He pushed my fingers closed, curled around the keys.
I nodded and he smiled, slapping my back.
‘Good. The paperwork is inside the apartment. I’d install a security system, it’s a decent place but the area is a little rough.’ He laughed. ‘Get Magnus to magic up some furniture too, eh?’
‘We uh,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘We broke up.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, that’s…am I meant to be angry at him?’
‘No, Dad. It wasn’t anything he did.’
He rubbed his neck, clearly not sure what to say. ‘Well, I’m still sorry. He seemed to genuinely care for you.’
‘Yeah, look, I gotta go find Clary, OK? But uh, thanks. This is really nice.’
Saying that buying us an apartment was nice had to be an understatement, but he took it with a bracing grin and another manly back-slap.
‘My pleasure.’
‘The assignment is,’ Mom hesitated, her lips tightening. ‘To investigate further into the substance involved in Alec’s abduction.’
It was a mark of our training and how seriously missions were taken that Izzy and Jace didn’t object loudly. I felt Jace’s anger spike, felt him control it and try to calm down.
‘I know this is an especially tough assignment, but it’s direct from the Clave so that’s all we need to know.’
‘Do they know anything?’ Dad asked.
Mom shrugged. ‘They know the drug is called DOM, a shoddy acronym for Dark Side of the Moon. That’s about it.’
Izzy frowned. ‘Is it limited to New York?’
‘So, far yes.’
‘That’s good,’ the new addition, Sebastian said with a decisive nod. ‘I’d like to help, if you’ll have me. I have some experience with tracing Yin Fen shipments and might know a few contacts who could help point us in the right direction.’
Izzy gave him a friendly smile. Clary seemed a little bemused, watching him with something almost resembling recognition.
‘That would be great,’ I said, scratching my forearm subtly. ‘Any help is welcome at this point.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘There’s a place downtown that would be a decent starting point, unless you want to head to the factory?’
Everyone looked at me. ‘No,’ I said, looking down. ‘I don’t think I could provide objective investigative skills in this instance.’
‘We should split up,’ Jace said, leaning against the desk. ‘Clary, Simon and Izzy do a pass of the scene at the factory, Alec, Sebastian and I will head downtown.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said, relieved and grateful for his backup. ‘Karine? Would you be OK to help us with something?’
Karine straightened, eyes wide and interested. ‘Bien sur, cherie.’
‘There’s a couple of bars with known addicts and users of things like Yin Fen. It would be helpful if you could go there and ask a few questions, as though you’re interested in trying it.’
She nodded fiercely. ‘I will infiltrate and destroy them.’
‘Well,’ Mom said hurriedly. ‘Not so much destroy them as infiltrate.’
Karine shrugged. ‘As you wish, but I am very great at destroying.’
‘No one doubts that,’ Izzy said with a wink and smile. ‘Simon is speaking to Raphael and a few others, asking about it. So far hardly anyone knows about it though.’
‘It’s new,’ Sebastian said grimly. ‘But it’ll take hold soon enough.’
‘Why is it making the rounds with humans if it’s a supernatural drug?’ Clary asked.
‘A drug is a drug,’ Jace said.
‘The Silent Brothers said the drug seemed to have been engineered to be addictive, especially so,’ Dad said. ‘Spreading it through the human ranks first is smart.’
‘OK,’ I said, crossing my arms. ‘I think we’re all set.’ My stomach was coiling and tightening like a nest of snakes. I needed to throw up.
‘Yup,’ Jace agreed. ‘Let’s check in after two hours.’
Hand on my back, he escorted me out of the room and into the nearest bathroom. He’d barely locked the door before I had my head in the toilet bowl, body contracting and seizing, stomach acid burning my throat as it exited my body.
‘It’s OK,’ he said, crouching beside me, his cool hand stroking my hair. ‘Get it all out.’
I gasped, fighting for breath as it slowed and finally stopped. He handed me a warm, damp towel and a glass of water. I gurgled and spat it out, staring down at the yellow, foul liquid I’d brought up.
‘I feel like I’m dying,’ I whispered. He stroked my neck now, side by side with me.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you’re not. It’s your body, tricking you. I’m right here and we’ll fight it, together.’
For a moment, we just sat there together on the marble floor. His fingers stroked my neck absently. I closed my eyes and tried to find my centre again.
‘Jace,’ I said.
‘Hmm?’
‘How did you find me?’
He didn’t hesitate to answer. ‘I’d find you anywhere, Parabatai.’
Sebastian did not mention anything about us vanishing into a bathroom and emerging half an hour later.
‘Ready?’ he asked, like we’d been waiting for him.
‘Yeah,’ Jace said. ‘Ready to kick some fucking ass, that’s for sure.’
He smiled at that. ‘Always good to meet someone who lives up to his reputation.’
Jace didn’t ask if he had a reputation or what it was. Sebastian didn’t press it. I was impressed with them both.
We took the subway, runes making us invisible to Mundanes. Jace took none of his usual gleeful pleasure in bumping into them. The journey was mostly quiet, save to occasionally confer about direction.
Sebastian led us to an extremely seedy bar which seemed, from the outside, to be a Chinese Herbalist Store. It was some kind of a speakeasy for magical drugs. The walls were dark green, the lights were dim and the smell was enough for me to want to throw up again, but I held it together.
‘Henry,’ Sebastian greeted a short, fat little man who eyes Jace and I suspiciously. ‘They’re with me.’
‘If you say so,’ he said, but still seemed reluctant. He and Sebastian had a quiet conversation, while Jace and I looked around.
‘So gross,’ Jace said under his breath.
Instead of tables, there were pod-like beds, each with little curtains creating the illusion of privacy. I could see quite clearly the people inside them, eyes rolled back as their bodies undulated and rolled with pleasure.
The smell was unbearable.
‘Let’s go,’ Sebastian said, not a moment too soon.
I took a deep breath, steading myself against the filthy glass.
‘It’s not even midday,’ Jace said with disgust. ‘Does no one have day jobs?’
‘Apparently not,’ Sebastian chuckled. ‘Henry has heard of the DOM, he doesn’t deal it because no one knows the source. He’s had a few customers say they were offered it by a friend.’
‘Any names?’
‘No.’
‘You trust him?’
‘He’s survival orientated. In this field, it’s as good as you get.’
‘Jace,’ I said slowly. ‘Your friend Adam.’
Jace blinked. ‘Huh?’
Impatient, I rolled my eyes. ‘Fuck-face Adam? From Sang’s?’
‘Oh, yeah. What about him?’
‘He offered me some drug, last time I saw him. Said it was new.’
‘Worth a shot,’ Jace said, pulling out his phone. ‘Though he is a total fuck face.’
‘I knew you’d come around, Herondale. This shit is the best thing you’ve ever tried, believe me!’
Jace, with admirable restraint, did not murder Adam.
‘Where’d you get it from?’
Sebastian was waiting outside the Mundane bar. Adam was nursing a lukewarm beer at 1pm, occasionally eating bar snacks.
He shrugged. ‘You gonna pay to know?’
‘I’ll not put my first through your face, how’s that?’
Adam took a messy slurp and sneered. ‘Fuck you, coming around here bein’ all high and mighty! Where were you last month? On your knees in the bathroom same as I was!’
‘Watch your mouth,’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Fifty bucks,’ Adam said.
‘We want the dealer, not whatever bullshit you’re about to make up for money,’ Jace warned. ‘If it’s accurate, it’s worth a hundred.’
Adam sulked. ‘I got it from a friend.’
‘Whose name is…?’
‘Can’t remember, but he hangs around outside the store with the really shitty 90’s porn.’
‘Hangs around?’
‘Yeah, mostly at night.’
‘He’s a trick?’
‘God, obviously. He gave me few samples, said I’d get a discount on more if I sold it around.’
‘What’s he look like?’
‘Brunette, curly hair, always carrying a red backpack. He’s got a knife so watch out when you approach him.’ Adam laughed at the idea of one of us getting stabbed.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ Jace said as we headed home empty handed. ‘Fucking bullshit lying liar Adam.’
‘Maybe he’s just sleeping?’ Sebastian suggested. ‘A lot of…’
‘Whores?’ Jace suggested, offhand.
‘Well, yes, they sleep during the day, no?’
‘We can try later,’ I said, but it was a hollow suggestion. I wasn’t really invested in what was happening at this point. My body was warring with me, hurting me and demanding that I cave spectacularly and give in.
Give in, find that drug and get it in my body somehow.
Fucking pathetic.
Jace shot me subtly concerned a look. ‘You wanna get something to eat?’
‘No,’ I said, stomach rolling.
‘Me neither, let’s go have a drink.’
I stopped dead in the street. ‘Are you serious? It’s early afternoon.’
He totally ignored me. ‘Sebastian, you wanna come?’
Our companion didn’t look especially thrilled at the idea of day drinking while on duty.
‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass. I have a few errands to run of my own.’
‘People are always running errands,’ Jace sighed. ‘It’s so fucking twee.’
‘Thanks for your help, man,’ I said, offering him a tight smile.
‘We’ll find the source,’ he said, aiming for kind reassurance. ‘I know a couple of other—’
Jace linked his arm through mine and pulled us away. ‘Catch you later!’
‘That was rude,’ I said, but allowed myself to be dragged. ‘And I’m not day drinking like that loser Adam.’
‘It’ll help, trust me.’
He steered us into a cab he’d hailed.
I shifted in the seats as he told the driver to head to a bar I’d never heard of. ‘How will it help?’
‘If you’re drunk, everything is numb. If you’re numb, you can’t feel that shit in your system as it burns out.’
‘Jace, I feel like I’m dying, the last thing I wanna do it drink.’
‘Yeah, well - needs must, baby.’
We were the only two people in the bar - an oddly classy place - and the bar tender didn’t seem to mind us sitting there, steadily drinking. He knew Jace, apparently.
‘Fuckin’ hate when you’re right,’ I said, drawing a wet line on the bar with a straw.
‘It’s rare,’ Jace admitted. ‘So, I’ll enjoy the moment.’
‘So, now that we’re on the verge of unconsciousness,’ I slurred, trying to sit upright. ‘You gonna tell me what’s been happening with you lately?’
‘With what? You gotta speci-specifuh…you gotta be clear.’
‘What happened with Alyssa?’
‘Urgh,’ Jace dropped his head on the bar. ‘She was great and I fucked it up. Next.’
‘What was with the guy? Declan?’
‘C’mon, man.’
‘What? ‘M not allowed to ask?’
‘I met him at Sang’s. He was hot.’
‘Did you fuck him?’
He turned to smile at me. ‘Do you know how weird it is to hear you say that? You never talk like that.’
‘Did you?’
‘We had sex, yeah.’
‘Did you bottom?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Whassat?’
I laughed, sitting up enough to drink some more. ‘Were you, like…the girl?’
‘I don’t think you’re supposed to say it like that. You’re bad at being gay. And yeah, the two times I’ve done it, I was always the girl. I bottomed, if that’s the way you say it. Two more, Paul!’
Paul didn’t comment or complain that we were clearly over-served. He poured the drinks and gracefully returned to his maintenance of the bar.
Jace took a deep breath. ‘Do you bottom?’
I spluttered into my drink and laughed. ‘I’ve never had sex, Jace. How would I know.’
‘Oh yeah,’ my Parabatai said, looking down. ‘Why’d you break up with Magnus?’
Even drenched in alcohol as it was, my brain snapped to attention as we veered into Stuff We Mustn’t Discuss territory.
‘He told you?’
‘Yeah he did and how could you not tell me?’
I huffed. ‘There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Jace.’
‘Oh yeah? Like what?’
‘How could you not tell me you were seeing a guy?’
‘OK, first off - it was casual sex and he was only here for four days, so I wasn’t seeing anyone. And B, I was going to tell you, but that’s when shit was all weird between us.’
I tried to maintain his gaze. ‘Are you bi?’
He scoffed, but then frowned as he considered my question. ‘Huh, I guess I might be. And anyway, you’re leading us off topic which was me asking how you could break up with Magnus and not tell me?’
‘I thought you’d assume it was your fault.’
‘It was my fault.’
‘No, see - I’m capable of making mistakes too. Not everything is some monstrous Jace-a-culpa.’
‘So, you dumped him ‘cause you were bored, then?’
I swallowed hard. ‘No.’
‘So why then?’
‘Jace, it’s not—’
‘Then it was my fault, wasn’t it?’
I waited a beat. ‘It was not your fault. There was more than one reason.’
‘Name one.’
‘I don’t think I loved him.’
‘You should have given it more time. Love doesn’t just happen overnight!’
I looked at him, watching him openly as he tipped his glass all the way back and finished yet another vodka and lime. Fucking hell did he have to be so painfully beautiful?
‘Sometimes it does.’
He wiped his mouth. ‘Well, whatever happened, I’m here for you. If you wanna talk about it, don’t wander the fuck off again. M right here.’
‘I know you are.’
His expression darkened. ‘You can’t do that to me again, Alec.’
‘I didn’t do it to you, Jace. I was fucking airlifted away.’
‘You can’t leave me like that. I nearly…I would have died.’
I looked at him sharply. ‘Meaning what?’
Staring at the bar, he said, ‘Where you go, I go. You go somewhere I can’t follow, I’ll kick the fucking door down.’
‘Don’t say things like that.’
‘Well don’t leave me again and I won’t have to.’
A beat of silence lapsed before I spoke.
‘How did you find me, Jace?’
‘I told you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I felt you. I followed the bond.’ He looked me right in the eye. ‘I would find you anywhere. Follow you anywhere. Do anything for you. Don’t you know that?’
‘OK,’ I said, pulling out a few bills and placing them on the bar. ‘Follow me now, then.’
‘It’s fucking huge!’
Jace’s voice echoed in the mostly empty apartment. It had been freshly painted recently, the smell hung in the air. The keys were warm in my hand.
It was light and airy, double windows in the main living room. The kitchen was small and fairly cosy, fitted with modern appliances and there were three decent sized bedrooms, one of which had a lovely en-suite with a tub.
Jace ran from room to room, squealing excitedly. His childlike exuberance soothed me intensely.
‘Wow, this is one of the best guilt gifts I’ve ever seen!’
‘Twenty-one years’ worth,’ I said, laying the keys on the countertop and turning the taps on and off. ‘I guess we need some furniture.’
‘Can I choose it?’ Jace panted, hopping up onto the countertop in front of me, his leg knocking absently against my thigh. ‘Can I choose the sofa, at least?’
I smiled. ‘You can choose it all.’
‘Yesss!’
It felt like my gift to him, almost. Part of me wondered if this was my father’s intention.
‘This is amazing,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A little freedom!’
‘It is, actually,’ I agreed, starting to become very aware that we were a little too close. I was standing between his legs as he looked down at me with his beautiful mismatched eyes. I moved back a little, but he used his feet to pull me back in.
‘You know what we need?’
‘What?’
He bit his bottom lip. ‘A party.’
‘What? No, Jace.’
‘A housewarming party.’
‘No way.’
‘A little one?’
‘Jace.’
‘Ten people?’
‘Come on.’
‘Five?’
‘Five is hardly a party.’
‘Clary, Simon, Maia plus me and you and Izzy is six.’
‘Maia is hardly going to drop college—’
‘OK, just everyone else then. Five is a party if I’m throwing it.’
The alcohol was wearing off. I felt too weak to argue. ‘Whatever you want.’
‘You’re the best.’
I solidly moved away this time. ‘We should get back before it gets dark.’
‘Sure,’ he said easily, now that his demands had been met. ‘You wanna hail a cab?’
‘Sounds good.’
Izzy was just as excited about the apartment as Jace and now I was positive my Dad had given me the keys knowing how good I would feel telling them about it. Fucking sneaky bastard.
‘Oh my God, can I use it this weekend?’ she asked as we sat on breakfast stools in the kitchen back in the Institute.
‘There aren’t any beds yet,’ Jace laughed. He seemed a little curious too. He’d doubtlessly noticed, as had I, her recent growing connection with Simon.
‘Not for that,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Gutter brain. It’d be nice to hang out with Clary somewhere less gloomy and intense every now and then.’
‘It’s your place too,’ I said, separating the keys. ‘Look, here’s your set and yours too Jace.’
‘Our place,’ Izzy said with a pleased smile, accepting the keys. ‘Give Dad his due, this is a rare home run. Our own place.’
‘No rules!’ said an ecstatic Jace.
‘Some rules,’ I rebuked gently, but it was mostly teasing.
Izzy and Jace began discussing plans for whatever party Jace was determined to throw and I watched them for a few minutes, feeling strange.
The drunk feeling had mostly worn off a while ago, leaving me weak and gutted. I had almost convinced myself that Jace was right; that drinking would keep the pain of withdrawal at bay.
I felt cold. Like something liquid and metallic was creeping up my spine, spreading into my veins. Izzy and Jace seemed further away than I knew they really were. Their words echoed in my head, but the voices were slightly off.
‘Hey, Alec?’
I shook myself, turning to Sebastian. ‘Huh?’
Jace and Izzy stared. I tried to dismiss the feeling.
‘Sorry,’ he said, halfway in the kitchen. ‘Magnus Bane is here to see you.’
‘Oh. Right. Thanks.’
‘Hey,’ Jace said softly as I went to leave. ‘You don’t have to see him.’
I shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t I see him? He did a lot for me and the others.’
‘I know, but if you’re not up for it—’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re fine? Really?’
Magnus didn’t seem impressed.
‘What do you want me to say?’ I asked tiredly. He shook his head and sat down on my bed.
‘How about the truth? I’m not someone you have to be strong for, Alexander.’
Moodily, I stared. ‘I feel better than I thought I would, considering.’
‘That worries me.’
‘Of course it does.’
‘A human drug would have you rolling on the floor vomiting.’
‘Small victories aren’t for nothing.’
‘I’m just saying with it being a supernatural drug, we can’t know the side effects until they happen. The whole thing feels weird to me anyway. What’s to be gained?’
‘Why take me?’
‘Why keep you there? Why give you the drug?’ he said, rubbing his eyes. He had beautiful eyes. ‘I don’t know, it’s weird.’
‘Thank you for everything you did.’
‘I barely did anything,’ he said. ‘It was Jace who found you. Jace who saved you.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
He looked at me. ‘I don’t know how Jace found you,’ he said. ‘Whatever it was, it didn’t involve me.’
‘So, it wasn’t the bond?’
‘He wanted to travel through the bond, into your body to see where you were. I refused. I know he could feel you, very distantly. He dreamt of you and saw you at one point.’
‘How do you know that?’
Magnus shrugged. ‘He fell asleep at my place.’
Awkwardly, I kicked the base of my bed. ‘How was he? While I was gone?’
‘How do you think he was? You’re his world.’
‘I just have this feeling he’s done something bad.’
‘You can’t just prod at your bond?’
I sat beside him. ‘There’s something wrong, like it’s weak because it was stretched too far. I’m sure in a few weeks it’ll be back to normal.’
‘I’m glad you’re back,’ Magnus said. ‘I care about you.’
My throat contracted. ‘I do too.’
‘If you need anything, I’m always here.’
I stared down at my boots, his shoes next to mine. ‘Thanks.’
‘Look after yourself, OK?’
‘I’ll try.’
I insisted Jace sleep in his own bed that night, despite his protests. He needed some real sleep and I needed distance to let myself feel whatever was happening to me without trying to hide or contain it.
I showered again, trying to chase away the cold feeling, but it was settling into my bones. I stood naked before the mirror. The bruises were almost gone now, cuts all healed and track marks had faded, but not vanished.
Water dripped from my hair and I closed my eyes as the distance formed once more. When I was little, sometimes in bed at night things would look much further away than I knew they were. It would pass eventually, but I remembered the feeling of my body going rigid and hoping it went away.
This was much worse.
My body ached and screamed, but that was tangible. Pain was real. It kept me present.
‘What’s happening?’ I said, and my voice sounded far away. The cold was travelling through me steadily now.
The higher it rose, the more distant I became. I wanted to smash the mirror because the pain might have grounded me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
You moron, a much colder Alec said. You dropped all your defences getting drunk like some whiny, attention-seeking little brat and now look what you’ve let in.
I screwed up my eyes, shaking my head. When I opened them, the distance was so great that the mirror looked small. Like I couldn’t have touched it if I tried.
You
’re pathetic. A sad, shadow of a man. A dull little virgin who can’t do anything that might make him happy because Angel forbid you actually crack a smile once a blue moon!
‘Shut up!’ I yelled, but it was faded and muffled.
All this power and you use none of it. You shame yourself. You
’re weak and weakness is despicable!
‘SHUT UP!’
Your weakness is what let me in. Four days was plenty of time for someone as weak as you are! Well, you know what? It
’s my turn now!
…
I must have blacked out. I was still standing, there had definitely been a break of some sort. The cold was everywhere, but it felt pleasant now. Cool, relaxing. The pain vanished and the distance was gone.
There was a bang as the door opened and Jace ran inside.
‘Alec?’ he called. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine!’ I replied, watching myself speak. I tightened the towel on my hips, pushing it a notch lower than usual and then I ran a hand through my hair.
Jace came inside the bathroom clad in only a t-shirt and boxers.
‘You scared the shit out of me!’ he said, hand on heart. ‘What the hell was all the yelling? I felt something weird too, were you hurt?’
‘I had a shower and banged my damned elbow as I got out.’
‘Funny bone?’
‘Yeah, it was hilarious,’ I said with a playful eye roll.
He was gorgeous, even when sleep tussled. I wanted to reach out and touch him, so I did.
I put my hand on his shoulder, brushing my thumb up the side of his neck just slightly.
‘But thanks for coming running, my knight in shining armour.’
He smiled. ‘Knight in PJ’s, but I’ll take it.’
I moved closer. ‘Jace, will you stay with me tonight?’
‘But you said—’
‘I know, but I don’t think I can be away from you. I want you near me.’ I pitched my voice lower. ‘I need you near me.’
His reactions were delicious. The slight bob of his Adam’s apple, his pupils dilating, the way he wet his lips. He reigned himself in quickly, but I had seen it now. I wanted more. I wanted to puncture his control.
I wanted him to lose all his control.
‘Whatever you need,’ he said, touching my shoulder in return. An acceptable friend gesture that wasn’t satisfying. He was being kind and caring. That wasn’t what I wanted.
‘Jace,’ I said, voice pained as I screwed up my face. ‘It hurts when you’re away from me.’
Concern flooded him immediately. ‘I’m right here. What can I do?’
I linked hands with him, pulling him nearer. ‘Never leave me?’
He laughed, but his eyes were wide. He wasn’t sure what was happening. I was never like this, he was suspicious. I had to be careful or I wouldn’t get what I wanted.
‘That’s my line,’ he said. ‘And you know I couldn’t if I tried.’
I shook my head. ‘Nah, look, I’m sorry. I just feel so fragile right now. You don’t need this shit. Why don’t you go back to bed?’
He was openly searching my expression. Adrenaline was flowing through me, part of me excited about him calling me out on my unusual actions.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, of course, go back to bed,’ I said, leaving his space and retreating like a sad, broken little puppy. He followed me into the bedroom. ‘You deserve a night without me.’
‘I don’t want to leave you.’
‘Get some sleep,’ I said with a put-upon sigh. ‘We’re up early. I’ll be fine.’
‘Alec…’
I waited, but he couldn’t find the words.
‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘Love you too.’
He left to return to his room and I grinned, deciding to get some much-needed sleep.
Tomorrow was going to be fun.
|
The first year or so passes uneventfully, all things considered. If you had asked any of their neighbours, they would have said that the Lannisters were a young, hardworking couple, friendly enough, devoted to each other and to their children. Seemed a bit odd to us at first, a man who looks like that, with a woman who looks like that. But you should see them out at the park on a sunny day, all four of them. It’s very sweet. Apparently they’re trying to start their own business now, a travel agency, last I heard.
By all appearances, the Lannisters work, raise their children, attend the occasional social gathering. Some days, it seems to Brienne that this peaceful, domestic existence is their entire reality. Some days.
Despite what Jaime had said to her that night of his first appointment—you’re the only mother they will ever know—Brienne still finds herself anxious to be with the children as much as possible. She plays the part of ‘mother’ with fervent dedication, as if the twins themselves might grow suspicious and discover her true identity. To her relief, Myrcella and Tommen adore her. Though they are not quite two years old, she wonders if they too are relieved, on some level, to finally have caretakers—parents—that are constant, available, affectionate. Jaime, on his part, seems to enjoy the time he can spend with them as their father. “I didn’t have much of a chance to see my first son grow up,” Jaime had mumbled to her one night in bed, just as they were drifting off to sleep. And that was all he said on the subject, at least for that first year, although he grows to be far more talkative about most other things.
They meet their handler once every two weeks at a safe house about a half-hour drive from their house. He is a dour man, at the tail end of a long career serving the Cause mostly from behind a desk (at least according to Jaime, who had crossed paths with him before). At each meeting, he runs through their missions in a perfunctory fashion, and never fails to ask after Myrcella and Tommen, though it is in a tone so terse that Brienne suspects he possesses a deep disinterest in their wellbeing. The twins, who are usually asleep by the time they leave the house, are watched over by a teenage daughter of a family friend—or so they tell their neighbours, if asked, about the mousy young woman the Centre had assigned to them. Jaime had come to call these evenings their “date nights”, to Brienne’s vague discomfort, more so at his flippancy than the implication that they might be spending those evenings at romantic dinners instead.
At the start of each week, Brienne pencils in their schedule for the next seven days on a small sheet of paper that she sticks to the inside of the hidden compartment in their basement, behind the washing machine. Every dead drop, every surveillance shift, every meeting with an agent or informant is noted neatly on the schedule in a simple code, alongside every activity with the twins, every time either one of them plans to work from home or at the travel agency—the latter of which is really just a unit in a nondescript office building that the Centre had rented for them to complete some of their more administrative tasks.
When she first started preparing the schedule, Jaime had scoffed at her, thinking it the habit of a schoolgirl. That is, until he started referencing it himself. Sometimes, he adds his own notes in his barely-legible left-handed scrawl, if he receives a call at the house or office for one new mission or another. He has at least a decade of experience on her, but even he had never had to care for two infants—and keep up appearances with a wife—while in deep cover. Even he has to concede that this is a lot to manage.
Once a month, Jaime pencils in his appointments. Frankly, she thought it would happen more often, but Brienne resolves never to pry. His relationship with his cousin remains an enigma, a ghost that haunts the periphery of their partnership. The most she had done was to ask if the Centre knew about these meetings, just before Jaime’s second appointment. “I think so. I’m sure my father does. He’s probably not very happy about it, as usual.” Jaime sighed. “But he’s—he’s learned to look the other way as long as we do what is expected of us. He knows she’s not stupid enough to… We were brought up well. Loyal servants of the Cause.”
Brienne didn’t like the way he said that last part, the way it dripped with sarcasm (she actually does think of herself as a loyal servant of the Cause). She didn’t like that Jaime and his cousin could operate outside the parameters defined by the Cause and the Centre, just because the General chooses to look the other way. But he is her partner, even if he isn’t really her husband. He works, he raises their children, he attends the occasional social gathering by her side. He goes out for these appointments, once a month, and always returns by midnight. He somehow manages to get word to his cousin to reschedule, if the appointments ever conflict with their missions.
Hence, Brienne can ignore these—indiscretions. She lets Jaime pencil in the appointments. At the end of each week, Brienne burns the schedule. And the cycle starts again.
Compared to the brutality she had endured during her training, Brienne finds that going undercover as part of the Programme was, more or less, an utterly banal experience. She would never dare question the importance of her work for the Cause, but sometimes—as she sits in a car with binoculars watching some high-ranking official go to lunch at his favourite restaurant for the third time that week—as she sits on a park bench dressed androgynously in a baseball cap, hoodie, sweatpants, waiting for her contact to arrive for a brief and whispered conversation that might ultimately come to nothing—sometimes, she can feel a profound and all-encompassing tedium. She feels her body itch—no, ache to fight, a desire that is quenched out in the field only sporadically.
And so, though she reveals little in the way of true emotion to Jaime most of the time, she can only barely suppress her excitement when he asks her to train with him one evening. “I can’t fire a gun anymore,” he said, lifting his right arm up to prove his point, as if Brienne hasn’t been in the same room as him almost every night for the past three months, when he removes his prosthetic and puts it in the drawer of his nightstand. “And I still need to be able to fight, if it comes down to it. If I’m out there without you.”
The next thing she knows, they’re in the garage, arms up, ready. Seconds tick by like hours, and then she moves first, to Jaime’s surprise. Brienne sees his eyes widen and realises he must have judged her to be more reticent, defensive—which she might have been, only a year ago—but gods, it’s been so long, and her blood is singing already.
They’re in the garage the next evening, and the next, and the next. Every single evening, as long as their schedule allows, for an hour, sometimes longer, after the twins fall asleep. Jaime is clearly weaker than her, which is understandable given the circumstances, but she can still see much of the fighter in him, and she knows that at the height of his ability she would have had to yield to him more often than she cares to admit. He fights with his prosthetic attached, at first, but some sessions Brienne demands that he takes it off; he needs to be prepared for every possibility. Jaime gets frustrated, which only makes Brienne push him harder, daring even to grab his sensitive stump as a distraction, forcing him to devise new strategies that must feel alien to his body. He groans in frustration, calls her a hard taskmaster in the form of much worse names (calls her wife, spit out like an accusation). But she is almost positive, as she observes him while he catches his breath, that his blood is singing too.
Brienne spends a lot of her life outside of their home sitting in a car, or on a park bench, watching and waiting. In these moments, she sometimes finds her mind wandering to her nightly sparring sessions with Jaime. She thinks of Jaime pinning her to a wall, just before she breaks free from his hold, or of how she subdues and sits astride him while he struggles beneath her. She thinks she is thinking of new methods to train and push him, of ways that he could still turn his right arm into a weapon, even with its lack of a fist. She thinks of all the times they have to act as husband and wife, holding hands at the local park, his left hand on her forearm or on the small of her back at a dinner party at a neighbour’s house. She thinks of how, in the day, her flesh tenses beneath these insignificant touches meant to convey affection, almost as if her body was reacting against some innate deceit. Yet, in their garage at night, with their arms grappling and their legs intertwined and their bodies wrestling for dominance—she thinks she has never felt more alive. |
14 chapters ago, "Alone together; google 101"
While he walks into a familiar direction his brain zones out, looking at the wet snow ascending from the sky. It hits him in the face, washing away the warmth that used to be there. It is cold. His face twists for a second. It was rude to leave Kaminari out in the cold, literally and figuratively.
Shinsou reaches his destination, obscured by thick, tall trees and bushes. Sounds of crunching grass greets his ears like a warm welcome, and when he looks up from the minor destruction he caused with his shoes, he only sees dense tufts of leaves hiding the pale sunlight that has been giving him a headache since this morning. He settles down on the grass, dry and soft unlike any other place during this time of the year.
A sigh leaves him once he rests his back down on the grass, finally gaining some time to think in peace.
Oftentimes people would feel violated, possibly struck with terror when they lose control of their body. That terrible sensation is also supposed to be heightened when your body is under the control of another person. Especially heightened, even. The reason for this is because in that moment, you can only watch this empty shell of a person identical to you commit to actions you never agreed to partake in. You might beg this puppet to stop what it is doing, but you will never be heard. Your body is not yours anymore. One night Ojiro explained how that had felt, and his description of the experience made the entire room of sleep deprived yet playful students go quiet.
However Kaminari never found Shinsou unsettling because of this, always curious about other people, sometimes too much for his own good. He is an optimist like that. And even now, surrounded by fog slowing his brain down to a vegetative state, watching himself walk like a normal person instead of the caffeinated toddler he is, walking to an area he could not remember at all because his body is not his anymore; he is not afraid.
Just confused, but that is always a given.
Given Shinsou’s mildly perplexed expression, he doesn’t seem to be that much in control either despite their situation. His brow is furrowed as if he is also wondering about what is going on, and Kaminari finds himself comforted by this.
He looks around himself, watching the scenery change as they continue to walk in silence. They are much further away from school grounds, but they are not by the dorms either. Kaminari cannot properly use his senses at the moment, unable to smell and hear anything that is not Shinsou, but at least he can see that the snow is completely melted in front of him. Trees become taller and darker, looming with their new leaves in a way Kaminari finds unsettling. It is barely spring, yet some trees continues to look like that? He is absolutely flabbergasted. And if he is flabbergasted now, then this thick-ass tree standing tall in front of him did a good job at leaving him even more stupefied.
Shinsou stops walking for a second, standing in front of the huge tree. Then he disappears behind it, muttering for Kaminari to follow him again. And he does.
The leaves hovering over their heads cast suspicious shadows over them, but Kaminari does not find himself afraid anyway. Even when Shinsou stands tall and powerful in front of him, mouth a pressed line with his other features hidden, hands balled into fists. Kaminari only finds himself curious of what will happen next. Then his puppeteer sighs, closes his eyes and rubs his neck.
With a whiplash, Kaminari can finally feel himself again.
He blinks his dry eyes, inhales sharply. Now that was a trippy experience, to be surrounded by green scenery, unable to the smell old trees and wet grass. The smell is almost too strong now that he can feel it burn through his nostrils, and the hair on his arms starts to rise from the sudden temperature change. Overall, a cool experience.
Shinsou does not seem to think that, if his pinched expression is anything to go by. So he makes sure that he knows. He has to know how cool his Quirk is.
“Wow, I never realized that your Quirk would feel like that, it’s like smoking weed while hangover!”
Surprisingly for Kaminari, Shinsou did not get the reference. Instead his face is once again blank but tilted. At least he is distracted from schooling his face into a carefully blank yet guilty expression. “You’ve been hangover. And then you smoked even more.”
“I’ve had a weed hangover once, but nah. Sero is the real druggie here. He actually did that once; had a bad hangover, puked into the toilet while smoking at the same time. My guy gets poetic when he’s high, so I think I got a pretty good description of how it’d feel like, though.” Kaminari explains, acting like that happened a long time ago when it was actually last sunday. Losing your pink best friend in sims gets you fucked up, man.
Having your brain fogged up makes a lot of clutter once it unfogs, so Kaminari cannot stop himself from asking questions of the most trivial things.
“Wait, you haven’t smoked anything before?”
“No. Did you assume that I have?”
Well, shit. Now Kaminari has to erase that one pickup line from his notebook. Which is unfortunate, Sero has been excited to bond with Shinsou over that hobby. Excited to have a relatable brother-in-law, really. For some reason Kaminari cannot fathom his friend’s reaction once he tells him that I am so hammered I want to nail you to the wall will not be said by either of them; if it will be reasonable or if he will grieve and tell him to get a different crush. Probably the latter, but Kaminari can only hope.
“Where are we?”
He changes topics instead, because Kaminari does not have the heart to tell Shinsou that he looks like he is recovering from heroin. Maybe one day he will tell him. He still has no suspicions. Actually, he shows a sign of trust instead. Shinsou sits down on the grass, back supported by the tree. His hair looks even more fluffier from this new angle and Kaminari aches to touch it. “Some metres away from school grounds. Other students rarely come here, so this tree is mine now. The shadows from the leaves and grass proves to be very comfortable.” He grins as he sinks further into the bark, but it looks self deprecating instead. Not like the confident smirk Kaminari had seen on friday. “Cozier than a bed, sometimes.”
There was a lot to unpack here.
First of all, Shinsou has a very, very nice smile. Even if it is sarcastic in nature, it makes Kaminari's heart clench with fondness. Second, Shinsou’s is surprisingly willing to welcome Kaminari into his apparent safe space. Kaminari does not doubt Midoriya’s readings on his character, and it seems fitting for Shinsou to be very private but here he is, showing Kaminari something personal to him. And him mentioning that people rarely come out here makes Kaminari’s body heat up to a point he actually has to loosen his tie.
Thank trickster god for that one friday evening, honestly.
“Did you love napping with me that much, dude? Cause I’m honoured you’re lettin’ me stay in your sleeping property.” Kaminari ignores his voice crack and sits down instead.
Shinsou ignores it too, in favour of looking slightly flustered. His eyes narrows and he looks away, ears tinted pink. Kaminari almost squeals. He loves confident Shinsou, he has been thinking of confident Shinsou way too much, but seeing him flustered also made him incredibly weak.
“The point is that this is a quiet place people don’t go to often, and you really needed that some minutes ago.” He explains after a cough, “It would have been an asshole move of me to let you panic out there amongst people. And I was going to come here anyways; two birds one stone.”
Kaminari nods along what he is saying, waiting for Shinsou to throw him out now that the has explained himself. But he does not. Actually, he looks confused too, unsure if he should tell Kaminari to leave him alone, or not. Kaminari, of course, does not want to leave, so he racks his brain for any half assed excuse to stay. When he finds it, his eyes pop wide open. Homework!
“Hey, you any good at history of heroes and stuff? I have an essay due in the next hour.”
Now that Kaminari thinks about it, inviting his crush to do his homework is very lame. Asking him to help him with homework for a class Shinsou doesn’t even attend is also very dumb, and he does not think that Shinsou’s type is dumb people. Shinsou looks like he has some opinions on his stupid request, and Kaminari readies himself for rejection. Because, okay. He is used to blowing his chances already, of girls finding him stupid or weird after he said something without thinking and rejecting him whenever he tried to pursue them afterwards. This could not hurt as much, right? Same as always.
Kaminari clenches his eyes shut and gives a silent prayer to trickster god. He knows it is gonna hurt real bad this time.
“I’m decent.”
His eyes snaps wide open, and he turns to look at Shinsou. He is sitting up now, leaning forward but not quite into Kaminari’s space. It is more than enough, with Shinsou looking him in the eyes like he is waiting for him, one eyebrow arched.
With his heart beating loudly in his chest, Kaminari scrambles to pull out his laptop from his backpack, mouth going off while he is at it, “I actually expected you to tell me to fuck off but wow you didn’t and I know this kinda aids you too since you get a glimpse of what heroics homework is like but still I ain’t joking when I’m saying im honored dude thanks dude you’re the best dude-”
“Kaminari, your homework.”
Is voice kinks a thing? Because his soul almost left his body again when Shinsou said his name. Kaminari clutches his computer to his chest, trying to still his raggedy heart because a voice does not have any right to be so hot. But it manages to ground him too. This is actually real. Shinsou showed him this secret place, is calling him by his name and is willing to help Kaminari with his homework. This is real. So he lets himself grin wide, snaps open his computer and adjusts his seating. Kaminari wonders if he should try his luck and inch closer to him. Then he decides that is not a good idea, if the change of current pricking at his skin is anything to go by. He is eighty percent sure he is going to zap Shinsou if he gets any closer, so he turns to open his laptop with a smile in his face.
The smile is wiped away when he sees that he forgot to close his last tab. And the spotify tab.
And the fourteen other tabs he had left open for the past month.
Fucking “erotic cat body language” on the search engine with a nsync love song booming in the background.
Kaminari positively jumps out of his skin. He ends up zapping Shinsou, too. Kaminari tries to close the tabs as fast as he can, but instead he clicks into a buzzfeed test that told him he was a nine year old based on his ratings of kid menus, and then another buzzfeed test revealing that he is single because he acts like a man child, because that is surely damn convenient for this situation. Once he clumsily clicks away all the buzzfeed tests revealing embarrassing results he ends up on the kahoot tab he forgot to close weeks ago, showing that he wound up dead last.
Kaminari closes the laptop. He did not even find the spotify tab. Instead he had turned on a britney spears song, too. He turns to Shinsou, whom is now promptly looking away. The edges of his lips are trembling, and while that does lift Kaminari’s mood, he still feels like a burning dumbass.
“Uh, jus’ so you are aware, I know I’m asking for a lot right now. But, could you maybe take a short nap first?” He tries his best to smile back, “I got stuff to clear up first. Also, please do not judge me for comin’ last. It was a math kahoot quiz. And I did not cheat once. I lost with pride.”
Shinsou actually snorts, but he leans back towards the grass anyways. His eyes are already closed, face soft and almost ethereal in a way Kaminari did not know would be possible on a sharp face like his. The shadows from the trees run over the planes of his nose and jaw, stirring interest in Kaminari’s squirrel brain. Yet another expression Kaminari has not had the pleasure to see before, but already craves.
“What’s pride with no win to show for it? Get done with the essay and I’ll help you out with basic equations.”
Kaminari is awoken from his trance and sees that Shinsou has cracked an eye open to look at him. Despite the sharp eye contact he is still incredibly soft. Soft hair and soft shadows, soft barely-there smile. Still halfway asleep. Still so intimate Kaminari can feel the waves of trust lick at his skin, enveloping him in comfortable warmth while continuing to make him buzz. It makes him wonder what it is he did to deserve to see Shinsou like this, to make him feel like this.
Kaminari grins to him, because he doesn’t really have any useful words to say. He is also a little too afraid to open his cluttered laptop again. To ruin the mood, that is. He doesn't quite understand what power this place has over his newly found tutor, he only knows he will never want to disturb it if it gives him so much peace.
But he will get done with that essay very soon. With help, of course. |
Samantha woke up first the next morning. Sitting up, she looked over her shoulder at her sleeping man. He was laying on his back with his head turned towards her, lightly snoring. His hair was growing longer than ever, and the soft blue was fading out more. Moving his hair away from his face, she leaned over and kissed his lips, before she got up, and went inside the bathroom. Turning on the shower she let it heat up, as she went through her bag for undergarments.
Laying out her clothes, she grabbed her, Cherry blossom shampoo, conditioner, body wash and loofah. Walking over to the shower, she opened the glass door stepped into the steamy water, and wet her body. Reaching for her shampoo, she squeezed a big gallop, into her hand and massaged it into her hair. Her curls sprang back instantaneously, forming around her face. She finger combed her hair as she let the soap rinse out, before repeating the same thing with her conditioner. Her hair cleaned she reached for her body wash, and loofah. Pouring it gingerly on to her body, she lathered up, as she tossed her head back enjoying the high powered massaging shower head. Any kinks, or sores, she felt from her body from the night before, quickly began to melt away.
In the midst of scrubbing her body, she felt a breeze of cold air, within the warm stall. Turning around, she came face to face with Ian and his magnificent body. Naked as the day he was born, Ian stepped into the shower. Samantha turned to face him, but Ian turned her back around. Walking forward, he pushed her front into the shower wall. Reaching down he slid his fingers between her thighs, feeling the slippery wetness of her pussy.
Gasping loudly, Samantha's head fell back against his chest. Using his other hand he gripped her face and brought his lips crashing down into hers. Fingering her pussy he made sure that she was wet enough to receive his length. Slipping three fingers inside her he curved them, and thrust steadily.
"Ian... oh yess..." She hissed.
Taking his fingers from her pussy, Ian gripped his dick. Dragging it across her pussy, he let her wetness slick his thickness. As she thrust her pussy across his veiny member, Ian suddenly pulled away only to plunge home to the hilt moments later.
"Ahhh." She clawed the arm that held her around the throat.
Ian rested deep inside her. Affected as well from the overwhelming tightness of her slick pussy. Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he caressed her clit to help her adjust to his invasion.
"I can't get enough of this tight pussy." He groaned in her ear, causing shivers to race throughout her body.
Pulling back his hips slowly until only the head was within her, he delivered shallow thrusts. Enjoying the sensations of his mushroomed head being pulled and clenched. Samantha wanting more, threw her hips back into his, sinking herself on him fully.
"You're becoming such a bad little one." He grunted as she continued to fuck herself on his dick as he watched. Letting her enjoy herself, Ian held still and only twirled her clit with a steady rhythm.
"Ian, fuck me." She gasped between hurried thrusts. "Please, baby. I need you."
Her plea was his undoing. Pushing her upper body forward into the wall, he gripped both of her arms behind her back. Holding them in one hand for extra leverage, Ian widen his stance, and drove into her.
Spanking her ass, he pounding her relentlessly, enjoying the feeling of his balls slapping into her. Leaning back he observed the view of his tanned dick sinking deeper into her brown and pink folds with pleasure. Growing harder inside her, he slowed his hips not wanting to come too soon.
"Is this how you want it, baby?" He questioned in her ear.
"Yesss, harder curly."
Ian jerked his hips harder against her. Together they let out a grunt. Reaching for her leg with his free hand he lifted it from the floor. Giving her what she begged for, Ian plummeted her soaked pussy.
"Cum on my dick baby. Let this sweet pussy milk me."
As the cooled water raced down his back, Ian raced for completion. Samantha began to quake, as she took his harsh fucking. His balls slapped against her clit over and over again. Sending her into a pleasuring pool of darkness. Her knees went out, leaving Ian to catch her fall as he emptied his balls into her drenched pussy with a low pitched growl.
Resting his head against the wall, Ian worked to catch his breath. Picking up her loofah, he lathered it up once again and washed her tender pussy, before he washed himself. Rinsing them both off he picked her up off her feet, she instantly locked her legs around his waist, and buried her face in his neck.
Grabbing a towel Ian carried her into their bedroom, where he sat her on her feet in order to dry her off. Wiping her damp skin dry, he wiped off as well and pulled back the covers.
"Ian what are you doing? It's already 10 am, we can't possibly get back in bed." She chided.
"And why does that matter? We can do anything we want. There's more than enough time." He tugged her hand, bringing her closer to the bed. "What I want more than anything right now is to hold my beautiful woman after mind blowing lovemaking and just sleep."
Sitting on the bed he pulled her onto his lap. Her ass brushed against him, causing his dick to jump. Feeling his reaction she looked down shocked at what she saw. Her mind couldn't process the fact that he was rock hard once more, and his eyes had darkened. Telling her that he was hungry for more, and ready to appease his needs.
"Ian, you're insatiable." She moaned, thinking about the delicious ache her pussy had from his previous pounding.
"You're absolutely right. I've waited to call you mine since the day we knew the difference between a man and woman. I've starved for this, and now I have an all you can eat buffet in front of me and I would be fucking stupid to waste all of this..." He dipped a finger inside of her pussy, and slipped it inside his mouth. "Sweet goodness." He finished.
Watching him clean her essences from his finger, caused her ache to double. Insanely she wanted him again. "Be gentle."
Turning her back to his front she raised her hips and slowly sank down onto him. Simultaneously they moaned. He gripped her hips and guided her along his dick.
"Holy Shit." She cried. Feeling a small orgasm pass through her body, as he tapped against her spot.
Bringing his hands up to her breast, he gripped them in both hands, as he gently bounced her on his dick, filling the room with the wet slapping sounds of their body.
"That's your spot isn't it?" He asked rhetorically. Knowing that her body was shaking like a leaf because he was continuously tapping against her hidden treasure.
"Sam have you seen the guys? I woke up and Michael was gone. "Caroline asked as the door suddenly swung open.
Ian stopped mid thrust, as Samantha screamed and scrambled to get off his lap. Caroline hurriedly rushed out the room, slamming the door behind her. Covering her eyes, Samantha wept from embarrassment. Ian at a lost, reached out and touched her arm.
"It's alright Sammy. Please don't cry." He beckoned her to roll over onto her back. "What we've done is nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm just so embarrassed. I can't imagine what she thinks of me."
"Stop that." He said sternly. "That is one of your best friends. She would never think negative of you."
Lying down at her side, he turned her back to his front, and spooned against her. Kissing her neck, he hugged her tight.
"Just rest. Once you wake it will all blow over. "
Closing her eyes, Samantha prayed that it would before she fell into a fitful slumber.
When she opened her eyes later, she rolled over to find the spot next to her was cold and vacant. Looking on the night stand at the clock she noticed that it was almost 5:00 pm. With a gasp she rolled out of bed, ran to the bathroom and put on her bra and panties.
"I'm going to kill them if they left without me."
Dressing in a pair of tights and a long baggy sweater, with some furry winter boots. Samantha ran down stairs, looking around for them. She heard music coming from outside, so she went in the direction of the back deck.
"What the fuck. That wasn't a foul." Ian yelled at the TV. Michael and he both sat on either ends of the couch facing the TV that had appeared out of a secret lift. They were currently engaged in a very intense game of NBA 2k15, so much so neither realized she was standing there watching them.
Opening the sliding door, she took a step out into the warm enclosed deck. Nervously she walked to the couch and took a seat.
"Where's Carol?"
"In the bathroom." Michael answered not looking away from the screen. Currently in the lead with a score of 60 to 54.
"The fuck. Yeah, put KD back in." Ian yelled at the TV. He grinned over at her. "Come over here baby, why you so far away?"
Samantha moved closer to him. "You're my lucky charm."
"Ha whatever." She rolled her eyes. "I'm far from lucky."
Samantha relaxed into him, closing her eyes she thought about how surreal this all was to her. She and Ian were happy, and more than anything else, close like before. It was still difficult to grasp.
"Are you up for going snowboarding?" Ian asked her, eyes still on the screen.
"It's late Ian. Doesn't the slopes close soon?"
"Not here baby. They have night riding. It's absolutely breath taking as well."
"Oh that sounds so cool. When do we head out?"
"Whenever you and Carol is ready I guess."
Caroline walked into the deck from inside the house, seeing Samantha sitting next to Ian, she walked directly over to her. Sitting down next to her, Caroline threw her arms around her neck.
"I'm so sorry babe. That was so wrong of me to barge in on you." Caroline sniffled. "I didn't know."
"It's alright Carol. I almost died of embarrassment, of what you could have possibly thought of me." Samantha wrapped her arms around her.
"Sam, how could you think that? No one could ever think badly of you, even if they wanted to." Caroline leaned away. "Ian is your man. It's alright to blow his mind, and not be ashamed."
Samantha looked over her shoulder at him as he focused on the TV. Turning back to Caroline she gave a smile. "Thank you Carol. I thought I wasn't ever going to be able to show my face to you again."
Caroline scoffed. "Please, girl you know I would never let that fly." She made sure no one could over hear her next words. "You are so lucky, girl. That man is all kinds of wonderful. I saw how he had you"
Samantha knew her face had turned a million shades of red. "Caroline let's just forget about that incident."
Caroline shrugged. "Hey, I maybe celibate at the moment, but that is something I definitely have to try."
"Carol." She groaned.
The guys looked over at them, before turning back around.
"I'm going to go get dressed." Samantha got up from her seat, and headed inside.
"What for?"
"Where going night riding."
*****
"Are you going to be okay?" Ian asked for the hundredth time.
They were on the lifts headed up the mountain. Where they had decided that she and Caroline would stay on the beginners slope, while he and Michael headed to a more advance slope. Ian was worried that she wouldn't be able to handle herself. Yet she thought otherwise, insisting that she had learned the basics enough the previous day to be able to hold her own.
"Curly, I'm going to be fine." She squeezed his hand. "Stop worrying so much."
They arrived at the get off point, where everyone glided off. Coming to a stop, they sat to strap down their boots.
"Sammy if you need me for anything, just call me." He helped her up. "Even if it's just to let me know you're ready to go."
Leaning down he enjoyed her lips. Pulling away he straightened her helmet and grinned. "I love you." He pecked her lips. "Be safe."
"Later." She breathed. Watching him as he glided away with Michael at his side.
"This is nice." Caroline stated, looking around.
"It is. You remember all the things Michael taught you yesterday?"
"Of course. Do you? "
Shaking her head she shrugged. "Just bits and pieces."
"You told Ian you did just to get him off your back."
"Pretty much." She giggled. "I just want him to enjoy his time here as well as I do. Yet all he does is worry."
Caroline shook her head. "You have a point babe."
Standing at the top of the mountain, they both looked down.
"Uh you want to go first?"
"Why can't you go first?" Caroline asked in return.
With a huff, Samantha cocked her head at her. "How about we go together, at the same time?"
Caroline agreed. "I can do that."
Finding their fall line with their boards they both inched forward until they began to descend down the slope. She did the falling leaf trick Ian showed her yesterday. The hill was long and steep, so she kept a steady pace and practiced on the techniques she learned.
With everything going smoothly, Samantha tried her hand at speeding up. She saw that they were nearing the end of the course, so she turned her board in order to slow down. As she did she felt her left boot, become looser, right as the board landed, her foot came out. Causing her other foot to twist at a weird angle as she lost control and fell.
Falling hard, Samantha couldn't help the cry that flew from her mouth. She heard Caroline scream her name from a distances. Rolling over onto her bottom, Samantha sat up and grabbed her right ankle. Tears poured from her eyes as she tried to move her foot. The pain was atrocious and intense, but she noticed that she was able to move it a little, so she knew she hadn't broken anything.
"Sammy! What happen?" Caroline asked hysterically.
"My boot... Ahhh," she groaned as her throbbing ankle felt as if it was burning. "It wasn't buckled all the way in."
"Oh my god." She held Samantha's shoulders. "Let me call Ian."
Scrambling for her phone Caroline dialed Ian's cell. It rung until it went to voicemail, so she tried again. On the second try he picked up the phone.
"Hello?" He answered out of breath.
"Don't make a big deal out of it Carol. Just tell him I need a bit of help." Samantha stated, trying to calm her nerves, as she wiped her face.
"What is she talking about? Making a big deal out of what? "Ian rattled off questions. "Where is she?"
"She can't come to the phone right now. She just really needs some help. "
"Where are you two? What's happen? Why can't she come to the phone?" Ian's voice was anxious.
Hearing his multiple questions, Samantha exhaled and grabbed the phone from Caroline.
"Ian could you please just get over here?
"I'm on my way." He replied, hearing the tension in her voice.
Handing the phone back to Caroline, Samantha groaned as she rested her head against her prompted knee. Beating herself up for ruining the trip, she wanted to cry. Silently Caroline rubbed her back, in comfort as she waited for the guys to show up. Which turned out not to be a long wait. Soon they appeared, rushing to their side.
"Oh my god. Baby what happen?" Ian kneeled beside her and circled his arms around her shoulder.
"It's my ankle. I think I sprained it."
"Im going to call the ski patrol. She's going to need a ride down."
"This is my fault. I shouldn't have left you."
Samantha shook her bed, knowing he was going to blame himself. "Ian no, don't do that. This is my fault, I didn't check to see if my boot was strapped in."
"Still I shouldn't have left you-"
Samantha silenced him. "Shhh... I won't let you blame yourself."
They heard the sound of the machinery of the snowmobile as it drew near. Attached to it was a sled, which would carry her the rest of the way down the mountain. The driver killed the engine. As he walked towards them, he introduced himself, before he went about checking her ankle. As he touched and examined Samantha grunted and hissed.
"You've sprained it. We're going to have to take you to the infirmary to get a compression." The guy held out his arms to lift her off her feet, yet Ian was already lifting her in his arms bridal style. Walking the short distances to the sled he placed her inside.
"We're right behind you."
"Wait no, I'll be okay. I'm pretty sure I can get to the cabin without a problem. I've already screwed up, I can't let you guys miss out on the fun." She looked to each one of them. "You guys finish enjoying this beautiful night for me."
"Alright."
"No." she didn't have to look up to know who said that. "Im going to make sure everything is alright with your ankle before taking you home, to tuck you into bed."
"Ian."
"Samantha." He mocked.
Defeated Samantha let the ski patrol take her to the infirmary without any other obstacles. Ian lifted her, and got her inside where the doctor examined it more thoroughly before he placed an ice pack on her ankle, to stop the rapid swell. He explained that for the next couple of days she would have to stay off of the ankle, in order for it to strengthen itself. Giving her a couple of Tylenol to help with the discomfort, he gave her an ankle brace as well as a pair of crutches. With that Ian arranged for them to get back to the cabin, since they rod with Michael. Once there Ian carried her inside the cabin and placed her on the big comfortable couch. Taking a pillow, he prompted her foot up, before he went and placed her ice pack up.
"Hey can you bring me a vanilla ice coffee from the fridge?"
Grabbing the coffee for her he went over to the couch to flop down beside her. Looking at his expression, she knew that he had something to say. Sipping on her drink she waited.
"Sammy, how could this happen? It's bad enough your dad hates my guts, but now you're hurt on a trip that I planned..." He shook his head. "I'm supposed to take care of you."
"Ian stop it. What is the matter? It's only a sprained ankle I'll be fine in less than a week." She turned his gaze to her. "What's bothering you?"
"Why didn't you tell me about the threatening messages you've been receiving?"
He asked out of the blue.
Samantha's eyes widen guilty. "I haven't told anyone." she answered, looking away from his intense eyes. "How did you find out about them?"
"I saw them in your phone." Samantha was about to start fussing' but Ian shushed her. "When were you going to tell me, Sammy?"
"I didn't think it was a big deal, Ian." She started.
"Yet you get your number changed." He interrupted, becoming irritated. "Why are you trying to blow it off as if you're not afraid when it's so clear to me that you are."
Samantha wouldn't look at him. Afraid her face would give her away.
Grabbing her phone, he navigated through it until he found what he was looking for. Pulling it up he began to read aloud what he found.
"Samantha you are a stupid, ugly bitch. I will make you pay. "
"I hope you are enjoying what's left of your life." he continued.
"There's a special place in hell for you."
"I'm watching you. So watch your back, bitch. You're dead."
Ian found himself growing more and angrier. The list of threats on her social media page went on and on. As well as her inbox. He could only think of one person who would really want to do harm to his girl. If he could drive back to Virginia and wrap his hands around her throat and get away with it he would.
"This is not going to continue. I'm going to make your account private to anyone who doesn't know you." He did this as he spoke. "When we are back in Virginia, I won't let you go out alone, ever. And we will look into getting something to protect you."
"You won't let me? Ian you are being ridiculous, I can go wherever I want." She stated being bull headed.
"Samantha stop it. We're not going to argue about your safety. There's a psychotic bitch out there that wants to hurt you." His voice had rose and it scared her a little. Realizing that she had shrunk back, he took a deep breath. "Baby I'm so sorry. I don't mean to yell at you. It's just that it kills me to see you be threaten because of my past fuck ups."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you realize who this is? Kriste is bat shit crazy and I know her crazy ass is looking for a way to get to you."
Samantha thought about what he said, but brushed it off. "I'm not scared of that nut case. And she already knows not to fuck with me Ian. She doesn't put any kind of fear in my heart."
Ian gave a heavy sigh. He didn't want to fuss or fight. "I understand that Sammy. But what I want you to understand is that she is crazy, and she's out there trying to do you serious harm. You being a badass isn't going to deter her. Be careful Samantha."
Samantha turned her face away, but he grabbed her chin and turned her back.
"I hear you Ian."
He could tell she was frustrated with him at this point but he saw no other way for her to understand.
"Does your ankle hurt?" He asked.
"No whatever the doc gave me is kicking in." she replied.
"Good, I'm glad you're not in any pain."
"I hate that I fucked up, and now I can't enjoy the rest of the trip."
Ian carefully pulled her into his arms. "Listen, you focus on feeling better, Sammy. There's always time for shit like this. Besides I'm not just going to leave you here alone."
"What about Carol, and mike?"
"Shhh... Don't worry about that now."
"Actually, Ian I wanted to run something by you." She fumbled with her hands. "Since we... Ummm you know... Started having sex we really haven't thought about using any form of protection."
Ian only stared into her eyes, with an unreadable expression.
"I mean, Ian I'm not even on the pill, or shot... I never ever had to be before, and I didn't think about it till now."
Still, Ian didn't say anything.
"Aren't you going to say something?" She waited. "Your not worried?"
She felt her temper start to rise, but before she could voice her irritation, Ian kissed her.
"Why would I worry?" Ian nibbled at her jaw. "We can handle, anything that comes our way."
"I have to tell my parents about us." She said this more for her benefit than his. "I shouldn't keep us a secret anymore."
"Do you want me there when you do?"
Samantha thought about how her dad would react, to the news. She knew that he would flip out and it could get ugly.
"I'm not going to put you in that predicament Curly. I'm capable of doing it alone."
"You shouldn't have to, Sammy. We are in this relationship together, and we should do this together. Let me worry about your dad."
****
"Ah, this is killing me." Samantha groaned. Placing the trash can back on the floor, beside the couch. After puking her brains out all morning, and being miserable, she was now to the point where she was ready to throw back any over the counter cough medicine she could get her hands on.
Lying on her side underneath her blanket, she looked over to Caroline, who was lying on her belly in front of the fireplace on her laptop.
"I feel like shit."
"When did you get so sick?" Caroline, asked with concern.
Samantha shrugged. "I' m not sure. My body is sore, my ankle hurts like hell, and to top it all off,
I can't seem to stop throwing up." she groaned. "I don't know if it's the flu, or some stomach virus, or food poisoning, but whatever it is I need something to cure it now!" She yanked, her blanket off as she felt sweat began on her face.
"Hmmm. Is your breast sore?"
Samantha nodded.
"Have you felt light headed, or dizzy?" Samantha made a so/so motion with her hand. "Hot?"
"Have you been going to the bathroom a lot? When was your period?" Caroline threw question after question. Not taking her eyes from her computer.
"Yeah, and I had it the 10th of last month."
"Did your period for this month come?"
Samantha scoffed. "Yes..." She frowned. "Carol, what's with all the questions, I don't get it."
Caroline closed her computer. "I can tell you one thing, this ain't something you can cure overnight." She got to her feet, and placed her hands on her hips.
"Huh?"
"Meaning, you're not suffering from a cold. You have a precious bun, baking in your oven. "She pointed at Samantha's stomach."
Samantha, eyes bulged as she shot up on the couch. Popping her ears, she looked at Caroline. "Come again."
"Samantha think about it, your aches, your mood swings, you're puking. It's all adding up to only one thing. And it's sure as hell not a stomach virus."
Grabbing Ian's keys he left on the coffee table for them, before he and Michael headed out. Caroline grabbed her jacket, and walked towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Samantha asked.
"To pick up something for your "cold," she mocked, making quotations with her fingers. "I'll be back before you know it."
Samantha watched as Caroline walked out the door. Hearing her pull out, she was soon left in silence with only her thoughts as company.
"It can' be." She mumbled.
In her head, she calculated, and formulated answers to all of the sudden questions that had been pointed out. Yet she was adamant there was no way possible she could be pregnant.
"I just had my period."
Groaning, she ran her fingers through her hair, and tried to rationalize her predicament. Her sensitive queasy stomach, turned. Grabbing the trash can, she heaved, but nothing came out.
After dry heaving a couple of times, Samantha laid back down, with exhaustion. Losing track of time, it wasn't long before she heard a car pulling in. Not knowing who to expect, or better yet who she wanted it be, she nervously ran her sweaty palms over her sweats.
"I'm back." Caroline called as she stepped through the door carrying a pharmacy bag. Taking a seat on the couch, she took out items.
Clear blue, first response, and E.P.T pregnancy test lined the table once she was done. "You need to go in the bathroom, and take these."
"All of them?"
"You can never be too sure."
Samantha nervously eyed the test. "What am I doing?"
"It's simple, take the stick out, piss on it, and wait 3 to 5 minutes."
Samantha eyed her. "Thanks." She headed for the bathroom. "Can, you bring them to the bathroom?"
"Yeah, and oh, I did get you a piss cup, as well. It makes it easier."
Caroline grabbed them, and rushed to the downstairs bathroom, in excitement. Samantha stood with one hand on the wall, as the other worked to get her sweat and panties down. Caroline saw her struggle and helped hold her up so she could get them down.
Sitting on the toilet, Samantha reached for one of the boxes, and opened it. Reading the instructions aloud.
When she got to the part about the peeing she felt like it was pretty much self-explanatory.
"Pass me the cup." Taking it from her hand, she took a deep breath. "Carol turn around, please."
Caroline turned towards the door. After almost 5 minutes of hearing nothing, she looked over her shoulder. "You need help?"
Samantha nodded. Caroline reached for the faucet and turned it on. After running for a while, Samantha was able to get going. Filling the little cup up, she cleaned herself up, and stubbornly got up on her own. Washing her hand she then took one of the test, dipped it for 5 seconds, before she did the other five.
"Wow that is a lot of tests."
Samantha who was nervous, and waiting for the results, vaguely paid attention. After 3 Minutes she worked up the courage to look at the test. Slowly but surely a faint plus sign began to appear on the test one by one. Leaving no room for doubt. She was pregnant. Caroline who stood behind her, couldn't wait to see, so she looked over her shoulder.
"Oh my god! It's positive!" She screamed. "I can't believe you're pregnant babe. Aren't you excited?"
Samantha couldn't answer, the shock of the results was so astounding, and they stole her ability to think let alone speak.
"Wait until Ian finds out. That man is going to be over the moon."
"No, we're not going to tell him." Grabbing the test she started to put them all back in the containers.
"What do you mean? He has to know he's going to be a father." Caroline grabbed Samantha's arms, stopping her from moving. "What are you thinking? You can't be thinking of doing anything crazy. Right?"
"What!?" Samantha took in her expression. "No!! Of course I'm not thinking about doing that."
Caroline breathed a sigh of relief at that, she wouldn't have wanted to slap some sense into her friend, but she would have if needed be.
"I just need to think about this. It's all such a shock for me... I mean I'm carrying a baby in me carol. It's a lot to take in." She hadn't realized she was crying until she felt the droplets hitting her chest. "I'm going to tell him of course, but it's got to be at the right time. So please don't say anything."
Caroline who understood this is news Samantha should share, nodded her understanding. Hugging her friend, she let her know it would be alright. "Listen, this may be unexpected, and maybe even too soon for your taste, but Samantha you have to realize this is beautiful."
"This baby is a part of you and, it's relying on you. Don't let the little petty things stress you out. Always think about your baby." She helped wipe her tears away.
"Thank you, Carol. For everything that you do for me. I couldn't ask for a better person to call my friend."
"We'll remember that when it's time to pick a godmother." She arched her brow, and bumped elbows.
"Trust me I will."
As they shared a laugh, they could hear the sound of the door opening. Samantha went into a panic. Shoving everything in the bag, she pushed it into Caroline's hands. "Take these."
No sooner did Caroline turn the corner and disappear inside her room, did Ian show up looking for her.
"There's my baby." He moaned, pulling her into his arms, as he enjoyed her body heat, and scent.
Samantha wrapped her arms around his neck, and let the fears that plagued her, go. When he held her like this, she felt the safest. Nothing could get to her whenever he was around, and that filled her heart with happiness. At the end of the day, this was what matter, them, and now their baby.
"Mm, you feel so good." He breathed in her neck.
"As do you."
He chuckled at her, and pulled away. His eyes landed on the counter, a frown marred his brow. Samantha followed his gaze, and landed on the cup she used for the pregnancy test. Her heart beat increased rapidly, and she felt light headed.
"Sammy what is that?" He asked.
She shook her head. "I don't feel so well."
His attention returned back to her immediately. "Is it your ankle? Here let me take you upstairs, to lie down." Picking her up, Ian carried her up the flight of stairs to their bedroom.
"Ian I need a bath, and a toothbrush."
Laughing he switched his direction, and went to the bathroom. Sitting her on the counter, He ran her a bath, with drops of olive oil, as she watched him. Worrying her bottom lip, she thought about telling him her big secret, she didn't feel right keeping news so life impacting away from him. Grabbing her toothbrush she began to brush her teeth as a distraction.
"What are you thinking about?"
Caught off guard she looked at Ian with surprise. "Nothing." She rinsed her mouth out, and gargled.
Ian smiled at her evasive reply, but didn't comment on it, instead, he cupped her cheek, and brought her mouth to his. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers burrow into his hair, as he pulled her hips closer to the edge of the counter.
Breaking away, she looked at him with dazed eyes. "This is a familiar position of ours."
"It is isn't it?" Ian flexed his hips, as she felt his hardness.
Samantha nodded her head as she rubbed her hand over his stubble cheeks. Her body buzzed with lust, as she wrapped her legs around his back. Her hips moved on their own accord against him. Leaning forward she kissed him once again, and reached to unbuckle his jeans.
Ian palmed her sensitive breast, through her t-shirt. At her yelp, he pulled back and stared at her in question. She smiled it off, and pulled for him to come back. But instead he removed her clothes, ankle brace, and helped her get into the tub. He was about to turn away but she grabbed his hand.
"Aren't you going to join me? You've been gone all day, and I've missed you."
Hearing her words, he couldn't turn away from her. Grabbing his shirt he tore it over his head, and pulled his jeans, and boxers down his legs. Though he had been prepared to walk away, his cock bobbed hard and ready, showing her that he was affected just as much as she was. "Hold on." he walked out of the room, and came back with a small bottle.
Stepping into the spacious tub, he settled in, and pulled her into his lap. They relaxed in silenced, caressing each other sensually.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" He asked as he traced her breast with the tips of his fingers.
"Mmhmm?" She moaned.
"What's happening to you?" He asked close to her ear, bringing on a tickling sensation.
"You're throwing up, excessively. You're tired more often than normal, and your tits are fuller, and heavier."
"You're imagining things." She laughed nervously. Turning around in his lap, she straddled him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Now, do you want to continue talking about this nonsense or would you rather be rectifying our problem?"
She used her hand to tickle his chest that lead down to his abs. When her hand reached his pelvis she paused and looked at him teasingly. Ian eyed her with a sly smirk, as he made his dick jump, slapping against her hand. He chuckled when her eyes widen in surprise. Using his muscles he made his cock dance around, until he felt her fingers caress his balls.
Lifting up, she rubbed her pussy against the underside of his cock, while still caressing his heavy balls. With a moan, she grinded against him faster. Ian who had been leaning back with his arms crossed behind his head, leaned forward and licked her thick dark nipples. He continued to suckle them, as his hand fumbled for the small bottle he had went to get. Pulling away he opened the bottle and squirted a large amount of gel in his hand. Taking his free hand he lifted her lower half up, to rub the gel over her entrance before feeding her two of his fingers. Sticking his tongue out, he licked her clit, a few times before he used his lips to draw the sensitive bud inside his mouth to suckle.
Pulling his fingers away he fisted his dick, and thrust into his palms a few times. Kissing her lips, he worked his tongue into her mouth, for a taste.
"Turn around." He commanded, once he pulled away.
She did as she was told, and turned her back to him. Gripping her hips, he lifted his ass, as he pulled her down onto his length. They both gasp, each equally enjoying the first, overpowering sensation of their joining. Using one large hand, he placed it on her chest, and pressed her back into his chest. The arch in her back, added to the pleasure of their coupling, as she began to rock back and forth.
"Ride me."
Contracting her thigh muscles around his thighs, she lifted her ass up into the air. Lifting completely off his cock, she teased her opening with his cock head. Short gasp of air escaped her mouth. Ian pulled her down, and covered her throat with his palm.
"Ohhh..."
"Take deep breaths. Let your body relax, and enjoy the pleasure you feel magnify."
Ian controlled his thrust, as well as how much she took. Deliberately he thrust inside her, and took an agonizingly long time pulling out, only to repeat the action once again. Samantha moaned, and begged for more.
"Isn't that better baby?" Ian sped up a fraction. Splashing water from the tub as he held on and fucked her thrashing body. "Hmmm, you feel every inch of me inside your little pussy?"
"Yesss..."
Reaching down, she cupped his balls in her hand and massaged them. Crippling his luscious torturous manipulations on her body. Taking control, Samantha lifted off his member completely, to step out of the tub. Grabbing a towel from the rack, she walked slightly with a limp out of the bathroom without looking back. A smile graced her lips when she heard him let a string of curses fly from his mouth. Heavy footsteps stomped behind her. She didn't expect him to lift her up off of her feet.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ian growled. Samantha only giggled, as Ian tossed her on the bed. Taking her hands in his, he pulled them over her head to keep her in place. Using one hand he pulled her legs apart, and placed his body in between them. Rotating his hips into her, he bask in the sight of her whimpering need, and moan of pleasure. "You think you can run?"
Ian thrust against her. "You think you can run from me?" He thrust against her once again. "Hmm? Do you?"
"No..." She panted. Ready for him to slip back inside her. "Please...Ian"
"But you ran away. Now you're telling me that you want to be fucked?" He teased, whispering every word close to her ear.
"I was teasing. Please put it inside me, Ian. I want to be fucked."
"You do, huh?" He let his lips roam over hers. "Do bad girls deserve to get what they want?"
"Stop playing with me." She tugged at her hands.
Ian tighten his grip on her wrist and leaned in to her. "Or what?" He challenged.
Samantha growled, and ripped her wrist from his hold. Caught by surprise' Ian didn't expect her to flip him to his back. With a grunt Samantha impaled herself onto his cock. She rocked her hips back and forth hurriedly, spurring moans of pleasure as she felt her climax rising. Throwing her head back, she let out a silent moan.
"Oh..." Ian strained as he held on to her rocking hips. "Oh fuck, cum...Mmmm cum for me baby."
Samantha squeezed her eyes shut, as she let her orgasm flow through her with an intense scream. Ian followed right behind her with a groan of his own.
"Yess..." Ian moaned as he finished his final thrust.
Samantha fell off his lap to her side, with a silly smile on her face.
"That was amazing."
"It was." Samantha agreed, yawning. "You always put me right to sleep."
Ian laughed. "Well, at least you know whenever I'm around you never have to worry about needing any sleep aid."
"That's so true. Excellent point." She cupped his cheek, and kissed him passionately. "Thank you."
"What for?" Ian asked, as he got up from the bed.
Samantha shrugged her shoulders. "For everything." She watched as he slipped his clothes on. "You literally make me the happiest woman in the world, more and more each day. I know we've been through some rough shit lately, but through it all we've made it to this moment. I can barely contain myself, from all of this..."
"Come here baby." Ian pulled her towards him. "I feel exactly the same way. If not more. I'm still amazed that you actually accept me."
"Me with all my issues, and crazy ass stalkers in tow. You still love me. For that I'm so grateful to have you."
Despite trying not too Samantha chuckled at his joke. "Oh don't think that you're totally off the hook for that Curly. Fucking my crazy roommate, and turning her obsessive psycho ass on me, is not going to be a slap on the wrist for you."
"Understood." He said along.
"Good, now tell me where do you think you're going?" She asked, as she gripped his shirt in her hands.
"Out, to get more wood for the fire place." He pulled her up from the bed. "I have something special planned for you."
"Oh gosh really?"
"Yeah, it's a surprise. So don't even ask about it." He gave her a quick peck. "Get dressed beautiful, and I'll be up to get you shortly."
Ian smirked, as he turned to the door. Knowing how much she hated surprises, he couldn't help but push her button, because in the end she always looked the most beautiful when she was riled up.
Downstairs, Ian met up with Michael, at the back door leading to the back deck. With ax from the garage in hand they went outside in the blistering cold, where a chopping block sat in the back yard.
"So you're going to pop the question tonight?"
Ian paused mid swing. "What?"
"Are you going to propose to Sam, tonight?" Michael continuously chopped through piece after piece. "That is why your planning such a big night for her isn't it? Setting the scene, having the cabin to yourself, it's all for the big question."
Ian refocused his attention on chopping his pile. "No, I just wanted to treat her to a special night."
"Wait a second. So you're telling me you have this amazing opportunity, in this beautiful fucking cabin, to blow your girls mind, but you're not going to take it." Ian nodded his head. "Well, I'll be damned. Why the hell am I out here freezing my nuts off?"
"It's not like I don't want to do it mike. But I know Sammy. It wouldn't feel right to her, if I was to pop the question, with her parents not even knowing that we are together." He grimaced. "That would be selfish of me, to do that to her."
"Damn, you have a point," Michael scratched his head.
"Here's another issue." Ian angrily drove his ax into his chopping block sending wood fragments flying. "She's afraid."
"Afraid of the relationship? I thought you guys were good. Especially since you two have been going at it none stop like jack rabbits."
"It's not our relationship she fears. It's the crazy bitch threatening it."
"Kriste?"
"Yeah. I know without a doubt it's her sending these threatening messages. Sammy will never admit it but she's afraid."
"Is that why she changed her number?"
"Yes." Ian shook his head. "She told me that it was because someone was calling and hanging up at all times of the night."
"Damn that's crazy man."
"I know. That's why I'm doing this to keep her mind off this shit."
"What are you going to do when we're back in Virginia?" Michael asked.
"Honestly, I have no idea on how I'm going to handle this. But I do know it's going to be handled."
Throwing his ax to the side Ian gathered his stacked wood. "Where are you taking Carol tonight?" He asked as he walked towards the cabin.
"I planned to take her to see a cheesy movie, and out to dinner in town."
"Cheesy movie?" Ian laughed.
"Yeah, something funny, romantic. That's a sure fire win. All women enjoy shit like that."
"They enjoy watching the guy, suffer through it just as much." Ian added.
"True."
"Well I really appreciate you looking out for me man. I mean that."
"No problem. I know you would do the same for me, no questions."
"You couldn't be more right."
Placing their supply of wood next to the fire place.
"We're going to be leaving soon."
"Michael you don't have to rush out of here there's no hurry." Ian insisted.
Michael laughed and shook his head. "Oh no I don't think I can take another night of you two moans and groans." He joked.
"Har Har. You'll see what it's like when you finally get some of Caroline."
"Riight."
"Mikey, where are you taking me?" Caroline asked as she came into the living room, and fell onto the couch.
"Mikey?" Ian sputtered, as he burst out laughing at Michael's new hideous nickname.
Michael cut his eye at him in return. "Shut up, cuurrrllly."
Ian shut up and flipped him off. "The only one and I do mean 'only' one that can call me that is Sammy."
"Hey same here bro." Michael said defensively.
"Okay, will you two just shut it. Answer the question, Mickey."
"Sweetie it's a surprise."
Caroline cut her eye at him, but she couldn't keep a straight face. "You're so sweet, Mickey. Come here." She pulled him towards her, and kissed his lips tenderly. "Ian..." She looked back at him over her shoulder, as Michael held her in his arms. "Please don't burn down the house."
Michael laughed at Ian's shocked insulted expression. "Hey! I know how to cook."
The couple walked away, laughing at his expense, while he shook his head at their back.
****
Removing the homemade chicken pot pie casserole from the stove, he shook his head with dismay, at the signs of burnt crust around the edges of the dish.
With a curse he placed the casserole on the counter to cool, hoping that it wouldn't be too disgusting for Samantha to eat.
"Hopefully she will at least appreciate my effort." he mused. Laughing at himself, he turned off the burner. He went about setting up the table for two, for a romantic dinner, laying it out, as his mother had taught him so many years before.
Satisfied the set up looked good, her turned and headed for the downstairs bathroom, where he took a quick shower. Wrapped in a towel he headed up to their room. He discovered Samantha lying on her belly, ass poised high in the air with her cute sock clad feet crossed in the air. Dressed in a beautiful simple black dress with the upper back cut out, made short in a flared out fashion; nose deep in a book.
Ian, grinned and placed his hands on his hips. Clearing his throat, he watched as Samantha jumped slightly, as her wide brown eyes flew over to him. A smile graced her plump strawberry lips, when she eyed him standing in nothing but a towel, as if he was a Greek god; chiseled, and wet.
Crooking her finger, she beckoned him closer, giving him a splendid view of her ample breast straining against the low top of her dress.
"You look, so breath taking my little nerd." He said voice rough as gravel, as his dick harden like granite. Drawing closer to her he could see her eyes zone into his private region, as the evidence of his arousal, created an impressive tent beneath the towel. Within arm's reach, she reached out and gripped his dick.
Groaning, Ian's eyes closed, as ecstasy shot through his body. He let her remove his towel, as he leaned down to capture her tasty mouth with his own. Grabbing her beneath the shoulder he hoisted her up to kneel on the bed effortlessly to get a deeper taste. Hand now gripping his hard flesh, she twisted her wrist continuously. Thrusting his hips forward, Ian broke the kiss, to grit his teeth so hard he thought he would crack a few. Glazed eyes found her's, taking in the seductive sight of her full lips swollen and glistening from his kisses, and her bedroom eyes begging him to take her.
She bent down at the waist, lips parted placing his engorged head inside of her warm moist mouth. Delirious with lust, Ian pumped his hard length into her mouth, as he gripped her head in his hands. When she gagged, he realized that he was being too rough, and it brought him back to reality. This night was about her, not his own pleasure. With great strength, Ian pulled his hips away.
"What's wrong? Are you not enjoying it baby?" Samantha asked voice husky with her own lust. She reached for his dick again, but Ian placed the towel back around his waist.
"I was enjoying it. But tonight isn't about me baby. It's for you." he placed his hands at her waist, and held her close. "I want every aspect of the night to be about you. My pleasure doesn't matter yours does."
Pecking her lips gingerly, he backed away to their closet. "I'm just going to get dressed, and then get down to this surprise business."
Samantha chuckled, as she sat on the bed, contently watching her man dressed. As he slipped a pair of boxer briefs over his hard on, she felt her pussy contract, and shook her head.
'God I've become such a nympho,' she licked her lips and giggled.
Ian's crystalline eyes found her's as he frowned with curiosity. He shrugged and continue to dress in a pair of worn denim jeans, and an all-black long sleeve shirt that showcased his bulging muscles. He walked to the bathroom, and pulled his longer hair into a man bun. When he walked out of the bathroom over to her with a satin tie, she smiled at him, as her stomach did backflips.
'What is this man up too," she wondered, as she allowed him to cover her eyes with the tie.
She felt him lean closer to her face as he kissed her soft lips once again. "I will never tire of these beautiful lips." he groaned. "Hold on." He warned, right before her lifted her into his arms.
Ian carried Samantha carefully in his arms through the house to the dining room. Placing her in the seat, he did a double check to make sure everything was set up. Bending down to her ear, he kissed it as he removed the silk tie from her eyes.
She blinked and looked around in total surprise. Ian had lit candles, had the fireplace blazing, and even put out flowers. Like something you would see in a movie only thing that was needed was... ah wait... soft music began to filter through the house, as Ian took a seat beside her.
"Oh my god Ian." She looked around with a smile so big it hurt her face. "You did all this for me?"
Ian hunched his shoulders. "Of course I did it for you." he picked up the bottle of Moscato that he had picked up while he was out. "Even made you my mom's famous Pot pie casserole."
"Looks delicious." she said elatedly. Ian cooked who would have thought, she giggled. "This is beautiful Ian."
Ian the macho, ladies' man, blushed fiercely. "It's alright, at best. But I'm happy, that you're happy." Pouring her a glass of Moscato, he motioned for her to drink.
Anxiety filled her, as she shook her head declining the alcohol. "I can't baby. I've already taken my meds, for my ankle." she fibbed. She couldn't spring the news that she was pregnant with their baby on him. She had to think over it. "I want some water instead."
Ian got up and retrieved a bottle from the fridge. Taking his seat once again he poured the water into his empty wine glass, as he took her drink for his own. "Cheers." he bolstered. Lifting his drink glass, enthusing her to click her glass against his with a very goofy grin.
Samantha cackled with laughter. "You're so corny." She teased.
"Hey..." Ian poked his lip out in a pout.
"But your my corny curly." She cooed, as she leaned across the table, clicking her glass against his as she took his full lip into her mouth.
"Mmmh." She smirked, taking a sip from her glass.
"Woman, you're going to make me take you right here on this table." Ian said gruffly, as his eyes narrowed.
Samantha didn't bat an eye, as a smirk graced her lips. Ignoring him, she cut a slice of the casserole and spooned some of the vegetables on the side. Ian caught on as well and filled his plate. In comfortable silence they dug in, and to her surprise it tasted really delicious, scorched bits and all.
"Ian this is really good." She moaned taking another big bite.
"Thank you baby." He beamed. "It's my mom's recipe. I called her and begged her to give it to me."
She grunted as she munched on her food, quickly clearing her plate, to make room for seconds. Ian enjoyed watching her eat, because she was never ashamed of what, or how she ate. She was completely herself and he couldn't ask for anything better. When she was done with her food she pushed her plate away, and rubbed her belly.
"I hope you aren't too full." He stated.
"Hmm?"
Ian got up, took their dirty dishes and went to the kitchen. Pulling some bought cake from a bakery out of the fridge, he cut a slice and brought it to her. With mirth she opened up her mouth at his offering of a piece of the cake.
"Yummy, and chocolaty."
"Just like you." He joked, half serious. Giving her another bite, he leaned in close to lick the icing from her lips.
"Ian are you trying to fatten me up?"
He shrugged. "The more curves the better. I love you and your body, no matter the size."
She felt unsure. "You didn't want any dessert?" She wondered.
With a sexy chuckle, Ian dropped the fork on the plate, and went down on his knees. Pulling her chair out towards him, he cut his eyes up to her's. "Oh but I do." He parted her legs roughly, and yanked her panties down. "Expect I want your chocolaty goodness."
Throwing one leg around his neck, as he held the other under her knee. He breathed on her pussy, and watched her shiver in response. Kissing the junction between her thigh, and pussy, he teased her relentlessly. Drawing nearer to her entrance before he pulled away again.
"Grrr..." She growled, before fisting his hair in her hand.
Chuckling against her pussy, he finally relented, and drove his tongue inside of her opening.
"Ooh." Came her moan, as her hips lifted from the chair.
"Mhmm." He groaned, as she thrashed against his face. Grabbing her hips, he held her still as he pulled back and blew on her hot pussy. "Hold still." He commanded.
Liquid pulled out at his dominating tone, and she couldn't control the shiver running through her body. Looking down at him, she watched as he rapidly flicked his tongue against her protruding clit.
"Such a delicious pussy." Letting his mouth cover her sweet hole, he lapped repeatedly, catching every drop of her essences.
"Curly, I want you." she moaned, breathing harshly.
Without pulling his mouth away, he shook his head no. Samantha cried out. Zeroing in on her nub, Ian plunged three fingers into her soaked opening, and crooked them looking for her spot.
"Ahhh." She wailed, through the house, as he ripped her climax through her body.
Ian licked her clean, before pulling her dress down, and picking her up. Carrying her into the massive living room he sat down with her nestled in his lap. Grabbing the remote nearby, he turned on the flat, and cued the romantic playlist of movies ranging from the 80's to early 2000's.
The Notebook was first on the list. Inwardly he cringed, but when he saw Samantha's face light up, he knew it was all worth it.
After 'Say Anything,' and 'A Walk To Remember,' Ian looked down to see Samantha fighting to keep her eyes open.
Lifting her up, he ignored her cries of denial.
"I'm woke Curly. I wanna finish the movie." She said sleepily.
"Mhmm, we will have to finish it later." Ian smiled, as he listen to her grumble incoherently. By the time he made it to their bedroom, she was fully asleep, snoring lightly. Lying her down, he checked her ankle and saw that the swelling had almost completely disappeared. That made him happy, as he removed his shirt and jeans. Left in his boxer briefs, he eased into the cool bed and folded his arms behind his head.
'As soon as we get back to our parents, I'm going to pop the question.' He thought, as he looked down at his side, as Samantha curled herself into his body heat. 'No matter the situation, I can't wait till the day I'm able to call you my wife.'
|
Harry could not believe his eyes. One minute they were standing on solid ground then the next moment an intense light materializes and engulfs them. It pulls them up and they are going so fast Harry can hardly believe it. The colors that fly around them remind Harry of a rainbow and it makes him laugh at the thought. All this should be impossible, but it was hard to deny when the truth of it was right in front of him.
It didn't take long for their feet to hit solid ground but Harry was too amazed by his surrounding's to notice. The room was domed shaped with walls of gold that were decorated with elegant designs. On the far side of where they stood was an opening that revealed a golden tower in the distance. A large podium stood in the middle.
A man with dark skin and immense size stood atop it. He wore golden armor and held a massive sword in his hands. He held no expression on his face and which combined with his amber gaze made Harry feel awkward.
The man on the podium watches silently as Loki ushers him before following them. "Such an undertaking should not be done without much thought."
Loki looks over at the man with a placating smile. "I have done so and made the decision Heimdall. Trust me when I say this was the best thing I have ever done."
"We shall see, my Prince." The man known as Heimdall replies.
With that said they head out of the dome building and onto a crystal like road. It shimmers in the low light seems sturdy but Harry isn't so sure. Loki must see his hesitance because he takes his hand from his shoulder and walks on ahead. After a few steps he pauses and turns towards Harry. "It's safe. Many have walked it with no hints of it failing."
Harry gave Loki a doubtful look but steps onto the bridge. It was solid under his feet and showed no signs of weakness. Filled with a little more confidence Harry began to walk along. Each step brought him courage and soon he was beside Loki who gave Harry a pleased smile before continuing down the bridge.
As they walked Harry could not believe some of the things he was seeing. The city was full glittering buildings and statues. There was something in the distance that defied gravity and moved of its own accord. When Harry asked about Loki told him it was magic. Harry grinned at the word before looking back over the dancing architecture.
Everything else about Asgard reminded Harry of Earth. Except for the sky; which held two planets and dark patches of dark sky where the clouds have parted, despite the sun being out. This place was amazing. That's the only word Harry could use to describe it. If he didn't know any better he would say he was dreaming but his imagination wasn't this good.
They neared the gates of the city Harry noticed a small group coming. There were our men and a woman. They were all dressed in armor and had various types of weapons on their person. Then man in front of the group waves his hand in greeting and smiles when Loki does the same.
"Welcome back brother!" The blond man bellowed.
"It is good to be back" Loki replies with amusement.
Harry slowly started to inch behind Loki but was stopped and made to stand beside him instead. The man gave him a gentle smile. "Who is brother?"
Loki looks down at Harry and gives the boy's shoulders a small squeeze. "Harry this is Thor my brother." Then his eyes turn to the man who Harry now knows is Thor and Loki's brother. "Thor, this is Harry, my son."
Thor's jaw actually drops and it seems so funny that Harry giggles. Blue eyes turn to him once more and Harry freezes. Thor doesn't seem mad at him but neither does he look happy. The group behind Thor come closer but stays silent. It's obvious that they are waiting for Thor's reaction.
"Loki, have you discussed this with mother and father?" Thor asks softly.
"Now where would be the fun in that? I am grown. If I wish for a child than I shall have one" Loki replies with annoyance.
The only woman in the group takes a few steps forward before speaking. "A child is not a toy Loki."
Loki doesn't look at her as she speaks. His eyes are trained on his brothers in a silent battle of wills. It makes Harry anxious and he begins to fidget. What if Loki had to take him back?
Then without warning Thor places a large hand on his head. Harry looks up in shock. The man has a warm smile on his face. "Welcome son of Loki. I am Thor Odinson."
Harry gives Thor shy smile. "Can I call you Uncle?"
Thor laughs and the hand resting on his head ruffles his head. "Yes, of course! You are my brother's son so that would indeed make your Uncle."
Harry grins but it falters as the others walk forward. "These are my friends The Warriors Three and Lady Sif. Friends, this young Harry Lokison." They each bow nod their heads in greeting.
The one named Fandral had blonde hair and blue eyes and reminded Harry of a Musketeer. He gave a welcoming smile which Harry returned. Hogun was standing next to Fandral and looked like a Samurai and then there was Volstagg. He was a big guy and had red hair. At first sight he made Harry wary, but that was quickly changed when Volstagg greeted him boisterously.
Lady Sif was very beautiful but serious. She did not seem to dislike Harry but she also did not seem happy for him to be there either. She seemed worried but about what Harry had no idea.
Once everyone has greeted Harry Thor places a hand on Loki's shoulder "Loki, let us go and ease mother worries. She has thought of nothing else since your mysterious departure."
A worried look crosses Loki's face before it disappears and is replaced by one of determination. "That is not what I intended brother. I did not mean to worry her but now I am home; whole and happy. I am sure once she sees who I have brought all will be forgiven." With that said Loki begins to walk with Thor and Harry on either side of him.
The throne room was quite when they entered. Father made an imposing figure even though he was seated. He did not look displeased but the Odinalways kept his true feelings at bay when seated upon the throne.
Frigga graced her children with a smile. He could see her eyes studying him for injury before moving to the child. She gave Harry a pleasant smile. He could feel Harry stiffen and knew the child wished to hide behind him once again. His little Harry was such a timid thing.
The hall's silence and Loki's thoughts were broken by his fathers strong voice. "You may leave." He said as he pointed at the Warriors Three and Sif.
They bowed and obeyed their kings wishes. Once they left the room Odin stood and began to walk towards them with Frigga at his side.
Only when he was within arms reach did he talk. "Loki Odinson, you have brought a mortal to Asgard. What do you have to say for yourself."
"There is really nothing I can say." Loki says humbly.
Odin studies him than turns his gaze to who Harry pulls on his shirt nervously. "Greetings young one. What is your name?"
"My name is Harry." The youth bravely says even though his nerves show otherwise.
This seems to amuse Odin because he smiles. "Well than young Harry what do you say to going with my queen to get something to eat?"
Harry's eyes widen and he nods enthusiastically. Frigga smiles walks over and hold out her hand. The small hand encircles the queen's and they walk out of throne room.
Once they have left Odin turns to Loki. "I will ask again and now that a young ones ears cannot hear I expect an answer."
It is hard to look the All Father in the eye but Loki does. "I felt alone and found Harry on Midgard."
Odin's eyes grow sad and he grasps Loki's shoulder. "You are not alone, Loki. You have your family."
Loki closes his eyes and nods his head. "I know father but there stilled seemed to be something that was not there. I have thought on this for awhile and I now know that what I really wanted was a child of my own."
"Loki, these things take time. Someday you will find a wife and with time you will have children. Why bring this boy here?" Odin asks with concern.
Loki doesn't answer immediately but when he does his voice wavers. "Because...he reminds me of myself."
Odin stills. His eye gets a faraway look before sighing and releasing Loki's shoulder. "You have my blessing Loki. Raise him as your own."
Loki studies his father before bowing in gratitude. "Thank you, father." Then he leaves to find his mother and son.
Thor gives his father a pleased smile and hurries to catch up to his brother. Odin watches his sons leave with a heavy heart. |
L
All high school students look forward to the end of the day, but not the way Louis was as he impatiently tapped his pencil during second to last period. As soon as the bell rang he was out of his seat, rushing to get to Chemistry. Which took a lot of effort considering how hungover he was. He arrived almost breathless and slowed to a casual walk as he strolled in, the first student there.
Mr. Styles was wearing all black. Holy shit. He saw the way Louis was eyefucking him and smirked. "Good afternoon Louis. Like what you see?" Louis blushed and didn't answer, but stood there, not moving to his seat yet. He couldn't decide if it was the best or worst idea of his life:
He wanted to sit front and center, like a good boy with a perfect view of the glory that was this man. Mr. Styles raised an eyebrow, saying quietly, "If you think I'm going to jerk you off before class, I hate to disappoint Louis. The one on one will have to wait till later." He gave him a wink and looked back down to his open textbook, licking his finger and sticking it the page to turn it easily. Louis let out a tiny whimper, hoping Mr. Styles didn't hear, but the man chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Later. Promise. I'll have you screaming my name in no time."
Yep. Definitely back row. Louis hurried to the back and slunk down in his seat, trying to concentrate on reading the chapter he had completely forgotten to go over last night; but he felt Mr. Styles signature intense gaze on him, and the words just couldn't register in his brain. He gave up with a sigh and pulled out his phone instead, pushing his earbuds in and listening to his new mix of Justin Timberlake.
... I got that tunnel vision for you
I got that tunnel vision, I only see you
Now that I know the truth, what am I supposed to do?
Changing up and breaking all my rules ever since we met
I'm so gone, I'm so gone, I'm so gone...
Class was like torture for Louis as his eyes followed the man sauntering around the room in his snug black shirt and pants. Looking that good at school should be illegal, he decided. He was lost in a dirty fantasy in which Mr. Styles was bending him over his desk and fucking him hard and fast from behind, when he felt a thin hand take a hold of his wrist, and something cold was dragged across the inside of his forearm. He looked down in surprise to see Ashley quickly scribbling out her phone number on him. In a permanent ink black Sharpie. He pulled his arm away and yelled, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Where has your chill gone?!"
Mr. Styles immediately stopped lecturing and looked towards the commotion to see Louis rubbing angrily at his arm covered in thickly inked numbers, while Ashley sat there, looking rather smug. "Don't deny you want it honey. I would rock your world all you have to do is say yes."
The man's eyes narrowed. "I won't tolerate interruptions in my class. Ashley I'd like you to sit up front today. Move. Now." The girl rolled her eyes and gathered her things, looking back to Louis and mouthing 'Call me' as she made her way to the front of the room. "Without the attitude," the teacher added, tone laced with annoyance.
When class ended Louis scrolled through his texts from Liam asking what he was doing later that night. He started to type a quick response when the door slammed shut and he jumped, looking up to see a very pissed off Mr. Styles locking it and making his way towards him. He hauled Louis up by his arm and backed him the short distance into the wall, pressing himself against the boy and glaring down at him.
"Do you think I like to share, Louis?"
"I'm sorry daddy I swear I didn't even know she was -" he rushed out, his words turned to a whine though as Mr. Styles pushed his thigh in between Louis' legs and rubbed against the boy's length teasingly. The man leaned in closer.
"That's enough Louis. You are mine. No one else's. I'm the only one who gets to do this." He reached a hand down between them and squeezed Louis through his pants making the boy whimper in pleasure.
"And have you been drinking Louis? What a bad boy you are," he said low in his throat, lightly mocking in his disapproval.
Louis opened and shut his mouth several times, not knowing what to say, since he was underage. Mr. Styles just laughed a little, shaking his head. "You are quite the handful. What am I going to do with you Louis?"
His gaze fell upon Louis' marker covered arm that was pressed up against his chest. Mr. Styles caught a hold of Louis' wrist pulling it up to inspect. He pursed his lips as his eyes scanned the thick scribbling and the "A" at the end for Ashley. Louis' breath caught in his throat to see how intensely jealous it made the man. He was pretty intimidating like this. But Louis had to admit, it was pretty hot too. The man interrupted Louis' thoughts as he raised two fingers in front of Louis' mouth. "Suck." He commands.
Louis obeyed and opened his mouth, letting Mr. Styles push his long fingers in. He watched Louis as he sucked lightly, then pulled them out, smearing the spit across the numbers, making them illegible. "You won't be calling her. Understood?" Louis nodded.
"Yes daddy." The man didn't say anything and reached down to grip Louis' ass with his large hands and hoist him up easily, Louis' legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He kept his back pressed hard against the wall as he kissed him, and the boy immediately opened his mouth, desperate for it. He'd been tossing and turning last night in his bed, brain still buzzing with alcohol and lit up with thought from his unwanted kiss with Liam, and he'd been wanting to feel Mr. Styles' full lips on his own again ever since.
Louis threaded his hands through the man's curls, grabbing handfuls and tugging, making Mr. Styles let out a low moan that Louis answered in kind. He spread his legs as far as he could, Mr. Styles still gripping his ass. "Do you want to feel my cock rubbing against you Louis? You need it don't you? Is this what you want?"
Mr. Styles rutted his hips against the boy he had pinned to the wall, emitting a strangled cry from Louis who was using all of his concentration to keep quiet. "Daddy!"
Mr. Styles took Louis' bottom lip between his teeth, swallowing his words. He bit down lightly, releasing it and running his tongue across hungrily. He pulled away and opened his eyes, darker green with lust. "Now listen to me carefully. You're going to go home. And you aren't going to touch yourself, not once. You are going to be my good little slut tonight, and you're going to show daddy how you only like cock."
Louis gasped dramatically and stuttered "D-daddy... I-I... fuck, yes, okay." Mr. Styles leaned in for another lingering kiss, tongue lapping against Louis' own before lowering him to the floor. The man took a small step back and reached into his pocket.
"Are we... are we gonna -" Louis shyly tried to ask.
Mr. Styles looked up to Louis' eyes and smiled. "Patience is a virtue Louis. Sometimes the anticipation is almost as good as the release, wouldn't you say?"
Louis let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes daddy, I can wait."
"Good. Now do you have a passcode on your phone?"
Louis just shook his head. "No I haven't really needed one, but I guess..." he felt his cheeks grow hot.
Mr. Styles smirked at how flustered Louis was. They exchanged numbers and he texted to Louis while he was still standing there.
H - 20 Oakwood Drive
Louis glanced down when his phone went off and gulped hard as he read it. This is really happening.
He looked up to Mr. Styles and nodded. "Okay daddy. I'll be there."
"Good boy. 12 am. Don't be late now. Or I'll have to punish you." Mr. Styles murmured in response.
Louis got a sudden impulsive thought to purposely be late, just to see what would happen. He wasn't sure if he would like it though, promises to never hurt him or not. There were plenty of ways other than pain to torture someone, and Louis wasn't sure he wanted to experience any of those things, remembering how Mr. Styles had teased him yesterday 'I'll bet you're just dying to come by now, aren't you Louis?'
Mr. Styles spoke, snapping Louis back to reality. "Now why don't you go home and sleep off that hangover?" He leaned down and brushed his lips against Louis' still slightly tinted pink cheek. "Because I'm gonna wear you out baby. You'll be lucky if you can walk tomorrow morning." He pulled away and Louis quietly whimpered at the thought of Mr. Styles following through on his promise.
"Okay daddy, I will," Louis quickly agreed.
"Go on then. I'll see you later tonight Louis." He gave Louis' ass a quick squeeze before letting him go. Louis turned back to look at Mr. Styles one last time before stepping out the door. Mr. Styles stood there, arms crossed against his chest and watching, like a hungry lion after his unsuspecting prey.
And Louis just couldn't wait for Mr. Styles to devour him whole.
Once home Louis collapsed onto his bed, exhausted from the night before. He set an alarm on vibrate for 11:30 pm, just in case. He soon drifted off to sleep, his dreams picking up where his fantasy of earlier had left off. He whimpered a little in his sleep and frowned, even subconsciously he craved Mr. Styles' touch, his hands all over Louis' body. But he had been a good boy all afternoon and hadn't touched himself. Not when he got to his car, not when he first got home. He wanted to be good for his daddy.
Louis woke up at 7:30 pm when he was called for dinner. He stirred and yawned, slowly sitting up in bed. He felt refreshed and slyly thought to himself, good and proper to get the fucking of a lifetime. He hopped out of bed and went downstairs to eat, digging in enthusiastically. He headed upstairs to shower and forced himself to slow down and take his time. He wanted to look nice for his daddy, and conditioned his hair several times, singing quietly. Once he was clean, he got an idea and reached out to grab his razor from on top of the sink then shaved his legs for the first time. It was kind of tricky but he managed. He bit his lip as he wondered what Mr. Styles would think when he felt how silky smooth Louis' legs would be now. Would he like it? Louis hoped so. He rubbed a sweet smelling lotion in too, for good measure. Looking in the mirror, he had to admit, it was a nice change. He tossed his little hip out to the side and posed.
"Look good enough to get fucked tonight." He laughed to himself nervously at his dumb joke. What if I'm bad at it? He pushed the thought aside and went to get dressed. He stood in front of his closet for twenty minutes. Just as he was pulling a plain white tee shirt from his hanger his phone pinged and his stomach did somersaults. Was that Mr. Styles wanting to see him early? It wasn't even 10 pm yet. He put in his new passcode he had turned on earlier and read the text.
Liam - I hope you're not avoiding me.....
Oh fuck. Louis had forgotten to answer earlier when he was interrupted by the rage that was Mr. Styles.
Me - hii... sorry my phone was still on silent from school... and I passed right the fuck out as soon as I got home. pretty hungover haha.
Liam - ha okay. Yeah I felt kinda like shit today too. It's fine... wyd anyways?
Me - studying for Chemistry class.. ugh this man is gonna be the death of me :0
Liam - sounds exciting haha ..
Me - you have no idea
Liam - do u wanna hang out tomorrow?
Me - sure liam yeah I'll text you
Liam - ok Louis I'll leave u to it then... don't let him ride u too hard haha
Me - lmao ok li... good night
Liam - good night x
Louis burst out laughing at Liam's last comment, oblivious to the sweet goodbye and just tickled pink by the double meanings of that entire exchange. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand. Fuck. The last thing he needed was his mom taking longer to fall asleep than usual. He had snuck out before, but not to go have sex with a twenty something year old man. Who happened to be his teacher. Somehow he didn't think this compared to late night joy rides with Liam to get candy and slushies.
He carelessly tossed his phone halfway across the room and it bounced on the bed, almost falling off. He decided to stop overthinking it and just pulled on the white tee and some fitted jogger sweats that made his ass look amazing if he didn't say so himself. He paced his room for a little while, biting at his nails as he looked at the clock on his bedside table.
10:30
"Fuck my life," Louis groaned and tossed himself down on his bed. He fished his earbuds out of the drawer where he had left them and decided to listen to music to pass the time. There was no way in hell he would be able to concentrate enough to do homework. He turned up the volume and watched the clock like it was New Year's Eve and he was waiting for the ball to drop.
His phone vibrated repeatedly when the alarm went off, and he jumped up, feeling incredibly nervous. It was time. He tossed his things in his drawer and shut it quietly before delicately getting out of the bed. He slowly made his way across the room and peeked his head into the hall. All the lights were out, he was in the clear. He got a sly smirk on his face as he made his way down the stairs, skirting the edge to make the least amount of noise.
He took an agonizing amount of time to open and shut the sliding glass door behind him, the almost inaudible whir seeming deafening to him. His heart pounded in his chest. Now that he was outside it was almost worse. Couldn't really explain it if he was caught now.
He didn't hesitate for a second.
He shut his car door behind him with a click and put the car in neutral, letting it start to move backwards down the gradual slope of his driveway. Thank fuck for this hill. Once he was a good couple hundred feet down the road, he dared to turn the engine on and his car made a dull roar. He cringed and immediately looked back to the house. Still all dark. He laughed at his luck and took off into the night, speeding up as he furthered himself from the house, not entirely sure where he was going, but dying to find out.
He slowed once he reached Mr. Styles' road and pulled out his phone to check the address. It was in a very secluded and woodsy part of town, Mr. Styles must like his privacy. Awhile down the road he found the house, set back far from the street; it was a sprawling and modern design with sharp angles and tall windows. It suited the man well, Louis decided.
All of the lights were on, including the front walkway, so Louis just made his way right up to the door and knocked. He heard footsteps approach and the door opened to reveal Mr. Styles still wearing his fitted black button down dress shirt, with four buttons undone and his smooth, lightly tanned chest showing, the small curve of a black tattoo peeking out just over the fabric. He had changed into tight, dark wash skinnies. Louis mouth dropped open slightly, because fuck, just when he thought this man couldn't possibly get any hotter.
"Glad you could make it, why don't you come inside?" He smiled and stepped back, letting Louis in. As soon as the door was shut Mr. Styles was on him, pushing him backwards against it. "Louis," he groaned as he grabbed him by the hair and kissed him. "I've been thinking about you all day. What that pretty mouth can do." Louis reached up and made quick work of undoing the rest of the buttons, eager to see the mysterious tattoo. He pushed the shirt off his shoulders and it fell to the floor. It was a single black and grey shading swallow, long wings flared out behind it, facing inward on his chest. Louis traced his little finger over its flat eyebrow and looked up at the man.
"It kinda looks like you. Does it mean something?"
Mr. Styles smirked. "It is supposed to be me, aren't you keen." He leaned down and peppered light kisses up Louis' neck, pausing to speak in between. "It has three meanings... travel... I'm a long ways from my hometown in Holmes Chapel... it reminds me where home is. Freedom," he sucked lightly on Louis' neck underneath his ear, making the boy gasp in surprise, "To do what I want, with who I want...." he trailed off as he worked at Louis' sensitive skin.
"And the third?" Louis panted, trying to keep his focus on the man's words.
"Fidelity. Swallows mate for life... it's just something I believe in."
"But," Louis was confused now, "There's just the one?"
Mr. Styles pulled back to gaze directly into Louis eyes. "I'm waiting until I've found someone worth marking myself for."
"Oh." Louis blushed. He didn't know Mr. Styles could be so... romantic.
As if he read his thoughts the man suddenly cupped his hands underneath Louis' ass and picked him up, carrying him towards the stairs. "Enough talking. That's not why I asked you to come here tonight." He made his way up the stairs as Louis wrapped his arms around the man's neck and returned the favor, sucking harshly on his neck. "Louis what has gotten into you? So dirty."
He kicked open his bedroom door and crossed the room, laying Louis down on the bed. "One minute, I've got something I think you might like." He disappeared into his walk in closet, reappearing soon after with a plastic bag. He tossed it on the bed next to the boy lying there. "For you." Louis blushed again.
"For me daddy?" He excitedly reached in and pulled out lavender lacy panties, feeling his face become unbearably hot. "Daddy...what is ...what's this?"
"It's gonna be fucking hot that's what, now go put it on." Louis went to the en suite bathroom to lose his joggers and shirt, slipping the panties on. They fit low on his hips, and he had to admit the pale lavender looked pretty good against his tan skin. The lining was deliciously soft and satiny and felt so good on his already excited cock. He turned around to check himself out in the scanty material that only covered the top half of his ass. He decided he looked fucking amazing.
"Louis I don't like to wait," Mr. Styles called out playfully.
"Coming daddy." He shyly stepped out and clasped his hands in front of him. "How do I look?"
Mr. Styles was lying sideways on the bed in just his black boxer briefs, propped up on his elbow. His eyes raked up and down Louis' body, chewing on his bottom lip. "Good enough to eat. Come to me." Louis scooted up close on the bed and Mr. Styles moved over him, capturing Louis' lips with his own as he rested a hand on his hip. He pushed his tongue inside the boy's mouth, sliding it over Louis' and sucking on it lightly for a moment.
He ran his finger along the edges of the panties, first the top, then down each side, teasing him, touching him everywhere but his quickly hardening cock. He grasped the fabric between his fingers and started tugging upwards on it, making the panties bunch up between Louis' ass. He pulled on it over and over, sliding it back and forth across Louis' now almost painfully hard erection. It gave him no relief, if anything it made it worse, teasing him with the silky satin barely causing any friction at all. Louis was mewling at this point and reached down to touch himself. "None of that Louis. You feel good when I want you to." He removed his hand and gave the side of Louis' ass a firm smack. Louis whined low in his throat.
"Please daddy please, it... it's gonna start hurting soon." Mr. Styles ignored him, shoving his tongue back in Louis' mouth and grinding on his bare thigh as he started pulling on the panties again. Louis eventually stopped squirming and assumed his most innocent voice. "I thought you said you'd never hurt me daddy. Touch me, please?"
Mr Styles smirked. "So needy Louis." He yanked the panties down just low enough to expose Louis' throbbing cock and closed the distance between them, grinding down hard against Louis and moving in circles.
"Oh fuck! Fuck daddy!" Louis screamed in relief. He lifted his hips off the mattress, doing his best to follow Mr. Styles' rhythm. It felt so fucking good but it still wasn't enough, he needed more, needed Mr. Styles inside him. The man quickly sat up, leaning back on his heels and earning a whine of protest from Louis.
"Shh, Louis, daddy has a surprise for you. Turn over. I want you face down. Ass up." Louis gasped, but did as he was told. He tried his best to look behind him but couldn't see much. "I said keep your face down, Louis. Don't make me tell you again." Louis listened and just closed his eyes, breathing heavily in anticipation as he felt the man caress his ass. Suddenly he felt him grip his cheeks in both hands and pull them apart. He jerked as Mr. Styles ran his tongue right down the center, dipping it inside his entrance.
"Oh, daddy!" He cried out, surprised. The man continued to lap at him lazily. He traced his rim with the tip of his tongue and Louis pushed back. "More, please!" Mr. Styles lifted his tongue and smacked Louis across the ass, hard enough to leave a pink handprint.
"You take what I give you and like it," he growled. He started licking at Louis again, pushing his tongue in. It was a strange sensation to Louis, but it felt so good, making him moan desperately. Mr. Styles replaced his tongue with a finger and slowly entered his wet hole. It was somewhat uncomfortable, since he was still so tight. Mr. Styles paused for a moment, then started to pump in and out, wriggling his finger back and forth to open him up.
"Can you take another?" He murmured.
"Please," Louis panted. It was starting to feel good. Another finger was slipped inside, and he started to scissor him open even more, fingering him deeply. After a few minutes Louis' thighs started shaking. He just wanted to come already but it wasn't enough to get him off. Mr. Styles seemed to understand and carefully removed his fingers. He pushed Louis over onto his back.
"Are you ready for me to fuck you Louis?"
"Oh, yes, please fuck me! I want it so bad," Louis begged, voice high and whiny. He wasn't even embarrassed, he needed it. The man slid the panties off and tossed them aside.
"Such a little slut," Mr. Styles murmured as he grabbed lube and a condom off his bedside table. He ripped the package open with his teeth and spit the foil on the floor. He put the condom just on the tip of his cock. "Put it on Louis. With that pretty mouth." Louis didn't really know what he was doing, but sat up and took Mr. Styles' cock in his mouth, pushing the condom all the way on as he took him in. He swallowed over it several times, before the man gently shoved Louis back down onto the bed.
"Good boy Louis." He snapped the top off the lube and poured some into his hand, spreading it all over his ready cock. "I'll start out slow okay?"
He gripped Louis' thighs and raised them off the mattress, lining up with his entrance. He eased just the tip in and waited, staring down at Louis whose face was scrunched up from the discomfort. Louis relaxed a little, and Mr. Styles pushed himself deeper inside, inch by inch, until he was completely inside of him.
Louis whimpered in protest from the pain. "Shh, Louis, relax. You'll get used to it. I'm gonna make you feel so good." The man rubbed his hands up and down Louis' legs soothingly, waiting patiently as Louis' tension melted away. Mr. Styles started to thrust into him, and Louis let out a shaky breath at the intense pressure. A change in angle made Louis arch his back off the bed and whine high and long.
"There it is," Mr. Styles remarked smugly.
"What the fuck was that?" Louis groaned.
"That was how I'm gonna make you cum even harder than yesterday baby," Mr. Styles purred as he pulled almost all the way out and then slammed back in, hitting Louis right in his prostate again.
"I want the neighbors to hear you scream for me baby. Scream for your daddy when I fuck you hard. Make them jealous." Louis' cock twitched from the dirty words. Mr. Styles noticed and took it in his hand, squeezing softly as he pulled out and thrust back in again, hitting the spot almost every time.
"Fuck, daddy!" Louis screamed in pleasure. Mr. Styles fucked him down into the bed, hard cock jabbing his prostate mercilessly with each snap of his hips. He moved faster, as Louis writhed beneath him. "Ugh, daddy fuck me harder!" Louis begged.
"Do you want to come Louis?" He asked through gritted teeth.
"Yes please daddy let me come!" Louis yelled. The man reached one hand up to the wall to give himself leverage to slam into Louis as hard as he could. Louis scrambled his hands against the man's chest, holding onto his shoulders tightly. "Daddy faster!" He screwed his eyes shut and started letting out screams, it just felt so good, so fucking good he needed to -
"That's it Louis, scream for me. Scream for your daddy when I fuck you hard. Just the way you like it." The words of praise gave him the final push over the edge, and he came hard, spilling all over his heaving chest. Mr. Styles groaned loudly and his movements became sloppy and jerky as he came soon after, giving a few, slow thrusts as he finished. They both stayed motionless, panting hard as they came down from their highs. The man pulled out and collapsed next to Louis. He tossed the used condom in the trash and laughed a little when Louis felt the bed dip down beside him.
"Look at how wrecked you are. Did you enjoy yourself? Like getting fucked?"
Louis sighed loudly in content, not bothering to open his eyes as his daddy cleaned him off. "Yes daddy, so much." He felt a strong arm wrap around his waist and pull him in close. They laid there for a minute or two, and then the man spoke gently. "I think you need to get going Louis."
Louis really wished he could just stay here with Mr. Styles all night and snuggle up to him as he fell asleep, but he knew he couldn't. So he reluctantly opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing a hand through his mussed up sex hair as he let out a heavy sigh. "Okay."
He got up and sucked in a quick breath at the sharp pain in his ass. "Shit!"
Mr. Styles chuckled amused. "Sorry baby. You'll get used to it." Louis flushed hot and didn't respond, just gathering his clothes and getting dressed. As he made his way to the door, the man cleared his throat.
"Good night Louis. I expect I'll see you in class tomorrow?"
"Yes daddy. Good night," Louis quietly answered. He made his way downstairs and carefully shut the front door behind him. Driving home in the dead of night he played music softly in the background, trying to distract himself from thinking about where this was heading. He just lost his virginity to his teacher. It was wrong. And he couldn't care less. |
“You live here?” You said, Amanda clutching onto your arm and swaying back and forth slightly. She was wearing Benny’s hat and giggling like a schoolgirl.
After a night in Monte’s, Benny opened his place up for afters for everybody. You were all stood outside a town house in lower Manhattan. It was impressive.
Benny only chuckled. “No—I live here,” He pointed to the floor, where just visible was a small door to the basement. You grimaced, and Matt laughed at your expression.
“Everyone reacts the same way to seeing Benny’s place. Beth did it too. She told me she thought Benny was about to kidnap her,”
“But it that sense, he actually did kidnap her, for five whole weeks,” Kayden chimed in.
Benny finally got the door open. He looked back, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “Stop spreading misinformation!” He sent a smile your way. “They’re a bunch of lying assholes, Y/N.”
You sent him a smirk. “Innocent until proven guilty.”
You all followed Benny inside. You plopped Amanda on a collection of cushions in the corner of the main room; she was content with laughing to herself about the fact she had a cowboy hat on.
“Boys, lady, drinks?” Benny said from the fridge. He shut the door with an armful of beers. He tossed a can one by one to Kayden and Matt, then held the last one in the air, stare on you. You nodded, and he threw it right at you—you caught it with one hand and opened it with the other.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t paying attention to the way Benny looked at you while you did it.
Benny joined the boys while you made your way around the room, checking out the various books, vinyl records and posters Benny had. On a table to the side sat a copy of Chess Review with his face on the cover. You picked it up with an amused expression and turned to him.
“Something to boost your ego when you feel down?” Matt and Kayden snickered at his expense. Benny only stood up and took the magazine from you, annoyed smile on his face.
“What? I’m not allowed to be proud of the things I do?” He sat down again and started flicking through the pages. “This interview was the best one I’ve done—,”
“I know,” You interrupted, while you sat down on the concrete floor and crossed your legs. “I read it,” You gulped down some beer, not expecting to see the expression that Benny was giving you.
He looked positively stunned, like you’d simultaneously impaled him and given him a kiss on the cheek. “I thought you didn’t play chess?”
“You don’t play?” Matt added.
You let out a sigh, thankful for the alcohol in your system. It made it easier to think about chess and separate it from him.
“I’ve never played a game, no.” You replied. “But I’ve read practically every book and magazine about chess in my family home,” That slapped a grin on Benny’s face.
“You’ve read my book?”
“When are you gonna shut up about your book, man?” Kayden said, downing half his beer can, Matt laughing at his side.
“Yes, I read your fucking book,” You chuckled out.
“But you’ve never played?” Kayden said. You were getting tired of it at this point.
“No—Jesus, I’ve never played. Why does that seem to stun you all?”
They all went silent as they thought of their responses. You knew they were about to mention your father. You felt drunk enough to be able to act like he was alive—pretend, just for now, that he wasn’t buried six feet beneath the ground.
“You’re gonna ask why, with a father like him, I’ve never played one single game, right?” Their silence revealed the answer; yes. You took a gulp of beer, licking your lips afterwards. “Until Beth Harmon came along, I never thought a woman could actually be a chess player. Not to mention I hated the way I was spoken to at tournaments, even as a little girl,” Their faces were in deep thought as they listened intently. “Look—I know how to play chess. I could do it with my eyes closed. But with him, my dad, how the hell would I ever have been able to play chess next to the likes of him?”
They still didn’t speak, too afraid to cross a line. You sighed again.
“The only time I haven’t felt out of place at a tournament was, well—Las Vegas, a month and a half ago.” Benny was the first to meet your eye at that. “I guess I owe that to you, Benny,” You gulped down the rest of your beer, not wanting to feel his stare on you after your words.
“Well— do you want to play?”
Your heart immediately dropped to your stomach. You watched in silence as Benny, excited smile on his face, grabbed a chess board from his room. He laid it out on the floor as your pulse accelerated, almost to the point of eating your insides.
You looked up at him, fear washed all over your face.
“One game,” He said, raising one finger to the sky. “Speed chess. It’s over faster,” Kayden jabbed Benny in the side.
“No, it’s ‘cause you’re better at speed chess than normal,”
“I—,” You stuttered. You looked at Matt and Kayden for any kind of support, but they seemed to want you to play as well. “I don’t know,” Your voice trailed off.
“You know you can play. You’ve seen this a thousand times, read about it in hundreds of books. You just have to play.”
You wanted to yell at him, scream in his face, but you were too focused on the board. The way it glistened in the drab basement light, the way all three of them were staring at you in anticipation—
You wanted to play.
You just didn’t know if you were any good in practice.
It was daunting, being face to face with a chess board and a champion. It was daunting, thinking about how much you’d revealed about your chess knowledge—
But you wanted to play.
For the first time, perhaps in your life, you wanted to play a game of chess.
“I need another beer first,” You said, and Benny jumped up from his seat, practically skipping to the fridge to grab you one.
“Heads up!” He yelled, as he threw a beer above your head. You caught it without moving your gaze from the board, immediately popping the top and taking four large gulps.
He sat back down, crossing his legs with excitement.
You stared at the board, the clock, the pieces, the story coming to life in your mind. You knew that Benny was good at speed chess; his book had told you so.
“Shall we place bets?” Benny said, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s not fair. It’s her first game,” Kayden said, his green eyes piercing yours for just a second. He had a kind face. “Just let her get used to it first,” That got Benny to back down, and he readied himself to start the clock for you.
He placed his hand over the clock starter, eyes peering into yours.
“Ready?”
You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second. When you opened them, you smiled.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The next two minutes went by in a matter of seconds—
Pawn to C4—
Pawn to C5—
Knight to F3—
Knight to H6—
All the while, you clicked that clock after every move like your life depended on it.
You imagined the story—the Queen, who would sacrifice herself for her King and be brought back from the dead by a stable boy. The knight who sought wisdom from the prophet and ended up lost. The castle that had stood the test of time, finally crumbling to the ground—
A move, the clock, a move, the clock—
Benny’s hair fell in front of his eyes after his second move, too encased to move it out of the way.
Kayden and Matt were practically holding their breath, and Amanda was starting to drift off to sleep in the corner, hat over her eyes and drool on her chin.
It felt like you hadn’t taken a breath in so long, until you finally released one, when the game was over and done—
When the clocks had stopped ticking—
When Benny finally raised his eyes to meet yours—
When you’d won.
When it had cemented in your mind that you had done this, that you had beaten Benny Watts—a World Champion player—in the first game of chess you’d ever played—
Your body ejected the contents of your stomach.
You didn’t have time to celebrate before you were running to Benny’s tiny, grotty bathroom and slammed the door shut, throwing up your guts, either for drinking way too much, or for playing the game—
Either way, it didn’t feel good.
You didn’t know how long you were in the bathroom for, until a timid knock came from the door. “I’m coming in,” Benny said through the blurred glass, before he opened up the door to reveal you curled on the floor, head leaning on the wall next to the toilet—
How embarrassing.
You didn’t even feel drunk anymore—you felt exhausted. It made it seem like you vomited because of the game, not the booze, which just made your family name even more of a burden.
Benny knelt down to your level, a small smile on his face. “Come on,” He said, slinking one arm around your torso and pulling you up to a standing position.
“I’m okay,” You said, but even you knew you were lying.
“You just played your first game of chess and threw up,” Benny said, his smile getting wider by the second. You were close to laughing, too.
“At least I won,” You added, and Benny’s smile somewhat faded.
“Yeah, you did win,” Benny gently dropped you to floor, on the collection of cushions in the corner. You looked around, wondering where everyone else was. “Matt and Kayden took Amanda home—she was pissed. You, on the other, hand—,” He paused, handing you a glass of water from the coffee table. “I think you had an anxious reaction to the game.”
You sipped at the water. “How do you know I’m not just a lightweight?” Benny sat next to you, crossing his legs and grabbing his beer.
“The way you caught and opened those beers, that’s how I know.” He took a gulp, eyes facing forward, as if he was remembering you doing it.
“Wasn’t much time for me to drink outside the house,” You said, unsure of where it came from. “My roommate would always throw me drinks like that. It became a challenge. I guess I got good at it,” You sipped at your water, starting to feel warmer after leaving the cold bathroom floor. You glanced at Benny, still looking at the wall. “I’m sorry,” You said, and his eyes met yours. “For winning.”
Benny leant towards you, a harsh expression on his face. “Never apologise for winning,” His eyes didn’t leave yours; it was unsettling. “It’s an offensive thing to do. It makes it seem like you don’t care about winning—like it wasn’t an achievement you deserved.”
Guilt washed over you. “I’m sorry—for saying sorry.”
Benny let out a soft chuckle, finishing his beer. You downed the rest of your water, feeling infinitely better, with the anxiety subsiding and the alcohol having been throw up from your system. You glanced at the chessboard clock—it was late.
“I should go,” You said, getting up slowly and stretching your arms. Benny jumped up as well, heading for the phone.
“I’ll call you a cab,”
“It’s okay, I live five blocks away.” You replied, grabbing your tote bag and checking that you had everything.
“I’ll walk with you.”
Neither of you spoke on the walk to your apartment block. You had nothing to say—or you were simply too tired. You got the sense Benny didn’t want to start a conversation after all that had happened, for your sake, and maybe for his own, as well.
You stopped outside the entrance to your building, turning to Benny awkwardly. This was the longest you’d been alone with the champion—a champion that you’d just beat at his specialty on your first try.
“Tonight was fun,” He said, and a sudden wave of anxiety hit your stomach as he readied himself to turn and walk away.
“I’m sorry for not telling you I was moving to New York,” You let out suddenly. Benny let out a sigh. “I felt like a dick when I first saw you at Monte’s.”
“Yeah—kind of a dick move,” He replied, but he was smiling as he took a step closer toward you. “You have nothing to apologise for, Y/N. I was stupid to say it and think that you’d wanna be around someone from that side of life, at least right now.”
“Evidently, you weren’t stupid about that,” You said truthfully, letting out a sigh. “The last thing I thought I’d be doing here was playing chess,”
Benny smiled thoughtfully, and the feeling in your gut dissipated. “You’re good, Y/N. Really good,”
You sent him a sarcastic smile. “’Cause I beat you, right?”
“Not just that you beat me, but yes, also that,” He took in a deep breath. “The way you moved the pieces, like you already knew where they were supposed to go. The way none of my moves phased you whatsoever,” He paused, thinking on his words carefully. “You don’t play like your father. You play like someone I’ve never seen before. You play like you.”
You play like you.
Those four words were enough to make your throat close up and your eyes start to sting. You swallowed to halt it happening, trying to keep your expression soft. “I’ll see you around, Benny Watts.”
“Yes, you will.” He replied, his soft smile turning into something deeper as he stepped backward, then turned and left.
You started the ascent to your apartment, feet scuffing the stairs all the way to the 6th floor—
Smile on your face the entire time. |
The Wedding, Part 07
The wedding went off without a hitch. Cynthia's mania for detail paid off handsomely. We performed our steps in concert with her desires. There must have been two hundred attendees, all dressed in their Sunday finest. When the pastor finally declared Cynthia and Kevon as "man and wife" she grabbed my friend and shoved her tongue so far down his throat I thought he might choke. This caused a ripple of laughter in the church. When Cynthia came up for air she had that "I got him now!!" look that women get when their long elusive prey has finally been corralled.
I almost felt sorry for him.
We paired off and exited the sanctuary, followed by the crowd. The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Kevon Simpson stood outside and shook everyone's hand. Their reception was set to be held in a conference room at the Sheraton (perhaps the very same room with my cum stains on the carpet. I wasn't sure.).
After most of the guests left the members of the wedding party re-entered the church sanctuary to take wedding photos. This last bit took the better part of an hour, with Cynthia meticulously posing every photo. I held Nicole's hand throughout. She finger palmed me at every opportunity. Lisa looked on with a measure of disgust.
"It's a 'SAMPLE, Nikki. It's not a SHARE."
Somehow I felt queasy about this concept. I'd definitely been 'shared' that morning in my hotel room. To me, there's a very fine line between fucking a pussy and cumming in that same pussy. Did Lisa expect me to fuck Nicole upon demand? Because I certainly could get used to that dynamic.
I'll be honest, ladies. Fucking Nicole took something away from my obsession for Lisa. Early in every relationship the idea of oneness is the driving factor for longevity. Young couples build a set of great experiences early on. It is the memory of these good times that tide couples thru the bad times to come. So it's important to stockpile as many good experiences as possible. These good experiences are money in that bank when the "he/she gets on my LAST nerve" heebee-jeebies inevitably creep in.
Two days in and I'm sharing the best part of my relationship with two women. Did I say 'share'? I meant to say 'sample'.
You might say, "Nigga, youse a fool. You get to fuck two women who want to fuck all day, every day, non-stop? And you're complaining?"
I'm not complaining. I'm saying that I'm putting all my eggs in two baskets. This will result in fewer eggs in each basket. I can't have both baskets going forward. I'm going to end up with a basket that has half as many eggs as I want.
After fucking Nicole last night I feel as if I like Lisa less than I did yesterday. I can't explain it. It just is. I'm a guy. I'm going to get used to fucking Nicole. One day I'm going to want her to suck my dick. I'm a guy. WTF. When Lisa complains, my balls are going to swell up and I'm going to put her in her place.
"You suggested this shit. Now deal with it."
Little did I know that the situation would get worse.
At the wedding reception we were all having a good time. The DJ broke out some hits we recalled from college. I danced with Lisa, then Jennie, then Nicole, then Cynthia. We all did the Electric Slide. When the time came for me to dance with Teralynn she whispered in my ear "Meet me upstairs in ten."
I haven't said much about Teralynn. Freshman year we came THIS close to being a thing. One night after the Krimson and Kreme Ball (K! A! PSI? I said-a PHI NU PI!!) we found ourselves in each other's arms. We kissed and kissed and kissed. Nothing came of it. In the morning we kinda looked embarrassment at each other. I had the hots for her. She was a church girl from Dallas and a little inexperienced. Somehow we fell onto the "let's be friends" track and never moved off it. Suffice to say we'd become the best of friends. We could be crass with one another. She had a great sense of humor. I trusted her like a sister. More, I loved her like a sister.
So when she invited me up to her room, I was certain there was an issue she wanted to discuss, an issue she didn't want shared with the fellas just yet. She knew about Lisa and me. I thought this clandestine meetup might be an expression of her concerns about Lisa. Terry always had my best interests at heart.
Teralynn slipped from the reception unnoticed. I asked Lisa to dance. During our time on the floor I whispered that I needed to step out for a few minutes. I'd be back. Lisa whispered that she wanted us to be alone after the reception. She wanted to go to the Hilton and leave Nicole at the Sheraton. I smiled in agreement.
So I get upstairs to Terry's room. She lets me in. She's kinda muddlin' around with her hands behind her back. I could see she's got something on her mind. She broke the ice:
"How're you and Lisa getting along?"
"Good, good. There's a couple things I'm having an issue with but, you know, there's always that."
"She's got that snapper and all..." Lisa observed.
She'd mentioned Lisa's 'snapper' yesterday. Mentioning it today seemed kind of disingenuous. I was immediately suspicious.
"We're compatible, yes." I said.
She seemed to sigh a little.
"Terry, what is it? You're not going to tell me she's a man or anything like that?"
"No, no. I met her the same day you did. I don't have anything bad to say about her."
"Well? What is it? You didn't drag me up here to rehash the Lisa situation.?"
"No, Artie. I..."
I waited. Clearly there was something on her mind.
"Artie, you remember that time when we were freshmen, after the Krimson and Kreme Ball? What happened there?"
I was shocked. I'd often thought about that night. She and I had never discussed it. Now it was my turn to be flummoxed.
"I...I...I thought you just wanted to be friends."
"I thought that, too, Artie. But, you know, things went from one thing to another and we DID get to be great friends. BEST friends."
I smiled. We were on the same page.
"Artie, when I heard that you and Jeannie had broken up, I was hoping to meet you here and talk to you about it."
"Oh, Terry. We had a big fight. We'd been drifting toward it for awhile. It just turned out that we didn't need one another."
"I liked Jeannie," she mentioned.
"I know," I said.
"But I like you better," she continued.
"I know," I said.
"No, Artie. I don't think you do. I came here to attend Kevon's wedding. But I also came here to see you."
I was getting an inkling that this conversation was not what I'd expected. I withheld comment.
"Artie, when I found out that you and Lisa were already a thing, I was disappointed. I was hoping...."
"Hoping what?" I asked.
"I was hoping that we could talk. And...maybe...work something out."
"Are you saying...?"
"Yes, Artie. That's what I'm saying."
Now I was legitimately confused. A man and woman can be great friends...AFTER they have sex. Until that time sex is always the elephant in the room. Terry and I had never had sex. And if I had a choice of someone to have sex with, it would have been her. She knew this. I did not know the vice versa. Here she was telling me the vice versa.
The other consideration is that sex is the ruination of friendship. Once dick goes into pussy, all bets are off. There are heightened expectations, disappointments, heartbreaks, misunderstandings and arguments. I didn't want that for Terry and I. I couldn't afford to lose her as a friend. And now my dick is saying "Yeh, but...yeh, but..."
I wanted to tell her all this. But I could see in her eyes that she'd considered each and every angle already. She knew me well.
"Do you really want to fuck up our friendship?" I asked.
"I dunno, Artie. I just know that I couldn't continue without telling you how I felt."
"How DO you feel?" I asked.
She stepped to me, reached up and slipped her tongue into my mouth. There was no strained breathing, no surreptitious humping, no groping at my belt. Just a pure, unadulterated kiss. It was the same kiss I'd fallen in love with eight years before. She reached up to stroke my cheek with her left hand. When she stepped back I was in love again...for the second time that week.
"That thing you're tasting in your mouth right now? That's me," she said.
My brain was awash in the same electric colors I felt when my penis was spraying semen into Lisa's pussy. But this taste was more pure, selfless and innocent.
"Go back downstairs to Lisa. But I want you to think about that taste. You can have it all the time, if you want."
I stumbled toward the door. My penis was erect, a third leg. I could barely walk. It was massively prominent.
I turned back to Terry and swept her up in my arms. We kissed and kissed. To my knowledge, none of the fellas had ever been this close to the tipping point. We were all friends. We were not lovers. I wondered what would happen next.
Teralynn unbuckled my belt.
By the time I returned to the reception the party was in full swing. Everyone was dancing. The music was loud. I'd been gone thirty-five minutes. No one missed me...except Lisa. And when our eyes met she looked at me as if she'd counted my erections before I'd left and when I'd returned I was a couple of boners short.
Indeed, Teralynn and I had fornicated fiercely twice in the span of five minutes. People who've wondered after each other for years tend to cum early and often. I don't even think our session lasted five minutes. I think it took one minute for us to bust two nuts--standing up. And then we took four minutes to recover, kissing and mumbling and going on like that. I wiped the sweat from her brow and made sure not to spill semen on her bride's maids dress, although I noticed more than a few dark spots on her panties, which had been brusquely pushed to the side.
Making my way back downstairs. I knew enough about women to gussy myself up a bit before returning to the party. I went into a public bathroom and washed my dick with soap. Women can smell the scent of other women on a man. They especially can detect the scent of pussy on a dick, especially if its not their own.
Two days into my relationship with Lisa and I was already creeping. My first thought was to arrange to spend the night at the Sheraton, not the Hilton. I thought it would be easier to leave Lisa's room and get downstairs to Terry's room if I spent the night at the Sheraton. Wooof!
I put on my best "I ain't did nuttin'" face and asked Lisa to dance. I noticed that Terry had returned to her seat by then. Lisa did not look happy.
"You've been gone an awful long time," she said.
"I hadda go to the bathroom. These canapés give me the trots," I said.
It was a plausible explanation. Her smile returned.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"A little better. Can we dip out? And go upstairs?"
"Artie, Nicole is going to have company. We'll get caught."
"COMPANY? Who?"
"She didn't say who. And I didn't ask. I'm just happy to have you to myself tonight."
"How long do we have to be here?"
"We have to stay until Cynthia and Kevon leave," she said.
"Their plane to Aruba doesn't leave until the morning?"
"Yes. They are staying here, in the nuptial suite, tonight."
"Oh, yeah."
"So when they go upstairs, we can sneak out to the Hilton."
I nodded. I didn't want to push the Sheraton idea so soon after explaining my unexplained absence.
Soon enough the time came for Kevon and Cynthia to go up to the bridal suite. The entire wedding party followed them up to their room, tossing rice and making lurid jokes about Kevon finally getting his chance to "taste the goods". Cynthia batted her eyes and feigned embarrassment, but I kept thinking back to the big white boy that she'd fucked into submission on video. If she hadn't fucked anybody in two or three weeks, Kevon was in for a long night and then a long flight. I couldn't imagine him seeing any of Aruba's beautiful beaches. Cynthia's pussy was going to be in his face each and every minute they were away.
We all went back downstairs to finish partying. Eddie assembled a Soul Train line. We each cut silly figures while dancing down this line, trying to mimic ancient dances from the seventies. On one iteration Terry and I found ourselves matched up. I did The Robot like that guy from Chappelle's Show. Terry did The Floss. Both these dances created a great deal of laughter. Even Lisa thought it hilarious.
Before the night was out Terry pulled me aside and whispered: "Come back up to my room tonite if you can. If you can't, I'll understand. But call me anyway. I'm flying out at noon tomorrow."
OMG, I was torn. In the span of twenty-four hours, I'd fucked three different women--rawdog. Did I mention Terry's snapper? Yes, she has one. She'd never bragged about it. In fact, she'd never mentioned it. But once my penis slipped inside her, and the heat and the wetness and silky pubic hair enveloped my pole, I recognized her vaginal fecundity. Nicole was good. Lisa was better. Neither of them had anything on Terry.
I started rationalizing:
"They're SISTERS!! You can't have them both!"
"They masturbate to porn videos!"
"She had that white boy's dick in her mouth."
"Terry and I are too close as friends for us to be lovers."
"What happens when the fellas find out about me and Terry?"
"How many other niggas has Lisa fucked?"
"Whose pussy is the best?"
Again, if you are a woman reading this, the aforementioned rationalizations are keen insights into the mind of a doggish man. A man is only as moral as his options. I realize these things make me look like a pig. I should have settled on just one of these magnificent women and left it at that. I did not. I'm a guy.
As I was ruminating, I felt Lisa whispering in my ear:
"We can go upstairs now, if you want. RIGHT NOW. Nicole is distracted. We have a fifteen minute window."
A dip out! Who in their right mind is going to turn that down?
"Sure!" I replied.
Lisa dipped out first. She had the room key. I didn't wait long to follow. Our window was short.
When I arrived at room 1237, Lisa opened the door for me. She was fully naked. That horrid pink bride's maids dress was a thing of the past. Her body seethed, happy to be free of its constraints.
"OMG. I've been dying to get out of that thing," she said.
Have I mentioned how conflicted I was? An hour ago my dick was clasped in the fragrant embrace of another woman's pussy. And now my own woman stood naked before me, fully intent upon consummating a quickie in the equally fragrant embrace of her own pussy. Lisa was breathtakingly beautiful in her nakedness. I could smell sexuality oozing from her every pore. She'd been walking around in that magnificent pussy all day, sweating in it, grinding it into her seat, soaking her panties with vaginal manna, lusting to be filled with dick and semen. She was in the grip of PGAD. And now she had the opportunity sedate it. This was an appetizer, an opiate.
I started getting that sticky feeling in my stomach, the precursor to a monster boner and physical release. All my moral conflicts oozed away in the face of the glorious tits and ass standing before me. I'm a guy.
Lisa didn't bother to start ripping my clothes off. She unzipped my pants and pulled Mr. Happy from his comfort zone atop my left thigh. She knelt and tasted him with her tongue. I lolled my head back. Lisa knew how to suck a dick. I prepared myself for a luxuriant, mind-bending visit to her esophagus.
There was a pause.
"Artie, this dick smells like hand soap."
I sensed trouble.
"Artie, you've been walking around in this dick all day. I know what a walked around all day dick smells like. It doesn't smell like this. A walked around dick smells sweaty and musky and pissy and a little like asscheese, Artie. A walked around dick is what a woman wants to taste when her man comes home from work. You've washed this dick."
My spidey sense was raging now.
"I told you I had the trots. I had to wash up," I ventured.
"No, Artie. Wiping your ass isn't the same thing as washing your dick. In my experience, dicks only get washed to mask the smell of pussy. A soapy dick is the main indicator of a cheater, Artie. Scratch a cheater, find a liar, Artie."
BUSTED.
She looked up at me. Our eyes met. In that instant we both knew. Lisa stood to face me.
"I think you should go now," she said.
And that was the last I saw of her.
|
It was soothing to be around technology again. Abby had been cautious about allowing someone into her private sanctum but after a few minutes of her and Q staring silently at each other she had broken out into a grin and hugged him.
Q let out a yelp as he tried to endure the exuberant hug.
“Oh my gosh I am so sorry!” Abby pulled away with her hands up and a horrified expression on her face.
Q was glad that at least from all of this he finally met the Abigail that his uncle was so fond of. He could see why. “It’s perfectly alright but I’m afraid I’m supposed to lie down as soon as I get her.”
He lay on the mattress pad (doctor’s orders) and stared at the ceiling as he listened to the hum and beep of equipment. Alec couldn’t force himself to be still enough for Abby’s satisfaction and so had gone to do a perimeter check. Though of course Q knew he was really hoping to run in to James. He was worried about 007 as well but he was currently wounded and had the entirety of MI6 to think about. James would understand.
His view of the ceiling was disrupted when a certain goth stuck her head over his “So watcha thinking about?” He smiled his uncle had told him about Abby’s unique charm and he could already appreciate her intelligence “I’m trying to build code in my head. My uncle has forbidden me from sitting up or otherwise straining myself for several hours.”
Abby’s eyes widened with excitement and he soon found her lying on the floor next to him. “So like Ducky’s really your uncle?!”
Smiling Q closed his eyes “More like great uncle but yes.”
She turned to look at him “Does he tell you all his stories?”
Q simply raised his brow in response before opening his eyes and smiling “He saves the best ones for family.”
Abby pouted and they shared a laugh before discussing code ideas. Q wanted something that could help him secure MI6 but also help him point out the source of the threat. As much as he hated the idea of being on plane again he would much rather be in London enjoying both his lovers.
The door to the lab opened and they heard McGee call for Abby. Q looked at her and mouthed ‘boyfriend?’
She signed him something and he’s happy to reply, though American Sign Language differs slightly from British they are able to communicate.
Finally McGee rounded the corner and saw them laying on the floor together smiling as their fingers fly to relay messages. He shuffled awkwardly and clears his throat “Uh Abby Gibbs wanted the results back from the petty officer’s blood if you’re not too busy.”
In a smooth motion Abby hopes up off the floor only wobbling slightly in her platform boots “Awww McGee are you jealous?” She laughed and punched him on the arm before typing into her computer.The results were up but nothing unusual that she could find.
McGee frowned and cast a wary look to Q who was still on the ground. The Quartermaster simply looked back at him with a level expression. He’d already looked up each member of the team, after all Ducky was his only living family and he wouldn’t let anyone close enough to risk that. Though Q found himself wondering how an MIT grad could be so dense…perhaps it was the chemical results of love clouding his brain. But really cheating on double oh agents was never well advised.
Speaking of one of his devils Alec came back reporting no sign of James but also no sign that they were followed. He looked down at Q on the floor but wisely refrained from saying anything. It was a good sign that if James was still missing that they hadn’t been followed. It meant that he had either taken care of them and was now catching up or he was finishing the job. Alec knelt by Q, glad that the other two were distracted with the blood results and brushed his lover’s hair out of his face. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He had no doubt that the doctor did all he could to get Q stable…but he just needed to hear it from Charles himself.
Opening his eyes Q smile and gave a slow nod “Yes I’ll just need to rest for the rest of the night to make uncle happy and then perhaps tomorrow I can start work on bringing us all home.” He frowned as he thought of James. He didn’t doubt that his lover was alright…he simply wished he was back at Q Branch watching him on the screens and giving advice or orders to his ear.
Alec understood what wasn’t said and gave a slow nod. He wished he could be out there guarding James’ back .But he knew he needed to be here. They couldn’t leave Q without protection, and NCIS wasn’t enough no matter what their leader Gibbs might think. Besides James would kill him if he left Q in the care of strangers.
Sensing his train of thought Q gave Alec an irritated look “I’m not a child.”
Alec leaned down and pressed a kiss to Q’s lips, and then a second one for James “I know, rest now and destroy those bastards tomorrow okay?”
Knowing that he was being pacified did nothing for his expression but it did soften after the kisses. He closed his eyes again “Very well. Tomorrow I’ll rip them apart.”
Alec nodded and gave a last tender brush to Q’s hair before standing. He couldn’t stay cramped in this lab, he’d already knocked several pieces of equipment over already (this was also why he was banned from Q Branch). James was the one with the grace and agility, he was better at just blowing things up to solve his problems. He saw the look that Abby was giving him and nodded his head before leaving. The lab was in the heart of the NCIS building. Q would be safe here.
James wished that they could have at least had more than a year of peace before the next big disaster happened to MI6.More importantly he wished that they had more time to settle into their relationship before being thrown into a crisis situation. He and Alec had been for lack of a better word together for ages. They only time they had separated was because of her. Vesper. He had tried to get Alec to join them, tried to keep them together. In some ways Alec was smarter than he was, he could sense that she wasn’t all that she was leading James on to believe but he’d been too blind to see it. It had hurt both of them to walk away. After her. After some time to recover they had found their way back together again, surprisingly the broken pieces had still fit and they’d been stronger ever sense. Then there was Q. The day he had met him in that museum and heard him wax poetic about an old ship he’d known he was lost all over again. The dark hair, the humor in his eyes, the way that he’d stood up to a trained killer without blinking. Alec had almost thrown him out that night. Then he’d met Q and they both realized they were both in trouble.
Wooing a Quartermaster had not been easy. They’d nearly died several times just to bring him back his precious equipment and see that small true smile he’d let slip. Then they’d started leaving him food, refreshing his tea, guarding his office when he didn’t want to be disturbed. Eve had told them that every department in MI6 had known what they were up to. Unfortunately Q had not. It wasn’t until months later he’d looked up at them one day and suddenly asked if they were courting him. Sometimes geniuses were dense but Q as always had to exceed expectations. Now they’d only managed a few happy months being together before Q had detected a security leak and initiated the new MI6 security protocols. Thus landing them in their current situation.
He punched the remaining man in the face before taking a pole off of the ground and delivering a final death blow to his skull. He’d already gotten the information he’d needed from the man’s ‘friends’. This one he’d wanted to beat to a bloody pulp for no reason other than he’d been the one to fire at Q. He let the metal drop to the ground along with the man as he sighed and leaned against the brick wall. He wished he had Q in his ear telling him escape routes and all the lovely information that he usually had. Instead he was running blind in America of all places and his only relief came from knowing Alec was with Charles.
He hadn’t been overly fond of the idea to go to Q’s remaining family. But it was an unexpected move that they thought would buy them precious time. Seeing Q on the flight was adorable even if he was heavily drugged. Shortly after they landed they had been attacked and a split decision led Q and Alec running one way as James diverted the attackers. The ones that had got them weren’t the men behind the attack just lackeys and he’d already got all the information out of them before killing them off. He wasn’t going to risk any survivors returning to their bosses. He had to get the intel he had received to Q fast and hopefully they would be on the next flight home.
He just hoped he wouldn’t have to meet this ‘Uncle Ducky’ before they left, he and Alec didn’t leave good impressions with family members.Dragging himself up he started shuffling to where Alec's transmitter was leading him. Time to report in.
Gibbs wasn’t impressed with the look the British agent was giving him. He just stared back levelly and they entered a contest of wills. He had to admit that he was impressed, though from what Ducky had been able to tell him of their work he shouldn’t be surprised. Still he wasn’t budging on this. If they wanted to use NCIS as a base of operations and put all their jobs on the line they were going to have to play by his rules. His rules were that his team would be the one to watch the lab overnight.
Finally their silent exchange was cut short by the sound of the lab's security alarm going off.
Tony and Ziva were locked outside shouting and cursing as they tried to get in. The lab had been locked from the inside and Gibbs hurriedly punched in the code to override it. Whoever had locked it was familiar with technology and instead of opening the door immediately a sixty second delay timer was started. Gibbs thought about just shooting it but then the door wouldn’t open at all.
Q was rather tired of being the damsel in distress, his wound made it hard to fight and so while Abby hurled sharp utensils and aimed high kicks at their assailants with her deadly boots he tried to use the computer to help open the door. Luckily the one who had put the electronic barrier in place was already shot, Q had his small pistol on him and while he may not be up to hand to hand combat he’d been perfectly able to execute a shot to the head.
He’d just finished typing the code to override the delay when Abby was downed by two of the three remaining kidnappers. The cold press of metal against the back of his neck told him that time had run out. Rebelliously he'd pressed the enter key before being unceremoniously hauled out through the window. Before the door could open they were taken out of the lab and driving off in a black van (Americans and their horrible tendency for clichés).
Q tended to Abby as best he could in the back, they hadn't been restrained because Abby was still out cold and Q was in no shape to go jumping from vans. From what he could tell she’d only been dazed by a hard blow to the head he wished he had a cold compress for her but the best he could do was put her head on his lap as they drove. He eyed the driver and his companions, they wore face masks meaning there was a chance they could be released alive. What was even better was Q hoped they would take him to their base of operations to hold them. It would be very convenient if he could shut all of this down from the source. His eyes nearly glowed with excitement, if he used their own computers against them it would be much easier to breach their defenses no matter where the actual hacker was located. No doubt they thought a skinny geek and a woman wouldn't be much of a threat. He looked down at Abby who was looking marginally better; they’d even been kind enough to bring an assistant with him.
How thoughtful.
|
It seemed like the final week was stretching on forever. She was so close to getting her cast off, and yet each day inched by, time slowing down as if to prolong her time before the cast could come off.
The two mid-week akuma attacks helped break up the trudge down the final stretch, as did her friends' efforts. They had taken note of her flagging mood and tried to help, sending her funny pictures and popping in for visits and now, they had arranged a trip to the movie theater to try to distract her.
"Don't worry, we chose a fun movie," Alya told Marinette as they headed towards the theater. She and Nino were walking slowly so that Marinette could keep up without struggling, but they were going almost too slowly. Marinette tried not to sigh.
They meant well, that was all that mattered.
"Yeah, no horror movies," Nino agreed. He glanced over at Alya. "Though there is one with pretty good reviews running right now. Maybe for our date this weekend...?"
Alya nodded, grinning. "Yeah! That would be cool. I might not be able to stay on for, like, lunch or dinner afterwards because of the twins, since Nora took over my babysitting today, but we could at least get out for a movie."
Marinette shuddered at the thought. Horror movies on a date? No thank you. She dealt with enough monsters and scary situations in real life, thank-you-very-much. There was no need for her to go watch scary movies and kick-start her overimagination into worrying about less magical threats like serial killers, too.
Or supernatural threats that (probably) wouldn't exist outside of an akuma setting, like evil ghosts and zombies and skeletons and- anyway.
It wasn't her idea of a good time, and she hoped that when she went on dates- in the future, after Hawkmoth was no longer an issue and she wouldn't be interrupted all of the time- that any visits to the movie theater would be for fun movies, not creepy ones. Alya always said that the jump-scares and creepy scenes were a fantastic excuse to cuddle close to a boyfriend, but was that really worth the nightmares? Couldn't the air-conditioned chill of the movie theater be enough of an excuse for a cuddle?
"Anyway, it's a very family-friendly movie, sure to be 100% Marinette-approved," Alya added after another minute of date-planning with Nino, clearly realizing that- well, it wasn't exactly pleasant to turn Marinette into the third wheel. She nodded down the block, to where the movie theater had just come into view. "And, well, I think the company is going to be Marinette-approved, too."
Marinette blinked, confused, and then she followed Alya's gaze. There, in front of the theater, stood Adrien's bodyguard. And in front of the bodyguard stood Adrien, looking very relaxed and at ease. He lit up when he saw them coming, waving cheerfully as they approached. He looked a bit tired, but Marinette couldn't blame him. Adrien had missed the entire afternoon of classes for an extended photoshoot, and from what she had heard, those kinds of shoots were absolutely exhausting.
Not as exhausting as they had been when Lila was there and constantly gumming up the works, maybe, but still exhausting.
"Dude, I'm glad you made it!" Nino told him, reaching over for a fist bump. After a second, he fist-bumped Adrien's bodyguard, too. "I thought you were going to text if you got permission to come!"
"I was just about to, honestly," Adrien told him with a laugh. "Just in case I missed you and you had already gone in. And then I saw you coming and- well, it wouldn't have made sense to text then, right?" He grinned, then nodded towards the theater. "Should we go in now? Then we can try to get good seats."
They went, and the Gorilla followed them in. Marinette almost asked about that, but it didn't take a genius to figure out why he had come along instead of just dropping Adrien off. The last time they were in a movie theater, Adrien had practically gotten mobbed by fans. Maybe that had been because he had just been featured in a perfume ad- one that had been heavily featured across Paris, not that it made much of a difference once people actually started trying the fragrance and found it rather lacking (and once people found out that no, Adrien: the Fragrance wasn't actually what Adrien the model (and occasional voice actor) actually wore)- but it was better safe than sorry. Hopefully the presence of the Gorilla would keep the pictures and mobbing to a minimum.
Inside, a line had already formed in front of the ticket counter. Not a long line- it was the middle of the week, after all- but they were hardly the only students who had just gotten out of school. Alya grumbled for a moment, but a nudge and a quiet murmur from Nino got her to settle down while they waited. It wasn't a bad wait, really, and then they were headed through the lobby.
"Snack time!" Nino cheered, veering off towards concessions. "Anyone else getting stuff?"
Marinette and Adrien both shook their heads, though Adrien's had been after a pause, after he looked to his bodyguard first. Marinette wouldn't be surprised if he just simply wasn't allowed to have junk food, which- well, most of the time she would say that was a pity, but movie theater junk food was just terrible in general. He really wasn't missing out on anything.
Alya groaned. "Nino, the snacks here are terrible. Their popcorn- I don't know what they do to it, but it just tastes awful."
"I was thinking of getting something chocolate, but- yeah, I guess if no one else is gonna get anything, I'll pass." With one more glance towards the concessions stand, Nino hurried back to join them. "Okay, so which room are we in? The fourth screen, right?"
"Yeah, that's what the ticket says," Alya confirmed. She started making a beeline towards the right door, only to come to a screeching halt a couple meters away when she realized that Marinette wouldn't be able to keep up. "Oh, sorry! I went too fast-"
"You could go ahead and scope out seats for us," Marinette suggested. She nodded towards her foot. "Just remember that it'll be easier for me to get to a seat on the end of a row instead of in the middle."
"Ah, good idea!" Alya grinned at her, then snagged Nino's hand and pulled him after her towards the usher waiting at the screen's door, only pausing to glance back and wink at her. Marinette rolled her eyes back, knowing full well what Alya was trying to do.
But did Alya seriously think that Marinette was going to ask Adrien out when his bodyguard was right there?
"I'm glad I was able to come," Adrien commented as he stepped up next to Marinette, letting her set the pace as they headed after Alya and Nino. "I've gotten so used to photoshoots running overtime and then I can't make it to outings, but this one ended on time- early, even! It was a nice change."
Marinette frowned. "I would have thought that your father would run a tight enough ship that going over wouldn't be an option unless something went really wrong."
"Yeah, it- well, that's the way it usually is, admittedly," Adrien told her. "It was really just when Lila was there that things always took longer than they should have. Unless there was something that she really wanted to be at, that is."
Marinette wasn't even a small bit surprised.
"And then the last few shoots, I guess part of the problem was that we had to re-do shots from earlier shoots, where Lila was modeling," Adrien told her. "I think originally Father was just hoping to get away with using those pictures and then just not use Lila as a model going forward- not that he could, since she's not even in Paris anymore- since not that many people would know what she had done. But then Alya posted that article on the Ladyblog about how much of a fraud and a bully Lila is, and people were starting to put two and two together. So all of her photos got scrapped."
Marinette cringed. "Even now that she's gone, she's still causing problems."
"I think you're feeling the effects for the longest." Adrien fell quiet for a few seconds, then nodded towards her leg. "But at least the cast is coming off pretty soon, right?"
"Two more days," Marinette told him, unable to keep from smiling at the thought. She was sure that those two days would drag out endlessly because of the anticipation, but there wasn't much she could do about that. It was getting increasingly hard to not just jump the gun and ditch the crutches- she could probably walk on her leg by now, considering Tikki's (and Sass's) healing boosts and how close she was to getting the cast off, but she didn't want to risk anything before the doctor could look at it again. "I can't wait."
"Yeah, I remember the feeling from when I broke my leg. I swear time slows down when cast-off date gets close." Adrien handed his ticket over to the usher, then passed Marinette's over as well. "You're doing better than I did, honestly. I tried to ditch the crutches as soon as it had been a couple of weeks and my leg wasn't really hurting, and it took the doctor threatening to leave the cast on for even longer to get me to stop." He laughed. "For some reason, I had been convinced that if it didn't really hurt anymore, it must be fine. And maybe I had weeks left in the cast, but I just must be a super-healer!"
Marinette giggled. "You practically read my mind. I was just thinking about how it's been getting harder and harder to remember to grab my crutches when I want to hop up and grab something or just walk a short distance. Part of me wants to think that there's no possible way that I could re-damage something at this point, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"That's smart," Adrien agreed. He dropped back behind Marinette as they approached the wide steps leading up to where Alya and Nino waited, ready to steady her if she had trouble going up. "And, uh, did they tell you that you might still need crutches even after the cast comes off? Because they dropped that particular bomb on me when they were in the middle of taking the cast off."
Marinette groaned. "No."
"Maybe you'll be lucky and not need it, since you've been following directions and taking care of your leg better than I did." Adrien's hand rested against her back, pressing a little more firmly as soon as she wobbled and retreating after she steadied herself. "And you didn't have a terrible break in the first place, right? That should help, too."
That, and she had the power of tiny gods on her side helping her heal, but Marinette wasn't about to tell anyone else that. "I hope it does. I'm so tired of crutches."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you, then."
Marinette smiled as she stood back to let Adrien slip into the row next to Nino before she took the aisle seat. "Thanks."
The movie itself positively flew by, and before she knew it, it was over and they were waiting for the majority of the audience to leave so that there wouldn't be as much risk of Marinette getting knocked into.
"This was fun," Adrien commented once the crowds had thinned out and they had gotten out of their seats, making their way down towards the door. "We should do it again sometime."
"We do it all the time, dude, you just gotta get your father to agree to it more," Nino told him. Adrien just shrugged helplessly.
"He can't always spare the Gorilla to come out with me. And honestly, it's not necessary most of the time, but he's paranoid." A shadow crossed Adrien's face for a moment, and then he shook it off and perked up. "So, have you heard that Marinette's cast is coming off in two days? I think we should go out for ice cream or something to celebrate afterwards!"
"It'll be late when I get back from the doctor," Marinette warned him, carefully navigating the last low step before making her way towards the door. "Since we wanted to wait until after school and my parents didn't want to close the bakery too early if they could avoid it. And that might not be a problem for me or Alya or Nino to come out, but..."
Adrien grimaced. "Yeah, Father might have a problem with that. Uh, the next day, maybe?"
"Sounds good!" Nino agreed. "Or whatever works with our schedules. We gotta keep it flexible. But a celebration would be great! Andre's?"
Adrien shook his head. "His moving around could make things difficult. And Marinette probably shouldn't be running all over the city after an ice cream cart right after her cast comes off."
Marinette hid a giggle. Running all over the city had actually been in her plan after getting the cast off, as long as the doctor cleared her for walking on her leg again. But running around with a Miraculous and running around without on were two very different things. Especially since Marinette could always ask Tikki to add a bit of extra support for that leg, just in case.
"Besides, sometimes Andre has some really odd flavor combos," Adrien added, his eyebrows furrowing. "And I get that it's because of the love thing, but then sometimes he starts mixing it up and talking in riddles and- anyway, sometimes I just want a plain old cookies and cream cone, you know?"
"And Andre's double- and triple-scoops are sometimes a bit much for a snack," Marinette added. She appreciated the thought behind Andre's ice-cream cones, but sometimes she was a bit over ice cream by the time she got partway through the last scoop. "And my favorite is raspberry chocolate chip, but I never get that there. He doesn't take requests."
Alya groaned. "The point of Andre's isn't the ice cream flavor, it's the experience! But I suppose we could mix it up and go somewhere else. There's a place near Marinette's house that has a pretty good selection. My little sisters love it."
"We'll plan on that, then," Nino decided. "And figure out a day and time later, once you talk to Nathalie. And if they don't let you come out then, maybe we can try to sneak a trip in over lunch on Monday. We'll make it work."
Adrien nodded, a grin lighting up his face. "Yeah! Yeah, that sounds good."
Marinette smiled, watching Adrien's face. His smile was real, unrestrained and completely happy. She wouldn't be surprised if he had been bracing himself for his father refusing to let him come out and not being able to come to the outing that he had come up with in the first place. It would be nice, of course, if they could go over the weekend- they could take more time to talk and linger instead of rushing- but if waiting until Monday meant that Adrien could come along with them instead of video-calling them while nibbling his way through a scoop of ice cream from his chef at home, then it was completely worth it.
As much as she hated to admit it, as Cast-Off Day approached and then finally arrived, Marinette had found her excitement competing with more than a little apprehension about her return to superheroing. She wasn't worried about being rusty on strategy- after all, that was what she had been getting a ton of practice with- but she knew that she was going to be out of shape. It was inevitable. She had even lost muscle tone in her good leg, she could tell, and that one had been used on a regular basis to hop along with her crutches. Sure, the supersuit provided bonus power- a lot of bonus power, considering the jumps that she and Chat Noir made on a regular basis- but being in shape as a civilian certainly didn't hurt.
Marinette could only hope that six weeks hadn't dulled her fighting instincts too much. She had worked hard for those instincts, thank-you-very-much, and getting set back would just plain suck.
There were other concerns, too. Akuma attacks would most likely be returning to their regular lengths once she returned as the Ladybug holder, and she didn't know how that would be received. And- her most recent concern- was about how the month and a half of a different routine would affect her partner.
Chat Noir had been following her directions during fights for every single akuma battle since- well, since the first week after her leg got broken. Maybe there had been some fights where he hadn't really needed much direction- some where he ended up holding off Hawkmoth or Mayura while Coccinelle dealt with the akuma, so as long as he didn't get overpowered or hurt, Vipera had just let him be- but for the most part he had been, as he said, her puppet. How that- and how having the safety net that was Vipera there to erase his mistakes and gambles that didn't quite pan out- affected his ability to function in normal battles remained to be seen.
It had only been five weeks, really. Hopefully- hopefully- Ladybug's break and their different approach wouldn't throw their teamwork and ability to fight into unexpected shambles. Maybe if they took that into account when Ladybug came back instead of assuming that everything would slide into place easily, then they could account for some of the places where they might be weaker.
She could talk to Chat Noir about it, and maybe her mom could step into the Snake position for the first couple of fights just in case. She wouldn't direct the fight like Vipera had, but if she could tap into that sixth sense that Vipera had used for the first few fights to know when to activate Second Chance, then that could help cover the worst of their slips. If there were slips.
Hopefully there wouldn't be. Hopefully it would be easier than Marinette thought to re-adjust.
"I can hear you worrying from here," Mrs. Cheng told Marinette as she steered the van through traffic. She spared a quick glance to the side. "You know that Tikki said that you were healing well. The doctor is hardly going to look at the x-ray and immediately turn around and slap the cast back on your leg."
"It's not getting the cast off that I'm worried about, really." She was really looking forward to that bit, to getting to wash off her leg for the first time since the cast came off and hopefully, hopefully, getting the all-clear to actually walk on her leg again. "It's re-adjusting to things again. It'll be easy to return to normal on the civilian side, but I've been worrying about how re-adjusting to battles will go."
"Well, if a fight isn't going well, you can always pull back and trade with me," Mrs. Cheng told her. "We might need to figure out who will need to hold on to what Miraculous so that we can do that quickly and safely, but considering that Hawkmoth just attacked earlier and- well, and what happened during the attack- I think we'll have a few days to iron out plans before he sends out another akuma. And if he sends one out sooner, before we have a plan in place..." She glanced over at Marinette before returning her eyes to the road. "I know you're eager to get back out there, but I can always handle another fight or two if needed."
Marinette knew that, and maybe it would be a good idea to wait for a fight or two to further throw off her recovery timeline in the public eye, but- ugh, it was easier said than done. She was just eager to get back in shape and to get a better read on what they needed to do to re-adjust (if anything), sooner rather than later so that she wouldn't be catastrophizing unnecessarily. And then there was also the whole matter of- well, Paris was getting increasingly impatient and unsettled as they got closer to a week with no Ladybug after the press conference.
Clearly the public weren't thinking along the same lines of what might have happened as her classmates had. They weren't reading between the lines like Alix about when the injury might have happened, and therefore not considering injuries like Marinette's as a possible clue to Ladybug's identity. That was a good thing, but it was really only a matter of time before more people started thinking the same way as her classmates.
Alya had shown the good sense to not put up the class's theories about the timeline of Ladybug's vacation versus the injury on the Ladyblog- well, after both Marinette and Alix had pointed out that there was no reason to undo any of the work that the superheroes had done with obscuring potentially identifying details. But Marinette had still heard some speculation starting up, and while her teammates were really good at countering the questions that were flung at them, it would probably be better if Ladybug just showed up herself.
Her mom's favorite tactic in response to the pestering was asking why people wanted Ladybug to put herself at risk by rushing back. It's not a good idea for pro athletes, Coccinelle always pointed out, so why would it be any different for superheroes? And if people really cared about their superheroes as people, then why did they not seem to care about their health- or their safety, considering that the general public seemed to want the superheroes to give up potentially identifying information?
People shut up pretty quickly after they got asked that, particularly if they had been trying to interview the superheroes live.
Thankfully, though, Marinette suspected that her mom was right and that she would have a couple days to get her bearings before another akuma popped up. The akuma that had attacked only that morning- well, it hadn't been alone. So Marinette's dad had gone out with the Turtle again (and Chat Noir with the bee) and then spent most of the battle cheerfully giving Hawkmoth a very through beatdown. In fact, there had only really been a little bit of actual fighting at the start, and then Hawkmoth spent the rest of the time cowering under heavy, repeated blows from the turtle shell until Mayura rescued him and they dashed off.
At the very least, Hawkmoth probably wouldn't be coming out for a few battles. He was nothing if not a coward, and coming probably his closest to defeat should make him rethink not hiding entirely behind his akumas.
"Don't let the public pressure you if you decide that you need more recovery," Mrs. Cheng added after a long pause. "Your safety is more important, always. And remember that it's not just your safety, but Chat Noir's as well."
Marinette had to laugh. "You really do know exactly how to get through to me, don't you? Okay, I'll do my best to be realistic about what I can handle."
Mrs. Cheng looked pleased.
It didn't take long for them to get to the doctor's office and get sent through to do her check-up. Marinette got an x-ray taken first, and when the doctor comes back in with it, he looked impressed.
"Well, good news, you are a very quick healer," he told her, settling down in his chair. "Possibly one of the fastest I've ever seen. Your leg has moved past the stage we would normally expect at this point and with the type of injury you got. I'll tell your physical therapist that we can go a bit more intensive on your therapy. You'll be able to handle it no problem. And while you'll want to ease your way into more intense activities, you can start working your way back."
Marinette grinned, nodding. This was definitely the news she wanted to get.
"And you won't need to keep using your crutches," he added. "But you'll want to keep them around, just in case your leg starts feeling sore. If you're going to be doing a lot of walking, I would definitely recommend that, at least until you've built up your endurance again."
"That's fantastic," Mrs. Cheng said, beaming at Marinette. "Do you have any exercises we can maybe start doing at home?"
"Yes, I'll print off some along with the care instructions later." He smiled, then pulled out what could only be the cast saw. "Now, let's take that cast off!"
As soon as her leg was in position, the saw whirred to life and started cutting into her cast. Marinette had to look away as her doctor worked, doing her best not to accidentally twitch or anything.
She was sure that he had loads of experience and was very good at his job and there were safety measures with the saw and all, but sharp blades near her leg was just a big load of no thank you in her book. When he finally put away the saw and picked up a pair of scissors to finish the job off, Marinette couldn't stop her sigh of relief.
"And all done!" her doctor announced, finally pulling the cast away from her leg. "That went nice and smoothly. You can hop down now, if you'd like."
Marinette nodded, glancing down at her leg and immediately having to do a double-take.
She had known that her leg was going to look odd after being in a cast for a month and a half, every single site that she had looked at had said so. But reading it and seeing it were two very different things.
Her skin looked weird. The hair on her leg looked weird. The muscle- it had shrunk even more than the muscle on her other leg, which was maybe to be expected but still made Marinette wonder how long it would take for her to get it back to something resembling normal. And now that the cast was off...
Well, she would be washing her leg tonight, that was for sure. Marinette didn't want her sheets to smell like that. Besides, the skin just looked- and felt- gross.
Taking a deep breath, Marinette slid down off of the table, taking the entire impact of the landing with her good leg. Then she took her first normal step in a month and a half.
It didn't hurt at all. Thank you, Tikki.
"I'd like to go out into the hallways now and have you walk up and down it. I want to see how even your steps are," her doctor requested. "Then I can send that to the therapist and she'll be able to tailor your plan to what you can do."
Marinette nodded at once, following him towards the door and trying not to over-analyze how her steps felt. Overthinking might just end up in her walking weird when she didn't have to, and- well, that wouldn't help anything at all.
"Okay, you're looking good," the doctor called to Marinette as she headed up the hallway. She felt a little off-kilter, but the doctor seemed pleased. "There's a bit of weakness in the one leg, but that's to be expected. With exercises and use, that should even up soon enough."
Marinette bit down the urge to ask how soon. She didn't want to seem impatient, especially since she was doing so well with her recovery already. Besides, her physical therapist would probably be able to tell her more after she actually started doing her exercises.
"I'll print off a care packet and some exercises for you to add to your routine, and then you'll be good to go," he told Marinette as she returned. He grinned. "Good job on the healing. Now, please- do at least try to not overexert yourself."
Dinner that evening was takeout, a rare occurrence in the Dupain-Cheng household, but they wanted something special to celebrate Marinette's cast coming off and something fast so that they wouldn't spend a large chunk of the evening cooking and cleaning up.
"Your dad and I can move things back up to your room tonight," Mrs. Cheng told Marinette as she finished up the last of her meal. She smiled at Marinette. "I'm assuming that you're eager to move back up there, since you're walking well. And while we do that, well..." She reached up, pulling the Ladybug earrings off and handing them to Marinette. "Chat Noir is expecting to have someone join him for patrol tonight, as usual. I didn't tell him that you would be the one coming, just in case you weren't feeling up to it, but I suspect that you might want to go out."
"Yes!" Marinette pulled out her placeholder earrings- she hadn't want anyone to notice that her ever-present earrings had vanished while she was on crutches, so she had found a lookalike to wear instead- and popped in the Ladybug Miraculous. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling since she had been wearing them most nights, but knowing that they were going in to stay there now was great. Then she paused. "...but then people will see us and that might give away my recovery timeline, since Coccinelle was seen earlier today."
"You can always temporarily modify your costume to look like Coccinelle's outfit!" Tikki suggested. "Then from a distance, people probably won't notice that you've switched off. And since it's dark, that should help, too."
Marinette nodded, her grin inching back onto her face. "Okay. I'd definitely love to do that, then! As long as you and Dad don't want help moving things, that is."
"We'll take care of the moving," Mr. Dupain assured her, reappearing at the table with a large cake. He deposited it in front of Marinette and pulled out a knife to start cutting pieces. "Partially so that you can go out and have fun with your friend, yes, but also because we'd really rather not have you trip over a blanket while carrying it upstairs and have you sent back to square one."
Marinette opened her mouth to protest that, considered it, and then closed her mouth again. As much as she hated to admit it, her dad... had a point. "Okay. Thank you so much!"
"Anytime, darling." Mr. Dupain paused, considered that, then tried again. "I mean, I'd rather it not be necessary again, but if you need any help, we're here for you. And if you want to have us come out on patrol ever, or come out on fights with you..."
She had to laugh. "You've gotten over your fear of running over rooftops, then?"
"It's growing on me. Slowly." Mr. Dupain served up three generous slices of cake, passing them around before sitting back down. "And I can't say that beating Hawkmoth up wasn't entirely satisfying. I'm definitely more than willing to do that again."
Marinette nodded, making a mental note of that. Her dad couldn't really come out often, probably, since the bakery needed to keep running, but if he could join them at random sometimes...
It was something to keep in mind.
"I wish I could have watched," Mrs. Cheng commented, scooping up a forkful of her cake. "And no one got any footage of it, either! Such a pity."
Marinette had to laugh. "It was quite satisfying. Honestly-" she made a few fast mental calculations, a list of pros and cons, and then came to a quick decision. "You could probably keep the Turtle on you, and just come out if we're struggling or something and you have some time to spare. It would be easier than me having to come back and get the Miraculous out for you."
Her dad looked vaguely offended. "If you're struggling and if I have the time? Marinette, if you and Chat Noir are struggling, I will make the time. And if I have the time, if there's an attack when the bakery isn't open or I'm not needed, I'll be there. I'd love to beat up Hawkmoth again."
"If you start vanishing too much during akuma attacks, your employees are going to notice," Marinette pointed out. "And it's going to be for more than a few minutes most of the time. Not like what it's been for the fights you've gone out for before."
Her dad looked a little stumped. "Hmm."
"If I have access to the Horse, I could drop him off and collect him," Mrs. Cheng pointed out. "That cuts out travel time there and back. And it could be an element of surprise, too- if Tom is transformed and knows exactly where I'm going to Portal him to, he could ambush the akuma or the sentimonster or the supervillains with almost no warning."
Marinette opened her mouth, about to say something about how it probably wasn't a good idea to have too many Miraculous out and active in one household, then shut it again. That- actually, why wouldn't it be a good idea? If, heaven forbid, Hawkmoth and Mayura found out who any of them were, then they could all jump in and defend themselves right away. Maybe Master Fu wouldn't have approved, but Master Fu wasn't the Guardian anymore, was he? She had to do what worked best for her. "Actually, I like that idea. And if I need any of the other Miraculous for backup, I could text you and you could just Portal it right to me, no need for me to come back here."
That was a really good idea. The fewer trips she made to the bakery as Ladybug, the better. And it would be faster, too.
Why hadn't Master Fu thought of that? It would have made so much more sense than her having to disengage herself from the fight for at least fifteen minutes to go to Master Fu's house, with the potential of having supervillains spotting her and figuring out where she was going. There would still be a pause while she found the holder she wanted for that particular Miraculous, but that really couldn't be avoided.
"You know what I would love to see?" Mrs. Cheng told Mr. Dupain after a minute of quiet eating. "Your mom with a Miraculous. I'm not sure how effective of a fighter she would be, but can you picture her scolding Hawkmoth?"
Mr. Dupain laughed. "I think you underestimate her. She's taken more than a few self-defense classes over the years. Partially because she tends to travel alone or in groups of people she's not super familiar with, and partially because it's part of experiencing different cultures. Or that's been the excuse that she's given me, at least."
"D'you think, if she transformed while on her motorcycle, that would get magic powers, too?" Marinette asked, the picture of a Superhero Nonna Gina zipping around and running over Hawkmoth with a superpowered flying motorcycle already floating through her mind. "Because that would be super cool."
Tikki giggled. "Probably not. Unless...?" She tilted her head, considering. "I don't know, actually. You'd have to try it. I don't know if anything like that has been attempted before!"
...she was a responsible Guardian, and she will not find an excuse to give Nonna Gina a Miraculous the next time she's in Paris and try to get her to attempt to transform with the motorcycle. She will not, she will not, she will not.
"Oh, that's a picture," Mrs. Cheng chuckled. She scooped up another bite of cake. "We might be able to test that with one of us and a regular bike, maybe on one of our days off. Just for curiosity's sake, you know."
"Research," Mr. Dupain agreed cheerfully. "Very important, you know."
Marinette had to laugh at that.
They finished up, and then her parents shooed her off as they started the work of carrying things back up to her room. Marinette still snuck in a couple trips with some smaller things, and then she hauled herself up to her balcony. She exchanged an excited look with Tikki, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
This was actually happening. After weeks of longing to be back out on the rooftops, running and swinging around, she was finally returning.
"Tikki, transform me!"
In a flash of pink light, Ladybug replaced Marinette on the balcony. She took a moment to make sure that her outfit looked more like Coccinelle's than her own regular outfit, and then she was off. The yo-yo went out, Ladybug jumped, and she was flying through the air again.
It. Felt. Amazing.
Ladybug grinned, resisting the urge to whoop with joy. She had to keep her return low-key for now, which meant that she wasn't quite free to do whatever she wanted yet, but that was fine.
She was back, and that was what was important. The whoops and cheers and fancy swings down low over the street could wait until she had made her official return.
It didn't take long at all to reach the place where Mrs. Cheng had told her that she and Chat Noir would be meeting up for patrol. Ladybug landed- carefully, her good leg first and the healed leg second, though it didn't hurt at all- behind her partner and bounded forward, unable to keep the grin off of her face. Chat Noir had perked up as soon as he heard her land and he almost tripped over his own feet in his hurry to turn around. He stumbled, catching himself almost right away, and his eyes landed on Ladybug. His expression turned puzzled for a moment when he caught sight of her outfit, but the confusion was wiped away and replaced by straight-up excitement as soon as he caught sight of her face.
"Bugaboo!" Chat Noir exclaimed, pouncing on her at once and nearly bowling her straight over in his excitement. "You're back! Is it- is it for good? The cast is off, you're clear to come back?"
Ladybug grinned, nodding. "Yeah! I just got it off today. And I couldn't wait to come out, but I didn't want to give all of Paris a timeline for me being back if they spotted me, so-"
"Thus Coccinelle's outfit," Chat Noir finished for her. He straightened, pulling Ladybug to her feet. He grinned at her. "That threw me off, I'll admit, but it's not a bad look on you at all."
Ladybug grinned, doing a little spin just because she could. "Thanks! I- oh!" She tripped over her own feet and stumbled. Chat Noir caught her at once, putting her back on her feet.
"Careful! You only just got back out!"
"Oh, gosh, not a good start," Ladybug said with a small giggle. Thankfully her stumble hadn't been because of her leg acting up, just one of her normal stumble. "If that happens during battles, maybe you'll end up wanting Coccinelle back! I don't think me stumbling around will help make the battles any shorter."
"Don't say that." Abruptly, Chat Noir was serious, grasping her hands in his own. Ladybug blinked, taken aback. She had just been joking around, but her partner clearly wasn't, and the intensity in his eyes had taken her off-guard. "Don't worry about the time fights take, Ladybug. Seriously. Having you back and fighting at my side? That's more than worth it."
Ladybug smiled. "Thanks, Kitty."
"Of course." Chat Noir beamed at her, bright and happy and excited. A few moments passed, and then he nodded across the rooftops, grinning. "So. Are you ready for patrol?"
"Are you kidding? Let's go!" |
Steve stood before his parents, in a shocked silence. This wasn’t good. His father could tolerate drinking and partying, albeit unhappily, but one thing his father
did not
put up with, was drugs.
“I refuse to have some stupid druggie for a son.” Mr. Harrington spat, voice like venom, and a scowl seemingly to now be permanently etched on his face.
“Drug—druggie? Dad it’s only marijuana!” Steve exclaimed.
“Yeah? Only marijuana? Last time I checked, marijuana isn’t white and powdery. Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?”
“Shit.” Steve muttered.
“Last time we were here, you said you didn’t want to go to college, the time before that, you said you didn’t want to work for my company. And now, now you’re doing drugs? What is wrong with you Steven? You’re throwing your life away. You’re nothing but an irresponsible waste of space. No son of mine would disrespect the family name like this. I want you out.”
“Out? What do you mean, ‘out’?” Steve squeaked, anxiety gripping his heart like a vice.
“I’m kicking you out of the house. Do not come back, you hear me?” Mr. Harrington said, in a patronizing tone.
“Go pack your things, Steve.” Mrs. Harrington said.
Teary-eyed, Steve ran to his bedroom. He sat down on the mattress, head pounding and tears leaking down his face. He sniffled, trying to come up with a game plan. He didn’t have any friends—at least, not anymore—he didn’t have extended family, and there was no way he was going to bother Mrs. Byers or the Chief. What if the kids found out? Those little rascals were the only thing close to friends that he had.
Shoving himself off the bed, he grabbed his duffle bag out from beneath the bed. He threw in all his underwear, most of his socks, jeans, sweatpants, shirts, hoodies, and some hats and gloves. He grabbed his wallet, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a reusable water bottle. His nail bat was in the trunk of the car, as was the radio that Dustin had given him during their hunt for Dart. He slipped on his grey jacket, feeling the pocket to make sure his lighter was still there.
Mrs. Harrington silently came into his room, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. She handed him a wad of cash, bringing her pointer finger to her lips, before giving her son a hug, and wordlessly walking to her own room.
Steve let out a choked sob. This was happening. He was getting kicked out. Hastily, he hid the money in a sock, stuffing said sock into the very bottom of his duffle. He heard heavy footsteps coming from the hallway, and tried to stop the tears.
“Stop your crying, boy.” His dad sneered from the doorway. “Your mother has convinced me to allow you to keep that car of yours. I suggest you hurry your packing.”
Steve nodded in response, not trusting his voice.
“Oh, here are your birth certificate, SIN, and other documents you might want to keep safe.” He threw the folder at his son, before stalking away.
Steve filled the rest of his duffle bag with personal hygiene supplies, (deodorant, lotion, chapstick, the likes.) He carried it, and his school backpack down to his car, putting on his shoes and grabbing his winter coat in one hand, his ‘important documents’ in the other. He shoved everything in the backseat of his car, before going back inside for a pillow and blankets. Those he carefully put over his nail bat, radio, flashlight, and first aid kit that always stayed in the trunk of his car.
I wonder what they did with my weed and coke… and if I can get them back. If I’m gonna be a homeless junkie, might as well act the part.
Steve wandered back inside, and the thought that this could be the last time he sets foot in his home runs across his mind.
“Hey dad?” Steve calls, tentatively.
“Don’t call me that.” He snaps, standing at the top of the stairs, and Steve can’t help but wish that he’d just tumble down the steps.
“What?”
“Do not call me ‘dad’, Steven. I’m not your dad anymore. Consider yourself disowned.”
A sharp pang of heartache struck Steve at those words.
“What did you want Steven? I really don’t want this… unpleasantness to drag on forever. I’d like you to just leave already.”
Steve swallowed back tears. He wasn’t loved by his own family. He fucked up. At first, it was just smoking marijuana at parties, then after the Demogorgon debacle of eighty-three, it was smoking it whenever he thought too much—about that creature, about Barb, all the shitty things he had done to everyone around him. After Nancy dumped him—calling him bullshit, calling their happiness bullshit, calling his love bullshit—he resorted to lacing his blunts with cocaine, it gave him a better high. Sometimes it backfired, and only managed to increase his anxiety and paranoia.
“Since you’re… yenno… kicking me out for being a good for nothing junkie, can I at least have the drugs back? I noticed they were no longer in my room.”
“Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“A lot. A lot is wrong with me. A girl died, dad! You know where she was last seen? Here, in our backyard. I got beat up, twice! The girl I loved doesn’t love me back and so she fucked off and cheated. My only friends are literal children! So can you blame me for wanting something to take the edge off?”
“I thought you were better than this, Steven.” Mr. Harrington berated, slowly descending the stairs, scowl firmly in place, and arms crossed tightly.
He stalked up to Steve, and firmly smacked him across the face. Since he was left-handed, he hit the opposite side of Steve’s already battered face. Steve stood their, pain exploding in his head, but he knew his father would only get more violent if he moved or fought back. So he stood there, barely flinching as the man that was supposed to love him unconditionally physically assaulted him. The punches, slaps, and kicks hurt more than what Billy did to him. These were coming from family, not some strange new kid with an axe to grind.
When his dad was satisfied with the beating he’d delivered, he grabbed Steve’s drugs from a drawer in the kitchen, shoving it into Steve’s chest, and he fumbled to hang onto it. Was it worth the abuse? No. It was not. But since he’d gone through it, he might as well keep the drugs that he asked for. He clutched the two bags tightly to his chest. One had a couple of rolled blunts, the other, was a small baggie of coke. Right now, they felt like his only lifelines. He craved the peace they could offer him after what he considers to be the worst day of his life.
Steve stumbled out of the house, he cast one last look towards the front door, where the furious face of his father was, and as he gets into the driver’s seat of his Bimmer, he heard the last words his father had for him.
“You’ve always been nothing but a disappointment, Steven.”
|
AN: Guys I hear you. I appreciate the emails and comments... life has just been kicking my ass but no matter what I'll finish my story.
~~~
"What's going on in here? And why is that BOY in my house!? "
***
Ian's muscles tensed, and he had to strain from coming back with a biting remark.
"BRADLEY! What is your problem, coming in here yelling like you crazy. His name is Ian, not boy, and he's here because I want him to be here. This is my house, just as much as yours."
"So you're just going to allow him to waltz all around our house, with Samantha after what he's done!?" Bradley yelled.
"What the hell has he done?? Last I checked Samantha was old enough to make her own decisions. And to be Frank I think she made a damn good choice, when it comes to Ian."
"So, can't nobody else see, all the shit this boy has done but me?"
"Ain't nobody perfect, not even you." Belinda hurled at him.
Bradley suddenly shut his mouth. Choosing instead to huff and puff, like a giant trying to keep from exploding.
"We can't control her life. So there's no point in you acting like this, because nothing's going to change, unless she wants it too."
"You know what... Okay fine, I'm not going to say any damn thing else. When shit hits the fan...which I know will already happen. DON'T. COME. TO. ME." Bradley pointed at Samantha as he said each word, then he turned around and stormed out of the room.
Belinda followed behind, fussing at his back as Samantha shook her head, tears racing down her cheeks. When Ian tried to wrap his arms around her , she pushed him away.
"Baby, fuck him!" Ian yelled. "He doesn't know shit about us, and how we feel for each other. If he won't accept us, so what!? I will never give up on us... Never. If you need something, I will provide it. If you want something, I got it. We don't need anybody but each other." He grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles before pulling her to him.
He then stuffed his fingers into her curls, and kissed her forehead.
Samantha buried her face into his chest, not caring that she was soaking his gray pullover with her tears.
"Come with me." He tugged on her hand laced in his. He lead her to her bedroom farther down the hall. Once inside, he locked the door, and followed her over to the bed. "You still want to go home?"
"Yeah." She swiped at her nose, and shook slightly. "My dad is being such an asshole."
"I know, baby. All you have to do is say the word, and we're out of here."
Samantha looked at him, with a solemn face, before she stood to her feet, and came to stand between his legs. Without uttering a word, she lifted her graphic T-shirt over her head, revealing her perfect round breast minus a bra.
"Baby, whatcha doing?" He groaned, feeling his dick rise, quicker than an inflatable tube man. Without offering a reply, she pushed him backwards, and unzipped his fly. "I thought you didn't want to fuck in your parents house, baby?" He tried again.
Samantha pushed her sweatpants, and panties down her legs and stepped out of them. "I don't care anymore. I just want you to make me feel good, baby. Make the pain go away." Samantha cooed.
Sliding his boxers and jeans down to his ankles, before she grabbed his hard full erect length in her hand. Taking him by surprise, she sucked him into her mouth once, allowing his dick to tap the back of her throat. Before she straddled his lap; sinking her tight wet pussy onto his dick.
"Ohhh, my fucking Godd!!" Ian gulped, trying hard not to lose his composure to soon. It felt like it had been forever since he felt her sweet walls wrapped around him.
"I need you, baby" She breathed into his ear, putting her hands on his shoulders for balance as she bounced her ass on top of him.
Ian looked at her, as she bit her lip hard to keep her moans at bay. He felt her become more aggressive with every down stroke onto his dick, beckoning him to fuck the shit out of her.
She created a resounding smack from her ass slapping his thighs, but she didn't care anymore.
"You feel so good. "
Leaning forward, she kissed his lips, offering her tongue to him.
Ian slipped his hands under her thighs to her ass, as he slid his hips off the bed.
Feet planted firmly on the ground, Ian used his strength to support her weight, as he began to piston his hips up into her.
"IAN!... Oh God!" She bit his throat, to keep from wailing, as he firmly squeezed her ass and kept his pace.
"How's that feel?" He grunted. "Am I making this pussy feel good, baby?"
"Yesss, don't sttoopp..." she stuttered.
Ian suddenly stood to his feet, with her still lodged on his dick. Hands still planted under her ass, he deepened his strokes, as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Don't worry, this pussy is too good for me to stop." He chuckled, the sound coming out as a groan."But..." Samantha yelped as he hit a spot deep within her. He paused, and rotated her ass, and his hips, as one steady movement. Samantha squirmed, trying to get used to him sitting so deep.
"Baby, you're not supposed to stop." She moaned in frustration. "I need to cum...Please...Baby." She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, as she used her thighs to move herself on his slippery cock. Ian pressed her tightly to him, to halt her movements.
"Look at me." He commanded. "Promise me, you will not let that man continue to get to you. Promise me you will never doubt us...or give up on us."
It was hard for him to concentrate, and keep a straight face with her constant clenching around him.
"PROMISE." He commanded louder.
"I promise! I promise! Fuck me, Curly."
Ian thrusts his hips in quick secession. Grabbing her hair, he yanked her head back, and crashed his lips with hers. He continued to pound into her pussy, until she grew rigid and exploded on his cock.
"Mm hmm." He moaned. Turning around, he placed her on the bed, throwing her legs over his shoulders in the process. He slowed his hips down to a crawl, slowly building her lust for more.
He gripped her waist and pulled her to him. Samantha twirled her hips, loving the feeling of his dick flexing inside of her pussy.
"Fuck, baby... yesss, right there."
Samantha used her nails, to claw down his chest, as Ian pinched and twirled her nipples with his fingers. She pulled him to her, by his shirt and kissed him roughly.
"Feels so good inside you, baby." Ian gasped.
He lifted her body up, leaving only her shoulders resting on the bed, as he deepened his thrust further, to the point where pain mingled with her pleasure.
"Mmm oww." She cried, as he used his index finger to circle her clit.
He knew she was close once more, as she tighten around him, coaxing his milky seed to flow into her.
As his hot cum filled her pussy, she let out a scream that Ian covered with his hand as her tense muscles spasmed around him. She released a stream of clear juices that covered them both.
Samantha shocked, and embarrassed, flushed and squirmed away. Ian's dark laugh echoed throughout the room, as he looked down his body to see his shirt and softening dick covered in her wetness.
"You squirted." He stated still chuckling at the embarrassed expression she wore.
She darted into the bathroom, and soon the sound of the shower could be heard.
He walked into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth.
Cleaning his dick off, he then buckled his pants , and removed his pullover.
He glanced at Samantha through the all glass shower, to see her lathering her beautiful body. Leaning back against the counter, he enjoyed the show. When she rinsed off, and shut the shower off, she turned and jumped seeming to finally notice him standing there. She exited the shower and covered her body with a large fluffy towel.
"I didn't know you were in here, how long have you been standing there?"
Ian cleared his throat, and grinned. "Long enough." He said thickly, sure she could hear the lust laced in his voice.
She shook her head, and gingerly walked into the bedroom. Ian found himself chuckling once more, 'I did that to her,' he thought.
"Baby are you okay?" He ran his hand over his mouth to wipe the smile away.
Samantha laid on her back, and looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I'm okay." She eased her head off the bed, to look at him. "My pussy is just hella sore, were you trying to break it or something?"
Ian shook his head with a laugh. "Come here," he pulled her up from the bed, and proceeded to help her dry off.
"I may have gotten carried away, which I'm sorry for. But let's talk about you squirting everywhere." He heard her breath hitch as he continued to run the towel over the length of her body.
"Ian, don't pick on me." She pushed at his hard chest. " I don't know what happen." Her even brown skin, was tinged red. "I just couldn't control it."
Ian dropped the towel In his hand, to cup her cheek. Leaning down, he kissed her lips tenderly, allowing his tongue to dwell between her lips before pulling back. "Don't be embarrassed, it happens. There is nothing wrong with it, so stop worrying."
He squeezed her ass cheeks, and kissed her lips. "Go ahead and get dressed. I'm going to take all of your bags to the car." He smacked her ass, before releasing her.
"Here." She handed him a old faded blue pullover. Looking at it he noticed it was his old high school one.
"You've kept this all this time?" He asked surprised.
"Of course." She laughed. "I loved having it because it smelled like you."
He chuckled and slipped it on quickly. Grabbing his soiled one and her suitcase and overnight bags, he exited the room, and headed down stairs.
Arms full, it took him a while to get it all in the car. But when he did, it was time to go. He went upstairs grabbed a now dressed, Samantha by the hand, to lead her to the car. As they got to the door, Belinda met them.
"Oh, I'm going to miss you so much baby." Belinda cried, as she hugged her daughter tightly. "You call me, every chance you get. You hear me."
"I will mama, don't cry." Samantha's voice wavered. "Your going to get me going." She giggled,watery.
"Make sure you're taking good care of my baby, and my little grand baby." Belinda said turning to Ian, who stood back with his hands tucked into his pockets.
"I promise I will, ma." He pulled her into a tight hug. "I will make sure she is taking care of. You won't have to worry, okay."
Belinda smiled at Ian, and turned back to her daughter.
"If you have any questions about the baby, or anything else just call your mama"
"Okay." She pulled her mom into her arms once again. Hating that she had to leave like this. "I'll make sure that i do. I love you mama." She breathed, holding on tight before letting her go.
"I love you too, baby." She swiped at her tears. "I love all of you. So make sure that you're safe on those roads."
They promised that they would be, before they finally were able to make it to the car. Even then Belinda stood at the entrance of the porch, and waved as Ian, Samantha, and Carolina drove off.
"I think our parents are a little obsessed with our baby, although he/she isn't even here yet." He chuckled.
"I think you may be right." Samantha placed her hand over her belly. "This is after all their first grandbaby."
"Yeap the first of many more."
"Um excuse me?"
"Yeah." He glanced at her. "I was think we would at least have 4 kids. 2 boys and 2 girls."
Samantha's mouth hung open in shock. Caroline in the backseat made a snort, then burst out laughing.
As they pulled up to his mom's house, Samantha and Caroline both moved to exit the car. Yet before Samantha could pulled the lever, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him.
She came willingly with a smile gracing her face, and he found himself returning the same smile. Cupping her face within his hands he kissed her lips tenderly.
"You know everything I said is true." He focused his intense eyes on her. "I'm going to take care of you, and my baby. You two are my world now." He rubbed her belly and Samantha couldn't help the butterflies that fluttered in her belly, and the zing she felt in her pussy from his words.
"I know." She said thickly.
"Remember no matter what, we will be alright baby."
Their sentimental moment was broken when they heard Lauren yelling at them from the front door. "You two get your butts out of that car right now. I wanna see my grandbaby."
Samantha burst out laughing. "Is she seriously serious." She covered her mouth in hopes of quelling her laughter. "The baby isn't even fully developed, or born. Yet she is already demanding she see the baby."
Ian shrugged his shoulders lazily. "I don't know what's come over them. They all have baby fever all of a sudden." Kissing her lips once more, he then grumbled, 'let's go.'
When they entered the house they were bombarded by a excited Lauren, who immediately pulled Samantha into her arms. She held onto her tight and Samantha made sure to hold on to her just as tightly. "You're absolutely glowing baby." she pulled away, and smoothed down Samantha's wind blown hair. "I know this baby is going to be just as beautiful as both of my babies."
"Mom, let Sammy breath you're smothering her."
Lauren whipped her head towards him. "Shut the hell up. I'm not bothering buttercup."
Samantha laughed as she lit into Ian as if he was a disobedient 10 year child. After she had got enough of chewing him out, only then did she turn back to Samantha. "Go find Michael or somebody, leave me and buttercup to have a girls talk."
Ian grumbled something under his breath before he grabbed Samantha up into his arms and kissed her quickly before walking off. Clearly he didn't hold any reservations about showing his affection boldly in front of his parents.
Once he was out of sight, Samantha gave Lauren a sheepish smile, as she rubbed a chill from her body.
"I see how taken he is by you..." She whispered with a grin from ear to ear. "I find it so adorable,since he hasn't ever acted this way with anyone else."
"It's definitely, something I have to get used to."
Lauren grabbed her arm and led her into the living room. "Well, I have somethings that I wanted to discuss with you."
"Like what Ma?"
"These are some things that will help you through your first few months." She handed Samantha a list of things handwritten. "Things that can help you with your morning sickness, and the baby's development." She started to go over different vitamins that helped with different things.
15 minutes into their prenatal seminar they heard heavy footsteps coming their way, before Ian appeared in the doorway.
"I thought you were going to find Michael and talk about whatever it is you men talk about. "
"Well I had every intention too but he was rather occupied, is all I'm going to say."
Both women nodded with realization; him and Caroline must have been doing something intimate.
"Any ways, I would much rather be right here beside my girl." He said endearingly, as he flopped onto the couch next to Samantha.
He saw the iPad his mom had been using to show her the important steps to follow to ensure a healthy baby. He conveyed deep curiosity as he leaned closer to get a better look.
"That's what our baby with look like in another couple of weeks." She pointed to a diagram on the webpage.
"That baby looks like an alien." He cackled. "That's how our kid is gonna look!?"
Lauren frowned at him, as Samantha shook her head disappointedly. "You know that's not how I baby will look. It's just showing how the child's developing all of their body parts."
"Yeah,mmhhh. That,' he pointed at the picture, 'looks like E.T. "
Samantha shook her head fighting back a smile. "You're hopeless you know that?"
"You still love me tho." He cooed.
"That much is true." Samantha leaned into his side, feeling a bout of fatigue come over her suddenly.
"Uh oh, seems like mommy here is feeling the effects of the little one." Lauren observed, seeming to know without Samantha having to say a word.
"Yeah, I'm feeling kind of tired all of a sudden."
"Well, we should maybe get on the road, Mom." Ian cradled Samantha closer to his side. "The quicker we do, the quicker I can get her home."
"That isn't a good idea. You guys shouldn't be out driving in this weather late."
A light snore filtered between them, and they both looked to see Samantha had dozed off. Her head lolled to the side, and she repositioned herself by leaning over to him to cuddle against his side.
"Damn she's out like a light, that quick." He tore his eyes away. "This how it's going to be?"
lauren nodded. "Yeah it takes a lot out of you. Having a little baby growing inside of you, is exhausting, yet so beautiful."
He could tell from his mother's voice that she enjoyed the idea of having a little one coming into the world, and perhaps missed the experience herself.
"I'm glad she has you and Ma, to help Mom." He stood up from his seat. "I'll let her sleep while I make sure everything is in the car. Then we're going to head out."
"Okay, go ahead sweetheart."
~*~*~
Ian checked his room once again, and went to Michaels and did the same, and then went back inside to get Samantha.
Reaching down, he picked her up into his arms. She didn't stir, making him realize just how tired she must be. Now he was more than ready to get her home, and into his bed.
"I love you mom. I'll make sure to call you when we reach Virginia."
Lauren kissed his cheek, and hugged him slightly. "Make sure you tell her I love her, and y'all be safe."
"We will." He carefully carried Samantha to his car, and sat her in the passenger seat.
After buckling her up he shut the door and went to the drivers side. Michael walked up to him at that moment. "What's up bro?"
"Nothing man, I was just seeing if you wanting to tail, or lead."
"Ah it don't matter, man. I'm probably gonna head straight to Sammy's place when we hit the city. So I will tail you."
"Ight, cool." He started towards his jeep.
Ian got into his Camaro; after taking another look at his baby. He pulled his attention away from her, back to the road. Following behind Michael as they pulled out onto the main road. Turning to his favorite radio station, he let the sound of the music fill the car to occupy his time throughout the long drive.
*
After being on the road for approximately 4 hours, he saw Samantha stir from her position leaning against the door.
Suddenly she sat straight up, and looked at him with wide eyes.
"Curly you have to pull over." She said frantically, holding her hand over her mouth.
Alarmed Ian immediately pulled over onto the side of the highway. Once he did she threw the door open and flew out the car.
Ian got out as quick as possible and went to the other side to see Sammy bent over at the waist hurling up what he assumed to be her breakfast.
Ian rubbed her back in comfort, as she empty the contents of her belly. After a full minute of her puking she finally stood up, with tears in your eyes.
"Baby, what's wrong?" Ian questioned.
"It's the morning sickness." She whispered. Moaning into his chest as he held her against him.
"Why the tears?"
"It's just so weird to me." She hid her face further into his shirt. "I'm not used to puking my guts up, and not having any control over when, or where I do it."
"I know, baby. But it's going to be okay. So don't cry." He comforted
His phone started to ring. "Hello?"
"I saw you pull over, so we stopped up here at this convenience store on the right."
"We're on the way." He grabbed her hand. "It's going to be okay, baby. We're going to go get something to settle your stomach."
At the convenience store, Samantha used a bottle of water and traveling toothpaste to brush her teeth.
Afterwards she went to the car, to see Ian bumping to some song by young thug, as he pumped gas. Michael was leaning against his jeep, drinking a bottle of soda, rapping along with the words, as Caroline bobbed and danced in her seat.
Samantha laughed, and covered her smile with her hand. Ian caught her and gave her one of the brightest smiles he's ever given.
"What are y'all doing?" She asked when she reached the car.
"We jammin' babe." He winked his eye at her. "You dig what I'm sayin'."
Samantha realized he was referencing the words from the song, and shook her head once again. "Your so lame." She teased.
Getting into the car, she waited until he was done pumping the gas. "Where are we?"
"Jersey City." He replied, grabbing her hand in his. "It's crazy in this traffic."
"I see that." She looked out the window, in awe. "It's so pretty out here." She watched the snowy scenery as they drove by.
"It is. But not as pretty as you." He said with a cheesy smile.
"Oh my god, that was so corny." She chuckled.
"I know. I tried it." He glanced over. "Are you feeling better?"
"Do you mean, do i feel like throwing up everywhere... No I'm okay." She rubbed her belly, out of instinct. "But I don't plan on doing this again anytime soon..."
"You mean the pregnancy."
"Yeah." She cocked her head to the side to look at him. "You don't think we should have used protection, or waited?"
"To be honest I never thought about it. Since I was always with women who used birth control, I just assumed you were." He looked at her and could tell that she was uncomfortable. "But I had also never been inside of a female raw."
"With my first taste of you, I became addicted to the feeling and never thought to stop."
"That's when it happened." She turned in her seat.
"What you mean?"
"Our first time together is when I got pregnant."
Ian fell silent, remembering their first night together. Wishing that he could turn back the hands of time and do things a little differently. "I don't regret coming to my senses about you, I never will. I also don't regret creating our baby" He reached over and laid a hand on her belly.My regret is not treating you right.
"I don't care about us possibly having a child too soon. I know that we're going to be fine." He added.
Samantha put her hand on top of his, with a smile.
They drove for a while listen to music and singing together, even going as far as playing 'I Spy,' as they made it from one city to the next. Eventually Samantha dozed off again, when she woke up for the second time, it was dark outside.
"We're home baby." Ian said, as he turned the car off and got out. Samantha rubbed the sleep from her eyes and noticed that they we at her apartment.
"Hallelujah, I thought my ass was going to be stuck to this seat." She grumbled.
She went inside out of the cold per Ian's instructions and greeted the guard on duty, before she went to the elevator. Ian was close behind, with a armful of bags.
"Baby, I can help." She insisted, trying to grab the overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
"I got it babe, you're pregnant and I don't want you lifting a finger." Ian said as they loaded the elevator.
Samantha crossed her arms. "Really curly, I can lift a bag. I'm not a invalid."
Ian dropped one of the bags and pulled her to his side. He pressed his lips to hers, and silenced any other protest she would have made. "I got it, woman." He playfully growled.
Samantha pulled away, afraid of what could happen inside of a elevator with Ian's lips pressed into hers.
"You better behave."
Ian laughed as he backed away. The doors to the elevator opened and they were at her door quickly after.
"It's so good to be home." Samantha cried dramatically, as she open the door.
"I agree. Wait right here while I look around and check your place. "
"Curly all that isn't really necessary." She protested.
"Samantha will you stop trying to fight me on this. You really seem to forget that there's a demented psycho bitch that wants to do you harm."
"Why should I live in fear, Ian. That's not me and you know it."
"I'm not asking you to, Sammy. I'm only asking you to watch your back and be more cautious. I'm telling you this because I not only have to make sure you're safe, but also our baby."
"Ian...I understand I'll be careful." She sighed.
"Please... I wouldn't be able to handle it if anything ever happened to you and the baby." He pulled her into his arms. "I gotta be sure you can be safe whenever I'm not around. So I wanted to take you to a shooting range, where you will learn how to shoot so you can be able to protect yourself."
"I'm gonna learn how to shoot?!" She said excitedly.
"Yeah I would really feel a lot better, if I knew you could protect yourself in any situation." He cupped her face in his hands. "You think you would be up for that?"
"Of course!!" She threw her arms around his neck. "I can't wait."
He gave her lips a peck. "I'll set something up later. But for now I want nothing more than to have you wrapped in my arms."
He lifted her up so that her legs were wrapped around his waist. Samantha let out a surprise squeal.
"Ian you can't keep doing that."
He ignored her, and walked with her in his arms towards the bedroom as if she weighed nothing. "Hush, baby." He nuzzled her neck. "Bedtime."
****
New Years passed without incident, they all went out to eat and then went back to the boy's house where the guys threw a little kickback, beers and loud music floated around the entire house as they watched the ball drop.
Everybody including Ian got plastered.
Samantha dragged his huge body upstairs and into his bedroom. Stripping him down to nothing but his boxers, before she put on a large t-shirt. Crawling into bed beside him, she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. As she began to doze off she felt, two thick strong arms engulf her waist to pull her back against his front.
She listened as he let out a content moan before falling into a deeper sleep, that made him snore lightly. Samantha turned her head and kissed his lips, before she too fell asleep soundly.
*
The next morning she got up and took a shower, put on a pair of sweats before she went out to grab breakfast for everyone.
She went to Waffle House and ordered possibly everything on the menu for a house full of 15 people. She also bought 4 jugs of Minute Maid orange juice, before she went back to the house.
When she got back to the house it was still quiet making her assume everyone was still asleep. After setting all the food out on servers, she fixed a plate for Ian and took it; along with a cup of oj upstairs to his bedroom. Waking up all the men in the house on the way.
"Baby, get up. I brought you breakfast." She shook his shoulders as she tried to get him up. He mumbled something unintelligible before he peeped at her through his sleepy eyes.
"Wake up baby." She said again. "Take these for you head. And put some food on your stomach."
Ian sat up and started to eat obediently. He took the aspirins with a big gulp of orange juice, then looked at her.
"Thanks babe, I didn't realize how fucked I was getting last night." He pulled her face near his, and placed a long kiss on her lips. "What would I do without you? Have you eaten?"
"I took a nimble, but normally my stomach is a bit too queasy in the early hours of the morning."
She sat contently and watched him eat in peace. She laughed as he scarfed down everything on his plate in no time. When he was done, he tried to pull her in for a kiss but she squirmed away. "Ugh uh you need a shower and a toothbrush ASAP."
"Oh really?!" He pulled back from her. "Okay I see how you wanna be. I'll remember that."
"Aww, baby I'm sorry." She laughed, knowing full well that she wasn't sorry one bit.
****
"Oh my god, we're going to be shooting today!?"
"Yeah, this was the surprise I was talking about." He parked outside of the Silver eagle group shooting range and looked over to a very excited Samantha. "You ready!?"
"Yeah let's go."
Ian grabbed her hands and they walked in together. Ian immediately went up to an associate, as Samantha excitedly looked around the place. Ian completed the transactions, and they were given a list of strict rules.
After reading over the rules, and handing over their ID's, they were handed Earmuffs, shooting gloves, and Safety glasses.
As the rso explained to both Ian and Samantha that he was going to show them both how to properly handle, load,and shoot a gun. Only then would he leave them to practice at the booth unattended.
Before she knew it, the instructor was demonstrating how to hold, load, and aim the gun. Much to Samantha's amazement it wasn't nearly as hard, and intimidating as she thought it would be as she'd watched the instructor do it with so much ease and grace. Yet once the action was done once again in a slower motion, she caught it and did it with confidence.
Ian on the other hand needed no help whatsoever, having learned how to shoot ages ago.
"I'm a bit rusty." She heard him say doing a break inbetween fired shots. Turning her attention back to her instructor she listened closely as he instructed her to shoot.
"It has a hair trigger. So be clear and sure on your target before you place your finger near the trigger."
She did as he said, aiming directly at the bullseye target straight ahead as she squeezed the trigger. She felt a surge of power as the sound of the bullet wheezing through the air, and hitting its target resounded.
"That was very good Samantha." Her instructor informed her, as he used the switch near them to bring the shooting target closer. On the target she saw that she hit the third ring on the bullseye.
"Babe, look." She looked to Ian excitedly.
"Your amazing at everything you do baby." Ian said, pride evident in his strong voice as he leaned over to kiss her forehead.
"It seems as if you too are all set here. So i'll just leave you to it. if you need anything just let me know."
They both acknowledge the Instructor with a nod of their heads, before they both started taking more practice shots.
*
"Curly, I'm hungry." She said as she felt a very persistent grumble in her stomach, angrily letting her know it was time to receive some nourishment.
"Okay baby, but I think we should go over the quick draw technique a few more times before we go. " It seemed as if her stomach had other ideas, because it growled again even louder than before, making her bend forward. "Alright, alright baby." Ian took out the clip to his gun and placed the firearm down.
"Where do you want to eat?"
Samantha shrugged her shoulders and smiled up at her dreamy man. "I could really, really go for a slice of deep dish pepperoni pizza." She exaggeratedly drew out her words to emphasize her point.
Ian gave her a sexy grin. "Were going to have to start working on your eating habits."
"Hey, my eating habits are just fine." She walked over to the exit of the shooting range, and went out to the main lounge area.
"No. Pizza, and burgers all the time isn't a good eating habit." He grabbed her hand when she started to go to the service desk to return the equipment. "We have to make one more stop before we leave. "
He pulled her into the gun store they had located directly in the establishment. The associate working the counter immediately address them. "Good afternoon, Mr. Queen, Misses. I hope you enjoyed your evening at the range." The young guy, advanced towards them, and clasped his hands in front of his body, patiently waiting for the go ahead to assist them in whatever they needed.
"Ah yeah, Rick?"Ian held out his hand as he read the guy's name plate. "I wanted to purchase a gun for both my girl and I today."
The guy gave a pleasing grin as he nodded. "What were you thinking of getting today?"
"I was thinking she could handle a sig, or possibly a 1911."
"Most definitely. Those are some good options. And you?"
"I need a glock."
"Excellent we have everything you asked for in stock." He motioned for them to follow him to a display of weapon arrangements.
Rick quickly met all of Ian needs, getting him squared away with a glock 50. Before he turned to Samantha. Both men made sure she was able to test the weight of both firearms before she chose.
"Which do you like baby?" Ian asked over her shoulder.
"I'm going to go with this one." She answered pointing at the 1911 mil-spec model. "I like the grip and feel better."
"You sure?"
Samantha looked at him with an excited grin. "I'm more than sure."
Ian turned to Rick. "I guess we will be taking this one too."
Ricky smiled his approval of both huge purchases, before excusing himself to finish the proper procedures of selling a firearm.
"Ian I can't believe you got me gun... what the hell am I going to do with a gun?"
"Defend yourself, if need be. That's what you're going to do."
"if something were to happen to me do you really think I can pull a trigger of a gun on a person?"
Ian heard the insecurity in her voice. "Baby I believe that if need be, you will do what's best for both you and the baby if I'm not around." Turning her to face him, he kissed her forehead as he wrapped her arms around her. "I'll just feel more safe knowing you will have something to protect yourself with."
"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you, when I'm suppose to be your protector."
"I'll be safe... we will be safe." Samantha replied, trying to relieve the tension she felt in Ian. "Don't worry, Curly."
****
Being back home put her in a more of a relaxed state than she had previously been over Christmas break. Classes were back, and she had all of her friends there to support her and help guide her on this new journey of being a soon to be mother.
Both Samantha and Ian had begun a habit of attending classes by day, then having him crawl into her bed every night. She found herself craving to be with him more and more throughout the day, as days passed. Her happiness seeming to be connected to the blonde, blue eyed giant alone.
On a Saturday morning, Samantha climbed out of bed early to meet the girls for breakfast and a relaxing yoga session.
Dressed in a pair of stretchy yoga pants, a cute maternity meme tank Annabel bought , with a light jacket and sneaks, and she was ready to go.
She leaned over and kissed Ian lips as he slept, and walked to the door with keys in hand. Before she could walk out the door she heard Ian sit up.
"Hey,... where you going? " Ian asked sleepily , rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Out for breakfast, then to a yoga class with the girls." She answered walking back to him. "Annabel was going on and on about the healthy benefits of yoga for the baby, so she's dragging both me and Carol to a class."
Ian pulled her into his arms once she got close enough, rubbing her rounded belly. At 8 weeks pregnant, the baby was the size of a raspberry, and the countless forums she had joined explained that doing the first trimester she would experience bloating.
"How IS My baby?"
"The baby is okay. Giving me a much needed break from Puking thank god!"
"I wish I could take on your pain baby."
"It's all good, and worth it for our baby." She gripped his cheeks and pecked his lips.
"How long do you plan, on being out?"
Samantha snuggled into his hold, enjoying the comfort only he could provide. "I'm not sure, babe. It's the weekend and all of us are back together, so I was hoping that all of us could get together and go to the movies." She turned her big brown eyes on him, with a look of sweet innocence. "You guys don't have any plans do you?"
Ian felt his heart swell at the beautiful look she wore on her glowing skin. What she didn't realize was that she didn't have to use the puppy eyed expression on him, because he would give her anything that she asks for without hesitation.
"We do have that voluntary drive going on a little later at the house, but it shouldn't drag over into the night."
"Thats right, I totally forgot about that. You have all the young boys and girls from the group home coming out to enjoy different activities. "
"Were also selling t-shirts, and got a food truck and were cutting a percentage to help out the group home. All the children in the home aren't receiving all the things they need, so we're helping out."
"Oh my god, curly why didn't you tell me all of this before hand. I would love to have help with everything."
"Baby, the guy's, been posting, and handing out flyers all over campus, so I thought you would have saw them." He swept loose curly tendrils from her forehead. "You have been so busy, and tired from classes, and the baby, i just thought you wouldn't feel up to it. So i didn't bother you." He shrugged nonchalantly.
"I want to be apart of your event, curly. Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean, I don't wanna have fun."
"Okay okay, you can do anything you want baby. You know I want you there anyways." He slid her back onto the bed, as he kneeled above her. His hands going to the waistband of her yoga pants. "But enough talk about that. I want to have you for breakfast, I'm hungry." He growled, with a predatory glint as he tugged her pants, and panties away with one tug.
Before she could think to object, Ian's tongue was buried between her folds. "Ian!"
*
Samantha walked into the gym with a slight limp as she asked the direction of the yoga class. As she found the room she entered carrying her yoga mat and her drawstring bag carrying her towel and bottle of water. As soon as she walked in the girls called to her.
"Girl, we thought you were going to be late." Annabel said.
"What took you so long??" Caroline chimed in.
As Samantha walked gingerly in their direction both girls took note, and gave each other knowing looks. "You don't even have to answer that." Caroline Stated.
"We know exactly what took you forever to get here, when you originally said you were on the way... " Annabel checked her watch. "20 minutes ago."
"I ran into a few things." Samantha explained.
"Or did a few things run into you?"
Annabel and Caroline laughed, and wouldn't stop until the yoga instructor a cute petite redhead waltzed into the room, calling the class into order.
"You two are something else."
Throughout the class the girls mothered over her to a nerve racking extent. Annabel being the worst since she was more experienced with yoga. Made sure she was well stretched and doing all the right poses, as well as her breathing technique.
When the instructed informed the class that the hour and a half class had come to an end, she was one of the first people to exit the door.
Outside in the morning sun, she felt relaxed and energetic, despite her ill mood 5 minutes ago.
"Should I really be as sore as I am right now?" Caroline whined as the girls, walked down the sidewalk to there respective cars.
Samantha felt the same but kept her mouth closed. She feared the minute she said anything like that, her two mother hens would start fussing and worrying over her.
Lately she had become more hot natured, and when crowded it got worst. Her temper would make her lash out unintentionally more often now than not.
The girls though never paid her any mind regardless. Stating that she was just ill from all the hormones and morning sickness.
"Really?" Annabel laughed, rolling her eyes.
"Man, listen...there's places aching that i aint never used before." She expressed.
"Then You needed this class more than either one of us."
''I'm hungry you guys. Let's grab something to eat ." Samantha dropped her bag into her car. "Let's get something at the café across the street."
"Yes, Please!" Caroline shouted enthusiastically. "Food. I can get down with." Throwing her stuff in the car.
"Let's go. I'm hungry."
She rushed across the street to the café without waiting . Leaving the other two women to follow, while chuckling. Once at the café They were seated, with orders placed.
"Why didn't you guys tell me about the guy's function today. "
"We thought you knew. Just Figured that you would be too exhausted to help out." Annabel said. "Andy, asked me to help set things up, to ensure things ran smoothly. No one wanted to bother you."
"You have seemed more tired as of late, babe. " Caroline pointed out. "That's what pregnancy does to you."
Samantha understood where they were coming from, yet still felt frustration. "Guys." She let out a sigh. "Ian worries about me more than enough. I don't need you two being worrywarts as well."
"Sam, listen it's not about us being worrywarts. We love you!" Annabel grabbed Samantha's hand. "You don't realize how stubborn you can be Sam. You have enough on your plate and we all just think you should relax. And focus on the baby."
"Bell, I'm fine! My focus is on my baby, and school. Yet that doesn't mean I can't be apart of other things." Samantha felt her voice rising and worked to calm down. "I just don't want to be cooped up away from everything, while you guys go and have all the fun."
The girls stared at her, with surprise and understanding. "Babe just because you're pregnant doesn't mean we're going to forget about you and leave you out." Caroline assured.
Samantha felt her eyes tear up, and cursed her crazy hormones. "I feel like, I'm becoming the fat, ol' boring pregnant lady that no one wants to hang with."
"Sam."
"Really?"
They said in unison.
"You can't honestly think that Samantha." Annabel spoke up.
"We don't think that about you." Caroline piped up.
"Never will." Annabel added.
"Besides we love the idea of being godmothers!"
"Wait, what? Carol..."
"Ah, fairy Godmothers." Annabel teased.
"Oh no." Samantha groaned.
"Oh Yeah." They said together.
*
After brunch Samantha went home, took a shower, and a nap. Only to wake up hours later, to the sound of her cell ringing.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Baby." Ian's deep voice answered, over the sound of loud music, and laughter. "The event started a while ago, was wondering where you were. You feeling okay?"
Samantha got out of bed and went to her closet, sifting through item after item. "Yes I'm fine, I just had a nap, and overslept."
"Baby you can get some more rest, and I'll come pick you up tonight for the movies if you still want to go."
"Curly I'm getting dressed as we speak. I'll be there in like fifteen minutes or so. I don't want to miss your event, I know you've worked hard for it. So I'm coming."
"Alright you stubborn woman, just be careful. I love you." His deep voice grew softer as he said this.
"I will, baby. I love you too." She replied, giving him a kiss through the phone before hanging up.
She finished getting dressed, and threw her hair back into a ponytail. Grabbing her keys she rushed out of her apartment and into the elevator. As she waited for it to come, there stood an Asian man, that appeared quite disheveled. His clothes were dark, and dingy, his hair was greasy, and flaky. And the longer she stood near him, her sensitive nose could detect a overpowering musty stench.
Although she didn't live in a upscale flashy apartment; more like a upper middle class, she never saw people who appeared to not have bathed in a day or two. Guys that looked so dirty and menacing just didn't seem to belong in the area. As the elevator finally arrived, with the doors opening, Samantha hesitated.
The man stepped on, then turned to give her a clear view of his crude features and shabby attire.
"Are you getting on, or not?" His scratchy voice filled her ears.
Samantha shook off her hesitation, and fear.
Stepping into the elevator right as the doors were closing. She pressed the lobby, button, and turned her back to the wall. Refusing to put her back to the suspicious man. She felt grateful she only lived on the 3rd floor of her apartment building, meaning it was only a short ride.
Even so, she still felt discomfort, from the weird tension in the air, as she felt the man's eyes on her.
"What is your name." He asked, although it didn't sound as if it were a question.
Surprised, Samantha snapped her eyes to the man. "That is none of your business." She snapped, as she became more alert.
Before anymore words were shared, the elevator dinged.
She quickly whirled around and stepped out. Hurrying out the door, and to her car. After she was safely inside with the doors locked, she looked up to see him standing on the sidewalk, leering in her direction. She felt her fear creep up once again, and knew she needed to go. Starting the car, she quickly backed out, and drove off. Although she told herself not to look back, the urge to do so was too much.
Taking a quick glance in the rearview mirror, confirmed her fear. The man was still standing in the same spot, watching as she drove off.
The entire drive to the guys house, was filled with a few stray tears. A couple of frustrated screams, and a few deep breaths to calm down. When she finally pulled up on the curb to the house, Samantha took a moment to put on a bit of makeup to cover the tear tracks, and hide the puffiness of her eyes.
Once done, she was finally able to get out and take a good look around.
The guys had put together an amazing event, from the look of things. the entire front lawn was covered in different types of games.
There were blow up slides, obstacles courses, bull rides and carnival booths. Everything that you would expect to see at a fair, aside from actual rides.
Off to the side on the path that lead to the back yard had a giant archway made of balloons that beckon the children to follow. Signs they had set up, displayed a nerf maze, Wipeout obstacle, and a game truck.
Needless to say the guys of the house had thought of possibly every possible fun activity a child might enjoy, and in this case even themselves. As she walked up the steps to the yard she could see more than a few of her classmates interacting with children and enjoying themselves.
It was evident more help was needed for the event because more people besides the guy's of the house wore the sponsored t shirt, as they ran the booths. Children ran pass her, laughing and playing with abandonment, as she took in everything, all the while looking for her man.
The atmosphere was absolutely infectious, she couldn't keep the huge smile off her face even if she tried. Her eyes finally landed on Ian, who stood next to the 'Strongman hammer' game.
His attention was intently on a young kid who looked to be just about 10, who was taking his turn at the game. As Samantha moved closer, she was able to hear Ian encouraging the kid with macho words as the boy took a swing.
The light reached halfway up the meter, and all the little boys friends cheered.
"That was awesome, little dude. You gotta mighty arm, there bud!" Ian boosted. Feeding the kids ego.
Samantha felt so much pride, and joy at the scene. Only able to imagine that this baby that she carried will be that kid one day. That her Curly, would be right by their baby's side cheering he/she along in whatever they would be doing. Making their child believe that they could do anything.
An the thought was so beautiful that Samantha thought that her heart couldn't absolutely grow any bigger.
She watched him talk to the kid for awhile, because he had yet to notice her. Michael took over the game, as Ian listened animatedly. Few minutes ticked by, before his head lifted to survey his surroundings; searching . It only took a moment for his eyes to land on her.
When they did, his face split into a huge smile, and even from where she stood she could see his eyes twinkle.
With a wave of her hand, she mouthed. "Hey, Baby." Then blew him a kiss.
Ian made a show of catching the kiss, and holding it to his heart. He then looked to the boy, and said something low in the kids ear while he pointed to Samantha. The boy turned to smile at her, and waved. He nodded to whatever Ian was saying, before he began to walk her way.
"Did It Hurt?" The boy asked, as soon as he approached her.
"Huh?"
"When you fell from heaven, 'cause darlin, you're as beautiful as an angel." The kid said with a smirk, before he winked and walked off smoothly. Leaving Samantha to stand in utter surprise, entirely blown away as she watched the kid disappear into a group of his friends.
"Hi, angel." Ian whispered as he walked up , circled around her body, before hugging her from behind.
"You're horrible!" She laughed, turning to him. "You told that little kid to come over here with that lame pickup line."
Ian grinned. "Hey that line isn't lame. It's a classic."
"Yeah okay, whatever. If you would have come up to me with that line, wanna know my response?"
"Sure hit me with it."
She made a show of clearing her throats in an exaggerated manner.
"No... But I did scrape my knees when I crawled from hell." She smirked.
She wasn't expecting Ian to literally bark with laughter at her comeback, but that's exactly what he did. Seeming to not care that everybody stared at him, he was heard over the music.
"Ian, was it that funny?"
Ian wiped tears from his eyes. "Hell yeah. You've got jokes, baby."
"You're surprised because..." Her voice carried a sarcastic tone.
"I'm not surprise babe. It's just been a long ass time since you've joked around with me like this, is all." Ian sobered up, and grabbed her hand. "You hungry? Or Thirsty?"
"I can go for a funnel cake, and frozen lemonade." She sanged, practically slobbering at the idea of tasting the deep fried batter covered in powdered sugar, and cinnamon.
"Okay, right this way baby." He tugged her towards the various food trucks they had set up on the curb. "By the way, we're probably going to have to go shopping for maternity clothes real soon, because at this rate, none of your clothes will fit."
It took her a moment to comprehend his meaning, but when she did she took a swing at his shoulders. the swing missed as he dodged out of the way, with a laugh.
"My clothes still fit very comfortably, thank you very much." she tugged at her hand, he still held. "What's it to you anyways."
Ian held her hand tighter, and smiled at her fussing as he ordered her a funnel cake with extra powdered sugar, and cinnamon. It was ready pretty quick, cutting her nagging session in half. He held the sweet up to her line of sight, and broke a piece off, only to pop the powdery piece in his mouth.
"Mmmh." He moaned, dramatically. "Do you want some baby?" He asked as he finished chewing. By this point Samantha's eyes were murderous, she glared at him with so much hostility he thought she would really kick his ass. "Baby-"
Samantha walked passed him, cutting him off. Going up to the truck she ordered herself a funnel cake with the extras. She waited for her order with her back turned to him the entire time, when it was ready, she thanked the woman who made it sweetly before she turned back to Ian with a evil smirk.
"Don't play with me, when it comes to food."
Ian only laughed all readying knowing not to mess with a hungry pregnant woman on instinct. Yet still Samantha looked so beautiful when she was pissed, and she made it so easy for him.
"I'm Sorry." He broke off a piece of his funnel cake, and offered it to her. For a second he thought she would knock his hand away. then she leaned forward and ate the piece he offered, nipping his finger purposely, she then stuck her tongue out at him.
"You had better been sorry." She took his hand this time, and tugged on it. "I want to play some of the games."
Ian pulled her to a bench. "Let's eat our treats first baby, then you can play till your heart's content." He teased.
Samantha sat down and nodded in agreement. "Your right. These taste way better when they are fresh and hot."
"How did the yoga class go?"
"Better than i expected. It was a little fun, when Annabel and Carol wasn't worrying over her, but of course it was good for the baby. So I'm definitely going to start making it a regular thing." She ate another big piece of funnel cake. "Especially since I enjoy eating fatty stuff like this."
Ian wiped powdered sugar from her cheek with his thumb. "That is a amazing idea baby. I want nothing but you and the baby's happiness and health."
"Know what would make me really happy?" she asked slyly.
"...what?" he asked slowly, tilting his head to the side.
"You. Inside. Of. That. Dunk. Tank.!" Samantha pointed towards the dunk tank that currently held Andy.
"Oh shit." He groaned.
Samantha hopped up from her seat, discarded her trash pulled him up on his feet. Then over to the crowd gathered around the dunk tank. She pushed him towards the tank, in order to talk to Andy.
Andy laughed loudly as Ian spoke. Not paying attention for his own good, because suddenly, the seat he sat on gave way. Sending him barreling into the water below.
Clapping and cheers surrounded them, as Andy came up shaking like a wet dog. He smiled handsomely at the young teen girl who had threw the lucky shot. "Good arm there, darlin." He winked at her, pushed his wavy blonde locks back, then climbed out of the tub.
"Alrighty folks, imma be taking a little break. My man here is going to fill the spot. So soak 'em up real good."
Ian walked behind the screen and took off his shirt and pants. Already dressed in a pair of swim trunks underneath. He climbed up on the seat and signaled to the girl in charge of keeping the line that he was ready.
The rules were that you got three shots to get him down. And if you did you won various different prizes.
Two people were in front of Samantha, and to Ian's luck he was still dry when she got to the front. With a broad smile, Ian taunted Samantha by doing the bring it on motion with his hands.
Samantha accepted his challenge, by picking up a ball and hurling it at the target. When it missed, Ian laughed and upped his taunting. Biting her lip, Samantha closed one eye and aimed. Letting go with all her strength.
As if in slow motion the ball hit the latch button, sending Ian plummeting into the water.
"I did it!" Samantha cheered as she jumped up and down with joy. The surrounding people cheered.
Ian cleared water from his shocked eyes.
"How you like those apples." Samantha taunted.
Ian smirked and bit his tongue choosing not to reply due to the fact that there were kids present.
*
The sun was setting giving the sky a beautiful orange and pink glo. And the usual crew were finishing a round of nerf war. Girls against the boys. With the boys currently in the lead.
Samantha peaked around the corner to see if the coast was clear. Knowing that time was running out. She went from wall to wall, searching for a glimpse of either of the guys. With just her, and Annabel still in the game they played it smart and stuck together. As if they were suddenly cops, Samantha used hand signals to tell Annabel that she spotted Michael and Andy.
She devised a plan to be bait, telling Annabel to shoot both men, while she distracted them.
"Hey, I surrender!!!" She yelled and both men looked her way.
They smirked and raised their nerf gun up to shoot. Just as Annabel did a ninja roll from behind the corner. Pulling the trigger of her gun, before the men could lift theirs completely.
Annabel jumped to her feet with a whoop, turning to high five, Samantha.
As Samantha lifted her hand to complete the high five she saw Ian come around the corner with his nerf aimed at Annabel back. Samantha pushed Annabel to the side and dodge the shot Ian pulled, while shooting hers. The foam bullet hit him square in the chest.
Everyone stopped in shock, before Annabel hollered. "We won!!" She laughed and scooped Samantha into a bear hug. "You a beast girl. All that smack they were talking and they got beat by girls, ha!"
"Damn." Ian looked wounded. "Baby you shot me." Ian accused.
"Yeah, and you shot your man." Andy directed to Annabel, as he walked into the trio's circle.
"Hey this was survival of the fittest, okay. Either killed or be killed. Dog eats dog wor-"
"Okay, okay we get it." Andy groaned, cutting Samantha off.
"Oh you mad??" She teased.
"Come here woman." Ian grunted, pulling Samantha into his arms. "Stop picking."
She turned to face him, as his arms held her at the waist. "Only if you say that us girls are awesome. And you guys are loser."
She watched as his jaw tick. "Your such a sore loser." She laughed.
"Alright alright, y'all are awesome, we are losers."
"Aww." she cooed. "Come here baby." She cupped his face in her hands, as he grunted once again. She kissed his protest away, going as far as to sticking her tongue between his lips into his hot mouth. Finally getting him to return the kiss with fever.
"Cool it you guys! Children are present." Annabel reminded.
"Damn. If that's how it is when your pregnant, then maybe I should knock you up, baby. So what you say." Andy said curiously.
"That you can shut the hell up. You know that won't be happening anytime soon." Annabel replied sternly. Andy actually had the nerve to look down about it.
"You guys have lost your mind." Caroline said shaking her head.
"It's getting late, We should start wrapping things up." Michael spoke.
Ian pulled himself together, and nodded his head in agreement. "Your right. It's going to be dark soon, so we have to get all of this cleaned up. And then we all have a movie date."
"Wait?"
"Huh?"
"I promised my girl, a movies night, with our friends along side us. So we're giving her just that." He grabbed Samantha's hand and tugged her to the front of the house.
The sun had begun to set, and the gang of children had noticeably tired themselves out. Most were lounging around the yard, or eating. He found the guardian of the children, at a bench trying in vain to cover a yawn. When she saw him coming her ways she perked up.
"Ian! This turned out to be an amazing time for the children." She grabbed his hand and shook it. "I'm positive they will not be able to stop talking about this anytime soon."
"That was our goal, Ms. Holly. I'm just happy we provided something good for them, and put smiles on as many faces as possible." Ian pulled Samantha closer to his side. "Allow me to introduce my girlfriend, Samantha."
"That you did." She turned her friendly smile to Samantha. "Hey Samantha. Nice to meet you."
"Same to you." Samantha offered her hand, which Holly took.
"Well, it's getting late and, me and the guys are going to have to start cleaning up." Ian hinted.
"Ah right. We'll be sure to thank all the guys for us. I'm. Going to go ahead and start to round up the kids."
"Sounds great." He gave her a smile and turned with Samantha still at his side.
Feeling his eyes on her as they walked to the porch of the house, she peeked up at him.
"What it is it?" She chuckled.
Ian grinned stupidly, while shaking his head.
"It just feels surreal sometimes." He took a seat on the steps, and helped her down. She settled back against his thighs, resting her bed against his chest. "I never imagined being this happy. Or being with you, the one I've always loved."
Samantha remained quiet, enjoying hearing him say those words. She smiled up at him, and laced her fingers with his.
"Same here. I never thought you would slow down." She teased.
Ian looked at their hands, with a lazy smile. "You gave me reason too. I honestly believe that love like this only happens once in a lifetime." He kissed the back of her hand. "I could have lost you to someone else. Now I cherish every moment even more than before."
"I cherish you more. You've always been my one and only love. I never want that to change." She whispered.
"Never worry, baby. It won't." He pressed a long kiss to her lips, and stayed like that for a while just inhaling her. "Promise me."
"Huh?"
"Sammy you know what I'm asking."
She thought about his words, and finally understood his meaning. Pressing another kiss. "I promise, curly."
She linked her pinky with his.
He smiled against her lips. "Us against the world." He then covered her face with kisses.
"I got to go help the guys clean up." He said after some time.
"Awh..." She pouted playfully. "Well I'll go find the girls and help take down the decorations."
"Baby, I'd rather you rest..."
"Ian no... I'm not fragile or incompetent or something. I can do little things to make myself useful."
"I know I know." He let out a long breath. "Just be careful."
He walked away after kissing her once more, leaving her to look around for Annabel, and Caroline.
"Guys!" She called after spotting them at the table where they had sold Shirts. "Today was a great turnout."
"It was. Nearly all of the shirts are sold, and the boys said that the profits that were made for the children was more than they originally planned. " Annabel answered.
"I told Curly I was going to help you guys clean up. Where is this stuff going?" Samantha asked.
"Mikey said they were going to put everything in the basement after it's boxed up." Caroline replied.
"Alright." Samantha picked up the remaining shirts and placed them in a box. "What do y'all think about seeing Get out?"
"Omg girl Yes!" Annabel shouted. Drawing attention to them from others near by. "I've been meaning to see that. I've heard it's crazy as hell."
"Me too." Samantha laughed. "I was hoping we could see that after things are cleaned up here."
"Cool, I'm down." Caroline answered. "Bel we don't even need you to answer, our ears are still ringing."
Annabel stuck her tongue out and flipped her off.
*
Sitting a couple cars down the block Kristie stared st the scene down the street. With so much hatred and jealousy raging in her, she screamed at the top of her lungs, and banged the steering wheel with both hands.
"THAT BITCH!!" She gripped a handful of her hair and yanked. "Why does she get EVERYTHING? I deserve him! I'm better FOR him!"
After a while she grew hoarse and exhausted. Ripping her phone from her purse, she dialed the number in her contacts. After 2 rings they answered.
"We have to meet right now!" She yelled. "Orangedale in an hour!" She shouted then hung up not giving the person the chance to comment.
Starting up the car she pulled out into the street, pressing the gas to hard. The car sped down the street causing a lot of noise. From her peripheral she could see people stopped and stared at her from the house. Including Samantha and the girls. But the car she rented afforded privacy with its deep tinted windows.
Slowing down she looked at Samantha with hatred.
"That bitch will get hers." She promised herself.
Then without a care for anyone's safety including her own, she punched the gas once again and flew down the street.
|
Severus Snape hugged Harry closer to him as he apparated into the Flamel Castle, without dislodging the precious cargo in his arms, he sent a silent patronus to both his mentor and his Mistress to meet him in the room that was directly opposite his in the family wing of the castle. With his cape billowing behind him he strode quickly towards the room, feeling the little boy in his arms seem to be flagging, the emotional stream that continued from the little bundle in his arms, increasing his urgency and protectiveness. He still could barely believe that Harry trusted him.
Upon reaching the room, to his surprise, the room had been completely made over by the still bustling elves. What used to be a bare but still fully furnished room, now instead of white walls, had an enchanted forest painted on, with to his disbelief playful animals both mundane and magical darted among the trees. The ceiling which used to be plain bricking now had an enchanted roof that showed the movement of the constellations above. The white queen bed had now been replaced by a midnight blue poster king bed, with a mountain of pillows resting on it. The oak dresser had been spruced up, while a large comfortable desk and chair had been shifted into the room near the arching windows. The addition of the reading nook complete with empty shelves ready to hold Harry’s collection of books stood standing by. Mixie one of the elder house elves simply came up to them and declared, “Hes house elf friend, wes bes happy to help.” With a bow and click, all the house elves popped away. Shaking his head in confusion, he resolutely put his disbelief aside, he had more important things to worry about.
Gently setting Harry down the bed, he sensed it as Nick and Pen entered the room after him, shooting a look at Pen he silently asked her to pass him his healing kit. “Harry? I’m just going to do a small diagnosing spell on you okay?”
Upon hearing that, Harry’s mind immediately fled to his cuts, to his lifeline, and to his utmost mortification, he started panicking. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Don’t just sit here panicking, make up an excuse, stop the spell, DO SOMETHING! But there was nothing that he seemed to be able to do, his breaths got shorter, his chest started to hurt, and he started to wonder if that would the end of him.
The instant wave of panic and terror that radiated out of Harry and hit Severus Snape was something that had almost knocked him flat on his back. He had never seen such a reaction in his life, at least from a wizard this young. This kind of reaction normally came from children who were not only much older but also heavily abused not tiny three-year-olds. ( AN: Remember Harry is really small for his age, and that the Potter Family had heavily hidden his existence. Severus has simply no idea that Harry is six) . Quickly he grabbed the arms that are frantically clawing at his own throat and tugged the panting boy into his chest. “Harry can you feel my breathing, feel my breaths, copy it. Relax Harry, I got you.”
Slowly, but surely he felt breathing of the little one in his lap slow down and body-heaving sobs take over. Slowly, he started rubbing the small heaving back, as he strained his ears to pick up the soft muttered whimpers that interspersed the sobs. His heart dropped to the bottom of his shoes as he made out the words, “No.. No… No.. You can’t… He can’t find out..” The words were repeated in a loop, and suddenly Severus did not want to know what he would find when he cast that spell.
Soothingly, he continued to rub the back of the imp that stole his heart, willing him to fall asleep to avoid any more unnecessary trauma, as Nick and Pen watched on, both clutching each other with their hearts in their mouths. Sure enough, the security of Severus’s arms and the exhaustion that always accompanied a panic attack soon tugged the youngest Potter son into the arms of Morpheus and within fifteen minutes he was asleep. Casting a look towards Pen, Severus shifted and laid Harry fully on the bed, before drawing his wand. Severus took a deep breath and cast the spell to not only diagnose Harry but to find out his medical history.
To the disbelieving eyes of all three of them, the wand started producing feet upon feet of parchment. Finally, after a good six-ish feet of parchment, the wand stopped producing any more of its devastating result and falls silent. Grabbing onto the portion that revealed the current ailments that bothered the young soul on the bed, he quickly gave it a once over, before steeling himself and started healing the boy, and passed the list to Pen. Pen and Nick started looking over the list.
Name: Harry James Potter
Age: 6 years, 3 days
Height: 2 feet 11 inches
Weight: 11.7kg
Current External Injuries:
Head
Torso
Limbs
Current Internal Injuries
Penerelle Flamel suppressed her sorrow at the number of things wrong with the child on the bed before her, before grabbing her wand and started in on his limbs, while Severus healed the boy’s head and torso. “Severus, is he wearing glamour charms? His arms look uninjured.” Severus snapped his head up in shock. Glamour charms? At Harry’s age? A charm that took most seventh years almost a month to perfect and most are only able to sustain for 6 hours at most, sustained by this tiny six-year-old even when asleep? Harry was one amazingly powerful, amazing precocious little six-year-old. He cast the dispelling charm, and before his eyes, Harry seemed to get even tinier and even more fragile, his heart going out to the tiny six-year-old on the bed. Pen took a deep breath and redoubled her efforts to help heal the child.
“Son, take a look at this.” She barely managed to keep her voice from cracking. Up and down, both the bony wrist laid thick ropey scars, overlaid by still open and sluggishly bleeding. Severus snapped his head up, and glanced towards his Mother-figure, cradled in arms were Harry’s wrists, both heavily scarred and at some points the cuts were still sluggishly bleeding, some looked deep enough to need his new sealing paste. “Oh Harry…” he breathed.
( AN: I wanted to end it here, but it is a bit short so onwards and downwards friends)
Harry woke up gently feeling warm, comfortable and safe for the first time in his life. Solely, because he was used to the rude awakenings and the fighting for awareness the moment he woke, he decided he didn't really like the pleasant awakening. Slowly he realised that he was not the only person in the darkened room. Raising his head and sitting up, he noticed that for the first time in a year he was no pain at all, and the black figure that had his head pillowed in arms on the corner of the comfortable bed Harry was lying on was, in fact, his saviour. To his horror, the unwitting grunt he had made while sitting up had woken up the men. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry sir!” Harry’s feelings of unworthiness had been deeply ingrained into him and he quickly scrambled into James’s favourite punishment position, which involved him being on his knees, and pulled down his shorts, allowing his saviour full access to his bottom for either the belt or a cane. To his surprise, the pain he was waiting for did not come, instead, he felt his shorts being pulled up and his body being carried and settled onto the man’s lap before his chin was lifted and he was forced to meet the concerned and worried eyes of one Severus Snape. “Child, it is not your fault, let me clear one thing up front, I will never hurt you or punish you with pain, do you understand?” Harry could not believe his ears, he knew that he was a useless squib, it was only a matter of time before Severus understood it as well, he should not get his hopes up. His disbelief must have shown on his face, for the next thing he knew, “Oh child…” was breathed into his ear and he was tugged closer into the warmth of the chest in front of him. It was then he realised that somehow his magic had failed, the scars on his upper arms were visible, and his wrist... his wrists were bandaged. His savior knew, Severus knew how much of a freak he was. It was all too much for the young boy, and Harry passed out.
|
Harry wouldn’t even look at him anymore much less being in the same room. It seemed as if Harry had removed himself completely from Draco’s life. Even the seat opposing Draco in Divination found itself emptied the days following the Second Task.
Draco knew it was cowardly to run after the Task, considering the implications of his participation. But it was also that same participation—seeing Harry’s unreadable face—that caused him to run.
Something the champion would miss most. It made Draco feel an uncomfortable combination of inadequacy, embarrassment, and shame. Draco should be the last person that Harry should feel like… that towards him.
( Heartless Witch Watch didn’t help with a special edition that took notice of Harry’s worsened mood. Skeeter justified the turn of events that Harry’s ‘beloved’ wasn't impressed with him saving two people from the lake. Now, there was a hate club in the works for Harry’s heartless ‘witch.’)
To ward away the thoughts of the Second Task, Draco focused back on Professor Moody.
Draco wasn’t stupid, the evidence was there. Tonks' letters said that Moody’s behaviour wasn’t typical, his hyper-awareness of Harry, and his insistence that Draco made sure that Harry won first place. Barty Crouch was there that night and he was found by Moody before the Triwizard champions were announced. The overall feeling of uneasiness since the first day. It couldn’t all be a coincidence.
But Draco didn’t know what to do. This incident didn’t happen before. He wasn’t one for confrontation. It made his skin prickle, made his stomach seize, it was too stressful. And what was to come out of this? Would it make this year better? Worse? Would it just be the same?
And it made Draco despise himself even more.
He swore that he finally knew what this year had in store and he was going to put that knowledge to good use. To finally put forward change that would benefit others. But his mind felt like it was on fire, constantly combusting and reassembling hastily and made his thoughts scatter and make them ten times more intense. Suddenly, Draco felt impending doom constantly, obstacles and blanks of knowledge were now everywhere and rendered his mind in clouded paranoia. All the years of thinking he could single-handedly change the course of history… What was he thinking?
Draco was never that important for such a task.
Draco started feeling hollow, the space of emotion only sharpening each update of Heartless Witch Watch, each time Anthony frowned when Draco would carry on with careless talk, each apprehensive--knowing--glances of Ron and Hermione, and the longing of wanting to see Harry.
It left Draco wide awake at night, his mind struggling to quiet. But when Draco tried to reach out to the mess that was his thoughts on Harry and his confession, his anxiety forced his hand away and tried to shove it deeper into the depths of his mind. It made him break out in chills, his cheeks burn, and his stomach clench in equal parts of embarrassment and horror.
It was better to just ignore it.
Draco learnt that the surge of noise in the Great Hall never meant anything good. As he neared the Ravenclaw table and noticed that students were pouring over newspapers, his head filled with possibilities. He only hoped that it wasn’t another special edition of Heartless Witch Watch.
Not wanting to overhear the chatter, Draco went back to the dormitory to lay down before class, shutting himself back into his bed. Yet when his head hit his pillow he was pulled into long sleep that found himself opening his eyes to the sun much lower than the last time Draco saw it.
Draco sat up in a flourish, finally processing the lowness of the sun. Did he just sleep the day away?
The dormitory door creaked and Terry shuffled inside, the Daily Prophet tucked under his arm.
“I don’t believe it…” Terry muttered, not noticing Draco as he walked towards his bed. “This is madness. Straight up madness!” He dropped the newspaper onto his bed, "And I still haven't found Draco. I swear, I'm going to lose hair over that blond oaf..."
He continued muttering as he left the dormitory, none the wiser that Draco was within his four-poster bed.
Draco climbed out of bed and went over to Terry's area. He picked up the newspaper and unfurled it to read the headline.
PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES AZKABAN
No.
No, no, no, no!
This couldn’t be happening.
Ministry officials are baffled by how such a crime occurred. "This situation can’t be commented on at this time," Minister Fudge told the Daily Prophet. "We still don’t know how such an event happened. Just the other week, the Ministry officials performed an inspection. It is quite an anomaly. But know that the Ministry has it under control.”
Draco felt himself leaning against his bedpost, feeling lightheaded. There's no way, he can't escape. He can't, he can't, he can't, he can't!
Draco crushed the newspaper up and threw it on the ground. He ran his fingers into his hair, pulling at it slightly. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to throw something.
Of all things that could’ve broken Draco’s fragile composure, it was the twitchy secondhand of the Dark Lord, Peter Pettigrew.
Look, look, Malfoy, even if you do change something it just returns. Merlin, just look at you, thinking that it would be better. Stupid, unfair, unneeded. Everything is going to play out just like before! The Dark Lord is going to return and Cedric Diggory will die.
Draco had enough. He was going to settle this once and for all.
The corridors of Hogwarts were emptied of students, the sky was darkening to burnt orange, casting long shadows as the torches sparked to life. Draco's shadow fluctuated between tall imposing figures to disappearing as he marched towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Professor Moody flinched as he turned around. There was a flask in his hand. "Ah, Mister Malfoy. What brings you here?"
“Who are you, professor?” Draco all but yelled. “You’re not who you say you are. I know it.”
Moody hesitated to place his flask on his desk, his glass eye swiveling. “You look awful, Mister Malfoy. Why don’t you go to the Hospital Wing?”
"Who is Tonks to you? Because I’ve been writing to her describing you. She says she doesn’t think you’re acting like yourself. And Tonks respects you too much to not say those things lightly. And I know something’s up with you so… So who are you, professor? I know you’re not right. I’m certain, I’m not going to let you get away.”
Moody took too long to respond.
"ANSWER ME!” Draco demanded.
“Mister Malfoy, you’re acting irrational. Have you received some poor news? You should know better than to talk like that to a professor—“
Draco pulled out his wand, pointing it to Moody. "Don't pretend that you know anything about me! Or that you're a professor! I know something isn’t right. And..." His hand was shaking. "And I want it to stop. I want to stop it. I will stop it!”
Moody gave him a long look. "Mister Malfoy, I'm being patient but this type of behaviour is not normal. You're acting unreasonable."
"Stop! Say what you’re here to do."
Moody shifted his stance and he grinned crookedly. “I was sent because my father, and the Ministry for that matter, couldn’t handle the greatness of the Dark Lord."
"Hah! So--So you're working for--him." Then the information caught up to him. "Wait--You're with him? But you're--you used to be an Auror. Hold on, who's your father? What are you..."
"I was retrieved from my hiding place in order to restore the Dark Lord. And I have your father thank you for it, Malfoy."
“No. No, you’re lying," Draco shook his head. None of this was connecting correctly in his head. "My father has moved on. He wouldn’t…”
“Strange lies your father has been telling you.” Moody tilted his head. “Why would he shy away from telling you much when he’s doing all of this for you.”
Indignation seized Draco. “That’s a lie!”
“He’s told me himself. ‘My reward for my servitude will be that my son will be special to the Dark Lord. My family will be unpunished.’ It was about you.”
Draco wanted to protest again. His father wouldn’t do something so reckless for the sake of him, he was too careful. He was changing. But before he could, he found himself peeking into his father’s office, talking to his mother.
This is about our son! So that he doesn’t get this!
To once again swear allegiance… To that... madman.
“Clicked for you, hasn’t it?”
He needed to get out of here.
Draco turned and ran towards the door. He needed to get to Harry, Snape, Dumbledore—someone!
Moody slipped his wand into his hand and pointed it at Draco. "Imperio!"
Fletcher Nil wandered around the emptied corridors, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. He preferred the corridors when they weren’t packed with students who wouldn't just shut up over the lame Triwizard Tournament. What was even exciting about it anymore?
The Second Task was a bore, and the entire competition was entirely unexciting since public opinion on Harry Potter switched when everyone took pity on Potter’s heartbreak and his so-called bravery in rescuing two people from the lake. Of course when he was thriving that Potter's love life was in a worse state than his that Potter must cover it up with his positive news to maintain his overinflated ego.
Fletcher rolled his eyes. What a show-off.
He hated this school. He hated Potter, he hated--
Fletcher noticed a particular blond approaching and his mouth curled into a smirk. “ Malfoy ,” he called out.
He’s been trying to figure out where Malfoy's buttons were and he wanted to try out his theories. It was time for payback for having Pansy.
Malfoy breezed past him.
A rush of confused annoyance boiled within Fletcher and he hurried up to trail after the blond. “Er, hello? Hello ? Malfoy? Malfoy, don’t ignore me! Hey. Hey, look at me !” He yanked at Malfoy’s wrist and pulled the blond back.
“Yes, Nil? Do you need something?” Malfoy said tiredly, looking at Fletcher with an apathetic stare that he wasn’t at all used to.
Fletcher frowned, his gaze darting back and forth between Malfoy’s eyes, scrutinizing. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is. Is that all you needed?” Fletcher opened his mouth but Malfoy abruptly cut in, “Bye then.”
Malfoy took his arm back and continued down the corridor. Nothing felt particularly wrong with that interaction but it felt… strange.
“Freak,” Fletcher muttered, his brow still furrowed as he walked away.
Draco has never felt better, even when everything around him is trying to say different.
“So you've heard the news?” Terry asked when Draco when he finally found him at dinner. "Are you okay?"
Say everything is fine. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Act like everything is alright.
“Of course,” Draco said. “I don’t think my mind has been this quiet. It feels like… so much weight has been taken from me.”
His mind was muted, a steady stream of simple things. As if his head was underwater and the heavy weight of being a human was upon the surface. As long as Draco kept his head under, then this peace would remain.
There were brief moments where Draco felt himself trying to break to the surface of the fragile peace. During these moments, Draco would feel all sorts of dreadful and filled with panic.
THINK EVERYTHING IS FINE. THINK EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT.
Thankfully, these pass quickly and Draco would thankfully stay under.
A familiar, playful owl circled Draco and dropped a letter onto Draco’s toast.
My dear cousin Draco,
I’m finally done with big missions of mine! I haven’t really heard from you. Are you alright? I can come up there if you want? I can pass it off as Auror business.
Draco promptly replied that there wasn’t a problem in the first place and sent Tonks’ owl on its merry way.
Divination was a disaster. Professor Trelawney kept saying that Draco’s Inner Eye was the most cloudy she’s ever seen from a student.
“Has something tremendous happened recently?”
Draco frowned and tried to sift through his memories. “No, professor. Nothing has happened to me.”
Harry Potter stood in front of him, eyes hard and jaw locked.
“Can we talk?” Harry Potter gritted out.
That didn’t make Draco feel alright. Why did He have Harry Potter’s attention? He shouldn’t be getting attention.
“What do we even need to talk about? There’s nothing I need to say to you.”
Potter looked as if he was punched. For a brief moment, his face was devastated before it twisted into fury.
“I should’ve known,” Potter shook his head. “You’re cruel, you know that?” He slammed his shoulder into Draco’s as he left the blond.
Draco turned around to see Potter wiping at his eye and wondered what was that for.
Later that day, Draco felt something like himself trying to break out of his peace. As if another being inside his head was trying to escape.
THINK EVERYTHING IS FINE. THINK EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT.
The urge to escape disappeared.
It seemed like a blink of an eye when Draco saw Hogwarts once more dyed in champions’ colours, preparing for the Third Task. The castle buzzed with speculation and anticipation as the champions began to look more nervous as the remaining days dwindled and the task arrived at last.
The focus of the final task made every wired around him, especially Fleur with their usual walks around the castle filled with concerns about her performance.
“You do not understand, Draco,” Fleur said, rambling her last-minute nerves even on the day of the task. “I made a fool of myself last task! I cannot do zat again!”
“I’m sure you will do fine,” Draco soothed. “And you must get going soon.”
“I know zat! I just cannot focus.”
“Draco!” A woman jumped in front of them.
Fleur shrieked before pushing boldly in front of Draco. She pulled out her wand and held it in front of the woman. The woman had a soft lavender undercut that showed heavily pierced ears, her Auror robes battered with her badge missing a chunk.
“Tonks?” Draco tilted his head.
Fleur gaped. “You know zis woman, Draco?”
Tonks frowned at that. “I’m his favourite cousin. And who might you be?”
Fleur gathered herself and introduced herself.
“You a champion then? You should've been on the pitch hours ago.”
“Really?! I must go.” Fleur patted Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Draco.” The girl ran off in a flutter of pale blue and golden blonde hair.
“What are you doing here, Tonks?” Draco asked. "You shouldn't be here."
“I came to see you! I got worried by your letter. You were questioning all types of things about Moody then you tell me it’s fine?”
“Everything is fine. I was just being stupid.”
“Exactly. The cousin I know would never call himself stupid.” Tonks gave him a once-over. “Even now looking at you I feel something is off. Alright, where’s that classroom again? It’s been ages since I was at school.” She turned away to start walking.
“Tonks! Don’t disturb Professor Moody,” Draco said before an abrupt headache slammed into the blond.
“He’s not a professor to me so I think I can get a free pass.”
Draco’s quiet pleas fell on deaf ears as Tonks peeked at every door, muttering to herself until she paused in front of a particular door.
“Aha, here we are!”
Draco winced at Tonks' extravagant entrance to Moody’s classroom. Moody jumped and scattered a box of empty phials. A few shattered on the floor and the man cursed before looking at Tonks.
“Moody!” Tonks cheered. “Hello! Have you really haven’t written to me yet?”
Moody’s glass eye scanned Tonks as if he was trying to figure out who she was. “Apologies,” he settled on.
“Ah, it’s quite alright,” Tonks said. “Kids can be a handful. I sure was one. Of course, you of all people would know that, right?”
Moody’s tongue darted out. “Yes…”
“Course you do! I just found it strange… My cousin inquired about my old mentor and told me things that didn't make sense… Kept telling me things that Just to find out it was a joke all along… You didn’t teach me to be an idiot, Moody… Well,” Tonks shrugged. “If I should even call you that. So what did you do to Draco?”
Moody’s tongue darted out. “Nothing a professor can’t do.”
“Though I doubt it’s something that Moody would do.” Tonks’ wand slipped into her fingers. “So I’ll ask one more time; who the hell are you?”
Tonks yelled as she ducked, the wall behind her receiving scorch marks of a burning hole. She straightened to stare at the state of the wall.
Moody flicked his wrist again and shot another spell at Tonks who rolled away and crouched behind a desk. Tonks popped up and slung a spell at Moody and he was thrown back.
"Aurors--Always hated the lot of you!" Moody growled raggedly, pushing himself to his feet.
Draco curled into him and sank to the floor, a twisting pain festering in his stomach. His quiet surface of peace was being pounded at.
Moody was attacking Tonks. Tonks was his protegee, he would never hurt her. He shouldn't be using the spells he was to attack her--just like how he shouldn't have--used--used--The Imperius Curse.
THINK EVERYTHING IS FINE. THINK IT'S FINE, FINE, FINE, FINE!
Nothing was fine--Because his cousin was in danger--Fleur was in danger--Viktor was in danger--Cedric was in danger--Harry was in a danger.
Harry was in danger so Draco can't--won't think everything is fine.
He gasped as he felt the weight of his emotions and thoughts settled back into his shoulders. Clarity broke his sham of cursed stability.
Heavy hands grasped at him.
"Draco?!" Tonks cried, trying to flip onto his back. "Are you there? What's wrong? Whatever it is, fight it! I know you can!" She yelped and cradled Draco to her chest as another spell shot mere inches away from her head.
"Tonks, I'm fine. I need to get to Harry..." Draco heaved himself to sit upright.
There was another flash of light.
“I got this!” Tonks growled before Draco could say anything. “Get out of here! Get to the Tournament!”
Draco scrambled to his feet and rushed out of the classroom. His legs and lungs started to ache quickly, but he pushed on until he reached the Quidditch field. He skidded to a stop at the base of the field, taking gulps of air as he looked around. He spotted the champions’ tent and hurried over.
Draco burst from the tent flap and nearly cried in relief at the sight of Harry who was alone, glaring at his leather bracers he fastened to his forearms.
“Harry!”
“Draco?” Harry recoiled at the sight of the blond’s frazzled state.
“Harry,” Draco swallowed thickly. “Harry, you have to listen to me.”
Harry’s face blanked. “Can’t. I have to go. Besides, I’ve heard enough from you.”
“Harry, please. I know how I’ve acted before. I’m sorry. I can explain later but please.” Draco let Harry pass him but he followed after him. “This task is—“
Harry turned around and Draco almost ran into him. “I know what this task is. You don’t--I need to go.”
“No, you don’t. Harry, please, hear me out--” Draco laid a hand on Harry’s arm.
Harry ripped it out of Draco’s touch. “Draco! Just stop! Please. I-I don’t want to hear it. I’m still trying to--from the Yule Ball, the Second Task, Skeeter, and just you --I’ve never felt so—I just,” he rubbed at his eye in frustration, skewering his glasses momentarily. “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to you right now. Okay? I’m sorry.” He turned away.
“Harry,” Draco called out. He hurried to step in front of the boy. “Harry! Listen to me! You have to listen to me.”
“Move, Draco.”
“No! Listen to me!”
“I don’t want to! Why can’t you give me my space?!”
“This is important! Moody—“
“So what I feel isn’t important?”
“Harry, hate me all you want after this but you have to listen to me now.”
“NO! I don’t want to hear it! Just leave! ” He shoved past the blond.
Draco felt himself shake, frustrated tears burning behind his eyes as he glared at the ground. “I thought you said you’d trust me.”
The footsteps stopped.
“It’s not like I don’t,” Harry said. “But… I have to go.”
The footsteps started once more until they became inaudible.
It took Draco a long time to compose himself, dozens of emotions trying to squeeze his throat. He angrily wiped at the runaway tear, steeling himself as he tore out of his reprieve and sped towards the Quidditch pitch.
The crowd was keeping itself occupied as they wanted for the appearance of the champions. Dumbledore was waiting beside Minister Fudge and his group of Ministry officials.
“Dumbledore, come with me,” Draco pleaded, pulling at the professor’s sleeve.
Dumbledore looked to him, unexpectedly looking startled.
"What on earth? What's this boy doing on the field, Albus?" Fudge demanded.
“I beg of you. Moody. Moody’s working with the Dark Lord. Believe me.”
“T-The Dark--Young man, this is a poor joke. Especially during this--”
“Moody! He--He cursed me. ”
"Preposterous! I know Alastor and he'd never--"
Dumbledore held up a hand and Fudge closed his mouth. “Where is he?”
The classroom was in disarray. Desks were toppled, educational trinkets were in pieces on the floor, the walls had soot marks from spells, the large creature skeleton that was strung on the ceiling was crumpled on the floor.
Tonks was looming over a figure on the floor, her foot planted on their chest, her wand pointed with a singular focus. She was slightly heaving, her nicked cheek bleeding slightly.
An unfamiliar man was seething underneath Tonk’s foot, his eyes wild, his tongue darting out now and then.
“That’s….” Draco said.
“Barty Crouch Jr,” Dumbledore said.
Barty Crouch Jr’s eyes darted to the old man. “Dumbledore, how nice to see you once more,” he said. “Been a while, hasn’t it?"
"Junior, Azkaban didn't suit your taste, then? I'm sure the accommodations are better since the last time you've been there, but I'm sure you'll see them for yourself."
"It doesn't matter now. The Dark Lord's returned. He will finish what he started," Barty Crouch Jr looked at Draco. "And because of you, Lucius Malfoy has been proven to be the most helpful."
The world around him got enveloped with dark, his hearing got plugged, his blood felt like ice. His father helped Voldemort come back. Because of you, Barty Crouch Jr. said. He just made everything worse. How did this happen?
“Auror Tonks, please announce that the Tournament is no longer commencing," Dumbledore said.
“Yes, sir,” Tonks nodded. “Draco, with me."
He pushed down the urge to cry. He couldn't do that. Not now.
When they arrived in front of the Third Task maze, Draco’s feet almost went out from under him at the sight of Cedric Diggory on the ground, but Harry wasn't with him. Fleur and Viktor were looking on, trying to figure out what was happening.
Tonks' brow furrowed and she rushed to kneel at the boy's side. She gave him a once-over and sighed.
“He’s been Stunned,” Tonks said. “This part’s easy.” She pulled out her wand and pointed it at Cedric’s chest. “Rennervate. ”
Cedric’s face instantly scrunched and he groaned as he opened his eyes. He raised to his elbows, eyeing the many faces staring at him.
“I guess I lost then?”
Draco dropped to his knees, bracing his hands on the ground. A tension that Draco never noticed seeped out. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief. Cedric was alive. That was more than Draco expected and thought was going to happen this year.
“Come on,” Tonks urged Cedric up. “There’s more important things happening than some measly tournament. Cousin, help him sit down over there.”
Draco mindlessly let Cedric wrap an arm over his shoulder and settled him onto a nearby bench.
"Thanks, Malfoy, owe you one," Cedric managed a weak smile.
“Cedric what happened in there?” Draco demanded.
Cedric was taken aback at Draco’s sharp tone but he answered, “I don’t actually know. I remember running around and then hearing a sound. Then, someone said ‘Stupefy!’ and everything went black.” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Is it strange that I think it was Harry?”
There was a sweep of commotion and Harry collapsed onto the field.
The stands exploded in cheers and a band began to play until Harry bellowed, "HE'S BACK! VOLDEMORT'S BACK!"
And that was the final strike.
"I have to get out of here--" Draco said and left the Quidditch Pitch.
He's back, he's back, he's back, he's back, he's back, he's back, he's back, he's--
A hand grabbed his wrist.
Draco turned around and gaped ."Harry? How'd you--?"
“Voldemort… Voldemort’s…” Harry started. “I… Draco. I don’t even know how to—“ Harry went tight-lipped.
“We’re his supporters there?" Draco asked quietly. "We’re there people with him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see my father, Harry?”
Harry tensed. “It was dark. I didn’t—“
“Harry. Did you see my father?”
“Yes... He was there.”
Draco’s heart dropped. Barty Crouch Jr was telling the truth. His father returned to his Death Eaters duties. Because of Draco. He's back.
It’s your fault.
"Mister Potter? Mister Potter!"
They turned to see Minister Fudge, Tonks, and other officials hurrying over.
Draco tore his hand away and bolted away.
Memories that only suffered in Draco’s nightmares pranced around his vision. Dark red eyes, sharpened nails tapping against a table, Draco stepping in pools of blood and feeling like he’ll sink into them. Feeling like prey as the Dark Lord stalked around him as he quietly threatened to kill him.
He collapsed against a flagstone wall, white noise filling his ears as he wracked with guilt and fear. He brought his knees up and buried his face in his hands.
There was no way that he could continue being at Harry’s side... Or it was a wake-up call that he shouldn’t have stayed at Harry’s side the way he had. |
It was one in the morning when Stiles eventually crept home. He and Derek been so exhausted that they’d passed out and only woken up when Isaac set the fire alarm off trying to cook a pizza in the Hale’s dilapidated oven. Smoke detectors had been one of the few DIY projects Derek had thought to do. It was already past Stiles’ curfew and he flew out the door in a panic with barely a good bye kiss.
He was driving too fast. When you knew what every other car on the road was going to do and where every speed trap was it seemed pointless to stick to the limit. Stiles swung the car into the drive and quickly checked himself in the rear-view mirror. Did he look like he’d just spent the last four plus hours rolling around in bed having extremely kinky sex? A little. This was the problem with not having a buzz cut. He ran his fingers through until it looked slightly less like sex hair.
Damn! He’d left his tie at Derek’s. Well, at least it would be there for next time, thought Stiles barely able to supress a smile. Maybe next time he could get Derek to go on his knees as they later Stiles, later!
His phone chirped and he looked down to see a dozen missed calls from his Dad. The reception up by Derek’s was terrible and they must have only just got through. He clicked on one of the texts he’d sent.
Where the hell are you! Call me, please, just let me know you’re okay.
Stiles pocketed it and got out, heading straight for the house. His Dad had said he could stay out late for Jackson’s party, and he wasn’t that much later than he said he’d be. Not enough to warrant this amount of panic. Something wasn’t right.
“Hey Dad,” he called into the house. “Sorry I’m late. I only just got your messages, what’s up?”
His Dad barrelled out of the kitchen, gripping tightly onto his son.
“Thank God!” he said.
It had been a while since his Dad had held him like this, like that if held him close enough he could keep him there forever.
“I kept seeing you lying in a ditch somewhere and no one being able to find you,” said his Dad. “The others said they hadn’t seen you all evening. You weren’t at the party.”
“I know I got tied up in something, never made it. Did something happen at the party Dad?”
Trepidation was growing inside of Stiles. Were any of his friend’s hurt? They knew where he was, why hadn’t they just told his Dad? Because he’d been with Derek, that was why. They didn’t want to tell his Dad that ‘hey, Stiles is off engaging in kinky bondage sex with a guy whose six years his senior’.
“Yeah. You could say that. You remember that club night you were at the other day?”
“You mean Jungle? Yeah, I remember. Why? Did more people get sick?” A chill descended into the pit of Stiles’ stomach. He was right! He knew someone was targeting the pack. Now something had happened and Derek hadn’t been there because they’d been too busy screwing. “Is everyone alright? Scott, Isaac, the others. Are they all okay?”
“All your friends are fine, they left for a club or something before anything went down but I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe you’d been attacked by vicious drug dealers or turned up, been poisoned before anyone knew you were there and were in a coat closet somewhere slowly dying of some stupid purple flower.”
“I’m sorry Dad. If I’d have known I would have called straight away.”
“You’re here, you’re home, you’re safe. That’s all I care about right now. We can worry about curfew breaking in the morning.”
His Dad hugged him again and they walked into the kitchen together.
“What happened this time?”
“We got a call at about half ten. People were suffering from hallucinations and vomiting. It was some fancy shindig with Mr Whittemore, esquire. He was not happy. Someone linked the symptoms to the thing at Jungle and thought there might be something wrong. They were even less pleased when I suggested someone might be dealing bad drugs at their fancy ass party.”
Stiles laughed. He could just imagine Mr Whittemore’s face. No one would ever dream of dealing drugs at one of his parties, how dare the Sheriff suggest such a thing! The fact that it was near certain at least one person would be in a back room dealing coke was irrelevant.
“They’re all in hospital. It’s a lot easier to treat them now that we know what’s wrong with them. Now we just have to track down the source. This used to be a quiet town. Nothing interesting ever happened here. Now we’re the weird-ass murder capital of California, some crazy drug dealer’s on the loose and the only lead I’ve got is that one of the kids who was at Jungle the other night just had a Missing Persons report filed?”
“I thought they were all in hospital still?” asked Stiles.
“Most of them were but one of their group came in with just a headache. Now he’s gone. He was some straight laced office worker, near as I can tell. Nothing to suggest he’d be involved any more than just being out with friends, but it’s always the quiet ones. A smart dealer never touches his supply. Promise me something Stiles.”
“Anything Dad,” he replied.
“I don’t care if you boost cars, get drunk every night or sleep with all the guys I have ever arrested, you do not touch a single pill, toke or tab until we’ve got this sorted.”
“So I can after you catch the guy?”
“Stiles,” his Dad warned.
“Ok. I promise. No drugs. Not that I ever did anyway,” he added quickly. “I’m more a Jack Daniels and beer man myself. Take after my old man that way. Or so I would think as I have never had either of them at any point in my life, ever.”
His Dad gave him a little shove.
“Good. At least that has to get passed by the FDA.”
“Never boosted a car, either. Have to ask Lydia how to do that. As for sleeping with guys you’ve arrested…” Stiles trailed off waiting for his Dad to pick up the ball. When he didn’t Stiles carried on. “Do you believe me about Derek now?”
His Dad looked at the floor for a minute contemplating, then shook his head and laughed.
“You can try all you want but you’re not fooling me. I know how you work son. If you steal a car I will arrest you and ground you for the rest of your natural life. I was being sarcastic. I believe you are familiar with the principal.”
“Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t mean it’s not happening Dad.”
“Sure Stiles. Whatever you say,” his Dad laughed patting him on the back and walked away muttering about taking a shower.
Stiles leaned against the wall, suddenly very sad. He was beginning to realise that it wasn’t that his Dad couldn’t believe he was dating Derek, it was that he didn’t want to believe it. Was it the fact that the guy Stiles was dating was a twenty something year old who had once been in custody that bothered his Dad? Or was in the simple fact that it was a guy?
Stiles knew his Dad would never be one of those Dad’s who’d call him an abomination, throw him out on the street and never talk to him again just because he’d fallen in love with another man, but that didn’t mean he’d immediately join PFLAG and get a rainbow sticker on his bumper either. Stiles had known when they’d told him that he might take some time to come to terms with it all. It was a lot to take in and his Dad had said to his face he believed that there was no way his son could be gay, okay bisexual, but he’d expected his Dad to… well he wasn’t quite sure what he expected but it wasn’t this.
Stiles went up to his own room and listened through all of his Dad’s panicked messages starting from slightly concerned to downright frantic. There were a couple from his friends too, asking what they were supposed to say to his Dad. Should they say something about Derek? Did he need an alibi? Where was he?
The final message was from Derek. Erica had run over with the news, trying to get Stiles in person only to find he’d left five minutes earlier. He hit return call.
“Stiles,” Derek said. The sound of his voice made Stiles’ spirits lift. “Is everything okay? Scott told me what happened. Did your Dad flip out?”
“No,” said Stiles sadly. “He was just happy I’m okay. I’ll probably get grounded for a month when he remembers to be angry so it will have to be happy times at Casa de Stilinski for a while.”
“I can deal with that. What’s wrong? You sound sad.”
Stiles didn’t know what to say. His Dad might have a problem with him and Derek dating? That was not a conversation he wanted to have now, or ever in fact. He’d always been a fan of ignoring the big issues until they went away.
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired. You wore me out.”
Derek chuckled down the phone.
“I’m pretty exhausted myself. Your Dad have any idea who’s behind this?”
“No, he still thinks it’s a drugs thing. Warned me I’m to stay away from all drugs until this gets sorted.”
“You better,” said Derek.
“Don’t worry. The only thing I’m getting high on is you.”
“Thanks,” said Derek flatly.
“Whatever this is I think they might be targeting the pack. Forget the fact that is was wolf’s bane. Tonight, Jungle, Lydia’s. All three times the pack was there. Three makes this a pattern.”
“You think Lydia’s was related?” asked Derek.
“It was nearly a year ago, but it was the same stuff. I think we have to at least consider that all three are related.
“You are such a cop, you know that?” said Derek fondly.
“What can I say? Dad’s a Sheriff. Aunt’s in the FBI. Must run in the family.”
“It’s sexy. I like it.”
“I could always ‘borrow’ my Dad’s handcuffs,” said Stiles.
“Sure. Just make sure you get the keys as well. Tonight was fun, even if I did make you miss the party.”
“All things considered, probably a good thing,” said Stiles. He gripped his phone harder, thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong. What if the pack hadn’t left when they did? What if he’d been there, would he have stopped it? What if Derek had been there as well? “Could you promise me that you’ll be careful? I know what you’re like, you’ll rush into this to protect the pack without thinking it through and I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”
He had an image of Derek lying on Deaton’s table, the pack gathered round him howling. His eyes were open and cold while he held Stiles hand tightly, even in death.
Just your imagination Stiles, he told himself. Not a vision, just your imagination.
“I will if you will,” said Derek. “I know what I’d do if you got hurt. It wouldn’t be pretty.”
“Deal,” said Stiles. “I love you. You know that, right.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve been sure of in a long time, Stiles,” said Derek. “That and that I love you too.”
Stiles leaned into the phone as if somehow he could get closer to Derek through the handset. He didn’t want to hang up. He wanted Derek to come around and spend the night with him. He wanted to come down to breakfast tomorrow morning and have his Dad greet the two of them with a big pile of pancakes and a warm smile. He wanted so many things. Instead he whispered goodbye and hung up the phone. |
Mark shifted uncomfortably in the couch. Felix and Cry left the apartment in order for Mark and Sean to work things out. As much as Mark hated himself for what happened, he didn't know how to start. Sean was being distant both literally and figuratively, so he wasn't exactly any help. "I'm sorry," Mark said quietly. Might as well start with the basics. "I was a jerk and I didn't mean to do anything to you. I'm sorry, Jack. I really am."
Sean said nothing. Mark looked at him and frowned. This wasn't the Sean Mark was used to. Sean was always smiling or laughing. Instead he looked miserable and defeated. Mark racked his brain for something to say. Anything to fill the silence. "Do you hate me?" His voice was barely audible.
"Of course I don't," Sean answered in a similar tone. It was odd to hear his voice so silent. "How can I possibly hate you?"
"I can write out a list if you want." Mark was serious. "What isn't there to hate? I basically abandoned you every night, I barely talked to you, I-I pushed you down... You have every right to hate me. So why don't you?" Mark's voice rose to it's normal volume, possibly a little louder. He wanted Sean to hate him -- he deserved it.
Sean rubbed Chica's head. "I just don't see a reason to."
"I made you cry," Mark practically shouted, voice cracking. "I was a fucking idiot. I never paid attention to how you felt, I never even noticed. God, I'm so stupid..." He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms to them.
"It's okay --"
"No it's not! I treated you like trash for a month and when you tried to speak out about it I started a fucking argument with you. I wish I could take it back. All I want to do is take it back." Mark ignored how is voice broke. He didn't care. He just wanted Sean to be okay.
Sean was silent for a moment. His voice was too quiet when he asked, "Do you hate yourself?"
"Of course I do." Mark pulled his hands away. His eyes were red from holding in tears and pressing his hands against his face. "I was stupid and did things I shouldn't have. I hurt you. I'm not supposed to do that."
"You shouldn't hate yourself." That was all Sean said.
That was all either of them said until Cry and Felix came home. The couple gazed at the two on their couch in dismay. Their friendship was certainly not patched up, and didn't seem like it was going to be. Felix and Cry watched wordlessly as Mark left with a silent goodbye and thank you. Sean remained quiet the rest of the night. And he would be for the days to come.
Sean stayed with Cry and Felix for a week. During that week there was a constant gloom in the apartment and awkward silence. For once, Sean didn't mind. The police even came one day to tell them they stopped monitoring the area. Sam was clearly not returning and there was no point to waste their time. But they reassured them that they would not stop searching and to call immediately if Sam showed up again. Sean had nearly forgotten about Sam. Rather surprising considering the stab wound that caused him to limp.
He then began to wonder if Sam would start his rampage again now that the police were gone. What else could he possibly do to Sean? He had nearly put Mr. Morrison in his grave, he hindered Sean's walking as well as Cry's ability to speak, and even shattered the most precious thing Sean had. There couldn't possibly be anything else Sam could do other than kill him. And at this point Sean would welcome any death Sam had planned. He was a total mess without Mark.
Mark wasn't doing any better. He only left the apartment to go to class and he didn't showed up for work. Marzia tried calling several times out of concern for her friend, but he never answered. Then Suzy called for work related reasons, but he still didn't answer. Arin downright banged on his door with Suzy by his side. To no one's surprise, Mark didn't answer. Ross, Holly, Cry, Felix, Mr. Ash, whoever it was, Mark paid no attention to them. He ignored everyone. He didn't sleep, he hardly ate, he barely even took showers. He was a total mess without Sean.
The following week things got much worse.
Sean was hardly ever in the apartment anymore. Neither Cry nor Felix knew where he went or what he did. They just hoped it wasn't anything illegal or life-threatening. Mark stopped eating all together. He barely even had the motivation to get out of bed in the morning. Yet he did anyway. There was no way he was missing his classes, depressed or not. Their friends knew they had to do something, but they didn't know what could be done. How can you fix something that's been shattered?
One night, Sean left the apartment as usual. Cry, who was the only other person home at the time, could only wonder when he would be returning. Sean walked down the stairs with Chica in tow. He knew he would be walking for a while, but he would get there on time. He had been going there nearly every night since he stayed with Cry and Felix. Eventually, he made it to his desired destination. Right on time. He checked in with the receptionist, which wasn't Lindsay tonight, and then head down a familiar hall.
This was Mr. Morrison's hospital room. He had apparently been in a coma and only woke up last week. Sean then found out from Mrs. Morrison that Mr. Morrison had several third-degree burns all over his body. In the two weeks that Sean had been visiting, he became rather close to Mrs. Morrison. He learned that she was born in Australia and she had always wanted to teach since she was a little girl. She was also genuinely interested in Sean. She asked him several questions about how he did certain things, always apologizing if she felt the question was too personal. Sean didn't mind. He liked talking with her.
Sean also became closer to Mr. Morrison. There was something about not being in a school setting that caused their friendship to suddenly bloom. Sean told Mr. and Mrs. Morrison about being in the hospital himself, skipping the parts about who did it and how it was possibly linked with the fire. Mrs. Morrison was outraged that two students could be assaulted on campus — two disabled students at that. Mr. Morrison was disgusted with the knowledge, but Sean felt as if his teacher knew he was hiding the true story. He ignored the feeling and carried on with the conversation.
Time droned on and then Sean had to leave if he wanted to get home before too late. He said goodbye to the Morrisons and went on his way. It wasn't that late in the night, only nine-thirty. He would most likely get there around ten if he walked fast enough. But something about tonight was different from the other nights. Tonight felt eerie. Sean noticed that Chica began growling which made his skin crawl. "Well, I thought I'd never see you again, Jackaboy."
Sean became paralyzed. A voice was behind him. It was that rough voice. He flinched when Sam clasped his shoulders and spun him around. "Y'know it's rude to not face someone you're talking to." Sean could hear a smile. "How've you been? Did you really think I'd leave you alone? Be honest with me here, I really wanna to know."
Sean didn't say anything. His mind was flooded with panic and fear. All he could think about was running away. But he knew Sam would catch up to him. Sean wasn't a very fast runner, and with the wound in his thigh, he wouldn't get very far.
"Cat got your tongue, pal?" Sam's smile widened. "That's alright. I can tell you how I've been, since I already know what you've been up to. Oh, don't look so scared. Did you really think I'd leave you alone while I was gone? I have eyes everywhere, Jack. You know one of them, in fact."
Sean felt himself tremble. He had never been this scared before; he was completely alone this time. There was no Mark a phone call away, no Cry with comforting words, not even Lindsay with her eagerness to help. Sean was trapped.
"I take your silence as confusion. Who is this person, you might be wondering, well I'll tell you." Sam paused. Sean could only assume for a dramatic effect. "Does the name Aaron Ash ring a bell?"
"M-Mr. Ash?" Sean's voice shook. Not only out of fright, but out of anger as well. That son of a bitch was working with Sam?
"I believe he took the place of your beloved teacher, yes? Well, he owed me. It was just a happy coincidence that he was right where I needed him to be -- in direct contact with you. I wasn't sure at the time how to get back at you for giving my description to the police. But then Aaron started blabbing on about your boy toy and how handsome he was or whatever. So then I deiced to give Aaron the little push that he needed. Lo and behold, I ruined your friendship in under a month. Amazing, isn't it?"
Sean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mr. Ash only asked Mark out because Sam said so? So once again Sam was the source of all Sean's problems. "You...?"
"Of course me." There was that sickening smile Sean was getting tired of hearing. "I couldn't just let you go that easily. Now, when I discovered the state you two were in it was a pleasant surprise. But that's not enough for me, I'm afraid." He leaned closer to Sean as he said in a low voice, "I aim to ruin your life in anyway I possibly can."
Sean stepped back.
"And that's not the only thing." Sam stepped forward. "One of your friends has been keeping close tabs on you for me. His name was... Felix, wasn't it?"
Sean found himself unable to move once again. No, Sam was lying. Felix wouldn't do anything like that. "Y-you... you..."
"Is that all you can say?" Sam chuckled darkly. "He didn't give any information away willingly, of course. It took some... persuasion. You may be familiar with my ways --" Chica began barking suddenly. Sean instantly felt relieved that she was able to see his hidden hand signal. He heard Sam's shoes scrape on the sidewalk, possibly beginning his retreat. "You brought this on yourself, Jack." Then Sean could only assume he left after that.
"S-stop it, Chica. Everything's fine now." Chica stopped barking. Sean only wished the simple expression applied to him as well. |
They are, indeed, allowed into the remote compound that takes up nearly the whole side of a mountain next to Willamette National Forest in Oregon. Peter knows this is due to the power of Stiles’s magic, which constructed a mating bond so authentic that Peter has to keep reminding himself it is forced and temporary. While Chris and Peter had swapped clothes and bedsheets for the days leading up the trip, simple scent exchange would hardly have been enough to fool the Korhonens’ emissary.
She is tall and strikingly blonde and barefoot, even in the snow, but Peter knows instantly that she is nowhere near as powerful as Stiles. She “reads” their mating marks and nods at the intimidating alpha standing a few feet behind her.
Peter tilts his head in a sign of deference but not submission. “Peter Hale, eldest of the line, here as ambassador for the Hale-McCall Pack of Beacon Hills on behalf of True Alpha Scott McCall.” He grabs Chris’s arm and tugs him forward. “My mate, Chris Argent, eldest of his line.”
Alpha Korhonen steps forward. He is six feet, six inches at least and built like a semi-truck, thick and heavy and overbearing. His hair and his beard are mostly gray, and mostly braided. He looks like a reject from Game of Thrones, which Peter thinks does not bode well at all. Chris stands next to Peter, silent and still, his heartbeat and emotions locked down. So, perhaps, there was some small benefit to bringing a trained hunter to a high stakes game like this, not that Peter will ever admit it to his face.
“You bring a hunter into the heart of our den?” The alpha asks, pleasant and calm despite the hard tone of voice and flinty eyes. His betas, at least twenty of them, are spread out around them in a circle, quietly attententive to the tension in the air. Peter is sure there are more hiding in the trees.
“My mate. He’s not a hunter.”
Chris chuckles as if they are at a cocktail party. “That’s not what you said when I brought you that six-pointer last week.”
Peter works very hard not to roll his eyes, because this is the kind of cocky attitude they do not need right now.
But Alpha Korhonen cracks a smile. “Providing for you mate is an honor.”
Chris nods once in acknowledgement. The two men posture at each other for a brief moment before the alpha turns back to Peter.
“A brazen, bold move. I respect your alpha for this choice.”
Peter buries his surprise and just smiles. “The True Alpha is growing into a powerful man.” He pauses. “And a powerful wolf.”
Alpha Korhonen accepts the subtle threat with grace, sweeping a hand to point out a gravel path. “Guest quarters are a less than mile up the road. Emmy will escort you. We will hold negotiations in the morning.” He turns and walks off with long, powerful strides. The emissary and most of the betas flow after him in his wake, but one young woman stays behind. She’s thin, pale, and angry looking with a shock of red hair pulled back into — what else? — a heavy braid.
“C’mon.” She motions for them to follow and does not offer to help them with their luggage, not that Peter would have let her. The kid smells angrier than the situation warrants at this point, and that puts Peter on guard. It suggests the politics of the Korhonen pack might be more complicated than it first appeared — not that Peter can see any way to use that to their advantage. Yet.
Emmy leads them to a small but quaint cabin, which is the size of a postage stamp but has running water and electricity, then turns and disappears into the surrounding forest with only the spicy scent of animosity in her wake.
Chris goes inside and closes all the curtains and pulls down shades. They both know that at least one ‘wolf is nearby, listening in, but it is nice to have a semblance of privacy.
“That went better than expected,” Chris says, pointing at his forearm to mean the falsified mate mark.
“Maybe.” It’s as far as Peter is willing to concede. They are deep in enemy territory and just getting in through the gate is hardly a success. He’ll save that for when they get out. He stretches. “I need a shower after being on the road so long.”
Chris nods and busies himself with getting his toiletries out of his duffle bag. Peter figures that being quietly uncommunicative is probably their safest option, given their presumed audience, so just grabs his own things and heads into the tiny bathroom.
He walks out later, clean but still damp because there was not really room enough to dry off before dressing in his pajamas, and stops dead in his tracks. Furniture has been moved around (how did he miss hearing that?), booby traps installed over the front and back doors and all the windows, and a veritable battery of weapons strewn over every surface. He knew Chris had packed some weapons in his spare suitcase, but this is ridiculous.
“Are we being invaded?”
Chris shrugs and continues to tie what has to be mistletoe-laced rope (what the hell) between two chairs.
“Christopher,” Peter says slowly, waiting for Chris to look at him. “Korhonen is a huge pack. We didn’t even see half of his betas just now. If they attack, we’re dead.”
“You know what Scott and Stiles will do to them if they kill us.” He focuses on what looks like a cat’s cradle he’s making as some kind of ground-level foot trap. Peter admires the vagueness of the statement — enough information to intrigue anyone listening in with just a hint of mystery regarding the threat Scott and Stiles pose. Peter’s sure the comment is already being relayed to Alpha Korhonen as they stand there. He stamps down the admiration welling up in his chest.
Chis tugs at the ropes thoughtfully. “Anyway, this isn’t about fighting off the whole pack. This is about sending them a message that we won’t lay down and take what they want to give us. They will have a hell of a fight to pull us out of here if we don’t want to go. Negotiations will be on our terms, not the alpha’s.”
Peter concedes that is a damn good point by tilting his head a little. “I suppose it takes a hunter to think outside the box of our traditions.”
“That’s why you love me,” Chris says with a sardonic smile as he stands up and dusts his mistletoe-dust covered hands on his pants. Peter eyes them warily.
“You’re not getting into bed until you have scrubbed that crap off.”
Chris smirks. “Yes, dear.”
~~~~~~~~~
They are both grown-ass men pretending to be mated while under constant surveillance, so therefore Peter expects there to be no “we have to share the bed” drama when Chris gets out of the shower. He thinks perhaps he should have qualified that expectation with the caveat that he will have no undue physical reactions to their proximity.
Chris is dressed in some lumberjack-esque red long-johns onesie, which would be hilarious if it didn’t pull in all the right ways to verify that he is, in fact, not wearing any underwear underneath it.
Peter is deeply regretting his choice of wearing only boxer briefs to bed.
Chris does a quick visual check of all his defensive traps, turns out the lights then flops into bed like a teenager, all long, lean limbs jostling for space. It is only a full size bed with just enough room for two adults, and while technically — by weight and width, at least — Peter is the larger of the two, he scoots a bit closer to the edge to avoid random elbows and knees.
“I hate sleeping in strange beds,” Chris comments by way of explanation about five minutes later, when Peter is seriously considering just punching him unconscious.
“You are a hunter, haven’t you spent half your life camping out or sleeping in shitty motels?”
“I’m not Dean Winchester, Peter.”
“Would that I could be so lucky as to end up in bed with Jensen Ackles.”
Chris pauses. “I cut out the road travel when Ally was born.”
Peter doesn’t reply, but he takes the confession as it is meant, as a peace offering. He curls up on his side, facing away from the other man.
Chris whispers after another eternity of wiggling around. “What do you think Alpha Korhonen will do?”
“When we say no? I expect subtly threaten our pack. Or kill us and send our bodies back as a message. Perhaps both,” Peter sighs. Despite the distraction of his squirming around, Chris being next to him is comforting in a way that Peter barely remembers.
He misses being part of a real pack, of the emotional and physical connections that build up over time and effort. He had little love lost for his domineering alpha sister but her husband and their children and both of his older brothers, yes...he misses them. The weak, thready connections he has to his niece and nephew now hardly compare, and he never pushes it with them because he lost that right when he murdered Laura, insanity plea or no. It’s a pain that is old and heavy, not as sharp as his grief for his wife and son but still acute. He figures that is why it feels so odd that after all this time spent both abandoned and pushing people away that being in bed with someone and not touching them feels unnatural. His wolf wants to roll over and rub his scent all over Chris, to mark him.
Instead, he pushes his emotions back into their box and continues with the conversation. “I figure he’ll drown us in technicalities and negotiations before he gets annoyed enough to start threatening. What I’m concerned about is what he will do to try and throw us off our game.”
“Such as?”
“Who knows. These kinds of diplomatic parlays went out of style with Queen Victoria. Usually if Talia needed me to negotiate with a pack we’d just do a conference call, like civilized creatures.”
He feels Chris nodding, then squirming again.
“I swear to Fenrir if you don’t settle down and go to sleep I will smother you with your pillow.”
Chris sighs heavily before going still. “Yes, dear.”
Peter considers smothering him anyway. |
"Tsukishima?"
"King, I've been waiting. Where are y-"
"I think I'm lost."
"..."
"..."
Tsukishima sighs. "Text me some landmarks. See you."
-
Kageyama adjusts the scarf wrapped around his neck. The December chill settles itself over him like a blanket, freezing his limbs unless he keeps them moving. He is dressed in the warmest clothes he can find and by his feet is his school bag and an overnight bag, filled with everything he may need to stay over at Tsukishima's.
He still can't quite believe that Tsukishima kept his promise. Kageyama is used to throwaway words, empty promises made to the kid who keeps clinging onto people that will only let him down in the end. His dad promised to come home more often. His mom promised not to go home drunk anymore.
Lies.
But he remembers another promise.
Inside the club room, after another grueling practice, with a person who hated him-
“I don’t hate you…”
“You act like it.”
“Just take my word for it; I don’t hate you, okay?”
"King"
Kageyama looks up and sees Tsukishima walking towards him, dressed in nothing but a shirt, pants and shoes.
He frowns when he approaches. "Are you an idiot?"
Tsukishima scowls. "I really don't know what to feel about an idiot calling me an idiot."
Kageyama steps closer until there's only a foot of space between them. He tugs off the scarf from his neck and starts wrapping it around Tsukishima.
"What-" Tsukishima sounds breathless, cheeks flushed. "What do you think you're doing?"
"We're on the verge of winter. You'll freeze to death if you don't wear proper clothing." He steps back and the tilts his head, observing Tsukishima. "Better."
Tsukishima looks away, suddenly feeling hot. "Let's just go already."
They've only walked for three minutes when Tsukishima's house came into view. Kageyama has never seen it before. It's smaller than his and more on the traditional side. There are already Christmas lights hanging from it, blinking gold under the night sky.
Tsukishima pulls out a key from his pockets while Kageyama stares at the pretty, little wreath hanging on the door.
"Hey, you're not allergic to any animals are you?"
"No? Why are you asking?"
Tsukishima pushes the door open and something small and furry comes running and leaps on top of Kageyama.
-
Kageyama looks in awe as the kitten licks at his fingers. It's a calico with gray, white and brown fur and a broken ear. Bright green eyes look up at Kageyama as she nuzzles against his palm and licks it.
They're sitting out on the porch, leading out to the backyard. Kageyama has the cat curled up in his lap while Tsukishima watches them with a soft smile on his face.
"I didn't know you own a cat."
"It's Akiteru's, but she likes me better." Tsukishima reaches over to stroke her fur. "Isn't that right, Inu?"
Kageyama snorts. "Inu? You named your cat 'dog'?"
"She acts more like a dog than a cat. She pounces on people, likes playing fetch and she yips at other cats too."
Kageyama laughs. Tsukishima's fingers stop stroking Inu to stare at him.
"I've never heard you laugh before." Up-close, he mentally adds.
"That's because I don't have a reason to laugh that often." There's a dejected tone in Kageyama's voice that shouldn't hurt Tsukishima as much as it does, though he quickly cheers up when Inu licks Kageyama's palm and mewls against his hand. Kageyama looks down at her, face soft and fond and with a small smile on his lips. Inu climbs further up in his lap, paws resting on his stomach like a dog might. Kageyama plays with her paws, pulling her up a little closer and Inu licks Kageyama's nose.
Had Tsukishima not been Tsukishima he would have squealed at the sight.
He is saved by his mom calling them for dinner and he stands up to help her set the table. Kageyama follows him, cradling Inu in his arms, giggling as she bats at his nose with her tiny paws.
Don't squeal, don't squeal, don't squeal, Tsukishima repeats to himself.
-
Tsukishima can't get the image of Kageyama smiling out of his head.
It's the one of the few times he's seen him happy outside of volleyball. It keeps happening during dinner too, when Akiteru makes a joke or when his mother offers him seconds, Kageyama's lips would twitch into a small smile. There's a longing in his gaze when he watches Tsukishima's family and it makes Tsukishima wonder when was the last time he ever ate dinner with other people.
There's a touch on his elbow and Tsukishima meets his father's knowing gaze. He feels Kageyama's gaze on them when his father starts gesturing with his hands.
Kei, what about Tobio-kun's family? he signs.
Tsukishima starts signing back and Akiteru asks Kageyama if he wants to help him set-up the guest futon, steering him away from the conversation.
Dad abroad. Mom not around.
His father frowns. Always alone?
Thoughts of the Karasuno volleyball team come to mind, images of Hinata breaking down those high walls around Kageyama and the team following suit. He smiles unconsciously. For as much as he is called 'the solitary king' that name no longer applies right now.
Not anymore, Tsukishima signs. The team helps.
His father smiles. I see. Volleyball good for you both. He pauses. Tell Tobio-kun he welcome to stay anytime.
So his father noticed it too. Kageyama was tip-toing around them earlier, unsure if he was just intruding or not, unsure how to adapt to this unfamiliar environment. His father is assuring him he isn't and that Kei can tell him so.
I will. Thank you Dad.
And because Kageyama or Akiteru isn't here to see him, Tsukishima wraps his father into a loose hug before going up to his room.
-
They decide to shower and change into their pajamas before studying. Tsukishima is doing his homework on his bed while Kageyama does his on the futon set up on the floor.
After a few minutes of quiet between them, Tsukishima looks up. Something feels different. Usually Kageyama would ask him about every question and there would be a kind of cute scrunch to his nose when he stared at his homework as if challenging it to a duel. Right now, he's unexpectedly quiet and focused on his work.
“Who are you and what have you done to the King?”
Kageyama frowns up at him from where he’s laying on the futon with his homework. “I’m not sure either.”
“Really? You just happen to be smarter all of a sudden?”
“No, it’s more like.” Kageyama looks around Tsukishima’s room, at the the dinosaur collection on the desk, the neatly arranged books on the shelf and the mini stereo plugged in the wall. “It’s the environment I guess. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Where do you usually study at your house?’
“Um...on my bed? I mostly end up sleeping though. My desk is usually too messy to study on.”
Tsukishima gets a contemplative look on his face. “I think I have an idea what’s going on. You can’t study on your bed because you associate it with sleeping. And you can’t study at the club room or at Ukai-san’s shop because you associate both with volleyball. Does that sound right?”
“I guess it makes sense.”
“Putting you in a new environment must be why you’re suddenly sufficient.”
“Oh…” Kageyama is staring at Tsukishima in innocent wonder, like he’s Hinata who just complimented him earnestly or he’s Inu and just did something cute. He’s not used to having Kageyama look at him like that. It both unnerves him and makes him happy at the same time.
Tsukishima looks off to the side. “Looks like the only way for you pass tests is for you to study in a different place other than your house and at school.”
“Then, I’ll just study here with you.”
“W-What?” It must have been the wrong reaction because Kageyama flinches and quickly backtracks.
“I-I mean if it’s okay with you. I can always just go to Hinata’s even if his house is too far, or Yachi-san’s maybe. And there’s a cafe near our house that’s open all the time any-”
“No!” It comes out to forceful so he clears his throat and tries again. “I was just surprised. I didn’t think you liked being around me.”
“I used to,” Kageyama says honestly. “But it’s different now.”
“Different how?”
Kageyama suddenly turns red and it’s his turn to avoid Tsukishima’s gaze. “You’re kinda nice. When you try.”
Tsukishima is glad he’s looking away so Kageyama couldn’t see how he also turned red at the words. “Thanks. I think.”
Kageyama looks up at him again. Tsukishima rubs at his nose to hide the visible flush on them. “So is it really alright for me to be here?”
“Of course.” He remembers something from earlier. “My Dad actually wanted me to tell you that you’re welcome here any time.”
“Really?” Kageyama looks hopeful, surprised. “He said that?”
Tsukishima nods. “And my mom likes you. So does Akiteru. And I-” I like you too, even if you’re a volleyball idiot. “-Inu likes you too. I think you’re her new favorite. Should I be jealous?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t steal your cat.” Kageyama starts clearing away his books and notes. Tsukishima starts to do the same. “Plus, Mom won’t let me keep her anyway.”
“Is she allergic to cats?”
“No.” Kageyama pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, looking small all of a sudden. “She’s just not good at taking care of others.” Of me, is the unspoken thought that makes Tsukishima feel protective for some reason. “I don’t think adding a cat to our house will be beneficial. I wonder how she’s doing right now though. I hope she got home safely.”
Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. “You’re still worried about her? Even after all that?”
“Of course. She’s my mother. I love her.” Kageyama perches his chin on his knees.”It’s my fault she’s like this.”
“How...How can you say that?”
“I’m not enough.” Kageyama says it like he’s so sure of himself that it makes Tsukishima’s heart shatter hearing those words from him. “I’m not enough to give her a reason to stop drinking. I’m not enough to fill her loneliness when Dad left. I just...I just wish I could do something more. I wish I’m enough for her.”
Kageyama buries his pinched face on his knees, the most vulnerable Tsukishima has ever seen him.
It would have been the perfect time to say ‘you’re enough for me’, confess his love and end it with a kiss just like in the romance movies, but it sounds absurd to him. One declaration of love is not enough to fill years of loneliness and longing. Tsukishima wants to help him, but not like this, not by taking advantage of his vulnerable state. They deserve more than that. Kageyama deserves more than that.
“Come up here.”
Kageyama looks up. “What?”
“I said come up here.” Tsukishima moves across his bed, scooting against the wall.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Comfort? All I know is that the look on your face right now doesn’t suit you. I want to help.”
Kageyama doesn’t move for a few seconds and Tsukishima is about to snap at him when he suddenly stands up and just walks away.
Shit. He screwed up, didn’t he? Maybe he should have handled it more delicately. Maybe he misread everything. Maybe Kageyama still thinks he’s too much of an asshole to actually want to help. Maybe-
-maybe Kageyama just stood up to switch off the lights.
He walks back and places a knee on Tsukishima’s bed, hesitating. Tsukishima has had enough of waiting and just grabs his hand to yank him forward.
It’s hard trying to fit two grown boys on one bed. Tsukishima ends up on his back with Kageyama half on top of him. Kageyama’s hand is curled shyly against his chest, ears red and cheeks flushed.
“I know what I said doesn’t help much-”
“I’m still glad you said it.”
“Shush. I’m talking.” Tsukishima pinches him by the waist and he yelps, glaring up at him. “I’m not trying to change anything. I don’t even know where to begin, but I’m here for you, okay? The team is here for you too. We won’t let you be the solitary King again.”
It’s too much. Probably. The small smile Kageyama gives him is worth it though.
“You’re kind of a sap.”
“Fight me.”
They stay like that for a few seconds just absorbing each other’s presence. Kageyama eases the hand on Tsukishima’s chest until his palm is flat and he can feel the other’s steady heartbeat beneath them.
It’s in that moment that they come to the same realization. They’re friends. Maybe neither of them would admit to the other yet, but it’s the undeniable truth. A bridge was already built from the moment they met and now it’s finished, connecting the two of them not just as teammates but also as friends.
(However, Tsukishima has no plans of letting them stay friends for long. For now, he’ll let Kageyama control the pace of their newfound friendship. Letting him figure it out is better than being outright and possibly confusing him with so many new feelings at once.)
You can’t force someone to fall, you just let them fall on their own accord. Until that day comes, Tsukishima will patiently wait for him on the other side.
“Tsukishima?’
“Yes, King?”
Kageyama’s voice is soft, almost a whisper. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
Tsukishima reaches up and squeezes the hand on his chest. Their palms are warm where they meet.
“Thank you for staying.” |
It would have been nice if the NHL could have scheduled their bye week precisely for when Mitch and Auston would complete their confirmation. Like that would have been ideal. But life doesn't work like that. At least not Auston's life.
Instead after their deadline they have a packed schedule leading into the playoff push. But Auston is not waiting until summer to get laid. He's been patient. He needs this.
He also needs to get up. He can smell breakfast cooking in the kitchen and he can hear Mitch singing along to the radio. Auston smiles rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stretches his entire body out rolling himself over and out of bed. He's just wearing boxers so he grabs his discarded sleep pants and a crumpled t-shirt from the floor. Despite this being his condo and his room he's pretty sure it's Mitch's t-shirt. If he thought Mitch was the devious type he'd suspect he had purposefully planted huge amounts of his clothing around Auston's room. Sure enough when Auston glances over his shoulder he can see Mitch's name stretched tight across his back. It's not the worst thing.
He wanders out of his room and pads down the corridor scratching a hand through his hair which is sticking up at all angles. As suspected Mitch is at the stove, already dressed and wearing an apron, singing as he stirs the scrambled eggs. God, Auston can't believe how gone he is on this guy that his heart swells at the sight.
“Morning.”
Auston slides into his seat at the breakfast bar leaning forward on his elbows. Mitch spares the second to turn round and beam at Auston before turning his attention back to the food on the stove.
Auston is still chewing his last bite when Mitch whisks the plate away. He narrows his eyes and draws his mug to his chest inhaling the heavenly scent.
“So...”
“Auston Matthews, I seek your final confirmation that my offerings have been acceptable to you and that you will choose me to be your dominant.”
“I do. I mean, I choose you, wait...”
Mitch bursts into giggles of pure glee.
“I'm not a pokemon Matts.”
“Fuck off, you're mine now. No take backsies.”
Mitch leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on Auston's lips. He smiles. They get to do that now. Well, at least in private.
“How long until practice Mitchy?”
“Not long enough for anything fun.”
Auston rolls his eyes and glares at the back of Mitch's head poking his tongue for good measure.
“Not what I meant Mitchy.”
“No but, things are getting pretty busy so we might have to wait a while to get to the serious stuff.”
“Urgh, we picked such a bad time for a courtship.”
Mitch snorts shooting him a pointed look.
“Well if you'd waited five seconds after you found out courtship was a thing maybe we could have scheduled it for the offseason.”
“Excuse me for being excited.”
Mitch comes round Auston's side of the kitchen island and turns Auston's stool around so he can stand between Auston's legs. He stays close but just out of reach. Auston knows he's got something to say so he just waits. Mitch only gets slow and quiet like this when he is trying to order his thoughts and put them into the right words.
“I'm so happy you asked for this Matts. So fucking happy.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Mitch moves to step backwards but Auston catches his arms gently and holds him there.
“Mitchy...” He whines “I can't wait until summer to do anything. It could be June.”
“Hell yeah it's gonna be June.”
“But Mitchy...”
“We might not be able to do everything Matts but we'll still be able to do some stuff.”
“Fun stuff?”
“Very fun stuff.”
“There'll be lots of talking too though won't there?”
“Yup, before any stuff.”
Auston slumps his shoulders a bit before looking up hopefully.
“We don't have a game today, just practice.”
“We do have a game tomorrow though.”
“So just something mildly diverting then.”
“I might have some ideas.”
By all rights he should be really distracted at practice. The thought of what they could be doing, what they're going to be doing should be overwhelming after waiting for so long. But Mitch clasps a hand on the back of Auston's neck while they're sat in the car in the parking lot. He squeezes until Auston raises his eyes to meet Mitch's gaze.
“Have a good practice Matts. And you'll get your reward this afternoon.”
Auston bites his lip and watches Mitch track the movement. Yes, this afternoon will be the reward. The start of all the good stuff that comes with his dynamic. He's spent the majority of his life trying to push his instincts down but now he gets to enjoy them. He gets to enjoy the feeling of releasing his control. He's never met someone he would trust to give that power to, other than Mitch.
Practice is good. Really good.
If Auston is performing a little for Mitch, well, no one needs to know. He can feel Mitch's eyes on him during the whole practice. He pulls a killer toe drag through the legs shot in the shootout drill that makes the whole bench go wild. Babs would probably chastise the showboating but it's worth it for the heat in Mitch's eyes as he gets fist bumps from the bench. Marty just shakes his head and face washes him. He blatantly knows what's going on but Auston is too excited to care.
The locker room is crazy afterwards. There's music blaring and somebody is singing along badly. There's yelling and rough housing. There's dancing and dabbing. Everyone seems to have taken the mood from the ice straight into the room and Auston can't stop smiling. Mitch is staring at him grinning broadly. Auston showers slowly making sure to scrub his skin of dirt and sweat and grime. He doesn't want to have to shower again when he gets home. Two in one day is probably enough without having to add a third. And he will definitely be needing to take a shower after he and Mitch are done. When he comes back into the room a few of the guys have already left. Mainly the older guys.
“You joining us for lunch Matts?”
“Nah.”
Auston shrugs Willy off without even looking up at him.
“You got better plans Matthews?”
Auston smirks looking up from pulling on his shoes.
“Yeah, I do. Hanging out with Mitchy.”
“Bro date?”
“Something like that.”
Willy looks a little sour but Zac, Brownie and Kappy are there to distract him and Auston slips out of the room with Mitch following quickly behind him. They don't talk as they walk to the car. They don't talk as they get in. Mitch picks the music. He always does. He puts on a new playlist. It's soft and slow. Relaxing. Auston raises an eyebrow. He knows Mitch's moves. He knows it's on purpose. But they don't talk while Mitch drives them home. Auston can feel the nerves building. He can feel his knee jiggling and the butterflies stirring in his stomach. It's not like he hasn't had sex before. Well not with a guy but still. He's no virgin. But this is different. He knows they're not going to get to do anything really serious tonight but it still feels like a big deal.
Mitch is driving slower than normal. More carefully. And it's driving him insane. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the headrest. He just wants to get there. He just wants to talk it out and get on with it.
He definitely doesn't doze off but before he knows it Mitch is opening his door and they're at his place. Auston blinks before taking Mitch's proffered hands and pulls himself out of the car. He follows in silence into the building and up the elevator into the condo. Mitch pulls him onto the couch and hands him a gatorade and a take-out box.
“I stopped for food. We need to eat.”
“Then talk?”
“Yep.”
“Then fun?”
“Yep.”
Auston smiles. He opens the take out box and begins to wolf down the noodles inside. He's starving and Mitch knows his favourite orders. Mitch eats too. Slowly. Too slowly for Auston's liking. They might have all afternoon but Auston just wants to get started.
When Mitch finally finishes his food he picks up the take out wrappers and moves them into the kitchen. Auston leans back into the couch and sips at his gatorade. He probably isn't going to enjoy the talk. He doesn't like a whole lot of talking. He's more of an action kind of person. But he knows this is important to Mitch for like the safety process or whatever.
“So.”
“What do we even need to talk about Mitch?”
Mitch rolls his eyes and sits down next to Auston. He takes one of his hands in his. It's an oddly tame and sweet gesture given the conversation they are about to have.
“We need to talk about safewords and check ins. We need to talk about what we're going to do as well”
“I thought the point was just for you to be in control.”
“Doesn't mean I can just do whatever I want. That's not safe or you know consensual.”
“But I'm letting you. It's okay.”
“It might seem okay but it's a pretty advanced thing to just let your dom do whatever they want. We should work up to it. We should plan it out for now.”
“Whatever. So like do I have to pick a weird safeword, like pinaeapple?”
Mitch giggles and shakes his head.
“You can if you want. Or like just use the traffic light system.”
“Red means stop, green means go?”
“Yellow means slow down.”
“Cool, got it.”
Mitch can call him on his shit with just a look and Auston smiles. He knows he's pushing it. He's not into the whole brat thing. But sometimes it's a little fun to push Mitch's buttons.
“Obviously if you're not okay with something you can use your safeword. And this is where the trust thing has to go both ways. You have to trust me to stop and I have to be able to trust you to tell me if you need to stop, okay?”
“Okay.”
Auston nods. Mitch isn't serious very often so when he is Auston knows it's important. He doesn't think he'll have a problem using his safeword if he needs to. He might be a bit over anxious to safeword if he's honest.
“I'll ask you to check-in and I'll squeeze your shoulder okay? It's good to have a verbal and non-verbal gesture just to make sure.”
“Okay. So what have you got planned for today?”
Mitch smirks. He reaches into a bag by his feet at the bottom of the couch. Auston hadn't even noticed him bringing anything in.
“What's this?”
Mitch hands him a set of leather cuffs. They are padded on the inside and a soft buttery leather on the outside in a deep plum colour. The brass fittings make clear their purposes and Auston can feel a rush of heat hit him in the gut. Yes. Yes, he wants this.
“Well, I'd planned on cuffing you, just by the wrists, to the bed.”
“And...”
“Well I had an idea.”
Mitch looks down and fiddles with Auston's fingers. Auston just waits.
“You can tell me what you want Mitch. I can always say no.”
Mitch smiles softly.
“Well, I thought I could introduce you to edging.”
“Edging... was that on the list?”
“Yeah, I think the list called it orgasm delay. But basically I'd cuff you to the bed and just, like blow you until you're about to come and then hold back and just keep doing it. It can be quite intense but I'll be careful and I won't take it too far.”
“Wait, you're going to blow me?”
“Yeah, trust me it'll feel submissive to you when you're on the receiving end.”
“Okay. That sounds...” Auston swallows “...good, yeah really good.”
“And do you want to wear a condom or...?”
“For a blow job, are you kidding?”
Mitch levels him with another of his serious looks and Auston rolls his eyes again.
“Look, Mitch. I've had my dick sucked before and I've never worn a condom for it. But anyway we were both tested and we were both clean and this relationship is just between the two of us so like, I was thinking no condoms. For anything.”
Mitch nods, biting the corner of his lip like he's trying to hold back his grin.
“Is there anything else we need to talk about? What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, how are you planning on getting off?”
“I figure I'll probably just jack off. It won't take long.”
“That feels a little unfair.”
“Trust me, Auston, I'm really going to enjoy this. There is nothing unfair about it at all. I can't even believe I get to do this. So really don't worry.”
“Okay, so chat over?”
“Yes Matts, chat over.”
“Good, let's go.”
Auston stands up and still holding onto Mitch's hand drags him up too. He marches them into the bedroom where he turns to face him.
“So, like, if you want to tell me what to do, just like in terms of what we've talk about. I'd be into that.”
Mitch's eyes darken and he wets his lips with his tongue nodding almost imperceptibly.
“I want you to strip. Quickly.”
Auston shivers but he complies right away. He was only wearing post-practice workout gear; sweats and a t-shirt ,so it took him barely any time until he was down to his boxers. He looks up at Mitch as he toys with the hemline of his boxers. Mitch has, of course, seem him naked before but this is different. The context makes it different. Mitch nods and Auston takes a deep breath before pushing his boxers down his thighs and stepping out of them. He's already half-hard just from the anticipation and he drinks in Mitch's appreciative gaze.
Mitch takes a step towards him and he's holding the cuffs out. Auston holds out his wrists and Mitch undoes the buckles and opens the cuff. He wraps it around Auston's wrist and fastens the clasp. He slips two fingers under the leather and tugs gently.
“Is that loose enough, it doesn't hurt?”
“No, it's good.”
Mitch fastens the other one the same.
“Lie down on the bed, on your back.”
Auston lies down, wriggling into the middle of the bed trying to find the most comfortable spot. Mitch has already stripped the comforter so Auston is just lying on the sheet.
“Put your hands above your head.”
Auston shuffles down the bed a bit and raises his arms above his head. Mitch has taken his shirt and pants off but is still left in tight black boxer briefs. He climbs onto the bed and straddles Auston's waist. He can feel the weight of Mitch across his abs and he can't help a slight whine escape his throat. Mitch catches his eye and smiles before leaning forwards to attach his cuffs. He pulls Auston's wrists together and fixes them together before attaching them to a d-ring on the headboard itself.
“Pull.”
Auston pulls his wrists down but the cuffs stop him almost straight away.
“Is that okay, doesn't hurt?”
“It's good Mitch.”
Mitch nods before stilling completely. He reaches a hand out and squeezes Auston's shoulder.
“Check-in?”
“Green. Soooo green.”
Auston looks Mitch right in the eye. He is so sure about this, about Mitch, he is so ready. And he knows this is a big deal for Mitch too but he just can't imagine this not being good.
Mitch seems satisfied and moves himself off Auston and the bed completely.
“Spread your legs.”
Auston does so shamelessly letting Mitch look down the length of him. He is fully hard now and practically aching to be touched. Mitch doesn't move though. He just looks. For too long Mitch doesn't initiate anything and Auston thinks he's going to go insane if Mitch doesn't do something right now. Whatever Mitch is waiting for must pass because suddenly he's all movement, crawling up from the base of the bed to settle on his knees between Auston's thighs. He strokes his hands gently up and down the soft skin of Auston's thighs occasionally letting his blunt nails scrape slightly.
Auston's breathing is short and he bites his lips to hold in another whine.
“I want to hear you.”
Mitch's hands move up over his hip bones and start stroking down his abs. Auston can't help but tense up and Mitch traces the cut of his muscles leaning down to lick the path traced by his fingers. He continues to run his fingers further up, taking good care to keep his body propped up and away from giving Auston any attention where he really wants it. He strokes around the sensitive skin of Auston's nipple before taking the other into his mouth and sucking hard. Auston can't help or control the moan he lets out bucking his hips up trying desperately to get the friction he needs.
Mitch kisses a path up his chest, his collar bone, his neck before nibbling on his ear lobe and whispering into his ear softly,
“God Matts, you have no idea how sinfully good you look cuffed to my bed. You sound so good moaning for me. I can't wait to suck your cock you're going to feel so good I promise.”
He presses a quick and dirty kiss against Auston's lips thrusting his tongue against Auston's before pulling back and staring Auston in the eye. Mitch's pupils are blown out with desire and it's a heady feeling knowing that it's because of him.
Mitch crawls back down the bed pressing kisses to every inch of his body as he goes until he ghosts past his dick and presses soft, slow, sucking kisses to the inside of his thighs that are sure to leave marks. Auston's breathing is coming in quick, wet pants moaning and whining in a way he is sure he should be ashamed of. But he feels only the peace of surrendering his control to Mitch even if Mitch seems determined to tease him into begging. Maybe that's what Mitch wants, what he needs.
“Please, Mitch... just”
Mitch stops and pops his head up. He reaches up and squeezes Auston's shoulder.
“Check-in?”
“Green, god Mitch, green. I just need more, please.”
Auston opens his eyes to catch Mitch's hungry gaze. He bites his lip and his eyes roll back. He feels the heat of Mitch's predatory look. Mitch wants him. Mitch likes this and Auston can't imagine feeling any better. Until that is Mitch drops a hand to stroke up the length of Auston's dick keeping his eyes locked on Auston's watching his reaction.
After barely a second Mitch lifts his hand off of him and Auston groans in protest but Mitch has a plan. He drops back down Auston's body and runs his nails bluntly over Auston's side whilst lightly trailing his tongue up the length of him. Auston almost shouts when Mitch goes from light touches to sucking the head of his dick sharply into his mouth. He arches himself up off the bed and Mitch must have known it would happen because he pulls back and taps lightly at Auston's thighs.
“Sorry, shit sorry, Mitch, I...”
Mitch pats again at his thighs and applies some more pressure to Auston's hips.
“I've got you Matts.”
Mitch goes straight back to sucking his dick into his mouth sealing his lips around him and laving his tongue over the underside of his dick. Auston is panting heavily barely able to string a thought together. Mitch pulls back circling his tongue around the head of his dick whilst jacking the rest with his fist. He moves his mouth back down onto Auston's dick and begins to pick up the pace bobbing his head and keeping the suction tight. It's all Auston can do to keep his hips on the bed pulling at the restraints and pushing his head back against the pillow. He feels all of a sudden right on the very edge his breathing ragged and his balls tightening before Mitch pulls off completely and sits back on his heels.
Auston whines shamelessly. He's not going to be able to take this. He's not going to be able to hold back.
Mitch puts a hand flat against Auston's stomach and he naturally tenses. Mitch strokes him slowly and Auston feels his breathing begin to slow and his muscles release their tension. He feels floaty like the edges of subspace are approaching but not like he's going completely under. Mitch settles his hands on Auston's thighs. He concentrates on the feeling of Mitch's hands connecting them, grounding him. He breathes deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth.
“Good. Matts, Auston, man, you're doing so well. I'm so proud of you.”
Auston moans, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Mitch starts to move his hands slowly up and down, stroking Auston's thighs lightly. He leans in and kisses Auston's stomach dipping his tongue into the cut of his hip and following it down to where Auston really wants him. He curls his hand loosely around the base of Auston's dick and slowly swirls his tongue around the head. He squeezes his hand tighter and begins to jack him off sucking the head of Auston's dick into his mouth all sloppy and wet and perfect. Auston suddenly right there and groans deeply tensing his thighs and... Mitch pulls off again and Auston pants weakly.
“You look so amazing Matts. You're so good. So good for me.”
Mitch whispers words of praise as Auston tries to calm his breathing. The sooner he calms himself down the sooner he can cum. Mitch strokes his thighs again and Auston breathes deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. In through the nose out through the mouth.
“So good.”
Mitch keeps working him up to the edge quicker and quicker and pulling him back down again with calm and steady touches. He gives in to the pure sensation of being so close to falling over the edge but allowing Mitch to hold him back every time. Letting Mitch control him and his pleasure, letting Mitch dictate the pace and know just when to pull him back and how to calm him down until he's ready to build it back up again. He loses count of how many times he reaches the edge and how many times he comes back.
Auston almost feels like he's never going to cum he's just going to pass out from the pleasure.
“Matts, you're doing so well for me, I'm going to let you cum this time okay? Just relax.”
Auston lets out a shaky sigh barely able to summon a sound. He's so ready. Mitch has got this.
Mitch takes him back into his mouth sucking tightly and bobbing his head down and up tracing a vein with his tongue. He takes Auston deep into his mouth. He doesn't stop, he takes a deep breath through his nose, relaxes his throat and swallows Auston into his throat. He grips Auston's hips tightly holding himself down with his nose pushed into Auston's skin. His throat convulses around Auston's sensitive dick and it's all too much all of a sudden and Auston's cums with a shout pushing his hips against Mitch's hold.
He flops back breathing heavily and letting the fog take over. He's minimally aware of Mitch kneeling up, straddling Auston's hips, shoving his boxers down and jerking himself furiously. It's a heady feeling that Mitch takes barely any time before he cums across Auston's chest and abs. He pitches forward onto all fours over Auston panting heavily. He presses a kiss to the hinge of Auston's jaw pulling his ear lobe in between his teeth and swiping away a hint of wetness from Auston's cheek.
“So good, Auston. You were so good for me.”
He reaches forward and undoes the clasp of the cuffs releasing Auston's wrist. He pulls the cuffs off entirely and rubs the skin of Auston's wrists. He manhandles Auston pulling his arms down and massaging his biceps and shoulders. Auston goes pliantly wherever Mitch pushes him his eyes hooded and his breath still ragged but slow. Mitch curls himself up behind Auston wrapping his arm tightly around his stomach rubbing his cum into Auston's skin.
“Shhh, we'll sleep now and eat after.”
Auston pushes himself backwards into the warmth of Mitch's body. He sighs gently and tips his head back onto Mitch's shoulder. He turns his nose into his neck, breathes deeply and passes out.
He comes to with Mitch stroking his chest and whispering inaudibly into his ear. He wriggles in Mitch's embrace and sighs contentedly snuggling in closer.
“Hey.”
Mitch says softly squeezing him tighter.
“You okay?”
Auston nods turning himself in Mitch's arms and pushing his face further into Mitch's neck pressing his lips into the warmth of the skin.
“I'm good. So good.”
“It was good for you?”
“Are you kidding Mitch, it was incredible.”
Mitch practically purrs and kisses the top of Auston's head.
“We should get up.”
“Mmm, let's just stay here for a bit. Like this.”
Auston feels Mitch's laugh shake his entire body and he frowns up at him, pouting slightly which only serves to make Mitch laugh more.
“Fine. We'll get up.”
Auston rolls over and off the side of the bed pushing himself up. He raises an eyebrow at Mitch laying sprawled across the bed shamelessly admiring the bruises on Auston's hips and thighs, the nail marks on his sides and the dried cum on his chest.
“You going to help me clean up?”
Mitch nods eagerly and jumps out of bed. He leads Auston by hand into the shower and crowds in alongside him. He soaps him up and rinses him off taking care to stroke his wrists, his hips and his shoulders. Once they're out of the shower Mitch wraps a fluffy white bath sheet around him and dries him down. He passes him a pair of plaid sleep pants and a Marner t-shirt. Auston follows him out into the kitchen and Mitch hands him a bottle of gatorade and a blueberry muffin. Auston tucks himself into the corner of the couch and nibbles at the muffin smiling up at Mitch. He is still a little fuzzy around the edges, happy and sated and good. Mitch moves over to the couch as well and sits down next to him ripping open a bag of skittles.
“We should call Marty in a bit.”
“If we have to.”
“We should. Check in with him just so he knows everything is okay.”
“It was, then, I mean, okay for you?”
“Are you kidding? It was freaking perfect Matts.”
Auston can't help grinning at Mitch between bites of his muffin and reaching out to clutch at Mitch's hand. He feels great. He feels settled and centred. He feels like he could take on the world right now; score a hatty past Carey Price, fight Zdeno Chara, bring the cup back to Toronto. Anything. With Mitch by his side he's limitless.
|
It was nighttime. And it wasn’t Phil’s fault that he couldn’t sleep, it just so happened that every time he closed his eyes he was struck with images of Dan disheveled and panting, his face screwed up in pleasure, and then he was very much awake again. Phil wasn’t a stranger to sleepless nights either, that much was for sure, but he almost couldn’t stand it. He was in a state of drowsy half-hardness, and he wanted nothing more than to see Dan again.
Of course, it was then that Phil came to make a great decision. It was Dan’s fault that Phil couldn’t sleep, after all, so why shouldn’t Phil force him to brave the night with him? (To be perfectly honesty, Phil knew he was just making excuses for wanting to see Dan, but it couldn’t be helped.)
And so it was quietly that Phil snuck out of bed, pausing only to pull on a baggy pair of pajama bottoms and the closest shirt, before he crept out of the dorm. His wand was tucked in the waistband of his pants (his actual wand, mind you. He wasn’t that hard) and he kept his hand on the handle of it as he made his way through the Slytherin common room, prepared for trickery of any kind. It wasn’t unusual for Slytherins to hex each other if they caught one another for sneaking out. Usually it was under the ruse of “avoiding losing house points” but it was actually just an excuse to try out whatever jinx you’d been dying to use.
Thankfully, no one was lurking in the common room, and Phil made it into the corridor safely. Though leaving Slytherin would probably be the easiest part of his journey, seeing as he’d still have to sneak his way through various parts of the castle, manage to avoid both Filch and Mrs. Norris, and then, of course, figure out how to get into Gryffindor House. Phil was choosing to postpone the inevitable, however.
It was with great caution and unease that Phil journeyed through abandoned corridors, on one occasion ducking into a classroom to avoid Peeves. The castle was eerily dark and silent, and his quiet footsteps sounded thunderous in the corridors.
Phil breathed a sigh of relief when he finally made it up multiple staircases and arrived in front of the familiar portrait, from his one occasion there before. He’d made a wrong turn at the last staircase, and ended up standing in confusion at a dead-end, before having to backtrack and eventually end up where he wanted to be.
The fat lady was sleeping, occasionally muttering in her sleep, and Phil stared uneasily at the portrait. Even if he did manage to guess the password, would she let him in, knowing he wasn’t a Gryffindor? And further more, if she was willing to do that, would she still do it if he had to guess a string of passwords before he actually got it?
Deciding to take his chances, Phil cleared his through quietly. “Excuse me,” he whispered before prodding the painting lightly. The fat lady snorted in her sleep, jerking to the side and wrenching her eyes open.
“Who goes there?” she demanded. “And why are you out wandering so late? You should be in bed!” she insisted, and with that, she swung open, eyes already shutting closed again.
Not believing his luck, Phil scrambled through the portrait hole, pausing to examine the cheery common room. Everything was so red, it was like they needed the color as a constant reminder of what house they were in. Then again, Phil thought, they were Gryffindors, and they definitely had more brawn than brains.
Phil glanced towards the stairs on either side of the common room (conveniently labeled girls and boys) and made towards the boys’ one. It was as he was climbing the stairs that he pondered what he was even going to say to Dan when he woke him up. What his excuse was going to be. How was he going to explain how he’d broken into the Gryffindor common room? And further more, wouldn’t he feel embarrassed having Dan know that he’d done it just to see him?
Pushing his faint embarrassment and discomfort out of his mind, Phil forged onward. Besides, it was too late to turn back now. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that this entire endeavor had been an entirely too Gryffindor-like thing to do. Here he was, acting impulsively and risking his own skin, all for Dan. He’d obviously been spending too much time in the Gryffindor’s company. Distantly, Phil wondered if Dan had found himself picking up any Slytherin-like tendencies.
The door creaked open quietly when Phil pushed it, and he paused anxiously at the doorstep, debating wrapping his Slytherin coat right back around his shoulders and escaping, before he forced himself to calm down. Nobody had awoken, and Phil walked further into the room, tip-toeing towards Dan’s hangings.
Tentatively, he pulled them open, careful to keep his movements slow and quiet. His eyes fell on Dan, the moonlight filtering through the dorm enough to let Phil see him, and he smiled. The blanket was pulled up to Dan’s chin, and he was curled into a ball, only his head visible. His mouth was hanging open slightly, his currently curly hair falling into his face.
“Hey,” Phil whispered, leaning further into the hangings, his body now blocking the moonlight. “Howell. Wake up.”
Dan continued to snooze on, and Phil retrieved his wand from his waistband, using it to prod Dan’s sleeping figure a few times.
“Hm?” Dan made a noise in his sleep, and his breathing hitched slightly when Phil poked him again. Finally, his eyes opened and he took a moment to come to his senses, seemingly realizing he wasn’t alone.
Dan gazed up at him, his eyes squinted and tired from sleep. “Lester?” he muttered, and Phil smiled.
“Yeah.”
“What’re you doing here?” Dan asked, and Phil opened his mouth, but Dan continued. “Sex?”
Phil had a hard time containing his laughter, desperate not to wake Dan’s dorm mates. Still, a healthy amount of choked laughter escaped him as he shook with amusement.
“No,” Phil said, finally calming down.
“That’s usually what we do in these dreams,” Dan murmured, his eyes sliding shut again. Phil wasn’t about to let him go back to sleep, not after all the effort he’d had to go through to get up here.
“Well this isn’t a dream,” Phil informed, and Dan’s eyes slowly opened again, fixing on Phil.
“What?”
“You’re not dreaming.”
“Damn,” Dan muttered almost silently. “I like those dreams.”
Phil laughed into his hands once more, and Dan’s body stiffened as he actually began to wake up, seemingly realizing what he’d just said. “I’m really not dreaming?” he whispered.
“Come with me,” Phil responded. “It’s your fault I can’t sleep.”
Dan breathed heavily through his nose, his fists coming up to rub at his eyes. He sat up, the blanket falling down too pool around his waist, his chest bare. Finally he climbed out of bed, stumbling slightly and yawning, but surprisingly not protesting.
“Find my pajamas,” Dan commanded, and Phil rolled his eyes as he dug through Dan’s trunk, getting him a similar pair of pajama pants to his own, and grinning as he handed him a pink shirt, one that’d come from Phil in the first place.
Dan didn’t even seem to notice what he was pulling on, his eyes still being closed, as he dressed practically asleep on his feet.
Thankfully, he opened his eyes to navigate his way out of the dormitory, following behind Phil at a slow, shuffling pace.
“Where are we going?” Dan questioned, and Phil shrugged his shoulders.
“Sometimes when I can’t sleep I go to the astronomy tower, but we can go somewhere else,” he said.
“I think we should go to the astronomy tower,” Dan breathed, his voice shaky, as they climbed out of the portrait hole, one after the other.
Phil paused. “What?”
“I think we should go.”
“But you don’t like heights,” Phil protested. “I really don’t mind going somewhere else. We could even stay in your common room if you’d like.”
“No, let’s go,” Dan said decisively, sounding a little anxious and scared, but determined. “I want to see the stars.”
“If it get’s too much for you, you’ll tell me?”
“Probably not.”
Phil sighed. “If you look like you’re about to vomit I’m dragging you back down here.”
“As long as you do it without touching me,” Dan mocked, and Phil scoffed, already leading the way.
By the time they arrived at the stairs to the astronomy tower, Phil was counting his lucky stars. He didn’t know how he’d been so lucky to avoid being found all night, but he wasn’t about to say anything and jinx it.
Phil sent Dan up the stairs first, so that he could stand behind him, and offer a small amount of comfort. There were walls on both sides of the staircase, so Dan didn’t have much trouble climbing up them, though Phil knew it was what was at the top that was the real problem. A large, circular tower, set high against the sky with low walls ringing around it. Chunks of the walls were missing, just like the towers in all the picture books.
Dan came to a halt as the stairs ended, leaving them standing on the tower, the beautiful night sky all around them. But Dan wasn’t looking at the sky, his eyes were clenched shut, his hands tightened in to fists, held stiffly by his sides. His breathing was shallow and quick, and already Phil was debating forcing Dan back down the stairs.
Instead, remembering Dan’s love for stars, and the fact that he hadn’t seen them from up here since first year, he tried to help.
“Let’s lay down,” Phil suggested. “That way we’ll be closer to the floor, and then we can look up at the stars. They’re really pretty.”
Dan nodded jerkily, but he made no move to sit down.
Carefully, Phil reached for Dan’s sleeve, pinching just the very end, and gently tugging it, encouraging Dan to sit down. Taking the hint, Dan slowly lowered himself the the ground, his hands immediately gripping onto the floor beneath him, as if the night’s light breeze was threatening to blow him off the tower.
“Lay back,” Phil encouraged, and Dan obeyed wordlessly. Phil followed, so that they were laying side by side, fingers inches apart. Phil ached to be able to reach out and hold his hand, though of course he wouldn’t. He hated even the times when he accidentally brushed Dan, watching as Dan flinched away, trying to play down his pain.
“Look,” Phil said finally, and it was obvious when Dan did, because he gasped. Phil shifted his gaze from the sky to the Gryffindor, who’s mouth was open in astonishment, the stars reflected in his eyes.
“Woah,” Dan said, rendered (almost) speechless by the sight before him. He seemed to have forgotten about where he was, his fear and unease fading into amazement.
“It’s so beautiful,” Dan sighs. “I can see why you come up here when you can’t sleep.”
“It is,” Phil agreed, but once again, his eyes slipped from the dazzling sight above him, and landed on the one beside him. He felt his cheeks heat, knowing that his words had more than one meaning.
“I’m glad I came up here,” Dan sighed, his gaze still fixed on the sky. He had eyes for nothing else, was absorbing all the times that he couldn’t see the stars like this. “Glad you took me up here.”
“Good,” said Phil simply. And it was. Phil didn’t want Dan to be afraid anymore, didn’t want him to not be able to appreciate things just because of his fear. And, quite frankly, it was Phil’s fault Dan had that fear anyway. It’d been the two of them on the tower that night, and if Phil hadn’t challenged him to a duel in the first place, Dan never would’ve been on the tower, they never would’ve fought. Dan never would’ve had the curse placed on him.
Dan finally drew his gaze away from the sky, and his eyes found Phil’s.
“Hi,” Phil said, and Dan giggled.
“Hi,” he whispered. Like a secret.
They grinned at each other, the stars in the sky surrounding them like a blanket, in their hair and their eyes and their blood. Phil couldn’t help staring into Dan’s eyes, the depths of which seemed never ending, a beautiful mix or caramel and chocolate, honey and flecks of gold, intelligence and love. Phil’s thoughts stuttered to a stop at that, but he supposed it was true. And he knew he felt the same way towards Dan, knew from the way his heart filled, seemed to inflate, when Phil looked at Dan. Knew from the way Dan looked at the stars, and how it made Phil feel. Knew from the way that Dan was just as beautiful as the night sky, just as gentle and wonderful and intricate.
On accident, perhaps because of Phil’s subconscious, so obsessed with Dan, they touched. Phil’s hand had somehow gotten too close to Dan’s, and their fingers had bumped, both of them immediately flinching backwards, yanking their hands away.
“Shit! I’m sorry!” Phil cried, but Dan was just staring at his hand, his mouth agape, his starlit eyes filled with wonder.
“Merlin,” Dan breathed.
“I’m so sorry,” Phil repeated. “Are you okay?”
Dan turned his head slowly, and just as slowly, his mouth transformed into a grin, his eyes lit up. “Merlin!” he gasped.
“What?” Phil demanded, anxiety gnawing at his insides.
But Dan was laughing, giggling, holding his hands in front of his eyes.
“Howell!”
Quite abruptly, Dan rolled over, his body colliding with Phil’s, rolling overtop of him, pinning him to the ground.
“No!” Phil gasped, trying to push Dan off. “Oh no!” He didn’t know what had gotten into Dan, but he knew his body must be wracked in pain, aching and hurting all over. Dan was shaking with how hard it hurt, sobbing… laughing?
“Wha—?” Phil began, but Dan dived on him, his body still pinning Phil, Dan’s hands trailing all over him, touching his chest and arms, digging into him, hard, as if none of this was real.
Dan’s lips were on his, and it was magic, it was better than any magic Phil ever could’ve performed, better than any spell he could’ve cast. His lips were soft but chapped, and they were insistent, pressing against Phil’s hurriedly, as if making up for lost time, lost kisses. And it felt good, wonderful, but something niggled in the back of Phil’s mind. Fear, worry.
He pulled away from Dan, with difficulty, and stared into his eyes. “Aren’t you in pain?” he asked, though clearly Dan wasn’t. Something had changed.
“None,” Dan whispered, his grin splitting his face in two, shining in his eyes.
Relief washed over Phil, and want, and love. He wrapped his arms around Dan, hugged him close, squeezed the hell out of him. Then he flipped them over, pressed Dan against the ground, ran his fingers over Dan’s chest, his collarbones. He thread his fingers through Dan’s hair, and ran his thumb over Dan’s lip, and pressed it against his eyelids. He wanted to touch everything.
Then he was kissing Dan again, had come back for more, couldn’t help it. Dan’s mouth was hot and intense, and his tongue was insistent, determined. It poked it’s way into Phil’s mouth, and Phil sucked on it, didn’t know what he was doing but did it anyway, and Dan gasped.
Phil couldn’t help it. He started biting Dan’s lips, wanted to consume him, wanted to wrap himself around the beautiful boy beneath him, to hug him close and intertwine and never let go. Dan was making little noises into their kiss, was humming and gasping, and Phil couldn’t get enough.
It took Phil three attempts to finally pull away from Dan, lifting himself slightly off of the shorter boy, who was panting and gasping beneath him. Belatedly, Phil realized he was too.
“Curse?” Phil panted. “Gone?” Just to make sure.
In response, Dan pressed his cold fingers against Phil’s stomach, under his shirt. Phil shivered, and it wasn’t just because of the cold.
And the next day, when they stumbled down from the astronomy tower, cold and hungry, and sore from accidentally falling asleep on the hard ground, Phil didn’t mind at all. And Dan, with his hand held firmly in Phil’s, didn’t seem to have any objection either. And even if they were exchanging ecstatic, delighted smiles with every other step - well, they barely even seemed to notice.
—
Dan and Phil had been playing it cool. Over the last few days, they’d managed to not touch in front of anyone, and continue on the way they had been. This, of course, was solely for selfish reasons. They simply wanted to be with just one another for a little while, without anyone else interfering.
There was also the small problem that Dan wasn’t out to any of his friends, and neither of them knew how the school would react when to seemingly straight guys were suddenly dating, and suddenly gay. This was only a small problem, however, and it was easy to see past. Because they had each other, and they were always touching. They were constantly trying to make up for all the times that they couldn’t touch, and so they sat pressed together in the library, holding hands in empty corridors, kissing under the shade of trees.
“I think I should tell my friends soon,” Dan sighed, doodling on his parchment. He was supposed to be researching information about a snitch, but Phil wasn’t working either, so he couldn’t blame him.
“All right,” Phil said absently, as he reached towards Dan’s paper, scrawling a messy heart towards the top.
They were sitting so close that they were practically on top of each other, their arms and legs lined up exactly.
“What are you gonna say?” Phil asked. Dan cleared his throat dramatically.
“Everyone, this is Phil. My boyfriend.”
“But they already know who I am,” Phil protested.
“They don’t know that you’re my boyfriend,” Dan said, that dazed little smile covering his face, the one that he usually got when he said ‘boyfriend’.
Dan shoved the paper away, and Phil’s current doodle smudged, and he frowned at Dan. “You messed up my drawing.”
“You know what’s better than drawing?” Dan said suggestively.
“I could guess.”
Dan rolled his eyes, before shifting to the side and sliding onto Phil’s lap, squished between him and the table. Phil’s lap had become one of Dan’s favorite place to be, and he could often be found sitting on it or using it as a pillow. Usually though, when Dan was on his lap, they were kissing.
Phil had expected that, with time, kissing Dan would make him less breathless and dizzy, would stop wiping his brain of any conscious thought with the touch of their lips. He was wrong. When Dan kissed him, his brain vacated the area, leaving him to fend for himself. His hands tightened in Dan’s shirt, likely wrinkling the fabric.
He sighed into Dan’s mouth, and Dan nibbled on his lip in response, his hands clutching at Phil.
“Stop that!” someone shrieked, and they jumped away from each other in surprise, Phil’s head still spinning. He was dazed, and he wondered for a moment if perhaps the books had yelled at him, when the voice spoke again. “There is no kissing in the library! It defiles the books!”
Dan was blushing vibrantly, likely at being caught kissing as well as being caught in Phil’s lap. And by Madam Pince, no doubt. It was obvious, now that Phil’s brain had made a tentative re-entrance. She was standing somewhere behind Phil, and though he couldn’t see her, he could see Dan, and his mortified and slightly scared expression.
“Shoo! Get out of the library!” Madam Pince continued, and they didn’t need any other warning. They scrambled to their feet, Dan awkwardly escaping from Phil’s lab, and they darted past the librarian, avoiding eye contact at all costs.
The second they bursted out of the library, Dan was giggling. He grabbed Phil’s hand, yanking him after him and tugging them down random hallways, until shoving him into an alcove.
“That was horrible,” Dan groaned, but a smile was stuck firmly to his face, and he was pressed right up against Phil.
“I don’t think she plans on telling anyone,” Phil responded with a casual shrug. Dan pressed closer against him, grinning wickedly.
“No,” he said, “but she did interrupt something.”
And they were back at it. Dan pressing against him, so warm and small, his body lean and firm. Phil had to crane his neck to kiss him, and Dan was already on his tip toes, and they were needy and impatient, pressing together again and again without a care.
Impatiently, Phil flipped them around and shoved Dan up against the wall, after lifting him up. Dan wrapped his legs around his waist, held up by the wall and Phil’s hands under his thighs. Dan looped his arms around Phil’s neck, pulling them closer, kissing him harder.
Dan finally started to make those wonderful gasping sounds that he made when they were making out, when he forgot himself and stopped holding back. Encouraged, Phil pressed against him even more, wanting every part of their bodies to touch, wanting Dan to never stop making that sound.
“Students!” a sudden voice barked, and Dan groaned against his lips, unwilling to pull away. “No kissing in the corridors! Step away from each other immediately! And put that boy down!”
With horror, realizing exactly who’s voice it was yelling at them, Phil let go of Dan’s legs, letting him slide to the floor. They stepped away from each other, staring fixedly at the floor.
“Sorry Professor,” Phil managed, still keeping his eyes to the floor, hoping that Professor McGonagall wouldn’t recognize them. He took Dan’s hand, dragging him along and trying to sidle past McGonagall, when suddenly she gasped, and Phil knew they’d been caught.
“Howell? Lester?” she said incredulously, and Phil released Dan’s hand in embarrassment, his eyes flicking between the floor and Professor McGonagall.
“Yes, Professor?” Phil said, trying for innocence.
“Wha— How?” she broke off, still looking at them in amazement, before she seemed to come to a conclusion. “You fell in love,” she stated.
“I— well…” Phil began, at the same moment that Dan said, “I mean—“
“Come with me,” McGonagall commanded, before she spun around and made for the opposite directions.
“Is she going to put the curse back on me?” Dan whispered worriedly, and Phil reached out to comfort him, intertwining their fingers once more.
“She wouldn’t dare,” Phil said harshly, thought just as quietly, aware that the subject of their discussion was mere feet ahead of them. “Not that we don’t hate each other anymore.”
“But she hates me,” Dan insisted, and Phil squeezed his hand tighter.
“Only because she thought you were about to push me off a tower,” Phil quipped.
“I wouldn’t have pushed you,” Dan muttered, and Phil laughed.
“We’ll be okay,” he promised.
—
They were not okay.
Sure, McGonagall didn’t put the curse back on Dan. Sure, she didn’t threaten to separate them or fail them on their project or demand that they break up. No, she talked to them. About sex.
Phil had probably never been more embarrassed, and he would wager that Dan hadn’t been either. The Babbling Hex had been bad, but not this bad.
“Understand?” McGonagall said finally, and Dan and Phil both nodded their heads immediately, desperate to escape. “All right. You are excused.”
Not even bothering with the pleasantries, no “thank you”s or “have a good day”s, they bolted from the office, tumbling out of the room as quickly as they could and escaping into the hallway, mortified and desperate to hide away for the next ten years.
“I want to die,” Dan informed. Phil nodded in agreement. Nothing sounded better.
“And, no offense,” Dan began, “but I’m not having sex with you until I can forget about McGonagall explaining how to prepare each other.”
Phil shivered violently in disgust. “Normally I like thinking about you naked,” he said, unabashed, “but now all I can imagine is Mcgonagall off to the side, telling me to use lube!”
“I think I need to go to bed,” Dan admitted.
“I’ll walk you,” Phil said, and linked their hands together again. Despite being thoroughly disgusted by an old, stern woman teaching them all about gay sex, he was still going to enjoy his time with Dan.
~~
PS TOMORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY AHHHHH |
The little bird was having dinner with Joffrey again. Somehow she still wanted to see him, like she actually enjoyed his company. Sandor knew how important outside appearances were, probably better than anyone, but it still infuriated him that she could be with that shiny golden twat. He knew that Joffrey was reasonably good at acting like a decent human being when he wanted to. Not as good at it as his sociopath mother, but he was still learning. Not for the first or last time he cursed a universe that could give such horrible people an appearance of goodness.
He knew he couldn’t just warn her away. It could come off as if he just wanted her for himself. Which he did, but –
Last night he’d gotten back to the Lion and over the security cameras saw Sansa there, with Joffrey’s arm slung low around her, and he’d had to leave. He’d still been fuming outside when she found him.
She'd figure it out. She’d fly away from Joffrey and back to New York and he would probably never see her again. As much as that pained him, it was still better than the alternative. He might be a selfish bastard, but he couldn’t find it in himself to wish for her to stay just so he could catch an occasional glimpse.
He couldn’t rationalize his obsession. Most people were assholes and deserved all the shit they got themselves into. Maybe there was even a woman out there who deserved someone like Joffrey. But not Sansa. She should have someone who would worship her.
Finished with his tasks for the evening, he stopped at a bar for a few drinks to distract himself from imagining Joffrey and Sansa at dinner, giggling over fancy food and wine, and of what might happen after. Instead of dulling the anger, that part of him that found twisted satisfaction in his own suffering grew stronger. Before long, he found himself stalking the shadows in front of the Stark hotel.
Sandor wasn’t quite sure what he hoped to do. Was it just being closer to her? What if she didn’t come back here tonight? What if she did and she was with Joffrey? What would he do if she was alone? He continued to drink from the flask hidden in his pocket as he waited in the dark. A limo pulled into the circle drive and he watched from a distance as the blond brat emerged, then held out his hand for Sansa.
Sandor watched her smiling at Joffrey, saw their hands still clasped as he walked her to the door. He was touching her bare arms, then her shoulder, and now her cheek. Hand behind her head, fingers in that gorgeous silky hair, Joffrey was pulling her close and kissing her. Sandor felt all his blood turn to fire as Joffrey’s other hand dropped slowly down her back, past her slender waist, pawing greedily at her perfect round ass.
After an eternity Sansa pulled away with a smile, mouth moving as she looked to the door. Sandor saw Joffrey gesture towards the hotel, smirking. Just when he thought he was really about to lose it, he noticed Sansa shaking her head. She reached out to touch Joffrey's face but he had moved too far away. After a few moments of conversation that Sandor was too far to hear, Joffrey kissed Sansa’s hand and got back into the limo.
Sandor kept out of sight as the car drove off, and once it was gone he glanced back to the doors of the hotel. The little bird was there still, the lights from inside shining behind her and framing her like a halo.
Just as he began to feel like he could breathe normally again she started to move slowly, casually in his direction. Surely she couldn’t see him, hidden in the dark.
She looked right at him for a moment before settling herself gracefully down on a bench nearby. Unable to resist the unspoken invitation, Sandor followed and sat beside her, with his good side facing her. She didn’t look at him or say anything for a long time, so he finally spoke.
“He’s used to getting what he wants, you know.”
Sansa looked down at her small white hands. “I know.” Still looking down she continued. “Why do we always end up alone together at night?”
“The dark is when people are most true to who they really are, less inhibited. Plus, you may have noticed, I’m not very pretty to look at, the dark's a better look for me.”
She shook her head, but he wasn't sure what she was disagreeing with. “So the night makes us honest?”
“More so. Some folks will never be, but they hide better in the bright light of day.”
Sansa looked at him, studying him closely. Was she going to ask what he was doing here? Did she already know?
“What are they like, the Baratheons and Lannisters?”
Sandor was surprised. “You’re asking my opinion?”
“No,” she said. “Not opinion, just facts. Just the truth.”
He frowned at her. “I’ve always worked for the Lannisters, only know the Baratheons in passing.”
She just looked at him and waited. He wasn’t answering her and she knew it.
“What kind of people are the Lannisters?” he asked himself out loud, thinking for a long time how best to present her with the truth she thought she wanted. “They loved my brother,” he said finally, as if that would tell her everything she needed to know.
“Your brother?” Sansa asked.
“Yes, little parrot. I’m nothing compared to him,” he told her. “He’s a real specimen.” He settled back on the bench and took another drink from his flask. “My older brother, Gregor, he always had a gift for fear and pain. He used to hurt the neighborhood animals, before he moved on to greater things. They said my sister fell; I never believed it but I can’t prove it. But then, they also said my face was an accident.”
He’d almost forgotten that she was there, and in any case he couldn’t stop now. He was no longer on a dark bench, but in an old haunt of his memory. “It was Christmas. I was seven, and he was eleven. We’d opened our presents in the living room, in front of the fire. Gregor was unimpressed and had gone off somewhere. He’d gotten a toy soldier that I liked, and he’d made it clear he didn’t care for it. I was sitting there playing with it when he came back. He never said anything, just grabbed me and pushed my face down in the fire. Just a kid with a toy. I can still hear myself screaming when I sleep. My father told everyone it was an accident, and between him and Gregor no one believed me. My father had worked for the Lannisters before, for Joffrey’s grandfather, Tywin. Once my brother was old enough he followed in his path. He only became worse, and they adored him. And me, growing up with this face and in my brother’s shadow? Well, they offered me a decent gig and saw my appearance as an asset. They liked the monster that my brother made.”
Sansa was looking right at him, wide blue eyes full of something that looked only a little like pity. She laid one dainty hand down softly on his large, rough one, and he felt warmth spreading out from every point of contact.
“He’s the monster,” she said quietly.
His mind now drawn back to the present, he suddenly realized what he’d told her.
“Now look,” he growled, startling her, “If you ever tell anyone what I’ve just told you – “
“I won’t,” she quickly promised.
“No one knows,” he continued, unconvinced. “I hear it anywhere, and I’ll know it’s come from you.” He leaned in close, “I swear, I hear so much as a fucking whisper – “
She squeezed his hand, as if to reassure him, never looking away. “No one will ever hear it from me, I promise. Thank you for trusting me with this.”
He snorted and withdrew his hand. Is that what he had done? He rubbed both hands over his temples, as always feeling the stark difference in what lay under each hand as he ran them down his face.
“What happened to him?” Sansa asked.
“He finally went too far, messed with the wrong person. You know the Martells?” Sansa nodded. “Of course you do, everyone does. You remember the story of Elia Martell? You would’ve been very young.”
“Wasn’t she killed?”
“Raped and murdered by my brother. He’d done as bad before, but here he made a mistake thinking a Martell was just like anyone else. No, Elia was rich, young and beautiful. You can’t do that to someone like her and get away with it. Not even the Lannisters could save him after that.”
Sansa looked more troubled by this last bit than anything else he’d said. He supposed she didn’t realize that’s how it was, that some lives were just more important than others. She still believed there was good in the world, and here he was filling her pretty head with horrible things.
They sat for a while in silence before she finally stood to leave.
“Goodnight, Sandor,” she said quietly, starting back to the hotel entrance, to the light. He thought he had never before seen her look quite so beautiful. |
A knock on Darcy’s apartment door startles her, although she is expecting a delivery of groceries from the order she put into FRIDAY, that was less than an hour ago. “Who is it FRIDAY?” Darcy asks, looking at the ceiling, although she knows FRIDAY isn’t physically in the ceiling, it’s hard to stop because that’s where her voice comes from.
“Sergeant Barnes is at your door Miss Lewis.” the AI announces, “He picked up your groceries from the deliveryman in the foyer.”
“Thanks FRIDAY.” Darcy says as to walks over to the door, opening it and staring at the super soldier.
“I have your groceries.” Bucky says holding one arm up showing the overflowing bags he’s holding, there are even more in his metal arm by his side.
“Checked to make sure I didn’t order any bomb components?” Darcy snarks, wincing the moment it leaves her mouth. He was defending you Darcy, stop being a bitch. “Look, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for I know you don’t think I’m here to drug your food.”
Bucky waves away her apology as she steps back to let him inside. “Nah Doll I came to apologise to you for the way that punk behaved.” He carries all her groceries like they weigh nothing and puts the bags on the counter. “We’ve all read Tony’s mission report. We all know why you stole the suit. We all know that if you wanted to hurt us you could have done a lot more during your time in the tower while I was passed out.” Bucky steps closer to her and takes her hand in his flesh one making her look up at him from where she was staring at the ground. “We all know that if you had wanted to take me back to Hydra it would have been a simple thing for you to call in reinforcements the second I was on the ground. Stevie, he’s just strung out at the thought of me not being safe. It’s taken so long to get me back, he doesn’t think straight when it comes to me.”
“I don’t blame him. I get that he wants to keep his family safe.” Darcy says smiling gently at Bucky.
“Yeah well that’s no excuse for him talking to a lady that way.” Bucky scowls before smiling charmingly and winking at Darcy. “And I reminded him of that, repeatedly.”
Looking down at her hand, so little in his large one, Darcy feels more like herself than she has since the warlord took the monks hostage. She laughs as she thinks of the crash she heard, “Still able to take him down a peg or too huh?”
“Only when needed.” Bucky smirks, making Darcy’s stomach flutter a little at the sight. She lifts her hand from his as she places it on her hips and gives him a faux-glare.
“You know that in the 21st century the way you speak to a woman shouldn’t differ from how you speak to a man? That a level of rudeness doesn’t depend on what’s between one’s legs?”
Bucky grins as he leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he takes in Darcy. “You can debate this till the cows come home, Miss Political-Science major, but my Mother didn’t raise no fool and I’ll always be treating a lady like a lady.”
“Uh huh.” Darcy grins back, “so can you indulge me and answer a question I’ve wanted to know for a while, are you and the Captain a thing?”
“A thing?” Bucky looks confused as Darcy hides her cheeky smile behind her hair as she walks around the counter and starts to unpack the groceries.
“You know, like together...” She puts the bananas in the fruit bowl.
“You mean stepping out together?” Bucky says, his face shows shock momentarily but it’s not as aghast or repulsed as she had been expecting from a early 20th century man. In fact a smile is slowly spreading across his face. “You been having some thoughts about that have you?”
It’s Darcy’s turn to hide her shock as she turns around, pretending to organise her fridge as she pulls items from the bags and stacks them inside. “No, no, I was just curious as there are a lot of fans that theorise that’s why Captain Rogers did what he did to save you.”
“You know, a lot has changed in the 70 years I’ve been in and out, but I’m pretty sure you still don’t put your cornflakes in the fridge.” Bucky changes the subject as Darcy looks at the box of Cap’n Crunch she has just put next to the milk.
“Well there’s a logic to my madness Buckster, the milk and the cereal get stored together so it’s easier to find in the morning before I’ve had my coffee.” Darcy makes up as she closes the fridge door.
“Uh huh.” Bucky continues to smirk.
“Yeah huh,” is Darcy’s intelligent retort.
“What’s this?” He asks, gesturing to a pile of documents.
“Oh that’s my contract to work with Stark Industries, this is my copy, the SI lawyer took the other earlier to make it all official.”
“Congrats Doll, we should celebrate.” He grins cheekily, “not that I can go anywhere.”
“You’re a prisoner?” Darcy says sharply, upset for him.
“No Doll, no. I’m just under house arrest while they make sure all the triggers are gone from my head. Can’t have another Vienna. I’m OK with that.” Bucky assures her.
Darcy wants to ask if she’s under house arrest too, but she doesn’t know if she could handle the answer. So for now she’ll stick her head in the sand. “You never answered my question.” She says deflecting back to the whole Winter-Shield debate.
“Let’s make a deal,” Bucky says with a smile Darcy doesn’t trust.
“OK,” she replies warily.
“The reason I came to your door, beside to apologise, was to get you to come down to the training floor with me, there’s something there I’ll think you’ll love. If you come with me I’ll answer your question.”
Darcy isn’t sure of what he’s up to. The soldier isn’t showing any signs of deceit, only a little bit of excitement, but he is a world class assassin so Darcy can’t be 100% sure. “I might have to check on Stark since he’s technically my boss now.”
“Sir is still asleep Miss Lewis,” FRIDAY tells them, “even if he wasn’t, your hours are extremely flexible and you are not required to report to him unless he needs you.”
“Um, OK, sweet gig then. I guess we can go check out this thing.” Bucky waits as Darcy puts on some shoes and then follows him to the door where he holds it open for her. She rolls her eyes, smiling at his old fashioned manners, and the get into the elevator.
“To answer your question no, we ain’t a couple.” He says as the doors close. “I like dames, always have, always will.” The doors open and they stroll into the training area, Darcy pausing in awe to take in the huge space.
The floor is divided into huge sections with a weights area, a space with the machines you see in a gym, a boxing ring, a segment with mats, another with what looks like a dance floor with a barre and then a running track spanning all the way around the outside.The area seems to take up about 3 floors with it’s massive ceiling height, Darcy sees why when she sees a rock wall taking up one whole wall.
“Wow!” She breathes out, speechless.
Following her eyeline Bucky watches with Darcy as 2 figures leap from beam to beam, suspended up in the air the whole way across the ceiling. One is firing arrows as the other dodges lithely, cleverly using the uneven beams as obstacles for the hunter.
“They are pretty amazing.” Bucky says as he watches them with her for a moment before placing his flesh hand on her back and gently moving to the rock wall with her, “thought you might want to see this.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so huge!” Darcy exclaims, standing right up to it and running her hands over a few holds. “Although the rock pattern is pretty basic, a long climb but an easy one.”
Bucky grins at her statement, “FRIDAY change it up!” He calls and the holds on the wall immediately disappear and new ones reappear with sections of the wall moving out so now the climber will have to scale over regions that are parallel to the floor.
“That’s more like it.” Darcy grins back at Bucky, rubbing her hands together like an excited child.
“What are you waiting for?” Bucky asks, “have a go!”
“Yeah? Where are the harnesses?”
Bucky lets out a guffaw, not a laugh, a full body guffaw. “Sweetheart, this is the Avengers training facility, these idiots don’t know what a harness looks like, let alone how to use one. Just go as high as is comfortable for you and I promise to catch you if you fall.”
“I won’t fall.” Darcy winks at Bucky with confidence as she toes off her shoes and begins to climb, making child’s play of the first bit. She had meant to take it easy, to not show off, but Darcy gets caught up in the freedom she always feels when doing something adrenaline inducing and before she knows it she’s about two stories up and at a horizontal section where her back is parallel to the floor. Pulling herself up she begins to huff, not because she’s not of breath, but because she knows someone is up on the ledge waiting for her and it would be suspicious for anyone to get there far and not be a little bit tired. As her head peers over the edge she sees Hawkeye perched there, grinning at her.
“You’re not half bad kid.” He says, “although your technique could use a little work.”
“Screw you, it’s perfect.” Darcy retorts back before she can stop herself.
Luckily instead of getting mad Hawkeye just chuckles. “Well I was gonna ask if you wanted me to give you some pointers, but if you’re perfect already maybe I should just challenge you to a race?”
“Oh yeah like I’m gonna race the Hawkeye and expect to win. No chance.” Darcy bites her lip to keep from accepting, she knows her natural competitiveness will show and she’s likely to slip up.
“We usually save our codenames for the field, and when we’re doing drills. Round here people call me Barton, or Clint, dealers choice.” Clint does a complicated twirl on the holds, pushing his body out to a 45 degree angle like a breakdancer, but in the air.
“OK now you gotta give me some tips.” Darcy says as she tries to recreate his move and then fumbles.
“I don’t think so little miss perfect technique. You too chicken to walk the walk now that you’ve talked the talk?”
Clint bobs his head as he talks, making Darcy groan in mock distastement, “oh dear god you are SO old.”
“You too scared to be beat by this old guy huh?”
“Oh hell no.” Once again Darcy’s mouth overrides her brain and she accepts his challenge.
“So the race is to the top, and then to back to the ground.” Clint says pointing with both his hands, showing off his leg strength as they perch on the holds. Darcy immediately starts figuring out the best pathway to take. “And because this old guy is so cool, and I don’t want you to say that I bet you cos I know the wall better, I’m gonna give you a head start. I’m not gonna move from this spot till you’ve gone all the way up and then halfway back down again at that red rock there.”
That was a huge headstart, almost a third of the race. “Aren’t you a confident little birdie?” She taunts, unable to help herself.
Clint lets out a snicker, “you’re gonna regret that.”
“See you at the bottom.” Darcy heads up the wall, going slowly, taking her time because she can, making it look like she’s conserving her energy. She makes it to the top in good time, even though she wasn’t rushing, she moves a bit fast in the downward, speeding up again when she passes the red rock.
“I might be old but you’re the one that moves like a grandma!” Clint teases as he races past her.
Fuck he’s fast! Darcy thinks as she wastes a precious second watching him move. Of course he’s quicker than any of the world champs you climbed with Darcy he’s a fucken super spy Avenger! Darcy shakes herself out of her head and picks up her pace, moving quicker and quicker down the wall. She’s at the section parallel to the floor when Clint catches up to her, dangling like a fucking monkey as he takes the holds like rungs in a ladder.
“Need to tap out sweetheart?” He taunts as he swings past her.
“Bite me big bird.” Darcy sasses back, poking out her tongue. There is no way she can beat him going handhold to foothold down the wall. She looks down, it’s about a two storey jump. Darcy doesn’t even think it through, because if she thought it through she would have known it was a bad idea and it was just her ego wanting the win. But instead of thinking, Darcy just lets go of the wall, and drops.
|
The sound of the doorbell froze my body with my vibrator deep inside my salivating pussy. "Maybe they will go away," I thought as I slowly reached for the remote to turn off the TV.
Then the bell rang again. "Shit! Who the hell could it be?" I said out loud with deep frustration in my voice. I snatched my vibrator out of my pussy with one motion, turned it off and dropped it on the couch. I was pissed but what could I do! I stomped my way to the front door.
The bell rang again.
"I'm coming!" I yelled out to the door.
"I should be cumming," I thought to myself as I looked through the peephole. My heart stopped when I saw who was standing on my porch. It was Jason the gorgeous black man who was on the Home Owners Association Board.
"Fuck," I whispered to myself. I couldn't believe I had completely forgotten about our meeting today. "Hold on a second," I yelled out as I hastily tied my robe and tried to make myself as presentable as possible.
I opened the door "Jason, I'm so sorry I completely forgot about our meeting today."
He smiled that sweet sexy smile of his. "That's quite alright Audrey. Do you still want to meet?
"Yes of course, come in," I said as I welcomed him into my home.
I watched him walk in with that long graceful stride that oozed sensuality. The storm gray slacks he wore fit his ass perfectly. I sucked my lips like a hungry fat man in front of a prime rib dinner. I felt that sweet tingle between my legs as Jason walked towards the couch in my family room.
Then it hit me with a jolt to my stomach, and panic took over. My vibrator was still on the couch and Jason was just about to sit down right next to it! I frantically raced towards him to try to get to the vibrator before he saw it. He laid his laptop on the coffee table and was sitting down when I got there. I reached over him and our hands both touched the vibrator at the same time. I pried it from his hand and fell back onto my couch in complete embarrassment.
"I'm so sorry, God I'm so sorry you saw that," I said as I tried to hide the offending toy under a cushion.
"Audrey, no need to apologize at all. Hey, everybody does it."
"But not everybody gets caught doing it," I put my hands over my face in shame, wishing that I could just disappear.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of Audrey. Everyone needs a little release and some "me time" alone now and then." I felt his hand on my knee trying to comfort me and ease my sense of shame. I moved my hands down from my face to see his sexy brown eyes and that loving smile of his. "If it makes you feel any better I promise I will not tell a sole."
"Jason, you better not," I punched him in the arm. "God! I can't believe this. This is just so fucking embarrassing. I bet you have never got caught doing it."
"Well no, but I don't have any toys to leave around as evidence," he said with a smile.
"Ha Ha, very funny," I said with a smirk. "But I'm sure you don't have any need to masturbate either." I couldn't believe I had said the word "masturbate" out loud.
"Why would you say that? I have needs that don't get met all the time."
I smiled and chuckled a little, "I find that really hard to believe, I'm sure Sandra takes care of all your needs."
"I'm really kind of surprised that you have any needs, a beautiful, sexy, and intelligent woman like yourself. If I were David I would be all over you all the time," he grinned.
I shook my head. "Sad to say me and you both," I sighed and looked down to see that my robe had slipped aside and my left breast was uncovered. "Damn, I'm just revealing everything to you today," as I moved to cover up.
"No, don't cover up. I want to see you," he stopped my hand and gently put it on my knee.
Jason looked into my eyes while his hands slowly slid my robe down and off my shoulders exposing my breasts. I knew I should have stopped him right then, but I enjoyed the attention. I enjoyed being wanted by an attractive man. It had been ages since David had looked at me with such desire.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"No, not at all," I responded quietly. "It's just... I know that we shouldn't be..."
Before I could elaborate, Jason kissed me full on my lips; his tongue probed deeply, explored my entire mouth. His kiss left me feeling dizzy.
"Should I stop?" He asked in a low whisper while he released me and gazed into my eyes.
"No!" The word exploded from my mouth immediately. Every fiber of my body screamed for him to touch me again. I pulled him back down to my body with both my hands, by the back of his neck.
He melted into my arms and he deeply kissed me again, full tongue, arms around my body. He broke our kiss and I gasped for air as his kisses fell on my throat, my chest. He sucked my left nipple and that sent silvery spikes of pleasure down my spine. It was like he knew exactly what my body wanted, no what it needed. I pressed against him, shamelessly grinding my pussy against his muscular thigh, the friction alone had me electrified. His kisses then softly touched my abdomen and that caused the tides of my inner sea to surge.
"What do you want?" I heard his voice rise from between my thighs. I reacted by trying to push his head down to my sex, he resisted. "Audrey, what do you want?" His warm breath teased my pulsing clit.
"Please, eat my pussy," I begged and opened my legs wider. I trembled with anticipation when I felt his head move down. His hands splayed across my hips, then under my ass. He held my ass as though he had found pure gold. Then the tip of his tongue pierced my silky folds. Every slippery inch of my pussy tingled at that moment. I felt an awakening that churned through my body like a fast building storm.
He buried his head deeper and his tongue flickered across my pink pearl in quick, short bursts teasing me and then changing into a slower steady primal rhythm. Jason was an expert with his tongue and he knew instinctively what I needed.
I released a feral growl from the deepest depths of my soul. I had been deprived of sex of any kind, borrowed, bought, or stolen for far too long. I gripped his head; my hips thrusting upward, I moved myself against his tongue while he encircled my lips with his wonderful mouth. He shook his head from side to side and left a trail of fire with every movement. I arched, lifted my body from the cushions of the couch. His fingers plunged into my moist heat and sloshed in and out; his tongue didn't break its erotic rhythm. My orgasm hit hard, it built from the base of my womb, shot down my legs and numbed them for the throbbing burst of pleasure. Moisture trickled at first, then rushed out and greeted his tongue with a hearty; Where the fuck have you been?
Jason lifted his head. His face glistened from my nectar. "You are so fucking sexy when you cum. I want you so bad," he told me while he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
"What's stopping you, Jason?"
He stood up without a moment's hesitation and unfastened his belt and his pants. Unadulterated lust left me mesmerized and wanting more. Jason allowed his slacks to drop to the floor. The sight of him standing before me in only his bulging Calvin Klein indigo boxer briefs with that divine physique, made my mouth water. I barely had enough time to absorb the appeal of his masculine form when he removed all of his remaining clothing, including his Calvin's. He then revealed the most magnificent dick I had ever seen. Now I've always been a bit of a size queen and even my husband David is pretty blessed, but what Jason was packing was a masterpiece. It was like going to a museum and being compelled to touch the fascinating exhibit, but being afraid of what would happen if you did. I wondered if I could handle it.
"Touch it," Jason said.
He didn't have to say it again. I wrapped my hand around his cock and if it were even possible I felt him get even harder. I was so hot I could feel the lips of my pussy swell. I couldn't wait to find out if my pussy could accommodate his blessing. I pulled him to my mouth and licked the tip. He tasted like heaven. It was then I remembered how much I loved sucking cock. It had been years since I had given David the pleasure of my oral skills. Not because I didn't want to, but because he hadn't done anything to deserve it.
I relaxed my throat and bent my head further back, grabbed his muscular, toned ass and took more of him inside my mouth. I made sure there wasn't an inch of him that was unattended. I then got as much of him inside as I could and fucked his cock with my mouth. I gagged just a little each time the head of his cock hit the back of my throat, which caused Jason to moan uncontrollably. I released his black steed and flicked my tongue from the underside of his cock to his big heavy balls. I felt his body tremble when I nibbled on his balls and he squirmed when I took his entire sac into my mouth. I sucked lightly and jerked him off with my right hand.
"Oh shit! You are fucking good! Audrey, I want..."
"You want this, don't you baby," I said when I spread open my legs and touched my juicy cunt.
He immediately pushed my legs to my chest and slowly rubbed the head of his thick black cock between my creamy folds. With dilated eyes I watched as he entered me slowly, stretching me wide with that beautiful tool of his.
"Big. Oh so fucking big," I moaned as we joined together.
"Damn, you are so tight and wet," he grunted deeply.
He was only half way inside me and his cock felt as thick and muscled as the rest of him. I couldn't help myself; I grabbed his ass and forced him deep inside my neglected pussy. I cried out and my body convulsed against him. He pulled just about all the way out, and my juices covered his cock like a chocolate glazed donut. Delicious!
A growl came from Jason's mouth. He squeezed my nipples while he sank himself back deep inside me. He released my nipples and tenderly sucked them while he stroked in and out of me in a mind numbing rhythm. I was so wet and his motions made the sound like constant kisses on sweet lips.
His pace quickened, and became more forceful and urgent, but not rough. His fingers played over me, rubbing, kneading, pinching, prodding, until the pleasure blurred every part of us, I flowed into him and his next movement.
I felt my climax building. It wasn't a mini climax, like I would have when I would play with myself in bed while David was sleep. This was one of those multi-orgasmic, triple-tiered volcanic orgasms that shimmered with euphoric aftershocks. I panted like I was running a race and my body was so hot, so wet.
Then he broke the rhythm and I shook and shuddered, moaning under him. He pulled out and I wanted to weep with the loss of him. Jason lifted me up and positioned me on my knees with my legs together and my ass in the air.
"Please Jason, it's so fucking good," I cried out and reached back to grab his cock.
"I'm glad you like it Audrey. I want you to love it. I want you to want me to fuck you the way you need to be fucked. Audrey, do you want me to fuck you like that? Do you want me to fuck you in all the naughty ways you like?"
This was more than I could stand. His voice, the feel of his throbbing cock in my hand, so slick with her nectar. I cried out, "Yes, yes fuck me hard with that big dick and tease my ass with your finger."
I couldn't believe I had actually said that out loud, but it was liberating to say what I wanted. Liberation turned quickly into ecstasy when I felt Jason's thumb tease my asshole as his cock plunged into my pussy hard and deep. His heavy balls spanked my clit as he fucked me just the way I needed it.
Within moments I was rocked by a euphoric multi-orgasmic episode that erupted and warmed my body to the core. I collapsed and trembled under the weight of Jason's body with him still deep inside me.
"That was fucking unbelievable Jason," I gasped.
Covered in sweat I moved slowly from under him and looked him in the eye and smiled. "I'm so glad you didn't cum yet. I need to finish something."
I eased his magnificent dick into my mouth and sucked him even more intensely than I had earlier. Within moments Jason shot gobs of sweet, hot cream inside my mouth and I gladly swallowed every drop. He kissed me deeply and all I could think about was all the naughty things I wanted to do with him.
Jason broke our kiss. "You want more don't you, Audrey," he said as he looked into my eyes.
"Yes, so much more. You promised to fuck me in all the naughty ways I liked didn't you." I said while I rubbed his chest and pinched his nipples.
"I did say that, didn't I," Jason said with a sexy grin. "Don't worry, I have much more planned for you and your sexy self."
Jason didn't disappoint we spent the rest of the evening doing some of those naughty things I had been craving for way to long. When Jason left I thought I would feel guilty for cheating on David but I didn't. For the first time in years I was sexually fulfilled and I slept like a baby that night.
The next morning I awoke alive and refreshed. I went downstairs and on my couch was my vibrator lying where I had left it. I felt a rush of sexual adrenaline pulse through my body and a naughty grin came across my face. I grabbed my phone and shot Jason a text.
I spoke out loud, "This is going to be a great day!"
|
I wasn't sure what I was doing there if I was quite honest. I was naked under the sheets while Trevor hovered around the bed in expectation. We were in a large hotel room in the middle of a sunny day, light streaming through the plate glass windows. Maybe a half an hour away from our house. I don't remember fully how I managed to agree to this or what the exact rationale for it was.
Trevor and I had been going through a long extended bad patch. We hadn't had sex in over six months and in truth the rot had set in a long time before that. It had petered to a halt over a longer period. I couldn't remember the last time Trevor and I had mutually enjoyable sex such that I would want to repeat the experience in a timely manner. In the parlance we had a "Dead Bedroom" and perhaps Trevor, the frequent masturbator, considered himself the HLM, the "High Libido" partner which left me the LLF, the "Low Libido" partner.
I didn't want to walk away from the relationship which still offered so much for both of us but it was true I never really felt in the mood for sex with him and I was aware how much strain that was causing the relationship. I did want to work with him but every time he gave me the impression that he had some sort of "right" to sex with me that I was "unfairly" denying him it just made my pussy shrivel up. Something about that neediness and entitlement that was never far from the surface just turned me right off.
The irony was, even though this was a slightly unusual, definitely unnerving situation filled with trepidation, I wasn't actually turned off. Some part of me was aroused even for the first time in Trevor's presence for quite a while. Probably because I wasn't about to have sex with Trevor.
There was a knock on the door. He was here. My heart started pounding. How did it come to the stage that this was the solution, this was the Hail Mary pass we were going to use to try and rebuild our relationship, our physical connection. I guess going to therapy was one step on the way and probably the therapist seeing us separately as well allowed both of us to get certain things off our chest that neither of us felt comfortable saying directly to the other.
For my part, I couldn't find the words to explain to Trevor, whom I loved, that for the longest time, my fondest sexual memories had been with sexual partners for whom I felt no greater bond than the physical act. One of my exes was a genuine waste of space. We had nothing to say to each other, nothing in common and pretty much didn't like spending time together. But the sex was fantastic.
I've been lucky to have enjoyed a handful of absolutely amazing one night stands with men who were and remain strangers to me. Men whose names I literally have forgotten. Trevor was someone I really loved spending time with. We had common interests, we had so many great memories, we always got on with each other, so long as the subject wasn't our sex life.
The sex life really was the one massive deficit in our relationship and had potential to poison all the good stuff that we had together. The bald fact was that after our honeymoon period had passed, after the New Relationship Energy had faded, Trevor did not satisfy me sexually. It wasn't quite fair to say it in such stark terms as it takes two to tango and I played my part consciously and subconsciously but we did not enjoy mutually pleasurable sexual experiences together.
Whether it was premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, whether it was bad timing, not reading the room, or whether there was a sense some times that Trevor wasn't quite there with me but maybe replaying some scenario in his head, it just didn't work the way it should. For my part, my therapist made me realise that this was not just Trevor's issue, that in the event that Trevor and I couldn't make it work, it was likely I would be doomed to repeat this experience with a new partner because I probably preferred sex with someone I didn't love. This was hard to hear but it did ring a bell and it was somewhat of a wakeup call for me. I had always put our problems down to Trevor but it sunk in that there was something deeper going on.
For Trevor's part, I wasn't quite so far off the mark about him replaying scenarios. I knew he liked porn and masturbation. I wasn't so familiar with his extensive fantasies and the extent to which he would cope with the denial in our sex life by eroticising it. Just as Trevor was about to learn via the therapist, that I was more turned on by sex with strangers than with someone I loved, I was to learn that Trevor was drawn to fantasy scenarios where a dutiful wife would cheat on her husband, particularly if there was a racial aspect to it.
I guess the therapist made Trevor realise that underneath all this, with his voyeuristic take on this, was a desire to play the part of the husband in such a scenario. I can only imagine he had a similar reaction to me when the therapist made clear to me something I should have understood myself but had not fully acknowledged. And so, armed with these confessions and consent to reveal the outcome of these confessions Trevor and I had some headway in understanding our impasse and between our therapist, Trevor and I, somehow the suggestion was mooted that perhaps it might be fruitful for us to arrange an encounter that might satisfy both of our impulses and offer a way forward.
I don't remember whose idea it was in the first place. I was certainly involved in the discussion but if anyone brought anything up, it was surely at the prompting of our therapist. Nonetheless once the die was cast, it was Trevor who took on the responsibility of arranging this encounter. I was still not quite comfortable acknowledging all of this and Trevor and I had only the briefest discussions absent the therapist. It was easier for me not to go into detail.
Trevor answered the door to a rather handsome Black man. He had smiling eyes and seemed to have the sort of personality that drew people to him. he shook Trevor's hand and approached the bed to kiss my hand. He was courteous and diligent of Trevor's feelings, addressing him first without making me feel like I was some spare part.
"So, we are ready?"
"I guess."
"How would you like me to start?"
"Perhaps, you could join Lisa on the bed Marcus, and, Oh I don't know. Maybe pretend I'm not here is the best?"
"No problem at all, is that ok with you Lisa?"
"Sure Marcus."
Trevor sat down on an armchair that offered a decent view of the bed and I waited with bated breath as Marcus first lifted off his t-shirt to reveal an impressively sculpted set of abs, he slipped off his shoes, joggers and then his boxers and this absolutely massive cock sprung out. I actually smiled when I saw it, though I wasn't sure quite how I would manage to take it.
He slid into bed beside me and his body was cool from the air-con. I liked it though. He was strong, muscled and his body felt good alongside mine. He grazed his hand on my abdomen, up to my breasts as he kissed my neck, then my lips. As we kissed, I got extremely turned on. It had been a long time since I was as ready to go as this. His hand roved down between my legs and he seemed happy with what he found. He whispered in my ear.
"I love your pussy, love to discover no hair down there. It feels so soft, smooth and wet."
Just hearing his voice made me even wetter, I had taken the liberty of getting a really thorough waxing the day before and was delighted that my instincts had been justified. I don't think Trevor had noticed yet. He would probably see soon enough. Marcus climbed over me and put a condom on, then rubbed his cock against my pussy lips. I was so ready for him and he could tell.
He was inside me, ever so slowly but it felt incredible. I moaned in pleasure as he inched into me. Whenever Trevor and I made love, the foreplay was interminable and, if I'm honest, boring and counterproductive. Marcus was pretty much fucking me straight away which is the way it should be. Something stirred as Marcus began to slowly fuck me. Trevor stood by the bed.
"Maybe we should, I don't know, take a break, take it slow."
"Should I stop, should I pull out?"
I held Marcus close to me
"Don't fucking pull out, ok?"
"Sure thing."
Over Marcus's shoulder, I looked directly at my husband.
"Trevor, this was your thing, it's happening now. It's ok. Just sit back down, jerk off and enjoy it, ok?"
"But"
"But nothing, come on, let's do this, ok?"
"Ok"
Trevor was a little sheepish but he did as I asked and I think once his cock was out maybe it made it better for him. I completely tuned him out though. Marcus was in me and it felt amazing but I just wanted something else. I reached down and held his thick cock which had not been all the way inside me yet. I pulled it out and he had a slightly puzzled look on his face.
"It's ok, just a minute"
I rolled the condom off his cock and threw it away to Trevor's mild alarm and then guided Marcus's cock as he slid right back into me. I just moaned.
"Oh yeah, Marcus, that feels so good"
And it did. Finally, a real cock inside me. Flesh touching mine. It was heavenly. He worked his way up and up and I tilted my pelvis, willing him into me. I couldn't believe how much I could take, he touched places no man had reached before. He plunged all the way inside me and I gripped him with my pussy, I was kissing his lower abdomen with my clit. He held me firm, tight, I couldn't escape and just fucked me with abandon. The bed was squeaking, the headboard banging but this was it, this was what I've longed for all those years.
Finally someone was actually fucking me. He lifted me up and flipped me round like a rag doll. He looped my hair in his fist and pounded me from behind like a bitch in heat. He made me quiver in pleasure and knocked an orgasm out of me almost as soon as we started fucking doggie style. I don't remember how long it had been since I had an orgasm from being fucked. The best sort there is.
My cheeks were flushed and I was panting as I came down from my orgasm and he just relentlessly fucked me regardless. I looked up and realised I was facing Trevor, his face agog, precum dripping from his cock. I smiled at him and motioned my head as if to say, go ahead, finish yourself off.
Marcus kept fucking me and I locked eye contact with Trevor as he brought himself off. I was happy for him to jerk off, to associate his orgasm and pleasure with watching me being fucked. I didn't want him coming to bed for sloppy seconds. I don't know why not but it became very clear to me in that instant. Marcus was fucking with more intent and I turned my head back to him.
"Can you come in my mouth?"
Trevor was shocked, no doubt, but I just had an instinct, and in that moment I wanted to taste Marcus's cum. He flipped me around again so that I kneeled in front of him. His body was worthy of worship but especially his glistening cock, slick with my juices. I took him deep down my throat and it was enough, he pulsed and pulsed, shooting rope after rope of thick semen down my throat.
I swallowed it all greedily and savoured the sexy, salty taste. I didn't take his cock out until I had cleaned him dry of that load. We collapsed on the bed side by side and cuddled, all sweaty and post-coitally buzzing. Trevor seemed a little shell shocked but he also exuded a pleasant post-orgasmic haze. I just idly played with Marcus's cock as we took a moment to recharge.
"Wow!"
"Right?"
"Lisa, that was wonderful. I hope that we will do this again and often."
Trevor was about to interject but I cut him off
"I would like that very much Marcus."
Marcus got dressed and left and Trevor and I looked at each other for a moment.
"Ok?"
"Definitely. You ok?
"Definitely"
And that was enough conversation for me at that moment. I had a clearer idea of what I wanted and where I thought things could go. I showered, dressed and we drove home and had a lovely evening. I was pleased that we were able to cuddle in bed without Trevor trying anything. I had enjoyed a truly lovely sexual encounter with Marcus and didn't want to return to the bad sex I had had with Trevor. the fact that he seemed content gave me hope.
Perhaps jerking off while watching me was sufficient for him. I certainly hoped so. I had had a taste of real sex and I wanted more and more. I knew then that I didn't want to have sex with Trevor again and I felt good about the prospect of him going along with that.
Marcus texted me the next day and we began an occasional intermittent and flirtatious conversation over the following days. He told me how much he liked fucking me and I texted him pictures of my pussy. He made me go commando at work and send him proof. He invited me to call to his place on the way home from work and without hesitation I agreed. I texted Trevor, told him I was going to be late home as I was dropping by Marcus's place on the way. I think I fell in love with Trevor all over again when he simply answered with a thumbs up emoji, "have fun" and a kiss emoji.
Marcus undressed me the minute I came through the door and by the next minute I was on my knees sucking his massive cock. He fucked me in his kitchen, fed me first his load, then cooked up some pasta for me, insisting I stay nude even though he got dressed, fed me the pasta and one glass of wine and then we netflix-and-chilled and he fucked me again while some European crime drama played in the background. I took his second load as dessert and had him text a photo of his cum in my mouth to Trevor to let him know I was on my way home shortly. I arrived home to Trevor who had huge smile on his face, we kissed, shared a glass of wine and chatted about our day.
Marcus wasn't the jealous type and with my consent, shared my details and nudes with a couple of friends. Pretty soon I had a stable of four guys I could call on for booty calls. I set up a little whatsapp group for them to arrange any encounters. Everything changed for me. Trevor and I were getting on better and better. We weren't yet comfortable enough for deep conversations but through our therapist, I learned that he considered himself to be living the dream, that the idea of his wife having regular sex with her Black lovers was like something out of his wildest fantasies.
I wasn't yet ready to say it directly to him but was happy to let our therapist know that it was hugely important to me that Trevor and I didn't have sex. I realised that I only wanted sex with other guys. I realised that it was also a turn on to me that they were all black. It turned out that this sentiment was something Trevor shared. He was turned on by the denial and was eroticising being "pussy free".
Over the next few months life was amazing. I had gone from having no sex for six months, but in reality very little sex over the previous years, to having fantastic, fulfilling satisfying sessions several times a week. It seems that I was not the "LLF", "Low Libido" partner at all. My actual libido was sky high, for my lovers anyway. I was only low libido for my husband.
And Trevor and I were getting closer to being comfortable communicating directly about all of this to the stage that I worked out the date of the last time we had had sex and to mark the one year anniversary I baked a cake for him and emblazoned on it the words "Pussy Free" with a candle to mark one year. He was genuinely moved and I kissed him and said
"And here's to many more years to come!"
"Let's drink to that."
|
(*Author's POV)
Shortly after the Kang siblings left Jackson and Mark also decided to go. While on their way back Jackson explained what was said to him to Mark. How Jackson's mother found out about Lizzy and that they were expected to come back to HongKong by tomorrow.
Also how Yejin caught on to this demanding that the younger was supposed to return back to Korea right after; if not then what he thought was a budding relationship would be completely chopped off.
"...And I don't know what I should do." Jackson spoke softly after having vented to Mark as they both had arrived back at the apartment building.
After hearing and computing all this information Mark pondered what he should say in response to Jackson. He had three options in his head.
One to encourage him in his pursuit of mending things with either girl. Two to stay neutral and tell him that he should follow his heart. Or three...tell him that both girls were too much trouble and to move on.
"...Well, it does seem complicated." Mark replied not feeling up to choosing on one of the three just yet. All the while they made their way to the correct apartment number.
"Yeah what do you think we should do hyung?" Jackson asked. This surprised Mark a bit.
"We?"
"Yeah you're coming with me aren't you? I mean you're free to do what you like." Jackson rambled a bit as they both arrived at the apartment door.
"Of course." Mark nodded as they arrived at the apartment and he opened up the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was concerned as they had left their place unlocked not having a key.
"Okay cool." Jackson replied as they both made their way inside taking off heir shoes.
Both feeling very tried they headed straight for the couch. Jackson collapsed onto it laying face down horizontally. Mark watching the younger get comfortable just stood there for a moment since he also wanted to rest but there was no space left.
"Oh sorry." Jackson said seeing this he lifted his feet up allowing a space for Mark to sit.
Mark chuckled a little but took the spot gratefully. And once he was sat down Jackson laid his legs back down on the older's lap. But just as Mark was going to scoot up more Jackson flipped his body so he was laying on his back.
"Sorry do my legs bother you?" Jackson asked wiggling his feet which laid on Mark's right thigh.
"It's fine." Mark replied unsure if he should casually lay his arms on the younger's legs or not.
"...Hyung...I believe you're doing it again." Jackson said staring at Mark's face. He was getting this familiar awkward feeling from Mark.
"What?" Mark shifted his wavering eyes to Jackson.
"I know you're normally quiet but if you want to say something I won't get mad." Jackson spoke with sincerity.
"Me?...I'm just worrying about you I guess." Mark spoke honestly eyes shifting away and he softly glared at the ground.
At hearing this Jackson sat up and took his legs off him and sat on the couch sideways looking at the older.
"I'm sorry I didn't want my problems to become troublesome for you." Jackson said as he placed his hand on Mark's mid-thigh.
"No, they aren't troublesome at all. You're...close so I just figured it was okay to worry." Mark struggled to express his feelings in neutral words.
"No, it's okay...Is it okay if I worry about you too then?" Jackson asked tipping his head to the side hoping to catch the other's eyes.
What? Mark's mind was muddled as his body felt diluted with a weird warmth. They were just simple words of an expression of friendship but why did it feel so nice?
"...Sure." Mark replied feeling antsier as Jackson's hand on his thigh slid a tad higher and face tilted closer.
"Then with that permission, I now decree myself able to be much pushier." Jackson said with a short laugh like all his troubles left his mind as he just focused on Mark who in turn just smiled ear to ear as he also let out a chuckle.
"And so, in turn, you have to be honest with me hyung." Jackson continued but in a flash turned more serious.
At times it was like Jackson could only be one or the other. He'd be all smiles but then put on a stern expression a second later.
"Right." Mark agreed. So long as he was honest...how honest did that mean?
"Good...then can I ask you some questions while we're at it?" Jackson asked as Mark finally made eye contact with him.
"Okay." Mark replied softly feeling oddly nervous.
"You're not upset right?"
"No...why?
"No, it's just...I have the hardest time gauging how you feel. I know I keep saying this but with how messy this trip has been...I can't help but feel you've been keeping something to yourself. Like I can tell more and more you seem uncomfortable." Jackson explained as he lightly scratched at the seam of the inner part of Mark's pants.
"...I am?" Mark asked back. He felt himself grow in anxiousness in hearing this. Was Jackson taking Mark's withheld attraction as uneasiness?
"Well haven't you? Or am I misreading things cause that could also be a possibility."
"...No, I guess it's cause of your or uh-the stuff going on-"
"Aha! See I am the issue-" Jackson cut in pointing a finger at Mark.
"No not in a bad way. Like...well you know how family worries kind of like that. I just want you...to be happy you know...?" Mark again stumbled putting his thoughts into words.
"Aww hyung you like me!" Jackson said excitedly as he then reached out and wrapped his arms around Mark's shoulders easily pulling him down to lay on top of him.
Mark's heart immediately sped up not only at Jackson's words but now at how he was half laying on Jackson's chest. He worried Jackson would feel his heart at how loud it was beating.
He immediately tried to hold his shallow his breaths again. This made the quote 'you take my breath away' make sense.
Mark couldn't seem to respond verbally as a shining smile glued itself on his face as Jackson held him in a headlock keeping his head pressed against his armpit and shoulder.
"Seriously Mark hyung you may be awful quiet but that just makes whatever you say more memorable. Can I adopt you or something I've always wanted a little brother." Jackson spoke as they laid there squeezed beside each other on the couch.
"I'm older than you." Mark reminded trying his hardest to not act as giddy or embarrassed as he felt. This was some sort of close bro hug right? I mean Jiho has done something similar to him before.
"Oh that's right...okay maybe I'll just keep you as you are. I don't need another older brother." Jackson said with a small laugh as he straightened out his legs on the couch over Mark's who was now in the fetal position.
"I have a little brother already too."
"Ah, that's right! I can barely remember him but I remember he was shorter than you right?"
"He still is." Mark like Jackson dissed his sibling a bit.
"Haha...and just think even with all this craziness to top it off my brothers going to have a kid. I'm going to be a uncle!" Jackson said slapping a hand onto his face.
"I'm an uncle." Mark informed getting over his nerves as he enjoyed how Jackson seemed to be much happier even if it was a temporary distraction.
"Really? Which of your siblings? Don't tell me your brother-..."
"No my older sister Tammy." Mark corrected with an amused chuckle.
"Oh that's right she's the one that's married. Is your other sister married too? You have another sister right?" Jackson asked curiously.
"Yeah, Grace she has a fiancée." Mark answered with a special pride for his eldest sister.
"Oh really cool. Do they have a date planned?" Jackson asked naturally.
"Not they did but...it was too close to my parents funeral so they postponed it." Mark explained letting a much sadder air fall on them. He felt Jackson's arm slid off his neck and back around his shoulder.
Jackson wasn't sure how to respond to such a sad occurrence. To have to put off your wedding for your parents death. It sounded absolutely heart-wrenching. So instead of saying anything, he hoped Mark would understand as he just held him tighter.
Just laying there they both felt so relaxed. Taking comfort in one another their lack of sleep finally caught up with them. Mark was the first to have heavy eyes as his head was still resting on Jackson's arm like a pillow. He really wondered if this was really happening.
And in sensing that the older was drifting off Jackson didn't dare move to wake him up. Instead, he allowed his muscles to relax as he also shut his eyes letting his head fall to the side as his chin rested against Mark's forehead.
This was kind of romantic wasn't it Jackson thought but didn't pay it much further thought as he too fell asleep.
--- Several hours later JB and Jinyoung both had gotten off work and decided to meet up at the market to get some groceries. After that, they both headed home together.
And as they had made it into the seclusion of their apartment building did Jinyoung bring up the topic that had been eating at him all day.
"Say do you remember when we woke up and Mark hyung was awake on the couch?"
"This morning?"
"Yeah, he looked kind of out of it." Jinyoung replied as they made their trip up to their place.
"Yeah, I remember." JB nodded.
"Well do you know if he was there before Jackson got back?"
"...Well, now that you mention it I did hear your door close before I got out of bed." JB recalled.
"Do you think Mark hyung was awake and able to greet Jackson when he came back?"
"It's probable. Why?" JB asked back wondering where Jinyoung was going with this.
"I was wondering about this all day. But don't you think it was possible Mark hyung stayed up waiting for Jackson to get back?"
"...I suppose so. Maybe he was worried-"
"That's just the thing!...I mean we were worried too but we conked out by two."
"Are you saying we're bad friends?" JB asked eyeing the younger.
"No well...no this ties in what caused me question all this. You know when we asked him if he was hungry and were talking to him. Remember what I said?" Jinyoung asked eagerly.
"...Um...you were talking about Jackson's decision and him going along with it right?"
"Yeah, that too but after that, he said something else. He said he'd go along with Jackson so long as he was happy." Jinyoung reminded.
"Yeah so?"
"And after that, I said that if he was a girl I'd think he'd be perfect for Jackson."
"Uhuh...okay but what are you trying to say?"
"Well, it was his response that got me really thinking. He replied that he didn't have to be a girl." Jinyoung pointed out very invested in his thoughts.
"...He doesn't have to be a girl..." JB repeated raising a brow.
"Precisely! He basically meant he doesn't have to be a girl to be partnered with Jackson." Jinyoung concluded enthusiastically.
"...I mean I suppose so but why is this imp-"
"It's important because it could mean that he's a homosexual." Jinyoung stated bluntly.
"We can't assume that. Maybe he's just really open-minded." JB replied as they finally had arrived back at their apartment door
"Maybe but I still have a weird feeling about it." Jinyoung replied as they entered their place taking off their shoes and shutting the door behind them.
"You can feel all you want but-" JB was responding but halted in place at the sight he saw.
Jinyoung caught onto this and went to see what the older was looking at after setting down the groceries he was carrying. Both looked and saw; It was Mark and Jackson squished together on their small couch fast asleep.
Both peeling their eyes away from the affectionate sight they looked at each other unblinkingly. Jinyoung then pulled JB aside going down the hall some.
"See I knew I had the right feeling! Plus remember back at the lodge they were cuddling then too." Jinyoung whispered.
"Yeah but Jackson's a naturally touchy person. Not to mention his long history with females." JB whispered back.
"I don't doubt Jackson's straightness or partiality towards girls but I'm talking about Mark." Jinyoung corrected.
"Jackson partial towards girls? You're saying there's a small percentage he'd be into guys??"
"Yes, hyung remember...the dare?"
"...Ah, right I had forgotten about that. So maybe there's a small question but I never once pegged him as gay." JB replied.
"Again I'm trying to talk about Mark hyung."
"Yeah well...It's safe to say we haven't known him long or well enough to really tell." JB shrugged.
"Sure sure but everything kind of clicks if you think about it enough."
"Well, I think you may be thinking about it too much. And so what if he is gay?"
"What you can't tell? Come on hyung this is what I was getting at all this time." Jinyoung responded with a huff.
"Sorry I can't remember when you expressed the possibility of him liking guys as some sort of issue." JB replied rubbing his temple.
"Hyung if he's gay he likes guys. Jackson's a guy and Mark happens to be laying in said guys arms on our very couch!" Jinyoung emphasized.
"...Good for him then...?" JB replied uncertain how to respond to such a revelation.
"No not good cause like you said Jackson has a long history of girls!"
"So it's a one-sided love? Is that it?"
"Exactly and if I'm right which again I really feel that I am then our hyung is really actually being dragged along by Jackson."
"...Well, there isn't much we can do about that. Mark knows Jackson's straight so..."
"Yeah, straight but he's also cuddling Mark as they sleep together. Don't you think that could be giving him mixed messages??" Jinyoung questioned with a deadpanned expression.
"Yeah, him and the million other girls Jackson befriended." JB responded tiredly thinking back to how many girls had come up him asking about the younger.
"...Point taken...is there really nothing we can do?" Jinyoung sighed.
"What did you have in mind? I mean were you thinking we should somehow pair them up?"
"...Well-"
"Jinyoung that's really bold of you not to mention how many different ways we could be wrong and things could be messed up. We don't even know for sure if Mark swings that way." JB spoke rationally.
"Okay I know you're right but we can start with that and see how things go."
"Start with what?" JB crossed his arms.
"Figuring out if Mark is gay." Jinyoung said extra quietly.
"...And how would you go about doing that?"
"We have two options. Find out by beating around the bush or simply ask."
"...Well, good luck with that." JB said turning around to leave but he then felt Jinyoung's hand grasp him by the back of his collar.
"I said 'we' as in both of us. We're a team and I can't beat around the bush alone." Jinyoung pleaded turning the older back to face him.
"And why can't you just ask him?" JB question holding back the need to roll his eyes.
"Because if I do ask and he denies it then things will be weird but if we can get him to admit it then everything will be neatly settled."
"And how may I ask are you planning on getting such information from him?"
"I have an idea but I have to refine it a bit more. But I do have to hurry if Jackson's still planning on moving to stay at a hotel for the rest of his trip since he'll probably take Mark with him." Jinyoung figured.
"Are you sure you need my help?"
"I need you to be in on this. So if I need you to say some lines I hope you'll do so. If not for me than for Mark hyung."
"For Mark? How is this benefiting him?" JB questioned.
"Well for one he won't have to hide and two we can be there for him. You know he's practically apart of the group now. Meaning we should get closer to him and help. Wouldn't you agree mister leader?" Jinyoung asked tilting his head a bit.
"...Yeah I guess." JB replied defeatedly.
"Good." Jinyoung responded and in seeing the older's compliance he smiled wide and pulled a tired looking JB into a side hug.
"What are we doing?" JB grumbled as Jinyoung just escorted them out of the hallway still smiling.
"Our jobs."
---
And only an hour later after as the sun was beginning to set did the couple on the couch get an awakening. The sudden ringing noise and bothersome vibration between them roused them from their slumber.
It took several rings for a groggy Mark to figure out it was his phone ringing in his pocket. Half sitting up Mark pulled out the device quickly checking who it was before hesitantly answering it.
"Hello?" Mark answered after clearing his throat. But as he regained himself he couldn't help but be aware of the person awaking beside him.
"Mark! Hey did I catch you at a bad time?" Jiho's voice responded cheerfully. It was quite the contrast to the Jiho who left them earlier that day.
"No, it's fine." Mark replied now sitting up fully staring ahead.
And at the movement and conversation, Jackson suddenly was also much more alert.
"Good good well I know after this mornings events I wasn't sure if you'd still remember. But I do still want to catch up with you. So is dinner tonight still on?"
Mark hesitated in answering as he turned his head back to peak at Jackson but was not expecting the younger to also be slightly sat up staring right back at him. What was keeping him from answering? It was Jackson right?
Who else would it be? What reason could he give not to go? And would Jackson be upset? Should he ask Jackson? Wouldn't that be like asking for permission? But then again-
"Hello, you still there?" Jiho's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Yeah sorry um sure. Sounds fine." Mark replied and bit his lip anxiously.
"Great so should I pick you up. I know it's been a while since you've maneuvered around Korea."
"Uh okay, I'll text you the address just wait for me outside." Mark spoke tensing at the movement of Jackson shifting his legs over the couch in a sitting position.
"Great I'll text you when I'm there okay?"
"Right bye."
"Bye." Jiho said before both hung up at the same time.
Mark lowered his phone strangely afraid to turn around.
"Was that Jiho?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah." Mark nodded as he also moved his legs off the couch to stand up.
"What did he say?" Jackson asked in an almost nervous voice.
"He uh...he wanted to still go out to dinner with me." Mark replied taking in Jackson's reaction.
"...That sounds nice." The younger said as he stood and stretched.
"..Yes, I should go get ready." Mark had to hold back a frown as he moved to step away but felt a hand on his shoulder. Mark stopped and looked back at him who paused his movements.
"Ah sorry." Jackson pulled his hand back that again seemed to have a mind of its own.
Mark just gave him a small smile as to say that it was okay and then moved away to their temporary room. And as he disappeared from Jackson's sight the younger glared at his hand with a scowl. What was wrong with him? Why did he do that?
---
And after thirty minutes Mark rejoined into the main part of the flat. Jinyoung and JB were now there as Jackson had been telling them in less detail what had happened today. All eyes settled on Mark as he walked out groomed and dressed neatly for his outing.
"Hyung I heard you were going out with Jiho hyung." Jinyoung said they watched the eldest move towards the door to put his shoes on.
"Yes, I shouldn't be long." Mark nodded avoiding Jackson's gaze.
"Have fun." Jinyoung said goodbye as Mark slipped his shoes on in a rush to leave.
"See you." Mark waved halfheartedly as he opened and closed the door behind him.
And with Mark's departure, Jackson seemed to feel irritated. He felt boxed in indoors and suddenly was agitated at the sight of the couch that held a lingering trace of their once laying there.
But as the two owners of the place were about to ask what was bugging their Chinese friend they were cut off.
"I'm going to the gym." Jackson said getting up to change into some suitable clothes for the activity.
"Wait do you even know where there's a gym?" JB asked following the younger a bit so he could hear him.
"Yeah, I saw one earlier. I'll jog there." Jackson shouted from the room as he was quickly changing not caring to even close the door while doing so.
And not even three minutes later Jackson was in a tank top and some basketball shorts as he speedily walked out and was also rushing to leave.
"Don't be as late yeah?" Jinyoung called out to Jackson as he was shoving his foot in his shoes.
"Yeah bye." Jackson simply replied as he also left with nothing but his phone wallet and sweater in hand.
And with that, there was just the two Koreans left in their place. JB shook his head and saw how Jinyoung's head seemed to be churning thoughts.
"I can practically see the wheels turning in your head." JB spoke resting his hand near Jinyoung's neck shaking him a bit.
"That was the finest show of oblivious jealousy that I've ever seen. Hyung I think we're onto something." Jinyoung gave a sly but pleased grin pointing his finger.
"And I think you're on something." JB joked as he then felt a sharp pain elbow his side.
|
I love you both so dearly, my firelights.
You shot up with a gasp, heart pounding and covered in a cold sweat. Hands shaking, your eyes flickered around the room, the vision of your parents slowly fading from your sight as reality set in.
You were in your room at the Brothel. You weren’t a helpless child anymore, you were a trained fighter, and you were safe. Putting your head in your hands, you took a deep shaky breath. The sick feeling didn’t leave your chest and you tried to convince yourself that it was paranoia. You hadn’t had a dream about your parents in forever, so it must be that throwing you off. ‘That’s it.’ You thought desperately. ‘A bad dream. I’m nervous and it’s a bad dream.’
Glancing over at your clock, you realized you woke up much earlier than your alarm, and though you wanted to go back to sleep, there was no way you would be able to with how anxious you were. You leaned down to place a kiss on your sleeping girlfriend’s forehead and rolled off of her, quickly going through your morning routine. You hummed quietly as you grabbed your laundry off the floor, giggling at the sight of your bra and the memory it evoked, before putting it back on and sitting at the vanity.
Your anxiety didn't quite go away but at least it only hummed in the back of your head now instead of filling every corner of your mind. As you took off your scarf and started unbraiding your hair, you let your thoughts wander.
Were you nervous about last night? You were pretty sure it went amazingly, you certainly enjoyed yourself and you tried to make sure Vi did too but what if she woke up and felt awkward around you? You didn't think she would but sometimes people felt differently in the light of day.
Maybe it was your job? No, that couldn't be it, not after last night. This was a basic Brunch event, you were only providing background music and the rich women were usually too drunk on mimosas to care about what you did.
Was it Vi's job? Powder was going and you really wanted it to go well for her. Her gadgets were slowly getting better but lately, she had been comparing herself to everyone else. It was hard to raise her confidence when she was determined to not see the value in herself.
'Maybe I should plan a day with just me and her? We can go over her- that's an arm.' Looking over your shoulder, you giggled at Vi's tired glare and leaned up to kiss her cheek. "Morning, Shortcake."
"Why are you awake?" She grumbled, hooking her chin over your shoulder and raising a hand to pick sullenly at your bra. "And why is this on?" Snorting in amusement, you finished taking down your hair and started contemplating what to do with it.
"Couldn't sleep anymore. And because I have work!" You squealed in laughter when she suddenly dug her fingers into your side and picked you up, throwing you back on the bed. "Vi! I have work!"
"Yeah in like, three or four hours." Crawling on top of you, she pinched your thigh when you tried to get up. "You're up way too damn early. Cuddle with me and go back to sleep."
"I'm not sleepy!" You flung your head back dramatically and whined loudly. Though you were acting bratty, you were secretly relieved that one of your possible anxieties was proven false. Obviously, Vi wasn't feeling awkward around you. "You should go back to bed by yourself, if you're so tired." Her nose scrunched up in irritation and she opened her mouth to retort before stopping. When a slow smirk crawled over her face, you felt a twinge of apprehension. Sliding her hand up your stomach, she rubbed her thumb over your clothed nipple and chuckled at your quiet whimper.
"I'll just wear you out then."
"Vi! I have work- ah!" Gasping and arching your back at the sharp pull, you pushed weakly at Vi's shoulders. "You are a
menace
."
"You could've just cuddled with me and went back to sleep." She muttered absentmindedly, reaching behind you to unsnap your bra and promptly flinging it somewhere. "But no, you wanna be difficult when you don't have to even head out for like three hours." She placed a soft bite on your nipple, kissing it gently to soothe it when you whimpered. She leaned down and softly licked the pebbled nub, drawing it into her mouth and giving it a gentle suck and holding you tight to her body when you arched into her. Grabbing your leg and hooking it around her waist, she silenced your whine with a deep kiss. "Now, I'm gonna
make
you nap with me."
--
Running your hand over Vi's back, you sent small bursts of healing magic over the scratches you left until she shouldered your hand away with a grunt. Rolling your eyes, you tried again and she grabbed your wrist, pinning it to the bed. "Vi, stop, I left marks."
"Are they gonna scar?" She mumbled, rubbing her face deeper into your shoulder and yawning.
"No, but-"
"Leave ‘em. Feels nice." You blushed but bit your lip to hold in your smile. "Now cuddle with me and nap."
You couldn't deny that you were tired again. And the anxiety was long gone but you couldn't help picking at her. You wouldn't be you if you didn't.
"I don't know... I'm sweaty now and I really should shower-" You let out a quiet 'eep' as she sat up on one arm and loomed over you with a threatening stare.
"I will wreck you, right up until you have to leave for work, if you don't lay down and nap with me
right now
." And you wanted to test her. You really did but you knew based on the look on her face, she was deadly serious and you valued your life and your sanity. Huffing in resignation, you turned your head away and relaxed. You felt her staring at you for a few more moments before she lay back down on your shoulder. Running your fingers through her hair, you focused on the sound of her light even breaths and, before you knew it, you had fallen back asleep.
--
You woke up an hour before work as you usually did and after freeing yourself from the bed, you finally got ready for work. Packing your Topside clothes in your bag, you shook Vi awake and dodged her attempts to trap you back in the bed. Grabbing her flailing hand, you dragged her up, grunting when she dropped her full weight on you.
“I have to go soon, Shortcake! And you have to get ready.” She huffed in irritation but stood and stretched, letting out a satisfied groan when her back cracked. You leaned up to kiss her cheek and snickered as she stumbled around, haphazardly throwing on her clothes in a partial daze.
Watching her get ready, you felt the uneasy feeling start to creep up again. It was starting to irritate you because you couldn't pinpoint where the feeling was coming from. Vi had already reassured you that it would be an easy job and you trusted her. With a deep breath, you pushed the thoughts down as deep as you could. There was no use worrying about it. Vi and the others were amazing at what they did and you had faith that they would come back home safe.
Smiling at Vi when she walked up ready to go, you weren't surprised to see nosy Miguel waiting in the hallway with a Chesire grin on his face.
"Well,
hello,
Nightingale. Do any singing last night?" You heard Vi snort behind you and she cut you off before you could respond to his comment.
"I think I helped her hit some pretty high notes." You glared at Miguel's cackling form before flipping your hair in Vi's smug face and strutting towards the door.
"You're single now Vi. Enjoy dying alone." You ignored her giggle but once outside, you didn't fight the quick kiss she dropped on your pouting lips.
"I'll see you later, Princess." Watching her walk away, that feeling of unease slammed into you so hard that you didn't even realize you had grabbed her wrist until she was looking at you with wide, concerned eyes. Before she could question you about it, you leaned up and pulled her down into a deep kiss, taking advantage of her shocked gasp to suck her tongue into your mouth, coaxing a light moan from her. When she leaned back, you saw the questioning look on her face and you quickly pulled her back in, pulling gently at her hair and sighing in relief when she wrapped her arms around your waist and brought you flush against her body. Pulling back for air, you saw her eyes follow the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips until it snapped.
"Let's just go back to bed, Puppy." Her eyes widened and snapped to yours. "I can just send a message to the Owner that I'm tired from yesterday and I'm sure you can do this job tomorrow, so let's-"
"Nari." You turned away from her concerned face and clutched desperately at your sleeve. "Princess, what's going on? You've been antsy almost all morning." She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and kissed your forehead. "Talk to me?"
"I don't know. I just feel really anxious?" You sighed and turned around, rubbing your cheek against hers and forcing yourself to relax. You were being paranoid and nothing was going to happen. "Just promise me to be safe." You reluctantly smiled when she shot you a confident grin.
"Always, Princess."
--
The uneasy feeling hadn't settled but you had managed to put it in the back of your mind. You didn't know what was bothering you so badly but you knew something just didn't seem right. Luckily, after your set was done, you just had to mingle with guests and they provided a great distraction. The man you were talking to right now was a particularly entertaining regular who was telling you yet another story about his beloved daughter.
"Elicia has just gotten so big now! She's at that age where she wants to tell me about every little thing, the bug she saw this morning, a crayon she lost, even a little spot on the wall all become an epic tale for her! Oh, my precious darling is absolutely adorable!" You covered your mouth to hide your giggles but you knew you were caught when he shot you an over the top wink. "What about you Song? Any chatty younger siblings?" You shook your head with a fond smile.
"My little brother, Ekko, he's twelve now and he's at that age where he's convinced he's mostly independent." You dramatically put the back of your hand on your forehead. "He doesn't need his big sissy as much anymore! It makes me want to wither up sometimes." You grinned at his booming laugh and took a small sip of your water. "My girlfriend’s younger sister, however, thinks I'm the coolest thing ever! She’s my own little adorable shadow whenever I hang out with them and she can't wait to tell me absolutely... everything." Your eyes widened as you trailed off and you barely heard Mr. Hughes's concerned call of your name. "She tells me everything." You muttered under your breath and the pieces started falling into place.
When Vi first mentioned this job you found it weird that Powder hadn't spoken to you about it at all, especially considering it was her first one in years but you chalked it up to nerves. But that didn't make sense because Powder came to you for comfort and reassurance when she was nervous. So, why did she not tell you the moment Vi told her she would be coming?
Come to think of it,
no one
besides Vi had brought this job up to you. And the only reason they would do that is if...
Is if Vi specifically told them not to.
Standing up abruptly, you turned to Mr. Hughes with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry sir, I need to-" You stumbled forward as what felt like an earthquake rocked the building and Mr. Hughes caught you before you could hit the ground. As soon as you gained your balance, you ran off. Ignoring his worried shout of your name, you dashed towards the pillar of smoke, mind racing as you prayed with everything you were that they wouldn't be anywhere near it.
You slid to a stop near the building and the blood drained from your face as you realized whose apartment had been caught in the explosion and how extensive the damage was. 'The fallout from this is going to be catastrophic.' Glancing around frantically, you started taking note of who was in the crowd, the number of Enforcers, everything. If there was anything you saw today that you could use later-
"Stop them!"
Making eye contact with a pair of panicked steel-blue eyes, you felt as if time had slowed. She had her hood up but there was no mistaking those eyes that widened upon seeing you. And as fast as the moment started, it ended and they were off. The Enforcers were struggling to catch up to them and you knew once they made it to the bridge, they'd be home free but they had to avoid
all
the Enforcers on the way there. You were relieved that none of them were immediately identifiable as they were all wearing hoods but it wouldn't matter. The Enforcers may not know it was them but they
would
know that four Undercity kids made a mad dash through Piltover after the explosion and that would be enough for them to start storming the Lanes.
Biting your nail, your mind ran through as many options as possible to salvage this. You had one but that would only work if you could force some people to cooperate and get brought before the Council before someone was arrested but you had no idea when the Enforcers would storm the Lanes. And even then-
You jumped when someone's hand touched your shoulder and whirled around, surprised to see Mr. Hughes' concerned face. "Sir! I'm so sorry I-"
"Did you know those kids?" Your face shut down and you took a step back, prepared to book it but he just nodded firmly. "How can I help?" He chuckled at your dark suspicious look and patted you on the shoulder. "Let's just say, I have a weak spot for the Underdog. Plus, I used to be on the Council." His face became shadowed with anger and guilt and you realized it wasn't just about helping you. He had a bone to pick with the Council in general. Pettiness you could trust more than kindness. "They'll send one of your friends to Stillwater for this, for sure. So, how can I help?" Searching his eyes for any hint of deceit you decided that you didn't have time to figure him out.
"Buy about twelve boxes of scrap metal and meet me at the bridge?” As you turned around to run off, you paused when he called your name again.
“And where are you going?” You smirked and gave a shrug that was more nonchalant than you felt.
“I’m going to see a guy about a scapegoat!”
--
You were tired, sweaty, swore, and still wearing your Piltovan clothes but you were almost done. It had taken all day and part of the night to get everything set up but it would be worth it. You refused to carry another box by yourself, however. Walking into the Last Drop, you took note of the high tensions and Vander’s absence. Nodding towards one of the bartenders, you made your way downstairs and smiled softly at seeing Powder eavesdropping outside the door. Noticing her vaguely distressed look, you tuned into the conversation.
“You were twice the person at half her age!” You stiffened at Mylo’s irritated voice and harsh words. While you were relieved he wasn’t saying it to Powder’s face, and it had taken way too long to teach him about the effect his words had, she still ended up hearing them and it wasn’t much better.
“You know what, Mylo? You're right. There's a bunch of things Powder just can't do.” When you saw Powder’s heartbroken face, you crouched down next to her and put a finger to your lips when she jumped. Nodding your head towards the open door, her body tensed up but she leaned into the comforting hand you placed on her back and turned back to the door to listen. “Like, complain about everything.” Powder’s eyes widened as she listened to her sister tear Mylo a new one and she couldn’t help but giggle at the face Vi made when Mylo continued to talk. Smiling at Powder’s improved mood, you rubbed your cheek against hers and dropped a light kiss on it. Standing up, you ruffled her hair and held your hand out for her to take.
“Let’s get you home, Flower.”
--
When Vi walked down the stairs after comforting Powder, she was met with your bland smile and felt the blood drain from her face.
You had that gleam in your eye. To anyone else who didn’t know you, it was almost indiscernible from your normal friendly smile. To Vi, though? She knew that look.
She was fucked.
She smiled nervously and gulped when your eyes narrowed further.
“Birdie! I forgot to tell you earlier how pretty you look today!” Powder launched herself at you and Vi sighed in relief when your eyes moved away from her.
“Thank you so much, my little Bluebird! I heard Mouser worked today?” Powder deflated and you hummed thoughtfully as you pet her hair. “Did it not go off?”
“No, it did but-”
“Which means it was a success!” You picked her up and spun her around, smothering her cheek in kisses as Powder laughed wildly and pretended to struggle before happily hugging you back. Vi couldn’t help smiling fondly at the sight of you two. When you put Powder down and Vi was once again faced with your glare, her smile quickly fell and a chill went down her spine. Fuck, she almost forgot she was in trouble.”Powder, honey, me and your sister have to talk. I’ll see you later, okay?” Vi didn’t dare look away as she heard Powder pause for a moment.
“Are you and Vi going to fight again?” You rubbed your cheek against hers until she smiled at you.
“No sweetheart, we’re going to have a discussion. I’ll be back tonight.” With a nervous glance towards Vi, who gave her a shaky smile, Powder walked away. The tension in the air skyrocketed without her presence and Vi was
absolutely
positive that she was going to die tonight.
“Heeeeyy Princess-”
“Outside. Now.”
“Right, yes, okay. Going.” She did an abrupt turn and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mylo snickering. Vi gave him a fierce glare and he gulped and ran off. She'd give him something to laugh about later.
Standing outside, you took a deep breath before turning to face Vi. You had spent the entire day trying to calm down. From the moment you made eye contact with her earlier, you had tried to be serene and reasonable. But now, looking at her bruised, dirty face and a new, deep cut on her upper lip, all the rage you had put aside mixed with your deep worry and you exploded.
“‘It’s an easy job.’” You hissed and she put her hands up in a placating gesture.
“Listen-”
“‘Just a simple grab-and-go, Princess, no need to worry.’”
“It wasn’t suppos-”
“An EXPLOSION, VI!”
“It wasn’t supposed to go that way!” Vi knew the moment that she raised her voice and your face closed off, that she royally fucked up. “Babe...”
“Do you know why I’m pissed off Vi?” Before Vi could open her mouth, you continued. “I’m not mad because you did a job Topside. I’m not mad that there was an explosion. To be honest, I’m not even that fucking mad you lied to me!” Somehow, Vi doubted that. “I’m mad because you didn’t ask me-”
“I’m sorry, do I need your permission-”
“Do
not
take that tone with me.” Vi’s teeth clacked as she quickly stopped talking and you seethed for a bit before taking a deep breath and looking her in the eye again. “I’m mad you didn’t ask me if I had any information. Mad that you thought I would control you and what you do! No matter how bad I’ve thought jobs in the past were, I’ve never
once
told you not to do them. Advised against it, absolutely, but never demanded you not do them!” Vi looked to the side in guilt.
“I didn’t want you to possibly get mixed up if the job went bad...” She mumbled under her breath. After a second you sighed and stepped closer to Vi, grabbing her chin gently and forcing her to look you in the eye.
“Don’t lie to yourself Vi but especially don’t lie to me.” You sounded tired and honestly, Vi preferred the anger over this.
“I’m not-!”
“Part of it may have been so that I would have had plausible deniability but you absolutely decided not to tell me because you thought I would try and talk you out of it.” At Vi’s silence, you slid your hand up and cupped her cheek. “And you felt so nervous about the job, that you knew if I gave you any reason to doubt it, you would drop it and you didn’t want to do that right?” Vi bit her lip and looked off to the side again, refusing to turn back towards you when you tried to catch her eyes again. “Vi...”
“I know we could’ve handled it. If it wasn’t for that explosion...” At Vi’s whispered words, the rest of your anger drained away and you wrapped your arms around her neck.
“Look at me, Dragon...” It took a while but Vi eventually looked down into your eyes and flinched at the disappointed look you gave her. “That apartment belonged to Jayce Talis.” Her brows furrowed in confusion.
“What?”
“He’s a student at the Academy of Piltover who apprentices under Heimerdinger. He’s known for buying experimental and highly temperamental materials, with no care for how much he spends because he’s funded by the Kirammans. He has a particular interest in the Arcane-”
“Stop,” Vi whispered and closed her eyes, leaning her forehead down against yours. “Stop. I get it. I’m sorry.” Vi’s hands came up, fluttering hesitantly at your sides before gently placing them on your waist.
“I’m here as a resource. I know you don't like to think of me like that but I am. I spend days and nights working for these people. I chat with them, sing to them, flirt with them and they drop me tiny pieces of information that don’t seem important to them. After all, I’m just some Zaun street rat, playing Piltie.” Vi reared her head back, ready to go on a tirade about how you were so much more than that and to screw what those topsiders thought, when you booped her nose with the tip of your nail, causing her to go cross-eyed. “I don’t care what they think, Vi. What I care about is what they give me. Money, information, and resources. All of which are completely at your disposal if you ever need them. And if you had asked me, I would’ve happily given you all the information you needed, even if I didn’t think it was the best idea. You know I just want the best for you and everyone.”
“I know.” She let out a long groan and plopped her head on your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around her in a tight embrace that she happily returned. “I’m sorry, Princess.”
“I was so worried Vi, my heart damn near stopped when I saw you and the others running down that street.”
“Was anyone...” She didn’t want to ask and she wasn’t sure if she could stomach if people lost their lives because of their mistake but she knew she had a responsibility to find out.
“No, no. Some people were badly hurt but no one was killed. The Kirammans are angrier about the money lost than anything but it’ll be okay. I’ll- I’ll handle it.”
“Vander said the same thing.”
“Well, me, Vander and, Claggor are the common sense of the family.” Vi pouted but couldn’t help chuckling when you laughed so hard, you snorted. She rubbed her nose against yours and flushed lightly when you kissed her cheek.
“So... am I still in trouble?” You giggled at her enticing tone and flicked her in the forehead.
“Oh yes, you’re absolutely in fucking trouble.”
“So... does this mean we can’t make out?” Vi smirked when your eyes automatically darted to her lips and she leaned forward, stopping centimeters away from giving you a proper kiss. “Is that a no?” You huffed and Vi was choking on a mouthful of hair as you swung your hair over your shoulder directly into her face.
“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, take this,” you picked up a box full of metal from behind you and dropped it into her arms. Vi grunted at the unexpected weight, almost toppling forward before righting herself. “And help me carry it to the arcade.”
“And by help, I’m sure you mean I’m going to carry it all the way there and while watching your cute ass sashay in front of me right?”
“You are correct! Don’t complain, I carted about ten of these bad boys before I came to chew your ass a new one.” Vi stopped in confusion, grunting when you hip checked her and started walking again.
“Why are you carrying boxes full of metal around?” You tied your hair up and quickly walked in front of Vi, picking up another box that was tucked in a different alleyway.
“Vander told you to lay low right? I’ll be laying low with you. And these?” You shifted the box up and smiled at Vi over your shoulder. “These are going to help me handle when the Enforcers come.”
“When? But-”
“There’s a Kiramman on the Council Vi. They know that four Undercity kids ran through Piltover after the explosion and, with the amount of expensive bullshit lost, they’re looking to make an example of someone. The Enforcers will absolutely be here if they’re not already.” Vi bit her lip, feeling the guilt creep up her spine before being forced out of her dark thoughts with a gentle press of lips against hers. Looking down at your bright golden eyes, your brown skin glittering under the neon lights, and your soft, loving smile, Vi couldn’t help but lean down and press another chaste kiss on your full lips. “Do you trust me, Shortcake?” Vi snorted at the nickname and placed another kiss on your cheek.
“Of course, Princess.”
“Then trust me when I say that I’ll handle it.” You turned back around, gesturing at Vi to follow you before continuing to the arcade. Walking behind you, she couldn’t help but admire your confident walk, which naturally led her eyes down to the swaying of your hips. You laughed when Vi whistled playfully.
“Are you gonna let me handle your lips later darl’ or is that still off the table?”
“I will
think
about it, only if you fucking shut up and
walk!”
“How am I supposed to tell you how nice your ass looks if I shut up Princess?” Vi cackled at your loud annoyed groan and dodged the shoe that you kicked at her. Picking up the shoe and placing it back on your foot, Vi kissed your cheek and dodged the kick that was aimed at her. “Love you, Sugar.” You sighed fondly and rubbed your cheek against hers, smiling when she placed a loud smacking kiss on yours.
“Love you too, Shortcake.”
--
Watching Vi work out was like viewing a masterpiece. Her speed, her strength, her smooth and graceful movements as she dodged around the robot’s punches. Leaning back on your hands from your seat on the counter of the gun game, you bit your lip as you felt the butterflies erupt in your chest. She was way too gorgeous for her own good.
"You want a napkin for that drool, Doc?" Claggor teased, tossing a can at you when you didn't even look his way.
"No, thank you, I'll just make Vi lick it up when she gets over here." You muttered, grinning over at him as he cackled loudly. Vi winked over at you and you blew a kiss her way, ignoring Mylo's loud gagging noises.
"Remind me why we bother with this dump." You rolled your eyes at Mylo's whining voice, leaning back some to make sure that Powder didn't need help hooking the machine up.
"Vander said to lay low. Enforcers never come down here, so this is as good a place as any." Throwing her boxing gloves off, she walked over to you, grinning impishly as she stood between your legs. "Hey, Princess." Ignoring Mylo's grumbles, you leaned to give her a quick kiss, dropping another on her new lip scar.
"Hey, Dragon." Playing with the slit in your skirt, her smirk turned devious.
"Nice skirt. Got someone you're trying to impress?"
"No, I thought Mylo could use a handicap so I decided to show some leg." Shooting a sly side glance at him, you waved your hand with a small shrug. “Shame it didn’t work.”
"Gonna take more than some leg for me to beat that monster," Mylo muttered, causing you to giggle and Vi to grin smugly.
"Oh, what's the matter, Mylo? You worried Powder's gonna beat you again? Must be hard getting beat by both sisters in one day." You tried to cover up your laugh at Claggor's mocking words but Mylo's irritated look showed you failed miserably.
"Hey, if she didn't keep fixing these things, I wouldn't keep missing!" Powder popped up from behind the counter with a confident smirk, causing Mylo to jump and you to laugh harder. Powering up the game, she quickly proved she was a better shot than Mylo by hitting a headshot on every target. You leaned over to give her a high five and she turned her glowering look away from Mylo to give you a wide grin.
"I knew you'd be a better shot than me! And thus the student surpasses the teacher." You had taken to teaching Powder everything Zeri showed you in your free time and were blown away by how well she took to marksmanship. While you were a competent shot, you knew you would never be the sharpshooter that she would grow into. "You met up with Zeri recently?"
"Yeah! Only once, cause she doesn't have much time but she says that I'm just about as good as her now." You ruffled her hair and she stuck her tongue out at Mylo, who returned the gesture. Vi laughed and turned around in your arms, leaning her back against your chest with a quiet sigh. You kissed the back of her head and placed your hands on her slightly tense shoulders, massaging them and smiling when she relaxed against you.
"You guys know I wouldn't take you on a job you couldn't handle, right?" Mylo scoffed at Vi's insecure tone and you knew he was going to say something that would piss you off.
"Are you kidding? That was the best job we've ever done! Maybe just don't take Powder next time- ow!" He rubbed his head and glared at you, which you returned threefold. You shook out your aching hand and jabbed a finger in his chest.
"Mylo, watch your fucking-" You paused, your ears perking up at the sound of increasingly loud voices. Gently pushing Vi forward, you stood up and took note of Powder's nervous look. "Flower?"
"Hey, guys? You should see this..." You let out a short, panicked scream at seeing a man come crashing through the arcade. Looking up, your heart dropped at the sight of two Enforcers coming through the broken window. You put a comforting hand on Powder's shoulder when she pressed against you and took a deep breath.
"Search them."
You could do this. You had prepared for this. True, it had only been a few days since the explosion but you had prepared for them to have a timely response. What you weren't prepared for was Vi's panicked glance at Powder and realizing that she must have had something from the apartment on her.
Fucking hell, these two.
Vi signaled Claggor to cut the lights but you sucked your teeth and nodded slightly at his unsure look. Hooking your foot around Powder's ankle, you tripped her and snatched the pack on her waist, quickly kicking it under the gun counter and smiling innocently at the Enforcer’s aggressive 'don't move!'
"Sorry, sorry." You forced an easygoing smile on your face and stepped forward in front of Powder. "Nerves, y'know. It's not often we're greeted so... enthusiastically." You gestured at the unconscious man as if to say 'what do you expect.’ "As my friend said, we have nothing to hide." You saw one of the Enforcers hesitate and their eyes widen in shock.
"Songbird? What are you doing in the Lanes?" The other Enforcer did a double take and took his mask off. You forced a giggle past your tight throat.
"I live here! Songbird of Zaun is my full title, though many like to forget that part." The one with his mask on scrunched his face up and looked around in distaste. You felt an anger rise in you but viciously stamped it down.
"Why stay here? Surely you could afford to live in Piltover." Gritting your teeth, you gave a soft smile.
"My family is here." You simply stated. "I'm assuming you're here about the explosion a few days ago." The unmasked one nodded.
"Four undercity kids were reported to be seen fleeing the scene of the crime. They all had their faces covered, so there's no description to go on but we've been searching the possessions of every registered Undercity kid." He looked around and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I can't help but notice that, not including you, there are four kids here. Were your friends Topside on the day of the incident?" Though your smile never left your face, your heart was beating out of your chest.
"They were actually." You felt Vi tense up next to you and subtly pushed your leg up against hers. "They were running an errand for me. Do you mind if I..." At the unmasked Enforcer's nod, you leaned over the game counter and pulled a box of scrap metal over it, quietly thanking Vi when she pulled it the rest of the way up. Sliding it over, you sighed quietly in relief when they didn't automatically dismiss it. "I asked them to buy some scrap metal for me. Vi, the pink haired one, has the receipt in her pocket." The unmasked one came over and patted her down, pulling the receipt out of her pocket with a disbelieving look on his face. You were sure Vi's face matched it, considering you had slipped that into her pocket the moment the Enforcers stepped through the window.
The masked Enforcer narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "And why did you need them to buy a box of scrap metal?" You gave him a confused look and gestured around you.
"No offense, sir, but I feel that's obvious. We build a lot of what we need down here. This arcade should demonstrate that." He flushed, in embarrassment or anger you couldn't tell, and opened his mouth to retort before his partner held up the receipt.
"This checks out. Time and place puts them near the apartment. But," He turned towards you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "If they had a legitimate reason to be there, why did they run?" You gave him a sad smile, while internally cheering at the first part of your plan going smoothly.
"We're Zaunites, sir. They knew they'd be blamed the moment the explosion went off and so they tried to leave. From what I've been told, the Enforcers immediately gave chase." He coughed and looked away, standing up straight after a moment.
"Were you there, at the scene of the crime? Anything you might've seen could be helpful, even if you don't think it is." You held back the vicious grin by the skin of your teeth and hummed thoughtfully.
"I was. I saw who exited the apartment and I recognized them because they've been to a few of my performances." The unmasked Enforcer turned to you with wide eyes and you kept the slightly guilty frown on your face.
"Why didn't you come forward?" Turning your face away, you shrugged slightly.
"I didn't think the Enforcers would storm the Lanes and I didn't want to make any enemies in Piltover. Also, a part of me wanted them to come forward on their own but I see now that that was a mistake. I'd be happy to give my information to the Council! I still think you should search us, however. Just to make sure my friends are cleared of any suspicion." With a firm nod, he turned to his partner and gestured forward as he made his way over to Mylo. The Masked Enforcer quickly searched Vi and Powder, finding nothing on them, which gave you a huge sense of relief. When he turned towards you, your eyes narrowed slightly at the perverse look on his face. You bit the inside of your cheek harshly but kept the placid smile in place. Your body stiffened slightly when you felt him slowly running his hands over your arms, taking much more time with you than he had the others. You felt Vi stiffen when ran his hands over your back and chest, spending too much time on both. Seeing her fist ball up in the corner of your eye, you were relieved when he moved on and Claggor subtly grabbed Vi's arm.
You could bear this. This wasn't the first time you had been felt up by a disgusting entitled person and it wouldn't be the last.
When you felt his hands move up your legs you knew that if he wasn't stopped soon that everyone would lose their shit and end up back in a worse situation.
"Andrews!" You and the Enforcer both jumped and he snatched his hands away from you to your immense relief. The unmasked Enforcer came over, lips pursed in anger and the now identified Andrews paled slightly and backed away a few more steps. "I think that's enough don't you." It was phrased as a question but it was obvious he wasn't looking for an answer. Nodding towards the window, he looked away from him dismissively. "Round up the other Enforcers." After a moment, Andrews turned and stormed out, barking orders at the horde of Enforcers still harassing people. Seeing all of them brought uncomfortable memories up but you forced them back down. Now was not the time.
The unmasked Enforcer gave you an apologetic smile before clipping his mask back on. "You'll have to come with us to give your statement but, you'll be back by tonight. This I can promise." You nodded solemnly and patted Powder's hair reassuringly when she clutched onto you.
"It's alright, Flower!" You crouched down and rubbed her cheek against yours smiling when she returned the gesture. "I'll be fine. Don't you worry, okay?" Standing up, everyone rushed over to hug you and you couldn't help your quiet laughter. "Guys! I'll be fine, okay? Make sure to clean up the glass and ask Benzo to come out and fix the window okay?" As you turned to walk away you felt Vi grab your wrist and you turned to her with a questioning look. Grabbing your chin with the utmost care, she placed a soft kiss on your lips, just enough for you to feel the warmth of her skin before pulling back. You caressed her cheek and returned the kiss when she grabbed your hand to hold it in place. Smiling, you placed your forehead against hers.
"I got this, Vi. Trust me." Her eyes searched yours as if looking for something and when she found whatever it was, she nodded firmly.
"I do. I'll be waiting up, Princess, so don't take too long." Stepping back, you grabbed the box of scrap metal, which the Enforcer took from you immediately, and before they could fully register it, you were both gone.
It was silent after you left, no one being able to fully comprehend what just happened. Claggor turned to Vi, eyes wide with uncertainty.
"Vi... what the fuck just happened? How did she pull that off? When did you get that receipt? Is she going to lie to the Council!" His voice raised with every panicked question as he paced back and forth. "There's no way someone else is going to take the fall for this! What is she doing? Where did that damn box even come from!" Vi sank to the floor, pulling on her hair as the stress built before mentally hearing you suck your teeth and letting go, thunking her head on the counter behind her.
"She bought that metal a couple of days ago and said it was a part of her plan for when the Enforcers came. I don't know when she slipped that receipt on me because I didn't have it when we came here and I have no fucking idea how she pulled that off or what her plan is from here, she didn't tell me." She wrapped her arm around Powder when she cuddled into her, laying her head on top of her smaller one. "We'll just have to trust her." Claggor continued to pace, fiddling with his goggles to do something with his hands and Mylo sat down next to Powder. Nudging her with his elbow and smiling apologetically when she looked over.
"Sorry, for ragging on you Pow, I know you're young and learning. I'm just an ass sometimes." Powder looked at him suspiciously for a moment before smiling and punching his arm. Giggling at his pained grumbling, she leaned against his side and smiled when he threw an arm around her shoulder. After another moment of silence, he laughed lightly, smirking when everyone glanced his way. "If she pulls this off, I am never pissing her off again." He grinned at everyone's chuckles, happy to have relieved the tension some.
"If she pulls this off, I am getting on my knees and worshiping her." Claggor threw a devious smirk at Vi's muttered words and she narrowed her eyes warningly.
"I'm sure you'd do that anyway."
"Really, Claggor?!"
--
You wanted to be home more than anything right now but you made sure your face only displayed slight nerves and determination. Getting here had been the surprisingly easy part but the rest was completely up to chance. You were relying on both the impartiality of the Council and your scapegoats staying true to their word.
Worst case scenario, the scapegoats revealed you blackmailed them, in which case, you had evidence placing them at the scene and an alibi in the form of Mr. Hughes. If they insisted, depending on how biased the Council was, you'd probably face some type of penalty. Even with this scenario, your friends would be cleared of any wrongdoing because of the valid receipts.
Best case? The scapegoats kept their word, your friends would receive an apology and possible compensation from the Council and you could go home.
Either way, you had very little control over how these next moments would go.
"May we have your real name, Ms. Songbird?" You sent a relieved glance at Councilor Shoola and nodded in faux shyness.
"Of course, ma'am. My name is Nari." You heard someone clear their throat off to the side and turned your head towards the noise, glancing at the older woman's nameplate and internally wincing. 'Ah, yes. The Kiramman.'
"And what is your last name Nari?" You tensed at her condescending tone but quickly relaxed.
"I don't have one ma'am. Most Ionians don't use them nor do most Zaunites. If it would make you feel more comfortable, you may use Sannina. It was the name of my home." She scrunched her nose up but nodded.
"Ms. Sannina, then. You say you have information about the explosion the other day." You kept your body relaxed and bit your lip to appear nervous.
"Yes, ma'am, I do. I gave the name I knew to the Enforcers that brought me here and I was told they would be here momentarily. I saw them exiting the apartment moments before it exploded.” You saw her eye twitch and you realized she was going to be the most difficult to convince. Which, unfortunately, made sense since it was her family’s money that, literally, went up in flames.
“And how do you know what happened at the explosion? Our records put you at the Gilded Tower at the time of the incident.” Because of course, they pulled your godsdamned employment records for this. Pushing one of your nails into the palm of your hand, you let the slight pain center you. You planned for this too.
“I was on the clock, yes. Sometimes the clients like to take walks and it’s not against the rules for me to leave.”
“I wasn’t aware that the Gilded Tower hired escorts. You also work at a Brothel, yes?” At your shocked expression, she sat back with a satisfied smile. “We do our research. So, were you ‘on the clock’ for the Tower or the Brothel?” You felt like the air had been sucked out of your chest and even though your mind screamed at you to say something, your body wouldn’t let you. You felt your hands start to shake and you opened and closed your mouth several times, feeling the burning behind your eyes increase the longer you failed to answer. Your salvation came in the form of an indignant Councilor Shoola.
“Councilor Kiramman! That question is quite inappropriate! We have testimony from former Councilman Hughes that confirms her statement. Why would you continue with this line of questioning?”
“Because his testimony is worthless if she was working her other ‘job’! How do we know she didn’t coerce him into lying.” You finally snapped out of your panic and felt it was appropriate to send a heated glare her way.
“With all due respect ma’am,” you interrupted. “I’m seventeen. I don’t do that type of ‘job’ as you so callously put it. I sing at the Brothel and I have since I was fourteen. Babette, the owner, took me in after my parents died at the Battle on the Bridge.” You felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the hush that fell over the Council. They were too well trained to fidget but no one would meet your eyes after your statement. You decided to show mercy by breaking the silence. “Plus, even if I did do that type of work, Mr. Hughes is an honorable man who adores his wife and child. I’m shocked that a former colleague of his would hold him in such low esteem.” She didn’t outwardly show any reaction but you could see the irritation in her eyes. ‘Good,’ you thought viciously. ‘Now, you know how I feel.’
“I feel as if we’re moving away from the topic at hand.” A laidback blonde man whose name plate identified him as Salo waved his hand in an unconcerned manner which only increased your irritation. “Escort or not, Hughes vouched for her and we’ve never had a reason to doubt him before. Enforcer Hawkeye has brought the alleged culprits, so let’s see what they have to say.” At his signal, the Enforcer who had been unmasked earlier brought in three boys around your age. You kept your eyes locked in front of you, afraid that if you even so much as glanced at them, someone on the Council would accuse you of manipulating them into confessing.
You were, but that was beside the point.
Everything hinged on this. We’re they going to stick to their end of the deal? You weren’t as worried about two of them but the third...
*
“Why would we take responsibility for this? We’ve never even been near that apartment!” Hazel eyes glared heatedly at you and you grit your teeth in frustration. When you saw the two sullen looks on his friend's faces, you felt a headache creeping up but ignored it. You hated privileged rich brats.
Putting a hand on your hip, you cocked an eyebrow and were pleased to see them bristle in indignation at your condescending look. “Oh, but you were. Not today but you were there.”
“What are you-!” he stopped as you opened a notebook that you pulled out of your purse. Flicking through the pages, you made a small noise of success when you found what you were looking for. Putting the notebook back, you flipped around a picture showing all three boys climbing out of the apartment window. “... how do you have that?” You smirked and flipped the picture around your fingers.
“I saw you and thought it was interesting. Three heirs of some of the biggest trade companies in Piltover, playing thief. I planned on using this at a later date but as it turns out I need it now. Theodore Woolfe,” The Hazel-eyed boy flinched. “Son of Hendrick Woolfe, Head of Woolfe Weaponries. Draco Bishop, son of Arcturus Bishop, Deputy Headmaster at the Academy of Piltover.” The blonde boy flushed in outrage. Turning to the last one, you were surprised to see his reluctant smile but giggled at his unconcerned shrug. He gave an over the top bow and shot a roguish grin at you, looking very much like a sly fox who walked willingly into a trap just to see what would happen.
“I can introduce myself, milady. Blaise Silva, son of Isabella Silva, who is Head of Silva Cosmetics. Pleased to make your official acquaintance Songbird.” To the disbelief of the other two, you gave a mocking curtsy back.
“Pleasure’s all yours I’m sure. So,” you tapped the picture with the tip of your nail. “I have proof that you were there. I also have proof of you all sneaking into the Brothel with false IDs that states you’re eighteen when you’re not. Both of which are punishable offenses. I won’t take my proof of your illegal IDs, or the records that show you using your parents hard earned money on some very expensive Dolls, to the Enforcers and all I ask in return is that you take the fall for this. Either turn yourself in or when you’re brought before the Council by force, because I will namedrop one of you, say you did it and it was an accident.”
“You’re out of your mind!” Draco finally burst out, face twisting up in an unflattering manner. “So what if you have proof of us leaving? They’ll never believe you over us! We’ll just say we were invited over and decided to leave out the window to... To look cool!” He snarled at your unimpressed look. “It doesn’t matter what you say, because you’re just some filthy Trencher and we’re heirs to some of the biggest companies in Piltover!” You let out a loud, unbothered yawn and put on a fake look of surprise.
“Oh, are you done? I zoned out when you started speaking, your voice is just so grating.” Theo grabbed his arm before he could lunge at you. “Shame. If he hit me, I was just going to say that I came to implore you all to confess and he attacked me.” Blaise chuckled at you and gave you a considering look.
“Thought of everything, have you?” You shrugged and shot him a wink.
“Just about.” With a deep sigh, you dropped the act and ran your fingers through your hair. “Can I be honest?” You looked up at them and let your desperation shine through on your previously passive face. Blaise’s face turned serious at your vulnerability and he had a silent conversation with Theo before turning back to you and nodding. Sighing in relief, you rubbed your sweaty hands on your dress.
“You guys are rich, handsome and the heirs of big companies. You probably have no traceable record and your parents more than likely covered up anything you could’ve possibly got in trouble for. On the way here, I found out some people got hurt but no one died. You take responsibility for this, at the minimum you’ll be forced to pay the Kiramman’s compensation for anything lost. At maximum they make you serve community service and it won’t be anything too bad because you’re all minors. Especially if you spin this so the fault is on Talis because there’s no way you could’ve known he had illegal substances in his apartment. My friends though?” You leaned forward, eyes wide and imploring. “My friends will be sent to Stillwater. It doesn’t matter that they’re minors, all they’ll see is that they’re Zaunites. If I bring my evidence to the Council without your cooperation maybe, just maybe they’ll convict you. But I don’t want to leave any of this to chance. Please.” While Draco’s face didn’t shift from his mulish expression, Theo and Blaise both gave you considering looks. After what felt like forever, Blaise sighed and shrugged impassively.
“I’ll do it.” at Theo’s and Draco’s shocked looks he just grinned. “My mom expected me to blow some shit up eventually, she really won’t be surprised. Not to mention, we probably won’t have to pay them back for the contraband and those are surely the most expensive items that were lost. Also...” he grabbed your hand and dropped an overdramatic kiss on top of it. “I wasn’t raised to turn down a beautiful woman in need.” You flushed but giggled at him, playfully waving him away.
“That pink haired girl you’ve seen hanging around outside the venues I work? That’s my girlfriend.” His face went slack with shock and he chuckled nervously before stuffing his hands firmly in his pockets.
“Is she uh- as terrifying as she looks?”
“More terrifying, in my unbiased opinion.” You grinned at him and patted his arm comfortingly. “I won’t tell, if you don’t.” He winked at you and you shot him a genuine smile before turning to the other two, looking at them beseechingly. Draco turned away but Theo sighed and nodded.
“I’ll do it. Especially considering that I know my Father would never let me get sent to Stillwater. I’m not turning myself in.” You didn’t push when you saw the stubborn look in his eyes. “But if they come, I’ll say we did it.”
“Well, count me out! You’re both crazy and I’m telling my Father-”
“Telling him what Draco? That you spent his money in a whorehouse, broke into Jayce Talis’ apartment, and were dumb enough to get caught on film?” At his offended, betrayed look, Theo shrugged. “Good luck with that. I know my Father would punish me more for getting caught by a Zaunite, and on camera at that. No offense, Songbird.”
“None taken.” You felt a small flutter of hope bloom in your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t go thinking we’re doing this because we’re nice! We’re still terribly, spoiled rich kids.” Blaise sighed dramatically and collapsed against the wall, to your deep amusement. “But we’ve been bested and I know when to wave the white flag. Don’t worry about this asshole.” Draco huffed and stormed out of the room. “We’ll convince him. And if not, it’s still two against one and you have your picture.” You smiled gratefully and felt a weight being lifted. You looked over when Theo placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“I know you have no reason to trust us but Blaise and I are people of our words. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to do this to protect your friends. Piltover is our home but we’re not blind to its faults.” With that, he took his hand off your shoulder and you nodded solemnly. There was no more to be said.
*
As promised, when questioned, they bluntly confessed to it, giving details of the apartment that only someone who had been inside it could give. Draco barely spoke but, when directly questioned, reluctantly stated that he had also been in on it. When asked why they didn’t come forward, they simply stated that they were afraid to get in trouble and hoped the whole thing would blow over. Which was just the type of answer expected of rich kids who didn’t often have to face the consequences of their actions. You were impressed at how well they played up the cavalier, oblivious role.
Despite this, some people still disagreed with their confessions. Insisting they were coerced into them, that the Undercity kids who were seen running through the city must have been involved in some way, etc. Though you couldn’t see them, you could feel Theo and Blaise’s confusion from here. Unfortunately, you weren’t surprised at all. Despite being called the city of Progress, at its core, Piltover was another corrupt country built on the backs of those who would rarely, if ever, see the so-called progress they touted.
To your surprise, someone banged a gavel to get everyone’s attention and when you looked over, you were stunned to see it was Councilor Hoskel. From what little you knew of the man, he was self-centered and had a strong disdain for the Undercity and its inhabitants. You resigned yourself to all your hard work going up in flames when he opened his mouth and rendered everyone speechless.
“I think some of my esteemed Council members are showing their prejudice right now.” A heavy, almost oppressive silence fell over the Council. As you stared at him, you couldn’t help but feel something was very wrong. According to Mrs. Cookie’s book, this man’s distaste for Zaun ran as deep as his corruption and he had his fingers in several very illegal pies. You had no idea what he was up to but you knew it would spell out trouble for you. “We have three young men who have very plainly confessed to their crimes. It was a terrible accident and while I’m not one to encourage such dreadful behavior, we were all young and dumb once. Truly, the blame mostly rests on Jayce Talis’ illegal acquisition of experimental substances. Which he will be going on trial for. I suggest that these young men be made to pay for any
legal
property that was destroyed in the explosion and do a few months of community service, including helping clean up the areas that were affected by the explosion. All in favor?” After a moment of tense silence, you breathe a small sigh of relief when everyone on the Council raised their hands. As you turned to leave, you made eye contact with Theo and he gave you an imperceptible nod which you returned with a slight smile. Walking down the hallway with Enforcer Hawkeye, you felt almost dizzy with relief. You must have swayed slightly because he gently grabbed your arm and came to a stop, letting you lean against the wall for a moment. You took several deep breaths, finally having all the emotions you bottled up during the hearing spring free.
“Fuck... oh fuck.” You whimpered, leaning your head against the wall and trying to control the trembling in your hands. Letting out a shaky breath, you slowly crouched on the ground, hands covering your face as you suppressed your tears. You had done it. By some miracle, you had done it. “Oh fuck, goddess above, fuck me. That was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done.” Hawkeye chuckled and reached a hand down to help you up. Pushing your hair away from your face, you groaned quietly in relief. “Sorry, I just. Fucking hell.”
“The Council is intimidating even when you’re not on trial, so I can’t imagine how you must have felt. You kept your composure though. Pretty impressive.” You shot him a grin and opened your mouth to respond when you caught sight of Councilor Shoola and Hoskel making their way towards you. You both straightened up and you gave Shoola a small smile when she gently grabbed your hand.
“Are you well, dear?” At your nod, some of the tension left her shoulders. “Good. Enforcer Hawkeye will escort you home.” Looking up at Hawkeye, she gave him a fierce look. “You are to take her to either Madame Babette or Vander-”
“Songbird! Or should I call you Nari? Just the young lady I wanted to see.” You felt Shoola’s hand tighten briefly around yours and you felt an impending sense of dread. “May I chat with her, Shoola? It’ll only be a moment.” A glance at her face told you that she was going to very sternly deny him but a look at his face showed that he would not only be insistent but would make your life difficult if you didn’t agree. His interference had been instrumental in turning the Council in your favor and he could just as quickly turn against you.
Squeezing her hand, you shook your head slightly and turned a bright smile at the rotund man. “Of course, Councilor Hoskel. I appreciate you speaking up during the hearing, so the least I could do is give you a moment of my time.” Seeing the way his eyes trailed up your body, you shuddered internally. Shoola gave you a concerned look but you sent her a small smile. She nodded hesitantly and turned to Hoskel with an unimpressed look.
“I’ll be back in twenty minutes to retrieve her. We have business to discuss regarding an upcoming event.” There was no event but you were secretly relieved nonetheless when Hoskel agreed despite the displeased look on his face. Twenty minutes. You took a deep breath and fell into step beside him clenching your hands when he put his hand on your lower back. Twenty minutes.
--
The Last Drop fell silent as Enforcer Hawkeye opened the door, everyone taking note of your blank face and the new coat draped over your shoulders. He looked around nervously before clearing his throat.
“Is there a Vander here?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pink haired girl and the large kid from earlier come from down below but paid it no mind. The man behind the counter waved him down and he inwardly sighed in relief. From looking around, it was obvious that he was unwelcomed.
“I was ordered by Councilor Shoola to return her to either you or Madame Babette but she chose you. I’ll be taking my leave now that I’ve confirmed her safety.” Stepping back, he looked down at you, opening his mouth to say something before closing it and muttering a quiet goodbye. The moment the door was closed, you felt your face warp with rage and ripped the coat off of you. After doing a quick scan of the bar, you slammed the coat into the gut of a man leaning against the wall near you, ignoring his pained grunt.
“Give that to Powder when she comes up.” You growled and took a step forward before stopping in your tracks at the confused noise he made.
“This? Are you sure?” He whistled under his breath, running his hand over the leather coat and furred edges of the hood. “This is top quality, I don’t think Powder-” His head snapped up as you lifted your leg straight up and kicked him full force under the chin. Hooking your leg around, you slammed your knee into his sternum and as he bent over to desperately catch his breath, you rammed your foot into the back of his head, slamming him into the ground with a large crack and catching the coat before it could hit the ground. Breathing heavily, you closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, ignoring the deafening silence surrounding you. Slowly opening your eyes, you leaned forward grinding his head deeper into the floor.
“I’m sorry,” you cooed sweetly, voice dripping with venom. “Did I ask you what you thought?” Looking over your shoulder, your face transformed into a sneer as you took in the shocked looks of the patrons. “Did anyone else hear me fucking ask what he thought!” You shouted, waiting a moment before nodding at the heavy silence. Turning back to the man, you kicked him in the side to roll him over, leaning over and grinning maliciously at his barely conscious face. “See? No one heard me ask because I don’t give a
fuck
what you think. Now,” You put a foot on his throat and slowly applied pressure until he was desperately grabbing at your ankle. “Give this to Powder when she comes up.” Removing your foot, you sneered in disgust at his desperate gasps for air and dropped the coat on his stomach. Turning around, you looked over at Vander, who was watching you from behind the counter with a solemn look in his eyes.
“The Enforcers here for the culprits behind the explosion will be withdrawing tomorrow.” Turning towards the bathroom, you grunted at the exclamations of confusion and awe from the patrons. “As luck would have it, three Topsiders claimed responsibility for it once they were ID’d leaving the scene by the illustrious Songbird of Zaun.” You shot a sardonic, brittle grin his way. “How fucking lucky for us.” Slamming the door of the bathroom closed behind you, you dropped the smile, gripping the sink as hatred coursed through your body. You could faintly hear the murmuring of the patrons before the music was turned back up and it was drowned out. You grit your teeth as fire coursed through your veins and red fogged your vision.
You were so
sick
of people in power thinking that they owned those they perceived as lesser than them. Sick of disgusting rich Piltovans thinking they could own
you.
You don’t have to do much, just perch on my lap like the pretty bird you are-
You gagged as the memories came rushing back and you vomited, bile burning your throat and further feeding your rage. You knew you got lucky, knew there had to be other people who didn’t have support like you did that he had taken advantage of but that didn’t stop the all-consuming fury from tearing through your body. If anything, knowing there were people out there who had endured much worse than you just made you wish you had turned and ripped his still beating heart out of his chest when you had the chance.
Looking up into the mirror, you felt his hands trailing up your sides, felt his arm wrapped around you as he-
A scream of pure hatred ripped itself out of your raw throat as you swung your fist forward into the mirror, wishing the flying glass shards were Hoskel’s face. Dropping to the ground and clutching your shaking bleeding arm, you jumped when you felt someone gently touch your shoulder and turned wide startled eyes towards the hand, only to look up and realize it was Claggor. Immediately relaxing, you gave him a shaky smile as he wrapped his arm around you. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you greatly appreciated how he didn’t try to make you talk or explain yourself, just offered his comfort and strength. You’re not sure how long you sat there in silence but when you finally felt centered you sat up and turned to him, handing over your injured hand. As he carefully picked the glass out of your palm, you cleared your throat and gave him a more genuine smile.
“I’m okay, Big Man. Well, besides from the glass trying to embed itself in my knuckles.” When he pursed his lips in worry and didn’t respond to you, you sighed and let the smile drip off of your face. “I promise Claggor, I’ll be fine.”
“... what did it cost you, Nari.” You stiffened but grit your teeth at a piece of glass being removed that was deeper than the others. Cracking your neck, you sighed and leaned your shoulder against the wall next to you.
“More than expected but way less than it could've. The trial went well, up until the end. Three kids our age confessed to causing the explosion and while some of the Council accepted it for what it was, there were a few who were insistent that they were being coerced into it. Which, yeah, but come on! They confessed, let it go!” He cracked a reluctant smile at your petulant tone and you gave him a tired smile back. “I started to worry then. I was afraid that if it continued much longer then they would start accusing me of sleeping with them like they did with my alibi earlier during the hearing.” You purse your lips at his angry look and your shoulders slumped. “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. Out of nowhere this Councilor that I know for a fact detests the Undercity started speaking in my defense. I felt uneasy then but I hoped... well hope is for the foolish.”
“Did he...?” You shook your head quickly, rubbing his knee with your free hand.
“No, no. Councilor Shoola only gave him twenty minutes with me and only because I insisted. I was afraid he’d bring me before the Council again and he looked at me like he would. He didn’t... he just.” You grit your teeth and clenched your fist in frustration. “He just had me sit on his lap while he jacked off. It wasn’t even that bad, I’m just-”
“Don’t do that, Doc.” You stopped at his shockingly firm tone and serious face. He placed your now glass free hand down and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. “Don’t downplay what you went through because someone else had it worse. You’re not
just
anything.” He leaned back but kept his hands on your shoulders, eyes so serious that you weren't able to look away. “Maybe you’re not in mental pain but your anger, your rage, is valid. You don't have to justify that to me or anyone else." Your body started shaking as you laid your head against his chest, paying no mind to your bleeding hand, you shook harder when he pulled you closer and put his head on top of yours.
"I'm so godsdamned angry, Claggor." Your heated whispered words sent a spark of trepidation through him but he just held you tighter. "I'm not hurt. I'm not traumatized. I am
furious
. At people like him who think they are entitled to me and my body just because of the work I do, where I come from, or my fucking social standing." You abruptly stood, grabbing your bloody arm and slowly healing it. "I know my worth Claggor. I am the eldest child of Camil and Dante of the Sannina Islands. I survived the destruction of my home,
twice!"
You started to pace in the small area and the more worked up you got, the faster you paced. "I've raised Ekko, on my
own,
for almost
eight years!
I trained with the Half-Beast Sett and not only survived but
thrived!
I am a godsdamned treasure and for him to treat me like some toy that he could play with just because he gave his unwanted help-!” You blinked when Claggor caught a fist you didn’t even know you swung and you gave him a tired smile. “Yeah. Like I said, I might have been more traumatized if he had directly touched me but I’m just. Really disgusted and angry. What he didn’t do to me, I’m sure he did to someone else and that’s what’s got me so infuriated. That someone out there who isn’t me had to go through this, or worse, and struggled with all those emotions...” You sighed and walked over to the sink, washing the blood off your arm. “All I really feel is anger, I promise. And like I want a shower.” Claggor finally chuckled and you smiled as you leaned against him. “I’ll be fine. I would say if I wouldn’t be, you know I depend on you Big Man.” Grabbing your hand, he rubbed his cheek against yours and you smiled as you leaned up to plant a kiss on his.
“Love you, Doc.”
“Love you too, Clags.”
The disgust didn’t completely leave and neither did the hate but you were here.
You were home.
|
There is a moment while she is spread out on a table of the Alpha Kappa Nu frat house where Rey Niima almost starts giggling. The situation is just so absurd.
Record scratch, freeze frame. You're probably wondering how I ended up here, she thinks to herself, almost delirious with anticipation of the pleasure she’s about to receive.
Ben Solo is about to give her an orgasm. In front of everyone. He’s going to be holding her open, showing his thick-headed frat brothers how to find the clit, and giving a live demonstration on how to make a woman “come so hard she sees stars”, in his words.
She can’t wait.
///
How did she end up here? Well, it was sort of Kaydel’s fault. And Jannah’s. And almost the entirety of the Alpha Kappa Nu fraternity. (I should send them all gift baskets, Rey thinks to herself with another almost-giggle.)
Approximately thirty minutes ago, Jake Card had his arm wrapped around Kaydel Connix’s shoulder, trying to convince her to come upstairs with him in the middle of the party.
“Come on, baby, we had fun last time, didn’t we?” he wheedled, leading Kay to burst into laughter and shove his arm away. She sidled up to Jannah and linked arms with her, leaning her head on the other girl’s shoulder.
“Um, no, Cardo, you had fun,” Kay said with a little snort. “There’s a reason you Alphas are ranked last, you know.”
Cardo furrowed his brow.
“Ranked last? Last in what? Who ranks us?” he asked.
Jannah took great pleasure in announcing it loudly to the crowd of partygoers that had since grown around them, their interest piqued by gossip. Rey hovered near Jannah and Kay, a little smile on her face.
“Alpha Kappa Nu is ranked dead last in female pleasure,” she declared. “There’s a Twitter account. Women all over campus submit their, ah, findings,” she added with a grin.
“What?” a deep voice behind Rey intoned.
She whirled around, eye-level with the broadest chest she’d ever seen. The one that made her mouth water every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon. Oh, yes, she knew this chest.
Ben Solo.
The extremely tall, mysterious guy from her engineering cohort. The star of all her sexual fantasies for the past three and a half years. The sex god, if that Twitter account was any indication.
Jannah was greatly enjoying her moment. The Twitter account was her baby, after all.
“You heard me, Solo. This frat has a nickname, you know. The Knights of No-Nut. Because y’all have never made a woman nut in your life,” she added with a sly grin.
In hindsight, Rey should have realized that Jannah had a plan. She and Ben were family friends, and she knew him quite well. Well enough to know how competitive he was. In fact, she also knew Rey quite well. Well enough to know that Rey never backs down from a challenge. And that Rey had a certain little fantasy about Ben Solo that she'd shared one night while drunk off her ass.
“I just want him to eat me out in the middle of a party. Like claim me, okay? Show everybody that he’s mine and I’m his and no more of these little girls are gonna be all over him at the parties, Jannah. No more,” Rey had slurred a few weeks ago.
Ben’s jaw was clenched as he listened to Jannah, his eyes flicking over to Rey every so often, which made her feel a little flushed.
“And this account…it ranks every member?” Ben asked tightly, his eyes once again darting over to Rey.
Jannah beamed at him, clapping her hands together gleefully.
“So glad you asked, Solo!” she chirped. “Yes it does. There is an outlier in your little band of merry men. The only member who consistently satisfies his sexual partners is, well, you.”
Ben blinked owlishly at Jannah for a moment, then puffed up his chest.
“Okay,” he said, nodding. Once again, his gaze slid over to Rey, and this time it lingered for a moment, leading Rey to swallow hard at his intense eyes being so focused on her.
“And don’t you think it’s your duty, Solo, as the only member of your sad little fraternity, to teach these idiots how to find a clitoris?” Jannah pressed.
“Yeah, I probably should,” Ben snorted.
“I mean, seems like there’s no time like the present,” Kaydel interjected with a knowing little grin.
"What, like make us watch porn? Give us a Ted Talk on eating pussy?" Vic said, coming up behind Ben and slapping him on the back, leading the other man to glower at him.
"What about a live demonstration?" Jannah suggested, staring directly at Ben. Her gaze was steely, with a small smirk gracing her lips. It was very clearly a challenge, one she was daring him to back down from.
"What do you mean?" Ben asked, eyes narrowing. He wasn't backing down yet but Jannah could tell he was a little apprehensive and she watched him work his jaw.
"Exactly what it sounds like, Solo. Take a couple of these idiots and show them how to satisfy a woman," she said, and then reached out to take Rey by the hand, pulling her close. "I'm sure Rey here would volunteer as tribute."
There's a gif that Rey frequently sends in their group chat, usually when she's talking about seeing Ben that day and describing how his shirt clings to his muscles or how he ran a hand through his hair during the lecture. It's of Winnie the Pooh's soul leaving his body and floating away. She'd always snickered as she sent it, but it wasn't until this very moment that she truly experienced that heady feeling for herself: the feeling of being outside her body, of floating far away and looking down on this moment from the heavens.
It's fucking surreal.
All Rey can do is stare at Ben, wide-eyed, while he does his sexy little mouth thing, pursing his lips, apparently working up to saying something.
"What?" is all he can manage after a moment.
"C'mon Ben, think about it. Think of the public service you'll be providing by showing these idiots how to pleasure a real, live woman," Kaydel interjected.
Rey swallowed hard, unable to speak. Was this real? Was she hallucinating?
"Rey probably doesn't want-" Ben started, his voice strained, but Jannah broke in.
"Come on, Rey, I dare you to do it. I dare you to let Solo eat you out in front of the worst lays of Alpha Kappa Nu."
Rey once ate an entire bottle of ketchup after her foster sister dared her to. At various times in her life, she'd also run naked across a soccer field in the middle of winter, prank called her high school principal and pretended to be his (presumed) mistress, and dyed her hair hot pink, all because someone dared her to.
She maybe, sort of, had a problem with never backing down from a dare. And Jannah, damn her (bless her) knew that.
"I'll do it," Rey said suddenly. She looked over at Ben, who was staring at her with his mouth agape. "I never back down. What about you, Solo?" she added with a little grin.
"I don't back down either," he said. His voice had gone rough and deep, and his nostrils flared as he spoke. Rey swallowed hard at the sight.
"Well then," Kaydel said, clapping her hands together with glee, "class is in session, Professor Solo!"
///
Jannah helped work out the details, because Rey and Ben both couldn’t stop staring at each other. She would prod them from time to time, letting them know it was their turn to speak. She ensured they were both sober, and suggested they adhere to the stoplight system to slow down or stop anything that Rey didn’t want. All the while, Ben's eyes burned into Rey's, making her weak in the knees.
Then it was time. Ben led the way to what he called the “trophy room”. It wasn’t a misnomer. The far wall was lined with glass cabinets that displayed dozens of golden trophies, with the rest of the walls boasting myriad plaques and framed certificates. In the center of the room stood a dark walnut table surrounded by leather chairs. The lighting in the room was soft and buttery, lit with a few small lamps on various console tables around the edges of the room.
They all piled inside: the Alphas Vic, Kurt, Cardo, Usher, James Renwick, Alek; her friends Jannah, Kaydel, Poe (whom Kay had grabbed on the way in) and Jessika Pava (who had been dancing with Poe and tagged along with great interest). Following Poe were Ben’s friends Hux and Tai, who, when seeing the huge group lead by Ben and Rey, had decided that they couldn’t possibly miss this.
It was a bit crowded around the table, but everyone parted when Ben started pushing through. He gently held Rey by the waist and looked deep into her eyes as everyone chattered around them.
“You ready?” he asked. She nodded, but Ben shook his head. “Use your words,” he said firmly, and Rey felt her face heat up.
“I’m ready. You think you can make me come?” she challenged, her eyes narrowing.
Ben glared back.
“I’m gonna make you come so hard you see God,” he vowed, gripping her waist tightly. Then he lifted her up and sat her on the table, causing a cheer to rise from the crowd. Feeling warm, Rey pulled her sweater over her head, causing the Alphas to start howling. Then, under Ben’s watchful gaze, she wriggled out of her skirt, kicking it to the side. She was left in a thin, lace bralette and a matching lace thong that was already damp at the mere thought of Ben touching her there. She leaned back on her elbows, legs still dangling off the table.
“Come on, Solo, show us how you make your dates come,” Ren said, lightly shoving Ben’s shoulder.
Rey watched as Ben swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at her body laid out for him on the table. His hands went to her thighs and some of the girls started giggling.
“Oh, he just dives right in, huh?” Jessika Pava commented.
“Headed straight for the main event, eh Solo?” Poe snickered.
Ben whipped around, glaring daggers at Poe.
“Shut the fuck up, Dameron,” he seethed, then turned back to Rey, breathing a little harder. His hands left her thighs and hovered hesitantly over Rey’s breasts.
“Can I?” he gestured to her bralette, and Rey nodded.
“Yes,” she breathed, sitting up, and Ben slowly pulled the fabric up, making it drag across her sensitive nipples. She inhaled sharply at the sensation, closing her eyes and arching her back. Then she felt Ben’s breath on her neck as he leaned in, then his fingers found her nipples and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning.
His thick fingers pinched and tugged at them, rolling them around and making shivers course through her body.
“Oh,” Rey gasped, and the Alphas cheered again.
“She likes that,” Alek said, taking a swig from his beer, and Kurt leaned around him, trying to get a better look.
“Sensitive little tits,” he commented, watching Rey wiggle on the table.
Face flushed, Rey bit her lip. It felt shameful to admit it, but there was something about the fact that everyone was watching her, commenting on her nearly naked body, all while Ben Solo touched her…well, it was only turning her on more.
“First lesson, you selfish morons, is foreplay. Touch your girl. Start out gently, build up some fucking tension, don’t just squeeze her tits like your checking if an avocado is ripe,” Ben said. Even as he spoke and stared out as his frat brothers, he was still toying with her nipples, making her whimper. Kurt wasn’t wrong; her breasts had always been sensitive.
She felt one of Ben’s big hands running down between her breasts, spanning her stomach. He gently pushed her backwards until she was laying on the table and he was standing between her legs.
“Same thing here,” Ben continued, and he lightly ran his hands up Rey’s thighs, avoiding her cunt and just teasing along the edges of her underwear. “Don’t just rip her panties off and shove your dick inside. You need to build up to that. Get her wet."
"I don't think that will be a problem here," Usher said, gesturing to the damp spot that had formed on the gusset of Rey's thong.
"Oh fuck, Solo’s got her dripping,” Vic said, elbowing his way around to get a better look between Rey’s legs.
Ben made a sound almost like a growl and brushed his thumb gently - too gently - over the damp spot, making Rey scrabble her nails against the table as she tried to control herself. Tried not to shove her cunt forward to get more friction, tried not to beg him to taste her, fuck her, make her come.
“That’s right, sweetheart, get nice and wet for me,” Ben said, voice low and raspy. He kept his eyes on her as he pressed ever so slightly harder - but still not hard enough - right where her clit was. Rey made a little whimper, her head spinning. He was calling her “sweetheart”. Ben Solo was calling her sweetheart and touching her right here, in front of all these people.
“C’mon, I wanna see her pussy,” Ren said, and the Alphas gave a collective howl.
“Pus-sy, pus-sy, pus-sy,” they started chanting.
Ben hesitated, eyes flicking up to Rey’s, so she bit her lip and stared up at him, eyes fiery.
“Not gonna back down now, are you?” she asked, and with a little smirk, Ben gripped the sides of her thong and slowly slid it down her legs. Once he’d pulled it all the way off, he slid it in his pocket, to the delight of the crowd. Then he spread Rey open and stared down at her cunt in wonder.
“So fucking pink and pretty,” he muttered, and she clenched at the praise. Of course, on display as she was, it didn't go unnoticed.
"Oh she fucking likes that!" Vic crowed. "Did you see her little pussy twitching?"
Rey felt warm all over, skin hot and flushed, desperate to come. The fact that she'd had a recurring fantasy very much like this was not helping matters. In her fantasy, it was always some party, just like the dozens of other parties she'd gone to over the years where she'd had to watch Ben Solo, Alpha Kappa Nu president and brilliant engineering major, with new girls clinging to him each time. Only, in her fantasy, he would shake the girls off. He'd stalk toward her, pick her up, sit her on the counter, and eat her out in front of everyone. Everyone would know that he wanted her. That he chose her. Even though she didn’t dress like those girls did. Even though she argued with him in their labs and crunched her chips too loudly and snorted when she laughed at his sarcastic comments.
In her fantasies, even then he would want her.
Here, in the moment, Ben was currently running his thumbs along her puffy outer labia. Then he slowly opened her up, exposing her swollen clit. His sharp intake of breath and the way his eyes shot up to hers made her cover her face with her hands and whimper.
“Get a good look, you Alpha fucks. Solo’s gonna teach you how to find a clitoris,” Poe said with a laugh.
“Look up here, at the top,” Ben rasped after a beat, as if he’d just remembered what he was supposed to be doing. “The clit. This is how you stop being selfish in bed. You need to play with it. Rub it. Suck it. Lick it.”
“Ooh, it’s all swollen, Rey! You must be really turned on,” Kaydel said with a knowing grin.
“It’s supposed to get swollen?” Cardo asked, and Jannah patted him on the head.
“If you’re doing it right, sweetie. Looks like Ben sure is,” she added, raising her eyebrows.
Rey was writhing on the table, the intense sensation of being held open on display making her legs instinctively want to close.
“Color, sweetheart?” Ben asked softly.
“Green,” she panted, and he grinned, holding her legs firmly open and not letting her close them.
“Fucking prettiest clit I’ve ever seen,” Ben breathed, and Rey bit down on her bottom lip, trying not to smile.
“All right, Solo, let’s see it. Wanna watch her come,” Ren said, and the rest of them cheered.
“Make her gush!” Vic added.
With one thick finger, Ben brushed against her clit, and this time Rey couldn’t control herself at all.
“Oh!” she gasped, bucking wildly, but Ben wrapped an arm around her stomach, holding her in place, then crouched down so that he was eye-level with her cunt. He kept rubbing at her clit, making her writhe. Her hands instinctively grabbed at her breasts, causing some of the Alphas to grunt in appreciation.
“Love those tiny little tits,” Usher said.
“Pinch your nipples, baby, it’ll feel so good,” Vic said, leaning in slightly. Kaydel pursed her lips at this and called out “Color, Rey?”
“Green,” she gasped, then took her nipples between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed. All the while, Ben Solo was focused between Rey’s legs, expertly circling her clit with one big thumb while he brushed against her dripping hole with his other hand.
“You ready, Niima? Solo’s looking to fill you up and his hands are not small,” Poe asked her. Rey looked up at his grinning face above her.
“I’ve been ready since we got here,” she panted, and at this, Ben groaned, then dipped a finger inside.
“Fuck!” Rey cried out. Poe was right, of course. Ben had the biggest hands - the biggest fingers - she’d ever seen. Just one of his was bigger than two of hers, and it stretched her so deliciously. As wet as she was, it slid in easily, hitting the perfect spot as he curled it upwards.
“Oh hell yeah,” Alek breathed.
Ben slid another finger inside, stretching her even more. Then, he pulled out, making Rey whine.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk. He held his hand up, showing off his fingers to the crowd. Even in the dim light of the lamps, they glistened with Rey’s wetness, causing a chorus of catcalls to erupt.
“If you’re doing it right, your partner should be this wet. You want her dripping,” he said.
“She’s gonna make a mess on the table when she comes,” Hux said.
“I fuckin’ hope she does,” Ben grunted.
Without warning, Ben slid his fingers back inside her twitching pussy, fingers curled to hit that spongy spot that made her cry out with pleasure. He loomed above her now, hair hanging in a curtain around his face. His hazel brown eyes looked almost black as he breathed with exertion, working his hand roughly, building her up, up, up as he hit that spot over and over.
“Ben,” Rey moaned, and he swore under his breath. He pulled his fingers away and tried to subtly adjust his jeans, where a prominent erection was straining against the denim. After a few moments, he leaned back over her.
“Up on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he said.
Rey obeyed, too desperate to come to even think of arguing. Like a newborn calf, she shakily got to her hands and knees, arms trembling with the effort. It was worth it, though, to feel his huge hands gliding down the globes of her ass. But when she heard him mutter “Thought about this ass for years,” she froze.
Ben had thought about her? About various parts of her (specifically her ass) for years?
Before she could process this brand new information, his fingers slid into her from behind and she gasped, falling down to her elbows with the force of it.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she chanted, unable to think or speak coherently. She just wriggled backwards, desperate to take more, as much as he could give her.
“Fuck, look at this perfect ass bounce,” Ben practically snarled. “That’s right sweetheart, fuck me back.”
“Jesus, she’s so fucking small but she’s taking him so well,” Poe observed, tilting his head. He circled around and kneeled down in front of Rey, watching her pant open-mouthed as she squirmed, trying to hold off on begging Ben to make her come.
“You’re doing such a good job for Ben,” he said with a grin, and Rey clenched down at that.
“Need to taste her,” Ben grunted, then pulled his fingers free from her vise-like cunt. Then he leaned down and buried his face between her cheeks, seeking out her gushing center with his tongue.
“Oh my God,” Rey moaned, muffling her cries against the table.
“Holy shit, he’s diving right in,” Kurt said with a laugh.
“What’s she taste like?” Usher asked with a little grin.
“Like fucking heaven,” Ben said between licks. “Best pussy I’ve ever had.”
Rey moaned and wriggled at that, pushing back against his face, unable to help it. Ben Solo, sex god of Coruscant U, thought that she had the best-tasting pussy he’d ever had? The thought alone almost made her come.
As if he could sense how close she was, Ben pulled back from her sensitive cunt and then dipped his tongue into her little furled asshole, making her squeal.
“Oh shit, Solo must really love that ass!” Alek said.
“He truly is a giver,” Jannah said, nodding appreciatively.
Meanwhile, Ben was helping her turn over and lay down on her back again. She looked up at him questioningly, but he just stared at her intently, leaning down to whisper to her.
“When you come, it’s gonna be clenching around my fingers and looking me in the eye,” he said, his lips brushing against her ear.
Oh, she thought dumbly. She let Ben open her legs once more to the cheers of the small crowd still circled around the table. He dipped his fingers back inside her gushing hole, and Ben grinned.
“Listen to how much she loves it,” he said, and the wet squelch his fingers made as he fucked them into her caused Rey’s face to heat up.
“Damn, she is dripping on the fucking table,” Cardo said, sounding amazed.
“You’ve never gotten a girl that wet before, have you?” Tai asked him with a smirk.
“No, but I’m gonna try harder now, holy shit,” he said.
“Who’s on clean up crew after she comes?” Alek asked, and Vic raised both hands.
“I volunteer as tribute. I’ll lick it all up,” he said, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Ben slammed his fist down on the table. It should have startled her, but it just made Rey moan and arch her back higher. Ben getting possessive and animalist was hotter than she could have ever expected.
“No one gets to taste her but me,” he said, and then he pressed his thumb to her clit. “Come on, sweetheart, show these Alpha fuckers who this pussy belongs to.”
Oh my God, I might actually come so hard I pass out, was Rey’s last thought before her entire body tensed.
Back arched, she let out a long moan, nails scrabbling against the table.
“Fuck!” she cried out, legs trembling. Her orgasm had been building up inside her, higher and higher, until she stepped over the edge. It was like a bomb went off inside her.
“Look at me, Rey,” Ben commanded, and she opened her eyes, sitting up slightly on her elbows. His face was so intense, lips pursing, jaw working as he watched her come.
“Ben,” she whispered, clenching around his fingers. She heard chanting and cheering all around her, but she was too far gone to understand any of it. It was just background noise. All that mattered was Ben’s eyes on hers. Then she fell backwards, unable to hold herself up any longer.
He worked her through the aftershocks, gradually slowing down. Her limbs felt useless, and she tried to catch her breath. It grew quiet in the room, and then Kay interjected.
“Well, how was it?” she asked brightly.
“He was right. I saw God. She’s cool, she says hi,” Rey slurred. She sounded drunk. She probably was drunk, to be honest - drunk on Ben Fucking Solo.
“All right, everybody out,” Jannah said, and she started herding the crowd toward the door. “Let’s give these two a second to talk.”
///
Strangely, it was more awkward now that everyone else was gone and Rey was dressed again. She sat atop the table, legs swinging, as Ben stood in front of her with his hands shoved in his pockets. Rey had so much that she wanted to say, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Did you enjoy that as much as I did?
Did you mean what you said - you’ve thought about me for years?
Did you know I’ve thought about you just as long?
It was Ben who broke the silence, however.
“Do you…want to stay the night?” Ben asked finally. Rey looked at him, surprised.
“Like, in a guest room?” she asked cautiously, not wanting to get her hopes up. But Ben shook his head.
“No. In my room. In my bed. With me,” he said, and Rey swallowed hard.
“Yes, I think I would like that. Yes,” she said, nodding like a bobblehead.
Ben grinned now, showing off his rarely-seen dimples.
“Good.”
“Good,” Rey said, shooting him her own grin.
Ben scooped her up into his arms in a bridal carry, heading for the door as she squealed.
“Ben, aren’t the bedrooms on, like, the third floor?” she cried.
“Don’t care,” he huffed. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since freshman year. Gonna hold you as long as I can.”
Rey buried her face into his neck and smiled.
“Fine. I dare you to get us upstairs as fast possible so that you can fuck my brains out.”
Ben looked down at her, pausing in his trek down the hall.
“I never back down from a dare, Niima,” Ben said, his eyes gone dark. He tightened his grip around her, pulling her closer.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” she breathed.
With a growl, Ben stalked down the hall.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s see how many more times I can make you come.”
Rey shook her head.
“Nope. I dare you to see how deep you can fuck my throat first,” she said, batting her lashes up at him.
Ben made a sound like a dying animal and picked up the pace.
“Then I dare you to see how much come you can fill my mouth with,” she added.
“Sweetheart, do you know how hard it is to run in jeans with an erection? There is significant chafing happening right now,” he wheezed.
“Better hurry, Solo,” she teased. “You’ve kept me waiting for three and a half years. I’m getting a little impatient.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and took off down the hall. |
The dragons were right. It was supposed to rain tonight.
Down only a quarter of the mountain, the rain began to dot the ground, drip across Midoriya's nose and hair. The rain was cold as it dripped down the nape of his neck; he wrapped his arms around himself as he started to walk.
He knew the general direction of where he had last camped. Once he found that, he could follow the path he and his friends had made into the forest. Eventually he should come upon his friends and they would make their way back home.
Patting the jar of pixie dust in his pocket, he ensured it was still safe. He had to protect at least this much before he got back to his mother. He wondered what he would possibly tell her when he got back, if she would even be aware of his presence when he got there.
He let out a slow breath and continued his descent.
The water started to come down in droves now, chilling him to the bone. His teeth chattered. It was all he could hear beyond the white noise of the downpour. The rain was straight down, but yet the forest trees were deadly still.
Midoriya sighed, his breath barely visible in the chilly rain. It was still summertime, but today was utterly cold. He was glad for his gloves and the clothes he had, but regret made its home in his chest. He could have saved himself this miserable walk if he'd just stayed in the dragon village.
His shoes were sturdy, but even so, they squelched with wet socks. The tips of his toes tingled numbly.
Pausing, he squinted into the darkened forest. It was not yet pitch black, but the rain made it nearly impossible to see in front of him. He wondered if it would be better use of his time to make camp for the night and set out renewed in the morning. His eyes roamed over the fuzzy shapes of distant trees and the landscape about him. He didn't see any immediate shelter.
He would just have to keep on walking.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Bakugou had wandered off from the village's center, but he knew Kirishima would find him sooner or later. He smelt his friend before he saw him, and he shifted, making himself more presentable where he crouched in an empty cave near the top of the others. This nest had not been used in a long time.
Kirishima's footsteps crunched as he rounded the small path to Bakugou's spot. "You should just make this your nest. You hang out in here enough," Kirishima said with a small smile, and crouching into the small cramped burrow. Bakugou knew Kirishima was looking over his injuries by the way he eyes raked over the length of his body.
"I'm fine," Bakugou said before the other could ask, pressing his fingers lightly to the cut on his forehead. It stung at his light touch. "But you need help. You're a mess," Bakugou told him, pulling his fingers away to ignore the throb.
Kirishima was sheepish as he moved inside the cave, his shoulders speckled with the beginnings of the rain. "I wouldn't ask that from you, ya know?"
"Yeah, but you knew I would anyway, so what difference does it make?" Bakugou grumbled, scooting closer as Kirishima sat down gingerly. He was already peeling back the bandages before Kirishima could protest. Several bandages on his chest had been hiding an ugly bruise- black, blue and green. The others on his head, arms, shoulders revealed partially healed cuts from the impact and more hideous bruising. The pixie dust had accelerated the healing but not much beyond that. "I don't have a knife," Bakugou realized as soon as the wounds met open air.
"I really don't need you to," Kirishima said quietly. "You do enough for me, ya know?"
"I'm the reason you're like this, so shut up." Bakugou looked down at his palm briefly, grimacing, before digging his canines into the flesh wound he'd used for Deku, ripping at the scab. His teeth were nowhere near as sharp as Kirishima's, but he was a dragon underneath this human form. His bite punctured the skin and new blood bubbled from the wound.
Kirishima's brows were drawn together as Bakugou started to smear his blood into the individual open wounds. When he was done, he held his palm out to Kirishima. "Lick it."
Kirishima looked pained, but he did as he was told, licking up Bakugou's blood in one swipe. "I feel like a dick, every time I do that," Kirishima complained. "It takes you so long to heal your own wounds." His eyes flickered up to the cut on Bakugou's forehead.
The wound was small, and it had clotted, but they both knew it would be a while before the wound was gone, let alone the scar.
Bakugou felt himself sinking into the old nightmare. Huddled in the dark. All alone. Every bit of his body ached, blood everywhere, someone collecting it from him. His own whimpering. Kirishima lying motionless nearby. Crying. Where's mom? Dad? Someone? More pain.
"Bakugou?" Kirishima asked, snapping him out of it.
Flinching, Bakugou blinked rapidly. "How's the wounds?" he asked his friend, clearing his throat, trying to focus on Kirishima.
"As usual," Kirishima said, gesturing to his rapidly disappearing wounds, the bruises that receded.
"Good," Bakugou sighed.
Kirishima shifted, taking in a deep breath. He frowned, sniffing again. "You smell like Midoriya, like a lot," Kirishima said with a wrinkle of his nose.
Bakugou pushed him. "I do not, shut up."
"Your nest was his scent entirely. Your mom was screeching about it all morning."
That stole a smile from Bakugou. He could imagine it.
"Are you going to go after Midoriya?"
"Hah? Why would I do that?"
"You like him," Kirishima said simply. His red eyes were determined. He leaned forward to sniff at him. "I can smell it on you."
Bakugou's body seized up. He smashed his uninjured hand into Kirishima's face, pushing him away from him. "Fuck off, I do not. I'm going back to my nest." He shuffled to his feet, wiping his blood on Kirishima's scarf before storming out into the rain.
"My clothes!" Kirishima called after him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Bakugou's nest did actually smell like Midoriya, he realized, as he sat gingerly into it, careful not to breathe in too heavily. He held his breath, almost choking on the boy's lingering scent. How was it more obvious now that Midoriya was gone?
His stomach was sour with the doubt that suddenly crowded his mind. Leaning over, he picked up the discarded blanket between two pinched fingers, bringing it up to eye level. He stared at the offending article with brows furrowed.
Giving in, he breathed in just the slightest. A shiver ran involuntarily down his spine. Shocked, Bakugou threw the blanket to the side and shot across his nest to the other side, eyes wide. What the fuck…
He turned his head to the side and found his cape. Picking it up, he threw it on with his heart pounding, threatening to leap out of his chest. What was this sense of panic? Why did he suddenly feel so desperate?
"Katsuki," his mother's voice echoed into the cave.
Bakugou winced at her voice. He felt caught red-handed, even though he hadn't been doing anything incriminating. He looked over his shoulder with growing impatience. His muscles ached to move.
"Katsuki," she said again, crossing the small light of the flickering fire and looking down at him. Her face was morphed into an emotion Bakugou couldn't read. "Weren't you going to sleep?" Her voice seemed to plead with him.
"Yeah, I was," he said, even though he knew now that he would do anything but.
They looked at each other, the sound of rain echoing between them. When Bakugou couldn't meet her gaze any longer, his eyes darted away to the hazy almost pitch-black night outside their cave.
"No, you aren't," she said softly. "You were going to go after that boy."
He looked at her through the corner of his eyes. "Was not."
"I know my own son. And you always do the opposite of what I want you to." She crouched down and into his space, and placed a light hand into his blonde locks. Her fingers soothed him, carding through the fluffy locks.
He ducked out of her grasp but he looked back at her as she lowered her outstretched hands. "He really shouldn't be out in this rain," Bakugou mumbled, crossing his arms. "He's an idiot that will just get himself hurt. He's probably stuck in some mud somewhere, crying his eyes out, and it will be up to me to save his ass."
Her expression softened. "Yeah, but you won't be much help to him either. It's getting pretty dark out, you won't be able to see anything… At least take Kirishima with you. He can protect you if it comes to it."
"I can do this by myself."
"If you don't take Kirishima with then I'm just going to follow you around the forest."
Bakugou grimaced, ducking out of the way of her hand once again and heading to the front. "Yeah, yeah, hag, I'll make sure to bring him." He passed his father on the way out and avoided his affectionate attempt at a hug. "Don't wait up!" he called over his shoulder.
His hair flattened to his head as he stepped out into the torrential rain. "Kirishima!" he hollered in no particular direction. "Get your ass over here!"
Kirishima tapped him on the shoulder, scaring the shit out of him. "Dude, I was waiting for you to sneak out anyway. Let's go find your boy."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Midoriya's foot sank in deep squelching mud and the more he struggled, the more he seemed to submerge. "Come on," Midoriya moaned, on the edge of despair, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Why is this happening now?"
He jostled his leg back and forth, working at the suctioning mud, trying to pry free. The cakey mess was up to his shin. Honestly, he was unsure if he had stepped into a sinkhole or what. He really couldn't see in this darkness and through the rain. The little light that there was showed almost nothing in front of him.
The back of his neck chilled while a horrible thrill tore through his nerves. Something was watching him, he could feel their eyes on his back like a creeping spider. He stilled, letting his leg sink back further into the mud.
He couldn't hear anything, the sound of rain too much to distinguish anything. Nonetheless, he covered his mouth with his hand, taking slow breaths, hoping to make himself invisible to whatever could be hunting him. His eyes scanned the darkness around him, trying to conjure the hidden figure in the shadows.
The silhouette of trees loomed over him, his hands and nails scraped at the mud around him, and only the rain crossed his eyes.
Suddenly, something grabbed him around the neck, paralyzing Midoriya with fear. His lungs erupted into a loud cry that echoed for just a moment before dying as the pressure tightened. The hand on him felt cold and stiff and dead, and hot breath tickled in his ear. The whisper that came from this creature crept down his spine as it said, "Don't move. If you move an inch, I'll kill you."
Midoriya sat perfectly motionless under the threatening grip of the unknown force behind him. "What do you want from me?" His voice shaking, almost drowned through the downpour.
"I'm just being a good Samaritan and helping you out of this mud," the voice chuckled, scratchy and strained.
The hand pulled on his neck, choking him as he was drug from the mud. He gasped for air, clawing at the hand, writhing with the pain. No! Not again!
As soon as his foot was free the hand dropped him, leaving Midoriya to cough and sputter. The hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at the being. Midoriya's eyes widened in horror. It was the figure of a man but he was ghostly and deathly white and… the severed hands! Severed hands were gruesomely attached to his face and arms and body.
"You are going to do something for me," the voice behind the severed hand said smugly. He wrapped a hand around Midoriya's throat once again, squeezing tightly. "You know a Katsuki Bakugou, don't you?" |
SENT: so basically
SENT: thats how the dude who invented kraft cheese singles could have been the mastermind behind the sinking of the titanic
SENT:
like sure that motherfucker of an iceberg took the ship down physically but we have to look at all the angles here
SENT: never just one dude behind a crime you know
RECEIVED: I’m absolutely riveted by your dissertation about James Kraft’s plausibly shady past, however I must note that that was possibly the longest tangent I’ve allowed for you to go on in order to avoid a topic of discussion.
SENT: i didnt avoid shit i was laying out cold stone theories
SENT: are you trying to knock years of work and research out of my poor poverty stricken hands
RECEIVED:
Tell me, Dave.
RECEIVED: Was it the similarities in first names that triggered your descent into the maddening underground links between food industries and boat manufacturing during the early twentieth century, or did you simply give up on the possibility of a more opportune time to describe to me your theory in detail?
SENT: lalonde im sensing another bullshit psych session
RECEIVED: And I’m sensing another bullshit response.
RECEIVED:
“Rose, I have no idea what you mean, I just wanted so horribly to cease our discussion of John, formerly known as my new best friend, in order to instead discuss my thoroughly-researched conspiracy theory.”
SENT:
what do you mean
SENT: goddamn it
RECEIVED: So?
SENT:
cut the “formerly known as” thing
SENT: he’s still my best friend
RECEIVED: Is that so? It seems that John has been convinced otherwise.
SENT: what
SENT:
wait seriously
RECEIVED:
From my speculation, yes. He’s been rather gloomy, eyeing the empty left field in spectacled sorrow.
SENT:
you sure hes not just bummed because hes down two players
RECEIVED: I’m sure that has something to do with it, but I have a feeling that he’s missing the company of his quick-favored shortstop more.
SENT:
the dude knows where i live
SENT:
he can drop by whenever he wants to see this beautiful mangled mug
RECEIVED: Your face is reminiscent of a romantic tragedy.
SENT:
yeah its got a real leaving las vegas vibe going on
RECEIVED: Leaving Las Vegas?
SENT: ugh god its a trainwreck of a movie that egbert made me sit through
RECEIVED: Interesting.
SENT:
dont
RECEIVED: Hm?
SENT:
nothing just
SENT:
i was going to tell you not to look into that past surface level but i know youre already tit deep in the murky depths of freuds dead ass
RECEIVED:
Oh, not to worry. I was only questioning your negative critique, not your immediate reference to a film you watched with John despite voicing your distaste for it.
RECEIVED: Although, now that you mention it, it is quite interesting that you didn’t reference a romantic tragedy that you assumingly do enjoy or are at least more familiar with—Titanic, perhaps—and so I wonder, why choose Leaving Las Vegas, Dave?
SENT: christ
SENT: dont you have a game to get back to or something
RECEIVED: I suppose the others are becoming discontented at my mediocre first-baseman performance today.
SENT: youre going to get hit with one of karkats foul balls and join the fucked up face club if you keep that up
RECEIVED:
That would be tragic, wouldn’t it?
RECEIVED:
Get well soon, Dave. We’re all hoping for your speedy recovery.
SENT: thanks
SENT:
ttyl
You slouch back into your desk chair, swiveling the seat gently side to side with the push of your heels. The day has hardly sunk its teeth into the afternoon, but you’ve been awake for hours.
The past four days have been filled with some variation of the “get well soon” dialogue. But as each text drops emptily back into quick silence—on your end, back into fidgeting, bored sleep, on theirs, back to a game that they insist you would be better off avoiding for another couple weeks—you can’t help but feel a little stumped, a little lonely, without the constant flow of conversation keeping you company.
You can’t even say that Bro’s usual lurking is any form of reprieve as you’ve come to realize that the dude’s never home. Regardless, the decision between tense, half-truthed conversation and silence isn’t exactly a decision you would want to make, so maybe it’s for the best.
...
Fuck it, you might actually rather have him around, even just to hear him mumble weirdly under his breath over projects and bills and whatever the hell else he busies himself with these days.
Being home blows.
The pain under your eyes is nothing, despite the bruising having gone from an aggressive blue to a dark, pulsing purple. Your nose has become an afterthought under the fuzz of unmarked painkillers placed quietly in the drawer of your desk (your brother’s way of saying, “I might give a shit about you, but can’t express it in a way that doesn’t require me to sneak OxyContin from the Rite-Aid pharmacist with nothing left to lose, only to leave it in your room for you to find on your own”. You just feel lucky that he was kind enough to hide it in your desk rather than tied to a branch outside your window or placed in the sink pipes.)
You wonder briefly what it would be like to try playing ball with your head cloudy and knees two hooves away from gelatin, the height of taking too many pills for the hell of it, but the thought of another baseball coming at your face makes you squint and nix the idea altogether. The glove tossed haphazardly onto your pile of grass-stained, muddied, and now somewhat bloodied clothes probably feels just as lonely as you do.
Like hell any of them would let you play now. They’d probably be too afraid to let you stand out in the field, might even cast those godawful pity-glances at you while they drove the ball neatly into the infield. You’d go back to picking at dandelions trapped under your sneakers and they wouldn’t say a word about it.
...If you two were talking, this would be about the time John would call you melodramatic. He’d probably toss in an asterisk-encased eye roll for good measure.
You can’t give the dude much flak—he has been texting you, but in jagged “hope you’re feeling betters” and “talk to you soons,” all the while keeping your conversations short and superficial (if you see one more “hehe” from him you might actually somersault into outer space).
You figure he’s just tiptoeing around you to avoid the inevitable conversation of him being a cagey fuck, maybe waiting for the pain to blow over so you can just feel happy being in his company again and nothing else. Which, you know, would be fine if you were the type of guy to feign forgiveness and forgetfulness to avoid an awkward conversation.
But you’re not, and he knows better; he knows that you’re not going to let up on the issue, no matter how much he wants you to just cozy on up to him again.
Which just makes this all the more frustrating.
With a small huff, you grab your phone and send him the shitty “John Cage” image you whipped up two days ago in a pain-fueled trip to Photoshop. You almost toss it back onto your bed to be forgotten for another few hours, but instead it buzzes in your hand, screen blinking quickly back to life.
RECEIVED:
dave!!! look out your window :o
You squint at the time—it’s hardly past three, and the sun’s actually made an appearance once or twice today, so you can’t imagine the game being over yet—but another hurrying text forces you to slip on your chipped shades and step onto the balcony.
When you peer over, you find Jade waiting for you alone on your front lawn, looking up at you expectantly.
“Rapunzel’s tower is closed today,” you call down to her. “Princess is tired of everyone tugging on her hair.”
“Lame! Everyone misses Rapunzel,” she calls back.
“Yeah, well, I guess I can take a message for her. What do you want?”
You watch her shoulders slouch with a dramatic huff. “Dave!”
You smirk down at her before leaning comfortably against the banister on your forearms.
“What are you even doing here? Figured the game would go on until sundown like usual.”
“Well, some people had to leave early—Kanaya had to help her mom with something, Sollux had to go to the dentist, Karkat was being Karkatier than usual—”
She ticks each point off with a finger, other hand planted firmly at her side.
“—so we figured that we should call it a day. Can’t really play a game with only five people!”
“That sucks. I’m sure everyone’s real heartbroken over it.”
At that, she shrugs. “It’s not the end of the world. John’s kind of butthurt about it, but you know him.”
You stare down at her, and she moves to respond before you can change the subject—and she does so loudly, distinct enough to make the birds in the trees regard her momentarily.
“Speaking of which, what’s going on with you guys lately? Are you still not talking?”
Quickly, you hold your hands up to shush her.
“Geez, Harley, no need to alert the neighborhood. Besides, we’re fine. Everything’s chill with me and Egbert.”
“Uh, yeah right!”
You look away from her to peer in the direction of John’s house before beckoning her with a jutted thumb.
“Just—the front door’s open, dude, just come in.”
When she disappears from your sight, you let a small sigh loosen itself from your chest. In a moment you hear her excited footfalls disrupt the quiet of the house, and soon she’s in your room, looking first at you as you walk away from the balcony, then at your belongings clumped together on the floor.
“Your room’s a mess!”
“Like yours is any better.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses her glove onto your bed. “So what’s actually going on with you guys?”
“Better question: why do people keep thinking something’s going on with us?” you ask, crossing your arms lazily across your ribs. “Y’all are treating us like we were the world’s number one power couple that posted a couple of questionable subtweets about one another so now everyone’s in a fuckin’ tizzy and speculating who cheated on who and who’s gonna get the kids.”
“Because you guys were so close, and now...” She gestures her hands emptily, eyes exasperated.
You nudge a balled up sock on the floor with your toes. Sighing shortly through your nose, you decide you’ll take the bait, get reeled into this stupid conversation like a slippery trout.
“How obvious is it?” you ask.
“For the past like, two weeks you guys have just been off! John’s been so off his game the past few days, you two are hardly talking to each other anymore—” You watch the frustration bud in the arch of her brows, the way her hands drop fitfully back to her sides. “You guys were really close and then suddenly, poof!”
“The whole Vriska thing is still throwing the dude for a loop, you know that.”
“That doesn’t explain why he’s not talking to you! I can understand why he’s not talking to her, but you?”
You know she’s right—the Vriska excuse is running thin, fast. Still, you do nothing but shift your weight from foot to foot.
“Harley, we’re fine. Our friendship hasn’t spontaneously combusted and set the state on fire.”
She sits on the edge of your bed in a huff, crossing her arms tightly. “When was the last time you two hung out? Not at the games, just like, I dunno, did fun bro stuff together?”
You know the answer to this: just shy of two weeks ago, before Vriska dropped the bomb on John and inevitably led you to where you currently stand. You don’t say this, though; Jade instead pushes further.
“I mean, it’s just so obvious that something’s up—John seems pretty upset, you know.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know why,” you say. “He hasn’t said dick to me.”
“Ugh.” She pushes some fallen strands of her hair back, brows drawn together. “You two are impossible—I need to talk to him.”
Before she lets you get a word out, about how maybe this isn’t her business (a half-truth), or maybe there isn’t anything wrong at all (a full lie), she pulls out her phone and types rapidly with her thumbs. You’re sure that John is on the receiving end of what looks to be some fiery messages. You can only imagine how he's responding to her.
You almost think you’re off the hook until she sets her phone down again and looks back up to you, eyes still fervid, brows still framing her frustration.
“I want you two to talk to each other in person—no more texting b.s.!”
“Alright—”
“Tonight!”
“Uh.” You feel your façade break as your brows draw slightly. “Why tonight?”
“Because I want you to promise me that you two will get this sorted out as soon as possible—for your own dumb-butt sake.” She stands, grabbing her glove and tucking it under her arm. “Time-constraints are a pretty good motivator!”
“Alright, and what if we don’t talk tonight?” you challenge.
“Then I’ll kick both of your asses.”
You have to swallow back a laugh, if only because you know that she could probably beat the shit out of both of you, so instead you raise your hands languidly in defeat.
“Alright, alright, Harley. No need to bare your teeth. Down, girl.”
She rolls her eyes, but you watch a smile creep over her and soften her flame. Before she turns to leave, she sticks out her hand to you, pinky outstretched.
“Promise me, Dave. Tonight?”
She regards you sternly again. Unable to refuse, you reach out and hook your pinky loosely around hers.
“Yeah, promise.”
--
Jade’s going to murder you both.
The two of you had, again, danced around one another, having loose conversations dotted with emptiness, despite her lecturing. It’s not on purpose, at least not on your end—you had quickly realized that, with only a shitty Nic Cage-John Egbert monstrosity of a photo as your only backup, you couldn’t really bring yourself to prompt the meeting yourself.
Was the photo the perfect concoction of shitty and clever? Absolutely.
Was it fair that it was probably pushing the dude into a corner? Not really, so you retire the picture, at least until less serious matters ask you to wield it again.
Still, every time you try to reach out with real words, even an unsent “hey maybe we should talk” makes you set the phone down out of nerves.
It’s nearing on three days since Jade gave you a talking-to. Her texts have become ravenous—“why haven’t you two talked yet??” “i’m still waiting for you two to patch things up :(” “WOULD YOU TWO JUST TALK ALREADY?? GEEZ!!!”—and yet she still hasn’t stormed her way over to your house to beat some sense into you. While you're a little thankful she didn't stay true to her word, you would rather not challenge it further.
Besides, you know she’s right. You’re being a fucking pansy.
The sun has long-set, only solidifying your cycling thoughts that yes, John is probably home, no, he’s probably not asleep yet, and yes, this would be the perfect time to reach out to him.
And yet, you stare at the half-written text to him, thumb hovering over the backspace icon.
Just do it, you tell yourself. You’re the one that’s been wanting him to talk anyway, so why is this so difficult? Just send him those five dumb words and get this over with—
Suddenly, your phone buzzes in your hand, startling you out of your thoughts.
RECEIVED: hey. meet me outside?
You blink at the text. Then you stand, leaning to peer out your window, and sure enough, there he is, standing in the darkened street with his phone lighting his face. You watch as he reaches up to adjust his glasses.
Well, shit. Do thine eyes deceive you.
As you turn to slip into your sneakers and a hoodie, you send him a quick “yea one sec” and make your way downstairs. You decide to forgo your shades for the night.
The house has been quiet—you’re not sure if Bro is even home—but you send him a text anyway. Like a good suburbian kid, you guess.
SENT: going out
SENT:
dw i didnt get myself kidnapped
And you’re off.
You meet him at the corner where the street sign juts out crooked from the lawn. His head snaps up from looking at his phone, and before the screen goes dark you see him smile, soft and awkward. You raise a hand in greeting.
“Um,” he starts, before turning on his heel to face the direction of his home, eyes trying and failing to stay in contact with yours. “Sandlot?”
“Sure, man.”
The two of you walk in tense silence. He walks slightly ahead of you as usual, but tonight his strides are agitated, at times seeming to try and drive his body far away from you, but just barely keeping themselves contained enough to keep you close by. You try to keep your own walking smooth, but you can feel it, too—the anxiety of the situation suddenly picking at your skin, making your heart thud too loudly behind your bones.
You’re not sure why you’re nervous. Maybe because he so obviously is, maybe because his nerves are emanating from him and digging deep into your pores. Maybe because there’s a weightiness that you can feel, but can’t pinpoint.
The sandlot is dark when you two duck through the broken fence, wade through the taller-still grasses. The lights inside Rose’s house serve as a beacon as John leads you past the infield, past the backstop, to the dilapidated dugout.
It’s when he starts hoisting himself up that you finally speak.
“Jesus, Egbert, that thing’s going to collapse under your ass.”
“No it won’t,” he says back, sitting on top of the creaking planks with some finality. He looks down at you expectantly. “This thing is practically made out of steel.”
“Yeah, until a breeze hits it the wrong way. Then the whole thing falls down and all the little piggies go squealing for shelter. This just in: we’re the fucking piggies.”
You waggle your fingers at him, at which he rolls his eyes before beckoning you up with a hand.
“Come on, it’ll be fine. Don’t be a wimp.”
You lay a hand on the thick overhang, feeling out the wood with a press of your palm.
“Fine. But if I get more broken bones, your ass is getting sent through the paper shredder along with all your dollars.”
“I think my ass is going to turn out just fine, thanks.”
Cautiously, you hoist yourself up, feeling the wooden slats under your feet as he moves himself. Aside from some well-placed creaks, you suppose sitting on the thing won’t kill you.
You sit beside him, letting your legs dangle off the side, heels brushing the dugout’s back wall.
The katydids seem loud tonight.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat of nothing, “I heard Jade got to you, too.”
“Oh, yeah. She put on the ‘disappointed mom’ act real nice. Made me believe that she brought me into this world and that she was gonna take me out of it in a span of ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” He snorts bitterly. “She spent almost an hour lecturing me. And she’s still probably going to kick my ass.”
“Probably. Do you think she can beat us if we both take her on?”
“Absolutely.”
“Damn.”
He breathes a quiet laugh through his nose. You brush your hands over your jeans, feeling the cold of the night starting to sink in.
“So, uh, how’s your face?” he asks.
“Beautiful as ever. Fuckin’ pristine. Jesus weeps on the daily because it’s that good.”
“No, dumbass, I meant—how’s your nose feeling?”
“Like chipped fine China.”
“Mm.”
“Sucks that it’s keeping me from playing, though,” you continue, leaning back on your hands. “I mean, being holed up in my room isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Like, do I get to chill by my lonesome all day? Sure, and that’s fine and all, but I think it’s a little greedy of me to keep all this cool from my usual audience, you know? Kind of like hiding the multivitamins in the cabinet until the kids get all pale and sickly from a drop in vitamin C.”
You bump his elbow with yours lightly, causing him to look at you.
“Are you feeling weak, John? Feeling a lack of cool in your life? Need the classic Strider vitamin boost to get to peak coolness again?”
He grins shortly. “Actually, I think I got cooler without your dumb butt around.”
“That’s bullshit. That goes against scientific theory, dude.”
“Says who?”
“Says me, the science man himself. Bill Nye’s got nothing on me.”
A small laugh bubbles from him, making your chest feel a little lighter. But only for a moment—you know what you’re both here for. When his laugh dies down, you nudge him again, this time bumping the side of his foot with yours.
“Besides,” you start, “I’ve heard from some anonymous sources that you’ve been pretty off your game.”
He falls quiet at that, a little hum dying in his throat. He turns his head to scan the treeline, as if trying to pinpoint the buzz of the cicadas.
“It sucks that summer’s ending soon,” he says suddenly.
“Uh,” you respond. “I mean, I guess so, yeah.”
“This summer’s been pretty great, you know?" he continues. "I mean, yeah, except for all the drama, but there’s always drama. It just means that there’s stuff going on!”
You raise a brow at him that he can’t see. This isn’t what you expected, but you let him go on.
“And I don’t know, I guess it’s weird that we’re going to be juniors soon. It’s kind off—I don’t know, exciting? Or, um.” He’s worrying his lip with his teeth, you can tell. “Scary, maybe.”
You hum softly in response. You hadn’t even thought of the fast-approaching school year—you hardly even realized August had officially begun in your absence.
“Is that what’s getting you down?” you ask. “School stuff, I mean.”
“Huh? Oh, no, not really.” He shrugs, starting to swing his legs slowly. “I mean, I guess my dad’s been bringing up college stuff.”
“Gross.”
“I know,” he laughs, soft. “He keeps asking if I’m going to play for like, a college team. Or, it seems like he’s asking—he keeps leaving around printouts and pamphlets and everything kind of suggesting that that’s the direction I’m going in.”
“Well, are you? Isn’t that like, your thing?”
At that, he heaves a sigh.
“I guess? I don’t know, the baseball thing just sort of...”
You watch him splay his hands emptily, trying to find the words. He soon gives up, in turn running his fingers through his mussed hair.
“Like, don’t get me wrong, I love baseball—I’ve been playing since I was a kid, was raised with Mariner blood in me like all my forefathers. But sometimes, I dunno, I feel like sometimes people forget that I’m, you know. Not always ‘the baseball kid’ or whatever.”
He slouches slightly, toying at the frayed ends of a tear in his jeans. You turn to face him more, pulling your leg nearest him close to your chest.
“I mean, I know you’re into movies and stuff,” you offer. “And you were kind of telling me about programming that one time when your Xbox quit on us.”
“Mhm.”
“And you know you play a killer piano.” He does—god, the shit you want to do with his piano samples given then chance. “Like, you’ve got options, dude. You’re not superglued to the baseball shtick.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, quietly, a breath as he leans back on his hands, “I almost quit baseball—like, in the eighth grade, right before I started high school.”
You raise your brows. “Really? What, you got tired of it?”
“Not really, it was, uh.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Okay, don’t laugh, but I was also kind of a theater kid in middle school. And part of my freshman year.”
Oh. You can’t help it—you do laugh, a gentle snort behind a smirk. He turns to look at you in exasperation, at which you raise a defensive hand.
“Dave!”
“No, dude, I mean. I can see it. You didn’t exactly hide the playbills and songbooks from plain sight or anything.”
His shoulders lose their tension at that, and after your smirk fully fades he turns his attention back to his feet.
“Okay, well—I was doing both at the same time. Which wasn’t a huge deal in middle school, I guess, but once I tried doing them both in high school—”
“Didn’t have the time?” you interject.
“Well, that, and, uh.” He shrugs, fidgeting with his hands before he decides to lean back on them. “I mean, people are kind of shitty at school.”
You stare at him. He glances at you and then away, letting out another exasperated sigh.
“I kind of liked theater more, but—you know what they say about theater kids, especially guys. That we’re, you know, gay or whatever.”
He practically spits the word—not out of venom, but nerves, a burst of energy. Slowly, you let your leg dangle again, keeping your eyes on him as he looks in the direction of Rose’s house. Away from you. His foot bobs rapidly beside yours.
It takes a moment, but you break the silence.
“Okay?” you say. You watch his shoulders pinch in response. “It’s not a bad thing, dude.”
“No, no, I know—that’s not the point,” he groans.
“It kind of is, though.” Though he can’t see, you gesture with a hand, accentuating your words. “Like, you had the choice between some stereotypically damning shit—either be the theater kid and get ridiculed by some assholes or be the fucking MVP baseball player and have no one fuck with you. Obviously you’re gonna choose the one with least harassing potential.” You lay your hand flat on your thigh. "But at what cost, you know? Especially if you're not even..."
His foot continues to bob nervously. In turn, you nudge its side with yours again.
“What’s got your nerves bugging out, Egbert? Your foot’s malfunctioning.”
He sighs, finally turning his head back to regard the trees in front of you again.
“If I had never stuck with baseball,” he says, “I would have never met you. You know that, right?”
You pause. “Well, yeah. What about it?”
“And, I just—” He stops himself, pressing his hands against his face to groan. “God, this is going to sound so stupid.”
“Lay it on me.”
After a moment, he lays his hands in his lap, finally turning his head to look at you. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad I met you, I guess? I mean, I don’t guess, I am happy, and, uh.”
He stops to sigh, to reach under his specs to scrub at his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. You feel the tips of your ears warm dumbly at the confirmation; you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smirking.
“And I’m sorry that the past couple of weeks have been messed up,” he continues. “Like, you totally caught me, back when you were bleeding all over Rose’s bathroom—it’s not just the Vriska thing that’s been bothering me. But, I don’t really know what else it is, either.”
You watch him expectantly, waiting for him to clarify, because no shit it wasn’t just the Vriska stuff bothering him. He waves a hand emptily, trying to find the words.
“It has to do with her still, I guess,” he tries. “She said something to me a couple weeks ago that’s been messing with me. That I was, um. Leading you on, or something.”
When you manage to catch his eyes directly, he looks away. You find yourself toying with a loose thread at the hem of your hoodie, twisting it tightly around your fingertip.
You wait for him to turn around and clarify further—“but I wasn’t, she was just being stupid” or “she always reads too far into these things”—but instead you’re met with prolonged silence. No matter how deeply you try to burrow your vision into the back of his skull to make him turn around and speak again, he doesn’t.
He starts bobbing his foot again.
You feel your pulse thudding in your ears.
“Wait, Egbert, are you saying—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he concludes abruptly. “What I meant to get to was—I know Rose and Jade have been saying stuff like, doubting that we’re even friends anymore. And I just want to say that they’re wrong—that you’re still one of my best friends, and I’m sorry that I’ve been, you know, acting weird.”
“Cagey,” you say.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Sorry I’ve been cagey.”
“John Cagey—”
A quick laugh bursts from him, a release of nerves escaping the center of his chest. He shoves your shoulder, making you brace yourself with your hand. “No, fuck you. I can’t believe you even made that.”
You let yourself laugh shortly. It comes out wrong, almost like a choke, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You feel your cheeks flush regardless.
“These hands were made for creating only the finest of artwork, Egbert.”
Something is making your chest feel tight. An unpracticed sailor forgetting to untie his boat from the dock and letting the rope strain taught. A mechanic fine-tuning the small screws, over-twisting the screwdriver out of habit.
When the silence comes back, it drifts like a fog. Not discomforting, but as the two of you lean back onto your hands again to focus on the stars poking behind some clouds, you find yourself still scurrying to fit his words together, deconstructing and rebuilding them, not focusing so much on the sky but rather the person you’re sharing it with.
You realize he hardly told you what’s been bothering him. Little things, maybe, but the large void he left with an unconvincing “it doesn’t matter”…
The thought makes your skin feel warm.
The thought makes your skin feel too warm and you don’t know what to do about it except roll your sleeves to your elbows to feel the night set in full.
Suddenly—or maybe not, as the stars have shifted in pieces by the time you’re pulled from your thoughts—you feel a hand brush yours, and just as quickly pull away, like a ghost passing through a familiar place.
You turn your head to look at him. He looks down at his hand (your hand?) before returning the gaze.
“I should probably head back,” he says. He tilts his head to gesture in the direction of his home. “My dad’s probably getting worried.”
“Oh,” you say. Then, more clearly, shooing the fog away, “Dude, you didn’t tell your dad where you were going? For shame, Egbert. Thought you were a better son than that.”
He rolls his eyes before grinning toothily. “I’m such a rebel sometimes.”
“Yeah, real hardcore.”
He swings his legs back onto the roof, turning to shimmy himself off of the dugout. When he lands with a final creak and a thud, you turn your head to look at him, or rather his dark silhouette, marred only by the gleam of his glasses.
“You coming?” he asks from below.
You regard the stars one more time before following suit, landing quietly beside him. He leads you out, but this time his strides, though still long, seem more at peace, like cool breezes as they part the tall grasses, as they whisk by the string of silenced houses on 266th. When he parts at his street, after sending you a shadowed wave and hushed “see you later”, you listen for the familiar squeak of his front door opening, the gentle click of its closing, before finally letting out a buried breath.
You walk slowly down the next three blocks, letting only the sound of the katydids accompany you on your trek home. When you find yourself at the end of your driveway, you don’t bother heading inside right away. Instead, you sit on your front steps, feeling out the rough edges of the stone with your fingertips, and shut your eyes despite the nighttime.
The rolling breezes do nothing to cool the heat on the back of your neck. The hidden frogs chirping in the hedges don’t keep your mind from reeling, your heart trying again to crawl out of your ears. As you glide your hands over your forehead into the depths of your frizzed hair, you dip your head low.
Fuck, you think.
“Fuck,” you breathe.
The cicadas buzz endlessly, nearby and disguised in insouciance. |
Marinette frowned as she held up two balls of yarn up for closer inspection. Her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched up with concentration. The snow white would really make Adrien’s blonde hair stand out and shine. It was really soft too. The pale blue, however, complimented his eyes perfectly. She had zero idea. Her brain was whispering ‘text Nino’ to her persuasively. Nino
was
Adrien’s best friend. If anyone had some sort of idea about what color scarf Adrien would prefer for his upcoming birthday it would be Nino. The logical part of her kept on reminding her that if she told Nino she was making Adrien a scarf, he would tell Alya. Together they would expect a large production when she gave it to him… including Marinette coming clean about her crush on Adrien.
Her face turned red just
thinking
about it! Confessing to Adrien? Nope! No way. Giving the banner to him had nearly made her combust. She’d could barely handle going to his fencing exhibition. Marinette was just going to give Adrien the scarf, wish him a happy birthday, and pray that he’d touch her hand as he took the box. That and if she could get through it all without stuttering and stammering like an idiot it would be a definite bonus. All she had to do was figure out what color yarn she wanted to make her scarf out of. That put her firmly back on square one. “Great,” she moaned to herself.
There was a knock on her window.
Marinette froze. “Oh not again.”
Slowly, she turned around. Standing on her windowsill once more was Chat Blanc. He smiled cheekily at her as he waved. He held a rather thick, brown leather book close to his chest. Marinette groaned when she saw it. “Please! Not again.” she whined.
She sat her yarn down and strode to the window. Amice Fontaine’s test still sat on her desk in the folder that she’d put it in. Marinette had a mind to throw it at Chat Blanc’s face and send him packing. The last thing she wanted was to be wrapped up in magical Superhero craziness! “Whatever you brought me this time, I’m not interested!” she told him as she slid her window open.
“Sooo… you
don’t
want to know why Amice’s test is important?” he asked innocently. He shifted the big book under his arm.
Marinette narrowed her eyes, “Talk fast kitty.”
“Can I at least come in?”
Okay, there was definitely genuine politeness in that question. Marinette stepped aside and waved her hand in silent permissions. Chat Blanc sighed in relief. He wasted no time in dropping into her room and stretching his legs. “What did you find out about the test?”
“Well, it’s not exactly what I found
out
per say…” he dragged the last words out.
“Really Chat?” huffed Marinette. She could already feel the insane headache coming on.
Chat Blanc shook his head, “It’s more about what I
found
about Ladybug, Cat Noir, and Papillon!”
He held the book out to her, bouncing it in the air lightly. Marinette took it from him. The letters printed on it weren’t in a language that Marinette recognized. Actually, Marinette didn’t think it
was
a language at all! It was just a bunch pictures and symbols. “What exactly is this?” she asked.
Chat Blanc reached over and flipped through the pages. He had bookmarked a few of them with scraps of paper. The first page he opened it to depicted a different version of Ladybug in all her glory. Her yo-yo and a pair of earrings also were clearly emphasized as well. Marinette guessed that the blocks of symbols that surround the pictures described what each thing was and why it was important. No way to really know though since it was all foreign. Chat Blanc tapped the picture of the earrings. “That’s Ladybug’s Miraculous. It’s what gives her all of her powers.”
“Oh?” Marinette murmured. She hadn’t known that. Chat Blanc didn’t give her much time to reflect on it because he flipped to the next bookmark. It was Cat Noir’s.
“That ring is Cat Noir’s Miraculous.” he told her pointing to the black ring shown.
“What else do these little symbols tell you?” she asked him as she ran her fingers across the page over them.
He flashed a grin at her. “The pictographs didn’t tell me that. Papillon did back when he first transformed me into Chat Blanc. Funnelled the images straight through to my brain.”
“That’s disconcerting.” Marinette said, looking at him with wide eyes.
“Eh, you kind of get used to it after awhile.” he shrugged. Marinette pursed her lips. She was literally ready to ask him exactly what he meant by that particular statement. However, he went on before giving her a chance. “The next few pages look as though they go on to talk about how each of the Miraculous works. Here’s the page on Papillon.”
There were more images of the butterfly pin. Surrounding it were people dressed in various costumes and armor. “Are those akuma?”
“My guess is yes.”
Marinette gave him a guarded look. “Your
guess
?”
“Well, I mean I can’t read these words so I’m only guessing here.”
Chat Blanc said it so nonchalantly that Marinette almost thought that it wasn’t that big of a deal. Then she remembered what exactly she was dealing with. “You have no idea what any of this says?” she demanded as she waved her hand over the book.
“No but I can make a few educated conclusions based on what I already know. Maybe I can figure out how to translate it or something. I’m willing to bet that we can find out why that test is so important somewhere in here!”
“Educated conclusion. You’ve got to be kidding me.” she grumbled under her breath. “That’s not going to be possible and you know it! If you’re going to get any useful information then we have to know what this book says! Do you even know where to
start
translating?”
A sheepish expression spread across Chat Blanc’s face. Marinette was going to have to guess that the answer was a big fat giant no. She fought back a sigh. “What about the place you got this book from? Could someone there point you in the right direction?”
“Um… maybe but I don’t think they’re going to be interested in helping me for a certain reason.” Chat Blanc told her. He gave her a weak cheesy grin and shuffled his foot on the ground. Marinette slapped her forehead with the book.
“You stole it didn’t you?”
“Call me a cat…” The rest of the sentence was cut off by her hand over his mouth.
“Do not make that pun that you were about to make.” she told him, glaring icily at him.
She felt him smile under her hand. Cheeky cat. Marinette sighed but pulled her hand away from his mouth. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t caught because they could’ve charged me with
feline
-y burglary.” he said instead.
“That one was even worse.” Marinette said under her breath. She shook her head and pulled the book from Chat Blanc’s hands. Slowly, Marinette flipped through some of the previous pages in exploration. “How much of this have you looked through?”
“Not very much. There’s a lot of stuff. I only went looking for the things that I thought would be helpful at the moment. Figured there would be more time to go through it all after I figured out the significance of Open Book’s test. Did you know that there’s a bunch of other Miraculous holders as well? Like a fox and a bee?”
“I wonder where they are then?” Marinette mused as she found the page with the fox Miraculous. They desperately needed a way to translate the symbols. There was no was no other way for Chat Blanc to get to the bottom of the mystery of why he needed Amice’s test. Unfortunately it wasn’t like Marinette had the code book sitting on her desk or in her bag. Maybe if they were to check the… the idea popped into Marinette’s head that there was barely five seconds between it and her turning for her desk where her phone sat.
“Hey! What are you doing?” squawked Chat Blanc.
He rushed forward as Marinette sat the book down on her desk and held her phone over it. Marinette easily sidestepped him. She was so much smaller than him that she was able to simply duck underneath his outstretched arms. “Calm down Chat. I’m trying to help you.” she said, waving him away.
“Are you taking
pictures
!” Chat Blanc visibly balked.
“Yep! And I’m going to post them online too!”
“What? No! Marinette that is a horrible idea! People will see it.”
“That’s the point.” she said as she rolled her eyes. “Just because we don’t know the code doesn’t mean someone else won’t. The internet is a huge place. Someone
has
to have seen it before. Don’t worry. I’ll only take close pictures of the symbols. Not the illustrations.”
“What if it goes viral and the wrong people see it?” Chat Blanc demanded. He ran his hands through his hair anxiously as he watched her take another picture.
“Those chances are slim to none. Do you want me to call my friend Alya to get the exact odds?”
“Please don’t.”
Marinette laughed. She held her phone out for him to inspect. The pictures were tight shots of one of the captions on the page with all the supposed akuma from Papillon. It was a big enough sample that would hopefully give someone enough to identify it. Chat Blanc scrunched up his nose as he inspected it closely. His expression was changing. He bit his lip as his brow furrowed. “Do you really think that there’s someone out there who knows how to translate this?”
“It’s a long shot but maybe we’ll get lucky. It’s not like it’s the entire book. We only need enough to get us started. After that we can fill in the rest of the blanks ourselves.”
“We?” asked Chat Blanc. He looked up at her, eyebrow raising.
Marinette’s brain skid to a halt. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Chat Blanc could’ve heard the figurative screeching. “Y… you know what I mean!” she stammered as she pulled her phone away from him.
“Can’t you at least admit that I make you’re life a little more interesting?” teased Chat Blanc. She could hear him holding back his laughter.
“Absolutely not!” Marinette said firmly. She pulled out her connector cable and plugged her phone into the computer. The images loaded easily. “I’m going to get you started. Then, once you have all the information you need to translate this book, I can get you out of my hair.”
“Hey…” Chat Blanc started. He drew the word out as he said it. “About the book. Do you think you could keep it here? You know, like with Open Book’s test?”
“No,” she said.
“Okay.”
“You’re going to spend the next few minutes trying to think of a way to convince me to hang on to it aren’t you?”
“Honestly, I was just going to conveniently forget about taking it with me when I left.”
“Of course you were. Maybe if you told me why exactly it was that you can’t take it with you…”
Chat Blanc didn’t say anything. There was only the sound of her typing away at her computer. “Does it have anything to do with the fact that Ladybug and Cat Noir already know who you are?”
“Partially,” he answered. It was so quiet that she thought she might have missed it. Marinette turned to look at him. Chat Blanc was frowning and completely lost in thought.
“Then is the rest of it because of your ‘more pressing matters than stealing Ladybug and Cat Noir’s Miraculous’ thing?”
“I thought you didn’t want to be involved?” Chat Blanc reminded her. He grit his teeth as he pointedly looked away from her. There was definitely a lot of things he wasn’t telling her. She was going to have to take that as a yes then.
“I don’t.” nodded Marinette.
“Then you probably shouldn’t ask me any more questions.” he told her quietly.
Marinette looked at the book again. It was a big, giant suspected
reservoir
of information about Ladybug, Cat Noir, Papillon, Miraculous, and who knew what other sort of magical things. Chat Blanc was worried about the book and it’s information falling into the wrong hands. He had previously been possessed by one of Papillon’s akumas. Papillon was probably the epitome of ‘wrong hands.’ Chat Blanc had sworn up and down that he was no longer under Papillon’s influence. Marinette wondered just how hard it would be for Papillon to reassert himself in Chat Blanc’s head… especially if he found out that he was in possession of a resource such as the book that was currently sitting on her desk.
Marinette fought back a shudder. “Are you cold? I can shut your window.” Chat Blanc offered.
“No, no. I’m fine. Thanks though. I’m almost done anyways.” She shook it off. Chat Blanc really wasn’t such a bad guy. He really hadn’t been when he’d been possessed the first time either. After all, he’d gone out of his way to save her hadn’t he? There had to be a reason that he was still becoming Chat Blanc despite being purified even if he wouldn’t tell her what it was. He was on a mission. Marinette could say that without a single doubt creeping into her mind. “There!”
“Did you seriously post it on Reddit?” Chat Blanc’s eyes went wide when he saw it over her shoulder.
Marinette rolled her eyes, “It has one of the largest readerships in the world. People from all over are going to see it.”
“This could either be a really good thing or a really bad thing.”
“I suppose you’ll have to check back with me in a few days to see if I’ve gotten any leads.” she said as she examined the post that she’d made.
“Uh… I have a really busy schedule this week. Can I stop by next Sunday around this time?” winced Chat Blanc.
“I guess so.”
“Great! I will see you then… unless something else happens and I have to come find you again.” Chat Blanc told her cheerfully.
“Here’s hoping it’s another quiet week.” she mumbled under her breath. Chat Blanc must have heard her because he laughed loudly.
“I will see you around princess.” he said. He gave her a brilliant smile and a pat on the shoulder. Marinette turned to watch him leave again through her window. That’s when she caught sight of her yarn from the corner of her eye.
“Hey! Chat! Wait a minute.” called Marinette. Chat Blanc froze with one foot on her windowsill. His faux cat ears flicked towards her as he twisted to look around at her. Marinette grabbed the white and blue yarn.
“What?” he asked.
“What do you think? White yarn or blue?” Marinette held the two choices up for him.
Chat Blanc was so very eloquent. “Huh?”
Marinette brought them closer to him. “Which do you think looks better?”
“I wanna touch ‘em.” he told her, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. He wiggled his fingers as he reached for the yarn. Chat Blanc full on pouted when she pulled the yarn out of his grasp.
“Nuh-uh, not for kitties to play with. You’d tangle it all up and then I couldn’t use it.”
“That is a hurtful stereotype that needs to die.” muttered Chat Blanc. “I would not.”
“Come on. Be serious. This is really important to me. Which one do you think looks better?”
Chat Blanc made a pensive sound in the back of his throat. He cocked his head to the side, examining the two choices. “That one,” he said pointing to the blue yarn. “I like the blue one.”
Marinette pulled a length of the blue yarn out in front of her. She bit her lip as she thought it over. Blue really did go beautifully with Adrien’s eyes. She gave a nod. “Thanks Chat Blanc.”
“Um… sure, no problem.”
X X X
“I still think one of us should use the opportunity to search through Adrien’s room for Open Book’s exam.” Nino said as he finished hitting the ‘download’ button on his screen. The confirmation message popped up and he spun his chair around to face Alya. “We’d be in the perfect position to look for it.”
Alya stared at him skeptically. “You
really
think that uptight, stick in the mud Gabriel Agreste is going to give us permission to use his house as a party venue? You
really
think that?”
“It’s Adrien’s birthday! Why wouldn’t he?” Nino explained. He shot her a smile.
“This is the same man that kept his son homeschooled and sheltered his entire life so that he didn’t get into trouble. You tell me why.” Alya snorted, completely unconvinced.
Nino sighed. He pushed his glasses up so that he could massage the bridge of his nose. It was nowhere near enough to relieve the tension that had built up there. “I just don’t like the it… this whole thing. Chat Blanc coming back, Open Book’s missing exam, Adrien’s amnesia. None of it! I hate what it could all possibly add up to.”
Alya looked over her shoulder. Plagg and Tikki were curled up in the far corner of the room fast asleep. She dropped her voice to a hushed whisper so as not to disturb them. “I hate it too. There isn’t much we can do about it right now.”
“Do you think it’s too much to hope that it was a one time deal? Adrien retransforming into Chat Blanc I mean?” Nino asked softly.
“I don’t think even all my luck as Ladybug would be enough for that.” mumbled Alya. She sat down beside him and reached over. Nino leaned into her touch as she rubbed his back soothingly.
“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” Nino shook his head. He sighed once more.
“Look on the bright side Kit Kat Pattywhack. We’ve watched Adrien pretty closely all week long and not once has he transformed into Chat Blanc whenever he was upset or angry. That’s something right.”
“Or you could look at it through the lense of ‘now we have absolutely no idea what triggers the transformation.’” Nino huffed.
Alya whacked him on the shoulder. “You’re just a ball of optimism aren’t you?”
“Sorry, sorry. You’re right babe.” he replied, massaging the side she’d hit.
Alya grinned down at him. “Let’s focus on something we can do. Like looking for that exam.”
“As you’ve already so kindly pointed out, we probably won’t be able to swing Monsieur Agreste’s permission to have a party at Adrien’s house.”
“Which is why I procured a reservation at one of the picnic shelters in the park for Friday afternoon.” smirked Alya. “There will be a big sign in front of it that reads ‘Bonne Anniversaire Adrien’ on it.”
Nino’s jaw dropped. “When did you make that reservation. I thought the park was all booked that day because of the Kidz+ weather competition. Isn’t the winner supposed to be announced that day with professional pictures to follow?”
“Yep! But you know me. I have my ways. As soon as Adrien told us that his dad had a deep, passionate loathing for anything that was remotely fun I got to work.” Alya told him, reaching forward to boop him on the nose. Nino picked his mouth up off the ground and returned her smirk.
“And I suppose that while this little shindig is in session you’ll sneak over to his place and rummage around a bit?”
“All you have to do is keep him occupied. I should be back in plenty of time for cake, ice cream, and presents.” Alya winked. Nino’s computer beeped at him. Apparently the music player he’d been loading music on to was done syncing.
“I think I can swing that. It’s going to be one heck of a dance party that’s for sure.” Nino told her. He disconnected his music player and waved it in the air for emphasis.
“Barring no unforeseen
incidents
, Adrien’s first actual birthday party should go off without a hitch!” nodded Alya.
|
Edward was of an extremely amiable mood the next time he saw Darcy. He, along with the other gentlemen of the neighbourhood, had been invited to dine with the officers of the ---shire's Militia, lately quartered in Meryton. For Edward, the evening ahead presented an opportunity for unalloyed entertainment.
All the officers he had met had turned out to be, if not perfect gentlemen, then at least extremely agreeable acquaintances. And besides, the presence of his two friends from Netherfield guaranteed him rational intercourse.
When he arrived, the rooms were noisy and full of smoke; it was obviously a gentlemen's dinner. He was spotted at once by an officer he had met previously, and introduced to the rest immediately. If such easy solicitude did not completely serve to put him at ease, it went a far way into doing so.
The conversation went gaily about him, only minimally tasking his mind. It consisted mainly of the officers' mutual raillery, most of whom were men only barely older than himself. It was dominated and steered by a handsome man of around eight and twenty years, one Lieutenant Wickham, who was by turns faintly boasting and humble.
It was perfectly clear to Edward that all the younger officers were completely in awe of this gentleman, who seemed well aware and relished the attention. His adventures never crossed the line of the incredible, and they had farcical endings in which he appeared to gently mock himself, but he always managed to cast it in a good, advantageous light.
The man was very good at it, Edward had to concede, and if he had not come at the gathering in a cynic frame of mind, he would have probably let himself be deceived by his charm. Perhaps if Wickham had concentrated all his power, that is. But as it was, the officer was too preoccupied enchanting his comrades. Edward listened and was amused by him, but no more.
Wickham was in the middle of a story—in which he had been drafted from the streets to judge a boxing competition between Lord Foley and a very drunk Mr Goutier while passing by White's—when Edward was distracted by his friends' entry into the rooms. Despite Bingley's usual amicable disposition, both looked around—seemingly lost—and did not make any movement to approach anyone. At this, Edward felt compelled to go to their sides immediately.
Both smiled and seemed glad to have his company, Darcy even more so than Bingley. Edward offered immediately to introduce them to the group he had been talking to, interested in seeing what would they make of Lieutenant Wickham's theatrics, and Bingley acquiesced for both enthusiastically.
As they neared the group, Wickham's voice could be heard, loud and clear, and Edward realized that he now was telling a different story altogether. When he heard the man's words he could not help starting and looking back at Darcy.
'…this bit of muslin was no innocent I assure you. I would swear that she had met more than one man already, but you could not tell from just seeing her. I am sure her father thought that she was as innocent as the day was long.'
Edward did not know if he wanted to learn how Darcy would take such a show.
Another man made a comment they could not hear, and Edward saw Darcy blanch and falter when Wickham answered slyly—
'A prime article, I assure you. The green dress I gave her was not made with any silk her father had in his shop.'
At that moment they reached the officers' side and an extremely curious thing happened. Wickham, almost in the middle of the group, started and made an involuntary movement, as if he wanted to flee. Edward could only look at him askance, whilst he looked fixatedly at Darcy, who suddenly turned an alarming shade of red.
Seeing that the situation was almost unbearable, as all the men had been listening to Wickham before and were now looking at the newcomers and paying the utmost attention to the unfolding events, Edward hastened to make the introductions.
Darcy then seemed to make a supreme effort, and taking a sharp indrawn breath, answered the greetings. Nonetheless, his tone was clipped and angry; and when the time came he made only an almost imperceptible nod in Wickham's direction. He retreated from the group sooner than it was polite.
Bingley seemed stumped and only answered when spoken to, confusedly. He seemed as astonished as Edward felt, and kept sending curious looks at his friend, who was standing alone in the other side of the room.
The conversation in the group stalled, its self-appointed leader still white in the face and silent, until finally Bingley stepped forward and endeavoured to make matters right by being pleasing and agreeable himself. As always, it worked, and the level of noise picked up again to a hum with occasional shouts of laughter.
Seeing that Darcy was then left alone to stare out of a window, Edward extricated himself from the group and went to him.
He could not speak; nothing except questions came to his mind and he knew that at such a moment, questions could only be unwise. Darcy's face was set in grim lines, his entire posture rigid and uncomfortable. It spoke of carefully controlled anger, and it made Edward furious on his behalf. He knew not of what. He was sure at that moment that the other could not but be a smooth tongued scoundrel, and that he had perpetrated some unpardonable offence against his friend.
He had resigned himself to offering only silent company when they were called to the table. There, the only two empty seats they found next to each other were far from Bingley's. Edward could not help but feel that he should stay by Darcy the whole evening to help him, at the very least, to keep his composure.
The moment they sat themselves, Bingley looked over the surrounding officers' heads to Edward, and moved his eyes quickly at Darcy—who was staring gloomily at the table top—and back again. Edward was not sure he understood. Indeed, he was not sure at all of what one did on such occasions, but he made a gesture as if assenting. It seemed it was the right thing to do, because Bingley then smiled brightly and returned his attention to the conversation. Edward could only wonder at what he had assented to.
The last to enter was Colonel Forster, who was preceded by Wickham. This officer sported the most curious expression on his face; it seemed a mix of fear and daring, such were his paleness and smirk combined.
He thankfully sat far away from them, at the other extreme of the table, and Edward had no time to speculate on his dominating the general conversation, when he could be easy again. The Colonel had sat at the head of the table closer to them, and in deference to his rank, the discourse turned to strategy, a favourite topic of his.
So they talked on and on about the war, the continent, and the possibility of getting Armagnac through the Navy. As the dinner continued, the wine kept flowing, and the conversation grew less serious. By the end, the Colonel was rhapsodizing over the attributes of one Harriet whom he hoped to soon marry and his officers were hiding their smirks behind their glasses. She was, apparently, not only the most beautiful girl in the county, but refreshingly honest and delightfully charming.
'Miss Harriet,' he said for what it seemed the umpteenth time, 'was just telling me during a card party at Lucas Lodge some afternoons ago, that she has never met anyone who is my match regarding shooting accuracy. She accompanied us when we went shooting with her brother, as you might know.'
Edward had the sudden urge to drink, and almost chocked on his wine. The officer that helpfully hit him on the back to relieve his suffering seemed very understanding.
Darcy appeared tranquil, but he was also more subdued than what was usual even for him. To Edward, it was obvious that Darcy's effort to ignore Wickham was costing him greatly.
For his part, Edward could not eat. He had to make a real effort to be his usual amiable self. The Colonel's self-important speeches were ridiculous, and his officers unsupportable. He could not wait to be gone.
Finally it neared the end of the evening, though Edward was sure the officers planned to extend it far more than it was usual. The drink had made them raucous and the food lazy; they were patently happy to be there and had no intentions to move. He could only wonder if the gentlemen had any obligations at all besides eating, drinking, and enjoying the general society!
Darcy passed the bottle of port to Edward, and he could not avoid noticing that his friend's glass was rather fuller than what was polite. Before he could decide if saying anything to him was wise or not, a sudden hush in their side of the table made possible—nay, impossible not to—for them to hear Wickham's next words. He appeared to have been talking for quite some time, and they caught his final words.
'Miss Goulding? No, I would have you know I am no backgammon player; the woman is so little endowed, she is practically a Miss Molly!'
In the following general hilarity, Darcy stood up rather abruptly, and Edward was sure he intended to leave. They could not, he was sure, leave without calling undue attention to themselves and probably offending the Colonel in the bargain, but he could do nothing about it. Placing a restraining hand on Darcy's arm, he called Forster's attention and spoke, rather urgently, 'My friend here does not feel too well,' and gesturing to the port bottle, he forced a smile and added, 'Civilians like us are not at all capable of keeping up with military men. I am afraid we must leave you; I must see him reach Netherfield safely.'
The Colonel smiled in understanding and saluted them in good humour, though he seemed a little surprised with Darcy's very apparent stability. He had gone out in decided strides the moment Edward had let go of his arm. Edward himself could not be so hasty, and looked around at Bingley before going out. There was nothing much he could communicate without speaking, so he only shrugged, almost imperceptibly.
He was turning around again when his eyes met Wickham's, and he fancied he was being coldly assessed, but could only frown slightly and be gone. He had to hurry to reach Darcy and they set out at a furious pace, leaving the carriage to Bingley without a second thought. Darcy was always some feet ahead, and to Edward, the silence seemed to be heavier than any they had shared before. Edward abhorred silences like this one; he never knew how to act.
Finally, and almost running to keep up with the other, Edward said in his brightest tone, 'I do think I could beat the Colonel at pistols, even is he is 'the best shot of the Regiment', as Miss Harriet seems to think, or to have Forster think she thinks.'
And at Darcy's unrelenting silence, he kept going, 'If she thinks indeed. I cannot believe her so calculating. She used to be unable to do so beyond the latest fashion in lace colour for her bonnet.'
All energy seemed to go out of Darcy at once, and he resumed a more normal pace, looking at Edward once before speaking. 'You should not talk so, you know. She is a lady and you are a gentleman.'
'A lady, and the future Mrs Col. Forster to boot,' said Edward with a smirk.
He was happy to see that he got a smile for his troubles, and so he continued, 'What manner of gentlemen we dined with tonight! Lieutenant Denny, who sat beside me, for example, even attended university. He did not stay long, of course, but what tales he told me. I do think you missed most of them, as the dear colonel held most of your attention, but you must tell me, I cannot believe university allows leisure enough for all he claims to have done.'
'I am sure it does for all those who care to. I would not know.' Darcy's tone was dry, if not a little cutting.
'Come, I did not mean to insult you! You know enough of me to know that I may laugh, but I would never be so free of restraint, myself.'
'Of course.'
'Then stop being so grim! You have not told me anything about your experiences. Every man I know has things he brags about to inexperienced fellows like me—usually women, come to think of it. Indeed, I have heard enough of it tonight from gentlemen for whom I care not a jot about, and not a peep from you. '
Darcy spluttered, 'You cannot be serious. No gentleman would speak of it; Bingley, I am sure, did not tell you anything, either.'
'He is as good as courting my sister; would you expect him to?'
'No! And not because of that! There are things better kept private, you know…' But he was no longer angry, and Edward could see he was really amused by the subject.
Edward had to look away before speaking; the urge to laugh was so great. 'But then, how would green young'uns like me get any information?'
'Green! You cannot be as green as you are claiming. You will not convince me. For a short, barely tolerable fellow, you have practically every girl in the county making eyes at you.'
Darcy never broke his stride, but Edward felt his gaze on him all the same, and he could not meet it lest he betrayed his amusement. 'Only because sighing for you would be useless; you barely look at them.'
'I must weigh my actions, you know that. I am responsible for the consequences.'
Hating the fact that Darcy had turned a perfectly good conversation into a serious one, he said, unable to hide his irritation, 'I am, too, responsible and sensible. Do you see me getting any experience with young girls?'
Darcy appeared not to be offended by his tone; he only smiled slightly and raised an eyebrow. 'You are barely older yourself, you know; but if that is not appealing, there are always books…'
Edward could not resist acting the surprised youth again, turning to Darcy and opening his eyes as wide as they would go. 'Books? What sort of books? Do you have any recommendations?'
Darcy bit his lower lip and even so could not prevent a smirk from forming; his tone wanted to be final, but did not quite manage it. 'No. And I can see now, you fancy you are teasing me now.'
'Me, teasing? I am only looking for information. Would Bingley know? Or better, would he tell me?' Edward was enjoying this far more than he should have.
'How am I to know? Ask him.'
'But you do talk about this kind of thing with him, do you not?' asked Edward, who at this point found himself genuinely curious.
'We are very old friends.'
'That is not an answer.'
'Very well. Occasionally.'
Edward thought he had caught him then.
'Then why not talk to me?'
'If you are as green as you say, then I would be loath to spoil your innocence. There is so little left of it in the world,' he said with a smirk, and then, after a brief moment of hesitation, changed the subject.
'I trust you have observed today's… events, and concluded that I know Lieutenant Wickham.'
'Of course.' Edward wanted to say something more, to reassure his friend somewhat, but he knew not how.
'We have… the acquaintance is an old one. He was my late father's godson. We have not parted in the best of terms, by his own doing. He is not a man to be trusted.'
Edward knew he had to acknowledge the revelation in some form, but again was at a loss for words. To say that he had concluded that much before seemed to ask for Darcy's approval and nothing was further from his mind. Finally he said, 'Of course, I trust you, Darcy.'
A look of understanding passed between them, and then they had to turn around at the sound of a coach. It was Bingley, who had even thought to bring Edward's horse with him.
He was subdued, but in seeing them in a similar mood, made an attempt to cheer them, saying, 'Well, I do not think we have to worry about having to stand the colonel's monologues anymore: I doubt we will ever be invited back!'
They were both too grim to be so easily amused, and they took leave with few words—Darcy entered the carriage, Edward mounted his horse, and they separated, too tired even to arrange an outing for the next day. |
The Villa Holiday Part 2
This is a work of FICTION.
Thanks for the comments & feedback.
Note: Edited Part 1 to include protected sex.
‐----------------------------------------------------------------
I hand a rubber to Mr. Brown who quickly opens it and puts it on as Viki stands over him. Spreading her legs, she lowers all five feet three inches of her on to his waiting cock. Her pussy swallows his head and pushes down.
Now she is going up, slowly down, up, down while Mr. Brown plays with her nipples, leans in and rubs his spilled cum over her fistful sized breasts.
Viki moans as she grinds her hips, moving back and forth. Then she lifts up and drives her pelvis back down forcefully.
"Please........ooohhh......."
As she leans in, Mr. Brown moves his hands and grabs both of her ass cheeks. I get a perfect view of her swollen lips wrapped tight around his cock as it moves in her.
This goes on for a few minutes, then she climbs off Mr. Brown, walks over to me, kneels and begins to stroke my cock. She lowers her mouth, kisses it gently and gives it a bite.
"I've never seen you like this."
"I know. It's like both cocks are hypnotizing me."
"Are you planning to fuck them some more?"
"Oh yes. Those cocks are too delicious."
She proceeds to lick my cock running her tongue down my shaft before working her way back up and swallowing my head.
Her mouth works my cock for a bit as Mr. Brown and Mr. Black move in on either side of me.
They have removed their rubbers and she takes their cocks in her hands, slowly stroking them. I hold the back of her head as my cock fucks her mouth.
A few minutes go by, then she moves over taking Mr. Black in her mouth. I move behind her and put my cock into her.
I grab her hips, move her body up and have her thrust down. She begins to move faster as her pussy pounds my cock. I lean closer to her and my hands begin to knead and squeeze her breasts.
Watching her suck cock while fucking me makes me cum faster than I would have liked. I pull out and spill on her ass.
I wipe my cum over her cheeks and finger her pussy and asshole making sure both holes get some of my cum.
Viki moves from Mr. Black and takes Mr. Brown in her mouth. She licks his shaft and moves her tongue down playing with his balls. This drives him crazy.
She tongues his balls before sucking one and then the other. Grabbing his cock, she slides her tongue to his head and goes down hard on his cock. Mr. Brown moans.
Mr. Black has spread a couple of towels on the ground, lays down on them and motions for her to come over.
She sucks Mr. Brown for a little bit longer, pulls her mouth off his cock and goes over to where Mr. Black is. She gets on her hands and knees and slowly starts crawling over his chest and stomach, working her way to his cock.
Her mouth closes around his cock and begins to suck. Mr. Black reaches overhead and positions her hips so she is directly over him, then his tongue buries itself between her legs. Her mouth moves up and down gobbling his hard cock. Occasionally she takes a hard bite and his body shudders.
He moves deeper in her, getting her wetter and slips a finger in her. He pulls it out, puts it in his mouth sucking, then puts it back in her.
Viki takes her mouth off his cock and moves back into a sitting position. She slowly moves her hips back and forth over his tongue and face.
"Mmmmm......right there.....oohh."
She now moves her hips faster as a moan escapes her and proceeds to raise her breasts to her mouth and licks first one nipple then the other.
She then motions for Mr. Brown to come over and when he does she takes his cock in her mouth.
Mr. Black moves his hands over her ass and gives it a hard squeeze before moving up and grabbing her breasts. He rubs her tits then tweaks her nipples. How he has not suffocated under her, I don't know.
I watch, fascinated, over the next few minutes as the three of them go at it. She occasionally moans as her mouth continues its assault on that thick cock.
Mr. Brown then helps Viki up, walks her to the nearest lounger, lays her on her back and pins her legs back exposing her wet pussy.
He takes the rubber I give him, opens it, puts it on and inserts his cock in her pussy. Viki lets out a pleasurable moan as his thick cock enters her. Slowly at first, in and out, then like a jackhammer pounding cement.
At some point she has an orgasm as I watch her juices leak from pussy to asshole.
"Fuck her ass." I blurt out.
He looks at me, surprised, then a light smile plays on his lips as he removes his cock from her pussy.
"Do you want it in your ass?" he asks Viki.
"I've never been fucked there so I don't know."
"I'll go slow. If you don't like we stop. Okay?"
"Okay."
He shifts his position and the head of his cock pushes gently on her asshole. Over the next few minutes, his head slowly disappears into her. He begins to move a bit faster.
Viki sighs and lets out a few "oohhhhs" as her hole is filled with cock.
I watch her face as she bites her lower lip, then she turns to me. She licks her lips and blows me a kiss. Then she slightly opens her mouth and gets back to getting fucked up the ass.
I move closer watching his cock fuck her expanding asshole. He pulls it out slowly until most of the head is visible before plunging it into her hole.
Viki has moved her hand to her pussy and is playing with her clit heightening the pleasure she must be feeling. She moves a couple of fingers deeper into her wet pussy and plays with herself while her ass is being hammered.
"Feels good?" I ask.
"Ohhh.....yes...."
"Viki, do you like his cock deep in your ass?"
"Mmmmmm..........."
"I'll take that as a yes."
She moves her hand and starts to stroke my cock, squeezing it a couple of times before bringing it into her mouth.
My body shudders with pleasure as I move my cock in her mouth. Mr. Black has come to the other side of her and she begins to stroke him.
She moves her head to the other side and takes Mr. Black and strokes me. This goes on for a bit as Viki alternates between sucking and stroking our cocks.
As Mr. Brown pounds her ass, he goes rigid and I know he has cummed. He slowly pulls out as I am fucking Viki's mouth.
Mr. Black puts a rubber on his cock, slides between her legs and is in her pussy pounding away in seconds.
The moan that comes deep in her throat as he enters her is too much and I discharge myself in her mouth. She takes some on her tongue, but some gets on her sunglasses and face.
She swallows and removes her shades. I look into her eyes as I wipe some cum off her face and she sucks it off my fingers. Then she licks the cum off her shades all the time never taking her eyes off me. I lean in and we share a deep kiss with lots of tongue.
As we kiss, she wraps her legs tighter around Mr. Black as his thrusts become more urgent and they both moan when he releases.
He pulls out of her, gets up, moves away as I help Viki sit up. We watch as the two men get dressed. I hand the bikini bottoms to her and she puts them on while looking for the matching top.
Mr. Brown and Mr. Black come over and thank us for a wonderful time. They each lean in and give my wife a kiss on the cheek while bidding us a good day.
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves." I say at their retreating forms while Viki heads into the pool for a dip. I think she is going to be sore down there for the next few days.
|
Potter had Draco on his bed, which made Draco grateful for a single moment because it meant that he didn’t have to worry about which direction his leg was splaying or how to maintain the bad knee of his persona in a moment of passion.And then Potter pulled Draco's shirt off with a skin-burning whoosh and kissed him again, and Draco lost his focus, lost everything but what was happening.Potter kissed him on the lips, on the chin, on the neck, letting his beard stubble rasp Draco’s skin. Draco shivered in delight and grabbed Potter’s hair. Potter gave a quiet grunt. Draco raised his eyebrows, wondering how many of his own reactions he had been controlling before, refusing to let Draco see them for some reason.Then the thoughts blew away again, and Potter rolled him around so that he was on top of Draco, lightly but firmly pressing him into the bed, slipping his hands under Draco’s arse to cup and squeeze his cheeks.“You move fast when you make up your mind,” Draco whispered to him, and hooked an arm around his neck to pull him close for a kiss.Potter’s eyes flared open. “We can stop if you want,” he offered, and shifted his knees for a second like he was going to get up.“Never,” Draco said, and rolled him a little to the side—not that he didn’t like Potter on top of him, but what he could reach this way was limited. He undid Potter’s own robes, and pushed them back to get his hands under the shirt.“Ah,” said Potter, a simple sound of pleasure, and bowed his head and extended his arms so Draco could get his shirt off more easily. His eyes were bright and soft, and he was kissing Draco again a moment later, his chest and shoulders this time, as though having bare skin there himself was enough to make him want to kiss it on someone else. Draco’s eyes crossed when Potter found his nipple and sucked it.“Come on, come on,” Draco found himself chanting under his breath, without knowing why he was chanting it, and he let his legs fall open and looked up at Potter expectantly.Potter nodded as if in response to an imperative, and then tugged Draco’s trousers and pants off with the same motion. He was shedding his with little kicks, so practiced that it was enough to make Draco wonder how often he had done this.That thought brought up emotions he didn’t want to feel. He kissed Potter on the mouth to distract himself, and Potter bent down and they did some serious snogging for a minute before Potter went back to undressing him.“You want to fuck me?” Draco offered breathlessly. It wasn’t an offer that he made a lot, but Potter’s hands were confident and expert, and Draco thought he would not only escape pain but get a lot of pleasure out of the deal as well.Potter closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them and shook his head. “No. I just want to see you completely bare.”His bloody conscience. Draco smiled, a thin, twisting serpent of a smile that he made as seductive as he knew how, and spread his legs some more. “Whatever you need to get you in the mood,” he whispered. “I want you any way I can have you.”That made Potter hesitate and give him an anguished look. Draco gave him nothing back except a mouth full of teeth, and then of tongue when Potter kept lying there and Draco had to kiss him again to get the show back on the road.Luckily, Potter’s hands were more than skilled enough to position Draco how he wanted him, which was lying on the bed with his legs fully spread, enough that they ached a little. Draco tilted his head back and sighed dramatically as Potter began to suck him. That reduced a little of the arousal that was almost pain in his cock.But only until he looked down and saw Potter’s black head bobbing between his legs, his cheeks and jaw narrow with determination. Determination to get me off, Draco knew. And not lose his heart at the same time.Draco reached out and gripped Potter’s hair, and this time there was no doubt about it. Potter moved a little towards his hand and moaned, something that made Draco’s mind sheet red with pleasure and his hips arch before he thought about it.When he recovered enough that he could think about something other than what was happening between his legs, he twisted about and hooked his thighs tight around Potter’s neck. Potter stopped moving right away. Maybe that was down to Auror instincts, too; Draco didn’t know.“You like having your hair pulled,” Draco whispered, keeping his voice deep and dark, the way he knew some of his other lovers liked it. “Maybe someone else doesn’t. Maybe someone found out and didn’t like it, because it didn’t fit their image of the perfect hero in bed with them. But I don’t need you to be a perfect hero.” And he sank both hands deep this time, and shoved Potter’s head back onto his dick.Potter gave a noise that might have been a sob, and went back to licking and sucking. Draco let his head flop back, but never let the strength in his hands falter. He yanked Potter from side to side, and drew him down punishingly hard when the motion of his tongue lapsed. Maybe he was stopping to breathe. Draco didn’t know. He did know that Potter was more than strong enough as both a wizard and a fighter to pull back and free himself if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He kept himself there and let himself be kept there, and his fingers were digging hard enough into Draco’s thigh that Draco knew they would leave red marks at the very least, if not actual fingerprints.“You like this,” Draco whispered again. It was the only thing that would come out of his mouth when he was squirming on the bed and lifting his hips and trying not to let himself come. “Really like it. You want it. You want me to do this,” he repeated, almost mindless, knowing he was mindless, and dragged his nails up Potter’s scalp.Potter jolted and sucked harder than ever, so hard that he was coughing a moment later. Draco didn’t care about that, because he was coming. The wash through him was so sudden and so intense that he didn’t have any time to warn Potter. Maybe that didn’t matter anyway, because Potter kept up with him, swallowing almost convulsively.In the end, Draco let his head fall back and his eyes close. He was vulnerable, for the moment, but the trembling and weakness in his limbs was delicious. He stroked Potter’s head, a little puzzled that Potter didn’t immediately move up beside him and demand that Draco suck him, but pleased with it, too. Maybe it meant Potter was still recovering from what he had just done, in a good way, without indulging his insecurities.Then Potter did stir, and Draco reached down and casually wound a finger in a piece of hair when Potter tried to move away.“What do you want?” Draco whispered. “My hand, or my mouth?”Potter shook his head. He was looking at the floor. Draco frowned. It would be irritating if the insecurities reared their heads now, when Potter had just got Draco off.“You must want something,” said Draco, and he really didn’t care if his voice was petulant. He thought his persona might be more petulant about not having a chance to satisfy his lover than his real self, actually. His persona was timid and generous and would be hesitant about sharing himself with someone on a case. He yanked at Potter’s head again. “Come on. What is it?”Potter turned to face him, and Draco understood then. His face was bright red as he bit his lip, his eyes overbright, the face of someone who was sated and thought he shouldn’t be.“You don’t need to do anything,” Potter whispered, and then shook his head as if the wording of his own response disgusted him. “I—I got off.”From me pulling his hair?That was it. It had to be it. And it made Draco hungrier than he had been, though not so much for the taste of Potter’s skin or mouth as just for him, to be able to hold him and not have him pull away.He drew Potter down on the bed again, ignoring the way Potter thrust a hand against his chest as if he wanted to be free. He kissed Potter, languidly, and persistently, until Potter stopped flailing his tongue around and began to kiss back. Draco kissed until his lips were numb, and then rolled and pulled Potter over with him, slipping a hand down to the prominent wet patch on Potter’s groin.“You don’t have to be ashamed of that,” he whispered, because his lips were stinging now instead of numb and he could. “Who told you that you ought to be ashamed of that? Who made you not want to talk about it?”Potter twitched his head against Draco’s chest. It took Draco a second to realize that Potter wasn’t pulling away, that he was shaking his head instead. “It doesn’t matter,” Potter said. “Really,” he added, when Draco made a little strangled sound of his own. “I have these stupid ideas that have nothing to do with you.”But I want them to have to do with me. And Draco did. He reached out and swept a restless hand up and down Potter’s arms. “But it seems you were just so embarrassed. I think it’s—” He spent a moment debating the word, and then finished up with, “It makes me burn.”“Really?”The way Potter twisted his head made Draco sure he was right, and someone had told Potter that the way he liked to have his hair pulled was weird. “Yes,” he whispered, and kissed him again, drowning the words with the hot taste of his tongue in Potter’s mouth. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to get you off in other ways,” he added, when he finally pulled back. “But it makes me hot to know that you came from that. I made you come.”Potter looked like Potter again, or the determined Auror that Draco had come to know, as he raised himself on his elbows and looked down at Draco. “You ought to be careful what you wish for, Malfoy. It sounds like you’re claiming an authority over me that you don’t have.”“An authority I can’t have,” Draco agreed, remembering the timid way that his other self had approached Potter. “But I still want it.” He once again kissed Potter, hoping that one or the other of them would stir back to life.He was still limp when Potter drew back from the kiss, though. “It’s sweet of you to talk that way, but I still failed you,” he whispered, holding his hand against Draco’s lips when Draco tried to protest. “Falling asleep like that.” His face was so red, and Draco thought it was with more than the fire brewed between them.“You couldn’t help it,” Draco said. “It was a sleep curse.” He had no doubt of that. The goblins wouldn’t have risked sending in their magic unless they’d also taken care of Potter, since he’d already proved that he understood their magic and knew how to counteract it.Potter buried his flushed face in Draco’s shoulder and muttered something that sounded like, “You’re being awfully forgiving.”“I lived,” said Draco, and tightened his hold on Potter’s hair again. It was simply so fascinating to have something that he could do and Potter would melt, like that. Draco could envision other people doing that, but not Harry Potter. Then again, Potter had been a surprise from pretty much the moment he walked into the Manor. “You’re the only one who can actually recognize these spells and defend me from them. I forgive you or I don’t live.”“Right,” said Potter, and it seemed that he sighed it out. He followed Draco’s tug on his hair a second later, and gave him a direct look. “I’m not going to get it up again tonight. I’m not some monster of stamina.”“You’re full of stamina in other ways,” said Draco, and looked into Potter’s eyes as he kissed his nose. “You’ve been a fighter and a healer and a lover all in the same space of an hour.”Potter’s return smile was unhappy, and Draco made soothing noises and touched the back of his neck while inwardly rolling his eyes. He already sucked me off. He’ll sleep with me tomorrow. I fail to see why he’s still upset about it.“Go to sleep,” said Potter softly, and rolled towards the edge of the bed. “I’ll—clean up, and then keep watch some more.”“Oh, no,” said Draco, and dragged Potter close again, ignoring the way his breath stuttered in surprise. “Goblins can’t attack right away again with a spell that powerful, can they?”Potter paused. “How did you know that?”Draco shrugged. “I noticed the length of time between this spell and the last one that pierced the wards. I think they would have sent another one after me if they could have, but they didn’t, which suggests to me that they can’t. Am I right?”Potter gave him such a careful, patient stare that Draco wondered if Potter was waiting for him to confess to greater knowledge than he had. But Draco would never do something like that, so he only widened his eyes and waited.“Yes.” Potter gave in with the word at last, and leaned his head down next to Draco’s. “They have to prepare rituals—or, well, we would understand them as rituals. They are spells, but they take a long time to cast. And they have to bring up new chanters to replace the ones who get tired and have to stop, and do all sorts of, oh, complicated things. So there won’t be another attack tonight from that direction.”“Then you can rest with me,” Draco told him, and put a possessive hand in the middle of Potter’s sweat-slick back.“It doesn’t mean that an attack won’t come from another direction, though.” Potter shifted restlessly against him. “And I already failed you once.”Draco could still feel the heat against his cheek from where Potter flushed, and shook his head so that Potter’s head moved back and forth with his. He really was embarrassed about not waking up the minute the curse erupted into the room. “It’s all right, Potter. I understand. And you can stay here and rest with me.” He lowered his voice into a return of the scared little squeak that the man he pretended to be would give. “Please? I don’t want to be alone in this bed.”Potter gave in, of course, the way Draco had known he’d have to. And it did feel good to drift off with Potter’s arms lapping languid around him, and Potter’s breath slowly settling with his, merging with his, so that it took an effort of will for Draco to suspend himself over the dark drop into sleep without actually falling.But he managed it, and there was no sign that Potter noticed when Draco slowly slid his hand beneath the pillow, grasped his wand, and brought it out. Nor, despite the sensitivity of his scalp, did he stir when Draco rested the wand beside his ear.“Somnio,” Draco whispered, and listened as Potter’s breathing became even deeper, steadier. He shook his head, smiling. Potter had exhausted himself putting Draco to sleep, and interviewing with his boss through the fire, and catching Greengrass-Rosier, and saving Draco, and having sex. He deserved to have a good night’s rest.And the best thing was, as long as Draco was quick, there was no reason for him to suspect that there had been a spell at all. He could wake up in Draco’s arms and think it was a combination of satisfied desire and real need that had driven him into slumber.Draco edged softly out from beneath Potter and stood up, stretching. Then he gathered his clothes, and made sure to fake a limp on the way out of his rooms and towards the stairs, on the off-chance that Potter had resisted the spell.He had a potentially traitorous half-goblin to contact. |
Alex had nearly forgotten Miss Tyler had promised to stay, and was surprised when Lafayette pulled him into the kitchen by his arm and she was still there. She smiled at Alexander over her glass of water, sat beside Mrs. Washington at the counter. “Settled in?” she asked.
Alex nodded silently, biting his lip.
Mrs. Washington set her own glass down and stood, smiling brightly at Alexander. “It’s very nice to meet you, Alexander. I’m Martha,” she introduced herself. “I sincerely hope that you'll like it here.”
“Hello, ma’am,” Alex said respectively, spine stiffening. He was suddenly extremely nervous. Worried of coming off like a prick to Mrs. Washington. Despite what Lafayette had said, he knew his overbearing tendencies sometimes came off as ungrateful or rude and for some odd reason he actually really wanted Mrs. Washington to like him.
“I see Gilbert has already glued himself to your side,” she observed, eyes falling to where Lafayette’s hand was still wrapped around Alexander’s wrist. Not quite holding his hand. It suddenly occurred to Alexander what an intimate gesture that was, suggesting familiarity, and he carefully extracted himself by crossing his arms instead. Lafayette didn’t seem to notice Alexander’s discomfort.
“Don’t crowd him, young man,” she said pointedly to Lafayette.
“Never,” he said with a grin. “I was just going to show Alex around the house before dinner.
Nous ne prendrons pas longtemps.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” George chimed. “How do you feel about pasta?” he asked, directing the question at Alex.
“Agreeable.”
George chuckled. “Good. I’m making creamy pesto shrimp for supper, hope that’s alright.”
“Sounds good,” Alex conceded.
“Oh, it’s better than ‘good’,
mon lapin,
” Lafayette chimed in a stage whisper. “George’s pesto is spectacular!”
Alex smiled at Lafayette, his enthusiasm was contagious and Alexander feared he was already growing attached.
Crap.
“I should really go,” Miss Tyler announced. Tugging her coat on, she approached Alexander, offering him a soft smile. “This is where I leave you,” she said. “Promise to call if you need me, alright.”
Alex swallowed. “Promise.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Martha, George, it was good to see you.”
“Let me walk you out,” Martha said, rushing to put her own coat back on.
“Thank you again for everything, Jemma,” George called after her.
“Of course, I’ll see you around.”
Alex watched her go, feeling
something
about her leaving him again. It was stupid, you weren’t supposed to feel abandoned by your social worker. She was doing her
job.
That’s all Alexander was. Her job.
Get over yourself, man.
He felt a cold resolution settle in his stomach as the front door shut behind her. The snowfall had picked up. Part of Alexander wanted to sprint after her, out into the white.
He was stirred from his mind by someone bumping him lightly on the arm. “Wanna see the library?” Lafayette asked gently.
“There’s a library?” Alex asked, eyes sparkling.
“Well, it’s more an office, but
oui.
”
Alex blinked. “Yes.” Yes, that was
exactly
what Alexander wanted to do. He didn’t think a thing when Lafayette took him by the wrist once again and lead him through the house.
The house had more rooms than any Alex had stayed in before. Some rooms had three doors, each leading to another. It was almost like a maze in Alexander’s head and he was honestly impressed Laf knew where he was going. The house was obviously old, very old. Alex would place it in the nineteenth century, maybe earlier. It was beautiful all the same. It had character, that was for sure.
The library Lafayette had promised him wasn’t perhaps anything too extravagant. Hardly larger than an average home office. Each wall was lined with shelves of books, a ladder placed along the far wall for reaching the top shelves. The room was a brilliant shade a purple, warm and inviting as the winter sun shown through my the open drapes. Books of all sizes and shades created a rainbow that wrapped the room. It was like nothing he had ever seen before, to Alexander it was overwhelming, it was absolutely… “Amazing.”
“You think so?” Lafayette asked, encouraged. “You enjoy reading then?”
“Oh yeah!” Alex frowned. “I mean, yes. I like to read. I write a lot too,” he admitted, feeling mildly shy about admitting a talent. He wasn’t embarrassed though. He was a good writer and he was proud of his talent.
Alexander was caught off guard by Lafayette’s excitement. “Really!?” he exclaimed. His eyes bright with excitement. “
Maman
writes!”
Alex frowned, “Martha?”
Laf nodded rapidly, gaining enthusiasm. “She writes journals for the university,” he explained. “But she’s published novels too.”
That Alexander wasn’t expecting. “She writes for the university? What university?”
“Well,” Laf started, “universit
ies.
She lectures at Yale and Columbia, and sometimes Dartmouth. I believe that’s where she earned her doctorate. But she goes around to the local universities a lot too.”
“What does she write?” Alex couldn’t help the curiosity.
“Political science journals mostly,” he said. “For scholarly journals. She’s a lawyer.”
Alex let that sink in. A lawyer. Alexander had entertained the thought of attending law school. He thought he would make quite a good lawyer. He could put his being brash to a good use. He was very stubborn after all, as he had been told on numerous occasions.
“What do you write?”
“What?” No one had asked him that before. No one cared what Alexander writes.
“What do you write?” he reiterated.
Alex ducked his head, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Too much,” he said, unable to suppress a small chuckle. That’s what others had always told him. Lafayette smiled. “Usually poems,” he elaborates, deciding to trust Lafayette. “Sometimes short stories when there’s inspiration. Besides that I keep journals.”
“
Maman
encouraged me to keep a journal,” Lafayette comments. “When George and Martha took me in she said writing down my thoughts and emotions would help. I don’t write in it all that much anymore,” he said with a shrug.
“She’s right.”
“Hmm?”
“It helps,” Alex decided softly, picking a book off it’s shelf. Turning it over in his hands, he saw it was an Oscar Wilde poetry collection. It was old, it’s spine fractured but not broke. Bound in a light green cover.
Alex jumped when there was a sudden knocking on the door. The book nearly falling from Alexander’s hand. He fumbled to catch it, quickly placing it back on the shelf.
It was Mr. washington.
“Hey,” he smiled at the two of them. “Just wanted to check in,” he explained. “Dinner’ll be ready soon. You doing alright, Alex?”
He nodded. “I’m okay, sir.”
Washington frowned mildly. “I was hoping to have a word with you,” he said, glancing at Lafayette who clearly got the message.
“I’ll go make sure dinner doesn’t burn,” he decided, scurrying out of the room. But not without shooting Alexander a quick smile.
Washington thanked him as he passed. “You like the library?”
Alex gnawed on his lip. “Yes sir, it’s very… well it’s damn amazing,” Alex praised, enthusiasm seeping through the front he was attempting to keep up.
Washington chuckled, a deep and smooth sound that Alex found oddly calming. “I’m glad you think so. Gilbert spends a lot of time in here. Though he’s not much of a reader. He likes to paint in here, says there’s good lighting.” He took a seat in one of the arm chairs that occupied the small library, sitting down with a small sigh. Alex thought he looked tired. He had changed out of his suit that he’d worn when Alex arrived, dressed down in dark jeans and a henley. “Why don’t you take a seat, son,” he suggested, gesturing to the twin armchair.
Alex straightened his spine, once more on the defensive at the drop of a hat. “Not your son.”
Washington seemed surprised by the bite in Alex’s tone, as well as the words. His eyebrows raised a hair. Jemma had explained he had a bit of an attitude at times. Quickly reassuring them that he was still a good kid. Bright. And, “kind when it matters,” she had said. George had been able to see that just from what Jemma had told them about him and from the few school assignments and grade cards she had relayed to him and Martha. Jemma had all the faith in the world in this kid.
“No, I suppose not,” George apologized softly.
Alex swallowed and took a seat, poised on the edge of the chair.
“I don’t mean to replace your parents, Alexander,” George started.
“Can’t really replace my dad, I don’t actually remember him much,” Alex said not unbitter.
George nodded, “all the same, I understand that you’ve been through a lot. Martha and I are here to help you. I want you to feel that you can come to the both of us with anything. And I want you to feel at home here.”
Alex suppressed a snort, derision rearing it’s head.
“I know it’s early, trust me, Gilbert took some time to warm up too. But Martha and I are both going to do our damndest to make it feel like home here for you.”
Alexander averted his eyes, glaring at his sneakers he had yet to take off. It was a similar speech the other three families had given him. However, none had ever seemed as sincere as Washington’s. Alex didn’t trust him per say, but there was something about him that seemed trustable. It wasn’t that Alex didn’t want to trust him. He did! But his mother had told him trust was something to be earned, and Alex had so far found that to ring true.
Alex simply nodded and said, “thank you, sir.”
Washington smiled. “Please, it’s George,” he said, standing and offering Alex his hand. Which, somewhat reluctantly, he took. “I’m sure Martha will corner you at some point to give you a similar speech. Just know that we both mean it. Truly.”
Alex remained quiet as they walked to the kitchen. His mind ablaze with a million things. He liked the Washington’s so far. They were nice. But wasn’t the family always nice? At the start? It wasn’t even anxiety over the possibility of being kicked out, Alex had been through that, he wasn’t scared of it. It was resignation. Alex was resigned to his fate of being welcomed for a time before he was told to hit the streets. It was how it went.
///
Dinner was good. Lafayette hadn’t been kidding. George’s pesto was spectacular.
The dining room was as nice yet homely as the rest of the house. For a wealthy family in a particularly nice neighbourhood, they were surprisingly normal. The dining table was in view of the living room television, which remained on while they ate. Playing the news followed by the beginning of some holiday movie. No one paid it much mind, it was simply white noise. Something Alex was grateful for, he had never liked the quiet.
Mr. Washi-
George
was surprisingly normal as well, Alex discovered. Drumming his silverware on the table in a tune Alex vaguely recognised as some pop melody he didn’t know the name of. He drummed out the beat towards the end of the meal up until Martha snatched his fork out of his hand. “That’s enough of that. I will stab you with your own fork,” she swore and Alex snorted.
George gave her an innocent wide eyed look. “Martha, don’t encourage violence in front of the boys.”
At that Laf actually laughed, his giggle scratchy but not unpleasant. Alex couldn’t help but laugh in turn, hand coming up to cover the sound.
“Dinner was really good,” Alex decides to say. He fiddles with the remnants of his meal that are left on his plate. “Do you usually cook?” he asks, and finds that he’s actually curious. The other families he’d stayed with had been obnoxiously old school. Breadwinning father, homemaking mother. He supposes that’s what the agency means when they say “stable family structure.” Cookiecutter. Alex finds it horribly dull and more than a little sexist.
George for his part seems pleased with Alexander’s question. “Not always, but I am the better cook of the two of us,” he declares. Alexander assumes it true because Martha doesn’t comment, just takes her and George’s empty plates into the kitchen. He thanks her as she does so. “I’m quite skilled in the kitchen. Martha’s talents lie elsewhere.”
“Martha’s talents lie in the courtroom,” she says, retaking her chair beside George at the table.
“Laf said you were a lawyer,” Alex ejects. “And that you write for scholarly journals.”
She smiled, “that I do. I’m an immigration lawyer.”
Alex’s eyes widened and he unconsciously leaned forward in his chair. “So you help immigrants come into the country?”
Martha, despite her initial shock at Alexander’s enthusiastic response, recovered quickly and smiled. With pride, she said, “yes. I try to make it as quick and painless as I can. I just closed a case for a Syrian family.”
Respect for this woman swelled in Alexander’s chest. He remembered, vaguely, his own process of arriving in the States and began to hold well merited admiration for Martha Washington. “And you write too?” he asked.
“I do. Do you like to write, Alex?”
He nodded swiftly. “Very much.”
Martha’s expression grew tender, brown eyes affectionate.
“He writes poetry,” Laf piped up.
Martha looked impressed, eyes holding a mutual admiration for the teenager before her. “Is that so? Poetry takes a very specific talent,” she said. “Those who write poetry are those truly in love with language. It’s rhythmical.”
“Sandburg said it’s an echo asking a shadow to dance,” Alex recalled.
Martha glanced to her husband catching his eye. He was smiling serenely at both Alexander and Gilbert. A very paternal look in his eyes.
“Ooh. That
sounds
poetic,” Laf mused dreamily and Alex snorted. “Don’t laugh at me,
mon lapin!”
He swat Alex on the arm. “I have zero literary talents.”
Alex laughed before remembering, “George mentioned you paint?” he asked tentatively. He was unsure if it was something Laf had intended for Alex to know.
Lafayette’s entire being absolutely glowed.
“Ouais! Oui, je fais! J'aime peindre!”
“Ralentissez,”
Alexander pleaded.
Laf took a deep breath. “I watercolor paint,” he said. “I can show you, they’re in my room!” he offered. “I started practicing portraits, they’re not so good yet- wait.
Mon lapin,
you speak French?”
Alex nodded.
“Comment pouvez-vous ne pas me dire!? C’est fantastique!”
He took Alex by the face and kissed him fervently on the cheek.
“Mon lapin!”
Alexander jerked away in surprise, blinking a good three or four times at Laf.
“You should have told me you speak French,” Laf chidded, undeterred or oblivious to Alex’s utter shock.
He wasn’t uncomfortable with Lafayette’s easy display of physical affection, just caught off guard. “You didn’t ask,” he said plainly.
Laughing, Laf conceded, “no I guess I didn’t.”
“Alex, how did you learn to speak French?” Martha asked, chin resting in her hand.
Alex swallowed. “My mom taught me. It’s a pretty common language on the islands. I’m fluent,” he said to Lafayette. “She taught me and my… my brother- since we were kids.” His felt his throat close up, his eyes misting, and hurriedly blinked away the tears that threatened to pool over.
He remembered a time when he and James had sat in the small kitchen of their home in Charlestown. It was the middle of summer and their mother was busy with work, taking a part time job cleaning resort rooms for the tourist season. But she still managed to find the time to cook dinner and sit he and James down at the table to go over their lesson as they ate. French wasn’t taught at the local school, but Rachel was determined for her children to know the language all the same.
Alex missed the islands. Missed his mother.
God
he missed his brother.
“Oh, Alex,” Martha looked to George, mildly panicked.
Alex jumped when George reached out and touched him on the arm, flinching sharply.
“Easy, son. It’s alright,” George said softly, his thumb running soothing circles on Alex’s arm.
Alex scrubbed his face with his palm, feeling like an idiot. “Sorry, I’m just-”
“It’s okay.”
“I-” he stood, his chair nearly toppling over as he made his retreat. He didn’t pause in his exit, leaving the room at a hurried pace and taking the stairs two at a time. He nearly tripped on the top step, his socked foot catching on the edge. He righted himself, pace never slowing.
He felt panic rise in his stomach, acidic and sharp.
He went straight to his new room. Not bothering to even close the door, just throwing himself against the wall, collapsing into a heap on the carpet and sobbing into his knees. Choking from the force of them. He wiped his face, smearing tear tracks across his cheeks. It was pathetic, he knew. But it hurt,
damnit!
It was painful. No one had asked him about his mother in the other houses. And
never
had James been brought up. Not once.
“Alex?”
Frantically he swiped the fresh tears from his cheeks, smearing them into his hair. It was George.
The man looked unsure of himself. Dark complexion paled slightly. He tentatively took a seat on the floor in front of Alex.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I don’t-” he sniffed, his face red from tears and embarrassment. He didn’t let people see him cry.
“You have nothing to apologize for, young man,” George assured him, before asking: “Are you alright? I know it’s a dumb question, but…”
Alex nodded.
“Can I ask what you’re upset about? I don’t really know how to help if I don’t know what’s upset you.”
Alex shook his head, fingers gripping his knees and he folded into himself. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I haven’t- my mom and my brother…” he choked, hands gripping his hair. “I’m just feeling…
a lot
right now.” He managed, looking lost. His eyes pleading for… something. For someone to just
understand.
It hurt and he just needed
somebody to understand.
George looked sad, eyes wide as a sixteen year old orphan openly cried in front of him. But he swallowed, adjusting himself to be beside Alex, arms carefully wrapping around Alexander’s small frame. He was unsure whether it would be okay or accepted, and was surprised when Alex leant into him. So he tightened his grip. Hand running soothing circles on Alex’s back. “Shh, it’s okay.”
Alex sniffed, eyes raw. But George just held him. It was comforting, Alex found.
“You know,” George started when Alex seemed to have settled, tears still streaming but silent now. “When I was about your age I lost my brother. He was sick for a long time. He was older than me, but we were very close.”
“What was his name?” Alex asked softly.
“Lawrence,” he said. “His name was Lawrence. And your brother?”
Alex swallowed, feeling much calmer. “James.”
|
It started at Appledore, Sherlock was fairly certain. A seed was planted there that eventually changed his relationship with John to what it was today. Or what it had been before John had gone through the window in the Vaughn's flat.
John had been living at Baker St. making the difficult decision to forgive Mary for all the lies. Ultimately it was the child that swayed him. His own father had been distant and largely absent and John was determined to do better by his daughter.
After John had made his declaration to Mary at the Christmas Party, after he told her that he wanted them to look to the future, their future together, instead of the past, the drugs Sherlock had insinuated into the drinks had taken effect and Sherlock had convinced John to accompany him to confront Magnussen. It hadn't taken much to persuade John – this was a man who brought his gun to a family Christmas party, after all – simply assuring him that the fetus would not come to any harm from the sedative. And they were off!
But their adventure had quickly soured. Sherlock had badly underestimated Magnussen – underestimated his vast intelligence and his vast capacity for cruelty.
"Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves ... and everything he holds dear." Magnussen had declaimed and Sherlock had smirked to himself, not yet realizing just how badly he'd fumbled.
Magnussen had already explained pressure points – the things that gave him leverage over people. Like Moriarty, he saw relationships as weaknesses to be exploited for his own ends. "Mycroft’s pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock." Magnussen had said to John as if he were talking to a child. "And Sherlock’s pressure point is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson’s pressure point is his wife. I own John Watson’s wife ... I own Mycroft. He’s what I’m getting for Christmas."
John hadn't liked that - the reminder of Mary's lies. But he was confident that Sherlock had it managed, that they would leave Appledore with the evidence Magnussen had on her and that would be the end of it. Thinking back on it now, Sherlock was staggered (once again) by John's complete trust in his brilliance.
Then Magnussen revealed his secret and Sherlock finally realized the extent of the trouble his hubris had gotten them in.
"I’ll look at the files on Mrs Watson." Magnussen had delighted in taunting John about Mary. "Mmm, ah. This is one of my favourites." Magnussen pretended to look at invisible files he held in his hands, pantomiming turning nonexistent pages. "Oh, it’s so exciting. All those wet jobs for the CIA." Sherlock could see John's growing fury – he thought it was at Magnussen, but there must have been some renewed anger with Mary too. "Ooh! She’s gone a bit ... freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she is so wicked. I can really see why you like her. You see?"
"So there are no documents. You don’t actually have anything here." John didn't understand. Sherlock wanted to tell him, soften the blow somehow, make everything right for John. But he had just realized himself that they were at Magnussen's mercy, subject to his whims. He couldn't meet John's eyes, let alone try to explain.
"Oh, sometimes I send out for something ...if I really need it... but mostly I just remember it all." Magnussen continued to address John, seeming to enjoy making him angry.
"I don’t understand." John had said.
"You should have that on a T-shirt."
"You just remember it all?"
"It’s all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning." Sherlock had never felt owned before.
"But if you just know it, then you don’t have proof." Sherlock desperately wanted John to shut up.
"Proof? What would I need proof for? I’m in news, you moron. I don’t have to prove it – I just have to print it. Speaking of news, you’ll both be heavily featured tomorrow – trying to sell state secrets to me." Magnussen gloated. He walked away from them into the intimidatingly large conservatory that opened onto the patio garden "Can’t wait to see you arrested." Magnussen tossed over his shoulder.
"Sherlock, do we have a plan?" John's trust – Sherlock didn't deserve it. How had he made such a bloody mess?! "Sherlock?"
Sherlock couldn't bring himself to face John.
"They’re taking their time, aren’t they?" Magnussen called from the conservatory.
"I still don’t understand." John had followed Magnussen into the other room. His tone was belligerent – he really didn't understand yet.
"And there’s the back of the T-shirt." Sherlock forced himself to join them – he had to keep John from losing his temper.
"You just know things. How does that work?" Sherlock laid a hand on John's shoulder, hoping to calm him.
"I just love your little soldier face. I’d like to punch it." Magnussen paused to let his words sink in. "But I REALLY love Mycroft's little brother's face. Those lips. Look at them Jawn ..." Magnussen drawled John's name lazily, poking at him. "...have you ever given in to temptation and fucked that mouth, Jawn? I'll bet you have. I'd like to fuck it."
Sherlock froze. Then berated himself for being shocked by Magnussen's crassness. John scoffed, disgusted, and walked away.
Magnussen had stepped close to Sherlock, too close, his face almost touching. "For Jawn, Sherlock." He said and licked Sherlock's face from jaw to temple. Sherlock shuddered but didn't pull away. "Bring me your pretty face, Sherlock, lean forward a bit" John turned back in time to see Sherlock comply. Sherlock closed his eyes, he didn't want to see the look on John's face. Magnussen licked Sherlock again, this time across his lips. "Mmmmm, I can taste your fear. It's exquisite."
John found his voice. "All right. Stop that!" He said. "Sherlock...!"
Magnussen ignored him."For Jawn and Mary, Sherlock. Kneel down right here." He indicated the floor in front of him, then let his hand wander over Sherlock's chest. His skin crawled. "Kneel down and open that pretty mouth." Magnussen shot an amused look at John. "Please?"
Sherlock knew he had no choice but it was difficult to accept. Maybe Magnussen was bluffing? No, the man who had urinated in the front room of 221b would not bluff... but was Magnussen bluffing? Sherlock stared at the marble floor unable to look at John.
John. Sherlock forced himself to nod.
"Sherlock..." John protested. "You're not really going to..."
Sherlock glanced up briefly, meeting John's eyes with a warning look. Where was Mycroft? Why was his brother late!? The one time Sherlock needed him to be there....
"Now, can I fuck it, Sherlock? Can I fuck your pretty face?" He held Sherlock by the collar of his shirt in one hand and pawed at Sherlock's crotch with the other. Magnussen turned his attention back to John. "It works like this, Jawn. I know who Mary hurt and killed." Magnussen leaned in and licked Sherlock's neck. "I know where to find people who hate her." He licked along Sherlock's jaw and rubbed against his flaccid cock. "I know where they live; I know their phone numbers." This time he nipped Sherlock's lower lip and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from flinching and crying out. John made an angry noise in his throat. "All in my Mind Palace – all of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down – and I will, Jawn ... unless Sherlock kneels down, opens his mouth and lets me fuck his face." He bit at Sherlock's neck.
"Stop it!" John snarled.
"This is what I do to people, Jawn This is what I do to whole countries ...just because I know." Magnussen turned his full attention back to Sherlock. "Come on. Kneel, Sherlock. For John. You'll do anything for Jawn."
He would do anything for John. He'd already been willing to be blown up with him, he had given John up to keep him safe, watched him marry someone else, he would kill for him and, apparently, he would debase himself too. He'd done this particular thing before and while he'd hated it, it wasn't the worst thing he could think of. At least Magnussen wouldn't be grabbing at his cock any longer when he was on his knees. Sherlock removed his coat and crouching, placed it on the marble floor. He knelt on it in front of Magnussen, keeping his eyes downcast.
"Sherlock? No!" John's horror was almost more than Sherlock could stand – it was worse, by far, than the act itself.
"Let him. I’m sorry, John. Just ... let him." Go away, he silently pled. Don't make me do this in front of you.
"Come on. Mouth open." Sherlock opened his mouth. Magnussen started to unfasten his belt. "That's right, wider."
Suddenly Sherlock felt himself yanked to his feet. John. "I'm not going to let you do this." John said heatedly.
Sherlock glanced at Magnussen who looked amused. "It doesn't matter, John. Just go... go outside and let me get it over with."
"No. This isn't right." John still held him by the arm, but more gently now.
Sherlock cursed internally. What did 'right' have to do with it? John's troublesome moral compass – it was irritating. Magnussen wasn't making idle threats – he would tear John's life down, brick by brick. Sherlock had to convince him. He made his voice hard. "Do you think I've never given a blow job before? I'm a drug addict, John. This isn't the first – or the last – time I'll pay my way on my knees."
John looked at him with shocked eyes for a moment. Then his face hardened again and he pushed his way between Sherlock and Magnussen. His head only reached Magnussen's chin, but John had never been daunted by his short stature. He was sturdy, he had been captain of his rugby team, he was combat trained – Magnussen wouldn't be able to go through him physically. "He's not doing this." John announced. "Not for me. And especially not for Mary!"
"John..."
"No, shut up, Sherlock. I'm not letting this happen."
"I can do this for Mary..." He wouldn't though. He'd do it for John.
John turned back to Sherlock with blazing eyes. "No. She shot you." Sherlock was surprised to feel John's palm pressed against his chest where the bullet had entered. After Magnussen's pawing, it felt like a healing balm. "She. Shot. You. Your heart stopped beating. You don't owe her anything." John looked at Magnussen. "Go ahead, punch my face if you need to. Or if you want a bloody blowjob so badly, call my wife. She's perfectly capable of saving herself." He started to drag Sherlock away.
"It doesn't work that way, Jawn." Magnussen drawled John's name again mockingly. He pulled a phone from his pocket. "Sherlock is on his knees, mouth open, right now, or I phone some of her old friends."
"Do it." John said. "Call. Because this –" He tightened his grip on Sherlock. "Is not happening."
"John..." Sherlock protested.
"Shut up." John demanded. "I'll suck his cock before I let you do it."
"You're forgetting about the baby."
That stopped John for a second. But he just squared his shoulders making himself a more formidable barrier between Sherlock and Magnussen. "I haven't forgotten. That doesn't change this – nothing changes this. He's not touching you." Sherlock had rarely seen John this angry – only when he'd returned from the dead with an ill-timed joke. And when he discovered his wife was the assassin who had shot his best friend.
"Well, well, Jawn. Isn't this interesting. Condemning your wife and unborn child just to save Sherlock from a little humiliation. Interesting loyalties. Especially as it's Sherlock's fault you're here to begin with. Sherlock's mistake. Maybe you have had your cock in Sherlock's pretty mouth after all – it makes some men... possessive."
Sherlock grabbed John just before he lunged at Magnussen and held him back. "Don't do this, John." He whispered in John's ear. "We need to calm down. Mycroft is coming." He felt John relax slightly in his arms. "Just... go outside and wait for him. You shouldn't be here."
"I'm not leaving you with him, Sherlock."
Sherlock could see Magnussen was getting impatient. "For god's sake, John, I'm not some blushing maiden you need to rescue." He said loudly enough for Magnussen to hear. Then more softly to John, "He's not bluffing, John. He will call dangerous people who want to kill Mary. This is my mistake, let me fix it."
"But where does it stop, Sherlock? Are you going to service him every time he threatens you with Mary's past? Is he going to be a regular at Baker St., pissing in the fireplace and demanding a blow job? Or will he send the helicopter to bring you here to bruise your knees on the marble every time? You never just pay a blackmailer once, Sherlock. Better to deal with Mary's past now than sell yourself to him. The price is too high."
"I'm the one paying, shouldn't it be my choice?"
"She's my wife, Sherlock. I'm not letting you pay for her mistakes. You or Mycroft."
Suddenly Magnussen was close again, his hands gripping Sherlock's arm and buttock. "Do you even know your naughty wife's real name, Jawn?" Magnussen crowed. "I do. There's only one way to save her..." He tongued Sherlock's neck again. "Sherlock wants to do it for you."
"I told you not to bloody touch him!" Sherlock, distracted by Magnussen's vile attentions, didn't react in time to stop John from taking hold of Magnussen's arm and yanking it behind his back and up, hard, effectively incapacitating him. Sherlock's heart simultaneously sank and thrilled at the sight of John getting physical.
"You've just killed your wife." Magnussen spat. "You're going to prison for espionage AND Mary is going to have old friends over for a little reunion. You only have yourself to blame."
At last Sherlock heard the sound of helicopters approaching. He sagged with relief. John released Magnussen with a shove and Sherlock belatedly took hold of John again.
"Finally, big brother comes to your rescue." Magnussen said standing straight and brushing invisible dust off of his suit. He turned again to Sherlock, his shark's eyes dark. "I'm sure I can arrange some 'private time' when you're incarcerated, Sherlock, so we can pick this up again. Neither Jawn nor big brother will be able to interfere then." Magnussen walked to the patio doors.
"Leave it." Sherlock hissed in John's ear and held him back until he relaxed again. Only then did he release John, subtly frisking him to discover where he carried his gun. John turned to face him as he picked his coat up off the floor. John didn't speak, he only gave Sherlock an intense look – but Sherlock couldn't decipher it. They walked together out onto the patio.
Mycroft's helicopter hovered, buffeting them with wind and noise.
"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Stand away from that man." Of course Mycroft had a loudspeaker.
"Here we go, Sherlock!" Magnussen's shark-like eyes danced with amusement.
There was still one possibility that Sherlock could see, one way to rectify his mistakes, but it would cost him... everything. "To clarify:" He asked Magnussen. "Appledore’s vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there."
"They’re not real. They never have been." Magnussen's delight was obscene.
"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away." Shut up, Mycroft.
"It’s fine! They’re harmless!" Magnussen shouted at the helicopter, still gloating.
"Sherlock, what do we do?" How could John still believe in him? One last possibility to make this right for John, but it meant saying goodbye again.
"Nothing!" Magnussen turned back to John, condescendingly. "There’s nothing to be done! Oh, I’m not a villain. I have no evil plan. I’m a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them! Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Sherlock!"
One last possibility, only one way to keep John safe now. He had to do it. "Oh, do your research." Sherlock shouted at Magnussen. He reached into John's coat pocket and took hold of his gun. It felt reassuringly solid in his hand. "I’m not a hero ... I’m a high-functioning sociopath." He had Magnussen's attention now. Sherlock hated him with every fiber of his being for forcing him into this. "Merry Christmas!" Sherlock raised his arm and placed the barrel of the gun against Magnussen's forehead and before he could think about it, pulled the trigger.
What happened after that? He dropped the gun and raised his hands and shouted at John to get away from him – all the police were aiming their guns at Sherlock now, it wouldn't do for John to get caught in the crossfire.
"Christ, Sherlock!" John shouted in a voice that barely sounded like John. And then in a tone so mournful it hurt, "Oh, Christ, Sherlock."
"Give my love to Mary." Sherlock looked at his friend – John's face was full of anguish. He knew what this meant for Sherlock full well. "Tell her she’s safe now." You're safe, John, that's what really matters.
John shook his head and reached a hand toward Sherlock, but Sherlock was yanked away and handcuffed before he could make contact. |
more like HUNKules: why arent you given the skins of cashews
laf: ""skin""
more like HUNKules: what do you call them
laf: SHELLS
more like HUNKules: okay then why arent you given the S H E L L S of cashews
little lion: they're fatally toxic
more like HUNKules: oh
---
johnn: my sister called me today
laf: is that a good thing or a bad thing
johnn: she gasped, said wrong number, and hung up
laf: are you okay
johnn: its the first time hearing my sister's voice in five years so give me a while to like,,,heal
laf: do you need one and/or both of us to be there with you
johnn: no I'll be fine
laf: are you sure
johnn: .,,,,,.,,,,.,
laf: I'll be right there
johnn: thank you
---
little lion: JUST GOT OUT OF A MEETING
little lion: TJEFFS IS LOOKIN ROUGH
johnn: jmads is sick again I hear jeffs is p torn up abt it
little lion: it actually CAN love
johnn: a medical miracle
laf: it's actually disgusting he called him earlier and asked him if he was okay and started calling him pet names that I IMMEDIATELY erased from my memory
little lion: e w
more like HUNKules: you guys are like white suburban moms gossiping at a water cooler
laf: we are the exact opposite of white suburban moms
more like HUNKules: let me maKE MY COMPARISONS
laf: just sayin
more like HUNKules: :^((((
laf: >:^)))
more like HUNKules: I
---
laf: who's been using my shampoo
johnn: IM NOT SAYING
johnn: that I don't know which shampoo is yours
johnn: but we've been dating for such a long time that some of our stuff just kind of blends together
laf: the bottle is white and it has coconuts on it
laf: it has coconuts in it
laf: ITS EMPTY
johnn: yeah not me I use the blue one that I think is mine but might be alex's??
little lion: I use the coconut one
johnn: you literally bought the blue one last week
little lion: yeah because you leech all of it
johnn: I USE A HEALTHY AMOUNT OF SHAMPOO
little lion: half the bottle isn't a healthy amount
johnn: fUCK YOU
little lion: I
laf: WE ARE GETTING OFF TOPIC
little lion: it waS ME
more like HUNKules: what the fuck is happening here
laf: we know it's not you hercules you use the one in that huge orange bottle that takes up half of our very small shower shelf space
more like HUNKules: I didn't asK to have shade thrown at me
laf: nobody ever does
more like HUNKules: rude
laf: that was the point
laf: STOP TAKING UP HALF OF THE SHELF SPACE
more like HUNKules: I CANT CHANGE WHO I AM
---
laf: SIX INCH HEELS
laf: SHE WALKED IN THE CLUB LIKE NOBODYS BUSINESS
more like HUNKules: GODDAMN
johnn: SHE MURDERED EVERYBODY
little lion: AND I WAS HER WITNESS
laf: buy lemonade on itunes
johnn: you already bought it for us on all of our phones
laf: it's an art form
johnn: so are you
laf: ,,,that's so gay,,,,,,I love you,,
johnn: I
johnn: love you too
---
little lion: MARTHA BROUGHT ME CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW WE'RE HAVING A FEAST
laf: *HEAVY BREATHING*
johnn: F E A S S S S T
more like HUNKules: :^(((((
little lion: we'll save you some
more like HUNKules: :^))))))
laf: yeah they're homemade no we wont
more like HUNKules: >:^((((((
laf: LOVE YOU
more like HUNKules: :^|
laf: :^////
---
little lion: if I bought like,,,,a deluxe version of scrabble,,,and brought it home,,,,,,would you,,,,,play it with me
laf: not until you let me play french words
johnn: no that gives you an advantage
laf: YOU SPEAK FRENCH
johnn: HERCULES DOESNT
laf: UGH FINE ILL PLAY IN ENGLISH BUT I WANT TO GO FIRST
little lion: YAY
johnn: im down
more like HUNKules: I'll do it
little lion: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH
little lion: MARRY ME
more like HUNKules: we are all engaged
laf: he's excited let him live
more like HUNKules: IM WORRIED F O R HIM
little lion: oh mY GOD IM CRYING
more like HUNKules: BABE
---
johnn: jmads is back
little lion: I had to watch jeffs hug him when he walked in and it was kind of cute but at the same time its /jefferson/
johnn: yeah,,,,,,,that's,,,true
---
little lion: WHEN YOU GET HOME PUT YOUR PHONES IN THE KEY BOWL WE ARE PLAYING. SCRABBLE.
laf: dear lord
---
more like HUNKules: what words can you make with LLSCADW
laf: lads, walls, wad, was, claws, call, calls?? is he letting us play plurals
johnn: idk
more like HUNKules: what do you think he's going to do when he finds out that we're using this chat to cheat
laf: scream about destroying the union and sanctity of the game
johnn: we should all delete that text from our phones because if he sees that he's not going to say that
laf: true
---
laf: CIJUKFR
johnn: fuck
more like HUNKules: fuck
laf: FRICK
johnn: no
laf: IT GETS ME MORE POINTS IM PLAYING IT
---
more like HUNKules: is he okay
johnn: just looked at his tiles and he doesn't have one vowel and he has a q so I don't think so
more like HUNKules: he's going to have so many wrinkles
laf: and we'll love him anyway
more like HUNKules: of course
---
johnn: I HAVE THE WORD TURTLE IF YOU KEEP THAT U OPEN PLEASE
laf: for you dear
johnn: GOD BLESS
---
more like HUNKules: who won
laf: you can come out of the bathroom and see
more like HUNKules: I'm kind of worried to
laf: alex won
little lion: HELL YEAH I DID
little lion: WIAT YOUVE BEEN USING THIS CHAT TO CHEAT
little lion: YOU HAVE BEEN USING THIS CHAT TO D E S T R O Y THE SANCTITY AND UNITING QUALITIES OF THE GAME ADN YOU FIFNT EVEN CARE TO TLELELE ME
johnn: I
laf: told you
---
little lion: french is really great
little lion: but
laf: excuse me
little lion: the way jefferson just,,,butchers it
laf: oH
laf: I was going to light you on fire
little lion: I AM FLUENT IN FRENCH WHY WOULD I BASH IT
laf: I DONT KNOW
laf: YOU ALWAYS FIND A WAY TO SURPRISE ME
laf: JUST KIND OF ASSUMED THIS WAS PART OF IT
little lion: I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY
laf: OOPS??
---
johnn: hercules is so cute why don't we ever tell him
laf: I know right
laf: wait are you at his studio
johnn: yeah
johnn: he has his lil bandana on and a pincushion with his needles sorted by color
laf: does he have the look
johnn: eyebrows together, eyes squinty, biting lip?
laf: yeS
johnn: YES
laf: DRINK IN THAT LOOK BECAUSE HE DOESN'T MAKE IT ANYWHERE ELSE
johnn: SCREAMS
---
more like HUNKules: I DONT HAVE A LOOK WHEN I DO MY WORK
laf: yes you do hon
laf: it's really cute don't worry we love you
more like HUNKules: I don't think I have one still but I love you too
little lion: aww romance
laf: stop
more like HUNKules: stop |
They would be hard-pressed to make the seaport before nightfall, and in fact the more Erik thought on it the more he doubted they would; more probably his wedding night would be spent at a roadside inn, and frankly he saw no reason why it shouldn't be. The ship couldn't leave until morning anyway, and an inn would likely be more comfortable than a ship's cabin, with more opportunity to get away from his bride.
After a half-hour's jouncing, Erik informed the driver that he had no desire to kill their horses trying to reach Wakanda tonight, and the pace of the carriage slowed to something more comfortable.
Emma, until now content to watch Erik in silent amusement, gave him a wide smile. "Why, Erik, you sly thing, maneuvering extra time for us to be alone together."
"I'd as soon be alone with a cobra." He didn't give her the compliment of eye contact but turned his attention to removing his gloves, jacket and sword, and loosening his neck-cloth, just as he might if he were alone in the coach.
"Oh, you are going to be fun," Emma murmured. "Really, sugar, don't you think you ought to make the best of things? I'm not going anywhere. And I have—" she settled back against the seat in such a way as to draw attention to her admittedly arresting chest area "—a lot to offer, if you rub me the right away."
"I'm afraid I'm not interested in what you're selling, Lady Frost."
"Oh, it's Lady Lehnsherr now, darling, how could you forget?" She slid forward to run a hand up his leg. "We're united now, Erik. We're practically one person."
Erik took her wrist delicately in his thumb and forefinger and moved her hand away. "Then what a terrible victim of self-loathing I must be."
Emma narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment he saw the flicker of a genuine expression on her face – puzzlement – before the icy smile was back. "Oh, my. Don't you like women, Erik? Are you one of those poor souls who've grown so accustomed to... deprivation that you don't know what to do with a feast when it's handed to you?"
"Women are fine."
"So it's personal, then?" She arched a brow, well on her way to artificial affrontment.
"Not particularly. I wouldn't want anyone else Sebastian threw at me, either."
"I see. That's completely understandable. But the thing is, sugar, we're stuck together now. I, for one, see no reason we shouldn't take advantage of—"
She had began a slow slide into Erik's lap; he took hold of her shoulders and pushed her firmly back to her side of the carriage.
"Oh," she said, in a tone of startled enlightenment.
When she gave no further indication of moving or speaking, Erik took out the book he'd hidden in his jacket pocket, and pretended, at least, to drop her from his attention entirely.
He was somewhat surprised when she did the same – her book she had apparently secreted away in the coach itself. This was a woman who thought ahead.
They read, and watched the scenery, and more than once Erik caught her regarding him with a thoughtful sort of calculation. They did not speak the rest of the day.
He nodded off against the window, and dreamed that Emma was the dream, that it was Charles he had joined hands with, kissed and sworn to care for as long as he lived. Charles laughed at his ridiculous nightmare about marrying an ice-woman, and slid over his lap to kiss him, long and slow and thorough, and pushed him down onto the seat with their fingers laced overhead.
"Erik!"
He woke, and glanced around in confusion. An inn yard. They were stopping for the night. He and his wife.
He wrenched himself out of the carriage, and left the servants to help Emma down.
He was surprised to learn they were expected at the inn – "King's messengers said you might stop, anyway, depending on how the journey went, so we made sure to have a room ready" – and surprised, too, to finally realize that their coach had an escort, five guard-valets on horses. Sebastian wouldn't make the social misstep of sending his ward and his Paladin away unprotected and without servants. Erik's alarming and unsoldierly failure to notice was a measure of his distraction throughout, not just this day, but the entire wedding-planning process. He'd spent every possible moment with Charles, after all. Right up to the moment Charles sent him away.
He hadn't really expected Charles to come to the wedding. Of course he hadn't. And after all, what did it matter whether he actually said goodbye to his daughter before leaving for three months? She wouldn't know the difference. She wouldn't remember him either way.
He wanted sleep – no, he wanted a bottle of ale or three, and sleep – but the bedchamber held potential horrors he was not ready to face. Instead he let himself be toasted and treated by his cheerful fellow-guests, forcing a smile and letting drink dull his mind – though not incapacitate it, he couldn't afford that – before making his way to the room, where Emma had retired hours before. Maybe she would already be asleep...
He opened the door to find her stretched on her side across the bed, propped on one hand, with the sheet pulled demurely over her chest.
Her sweetly seductive expression relaxed into something more sincerely dry as Erik froze in the doorway. "This can hardly be a surprise, sugar."
"Get out, Emma. I want to go to bed."
"There's only the one, you know."
"Sleep on the floor, then. Or I will. I can be a gentleman." He walked around the bed, giving its occupant a wide berth, and pulled a pillow from the opposite side.
With an exasperated sound Emma sat up, still primly covered. "Come now, Erik, I know how to use a mirror, and I can't believe I deserve this kind of rejection." She smiled dazzlingly. "There must be something you like about me."
Erik looked at her a moment, frowning. "After all," he said, "men always like something about you. And you use that to get your way. Can't blame you; what else do you have to work with?"
Her gaze was sharp now. "Well, I had money, once," she said. "Until my fathers died. Then Sebastian had my money. And now you do."
Erik grimaced. "I'd just as soon not, with the millstone that comes attached."
"Well, that's just insulting," she drawled. "But... if you actually mean it, then perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement after all."
"Is that so?"
She shrugged off the sheet and crossed the room to throw open one of her trunks. Erik couldn't help gulping, but didn't give her the satisfaction of either averting his gaze, or letting it linger on her bare backside.
And frontside, when she returned, and tossed a sheaf of papers between them on the bed. "Sign these," she said. "Give me back control of my inheritance. You even get an allowance – I know your position comes with more prestige than pay. You give me back my fathers' estates, and you stay out of my way."
"And what do I get out of this?"
"Well, for starters," she said sweetly, "I won't kill you like I'm supposed to if dear Sebastian kicks off early."
Erik goggled at her. Sebastian had, of course, told him about the "change in policy" – and oh, it was stupid of him not to think of Emma as a possible threat...
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know about his mad plan. Hand me my robe please? Good boy." She shrugged it on, managing to make the motion elegant. "I imagine the plan will be... refined, at least, once he's off the pain meds and realizes how stupid it is. But at the moment, he's convinced you are out for his blood and that this is the only way to protect himself. I don't know what reason you have to kill Sebastian – though I'm developing a theory – but I find it amusingly predictable that he's fixated on the strongest, more virile man around as the threat, and trusted little old me to help him take care of the problem." Her smile could have been edged with diamond.
"The medication switch," Erik said. "That was you."
"Sebastian's such a trusting man, in his peculiar way. He seems to think that because I came willingly to his bed before he could get around to raping me, that I actually like him. Erik, sweetie, I can see you're having trouble following – you did have an awful lot of ale – so just sit down and let me walk you through this."
Obediently, Erik sat down on the edge of the bed. Emma took the chair facing him.
"I am ninety percent certain Sebastian arranged my fathers' accident," she said. "For that alone I would love to watch him die slowly, but that's beside the point. The point is that Sebastian had me and my money exactly where he wanted. And now? Now I am out from under the bastard. Instead of the king's helpless ward, I'm now Lady to the King's Paladin – an entity in my own right, and married to the one man in the kingdom who might stand up to Sebastian." She tapped the papers. "You give me what I want, and I'll have every reason to love you."
"And if I don't?"
There went the diamond smile again. "Widows have a great deal of financial and societal independence, don't they?"
Erik picked up the papers. "I'm reading every word of this before I sign it. Tomorrow, when I'm sober."
"Fair enough." But she smiled as if the victory were already won. She put out her hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, Sir Erik. I look forward to a long, happy business relationship."
They finally went to bed, with a good three feet of space between them, Emma clad in a surprisingly modest white gown. Erik watched the dark ceiling move in a slow, drunken circle overhead.
Emma had gotten where she was by lying to Sebastian and probably others like him, telling them what they wanted to hear, convincing them she was on their side. It was too soon to tell where her allegiance truly lay. It would not do to trust his new wife.
But he was sorely tempted to like her.
***
Boredom had occasionally been a problem for Charles, since he married Sebastian. Some Consorts were basically a second king, and virtually all had duties of some sort. But Sebastian – probably to keep Charles feeling helpless and dependent – had denied all requests for occupation, and told him half-laughingly to keep his schedule open for child-rearing.
Well, Charles was child-rearing now, and he certainly wasn't bored. Even with Moira's help, there was plenty to do keeping three children fed, clothed, healthy, bathed, and out of trees. Charles bought toys until Moira made him stop, arranged for the fosterlings to play and attend lessons with the other noble children, spent hours going through careful 'mental stimulation' exercises with Raven, talked to and sang to and massaged his growing belly, and generally ran himself ragged.
It was much more pleasant, he found, when he did not leave himself time to think about Erik, or about the fact that his legs wouldn't move.
The doctors continued to dangle the idea of walking, or a locomotion somewhat like walking, but it could not be attempted until his collarbone healed. Charles stayed docilely in his chair, and let the nurses move his legs every day so they wouldn't atrophy, and told himself it was temporary, temporary, because he had to, because screaming and tearing at his nerveless flesh would frighten the children.
Anger at Erik came and went. It was an unusual sensation for him, being angry at Erik. They'd hardly had enough time together to get truly annoyed with each other, so he had no idea how to handle it. He wrote letters full of rage and profanity, and wept as he watched them burn, aching for Erik's arms around him. He had always thought of himself as a forgiving man, and he knew Erik had had no intention of anyone but Sebastian being harmed – had even, in his way, taken precautions against it. Neither of them could have known that Sebastian would take Charles onto the balcony.
The fact remained that Charles could not walk, and never truly would again, because of something Erik had done, and done deliberately.
Charles's injuries – as well as, perhaps, the vague unseemliness of this second pregnancy so soon after the first – meant that he was not so much the paraded brood mare this time around, though Sebastian continued to provide whatever treats and comforts he asked for. He asked much, peevishly, asked more than he needed or wanted, and gave the excess to Moira and the children, or dropped it to the occasional priests and peasants who gathered under the balcony to pray for him.
Sebastian began spending time in Charles's chambers. They were both still too fragile, physically, for him to torture Charles in the usual way. Instead he focused on Raven, insisted on holding her and carrying her around, always just a little bit carelessly, and smiled at Charles's helpless frustration and fear. He lavished attention on Angel, as well, in a way that made Charles's skin crawl. Perceptive Armando turned out to be his ally in quietly steering Angel the other direction any time Sebastian appeared.
Sebastian had revised his anti-assassination plan, Azazel confided to Charles, when his advisors pointed out how easily civil chaos could result from an honest accident. He'd been persuaded at last to name Raven as a secret emergency heir, with Azazel as her regent, if the worst should happen – Raven to be replaced by the unborn child, on his arrival, should he be a son. The rest remained unchanged – any non-heir children exiled, Charles and Erik killed.
"That is good enough motivation, I tell him, to keep your ambitions in check," Azazel said. "He is determined you have these ambitions, I give up convincing him otherwise. This way, you are deterred, you are motivated to keep him alive, but overturned royal carriage or unfortunate fever does not mean succession crisis."
"And if you were to become Raven's regent," Charles asked, as casually as he could manage, "would you carry out those orders?"
Azazel shrugged. "Not my orders, Highness. Two separate assassins for each of you, and I only know one of them. But I mean what I say before, the children will be well, I will make sure."
"I see," Charles said softly. "I appreciate that. Speaking of children, how do your sons do in Wakanda?"
At this Azazel grinned broadly, brimming over with stories of his clever sons, and Charles listened with half his mind, while the other half wondered, very quietly, if it might be worth it to kill Sebastian anyway.
***
The rumor mill, already hysterical with theories about the balcony fall, had made Charles's second pregnancy widely known within days. (One rumor, short-lived for lack of any apparent motive, had even speculated that the king threw his consort off the balcony to make him miscarry.) Nevertheless, they waited until the third month, only days before Erik was due home, to make the official announcement. By that time Charles was noticeably rounder in appearance. The baby had started kicking already, much sooner than Raven, and the fosterlings were fascinated, constantly pressing their hands to his belly in hope of catching a flutter of movement. In fact, Charles had to disentangle Angel from his clothes and coax her back to her seat during the announcement.
"—great hope, a son, to be named Sebastian Augustus Cornelius Shaw, the Second. Please raise your glass to a strong and healthy heir for Genosha!"
Charles fumbled his glass of fruit juice and nearly spilled it before he could join in the toast. He spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out a nickname for Sebastian that he could bear to call his child.
***
Erik chose to come back into town quietly, rather than summoning the court to fanfare. Emma was disappointed, but three months in each other's constant company had inured him to her pouts – and she to his tempers. They had spent their honeymoon taking dinner together, sleeping in the same bed, and otherwise delightedly ignoring each other as they pleased. Some days they had scarcely crossed paths at all, Emma taking herself off to attend musical performances or spend her newly-reacquired money, while Erik availed himself of the library and stables attached to the royal cottage in which they were staying. They did visit the seaside together, twice – Emma remaining somehow cool and crisp as ever under her parasol, hardly getting her sandals wet, while Erik chased the housekeeper's children roaring up and down the beach and into the water, then bought them ice cream – which he had never before tasted, and would have desperately liked to share with Charles.
Emma was good company, trustworthy or not. She was sharp and witty and beautifully inconsistent about the importance of social proprieties. She had insisted on buying Erik clothing she could be seen with – out of his allowance – and then woken him the next morning with a sharp slap after she dreamed he spilled chocolate on them. He imagined she would make a terrible wife, but thus far she was a tolerable travelling companion.
He missed Charles so much he shook with it, woke in the night hardly able to breathe.
He started fifty-six letters and finished none of them.
He bought two sapphire rings, exactly the color of Charles's eyes, and wore them on twin chains around his neck.
They would be living, Emma had informed him, in a house of her inheritance just outside the palace walls, and Erik, with only a soldier's barracks to offer as alternative, made no argument. He left his bride and her two carriages full of purchases there, and without setting foot in the house went immediately to look for Charles.
It was impossible to avoid being seen at all, but he made certain to draw no attention, gentling his soldier's walk and casually avoiding eye contact. His travel-grimed clothes probably helped; he hardly looked the Paladin right now.
Outside Charles's door, he stopped, hand frozen mid-knock, and throttled down panic. What would he find, on the other side of that door? Forgiveness, hatred, some horribly painful middle territory?
Even in the islands, the balcony fall had been the whisper in every corner. Little shrines for the health of King, Consort, and unborn child had popped up on sidewalks and in drawing rooms, and Erik, never a religious man, made offerings to every one he saw – though he always blew out the King's candle first. Rumors raged. Prince Charles was bedridden and pain-haggard, begging for death; Prince Charles was fat and happy and playing up his condition for the attention; Prince Charles was dead already, his blood pumped by machines until the child could be safely extracted.
This last, though he knew it to be untrue, had given him nightmares that had Emma shaking him awake, alarmed at his strangled screams.
Erik had been there when the doctors explained Charles's condition to him. Barring a miracle, which he surely would have heard about, he could expect to see Charles in a wheelchair, one arm still in a sling to protect the broken clavicle. He couldn't afford to let the sight unhinge him. He was here to talk to Charles, not blubber at him.
Assuming he was permitted entry at all.
He took a deep breath and knocked.
Moira opened the door, with Raven in her arms.
Erik's mind derailed at the sight of his daughter. She'd grown so much, surely she had doubled in size, and her hair was thicker, a shimmering little field of gold. She twisted her head to look at him, and her eyes actually seemed to focus, more or less. The gnome-like wrinkles of her face had largely smoothed out into sleek peachy curves.
"Oh," was all that managed to come out of his mouth, and he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek.
Moira's eyes had gone wide. "Come inside."
A glance around the room as Moira closed the door behind him showed no sign of Charles. "Where is he?"
"In the gardens somewhere. He had a rough morning, wanted some time to himself." Moira bit her lip, looking at Erik like a gifted vase that couldn't be returned but didn't match the furniture. "Would you like to hold Raven while you're here?"
"Yes. Please." He let Moira settle him into a chair with the baby in his arms. She was heavier, but she still smelled the same, clean and sweet and warm. Something in his chest constricted when she raised a hand and fumbled her tiny, clumsy fingers across his chin and lip. "How... how is she? She's grown..."
"Babies do that," Moira said with gentle humor. "She's meeting all her milestones. She definitely recognizes me and Charles, smiles all the time, giggles, waves her arms around. She'll be crawling before we know it." The gaze she turned on Raven was soft and proud, and Raven responded to it with a distinct chuckle. Erik swallowed a pang of jealousy. It wasn't Moira's fault that she'd been here and he hadn't.
"How is Charles?"
The happiness in Moira's eyes faded. She let out a careful sort of sigh. "Keeping up a good front, which I seldom get to see behind. The children are a consolation to him, but... I don't know if they're enough."
Erik swallowed. "Will he be happy to see me?"
Moira looked startled. "Why wouldn't he be?"
He shouldn't have been surprised that Charles knew how to keep a secret. "We quarreled, before I left," he said, truthfully enough.
"Ah. That... explains a few things. I can confidently say, however, that he's missed you desperately."
That doesn't mean he wants to see me. The constriction in his chest grew tighter.
He found Charles at the bank of primroses, fighting with his wheelchair. One wheel had caught in a rut in the gravel path. While Erik hung back, uncertain, Charles yanked savagely at the wheel, rolled it backward and forward, swore and shoved and pounded on it with his fist. His cheeks were blotchy red, eyes wet with frustration. Finally, with one last vicious jerk, the wheelchair came free – and tipped over.
Erik dashed forward and caught it, one hand on the chair and the other on Charles's chest, and settled it carefully to the earth.
Charles went still, glancing up and quickly away, cheeks reddening further. He passed a frantic hand over the tear tracks on his face, and looked at the ground, fingernails digging into his armrests.
Erik could feel Charles's rapid heartbeat through the hand still on his chest. Awkwardly, he let his hand fall away, stepped to the front of the chair and knelt at Charles's feet.
He'd rehearsed a dozen speeches; all of them stopped in his throat now. He could only pray the most important parts made it to his face. I love you. I miss you. I would do anything to fix this.
Charles continued looking at the ground. Slowly, one hand detached from the armrest and inched toward Erik – only to falter halfway and fold back in on itself.
Erik caught it gently in his own hand, hesitantly pressed it to his lips.
Charles closed his eyes. His hand trembled.
Erik turned the hand palm-up and pulled one of the chains around his neck over his head, the ring it carried glinting as it moved. He lowered it into Charles's hand.
Charles looked at it and let out a strangled sob, his fingers clenching around the ring.
Hope, Erik thought, was a painful thing, cutting your feet as you balanced on the blade's edge, waiting to see which way you would fall.
After a long, quivering pause, ring still clutched in his hand, Charles pulled Erik across the expanse of his numb legs and crushed their lips together.
Erik kissed back frantically, hands sliding up Charles's arms and around his shoulders. They could probably never be close enough, he could never feel enough of Charles's body pressed against his, but this gap between them was unbearable. He gathered Charles tightly against him, tight enough that he could stand and pull Charles along, propped on unfeeling legs.
Charles jerked back with a gasp, looked down at his position in wondering delight, and Erik didn't know how he could bear the joy of seeing Charles smile at him like that, like he'd done something amazing. Still smiling, Charles leaned his forehead against Erik's, and ran his hands slowly, gently, up and down Erik's back, ribs, neck – Erik could feel the cool line of the chain wound around Charles's fingers – he followed Erik's own chain down to the ring and back up – traced every line of Erik's face as tenderly as if he were gossamer. Erik shivered and closed his eyes.
Finally Charles kissed him again, soft and slow and deep, and Erik was going to die if he didn't get this man to a bed soon...
In the meantime, he was kissing the king's husband in the middle of the Royal Gardens, without having so much as looked around first.
He stifled panic and managed to pull away slowly so as not to frighten Charles. He sagged in relief when a glance around revealed no curious gardeners, no shocked Dukes or Baronets.
"We should go inside," Charles whispered, sounding as shaky and breathless as Erik felt.
Reluctantly, he lowered Charles back to his chair, and began pushing it back down the path.
"No," Charles said, taking hold of the wheels. "I'll do that. You walk beside me."
Erik complied, and brushed his hand against Charles's at every opportunity as they went, even though it meant barking his knuckles on the wheel.
***
Moira made a quick exit the moment they came through the door, Raven already bundled into her pram, the other children – she assured Charles – safely at their lessons for hours yet.
"Have a nice afternoon," she murmured with a smile, cheeks reddening, and closed the door behind her.
"I could grow to like that woman," Erik said.
"Get me onto that bed," Charles said, "wearing nothing but your ring, in the next sixty seconds, or I'm sending you right back out the door."
Erik grinned. "Yes, Your Highness."
***
There were difficulties involved, now that Charles couldn't move his legs. Allowances that had to be made, alternatives explored, on both sides. They didn't talk about it, not a word. They just did it.
***
Erik woke in the late evening, sunset colors spilling across the bed. Charles was still asleep beside him, one arm slung over Erik's hip, the other back in its sling. Someday, Erik fervently hoped, he'd be able to make love to Charles without worrying about hurting him – no incisions, no broken bones – someday it would be simple and easy...
No, he remembered, his gaze straying to Charles's motionless legs. No, that would never quite happen now, would it? Because of him.
But I'm forgiven. Erik closed his eyes, still trying to absorb it, make himself believe it. He hadn't lost Charles. It was almost exactly like waking from those nightmares of Charles dying, and remembering that it wasn't true.
He felt the chain on his neck move, and opened his eyes to see Charles fiddling with the ring.
"What would you have done with these," he asked sleepily, "if I'd sent you away?"
"Worn them," he replied. "Worn mine, at least – put yours away somewhere, to torture myself with." He reached out, rubbed his thumb over the sapphire in Charles's ring. "Charles... I never meant..."
"Don't. There's no need to ever apologize again, not for this. It's done, it's forgiven, we move forward."
Erik let out a slow breath, nodded and kissed the ring before letting it fall in favor of pulling Charles closer.
"How was your honeymoon?" Charles asked wistfully, brushing his lips lightly over Erik's collarbone.
"Not as terrible as it might have been. Emma is... not what I thought her to be." He explained as briefly as he could the almost-friendly relationship that had developed between them.
"Careful, there, I might get jealous," Charles said. Erik, seeing the fear behind the joke, pulled him in for a leisurely, possessive kiss.
"Charles," he whispered against his lips, "I will never love anyone but you."
"Don't... don't say that. You know we can never... I want you to be happy, Erik, and if you ever truly get a chance for that..."
"I am happy," Erik said, running a lingering hand down the line of Charles's body, stopping to splay over his rounded belly. "I am as happy as I've ever been in my life, right now. Don't you dare try to take that away from me."
Charles bit his lip and nodded. He took Erik's hand, Emma's diamond ring and Sebastian's ruby clinking as he laced their fingers together.
***
In the morning, Erik watched in awe as Charles somehow managed to feed himself, nurse Raven, and keep the fosterlings in their own seats, with one arm in a sling.
Moira was still in bed, after threatening to defenestrate the first person to speak to her before noon. Erik had no idea where she and the children had been most of the previous day, but they'd returned rather late in the night, the children giggling and dashing dizzily about the room before collapsing exhausted into their beds. Erik's only reaction to their entrance had been to pull Charles closer and drag the covers up over their heads.
"How long do you have?" Charles asked now, refilling Armando's juice glass. "I heard you were to be sent out again once your honeymoon was over."
"Four days," Erik said. "We're to take over the border patrol of Essex while King Nathaniel deals with that little civil war issue. Not what I'd usually call our concern, but Essex is one of our few remaining allies. I can't really blame Sebastian for staying on his good side." He took Charles's hand, dropped a kiss to each knuckle. "It's a low-combat position, for once, and I have everyone's assignments – mine included – worked out to permit a ten-day's break every three months."
Charles blinked, doing the math. "Does that mean you'll be here for the birth?"
Erik turned his hand over to kiss the palm. "Come hell or high water."
Erik wanted little more than to spend the next four days curled around Charles in bed, but there was far too much that needed doing before he and his men left for Essex. He managed to avoid seeing much of the king – an endeavor Emma proved willing to help him with, keeping Sebastian distracted in return for owing her a favor later – and only crept back to Charles's side after nightfall, usually just in time to help put the children to bed. Erik had nothing against the fosterlings, but his interest in them was limited; he mostly concerned himself with Raven, and paid little attention to the older ones.
Until the night Armando asked him, "Is Charles your husband?"
Erik froze, and looked at Charles.
"No, darling," Charles said with strained casualness. "I told you, King Sebastian's my husband."
"But you act like husbands."
"Sir Erik and I are very good friends. He's my very dearest friend in the world."
Armando raised an eyebrow so eloquently that Erik couldn't help but laugh. Charles grimaced, glanced at Angel, already sound asleep in the bottom bunk, and pushed his chair close enough to the bunkbed that he could reach up for Armando's hand.
"Listen to me, son. It's very important that you not talk about Sir Erik. All right? Don't ask questions about him or tell stories about him. Just don't mention him. To anyone. Can you do that?"
Armando looked from one of them to the other, in a far more aware way than Erik was comfortable with. "Yes, sir."
Charles squeezed his hand. "Good boy. Thank you. Now go to sleep."
Once the door was closed on the children, Charles turned troubled eyes on Erik and Moira.
"They say two can keep a secret, if one is dead," he said. "We're at, what, seven now? The three of us, Armando, Erik's two lieutenants, and I think Azazel must know..."
"Eight," Erik said. "Emma hasn't asked where I keep spending the night. She very pointedly hasn't asked."
"It would help if you two weren't always eye--" Moira glanced at the thin door separating them from small ears. "--eyeing each other in public the way you do."
"We don't exactly do it on purpose," Erik muttered.
"Well, you're just going to have to hope Sebastian's self-absorption keeps him out of the loop."
Charles let the subject drop, but much later, Erik woke in the stillest part of the night to find Charles wide awake beside him, his eyes shadowed.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured, stroking back Erik's hair. "Go back to sleep, love."
"If the wheels in your head were spinning loud enough to wake me, then I want to know what's got them going."
Charles sighed, let his head tip forward to rest on Erik's chest. "I just... We can't go on like this, can we? Eventually we'll be caught. I can't bear to think of what will happen."
"Don't." Erik gripped Charles's shoulder tightly. "Don't let him take us away from each other, any more than he already has. He can take everything from us, at any time, for any reason. We'll never be safe. We can bow to his every whim and still never be safe. There's no use trying."
"I know. I know you're right." He breathed a bitter laugh. "Why couldn't he have landed on his head?"
Erik lifted his eyebrows. "This from Duke Thou-Shalt-Not-Murder, Lord of Tender Sensibilities?"
"The night before you came back, he slapped Armando across the room, and threatened Moira when she protested. I wasn't there, or I can't swear I wouldn't have killed him where he stood."
Erik stared a moment at the entirely unaccustomed fire in Charles's eyes. He couldn't quite decide if he was disturbed or pleased. Both, his backbrain supplied, and a little bit turned on.
"We can't, now," Erik said. "My life might not be too high a price, but yours is."
"Likewise," Charles sighed, "which of course is what he's counting on. I think there's little that we can do, at least for now, for our own situation."
Erik cocked his head. "But?"
Charles smiled. "But there are other ways to fight back. Sebastian's done his best to make me forget I'm a duke – I held the position so briefly before my marriage, never even casting a vote in Assembly, that it was shamefully easy. But it came to my attention a few days ago that my stepfather's grown too old to hold my proxy. He's petitioning me to pass the position to my stepbrother, but I intend to deny him."
"Don't you have to have a proxy? I didn't think you were allowed to actively hold both positions, Consort and Duke..."
"That's tradition, not law. I looked it up."
Erik let Charles's wicked grin spread to his own face. "And in the middle of a pregnancy, too. You're going to cause quite a scandal."
"And there's nothing he can do to stop me."
Erik felt his smile die away. "He'll find ways to punish you, you know."
"I know. But I'm tired of cowering. The next hand he raises to me or mine is going to come back bloody."
Erik's veins ran hot, at that, and he moved his body over Charles's, kissing him hungrily. Charles's eager response was as much a bite as a kiss, fingers tangling in the chain around Erik's neck. |
It was easy to feel elated and happy in the weeks after the game. It was easy to go about your days, to and from university, making coffee in the morning, reading a book in the afternoon, writing up a paper in the early hours—
You hadn’t felt this fulfilled in years.
You could finally think and talk about chess without feeling sick, or getting flashbacks to your father’s games. You’d even started reading new chess books.
You frequented Monte’s most weekends now, always going with Amanda or some of her other friends from Columbia. Occasionally, Benny and some others would arrive as well, though they never sat with your group anymore. The most you’d see Benny on a night out was at the bar, when both of you went to order another round for your tables.
You had a feeling Benny wasn’t rushing to introduce you to the people he knew, and that it was all entirely for your sake—
You couldn’t deny that it made you feel cast out in some instances. He hardly said more than a ‘hello’ when he saw you in the club, anymore.
In truth, your skin was itching for another game. You were itching to play, and to play against him.
But while there was that side of you that was screaming to play, there was an opposite side that was crying for you to stop. You’d gone back on everything you’d ever thought, every feeling of animosity, pain, hurt, from the chess world, from what happened to your father—
Just to play a stupid game with wooden pieces and black and white squares.
Nevertheless, there was one night at Monte’s, almost a month after you’d played him, where you felt something snap. You were sat with Kayden while Amanda danced on the disco floor with another friend from university, and you couldn’t take your eyes off Benny’s stupid hat.
You tapped your glass restlessly. “What do you reckon they’re talking about?” You said, and Kayden eyed the way you stared at their table.
“Jealous?” He said. You shot him a disapproving glare, before you bit down on the straw from your drink.
“Far from it. I just want to know what they huddle up and talk about every week, without so much as a greeting to us,” The huddle in question: Benny, Matt and another man you’d never met before.
“They come here often, even before you arrived. Sometimes I join them,” Kayden said nonchalantly.
“Then why don’t we go over there and say hello?” You offered, and Kayden’s eyes flashed.
“You and I both know they’re talking about chess. They’re probably talking about you.” But you were already grabbing his arm and pulling him to standing.
“All the more reason to say hi,”
“Y/N—,” He let out, before you gave a large tug on his sleeve, forcing him in front of you. The two of you walked to Benny’s table, Kayden’s uneasiness slowly fading to playfulness as he leant on their table and stole a shot from in front of Matt.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Benny said jokingly, grabbing Kayden’s collar and shoving him round to sit next to Matt. His eyes flashed when they hit yours. “Y/N, come join us,” You took the other seat next to Matt, right opposite Benny and the other boy you didn’t know. “This is Mike—Mike, Y/N—Y/N, Mike,”
You stuck out your hand and shook his, smiling sweetly.
“Benny tells me you beat him at speed chess,” Mike said, and you were taken off-guard. You tried not to sound smug when you replied, despite how smug you felt.
“Did he tell you I threw up afterwards?” The tension on the table melted with your words, as Matt and Kayden laughed to themselves, reminiscing.
“An honest reaction from anyone going up against me, obviously,” Benny joked, finishing his beer. Chuckles surrounded the table, and you had no idea why you’d got so pressed about them before—you’d had a strange feeling of the avoidance Benny was giving off, but you had to realise it was probably off signals you’d put out.
He got up, pointing at the empty glasses, before he pointed at you. “Drink?”
“Do I even have to answer?” You said, watching his face transform into a boyish grin.
You watched as he walked towards the bar, his demeaner changing completely from the way he’d acted around the table. Sometimes you forgot that Benny was twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. He had a young face, despite his fuzzy moustache and the entire cowboy get up. He was smug and egotistical, which was definitely annoying to his opponents, but the more you got to know him, the more that behaviour became part of his charm and personality.
The last person you’d expected to ever become friends with was Benny fucking Watts.
“Be honest,” Mike began, turning to you. “You’re fucking chuffed about beating him, aren’t you?”
“You should have seen it,” Matt added, sending you a gentle expression. “It was like modern dance.”
“Maybe you’ll see the next game,” You said, just as Benny came back with a tray of pints.
“Next game?” All eyes flicked to him, apart from his own, that were glued to you. You watched his lip twitch, a smile trying to force its way through.
“Next game,” You repeated, smiling as you grabbed a pint.
The rest of the night was giggles and booze, dancing and cigarettes. It was one of the best nights you’d had in New York to date. You were finally starting to feel like you, perhaps, belonged. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in your family home, or even in your shared apartment back in England.
It was a feeling you welcomed.
“You surprised me today,” Benny said, walking you back to your place after Monte’s.
“I have a habit of that,” You joked, exhaling smoke and flicking your cigarette to the floor.
“When you said there would be another game, I wasn’t expecting it this fast,” He said, head tilting to the sky. “To be honest, I was trying not to crowd you after your win.”
You let out a sigh in understanding. “That’s why you were acting distant,” You said. “I noticed it.”
“Yeah—sorry. I just—,” He paused, thinking through his words. “I wanted you to have that urge to play. I didn’t want to pressure you to play the game if you weren’t comfortable.” You didn’t reply, a feeling of appreciation floating over you. “But I can see that urge now, that craving to sit at a board and play.” He moved his gaze to you. “It suits you.”
You tried not to let the way he’d said that get to your head.
“I’ve been reading chess books again,” You admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” If Benny was trying to play down his happiness, he didn’t show. He was practically beaming to himself as you spoke.
“I’ll drop some books by in the next few days,” He said.
“Thank you,” You replied, and you meant it. You turned as you reached the outside of your building.
“See you around,” Benny said softly. You reciprocated his smile, watching as he turned around and J-walked across the street.
It was mid-week when Amanda practically bombarded into the opposite library chair to you. “Please tell me you’re not going to become boring like a lot of other chess players,” She said, and you sent her an amused and confused smile.
“Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” She breathed out. “I just don’t know anything about chess whatsoever. I feel left out whenever you guys talk about a gambit or Sicily. I haven’t even been to Sicily,”
She popped her head on the library table, and you stuck out a hand, patting her a few times gently. “I promise I’m not going to become a boring old chess player,” You said, and when Amanda looked up her eyes were sparkling.
“To be honest, I don’t even think the others are boring either. Benny wears a cowboy hat, how boring could he be?”
“Well, that’s true. And he’s got the moustache.” Amanda frowned.
“I don’t like the moustache.” She said it like she’d had multiple nightmares about the hair on his upper lip, like she’d fought in a war against it.
You knew how it felt being the odd one out in a group; you could feel Amanda’s hurt. It was an utterly different world when you didn’t have a clue about competitive chess. You leant forward, smiling at her.
“Here’s my advice. When we play, just look at the other’s faces, not the game itself.” You began. “You can tell how a game is going by everyone’s reactions, not the pieces on the board. It makes it all much more tense and enjoyable. I did that when I first started going to chess tournaments with my—,” You stopped yourself, your throat immediately going dry.
Amanda’s face dropped a little when she saw you struggling. “Dad?”
You forced yourself to swallow. “Yeah.” You said, before you started packing your things up. “I gotta head home,” You stood abruptly, shoving books in your bags. Amanda watched with worry as you packed up, a small frown on her face.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She said, just before you turned on your heels and headed out of the building. You ignored her as you felt your heart begin to race.
You clamped your eyes shut as you reached outside, but all that you saw on the underside of your eyelids was a casket, slowly descending into the ground—
You gasped, stopping halfway down the stairs to the library, your tote bag flinging off your shoulder. You muttered to yourself as you tried to get yourself together. You were thankful that classes had just ended for the day, meaning not too many students were around to witness your stupidity.
You rushed down the stairs and squatted as you went to pick up the contents of your bag. You fumbled with your books and belongings, trying desperately to get everything back inside and bolt home as fast as possible.
The click of two heeled shoes appeared in front of your nose; then a hand reached down toward the floor and picked up one of the books—it was Benny’s book.
“Don’t ever tell him you’ve read this,” A voice sounded from above. You hurriedly finished packing your bag and slung it over your shoulder clumsily as you stood up.
“Yeah—I regret doing just th—,” You stopped speaking as your eyes hit hers.
The photos didn’t do her any justice. Her eyes were huge, and her hair was a bright red that you hadn’t been expecting. She looked like someone straight out of a Hollywood movie, with perfect curls and precisely applied make up—
“Beth Harmon,” You said, furrowing your brows in confusion. What the hell was Beth Harmon doing in New York?
“Yes,” She replied, a surprised smile on her face. “And you are?”
“Y/N!” Another voice yelled from a few meters away. Benny jogged towards you with a smile plastered on his face. “Great, you’ve met.”
You still had multiple unanswered questions. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?” You said, and was surprisingly met with more smiles.
“I help mentor the chess team here. Beth came to visit for a few days.” You nodded slowly, still trying to take in what was actually happening. Beth looked you up and down, but not judgementally.
“You’re Y/N L/N. Benny’s told me a lot about you,” She started. “I already know a lot about your father.” Butterflies appeared in your stomach at the mention of him once more. You were having an off day—it was impossible, no matter how hard you tried, not to feel sick, or faint, or wobbly, at any mention of him that day.
It would fade. You knew it would.
But then it would probably come back, again and again and again—
Until you forced yourself to forget again.
You swallowed, forcing your throat to open; forcing yourself to breathe.
“Yes, I expect you would.” You replied, not meaning for it to be blunt, but that’s exactly how it sounded. You sent an apologetic smile quickly, before you gestured to have the book back. You shoved it in your bag as Benny adjusted his hat.
“Wanna come to chess meet?” He asked, both sets of champion eyes staring you down.
“I was just heading home,” You replied.
“Perfect, so you’re free,” He said, stepping forward and slinking an arm around your shoulders. You didn’t know how to protest without revealing just how much you were crumbling today.
There was an ingrained vendetta against weakness in your system, so deep beneath your skin that you hadn’t even wept at your father’s funeral—
Not one single tear.
But your throat had hurt for days afterwards. Your voice had been coarse and raw, exhausted.
You let Benny lead you to the Student Union, smug smile plastered all over his face as he sauntered into the club with you and Beth. “Gentlemen,” He announced upon arrival, and about two dozen boys turned to his immediate attention.
You shot an amused glance at Beth, who sent you the same one back.
“We have two special guests today—,” He gestured to you and Harmon. “Beth Harmon, Chess World Champion, 1967,” There was applause at Beth’s introduction. She smiled sweetly around the room. Inside, butterflies were bombarding your gut—
“And Y/N L/N, Grandmaster L/N’s daughter.”
When no applause came, you wanted to die on the spot. Instead, the welcome you got was a room full of sudden sullen faces, a sombre tension entering the room and sticking over everything. Benny looked positively full of rage.
“If you’re lucky, you’ll see her second game ever played. The first of which, she beat me at speed chess.” The faces changed like nothing you’d ever seen—the sudden chatter between the members was something that made your cheeks blush. “But let me make this clear, first—,” Benny continued, shooting a hard stare at you before he continued talking. “There will be no questions surrounding Grandmaster L/N to Y/N, unless she begins the conversation. There will be no prodding, no poking, no prying. You got that?”
You stared at the back of Benny’s head as he spoke, in awe at the authority he had over the room. If you were blushing before, your cheeks were definitely bright red then.
You were thankful, a little embarrassed, but mostly thankful.
You didn’t expect to stay for more than a few games, but after an hour you were sat on a table, overseeing a commentary match between Beth and the Columbia chess team Captain. Benny was at the chalk board, reciting all the moves and strategies that were coming into play.
Beth had won every game she’d played, obviously.
“Now he’s one move away from being in check—what does he do? Can he do anything?” Benny asked everyone, but the room went silent. Oblivious looks were passed around from man to man. You scanned the board once more, and the answer came to you instantly.
“He can’t win,” You spoke up, and felt twenty pairs of eyes wash over you. Benny furrowed his brows at you. “But they can draw.” You saw Benny raise his eyebrow. You jumped down from the table and approached the board, mind fully in the game.
“None of his moves will put Beth in check, and moving his King would just result in a back and forth,” You pointed to the black pawn on G2. “If he moves his pawn to the end of the board, he can swap one of his rooks back on the board.” You moved the pawn to G1, swapping it out with a previously taken rook.
The rook was in line with Beth’s King; she was blocked in by pawns from every angle.
“Beth would be forced to call a draw, since neither can win in their current positions.”
Benny let out a slow clap, strolling toward you and smacking a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what we call a Promotion,” Benny said, practically glowing. “It’s often overlooked in the middlegame.” Benny clapped his hands together once more. “Right, one more game. Who wants to play?”
You felt all those eyes wash over you again. Now that you’d spoken, now that you’d at least proven you knew the game, you knew they’d want you to play—
But you just couldn’t.
Not that day.
“Y/N?” Beth spoke, her eyes hitting yours. She was the last person you expected to speak up. You didn’t know what to say—who would turn down a world champion?
You found yourself meeting Benny’s eye, trying desperately to communicate that you’d probably throw up again if you sat down in that chair opposite Beth. Luckily for you, he came forward. “I’ll play,” He said, smiling at Beth. He glanced back at you as he took off his hat and held it out towards you. You took it from his hands, stepping away from the table.
You’d never seen a room full of people so focused on one game. None of them blinked, none of them spoke—this was like a flashback to the US Championship—when Beth had wiped the floor with Benny’s game.
When Benny won, you expected Beth to be annoyed. She was known to be feisty, short-tempered, but when she lost, she lost gracefully. Benny, on the other hand, was celebrating his win in a less refined way; “Guess I just had a bad day in Ohio.” He teased, but Beth accepted his comments light-heartedly with an aura of elegance that you hadn’t expected, after reading about her earlier games.
Benny shoved open the double doors of the Student Union in triumph, a shit-eating grin slapped across his jaw. He mimed crowds cheering and applauding, all the while Beth descended the stairs respectfully, an amused look behind her eyes.
“Still got it,” Benny said, finally. You came up behind him, slamming his cowboy hat on top of his pretty boy hair.
“Sure, you still got it,” You chuckled. “Beth still whooped your ass last year.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Benny trailed off, striding ahead of you and Beth as he took in his victory.
“Why didn’t you play?” Beth said suddenly, forcing you to meet her eye for just a second, before moving your gaze to the campus green.
“Today’s not a good day for me to play,” You said. It was vague, you knew, but you weren’t in any headspace to explain, especially not to Beth fucking Harmon.
“You see him everywhere, don’t you,” She stated, crossing her arms as you continued to stroll away from the university. You tried not to hold your breath as you waited for her response—
You tried not to think of him.
“For months after New Mexico, I saw my mother at my games. She’d sit by the piano, or mingle amongst the crowds,” Beth stopped abruptly, turning to face you. “But she wasn’t a Grandmaster; she just had a daughter who knows how to play chess,” She sent you a stare, one that penetrated through every barrier you’d designed to protect yourself. “You have both. I expect it’s a lot to deal with, even just looking at a chess board, let alone playing the game—which you didn’t actually play until a month ago.”
You let out a forced chuckle. “Benny told you about that, then.”
“He’s called me a lot about you, recently. I can see why he’s excited.” Both of you glanced towards Benny; he had one foot up on a bench, arms draped over his knee, talking with two girls, whose giggles you could hear from where you stood.
“He’s a charmer, for sure.” You were being sarcastic, and Beth chuckled.
“Oh—he can be, when he wants to be,” The way she said it made you send her a look.
“Oh?” You said, already catching on to what she was getting at. “I didn’t realise it was like that,”
“Not anymore—God, no,” Beth let out quickly. “But for those five weeks before Paris, sure. It was fun.”
You never would have guessed something happened between Benny and Beth, but the more you put two and two together, the more it made sense. If Beth could talk about it freely you got the sense that nothing ended badly between them—she seemed so unbothered, but still thought fondly of what happened—
You’d never so much as liked anyone you’d slept with, let alone thought back fondly to those times. It was enough to make you laugh inwardly at your own pathetic love life.
You stayed put as Beth strolled forward and grabbed Benny by his collar, pulling him away from the two girls at the bench. As Benny was dragged away, his eyes hit yours—
He smiled, that classic, stupidly smug smile—
And you couldn’t help but smile back. |
You wake up grouchy, having dreamt of nothing important again. You're pretty sure your most prominent dream involved getting chased by a giant apple, but that was about it. Damn it, dream Loki! Was last time too much?
Because of your lack of dreams, you are restless all day. You can't wait to go to sleep and try again! One good thing came from the Loki-less night, however. You are sure now that you are over your heartbreak. You've cried, you've shut away your feelings, and now you can go on from there. If only you knew how Loki feels about you. You both did shitty things to the other, so maybe that cancels out and he'll forgive you. If only there was a way to send him a letter or something.
Well, you could send him a letter, but you don't know how many of those he gets, and if he even reads them.
You are quite content and lost in thought most of the day, and of course your friends take notice of your sudden mood change. You lie and tell them it's because of the resistance, that you've gathered hope and are beginning to regain your strength. In reality, you are just waiting for the sun to set so you can hopefully talk to him in your dreams.
The rest of the day is uneventful, as it tends to be when you're living on the outskirts of the city instead of the palace. You become more and more antsy, and as soon as the sun sets, you excuse yourself for bed.
Lying on your bedroll, you try to calm down enough to go to sleep, which is almost impossible, since you are far too excited.
In one hand, you're holding the cape, in the other, the dagger. You smile to yourself. You're going to take charge of your own destiny. You're no longer a whore or a prisoner. Loki wanted to make you more, and now you really appreciate what he did for you. Surely you can reason with him enough to reinstate you. To prove yourself. If you have to warn him about the resistance, you'll do just that.
Thinking those thoughts, you slowly calm down and eventually drift off.
***
You're in an empty palace hall, with no semblance of where it leads. Not really caring, either, you just follow along it, taking random turns at intersections. The halls don't really change, but you keep walking anyway. You walk and walk for what feels like twenty minutes until there's a sort of tug on your consciousness and a sense of clarity fills you. You follow that tug, and when you round a corner, the person you desire to see most is standing there.
Loki is clad in full battle regalia, his helmet and his spear glinting in the daylight from the windows.
"Loki," you say and smile.
He says your own name back at you, then looks you up and down. "A dream?"
You nod, strolling toward him. "I forgive you, Loki," you say. "Do you forgive me?"
He also takes a few steps forward, until he's right in front of you. "I do," he says. "As much as I'd like to resent you, I feel that you did what you thought was right."
He reaches out and cups your cheek, tilting your head up and leaning down to kiss you.
You sigh blissfully when you feel his lips on yours. You lean into the kiss, digging your fingers into his hair as best you can from where it spills out from the helmet.
The kiss is needy and it takes a while before Loki pulls away. Then he pushes you against the corridor wall and reaches between your legs.
You realize suddenly you are naked and almost giggle. This time, you let yourself become aroused as Loki rubs you. Once satisfied, he unlaces his breeches and hoists you up to bring you down on his stiff cock.
You wrap your arms and legs around him, reveling in the fantastic stretch of him inside you once more. He keeps still for a moment before withdrawing and rocking back into you.
You almost explode at the wonderful feeling. You've missed this so much.
Loki is persistent, yet gentle, rocking into you in a way that sends hot pleasure raking through your every limb. He grunts softly and you shamelessly moan every time his cock bumps the pleasure spot inside you.
Your back is pressed against the cool wall, pieces of Loki's armor digging into your skin, and it all feels so wonderful. You completely forget what you wanted to talk to him about.
Loki's head falls forward, the golden horns scraping against the wall as he turns it into the crook of your neck. His hips buck a little faster, his grunts becoming more labored. There is no thought or intent behind this for either of you. There is just unguarded, mutual pleasure.
"Oh, Loki!" you moan, rocking back against him with each thrust. "Yes, yes, right there!"
He picks up the pace, hitting your sweet spot again and again until you practically scream from pleasure.
"Fuck, yes!" you cry out, getting so close. "Yes, Loki, yes!"
He's surprisingly quiet in comparison, but when you cum around him, he snarls and jackhammers into you for a second before cumming himself.
You gasp, feeling blissful and breathless as the both of you ride out the last aftershocks of your orgasm. Slowly, Loki draws out of you, causing some of his cum to trickle down your thigh.
He sets you down and pulls back, and you can see that his cheeks are flushed and a few strands of his hair are sticking to his skin.
"Loki..." you breathe. "I love you." You say it in a lighthearted way, the way one might say it to a friend who just did you a huge favor.
He says nothing, breathing heavily, but he gazes at you with at least a touch of affection in his eyes.
"I wish I could be with you," you say, smiling solemnly. "I wish I could fix this."
"You can," he says, tucking himself back into his pants.
"How?" you ask hopefully.
His green eyes meet yours, and once again they show simple truth. "You know where I am."
"What...?" you ask, confused. He's right in front of you. Of course you know where he is.
"You know what to do," he says. "Come to me, kitten. You know the way."
You're still confused. It would only take you half a step to come to him.
"Come to me," he repeats one more time, seeing your confusion. "Wherever you are. You can always come back to me."
Only with the clarity of waking up, do you realize what he meant. In that moment, your decision is already made. |
I am sorry it took so long to publish. I have been really busy. I wrote this a after a wonderful night in downtown Chicago in the late spring...
It has been a few months since I met Darrell and Marcus in Vegas. I have through about them often and fantasized about them every time I have had sex with my husband Miles or when alone in a hotel room when I am out of town on business.
Both Darrell and Marcus live just an hour drive away. They are successful doctors in downtown Chicago and I am executive who travels over a hundred days a year around the world. I met them in Vegas and had my first big black cock experience. What a night!
To picture me, imagine a tall, hot, brunette, middle-aged women who still turns heads. I have nice firm breasts and, given I workout all the time when I am on the road, a tight ass and long good looking legs. I dress smart and look like a focused professional. But, deep down, I am woman who really loves sex.
Until recently, I have never had any affairs. But, one wild night in Vegas has opened my eyes to my sexual needs and cravings I have almost my entire life! It seems like I need sex more and more as my husband is slowing down. I do not "love" the guys I lust after. I just want their big sexy bodies engulfing me and filling me in every way.
It is Saturday and my husband, Miles, is leaving with the kids tomorrow on vacation. I planned to join them on Monday. The trip is entirely paid for with my travel perks and they are all excited. I am excited also but for different reasons.
I have to stay behind this weekend because I have a board meeting in Chicago on Monday morning. After that meeting, I will be flying out to meet them. For the last two weeks, I have toyed with the idea of sending a message to Darrell about getting together in Chicago. Just the thought of it made me wet.
The last time I fucked my husband, I fantasized about a big cock driving into me. But, it was not the same as a real big black cock. So, I made up my mind then to reach out out to Darrell and Marcus when my family left town.
It was a mad scramble to get everything organized. Finally, the family was loaded into the limo and on the way to the airport. I was alone the house was quiet. I thought about texting Darrell and Marcus again. I looked at the phone and picked it up and set it down several times over the next couple of hours. It made me so horny thinking about that night in Vegas fucking two big sexy black men!
I finally started to text Darrell, "Hey Darrell, how are you doing? I was thinking about Vegas the last couple of weeks... Laurie"
I waited for what seemed like forever. After about a hour a reply came, "Sexy Laurie! Great to hear from you! I also think about that awesome night!"
That made me blush and my body tingle. Darrell was one smooth operator. My dirty mind finished my thought with, "...with one huge black cock!"
I wrote, "What are you doing tonight?"
I got back, "Hanging out with my brother who is in town. And you?"
I had to think about this one a bit. I assembled several starts such as, "Nothing. Just hanging out" or "Alone watching Netflix"
"Fuck it," I thought to myself. I settled on a theme I know from Vegas that would be direct and to the point.
"Looking for a couple chaperons in Chicago tonight...", I sent.
I waited. I imagined he was talking to his brother about our wild night in Vegas. I just imagined the testosterone laden discussion... Finally...
"Sexy Laurie, we would love to have dinner with you. Italian?"
"Yes. I love good Italian food", I replied a little too eager...
I waited.
"Great. Meet us at Monteverde at 8pm. It's in west loop" he replied and then sent an address.
I was so excited my pussy was tingling just thinking about it. I looked at my phone and it was almost 5pm. I really need to hustle to get ready and be downtown. First, I need to shower and shave my long legs!
After the shower, I bolted into my closet looking for something sexy. It was May in Chicago and still a little cold. But, I was not about to hide my body beneath a sweater. I finally found a sexy white ribbed pencil skirt and a sharp black top. I normally wore a blazer over it but not tonight. I hung them by the mirror.
"Now," I thought to myself, "What to choose for underneath my outfit?" I had no illusions that I would be modeling it for Darrell. "And his brother??" the thought cross my mind and I concluded that it would be likely. That made me wet with anticipation. If Darrell's brother was as thick as Darrell I was in for one hell of a night!
I found some sexy black lace bra and panties. A small pang of guilt came over me as I realize my husband bought me the set. I debated myself for about five minutes about going downtown. But, I was like an addict that needed a fix. I needed a couple huge black cocks again and nothing was going to stop my lust! My pussy was wet and on fire and it made the decision for me!
I put on the clothes and went to the full length mirror in our closet to check out my look. "I need something sexy for my neck.", I thought. I removed my diamond cross and place on a very nice set of pearls. I then put on some sexy black ankle strap high heals and I had an outfit.
I walked over to the mirror again and took a long look. "Damn!" I thought to myself, "I look sexy but too conservative!" I reached up and unbuttoned one button to show my cleavage. I was very turned on... My breasts are larger than average and I have big nipples which showed in a subtle way.
I dimmed the closet light and looked in the mirror and turned. I was so glad I worked out all the time when traveling. As an executive I took care of myself with workouts and modern medicine as needed. In the dim light I could easily be mistaken for a sexy, tall, twenty-something brunette even though I was a mid-forties woman with four kids! I smiled deviously.
I grabbed a small black sweater to keep me warm enough for my short jaunts from a car to a restaurant or from a car to Darrell's house and then ordered up an Uber.
I waited downstairs and had a big glass of white wine to calm me down. I was so worked up and excited!
Soon, the driver arrived. I chugged the last of my wine and went to car for my own Chicago adventure.
As I rode downtown, I texted Darrell, "I'm in the car. See you soon. Btw, how is Marcus?"
After a few minutes, "Marcus is well. He is at the hospital tonight. I texted him and he will meet us about 10 for a drink."
Marcus, Darrell and Derrick I thought to myself and remembered the older lady in Vegas whispering in my ear, "Try a foursome sometime dear, that will really blow your mind!"
I really wondered if that was going to happen tonight in my mind. I was so turned on thinking about it I had to change my thoughts or cum right in the car... I came up with a quick and neutral reply, "Looking forward to seeing all of you..."
I received another text and my husband and kids were taking off. "Damn," I thought with guilt. But, I could not resist and put the family to the back of my mind as I thought about how much big cock I was going to get tonight.
I checked emails the rest of the way to take my mind off of thinking about sex. Once we got off the highway and started to make our way into a the area I just looked out the window and thought of my wild night in Vegas.
I texted Darrell, "I will be there soon..." and soon we were pulling up to the restaurant,
It was busy. Lots of nice cars out front for valet. The valet guy opened the door and I stepped out to a cool night. I was walking up to the door when Darrell came out and greeted me with a big smile and a strong hug. Of course, his huge package pressed right up against my pelvis and made my pussy wet again!
We went inside and joined his brother at the table. I was introduced and I swear Derrick was looking me up and down with a know all smile. Darrell and Derrick looked so much alike.
"Were they twins? " I thought. "Mmm, that would be sexy," my mind continued.
"I'm Laurie, " I said confidently and extended my hand to Darrell. Darrell took my small hand and smiled big like his brother and replied, "Nice to meet you Laurie, I'm Darrell" and he took my little hand in his huge bear-like hands.
I sat down and Derrick already had a bottle of Prosecco ready on the table. He poured me a glass and gave me his big white winning smile and toasting, "Here's to a great night in Chicago!"
We all raised our glasses and clinked. A small silence came over the table.
I opened up and turned to Derrick, "What brings you to Chicago?"
He smiled his bright winning smile and said, "Just meetings and then hang out with my older brother," as he looked at Darrell and winked.
As we talked the waiter brought some appetizers plates that looked like prosciutto and eggplant. I was hungry in more ways than one and I dug into the wonderful food.
As I sat next to Darrell his hand reached under the table and gentle brushed up the inside of my thigh. Since I was talking to his brother, I did my best to hold back my excitement as my panties got wet just feeling his thick fingers run up my skirt and play under my garter strap.
I looked around and made sure no one could see us. Thankfully, we were in corner and the tablecloth hung in the way. Derrick gave Darrell and look and I could tell they were communicating without speaking a word.
Soon, the waiter came back and Darrel withdrew his hand and ordered for the table with more than I thought was necessary.
"Do we need that much?" I asked.
"Yes. Soon Marcus will be here and he texted me how hungry he was after working twelve hours," Darrell said as a matter of fact.
"Marcus is coming?" I asked excitedly and then toned it down. "It will be great to see him," I added. I just thought about how good Marcus was sucking on my pussy while Darrell's thick cock was stuffing my mouth.
Darrell just smiled, and said, "Yep. In about 10 minutes" and winked at me.
I took a long drink and finished my glass. Derrick was closest to the bottle so he poured me a new one.
Some more small talk ensued and then Marcus arrived.
He came in an gave me a big hug and said, "Laurie, I bought a lotto ticket tonight because the last time we were in Vegas you made me and Darrell and boatload of money!" he said excitedly and then added, "It is great to see you!"
We hugged and gathered some attention.
At this point, the patrons around us was wondering what the hell was the occasion that a sexy, tall, married brunette was with three single black men. I could just see the looks from the other 30 and 40 something women jealous about all the huge black cock I was going to get tonight as they suffered through their meal with their metro-sexual boyfriends and husbands only to go home and fantasize about a huge black cock filling their pussy as they closed their eyes and fucked without cumming.
"I know that game," I thought to myself.
Marcus sat down in a chair next to Derrick and I was with Darrell on a bench. Marcus and Derrick had met before and were having a conversation catching up. Darrell and I started in with more small talk and reminiscing about winning in Vegas.
Dinner came and it was consumed. The guys were hungry and we finished all of it! There was a lot of food on the table so I was surprised.
The valet guy pulled up with Darrell's large Cadillac Escalate. Derrick slid in the passenger seat and Marcus held the door for me and then slip in next to me. We were all heading back to Darrell's for a drink and the unspoken entertainment of the night!
Marcus held the door for me and I climbed into the back. He climbed in after me. I noticed on the way into the car the valet guy's expression of surprise. I knew they were inferring what a sexy, middle-aged white business woman was doing with three big black men. But, I did not care because I really craved the big black cocks I was going to fuck tonight. I just winked at him and he shied away.
Darrell was driving and Derrick rode with him in the front seat.
"Lucky Laurie," Marcus started, "you just could not keep away..." he trailed as if begging a response.
"Ummm, " I moaned as I licked my lips in anticipation as I pulled near him. "You know I kept dreaming about you big boys all night long for months."
"Did you miss our big cocks?" Marcus teased.
"Oh yeh! I need a big cock just to make me come!" I said honestly.
I leaned into Marcus and gave him a big kiss while my small hand rubbed up his thigh to his huge cock bulge in his pants.
Darrell was stealing glances in the rear view mirror. Derrick just turned around to see me grabbing Marcus' huge crotch while he grabbed on my ample tits and we made out.
I pulled away. "I need huge cocks to stuff me all night long. Can you handle all of me tonight?" I teased as I spread my legs in the backseat.
At that all men laughed as Marcus worked his hand down and was rubbing on my wet panties.
Derrick said, "WTF Marcus. Wait for us..."
"Don't worry Derrick. I did not slow me down the first time you guys fucked me all night long." I said in my sexy voice as I was in per-orgasmic heaven, "Marcus is just warming me up!"
Shortly we arrived at Derrick's condo. He pulled underground and into valet parking. In very short order we were riding an elevator to his condo. I rode up the elevator with my backside against Marcus' hard and bulging crotch. I was so wet and ready to get my brains fucked out by three men!
This was so different than Vegas. I was horny and needed a fix. I was not being coy. I needed big black cock badly and was making sure they knew it.
Derrick opened the door to a very nice apartment with city and lake views. I was on fire now that we made it home and I there were three big black men following me into the apartment. I did not know how I would ever top Vegas, but this evening might... After all, three black cocks is better than two black cocks.
My pussy tingled in excitement.
Derrick went to his bar and brought out champagne and popped the cork. His brother, Darrell, was seated on the couch and just observing me standing in my classy and sexy attire. I glanced over and looked down at his crotch. It was definitely as big as Derrick's crotch.
"Damn," I thought with excitement as I moved toward him like a cougar on prey. I sat down next to him on the arm of the couch.
He just looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and asked, "How much do you know about Vegas?"
"Enough to make me really turned on by your sexy body," he replied so smoothly as if he had lessons from his brother. "You are one hot looking woman, Laurie!"
Just then some music started and Derrick returned with champagne for all of us Derrick rose up to stand and Marcus came over and handed me a glass. We all had champagne in our hands now.
I finally raised the glass and said, "To a lucky night in Chicago!"
They chuckled but all agreed and repeated, "To a lucky night in Chicago!"
We all gave a big cheer and drank. As I stood there holding my glass, Marcus moved closer to me and I leaned into him.
He whispered in my ear, "I think you are wearing too many cloths Laurie." It came across as a suggestion but I knew it was a demand.
I felt so sexually free with these men. At home, I did not want to come across too dirty and slutty. But with black men all inhibitions went out the window including anal sex like the last time in Vegas.
Marcus pulled me in close and give me a long deep kiss. Darrell and Derrick both gave some sexy cat calls as I stepped back and they slowly looked me up and down.
"Boys, " as I liked to call them since they were at least 10 years younger than me, "sit down and enjoy the show," I said in a teasing and sexy voice.
All three quickly sat down on the couch and I could tell by the bulges in their pants were already turned on and semi-hard.
I came over to Darrell first. I gave him a deep and long kiss. He stroked by legs and up my inside thigh with one hand while his other hand rubbed on my tit through my top and bra. He went to reach inside my panties and I just pushed away.
"Not so fast, big boy," as I wagged my finger at him.
"Laurie baby, you know you want my big, black cock! Quit teasing and come and get it," he rasped in a low sexy voice.
But, I held my ground and demanded, "Take off your shirt Darrell and let me see your sexy muscled chest."
Darrell stood and slowly unbuttoned his shirt as I looked him up and down. His shirt dropped to the floor. I moved close and rubbed my hands down his chest and to his bulging crotch. I could feel his thick meat contained in his pants. He went to reach up my skirt and to my wet pussy as I push him off...
"I'll get back to you," I said as a matter of fact.
I moved over in front of Marcus and leaned over him for a big, slow kiss. Marcus reached up my skirt and started to rub my already wet panties. He also was pinching my left nipple as he teased my clit though my panties. I was already gushing wet and this drove me mad.
"Let me see your sexy chest Marcus," I demanded
Marcus stood and pulled his tight black shirt over his head. I watched his sexy abs ripple as he did so. Marcus had a hot body - tall, lean and muscular with sweet milk chocolate skin. He also had one long and thick cock as I remembered and fantasized about many times!
I pulled close to him gave him a deep kiss as he tried to unbutton my shirt. I then pushed him away saying, "Not so fast, Derrick is waiting patiently!"
When I got in front of Derrick, I could tell he was turned on. I could see his super thick cock going down his leg. "Damn" I thought to myself, "three huge cocks for me tonight!"
With Derrick, I slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he rubbed his big, thick hands all over me. He was thick and meaty like his brother and hung like him also." My pussy was dripping wet now think of the three huge black cocks in front of me...
"I can't wait for you to suck on my big cock and suck me dry," he leaned forward and whispered in my ear.
"Oh don't worry, I will, " I snapped back and then stood up and moved in front of Marcus.
I slowly unbuttoned my top and let it fall to the floor. The boys were mouthing approvals.
"Sexy" "Hot Mamma" and "Damn" (from Derrick) was some things I heard. Darrell and Derrick were already removing their belt to loosen the growing pressure in their pants.
I turned around with my ass facing Marcus and said, "A little help please."
Marcus wasted no time unzipping my skirt and letting it fall to the floor. I stepped out of it keeping my sexy high heals on and spread my legs with my tight ass towards them.
"Damn fine ass, " Marcus exclaimed.
"Better than most college girls, " Darrell added.
"You were not lying about her Darrell. She's one hot, sexy woman. " Derrick summarized.
Marcus stood behind me and unzipped his pants pushed them down with his boxer briefs. His massive cock was almost hard and he came behind me and it stuck between my legs. I was wearing four inch heals which gave me just the right height for his cock to stick between my legs as I rubbed his thick shaft onto my pussy through my panties. He hands wrapped around me and cupped my breasts.
Darrell and Derrick both give him some encouragement and some protest about sharing!
I just looked down and saw Marcus' massive cock sticking out from me like I had a penis and continued to grind on it.
"God that is big, " I thought as Marcus continued to rub that cock onto my crotch slapping it up against my panty protected clit. With each solid tap on my clit, I felt waves of pleasure.
Finally, I pushed Marcus back and turned around. Darrell and Derrick rose up. Both undid their belts and unzipped their pants to let them fall. Their cocks were pushing hard on their boxer briefs. I just looked down and licked my lips and they wasted no time pulling down their briefs.
I stood in my sexy black bra and panties still wearing my sexy high heal ankle straps in front three big black men. My body was buzzing as I looked at all three of them. My gaze lingered on each of their crotches all with a big, thick and heavy cocks!
They slowly closed on me. Marcus was behind me and Darrell and Derrick were on both of my sides. I reached around Derrick's thick black head and we kissed deeply. I reached backwards with the other hand and grabbed Marcus' big cock. Darrell, who had been very reserved, was on my other side and I could feel his thick cock on my hip as he cupped my left breast with his huge hand as he leaned and cupped my ass check with his other hand.
I had six big black hands rubbing my body. They rubbed down my back, my ass, my legs, my breasts, everywhere!
I let go of Marcus and reached out and grabbed Darrell and Derrick's big cocks. I could feel how huge they were! My pussy was very wet with excitement.
I was backed into the couch were they all were originally sitting and onto my back. My bra was stripped quickly and Darrell and Derrick started to suck on my engorged nipples as I reached out to grab their cocks.
Meanwhile, Marcus had spread my legs and was teasing my clit with his tongue through my soaked panties. I was jerking with pleasure and moaning.
Darrell pulled off my left breast and spoke assuredly, "You missed our big black cocks didn't you Laurie?"
"Mmm. Yes I thought about it every day since we met," I moaned.
He sucked deeply on my nipple. Then Derrick spoke up, "Think about having three big black cocks in you tonight..."
As he finished his statement I started to cum. My legs slammed closed on Marcus's head and I let out a deep moan as both Derrick and Darrell started to suck on my tits hard. I reached down and grabbed both of their cocks as they sucked my nipples as Marcus was trapped sucking my pussy through my panties. I hung on through the waves of my orgasm.
After I finished jerking in pleasure, Darrell spoke up, "We will take that as a yes!" As Marcus slowly removed my panties. He slowly spread my legs and exclaimed, "Look at that pussy! Hot, wet and spread! Ready for our big cocks!"
My pussy was already wet from coming and dripping with anticipation as Marcus positioned his big cock on my vulva. He started to slam his huge meat against my clit and alternate rubbing up and down my wet slit as I moaned in ecstasy.
Darrell and Derrick now pulled off my rock hard nipples and positioned themselves on the couch with their massive cocks pointed to my face.
"Suck on us baby," Derrick demanded as he pushed his cock onto my lips. His thick uncut head demanded to be sucked. Darrell soon also put his cock toward my mouth. As I grabbed each of them as I looked down as Marcus was rubbing his big cock on my pussy lips and slapping it against my clit every couple strokes! My pussy was on fire for another round of what I hoped was a deep and hard fuck!
I glanced up at Derrick and Darrell and then sucked on each of their huge cocks one at a time. I could only fit a couple inches in my mouth before I was filled, but that did not stop them from driving into my mouth and rubbing their huge cocks across my face.
I used my expert hands to pump one cock while flicking the sensitive part underneath with my tongue to get each man harder and harder. All the time I was sucking on them, Marcus was lubing me up good and starting to push into me as I looked down.
"Marcus baby, just the tip," I teased and smiled at him.
Marcus smiled big and replied, "You said that last time Laurie before I drove my cock deep into you."
"Tease my clit with your big cock as you work it into me," I directed as I turned to focus on the big cocks pushing at my mouth.
Marcus did as I wanted. He started to slip his big cock into my wet slit. Marcus pushed a little each time never extending beyond the tip of his cock. I moaned deeply and grabbed the big, thick, deep black cocks slapping at my face. As I sucked, I looked down and saw Marcus slowly teasing my opening with his cock. He would push his cock head into me and then pull it out and slap my clit with it. I was going crazy with pleasure as he did it.
I sucked on the two cocks and grabbing their huge sacks as they took turns pushing into my mouth. Then, I reached up with my legs and pulled Marcus toward me. That was enough of a cue for him as he started to drive more and more big, long cock into me. I moaned in pure pleasure as moved my mouth from Derrick to Darrell starting to alternately suck their massive balls into my mouth whiles stroking their cocks.
"You are now a black cock slut Laurie, " Marcus remarked as my legs wrapped him and kicking him like a buck deeper and deeper. I was too busy sucking big, walnut size nuts and stroking the other two black cocks to respond other that a moan of agreement.
Darrell and Derrick were both pinching my nipples and grabbing my tits as I sucked their nuts. Marcus pushed into my pussy but he met resistance as he bottomed out against my cervix inside of my hungry cunt. Holding on to my hips, he was taking long and deep strokes to re-stretch my married pussy back to when it had him in Vegas.
I remembered to arch my back a little and Marcus a little more room. I was just moaning and sucking. He was now nearly all the way in me and using small strokes back and forth to loosen up my expanding pussy and not bang my cervix.
"A little bit more Laurie. Can you handle it?" Teased Marcus
I love a challenge! I took my mouth off one of Derrick's coal black cock and replied, "I want all of you guys in me tonight fucking me deep. I love your big, black cocks!"
Marcus pushed and I felt his pelvis hit mine as I scream in pleasure regardless of the slight pain. He was now balls deep and filling my gushing pussy. He just stops and grinds into me and I feel his cock tickle deep inside me and slowly rubbing near my cervix.
Slowly, Marcus use long strokes pulling his cock out to the point his tip of his cock was near my opening and then slowly pushed his ten plus inches into my hungry cunt. Each time he stopped and ground his cock deep in me.
I know Derrick and Darrell were getting more turned on because their cocks were getting harder as I stroked and sucked on them. I was moaning in ecstasy as Marcus picked up the pace and started to pound me faster.
The first wave of my deep orgasm came and I could not keep focused on the big cocks in my hands. I was starting to come in waves with a orgasm I only experienced in Vegas a few months ago. It was mind-blowing.
"She's coming hard now Marcus. Fuck her deep!" Derrick demanded.
"Damn. She is just convulsing!" Darrell exclaimed since he had not witness this before.
Marcus was just pounding me and grinding onto my clit as the tip of his cock hit massaged my C-spot as I screamed and moaned between waves of intense orgasms. I also convulsed all over the couch.
I lost track of time as wave after wave of pleasure hit me. There was no escape even if I wanted it to stop. My screaming and moaning was stopped when Derrick grabbed the back of my head and guided his cock into my mouth and came. I swallowed as much as I could but as he sprayed into my mouth but was too much and it ran out the sides as he fucked my face while groaning and in his deep voice said, "Take it all baby!"
All the time I was coming in aftershock waves as Marcus slow fucked me!
Darrell's hand then grabbed me and another big cock was shoved toward my face. I took my mouth off Derrick's cock and sucked hard on Darrell's big cock. As Darrell's cock stiffening, Marcus was still driving deep in my pussy.
"Suck on that big cock baby, " I heard Derrick demand.
As Marcus picked up the pace, I was constantly convulsing as his cock drove into me and rubbed around my cervix sending into massive orgasmic waves of pleasure and pain. I stroked Darrell's big dark cock as I sucked away. I could feel them both getting ready to blow. Marcus started first and that triggered Darrell.
"Suck it Laurie! Take my black cock baby!" Darrell grunted in pleasure.
They both unloaded into me. I could feel each spray of cum against my cervix in my unprotected pussy as I sucked massive loads of come from Darrell's cock going down my throat. Just when I thought I was done, Darrell grabbed my head and put his huge cock in my mouth while stroking it. I could feel his cock was ready to blow so I grabbed it and suck on it. That sent Darrell over the edge and he blew four huge spurts of cum down my throat and I swallowed it all.
Finally, Marcus was finished and Darrell pulled away. Derrick and Darrell sat on either side of me with their massive cocks receding. Marcus collapsed onto me, breathing hard and just sucking on my hard right nipple while his cock was still impaling me.
I just lay there stunned realizing I have not come like that for months, or the last time I was with these big studs.
"Laurie, you are one sexy mamma. Do you love swallowing it all?" Derrick asked.
"Mmm Hmmm", I moaned since I could barely speak. While Marcus lay on me with probably 10 inches still buried in me I just reached out and grabbed Darrell and Derrick cocks.
"I never swallow, but I love to swallow from these big cocks" I thought to myself as my hands wrapped around their semi-hard cocks. "Damn, they are still thicker and longer than anything I have had prior to my black awakening," I mused
The boys, or so I thought about them in my mind, just were relaxing before they next round.
Marcus soon pulled off me and went to look for drinks. I watched him walk with about 8 inches of his soft cock swinging. I was amazed that soft he was larger than my husband.
He came back with champagne, beers and tequila. I was naked and relaxing between two black men. I was gently playing with their cocks as Marcus handed them a beer.
"You look too relaxed and your hands are too full to take a drink Laurie," Marcus teased me.
I just lay there with my legs spread and my pussy gushing while playing with the big semi-hard cocks next to me.
Finally I spoke, "I am just resting for round two boys."
That got some responses. Derrick was the first to speak, "Can you handle three at a time?"
"Mmmm", I just moaned in reply.
"Let's see if she can handle it?" Darrell said as he leaned over and started to suck on my right tit and his hand wandered down to my already swollen pussy that was oozing out with cum.
... more to come...
|
Hop and I walked a bit passed the grass in Route 3 taking in the sights of the new Pokemon, occasionally taking pictures for our dex. “What Pokemon are you gonna use against Milo, Vic?” Hop asked,
“Well, since Milo uses grass types I’ll most likely use Metapod and Litwick. What about you Hop?” Hop thought about it for a bit,
“I mean I have Rookidee and Scrobunny so I’ll use them!” I nodded and smiled,
“Sounds like a plan man.” Hop laughed,
“Hehe, that was funny Vic!”
Yes! I made him laugh I laughed and saw that Sonia was standing quite a ways from us.
“Well hiya Gym Challengers! You both look real ace out there during the ceremony.”
“Thanks so much Ms. Sonia.” Sonia looked at me and back at Hop,
“I’m surprised you’re still here Hop, I’d expect you to already be in Turffield by now.” Hop looked offended,
“Hey now! I can take it easy sometimes; Its just...I didn’t want to leave Vic all alone you know,” Hop blushed a bit which caught me off guard, Hop walked up to Sonia and whispered in her ear, seeing her smile drop to concern made me guess that he was referring to the Haxorus incident a few days ago. I didn’t mind that he was keeping me from reliving that so I appreciate that he was at least trying to be considerate.
“Is there anything I can do for you Vic?” Sonia gasped,
“No no I’m okay now thanks to Hop here,” Hop tufted out his chest is pride, earning a laugh from me and Sonia, but realized I figured out he mentioned the incident in front of me,
“Oh-I’m sorry Vic, I just wanted to give Sonia a good reason why I’m staying with you that’s all!” Hop tried to frantically explain himself but I shook my head,
“Guys it’s alright I’m fine now. I think it’s best if we focused on the task at hand.” That was a lie, I’m still shaking from that experience, the feeling of helplessness was aching me, but having Hop with me eased my worries a bit.
“Right then, why don’t I tell you lot something interesting?” She turned our attention to a building with smoke coming out of it, “That right there is the building owned by the Chairman. That’s the Galar mines, they did up ore and process it into energy, right there in that facility.”
“That sounds like a great place to train!” Hop looked really excited so much he looked like he could zip around any moment,
“You can go ahead Hop I’ll catch up to you.” I patted his back,
“Y-y-you sure Vic?” Hop was kind of reluctant,
“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about me I’ll be okay!” I pushed him forward a bit towards the mine,
“O-o-okay but I’ll wait for you outside the mine if that’s okay. Call me or message me if you need anything and I’ll be right there!” With that Hop ran off into the mine.
“That Hop, always full of surprises ain’t he?” Sonia shrugged, “Looks like Hop is slowly warming up to his feelings for you.” I did a double-take,
“Wait, you can tell he’s into me?” I looked puzzled at her but then Sonia abruptly put her hands on my shoulders.
“Isn’t it obvious to you Vic? He stayed by your side all this time, there’s no way he’s not so into you! But I think he’s still trying to come into terms with it so I’d suggest you don’t force it on him. You're both still young so this sort of thing is something you need to take it slow!” Her tone kind of scared me a bit, but she was right. Maybe Hop also shares the same feelings I have for him.
After battling a few trainers along the way to the mine, I approached the entrance; I could hear the heavy machinery working in it. Seems like it never stops moving considering that this is where Galar gets its energy from. I walked down into the mine and was met with a beautiful cavern filled with rocks and precious gems. Minecarts were used to transport said materials to other places, with the local Pokemon milling about trying not to be in the way of the workers. I explored through the cave and took some pictures to show Hop, “Speaking of Hop I wonder where that guy is?” I battled a few trainers along the way and they were able to tell me where my best friend went. “Towards the end, it seems,” I sighed and continued on my way. I caught a glimpse of a boy over by the exit. It was the same one that pushed Hop out of the way back at the ceremony! He scoffed as I approached him.
“Any trainer with a Wishing Star is in for a beating for me and my Pokemon!” His voice was as pompous and condescending as his clothing choice,
Hop was right what a piece of work! I walked a bit closer and he just ruffled his hair,
“You! You’re the Gym Challenger that was endorsed by the Champion, aren’t you? What a joke.” That got my blood boiling, “You’re aware that the Chairman is more important than the Champion, right? I was chosen by the Chairman himself which makes me more amazing than you.” I sighed,
a piece of work indeed, Hop you’re so lucky you missed this clown
“Hey! Pay attention when someone is talking to you!” The boy got a bit more upset,
“Oh sorry I couldn’t hear you over the sound of the rubbish moving about in the mines.” That got him redder than a Tamato Berry.
“Then I guess I’ll prove to you how pathetic you are and how strong I am! You’ll remember the name Bede for the rest of your life” With that he stepped forward to battle me.
Bede sent out a Solosis, I recognized those from the Unova region so I sent out Litwick. “Litwick use Hex!” Litwick’s eyes shined and enveloped a purple aura at Solosis which made it get knocked out in one move.
“Pssh a warm-up, now I’ll get serious!”
That was a warm-up?? That poor Solosis! I didn’t let my guard down though when he sent a Gothita out,
“Gothita darling, use tickle!” Gothita got close and tickled Litwick causing him to be distracted,
“Uh, Litwick? Use Hex again!” Litwick blasted Gothita away doing considerable damage. It got up and was ready for the offensive,
“Good work! Now that the puny Litwick is weakened let’s go for a psybeam!” Gothita shot a beam of psychic energy at Litwick who dodged out of the way just in time.
“Litwick use ember!” A blast of flame erupted from the wick and defeated Gothita!
“Ohhh you make me so mad, time for my ace!” Bede looked visibly upset with me. “Go! Hatenna!” A Pokemon that had a little party hat came out, it was kind of cute. I took out my phone to record it in my dex, ‘
Bzzt bzzt Hatenna the calm Pokemon has been recorded! This pure psychic type can sense other people’s emotions, it usually prefers areas without humans, how strange bzzt’ I decided to swap to Metapod, “Pfft a Metapod? You think you’re gonna win with a measly Pokemon like that?”
Well, I did just one-shot most of your Pokemon.
“Hatenna use disarming voice!” Hatenna screeched at Metapod doing some damage to her,
“Hang in there Metapod!”
“Keep assaulting that bug Hateena!” Bede commanded it intensely,
This is bad I didn’t think it used Special attacks, Harden only affects Metapod’s defense! “I’m sorry for putting you through this Metapod! I should've been more serious!” Suddenly Metapod’s shell began to crack and glow; Metapod was evolving! The light dissipated and Metapod became Butterfree!
“What’s this?” Bede looked stunned at my new Pokemon. I took a picture of Butterfree and recorded her, ‘
Bzzt bzzt Butterfree the Butterfly Pokemon has been recorded! This dual Bug, Flying-type Pokemon uses its new wings to fly fast and throw toxic dust in the air! What a beautiful Pokemon Vic!’ Butterfree flapped excitedly and nuzzled my face!
“Oh my gosh, you evolved!”
“Excuse me! You have a battle to lose!” Bede stomped his foot down and we turned our attention to him.
“Butterfree, use stun spore!” Butterfree flapped her wings and yellow dust covered Hattena, causing it to be stunned, “Nicely done! Let’s finish it off with a gust attack!” Butterfree flapped her wings and blasted Hattena into the nearby wall and knocked it out! “Good job Butterfree!” I jumped up and hugged her almost sneezing from her dust particles. Bede huffed and turned his head,
“Well, I wasn’t trying hard anyways, you only won cause your Pokemon evolved.” Bede readjusted his hair, “Well I guess you are able after all. Naturally, I’ve remembered your battling style and strategies. Next time will be different!” With that declaration, Bede walked back into the mines.
“What an interesting sort.” I sighed, as Butterfree rested on my head; I got a buzz from my phone-It was Hop, ‘
Vic! Are you okay mate? Where are you at now?, I typed back, ‘
Just got to the exit, I've got an interesting story to tell you!’ - Hop responded back ‘
Oh neato! I’ll be camping by the flower field I” ll see you then!’ I smiled and headed outside towards Route 4. |
“Mommy,” Faye says, smiling giddily.
Kara is quite sure her heart just melted and is now in a puddle on the floor. “Lena, did you hear that?” she asks happily. “Faye just called me mommy,” she says, unable to keep from smiling.
“Yes, my love,” Lena answers, equally happy. The children have been with them for a few months now and Faye seems to take to them the most so far, but that’s also because she’s the youngest and probably doesn’t know any better.
Kara’s smile falters slightly when she sees the shocked look on Rose’s face, a look that seems to express it was sinful for Faye to say that. “Rose, sweetie,” she says softly when Rose walks away.
“She will come around,” Lena says, although she can’t be sure, she just hopes so. Rose doesn’t really show that much anger anymore, but she’s often silent or ignores them.
Kai tugs at Lena’s pants to get her attention.
“Yes, baby?” Lena asks as she looks down at Kai.
Kai bites his bottom lip and stretches his arms out.
“Oh,” Lena says, surprised that Kai wants her to pick him up. She wonders when he’ll say something because they’ve been informed he can speak, he just doesn’t. When she took him to a doctor, the doctor said losing his parents is what must have made him withdraw into silence. “Alright,” she says, lifting Kai up to hold him.
Kara notices that Lena is still rather stiff around the children and even uncomfortable at times. They all need time and she knows that her wife is going to be an amazing mother. A call from the DEO disturbs her. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes to Lena. “I have to go.”
“I know,” Lena replies, though the idea of being alone with the children makes her nervous. It has happened before and it hasn’t gotten easier yet. She hasn’t needed to make an excuse up for the children so far since none of them ever ask anything when Kara leaves. Well, Rose doesn’t look like she wants to know and Kai doesn’t want to talk and Faye can’t say much yet.
“I love you,” Kara says, leaning in to kiss Lena. “Bye, babies,” she says to Faye and Kai before leaving.
Lena puts Kai down and walks to the bedroom where Rose walked off to, knocking on the door before entering. “Hey, sweetie,” she says, sitting down on the bed next to the girl. “I was wondering if you want to go with me to my company tomorrow, so you can see the new projects that are being developed.”
“Okay,” Rose replies without looking at Lena.
“You could be my special little helper,” Lena offers. She won’t lie that she wants to gain Rose’s affection because it hurts that the girl, who is supposed to be her oldest daughter, doesn’t like her. “Your mother and I love having you here with us.”
“You’re not my mother!” Rose shouts angrily. She runs out of the room and out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.
“Rose, I’m sorry,” Lena says while she tries to run after her. She’s too late because the girl already ran out on the streets and she can’t suddenly leave Faye and Kai alone. This is her fault because she shouldn’t have used those words. She desperately grabs her phone to send everyone a warning.
CherryLipstick: I messed up and Rose ran away. If you see her or find her, please let me know.
Lena puts her phone away and hurries to put Faye’s and Kai’s coat on, realizing Rose ran out without one. She’s been too careless, slipped up with wanting Rose to like her and to like being here.
Alex is watching a movie with Maggie, laughing as they’re having a competition of who can spot the most mistakes in it, such as the camera showing for a second and stuff like that. She wishes she could say she’s winning, but damn, her wife is already on her way to become a good detective, having spotted about the double amount of mistakes she has.
Maggie sees a light on her phone is blinking, telling her she has a message, frowning when she reads it. “Dammit,” she whispers, tossing her phone aside again.
Alex pauses the movie and turns to face her wife. “What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned.
“Lena messaged the group,” Maggie answers. “Apparently something went wrong and Rose ran away,” she explains, rubbing her temples. “She sent it ten minutes ago, give or take.”
“Oh no,” Alex gasps. “I’m guessing Kara is busy as Supergirl,” she says, having heard something on the news about a ship that was having issues.
“We should go look for her,” Maggie insists, rather than suggesting. “She’s just a little girl and it’s already dark out.”
Alex nods and then she hears a knock on the door. “I’ll get it,” she says, leaping up from the couch to open the door.
Rose stumbles inside, shaking while she throws her arms around Alex’s waist.
Alex closes the door and she can tell that Rose is cold. She hears her crying when she hugs her and she doesn’t know what happened, but Rose is clearly upset.
Mudmonster: Rose is with us.
CherryLipstick: Thank god, I was so worried.
Mudmonster: We’ll bring her back later.
“I’m going to make some hot chocolate,” Maggie says, deciding to make three cups. She has a feeling Rose can use it right now.
Alex guides Rose towards the couch, where the little girl keeps crying. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks, rubbing Rose’s back.
“Lena called Kara my mother and that’s a lie,” Rose answers bitterly. “I had a mother and she…she’s gone, but they don’t understand that.”
“I think they understand more than you know,” Alex replies calmly. “Lena and Kara lost their parents too when they were little,” she explains. “Nobody will ever replace your parents,” she says, tilting Rose’s chin up to look at her. “No matter what happens, they will always be right here,” she whispers, pointing her index finger at the little girl’s heart.
“Sometimes people make mistakes and say the wrong things,” Maggie says as she joins them on the couch with hot chocolate. “Lena and Kara want to get to know you and take good care of you.”
“The children at school hate me,” Rose whispers. “They thought Kara was my babysitter, but now that they know she adopted me, they have been pushing me around.”
“It’s not nice of those children to be so mean to you,” Alex replies, wishing she could stop them from treating Rose like that.
“Lyra got angry at them,” Rose reveals. “Now the children from my class hate me even more because Lyra is younger than me and I don’t need her to protect me and she’s not even my family.”
“I’m sure Lyra meant well,” Maggie says. She’s relieved that Rose isn’t alone at school, but at the same time it doesn’t seem to help.
“You don’t understand,” Rose sighs. Her hands are shaking as she reaches out for the hot chocolate. “They were all pushing me and I couldn’t do anything because there were eight of them, but then Lyra showed up. She pushed them all away and she grabbed Tommy’s arm and threw him over her back, but Tommy’s the biggest kid, he’s thirteen!” she exclaims.
“A rush of adrenalin can give someone extra strength, temporarily,” Alex replies quickly, aware that Lyra must have been using her strength, which is dangerous. “You can finish your hot chocolate and then we’ll walk you home. Lena has been very worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Rose whispers.
Alex is relieved that Rose came to her and Maggie rather than wandering around on the streets. “We’re not angry at you, sweetie,” she whispers gently. “People worry because they care about you.”
Lucy tucks Lyra in and smiles while she brushes through her hair. “I love you,” she whispers, meaning that. Lyra is as much her child as Sirius is, even though she’s not her blood. “I won’t let anyone ever hurt you.”
“I love you too, mommy,” Lyra whispers, smiling sweetly.
“My sweet little angel,” Lucy replies as she presses the small object in her hand into Lyra’s hand. “If anything bad ever happens or you’re scared press this and I’ll come get you as fast as I can,” she promises, closing her daughter’s hand around the spy beacon. It’s been months since Sara’s warning and nothing happened yet, but she’s worried and she doesn’t know if it’ll take days, weeks, months or years to happen, though she won’t forget.
“Okay,” Lyra says, frowning a bit as she looks at it.
“Guess what we’re going to do this weekend?” Lucy asks, smiling while she moves on to happier things.
“Umm,” Lyra answers. “I don’t know.”
“We’re going to decorate our Christmas tree,” Lucy announces.
“Rao, yes!” Lyra cheers.
Lucy chuckles at Lyra’s enthusiasm. “Shh, your brother is sleeping,” she hushes, although Sirius is probably sound asleep and won’t hear. “Did you make a list for Santa yet?”
Lyra nods and sits up. “I have it under my pillow,” she answers, revealing her list.
“Can I see it?” Lucy asks, curious to know what Lyra wants for Christmas.
Lyra shakes her head and clutches her list to her chest. “It’s a secret,” she answers. “Mommy, can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” Lucy answers. She smiles when Lyra lightly smacks her arm. “Of course you can.”
“Do you think that Santa can bring some friends?” Lyra asks with a small voice. “Not for me, but for Rose,” she explains. “The children at school are not nice to her.”
“Aww, sweetie,” Lucy whispers softly, touched. “You could be her friend then she’ll already have one,” she suggests.
“Rose doesn’t want me to be her friend,” Lyra replies, looking down. “She said I embarrass her, but I didn’t mean to,” she explains, pulling another piece of paper from underneath her pillow. “I made a drawing for you today.”
Lucy finds it unfortunate that Rose doesn’t want to be Lyra’s friend, but she can’t force the girls to be friends and she knows Rose is dealing with a lot. “Oh really?” she asks, smiling at her daughter. “Let me see,” she says, accepting the drawing.
“This is mama,” Lyra says while she points at her drawing. “Sirius is here next to me and you’re here, holding mama’s hand.”
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Lucy replies, moving to hug Lyra. “Thank you, sweetie, I love it,” she says, kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “I like the headband you drew for me and mama.”
“The headband means-”
“You should be sleeping, little darling,” Astra says as she enters Lyra’s bedroom. She caught the last bits of their conversation and she doesn’t need their daughter to tell Lucy the meaning of headbands.
“Yes, mama,” Lyra sighs, sliding under her covers.
Lena has tears in her eyes from laughing because Kara is wearing a snowman suit while doing a silly dance to Christmas jingles. “You’re such a dork,” she comments lovingly.
“I’m Olaf from Frozen,” Kara replies, shaking her hips.
“You’re silly,” Rose chuckles.
“Oh am I?” Kara asks. She smiles and lifts Rose up, tickling her and she’s delighted to hear her oldest daughter giggle. “Someone is being ticklish.”
“Noooo,” Rose replies, trying to push Kara’s hands away. “Lena, help me.”
“Hmm, helping,” Lena muses. “I have an idea,” she says, holding her index finger up. “We should turn the tickle monster into the cookie monster.”
“Cookies!” Kara cheers, gently putting Rose down. “Who is going to help me bake them?” she asks, looking around. “I need a tiny chef who’s about yay high,” she says, holding her hand above Rose’s head. “And who happens to be ten years old.”
“You’re in luck,” Lena says, feigning surprise. “We happen to have one just like that,” she continues, scooping Rose into her arms.
“Ah yes, yes,” Kara replies, taking Rose over from Lena. “This tiny chef will do.”
“And you can’t bake cookies without having a taster,” Lena adds, holding Kai up. “Tiny taster, check.”
“I love you,” Kara says, loving her wife very much. She loves how much Lena has been improving with their children. It really gave them both a scare that time Rose ran away.
“I love you too,” Lena replies, smiling warmly.
“Warn me if you two are going to kiss,” Rose says, scrunching her nose up.
“But I’m the kissy monster,” Kara exclaims. To prove her point she litters Rose’s cheeks with kisses. She stops when their oldest daughter starts to cry.
Rose flings her arms around Kara’s neck and sniffles. “You’re really sweet to us,” she whispers.
“That’s because I love all three of you so very much,” Kara says softly, rubbing Rose’s back. “And so does my wife,” she adds.
“Do you think our parents will be hurt when we call you and Lena our parents?” Rose asks, her voice breaking. “I don’t want them to think we replaced them or that we don’t miss them.”
“They won’t be hurt,” Kara answers carefully. “Your parents would want you all to be loved and happy.”
“If you’re Olaf, Lena can be Sven,” Rose suggests, wriggling herself free to stand.
“That’s a great idea,” Kara agrees. “Suit up, Lena.”
“I can be Anna,” Rose says with a smile. “Faye can be Elsa and Kai can be Kristoff.”
“Do you hear that, Lena?” Kara asks excitedly.
“No, it’s not like I’m standing right here,” Lena answers amusedly.
Kara can hear Kai and Rose giggling. “Youuuu,” she whispers, snaking her arms around her wife’s waist. “I meant, we’re going to play Frozen, it’s going to be fun.”
“Do you want to build a snowman?” Rose asks. “It doesn’t have to be a snowman.”
“Yes, let’s go build a snowwoman,” Lena answers.
“Hey, you’re stealing my tiny chef,” Kara objects.
“I’m going to play with snow outside with Rose,” Lena replies. “Meanwhile you can bake cookies and later on we can decorate them together.”
Maggie clears her throat and smirks when Alex jumps up. “You don’t need to hang a piece of mistletoe everywhere for me to kiss you, you know?” she asks, humored. “You’ve hung up like ten already.”
“I’m decorating,” Alex replies, hanging up another piece of mistletoe.
“Hmm, I’ll get started on our tree,” Maggie says. She grabs a garland and throws it around Alex to reel her in so she can kiss her.
“Last time I checked I don’t look like a tree,” Alex points out. She leans in to close the small gap between them, kissing her wife. “We still need to buy a few gifts.”
“You’re going to spoil the kids rotten, aren’t you?” Maggie asks knowingly.
“As if you didn’t plan to do that,” Alex answers, huffing because she knows Maggie loves them just as much as she does. “I think my parents might be even worse. They’re so excited to have grandchildren. Three at once sure got them off of my back for now.”
“Mine are still on my back,” Maggie replies, grinning. “I told them college comes first and they understand that.”
“Yes, college first,” Alex agrees, sticking to what they’ve always been saying. “Only six more months to go,” she sighs, looking forward to graduate.
“It’s going to be awesome once we have the chance to get out there,” Maggie says, glad she’ll be a part of the NCPD in six months. “Shortly after our graduation we’ll be married for two years.”
“At least you’re old enough to drink by now,” Alex teases.
“I already bought some champagne,” Maggie replies, now that she can legally drink.
“They’re going to bench you during your first months at the NCPD,” Alex says, assuming they will. “It wouldn’t be wise to let you roam around if you’ll be pregnant.”
“I could work behind a desk for a while,” Maggie points out, not bothered by it. She agreed with Alex that after their graduation, they’ll go to the hospital for in vitro fertilization so she can get pregnant. Her wife already expressed not being interested in being pregnant and adoption was an option as well, but they want a child they can raise from birth.
“Don’t tell anyone yet though,” Alex says, not wanting their family and friends to know yet. They still have time and she wants to wait until that day arrives or even until after it’s confirmed that it worked.
“I won’t,” Maggie promises. “My lips are sealed.”
“These holidays are going to be extra busy,” Alex says, one reason being the fact that their family is bigger now that her sister has three children.
“Yeah, especially on Christmas,” Maggie replies, since that’s the day they’ll all be at Lena’s place, which is also Kara’s place. “It’s going to be quite the full house,” she says, because even her parents will be there.
“I bet New Year’s will be busy too,” Alex sighs softly. “Hopefully the music isn’t as loud on Ivy’s New Year’s party as it always is on her Halloween parties.”
“One magic word, babe,” Maggie grins. “Earplugs,” she says, already having bought them a bunch.
“I think Astra and Kara are going to be in for one hell of a headache at that party if the music’s loud,” Alex says, slightly worried for them. They’re going with them because her parents will be watching Rose, Kai, Faye, Lyra and Sirius, for which she’ll wish them good luck.
“Maybe Harley and Ivy will be reasonable,” Maggie says, because they might be. “They know about Kara and Astra, so they could keep it into consideration and not torture their ears so much.”
|
Victor ran all the way back to his office. There was only an hour before the next studio class and he was determined to make the most of that time. Victor yanked open his office door and quickly slipped inside, locking the door. The inspirational rush that had been fueling him the last hour was slowly started to wear off and Victor rested his head on the door in an attempt to catch his breath.
“Is Gucci having a sale or are you just winded from the stairs?” Victor turned to see Chris sitting at his desk reading a book from Victor’s shelf. “Cause if there’s a sale you should have told me the instant you found out. I want new slippers since Makka ate my last pair.”
“Chris,” Victor’s voice was strained from his panting. For a moment he worried his age was catching up to him, but quickly dismissed the thought. “What are you doing here?
“You said I could use your office whenever I wanted, so, this is me, using your office,” Chris said with a smirk. “Or did you forget you gave me a key?”
“I’ve had this office for over four months now and you’ve never even stepped foot in the arts building in that time.” Victor walked over to one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat down dropping his bag and sketch pad on the floor beside him. “I know you better than that Christophe Giacometti. Just say what you came here to say and leave, I have things to do.”
Chris spun Victor’s leather chair twice grinning. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m going to say, so why don’t you just save us some time and tell me what’s going on. I have all day Victor, but from the looks of it you’re in a rush to shut out the world and sketch whatever’s lit that spark under your ass.”
“You’re going to break the chair if you keep spinning around like that.” Victor crossed his arms trying to school his face into boredom. He had been avoiding Chris for the last week for this very reason. For the first time in years, Victor had a muse and he wasn’t ready to jinx it by sharing Yuuri with anyone. Especially his roommate who’d flirt with a chair if its legs were long enough.
Chis stopped spinning and pouted. “I’m not letting you off easy this time. As your best friend, it’s my responsibility to scope this guy out to make sure he’s with you for the right reasons and thank him for ending your dry spell for the last two years.”
Victor laughed, “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m still on a cleanse. If I had met someone worth breaking it, you’d be the first to know.” He hoped his lie was believable enough for Chris to drop the subject. The truth was if Yuuri had turned down his job offer, he could see himself slipping into his old habits by asking the man to model for him privately after he wooed him with an expensive night out.
“See I thought so too Victor, but when I went to your room today to see if you had any dry cleaning you needed done, I found crumpled sketches of a man with no face littering your floor.” Victor felt his heart speed up. It must have shown on his face because Chris’s grin grew triumphantly before he continued. “I know your process better than anyone else, and to you, the face is the most important part to get right.”
“So what? Maybe I’m trying a new angle.” Victor knew his attempts to deflect were futile, but he couldn’t help it. If he were to confide in anyone it would be Chris, but he wasn’t ready. His feelings for Yuuri were more powerful than anything he felt since Vera and they only just met. Just thinking of her caused his chest to ache and he wasn’t ready to break down that dam he worked so hard to build up. The inspiration Yuuri lit in him was different than Vera’s and he wasn’t ready to sift through those emotions just yet to understand what they meant.
“My first guess was one of your students and that why you haven’t told me about him.” Chris continued ignoring Victor’s completely. “I knew you were into younger guys, but you’re teaching first and second years so unless he was a mature student you wouldn’t go for someone almost ten years younger than you.” Victor winced, he still thought of himself as a student even though he had his PhD for almost a year now, and again the reminder of his age made him shudder.
“So, my next guess is that he’s the model you hired since it’s been over a week and you haven’t introduced me to him yet. You know I have a soft spot for models and my only conclusion as to why you haven’t introduced us is because you want to keep him for yourself.” Chris said with a wink. “Am I right?”
“It’s not like that Chris,” Victor’s voice was just barely a whisper. “I don’t understand these feelings myself yet, so I can’t think to voice them to you.”
Chris’ smile dropped instantly, and he straightened in his chair. “Oh. I didn’t…”
Victor cut him off, “Its fine, I just don’t know…” Victor let the sentence hang unfinished, but he knew Chris understood.
“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but her last words were for you to be happy. Don’t you think it’s time you tried?” Victor met Chris’ eyes with unshed tears. He knew Chris meant well every time he asked that question but after all these years he still didn’t have an answer, so he gave his usual response.
“My life is fine the way it is for now.” Victor could feel Chris’ restraint not to push further and he was thankful when his friend only nodded and changed the subject.
Yuuri walked back to the studio in a daze. He didn’t know how to feel about Victor’s paintings, but he knew deep down a part of him wanted to ask Victor about them. Out of all the pieces in the gallery, Victor’s art was the only paintings that actually made him feel something. Aside from Phichit, Yuuri didn’t have much experience with art. His roommate often created abstract sculptures that seemed to have no direction of purpose. Phichit always had to explain to Yuuri what feelings he was trying to portray in his sculptures since Yuuri always guessed wrong. With Victor’s paintings, however, it was as if his emotions were laid bare for all to see. Each of the four paintings were so different from each other yet even Yuuri who was a novice at the meaning behind art could see the paintings were meant to be shown together as one piece.
When he got into the studio, most of the seats were occupied by new students preparing for class. Victor didn’t appear to be back yet so Yuuri waited for him by his desk unsure of what to do with himself. When the clock struck 1:30 exactly Victor entered the room and closed the door. When Victor left the studio an hour ago his eyes were bright, and he had a bounce to his step. Now, the smile on Victor’s face looked forced and he didn’t make eye contact with Yuuri when he instructed him to take a seat and addressed the class less enthusiastically then he did just a few hours ago.
Instead of sitting at his desk, Victor paced the room with eyes unfocused. This time around, Yuuri didn’t feel nervous sitting in front of the class, but was curious as to what caused Victor’s mood to change so drastically. As the minutes passed Yuuri tuned out and tried to stay focused on the clock like before. Eventually, something broke Yuuri’s focus on the clock and his eyes scanned the room. In the back of the room leaning against metal storage cabinet, Victor seemed to be staring off into space. After a beat, Victor’s gaze focused on Yuuri’s and instantly Yuuri felt an invisible force-locking his eyes in place.
Yuuri doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath till he feels his lung protest from the lack of oxygen. All the while Victor’s stare only seems to intensify as if searching Yuuri’s face for something in particular. Yuuri wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when a ghost of a smile touches his own lips, he sees Victor’s eyes light in surprise before a soft smile graces his features, simultaneously shattering his mood. Even though Yuuri breaks eye contact first, he can still feel Victor’s eyes on him.
Worried that someone in the class may have witnessed their strange exchange Yuuri’s focus returns to the clock and stays there until Victor’s sing-song voice announces the class has ended. Instantly students start packing up, and just as it seems like Victor is about to make his way over to Yuuri two girls with sketchbooks in hand stop him to ask a question about their portraits. As if on cue three more girls approach him. Soon the line of students grows, all waiting to ask Victor questions or show him their work. Yuuri waits for Victor as long as he can. When the next class started to enter the room and Victor ushers the line of mostly girls into the hallway Yuuri makes his way towards what he hopes is the stairway out not wanting to be late for practice.
By the time Yuuri changes and make his way to the gym, Phichit is already warming up on the rowing machine. Taking his usual spot beside him Yuuri straps his feet in place and reaches for the handle. Before he has a chance to start his first row, Phichit squeals causing Yuuri to let go of the handle and triggering the cord to recoil the handle back to the machine with a loud bang. Yuuri was thankful that most of the students in the gym were used to Phichit’s outbursts and ignored the skaters as they continued their own workouts.
“What?” Yuuri whispered reaching forward for the handle again.
Phichit was almost jumping in his seat, completely halting his own warm up. “I’ve texted you like a million times today, but I haven’t heard back! I’m dying to know how your classes went!”
“Sorry,” Yuuri took out his phone from his track pants and checked his messages. “I got distracted.” No doubt Phichit had left over thirty texts starting just before he facetimed Yuuko wishing him luck till about five minutes ago asking where he was. Yuuri proceeded to go over the events of the day as the two skaters finished their warm-ups and started over to the mats to start their work out. Every Tuesday and Thursday Celestino had the boys use their practice time to strength train and to give their feet a break from the ice. What he didn’t know is their gym sessions often ended up also being the friends gossip time.
The two had gotten used to speaking in code and hushed voices so the others in the gym couldn’t pick up on their conversations. Phichit often was the one with something or someone to talk about, but his friend was quiet till Yuuri got to the part about his trip to the gallery. Phichit was thrilled to hear that his friend got the chance to see gallery he was hoping to display his work in.
“You can’t tell but there’s a faux wall blocking off half the gallery that will be opened to display the student selections from this year. The best pieces will be displayed in the center of the room and the back wall since that’s where your eye naturally falls.” Phichit beamed. “I hope if my masterpiece is selected it will be front and center!” Yuuri took this as an opportunity to shift focus from himself and Victor’s paintings and weird mood to his friend’s art project that was, according to Phichit, nowhere near completion.
It wasn’t until the skaters had finished their workouts, showered, and changed that Phichit asked Yuuri about how the second class went. Yuuri contemplated telling Phichit about the paintings since the more he thought about the woman in the painting the more the sense of jealous crept into his mind. Curious what the name of the paintings meant before leaving the gallery, Yuuri had typed the words ‘zvezda moya’ into google. When the first link titled ‘Tender Words in Russian’ came up Yuuri closed the browser page immediately and thought it best not to find out. It was obvious that whoever the woman was she meant a lot to Victor and Yuuri was curious to figure out who she was.
Phichit picked up on Yuuri’s hesitation right away and with little effort got the rest of the story out of him. He tried to downplay his unjustified envy of the woman by masking it with his curiosity and with Victor’s strange mood that was only lifted once the two locked eyes in class.
Phichit forced Yuuri to continue his story as they walked towards the arts building. With the deadline fast approaching, Phichit needed to work on connecting the smaller pieces he created over the winter break to the larger work Yuuri hadn’t seen yet. Phichit was very particular and only let people see his masterpieces in all its glory when they were finished and polished to perfection. However, Phichit didn’t want to wait until he got home to hear the rest of Yuuri’s story, so he dragged his friend along the path that leads to the LAB.
“If you ask me, that woman must be an ex-lover,” Phichit whispered as he pushed the umbrella closer to Yuuri. It wasn’t cold enough to snow it seemed, but the freezing rain pelted down hard enough to sting any exposed skin. Yuuri didn’t check the forecast before he left that morning and was thankful that Phichit was sharing his umbrella.
“Why do you think she’s an ex?” Yuuri asked not sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Phichit tilted the umbrella slightly, so the wires inside hit his friend over the head. “Because he’s obviously in love with you now and I don’t think Professor Nikiforov is the type of guy to have more than one lover at a time.”
Yuuri rolled his eyes, “I shouldn’t have told you about what happened in class. You’re letting your imagination run wild again.
Phichit ignored Yuuri completed and continued by saying, “All I’m saying is a man that good looking has to swing both ways or else fifty percent of the world’s population is missing out!”
Yuuri felt his ears heat and blamed it on the cold. “Even if you were right there’s no way he’s interested in me. If you looked up the word average, you’d see my name next to it in the dictionary.”
Phichit elbowed his friend in the ribs, “You’re far from average my friend. Every time I drag you to a party you leave with at least two peoples numbers and someone else to go home with.”
Yuuri stopped dead in his tracks. “Phichit that only happened like once, and I thought we’d agreed to never bring that up again.” Yuuri didn’t like to think about Jake or Jace or whoever that guy was. Yuuri woke up the next morning with an awful hangover, in an unfamiliar bed, alone, with a girl banging on the door demanding to speak with her boyfriend. Not the best memory of his first and last one-night stand.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, it’s just you don’t give yourself enough credit. I can’t count the times people have asked me if the great Yuuri Katsuki was single just for you to shut them down or be completely oblivious to their advances.” Phichit turned to face his friend. “College is the time to meet people because once we’re out of here the chances of meeting someone becomes slim. I don’t want to see my best friend single forever because he was too scared to put himself out there.” Phichit moved the umbrella to his other hand and linked arms with Yuuri. “Just think about it ok?”
Yuuri huffed his agreement before the two began walking again. When they reached the arts building, the rain began to let up, and Yuuri insisted Phichit keep the umbrella in case the rain picked up on his way home. The bus stop was close enough that Yuuri wouldn’t have to wait in the rain for long and the bus was scheduled to arrive any minute. Reluctantly Phichit agreed, and the two parted ways.
Yuuri took his time walking towards the bus stop. He was too busy mulling over his conversation with Phichit that when the bus whipped passed him it was too late for him to run to catch up. When Yuuri did make it to the bus stop the freezing rain decided to pick up again completely soaking through his clothes in minutes. The bus shelter at this stop was missing its roof and did little to block out the rain. Miserable and wondering what god he pissed off Yuuri contemplated making a run for home or wait the next fifteen minutes for the next bus.
Just as Yuuri stepped out of the shelter to make a run for it, a car horn blared behind him making him jump. A slick grey car pulled up beside Yuuri with the passenger window rolled down, and the driver yelled for Yuuri to get in. His glasses were wet from the rain, but Yuuri could see Victor’s silver hair from where he stood shaking on the sidewalk. “You’re going to catch your death if you say out in this weather and I can’t have my model calling in sick on me!”
Yuuri only hesitated for a second weighing his options before responding. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want to ruin the leather.” Yuuri meekly pointed to the leather upholstery in front of him. “The bus should be here any minute.”
“Oh, my g… Just get in! I’ll drive you home.” Victor reached over the seat and opened the passenger door.
With numb fingers, Yuuri reached for the car door and felt the warmth radiate from the open door. Without a second though Yuuri got into the car and slammed the wet door. Within a few seconds, the window was back up, and Yuuri sank into his seat. His teeth were chattering, and Yuuri clung to himself in an attempt to warm his freezing body.
“Take off your jacket and throw it in the back,” Victor instructed as he began to take off his own.
“Just a sec.” Yuuri’s hands were too numb and shaking too much to follow Victor’s command. He just needed a few minutes to warm up.
“Your lips are blue.” Victor rested his jacket on Yuuri’s lap and reached for his zipper. With Victor’s help, Yuuri was able to shrug off his wet jacket. The hoodie Yuuri wore under his jacket was damp too and Victor insisted he takes that off as well. Luckily Yuuri wore waterproof shoes and only the ends of his pants were damp from the puddles. Victor wrapped Yuuri up in the same jacket and scarf Victor used to save him a seat in class only last week. Almost instantly Yuuri was surrounded by warmth, and cologne, and the smell of Victor.
Yuuri sank lower into his seat and felt himself relax. His hands were red and still damp from the rain, but he tried his best to warm them by rubbing them together. Victor noting the gesture reached for the glove compartment in front of Yuuri and cursed when he didn’t find what he was looking for. “Give me your hands.” Yuuri looked towards Victor who was looking at him with worry. Before Yuuri could process Victor took Yuuri’s hands into his and Yuuri felt his breath hitch. At first, the warmth of Victor’s hands shocked him as the heat sent shockwaves through Yuuri’s frozen limbs. Victor’s hands were slightly bigger than his and easily warmed the freezing skin. “Sorry, I don’t have any gloves.” The heat in the car was turned to full blast and the windshield wipers were struggling to keep up with the freezing rain.
Yuuri’s voice was stuck in his throat. Victor made no attempt to move the idling car since his focus was on warming Yuuri’s hands. They sat together in silence as Victor continued to fuss over him. When his hands warmed Victor’s grip only loosed a bit but he made no attempt to pull away. Yuuri stared at their wound hands. The last few times Yuuri saw Victor’s hands they were covered in charcoal. Now, however, they were clean and soft to the touch. “Do you make it a habit to dress inappropriately for the weather?”
“What do you mean?” Yuuri tore his gaze away from their hands to meet Victor’s eyes. He could still see the worry in Victor’s eyes, but there was some other emotion there too that Yuuri couldn’t name.
“The day we met in my office you were dressed more for a summer wedding than for the three inches of snow that covered the ground.” Victor’s lips curled into a smile, and Yuuri felt his face flush.
“I was dressed for an interview.” Yuuri tried to hide his returning smile but failed.
Victor's eyebrow quirked in amusement. “And how many job interviews have your worn that suit too?”
“Just ours, why?” Actually, his interview with Victor was the only job interview he’d ever been too. He’d worn that suit to a few banquets last year and at his press conferences even though Phichit begged him to get another. It was a comfy suit!
Victor’s grip tighten for a second before answering. “Good. Please tell me you borrowed it from a friend twice your size because whoever sold you that suit should be fired. And that tie, please burn it. It should never see the light of day.”
Yuuri didn’t know if Victor was joking or if he was serious, but it was that moment that he looked back down at their hands and wondered why Victor was still holding on. “You sound like Phichit.”
Victor let go of Yuuri’s hands as if realizing too that he had been holding them longer than necessary. “A friend of yours?” Victor asked as he readjusted his rearview mirror.
“Yeah and my roommate.” Yuuri reached for his seatbelt assuming Victor was getting ready to drive him home.
“That’s good. I mean that’s good that you have a friend.” Yuuri noticed Victor wince. “Since coming to the US I haven’t made many friends.” Victor pointed to the built-in GPS on the dashboard. “Type in your address and I’ll take you home.”
Yuuri did and Victor put the car in gear. They were both silent for a while before Yuuri said, “My first two years here I basically spent alone. My English wasn’t great, and my old roommate was a jerk. After he graduated Phichit moved in we just clicked. We both have the same coach and we spend all our time together.”
“That’s great. My roommates a skater too but he’s doing his masters and between practice and school I never really see him.” Yuuri was about to ask him who is roommate was until he realized he didn’t actually know any master students in the skating program. “That’s too bad.” The car lapsed into silence again until Victor pulled up in front of Yuuri’s dorm.
“Do you drink coffee?” Yuuri looked at Victor hopeful. He didn’t know how to thank Victor for going out of his way to drive him home. Victor seemed startled by the question before a shy smile brushed his lips and he gave a slight nod.
“Good! Phichit and I hate coffee and we’ve been looking for someone to give this expensive fancy coffee we got from one of our sponsors. I’ll bring you some tomorrow as a way of saying thank you for the ride and your jacket I mean.” Yuuri began to unwind the scarf from around his neck when Victor’s hands stopped him. “It was nothing Yuuri.” The shy smile dropped from Victor’s face before another tight smile that seemed forced curled his lips. “Keep them. I have another jacket and scarf at home and you can return these tomorrow in the studio.”
“You sure?” Victor just nodded before reaching in the back for Yuuri’s wet jacket and hoodie. Yuuri took the wet items and thanked Victor again before opening the car door rushing his apartment building. It took him a few moments to search his jacket pocket for his key card before opening the glass doors. By the time Yuuri turned to wave to Victor the car was already gone. |
He knew it was going to be a bad day from the second he woke up. When we woke up to the sound of his alarm and rolled over to turn it off, he wasn’t expecting the notification from Ned to be there. He wasn’t expecting the notification to be a message from Ned telling him that he wasn’t going to be at school that day. He groaned when he read it and begrudgingly got out of bed. He scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration before typing a message back to Ned telling him to feel better. He knew Ned didn’t choose to get sick, but he didn’t have any other real friends at school. He had always kind of stuck to himself, but on days like this he regretted it.
He let out a huff of frustration when he thought about dealing with Flash on his own. He knew that Flash was always worse to deal with when Ned was out sick. Flash wasn’t exactly the biggest guy out there either, so it was easier to get physical on days when one of them was out sick. Ned hadn’t gotten sick since Peter had been sick and he was nervous. He didn’t always have the best grip on his powers when he was upset. His hands were shaking when he stood up and he took a deep breath to try and settle his nerves. He got ready for school, anxiety making his movements slow, and grabbed an apple on his way out of the door, plugging his headphones in.
The entire trip to school was filled with thoughts of how he could avoid Flash and what he could do if he was confronted. He couldn’t swing back; he didn’t want to hurt Flash despite everything Flash had done in the past and he knew that he was strong enough to really hurt him. He sighed and turned his music up, letting the music drown out his thoughts.
By the time lunch rolled around, he thought that maybe he really had been overreacting because he hadn’t even seen Flash yet. Maybe his infamously bad luck was finally turning around, maybe Flash was sick too. He was enjoying his lunch and texting Ned when he started to feel anxious again. He didn’t know what the issue was quite yet, but he knew that something was wrong. His hand dropped to his thigh, fingers tapping in a familiar pattern. He took a deep breath and grabbed his trash, walking to throw it away when he felt the back of his neck tingle.
He usually had a good control on his powers, he usually stopped himself from reacting to his spidey sense as Mr. Stark had dubbed it. He tried to ignore it because before the bite he got into a lot of fights with Flash and he always lost, and he always got snuck up on. He also knew that if he were to react, he would probably react in the same way he did as Spider-man and Peter Parker couldn’t do back-flips. Him doing back-flips would be the first thing that would lead to people knowing he was Spider-man and that was the last thing that he wanted. He usually had really good control over his reactions, but with how anxious and stressed he had been the entire day, his body reacted before he could even think.
He dropped his trash, flipping away from whatever the danger was, landing in a crouch. He looked up at to see who had tried to attack him and wasn’t shocked to see Flash. He was, however, shocked to see that Flash had tripped over his feet and had landed on his trash. He was so screwed.
“What the hell Penis!”
He was so beyond screwed. He saw that Flash’s shirt was stained from his trash and he sucked in a breath. He also saw the anger in Flash’s eyes and winced when he saw his bully rush forward. He knew that this beating was going to suck even more than any of the other times Flash had fought him because this time he had embarrassed the bully. He knew that he would have to let Flash hit him, but his body was so strung out from the anxiety that he didn’t seem to have any control of his actions. When Flash got close enough, he swung out a foot and tripped the other boy before falling back only to jump to his feet in one motion.
He heard Flash growl as the boy stood and turned to face him. He gulped when he saw the rage that was written all over his bully’s face. He saw the fist coming from a mile away and dodged to the left, spinning on his foot before Flash swung out again. He grabbed the boy’s fist and using it as a point of balance so he could flip over the bully. He rolled and popped up turning to watch as Flash stumbled forwards. He couldn’t help the snicker that escaped before he pressed his mouth into a thin line.
He saw the other boy turn and face him. This was the angriest he had ever seen Flash and he knew that at this point he couldn’t let the boy land a punch. He figured he was already sealing his fate and knew that the rest of his high school life was going to be hell, so what the hell, he might as well win one fight. He was going to be smart about it though, he needed to let Flash get the first hit in, that way he could claim whatever happened after that was self-defense. He smirked as he looked at his bully and waited for the boy to run at him again.
He didn’t have to wait long before the boy took his bait and ran at him. He let Flash fire off a shot to his face, ignoring his senses all screaming at him to dodge and winced in pain when he felt the punch connect with his eye. That was definitely gonna bruise and he almost got hit again while he was focused on the pain in his eye, before he bent backwards to avoid the second punch. He let himself fall and caught himself with his hands, body forming a bridge before he could slam into the ground. He leaned further into his arms and kicked up at Flash, feet connecting with the bully’s stomach. He drew his feet back and twisted, contorting his body before jumping up, hands held protectively in front of his face.
He wanted to laugh as he saw the boy on the ground groaning in pain, but he held back instead waiting for the boy to get up and run at him again. That never happened; instead he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a teacher staring at him with disappointment. He groaned and let his fists fall, his day had just started to turn around, but with his luck it was getting worse again.
He was sitting in silence, ice pack held against his eye. He was trying to ignore Flash who was glaring at him from his seat next to him in the principal’s office. They were waiting on their guardians to show up so they could talk about what happened and the punishments they would get. He hung his head in shame thinking about how his aunt and him couldn’t afford for her to leave work because he got into a fight. He didn’t even know if she would be able to get off to come down and he was dreading facing both Flash and the boy’s parents in front of the principle.
His head snapped up when he heard heels clacking on the tile. He watched a frenzied woman rush over to Flash and start coddling the boy. He flinched back in his chair when he saw the woman glare at him. He heard the door to the office open again and hung his head down, not ready to face his aunt. He heard the principle clear his throat and say that they could get started. Peter chanced a look towards Flash and his bully’s mother and felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion at the look of shock in both of their eyes.
He turned to his left and felt his mouth drop open in shock when he saw his mentor standing there. “Mr. Stark, what are, what are you doing here?” he managed to stutter out. He saw his mentor shoot him a confused look.
“Did your aunt forget to tell you that she made me your secondary contact? She was worried that if something happened, she wouldn’t be able to make it down here so she asked if I would mind being a contact for you kiddo.” His mentor smiled at him, placing a protective hand on his shoulder. “Now, what’s this I hear about a fight?”
The principle explained the situation and said that since they both hit the other, and it was unclear on who started the fight, they would be both be suspended for three days. He went to protest but was cut off by Flash’s mother.
“That boy deserves longer than a week! He hurt my baby and according to his friends, this degenerate hit first! My baby was just defending himself!” He went to defend himself again when he saw Flash smirk but was cut off by his mentor squeezing his shoulder.
“If I may interject, Mr. Morita, I had some time on my way over to look into the situation and several of your students have posted videos of the incident and those videos show that Flash? Wow really? Who names their kid Flash,” Peter elbowed his mentor, who looked at him before continuing “Anyways, Flash here started the altercation. Pete was just defending himself. If either of these boys deserve to be suspended longer it’s the other kid.” His mentor smiled down at him before looking expectantly at the principle.
“Well, I guess if that’s true, then yes, whoever started the fight should receive a longer punishment.”
Flash’s mother tried to protest but the Mr. Morita raised a hand to silence her.
“Enough, Mr. Thompson is suspended for a week, Mr. Parker is suspended for three days. See to it that you boys don’t find yourselves back in here again.”
His mentor pulled him to his feet and all but dragged him out of the office. They started walking and Peter saw Happy’s car waiting out front. They got into the back seat and Peter was silent, he knew a lecture was coming and he wasn’t going to jump-start it by speaking first.
“You can relax kid, I’m not gonna lecture you, you didn’t do anything wrong, you were defending yourself from a bully. I’m proud of you honestly.” He felt his head snap up as he stared at his mentor in shock. He had expected to be yelled at for using his powers for a high school fight.
“I do have to say I didn’t know you were that flexible. I’ve never actually seen you fight. Were you always able to fold yourself in half?” His mentor smiled teasingly at him and he let out a laugh and found he couldn’t stop. He heard his mentor join in and felt the man playfully mess up his hair.
His day wasn’t so bad after all |
On the morning of the thirtieth of Drakonis, the last day of the month, Livius Erimond, who had been awaiting his judgment in Skyhold’s dungeon ever since our return from the Approach, was at last executed by the Herald of Andraste.
And as I recalled from the game, it was quite possibly the only outcome that made everyone – including himself – happy. Somehow, though, I sincerely doubted he was going to get what he had been promised as his due reward in whatever the true Thedosian afterlife happened to be…
Shortly after that grim business had been settled, Maxwell called a war council meeting, during which he informed the advisors that he was planning another trip to Val Royeaux to track down Blackwall, and hopefully before the not-Warden committed himself to something that couldn’t be reversed.
The Inquisitor’s scheduled duel with Otranto over Josephine’s betrothal, however, markedly went unstated, and Cullen was also notably silent on the matter. For a moment, it made me wonder just how Josephine would ultimately find out about it – but then I realized that asking the Commander point-blank was the likely answer. So far as I knew, he hadn’t been sworn to secrecy.
It was then, after several less significant items on the agenda regarding both the state of the castle and the condition of the army were reported on by the three advisors (including the news that Carver Hawke was settling in quite well with the resident Templars and was ready for possible assignment) that Leliana informed us of disturbing intelligence from her scouts. Apparently, various Free Marcher wells and other water sources were being intentionally poisoned with red lyrium…
…and Evelyn Trevelyan was suspected of being directly involved in these heinous crimes.
The resultant look on Maxwell’s face was one of fury, astonishment, melancholy, and utter disappointment all rolled into one, and he appeared to age ten years in an instant. After a long moment of tense silence, the Inquisitor merely put his head in his Marked hand and closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips and thumb as if staving off a burgeoning headache.
It seemed anger was not the predominant emotion, this time.
“Is Ostwick one of them?” he asked Josephine quietly, and I could hear the worry in his tone, lurking underneath the weariness. No doubt he feared for the lives of his nephews, though considering Evelyn’s apparent protectiveness over her sons, I wasn’t certain even she would allow them to be put in direct danger.
“So far as we have been able to discern, no,” the Ambassador answered with a slight sigh, flipping through a few pages of her clipboard, and its candle flame flickered with the movement. “We have, however, received intelligence that Wycome may be the next target. I have already passed along a warning to Duke Antoine to be wary of Venatori infiltration, but I have not yet received a reply. I believe he is occupied with a plague that has unfortunately struck his citizens and is currently indisposed.”
In the ensuing silence, my eyebrows rose, but I made no comment, unsure of how exactly Evelyn’s involvement had affected this development. So they hadn’t made the connection between the Duke himself and the red lyrium, yet, and thus he was still playing the Inquisition – or so it appeared. Would he also still frame Clan Lavellan for the “plague”? Did the Lavellan clan even exist anymore?
I hated having more questions than answers…
“Right. Keep those reports coming, Leliana,” Maxwell replied at length, his mouth a thin line as he rubbed his lightly-stubbled chin. “If at all possible, I want Evelyn’s every move tracked. Find out where she is basing her operations – she can’t wander forever, even with Venatori protection. She’s too used to creature comforts.”
“Of course,” the Nightingale accepted with a dip of her head, a deadly smile gracing her lips. “We are already making significant progress towards that very goal.”
“Good.”
“In more positive news,” Josephine interjected with her own warmer smile, “you will likely be pleased to know that we have at last received correspondence from Professor Frederic of Serault. He has finished his study of the Abyssal High Dragon that you and Tamsyn so heroically slew, and he is on his way from the Approach as we speak. He mentioned in his letter that you briefly discussed more dragons roaming eastern Orlais, especially in the Emerald Graves, and that he would be most interested in observing another such dragon up close. Alive and without opposition, this time, so that he might thoroughly analyze its behavior patterns for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Don’t slay the dragon this time, got it,” Maxwell remarked, offering a small grin of mischief despite the solemn mood that had just recently permeated the chamber.
“Not only that,” the Ambassador continued, glancing to me before returning her attention to the Inquisitor, “but the Professor has made the request to speak with Tamsyn in person, specifically regarding the details of how Corypheus is attempting to transform more dragons to serve as his thralls and the potential species at risk for such a transformation. Frederic is planning on arriving in the Emerald Graves within the next week and will be setting up at one of our camps there. Perhaps you would wish to take Tamsyn with you on your way to Val Royeaux?”
“No, absolutely not.”
All eyes went to Cullen, including my own, at his sudden and firm objection to Josephine’s suggestion. His brow had knitted together above hardened amber eyes, and his hands clutched tightly at the pommel of his sword.
His new sword, I noted rather proudly, despite my surprise at his abrupt protestation.
“Oh?” Leliana challenged, her own thin brow arching critically. “And why not, Commander?”
His expression morphed into one of annoyance as he glanced the Nightingale’s way. “Surely you can see that we cannot risk putting Tamsyn back in the field so soon, and certainly not after what we discovered on the return march.” He regarded the Inquisitor sternly. “Samson’s hunt for her did not end with his Templars’ routing, of that be assured. If he is presented with any opportunity to capture her, he will try. He is not one to give up so easily.”
“If he does,” Leliana commented with a snort, “then he will have to muster his forces from the Emprise du Lion, and they will be discovered by our scouts long before they ever reach the Graves. We will be able to give our own soldiers in the region ample notice and even reinforcements, if need be.”
Cullen shook his head, an exasperated sigh escaping him. “We can’t be sure of that, and you know it. We’re not even certain that we’ve discovered all of the Red Templar encampments, at this point. For all we know, they could have established more in the deeper wilds of Orlais while we were focused so intently on Adamant.”
“Well then,” Maxwell interjected, gesturing to me, “why don’t we ask Tamsyn for her opinion on the matter? Since it is, of course, her life at risk if she agrees to go.”
All eyes focused on me at that, and in Cullen’s I found something akin to a pained plea. It was obvious he didn’t want me to risk venturing beyond the protective walls of Skyhold, and his reasoning was entirely justified – the idea that Samson’s forces were focused on hunting me down was, if I was completely honest with myself, utterly terrifying. And, as the Commander had suggested, it was a goal that likely still existed, even as the Inquisition had thoroughly trounced the Red Templars on its way back home. I distinctly remembered what Cullen had said about Samson not repeating his mistakes, and it made me wonder just how he might approach such a goal in the future. Subterfuge wasn’t really his arena, but it still remained a possibility…
As such, the thought of risking an attack on the part of either Red Templars or Venatori did make me pause. And yet, at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospects of going on a little jaunt to the Graves. Frederic was a fascinating character with a wholesome personality… a certain charming innocence to him that made him rather likeable. The opportunity to get to know him better – and also better understand the dragons of this world – was more than a little tempting. On top of that, the Emerald Graves had been one of my favorite areas to explore in the game, but unfortunately was a region I hadn’t yet seen in person. Now that I had the chance to visit the real Graves in all its lush green glory, my heart twisted a little in my chest at the mere suggestion of passing it up.
Even if it was for a good reason.
Then, on top of that, there was the increasing unease I felt regarding Solas, especially considering Cole’s remarks about us. As long as we were both in the general vicinity of each other, I feared how much he would be able to see in my dreams… how much he had already seen. Even if the sleeping potions knocked out the horrid visions in my own head, I worried he would somehow still be able to wander into my mind – and therefore learn what I knew about him.
Then, I would truly be in terrible danger.
Until those occasions when he was far, far away from me, I would never feel completely comfortable anymore. It was a kind of stress that would quickly wear me down. And if Maxwell didn’t take Solas on missions with him, then I would have to be the one absent from the castle instead.
So, taking a deep breath, I met Cullen’s gaze squarely and replied, “I think it’s worth the risk.”
Incredulousness writ itself on his features. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“No, I’m not,” I countered, more firmly than I perhaps intended. “It’s vital we remain one step ahead of Corypheus, and I may not know exactly what he’s going to do now that his twisted pet is dead, but I do have a sinking suspicion he’s going to try and replace it as soon as he possibly can. If I am able to give Frederic something – anything – that might keep that from happening, I need to try.”
“But you do not have to be present in the Graves in order to do so,” Josephine reminded me, the Ambassador perhaps feeling the need to offer an alternative, considering Cullen’s negative reaction to her initial proposal. “Messages from Skyhold will suffice.”
“Yet couriers can be intercepted,” Max remarked. “As we well know.”
She nodded then, acquiescing, “Regrettably, this is true.”
“If I go in person, though,” I added, “I can give him information far more quickly, and vice versa. Especially the sensitive kind. We can’t afford to wait for him to finish with his business in the Graves and then come to Skyhold. You’ve seen how long he’ll wait for a dragon to show up – months, if need be, even in the middle of enemy territory. But we don’t have that luxury. And who knows… I’m not the only one in danger, here. For all we know, Frederic himself could be attacked, captured, or even killed before he gets a chance to share the details of his research.”
“Here’s my proposal,” Maxwell offered, leaning forward on the table and glancing between his advisors. “I’ll bring Sera, Cassandra, and Vivienne with me and we’ll go to the Graves camp with Tamsyn. We’ll drop her off there, do an inspection of the area to make sure the situation hasn’t changed, and then move on to Val Royeaux. Once our business is settled in the capital, we’ll pick her back up on the return trip, whether or not Frederic is finished with his own business.”
I nodded. “That sounds good to me.”
At that, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But I will be sending a contingent of soldiers to accompany your party to the encampment, and they will remain there until you return to fetch the Prophetess.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Commander,” Leliana added, “I will also send a few of our scouts to make sure the way is clear of dangers, both before and after their arrival.”
“That would be most appreciated,” he replied with a small dip of his head.
“I, for one, think it is a good thing that Tamsyn is becoming more adventurous,” Josephine commented, casting another warm smile my way, and I felt my confidence levels rise a few notches at her statement.
The Spymistress grinned at her friend, nodding her agreement. “Indeed. It suggests she is becoming more comfortable with the world at large.” She turned her attention to me. “It wasn’t too long ago that you would have chosen to remain cloistered in your quarters, you know, regardless of the temptations thrown at you.”
My return smile was a somewhat sheepish one. “I know. And if it were any other place in Thedas, I might still feel that way.”
“The Graves are quite special, I think,” Maxwell commented. “A place of tranquil beauty, to be sure, despite all that’s happened there in recent days. Perhaps it will do you good to spend some time in such a location.”
“I hope so,” I replied, catching the brief look of worry that flashed across Cullen’s features.
“Well then, that’s settled.” Max stepped back from the table. “Inform Frederic that Tamsyn will be arriving in the Graves in the coming week to speak with him. Now,” he glanced between us again, “is there anything else we need to cover?”
Cullen and Leliana both shook their heads.
“Not at present, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied, stowing away her quill.
“Right.” He nodded. “Keep your eyes peeled for news regarding Evelyn, and let me know the moment you find out anything. We need to disable her as quickly as possible, before she manages to stir up more trouble in the Marches than she already has.”
“Of course, Your Worship.”
------------------------------------------------------
Since there was not enough of the morning left to make it all the way to the training grounds and run the gantlet for any decent amount of time before the midday meal, I instead spent the rest of it practicing mixing more flasks with Sera, who finally taught me the recipe for Lightning Elixirs. Like the previous two flasks she’d shown me how to make, this new elixir shared most of the same materials, with only a couple of substitution ingredients and in slightly different ratios of each. However, despite the similarities to its relatives, a Flask of Lightning, according to the Tempest, was the most difficult of all to mix properly – but when done correctly, it was also the most powerful.
In contrast to the others, it had only one singular effect, but it was one that was undeniably beneficial to those who relied on quick reflexes as opposed to brute strength. As far as I was able to glean from Sera’s typical method of explanation, the elixir made its user faster on their feet, even though the impression was that the world around them had been made slower. From her own experience using it, the Jenny had felt as though she was moving normally, but outside observers had later told her that she had acted “quick as lightning.”
Hence its name.
Like the other elixirs, her description made sense, matching what I remembered from the Tempest class in-game. I imagined that when the time came to use it, it would be the most unusual of them all to experience. Unfortunately, due to the trickiness of the mixture to craft, Sera wouldn’t let me try one just yet, insisting I practice more to get the contents of the flask just right before testing it out.
The consequences of getting it wrong, she warned me, would make “Widdle” cringe.
That certainly tamped down any eagerness I might have possessed.
It was also during this learning session that I informed Sera about the impending trip to Val Royeaux to pursue Blackwall, whose disappearance certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by the ever-observant Tempest. She didn’t seem too particularly thrilled about returning to the “city of shiny arsehats”, and especially not in the company of Vivienne, but she agreed to “suck it up for Beardy”, as she put it. Indeed, Sera seemed rather worried about him, and her overall demeanor was far more solemn than usual.
Later, once I’d had a quick lunch with Lea, I spent most of the afternoon preparing for the excursion to the Graves, as Maxwell was planning on leaving the castle well before dawn the following day. Unfortunately, my meeting with Frederic would be more than a small detour, and the Inquisitor would have to hurry with his party after dropping me off in order to make up for lost time. On the other hand, according to Leliana’s scouting reports, much of central Orlais had been subjected to torrential spring rains over the course of the past few days, and so it was likely that Blackwall would be experiencing significant travel delays – especially if he had avoided the main roads to keep from being easily spotted.
Lea, after she’d taken care of the dishes, stayed with me to assist me in my efforts, double-checking to make sure that I had packed everything I might need much as she had before the march to Adamant. If my calculations were correct, it was about time for my dreaded menses to hit again, and thus I prepared myself well for its arrival, including elfroot tonics, as well as a couple of vials of sleeping draught. No doubt I would be staying in the Emerald Graves for at least a week, and so I also packed several changes of underwear in addition to my nightclothes. As for armor, I had decided to wear my old uniform with Leliana’s new commissioned leathers underneath it. Such an ensemble would be slightly hot, especially now that spring was in full swing, but it would certainly be less heavy than my dragonbone equipment had been.
Plus, it would perhaps be a bit less conspicuous than a glittering harness of scale and plate, which would only serve to draw unwanted attention.
For weapons, I settled on bringing only Heavensent and my new shortsword, just in case said unwanted attention happened to present itself. Staying in a well-guarded camp as I would be, though, I didn’t anticipate the need for any ranged equipment. And, if I just so happened to need it anyway, there would likely be spare bows and other gear already on site. I could use those just as well as my own bows and, because of this, could afford to travel lighter.
As for other gear, my gut told me to bring along Florianne’s ring, as well as a handful of lockpicks and several fire and frost flasks of my own creation. In stark contrast to the recent trip to Adamant, I felt that, for this particular mission, I would be best served by subterfuge – the realm of the Nightingale, rather than that of the Lion.
It was good for me, then, that I had dabbled in both worlds since arriving in Thedas, even if it had been at their insistence…
Before long, all materials had been gathered together, folded if required, and neatly stowed away in my bags, both of which now lay on the floor beside the bed. Lea and I then sat on the edge of it together, Snowball curled up in my lap while Cocoa snuffled curiously at the packs at my feet.
“Are you sure you want to leave again so soon?” Lea asked at length, crossing her arms as she looked sideways at me. “You haven’t been home that long at all, really. I would have thought you’d want to stay here and rest a bit more. Especially what with those nightmares and all.”
I sighed, staring at my chamber door. “Thankfully, it seems I’m finally getting those under control.” Then, after a moment, I returned her gaze and added, “I’m actually hoping that this outing will help with that, in a way. Sort of get me away from all the chaos, if you know what I mean.”
She gave a small nod of acknowledgment at that. “It can be bad even here, I agree.”
“I know it’s dangerous to go back out there, especially for someone like me,” I continued slowly, absentmindedly stroking Snowball’s soft fur whilst the dwarf kitten purred like a motor, “but… it just feels like something I need to do. It’s… hard to explain.”
Especially hard when the vast majority of the problem was related to an issue that was best kept to myself. At least, as much as was possible with Cole around…
“I understand,” she replied with another nod. “Sometimes we just need to get away from it all. I just hope our enemies pause their nonsense long enough that it works out for you.”
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “So do I.”
A lengthy silence followed, although it wasn’t an unpleasant one. Snowball continued to purr, but it was gradually becoming less and less audible as he began to fall asleep. It was then, satisfied she wouldn’t be needed for the time being, that my handmaid excused herself at last, leaving me alone in my chambers with my animals. For a long time afterwards, I didn’t have the heart to move the little kitten from his chosen sleeping spot. At last, though, I could feel my legs getting numb, and I gently relocated him to the bed he shared with Cocoa.
Remembering the war council meeting that morning, I then sat down at my desk to take a few notes for the chronicle. Until my mysterious partner in poetry responded in kind, there was little point in writing any more of it; further, in my state of anxious anticipation regarding the looming departure from Skyhold, I wasn’t precisely in the mood for any creative endeavors. Instead, I poured my restless energy into recording raw data, catching myself up to the present on all my records. Once satisfied, I then stowed away my notes and writing materials into their appropriate bag to bring with me to the Graves. No doubt there would be a lot for me to write about there as well, especially after Frederic’s arrival.
The time flew by, and before I knew it, Lea was bringing supper up to my room. This time it was baked trout, served with seasoned roasted potatoes, carrots, onions, and mushrooms. Dessert was a hefty slice of pound cake with cream and strawberry preserves. It reminded me much of the royal dinner I’d shared with King Alistair, and I realized I would dearly miss the comforting meals of the castle whilst out in the field again. If it was one thing I wasn’t looking forward to, it was more field rations…
Perhaps someone at the Graves camp would know how to cook Brigham’s beans?
It was doubtful, but one could hope.
We had just started on the cake when Lea finally asked me if I needed any last-minute assistance from her. Departure would be quite early the following morning, and it was unlikely my handmaid would be able to catch me in time due to helping Cook get ready for breakfast. Maxwell apparently preferred to leave so early that many of the servants who were not involved with meal preparation weren’t even awake yet.
I knew then I was going to be in for a long day on the morrow…
Glancing around my room, I shook my head, a bite poised on my fork, “I don’t think so. I won’t need help with my armor this time, and everything else appears to be ready. It’s just a matter of getting myself out of bed in time.”
Lea smirked. “Knowing you, you won’t even be able to sleep tonight, so that should hardly be a problem.”
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”
Dessert was finished in relative silence, then, though Cocoa did look up at me with pleading eyes as I came to the final bites of cake on my plate. When I refused to let him partake, the little nug turned to Lea with an equally-hopeful look, only to be met with disappointment. The way he absolutely pouted afterwards was almost heartbreaking, even though I knew it was best for his health to stay away from people food – especially sugary people food.
“Well then,” Lea at last said with a sigh, standing as she began to collect our empty dishes and arrange them on her serving tray to return to the kitchens, “I have to say that we’ll sure miss you while you’re gone. Won’t we, Nina?” she asked the raven with a smile.
Glancing the bird’s way, I could have sworn Nina gave a shrug of indifference along with her typical harsh caw.
Lea shook her head and smiled wider at that, returning her attention to me. “We’ll keep everything in order for you, as always. Do write us about your progress, though. I think regular correspondence makes everyone sleep a little easier at night.”
Mirroring the elf’s expression, I replied with a nod, “I’ll certainly try.”
“Good. If I don’t make it here to see you off before you leave,” she put one hand on my shoulder and squeezed, “then I pray the Maker grants you a safe journey, Tamsyn. May you find the peace you seek.”
“Thank you, Lea. And may he continue to watch over Skyhold.”
With that, my handmaid departed, quietly ducking out of the room and closing the door behind her.
------------------------------------------------------
Luckily, the Inquisitor and his companions traveled much faster than the army had been able to on the march, making the journey to the Emerald Graves a surprisingly swift affair despite the muddy conditions of the roads and a dozen of Cullen’s horsemen tailing us.
As planned, we departed the castle at dawn the next day, the first day of Cloudreach. Though I had hoped that Cullen might have been able to send us off, allowing us to officially say goodbye to each other for now, it seemed that it was too early even for the light-sleeping Commander. I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed, even though I knew the schedule could not be altered if Maxwell wanted to reach Blackwall in time.
And for the first time, I noted, I was venturing afield not atop a horse, but a hart.
Falon was an obviously energetic but still obedient steed, keeping pace with the rest of the party’s mounts without much encouragement from me; in fact, I had to hold him back a little bit to keep him from charging ahead of Maxwell’s Snowfoot, much to the Inquisitor’s amusement. I realized, then, as the hart cantered eagerly down the snowy mountainside with his usual bouncy gait, that even he would likely enjoy this little jaunt into new territory. No doubt he would feel far more at home in the forests of the Graves than he did amongst the rocky snow-clad peaks of the Frostbacks.
Thankfully, by the time we reached the tree line, the hart’s excitement had died down a little, and he settled amicably into his smoother, long-striding trot.
Travel during that first day was fairly quiet, likely in large part due to the contingent of soldiers with us, although the companions did speculate a bit on what Blackwall might have been up to by pulling such a stunt as he had. Vivienne seemed to think he was merely playing at being a hero, having been robbed of his idols in the Grey Wardens after the events of Adamant and desperate to make up for the loss, somehow. Cassandra, on the other hand, sensed there was far more to the matter than there appeared to be on surface level – and despite the fact I couldn’t tell her so, I knew she was more correct than she realized. Sera, then, in defense of her crude-humored comrade, struck back at any perceived criticisms from both the Knight-Enchanter and the Seeker with her usual sharp (if somewhat nonsensical) tongue, which then spurred a word of warning from Maxwell to cut it out and to refrain from passing judgment until they reached the capital.
All fell silent after that.
By the second day of the journey, as suspected, my monthly cycle struck, making getting up early again a difficult thing to manage. Still, I couldn’t afford to hold back our progress, and so I forcibly shoved aside the zombie-like feeling that had overtaken my body and rose before dawn again at Cassandra’s prompting without complaint, merely downing an elfroot tonic and biting back the pain until the potion fully kicked in.
Fortunately for all of us, we managed to push hard enough to make it to the northernmost edge of the Graves by the end of the third day. There, a new Inquisition camp had recently been established, not all that far from where the Greater Mistral made her lair. It wasn’t a very large encampment – just a handful of tents pitched beside one of the many winding gravel paths that served as the roads in this region. Luckily, the soldiers that had come with us had brought their own supplies, and the scouts that had been sent ahead of us merely reported to Maxwell on the situation before vanishing back into the forest.
No threats for miles, they said, which did much to put my mind at ease. That, plus the sheer beauty of the tranquil environment around me, made me feel more relaxed than I had in a long time, despite my feminine condition.
Even with nightfall rapidly approaching, much of the forest around us thus rendered dark and indistinct and the sky a muted deep lavender above, I was almost in awe of my surroundings. The thick canopy above stretched almost impossibly high, every arcing branch in full leaf and almost blotting out what remnants of orange sunlight yet illuminated the landscape. A soft evening breeze, only slightly cool, blew through those trees, bringing with it a faint but sweet scent akin to that of honeysuckle. The moment my feet touched the soft, moss-covered earth, I couldn’t help but close my eyes and breathe that rain-fresh air deeply into my lungs.
As soon as we all dismounted, the soldiers in the camp promptly took care of our company’s steeds, leading them to a small, makeshift corral on the far edge of camp, and we were then directed to the tents that would serve as our sleeping quarters. I would share a tent with Cassandra that night, but was informed it would be private for me after the Inquisitor’s departure, which I much appreciated. Not having to share quarters for the entirety of my stay there would be far better on my overall mood, especially considering my increased noise sensitivity.
And having a better mood meant enjoying myself more.
Supper was a bowl of rabbit stew that had been simmering in the camp pot the whole day. It seemed the rodents were more plentiful than ram in this area and thus were prime fodder for hungry soldiers who tired of their allotted rations of jerky and hardtack. Cassandra and Maxwell ate at the campfire together, but I retreated to the empty tent to eat alone, taking advantage of the temporary privacy while I could get it.
Because the Maker knew I had to take the time to steel myself in preparation for the Seeker’s imminent buzz saw snoring, so I had the strength to endure the rest of the night without strangling her.
Thankfully, it seemed I was so tired from the journey that when I finally curled up on my bedroll and closed my eyes to sleep, I was almost immediately plunged into a deep and dreamless sleep that left me blissfully unaware of Cassandra’s presence.
So unaware, in fact, that I missed Maxwell’s departure entirely.
In fact, it was the camp lieutenant who woke me the next morning, having grown concerned after I slept so late. The lieutenant, a cheerful young man called Royle, was nothing but polite about it, and after ensuring that I hadn’t been late awakening because I was ill, left me to prepare myself for the day in peace until I emerged from the tent at last.
And as I looked around, slowly taking in my surroundings with wide-eyed wonder, I realized that morning in the Graves painted a very different picture than dusk had.
The region most certainly lived up to its name. Everywhere I looked, everything was green. So green, in fact, that it almost made my eyes cross to stare at it too long. Even the bark of the trees and most of the ground around me was some shade of green, whether from moss or grass or lichen. The intense color of this springtime foliage was broken up only by the crimson and charcoal of the tents and the baby-blue sky above.
In short, it was gorgeous. A paradise verging on tropical in its vibrancy.
After I got my bearings, Lieutenant Royle formally introduced himself, and we engaged in a bit of small-talk before he began showing me around the camp. Apparently, this particular campsite had been set up primarily for Professor Frederic’s usage, although it also had a secondary function as a local resource depot. At the Ambassador’s request, after the Inquisitor’s stabilization of the Graves, the camp had been pitched to offer a haven for researchers from the University of Orlais. Now that dragons had been sighted in relatively close proximity, it would serve as Frederic’s base of operations for a while.
Part of me wondered how the University was able to continue field work amidst an ongoing, dangerous, and eternally-changing crisis, but such was Orlais’s way.
Unfortunately, as of the most recent correspondence, it seemed Frederic’s caravan had suffered a few delays on its way from the Approach, likely due to the same torrential rains that had inhibited Blackwall, and so the Professor wouldn’t be making it to the encampment for another three days. It was fine by me, though. I had plenty to occupy my mind while I waited.
Requisitions, among other things.
Unlucky for me, it seemed that the nearly universally-reviled “Dispatch for you, Ser” wasn’t a phrase reserved solely for the Inquisitor’s blessed ears; as one of a handful of people considered the Herald of Andraste’s deputies, it appeared that, with His Worship unavailable to pester, such requests fell to me to review and manage, instead. Thus, even in my attempt to get away from the chaos of castle life, I found myself still subjected to the drudgery of paperwork.
And, much to my chagrin, rock collecting.
It seemed the University just couldn’t get enough rocks to suit them, as they’d put in yet another request for samples of the somewhat-volatile pyrophite and the harder, electricity-conducting everite that were supposedly common in the area. After being shown how to properly locate and chip off samples of these metals for testing, I was given a small pick and a burlap bag and pointed in the direction of the last paltry veins that had been spotted in the area. Apparently, under normal circumstances, this would have been the task of the lowest-ranked soldiers in the camp, but with my presence had brought the need for constant vigilance from the troops that were assigned to my protection, and so I was the only one left with enough time to handle it.
Somehow, I sensed the soldiers didn’t mind the change of pace.
A day later, however, and we received troubling news: the scouts Leliana had sent to reinforce the region had vanished into thin air. The camp messenger reported that they were gone without a trace, with no obvious signs of where they might have disappeared to or how. No blood, no evidence of a struggle anywhere. It was as if they had voluntarily left on their own accord without telling anyone.
Deserters? Cullen had mentioned a hard hit to morale after the Red Templar attack, and that desertions were a very real possibility.
Regardless, it was an unexpected development that left me feeling ill at ease and put the soldiers in the camp on edge. Without those scouts to inform us of what was going on in the general area, we were nearly blind to any imminent threats; those scouts who had already been assigned to the camp were too few in number to keep us up-to-date with frequent reports. Lieutenant Royle sent immediate correspondence to the Nightingale regarding the matter, hoping she would reroute a few of her agents to the camp to make up for the loss and possibly find out what had happened to the missing contingent.
He needn’t have bothered.
The following morning, I had just emerged from my tent and taken a deep lungful of fresh air, planning on reviewing the requisition table, when I noticed something bright red flash out of the corner of my eye amongst the green, far too close for comfort.
A kind of red that didn’t come from Inquisition uniforms.
“Lieutenant?”
Near the horses as he was, though, he wasn’t quite close enough to hear my quiet question of concern.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck, my stomach churning with dread as more slashes of red suddenly manifested all around the camp, materializing one after the other past the thick branches of shrubs and young trees. My hand went reflexively to Heavensent where it rested at my hip, but the overwhelming sense of impending doom prevented me from drawing it as I realized what was happening, my mind working almost faster than I could process the information…
Red Templar Shadows. All around us. Circling the camp. Hemming us in.
Samson had sent assassins.
I should have known. I should have remembered the Shadows well from the assault on the troops, remembered that they were rogues who didn’t have to be dispatched alongside knights to be effective – who could operate perfectly fine on their own without an army at their back.
Cullen almost assuredly had not forgotten it.
I didn’t have time to think about it more, as a split second later, all Hell broke loose.
“What the-”
“Shit!”
The horses screamed. The soldiers cried out in agony as they were hacked to pieces before they could draw their weapons. The whole world became a blur of red and tarnished silver darting everywhere and my eyes had no idea where to look first. In that moment, my body was frozen and my brain locked up as the Commander’s fear had come true, my hand still poised over my belt and unable to draw either weapon or flask to help me.
“Run, Lady Prophetess!”
Lieutenant Royle’s shout pierced through the fog of panic that had enshrouded my mind like a beacon.
I didn’t need to be told twice.
Spinning around, I charged into the empty brush only paces beyond the tent behind me, hoping against hope I could outrun any pursuers who caught sight of me. Perhaps it would have been better to have made a run for Falon, or even to have tried to use another mount to escape, but the last I had glimpsed of my hart, he had already bounded over the makeshift corral fence at the first sign of danger and vanished into the thick greenery beyond.
I could only pray that the creature wouldn’t be caught or killed.
No, the only option now was my own two feet. Sprinting past a Red Templar Shadow that tried to intercept me, I instinctively jumped to dodge the crystal blade swiping at my feet and kept going, stumbling on a root but managing to recover my balance as I went, leaving the losing battle behind me.
The landscape was naught but an emerald blur as my legs pumped faster than I thought was physically possible. I plunged through the thickets and smacked into low-hanging branches as I dodged tree trunks, thin twigs stinging my face when they slapped my skin. Loose stones slid beneath my boots, and holes hidden by layers of dead leaves and other forest debris jarred my knees and ankles as I landed in them. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t pause even for a second. One glance back over my shoulder revealed spatters of blood red amongst the verdant greenery, darting first here and then there with supernatural speed…
They were following me.
Oh, shit…oh, shit shit shit!
The panic returned, urging me on like sharp spurs goading a mount to go faster. My breathing came out in loud gasps as I pushed myself, slashing at branches with my gloved hands as I kept running and running.
If they captured me, the soldiers’ sacrifice would be in vain. If they captured me, it was game over.
That was one thing I could count on.
“Oh, God,” I panted, my lungs on fire. “Oh, Maker…please…”
A shriek erupted from my throat as my ankle suddenly caught on another arched tree root, tripping me and sending me tumbling headlong down a near-vertical hillside I hadn’t anticipated just as it materialized ahead of me. I cried out, then, when I landed full-force on a rock and rolled, losing my hat on impact. There was neither time nor reason to recover it, though, as I slid to the bottom of the decline and scrambled back to my feet, splashing through a small stream and charging onwards through the trees.
Shouting in my wake. A whoosh of air.
They were getting closer, far too close…
The trees were spreading out, now, the bushes parting and becoming sparser. Ahead of me, I could see a gap in the forest, almost as though a ravine cut through the landscape. Heart in my throat, another wave of dread washed over me as I realized I was quickly being cornered. Trapped.
And now I could hear the sounds of heavy hoofbeats accompanying the crashes through the underbrush as someone on horseback now approached me from behind.
I regretted everything, now. Regretted fearing Solas more than Samson. Regretted not heeding Cullen’s words of warning. Regretted the sudden bravery and curiosity that had gotten me in this situation. A situation that now had only one way out.
My lungs burning, I came to a sliding halt at the edge of the cliff and found myself looking down what had to be nearly a hundred feet of sheer rock face plunging straight down into a river. There was no way I could survive such a fall – nothing short of a miracle would save me from breaking every bone in my body including my neck. Yet, it was either that or let the Red Templars capture me.
And I knew which fate I would rather have…
Unfortunately my choice was quite abruptly yanked out from under me even as I closed my eyes and jumped. Somehow, something snatched me backwards by the belt and latched onto my forearm so hard a raw cry burst from my throat with the pain. I twisted around even as I dangled, another agonizing shout tearing through me, but I finally saw what had caught me. The Red Templar horseman had seized me with his crystallized forearm, and even now that monstrously-clawed hand dug into my own limb so tightly it had pierced the skin through my jacket and the leathers underneath, blood running down my arm.
Oh God… Oh God…
He didn’t ask me to hold on. He didn’t ask me to surrender. He merely silently hauled me upwards with more strength than I thought humanly possible, dumping me onto the grass. A winged helm filled my vision, blacking out the sun behind it.
Then a sharp pain burst in the side of my head, and all went black. |
Minute's pass and Sansa doesn't feel Jon is ready to move yet. She thinks he might be in shock; she probably is too, but regardless she just keeps stroking his back, holding him close, her knees going progressively numb from the snow (which she ignores), she'll endure any discomfort for Jon.
It's Jon who pulls back first, eyes wet, but she doesn't say anything, knows he wouldn't want her too, instead she winces, not quite on purpose, but she doesn't hold it in.
"Are you alright?" He asks quickly and Sansa has to smother a smile, Jon always finds it easier to play the saviour.
"Yes" She said, smoothing a hand over his cheek, "Lets go inside" He nods, and she thanks the gods for once that Jon puts her comfort first, she was sure if she'd left him to it, he'd sit in the cold for hours.
But instead, they stand, she tightens his cloak around her, loops her arm through his and leads them out of the Godswood, Jon seems to be purely following her lead, and so she grips him tight and steers them, offering a nod to those they pass but not stopping for anyone. She's quick, single minded, a destination well in mind.
The Godswood was the right place for comfort, but the cold streak in her knows they need to be a touch more practical, and so she steers them to their haven, their … Jons, seat of rule. Their solar.
And besides, the Gods remain silent now. She had almost hoped, upon Jon's revelation they would come to them; what had Jon said before?
'You will hear from us twice more, but not at your call, at ours'
She had hoped this revelation would be the call, but evidently not. Solar it was.
She steers him into there, he's following her a little like a lost puppy, and she knows it must be bad, hell she hasn't even processed it, her mind feels as though its buzzing, but it does have a singular thought – look after Jon.
She knows the only reason she isn't feeling lightheaded is because for once she needs to look after Jon, not the other way around.
It's been months of Jon pulling her close as she cries from nightmares, weeks of Jon holding her hand as she sleeps, of Ghost wrapping around her in front of the fire as she trembles. Jon has seen to it that she is comfortable at home again, that she doesn't feel alone or scared. He's taken care of her when she needed it most.
She remembers just days earlier, upon Bran's return, his words of her wedding, how it had felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest, transporting her soul back to the Capitol where she had suffered so much. Tears had fallen, she had near vomited, and yet Jon, dear Jon had calmed her, had held her, always helped her.
Now it's her turn.
Once they reach the solar, she is quick to dismiss the guards (doesn't need anyone overhearing anything), Ghost is already there, at the door as he often is, and as soon as she commands him to guard, he settles, she knows anyone trying to get in will have to face Ghost first.
She then steers Jon into his seat, pulls hers up opposite him at the desk, reaches into the bottom drawer for a bottle of eye-wateringly strong Northern whisky, pours them both a measure, and then thinks better of it and doubles it before handing Jon the glass.
"Drink" She orders, and Jon, so shocked, so out of it complies with her without a hesitation, sipping the drinks he knows will chase the heat into his belly to jolt him out of this, and she does the same, the harsh sting of it a bit much for her, but the fire it injects into her veins is what she chases.
Jon finishes his in two gulps, and then pours himself another before she's a third through hers. She doesn't fault him though, not after the news he's had, she's had.
Jon. A Targaryen.
Well, now she feels lightheaded.
Another sip of her drink, Jon swallows his down again. Silence. By the time she finishes hers Jon has had three, and then pushes the glass aside. She does the same, but doesn't say a word, the silence almost oppressive, not the comfortable ease they know, but she knows, she knows Jon needs to be the one to speak first, he needs to voice his fears, so she can determine her reassurances.
"I can't be King" He chokes out and she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes, she would of if a spike of fear didn't run through her. Jon is just the type to abdicate over something like this, to stop their … his, rule over something like this. It's not small, but Targaryen or Stark, it shouldn't take him off the Throne.
Nothing should, nothing will if it's up to her.
"Don't be stupid" She may sound harsh, but she knows sometimes Jon needs that, and now ironically is not the time to be gentle. Besides she's not good at being gentle, not anymore.
Maybe Jon is the exception to that, but not now.
"I'm not a Stark" She can see tears mist in his eyes as he speaks, and she has to stop herself running around the desk and bundling him into her arms. She knows Jon doesn't need that, not right now.
He needs her honesty.
"You are to me" She says, as she once had before, and none would doubt the sincerity in her words, even Jon managed a small smile "And besides, no one needs to know"
"Lie?" Jon asks, eyebrow raised, smile gone. He is a far better and easier liar than most Stark men, but it still comes uneasily to him, not like her.
Littlefinger taught her that lies were power, lies were a way to shape the future, vile as the man turned out to be, as she'd always known really, he'd taught her a great deal, and many of his words remained burned into her brain…
'Everyone wants something. And when you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him'
'Life is not a song sweetling. Someday you may learn that, to your sorrow'
'A bag of dragons buys a man's silence for a while, but a well-placed quarrel buys it forever'
'You see the wonders that can be worked with lies and Arbor gold?'
'There is only the game. The game of thrones'
Lessons yes, and ones she still intended to follow. Littlefinger's deceit hadn't dismissed what he'd taught her, if anything it had only made her realise how much she'd need said lessons.
Play the game … as she did, as she would do for the rest of her life. She isn't the type to sit idly by, to see how things fall, not anymore, not ever again, she is a player.
She'll never be so passive as she was as a child, she'll never be that weak. She is the Lady of Winterfell, practically the Queen in the North (for now … not ever), she is Sansa Stark of Winterfell, it is not her role to be passive, and she won't ever be, not again, she is a player.
"Why does anyone need to know?" She asked, dropping her tone to a whisper as though someone could hear.
"We have our honour Sansa" Jon said, and he'd said it before, when he'd disagreed with sneaking, with deceit. In the past it had annoyed her, now she felt fear, deep fear, like ice in her heart. "This… this is too much to hide"
Even when she'd be replaced, when Jon found a Queen in place of her, as horrid as that thought had been, she had been comforted by the fact Jon would still rule, he'd still be a good King, leading them through the dark and winter. But this? The suggestion he revealed to all his heritage? It made her blood turn cold.
Would the Northerners accept him?
'It's the dragons we bowed to, and the dragons are dead' They had proclaimed as they'd put a crown on Jon's head … would they still support him when they knew not only were the dragons alive, but they had crowned one?
She didn't know, but as she looked at Jon, his gaze now on the fire, the flames dancing, she knew she'd have to make them. A lie here, a falsehood there he could do, but he was too much like a Stark to sustain one, to char his honour, it would have annoyed her, if she didn't' love him for it.
But she had less scruples now, and as she looked at him, at Jon, she knew she'd protect him, she'd make them accept him as their King.
Targaryen, Stark, Snow, she realised then, it didn't matter to her, Jon was her King, and that was what she would defend. He wouldn't accept her plan, of simply keep quiet, and she had known really that he wouldn't, he was too Stark for that, annoyingly, and so she'd have to find another way, she would.
Jon was her King, always, she'd make sure of it.
And the thought that echoed in her head, about his Queen, about how she wasn't quite ready to replace, that was easy to ignore … for now.
The cold air was foreign to her now, and she didn't quite know what to make of that.
The snow was thick here, heavy, so different to navigating the streets and canals of Essos. The House of Black and White had stood on towering steps, in air that had smelt of salt, here was completely different. Here was home.
Home for Arya Stark, no one had no home.
Even blind she'd recognised the streets of Bravos, she had dipped around the walls, had tracked the paths into the market and out, had scurried up a wall and then known her way back without checking. She had come to know the City like it was her home, like she could see and memorise every inch of it.
She didn't recognise here, not anymore, not really, and yet her heart fell full for the first time since leaving.
She nudged her horse forward, as Winterfell came into view, a smile cracked her lips, such a strange thing to her now; smiling, it ached, but it felt right whilst overlooking the great Castle of the North.
She could see the Stark banner in the distance, the flag flying high over the top tower; what she'd heard was true.
'A Stark must always be in Winterfell'
And now there was again. In her home, Arya Stark's home.
Arya Stark had grown up here, running on the walls with her brother Bran, tumbling in the snow with her other brothers Robb and Jon, throwing snowballs at her sister Sansa. Arya had ran away from guards, laughed at her brother Rickon, fallen asleep in her Fathers arms and been hugged by her Mother. Arya Stark had known love, and happiness here.
Until it had all been ripped away.
No one did not feel those things, no one felt very little but the thirst for her vengeance, to give the black god his due.
'What do we say to the god of death?'
Her list, that was no one's priority, and as she nudged the horse forward, down the snow covered hills to Winterfell, she recited it in her head.
'Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei. Dunsen, Poliver, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Gregor and the Tickler. And the Hound, the Hound, the Hound'
Her list could wait, for a little while, but the black god would have what was his. No one would return, in time.
There was no choice on that front, and she did entertain, what would be her choice if she had one? She knew she couldn't go back, she'd never be just Arya Stark ever again, and yet … could she be no one completely?
Needle swung at her hip, the proof of what she'd never been able to let go of. And what happened when she saw Jon? Sansa? Would she be able to go back?
She didn't have a choice, not really, Jaquen's words echoed in her head again.
'Complete your list little one, but then you come back'
No choice, and if she did have it, she knew it wouldn't be one or the other; Winterfell or the House of Black and White, Needle or the faces, Arya or no one. It would be both, which was impossible. Life often felt impossible.
But for now, Arya Stark continued on, the coldness in her lungs settling, her Stark blood acclimatising back to the North with ease, the ache in her cheeks from a foreign smile calming, the snow falling almost like it was welcoming her.
Well, this was her home.
And so, she drew up her hood and urged her horse forward, to the gates of Winterfell. Home.
Arya Stark's home.
'You could turn Kings Landing upside down and not find a single man with a mockingbird sewn over his heart, but that does not mean I am friendless'
That was true of many places.
Fleeing Winterfell had been inevitable once the Gods and their trickery had returned the Stark's to Winterfell. He wasn't even convinced it was real, how could it be? He didn't trust godly men, nor the Gods themselves if they did even exist, and yet regardless of whether it was a ploy, a trick, or the truth, he had known he'd need to run.
And run he had, with his loyal contingent of soldiers at his back. He knew taking the men of the Vale would be impossible, Sansa would have revealed his deceit by now, he felt oddly proud, if not for the anger bubbling inside of him.
He'd taught her everything, how to lie, to cheat, to smile with pretty words and sway a man, and it had all been for nought.
He had seen the way she looked at her brother, had sensed what was between them. He pitied her, she had clearly not learnt enough from him, to be taken in by such a fool, a fool who'd see her sit by his side but never as an equal.
Petyr would have made her his equal.
He still could.
It was far from over; he was known for his scheming for a reason, his reputation was the one thing that hadn't been build on falsehoods. He had plans from the letter A all the way down to Z and then back again. Eddard Stark returning complicated things yes, as well as the Stark whelps, and Cat …
He wasn't surprised to feel less for her now, she'd made her choice, and yet so had Sansa.
And yet, Cat had chosen clearly, Sansa he wouldn't be surprised had been fooled, she was hardly the player he was, not yet, but in time she could be, he'd help her, he'd forgive her, and he'd ensure she wasn't wasted rotting in the North, ruling for her brother but never receiving her due credit.
She couldn't be happy there, he was sure of it, he could make her happy, would make her happy.
He had plans, many following, and as he rode through the snow, more than ready to leave the blasted North, approaching the coast of Ramsgate where few would be looking for him, and where he knew their Lady was at Winterfell, he'd get a boat down South, to the Vale and recoup from there, his mind whirled.
No, this wasn't the end for him, nor his future with Sansa or what he had planned for them.
'With you sitting by my side…'
With a smirk he nodded to his men to continue on, to his homeland, and back to the drawing board. |
Gabriel spent the following few weeks constantly looking over his shoulder. Most of the time Sandalphon was there, in the corner of his eye, smiling or giving him a wave. He came around often, helping with paperwork or dragging him for a walk around Heaven, so Gabriel could stretch his legs.
Gabriel didn’t resist him. He was scared that any wrong word or action would bring back the violent Sandalphon, that it would make the dream real. This way it almost seemed that everything was back to normal, with Sandalphon being attentive and giving Gabriel badly chosen but well-meaning articles of clothing.
Maybe Gabriel really was losing his mind. If he was behind in paperwork before, his work has slowed to a crawl now.
Even Uriel sook him out for it after weeks where he saw them only in passing.
“Is everything alright with you?”
“What do you mean by that?” Gabriel tried to avoid answering.
Uriel put their hands on their hips and sighed. “You are really behind your work, even with Sandalphon’s help - yes, I know he has been helping you, I can recognize his handwriting - and you seem distracted last,” Uriel thought back, “last few weeks.”
“And how would you know that? We barely talked these last few weeks.” the bitterness crept into Gabriel’s voice.
“Don’t be like that. We have all been awfully busy since the Armageddon. And every time I see you, you are hanging off Sandalphon’s arm anyway. I have no intention to come between you two love bird, I am not interested in being a third wing. And don’t think you are avoiding my question.”
“Maybe I am a bit tired,” admitted Gabriel.
“It’s more than that. Do you know that you have sent agents to the wrong Cambridge? You are starting to make mistakes, Gabriel, and it may hurt someone.”
“It’s not my fault humans have to give the same name to two different things. It’s like if there were two Gabriels. That would get confusing really quickly.”
“Sometimes I have a feeling there are two different Gabriels,” muttered Uriel. “This,” they waved their hand in his direction, “when you don’t even seem to be here. And then when I see you when you are with Sandalphon. You look like you might burst out of your corporation then. You aren’t so mad for him that you can’t devote any attention to the rest of us, imperfect creatures, right? Not that there's anything wrong with being in love.”
There was a brief moment when Gabriel almost poured his heart to Uriel. Then he imagined their face if he told them that Sandalphon had beaten him, but he wasn't even sure if it was real or just a dream. Or if he complained that Sandalphon loved him so much he wanted to spend all his time with him and it got on Gabriel’s nerves. Uriel would probably laugh at him or they would drag him to Phanuel to have his mind examined. And then there would be talk, and Gabriel would be once again exposed to disapproving stares. So he swallowed his grievances and gave Uriel a weak smile.
“You know me and Sandalphon, we can’t be without each other. He really helps me with all of this. I don’t know what would I do without him.”
“Probably suffered a mental breakdown,” said Uriel drily. “Seriously, though. If you are so stressed, have you considered a vacation? I heard that humans swear by that.”
“Vacation?” The word sounded truly horrendous. Did it have anything to do with emptying something? Maybe it was some barbaric human medical practice. Gabriel heard they even removed half of the people’s brains to cure them of various diseases.
“Apparently you don’t go to work for several days in a row.”
“And do what?!”
“Relax? Go on a trip? You and Sandalphon could go to visit Triangulum Galaxy, or just laze about.”
The idea of not being able to spend at least a few hours in his office while his and Sandalphon’s work hours coincided filled Gabriel with inexplicable panic. As it went, Sandalphon spent significant time here already, he even claimed a side of Gabriel’s desk.
“Thanks, I think it isn’t for me.”
“Well, still, think about it.”
Two days after his conversation with Uriel, Sandalphon made all his fears come true and struck him again. It’s banal thing that set him off. Gabriel’s miracles didn’t really stop misbehaving. It was actually getting worse, not that Gabriel confessed that to anyone. Gabriel decided to iron the wrinkles out of his lavender suit. It was one of the articles of clothing that survived the purge during the move to new quarters. Sandalphon got him plenty of new clothes since then of course, but there was always something off about them - either they were the wrong style or they just weren’t tailored directly to his body and didn’t fit that well. As a result, Gabriel’s original suits got more wear and tear than usual.
Unfortunately, the miracle didn’t work as intended. Instead of the suit turning clean and freshly pressed, there was a cracking sound. One of the axes mounted on the wall (for decoration, Sandalphon claimed) flew off, barely missed Gabriel’s face and wedged itself on the opposing wall, where Sandalphon hung a huge shield he used in the War. It cracked and dropped to the floor in two halves. Gabriel stared at Sandalphon, clutching the jacket nervously. Sandalphon stared at Gabriel.
“What was that?” he shouted.
Gabriel cringed. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Sandalphon seethed and backhanded Gabriel across the face so hard he heard his nose crack. Blood gushed down his face and onto his jacket.
“You didn’t mean? Like I believe that! Don’t think I didn’t notice that you hate having my things around. Well, guess what?!” Sandalphon ripped the suit out of Gabriel’s hands, shredding it.
“Don’t,” Gabriel shouted, on the verge of tears. He realized, quite belatedly, that it was not only one of his remaining suits but one of his remaining possession at all. Somehow, without Gabriel really noticing, Sandalphon persuaded him to get rid of most of his things. He jumped after Sandalphon but he only shoved him and he ended up on his bum. Sandalphon finished destroying the suit and vanished it with a sneer.
“Are you going to cry over a suit?” Sandalphon rolled his eyes at him. “You really are a weakling.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
Sandalphon raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright. I clearly upset you. But Gabby, you upset me first. You didn’t have to destroy my shield first.”
“I didn’t want to. It was an accident with a miracle.”
Sandalphon tutted. “Do you really believe that I am so stupid? You are an archangel and you can’t perform a simple miracle? Hmmm?”
“It’s true,” said Gabriel with a swallow. “It’s happening for a while, I don’t know why.”
“My, Gabriel, are you telling me you can’t really do miracles? I thought that the thing with the tablet was a one-time thing.”
Gabriel nodded miserably. “Thing
Sandalphon crouched by his side gathered him into his arms. “My love, why didn’t you tell me. I would have helped you.”
“I was scared.”
“Scared?” Sandalphon released him and shook him. “You make me scared. You could have been seriously hurt. You should have told me at once and not to use miracles at all, until we find the cause of this. You should have your aura examined at the very least. ”
“No! You can’t tell anybody!” Gabriel cried, grabbing Sandalphon by the lapels of his own suit. “Promise me you won’t tell anybody. Other angels can’t know this.”
“Why? They could help you.” Sandalphon tried his best to sound reasonable.
Gabriel swallowed and avoided Sandalphon’s eyes. But the thing about Sandalphon was that he could read him very easily, almost as if he had the ability to read his mind.
“You think that the Almighty is doing it to punish you?” Gabriel didn’t dare voice this thought, always pushing it to the back of his mind. Hearing it said aloud like this stung. But what Sandalphon said was the truth.
“What another logical explanation is there? Have you ever heard about the angel who couldn’t do miracles properly? Even Aziraphale can still snap his fingers and warm his gross matter, even after all that he had done.”
“I’ve never heard about that, you are right, the only angels who were close…” Sandalphon stumbled over his words.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Sandalphon patted him on the head. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
But Gabriel was not as stupid as many of his coworkers took him for. “You were going to say falling, right? The only angels who had problems were angels who later became demons, as they lost their connection to the Almighty and started to draw their power from Hell.” Gabriel’s voice was close to hysterical.
“I am sure that’s not going to happen, Gabby. You were always her favourite.”
So was Lucifer, thought Gabriel dumbly, and look where it got him.
“But why me? I haven’t done anything to deserve it!”
“Well, perhaps She is angry about the Armageddon? It doesn’t matter Gabriel. I guess you will just have to be extra good. Starting with not destroying other people’s property, yes?”
Gabriel lowered his head. “I am sorry about your shield. I know it was important to you.”
“Apology accepted. Just don’t do it again. You know I don’t like it when I have to hit you. Now let me heal that for you. We don’t want you to attempt it on your own, you could fry your own brain.”
After that, the incidents of Sandalphon striking Gabriel become more frequent as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Gabriel tried to hardest not to do anything that that would have aggravated Sandalphon, but he still managed to mess up frequently. Sandalphon flew into a rage over the most unexpected things. Half the time Gabriel didn’t even know that he had done something wrong until a fist flew into his face or he got kicked into the stomach. Once Sandalphon had hit him for being sullen when he invited his friends over once again and Gabriel barely acknowledged them. Another time he slapped him because his effort just couldn’t get aroused.
Yes, the effort was something he had now, giving in to Sandalphon’s constant pressure. It didn’t help much. Sandalphon kept pushing for more and more, going from hands to mouth and Gabriel knew it was only a matter of time until he asked him to fuck him in the ass or make a little pink vulva. Gabriel knew a lot about sex now. It turned out that the boxes, allegedly for work, that Sandalphon moved in, were full of pornography. Sandalphon claimed he possessed them to keep track of human depravities and perversions. It made Gabriel feel mortified when he realized what he said back in Aziraphale’s bookshop. Sandalphon kept showing them to Gabriel, suggesting what size and shape effort he thought he should manifest. Not that any of that mattered because hardly ever Gabriel managed to get it to work, inviting only mocking from his lover that he was impotent both in miracles and in bed.
The time he could spend alone in his office was starting to be his only relief and even that came to an end. He got summoned to attend a meeting with the Metatron. Gabriel would lie if he said that he didn’t feel slight apprehension ascending the highest tower of Heavenly city where the Metatron resided, rarely ever leaving it to mingle with the rest of them. Gabriel was the archangel, he had nothing to fear from the Metatron. Technically he unranked them. When the Metatron spoke with the voice of God, their word was more than law. When they spoke for themselves, they were just the Metatron.
“Gabriel, good, good. I am glad you arrived promptly.” the Metatron greeted him once he entered his office. Gabriel frowned. And what did they mean by that?! Gabriel had never been late. Well maybe a few times lately, but he had a lot on his plate.
“I am always eager to hear what the Voice of the Almighty has to say,” said Gabriel, aiming for a pleasant cheery voice, but he couldn’t muster the necessary enthusiasm. He was just tired. He was always tired these days.
“And how are you these days? Congratulations on your relationship with Archangel Sandalphon, by the way. You both must be very happy.”
Gabriel’s mouth twisted into something that might be considered a smile. “We are.”
“Excellent, I am glad you have someone to support you in these trying times.” the Metatron puttered around their office, avoiding looking at Gabriel.
“Sandalphon has been an immense help with my duties,” admitted Gabriel.
“Yes, yes, I heard that you have had some problems with that. Have you considered taking some time off? Stepping back for a while and getting some rest?”
“I don’t need a rest,” Gabriel assured him, but exhausted rings under his eyes and pale skin undermined his argument. He had spent increased time every morning grooming his appearance, trying to hide his less than perfect state but he still managed to look haggard. Sandalphon’s running commentary that he was letting himself go, and his statements that he was lucky that he loved him because no-one else would have him in this state, didn’t help matters any.
“Actually some leave away from work would do you some good.” said the Metatron. “You should really take it when it’s offered.”
Gabriel felt like his wings stopped working and he was dropping out of the sky straight to Hell. The Metatron were taking their sweet time to get to the core of the matter and such a prevarication was never a good sign. They were up to something and it probably wasn’t anything good. “There is too much work for me just stop working right now.” he said cautiously.
“Gabriel, I heard that your work was so unsatisfactory that you have been more of a hindrance than an asset. I advise you to take this voluntarily and gracefully or you will be forced to do it for everyone to see.”
“Is…” Gabriel licked his lips nervously. He felt his wings flutter in the outside dimension where he kept them for several months. “Is this an order from the Almighty?”
“It has been decided.” said the Metatron sagely.
“Decided by whom?” Gabriel sensed his anger rising. The Metatron was annoyingly vague as usual.
“Your more recent behaviour and actions didn’t go unnoticed.”
“What? What have I done? I was just fulfilling my duties as always. You have no right to...to sack me!” By the last word, Gabriel was almost shouting. The Metatron lifted one of their arms in a conciliatory gesture.
“You are not getting sacked, Gabriel. You are just being given time to get your head back on track. Once you are feeling alright again, you can return back to your regular duties. This is being done for your own good.”
“I don’t need to get my head back on track.”
“Gabriel, I have been hearing disturbing things about you. You are moody and easy to anger, sometimes you have even been violent. And you can’t perform miracles. In the current situation, you are a danger to Heaven and a danger to yourself.”
It must have been Hellfire burning his very soul, there was no other explanation. Only Sandalphon knew about his ongoing troubles with his miracles. And Sandalphon promised not to tell anyone. Sandalphon had betrayed him.
“This is Sandalphon’s doing, isn’t it?” Gabriel couldn’t keep his voice from shaking. “He is turning everybody against me. He took everything and now he is after my job. Don’t you see what he is doing?! He wants to make me into his pet!” by the end of his spiel, he was near hysterical and the Metatron was watching him with wide eyes.
“Dear Lord, he has been right,” they muttered almost silently, but Gabriel could still hear them.
“Right about what? What lies has he told you? That I am foolish little idiot, who can’t even perform a little miracle?! That I am weakling who can’t go anywhere without a chaperone because evil nasty demons would get me?! He has no right to go around and talk about me like this!”
“He said nothing of the sort about you.” said the Metatron soothingly, putting their hands on his shoulders and pushing him into suddenly materialized chair. “He is simply concerned about you. We all are.”
Gabriel felt empty on the inside, cold on the outside and on the verge of crying. “But don’t you see? He is doing this! He wants to destroy me!”
“Gabriel, listen to yourself. Why do you think he wants to destroy you?” Metatron humoured him.
“He...he…” Gabriel hesitated. “He doesn’t let me go where I want to go, do what I want to do! He destroyed my things! He hit me! He hits me all the time!”
The Metatron’s next words sounded cold. “Gabriel, this is a very serious accusation. One that I find very hard to believe.”
“It’s true though! Why don’t you believe me?!”
“Sandalphon is a fellow angel, who was nothing but dedicated and faithful for his whole existence. He wouldn’t be capable of doing something like this. Moreover, he loves you. He’s loved you for ages, the whole Heaven knew about it except for you. He would rather...rather Fall than do something like you said he did.”
“He hit me until I bled!”
The Metatron’s voice was tired and sad. “Gabriel, are you sure that it really happened the way you say?”
Gabriel froze. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, some of your...symptoms include nightmares. You are easily confused. It’s possible your mind is playing tricks on you.”
“What, you say I have just dreamed it all up?”
“It’s more likely than Sandalphon beating you, what was it you said, until you bled.”
“It’s true. It’s true!” the repeating it must get it through the Metatron’s thick skull, right?
“If that’s true, why did you let him?” said the Metatron smugly.
“What?”
“You are both archangels. You want me to believe that he, what, overpowered you? That you didn’t defend yourself?”
The fact was that defending himself didn’t really occur to Gabriel. He was weak and incompetent. He had no chance against Sandalphon. He always handed him his ass on the training yard, right? “He is stronger than me,” grumbled Gabriel. I can’t stop him.”
“Gabriel, if what you say was the truth, do you think the Almighty would tolerate such behaviour from one of her angels? No, it just proves everything we feared. You aren’t in the right state of mind.”
“The Almighty...she approves of this?”
“Nothing’s happening at all. It’s just in your head. The Almighty was very happy when you Gabriel and Sandalphon found love in each other.”
“You spoke to Her about it?” asked Gabriel in a small voice. He was jealous. He didn’t get to speak to God in person for six hundred thirty-seven years, two months, one week and four days. Not that he counted. He wasn’t some desperate little boy waiting for his mother to give him scraps of affection. Still, if She cared about it why didn’t She told him, instead of gossiping about his personal life with the Metatron? “Can I speak to Her? Maybe She can explain it.”
“You know it doesn’t work like this.”
“But I need to know. Why my miracles don’t work for me? What did I do wrong?”
“She didn’t tell me anything. She must have Her own reasons She will reveal in time.”
“But…”
“I think I told you everything I was meant to. Go back home. Spend some time with Sandalphon, see that he truly loves you. What’s happening to you is hurting him. Do some soul searching, get some help.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” The Metatron lead him out of his doors.
Gabriel left, his legs walking on their own. He felt as if he had just Fallen and he was plummeting towards Hell. There must have been something in his face or in the way he carried himself; all the angels he encountered kept clear of him. He arrived at one of the major junctions in Heaven. The right side would lead him to the part of the city where his and Sandalphon’s personal quarters were located. The left side lead to the Gates. Gabriel stood there for what must have been an eternity. Then he turned to the left.
Gabriel felt immense relief when he left the escalator that brought him to Earth. The guards let him out without a comment. He was still the Archangel, he had the right to go as he pleased and Sandalphon couldn’t order them to stop them. The realization of that was liberating.
Gabriel didn’t even know where he had gone, just some random city on Earth. It was already late spring. With his life revolving around Sandalphon he didn’t notice that so much time had already passed. The air was filled with energy and smelled of newborn life. Trees and flowers were in the full bloom. Gabriel soaked it all in, wandering around city, feeling invigorated.
But as the night fell he really didn’t know what to do with himself. He never visited Earth without a goal, whether it was a mission for Heaven or when he wanted to get a new suit or he went for a run. Now he had no purpose and he felt at a loss. By the time the night fell, Gabriel found himself in a little park by the side of the river, sitting on a bench. He watched swans swimming by the banks and the boats filled with people going up and down the river.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep because a hand shaking his shoulder woke him up. Gabriel blinked confusedly. Belatedly he realized that without his miracles he was vulnerable, unable to defend himself against any random human criminal or worse, demons.
But the human-shaped being above him weren’t humans or demons. “Archangel Gabriel?” Gabriel straightened to look into the angel’s concerned face. He recognized him as Kushiel. “We are here to take you home.”
“No.” Gabriel choked over the lump in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Please, Gabriel, come with us.” said the second angel, Gabriel was certain he was called Zachariel.
“I’m not going with you anywhere!”
Both angels put their hands on arms, restraining him and keeping him from fleeing. Their grip wasn’t painful but it was firm. When Gabriel started to pull away from them, they grew only stronger. “Please, don’t resist. We aren’t going to hurt you.” Zachariel assured him.
Tears filled his eyes. He tried pleading with his two captors. “Please, I can’t go back. He is going to be angry.”
Kushiel’s tone was reassuring. “No-one is going to be angry. Everybody is very worried about you.”
“No, you don’t understand. Sandalphon will kill me this time.” Gabriel sobbed.
“You are not well,” said Zachariel. “Please, just let us bring you back. They will help you to get better.”
“No, no.” Gabriel trashed against the angels, but no matter how hard and desperately he tried, they didn’t let him go. His heart hammered in his chest so furiously it was actually painful. He shouldn’t need to breathe yet he felt as if he was suffocating. His vision narrowed and he could hear drumming in his head. The pain only intensified the closer they got to the hidden entrance to Heaven. He gave a painful moan and curled up on himself, almost collapsing in the Kushiel’s and Zachariel’s arms.
“Are you alright?” Kushiel sounded almost panicked.
“Lord, he is shaking like a feather in the hurricane.” Zachariel put his hand on his trembling back. The two angels exchanged a distressed look over his crumpled figure. “We better take him straight to the infirmary.”
Gabriel tried to jerk away when Kushiel started lifting him. But his body was numb, it didn’t listen to his commands at all. The two angels carried him to Heaven, using miracles to speed up their movements and making humans that lingered on the streets even in this time of the night, not to notice.
“Don’t worry,” murmured Kushiel as they boarded the escalator back up. Gabriel wanted to scream but there was something lodged in his throat. “You will be alright.” |
A hole was burning through the door where Magnus’s gaze rested, piercing into the wood like the needles in his heart. It had begun gradually, the sting in his chest. The longer he thought through what he did remember, the more unsteady he felt. He didn’t know how long he sat there, at the edge of his bed, one leg hanging off, his foot pressed against the floor; as though he was ready to stand, but he wasn’t strong enough to do so.
His hand gripped the sheet. Letting his emotions overwhelm him would be dangerous. Control over the energy within him was something he had gained a long time ago. He had lost part of that control along the way. He was on the edge of it, ready to slip off. To give in.
He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He was stronger than that. He was better than that.
Finally, after minutes or what could have been hours, he rose from the edge and walked to the door, placing his hand on cold smoothed wood. He felt a chill go through his body, and he wondered if the room was cold or if his body was overheated, his skin pulsing with fire under the surface. He wondered if the fire was still in his hands, invisible. Even more dangerous.
His hand moved to even colder metal. He opened the door and walked down the hallway slowly, each step cautious and quiet. The lights were off, only the gentle glow of the sun peeking over the horizon, not yet passing over the lowest buildings. He could imagine purple fading to orange, a beautiful sight he had seen many times before and would never forget.
When he entered the living room and saw Alec laying on the couch, his face softened in his slumber, shielded by the glow of morning from the sofa’s back, Magnus realized that that of which was beautiful and left him in awe was not immune to being forgotten.
His feet led him closer, and only for a moment did he note the absurdity of a shadowhunter on his couch, sleeping. Catarina was nowhere in sight, and perhaps he should have wondered why. But he couldn’t bother to as he stared. His feet had led him to the sofa’s edge. Alec slept with his head on the arm of the couch and his feet almost dangled off the other side. Both of his hands were folded together on his stomach, which was partly exposed, his shirt having rided up his side from shifting.
He kneeled down. Maybe if Alec hadn’t managed to look so innocent and breathtaking in his sleep, Magnus would have shoved him off the couch and demanded answers after threatening to take a foot off the young man’s height.
Alec had looked so troubled when Magnus woke up, and now he looked calm and relieved, no longer pushing his body to move and his mind to stay awake. He reached out a hand and hovered it over Alec’s cheeks, his eyes, his lips.
What if the fire was still there, tangled with his fingers, licking his palm, but invisible? What if Alec had been that fire, invisible to Magnus, but always there, burning through his skin, into his mind?
After a long moment where his breath had been held and his hand was hovered over bitten lips, he touched those lips, and they were soft as he always knew they were. His fingers skimmed over cheeks and touched dark circles under resting eyes, eyes framed with long lashes that spoke of innocence but argued with sharp lines and scars that spoke of battle and growing wisdom.
Alec’s chest moved up and down slowly. Magnus saw, from the corner of his eye, a dark line peeking out of his shirt. His gaze shifted and he spotted the rune that stretched from below the neckline, across his neck to the space under his chin, stretching across his jaw. His hand moved down to trace that rune. Goosebumps rose when he did and suddenly Alec took a deep breath.
When Magnus looked up, Alec was staring back at him.
Alec was a light sleeper. He was taught to be. If ever came the time where he had to go on a long mission, he needed to be alert at all times. He had to be able to react to any sound, no matter how quiet. The sounds could not escape his notice, not even in sleep.
He should have woken up when Magnus’s steps made the wooden floor creak, if they had at all. He should have woken up when Magnus’s fingers skimmed over his face in gentle caresses. But Alec had never felt in danger when close to Magnus, at least not because of him. Even when his mind told him to be cautious, to never dismiss a slight change in Magnus’s mood or a twitch in his fingers, his heart reached out to Magnus and begged his body to respond. It was only when those fingers touched his neck that he awoke, feeling the slight, pleasant chill where his skin was especially sensitive.
Magnus was gold in the sunlight. Alec laid sheltered from it, admiring what he saw before him. The sun was rising and so were his hopes when he saw the look in Magnus’s eyes, a look he had seen before. The one that made him feel special.
Magnus pulled his hand away, tucking it under his arm.
“Forgive me. You looked dead, so I was checking for a pulse.”
Alec blinked and opened his mouth but said nothing. Magnus’s face was devoid of makeup, wiped off with a warm cloth by Alec while he had been asleep. Magnus looked younger because of it, and slightly vulnerable.
“Why are you on my couch?”
Alec sat up then, his bones aching from his long held position.
“I was asleep.” He started rubbing his neck, both from the need to soothe the ache there and because of the awkward position he found himself in.
Magnus’s eyes had narrowed. “Obviously. On my couch?”
“Where else?”
“My instinct is to reply with ‘my bed’, but I’m not in the mood for that kind of talk.”
Magnus moved off the floor and sat on the couch, inches away from Alec. Alec sighed and rubbed his neck again, sitting up straighter. He almost dreaded to find out what it was Magnus did want to talk about.
Magnus was silent for a long moment. Alec looked at him and waited, unsure of what to do.
“So,” Magnus finally said, crossing his arms over his chest,” you’ve been lying to me.”
Anxiety filled Alec’s chest, something he hadn’t been prepared for. How would he explain that he was only doing what seemed best for Magnus at the time? Surely Magnus didn’t think Alec wanted to lie to him. There were moments where the truth had almost slipped off his tongue in what Alec had thought were innocent words, until he had realized they would give him away.
Magnus continued. “You knew me before that night in Pandemonium. Did you...have you been drugging me too?”
Alec said nothing.
Magnus nodded and looked at Alec, meeting his eyes. The sudden eye contact almost startled Alec, with everything being said and the harshness he saw in brown irises that almost flashed with green.
“And exactly what gave you that right?”
By the angel. “Magnus-”
Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “Who were you?”
Alec was stupefied. “What?”
“Who were you to me?”
Were. That word stung in his chest. “I...we…” He couldn’t speak.
Magnus looked at him carefully now. Alec could feel him follow each syllable that escaped in a stutter, the expression on Alec’s face. Magnus looked away and took a deep breath, and Alec stopped trying to speak because Magnus knew, just as he always seemed to.
“So that night after Per Se wasn’t our first kiss, huh.” It wasn’t a real question, nor was it something Alec expected Magnus to say. He shook his head in reply, nevertheless.
Magnus took another deep breath and Alec noticed his shoulders had tensed while his eyes glazed for a moment, staring off into the distance. Then he looked at Alec and focused his eyes there.
“You said you were sorry. Why?”
Alec thought back and almost cringed when he remembered how Magnus had looked in the middle of that warehouse, his pain expressed in the way everything moved around him, visible in the words he spoke.
Magnus had looked as though he hated the world. Alec hated it too, seeing the cracks on Magnus’s skin. He felt the ghost of the tear that had fallen down his face. Brought out with the thought of how Magnus looked like a king who had fallen off his throne.
No, Magnus couldn’t fall. He had been pushed, and even if Alec hadn’t been the hands to push him, he hadn’t been there in time to stop it.
“I don’t like seeing you in pain.” He finally said. They were the only words that hadn’t come out in a stutter. Alec wondered if Magnus would ask him exactly what had happened then.
Another flash of green. Alec wondered if that meant Magnus was losing control. Before he could think too much of it, Magnus looked away, staring at the wall and then up at the ceiling.
Is he struggling? Alec asked himself. He didn’t want that. He should say something, anything.
“I’ll be honest,” Magnus began with his lips slightly pursed,” when I asked you to be my boyfriend, I was very nervous. It would have been nice to know we were already dating. Save me the pain.”
It wasn’t unlike Magnus to use sarcasm and humor in these situations. It had taken Alec a moment to adjust to the change, but then he scoffed. “Yeah? And how would that have worked? ‘Hi, my name’s Alec. I’m your boyfriend.’”
“I don’t see why not. Would have been a dream come true. ‘Whatever you say, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.’”
Alec couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. Magnus’s lips twisted into a small smile pointed at the ceiling, and then at Alec. It was amazing how quickly Magnus could make him laugh no matter how he felt.
“I doubt it would have been that easy. And you seemed happy when I said yes.”
“Still.”
“I was nervous too.” He found himself saying.
Magnus’s eyebrow raised. “When I asked you?”
Alec shook his head. “When I asked you .”
Magnus looked bewildered for a moment, searching Alec’s face. He looked down at his hands then, clenching and unclenching one of them. He was very focused on that one. Alec wondered what would happen if he reached out and held that hand.
“I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”
Alec reached out his hand and touched Magnus’s wrist. “No, I didn’t - it’s not your fault.”
Magnus looked at Alec’s hand. “It’s not your fault either.”
"You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Alec shook his head. “Then who’s fault is it?”
Magnus shrugged and curled his fingers up, brushing them against the rune on Alec’s hand. “I’m sure bad things happen to beautiful bisexual men everyday.”
Alec sighed and placed his face in his unoccupied hand. “You’re awful.”
"Awful, beautiful bisexual men, then.” Magnus turned his hand and trailed his fingers across Alec’s wrist, halfway up his forearm and then back. Something he had always done, without a thought. It was just another echo of the past Alec noted with affection.
Magnus brought his hand up and tapped Alec’s palm. “I’m still angry. And upset. And confused. Just not so much at you, I think. You didn’t have much control over the situation. I understand that.”
Magnus paused for a moment before meeting Alec’s eyes, and they were searching again. “You could tell me.”
Alec was entranced by green and gold. “Tell you what?”
“What I’ve forgotten.”
Alec hesitated. “Magnus, we don’t know-”
“If I’ll get triggered? Isn’t that what we want?”
Alec shook his head. “Why would we want that?”
“So that I’ll remember.” Magnus leaned forward, insistent.
“Magnus, it’s barely been a day. You need time to adjust.”
“Alexander.” Magnus said softly, causing strings to pull at his heart. Magnus’s eyes showed desperation and frustration in their depths. The soft voicing of his name from Magnus’s lips was almost enough to make him give Magnus anything he wanted. The only thing that stopped him was the need to make sure Magnus would be okay.
“Give it a week, okay? Then I’ll tell you...something.”
Magnus looked unimpressed. “Something?”
“What do you want to know?”
Magnus looked off to the side, thinking.
“I wouldn’t really know, would I?” He said, more to himself than Alec.
No, he wouldn’t. Magnus knew they were romantically involved before that night in Pandemonium, but he didn’t understand the depth of what it had been. Magnus didn’t know about the moments that had softened the shell Alec had formed around his heart, the moments that had torn down Magnus’s walls. He didn’t know about the secrets they had shared, the confessions they had made.
He didn’t know how extraordinarily in love they had been.
“Give it a week, okay? Then I’ll...take you out. And I’ll tell you…”
Magnus waited, one eyebrow raised.
“...a story.”
Magnus nodded his head once, slowly. “A story. About what?”
The sun was higher now, and the image of a golden heart with his name inside flashed across his mind. He took a deep breath, then answered.
“Us.”
|
Alec has never been a nerd. He liked his history books and he got good grades in school but nobody ever called him a nerd. In fact, one might even say he was a jock. In high school, Alec had been captain of the football team, the quarterback who never missed.
If anyone in their family was a nerd, that would be Izzy and even that was somewhat inaccurate. Sure, Izzy had always had a fascination for biology as a whole, but the fact remained that she was very much Idris High’s queen bee. Alec had been out of high school for two years now and he still heard from his childhood friends how his sister ruled the corridors with a sharp smile and a poignant glance. And then there was Jace, who by all means was considered the bad boy. Charming and unapologetic, Jace was the very last thing one would think of when imagining a nerd.
That was why Alec couldn’t fathom the reason they were on their way to laser tag with the school’s biggest nerds, Clary Fray and Simon Lewis. Why the hell were they even friends with his siblings? And why the hell was Alec going along with this nonsense?
But mostly, who the hell was that gorgeous guy smirking at him as they all got ready to a make-believe war?
“It’s going to be fun. It’s us against them,” Isabelle said and gestured towards the guy and his group of friends. They were all older than them, which would be lame if they didn’t look so glamorous. “First team to take out everyone from the other team wins.”
“That would be us,” the guy purred, eyes still on Alec. “But I’ll give you a fighting chance, pretty boy.”
Alec was more than used to opponents trying to mess with him. He still played for college and that was brutal in comparison to high school. Years of practice had taught him to never let they get to him, never let them get them under his skin. Keeping a level head was key to winning.
But then the guy smirked with so much condescension on his handsome face that it made Alec’s blood boiled in his veins. “Good luck with that.”
“Oh, I don’t need luck to hand that perfectly shaped ass to you.” The guy winked suggestively at him. “But I am not opposed to getting lucky later tonight if you’re up to it.”“Come on,” Jace said and pulled Alec to turn his back to the other team. “Let him dream, bro.”
Ignoring the guy’s chuckles, they gathered around and Alec whispered their strategy. They were in five while the other team was made four, but since they had Simon, that didn’t mean much. Their tactic would be to let Jace, Izzy and Alec handle the shots while little girl and her friend stayed out of the way. Should work just fine.
It didn’t. As soon as they started playing, Clary dashed away looking for the other team, Simon on her heels. Jace had to follow to make sure they wouldn’t get themselves taken down in the first minute. That made Isabelle chuckled and decide to play for the laughs.
Which, in turn, rendered Alec alone. Sighing, he stalked through the arena, completely aware the game was lost. Well, if he was going down, then he would take as many as he could with him. This whole thing was ridiculous anyway and Alec didn’t even want to be there, to begin with, so-
Someone slapped his butt.
Turning around, Alec wasn’t half surprised to see the handsome guy smirking at him. But he was definitely furious. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Playing,” the guy answered cheerfully. “I was torn between slapping that glorious ass or shooting you, so I went with the most pleasurable choice. I’m Magnus, by the way. I figure we ought to be on first name basis now that we know each other so intimately.”
“I should just shoot you,” Alec said and pointed his gun at him.
Magnus tilted his head to the side. “You should. But will you, …?”
“Alec.”
“But will you, Alec?”
After a second of consideration, Alec sighed and put down his gun. “Not like this. I’ll get you first.”
Magnus smirked. “Is that a promise?” He giggled to himself and smiled. “I’ll tell you what, I’ve always wanted a handsome man chasing me around. Give me a head start and I’ll make it worth your while. Though be aware that the hunter can always become the prey.”
“That’s very dramatic.” Alec rolled his eyes but then closed them. “Ten, nine, eight-”
He counted down to zero, hearing as Magnus rushed away. Alec only had a vague idea where Magnus went, since the man moved like a panther, but his instinct rarely failed him. And they didn’t this time, as Alec located Magnus skirting through the obstacles. He was good, he was very good.
But Alec was better. Magnus was infuriating and he had made their little cat and mouse game feel personal. It was a matter of honor now.
It took Alec some time, but finally he was able to push Magnus into a corner. The whole sequence happened really fast and Alec almost lost him more times than he was willing to count, but with a quick dash and a firm grapple, Alec grabbed Magnus by the arm and pinned him against a wall.
Magnus smiled deviously, very unlike someone who was losing. “It seems you got me, Alec. But the question is, what are you going to do with me?”
Alec glared at him, examining every inch of Magnus’ face. His bronze skin, shimmering with a thin layer of glitter under the dim light. His dark, triangular eyes framed by black makeup and shining with their own mischief. His lips and the way they curved up.
He wanted to wipe that infuriating victorious smile away. So Alec pressed Magnus against the wall and kissed him senseless.
It worked, as Magnus melted against his mouth and pulled him close, responding to the kiss with all his being. It was a messy thing, almost aggressive in a way, but it made Alec want more and more. The idea was for it to be a one-time thing, but when they parted and Magnus chased away from his lips, Alec kissed him again.
They were both panting when Alec stepped away, but Magnus managed to smirk again. “That was-”
He never finished that sentence. Alec pulled up his gun, shot him and walked away.
In the end, that shot didn’t make much difference. Both Clary and Simon had gotten themselves eliminated as Alec had foreseen, and Jace went down protecting them. Isabelle had been able to take down two of their opponents, but the game had ended in a tie.
Another thing that ended in a tie was Alec’s and Magnus’ particular competition. When Magnus slipped his card into Alec’s back pocket and winked at him on his way out, Alec realized that maybe he had got Magnus at the end, but Magnus had definitely got him first. |
8.
”Steve?” And then he’s gone. Ash and leaves and pure confusion. What? But Steve can’t make sense of it. He was right there. They were right there.
He drops onto the ground under the weight of it all. What it means for him, the world…
“Oh god.”
Steve comes out of his dream like a man suffocating, sitting up straight and gasping for air. Bucky shoots up next to him, an angel of mercy ready to tell him everything is fine. “Woah there, pal. Need your inhaler?”
Except the end of Bucky’s sentence is muffled by the way Steve pulls him close. “You’re here. You’re still here,” he sighs against Bucky’s neck.
“Yeah, right where I always am.”
Steve doesn't lift his head from the crook of Bucky’s neck. “It was so real,” is all he says as if that explanation will suffice. And hopefully it will.
“It’s okay, I'm okay. I’m here.”
In the next moment Steve’s hands are fluttering over Bucky. Down the back of his skull, across his shoulders, along his spine, around his hips, and up his thighs. Dragging a line up Bucky's neck with his lips, Steve swallows a surprised sound when he presses their mouths together. An accompanying stiff posture doesn't last more than a few moments before Bucky is relaxing in Steve's arms and kissing him back.
Bucky must come to his senses because he makes a disgruntled noise and pulls away. “Wanna clue me in here?” He asks in his best impression of Steve, attempt to make eye contact diminished only slightly in the darkness because of the strong moonlight streaming through the blinds. It's not as smooth, but it gets the job done.
Nodding, Steve crowds further into Bucky's space before he'll answer. “Everything felt so real. I'm not sure where things started, it’s such a jumble. What I know is, one second you were there and the next you'd...disintegrated. It…” He trails his fingers along Bucky's cheek bones, his jaw, thumbs at his bottom lip. “...was the worst thing I've ever felt.”
With that statement, Steve's lips are back on Bucky's. This time Bucky doesn't pull away. He could push for more details. He will later, Steve is sure. But Steve's heart is racing and his kisses are desperate and he's grateful that Bucky lets him have this first.
Steve's mouth moves to Bucky's cheek, the side of his face, and stops to nuzzle at Bucky's ear. He cards his right hand through Bucky's hair before dragging it down his neck, shoulders, back. When Steve slips his left hand into Bucky's boxers to wrap it around his cock, Bucky sucks in a surprised breath. “Steve -- “ he bites out, cutting himself off with a click of his jaw when Steve grips the base tightly and strokes up to the head with a twist.
Bucky's eagerness indicates his age the way it normally does and by the time Steve pulls Bucky free, he's rock hard and leaking beads of pre-come down the base. Steve uses them to smooth the glide of his hand along Bucky's shaft. Then he's bending over to lap at Bucky without further preamble. Steve’s hand drops to Bucky's balls, rolling them between his fingers, as he closes his lips and slides down.
“Wha-aaah oh Jesus Christ, Steve - you seem strangely determined and -- oh fuck fuck fuck yes do that.”
Bucky begins mouthing soundless words as Steve sinks down on his dick as far as he can. Eyes fastened to Bucky's face, Steve works his throat around him.
Rolling Bucky’s balls between his fingers again, Bucky's head comes up off the bed. “Ah fuck Steve, I'm gonna come if you keep-” Steve slides down again, swallowing as he does, while he gives Bucky's sack a firm tug.
Bucky comes with a sharp cry and Steve watches every second of it through his lashes with rapt attention while sucking him clean.
As Bucky goes boneless, Steve pulls off his cock with a pop and tucks it back into his boxers.
Sliding up the bed, Steve kisses Bucky on the forehead tenderly and pulls the blankets up around him. Then he presses the heal of his hand against his own straining cock and lets out a quiet groan that sounds a lot like, Buuuuuck. Without hesitation, Steve carefully extricates his shirt from Bucky’s grip and rolls to the edge of the bed. Before he can stand, Bucky wraps the fingers of his left hand around Steve’s wrist.
Looking over, Bucky’s eyes are still closed when he speaks. “Where ya going, punk?” He sounds blissfully content, but also perfectly conscious.
“Just gonna finish myself off in the shower,” he says, leaning in with the intention of kissing Bucky quickly on the lips. Bucky brings his right hand up to weave his fingers in the hair at the back of Steve’s head. He kisses him deeply, following when Steve tries to pull back. Steve drags Bucky against his body, sinking into the kiss eagerly.
“Please fuck me,” Bucky says. The words are barely audible mouthed against Steve’s lips, but he feels them shoot straight to his dick. The growl that comes out of Steve’s throat isn’t intentional but Bucky’s eyes flutter closed and his own already hardening dick twitches where it’s pressed against Steve’s thigh. In moments, Steve has rolled away from Bucky to slide open the bedside drawer. He pulls out the lube and stands to retrieve a condom from the new box in the bathroom. “You don’t need it,” Bucky says quickly.
Steve’s steps falter and he turns to look at his younger lover. “Buck?” The word shakes as it comes out and Steve closes his eyes in embarrassment.
“Please. Fuck. Me.” Cue another involuntary groan and then Steve’s returning to the bed to lick into Bucky’s mouth.
In a flurry of motion, both men divest themselves of their sleeping clothes. Steve snags the bottle of lube off the nightstand and pops the cap open. Pouring a thick layer onto his fingers, Steve preps Bucky as quickly as the other man’s body will allow. One finger has Bucky squirming, at two he’s panting, and with three he’s pressing himself down on Steve’s knuckles in earnest.
“Steve,” Bucky bites out, moaning around the end of the name when Steve twists his fingers to brush his prostate.
Steve chuckles and nips at Bucky’s jaw as he pulls his fingers out. Bucky whines at the loss of Steve when he leans over to the night table to grab the bottle of lube again. This time he slicks up his cock before climbing between Bucky's inviting thighs. Mouth dropping open and back bowed as Steve presses in slowly, Bucky looks heartbreakingly beautiful even in the darkness. Every time Bucky let’s Steve inside him, Steve’s reminded of how much he cherishes these chances to feel Bucky rattle apart.
Clench. Moan. Shudder.
Heels dig into Steve's lower back and he's snapping his hips. “Aw, Buck.”
Bucky weaves the fingers of his right hand into Steve's short strands of hair and tugs Steve's head back. Leaning up, he bites at the junction of Steve's neck and shoulder before licking across the already reddening skin. Steve groans, grinding into Bucky slow and strong.
"Didn't go anywhere then," Bucky says suddenly directly into Steve's ear, tone marked by Steve's slowed but steady thrusts. "Won't go anywhere now."
The words shoot across Steve's body and his heart pounds in his chest with a persistence that has nothing to do with their activity. Because Bucky realized it before Steve did. That feeling in his dream, he's felt that before. The terrifying fear that he'd never see Bucky smile at him again. He didn't make that up. He's lived it.
Steve's entire body prickles with heat and he buries his own face against Bucky's neck, relishing the feeling of Bucky's hand tugging at his hair and his body wrapped around Steve without any barriers.
Here. Here. Here.
Bucky digs his heels into Steve's lower back again. In response, Steve's hands slide down to grasp Bucky's ass cheeks and he picks up his pace. Steve groans against Bucky's skin, letting the younger man pull him out of the past completely and entirely into the present. Shifting his hips, Steve can tell when he starts consistently hitting that particularly sensitive gland. The hand in his hair tightens and Bucky starts to vibrate.
"Fuck Stevie," Bucky sighs out, a shudder running through his voice. When Steve shifts again, Bucky whines. "No, go back. Please. Please," he keens.
Steve takes the opportunity to let go of Bucky's ass in order to brace his palms against the bed and lift his torso. Bucky drops his arms from around Steve and reaches up to anchor himself on the top of the mattress. Leaning on his left hand, Steve reaches his right back to grab Bucky's ankle. He pulls the other man's leg from around his waist and over his shoulder before letting go to wrap the fingers of that hand around Bucky's cock. Steve watches eagerly as Bucky meets his eyes sharply and his mouth drops into an 'O'.
Steve thrusts with a purpose now, hell bent on watching Bucky unravel beneath him.
"Not fair," Bucky grinds out. "I can't do this to you."
Thrusts not faltering, Steve doesn't try to suppress a snort. "You do this to me every day," he admits, gliding his hand along the shaft.
Bucky's eyes fill with something kind of like admiration as he tilts his head back against the bed and mouths soundless words. "Come here," he finally breaths out.
Steve doesn't hesitate, leaning down to seal his lips to Bucky's.
Steve's orgasm rips toward him suddenly and without warning. He's relieved to feel Bucky clench around him moments before he tips over the edge.
Hand not slowing, Steve milks Bucky through his orgasm as his own crests. At this point, their lengthy kiss is merely a function of their muscles seizing in that position as they come. But, as they both come down, Bucky moves his lips against Steve's in a fashion that's both intimate and filthy.
Steve releases his cock so Bucky can lower his leg from Steve's shoulder and back to the bed. Leaning on his left hand again, Steve pulls out of Bucky slowly.
Bucky actually whimpers, clenching his cheeks together. Steve chuckles against Bucky's mouth before pressing one more kiss to his lips.
Pushing himself off the bed with one hand, Steve disappears into the bathroom, flipping the light on as he goes through the door. He comes out a few minutes later with a warm washcloth, turning the bathroom light off as he goes and navigating back to the bed by moonlight. Crawling between Bucky's legs again, he helps clean the younger man as Bucky struggles to keep his eyes open.
"In my defense," Bucky says, eyes closing completely. "It is the middle of the night."
"You're absolutely right," Steve says fondly, cleaning cum and lube from between his ass cheeks when Bucky unclenches them before moving to the mess on his stomach.
Once he's finished he throws the washcloth toward the open bathroom door. He'll deal with it in the morning.
As he settles back against his pillow, words float through the air that seize his chest even though he's heard them many times before.
"Love you, Steve."
Rolling onto his side, Steve nestles against Bucky and lays his head on his chest.
"My whole life, I've never loved anything more." Steve's words are quiet, almost a whisper. He isn't sure Bucky is awake enough to hear them until he feels hands combing through his hair. |
Subsets and Splits
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